by Lily Baldwin
Bella laughed outright. “Jack’s lassies are not of his body, Papa. They are simply in his charge.” Once more her father appeared confused. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “When we have reached Colonsay, I will tell you everything.”
Her wedding was perfect with none of the pomp and frivolities of noble custom; they did not even stand for mass. She wore her stolen dress of homespun wool. Jack had made her a crown of wild flowers, which he had laid on her unbound hair. On her father’s arm, she walked the short length of the common room and stood in front of the local priest who, as fortune would have it, had been at one of the tables enjoying a mug of ale. In just a few short minutes, they were married, and she did not think she could have waited a minute more. The look of hunger in Jack’s eyes was a mirror of her own desire.
“Shall we feast?” David said, proudly pointing to a large spread of baked apples, stewed chestnuts, meat pies, bannock and ale. God above, but the last thing she wanted at that moment was to sit down and eat. She looked at Jack. The pulse at his neck raced. Her feet pointed toward the stairs. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Finally, she forced a smile to her lips and was about to thank her father and sit down when an old woman in a voluminous black cloak drew near.
“Can’t ye see they’re not hungry,” the old woman said to David. “At least not for food.” She turned and winked at Bella. She had soft, kind gray eyes and silvery hair pulled back from her face, which was creased with age. She sat down next to David. “As for me, well it has been a good while since I sat down to such a feast.” She reached for one of the small pies and took a bite. “Mmm, eel…delicious,” she mumbled as she chewed. Then she washed it down with a sip of ale. “Didn’t they have pigeon?” she asked.
Bella pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at the appalled look on father’s face. First giving Bella a sly smile, the old woman then turned back to David. “Surely, you were young once,” she said with a wink.
“Would you believe that I was?” David said to her.
The old woman smiled. “I would. And I also believe you were once truly loved by a woman.”
A distant look clouded her father’s eyes, and a slight smile curved his lips. “Indeed, I was,” he whispered. Leaning back in his chair, he looked up at Bella. “I wish you both every happiness,” he said softly.
Tears filled Bella’s eyes. “Are you certain, Papa?”
David nodded. “I will be fine.” Then he turned to the old woman at his side. “What is your name?”
“Gertrude,” she replied.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” David said before turning back to Bella. “Gertrude will keep me company.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Bella whispered.
Then she wrapped her arms around Jack’s neck and lost herself in his black eyes.
~ * ~
Jack opened the door. She passed into the small room. With one sweep of her eyes, she took in the simple bed, table and two chairs, and small chest. And then the room was forgotten. The door slammed behind her. She whirled around and opened her arms just as he reached for her. He tore the flower crown from her head and sent it soaring across the room. Then his fingers dug into her hair, and he crushed her mouth against his. His tongue dove between her lips, unlocking her hunger. His hands cupped her cheeks and then her neck and then caressed down her shoulders. He tore his lips away. His black eyes were hard and heavy. He grabbed her tunic and yanked it over her head. Her kirtle quickly followed. She was bare to his midnight eyes. He drew a shaky breath and ran a finger slowly down her breast bone to her navel and then, slower still, sweeping his fingers across the curls at the apex of her thighs. Her legs trembled. Ache shuddered where he had touched. He stepped back and jerked free from his clothes. Her eyes raked over the hard lines of his chest and stomach. His smell surrounded her, drawing her in.
She reached out and grazed the crisp, black hair fanning across his chest. His breathing quickened, and his skin shone with sweat. She leaned close and pressed her lips to the hollow of his neck, savoring the salt taste of him. With a groan, he pulled her against him. Then he bent his head and breathed hot currents of air over her hardened nipples. She cried out when his teeth lightly bit down, drawing first one sensitive peak into his mouth and then the other. Moving his lips slowly down her stomach, his fingers pressed her thighs apart. He sank to his knees, gripped her buttocks and pulled the wet heat of her to his lips. She threw her head back and cried out as fire, hot and searing, coursed through her. Her breath hitched. She whimpered. Agonizing need begged her hips to tilt into his kiss. Cool air teased her desire when he pulled away and roughly grabbed her waist. He threw her down on the bed and covered her with his full weight, kissing her, fueling the flames of yearning. He grasped her hips so hard it hurt as, slowly, he pressed his hard, thick length inside of her. Her fingers bit into his shoulders. She flung her head back, arching her chest, writhing beneath him as he pumped his body into hers, each thrust harder than the last. She reached, climbing higher and higher until at last, her body seized. She shuddered around him as wave after wave of sweet relief coursed through her body.
~ * ~
Bella awoke to Jack lightly tracing the tip of finger around the pink moon of her nipple. Through bleary eyes she smiled and nuzzled close to him. Then her eyes flew open. She sat up. “Something just occurred to me”
He rolled over onto his back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Aye? And what is that?”
She leaned out of bed and scooped her tunic off the floor. “I stole this.”
He smiled. “But we already knew that.”
She started to laugh.
“What is so funny?” he asked.
“You and I are married.”
He frowned. “Although I don’t see the humor in that, we are, indeed, married. There’s an alehouse full of witnesses able to attest to that fact.”
She could not contain her laughter.
“Are ye goin’ to tell me what ye find so amusin’, wife?”
She hiccupped and nodded. Reaching her arms around his neck, she said, “It just occurred to me that I am now a thief, an outlaw, a commoner, and a Scotswoman. You and I are now a perfect match.”
He smiled and pulled her closed. Then he rolled over, pushing her back onto the bed. “I hope this does not disappoint ye, but I believe my thievin’ days are over. In truth, ye married a fisherman.”
“I think that fine,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek. “But you will always be the thief of my heart.”
“And ye,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Will always be my princess.”
Epilogue
Jack gripped his fishing boat and bent low, pressing his shoulder into the stern. “Alright, lads, put yer backs into it,” he called to Ian and David who flanked the boat on either side. They trudged forward, the hull carving into the sand. Icy water lapped Jack’s calves until the waves receded, swallowing the shore out from beneath his feet. A moment later, the surf barreled forward, churning once more around his legs. This dance continued until they had moved the boat beyond the ocean’s hungry reach.
He straightened and stretched his back, then wiped at the beads of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. “Are ye well?” he said, sitting down on the sand next to David who was trying to catch his breath. David’s white hair stood on end in the wind. Dirt and dried salt streaked his ruddy face.
He looked at Jack warmly. “I would be lying if I said that I‘ve never felt happier. However, if I cannot have my Annunziatta at my side, then I can tell you with the greatest sincerity, there is no place I would rather be.”
Jack smiled and fell back in the sand. The hot summer sun had begun to dip behind the horizon, making way for cool evening breezes, which poured off the waves. The music of the calm ocean matched the beat of his heart.
“Look,” Ian called. “Here they come.”
Jack sat up. His lassies splashed through the ebbing waves while Bella and Rose walked a lit
tle behind, both with deep baskets strapped to their backs to carry the day’s catch back to their croft. A slow smile curved Jack’s lips as he watched Bella approach. Water lapped her bare feet. The wind whipped her tunic against one side of her body, hugging her curves. His eyes traced along the outline of her sleek waist and the flare of her hip. Her hair, streaked with pale gold, lashed out behind her, lifting and tangling the in salty air. Her eyes locked with his. A smile, sweet and sensual, curved her lips as she drew closer. When she reached his side, she sank to her knees and pulled the basket from her shoulders. Then she lay her head on his chest. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her, more precious to him than anything he could have ever imagined. He wrapped his arm around her and stroked her hair.
She raised her head and looked at him, her pale green eyes luminescent next to her skin now deeply tanned by the sun. He grazed his fingers down her soft cheek and throat, then slowly over her shoulder. He frowned when he noticed a hole in the sleeve of her tunic. He absently picked at the frayed threads.
“Do ye miss yer life the way it was?” he said. “Yer fine tunics and servants.”
Her eyes widened for an instant and then grew serious. She cupped his cheeks between her hands. “You listen to me, Jack MacVie. All I want is you.” She sat up and pointed to Rose and the lassies trying to get as close to the waves as they could without getting wet. “And them,” she said, laughing. Then she jumped to her feet and spread her arms wide, smiling up at the heavens. “And this,” she cried. “Sandy shores, crashing waves, Jura’s mountains in the distance.” She plunked down in the sand once more and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him to lay back on the sand.
“Look,” she cried. He followed her outstretched arm, pointing to the sky at a golden eagle soaring into the clouds. Then she touched his cheek, drawing his gaze. Her warm breath caressed his skin. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what,” he asked, his voice low.
“For giving me a wonderful life.”
Quinn
A Scottish Outlaw
Chapter One
Quinn MacVie never ran his horse ragged, and he’d berate any man who did. But if he had to choose between the well-being of a horse or that of a woman—he would pick the woman every time.
“Open the doors,” Quinn shouted outside the stables of what might have been a bustling village were it not the middle of the night. The swollen moon cast cool light across the barren village green and narrow road. He knocked again on the worn wooden door. Surely, someone slept within. A flicker of candlelight across the road snaked his gaze toward one of the small cottages. He glimpsed a shadowed face the instant before a flap of hide fell back in place over the cottage window, concealing its occupant from view. At least someone had heard his plea. Now, if only the stable-master would stir.
“Wake Up. I need a horse,” Quinn yelled, emphasizing each word with a hammer of his fist upon the door.
Still, aid did not arrive. With a growl, he pounded the door harder, again and again, until at last he heard the bar slide away. He stepped back as the doors swung wide. Orange lantern light fell upon a grizzly looking man with thick brows, a wide, flat nose and long, tangled brown hair. A line of spittle that had dried to his chin and his glazed eyes proved that Quinn had, indeed, dragged the man from a sound sleep, and judging by his deep scowl, he was not at all pleased. Holding his lantern high, the man glared at Quinn.
“What the devil are ye…” His raspy voice trailed off, and his eyes widened as he looked Quinn over.
Pulling his weary mount behind him, Quinn barreled into the stables, his long, black robe swirling about his feet. Inside, the air smelled of fresh-cut hay. Quinn grunted his approval. “I need a horse,” he said, turning back to look at the stable-master.
“Forgive me, Brother,” he said, making the sign of the cross. “I did not expect to find a monk beating down my door at this hour. ‘Tis after midnight. I thought to find a lad new to his breeches and too far into his cups.”
“I need a horse,” Quinn repeated. He hadn’t time for conversation. Promises had been made. A life was at stake. “I’ve pushed this beast too hard.” He tossed the man his reins.
Frowning, the man slipped the handle of his lantern on a nearby hook before his attention turned to the mare. He stroked her muzzle. “Ye’re a pretty lass,” he said, revealing a row of square, yellow teeth when he smiled. “But a tired one to be sure.” He looked beyond the mare to Quinn. “She’s young and will recover,” he said, wiping at the white foam that had gathered on the horse’s bit.
Nodding his approval, Quinn gestured to the line of stalls stretching out behind them into darkness. “Another mount and hurry. ‘Tis a matter of great urgency.”
Without hesitation, the man hastened to the nearest stall. “I’m called Adam MacDonough,” he said, fumbling with the latch. “Remember my name in yer prayers. I wouldn’t deny a man of God aid, and neither would my lord. He wouldn’t dare.” Adam opened the gate, then quitted the stall a moment later with a white, speckled mare in tow. “I will pray for yer quest, Brother,” he said while saddling the horse. “What’s yer saint’s name?”
“Augustine,” Quinn bit out, rubbing the back of his neck while he waited impatiently for the man to finish.
Adam’s straggly hair swept the dirt floor as he leaned down and tightened the cinch before he straightened and handed the reins to Quinn. “Brother Augustine, will ye say a blessing for me?”
Quinn looked away from the disheveled man’s imploring gaze. He had no wish to add to his list of sins by committing such a blatant blasphemy. It was one thing to dress the part of a monk. Surely, God would turn a blind eye to a simple disguise. But to perform a blessing in His name—even Quinn had to draw the line somewhere. Keeping silent, he gathered his long robe and swung up into the saddle. Wishing to at least offer Adam his thanks, he glanced down, but the stable-master’s eyes had fixed on the hilt of the large dirk sticking out of Quinn’s boot. Quinn quickly dropped the voluminous folds of his black robe in place, hiding the weapon from view. “’Tis my soul that’s in jeopardy. Pray for me,” Quinn hissed and tossed a handful of coin on the ground. “To appease the nobleman who owns this beast.” Then Quinn turned his horse away from the startled man and drove his heels into the mare’s flanks, racing back out into the night.
For five years, Quinn had routinely broken one of the ten commandments—Thou shall not steal. He was a thief, robbing English nobles on the road north into Scotland alongside his four brothers. But the MacVie brothers were not hell bent on riches and wealth. They had become highwaymen to fight against the tyranny of King Edward of England, giving their gains to a cause greater than themselves, the righteous call of Scottish sovereignty. Over the years, Quinn had stolen chests of coin, jewels, fine tapestries, costly robes, anything that might fetch a price. Now, once again, he was bent low over a saddle in pursuit of a prize, but what he had agreed to steal was unlike any plunder he had stolen before. He rode north through Scotland, urging his horse to race faster, not in pursuit of gold or jewels. He was after something infinitely more valuable. He was after a woman, an English woman, Lady Catarina Ravensworth to be exact.
What few knew at that moment was that Lady Catarina’s father, Lord David Redesdale, had just committed treason only hours before. But word would spread and soon everyone would know, including King Edward. If caught, David would be drawn and quartered for his crimes, but, luckily for David, he and his youngest daughter, Bella, had fled from their fortress in England with Quinn’s older brother, Jack, at their side. Now outlaws on the run, they would have to move fast to escape the violent wrath of King Edward, but if anyone could lead David and Bella to safety, it was Jack. However, just before they left, Bella expressed grave concern for her sister’s well-being. She told Jack and Quinn that her sister was wed to a cruel English lord who would punish Catarina for her father’s disgrace.
The thought of Lord Henry Ravensworth drove Quinn to push his horse h
arder. There was nothing more loathsome than a man willing to raise his fist against a woman or child. Judging by Bella’s distress, Quinn had surmised her brother-in-law to be just that sort of man. Now it was up to Quinn to steal Catarina away before news of David’s treason reached Lord Ravensworth.
Quinn had ridden along the coast for some hours when at last the horizon began to brighten. He tugged on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt and inhaled the pungent scent of low tide. Up ahead, the torch fire of Ravensworth Castle blazed against the waning night sky. He slid from his horse and stroked a soothing hand down his horse’s muzzle. It would only encourage suspicion were he to arrive at Ravensworth with a winded beast. He looked down at his black robe, the very robe he had worn to gain entry the morning before into the Redesdale fortress. As a humble monk, he would walk the remainder of the journey, and by the time he neared the gate, the sea should be slashed with the golds and pinks of dawn. A slight smile curved his lips. Brother Augustine would have no trouble gaining entry into Ravensworth Castle. Then his smile vanished. Leaving the castle with the lady of the keep—now that was the real challenge.
Chapter Two
Lady Catarina knelt in front of the stained-glass image of Saint Catherine in the rear of the castle chapel. Morning sun filtered through the window casting out jewel-colored lights, which danced around her, skimming the ground and her white tunic, even alighting upon her folded hands. She marveled at their radiance before closing her eyes to savor the silence found in that heavenly sanctuary. The quiet she gleaned in solitude between morning mass and the breaking of her fast in the great hall was her favorite part of each day. Once again, daybreak and prayer had banished the regret placed in her thoughts by the torment of her restless sleep. The night played tricks with her mind, the stars pointing her toward unfulfilled desires. But in the clear light of day, she stood on solid ground where reason and practicality reigned. Once more she understood that life could never be perfect, not in a world where so many evils—from the ravages of disease to the violent whims of kings—threatened the lives of innocents. Her secure existence at Ravensworth Castle was blessed…even if she was unhappy.
