by Amy Jarecki
Surely I will die this eve. Dear God, have mercy on my soul.
***
The unending night wore on with sounds of battle that Anne had only heard tale of, tucked away in Titchfield House. How she wanted to be back there now, in the arms of her sisters and Hanna.
When the echoes of fighting stopped, an eerie hush filled her chamber. Anne sat up, gooseflesh rising on her arms. The knife in her hand slipped against her perspiration and she tightened her grip.
Footsteps plodded down the wooden planks of the corridor. They stopped outside her door. The latch moved. Anne did not mistake the hiss of a sword being drawn from its scabbard. She drew in a ragged breath.
Something slammed into the door. Her heart flew to her throat. Another thud. Anne pressed her shoulders into the corner and steadied her knife. The door bowed and groaned against a clashing blow. Hinges gave way and the door clattered to the deck.
A rugged man stared through the dimly lit doorway. Sword drawn, with a cropped copper beard, he glared at her with fierce, steely eyes. She was certain he could kill her with that look.
Anne held up her knife, shaking like a sapling in the wind.
“Holy Mother Mary.” He clattered across the door and sheathed his sword. “What in the blazes are ye doing here?”
She clasped her free hand over her knife to steady the trembling.
His shirt splattered with blood, his face dark, he took another step toward her, holding her gaze. “I’ll no’ hurt ye, lass.”
Anne tried to push herself deeper into the corner, but the walls trapped her. He moved closer, his eyes searing into hers. She glanced beyond him, breaking his stare. His powerful legs strained against his red plaid kilt with one more step. Over the scents of sweat and blood, she caught the whiff of rosemary.
“What is yer name?”
Name? What should I say? “A-Anne.”
“Just Anne?”
She pursed her lips, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing her true identity.
“We-ell you’re no’ Anne Boleyn, that’s a certainty. She’s dead and her daughter’s on the throne.” His eyes glanced to the dagger trembling in her hand. “Ye think ye can take the likes of me with that wee knife?”
He towered over her little bed and Anne craned her neck. Her stomach squeezed. Those piercing eyes stared down at her from shoulders as broad as her largest trunk. He held out his hand. “Now be a good lass and give it to me.”
She licked her lips and stared at the blood staining his outstretched hand. Anne could not surrender without a fight. Gritting her teeth, she launched herself forward, aiming the dagger at his heart.
He snatched her wrist faster than she could blink.
A sharp pain wrenched her wrist and the knife dropped to the floor. The Highlander shoved her back onto the bed and shook his head. “Now what did ye have to go and do that for? I told ye to hand it over.” He bent down and picked up the blade, turning it over in his hand appreciatively. “If you’re going to be hostile, I guess I’ll have to put it in me sporran for safekeeping.”
She glanced down to the white fur pouch he wore across the front of his kilt, watching as he slid her father’s dagger inside. “W-what did you do with Captain Fortescue?”
“The former captain of this ship?” The Scot patted his sporran as if the pelt were ermine. “I’m afraid he’s on a wee boat headed back to shore.”
“Of all the lawlessness. You mean to say that you tossed him overboard in a skiff?”
“Aye. At least I didna kill the bastard. He was a darned bit ornery ’bout it too.”
“You say that as if pillaging and casting the captain overboard was a minor inconvenience.”
A shadow darkened his face. “Oh no, ’twas not minor at all.”
Anne stiffened her back. All her life she’d heard “my lady” when addressed, but then, she hadn’t informed him of her title.
“Actually, you’re the inconvenience.”
“Me?”
His finger twitched across the hilt of the gargantuan sword strapped to his hip. “Ye see, we’ve launched the skiffs and I’m at a loss as to what we should do with ye.”
Anne’s mouth grew dry. Would he make her walk the plank? Would he take her to the hold and tie her down to be gnawed to death by the ship’s rats? A clammy chill swept over her skin. Surely, he would respect her virtue…wouldn’t he? “I-if you return me to Portsmouth, I should be able to find my way home.” She most assuredly was not going to continue on toward Alnwick or the baron.
“Portsmouth, aye?” He took a seat at the end of her bed, putting Anne at eyelevel. “You would have us sail back into the mouth of the dragon herself, would ye?” He threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh, unlike someone bent on murder. “Nay. Ye will have to stay with us unsavory privateers for a wee bit longer.”
Anne clutched her dressing gown tighter around her neck. Privateers? He’s a filthy pirate and a devilish one at that.
A tall man in a dark green and blue kilt appeared in the doorway and spoke in a foreign tongue. Gaelic. She knew a little Gaelic. His eyes drifted to Anne and back to her captor, who responded in the same guttural tones—they’re talking about me. The pirate’s gaze softened when he turned to her. “John will see yer door is repaired.” He surveyed trunks that lined her wall. “I suppose all of these are yers?”
There rested the entirety of possessions. “Yes.”
“It looks like ye were planning to stay—wherever ye were going.”
Anne stared at her hands and whispered, “Yes.”
The scent of rosemary grew stronger when the Highlander leaned in and eyed her. His rough fingers brushed a bronze brooch that clasped his plaid at his shoulder. “I take it ye weren’t too happy ’bout it.”
Anne chose not to reply to the gentle tone in his voice. Her happiness was none of his concern, though in truth this diversion postponed wedded bliss with her antiquated baron.
“Either way. Ye’ll be delayed for a bit.”
He headed toward the doorway, and she reached out a trembling hand. “Wait.”
He stopped.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Northwest.”
Of course he wouldn’t be specific. “What should I call you?”
He turned, his powerful frame outlined in the doorway by flickering firelight from above. Those blue eyes as fierce as they had looked when he first knocked down the door. “Captain.”
Dear God in heaven, praises to you that Hanna was not forced to endure this nightmare.
Anne slipped back into her corner and clutched the pillow while he walked over the door and clomped though the corridor. The pirate did not have the decency to tell her his name. But then, she hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about hers either.
What was she to do until her door was repaired? She tossed the pillow aside, and levered the door back into place. Using all her strength, she pushed and shoved one of her trunks until it blocked the entry. It wasn’t ideal, but would suffice to hold through the night. At least the racket would wake her if anyone tried to enter.
Chapter Two
Calum pushed through to the captain’s cabin and turned full circle. The English hadn’t spared any expense on this new ship. A row of five leaded glass windows looked over the ship’s bow. In the center of the room stood a walnut table with six chairs upholstered in red with gold embroidery. A desk sat starboard with a thick leather-bound log atop. Port side, a bed hugged the dark paneling to hold firm during rough seas. Brass oil-burning lamps hung from the rafters to provide maximum light.
Calum strolled to the aft windows and peered through one of the small glass panes. The sun touched the eastern horizon in violets and pinks. Soon they’d turn north for the journey home, but first they must make a wide berth around English waters. Once the captain and crew were found, there would be retribution. Of that he had no doubt.
He rubbed his eyes, unable to remember when he’d last slept. But sleep didn’t matter
. He had secured the galleon, and its bounty would supply his people for months to come. The manifest of the cargo contained more than he’d dreamed with food aplenty, sheep, ponies and milking heifers, as well as fine cloth and a cache of hardwood for building.
The only thing he hadn’t counted on was Anne, a beautiful woman, truth be told. Expecting another fight, he’d nearly hurtled into her room and started swinging. Never before had a woman stopped him cold, but those almond-shaped eyes shone cobalt blue, just like the sky in the hour before night falls.
She’d looked fierce as a baby badger crouched in the corner of her bed holding that ridiculous knife—it was nearly too small to be called a dagger.
Wrapped in a red dressing gown, her honey-blonde mane had partly shrouded her face and cascaded all the way down to her enticing hips. Calum hadn’t been able to stop himself from mentally undressing her in that moment. Her hair draped across one eye gave her the appearance of a woman ready to be bedded. Fortunately, he’d recovered his wits when she tried to attack.
Calum chuckled.
He needed only to look at the collection of trunks to know she was a lady of stature, and her accent had confirmed it. He groaned. Plundering a ship was one thing, but plundering a ship and kidnapping a highborn lady would buy him more trouble than he cared to bargain for. Anne. He must find out who she was so he could ransom her, and fast. A beautiful woman amongst his men would cause mayhem.
At a rap on the door, Calum turned. John entered holding the manifest. “All accounted for, m’laird.”
“Excellent. And the lady’s door?”
“The carpenters are working on it now.”
“Very good.”
John placed the paperwork on the table. “Who is the woman?”
“She would only say that her name is Anne. But she’s English nobility, there’s no question.”
“Have you checked the captain’s log?”
Calum strode to the ornate desk and opened the large volume, thumbing the pages until he found the last entry. 25th March, Year of our Lord 1559. Set sail mid-afternoon. One passenger, Lady Anne, daughter of Lord Southampton, destination the River Aln. Clouds rolling in from the west. Rain likely.
John peered over his shoulder. “Southampton—he’s an earl, no?”
“He’s a dead earl. I think his heir’s but a child.”
Calum pulled out the map of England and rolled it open on the table. “She’s headed toward the River Aln.” He ran his finger along the east coast until he found the said river and found the closest town. “Alnwick.”
“The seat of the Earl of Northumberland,” John said.
“The plundering bastard and his murdering sheriff, the Baron of Wharton.”
John leaned in and studied the map. “Ye wouldn’t think she’d be tied up with the likes of them?”
“And why not? Her da’s an earl.”
“Bloody hell. The last thing we need is Wharton and his henchman bearing down on us.”
“’Tis a good thing our plaid looks like the Stewart’s. That’ll confuse the English until we can arrange terms for her ransom.” Calum rolled up the map. “I’ll have Lady Anne dine with me tonight to see what more I can pull from her.”
John waggled his eyebrows. “Aye, and feast yer eyes no doubt.”
“Don’t let your shameless mind consider it. If she weren’t worth a farthing, I’d bloody well throw her arse over the side of the ship.”
“Aye, Laird Calum, Robin Hood of Raasay—always willing to drown a lady in distress.”
“She’s no lady to me. Be gone with ye.”
Calum turned his back and closed his eyes. His palms perspired as he pictured the voluptuous Lady Anne, her full red lips trembling—undeniably kissable lips. He rubbed his palms against his plaid. Surely she would not be as alluring once she’d donned a proper gown and headpiece.
***
Anne stared at the door with its new hinges—and a lock she could not turn as before. Now a prisoner, she paced the room still wearing her shift and dressing gown. The night had been endless and carried on into a day trapped within. She’d heard about Scottish pirates who preyed on Her Majesty’s ships. Even one of her family’s cargoes of grain had been plundered by pirates. Whether it had been Scots or not, no one knew, but pirates were a thorn in England’s side, not only to the crown but to every landowner who shipped their goods abroad.
At the time, she’d reported the incident to the Privy Council and they assigned Captain Hawkins to the task. Hawkins. He was a known pirate himself.
Anne balled her fists. The business of running her family’s estates was no longer her concern. She needed to find a way off this ship and back to her family. No—her mother had made clear, she must honor the contract of marriage. She must find a way to her husband. Thomas Wharton had earned his barony by his shrewd talent for law enforcement. Once the baron learned that his new wife had been captured by Scottish pirates, he would surely not rest until the savages were brought to justice.
Aside from being much older, Anne knew little of her new husband, but one thing was certain—he hated the Scots. News of his raids into Scotland had even reached Titchfield House.
Her door opened with a light tap. “Excuse me, milady. The captain would like ye to dine with him this evening.” John, the second-in-charge, who’d repaired her door, wore a green and blue plaid opposed to the red and black the captain and the cabin boy who’d brought her food had worn.
Anne lifted her chin. “I would prefer to take my meals in my stateroom.”
“Trom féineil nighneag,” he cursed under his breath.
“Pardon me, but I am neither selfish nor burdensome.”
Anne enjoyed watching the shocked bulge to John’s eyes when she translated his Gaelic. He fumbled with the latch. “I’ll be back to escort ye to the captain in an hour. I’d think with all these trunks ye would have more than a dressing gown to wear over yer shift.”
He closed the door and the lock clicked.
Anne rushed forward and jerked on the handle. Blast them for caging me like I’m the one they cannot trust. When the pirate had first kicked in the door and entered her room, she’d been terrified, afraid he would kill her—a big man with a big sword, splattered with blood. Well, she knew differently now. The captain wanted to dine with her? Fine. She would use his misplaced hospitality to uncover more about him. Any information she could gather would assist Lord Wharton to capture the plunderer and his men.
She would dress the part for this meal. If the captain saw her in a gold silk gown—fabric reserved only for baronesses and above—he’d think twice about taking her back to Portsmouth.
It took three times as long to dress without Hanna. Turning in front of the dingy looking glass, Anne inspected her handiwork. All ribbons were tied, though she’d had to lace up her stays in the front, but no strings stuck out. While she secured the matching headpiece in place, a knock sounded.
“Yes?”
Opening the door, John appraised her with a half-cocked smile. “Och. Looks like I’ll no’ have to strong arm ye to the captain’s cabin.”
“You are brash, sir.” She stood as tall as her frame would allow. “I would still prefer to dine in my quarters.”
“’Tis fortunate ye’ve reconsidered.” He offered her the crook of his arm. “Ye look lovely.”
She glanced to the mirror and caught a rosy flush crawling up her face. “I presume you’re expecting me to thank you.”
“A lady generally does when a gentleman pays her a compliment.”
“So you’re a gentleman now that you’ve pillaged the ship?”
She placed her hand on the elbow he’d offered and inclined her head toward the door.
“We’re no’ as bad as ye think.”
John ushered her into the captain’s quarters, lavishly inlaid with the rich warmth of walnut wood. The captain stood with his back to them, staring out the windows behind the table, elegantly set for two. He’d tied back his dark auburn ha
ir and wore a clean linen shirt. Anne had forgotten how enormous he was—his broad shoulders tapered down to his waist, supported by slim hips beneath his red and black plaid.
John bowed. “Her ladyship, m’laird.”
The captain turned. Anne’s breath caught. He’d cleaned the soot and blood from his face, but his eyes still bore through her like an arrow. She scarcely heard the door close behind her. He approached, his frown replaced by a smile, displaying a row of perfectly straight teeth.
Anne forced herself to breathe. She wanted the dirty face with the scowl back—it was easier to detest that pirate.
“Thank ye for coming, milady.”
Anne’s hands trembled as he neared. No man had ever made her hands shake like that. She clenched her fists to stop the tremors. “My lady?” she asked. “I did not tell you I was nobly born.”
“Nay, but the captain’s log did.”
The log? “Oh? And what did Captain Fortescue note about me?”
Anne could not ignore how his muscles stretched his hose when he sauntered to the sideboard and poured two goblets of wine. “Ye can read it there on the desk if ye like, but he said you’re the daughter of Southampton, bound for the River Aln.”
“I see.” She walked over to the bound volume smoothed her hands down the coarse velum. The entry made no mention of her marriage by proxy. Interesting.
He handed her the goblet. “Wine?”
She looked him in the eye and her heart stuttered. Gold flecks danced around rims of blue. She snapped her gaze to the goblet. “Thank you.”
He pulled out a chair. “Please, sit. I trust ye have been treated well since our last...ah…encounter?”
She stepped toward him and ignored the chair. She caught the familiar bouquet of rosemary soap, though not mixed with blood and sweat this time. “If you call locking me in my stateroom good treatment, then yes.”
The narrowing of his eyes reflected annoyance, but he politely bowed and gestured for her to sit. “Apologies. Your confinement was more for yer sake than to keep ye imprisoned.”
