The MacLeod Pirate

by Lee, Caroline

  She was the one to grab his hand this time. “To tell us where the last stone is! Jewels in the hearthstone’s view! Do ye no’ see? She’s telling us where the citrine is!”

  “In the hearthstone’s view? Which hearthstone?”

  Citrine felt like bouncing, or spinning, or at the very least, allowing her joy and laughter to bubble out in excitement. “The only one that matters! The jewel’s hearthstone is in the Sinclair’s holding, and I ken exactly which hearth it must be!”

  He snaked his arm around her back, drawing her tight against him. His smile was bright when he looked down at her. “I think ye may be right, my wee firebrand.”

  She poked him in the chest but didn’t bother hiding her answering grin. “No’ so wee, Black Banner.”

  “Nor me.” When he thrust his pelvis forward and waggled his brows lewdly, she felt his hardness and knew he was excited as well, but mayhap for a different reason.

  Rolling her eyes at his crude joke, she nevertheless finally allowed her laughter free rein.

  For the first time, she had a direction. Now she had to return home. There was every likelihood the citrine—the last of the Sinclair jewels—was hidden in the hearth of the very room she and her sisters had grown up in. It had belonged to the lady of the keep up until a generation ago, and it would make sense that the long-ago Lady Sinclair had hidden the last jewel right there in her very chamber.

  Jewels in the hearthstone’s view.

  And now she had a plan to find the last of the missing jewels, present them to her father, and make a future for her people. A plan…and a partner.

  Unable to contain her excitement, she wrapped her arms around Banner’s neck and tugged him down to her lips. And when she kissed him, the crew erupted in cheers.

  Chapter Ten

  Rory hadn’t expected to be saying goodbye to his crew, but when they reached Reay—as honest merchants, of course—he realized something important.

  There was no way in heaven or hell he’d be saying goodbye to Citrine.

  She was his, and he’d promised to help her on this mission.

  Which meant he’d be accompanying her home.

  So, he put Bull in charge of the birlinn, told Bartholomew to scrounge up some honest shipping work for them for a fortnight or so, and not to stray far from Sinclair lands. Rory could send for them if needed, and meanwhile…

  Meanwhile, he would be with Citrine.

  The two of them, plus the rest of the crew, spent another night in Reay so they could leave early. She didn’t seem to mind the bawdy spirits around the campfire, and it had been her suggestion to stay on the beach with them.

  So she wouldn’t be recognized in town—that was her reasoning.

  Personally, Rory hoped it was because she liked sleeping in his arms as much as he liked having her there. But after that kiss she’d given him on the birlinn, the result of her joy when she’d figured out the last clue…well, Rory went to sleep with a tented kilt again that night.

  The next morning, she’d held his hand as he bid farewell to his men, and that sensation made him feel as if he could face anything.

  Using some of their stolen coin, he purchased two horses from an ostler and liked the way her eyes lit up at the prospect of a quick return. He’d always preferred sailing to riding, but he discovered that with her beside him, the day passed easily.

  Citrine was…

  She was the salty north wind. She was a sturdy deck beneath his feet and the sound of taut rigging in the breeze. She was the feel of a good sword in his hand and the taste of a good ale on his tongue. She was funny and free and the most interesting woman he’d ever met.

  How had he ever gotten so lucky when his father had signed that betrothal agreement? She was likely the only woman in the Highlands who could be this perfect for him.

  And she still didn’t know who he was.

  The thought weighed on him. His reasonings for not telling her his identity, after discovering hers, were wearing away. Aye, if they parted at the end of this adventure, if they broke their contract, then her knowing his identity could be dangerous.

  But as each hour passed in her company, Rory became more and more certain he wouldn’t be parting with her.

  Ever.

  In fact, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to be touching her right now. Each time he looked her way, each time the wind caught her unruly blonde hair, each time her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, each time she chewed on her lower lip in thought, Rory’s cock jumped.

  The two kisses they’d shared had only left him hungry for more, and as the afternoon wore on, he became determined to collect.

  Finally, she pulled up on her reins. “I recognize this.” She pointed to a crag in the distance. “The keep is beyond those cliffs. I accompanied father’s patrols this far out before.”

  He sent her a quick grin. “Why am I no’ surprised ye patrolled with the warriors?”

  Shrugging, she swung down from her horse and led the animal to a wee burn meandering through the rocks. “I wanted to understand the lay of the Sinclair land. I’ve also visited as many of the crofters as I could manage within a day’s journey.”

  Not for the first time, Rory recognized her competence. “Ye ken,” he began, leading his own animal to the water. “Ye’d make a fine laird someday.”

  The look she cut him was part bitter, part resigned. “Aye, I ken it well. I’ve spent my life working for this clan, and I would make a fine leader.” She took a deep breath and arched her back as she exhaled, stretching her aching muscles. “But as Dougal is fond of saying, a lass cannae be laird.”

  He hummed as he sank onto one of the large, mossy boulders. “And what does yer father say?”

  Shrugging, she straightened and patted her horse’s shoulder. “If he thought me worthy, surely he would’ve said so,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “Instead, he withers away, thinking the clan is doomed to disappear without sons.”

  Two days before, she’d told him all about her clan’s history with the missing brooch, and Rory agreed it was silly to pin all your hopes on a piece of jewelry. But if returning the jewels meant Duncan Sinclair recovered, it was a good enough reason for him to help.

  Speaking of which…

  “’Tis too late to continue on tonight, unless ye want to arrive home after dark?”

  He didn’t bother hiding the hopeful tone in his voice. He knew she’d be anxious to get home, but the thought of getting to spend another night in her arms…

  To his relief, she sauntered over. “’Twould be rude to arrive so late,” she said in a husky voice, promise in her eyes.

  Thrusting himself to his feet, he found himself nodding. “Aye, rude. ’Twould be better to sleep and arrive in the morning.”

  She reached him, stopping just short of allowing her breasts to touch his chest. “Sleep?’

  God’s Wounds.

  Rory’s cock jumped to attention beneath his plaid, and he grinned. “Well,” he drawled as he snaked an arm around her waist. “There is a little matter I’ve been meaning to take up with ye?”

  “Oh, aye?” Her tone was innocent, but the mischievous look in her eyes anything but as she laced her arms around his neck.

  “Aye,” he growled. “About yesterday, on board the birlinn. Ye kissed me the way a woman kisses when she wants a man, kenning full well there was nothing I could do about it in front of my men like that.”

  Her gaze focused on his lips. “That sounds harsh.”

  With a grunt of agreement, he pressed his pelvis forward, so she could see just how hard he was. “I have a mind to punish ye.”

  She shivered. “Punish? What do ye have in mind, Banner?”

  Even the reminder she didn’t know his name couldn’t cool his ardor, but it did halt his playing. He lowered his lips to hers, and yet again marveled at her uninhibited reaction. She came alive in his arms, and he drank in her energy like a starving man.

  She was the one who reached up and yanked at the ti
es holding the tunic and his old shirt closed, and he needed no further invitation. His lips left a hot trail across her skin, and he spent a moment marking her at the base of her neck.

  Mine! the mark seemed to say. She’s mine!

  Even if she didn’t know it.

  Pushing aside the annoying feeling of guilt which was trying to worm its way into his enjoyment, Rory doubled his efforts to bring her pleasure. When his palm closed around her bare breast, and she moaned and arched against him, his body tightened in response. And the noise she made when he fastened his lips around that nipple…?

  Well, it’d been a long time since he’d come undone against the inside of his kilt, and he wasn’t going to start now.

  Instead, he pushed her back against the boulder, waiting until she was able to support herself with outstretched arms. Then he sunk to his knees in front of her, ignoring her wordless cry of confusion as their lips parted.

  They’d bought her new boots in Reay, but now he cursed the forethought as he struggled with them. As soon as he pulled them free, he turned his attention to the line she was using for a belt, and when he untied the knot, her trews sagged down.

  Fortunately, she understood what he was about, and seemed to support it, judging from how fast she wriggled them down around her legs. Ellis’s tunic molded to her, aye, but the white shirt she wore fell nearly to her knees.

  Kneeling in front of her, Rory took a moment just to breathe, to try to get his erection under control. He remembered when he’d first lowered that plaid and seen her wearing his shirt… beautiful. Knowing the linen he’d once worn now caressed her skin was as close to holding her as possible.

  But now…

  With a devilish smile, Rory reached for her knees, pushing them apart. Her bare arse rubbed against the boulder as she repositioned herself, but when he reached for her thighs, she let her head fall back with a moan of desire.

  When he reached the apex of her thighs and saw the dampness glistening in her curls, he knew she wanted him as much as he needed her.

  He inhaled her scent, feeling like a man worshiping at a temple.

  The first pass of his tongue across her slit had her gasping, but when his lips found the nub of her pleasure, she began to pray.

  “Oh, Blessed Virgin!”

  He smiled against her, reveling in the taste of her and knowing she was his.

  Parting her folds, he slid one finger, then two inside her entrance, and her bottom lifted off the boulder, pressing closer to him.

  The heel of her hand came to rest right where she wanted the pressure, her fingers playing with his hair as he licked and suckled at the core of her pleasure.

  “Banner!” she panted, thrusting toward him once more.

  She tightened around his fingers, and he mimicked the motion of his tongue, wondering if she could tell how much he’d rather be doing this with his cock. But by St. Ninian, he’d ensure her pleasure before he worried about his own.

  “Banner!” Everything from her hold on him to her sheath tightened. Then he felt her pulsing around his fingers and smiled as he gently slid his tongue along her slit once more.

  Spent, she collapsed. “Goodness,” she whispered, her breaths coming in gasps.

  Smiling wider now, he pushed himself to one foot, then the other, gathering her in his arms as he rested with her against the boulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable of spots, but he knew he’d never forget it.

  He placed a kiss on her temple as she continued to pant. As her breathing finally slowed, she grasped his forearm, leaning against his chest. “Banner. That was…” She shook her head.

  “Do ye ken ye pray when ye find release?” he teased her. “Ye called on any number of saintly helpers.”

  “Aye, well…” She took two more breaths. “That was near heaven.”

  There in the cooling air of the late afternoon, he held his betrothed and laughed.

  It was the horses who alerted them something was wrong. First one, then the other lifted their noses to the air, and Rory cursed his distraction. He was untangling himself from Citrine and reaching for his sword when the man stepped around a pile of boulders on the far side of the clearing.

  Even without Citrine’s gasp, Rory would’ve recognized him.

  “William,” she hissed.

  Rory pushed away from the boulder, yanking his sword from its scabbard, and placing himself between the interloper and the woman he was coming to care for.

  “What are ye doing here?” he growled in warning.

  William didn’t answer and made no move to halt. Instead, he sauntered closer, his eyes greedily raking Citrine’s bare legs behind Rory. Despite knowing his shirt covered her thighs, Rory still felt the anger rising in his chest at the thought of this man’s eyes on her.

  And then the bastard spoke.

  “I always kenned ye were a whore, Citrine,” William lazily drawled. “Spreading yer legs for any—”

  When he heard the sound she made—part sob, part denial—Rory stepped forward and thrust his blade at the other man. “How did ye return so quickly?”

  William’s hand was on his sword, but he shrugged nonchalantly. “When Captain Angus finally returned to shore, I stole a horse and returned here as quick as I could. Ye ken…” He smirked. “To tell Dougal about the pirate who dragged Lady Sinclair off the ship to rape and murder her.”

  Behind Rory, he heard her suck in a breath, but he moved to place himself in front of her once more, so she wouldn’t have to look upon this coward.

  “Ye’re scum and an affront to the Sinclair name. Yer commander will hear of this.” It was an empty threat, as there’s no way Dougal would believe Rory over one of his soldiers.

  But William just shrugged. “Who do ye think told me to lose her on the way to Lewes?” He snorted. “Lose! Lewes! Ha!”

  Lose her?

  Red began to creep in at the edges of his vision when he realized what William was saying. “Ye bastard. Ye stood aside to let her be taken by pirates!”

  “Aye!” William jerked his chin toward her. “And look at what the whore did! Spread her legs for ye willingly. Ye did no’ even need to worry about raping—”

  With a roar, Rory sprang for the other man, who managed to whip his sword out and up in time to block the blow. But Rory wasn’t about to let that slow him down. He changed direction and attacked from a different angle, forcing the younger man to retreat.

  “Dougal wanted Citrine taken? Why?”

  William sneered as he blocked another attack. “She’s the biggest threat to his lairdship.” He brought his blade up, breathing heavily already. “If ye hadn’t attacked the ship, I was to arrange another reason for her to disappear, then return home to report.”

  Arrange for her to disappear.

  Rory’s mind raced, jumping to a story Citrine had told him around the campfire of her younger sister’s courtship. William had been part of the band escorting Pearl to the nunnery, and after Gregor whisked her to safety, the young man was the only survivor.

  Citrine had pushed herself away from the boulder, but he was glad she hadn’t yet reached for her sword. At her gasp, he knew she was thinking the same thing. He glanced her way, and nearly missed William’s next attack.

  But he had the upper hand soon enough and pushed the younger man back. “The attack on Pearl, ye bastard? Did ye arrange that, too? Were ye even wounded?”

  Shrugging, William backed off, the tip of his blade beginning to falter. “Dougal said it was for the best if all the Jewels went missing. If he couldnae marry any of them—and Duncan had turned him down each time he’d suggested it—then it’d be better for them to die.” He sucked in a few deep breaths as Rory’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. “He was the one who told Duncan I’d been wounded.”

  Rory was tempted to use the sword to rip the plaid from the man’s chest, to see if he really did bare the arrow scars Citrine said he’d claimed.

  Exchanging a glance with her, seeing the fury in her eyes,
he knew he’d content himself with planting his blade in the coward’s chest.

  Slowly, deliberately, he advanced on William, making sure the other man saw every drop of disgust he felt. “Ye’re a coward and a traitor, and when ye die, nae one will mourn ye.”

  William’s blade shook slightly as he lifted it, but the bravado in his voice was weak. “Ye’re wrong. When Dougal is laird—and it willnae be long, once I kill Citrine and he finishes off Duncan—he’s promised to make me his commander.”

  Dougal was the laird’s cousin and might have a claim to the lairdship, but murder would never be honorable. And William had sealed his fate with his casual comment about harming Citrine.

  With a wordless growl, Rory threw himself at his opponent once more, and this time he didn’t waste breath with conversation. He slashed and swung as William fell back, his parries getting weaker and weaker until at last, the strength of Rory’s blows broke through his defenses.

  Rory buried his sword in the coward’s neck, and William was dead before he hit the ground.

  He paused, breathing heavy, the tip of his blade pointed at the ground, trying to control his rage. But he shouldn’t have worried.

  Citrine stepped up beside him, her legs still bare, her trews dangling from one hand. When she met his gaze, he saw his own fury mirrored in those flashing, golden eyes.

  “Leave him here to rot like the scum he is,” she growled. “We’re going home.”

  Home.

  He lifted his chin and inhaled, reveling in the lust which always coursed through his veins after a battle. But this time, it was shared with Citrine, and that was what made it valuable.

  She grabbed his free hand and squeezed. “Get the horses. We’re going into the keep to find the last jewel, but we’ll do it tonight, without fanfare. If Da kens we’re there, then Dougal will too. And now that we ken the full extent of his treachery—”

  Cutting off the rest of her words, Citrine leaned forward and spat derisively on William’s body. “Da willnae be safe until Dougal is forced to pay for his crimes.”

  Rory inhaled her scent, remembering her taste, and knew one thing for certain. “Ye’ll no’ face him alone.”