by Eliza Knight
The knight fell to the ground, blood pouring from his wounds, his eyes and mouth wide in surprise. Too easy.
“Please,” the lass whimpered from the corner. The defiance that had shown on her face before disappeared, and now she only looked frightened. “Please, dinna hurt me.”
“I would never. Ye have my word.” Shaw tried to make his words soothing, but they came out so gruff, he was certain they were exactly the opposite.
He wiped the blood from his blade onto the knight’s hose and then stuck the sgian-dubh back into his boot. He approached the lass, hands outstretched, as he might a wild filly. “We must go, lass.”
“Please, go.” She wiped at the blood on her lips. “Leave me here.”
“Lady Jane, is that right?” he asked, ignoring her plea for him to leave her.
She nodded.
“I need to get ye out of here. I was…” Should he tell her? “I was sent by Livingstone to…take your life. But I willna. I swear it. Come now, we must escape.”
“What?” Her tears ceased in her surprise.
“Ye canna be seen. The lads, your husband…” Shaw ran a hand through his hair. “Livingstone willna let them leave alive. He doesna want ye to leave alive.”
That defiance returned to her striking blue eyes as she stared him down. “I dinna believe ye.”
“Trust me.”
She shook her head and slid slowly up the wall to stand, her hands braced on the stone behind her. “Where is my husband?”
Shaw grimaced. “He’s gone, lass. Come now, or ye’ll be gone soon, too.” He’d not been hired for this task, to take a shaking lass out of castle and hide her away. But the alternative was much worse. And he’d not be committing the murder of an innocent today.
Indeed, he risked his entire reputation by being here and doing anything at all, but he was pretty certain the two lads she’d arrived with were dead already, and along with them the rest of their party. Livingstone and Crichton weren’t about to let the lass live to tell the tale or rally the rest of the Douglas clan to come after them. That line was healthy, long and powerful.
“I dinna understand,” she mumbled. “Who are ye?”
“I am Shaw MacDougall.”
She searched his eyes, seeking understanding and not finding it. “I dinna know ye.”
“All ye need to know is I am here to get ye to safety. Come now. They’ll be looking for ye soon.” And him. This was a direct breach of their contract, and Livingstone would not stop until he had Shaw’s head on a spike.
But Shaw didn’t care. He hated the bastard and had been looking for retribution. Let that be a lesson to Livingstone for attempting to blackmail a pirate. His men would be proud to know he’d not succumbed to the blackguard’s demands. As he stood there, they were already being broken out of the jail at Blackness Bay.
Stopping a few feet in front of the lass, he held out his hand and gestured for her to take it. She shook her head.
“Lady Jane, I canna begin to understand what ye’re feeling right now, but I also canna stress enough the urgency of the situation. I’ve a horse, and my ship is not far from here. Come now, else surrender your fate to that of your husband.”
“William.”
“He is dead, lass. Or soon to be.”
“Nay…” Her chin wobbled, and she looked ready to collapse.
“Aye. There is no time to argue. Come. I will carry ye if ye need me to.”
Perhaps it would be better if he simply lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Shaw made a move to reach for her when she shook her head and straightened her shoulders.
“Will ye take me to Iona, Sir MacDougall?”
“Aye. Will Livingstone know to look for ye there?”
She shook her head. “My aunt is a nun there. Livingstone may put it together at some point, but I will be safe there for now.”
“Aye.”
“Oh…” She started to tremble uncontrollably. “Oh my… I… I’m going to…” And then she fell into his arms, unconscious.
Shaw let out a sigh and tossed her over his shoulder as he’d thought to do just a few moments before. Hopefully, she’d not wake until they were on his ship and had already set sail. He sneaked back down the stairs, and rather than go out the front where he could hear screams of pain and shouts filled with the thirst for blood, he snuck her out the postern gate at the back of the castle. He half ran, half slid down the steep slope, thanking the heavens every second when the lass did not waken.
Though he’d arrived at the castle on a horse, he’d had one of his men ride with another and instructed him to wait at the bottom of the castle hill in case he needed to make an escape. Some might say he had a sixth sense about such things, but he preferred to say that he simply had a pirate’s sense of preservation.
Livingstone was a blackguard who’d made a deal with a pirate to commit murder. A powerful lord only made dealings with a pirate when he needed muscle at his back. And when he chose to keep his own hands clean. But that didn’t mean Livingstone wouldn’t hesitate killing Shaw.
Well, Livingstone was a fool. And Shaw was not. There was his horse waiting for him at the bottom of the hill just as he’d asked.
“Just as ye said, Cap’n,” Jack, his quartermaster—called so for being a Jack-of-all-trades—said with a wide, toothy grin. “What’s that?”
Shaw raised a brow, glancing at the rounded feminine arse beside his face. “A lass. Let’s go.”
“Oh, taken to kidnapping now, aye?”
“Not exactly.” Shaw tossed the lass up onto the horse and climbed up behind her. “Come on, Jack. Back to the ship.”
They took off at a canter, loping through the dirt-packed roads of Edinburgh toward the Water of Leith that led out to the Firth of Forth and the sea beyond. But then on second thought, he veered his horse to the right. When they rowed their skiff up the Leith to get to the castle, they’d had more time. Now, time was of the essence, and riding their horses straight to the docks at the Forth where his ship awaited would be quicker. No doubt, as soon as Livingstone noticed Shaw was gone—as well as the girl—he’d send a horde of men after him. Shaw could probably convince a few of them to join his crew, but he didn’t have time for that.
A quarter of an hour later, their horses covered in a sheen of sweat, Shaw shouted for his men to lower the gangplank, and he rode the horse right up onto the main deck of the Savage of the Sea, his pride and joy, the ship he’d captained since he was not much older than the lass he carried.
“Avast ye, maties! All hands hoy! Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen. Ignore the wench and get us the hell out of here. To Iona we sail!” With his instructions given, Shaw carried the still unconscious young woman up the few stairs to his own quarters, pushing open the door and slamming it shut behind him.
There, he paused. If he set her on the bed, what would she think when she woke? What would he think if he saw her there? She was much too young for him, aye. But whenever he brought a wench to his quarters and laid her on the bed, it was not for any bit of saving, unless it was release from the tension pleasure built.
And yet, the floor did not seem like a good spot, either.
He settled for the long wooden bench at the base of his bed.
As soon as he laid her there, her eyes popped open, and she leapt to her feet. “What are ye doing? Where have ye taken me?” She looked about her wildly, reaching for nothing and everything at once. Blond locks flying wildly.
“Calm yourself, lass.” Shaw raised a sardonic brow. “We sail for Iona as ye requested. And from there, we shall part ways.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “And nothing more?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. As the seconds ticked past, her shoulders seemed to sag a little more, and that crazed look evaporated from her eyes. “Nothing save the satisfaction that I have taken ye from a man who would have done ye harm.”
“Livingstone?”
“Aye.”
Her l
ower lip trembled. “Aye. He will want to kill all who bear the Douglas name.”
Shaw’s eyes lowered to her flat belly. “Might there be another?” he asked.
She shook her head violently. “Ye saved me just before that awful man could…”
“Ye misunderstand me, my lady. I meant your husband’s…” Ballocks, why did he find it hard to say the word seed to the lass? He was a bloody pirate and far more vulgar words, to any number of wenches, had come from his mouth.
She lifted her chin, jutting it forward obstinately. “There is nothing.”
Shaw chose to take her word for it rather than discuss the intimate relationship she might have had with her boy husband and when the last time her courses had come. “Then ye need only worry about your own neck, and no one else’s.”
He expected her to fall into a puddle of tears, but she didn’t.
The lass simply nodded and then said, “I owe ye a debt, Sir MacDougall.”
“Call me Savage, lass. And rest assured, I will collect.”
Chapter Two
November 1441
Dear Savage of the Sea,
I deplore writing that out, but as it is the name you bid me address you, who am I to give you another? I write on this, the one year anniversary of having arrived at Iona via your impressive ship. And given I am still safely ensconced, I must thank you for seeing me brought here, as well as for keeping the secret of my whereabouts. I am reminded on this one-year mark, that I still owe you a debt, and I did not want you to think I had forgotten.
The nuns at Iona treat me well, though they are irritated I have not yet chosen to take vows. As such, I’m certain they give me the worst of all chores. But I do them with a glad heart because I am alive, and I know more so than any other woman here that life is precious. Except perhaps that of Sister Maria. I’ve yet to learn her story. She thinks me too young. I am almost seventeen though, and I’ve been married before, which I’m certain she has not. Does that not make me more of a grown up?
Well, I am rambling, and I’m certain that a man of your trade has no use for ramblings.
I bid you adieu.
Yours in debt,
Lady Marina (I have often caught myself saying my true name, so much so, that I’m certain at least three of the sisters at Iona believe my name to be Jamarina.)
March 1442
Dear Jamarina,
I quite like your new moniker. I was at sea many months, traveling near India. An exotic place to be certain, though too hot for my tastes. I’ve only just returned and received your missive.
It is good to know you are safe, and trust that your secret is safe with me, for we are both hunted by the same rat. Alas, I am the hawk that feeds on vermin.
Perhaps your Sister Maria has a secret as profound as yours. Perhaps she only toys with you.
I have not forgotten our debt, but I have not had cause to call upon you for it.
As you say, you are only just a lass of seventeen.
Yours in service,
What name would you give me?
June 1442
Dear Gentle Warrior,
Aye, I believe I quite like that.
I confess I was surprised that you returned my letter. I had not thought a man of your trade to possess such beautiful script.
Sister Maria is gone. In the middle of the night. Mother Superior will not tell us what happened, and neither will my aunt. I suppose she did have a dark secret. I pray I do not disappear.
Again, they have asked me if I would take vows to become a novice nun, but there is something holding me back. I shall think on it a little longer.
Yours in debt,
Jamarina
November 1442
Dearest Gentle Warrior,
I hope you are well and that I did not offend you with my last letter. If it pleases, I will not write again. But I must say thank you once more, for it has now been two years since I arrived safely at Iona.
I confess, I long to leave. I do not think a life of servitude is for me. I am a child of the Lord, to be certain, but I find myself heavy with thoughts that lead me to confession idle thoughts.
Yours in debt,
Jamarina
April 1443
Dearest Gentle Warrior,
I confess I am much worried over you. It has been over a year since I’ve heard from you.
What it must be like to sail the sea. Free from walls. Free from judgment. Free. I am still grateful for what you did for me, but I feel a heavy cloud of melancholy. A sadness and loneliness, though I am surrounded by people. Perhaps, what I long for is the open sea.
Sister Maria has come back. I should think she is hiding something, for she avoids me, though not everyone else.
Yours in debt,
Lady J
December 1443
Dearest Lass,
A pirate’s life is not for thee.
I bid you good-bye until we meet again. Your last letter was read by someone other than myself.
Your Gentle Warrior
PS. I wish you well on celebrating your eighteenth year. I do not know my own birthday, so I have celebrated mine with you these past few years.
Isle of Iona
October 1445
The nights were normally quiet at the abbey. Lady Jane Lindsay walked the open-air cloisters between compline and matins when everyone else was sleeping, because sleep rarely came to her.
It was an issue she’d dealt with ever since that horrible night five years before, this inability to rest. And the only thing that seemed to help was walking in the nighttime air, no matter the weather, with no one present so that she could clear her mind, stare at the stars and think of a world outside these confining walls.
Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it did not.
She was Lady Marina now, her birth name of Jane a secret between herself, her aunt and the Mother Superior. Well, and her gentle warrior. She’d not written him since that day he’d warned someone else was reading her letters. And ever since she’d stopped, the scornful gazes she’d been receiving from Mother Superior had subsided. Was it she who read the letters?
Marina had been on Iona since the day the pirate prince had left her at the shore just before dawn so none of the sisters at the abbey would be able to identify her rescuer. And though five years had passed in the company of the devoted women of God, Marina had yet to take formal vows herself. Though not for Mother Superior’s lack of trying. She wasn’t certain what held her back, only that she felt destined for something, and she’d yet to figure out what. Perhaps the overarching fear of discovery had been at the heart of that desire to keep herself free and separate from the women who had taken her in.
She’d once thought that she might like a life at sea. Those few days upon the Savage of the Sea had been the most peaceful of her life. No one had looked at her as though she were a pawn. No one had expected to use her, as had been her lot since the day she was born. Surprisingly, not even Shaw MacDougall, who she owed a debt.
For now, she knew that their lives could be in danger.
Even that rakishly handsome devil prince of pirates did not know the true danger she was in. The secret that would have made Livingstone want her dead. She’d kept that from Shaw. The less people who knew, the better.
Och, but she had thought of him often over the years. Her gentle warrior. The way he’d gazed at her with barely restrained longing, seeing the shame in his eyes for having done so. The way he’d gone against direct orders from Livingstone in order to save her. And who was she to him other than a lass?
The days she’d spent on his ship, he’d talked with her, played cards and knucklebones with her. She’d even taken two nights to read to him as the sun set. Their connection had been oddly easy and fluid. It had felt right. But then she’d had to leave him, and she wondered if maybe she’d only made up that connection after having an arrogant pig for a husband. Dare she call Shaw a friend?
She thought so. And given the fearsome pirate h
ad been willing to write a naïve lass when she sent him letters, well, that proved it, didn’t it?
Jane dropped to her knees where she was in the center of the cloister and stared up at the sky. She had to leave. And yet, she could not leave without the help of the man who’d brought her here. And there was only one way to get him to return to her. To help her.
She owed him a debt, and she was certain a pirate would never forget his debts. Especially those owed to him. And now, she would need him to do her another favor. But only if it were worth his while. That morning she’d managed to get a missive sent off with a local fisherman. She could only pray the messenger made it back alive, and that no one intercepted her letter this time. The man had agreed to take her message, but not for free. Especially when he heard where she wanted him to go. But the sight of her ring had been enough for him to agree. She’d given him one of her precious jewels, not only as payment, but also as proof to MacDougall that it was she who’d sent for him.
“Pray, come in time,” she whispered to the night air, hoping her words reached Shaw wherever he was.
But it had been five years since she’d seen him, and well over a year since she’d gotten his last letter. She’d not replied to that one, fearful of who it was that had intercepted it, and she’d been waiting every day since then for Livingstone to come crashing through the abbey doors. But her day of reckoning was coming.
The name Livingstone had not crossed her lips since the day MacDougall had saved her from the knight’s vicious attack. Not even when they’d been on the ship traveling to Iona. But it had crossed Mother Superior’s tongue that morning while the sisters and Jane broke their fast. His name hung in the air, causing Jane’s ears to buzz. Her worst enemy was going to be making a visit to the abbey on his pilgrimage across the country. Her hands still trembled at what Mother Superior had relayed to her.
