“Where’s the rest of it?” Rourke growled, his eyes suddenly narrowed, his expression fierce.
The poor man paled and visibly shrank back in his seat. “ ’ Twas all he gave me, your—Captain. I vow it.” He leaned over and picked up something from the floor. “I brought your boots and weapons. You left them on the deck when you dove into the water.”
Rourke traded the borrowed boots for his own, then shoved his own gun into his belt beside the waterlogged one he’d taken from the bluecoat when they first got to shore. As a serving maid set mugs of ale in front of them, Rourke grabbed his sailor’s oatmeal and began shoveling it into his mouth. When he was through, he picked up the letter and turned it over.
“The seal is broken.”
“ ’ Twasn’t me, Captain.”
Rourke frowned as he pulled out the letter and read it. The frown turned into a scowl. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Hegarty?” Brenna asked, drawing his cold gaze.
“Aye. He’s left. We are to meet him”—he visibly clenched his jaw—“several days’ ride from here.”
Brenna made a croak of dismay. Days? She couldn’t possibly stay here for days.
“Captain?” Mr. Baker nodded pointedly at her. “The Earl of Slains’s soldiers were asking about your lady. They’re turning the town inside out looking for her.”
Brenna’s mug stilled halfway to her mouth. “Why would they be looking for me?” Unless they’d somehow figured out she and Rourke were the ones who’d killed the bluecoats.
Rourke drained his mug in a single gulp, then rose and grabbed her wrist. “Come. We must be away.”
Brenna glanced longingly at the few remaining bites of ham. “Do we have to—?”
They’d barely taken two steps when the door burst open behind them.
“ ’ Tis she!” Cutter shouted, two bluecoats close behind him. “Brenna Cameron!”
Brenna’s jaw went slack as Rourke drew his sword, an icy numbness spreading through her. Brenna Cameron? How in the world did he know her name? She’d told no one. No one.
Mr. Baker drew his own sword and moved between them and Cutter. “Run, Captain. I’ll hold them off.”
Rourke hesitated only a second before pulling her through the kitchen and out the back door into the fog-shrouded sunshine.
“Run, Wildcat.”
Brenna tore through the narrow alley in her clunky boots, dodging a woman shaking out bed linens. A dog barked. Children shrieked and scattered.
How did they know who she was? This had to be a joke. One huge, elaborate joke. It wasn’t real.
And yet it was. She’d watched men die.
Rourke drew up beside her and grabbed her arm. “This way.” He drew her right, toward the stables.
“Hold!” a deep voice shouted from far behind them as they turned the corner.
Ahead, a teenager led a sturdy-looking horse out of the stables. Rourke dug into his bag of coins, then grabbed the reins from the lad and pressed a coin into the startled boy’s hand.
“I’ll return her when I’m through.” He leaped onto the animal’s back, then pulled Brenna up behind him as two soldiers rounded the corner of the stable yard. “Hang on.”
Brenna locked her arms around his waist as the animal shot forward, the soldiers shouting behind.
A shot rang out. Brenna flinched and grabbed the pirate tighter around the waist.
“Now I know why you brought me,” she shouted over the sound of the wind. “I’m your shield, aren’t I?”
Another shot exploded into the ground several yards to their right and she swallowed a shriek.
Cutter knew her name. How did he know her name? Hegarty was the one who’d brought her here. Did they all know who she was? No, they couldn’t. They thought they did, but they couldn’t possibly.
A final shot rang out as they rounded a corner and followed the road up a shallow hill.
“Pirate!” she yelled. “If we make it out of here alive, you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on.”
SEVEN
Fate was playing him for a fool.
Rourke knew he should never have returned to Scotland. The moment he’d stepped foot on his native soil, he’d been ensnared like a hare in a trap. His ship and possessions seized, his gold . . . God knew where. His bosun had mutinied. And the bane of his existence had shown him heaven, then cast him straight to hell.
A pox on the woman. A pox on them all.
Rourke urged the horse faster, sending the villagers in the narrow street scattering. Another shot rang out behind them, causing Brenna to flinch and tighten her grip.
“Faster,” she urged against his shoulder.
Harder. Memory sliced through him, sending the blood surging between his legs. She’d been like fire in his arms, aflame with a need that had burned them both until she’d woken and realized it was he deep inside her and not some soft-spoken swain.
He gripped the leather reins until his shorn nails dug into his palms. It was as if she could see the darkness within him and wanted no part of it—or him. And he couldn’t blame her.
The sun broke through the morning mist, setting the dew-laced roofs to glistening as if thatched with a million wee daggers. He forced his thoughts away from her silken thighs and back to the problem at hand.
They would never outrun their pursuers. The earl’s soldiers would be mounted and after them soon enough. The poor animal beneath him would tire quickly with two riders. He had to throw the soldiers off their trail before they hit the open moor. He urged the horse down a narrow lane. Out of sight of the guards, he searched for a likely pair to help him carry out the ruse and spotted two youths mending a wagon. He pulled up beside them and dismounted, then reached for Brenna.
As his hands gripped her slender waist, their gazes collided. Her eyes widened, memory flaring in their green depths. Not memory of the anger and revulsion she’d thrown at him as she’d struggled to free herself from his intimate embrace last eve. No, not that.
In her eyes he saw only heat, echoes of the passion he’d tasted in the moments before she’d awakened, passion that had threatened to drive him higher than he’d ever flown. Aye, she’d eventually rejected him, but at first he’d been certain she’d wanted him. Now he knew she wanted him still.
Though his pride demanded he steel himself against the pull of her, his body had a will of its own. As he swung her down, he drew her close, drinking in the feel of her soft body pressed to his as she slid to her feet, daring her to deny the attraction between them.
She turned her face, her body stiff, her cheeks reddened. Her discomfort at once pleased and shamed him. He released her, and she took a hasty step back.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, not quite meeting his gaze.
His gaze fell heavily to her chest. “Remove your shirt.”
Green eyes flashed wide, then narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“The shirt of mine ye wear, not your own. I’ve a wee plan.”
He watched the expressions flit across her face. A flash of stubborn refusal quickly conquered by reason and, finally, resignation.
She sighed and bent her head to untie the linen shirt. Her gaze flicked up, spearing him from beneath her lashes. “Tell me how Cutter knew my name.”
“We’ve no time. When we are safely away, we’ll talk.”
She let out a soft snort. “The twelfth of never.”
His gaze snagged on those fingers, on the soft garment and softer mounds they revealed. When she reached for the hem, he helped pull the garment from her shoulders and called to the lads. When they approached, he tossed the elder of the two a few coins. Interest lit their faces.
“I’ve a task for ye.” He handed them the reins. “Ride north and west until you lather her. Then rest her and return her to the stables.”
He tossed the shirt to the smaller of the two. “Wear this and ride behind. Now be off with ye.”
The lads glanced at one another, a grin flashing between th
em. The smaller of the two donned the shirt, then leaped onto the animal behind his companion, who whirled the horse and took off.
Brenna made a worried sound deep in her throat. “The guards will shoot at them, thinking they’re us.”
“Nay. They’ll realize their mistake long before they’re close enough to shoot. This ruse will buy us a little time.”
A slender young woman about Brenna’s size, a babe on her hip, stood before one of the structures watching them curiously.
Rourke called to her. “Mistress, have ye an extra gown for my lady?”
Laughter filled the woman’s eyes as she looked from him to Brenna and back. Clearly, she thought he was jesting by his use of the term lady.
“I’ll pay ye good coin for a gown, mistress. A poor one, at that.”
The woman lifted an eyebrow as she eyed Brenna. “I’ve a skirt. And a bodice that belonged to my sister.” She motioned them to follow. “Come in, my lord, while I fetch them.”
My lord. The words felt like a kick in the gut. He hated the title, yet he had led her to believe him such by calling Brenna his lady. This time he’d done it to himself. Then again, it was better she thought him a lord than a pirate. They followed her into the narrow dwelling, poorly lit and smelling of warm bread and stale urine.
As she disappeared into a second room, Brenna turned on him, her hair swinging free around her shoulders, eyes flashing. “We’re hidden, now. Not in imminent danger. How did he know my name?”
He had no intention of involving himself in this. It was Hegarty’s place to explain, not his.
He reached for her hair, twining a thick lock around one finger, seeking the evidence of her attraction once more. His pride demanded it.
“Tell me,” she said.
“I have naught to tell.” As his finger brushed her cheek, he heard the quick intake of her breath and watched her eyes darken, fanning the flames of a desire he would never quench. He should back away, stop torturing himself with her nearness. But pride demanded this. He would not be satisfied until he was convinced she, too, felt this maddening need.
With his knuckle, he traced the graceful line of her jaw, watching the pulse beat in her throat. Aye, she felt it. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her lips parted as if he’d commanded they do so. Nay, she was not unaffected by him.
He tugged gently on her hair, closing the distance between them until their mouths were but a hand’s breadth apart.
“Here,” the young mother said, dousing the insanity that had stolen over him. “I’ve no shift to spare.”
Rourke released Brenna’s hair and stepped back.
“Will ye be changing, then?” the woman asked.
Brenna looked at her, then him. “I’ll just put them on over my pajam . . . clothes.”
The woman nodded and handed Brenna a worn black skirt that had been mended many times. Brenna pulled it on, then laced up the front of the gray bodice, hiding the yellow sun. The young mother handed Brenna a servant’s cap and stepped back.
Rourke stared, nonplused, at the transformation. By all rights, the peasant’s garb should have dampened her allure, yet its effect was the opposite. Eliminating the distraction of her strange dress, the clothes became a perfect foil for her vibrant coloring, the red brown of her hair and the green of her eyes. Against the poorness of the garments, her beauty shone like a rare gem.
A gem his body longed to possess.
Brenna stared at the cap as if she knew not what to do with it. He took it from her hands and put it atop her hair as she stood, still as stone, her gaze focused on his heart. His own gaze fell to her mouth.
She ducked her head as if suddenly shy, and grabbed fistfuls of the skirt. “My aunt would have loved this. She could never get me into dresses.”
His fingers stumbled as they adjusted the cap. “Your aunt?”
“She raised me for a while. Until she died.”
He stepped back, frowning. “When was that?”
Shadows entered her eyes. “When I was ten.”
“There, now,” the young mother exclaimed. “She’s presentable, at least. She’ll be needing a few more things, but this is all I have to spare ye.”
Brenna looked at him uncertainly, with a hint of feminine vulnerability he’d not seen before. She held out the skirts still gripped in her hands and turned from side to side. “Will it do?”
Something softened inside him. She’d most likely not had an easy life. He knew what it was like to be ten and alone in the world. He’d not wish it on anyone. Aye, she might be the bane of his existence, but she needed him. For now. Until they found Hegarty. Neither the Earl of Slains, nor his men, would touch her. Which meant he had best get her away before the lads led the earl’s soldiers right back to them.
The ruse seemed to have worked. At least it had worked well enough to give them a fighting chance of escape. They’d been riding across open fields so long she’d lost all feeling in her rear and in the fingers clasped tightly around Rourke’s hard waist, yet still they’d seen no sign of Cutter or the bluecoats.
After getting her the clothes, Rourke had borrowed yet another horse. Unfortunately, this one had the same lousy shock absorbers as the last. She really preferred to ride inside her transportation, not on its back.
As she eyed the thick clouds rolling across the sky, she wondered what would happen to her little rental car. And the rest of her stuff. Would time in her world stand still until she returned, or had it moved on without her, leaving her a missing person?
The wind whipped against her face and she turned to press her cheek against Rourke’s linen-clad back, dodging the breeze. The sad part was, she might be a missing person, yet there were few who would actually miss her. No family, certainly. No boyfriend. A few casual friends and a handful of staff at the restaurant where she worked and that was about it.
Her fingers laced tighter around Rourke’s waist. At least she had the pirate. What would she have done if he hadn’t followed her over the side of the ship? The thought made her shudder. There was no denying he wasn’t an easy man, yet she felt totally safe with him. If she’d had any doubts before, last night proved it. Not many men could have found the strength to break off sex halfway through. Far fewer men would have. Yet he had, confirming her earlier belief that within that hard exterior beat the heart of a good man.
If only she weren’t so ungodly attracted to him. She’d never met anyone who affected her like this. A simple touch of her hair, a glance from those pale eyes, and she was out of her head with wanting him.
She didn’t want this attraction. Her forays into intimacy had always been a disaster, and she couldn’t afford any more of those with the pirate. She’d never find Hegarty without him.
Fear pressed in on her and she clung to the pirate harder. She’d thought life was through tossing her about like a tin can in a thunderstorm. For eight years, from the time Aunt Janie died until she turned eighteen, Brenna had been shuffled from one foster home to the next. No control. Never knowing what tomorrow would bring.
When she turned eighteen, she swore she’d never live like that again. She’d make a home for herself, a life where no one was in charge but her.
Now, here she was, the tin can all over again, with no more idea how to live alone in this world than she had in her own. So not fair.
With a sigh, she lifted her head from the pirate’s back and caught sight of another village in the distance. He seemed to be heading straight for it.
“Are we going to stop there?”
“Aye. We need supplies and a fresh mount.”
They were going through horses faster than a Holly-wood starlet through fiancés. They pulled up behind a stone building on the outskirts of town where laundry hung from lines, drying in the warm breeze.
Rourke took her hand, and she slid awkwardly to the ground, then groaned when her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. She hobbled back far enough for him to dismount, feeling the sticky sea grime chafe her skin with every m
ove. What she wouldn’t give for a long soak in a warm tub. Soap. Shampoo. Heaven.
“Wait here, Wildcat. I’ll no’ be long.”
She caught her breath. “I’m coming with you.”
He scanned every building, every bush, his expression grim. “I want ye to hide amongst the laundry until I return.”
“No way, Rourke.” A flush of dread turned her hands damp. “I want to go with you.”
He turned his full attention on her, gripping her shoulders and meeting her gaze. “I’ll be back for ye forthwith. I’ll not have you marked.”
She tilted her head. “Marked?”
“Remembered.”
Her gaze slid to his mouth, watching his lips form the word. She could almost recall the feel of his lips against her neck. Her pulse leaped with a mix of desire and real fear. What if he didn’t come back?
“I’m wearing a dress. I’ll fit in perfectly.” She hated the panicked edge to her voice, but was helpless to control it.
His gaze softened and warmed as it traveled slowly to her feet and back up again. “Even in servant’s rags, ye are bonnie enough to make a man lose all reason.”
The heat in his eyes shimmered through her, making her catch her breath. He pulled her toward him and slowly lowered his head, giving her every opportunity to pull away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She longed for the taste of him.
His mouth covered hers, opening as his tongue swept inside. His hands slid over her back with a pressure that spoke of unbearable need, turning her limbs weak, sending heat arcing to her womb. She grabbed hold of his shirt, feeling as if she’d be swept away if she let go.
He pulled back, his eyes gleaming silver, his damp mouth turned up in a sliver of a smile—pure male satisfaction.
The look nearly sent her up in flames.
Before she could recover, he swung back into the saddle. “I willna be long.”
As the horse trotted off, she swore softly, feeling like the victim of a hit-and-run. Every time she thought she was gaining even an ounce of balance, he knocked her feet out from under her again. And this time it had been intentional, straight out of Pirate Deportment 101: Charm the lass, then desert her before she comes to her senses.
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