by Amy Jarecki
Calum buried his face in her hair and inhaled. “Ye smell of honeysuckle and roses. ’Tis more than a lonely laird can bear.” He reached for her hands and placed them on his waist. “Kiss me, Lady Anne.”
Her arms slid to his back. She kneaded his aching muscles as their lips met with a searching passion. This was a far cry from the timid maid he’d first kissed only days ago. A raging fire ignited across every inch of his skin. Calum ran his hand up to the neckline of her dressing gown as Anne arched against him. Their lips intertwined, he slid his fingers under the soft red wool and found a velvety smooth breast that yielded to his plying fingers. Her nipple erect, Calum fingered it, longing to suckle her. His knee pressed against the bed. It would be so easy to lay her down and slip between her legs.
Anne threw her head back and emitted a throaty moan of pleasure. So seductive the sound, in a blink of an eye, he was fully erect. But then she opened her sultry eyes and grasped his wrist. “We mustn’t.”
Not trusting his voice, Calum tried to breathe normally and then nodded. He glanced at the bed. God, he’d never in his life desired a woman this much.
“We should not be alone together. I cannot trust my flesh.”
Calum closed his eyes and wrapped her in his embrace. “It appears ye were right. We need a chaperone at all times.”
She raised her face to him, those tempting eyes posing an unintended challenge—one he dared not take now he’d returned to some level of sanity. He savored those rose petal lips one last time and slipped into his new chamber, locking the door behind him. Calum leaned against the warm wood and inhaled.
Where was John? Calum picked up the poker and stirred the fire.
He then slid his claymore from his belt and released the heavy silver buckle. In an instant he’d undressed and filled the bowl with water. Standing in front of the warm hearth, he lathered a bit of rosemary soap in his hands and made quick work of washing the stench of the day’s work from his body.
Gooseflesh rose across his skin as the cold cloth brushed over his flesh. His cock bounced straight up when he swiped the cloth across its head. As of late, he was hard more often than not. Calum closed his eyes. She slept so close, he could practically smell her through the walls.
Forcing his mind to think about anything but Anne, he ran the drying cloth across his body, tossed it aside and slipped under the bedclothes. He loved the feel of crisp linen sheets against his bare skin. It reminded him of his boyhood, of climbing into bed without a care.
Something thudded against the wall. Calum sat up. Holding his breath, he listened intently. His—Anne’s bed creaked. Realizing the head of his bed butted up against hers with only a wall between them, Calum groaned. He dropped onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling.
What is she wearing? Did she strip naked as did he? Calum slapped his hand to his forehead. Of course a lady would never sleep raw, especially the daughter of an earl. But imagining her that way sent shivers across his skin. He could never resist the urge to picture her bare breasts as they teased him from under the square necklines of her dresses. The touch he’d stolen this evening proved her breasts to be generous and rounded. Calum imagined their taut rosy tips. A familiar thickening lifted the bedclothes, torturing him.
Anne’s bed creaked again. Had she rolled over? Was she on her side—on her back? Was she thinking of him? Did those thoughts send a yearning deep inside, so hot that it rained fire on her soul?
Calum arched his back and willed his thoughts to focus on anything but Lady Anne, but with every creak of her bed, his hunger returned. He vowed to exhaust himself on the morrow with more work. He’d spar with his men, not with his own lust.
Chapter Ten
From his study, Thomas Wharton watched the messenger’s horse trot up the path to the manor. The clench in his gut told him the man either bore news from Master Denton, still in London, or news as to the whereabouts of his bride.
Samuel entered and cleared his throat. “A missive has arrived, my lord.”
“Good God, man. Don’t hover. Show the messenger in.”
“Right away, my lord.” Samuel beckoned with a wave of his hand. “Mr. Elliot from Edinburgh.”
Wearing a pair of leather breeches with a matching doublet and feathered cap, Elliot looked to be an aspiring gentleman. “I was told to deliver this with haste, my lord.”
Wharton snatched the parchment and examined the note. By the crumpled edges, the missive was well traveled. He held the seal up to the light. Damn, a blank. “How did you come by this?”
“A rather gruff Highlander paid me quite handsomely. Said I was to return with your reply.”
“You hail from Edinburgh?”
“Aye.”
Wharton ran his thumb under the seal and stared at the black scrawl—the terms of his wife’s ransom. “Blast the bastards to hell.” He slammed the missive on his desk and eyed the messenger.
Mr. Elliot removed his cap and held it in both hands. “The…the Highlander told me to pay an Englishman to deliver it to you, but I thought it would be expedient to deliver it myself.”
Wharton smirked. A Lowlander, eh? He’d probably pocketed the money intended for the English runner. But that didn’t matter. Aside from a few shillings, he’d have no loyalty to the man who paid him. Wharton moved to his sideboard. “Would you care for a tot of brandy?”
“That would be too kind, milord.”
“Not at all.” Wharton gestured to the red velvet divan. “Please, have a seat. I’ve a business proposition for you.”
***
Isabelle, the little girl who Anne had picked up and carried into the keep the first day she arrived, hung on Anne’s every word. She and a handful of other children sat wide eyed at a table in the hall while Anne pointed to a parchment upon which she’d drawn the alphabet.
“Repeat after me. A is for apple.”
The children repeated with a lilting Scottish burr.
“B is for ball, and what does C stand for?”
“Calum!”
Bran pushed through the oak doors and ran up to Anne, his brown curls jostling. “Lady Anne, are ye ready to go falconing with the laird?”
“Bran? You should be attending these lessons. It is important for a young squire to read.”
Bran glanced at the parchment. “Och aye, but no’ today. Calum’s waiting for ye in the stable.”
“He’s finally ready to go find a fledgling?”
“Aye, and I’ll be yer chaperone.” His hands flew to his hips as freckles bunched around his nose with his grin.
Anne smiled at the boy’s exuberance. She wondered if he understood the importance of his role. “Will you protect me from evil lurkers?”
“Evil what?” Bran furrowed his brow. “I don’t think we’ve any evil lookers on Raasay.”
She opened her mouth to correct him, but changed her mind. “Very well, I’ll fetch my cloak and be down momentarily.”
Anne dismissed the children and skipped up the stairs, thrilled to be getting out of the keep and into some fresh air. She bundled her hair into a forest green snood which matched her dress, and donned a pair of brown leather gloves. At last she would be able to see more of this isle in the wild north.
Calum met them outside the stables with a devilish grin lighting up his face. “Would ye like to see me island, milady?”
She clapped her hands together. “I could think of nothing more invigorating on this lovely day.”
He even had a sorrel mare fitted with a sidesaddle, bridled and waiting. He stepped up and placed a hand upon her waist. With a gasp, Anne scooted back. The touch of his fingers sent sparks across her skin—right there in broad daylight.
“Apologies, milady. May I assist ye to mount yer pony?”
She looked for Bran. The lad was already in his saddle and had started up the trail. Fine chaperone he would be. “Yes, of course, but I’d prefer to use the mounting block.”
Calum held out his hand and she climbed the two steps. Once
they were both mounted, Calum led her to the trail head at a slow walk.
“What about Bran? He’s lengths ahead.”
“The lad kens where we’re going. If he doesna hold up, we’ll see him at the loch.”
She should insist they catch up with him, but she wanted to enjoy the day. Following Calum at a leisurely gait, Anne walked her pony up the rocky path that led north and west of Brochel Castle. “My, ’tis rugged country.”
“Aye. The growing season is short and we’ve no’ much in the way of good soil for crops, but we’re making a go of it.”
Anne thought of the Flying Swan. “Do you think there will come a time when you no longer need to plunder English ships?”
“English? Aye.” Calum arched an eyebrow. “I hope we dunna have to do that again, honestly.”
“’Tis good to hear.”
“I’ll no’ give a promise for the Spaniards, though. Word has it Captain Hawkins is the only one plundering the silver Spain’s taking from the Americas. I wouldn’t mind a piece of that.”
Anne smirked. “Is that the way of the world? The natives mine the silver, Spain steals it, and England takes it from them?”
“Perhaps so. Even the crusades were more about conquering people and pillaging their lands than it was about freeing the Holy Land.”
“Hmm. My father had a silver urn handed down through generations. He said our ancestors brought it back from Tunis during the crusades.”
“It must be something—growing up under the roof of an earl.”
“I suppose. We never wanted for anything.” Anne ran the reins through her gloved hands. “But Father’s death was a tragedy all the same.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“A year after I was born, King Henry appointed father principal secretary of state. After, Mother said she would conceive every time he came home from court. He was rarely around, but Mother always managed to be with child.”
“So you have a large family?”
“Three brothers and four sisters, though two of the boys died in infancy. I’m the second sister. Elizabeth, the eldest, wed Thomas Radcliffe.” Anne looked at Calum to see if he recognized the name. “He’s the third Earl of Sussex.”
Calum let out a high-pitched whistle. “An earl for yer sister and a baron for you, aye?”
The same old musket hole stretched Anne’s heart again. “Elizabeth actually had the pleasure of being courted.”
“And why no’ you? Were ye no’ presented at court?”
“Alas, no. Father passed before I came of age and then I was needed in Southampton. Aside from Elizabeth, I am the eldest living child. My brother, Henry, was sent to my uncle for his fostering and I remained behind to ensure the estate prospered.”
“Was that the same uncle who arranged yer marriage?”
A lump stuck in her throat. “Yes.” Anne tapped her heel against the pony, urging the mare into a canter. With the wind in her face she let herself laugh. For the first time in months, she felt free. She didn’t want to think about the future and she didn’t want to think about pirates or barons or a sister who had married a fetching young earl.
Calum cantered up beside her. “Ye handle your mount well.”
“Did you think I would not?”
“Nay. Being born on the mainland, ye would have had a need to ride.” He pointed. “Bran’s up ahead. There’s a clearing that looks over an inland loch.”
“I’ll race you.” Anne grasped her riding crop and slapped it against the mare’s hindquarters. She laughed as her mount lurched forward, giving her a head start. Calum dashed up beside her on his bay stallion, but slowed his pace to match hers. They pulled the ponies to a stop. “You let me win.”
Calum ran his hand along the coarse neck of his Highland steed. “Did I?”
She now understood why Bran had ridden ahead. He’d spread a blanket over the grass and in the center sat a lovely basket, a flagon and three brass goblets. Beyond it, the slope opened to a pool of water, edged by ferns and willow trees.
Calum jumped down from his mount and raised his arms up to Anne. “May I help ye dismount?”
His eyes sparkled like blue crystals in the sunlight. Her tongue flicked out and tapped her teeth. With a stutter of her heart, she reached out and placed her hands on his shoulders.
Calum’s fingers clamped around her waist and he drew her to him. Anne gasped when her breasts pressed against his hard chest. He held her there for a moment while he took in a deep breath, then slid her down his body until Anne’s feet touched ground.
She slipped her hands to his upper arms, as firm as granite under her grasp. Wanting to touch more of him, she squeezed his muscles tighter.
Calum’s hands tightened around her waist.
She glanced at the blanket and food awaiting them. “If I didn’t know better, I would guess you sent young Bran ahead so the luncheon would be ready when we arrived.”
“Aye, of course he did milady,” Bran said before Calum could defend himself.
Calum released her and stepped back. “It made sense to me to have the picnic all ready when ye got here—and who better to prepare it than the chaperone?”
Rather than take issue with his specious reasoning, Anne sat on the blanket. It would have been inconvenient for Calum to ask someone appropriate, such as Friar Pat, to escort them. The friar wouldn’t bend to Calum’s whims. But Bran, on the other hand, would do anything to find favor with his laird.
“How old were you when you came to Raasay?” Anne asked.
Calum reclined on his elbow while Bran found a seat on a nearby rock. “One and twenty.”
“What was it like? Did you strut onto the beach, stick your pennant into the ground, and tell the clan you were their chieftain?”
“Something like that, but I had an entourage from Lewis. Me da and me older brother were with me.”
“Did the people accept you or did you have to earn their trust?”
“Och, I had to earn it right enough.” Calum uncorked the flagon and poured a goblet of for Anne and then one for Bran and another for himself. “But me da’s gift of the Sea Dragon softened them a bit. Once we started rebuilding the keep, everyone came ’round.”
Anne pulled the cloth off the basket, reached in for a parcel and unwrapped it. Smoked herring—a staple for the MacLeod’s. She broke the bread and they ate.
As daintily as possible, she swirled the herring in her mouth and muted the fishy taste with a bite of bread. Anne fidgeted as Calum’s gaze never strayed from her face. She needed a diversion from the yearning his attentions stirred.
Looking up at the sky, she searched for birds and heard the screech before she spotted its source. A magnificent golden eagle soared over the rocky terrain. “Look—there’s an eagle.”
Calum sat up and followed her line of sight. “I kent we’d see them.” He flicked his wrist at Bran. “Go follow it lad, and see if ye can find its nest.”
Bran’s face fell. “But I haven’t finished me luncheon.”
“Ye can take it along.”
Bran groused under his breath as he shoved a handful of herring in his mouth and washed it down with a hearty gulp of ale. Then he headed off.
“There’s a good lad,” Calum called after him.
Anne tapped a finger to her lips. “You drive the boy awfully hard.”
“Aye? With his da gone, someone has to ensure he grows up to be a MacLeod. No milk-livered men will last in this clan.”
Anne eyed his firm jawline and trailed her gaze down Calum’s sturdy neck. She had little doubt his words rang true. Raasay was no place for the faint of heart.
He inched toward her and ran a finger over the back of her hand. Anne’s skin tingled. How could the hands of such a vigorous man be so gentle? She’d watched him wield his claymore with forceful power, and no man on the island could best him, yet with her he could be so tender. She closed her eyes, giving in to the thrill of his touch. How she wished she’d never attended the queen’s coro
nation.
“How did yer uncle become mixed up with the likes of Wharton?” Calum asked, as if he’d heard her thoughts.
Anne’s eyes flew open. “I don’t pretend to know what goes on between the dealings of men, but they’re both members of the House of Lords. I imagine they met there.”
Calum straightened the blanket, and gazed to the dark blue loch that pooled at the bottom of the hill.
Anne leaned into him. “I thought Uncle had forgotten about me—at least I hoped he had. I assumed myself too valuable to the estate. And Mother needed me. I-I could have died when I was called to the parlor and he presented me with the decree.”
“Ye weren’t even consulted?”
“No. Upon my father’s death, the king granted my uncle full power over me—all the children. The same plight could befall my younger sisters.”
“But couldna ye say no?”
“And suffer the wrath of my queen…Put in jeopardy my family’s name?”
His finger resumed its light caressing. “’Tis an unsettled world in which we live.”
Anne bent forward and pressed the heel of her free hand against her forehead. “Yes, and it seems a mere maid is of no significance in it.”
Calum sat up and cupped her face in his hands. “Ye cannot say that. Ye are no mere lass. Ye are tender hearted—Look how ye’ve helped with the keep and the children. You’re the most beautiful and caring woman I have ever laid eyes upon.”
His gaze bore through to her soul, the connection so intense, a yearning swelled from her breasts to her core. In a blink, Calum’s eyes lowered to her lips.
Anne’s breath quickened. Oh how deeply she wished to feel his mouth over hers. “I cannot sleep at night, for the memory of your lips upon mine is burned into my heart.”
Calum brushed his lips across hers. Anne moaned as his tongue entered her mouth. Tasting spicy male, her heart raced. She laced her fingers through his silken hair, and Calum leaned into her. Heart thundering in her ears, Anne pushed into his kisses with unbridled passion. This could be the only chance she would ever have to feel the caress of a young, virile man, to be held by conditioned arms that could fight for her, protect her.
