Page 10
“Fix yer face now, James Sinclair.”
Alex chokes beside me.
Ma is already turning for the passage when she adds, without looking back, “And if the three of ye mean to go out, take a new charm bag from the peg.”
I glance toward the door. “We never said we were goin’ out.”
“You might want to.”
Alex loses the fight with his laughter.
“Good to know even a man like Taskill Sinclair can be led about by his—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll boak right on ye,” I warn.
His grin only widens.
The door shuts behind us, and the night air hits my face like cold water. I bend double, one hand on my knee, the other pressing into my stomach.
“Saints preserve me—I near emptied my guts on the rug in there. Truly thought I’d disgrace us all wi’ my supper.”
Alex claps my back hard enough to knock my bones loose. “Would’ve been glorious! Your father roaring, your mother looking ready to salt our corpses, and you decorating the parlour in half-digested mutton… I’d pay coin to see it. Twice.”
“Ye wicked bastard,” I wheeze.
Robert sighs and straightens his coat. “You’re being ridiculous. Your parents are far too kind to maim you, even if you had redecorated their parlour in mutton stew.”
Alex shoves his hands into his pockets, grinning widely. “Kind or not, I’m glad we all still have our bollocks. I half-believed Taskill was about to whip out a blade and geld the three of us.”
Robert gives him a flat look. “Taskill? That teddy bear of a man?”
Alex scoffs. “A teddy bear who could wrestle the Devil with one hand and throttle us with the other if he fancied it. I was bracing for the snap, practically standing there protecting my pouch like it was the crown jewels.”
“Aye,” I mutter, “he looked at me like he meant to end the Sinclair line right then and there. I near bade farewell to any hope o’ children.”
“And what a pity that would’ve been,” Alex goes on, jabbing a finger at my chest, “seeing as this fella is the only one of us who’s never known the proper warmth of a woman.”
My ears burn, but I straighten in offense. “I’ll not feel shamed for savin’ it for the right lass at the right time. Better that than wastin’ it on the first skirt that throws it on me. My hand’s done the job well enough ‘til now.”
Alex howls with laughter. “Sweet mercy, Sinclair. From martyr to monk to right-handed sinner!”
Robert mutters, “Skill requires repetition, Sinclair. Admirable as it may be, it’s a shame you’ll have no practice to offer her when she arrives.”
Alex throws his hands up in mock reverence. “Och, listen to him—the grand scholar of fornication. I bet you take a woman to bed and ask her to remain perfectly still for optimal performance. Proper posture and all that?” He starts moving his hips in slow, over-serious thrusts, shoulders stiff, chin lifted like a pompous lord.
I snort. “Aye, and I bet he pauses halfway through to take bloody notes. ‘Documenting thrust consistency,’ or some academic piss like that.”
Robert rubs his temples. “Gods grant me patience. There’s no academic discipline rigorous enough to prepare a man for the two of you. Truly, though, Alex is the one we ought to worry about. With the way he throws his body about, he’ll be lucky if he hasn’t fathered a dozen children already.”
Alex straightens, offended in the most dramatic way possible. “Rude. I’ll have you know I’ve fathered none—as far as the mothers have told me.”
I snort and shake my head. “Aye, and that right there’s why I’ll celebrate havin’ more willpower than the pair of you combined. Someone in this trio’s gotta rise above the ruttin’ madness and sport a bit o’ patience.”
Alex bursts into fresh laughter. “If patience and willpower mean bedding your own fist, you’re a saint in the making. Blessings upon you and your poor neglected cock.”
Robert mutters, “If idiocy were contagious, I’d be bedridden by now.”
Then even he cracks, a sharp laugh escaping him despite his usual composure.
