The MacLeod Pirate

by Lee, Caroline

  “I’m a MacLeod,” he finished weakly.

  She hummed and nodded, one hand holding up her gown at the shoulder. “’Twould explain yer claim that the pearl had been in yer family, I suppose.”

  It was his turn to blink in confusion and drop his hand instinctively to the pouch at his belt. “The pearl?”

  Her chin jutted toward him in that adorable way he was coming to recognize as her being mulish. Or combative.

  He liked it, and despite the circumstances, felt a smile tugging at his lips.

  “Ye claimed the pearl belonged to yer family, but I ken it belongs to mine. It’s been on Lewes all these years, has it no’? ’Twas the reason I agreed to this farce of a betroth—”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she dropped her gaze as she bit off whatever she had been saying.

  Farce of a betrothal?

  Was it possible she felt the same exact way about this contract?

  She was obviously trying to change the subject when she peeked up at him again. “Do ye… Do ye ken my betrothed? Rory, son of the laird?”

  He was tempted to reply with a witticism about his own handsomeness or prowess with the ladies, but the words stuck in his throat. The instinct to impress her warred with the need to end the contract and ensure neither would have to be married.

  So, he shrugged weakly. “The island isnae that large.”

  She nodded, inferring what he wanted her to, that he knew her betrothed but not well.

  By His Blood, this was a complication he’d never considered when he’d crossed swords with her.

  “Come,” he said gruffly, blowing out a breath. “Let us return.”

  If the birlinn hadn’t been completely beached yet, mayhap they could get a few miles closer to Sinclair lands. As much as he hated the idea of saying goodbye to her, it would be for the best to send her back home.

  But would she stay there? Or would her father put her on another ship and send her back to Lewes? Were there other pirates who would attack her?

  Rory’s hands curled into fists as his blood began to heat, thinking of her in danger once more.

  She was his betrothed, by St. Ninian, and he’d kill any man who thought to harm her.

  Nay, nay, he reminded himself. She’d kill any man who thought to harm her.

  The thought forced his lips to curve wryly, and he blew out another breath, trying to calm his anger.

  When he glanced her way, she was struggling to tie up her laces under her arm. He stepped up beside her, brushed her hands out of the way, and made short work of helping her lace her gown.

  It was a shame to watch all that glorious, golden skin disappear under the green silk, but she was his, and he’d not allow any other man—not even his friends and crew—to ogle her.

  When he finished, she slanted him a glance under her lashes that made his cock—which had been doused in icy reality upon learning her name—jump once more.

  “Thank ye,” she whispered huskily.

  He shrugged. “Well, I prefer to unlace women, but I suppose—”

  Clot-heid! He shook his head. Ye’re no’ supposed to brag of yer exploits to yer betrothed!

  But she didn’t know she was his betrothed, did she? Bah! This was going to be difficult to navigate.

  She was the one who bent to retrieve the leather bag with the box inside and began to move around the outcropping of rock toward where they’d left the boat. When she peeked back over her shoulder at him, Rory jumped into motion.

  He was surprised how far they’d walked. But remembering her taking his hand and leading him away from his crew only a short time ago, he also recalled enjoying the way she took command. And truthfully, he’d been admiring the way the gown swung about her backside and legs.

  Now, though, he caught up with her easily, and they walked in silence for a few moments before he cleared his throat. “We’ve been heading toward Durness. I was going to leave ye there, thinking ye could make it home from there. But if ye’d like…” When had he gotten so noble? “We’ll take ye to Reay, among yer kinsmen.”

  She slanted a glance his way. “Thank ye,” she said quietly, her grip white-knuckled on the bag. “I’ll…” She shook her head and blew out a breath, as if confused. “I suppose I’ll return home and tell my father of William’s betrayal. And then…” She shrugged. “I intended to head to Lewes, if only to retrieve that pearl ye hold.” She halted and whirled on him suddenly. “I donae suppose—Nay, never mind.”

  He stopped as well, brows raised. “What?”

  “I cannae imagine ye have much access to the MacLeod’s keep on Lewes and the jewels I seek would likely be held by the family.”

  Jewels? Rory was having trouble following what she meant. “Ye and yer sisters…ye’re named for jewels, aye?”

  Nodding, she held the bag against her chest. “Agata and Saffy are married to powerful lairds”—she said this with a glare, as if it would influence him—“and Pearl is happy living with her husband in the village outside my father’s keep.”

  Pearl. Pearl. Rory’s eyes widened as he reached into his pouch for the pearl he’d always carried, as he nodded to the bag in her arms. “Agate. Sapphire.” He lifted his stone, rolling it across his knuckles. “Pearl.”

  Taking a deep breath, she nodded again. “They are the Sinclair jewels, Banner. Stolen generations ago from my family. My sisters and I…we’ve been working together to find them. When Da betrothed me to the MacLeod lad, I thought ’twould be my opportunity to find the remaining two. But then…”

  “But then ye were attacked by pirates,” Rory finished thoughtfully, staring at the bag she held and trying to ignore the “lad” description.

  “Aye, and it turned out one held my family’s jewel.”

  Her family’s jewel? He almost scoffed aloud. Surely, she realized this cold pearl in his hand wasn’t the jewel her father loved most in the world? Not when he had Citrine for a daughter and presumably three others just as valuable?

  She was the treasure.

  But then she tossed her head, and the hair she hadn’t seemed able to control flopped back over her shoulder. “Look, I’ll show you.”

  To his surprise, she dropped to her knees there in the sand and tugged the box from the bag. Smoothing out the leather, she placed the bag on the ground, then reverently opened the box.

  She pushed the pouches containing the jewels out of the way and reached for the material underneath. As Rory crouched beside her, he was surprised to see her unfold a tapestry, old and faded. Draping it over the bag to keep it out of the sand, she smoothed her palm over the ancient fibers.

  “See?” she whispered, pointing to the circle in the center. “This is the Sinclair brooch, the symbol of my family’s power.” The circle was green with four circles within it. “The brooch is made of malachite.” She pointed to the circles in turn. “Agate, sapphire, pearl, and citrine.”

  Rory cocked his head as he studied the rendering before him. The agate and sapphire in the box certainly looked as if they matched the stones portrayed in the tapestry.

  Reaching slowly, he held the pearl above the picture…then placed it gently on the place of the pearl in the tapestry.

  The image was slightly larger, but it was no doubt the pearl he’d always carried had once belonged on a brooch. Likely this one.

  He lifted his gaze to meet hers and saw no hostility there. Just certainty. She was certain he would see the truth in her claim…and he had.

  “Why would a pearl from the Sinclair brooch be on Lewes with the MacLeods?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. But they’ve been split up.” She pointed to the thick design encircling the brooch in the tapestry. “Ye see here? It says ‘Mackenzie’, which was convenient, because Agata was on her way to marry the laird’s regent. Once there, she found the agate and evidence another stone was with the Sutherlands—”

  “Wait,” he interrupted. “What evidence?”

  “How much time do ye have?”

  It was
said in such a wry tone, Rory didn’t bother to hide the chuckle which escaped his lips. To prove he was interested, he moved his leg and plopped to his arse beside her. The tall cliffs rose on one side, and the crashing ocean on the other made it necessary to raise their voices. But when he glanced down the beach toward his men, he could see Bull had them well organized.

  Rory could afford to sit here with his betrothed a while longer.

  And Citrine did the same, shifting so her knees were in front of her and her bare feet planted in the sand. As she wrapped her arms around her knees, her skirt pulled up, and he could see her toes digging into the granules.

  As he was still barefoot, too, he did the same, and as always, the sensation soothed him.

  “Agata is a painter, ye see.” Citrine took a deep breath, held it, then released it. “When she saw the Mackenzies’ wooden map, she jumped at the chance to examine it. I donae ken the entire story, but it had something to do with a saying Jaimie—that’s her new husband—Jaimie’s aunt used.” She shrugged. “It led her and Jaimie—and her stepson, wee Callan—to discover the sapphire within the map, under the Sutherland holding.”

  A jewel in a map? Rory whistled softly. “Sounds like an adventure.”

  She nodded, her attention on the tapestry. One long finger traced the image of the deep, blue sapphire, and Rory was struck by the realization this woman likely would never sit quietly and embroider while her husband went a-pirating.

  He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  “I wanted to go to the Sutherlands. Our youngest sister, wee Pearl, was engaged to the Sutherland Devil, ye ken,” she said quietly, her attention still on the tapestry. “Years ago, he tried to kill the man who is now her husband.”

  “Really?”

  She glanced up at him and gave a quick jerk of her chin. “Merrick Sutherland is a hard man who administers swift justice, but…” She shrugged, her lips twitching as she looked back down at the tapestry. “I like him. Saffy does, too. I couldnae leave home because—well, I couldnae leave our father. Saffy is nae a warrior, but she accepted the mission to infiltrate the Sutherland holding and did it as a lad.”

  The mission to infiltrate the holding…

  She sounded like one of his men, and the comparison made him smile. “She was dressed as a lad, ye mean?”

  “She became the Sutherland’s squire, and together they defeated a threat to his rule. They also found my clan’s sapphire, behind a stone in the dungeon. A stone with the MacLeod of Lewes’ crest carved into it.”

  Rory rested his weight on a palm and frowned slightly as he considered the implications.

  “’Tis why ye accepted this farce of a betrothal, aye? To follow the trail of clues to Lewes?”

  “Aye! There’d be no other reason to chain myself to a lad so far from home.”

  A lad? There was that assumption again.

  He cocked his head. “Rory MacLeod might be the youngest of his father’s children, but he’s nae a lad.” Before she could accuse him of knowing the man, he latched onto her other words. “And plenty of women accept husbands who live far from their homes.”

  “They’re no’ me!” She was angry, he could tell. But despite her emotions, she was careful when she lifted the tapestry and folded it to place back in the box. “My clan—my father—needs me. He’s in danger, and I wouldnae have left him had it not been vital to our future!”

  That’s right…he squinted over her shoulder, trying to remember. “Is there no’ a legend tying the brooch to yer clan? My grandmother’s stories—”

  He didn’t complete the thought, knowing it might identify him as being of the laird’s blood. But she didn’t seem to notice. She was carefully placing the tapestry away, having moved the pearl out of the way.

  “Aye. ’Tis said that the Sinclair’s power rests in the brooch. Without it, we are doomed to die and fade into obscurity. Already two of my sisters have accepted names and homes away from the Sinclairs. My sister Pearl is married to my father’s bodyguard, the Sinclair Hound. At least she’s home with him.”

  She took a deep breath and looked up, meeting Rory’s gaze with a fierceness in her own. “I’m sorry to betray yer kinsman, Banner, but I’ll no’ marry a MacLeod and rot away on Lewes. I plan on finding the rest of the jewels and returning them to the Sinclairs. Then I’ll stand beside my father and ensure our clan does no’ fall to stupid superstition.”

  The pride and certainty in her voice was enough to make him smile. Enough to make him want to cheer her on.

  But was it enough to give her his pearl?

  He hummed slightly as he reached for it, rolling it across his knuckles, then dropping it to land heavy and familiar in his palm. He remembered finding it. He remembered how he’d always wondered what it meant and why it didn’t feel completely his.

  “How did ye come to own that?” she asked quietly.

  Could he tell her without revealing his identity? If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he didn’t want to lie again to this woman. This woman who was his betrothed and had no intention of honoring the contract with her name on it.

  “I…found it,” he began hesitantly. “When I was a lad in the MacLeod keep. I was playing—well, it matters no’. ’Twas hidden in a carved design in a bed.”

  “A bed?” Her brows went up.

  “It was…in the lady’s chambers.”

  There. Mayhap she’d wonder why a lad who grew up to be a pirate might be wandering through the chambers of the laird’s wife, but it could be explained if he were the son of a servant.

  She apparently wasn’t thinking of it, though. Instead, she hummed as she placed the pouches with the agate and sapphire back into the box.

  “Just like the Mackenzie map. She must’ve commissioned someone to carve a compartment,” Citrine murmured.

  “She?” Unconsciously, Rory rolled the flat-sided pearl across his knuckles and back again.

  Taking a deep breath, Citrine closed the box, slid it into the pouch, and met his eyes.

  “Three generations ago, four Campbell sisters married Highland lairds. Sutherland, Mackenzie, Sinclair, and…” The fingers of her other hand shook just briefly before she touched her fingertips to his shin. “MacLeod.”

  Anything he might’ve said had been completely forgotten at the sensation of her touch. He fought the urge to shudder as warmth spread up his leg to his groin.

  “We donae ken why they chose to split up the brooch, but my theory is the one who married my great-grandda—his second wife—sent the stones to her sisters.”

  The stones. Rory swallowed. “Ye’ve found two of the four now?”

  “Nay.” As she shook her head, the hand which had touched him moved toward the pearl in his hand. Instead of taking it, however, she closed his fingers around it. “Three of the four. I just pray there wasn’t a fifth Campbell sister holding the last jewel.”

  “The citrine,” he whispered.

  Her eyes flashed with golden fire when she nodded in determination. “I will find it, Banner.”

  The pearl was growing heavier in his hand, so Rory tucked it back in its pouch. He wasn’t ready to part with it yet.

  If he gave it to her, he’d have no excuse to continue by her side, would he?

  His mind made up, he rolled to his feet, hearing her gasp of surprise.

  Standing there, toes digging into the sand and rocks, dressed in only his black plaid, he knew he wanted to continue with her. It was his pearl, was it not? His family was involved in her quest, her mission.

  And after all, she was his betrothed, even if she didn’t realize it.

  He held his hand out to her, and without hesitation, she placed hers in it. When he pulled her to her feet, he made sure not to tug too hard. She rose beside him as if she belonged there and met his gaze as an equal.

  “I apologize, Citrine Sinclair, for terrorizing ye so thoroughly. I took ye off yer ship and away from yer mission, thinking only of my own desires.”


  She didn’t acknowledge his apology, but neither did she drop his hand. “And now?” she asked softly.

  This decision had the potential to change not just his career as the Black Banner and the livelihoods of his men…but his future marriage.

  He hesitated not a bit.

  “I am no’ ready to give ye the pearl, Citrine, but I hope ye’ll allow me to accompany ye on yer quest. My men and I will ensure ye make it home safely.”

  Her eyes had gone wide with surprise. “Ye are honorable.”

  “Aye,” he said with a smile. “And I’ll even return yer sword.”

  She gave an unexpected snort. “Return my sword, find me a pair of boots, trews, and a tunic, and I’ll gladly accept yer help!”

  They were still holding hands when she scooped up the bag and they began to walk down the beach toward his men. And to Rory…it felt right.

  Mayhap being betrothed wouldn’t be so bad if this firebrand was to be his wife?

  Chapter Nine

  Camping on the beach with pirates was terrifying.

  And exhilarating.

  Citrine couldn’t recall laughing as much as she did that evening, and it was all thanks to the man by her side. The Black Banner—whatever his real name—was kind and went out of his way to make her laugh.

  She had to assume it was because he found out who she really was and realized kidnapping the daughter of a Highland chief wasn’t a good idea. He wanted to avoid her father’s vengeance.

  As if she ever told her father what happened….

  Earlier, she’d been willing to bed this man like a common whore…and even now she had a few hours to think on it, she couldn’t regret her decision. Despite the circumstances of their meeting, he made her feel…well, good.

  “Well, lads,” he called as they returned to the camp on the beach, “Lady Sinclair kens we’re MacLeods, so dig out yer plaids afore some curious passerby decides to report the Black Banner’s crew to the MacKay!”

  To Citrine’s surprise, that announcement was met with cheers and laughter and more than a few men who dropped their trews or black kilts then and there. Determined not to show her discomfort, she just rolled her eyes toward the cliffs and kept them there until the teasing stopped.