Captured by the Pirate Laird (9 page)

Oh
heavens, he felt warm. “I—I missed supper, and after Norman’s castigating, I
decided…ah…”

“What?”

She
rested her head against his shoulder and bit her lip. “Nothing.”

He
pressed his lips to her forehead. Anne relaxed into him, the tension cascading
from her shoulders like a waterfall. She snuck her arms around his waist.

Calum
held her cocooned within his embrace. He showered her forehead with feathery
kisses. Heat coiled tight deep inside her—that new feeling that had become
increasingly urgent since the first time she’d seen the laird’s face. Anne closed
her eyes and pulled him closer, powerless to deny his allure.

Calum’s
kisses caressed her cheek. Anne lifted her chin, her lips tingling. If only he
would kiss her mouth again—just one more time. Calum’s hand slid up to the back
of her neck, sending waves of gooseflesh along her spine. His long lashes
shuttered his eyes and he brushed his lips across hers.

Calum’s
tongue swept over her lips. Anne nearly exploded with the tingling. Without the
barrier of a stiff stomacher, her breasts rubbed against his hard chest and her
lips sought his as if growing a mind of their own. The friction of his body
ignited every inch of her flesh.

When
his mouth clamped over hers, she gave in to him. His powerful arms held her against
his body and her knees weakened. With little licks, he parted her lips. A burst
of salty-sweet flavor enticed her mouth. With languid swirls, his tongue danced.
Wanting more, she squeezed him tighter, the tips of her breasts aching to rub
against the steely muscles under to his shirt.

With
a sigh, he rested his lips against her forehead. “Forgive me. I didna mean to
take advantage. But ye are so fine to me.”

Anne
closed her eyes and forced herself to pull back. “Please forgive my moment of
indiscretion. It seems I’m having some difficulty resisting you, my lord.” She
brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Though I feel safe in your arms, I
wonder, who is the greater threat?”

Calum
lifted her chin with his pointer finger, his eyes dark, serious. “I promise ye
are safe with me.” He placed his hand in the small of her back. “Now let’s go
see if we can find ye a morsel.”

***

Calum
couldn’t look her in the face. Again he’d kissed the wife of Lord Wharton. Did
he want a death sentence? Worse, she had turned to jelly in his arms. Her
supple body sent his mind into a frenzy of blind passion. When the softness of
her breasts plied his chest, his erection jutted against her abdomen. So strong
his lust, he clutched her skirts and tugged, but the blasted voice of reason
bellowed at the back of his head. No matter how much he wanted to bed her, he
could not take advantage. He had a responsibility to protect Lady Anne. His
very own flesh could not betray him.

Though
married, Anne was as innocent as a maid. He would not ruin her. It couldn’t be.
In her moment of distress, she needed a strong arm for comfort. That was all.

She
watched him, her ravaged lips plump and red. He used her candle to light the
torch on the wall. He found a stack of oatcakes under a cloth on the sideboard
and reached for two. “One of these ought to hold ye till morning.”

Anne
gave him an apologetic smile and took one. He gestured to the table and they
sat.

“I
missed you at supper.” Lady Anne kept her eyes on her oatcake.

“Apologies.
There’s a great deal of work to do on the ship.”

“I
see.” She shifted on the bench as if she had something she was holding back.

“Did
I miss anything?”

“No,
not really. I spent the day with Mara.” She pinched a morsel from the cake. “I
helped her inventory the stores.”

“’Tis
a good idea. We’ve never had much of note, but with a bounty this great, we
should keep track of it.”

“Mara
picked up well. We’re using a system of pictures and tick marks since she
cannot read.”

Calum
frowned. Most of his clansmen were illiterate—another thing he wanted to
address, especially with the children. Lady Anne could help him in so many ways
but she wouldn’t be there long enough. She took his hand and led him into the musty
larder. With a dirt floor and solid stone walls, it had always reminded him of
a cave.

She
held the candle to the ledger. “See, she’ll keep track of the inventory here.”

“Och,
ye have been busy.”

“And
that’s not all. Mara told me how unbalanced the work is, and we came up with a
schedule to even out the duties.” She studied what looked like a line of little
porridge bowls on the ledger. “We thought it would be best if you could
announce it and show your support.”

He
rubbed his chin. “I do ask a lot of her, but I named her matron of the keep.
The women should be following her lead without question.”

“
Should be
, but the friar tells me she
hasn’t been matron for long. A few words from you would be an enormous help.”

“Very
well, if you think it necessary, I’ll do it on the morrow.” His eyes drifted to
the swollen lips he’d kissed moments ago. He caressed her cheek. It took his every
ounce of strength to resist kissing her again. God help him.

Calum
led her back to the kitchen and again sat at the long table.

Anne
delicately chewed on a bite of oatcake. Calum’s hand grew a mind of its own and
slid over the top of hers. “I’m thankful for yer help.”

She
looked at his huge hand covering her smaller one, but showed no sign of
disapproval. “I was accustomed to running my family’s estate. I need something
to occupy my time. Idleness does not suit me.”

Calum
stroked the back her hand with his fingertips. “Helping Mara is a great
service. What else do ye like to do?”

“At
Titchfield House we had little time for amusement, but I like falconry and
picnics.”

“Falconry?
A keen sport of skill. Did ye train your own falcons?”

“An
earl’s daughter?” She sucked in her cheeks like an old biddy and shook her
head. “My father would never allow his daughters to partake in such common
work—that was for George, a servant employed solely for the purpose. Before my
father’s death, I spent many a summer’s afternoon following old Master George.”
Her eyes lit up. “He was a Scot. He’s the one who taught me a bit of Gaelic.”

“Ah.
That explains it.”

“I’m
not fluent, though.”

He
drummed his fingers. “Do ye think ye can do it?”

“Train
a falcon?”

Calum
nodded.

“Perhaps.
If I found a fledgling I might have success, but I’d never be able to tame a
fully grown raptor. They’re much too large.”

“A
fledgling, aye? What, do ye take it from a nest?”

“Yes—about
this time of year.”

“We
might be able to arrange that. What about a golden eagle—would ye be able to
work with a larger bird?”

Anne
sat up with wide eyes. “An eagle? They’re among the best specimens for falconry—if
you can handle one. My father used a golden eagle. They can fly higher and
faster than hawks. Father often caught large prey such as geese.”

“Aye?”
Calum loved the way her dimples darted into her cheeks when something caught
her interest. “We have a great many golden eagles nesting on the north of the island.
And as ye said, now’s the season for fledglings.” Calum gave her hand a light
squeeze. He’d like to hold her dainty hand through the entire night, but he
forced himself to let go. “Picnics are aplenty, too. If the weather is fine, we
could ride up there on the morrow.”

“’Twould
be lovely.” Anne’s hand covered her lips. “Mayhap we should have a chaperone.”

An
intense urge spread beneath Calum’s sporran and he shifted his seat. A
chaperone was the last thing on his mind. Heat still radiated where her unbound
breasts had pressed against his chest. If only he could reach across the table
and pull her onto his lap. Oh, to feel her round buttocks grind atop his cock
while he suckled her.

Christ
.
Calum shoved the heel of his hand against his forehead. Had he lost his mind?

If
he could rewind time and find a way to void her marriage, he’d not hesitate to
do it. Would she want him if she were not wed?
No highborn English lass will want the likes of Calum MacLeod. Why must
me mind continue to dwell on it?

Anne
finished her oatcake and pointed at his. “Are you not hungry?”

“What?”
He hadn’t touched it. “Would ye like it?”

“I’d
best not, but thank you.”

Calum
shoved the whole dry cake in his mouth, chewed a few times and swallowed. “’Tis
time to retire, milady.”

Anne
nodded. Calum rose and offered his elbow. “I shall see you to yer chamber.”

“Thank
you, my lord.”

“My
lord?”

“You
are
a laird.”

“Aye,
but ye are a higher born lady. Calum will do.”

“Very
well. Thank you, Calum.”

Och, why did me name have to sound
so…so intoxicating when she spoke it?
When they reached her
door, Calum rested his hand on the latch. “Is there anything else ye will be
needing, milady?”

“No.”
Anne’s eyes trailed down the length of his body. “But I would prefer it if you
would find another chamber for me. I cannot continue to displace you.”

Calum
looked around the curved corridor and pointed to the next door. “That chamber
is in need of refurbishment. I haven’t given it much thought, but ’tis intended
for the lady of the keep. Mayhap I’ll have the carpenters determine how much
work is needed.”

“Queen’s
knees, I don’t want to create more work for you. E-especially when I will soon
be gone.”

Calum
leaned against the door jamb, wanting to prolong the moment. “We-ell make up
yer mind, milady.”

Her
bow-shaped lips formed a darling pout. “You’ll not reconsider moving me, will
you?”

An
errant finger reached out and brushed her silken cheek. “Nay.” Forcing his
voice to take on an unhurried lilt, he said, “Ye are me guest. And besides, I
dunna want to move all those trunks again.”

“You
can be a stubborn laird, Calum.”

“I
suppose ’tis me right as clan chief.”

Lady
Anne rose up on her tiptoes and lightly kissed him on the cheek. Calum’s
insides flipped. He grasped her shoulder and focused on her succulent lips. The
inebriating scent of her inflamed the burning deep in his gut.

Her
tongue slipped out and moistened her lips as her lashes lowered. Her hot breath
quickened against his mouth. “Though I know I should not, I like kissing you,
Calum.”

Air
rushed from his lungs when she spoke his name. His heart thundered against his
chest. “Kissing could be no sin.”

She
narrowed the gap to a hair’s breadth from touching him. “But it can when your
body aches for more.” Her breathy voice could charm the dead.

Calum
covered her mouth and pulled her into him. Sweet as honey, she welcomed him.
Groaning, Anne molded to his body while her hips gently rocked. Calum’s breath
ragged, the pleasure from her friction nearly unmanned him. It took every bit
of control not to follow her into
his
chamber and throw her down on
his
bed. God, he wanted her.

Anne
cupped his head with both hands and kissed him softly. “I thank you for your
gallant rescue,” she whispered, her voice faint, not half as assured as her
actions. She took a feeble step away. “Sleep well, my lord.”

Closing
the door, she left him standing alone, holding a candle with a wicked ache
under his kilt. Her lock clicked. Calum groaned and slid down the stone wall. A
month with Lady Anne in the keep would send him into complete lunacy.

Before
breaking her fast, Anne opened her trunk, pulled out her sewing basket and
fished for a piece of linen. Her escape attempt thwarted, she mulled over
whether to try again. Calum had now reassured her safety—and never in her life
did she think kissing would be that enjoyable. Heaven help her.

Why
should she risk her life to flee back to England and Grandfather Wharton? What
lay in England for her? The Countess of Southampton, her mother, had ignored
her pleas to refuse the baron’s proposal.

…This is a man of great esteem who
will provide for you…Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find worthy
peers for five daughters? No, Anne, this is an alliance that will bring riches
to the family. It is your responsibility to honor your uncle’s proxy agreement…

Anne
shuddered.
Sharing a bed with a gouty,
wrinkled old man? Curses. Why should I be anxious to join him?

She
held up her assortment of thread. A bright yellow strand peeked over the top.
She glanced back at the tapestry on the wall. Would Calum like a kerchief with
the MacLeod of Raasay crest? She rolled her eyes and admonished herself for
thinking of him yet again.

Her
wayward hand snatched the yellow thread. She sat in a chair beside the fire and
started in on the kerchief. Whether she would give it to Calum or not was yet
to be decided. She’d probably be united with Lord Wharton by the time she
finished it. Calum MacLeod would then be but a memory along with his late night
kisses. She pushed a round hoop over the linen and threaded a bone needle. It
didn’t take long to outline a perfect circle with even stitches.

Anne
held it up to the light. If she kept it for herself, the kerchief would always
remind her of this time. Never again would she be captured by pirates and held
in their keep while they awaited her ransom. Anne heaved a heavy sigh.

She
touched her fingers to her lips, savoring the memory of Calum’s kiss. Such a
ruggedly handsome man, but ever so gentle and affectionate. When he ran his
hands down her back, her insides had turned to mush. Oh, how she wished she
didn’t have to resist him, but she mustn’t shirk her duty.

Plunging
her needle in for another stitch, she bit her lower lip. A scuffle outside the
door stopped her.

Mara’s
muffled voice carried through the timbers. “Calum MacLeod, now just what are ye
doing sleeping out here in the passageway?”

“I
had a mind to guard her ladyship with Norman so deep in his cups last eve.”

Anne
set down her sewing and tiptoed to the door.

“Ye
slept out here just because Norman barked at her before supper?”

“Nay,
I caught him trying to force himself on her after ye sent Bran to fetch me.”

“Bloody
bastard.”

“That’s
me brother you’re referring to.”

“I
don’t care if he’s the brother of Saint Francis, he’s a bastard. What are ye
going to do about him?”

“I’ll
have the carpenters mend the floorboards in the next room for starters. She’s
my responsibility. I’ll be the one watching out for her.”

“Aye?
What else? ’Tis just a matter of time and Norman will cross the line—if not
with her, with one of our own lassies.”

“He
already has if ye ask me. I’ll have him work on
The Golden Sun
in my stead. That’ll occupy him for a time.”

After
a moment of silence Anne placed her hand on the latch and pressed her ear to
the door.

“She’s
no’ like the others is she?” Mara said.

“Whatever
are ye on about, woman?”

“Lady
Anne. Ye like her.”

“Ye
mean the
Baroness
of Wharton? I
cannot afford to like her.”

Anne
gasped at his use of her formal name. No one had called her “baroness” since
she’d arrived on Raasay. She hated how the sound curled off his tongue.

“Her
title doesna matter. Ye are in love with her.”

“Silence,
woman,” Calum bellowed. Anne could scarcely breathe. Was there any truth to
Mara’s words? No. Calum shushed Mara with such ferocity in his tone that Anne
could hardly believe him as the same man who’d kissed her so tenderly the night
before.

Anne
took a step back and released her hand from the latch. It clicked. Complete
silence swelled from the passageway, and Anne froze as if she were a child
caught pinching a sugared date.

“Milady?”
Mara’s voice resounded through the door.

“A…a
moment.” Anne’s voice came out in a much higher pitch than she would have
liked.

She
took a few deep breaths and opened the door, effecting her most noble, passive
expression. Calum and Mara stood shoulder to shoulder with wide eyes, looking as
if
they
were the culprits who’d
pinched the sugared dates.

She
forced a pleasant smile and lifted her chin. “Is it time to break our fast?”

“Aye,”
Mara said, reaching for Anne’s arm.

Calum
bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I must cleanse the sleep from me eyes before heading
to the hall.”

Mara
waited for Calum to take his leave and then squeezed Anne’s hand. “Ye heard us,
did ye not?”

Anne
shrugged. “And what of it?”

“What
are yer feelings for the laird?”

“He
said it himself. I am a married baroness. I cannot have feelings for his
lordship.”

Mara
leaned in and waggled her eyebrows. “Aye, but ye do.”

Anne
hoped Mara would soon forget this nonsense. Things were difficult enough,
stealing kisses from Calum in the shadows without Mara meddling.

They
walked to the great hall where Mara served up two bowls of porridge and led
Anne to the far end, away from the others.

Anne
studied the young matron. She seemed happy, content to live out her life in the
keep, married to John. “You are so fortunate.”

Mara
looked up with a spoon in her mouth. “Why do ye say that?”

“Being
married to the man you love.”

“Aye.”
A satisfied smile crossed her face. “I couldna imagine being married to anyone
else.” She contemplated that for a minute, staring at something, or nothing in
the distance. Mara focused her gaze upon Anne and shook her spoon. “But dunna take
me wrong, he can be a stubborn as an ox.”

“Stubbornness
seems to be a common trait among Scotsmen.”

Mara
laughed and scooped another spoon of porridge. “Aye, ye are observant.”

***

By
late morning, Anne had seen nothing further of Calum and opted to take a walk.
Daybreak’s fog still shrouded the castle grounds with a drizzle that cast a
slippery dampness over everything. Anne pulled her cloak closed and raised the
hood.

Outside
the main door of the great hall, the enormous gates to the shore propped open. With
people bustling around her, she stopped at the head of the trail that led to
the beach and looked out over the Sound of Raasay. Blurred by the mist, the
Sea Dragon
moored in the bay alongside
the
Flying Swan
—she’d been told the
name had been changed to
The Golden Sun
.
Anne pressed her fingers against her temples. That ship stood as a reminder of
Calum’s privateering activities.

She
did not want to contemplate all the reasons why she should abhor the ship and
turned to observe the day’s activities in the courtyard. People, most too thin,
scurried about with their daily work. Hammers cracked in the workshop. The
clang from the blacksmith rang out above the stir. Two men laden with a load of
lumber passed on their way to the beach. “Good morn, milady.”

She
bid them good morning and noted the drizzle hadn’t affected them at all. They
worked in their linen shirts and kilts just as if it were a summer’s day.

Anne
made her way across the courtyard and around the back of the tower. She stopped
at the sound of swords clashing.

“Is
that all ye’ve got, Ian?” Calum’s voice echoed between the bailey walls. “Ye’ll
no’ last against an English army if ye tire so easily.”

“Nay,
m’laird, I was just afeared I’d hurt ye.”

“Come
again and this time, fight like a man.”

Anne
peered around the corner. The MacLeod guard was sparring with Calum in the
middle, wielding his massive claymore against a burly man. Not only Calum, but
all the men were shirtless, their red and black kilts low around their hips.

Every
muscle in Calum’s back rippled as he brandished his weapon with deadly
precision. His arms flexed and strained when his opponent, Ian, locked swords.
Calum lunged against the strain, his calf muscles swelled as he pushed into his
attacker.

Circling,
Calum shoved Ian away and swung his sword in an arc with a victorious grin.
“Better, but come again. Use yer heart this time.”

Calum
crouched with legs spread wide, ready for another bout. His chest heaved and the
tang of male sweat hung in the air, not entirely unpleasant—just different. His
skin had a light tawny glow as if he practiced shirtless often, and his
abdominal muscles rolled in concert with the massive claymore swinging in his
hands.

Anne
could not pull her gaze away from the magnificent masculine form that sparred
with potent strength. Calum whipped around and his kilt flicked up, showing
Anne a peek of alabaster thigh. Tilting her head, she strained to see more.

When
Ian again broke away, Calum glanced her way. Anne stepped behind the corner and
fanned her face. She turned to leave, but his deep voice spoke softly behind
her. “Lady Anne.”

Still
heaving, his chest glistened with sweat—and he grinned at her. His clean shaven
face left his bare chin looking even bolder than before—smooth and ever so
kissable. Anne averted her eyes. She would not ogle the bulging muscles across
his stomach. “Yes, my lord?” She glanced back at him.

He
looked toward the drizzly sky. “I’m afraid the weather has no’ complied with
our plans to picnic.”

She
watched a bead of sweat trickle down the center of his chest, all the way until
it disappeared under his kilt. Her heart stuttered. He hadn’t forgotten.
“Perhaps the weather will improve on the morrow.”

“I’ve
been thinking about it all morning and I believe I know the perfect spot to
find your fledgling.”

Training
a fledgling golden eagle would certainly help her mind focus on things far less
disturbing than the laird’s well-muscled chest. “I shall look forward to it,
then.”

He
grinned, his blue eyes dancing, and her heart squeezed tight. With a quick bow,
he strode back to his men. Anne clutched her cloak tighter, as if she could
hide the heavy tingling in her breasts. She headed to the gardens, praying for the
mist to cool the fire in her cheeks.

***

Days
later, Anne held up her work to study it in the light. She’d finished sewing
the circular belt of the crest and now used different shades of gold and yellow
to bring out the brilliance of the sun.

The
hammering in the adjoining room stopped, and Mara’s voice carried through the
walls. “Ye’ve done fine work on the bed. The laird will be very comfortable
indeed.”

The
bed was finished? When would Calum start occupying it? She looked at the adjoining
door. Truly, she’d best keep it locked, given her inability to control her impossible
urges.

The
door opened, and Anne jolted in her seat. Mara stepped in, smiling as always.
“I thought I’d find ye here, milady.”

Anne
covered the stitching of the sun with her hand. “I thought I’d spend some time
perfecting my needlepoint.”

“’Tis
a worthy pastime.” Mara walked in and sat opposite her. “What are ye working
on?”

Anne
fidgeted with the silk thread. “Just trying some new colors I purchased in
Portsmouth.”

Mara
leaned forward. “Well, give me a look.”

Anne
moved her hand and scrunched her nose. “The tapestry is the only picture in the
room.”

“Ooo.
’Tis beautiful.” Mara sat back and chuckled. “But I dunna think the baron will
admire it.”

“No.
I daresay he’ll burn it and chastise me firmly.”

“Are
ye going to give it to
him
, then?”

“The
baron?”

“Nay,
silly. Calum.”

From
the fire beneath her cheeks, Anne knew she was blushing—radiantly. Mara had the
most maddening way of pulling secrets from her—the few she had. “If you must
know, I thought I’d give it to him to remember the woman he captured and held
hostage
.”

“It
doesna sound so romantic when ye put it like that.”

“Good.
’Twas not meant to be romantic.”
Well,
mayhap a little romantic
. Anne looked at the kerchief. She had used
painstakingly tiny stitches to achieve the desired texture. “Besides, I needed
something to keep my hands busy.”