Captured by the Pirate Laird (31 page)

Anne
caressed his face and drew his lips to hers. “I love you, Laird Calum MacLeod.”

Kissing
her, Calum swore he would never again let her go. He wanted to hold her in his
embrace and protect her forever. She was his.

***

The
sliver of the morning sun glowed through the tiny window, and Anne ran her hand
over the place where Calum slept, but was met with cold linens. She opened her
eyes. The laird had risen. The fire in the hearth had been stoked, but she saw
no sign of Calum.

She
closed her eyes and the nightmare of the battle raged in her mind. She had
nearly drowned, but an angel saved her.
Calum
.
She hugged a pillow to her chest and rocked her hips. Their lovemaking only
hours ago still lingered deep within her.

Calum
loved her. She closed her eyes and focused on the euphoria blossoming in her
breast. She loved him with every fiber of her being. She took in a deep breath.
Never in her life had she imagined being with a man would be so deliciously
wonderful. Calum satiated her needs on so many levels—levels she did not even
know existed.

He
had given her his fascinating body. Merely the sight of him naked sent shivers
coursing across her skin. They had made love over and over until they both
could no longer move. She wiggled her hips and sweet pain shot through her
loins. Yes, she was tender, but that had no bearing on the love swelling in her
heart.

With
a long stretch, she sat up. The bedclothes dropped from her breasts and she
realized she was naked. If only he were here—well possibly it was better he was
not. A bit sore, she might have difficulty walking.

A
voice echoed in through the window. She wrapped herself in her dressing gown
and walked to it. Though still afloat, the
Sea
Dragon
listed in the bay. Ruairi’s ship and
The Golden Sun
moored alongside it as waves slopped against their
hulls, the water lit golden by the morning sun.

Bonfires
burned on the beach. Calum worked beside his men, hauling dead sailors to the
fire, the wind blowing the stench out to sea. But there was another line of
dead where the beach met the grass. The women of the keep keened loudly, preparing
their men for burial. The grief-stricken ululations screeched on the wind. Anne
swallowed.
So much destruction.
Her
own euphoria turned to ash. This would be a sad day indeed. She must help. Anne
dashed to her trunk and pulled out a day dress. Holding it up, her gut
squeezed. Her clothing was entirely inappropriate for Raasay.

“Milady?”
Mara knocked at the door.

Anne
welcomed her inside and Mara fell into her arms “’Tis such a relief ye are
safe.”

“Oh,
Mara, I’m so happy to see you. But…”

Mara
knit her brows. “But what, milady?”

Anne
hung her head. “But are you not angry with me? I-I feel like I’ve brought this
destruction upon you—upon all of you.”

“Aye,
we all thought that at first, but Calum made us realize the English would have
come with or without ye.”

“Oh,
Mara, I love you so. I want to help.” She held up her dress. “But not in this.
Do you have a kirtle I can borrow until I can have some of my own made?”

“Aye,
but first I need to tell ye some news.”

Mara
ran her hand over her somewhat flat belly, and Anne beamed. “Are you?”

Mara’s
face glowed with a healthy pink sheen. “With child. Aye.”

“Oh,
my goodness, I’m so happy for you. When will the babe come?”

“Near
Christmas. Me thinks I conceived the night Calum brought ye to Brochel.”

Calum
used the friar’s salve and wrapped his wounds before he slipped out of the
chamber at dawn. No matter how much he wanted to, he could not lay abed all
morning when there was so much work to be done. He knew the battle from the
night before had not passed without losses. He must lead the effort to bury the
dead.

Alone,
he made it to the beach and stood with his hands on his hips. Most of the dead
strewn across the stones were English, though the lead shepherd, Gordon MacLeod,
lay nearest his feet. Calum gritted his teeth and forced back his tears. He
would show the stoic face of a warrior this day. He bent down and lifted his
clansman into his arms and carried him to higher ground where the beach met
grass—where they buried their dead. He knelt down and lowered his friend’s body
gently, ever so careful to cradle Gordon’s head.

Calum
closed Gordon’s sightless eyes. He prayed for his friend’s soul that it would
be delivered into the hands of God and this fearless warrior would be accepted
through the gates of Heaven and exalted for his bravery. Calum prayed for his
clan, for a quick recovery, and gave thanks for those who’d come to his aid.
Finally, he thanked God for Anne’s safe return, and prayed for forgiveness that
his love for her ran so deeply. A laird should keep himself above such
heartfelt emotions, but Anne owned his mind, body and soul. She embodied his
need for food, shelter, even his need to breathe the sweet air of Raasay.

When
Calum raised his head, his guard had filed onto the beach. In silence they
cleaned the carnage, just as they had after other battles, just as their
forefathers had done before them. Then the wives came and their cries of agony
sent chilled knives of remorse across Calum’s skin as he dug graves beside his
men.

Friar
Pat led a line of women down the hill. At first he didn’t recognize his Anne,
but the golden blonde hair fluttering in the wind, made Calum’s heart skip a
beat. She wore a blue kirtle over her shift—the dress of the women of Raasay.
Anne carried a wooden bucket and ladle and Mara held a basket. Each woman
carried something—baskets of food, shovels, peat, oils—all things they would
need to finish the day’s work.

Anne
stopped at each man and offered a drink, silently. No one spoke. They honored
the dead. Anne stopped at Calum with her eyes lowered and offered him a ladle.
His fingers brushed hers when he accepted it, and a flush spread across her
cheeks. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but this was not the time. They
had to care for the fallen first. Her eyes met his and her tears glistened in
the sunlight. Calum wiped his mouth on his sleeve and handed her back the ladle
with a nod of thanks. Anne bowed and continued on. Calum watched her. The
kirtle hugged her body like a glove. Her hair hung loose down her back and
swayed across her shapely bottom as she moved. Calum would speak to the friar
when their work was done.

It
was late afternoon when the beach was clean and the dead buried. Calum stood
beside Anne as the friar chanted the funeral mass. When it was over, silence
encapsulated them. The only sound was the rush of waves sliding on and off the
beach—just as they had since the beginning of time. In silence, Friar Pat led
the procession up the hill. They would mourn until the sun set, and then they
would feast and celebrate their victory.

***

After
the funeral, Anne needed time to gather her thoughts. She walked through the
castle gardens, every step propelling her forward, yet the weight of two stones
pressed down upon her shoulders. The terror of the battle, the intoxicating
fervor of last night spent in Calum’s arms, and now her heart weighed heavy in
her chest with the ever familiar musket hole.

Had
she done the right thing? Thomas Wharton proved to be a greater tyrant than
she’d imagined. Thank heavens, now that he was dead, no ill could pass to her
family.

This
is where God intended her to be. Calum loved her. She wanted to be with him.
Forever.

Anne
stopped when she came to Swan’s mews. For some reason she didn’t expect the
bird to be there, but he hopped onto a limb near the door. He still had jesses
tied to his legs. She pulled the long falconer’s gloves from the peg, and
slipped them on. Reaching in, she sang her lullaby.

She
grasped the short strap and Swan jumped onto her outstretched arm. The bird
pecked her gloved fingers. Anne found his food in a barrel beside the cage and
offered him a treat. Snatching it with his beak, he ate greedily. Anne sang,
cooing to him.

The
bird had now grown the full plumage of a young golden eagle, his tail and wings
tipped with white. He stretched his wings and Anne marveled at the enormous
span. “You are magnificent.”

“I
thought I would find ye here.” Calum smiled, stretching the dark circles under
his eyes.

“You’re
tired.”

“I’ll
sleep tonight.” Calum looked at the bird. “He’s missed ye.”

“I’m
surprised he recognized me so quickly. I’ve been gone nearly a month.”

“And
I never want to see ye leave again.” Calum opened the cage door and she placed
Swan inside. The laird stood still and watched the bird for a moment.

When
Calum turned, he grasped Anne’s hands to his chest and knelt. “Lady Anne, I
haven’t much to offer ye, but me sword and a crumbling keep. I love ye more
than life itself. I love ye more than the air I breathe, and I cannot live
without ye. Would…would ye be me wife?”

Anne’s
insides fluttered as if tickled by the feathers of a golden eagle. Calum knelt
before her, with his broad shoulders and his auburn hair streaked copper in the
sun. He had forgiven her, and now he opened his life to her. She wanted nothing
more. “Yes.” She pulled him into her arms. “Yes. I would have it no other way.
I will marry you, Calum MacLeod.”

Calum
squeezed her until the air whooshed from her lungs. “Thank God. I dunna ken
what I would have done if ye’d said no.”

“I
don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t asked.”

“Should
I send word to yer mother?”

Anne
stood back. That was a sobering thought. “If you do, we may be facing a whole
fleet of English ships.”

“That
would be no, then.”

“Correct.
No. At least not for some time. Possibly the word should come from me—perhaps
when our first child is born.”

“Child?”
Calum pressed his lips against her forehead. “That would be yet another
miracle.” He grasped her hand. “Let us go see the friar.”

***

Anne
wore her Scottish kirtle to the feast and took her seat beside her betrothed. Ruairi
sat to Calum’s right and Rorie on Anne’s left. Dougal MacKenzie also sat at the
laird’s table beside Norman and Friar Pat.

The
smell of roasted meat wafted through the great hall and trenchers laden with
food lined the tables. Calum stood and raised his tankard. “The sun has set,
our dead have been mourned, ’tis now time to celebrate our victory.”

The
hall echoed with a resounding, “Here, here!”

“I
toast me brother, Ruairi, and me new friend, Rorie Douglas, and his guard who
brought Lady Anne back to me—back to us. And to my close friend, Dougal
MacKenzie, for taking up our fight and standing beside us to beat down the
English!” Calum’s voice rose when he spoke the final word. Everyone stood and
raised their tankards with a boisterous roar.

Calum
held his hands out, asking for silence. “I have one last toast.” He turned to
Lady Anne and held up his tankard. “To the woman who is known to us all, who
brought organization to our keep, whose smile warms our hearts. To the woman
who agreed to be me wife. Lady Anne.”

The
hall erupted in a shout of praise and congratulations as people clapped and
pounded the hilts of their dirks on the tables.

“Feast
me friends and share in our success.”

Anne
wrapped her hands around Calum’s arm and whispered in his ear, “And here’s to
you, the strongest sword—a man who pulled me from the depths of the sea and
took me soaring to heaven all in one night.”

Calum
gave her a wicked grin and waggled his eyebrows with a promise of things to
come.

When
their bellies were full, the piper and the fiddler climbed up on the dais. Bran
was the first to Anne’s table. “Will ye dance with me, Lady Anne?”

Anne
shot an apologetic glance at Calum, but he gestured to the floor. “After him
I’ll be next.”

Bran
had heeded his lessons and spun Anne around the dance floor with practiced
precision, and she threw her head back and laughed. Calum tapped him on the
shoulder, and held her hands in anticipation of a reel. No one else existed as
they danced the steps, but Anne was tired, as were the others. The hall emptied
early.

Calum
looked over her shoulder and tugged her hand. “Come. They’ll not miss us.”

Anne
could hardly breathe as she followed.

Inside
the laird’s chamber, her weariness fled. Calum bent down and kissed her neck as
Anne attacked Calum’s clothing. How much easier things were to remove when
their clothing was dry. They stood naked in front of the hearth and Anne
explored every inch of his glorious body with fluttering kisses. She had him
turn and paused while she examined his scarred back. She blew cool air on his
skin traced her fingers over the pink scars. “Does this hurt?”

“With
yer hands on me, nothing could hurt.”

His
manhood stood proud from its copper curls. He took her hand and led her to the
bed. She watched the pleasure in his eyes as she ran her fingers along the
length of him. He reached down and brushed his fingers over her sex. “Are ye
sore?”

“With
you, I could never be too sore.”

A
husky chuckle rumbled from his throat and he lay her down. He took his time and
showered her body with kisses until Anne could take no more. “I want to feel
you in me.”

He
rolled to the side and stroked his member. “Ye want me to pleasure ye with
this?”

“Aye.”
Anne giggled at her use of the Scottish word.

He
pushed her thighs apart and covered her. The heat in Anne’s loins rose so fast,
she could not wait. She reached for his manhood and guided it inside, watching his
eyes. They glazed and his body tensed. With a gush of air, his hips rocked.
Anne latched on to his buttocks and rode their wave of ecstasy until her release
burst and shuddered around him.

Three
more deep thrusts and Calum cried out, his body quivering while his seed sewed
inside her womb. He rested with his head on her chest and she ran her fingers
through his thick hair. Calum closed his eyes and his breathing slowed. In
sleep, he looked as peaceful and serene. Anne spooned her body against his and
let sleep come as she floated on a cloud of happiness.