Blowing out a frustrated breath, she sank back to her heels. “Ye ken what I mean, Da.” Suddenly tired, she felt the fight drain from her. “Ye really are going to do this?” She peeked up at him.
“Donae play meek with me, lass. Ye’ve kenned about this plan for a while. I only postponed it until I was well and could ensure ye would leave. Now I ken what to look for—and aye, I swear, I’ll watch for poison. I can do that without ye—ye will fulfill the terms of the contract.”
Thinking about the marriage contract—signed by Da and the MacLeod—she frowned.
“Och, Citrine.”
Da clucked his tongue and, after glancing left and right to ensure they were still alone, pulled her into a hug. She didn’t want to be comforted—she wanted to maintain her anger, to slowly stoke the flames until they burned bright—but feeling her father’s arms around her was too much. She hugged him back, burrowing her face in his shoulder.
“Ye’re a good daughter. I raised ye to understand honor and sacrifice, like any good warrior. I ken ye’ll do what’s right for the Sinclair clan.”
Blessed Virgin, why did he have to make it sound so final?
Setting her back, he placed his hands on her shoulders and nodded firmly. “Think of it this way, lass: ’Twill be a challenge. One ye’ve never met before. If yer marriage is anything like mine with yer mother, ’twill be the greatest adventure ye ever have.”
Greatest adventure? She stopped herself from snorting in derision. Unlikely. Marriage to a man who would expect her to wear dresses and embroider and do whatever the hell it was ladies did all day…?
It did not sound like an adventure, but… “A challenge,” she mumbled, staring at Da’s beard.
“Aye, a challenge. Ye’ll do fine, Citrine.”
Slowly, she shifted her gaze to the distant mountain, knowing if she met his eyes, he’d see the beginnings of her plan there.
A challenge, eh?
Aye, she would go to the MacLeod holding on Lewes. She would meet this pock-faced lad her father had betrothed her to.
She would find the missing jewel the MacLeods had been hiding all these years.
And then she’d come back home.
Alone.
Because her place was here, at her father’s side. For the future of the Sinclairs.
Chapter Two
“One of brown, and one of white,
And one of the deepest blue!
One glows gold in the fire’s light,
Jewels in the hearthstone’s view!”
The little girl’s sweet voice rang pure in the old nursery song as she lined her wooden ships up along the edge of the cold hearth. Rory MacLeod, sprawled in one of the wooden chairs, felt his lips tug upward at the sound.
Wee Charlotte hadn’t inherited her mother’s flawless voice, but it was her enthusiasm which made him smile. That, and the fact that she was recreating the Battle of Largs with the miniature boats Rory himself used to play with.
“Uncle Rory, what jewels do ye think the song means?”
Shifting slightly, he threw one leg over the chair’s arm and hummed thoughtfully. His ever-present, not-quite-good-luck-charm passed from palm to palm as he considered the answer. The dull gleam of the large, oval pearl was comforting, as always.
Finally, he shrugged. “What do ye think it means, wee one?”
Charlotte lifted her chin, her red curls falling around her shoulders as she frowned at him. “I think ’tis gold. That’s what the song sings about, aye?”
It was her twin brother who objected. Scoffing, Tavish stabbed at imaginary foes in the long afternoon shadows. “The jewels are all different colors, clot-heid. That’s what the song is about!”
As Char prepared to throw one of the wooden toys at her brother’s back, Rory held up his hand for peace. “The song is likely a metaphor, lass. Saying that all the jewels and treasures and gold yer heart needs can be found with yer family.”
When his niece rolled her eyes, Rory managed not to snort, but just barely.
“Well, I ken that’s no’ true, Uncle!” Tav leapt effortlessly up to one of the benches, slashing with his wooden blade. “The real treasure is the goods ye take yerself! The Black Banner kens where all the treasure is!”
His sister scoffed, her attention once more on the ships preparing to battle. “An’ what would a pirate do with wool and grain? Or whatever the merchants are shipping?”
“Sell it, obviously!” Tav posed with his sword in the air and one bare foot up on the table, then lowered his voice. “He keeps the wool to dye black for his own menacing sail, and he sells the rest for his own profit!”
This time, Rory did smile. “Menacing, huh?”
“I learned a new word!”
His sister snorted. “Mother says ye should devote yerself to yer studies as hard as to yer training.”
“Why?” Tav shrugged. “I’ll no’ need reading or Latin when I’m the Black Banner!”
Char scrambled to her feet. “Ye cannae be the Black Banner! He already exists!”
When Rory dropped his booted feet to the ground, both siblings startled. “The Black Banner is a name, handed down from pirate to pirate for generations. Yer grandda kenned the Black Banner, and he wasnae even the original one.”
With wide eyes, Tav slid to the ground. “Is he a MacLeod?”
Rory winked, rolling the pearl between his palms. “The MacLeods have always been a seafaring people, lad. What do ye think?”
Char sidled over to press herself against his leg. “Do ye ken him, Uncle Rory?”
“If I told ye, aye, yer brother wouldnae stop pestering me, demanding an introduction.”
“Nay!” Tav cried, jamming his wooden sword into the belt holding up his wee tartan. “I mean, I wouldnae. Do ye? Do ye ken him?”
Charlotte tugged at Rory’s arm. “I wouldnae pester ye either, Uncle Rory, although I want to meet the Black Banner.”
“Why, poppet?” Rory tweaked his niece’s nose. “So ye can run away and become a pirate as well?”
“Nay,” she said seriously. “Tav’s going to be the Black Banner. I’m going to be somebody even greater.”
Leaning against Rory’s other leg, her brother scoffed. “Ye’re a lass. Ye’re going to grow up and get married and have bairns. That’s no’ greatness.”
Charlotte stuck her tongue out. “I donae have to do that. I’ll make our clan proud.”
“By getting married?”
“Enough!” Rory held his hands up between them. When he had their attention, he began to roll the pearl back and forth between his fingers. “Charlotte, ye can be as great as yer brother, I believe that. And Tav, there’s naught wrong with marrying for the benefit of the clan.”
“’Tis glad I am to hear it, little brother.”
The deep voice from the doorway had Rory standing, uncomfortable with the knowledge his oldest brother had heard his words. Tormund was not only already married, but had fathered half a dozen bairns already, and would one day be the MacLeod chief.
Rory was the youngest of four brothers and half as many sisters. His father was fond of telling him the “least useful of the lot.”
Knowing what was expected of him, even if it rankled, Rory nodded in respect. “Yer children and I were discussing responsibilities and their future.”
Tormund crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Rory with blue eyes that matched his own. “And ye were defending yerself to my son?”
Glancing down at Tav, who was staring up adoringly, Rory tried not to wince. He knew well what his brother was referring to and knew what it would mean to his future.
“I was explaining to Tavish that one day, if ye make a marriage alliance for Charlotte’s hand, she’ll be helping the clan.”
He met his brother’s eyes and wondered if Tormund would continue the taunting he’d been engaged in for the last month.
“Yes, she will be.”
Of course. Of course, he’d continue the taunting. Rory sighed.
> Tormund pointed a finger at Charlotte. “I’ve already made an alliance for yer sister, and she’s but ten summers. One day, ye’ll prove as useful as her…and yer uncle.”
The mocking laughter which burst from his lips made Rory snarl, but he tamped down the urge to pay his brother back in kind.
One day, Tormund would be his laird, and Rory would live on Lewes at his leisure. Or rather, his wife would.
Their other two brothers were both already married and living with their wives. One here on Lewes, and the other on the mainland in holdings their father had granted them. As the youngest and the wanderer of the siblings, Rory had always known he’d have no permanent home on Lewes…but once he was married, his wife would likely require it.
So, he put up with Tormund’s mocking, knowing he’d spend the rest of his life returning to this keep to visit his wife as necessary.
By His Wounds, but this situation rankled.
Tormund’s laughter ceased as Charlotte pressed against Rory’s side, and he dropped his hand to his niece’s shoulder. None of his brothers were gentlemen—and neither was he—but it was obvious Tormund’s children feared him.
“The two of ye deserve each other,” Tormund growled, his eyes narrowing. “Both only useful to the clan through yer marriage alliances.”
Tavish frowned, his hand dropping to his wooden blade. Before his father noticed, Rory drew attention with a mocking bow. “’Tis a good thing Father had one unmarried son when the Sinclair came offering one of his Jewels, aye? I live to be useful to the clan.”
His older brother dropped his fists to his hips. “’Tis the only way ye can be, what with ye gallivanting all over the Minch and the Isles, trading. Trade,” he spat like it was a curse. “A waste of a warrior’s skills.”
Dropping his other hand to Tav’s shoulder, Rory nodded. “Aye, ye’re likely correct, brother. Did ye have need of me for some reason?”
“Aye.” Tormund eyes narrowed as he glared at the three of them. “Father is meeting with Tosh’s da now about the mess the wee lad made of the kitchens. After he metes out punishment, he wants to see ye to discuss yer upcoming nuptials.”
Nuptials. The word caused a sour taste to rise in Rory’s throat, but he bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I live to serve.”
His oldest brother made a noise between a scoff and a curse before stalking out of the room.
The two bairns said nothing as Rory sank back into the chair with his elbows on his knees, gazing sightlessly at the pearl rolling between his fingers once more.
Nuptials. Marriage.
He’d never had an urge to tie himself to one woman, but if he had, ’twould be to a woman of his own choosing. Now he kenned how his sisters must’ve felt when Father announced their marriage contracts.
He spent his life at sea and loved it. It wasn’t so much the sailing which held his heart but the control. As the youngest of the MacLeods, he’d had so little control over his life growing up. But on the sea, in his birlinn…he was in command. His decisions dictated success or failure, his leadership meant his men lived or died.
And despite Father and Tormund’s attempts to take it from him, they’d not succeed.
“What did he mean, Uncle Rory?” Tav’s wee voice was accompanied by a frown.
Rory sighed. “Yer grandda has decided to align with the Sinclairs. They’re a large clan far to the east of the Highlands with many daughters. Their father offered one of his daughters to our chief, who decided I would marry her.”
Charlotte grunted as she poked him in the thigh. “So, ’tis no’ just lassies who must marry to form alliances for the clan?”
“Nay, Char.” He smiled sadly at her. “The difference is most warriors get a choice who they’re to marry. They choose to make alliances. ’Tis why yer father taunts me.”
The lass folded her arms and frowned fiercely, looking like her da. “When I’m grown, I’m going to be a warrior and choose who to marry and align with. Da willnae make me.”
Her twin snorted. “Uncle Rory is proof even warriors sometimes donae get a choice.”
He was right.
“But!” Tav pulled his sword from his belt with a flourish. “When I’m the Black Banner, I’ll make sure ye donae have to marry an ugly, old wart-head, Char!”
“Aye!” Charlotte grabbed one of the miniature ships, brandishing it like a weapon. “And I’ll make sure no money-hungry lass gets her hooks into ye either, Captain!”
Rory dropped his chin to his chest so they’d not see his smile. Get her hooks into ye? That sounded like something Tormund would say.
“If ye were a pirate, Uncle Rory, ye wouldnae need to do what Grandda says.” Tav’s savage frown spoke of the warrior he’d one day be. “Ye could run away and join the Black Banner’s fleet, and he’d no’ force ye to marry.”
It was something he’d considered, if he were being honest with himself.
Reaching out, Rory ruffled his favorite nephew’s hair. The twins were not the only MacLeod bairns running around the keep. They had older siblings and cousins. But they were Rory’s favorites, because of their fierce personalities. Whenever he returned to the keep—it was difficult to think of it as home—he made sure to search them out and give them little gifts or stories of his adventures.
Mostly embellished, of course.
“If I were a pirate, Tavish, I’d spend most of my days at sea, aye?”
“Aye!” The lad nodded.
“And I’d only return home occasionally, as I do now.”
Charlotte poked his thigh again. “Would ye bring yer lady wife with ye on yer adventures?”
“Do ye think she’d enjoy it?”
His niece frowned. “Nay. Most lassies arenae like me, ye ken. At least, ’tis what my nurse is always saying. I think most would prefer to stay in the keep and sew.”
Rory nodded solemnly. “Aye, I suspect ye’re right. So…” With a sigh, he planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself upright. “If I’m off adventuring most of my life and my lady wife is here with ye and yer family, perfecting her embroidery…then what does it matter? I’ll still be able to lead the life I love.”
Tav nodded again. “And now ye’ll have three reasons to come back to Lewes! Her, me, and Charlotte.”
With a smile, Rory gently brushed the hair from both of their foreheads. “Aye,” he said quietly. “But ye’ll still be my favorite reason to return here.”
“Ye’re secret’s safe with us, Uncle,” Charlotte said solemnly.
“And now…” Rory straightened his shoulders. “I’d better go see what yer grandda wants.”
He slipped the pearl into his sporran, but his niece grabbed his hand before he could pull away.
“If ye wanted, I could hold yer pearl for ye, Uncle Rory. I am a lady, ye ken, and ladies deserve jewels. ’Tis what Mother tells Father.”
Not even bothering to hide his smile, Rory tugged on one of her ears. “Ye’re only a lady when it suits ye, eh, lassie?” Before she could reply, he answered her question. “Nay, the pearl isnae yers. I take it with me on all my voyages, ye ken.”
Tav bounced on his heels. “’Tis a good-luck charm, then?”
Reluctantly, Rory shook his head. “No’…exactly.”
In fact, the pearl had never shown any luck one way or the other, but it had become a part of him that he was reluctant to leave behind. He’d found it many years before in a secret compartment in the headboard of his mother’s bed when he’d been playing where he wasn’t supposed to. He’d pressed a design—still wasn’t sure which one—and a wee door had opened, depositing the stone into his hand.
It was valuable, aye, but more so, it felt important somehow. Not to him, but mayhap to his clan. It was the one piece of MacLeod history he’d ever cared about, and he didn’t even know what it meant.
But it was his, and as the youngest of ten siblings, that was a rare and special thing to say. So, he offered his niece and nephew a smile.
“The pearl is mine.
I donae ken how I ken it, but I do. One day, it’ll lead me to the best treasure of all.”
“The treasure waiting at home for ye?” Charlotte breathed reverently.
His wife would one day wait for him here in this keep. Would she be a treasure?
But he couldn’t allow Char to doubt. “Aye,” he choked. “’Tis likely what it means.”
Soon, he’d be tied to this holding by something greater than bonds of birth and brotherhood.
Soon, he’d have a wife here, and eventually bairns to return to.
Soon…but no’ yet.
He had a few weeks before this Sinclair daughter was supposed to arrive, and he’d use them well. He’d round up Bull and the lads and they’d take to the seas one last time. Father couldn’t object, as long as he swore to return before his betrothed arrived.
His mind set, Rory ruffled the twins’ hair once more. “Ye two be good while I’m gone, aye?”
“Aye, Uncle Rory,” they chorused, then Tav piped up. “Bring us something good!”
Chuckling, Rory headed for the door. “I will if ye let yer sister win the next time ye swordfight.”
“He doesnae need to let me!” Charlotte screeched as Tav began to laugh, and Rory stepped into the hall.
He patted the pearl at the pouch on his belt and set off toward his father’s solar.
One last adventure. By all the saints, let it be a good one.
Chapter Three
“How about this blue dress?”
Citrine hummed distractedly, not looking up from the small box which held all the evidence they’d managed to gather. “Nay, ye keep it.”
Her youngest sister, Pearl, who was helping her pack for her journey to the MacLeod holding on Lewes, gave an unladylike snort. “The way Gregor’s been feeding me since he discovered I was pregnant, I willnae be able to fit into this dress ere long!”
Smiling, Citrine finally lifted her gaze and raised a brow at her sister. “Ye cannae be so far along as all that. When will my nephew be arriving?”
“Yer niece should be here in spring.”
“See?” Pointing to prove a point, Citrine smiled. “Ye’re no’ all that pregnant. Take the dress and enjoy it. ’Twill look nice with yer eyes.”
The MacLeod Pirate Page 2
