The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  Rose turned to Davy. “What’s happening?”

  Davy’s jaw was set. “Storm’s coming,” he said, before he seized the bucket and rags.

  She turned around and around, taking in the patchy blue sky. “But the sky is clear enough.”

  “It won’t be for long,” Davy said, looking her hard in the eye. He suddenly seemed years older. “Captain’s never wrong.”

  Rose’s eyes widened as she turned and gazed out over the main deck at the frenzy of activity that had ensued. The crew hastened to carry out Tristan’s orders. With line in hand, Piper swung open the large cargo door cut into the floor of the main deck and jumped down into the hold. Then his head appeared again as he quickly pulled the door shut. She guessed he was using the line to secure the hatch. A short while later, he reappeared on deck, using the hatch that led to the sleeping cabins and galley.

  Rose pressed her lips together in a firm line and tightened her fists as she marched down the stairs to join the men. The captain of the Messenger had given a command. Scanning the deck, she seized hold of extra line and began coiling the loose end. During a storm, unsecured line could lash out like a whip and entangle a crew member or flay their skin. Davy rushed past her, his arms full of the crew members’ affects, pallets and satchels, which he carried down below. Jacob’s muscles tightened and bulged as he seized the barrel of ale from under the stern and carried it across the main deck. Several arms suddenly stuck out from the hatch, taking the burden away from the ship’s strong man.

  “Is there room for the water barrel?” Jacob barked.

  Piper’s head and shoulders appeared above deck. “We still need to fit the table and chairs.” he said. “Tie the barrel down.”

  Timothy pushed past Piper, thundering up from below. He darted among the men, handing out dried meat and hunks of bread in preparation for the battle to come.

  She froze where she stood and stared up at the patchy blue sky. How could Tristan be certain a storm was heading their way? She closed her eyes and breathed deep the salty air. It was so calm. A shiver shot up her spine. Too calm. The sea shone like smooth glass. The wind held its breath.

  And then it started.

  The wind expelled its breath in a rush. Blue patches of sky shone bright—their last stand. Her nose wrinkled against the pungent scent suddenly released from deep inside the sea’s belly. The clouds dropped. She reached her hand to the sky, sure she could touch the graying masses that had begun to writhe and spread, darkening with every breath she took.

  The wind barreled toward them with a blast that forced her back.

  It was here.

  Tristan shouted orders over the din of the howling gusts. She jumped in to lend a hand where she could, securing lines, tying down anything that could roll around the deck when the ship started to rock and dip. After helping Timothy pack up the uneaten food, she whirled around and ran right into Tristan.

  He gripped her shoulders. “Go down below. Secure yourself in our cabin.”

  She shook her head. “Nay, I am all right.”

  “It wasn’t a request,” he snapped. “It’s an order.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Ye can’t expect me to cower down below like a captured animal. Tristan, I can help. I can—”

  Suddenly, he flung her over his shoulder.

  “Have ye gone mad?” she shouted. “Put me down this instant. I am not yer sack of potatoes. Blast ye, Tristan. Tristan!”

  She struggled against his strength as he barreled down the stairs.

  “Nay,” she yelled. “Don’t do this. Please! Ye can’t shut me away.”

  He opened the door and swung her over his shoulder onto the bed. “You will stay down here,” he commanded.

  She scurried to her feet. “I will not,” she cried.

  “You leave me no choice,” he rasped. Then he turned around and pulled a broad sword out from beneath his desk. She backed away as he came toward her. “By the Saint’s, ye’re mad!” She scurried up on the bed, pressing her back against the wall.

  “It will be all right,” he said. Then he shut the door, leaving her in total darkness. Her breath caught at the sound of cracking wood.

  “Nay,” she cried, rushing forward. She pushed against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. She knew he must have wedged the blade into the floor to block her way. She beat her fists against the wood.

  “Come back,” she shouted. “Tristan! You cannot leave me down here!”

  A crack of thunder shocked her ears. The sea no longer cradled the hull, it rocked and pushed and strained against the ship’s walls. She fell back on the bed. A breath later, sheets of rain battered the deck overhead. Waves beat the sides. She rolled back and forth, then scrambled off and sat in the small floor space, curling her knees to her chest. But she knocked against the table and then the door. The wind shrieked, screaming like a banshee across the moors. Above the din, she heard muffled shouts from the crew and the splash of waves on the deck. Water crept beneath the door, wetting her tunic. She pressed her feet into the door and her back against the bed, straining to keep her body from thrashing about as the boat dipped and swayed. The boards creaked and shuddered at her.

  Hours choked past while she remained buried in twisting darkness. Fear of sinking to the dark abyss gripped her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut against the images that came unbidden to her mind: a rising wave sweeping the deck with its salty tentacles, seizing the men and dragging them below. Tristan’s body flung into the air and swallowed by watery jaws, lost forever to the deep.

  “Nay,” she cried.

  That wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t!

  But a sob escaped her throat. She knew better than most that the worst could always happen. Her heart pounded as she prayed for Tristan and the crew of the Messenger.

  Then, just as suddenly as the storm began, the pelting rain stopped. The wind continued to howl and toss the ship. But slowly the gale quieted, and her body no longer thrashed against the bed or the stand. She lit a candle to chase away the darkness the instant before she heard feet barreling down the steps, and the sound of the sword being wrenched free. Breathless, she pressed her hands into the floor and stood just as the door swung wide.

  “Tristan,” she cried, as she drank in the sight of his strong shoulders silhouetted against the soft light slanting in from the open hatch. She flung herself into his arms. She coursed her hands over his shoulders, then up to cup his cheeks and back down his chest. “Are ye all right? Are ye whole?” she said, her voice as frantic as her hands.

  “We are all fine,” he hastened to say. Then he cupped her cheeks. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded as a knot formed in her throat. The weight of the last few hours came crashing down. Her legs gave way. He lifted her feet off the ground and crushed her to his chest. She sobbed, her tears loosening fear’s grip on her heart.

  “We are all fine,” he crooned in her ear. “Philip, Davy, Piper, everyone. And your ship is fine, too. We’ll have to replace some of the halyards, but otherwise it weathered the storm.” He set her down and once more cupped her cheeks. She looked up at him, her heart still racing. “We are all fine,” he said. “Do you hear me, Rose?”

  She fought for calm as the meaning of his words penetrated her fear. “We are all right,” she echoed.

  “That’s right,” he soothed and held her close. “You must have been terrified alone down here.” He pulled away just enough to meet her gaze. “Forgive me, Rose. I did not order you below because I thought you incapable.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I can’t captain this ship and worry about your safety. I needed you to be safe.”

  “I know,” she said. Her mind cleared. She took in his disheveled appearance. Black curls clung to his forehead. His tunic was torn at the shoulder.

  “You were just trying to protect me.”

  He held her close. “I needed you to be safe,” he said softly. “I need you.”

  They locked eyes. His words echoed in her mind.
>
  I need you.

  She threw her arms around his neck. He kicked the door shut. Their lips came together in a combustion of feeling that quaked through her, sending her senses in a whirl of rapture and a need so great, so powerful—she felt like she might burst into flame. Running her hands down his wet tunic, she caressed the taut contours of skin and muscle. Then, he lifted her feet off the ground. Her lips trailed down his neck. She tasted his skin, salty and sweaty and so powerfully male.

  He set her feet on the ground and bent her back, his hand stroking down her neck, then slowly over her breast. She arched into his touch, savoring the feel of his hand on her body, bringing her very skin to life. Heat and longing spread through her, aching in places that had not been touched for so long. She pulled at his tunic. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin. He undid the hook on his belt. It dropped to the ground. Then, he pulled his wet tunic over his head. Her eyes feasted on his sailor’s body. He was sinewy and hard and so very strong. She reached to his great height, a smile curving her lips.

  ~ * ~

  Her sensual smile made him growl with need. He held her close, kissing her with all his passion, with the very force of the storm he had just weathered. Now, a new storm brewed, building within him, ready to unleash the might of his hunger.

  “Ask me to leave,” he rasped, holding his body taut. “If you want me to leave, ask me now.”

  She clasped his face in her hands. “Stay with me,” she breathed. Then she kissed his lips, and within him, the damn burst.

  He reached down and lifted the hem of her tunic and whisked it off. Then he slowly eased her kirtle up, uncovering her long, creamy legs, the soft red curls at the apex of her thighs, the flare of her hips, and the grace of her slender waist. He paused when he uncovered her breasts, creamy mounds with soft pink nipples, aching to be tasted. He swept her kirtle over her head.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed before he pulled her against himself, savoring the feel of her soft curves.

  Her hair was a tangle of wild curls that skimmed her slender waist. He dug his hands into her silken mane and tilted her neck so he could taste her skin. Then his lips trailed down her throat, over her shoulders, sweeping, savoring. He eased her back onto the bed. His gaze journeyed over her hair now splayed out across the pillow, her sky-blue eyes half-lidded with desire, her lovely full lips bruised from his kiss. He sat on the bed next to her and stroked his hand possessively up her calf, then over her soft thigh. He bent his head and kissed her, while his touch explored the wonders of her body. She was a creature as powerful and as beautiful as the very sea that cradled their passion.

  ~ * ~

  Rose groaned softly as his touch trailed up her thighs, making her body throb with desire. She reached for him, pulling him over her. “I want to feel ye,” she purred. “I want to feel the weight of ye on top of me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  “You won’t,” she promised, running her fingertips along the waist of his hose. He stood quickly and stripped them off. She took in the strength of his body, his great height and chiseled lines, and then the hard length of him. She reached for him and opened her legs, needing him, wanting him soul-deep.

  He shifted over her. His hard body covered hers, making her feel so secure, and yet intoxicatingly vulnerable to his male strength. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His lips seized hers, his tongue stroking, teasing, making the heat within her blaze red-hot. His lips and tongue raked over her, tasting her shoulders, her breasts.

  “Please fill me,” she rasped in his ear. “I want to feel ye inside me.”

  His amber eyes burned through her as he shifted over her and settled between her thighs. And then she felt his body begin to ease into hers. She clung to him, her nails digging into the flesh of his back. Her body took more and more of him until she was full, and hot, and ready to feel the force of his thrust. Her hips met each one, her body hungry for his. The sound of his ragged breaths mingled with the pounding of her heart as pleasure so sweet and so painful mounted, rising, cresting, burning, breaking. She clung to him, desperate for relief, and then she cried out as wave after wave of passion crashed through her.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Messenger hugged the southern coast of England. Rose gripped the rails as she gazed upon the grassy slopes and rocky cliffs. In that moment, a shiver coursed up her spine. For everyone on board, this was a homecoming. But, she was entering the enemy’s den. She thought of her brothers—of Jack who stole into an English fortress, risking it all for the woman he loved; and of Quinn who stood his ground against English knights and blood-thirsty dogs to protect his Catarina, an English lady falsely accused of murder; and of Rory who emptied King Edward’s coffers with Scottish lady and rebel, Alexandria MacKenzie, at his side; and of Alec whose gift of sight helped recover the Stone of destiny; and of Ian, who at that moment, was out there somewhere, risking his very life for the sake of Scottish independence.

  Her courageous brothers were Scottish Outlaws and heroes. Did she possess the same courage? She gripped the rail tighter. The same blood flowed through her veins. She glanced at Tristan who stood nearby talking to Philip. She drew a deep breath.

  “Are ye nervous?” she asked him.

  He looked down at her with calm, confident eyes. “Not at all. Right is on our side. My father is a good man who made a mistake but not one worthy of ruination. And despite her flaws, the daughter of Roxwell should not have to marry a man who cannot love her, nor should I be forced to bind myself to a family who treats their people like cattle. No, Rose. I do not doubt for a moment that our cause is just.”

  “Captain,” Philip said, drawing their attention. “We are preparing to enter the Thames.”

  Tristan cupped his mouth and called to Piper and Jacob who manned the steering oar, “Angle the oar deeper.” Slowly the Messenger started to turn.

  “How long until we reach London?” she asked as she gazed out at fields of flax and small huts, dotting the Thames.

  “The city grows and spreads with every passing year. Just up around the bend, you will begin to see a few settlements, but it won’t be long until we reach the city proper.”

  They passed a lovely kirk that reminded her of the one church on Colonsay. Farther down the river, she spied several women plodding toward shore, carrying baskets teeming with laundry. Just then, a sudden, boisterous string of chatter coming from the main deck forced her gaze away from the shoreline. The crew called out to each other about their families, who waited for their return:

  “My Anna will give me a big kiss.”

  “My boy turned ten this year. I’d wager he’s as tall as me.”

  “My mum is sure to cry the moment I open the door.”

  “I cannot wait to see my Cora.” She smiled at Davy who coiled line at a frantic pace, his excitement bursting through his fingers.

  The enthusiasm of the crew emboldened her spirit. She looked again at the passing shoreline. “What is that?” she asked Tristan, spotting a tall, narrow, stone building in the distance.

  “The Tower of London,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. She knew that place. She shivered thinking of the many Scotsmen and women who had died within its circular walls. As they passed by, she made the sign of the cross.

  “Look at me, Rose,” Tristan said.

  She did as he bade her.

  “You are safe on these shores, I promise you.” He pressed a kiss to her brow before turning his eyes forward. “Wide barge, portside,” he called to Jacob and Henry. Rose watched in awe as the Messenger skillfully navigated through the increasingly busy port waters of London.

  Tristan pointed to docks. “There’s Billingsgate Wharf. This is our London. It belongs to the merchants and other guilds, where a man is judged by what he makes with his hands, not who is father is.”

  Like her brothers, Tristan was everything good and noble and strong and so was she. Rose straightened her spine and thrust her shoulder
s back. Silencing the voice of doubt in her mind, she relaxed and drank in the sights. After a short distance, larger homes began to shape the cityscape, and soon great fortresses appeared.

  “Do you see that fortress there with the yellow flags,” Tristan asked.

  She looked to where he pointed and nodded.

  He lowered his hand. “That is my family’s home.”

  Her stomach dropped. Her eyes widened. “Surely, ye jest!”

  “No,” he answered simply.

  Her heart started to pound. Just when she had chased away her fear, the intimidating reality of Tristan’s fortune mocked her from atop a hill. “Are ye sure ye’re not already a lord?”

  Tristan smiled slightly but shook his head. “My family is wealthier than many nobles, but the difference is that our wealth has been earned.”

  Rose could not tear her eyes away from the imposing stone fortress. She swallowed hard.

  “You are turning green,” Philip said, quietly at her side.

  She grabbed the quarter master’s arm and pulled him aside. “I cannot do this. I have lived my life in huts. I sleep on a pallet. I’ve never been inside a castle. I simply won’t know what to do or say.” She gripped his arm tighter. “Philip, this is all yer idea. Ye must help me.”

  He smiled at her calmly. “You will be the most beautiful and worthy woman ever to grace the halls of Birch Heights.”

  Her eyes widened further. “His home has a name?”

  “It is named so because of the white stone that fills the courtyard,” he explained. “Anyway, a castle and a hut are not so very different. They are places where lives unfold.”

  “This isn’t funny,” she cried.

  He put out a placating hand. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.” He gently clasped her hands in his. “Listen to me, Rose. When you enter the home of Owen Thatcher, you will be judged on your merit, not the humbleness of your birth.”