Highland Raider

by Amy Jarecki

  As the MacDonald ships got underway, Anya shaded her eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of Angus, but they were too far away to make out anyone.

  He’s there. I can feel his presence in my soul.

  “Do ye know what Raghnall has planned?” Anya asked one of the oarsmen.

  “No idea, though our chances of nabbing His Lordship are far greater if we head off those ships afore they disembark.”

  “Then why are we staying so far away?”

  “Because we do no’ want them to ken we’re following.”

  Anya checked her bow as well as her arrows. “But we’re out of range.”

  “Aye.”

  “Unless we sail nearer, we’ll be of no use at all.”

  “Patience, miss.”

  “Ugh.” Anya wanted to pace, wanted to pick up an oar and row, wanted to do anything except sit on the uncomfortably hard bench and wait. She’d already bided her time long enough. They could have headed off Ulster’s ships at the mouth of the firth. They could have attacked directly with an onslaught of arrows. But all this waiting was enough to drive her mad.

  She thrust her finger in the direction of the boats. “Look, they’re tacking southward. If we do not stop them now, they’ll reach the English shore!”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Raghnall’s ship and the other two MacDonald birlinns sailed out from a bluff on a direct heading for Ulster’s lead boat. With the shifting of sails, the three Irish galleys started an abrupt turn toward the English shore.

  “There he is,” Anya shouted, spotting Angus sitting midship, his light hair whipped by the wind.

  Raghnall’s boat headed directly for the lead galley—aiming to ram them for certain.

  Anya held her breath as the Scottish birlinn picked up speed.

  “Archers!” shouted Gael.

  With her bow in her fist, Anya planted her feet, letting her knees bend with the rocking of the waves. She drew an arrow from its quiver, aiming for the third boat, one not carrying Angus. And though it was near impossible to steady her bow, she didn’t fire. What if she actually hit someone? What if she took a life of someone familiar? Good heavens, she hadn’t thought about that.

  A thunderous boom resounded across the white-capped surf as Raghnall’s birlinn broadsided the lead galley. Water jetted high into the air while splinters shot out like darts.

  As the Scottish ships encircled the Irish, an arrow hissed past Anya’s ear.

  A sailor yanked her sleeve. “Get down!”

  She dipped behind the hull, peeking over the edge with her bow at the ready. If it came to life and death, she mustn’t hesitate to use it. Ahead, another MacDonald birlinn broadsided the ship with Angus in another enormous spray of water. As the ship began to sink, two of Ulster’s men grabbed Angus by the elbows.

  “Dear God, they have him tied to an anchor!” Anya shouted.

  “Man the oars,” bellowed Gael from the tiller.

  In Ulster’s galley, Angus sprang to his feet and smacked a guard in the head with the anchor. As the second man reached for his sword, Angus hurled the anchor into the blackguard’s gut.

  Gael howled with a resounding laugh. “Leave it to Fairhair to use an eight-stone anchor as a weapon.”

  But Islay’s plight was not humorous in the least. Anya thrust her arrow toward the sinking ship. “Row faster! The galley is taking on water.”

  As Ulster’s men futilely set to bailing, the Lord of Islay bellowed a hellacious war cry and launched himself backward into the surf.

  “No!” Anya screamed as men from the converging boats dove in after him. “Quickly, we must move closer.”

  As the sailors fought to cut through sea, she watched the mayhem with men diving and resurfacing while Ulster’s galley disappeared beneath the waves.

  “There he is,” bellowed Gael from the tiller.

  Anya’s heart stuck in her throat as she scanned the surf, spotting a form swimming directly toward them. “Angus?” Could she hope?

  With powerful strokes, the swimmer came nearer, while two men leaned over the side, stretched out their hands, and pulled him in.

  “Angus!” Anya cried, tripping over rowing benches until she reached him and flung her arms around his neck. “Praises be, ’tis you!”

  Laughing and crying all at once, she smothered his face with kisses.

  His teeth chattered as he cupped her cheek and gazed into her eyes. “I returned to Carrickfergus to ask for your hand and met only with Ulster’s ire. How did ye come to be here?”

  “She’s a tenacious lady, sir,” said Gael, gripping Angus’ arm with a Highland welcome, “I’ll say for certain.”

  A giggle puffed through Anya’s nose as she realized all eyes had turned her way while she’d flung herself into the Lord of Islay’s arms—very soggy arms. “’Tis a long story.”

  “Come, men, we’d best set a course for Dunyvaig straightaway, afore any other wayward swimmers attempt to climb aboard,” said Gael, circling his hand over his head.

  As the sailors set to shifting the boom, changing tack, and taking up the oars, Anya explained about being imprisoned in her chamber, her escape, and her frantic dash for the Isle of Islay. “It turns out my sister is madly in love with Lord O’Doherty and he with her. Better yet, Ulster will never know His Lordship helped me. When Finovola reveals that I have disappeared on my own accord, Ulster will have no reason not to allow her to marry the man of her dreams.”

  Angus tucked a lock of Anya’s hair behind her ear. “Nearly betrothed, no longer?” he asked, his teeth chattering.

  “Good heavens, ye are freezing.” Anya pulled off her cloak, but when she started to drape it over his shoulders, he stilled her hand.

  “Nay, lass. I’ll not be having ye catch your death.”

  “But—”

  “No arguments.”

  “How are the wounds on your back?” She pointed to the medicine basket. “I’ve brought a salve from Lilas.”

  Hissing, he leaned forward. Fresh blood from the welts had seeped through the wet linen.

  “Remove your shirt at once, my lord. There’s not a moment to spare.” Anya retrieved her bundle. “I cannot believe Ulster’s poor treatment of ye. He ought to be flayed.”

  Angus rested his elbows on his knees while Anya carefully applied the soothing ointment. “One day he’ll pay. But at the moment, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here beside ye, mo leannan.”

  24

  Once they reached Dunyvaig, Angus insisted on disembarking from the boat without allowing anyone to assist him, including the lass whose doting affection he’d immensely enjoyed on the voyage home. Only when his feet were firmly on Islay’s soil, did he allow Anya to take his arm as they made their way into the castle. He never again wanted his woman to be out of his reach.

  “Send up a pail of warm water, and tell Lilas His Lordship has arrived,” she said, taking charge as if she were already the lady of the keep.

  Angus liked her fortitude, but after enduring the lashes and the misery of the dungeon, the only person he wanted in his chamber was Anya. “Nay, no’ Lilas. I will only allow ye to tend me. And I want a bath filled with piping hot water.”

  “But Lilas is a healer.”

  “I assure ye, it is no’ healing I require.”

  “I—” Anya took one look at his face and held her tongue. “It will be an honor to tend ye, my lord.”

  Together they passed through the hall, greeting the worried clansmen and women as they made their way to the stairwell.

  “Everyone is so happy to see ye,” whispered Anya. “Ought ye announce a feast?”

  “Later,” he growled, needing her to himself. As soon as they arrived at his bedchamber, he pulled her inside, he kicked the door closed, and wrapped her in his arms.

  Within the beat of his heart, he claimed her mouth, their kiss more impassioned, more deliberate, more intense than ever before. Every fiber in his body came alive as he tasted her, showing this woman exactly how
much she had come to mean to him.

  Angus’ hands kneaded her back, urging her against his body, wishing she could remain in his arms for the rest of their days. “I never should have let ye go.”

  “I’ve chided myself over and over because I did not plead with ye allow me to stay.”

  “Can ye find it in your heart to forgive me?”

  “After all ye have done? Angus Og MacDonald, I love ye from the depths of my heart. And if ye ever try to send me away again, I swear I’ll skewer ye to within an inch of your life.”

  A knock came at the door. “I’ve the warm water, m’lord.”

  He let the servants in. “Place the tub beside the hearth, pour the water in, then let it be known I am not to be bothered.”

  Freya entered as well with a trencher laden with food. “I thought ye might care for a wee bite to eat.”

  “My thanks,” Anya replied, blushing and giving the maid a friendly smile.

  On her way out, Freya grasped the lass’ hands. “It is ever so good to have ye back, miss.”

  Angus chuckled to himself. With what he was planning, by dawn the lass would no longer be referred to as miss.

  When the servants had taken their leave, he locked the latch to ensure they would not be bothered. “I have the stench of Ulster’s gaol upon my person.”

  “’Tisn’t so bad after your swim in the Firth of Solway.” The lass stepped forward and tapped the brooch at his shoulder. “Nonetheless, my mother always said there is nothing as refreshing as a tub, especially after a hard day’s work or, in your case, a horrific ordeal.” She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip as she glanced toward the door. “Shall I take my leave?”

  Unable to help himself, he pulled her into his embrace. “I never want ye to leave my side again.”

  Anya wrapped her arms around him, placing her hands on his back, but when he drew in a sharp breath, she hopped away. “Goodness! Forgive me.”

  Sauntering toward her, he tugged her back into his arms. “There is nothing to forgive. When your hands are upon me, I barely feel a thing.”

  Lowering his lips to hers, he once again claimed her mouth, taking time to savor her.

  Sighing, Anya caressed his cheek. “Ye’d best bathe whilst the water is still warm. Did ye not say piping hot?”

  “Perhaps, but there’s something I must do first.”

  “Oh?”

  Taking her hand between his palms, Angus lowered himself to one knee. “I went to Carrickfergus to ask for your hand and was told I was too late. In that moment, I thought I’d lost ye forever. It was the darkest hour of my life. Ulster may have ordered the lash to be taken to my hide, but I did not feel the pain because my heart was bleeding for you and only you.”

  Tears welled in Anya’s eyes.

  “I love ye more than I love anything of this earth and I wish for ye to marry me here and now in the Highland way, between us, with God as our witness.”

  Anya squeezed his hand, her bottom lip trembling while a tear glistened, streaming down her cheek. “Yes, I will marry ye, Angus. I’m here because Finovola told me of your declaration of love in the hall. Nothing in this world would have stopped me from finding your arms.”

  Pulling him up, she again held him, this time careful to keep her hands away from his wounds. “I’m so happy.”

  Angus brushed his lips across her forehead as he unfastened her cloak, sending it to the floorboards with a swoosh.

  Anya drew her fists beneath her chin as if bashful. “Truly, I should step out and allow ye to wash, my lord.”

  “I rather hoped ye would…” He unfastened his brooch and slid the brechan from his shoulder.

  The lass turned scarlet as her gaze meandered to the tub of steaming water. “I would…?”

  “Stay.”

  Anya’s tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth. “But will ye not need to disrobe?”

  “Aye,” he replied in a low growl. “I want to see ye bare as well.”

  “Me?”

  “Do ye ken what happens in a Highland marriage, lass?”

  “I-I think so.”

  “Allow me to explain.” Angus released his belt and let his brechan drop. “I intend to take ye as my wife, to bed ye, and do my best to plant a bairn in your belly.”

  “I-I-I reckoned that was what ye meant. Ah…but what will Friar Jo say?”

  “He’s ordained as a deacon and will want to marry us in the chapel.”

  “He will not banish us?”

  “Och, lass, if he banished everyone who invoked a Highland bond first, there would be but a handful of parishioners attending his Sunday mass.”

  Her gaze raked down his body as she slowly untied the bow securing her bodice laces. “Well then, what would ye have me do?”

  “I reckon the tub is large enough for the both of us.”

  “Both?”

  “Aye,” he said, his voice cracking as he pushed the kirtle from her shoulders. Angus wanted her so badly, he didn’t know if he’d be able to wait. But then again, he did not want to claim his bride until he washed away all the lingering remnants of that damned rat-infested gaol. “Please?”

  With a nod, Anya tugged up the hem of her shift and exposed her ankles.

  Angus’ breath caught as upward it went, giving him an eyeful of shapely calves, of silky knees, of feminine thighs plump enough to make her soft as down-filled pillows. “Take it completely off.”

  The adorable imp waggled her eyebrows. “Now?”

  “Aye.”

  In one motion, she whisked the linen garment over her head and sent it sailing. Seeming to realize she was naked, Anya crouched and crossed her arms over her breasts, though not before Angus spied pure perfection. Untouched by the sun, her skin was like fresh cream, her breasts tipped by pink roses, the arc of her waist incredibly small, flaring into glorious hips.

  Instantly hard, he removed his shirt and grasped her wrists, tugging her arms away ever so gently. “Ye must never hide from me, for in my eyes ye are the bonniest woman in all of Christendom.”

  Again, she raked her gaze down his body, gasping when she saw him standing as erect as a stallion. “Astonishing,” she whispered.

  “This is what ye do to me, lass.”

  In a heartbeat, he drew her into his body and kissed her. God on the cross, she felt so heavenly he never wanted to release this woman. Unable to drink in enough of his Anya, he slid his hands downward, pulling those luscious hips against his cock.

  “Mm.” With a womanly sigh that aroused him to the point of boiling, she moved in a swirling rhythm. “Angus…ought we bathe, my love?”

  “Aye.” With a trembling hand, he led her to the tub.

  “Are ye certain the friction will not hurt your back overmuch?”

  “Having ye in my arms, I can barely feel the wounds now.”

  Angus stepped into the water first, then urged her to join him. In each other’s arms they sank into the tub, the fit so snug, Anya had not but to straddle him.

  One of the servants had left a pile of drying cloths and a cake of soap beside the bath. Anya took the bar and drew it to her nose. “’Tis as fragrant as a lea of wildflowers.”

  She dipped it into the water and lathered his body. If it weren’t for his wounds, Angus would have leaned back and closed his eyes and given himself over to her ministrations, but that didn’t detract from the delight he felt from her gentle touch. Nor did it detract from the anticipation of making her his wife. He wanted this woman clear to the depths of his soul. He would worship her, love her, adore her and, if the odds were stacked against them, he would die for her.

  “Now you,” Angus said, slipping the cake of soap from Anya’s fingers.

  “Ye mean to wash me as well?”

  His eyes grew dark as his gaze meandered to her bare breasts. “I desire to place my hands on ye, lass.”

  Never in all her days had Anya thought being naked with a man would make her so indescribably wanton. Though a bashful voice at the back of her h
ead told her to cross her arms, she knew he didn’t want her to do so. She grasped the sides of the tub and tipped up her chin, opening herself to whatever he willed. “I trust ye.”

  And oh, his touch felt so incredibly divine. The soap made his fingers slick, and he kneaded her flesh with those strong, yet soothing fingers. Anya’s breathing became labored as he cleansed her breasts as if they were as delicate as butterfly wings. Downward he continued, missing nothing, until he stopped at her sex.

  “This is where I want to be,” he growled like a devil—a very kind-hearted devil.

  As he slid his finger into the most sacred place on her body, Anya’s eyes flashed open with her sharp gasp.

  “Relax,” he whispered, covering her mouth with a kiss that left her with no doubt as to his affection.

  He touched her with a swirling motion, so erotic, her head swam. “I think I am going to swoon.”

  “Simply having my hands upon ye makes me ravenous.”

  Anya grasped his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Then take me. Take me to the bed and show me how a woman pleasures a man. Take me to the bed and make me your wife for all of eternity.”

  The corner of his sensual mouth lifted lazily, his eyes growing dark. “Ye have no idea how much your words stir the fire within me.”

  By the burning want swirling throughout Anya’s body, she must have some idea what it felt like for him.

  Together they stepped out of the tub, hastily drying each other with the cloths until Angus swept her into his arms.

  “Oh my,” Anya exclaimed. “Does the burden of my weight not hurt your back?”

  He chuckled as he carried her to the bed and lowered her to the mattress. “I am no’ holding ye against my back, mo leannan.”

  Anya reached for him, but he took her fingers and kissed them. “Allow me to gaze upon perfection.”

  No matter how much she wanted to cover her nudity, his words made a yearning pool in her loins, while a hot, swirling pulse of awareness thrummed through her blood. What he mightn’t realize, was by stepping back, Angus gave Anya a gift, allowing her to drink him in. For all that was holy, the Lord of Islay posed a picture of unmitigated manhood. Gazing upon him made her wild with desire, made her want, need, hunger to lie with him. Made her crave the rough pads of his fingertips upon her flesh.