Captured by the Pirate Laird (6 page)

“Are
there any new medicines in the hold?”

“If
there are, I’ll wager ye’ll sniff them out.”

The
friar was always anxious to find any new remedies from the south. With ships
traveling to and from the West Indies, new herbs and medicines were coming to
England all the time. It could take years before they made it to Scotland and
even longer to reach the Hebrides. The
Flying
Swan
was a Godsend for the entire clan.

Calum
took John up to the solitude of the solar and penned a missive. Since
discovering Lady Anne’s identity, he’d carefully considered how he would make
the transfer. There was no way he could invite Lord Wharton into Scotland, and
yet traveling to England was fraught with danger. In the end, Calum chose
Carlisle. A small border town, he could slip into the area rather easily. The
problem would be getting out.

Wharton
was a snake. Calum had no doubt the baron would be well armed. Calum would need
to receive the ransom first and then deliver Lady Anne. His mood darkened as if
the grim reaper had walked across his soul. He dreaded the thought of releasing
Anne into the hands of Lord Wharton. If she could have married any other
Englishman, it would have been preferable. And if the marriage decree had not
been executed, he would consider laying claim to her himself. But Calum would
never
take another man’s bride, even a
man as vile as the baron.

He
folded the missive and dribbled a blob of red wax and sealed it with a blank. “Take
this to Edinburgh. Have a runner pay an Englishman to deliver it to Wharton.”

“Have
ye decided how ye’ll do it?” John asked.

“Aye.”
Calum handed him the note. “But I’ll keep it to meself until your return.”

John
clamped his mouth shut and gave a quick nod. Calum hated to be tight-lipped,
but the less his quartermaster knew when he traveled to Edinburgh, the better.
Calum placed his hand on John’s shoulder. “I can trust only you with this. Ye
are closer to me than my own brother.”

“I’ll
leave at dawn.”

“Good.
Now go find that bonny wife of yers.”

“I’m
afraid Mara has her hands full with the cargo.”

“Tell
her I said she can tend to it on the morrow. I’ll see the cooks have supper
ready and our guest is settled.”

John
shook his head. “Ye ken, Mara’s a headstrong lass. I’ll be dragging her away by
her hair.”

“Then
get to it.” Calum burst out with a rolling laugh. “If that’s what it takes to
plant a bairn in her belly.”

Calum
left John to his business and headed to the castle stairs. He hesitated on the
landing. One floor up was his chamber, presently occupied by Lady Anne. He
wished he had time to march up and tell her what a fool she’d been for marrying
that codfish. Calum would take her in his arms and ravish those sweet red lips
with passionate kisses—crush her voluptuous breasts against his chest. Christ,
the lass had probably never been kissed by a man who could show her the heat of
passion a man and a woman could share merely by the joining of lips.

He
placed his foot on the first step and held it there. With a groan, he resisted
the urge to follow after her.
Best let
her settle first. Besides, she’d sooner see me swinging from the gallows.

Trotting
down the stairs, he refused to allow thoughts of Lady Anne or her ransom to further
cloud his mood. He had a ship’s cargo to unload, and a celebration to begin. Calum
marched down to the shore. Everyone was working, carrying something, even the
smallest children.

“’Tis
a miracle, Calum,” said Sarah, Robert’s wife.

Calum
had thought her pretty before this voyage. Now she seemed plain, though he
cared for her no less. Sarah carried her bundle with a light step, her three
bairns waddling in line behind her like a family of ducks.

He
hefted the youngest onto his hip. “We’ll have a feast tonight to celebrate our
bounty.”

The
tot clapped her hands against his cheeks. “Och aye!”

With
a squeeze, he set her down and surveyed the beach. These people were his sole
concern. He could never cast aside the honor or the responsibility.

He
glanced up to the window of his chamber. Was Anne was watching? That she might filled
him with vim. He wanted her to witness the teamwork of his clan—to see the
harmony that existed between his people and the unity with which they bonded under
his leadership.

***

A
breeze tickled Anne’s face when she pushed aside the heavy furs that shrouded
the narrow window.

Calum
strode onto the beach and she leaned forward to watch him. No others came close
to matching his broad shoulders and imposing height. He walked with powerful
confidence, and all heads turned to him while he made his way to the shore.
Though the whistle of the wind and roar of the sea filled her ears, she could
hear him in her mind, managing the cargo disposition, pointing in every
direction, helping with heavy loads, patting his clansmen and women on their
backs.

Bran
ran up to him with his arms flailing, clearly ranting about a monumental
problem. With a wide stance, Calum put his hands on his hips and listened, then
grabbed Bran round the shoulders and ground his knuckles into his mop of brown
curls.

Anne
laughed out loud then looked over her shoulder to ensure no one had heard. Of
course she was still alone. The entire clan was on the beach hauling grain, or
shepherding sheep and cattle off to the paddocks. She caught sight of one of
her trunks being lowered to a skiff and wrung her hands. Calum bounded into the
surf with foaming splashes spraying around him.

How could he rush into that frigid
water as if it were summer?

Once
her trunks lined the shore, he organized a crew to haul them up the winding path
to the keep. A sharp wind slipped through her gown and she rubbed her hands
over her arms. Calum was down there in a soaking kilt, hauling her things about
as if he were a servant.
The chill must
cut to his bone.

Calum’s
wet shirt clung to his chest. Even from the window, Anne could see his muscles
straining against the sheer fabric. The last trunk was the heaviest and his arm
muscles bulged under the strain. Her eyes trailed downward, but her blasted
trunk blocked her from seeing more. She folded her arms and stepped away. It
was just as well. How on earth could she allow herself to ogle the enemy?

By
the time a knock sounded upon her door, Anne had pushed away the images of
Calum in his wet shirt—until she opened it.

Calum
may as well have been naked from the waist up. He seemed not to notice his
shirt clung to his chest and arms like a second skin. Anne let her eyes drift
down to his abdomen, which heaved with exertion, hard as…

“We
brought your things, milady.”

Her
gaze snapped up and she caught his sly grin. Stepping aside, she gestured into
the room. “Thank you. Please put them in the corner where they’ll be out of the
way.”

Bran
strained to help Calum maneuver her heavy trunk. “Hello, milady.”

Calum
tarried in front of the fireplace while he supervised the others, and then dismissed
them. Last out, Bran closed the door. Anne found it necessary to study the
tapestry and repeatedly interpret the three words there.

I shine not burn
.

“The
fire feels warm.” Calum’s deep voice flowed like thick sorghum.

“You
must be chilled.” Anne headed to the bowl and ewer to fetch a drying cloth and
her toe caught on the edge of the rug. Her arms flung out and she fell straight
into Calum’s chest—the very thing she was trying to avoid. His arms slipped
around her waist and stopped her tumble.

“Pardon
me.” Anne placed a trembling hand on his chest. His heart hammered against her
palm. “I-I am so very clumsy.”

“Are
ye all right?” He clasped her hand. Oh dear Lord, he was soaked through, yet
his hands were warm. She cast her eyes down to keep from staring at the
transparent linen stretched across his muscled chest. The smell of sea salt and
musk washed over her as if she’d been struck by a frigid wave herself.

“I
trust everything in your trunks is secured just how ye packed it. I didna want
anyone to rifle through your things by chance, so I had them brought up
straight away.”

She
dared to glance at his face. Mistake. His penetrating blue eyes met hers. The
hunger in his stare made her step into him. He strengthened his grip on her
hand ever so slightly.

Anne
fixed her gaze on the large calloused fingers wrapped around hers, terrified
her eyes would betray her heart thundering against her stomacher. “You best
remove those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

His
rough thumb brushed over her fingers and his gaze dropped. Anne swore it
stopped at her breasts, but it continued downward as he bent to kiss her hand. His
breath was warm against her fingers and Anne sucked inhaled as the gooseflesh
raced from her hand to the tips of her breasts.

“I
must apologize. The warmth of the fire felt so good, I hadn’t a mind to move.”
He took a step toward the door. “We will sup soon. I’ll fetch ye at dusk.”

“W-why
you? Why not Bran or Mara? Surely you have your hands full.”

Hurt
flashed across his face. “As you prefer.”

The
door banged closed. Anne groaned and pressed her face into her hands. She could
not allow him to come for her. Every moment in his presence had become pure
torture. Each time he touched her, the tingling would linger. Her own flesh had
betrayed her upbringing and breeding. Anne imagined the countess’s dour frown.
Mother would lock her in her chamber for a year simply for looking at a man
like Calum MacLeod.

“Ye
look like a queen.” Bran held out his elbow and puffed his chest. “Calum sent
me to fetch ye.”

“Thank
you, Master Bran, but I’m a lowly maid in comparison to Her Royal Majesty,
Elizabeth.” Anne had chosen a blue gown with gold embroidery and wore her hair
pulled back by a matching coronet and veil. “Does the laird always work beside
the people as he did today?”

“Aye,
none has a stronger back than Calum MacLeod. ’Tis why his da made him laird of
Raasay.”

“He
was not heir? Who was laird before him?”

“We
were annexed to Lewis, but the people of Raasay were starving. They needed a
leader. So the big chief sent his son to help us.”

“I
see. Is Calum’s father still living?”

“Nay.
His heir, Ruairi, is the Chief of Lewis now.”

“How
interesting.” Anne had never considered that Calum might be a younger son.

“If
ye ask me, Raasay got the better end of it. Laird Ruairi is a tyrant. He pays
no mind to us—would no’ even help us when the frost came early and killed our
crops.”

“How
did you survive?”

“Herring
and seaweed.” Bran scrunched his nose. “I dunna recommend it.”

Voices
rumbled from below. As they rounded the steps into the great hall, Anne gasped
at the enormity of the crowd. Rows of wooden tables stood around the hall,
pushed together and lined by benches. Men wore plaids pinned at their shoulders
and the swish of the women’s straight-bodied kirtles hushed across the floor.

She
spied Mara sitting on John’s lap, gazing into his eyes as if no one else existed.
John covered her mouth with his and devoured her. His hand slipped to her
breast and rested there for a moment before Mara pushed it away. With a gasp, Anne
quickly averted her eyes.
What heathen
place have I come to?

As
Bran led her toward the far end of the hall, Anne wondered how it would feel to
have Calum place his hand on her in such a way. The friction of her nipples
against her stomacher rasped as if they’d become the most sensitive flesh on
her body. A flicker of heat twisted deep inside and her palms grew moist. She
swallowed. Hard.

The
crowd filled hall made it toasty, warmer than the crackling blaze in the hearth.
Calum sat at the head of the table with a man she didn’t know to his left. She
turned to her escort. “Where are we going to sit?” She could bear to sit next
to Calum if Bran were there to distract her.

“Why,
Calum wants you to dine beside him, milady. It’s only appropriate for our guest
to be seated in a place of honor.”

“Will
you be joining us?”

“Nay.
I’ve been gone for weeks.” Bran pointed across the hall. “Me family’s here. Besides,
sitting at the head of the table with the laird is too serious for the likes of
me.”

Anne
wished she could be in Bran’s shoes, flitting about chattering with everyone—with
no concern as to whether or not someone would place his large, masculine hands
on her. She looked toward Calum and caught him staring. The image of his hand
on her breast invaded her thoughts again. A tingle of longing shot to her core.
Here she was a married woman, yet had not experience of a man’s touch.
If only Bran could sit between us, my mind
would be free of these sinful thoughts.

When
climbed onto the dais, Calum stood and reached for her hand. “Lady Anne. You
are stunning this eve.”

***

Calum
didn’t hear a word Norman said when young Bran entered the great hall with Lady
Anne on his arm. Her ornately embroidered gown accented the rose of her cheeks
and complimented her honey-blonde hair. But most of all, the deep blue brought
out the glittering color of her eyes, fanned by long, dark-blonde lashes. She
reminded him of a brilliant sapphire in a setting of gold.

“Don’t
ye think?” Norman asked.

“Aye.”
Calum had no idea to what he’d just agreed, nor did he care. At that moment, he
also did not care that the woman walking toward him was married. He would put
that misfortunate fact aside and enjoy the celebration.

When
he stood and took her hand, their eyes met. He caught a flicker of longing in
those deep pools of blue. There was no mistaking it. He bent down to kiss her
hand. When he straightened, the desire he’d glimpsed had been replaced with a
cool façade—the same one he’d seen many times since he kicked in her door on
the
Flying Swan.

“Please
do me the honor of dining at my table.” He gestured to the chair beside him.
Anne sat with such grace, he imagined she’d practiced that move in her
etiquette lessons a hundred times. He pointed to the man on his left. “This is
my younger brother, Norman.”

Anne
leaned forward and nodded. “You have your brother’s eyes.”

“Aye.”
Norman pointed to his bright red mop of hair. “But I’ve a fair bit more
upstairs, unlike me swashbuckling brother.”

Calum
laughed. “Don’t let him fool ye, milady. Norman can be as shrewd as any other
MacLeod.”

Norman
batted the air with his hand. “Baa.”

“Me
elder brother sent Norman from Lewis so I could teach him some refinement.”

Anne’s
jaw dropped. “You?”

Calum
sat back. “And why not me?”

“The
plunderer of English ships? The pirate who kicks in a lady’s stateroom door?”

“Aye,
but I didn’t ken ye were within. Had ye made some noise, I might have been a
bit more genteel.”

Anne’s
quick tongue had a maddening way of raising his ire—made him want to show her
exactly what a true plunderer could do with a woman. Holy merciful God, what he
could do with her. She tempted him, blast it all. And must she wear those
damnable gowns that revealed her bosoms aplenty? Every man in the hall could
view her ample breasts peeking above her bodice. She’d soon have them all
breaking down her chamber door.

It
was a good thing a trencher of roast beef was placed in front of him. Calum
snapped his mind from its wayward thoughts.

“A
welcome change from herring,” Norman said.

“Aye,
and with the heifers from the ship, we’ll see a good deal more beef come next
spring.”

Norman
speared a slab of meat with his eating knife. “And lamb.”

“Where
are yer manners, brother?” Calum snatched the trencher from Norman and held it
out to Anne. “Milady?”

“Thank
you.”

Calum
watched her daintily select a small slice of meat with her ivory handled knife
that she pulled from somewhere in the folds of her gown. Her clothing was much
different from the simple kirtles and bodices the highland lassies wore over
their shifts. In English style, her gown pushed her breasts above a stiff stomacher,
filling the neckline with lovely silken mounds of lily white flesh—
too much for this raucous crowd
. He
resisted the urge to reach out and brush a finger across her breasts, though he
ached to feel their softness yielding to his touch.

Anne
cleared her throat.

Calum’s
gaze snapped to her face. “M-milady, I was admiring your gown—such expert needlework
is rarely seen in the Highlands.”

An
adorable blush crawled up her cheeks. “Thank you.”

Calum
reached for his tankard of ale. He needed to fixate on something other than the
lady’s breasts. Then his leg brushed against her gown. He drew in a sharp
breath and downed his pint.

Calum
used his side vision to watch Anne eat. Everyone around him tore at their meat
with their teeth, but Anne cut hers into small bits, placed them in her mouth and
chewed delicately, as if she were handling a flower.

She
caught him watching and raised an eyebrow. Calum cut his meat into smaller
portions and pulled a piece off his knife with far more care that he had ever
attacked a slab of meat in his life.

“I
saw that Mara was quite friendly with Master John,” she said, lifting her
tankard.

“Aye,
they were married only a month ago.”

Understanding
crossed her face.

“John
is leaving for Edinburgh on the morrow.”

“Oh?
Why must he leave so soon?”

Calum
adjusted in his chair. “He’s carrying a missive for Lord Wharton.” He couldn’t bring
himself to say,
your husband
.

Disappointment
flashed across Anne’s face so fast, Calum thought he’d misread it. But he
realized Lady Anne had mastered covering her emotions. He could look her in the
eye and have no idea how she felt. He’d thought she resented him for capturing
her ship, but he picked up on little nuances—flashes of looks or words that
told him all was not as it seemed with Lady Anne. He wondered if she had
trepidations about her marriage.
No. She
married Wharton. She must have loyalty to cur. And who am I, a lowly Scot
trying to make a go of it on this tiny island. No, no, no. A woman such as Lady
Anne is far too refined for a life on Raasay.

She
toyed with the handle on her tankard. “I apologize for putting you out of your
chamber. If there is a more suitable room…”

He
should have known he couldn’t fool her. “It is no great thing. We have been
rebuilding the keep, and ’tis the most fitting chamber for a lady of your
station.”

“But
it isn’t right. You are laird.”

He
held up his hand. “I’ll hear no more on it. Ye are me guest.”

When
the meal ended, the fiddler hopped up onto the dais and launched into a foot-stomping
ditty with the piper following his lead. Tables were quickly pushed aside at
the far end, and the hall erupted into a sea of dancers. What his clansmen
lacked in technique, they made up for in exuberance with the men swinging the
lassies by the crooks of their arms.

Bran
sidled up to Lady Anne, doing his own rendition of a gawky lad’s hornpipe.
“Will ye dance with me, milady?”

Anne
pointed at Mara and John who were swinging in a circle with their arms locked
at the elbows. “Do that? ’Tis nothing like a volta.”

As
she faced him, Calum caught a hint of lovely honeysuckle bouquet. He leaned in
closer than decorum allowed, just to sample it once more. “Aye, but ’tis every
bit as vigorous.”

Anne
clasped her hands under her chin. “I’m not sure I would be able to...”

Bran
tugged on her elbow. “Ye dunna need to ken how. Ye just need to have a bit ‘o
fire in yer belly.”

Anne
glanced at Calum. “The boy isn’t going to allow me to say no.”

He
waved toward the dancers. “Go on. Ye’ll have fun for a change.”

Anne
gaped, but had no time to fire off a rebuke. Bran yanked her arm and dragged
her to the dance floor so fast, she nearly stumbled over her skirts, but she
brushed herself off with flair. Calum laughed out loud, though would have to
have a word with the lad on controlling his high spirits.

Calum
reclined in his seat. He afforded himself few luxuries, but he did sit in a
red-velvet upholstered chair in the great hall. It was from there he heard
issues and petitions from his clansmen and where he took his meals. His father
had done the same on Lewis. Though Calum’s lairdship did not encompass the same
great number of people, there were still some two hundred souls under his
protection.

Calum
nursed another tankard of ale while he watched Bran spin Anne around the floor.
She tried to keep up as best as she could. Even Calum would have difficulty
keeping time with the lad, though Anne’s smile lit up the room. She threw her
head back and laughed as Bran kicked out a leg and spun her in a circle. When she
stumbled a bit, Calum sat forward, ready to spring off the dais and cross the
floor, only to ease back when she gracefully recovered and giggled pressing her
fingers to her lips.

It
pleased him to see her having a good time. He wanted her to accept him, accept
his clan. It shouldn’t concern him, but for some reason Calum cared a lot about
what Lady Anne thought of him. And he wouldn’t allow a young lad to overshadow
him on the dance floor.

Calum
waited until the tune was nearly over before he pushed back his chair and
sauntered around the room to where Bran had absconded with the lady. When the
dancers applauded at the end of the reel, Calum made his move and tapped Bran
on the shoulder. The lad frowned, but knew better than to argue with his laird.

Anne’s
chest heaved as she caught her breath. Calum held out his hand and she placed
her dainty fingers in his palm. “My heavens, I’m nearly out of breath.”

Calum
tried not to notice the rise and fall of the breasts which teased him over her
bodice. “I shall endeavor to be a bit more genteel, milady.”

Anne
bowed her head and curtseyed. Och, every bit of her filled his senses with
woman. He felt like a stag tracking a doe during the mating season. Calum took
in a deep breath to clear his head.
What
the hell am I thinking?

He
led Anne in the dance with as much grace as the vivacious fiddling would allow.
When the music stopped, the fiddler announced a strathspey. Calum took Anne’s
small hands and leaned his mouth close to her ear so he could be heard over the
crowd. “Ye’ll like this one. ‘Tis a bit slower.”