The MacLeod Pirate

by Lee, Caroline

  Her pelvis ground against his, her hands clawed at the skin of his back, trying to get closer, closer. He wound her hair around his hand, using it to take everything she was offering.

  But then he tugged, pulling her back. Away from him.

  They separated, gasping for air.

  “Ye would laugh at me?” His tone was conversational, but there was something sincere lurking in his eyes.

  Indeed, the laughter swelled once more, and she dragged one arm away from his shoulders and playfully combed through the short hair above his ears.

  “Aye, I laugh, husband-to-be. From the moment I laid eyes on ye, I kenned ye were special.”

  “Ye were trying to kill me,” he pointed out.

  She shrugged, still smiling. “And I imagine the feeling will happen again sometimes.”

  “Ye still want to marry me?”

  “I never wanted to marry ye. The youngest MacLeod son, whose name I only kenned on the betrothal contract. But then I met the Black Banner…” She dragged one fingernail through the stubble on his chin. “And I’ve never wanted another man the way I want him.”

  “Ye ken what this means, then, Citrine Sinclair?”

  When he tugged on her hair, forcing her head back so she gazed up at him, desire pooled between her legs. She dared to shake her head.

  He leaned even closer, his lips by her ear, and whispered, “Ye are mine.”

  He enunciated the words with another slight tug, and Citrine felt her knees go weak.

  She was a strong woman, she knew it. But this sensation of being loved by a stronger man reminded her of how she felt that first day on the pirate’s birlinn. Her hands had been tied, and when he gave her a command, she’d wanted to obey.

  “Say it,” he growled.

  “I am yers, Rory MacLeod.”

  As the words left her lips, her heart soared. It was the truth. Thanks to her father’s contract, they’d be married, but thanks to a twist of fate, he held her heart.

  “Always,” he growled before his lips claimed hers once more.

  She wanted to laugh and knew he felt the same.

  She was the one who pulled away this time, gasping, “Take me, Rory.”

  His smile was satisfied, proud. “Remove yer clothes, my firebrand,” he commanded.

  Blessed Virgin, when he spoke to her that way, she wanted to throw herself at him, to do whatever he wanted. She made short work of tearing her tunic off, tossing it aside, and kicking off her boots. She pushed down her trews and reached for the hem of her shirt.

  She only hesitated a moment before she yanked it over her head, then met his eyes with her chin raised proudly.

  His gaze raked over her naked body, a look of awe and pride that made warmth pool in her belly. She pressed her thighs together, to try to capture that delicious feeling.

  In two long strides, he was in front of her, his hand reaching for hers. He placed it on his belt. “Take off my kilt.”

  Aye!

  Mayhap her hands fumbled as she worked, but soon his plaid pooled at his feet, and her hand grasped his proud, thick member. He sucked in a breath, but his gaze never left hers as his hand rose to cup her breast.

  “I’m going to lay ye on the ground, Citrine. I’m going to suck on yer tits until ye scream. I’m going to put my mouth all over ye, then my cock will make ye mine.”

  She sighed at that delicious image, her head dropping back weakly. “Yers,” she repeated.

  His thumb brushed across her nipple. “And when I make ye mine, ye’ll forget the past. Ye’ll forget any other man ye once considered worthy of this.” He cupped her other breast. “I’ll plant my seed in yer womb, and we’ll be joined forever.”

  She was halfway to ecstasy already, and he hadn’t even touched her wet core. She swallowed, understanding that what he was saying was important, but her brain couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought.

  All she could focus on was the promise in his voice. “Please,” she whimpered.

  They fell to the plaid together, limbs tangled as they kissed and suckled and whimpered each other’s names. She screamed when he fastened his lips around one nipple, and he roared her name when he finally plunged home.

  Kneeling between her thighs, his powerful thrusts made her reach for his shoulders to hang on to her last shred of sanity. He was so big, so perfect inside her, she wanted to wrap her legs around him and keep him there forever.

  And when his movements became faster, his breathing hitching, he reached between their bodies and pressed his fingers to the spot where she needed pressure. He’d learned that from her yesterday.

  The knowledge he cared enough about her pleasure to learn from her was what sent her spiraling upward. She arched her back, forgetting to breathe as her release exploded and she uttered a wordless, choking sound.

  He grabbed her hips, pulling her against him and burying his cock deep within as she felt herself pulsing around him. His own release was signaled by a flood of warmth inside her.

  They held each other in silence as the sun peaked, and Citrine had to look away from the brightness.

  “What?” he whispered.

  “It seems right. A new day dawning.”

  “Aye,” he chuckled, gathering her closer and pressing a kiss on her temple. “A new day.”

  “I ken what we shared just now, it doesnae always…” she trailed off.

  When he lifted his head, she saw the question in his eyes. “What?”

  “It doesnae always have to mean something. But I think I need to tell ye.”

  Now he propped himself up on his elbow. “What are ye trying to say, Citrine?”

  She was making a mess of this, was she not? With a rueful shake of her head, she wrapped her arm around his middle, pulling them closer.

  “I ken we’re betrothed, and I ken what we just did was expected, but I think ’tis important I tell ye I love ye, Rory MacLeod, or the Black Banner, or whoever ye are.”

  She held her breath as he stared down at her, his blue eyes difficult to read. Why wasn’t he responding?

  Finally, he exhaled and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips. “I donae ken how ye can love a pirate and a liar. ’Tis much easier to love a strong, intelligent, determined firebrand like ye.”

  One of her brows rose. Was he saying…?

  “I love ye, Citrine, and what we just did…” He shook his head on a laugh. “What we just did most definitely meant something. And by the blessings of St. Ninian, it’ll continue.”

  As if her heart wasn’t swelling, wasn’t soaring, at his words, Citrine faked a confused frown. “Oh, aye? Ye expect to do this again, do ye?”

  He was laughing when he rolled her over and swatted at her bare bottom. “Aye, woman! After we bathe in yonder loch!”

  As she pulled him to his feet, her joy slipped into her smile. “Really? Ye donae think ye could manage in the loch?”

  He blinked, then a look of determination and challenge crossed his face. “Ye might wish ye hadnae said that, lass.”

  Laughing, she raced toward the water. “Never!”

  And the man she loved followed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It felt odd to be wearing her sword belt over the blue gown Pearl had saved for her, but it was necessary. They were here to protect her father, and she couldn’t do that without her weapon.

  As her horse shifted, impatient, Citrine glanced over to Rory.

  Rory.

  He had a name now, and it was funny to think she’d once cursed that name. She’d once considered Rory MacLeod to be unworthy, useless as a youngest son.

  Now she knew better.

  Now she knew a man who chafed under his father’s iron rule, who’d longed to command men of his own. He’d told her so much over the last few hours as they’d bathed in the cold loch and he’d warmed her; as they’d lain wrapped together on the Sinclair plaid Gregor had given them; as he’d helped straighten and plait her hair. He’d told her of his home and his life on Lewes, and
the dreams he’d held.

  Mayhap becoming a pirate hadn’t been the best use of his talents, but now that she understood the history of the Black Banner, she could understand why he had.

  He’d told her about his niece and nephew, and she’d laughed to hear of Charlotte’s antics. When he’d asked if the wee lass could one day travel to Sinclair lands to meet Citrine—“Ye’d be a fine role model, my firebrand,” he’d said—she readily agreed, delighted at the chance to meet the little girl.

  And when he’d cupped her cheeks and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, she’d nearly melted.

  “I love ye,” he’d whispered. “And I’ll be a better man for ye. By yer side, I’ll help ye save yer clan, I swear it.”

  And here he was. He was peering ahead, waiting for Da to start his trek down the cliffs, but when he glanced her way and saw her looking, he offered a quick grin. “No’ too much longer now.”

  “Aye. Where do ye think he goes?”

  Gregor was still atop his horse, holding the reins of Da’s gelding as the older man picked his way along the path to the cliffs. The silent warrior glanced over his shoulder once, as if he knew they were watching.

  Rory shrugged. “’Tis interesting Gregor doesnae ken. Ye never kenned of this journey of his?”

  Citrine shook her head. “I had nae idea he was going so often. Mayhap ’tis something harmless, like a bathing pool? Or a saint’s shrine?”

  Grunting, Rory shook his head. “The rest of the clan would ken of it then, surely.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out soon.” Citrine took a deep breath. “Look, he’s just disappeared down the cliffside. We’ll give him another few minutes, then follow.”

  Nodding, Rory clucked his horse into motion beside hers. The two of them took their time approaching Gregor, but the scarred warrior turned in his saddle to nod as they neared.

  Imagining her silent brother-in-law was chastising them for their tardiness, Citrine shrugged. “We didnae want to alarm him if there was nae need. I’ll follow him down the trail once he’s reached the bottom.”

  “And I’ll go with ye,” Rory said.

  Gregor nodded, handing the reins of Da’s horse to Rory. “I’ll return,” he rasped. “Pearl is alone.”

  Citrine’s mind filled in the gaps of what he didn’t say. With evidence Dougal had tried to eliminate Citrine and Pearl once, she could imagine Gregor was anxious to protect the woman he loved. She hated that he’d even had to choose between Pearl and his laird.

  Wincing, she made a shooing motion. “Da is safe with us. Go make sure my niece is well.”

  Gregor didn’t bother acknowledging her, but wheeled his horse and cantered off. Rory was watching with a wry, half-grin.

  “Niece, huh?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure Gregor wants a son, but Pearl and I are hoping for a lass.”

  His smile grew. “Congratulations to the whole family, then. I didnae ken she was expecting.”

  “’Tis early yet. But Saffy is already breeding as well. Da is crowing.”

  His eyes dropped to her stomach, and Citrine knew what he was thinking; after what they shared over the last few hours, it was possible she would be breeding ere long. The thought of a bairn terrified her, especially with the future of the clan so uncertain right now. But the idea of Rory’s bairn wasn’t so horrible.

  He’d be a strong wee lad with Rory’s blue eyes and her honey hair, and she’d raise him to be a warrior the Sinclairs would be proud to call their own.

  As soon as Dougal was dealt with.

  Rory had already slid off his horse, and was tying the reins of all three animals to a post someone—Da?—had obviously installed years before. How long had he been coming here?

  She followed, and soon they were peering over the edge of the cliffs. It wasn’t a sheer drop, and a narrow path wound back and forth toward the beach far below. The sea was harsh today, the waves loud as they crashed against the rocks, and Citrine couldn’t imagine what Da was doing down there.

  “Shall we?” Rory asked playfully. At her nod, he led the way down the path.

  Without having to be told, she kept an eye behind them for danger. Dougal.

  They reached the bottom without incident, and luckily, Da’s footprints were still visible in the wet sand. Rory pointed to the line of dampness on the rocks.

  “We’re past high tide; water’s going out again. Looks like this beach would be underwater at high tide.”

  Following him, she nodded. “There’s a stretch north of here where the fishermen put in and out. I recall my mother bringing us there a few times as bairns to swim.”

  “Less rocky, I assume?”

  “More accessible, at least,” she agreed.

  Silent now, they followed Da’s footprints to a gully in the sand where water drained from a crack in the cliffs toward the sea. On the other side was a beached rowboat, obviously Da’s. Rory eyed the gully.

  “It doesna look too deep now. A few more minutes and we might be able to wade across.”

  Citrine was already nodding, reaching for the ties on the shoes she’d borrowed from Pearl. She peeked up at her betrothed. “I prefer being barefoot, anyhow,” she whispered.

  From his smile, she could tell he agreed, and soon the two of them were wading across the fast-flowing water. He carried their swords and belts, lifting his kilt when the water reached above their knees, and she had her hands full with her skirts. It was hard not to eye his bare backside and crack a joke, but she also didn’t want to alert her father.

  But once on the other side, with their weapons strapped back on, Da’s footprints ended at a rock face. She frowned at Rory as the two of them examined the cliff.

  He shrugged, as if to say he didn’t know, but at that moment his hand pressed into the rock.

  Jumping up beside him, she ran her hand over the bumpy surface and was surprised to discover it wasn’t rock at all, but a piece of canvas cleverly painted to appear like rock. Da’s footprints ended nearby, as if he’d stepped up onto one of the boulders in front of the cliff.

  Why would her father be sneaking about like this?

  Rory reached for the hilt of his sword, then pushed aside the canvas covering. She followed.

  They stepped into a cave which stretched back some distance. The floor sloped upward, meaning most of it was dry, and voices echoed oddly up ahead. Strangest of all, though, was the fact that with the canvas replaced, it was apparent the cave was lit.

  Citrine squeezed past Rory, not sure why she felt so strongly it was up to her to enter first, but he didn’t prevent it. She stepped further into the cave, peeked around a jutting wall, and sucked in a breath.

  The cave had been outfitted as a home. There were cheerful torches lighting beautiful tapestries, all done in shades of brown, white, blues, and golds. A table stood in the middle with two chairs, and comfortable cushions were strewn before a hearth. Citrine wondered where the smoke vented, and how come no one had noticed. And where did all these supplies—food, water, and wool for the large loom which took up one wall—come from?

  Her father stood in the middle of the space, speaking intently to the shrouded occupant. The person was short and wore a grey robe with an attached hood that covered whatever features Citrine might’ve been able to see.

  “Ye have to let me tell them!” Duncan was saying. “Citrine is with her betrothed now, if I can trust that snake William to tell the truth of their journey. She’s safe now, thank the saints, but Pearl is still here with her husband. I ken ye wanted it that way, and I can admit now ye were right. She’s happy, as ye said.” Her father blew out a frustrated breath and tugged at his beard. “But Dougal—”

  The figure lifted a hand suddenly, cutting the laird off midsentence. Citrine nearly cursed, wanting to hear what her father would say to this hidden person. But when the shrouded head turned her way, and Da’s gaze followed, Citrine decided it was time to reveal herself.

  She stepped into the room, and the figure mad
e a choking sound. Da grunted out a curse, even as he crossed the room toward her.

  “What are ye doing here? Ye’re supposed to be with the Black Banner.”

  Before she could do more than gape at him, he’d wrapped her in his arms. Then behind her, Rory cleared his throat.

  “I take that to mean, Laird Sinclair, ye kenned of my identity?”

  Da frowned slightly as he pulled back, his gaze going between the two of them. “Not always, but yer—I was made aware of it,” he finished weakly. “What are ye doing here?”

  The grey figure let out a quiet snort, which had Da scowling. “Aye, I ken,” he said to the other person. “But I needed to ken she was safe.”

  “I’m safe, Da,” Citrine assured him. “And my place is here, by yer side. Securing the future for the Sinclairs.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  When the figure spoke, Citrine twisted out of her father’s hold to gape. It was a woman’s voice. Da had been sneaking away for years…to visit a hidden woman?

  “Hello, Citrine,” the woman said in a low voice.

  Citrine stepped toward the woman. She knew Citrine by sight? But Citrine knew she’d never been down here; it didn’t look like many people visited the woman in this hidden grotto. So, who was she?

  The woman lifted her hands to her hood, and Citrine could see her hands were wrapped in linen. It appeared as if a few fingers on each hand were missing, and when she pushed the hood back over her coif, Citrine stifled her gasp.

  The woman’s face had been ravaged by leprosy.

  But her eyes…her eyes were familiar. They were the same bright gold as Citrine’s.

  A firebrand.

  And Citrine knew. “Mother?” she whispered. Then again, “Mother?”

  The faintest of nods from the woman told her she’d guessed correctly, and too stunned to think clearly—Mother is alive!—Citrine threw herself toward the woman she barely remembered.

  But as soon as she moved, her mother scrambled backward, and her father shouted. “Nay!” His hand wrapped around her wrist, jerking her to a stop.