by Eliza Knight
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 had 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 Livi
ngstone 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.
The ladies in attendance had all been pleased to hear it, for it meant more coin would be placed in the abbey’s coffers. Perhaps this coming winter, they might all have newly darned hose rather than the threadbare ones they’d used the year before. But to Jane, it had meant something else entirely—certain doom.
It meant death.
For she alone knew that Livingstone was not making a pilgrimage across the country in hopes of redeeming his soul, but instead was ferreting her out. Somehow, he must have gotten word she was seeking sanctuary at an abbey. Perhaps even this abbey.
In truth, she was surprised it had taken him this long to do so. How had he found out? Who’d told him she was here? Was it whoever read had the letter? Mother Superior? Sister Maria who’d disappeared several years before? Or was he just that clever? Perhaps in the last five years, he’d left no stone unturned but those lying atop Iona.
Mayhap for a while, he’d thought her dead, or that the pirate had kidnapped her, ravaged her and done away with her by tossing her out to sea. Part of her had hoped her gentle warrior had taken flight as a hawk and sank his claws into the blackguard.
Alas, none of her dreams that would lead her to freedom had come to fruition.
But something must have made him believe she was alive, and yet, she could not guess at who or what it could be. No one here knew of her identity, save for Mother Superior and her aunt. Even in her letters, she’d not written as Jane or given any other truly identifying information.
There was always the chance that Mother might have accidentally let some piece of information slip, for though she knew that Marina was her aunt’s niece and that her name was Jane, she did not know the circumstances regarding why she must be hidden.
She did not know that Livingstone had killed Jane’s husband.
That he wanted to kill her.
For Jane held a dark secret. One a man would kill for.
A secret she was willing to sell to a pirate for his protection.
A secret a pirate would be willing to barter with her for.
A secret would be the undoing of an entire kingdom.
If only she could have lived out her days in peace here. But only a naïve lass would have thought such a thing. Even when she’d come here at the age of sixteen, she’d not been naïve. She’d lived the previous three years with the most arrogant of earls—her young husband. He’d treated her like rubbish. He’d disrespected her in front of his men and made sport of seeing her look dejected because it made him feel superior. Jane had been nothing more than a pawn in their marriage bargain. Betrothed at age seven and married at age thirteen, she’d spent three miserable years with William Douglas, and the only friend she’d made was his younger brother, David.
They were both dead now.
Wee David was dead by association, for possibly knowing too much. William was dead for the latter, and for his arrogance. For he’d been the one to proclaim he knew the secret. And from that moment forth, he’d had a target on his chest.
It was only by sheer instinct that Jane had thought to ask William what the big secret was, playing on his need to brag. And then he’d told her.
Now she harbored the most dangerous secret in the country.
And Livingstone knew it.
Castle Dheomhan, Isle of Scarba
There was nothing to spoil a man’s debauchery more than a messenger arriving with an urgent missive from a woman. An important woman if she knew where he resided. Besides the wenches lounging on his and his crewmen’s laps, there was only one woman who had ever sent a missive to his pirate stronghold.
Gently knocking the two buxom wenches from his lap, who fell in a heap of drunken, naked laughter to the thick fur beneath his throne chair. The same throne chair that had been commissioned from steel and velvet with the Devils of the Deep skull and swords crest at its top and had parts that dated back to the original king of pirates, Arthur MacAlpin, from hundreds of years before.
Rock hard and half-drunk on whisky, Shaw settled his gaze on the messenger and willed his raging cock into submission. But that was almost impossible, given the inebriated state he was in and thinking of precious Jane. She’d be twenty-one now. Old enough that he didn’t have to feel ashamed for thinking about her pert breasts and luscious mouth.
Was it she who’d sent this old man to him? Would she dare?
He’d not heard from her since his letter of warning, though he’d hoped to every day since.
But when he unrolled the parchment to behold the looping scrawl of his Lady Jane, he glanced at the messenger who stood cowering before him. This was not her usual girlish letter, but one full of desperation and a bargain.
Taking the steps down from his dais, he leaned down to look the fisherman in the eyes. “Dinna piss yourself.”
“I willna, my…my… Your Highness.”
Shaw grunted, sneering and not bothering to correct the old man. “How do I know this is not a trick?”
The fisherman stepped forward, reaching for his sporran. A bad idea in a room full of men expecting weapons to be drawn at any moment, and the old bastard was awarded with a dozen sharp blades at his throat.
The bloke raised his arms, glancing around fearfully, knees knocking. His mouth was open in a silent plea before he finally found his voice. “Please, sir, I hold proof.”
Shaw waved his hand at his men. When they lowered their weapons, the fisherman continued to reach for his sporran and pulled out a golden ring of emerald and pearls. Shaw knew this ring. He’d given it to Jane as a gesture of friendship. A token of…his affection. He’d told her to send it if she ever needed him. When he’d told her he meant to collect on their debt, he’d never actually meant to take anything from the lass—other than perhaps convincing her when she was of age that she might like to grace his bed. It had taken a feat of pure willpower not to write her back when she’d said a life at sea would suit her to say he was coming to get her.
“Lady Marina,” the fisherman said.
Marina… Jamarina… He let out a short laugh.
He’d not heard the name in a long time. It was the one he’d given her before she disembarked his ship. The lass had plagued his dreams for five long years. More beautiful than a woman had the right to be. He’d always felt guilty about his desire for her. For she’d been so young at the time, and pirate or nay, he had a code when it came to women. But not anymore. Now she’d be a woman grown, and the curves he’d felt when he carried her aboard his ship would have blossomed.
Shaw grunted and went back to the letter, the women on the floor pawing at his boots all but forgotten.
Dear Gentle Warrior,
I am prepared to pay my debt straightaway. ’Tis most urgent that you come now. Else, the balance will never be repaid, for there are others who wish to lay claim to the treasure I alone possess. I trust that your desire for adventure and thirst for the greatest of prizes will allow you to make haste to me. And know that I do not flatter myself that any sense of honor would bring you forth.
Most urgently yours in debt,
Lady M
“When did she give ye this?” Shaw demanded. The man stank of fish, his face the color and texture of dried leather.
“Early this morning, my laird. When I dropped off the fish at the abbey.”
Shaw grunted. “And what was your payment for daring to step foot on my island?” He kept his voice calm, low, but it still had the power to cause the man to quake.
“The ring, sir.”
“The ring,” Shaw mused. He held the emerald jewel up to th
e candlelight. “So ye’ll be wanting it back?”
“I’d be happy to leave with my life.” The man’s knees knocked together.
Shaw grinned, baring all of his teeth as he did so. “I suppose ye would.” He closed his fingers around the ring. “Go then. Afore I unleash my beasts to feed on your bones. Ye were never here. Ye never saw this place. If anyone so much as lands on my beach by accident, I will hunt ye down and kill ye.”
The old man nodded violently, then turned and ran toward the wide double doors that made up the entrance to Shaw’s keep.
“Wait,” Shaw called and two of his crew stepped in front of the old man to bar him from leaving. “Ye forgot something.”
Trembling visibly, the fisherman turned, and Shaw tossed him the ring. But his reflexes, or his nerves more like, weren’t expecting it, and the ring fell to the stone before his feet. There was a measure of held breath in the air, and Shaw wondered if the man would pick it up or if the moments would tick by to the appropriate count that his men knew meant free game for whatever treasure had been dropped.
Seeming to understand the urgency, or perhaps just wishing to get the hell of Shaw’s island, the fisherman scooped up the ring.
But instead of rushing out, he asked, “What should I tell my lady?”
“Ye needn’t tell her anything,” Shaw said. “I’ll be there before ye get the chance.”
With that, he blew a whistle to assemble a small crew and marched past the old fisherman, thinking at the last second to grab him by the scruff and drag him down to the docks before he was robbed for having overstayed his welcome.
Soon Shaw would lay his gaze on the beautiful lass again. Only this time, she would be a woman. Had the years at the abbey done her well? Was she now a child of God as she’d often struggled with deciding upon in her letters? And if she was, would he have the ballocks to corrupt her?
At that thought, Shaw laughed aloud as he gripped the helm.
Of course, he would.
