by Shawnee Moon
“Such a sweet bud,” he said.
Somehow, his free hand had found her bare thigh and was sliding her linen shift higher. She moved restlessly as a cold sliver of unease darted from the darkness of her mind.
It’s Sterling, she told herself. It’s all right if he touches me. I want him to. She tried to concentrate on the rubbing of thin cloth against her throbbing nipples.
“Am I so repulsive a husband?”
She caught his chin and raised it so that she could kiss him full on the mouth. When they were kissing, she didn’t think about the soldiers.
“Ye talk too much,” she said when they broke to take a breath. “If I did want a husband, ’twould never be one who cawed like a raven from dawn till dark.”
He was an excellent kisser.
Cailin was no inexperienced lass. She’d been kissed by boys and men, some sober and others drunk as lairds. Sterling was a master of the art. His breath was clean, his teeth sound, and his manners proper.
Kissing Sterling was like leaping off a bluff into the sunlit waters of Loch Shin. At first contact there was a shock, but as the kiss deepened, the mystery and the sense of abandon grew. His kiss took in more than her lips; it swept over her body like a wind-whipped tide. And like staying under water too long, Sterling’s kiss made her lose track of reason.
He nuzzled her breast. “You’re soft in all the right places, wife. I want you.” His voice deepened to a low husky rumble. “I want you, Cailin, more than I wanted my first woman... more than I’ve ever wanted any woman.”
“I’m nay your wife,” she protested, but only a little, because he’d pushed her shift down to expose her round, rosy breast.
She moaned as he flicked his tongue over her nipple. “Sweet,” he whispered, and gently drew her into his mouth.
Good. It felt so good. She didn’t care if she hated him. It had been too long since any man had suckled at her breast. Closing her eyes again, she strained against him, stroking his shoulders and sinewy arms with her fingertips. She felt his manhood, hard and swollen, press against her leg.
I want him, she thought. I do. I want him to make love to me.
Then, Sterling’s hand brushed the curls between her thighs, and her eyes flew open. Instantly, she stiffened in his arms.
“I need you, Cailin,” he said huskily. “I’ve been too long a monk.”
She shook her head, and the tears spilled down her cheeks as the taunts of the soldiers echoed in her ears. She remembered one dragoon—the leader. His cock had been huge and purple-red. He’d hammered into her when she was dry, and the pain ... “I can’t do this,” she cried, pushing Sterling away. “Please, don’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t? You wanted it as much as I did.” He rolled away from her and rose from the bed. Angrily, he stalked to the chair and began to pull on his breeches. “We took vows together. Did you think I meant to sleep alone forever?”
“You don’t understand.” She was sobbing now, out of control.
“You’re damn right I don’t. There’s a name for women who do what you just did to me.”
“That’s not fair. You don’t—”
“Save it.”
He was angrier than she’d ever seen him.
“Just listen to me for one minute,” she pleaded.
“For what? More lies?” His face darkened. “Did you ask me to kiss you or not? What was I supposed to think?”
“It’s not you,” she blurted out. “I was raped. The dragoons who took me from Johnnie’s farm to Edinburgh Castle raped me and—”
“What?” He returned to the bed and pulled her into his arms. “Are you telling me the truth?” He looked into her face, and his scowl dissolved. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She leaned against his shoulder and wept. He held her until the storm of emotion passed, then he wiped the tears from her face with the hem of his shirt.
“Damn them to hell,” he muttered.
“I already did,” she said.
He pulled her against him again and hugged her. “You should have told me.”
“I thought it was over and done with.”
“I’d have killed them if I’d known. I’d have hunted them down and killed them like the rutting boars they are.”
“Really?” She sniffed.
“I killed a man before for rape.”
“I did want you, just now, but...” She averted her eyes, and her cheeks grew warm. “I guess it’s too soon. I thought I was ready, but...”
“You should have told me, Cailin. I would have gone slower. I thought—”
“Do ye blame me?”
“Blame you? Why should I—”
“I knew a woman who drowned herself in the loch when her husband turned her out after the English—”
“I knew a soldier who futtered a sheep, but that doesn’t mean I favor four-legged partners.” He stood up and walked to the window, throwing back the interior shutters and looking down on the street below. “I didn’t know, Cailin,” he said. “I swear I didn’t know you were in that danger or I would have taken you to Edinburgh Castle myself.”
She slid out of the far side of the bed, stepped behind a screen, and began to dress. “I can’t go to America with you,” she said.
“You can and you will.” He turned back toward her. “There’s little for you in England, and Scotland would be a death sentence.” He dropped into the chair and reached for his stockings. “You might learn to like America, Cailin. It’s a new land, without the old hatreds.”
“You still want me, even though men have—”
“What happened had nothing to do with you. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I never thought it was. I wanted to know what you—”
“You are my wife. I’ve not led a saint’s life myself.”
“You’ve never told me why you married me,” she reminded him as she peeked out from behind the screen.
“No, I haven’t. Why isn’t important. What is important is that we get on with our lives. I want to make a bargain with you, Cailin. If you’ll agree to live as my wife for two years, I’ll let you go after that.”
“In America.” She struggled with a row of tiny buttons.
“Yes. You’ll be safe there.”
“And during this two years, ye expect me to share your bed and fortunes?”
“My fortunes, yes. We’ll have to work on the bed part.”
“Aye,” she replied. “I can see that.”
“No more threats, and no more attempts at running away.”
“When have I tried to get away?”
“When have I given you the opportunity?”
“Two years is a long time,” she hedged. “I’d have to think on it.”
“I’m tired of the fighting. I’m tired of the arguments. I think the offer is fair. Two years isn’t much to ask, after what your release has cost me.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” she reminded him as she stepped out from behind the screen.
“But you pride yourself on being a woman who pays her debts.”
“Who told ye that?”
The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin as wicked and sweet as stolen honey... a smile that made her go all shivery inside. “Yes or no, Cailin? Do we have a deal?”
“How do I know you’ll keep your part of the bargain—that you’ll give me my freedom when my time is up?”
“You’ll have to trust me,” he answered.
“Aye, trust in an Englishman.” She stepped out from behind the screen.
“Well?”
“Can I think on it?”
“No. My patience has run out.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Yes, what? Yes, my patience is gone, or yes, we have a bargain?”
“Yes, I shall be your wife.” His eyes widened in disbelief as she stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips. “A kiss of peace, Sassenach,” she said. “To prove the goodwill between us.”
“And to wha
t do I owe this sudden change of heart?” he asked her suspiciously.
“Reason, plain and simple. Why should I continue to fight a battle that was obviously long lost?”
“Were you not a Scot and a redhead, I’d find this sudden attack of logic easier to accept.”
She laughed. “You should be happy. You’ve won.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s what worries me the most.”
Chapter 9
When Cailin and Sterling had come aboard the Galway Maid—a merchant vessel bound for Charles Town, Annapolis, and Boston, with a cargo of china and farm implements—she’d intended to keep the bargain they’d made in bed at the widow’s lodgings.
But she’d agreed to Sterling’s two years of marriage after she’d unwisely allowed him sexual liberties, and her own fierce desire for his embrace had gotten the better of her common sense.
Now, as sailors unfurled the sails and the first burst of wind filled the canvases, the finality of what she was doing hit home hard. Already, the men had pulled anchor. The bow of the Galway Maid swung around to the west. Ahead of them lay thousands of miles of open water; behind lay Scotland and a grieving child who watched the road for her arrival.
She had made Sterling Gray a promise, but she’d also promised Corey that she’d come for him. She could not keep both pledges. Her little brother needed her; her grandsire and her sister needed her. Whatever irrational urge Sterling had followed when he’d snatched her from the gallows, it would pass. He’d soon realize that he was better off without her. In America, no one would know that he’d exchanged marriage vows with a Scots rebel. He could choose another wife, one who would willingly share his bed and mother his children.
Willingly... It was the willingness that frightened her. What Highland lass could take pleasure in the touch of a man who had slain her father? How could she have forgotten that Sterling Gray was her greatest enemy? Obviously, her arrest, rape, and imprisonment had impaired her senses. She belonged among her own kind. She was a Stewart by birth, a MacLeod by heart ties, and the widow of a MacGreggor. Her duty was to her Scottish kin, not to an Englishman with blood on his hands. Whatever the cost, she must return to her people.
Keeping that thought foremost in her mind, Cailin edged away from Sterling’s side. In the confusion of the ship’s sailing, it was easy to slip between an aging cleric and his stout wife. By the time Sterling noticed she was gone, she’d already put the great oak mainmast between them.
Dropping her cloak on the deck, she kicked off her shoes and scrambled up onto the rail. Behind her, a sailor swore and shouted a warning. Cailin balanced on the polished wood and tried to judge the distance to the choppy waves below. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sterling dash down the deck toward her.
“Cailin, no!” he yelled.
She dived over the side.
The water closed over her head, warm and embracing. Her clothing buoyed her up at first, then the material soaked through and became heavy. She opened her eyes and let herself sink, down and down. The hull of the Galway Maid was close, very close. The underwater wake of the vessel was strong, and it was difficult to keep herself from being swept under the boat.
When she had used most of her oxygen, she swam to the surface with strong strokes. Almost to the surface... As she reached the top, she sucked in another deep breath of air, splashed wildly, and shrieked an outrageous lie. “I canna swim! Help me! I canna swim!”
Someone dived into the sea beside her, and she realized that it was Sterling. Quickly, she stopped kicking and let herself sink again. He came after her, and she twisted away. The water was dark and dirty. If she could put a few yards between them, he’d never find her.
Her head struck something hard; for a moment, she was disoriented, then she realized that she had hit the hull of the ship. Immediately, she swam deeper. She kept going until she reached the mucky bottom.
Her lungs were aching, her limbs were tired, but she couldn’t go up for air yet. It was too soon. She forced herself to count out the seconds.
She was a strong swimmer. Johnnie had taught her to swim in the swift current of a mountain river. But the weight of her clothing drained her will. At last, she began the struggle toward the sunlight, hoping that she’d put the ship between her and Sterling—hoping he would believe she had drowned and give up the chase.
She gasped for air, blinking to clear the muddy water from her eyes, and saw to her dismay that the Galway Maid was coming about. Two sailors were already in the water, and a third pushed a barrel over the side. She glanced around for Sterling, didn’t see him, and prepared to dive under again.
Before she could take three strokes, he came up an arm’s length away from her. She tried to evade him again, but this time he grabbed a handful of her hair.
“Damn you, Cailin.” The anguish on his features turned to anger, and she knew that it was useless to struggle against his iron grip. She shut her eyes and let him drag her back toward the ship. A seaman swam up beside them and took hold of her arm. When they reached the side of the Galway Maid, the first mate was dropping a Jacob’s ladder over the rail.
Meekly, Cailin caught hold of the swaying rope and climbed slowly up the ship’s side. She had failed. Now she must suffer the rage of captain and crew as well as her husband. Tears of shame clouded her vision. She blinked them away as her bare feet touched the sun-heated deck. Head up, defiant, she faced the hostile crowd.
The reverend was praying loudly. His plump wife pointed at her and sputtered platitudes. Two seamen were laughing outright, another leering at her water-soaked form, while a swarthy passenger shook his head and muttered his disgust.
From the quarter deck, the ship’s master and the first officer glared at her. The captain was so furious that his nose was fiery red, and he quivered from head to boot “What madness is this, woman?” he demanded. “I’ll have no bedlamites aboard the Galway—”
“My apologies for my wife’s shameful behavior, sir.” Sterling jumped down from the railing, wet and dripping. “The responsibility is mine. I will see that she is properly chastised.”
“I want no crazy woman on this ship,” the captain snapped.
Cailin opened her mouth to deliver a choice response, but before she could utter a word, Sterling grabbed her and heaved her over his shoulder. “Put me down!” she said. “Sterling! Put me down!”
Ignoring her angry cries and struggles, he carried her past the mainmast to the nearest hatchway and down the steep steps to a dark passageway. “I’ve been patient with you because of what you’ve been through—but my patience is at an end.”
She pounded his back with her fists. “I said put me down!” Fear that he might strike her made her light-headed. She wouldn’t be beaten by a man—husband or not. Sterling had hit her at the gallows, and he’d not do it again. She’d not let him abuse her—not if he valued his life. “Sterling! What are you doing?”
He stopped at a cabin door and slammed it open. A lantern swayed from the rafter. By the pale yellow light, Cailin saw a harelipped serving wench staring at them.
“What do ye—” she gasped.
“Out!” Sterling bellowed.
With a terrified squeak, the maid fled the room. Her wooden-soled clogs hammered down the corridor.
“Why?” he demanded as he dumped Cailin onto the wide box of an upper bunk. “Why did you try and drown yourself? Is being married to me that bad?”
Cailin twisted around and backed into the far corner of the bed. “Keep your hands to yourself,” she warned him.
“Sweet Jesus!” He turned away, tripped over an open trunk, and steadied himself against the wall with one arm. “Why? Why, Cailin? Why in the name of all that’s holy do you plague me this way?”
“I wasn’t trying to drown myself.”
“No? You gave a good imitation.” He kicked the trunk. “Why? Why did you jump over the side?”
She swallowed. “I wished ye to think I’d drowned.” Her excuse sounded foolish, even
to her own ears.
“You’re crazy,” he replied. “I’ve ruined my life and saddled myself with a woman who has wool for brains.”
“I told ye that—” she began. “Not that I have wool for—”
“Shut up. Don’t say a word.” He kicked the trunk again, scattering ladies’ shoes and stays across the heaped boxes. “Anything you say to me is bound to be a lie.”
“Nay.” She looked into his eyes, then lowered her gaze. “’Twas my last chance. Before America. Ye canna blame me. Ye’d do the same.”
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered grimly.
The fear that had dimmed inside her flared again. “I’ll nay be beaten, and I’ll nay be raped.”
“Beaten? Raped?” He made a sound of contempt. “Have I hit you? Lord knows you deserve it, but I told you before—it’s not my way to use my fists on women. And believe me, rape is the last thing on my mind. I want you out of those wet clothes before you catch your death and pass it to every soul on this ship.”
“I’ll not be strippin’ for you, Sterling Gray. And if I’m so weak that a swim in the harbor finishes me off, I’d nay live until we reach the Colonies anyway.”
He swore again, and she saw the throbbing vein in his throat swell with barely controlled ire. “Do you see this room? Do you see it?”
“Aye,” she answered with more nerve than she felt. “What of it?” It was a poor, mean cabin with two sets of bunks, a bare board set into a corner for a table, and a single whale-oil lantern. The bunk she sat on backed against the hull, and the boards were damp and mossy.
“You will share this room with six other women. I don’t want to see your face on deck for the next week. You can eat here, sleep here, and tend to your—”
“This place smells like a fish bucket. You expect me to live for weeks with six seasick—”
“You’re lucky to have a bunk to yourself. It cost me extra.”
“And you?” she flung back. “Have ye a private cabin? I vow you’re not locked in some foul-smelling closet with unwashed strangers.”
