Captured by the Pirate Laird

by Amy Jarecki

  Calum smiled at the healer not only of souls, but the friar had a good knowledge of herbs as well. “I couldn’t very well leave ye alone to twist the minds of me kinsfolk.”

  “Ye heathen lad.” The big man pulled Calum into a welcoming bear hug. “And how are things with the English?”

  “They’re down one ship and its cargo.” Calum nodded toward John and Norman. “We’ll have to start refitting the Flying Swan as soon as she’s offloaded—cannot take a chance on having it spotted by English spies.”

  “Are there any new medicines in the hold?”

  “If there are, I’ll wager ye’ll sniff them out.”

  The friar was always anxious to find any new remedies from the south. With ships traveling to and from the West Indies, new herbs and medicines were coming to England all the time. It could take years before they made it to Scotland and even longer to reach the Hebrides. The Flying Swan was a Godsend for the entire clan.

  Calum took John up to the solitude of the solar and penned a missive. Since discovering Lady Anne’s identity, he’d carefully considered how he would make the transfer. There was no way he could invite Lord Wharton into Scotland, and yet traveling to England was fraught with danger. In the end, Calum chose Carlisle. A small border town, he could slip into the area rather easily. The problem would be getting out.

  Wharton was a snake. Calum had no doubt the baron would be well armed. Calum would need to receive the ransom first and then deliver Lady Anne. His mood darkened as if the grim reaper had walked across his soul. He dreaded the thought of releasing Anne into the hands of Lord Wharton. If she could have married any other Englishman, it would have been preferable. And if the marriage decree had not been executed, he would consider laying claim to her himself. But Calum would never take another man’s bride, even a man as vile as the baron.

  He folded the missive and dribbled a blob of red wax and sealed it with a blank. “Take this to Edinburgh. Have a runner pay an Englishman to deliver it to Wharton.”

  “Have ye decided how ye’ll do it?” John asked.

  “Aye.” Calum handed him the note. “But I’ll keep it to meself until your return.”

  John clamped his mouth shut and gave a quick nod. Calum hated to be tight-lipped, but the less his quartermaster knew when he traveled to Edinburgh, the better. Calum placed his hand on John’s shoulder. “I can trust only you with this. Ye are closer to me than my own brother.”

  “I’ll leave at dawn.”

  “Good. Now go find that bonny wife of yers.”

  “I’m afraid Mara has her hands full with the cargo.”

  “Tell her I said she can tend to it on the morrow. I’ll see the cooks have supper ready and our guest is settled.”

  John shook his head. “Ye ken, Mara’s a headstrong lass. I’ll be dragging her away by her hair.”

  “Then get to it.” Calum burst out with a rolling laugh. “If that’s what it takes to plant a bairn in her belly.”

  Calum left John to his business and headed to the castle stairs. He hesitated on the landing. One floor up was his chamber, presently occupied by Lady Anne. He wished he had time to march up and tell her what a fool she’d been for marrying that codfish. Calum would take her in his arms and ravish those sweet red lips with passionate kisses—crush her voluptuous breasts against his chest. Christ, the lass had probably never been kissed by a man who could show her the heat of passion a man and a woman could share merely by the joining of lips.

  He placed his foot on the first step and held it there. With a groan, he resisted the urge to follow after her. Best let her settle first. Besides, she’d sooner see me swinging from the gallows.

  Trotting down the stairs, he refused to allow thoughts of Lady Anne or her ransom to further cloud his mood. He had a ship’s cargo to unload, and a celebration to begin. Calum marched down to the shore. Everyone was working, carrying something, even the smallest children.

  “’Tis a miracle, Calum,” said Sarah, Robert’s wife.

  Calum had thought her pretty before this voyage. Now she seemed plain, though he cared for her no less. Sarah carried her bundle with a light step, her three bairns waddling in line behind her like a family of ducks.

  He hefted the youngest onto his hip. “We’ll have a feast tonight to celebrate our bounty.”

  The tot clapped her hands against his cheeks. “Och aye!”

  With a squeeze, he set her down and surveyed the beach. These people were his sole concern. He could never cast aside the honor or the responsibility.

  He glanced up to the window of his chamber. Was Anne was watching? That she might filled him with vim. He wanted her to witness the teamwork of his clan—to see the harmony that existed between his people and the unity with which they bonded under his leadership.

  ***

  A breeze tickled Anne’s face when she pushed aside the heavy furs that shrouded the narrow window.

  Calum strode onto the beach and she leaned forward to watch him. No others came close to matching his broad shoulders and imposing height. He walked with powerful confidence, and all heads turned to him while he made his way to the shore. Though the whistle of the wind and roar of the sea filled her ears, she could hear him in her mind, managing the cargo disposition, pointing in every direction, helping with heavy loads, patting his clansmen and women on their backs.

  Bran ran up to him with his arms flailing, clearly ranting about a monumental problem. With a wide stance, Calum put his hands on his hips and listened, then grabbed Bran round the shoulders and ground his knuckles into his mop of brown curls.

  Anne laughed out loud then looked over her shoulder to ensure no one had heard. Of course she was still alone. The entire clan was on the beach hauling grain, or shepherding sheep and cattle off to the paddocks. She caught sight of one of her trunks being lowered to a skiff and wrung her hands. Calum bounded into the surf with foaming splashes spraying around him.

  How could he rush into that frigid water as if it were summer?

  Once her trunks lined the shore, he organized a crew to haul them up the winding path to the keep. A sharp wind slipped through her gown and she rubbed her hands over her arms. Calum was down there in a soaking kilt, hauling her things about as if he were a servant. The chill must cut to his bone.

  Calum’s wet shirt clung to his chest. Even from the window, Anne could see his muscles straining against the sheer fabric. The last trunk was the heaviest and his arm muscles bulged under the strain. Her eyes trailed downward, but her blasted trunk blocked her from seeing more. She folded her arms and stepped away. It was just as well. How on earth could she allow herself to ogle the enemy?

  By the time a knock sounded upon her door, Anne had pushed away the images of Calum in his wet shirt—until she opened it.

  Calum may as well have been naked from the waist up. He seemed not to notice his shirt clung to his chest and arms like a second skin. Anne let her eyes drift down to his abdomen, which heaved with exertion, hard as…

  “We brought your things, milady.”

  Her gaze snapped up and she caught his sly grin. Stepping aside, she gestured into the room. “Thank you. Please put them in the corner where they’ll be out of the way.”

  Bran strained to help Calum maneuver her heavy trunk. “Hello, milady.”

  Calum tarried in front of the fireplace while he supervised the others, and then dismissed them. Last out, Bran closed the door. Anne found it necessary to study the tapestry and repeatedly interpret the three words there.

  I shine not burn.

  “The fire feels warm.” Calum’s deep voice flowed like thick sorghum.

  “You must be chilled.” Anne headed to the bowl and ewer to fetch a drying cloth and her toe caught on the edge of the rug. Her arms flung out and she fell straight into Calum’s chest—the very thing she was trying to avoid. His arms slipped around her waist and stopped her tumble.

  “Pardon me.” Anne placed a trembling hand on his chest. His heart hammered against her pa
lm. “I-I am so very clumsy.”

  “Are ye all right?” He clasped her hand. Oh dear Lord, he was soaked through, yet his hands were warm. She cast her eyes down to keep from staring at the transparent linen stretched across his muscled chest. The smell of sea salt and musk washed over her as if she’d been struck by a frigid wave herself.

  “I trust everything in your trunks is secured just how ye packed it. I didna want anyone to rifle through your things by chance, so I had them brought up straight away.”

  She dared to glance at his face. Mistake. His penetrating blue eyes met hers. The hunger in his stare made her step into him. He strengthened his grip on her hand ever so slightly.

  Anne fixed her gaze on the large calloused fingers wrapped around hers, terrified her eyes would betray her heart thundering against her stomacher. “You best remove those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

  His rough thumb brushed over her fingers and his gaze dropped. Anne swore it stopped at her breasts, but it continued downward as he bent to kiss her hand. His breath was warm against her fingers and Anne sucked inhaled as the gooseflesh raced from her hand to the tips of her breasts.

  “I must apologize. The warmth of the fire felt so good, I hadn’t a mind to move.” He took a step toward the door. “We will sup soon. I’ll fetch ye at dusk.”

  “W-why you? Why not Bran or Mara? Surely you have your hands full.”

  Hurt flashed across his face. “As you prefer.”

  The door banged closed. Anne groaned and pressed her face into her hands. She could not allow him to come for her. Every moment in his presence had become pure torture. Each time he touched her, the tingling would linger. Her own flesh had betrayed her upbringing and breeding. Anne imagined the countess’s dour frown. Mother would lock her in her chamber for a year simply for looking at a man like Calum MacLeod.

  Chapter Six

  “Ye look like a queen.” Bran held out his elbow and puffed his chest. “Calum sent me to fetch ye.”

  “Thank you, Master Bran, but I’m a lowly maid in comparison to Her Royal Majesty, Elizabeth.” Anne had chosen a blue gown with gold embroidery and wore her hair pulled back by a matching coronet and veil. “Does the laird always work beside the people as he did today?”

  “Aye, none has a stronger back than Calum MacLeod. ’Tis why his da made him laird of Raasay.”

  “He was not heir? Who was laird before him?”

  “We were annexed to Lewis, but the people of Raasay were starving. They needed a leader. So the big chief sent his son to help us.”

  “I see. Is Calum’s father still living?”

  “Nay. His heir, Ruairi, is the Chief of Lewis now.”

  “How interesting.” Anne had never considered that Calum might be a younger son.

  “If ye ask me, Raasay got the better end of it. Laird Ruairi is a tyrant. He pays no mind to us—would no’ even help us when the frost came early and killed our crops.”

  “How did you survive?”

  “Herring and seaweed.” Bran scrunched his nose. “I dunna recommend it.”

  Voices rumbled from below. As they rounded the steps into the great hall, Anne gasped at the enormity of the crowd. Rows of wooden tables stood around the hall, pushed together and lined by benches. Men wore plaids pinned at their shoulders and the swish of the women’s straight-bodied kirtles hushed across the floor.

  She spied Mara sitting on John’s lap, gazing into his eyes as if no one else existed. John covered her mouth with his and devoured her. His hand slipped to her breast and rested there for a moment before Mara pushed it away. With a gasp, Anne quickly averted her eyes. What heathen place have I come to?

  As Bran led her toward the far end of the hall, Anne wondered how it would feel to have Calum place his hand on her in such a way. The friction of her nipples against her stomacher rasped as if they’d become the most sensitive flesh on her body. A flicker of heat twisted deep inside and her palms grew moist. She swallowed. Hard.

  The crowd filled hall made it toasty, warmer than the crackling blaze in the hearth. Calum sat at the head of the table with a man she didn’t know to his left. She turned to her escort. “Where are we going to sit?” She could bear to sit next to Calum if Bran were there to distract her.

  “Why, Calum wants you to dine beside him, milady. It’s only appropriate for our guest to be seated in a place of honor.”

  “Will you be joining us?”

  “Nay. I’ve been gone for weeks.” Bran pointed across the hall. “Me family’s here. Besides, sitting at the head of the table with the laird is too serious for the likes of me.”

  Anne wished she could be in Bran’s shoes, flitting about chattering with everyone—with no concern as to whether or not someone would place his large, masculine hands on her. She looked toward Calum and caught him staring. The image of his hand on her breast invaded her thoughts again. A tingle of longing shot to her core. Here she was a married woman, yet had not experience of a man’s touch. If only Bran could sit between us, my mind would be free of these sinful thoughts.

  When climbed onto the dais, Calum stood and reached for her hand. “Lady Anne. You are stunning this eve.”

  ***

  Calum didn’t hear a word Norman said when young Bran entered the great hall with Lady Anne on his arm. Her ornately embroidered gown accented the rose of her cheeks and complimented her honey-blonde hair. But most of all, the deep blue brought out the glittering color of her eyes, fanned by long, dark-blonde lashes. She reminded him of a brilliant sapphire in a setting of gold.

  “Don’t ye think?” Norman asked.

  “Aye.” Calum had no idea to what he’d just agreed, nor did he care. At that moment, he also did not care that the woman walking toward him was married. He would put that misfortunate fact aside and enjoy the celebration.

  When he stood and took her hand, their eyes met. He caught a flicker of longing in those deep pools of blue. There was no mistaking it. He bent down to kiss her hand. When he straightened, the desire he’d glimpsed had been replaced with a cool façade—the same one he’d seen many times since he kicked in her door on the Flying Swan.

  “Please do me the honor of dining at my table.” He gestured to the chair beside him. Anne sat with such grace, he imagined she’d practiced that move in her etiquette lessons a hundred times. He pointed to the man on his left. “This is my younger brother, Norman.”

  Anne leaned forward and nodded. “You have your brother’s eyes.”

  “Aye.” Norman pointed to his bright red mop of hair. “But I’ve a fair bit more upstairs, unlike me swashbuckling brother.”

  Calum laughed. “Don’t let him fool ye, milady. Norman can be as shrewd as any other MacLeod.”

  Norman batted the air with his hand. “Baa.”

  “Me elder brother sent Norman from Lewis so I could teach him some refinement.”

  Anne’s jaw dropped. “You?”

  Calum sat back. “And why not me?”

  “The plunderer of English ships? The pirate who kicks in a lady’s stateroom door?”

  “Aye, but I didn’t ken ye were within. Had ye made some noise, I might have been a bit more genteel.”

  Anne’s quick tongue had a maddening way of raising his ire—made him want to show her exactly what a true plunderer could do with a woman. Holy merciful God, what he could do with her. She tempted him, blast it all. And must she wear those damnable gowns that revealed her bosoms aplenty? Every man in the hall could view her ample breasts peeking above her bodice. She’d soon have them all breaking down her chamber door.

  It was a good thing a trencher of roast beef was placed in front of him. Calum snapped his mind from its wayward thoughts.

  “A welcome change from herring,” Norman said.

  “Aye, and with the heifers from the ship, we’ll see a good deal more beef come next spring.”

  Norman speared a slab of meat with his eating knife. “And lamb.”

  “Where are yer manners, brother?”
Calum snatched the trencher from Norman and held it out to Anne. “Milady?”

  “Thank you.”

  Calum watched her daintily select a small slice of meat with her ivory handled knife that she pulled from somewhere in the folds of her gown. Her clothing was much different from the simple kirtles and bodices the highland lassies wore over their shifts. In English style, her gown pushed her breasts above a stiff stomacher, filling the neckline with lovely silken mounds of lily white flesh—too much for this raucous crowd. He resisted the urge to reach out and brush a finger across her breasts, though he ached to feel their softness yielding to his touch.

  Anne cleared her throat.

  Calum’s gaze snapped to her face. “M-milady, I was admiring your gown—such expert needlework is rarely seen in the Highlands.”

  An adorable blush crawled up her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  Calum reached for his tankard of ale. He needed to fixate on something other than the lady’s breasts. Then his leg brushed against her gown. He drew in a sharp breath and downed his pint.

  Calum used his side vision to watch Anne eat. Everyone around him tore at their meat with their teeth, but Anne cut hers into small bits, placed them in her mouth and chewed delicately, as if she were handling a flower.

  She caught him watching and raised an eyebrow. Calum cut his meat into smaller portions and pulled a piece off his knife with far more care that he had ever attacked a slab of meat in his life.

  “I saw that Mara was quite friendly with Master John,” she said, lifting her tankard.

  “Aye, they were married only a month ago.”

  Understanding crossed her face.

  “John is leaving for Edinburgh on the morrow.”

  “Oh? Why must he leave so soon?”

  Calum adjusted in his chair. “He’s carrying a missive for Lord Wharton.” He couldn’t bring himself to say, your husband.

  Disappointment flashed across Anne’s face so fast, Calum thought he’d misread it. But he realized Lady Anne had mastered covering her emotions. He could look her in the eye and have no idea how she felt. He’d thought she resented him for capturing her ship, but he picked up on little nuances—flashes of looks or words that told him all was not as it seemed with Lady Anne. He wondered if she had trepidations about her marriage. No. She married Wharton. She must have loyalty to cur. And who am I, a lowly Scot trying to make a go of it on this tiny island. No, no, no. A woman such as Lady Anne is far too refined for a life on Raasay.