by Amy Jarecki
Squeezing his eyes shut, Calum kissed her forehead then held her at arm’s length. “We need to speak.”
From the crease on her brow, she knew why he was there. She gestured toward the table.
Calum’s stomach turned over—twice—and he took the seat opposite her. It had all seemed so easy when he’d left the solar—walk up to her and tell her they were leaving on the morrow. Now, staring into those fathomless pools of Icelandic water, his mouth went dry. If only she had not married the bastard. “Och, damn it all.”
Her arms folded. “I beg your pardon?”
“We should not have—I should not have…” Calum bent his head and spread his palms to his sides. “We must leave on the morrow. Yer letter of ransom has been answered, and I must take ye to Carlisle.”
Anne frowned. “Carlisle? But Lord Wharton is in Alnwick.”
“The terms are the baron will meet ye there.” Calum couldn’t look at her face. He glanced to the five trunks lining the wall. “We’ll be on horseback and cannot take yer things. Pack a satchel with yer keepsakes. I’ll see yer trunks delivered to Alnwick when things settle.”
Anne covered her face with her hands as if pressing away tears. “What of Swan? His training has only begun.”
He’d just told her they were going back to England, and she was worried about a damned bird? “Bran will look after the eagle. We cannot tow a squawking fledgling with us.” Calum cringed. He sounded far less sympathetic than he had intended, but the eagle could not make this trip. Not with so much at stake.
He stole a peek at Anne. She stared at her hands, folded tight in her lap. Her knuckles blanched white. “So that’s it, then?”
His heart told him to kneel before her and beg her not to leave. She could seek an annulment, falsify her death, anything so she could stay at Brochel. But she was a lady, born into nobility. She was too refined for a life on frigid island in the north of Scotland. She deserved the comfortable life of a Baroness, planning fetes and luncheons, fretting over the penmanship on her invitations. Besides, the longer she remained at Brochel, the more dangerous it was for his entire clan.
“’Tis time to join yer husband.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, the words constricted in his throat. He could not tell her how he felt. It would only make things worse.
***
Anne hid her emotions behind a stoic façade and listened to the news. She waited until Calum walked out of her chamber and closed the door. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek. Pulling a kerchief from her dressing gown pocket, she held it to her eyes.
That sickly, hollow feeling came over her as it had the first day on the Flying Swan. Last night had been a delusion—she had allowed him to take advantage. Her feelings of belonging had been the musings of a lonely woman who would be an old maid if it weren’t for a baron who had spied her from across Westminster Abbey. How foolish she’d been to allow herself feelings for Calum MacLeod, pirate laird of Raasay. His rugged good looks and charming manner had captivated her and betrayed her heart.
Anne doubled over and wailed into her kerchief. Her fantasy was over. Now she must leave her things behind—and Swan. The bird had become her tie to Raasay, he brought her hope, gave her a piece of something of which she so desperately wanted to be a part. What could she pack in a satchel? Her head still throbbing, she threw herself on the bed and wept into the pillow. She didn’t care who heard.
Mara’s voice chimed from the passageway. “Milady?”
“Go away.”
“But I have a parcel for you.”
Anne wiped her tears and opened the door. “You do realize I have no room for a parcel of any sorts.”
Mara held up a bundle of clothing and stepped inside. “Trews, a shirt and boots to make the journey more comfortable, milady.”
“Whose idea was that?”
“Calum’s”
“He must be daft.” Anne held up the trousers. “Have you ever heard of sumptuary laws decreed by King Henry VIII?”
“Och, no milady.”
“If I’m seen in England wearing men’s clothing, I could be thrown into prison or worse.”
Mara pushed inside, the door closing behind her. “That makes no sense at all.”
“Tell that to the magistrate. The laws were enacted to keep the different classes separate, and distinguish men from women, no doubt. Dress as a man? ’Tis absurd.” Anne massaged her temples and closed her eyes. “Besides, I’m only allowed a satchel, and I must have a gown when I meet my h-h…” she couldn’t say it. “Lord Wharton.”
Mara took back the trews and set the clothing on the table. “Tell you what. I think ye should wear the trews under yer skirts. ’Twill stop the chafing from the saddle and will be warmer when yer sleeping on the trail—and ye’ll need the boots, regardless. Ye cannot ride a pack horse in satin slippers.”
Anne pursed her lips. Mara’s argument had merit. She could wear a day dress over those wretched man-trousers, and roll up one of her finer gowns for her satchel. Anne walked over and unclasped a trunk. She rifled to the bottom and pulled out a brown, linen gown with an embroidered square-necked bodice. She used the dress for falconry. On the top lay one of her favorite gowns, a red silk she only wore during fine weather. But summer months approached. Surely, Calum would ship her things before winter.
“Can I help ye, milady?” Mara asked.
Anne’s eyes shot to the smaller trunk, which held her most precious keepsakes.
“I understand if ye dunna want me here,” Mara offered.
Anne studied the kind face that reflected so much concern. In the short time the she had been at Brochel Castle, Mara had become as dear to her as Hanna. Anne tried to smile. “Stay. You can help lift my spirits.”
Anne pulled out a satchel from the small trunk. When she opened it, she also pulled out her box of keepsakes and set it on the table.
Mara ran her finger over the woodwork inlaid with ivory. “’Tis beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“My mother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. I’ve always kept my cherished possessions in it.” Anne opened the lid, and Mara gasped. She didn’t have a lot of jewels, but the ruby necklace alone was enough to cause a stir. A golden locket with a small portrait of her father, a pearl ring, and a dozen or so necklaces glinted within the box. All had been purchased to match her gowns. They were beautiful, but not inordinately expensive. Anne put the jewels into a leather pouch and removed the false bottom of the box.
Mara leaned closer. “Look at the fine green velvet inside. What else do ye have in there?”
Anne pulled out the marriage decree and held it up. “Just this.” She unfolded it and remembered Mara couldn’t read. “’Tis proof of my marriage to Lord Wharton. I may need it if he doesn’t recognize me.”
Mara laughed. “I’ll bet he’d recognize ye from a hundred paces. Ye are too bonny to forget.”
“You cannot mean that.” Mara had a knack for lightening her heart. Anne refolded the document and slipped it into the pouch. She tossed her shillings on top and tied it closed. It would be the first thing in her satchel to ensure she wouldn’t lose it.
Mara helped her roll the red gown carefully to avoid wrinkling it, though silk was prone to creases. “Whatever will become of all yer fine things?”
“Calum said he would ship them to me later, though I can’t help but fear I’ll never see them again.”
“If Laird Calum MacLeod makes a promise, he’ll see it kept. On that ye have me word.”
“But what if…” Anne busied herself with folding a spare shift.
“What if?”
“What if the baron chases after him? What if he has an army waiting in Carlisle? What if he…Calum is killed?”
Mara placed her hand on Anne’s shoulder. “There, there, ye cannot be letting thoughts of doom cloud yer mind. Ye’ll drive yerself mad afore ye get there.” Mara led her to the chair and massaged Anne’s shoulders. “I always say
when ye have a choice between a good thought and a bad, pick the good. What use is the bad? It only serves to make ye feel worse.”
Anne leaned into Mara’s magic hands and closed her eyes. “I wish it were that easy.”
Mara twirled around her. “It is, milady. It is.”
Anne reached for her keepsake box and held it out. “Since I cannot take this with me, I’d like you to have it.”
“Me? Och no, I couldna accept. It looks awful expensive and ’twas a present from yer ma.”
Anne pushed the box into Mara’s hands. “It is mine to give. You have shown me kindness when there was no motivation for you to do so. Take it and remember me.”
“Oh, milady, ye are too kind. And to look at you. Ye are the one who helped me organize the keep. There’s plenty here to remember ye by.”
Anne smiled. “Good. That’s how I want it.”
Chapter Fifteen
With her satchel packed, Anne wished she could make this journey without Calum MacLeod. Her breeding would never allow her to clench her fists and stomp across the floor, but that’s exactly what she wanted to do. How could he just walk into her chamber and completely ignore the intense passion they had shared the night before?
The stone walls closed in on her. Anne whirled in a circle. She would never hold Calum like a lover again. Mercy, the next time she’d touch a man, it would be Lord Wharton. She needed some fresh air, but it was still morning. Calum would be in the courtyard sparing with his men. Perhaps if she snuck through the kitchen, she could make it to the garden without catching his eye.
She pattered down the steps, pushed out the door, and headed toward the garden at the side of the tower. She caught a glimpse of Calum, clashing swords with three at once, his shirt off. She held a hand to her eye to block the sight of his rippling muscles. How dare he display himself in the courtyard half-naked? The sight of him would put impure thoughts in any maiden’s mind. There should be a law against it.
Anne dashed to the solitude of the gardens and the privacy the hedge provided. With a heavy sigh, she lowered her hand and slowed her pace. She needed to regain control of her anger. She detested it when she teetered on the brink of losing control. A few deep breaths of the crisp island air and she’d come around. Her fists loosened and the blood flowed back to her fingertips. Anne walked along the hedge and fought to reason with her feelings. Calum had been a pleasant diversion during her captivity. He could never be more than that and they both were painfully aware of it. She had no choice but to face her responsibilities.
Rounding the corner, Anne nearly tripped over Friar Pat. “Oh my, pardon me, Father.”
He stood and brushed his hands on his robes. “Ah, Lady Anne, ’tis good to see ye out this morning. Do ye take an interest in gardening?”
“Yes, well I admire a well-kept garden.”
He gestured toward a recently sewn plot. “This is a bit o’ land the Laird gave me to grow healing herbs for the clan.”
“’Tis good you cultivate your own herbs. Do you get much chance to gather in the forest?”
“Aye, I collect willow bark, that sort of thing.”
“I see.” Anne hung her head and continued on her path.
The friar hurried beside her. “It looks as if something is ailing ye, milady.”
She hesitated.
He gestured to a nearby bench. “Would ye care to talk to an old friar about it?” Anne cast a glance at him. His careworn eyes twinkled in the sunlight. “It never did a soul a bit o’ good to hold its worries inside.”
She nodded and sat on the bench. He took her hand between his warm palms. “Now tell me, what ails ye?”
“Calum’s ransom note has been delivered to Lord Wharton, and John has delivered the baron’s reply.”
“Ah, so ye’ll be leaving us?”
“On the morrow.” She took in a deep breath. “There are a great many things weighing on my heart.”
He ran a hand across his mouth as if trying to collect his thoughts. “Ye’ve formed a fondness for the laird.”
Anne’s cheeks burned. “’Tis humiliating to admit I have, and since I’ve never met my husband, I harbor no such feelings for him as of yet.” She pressed her free hand to her face. “I am so ashamed. I feel like I’ve betrayed Lord Wharton, yet I have always been uneasy about meeting him.”
“And why is that, lass?”
“He is eight and fifty.”
The friar grimaced. “I can see where that would bring ye some concern.”
“Aside from his age, I’m aware of his conquests in Scotland. And news of his atrocious actions as High Sheriff of Cumberland reached as far as Titchfield House.” She squeezed her fingers around the friar’s hand. “What if he’s a tyrant?”
He patted her hand. “What do ye feel in yer heart? Would Lord Wharton have gone to the trouble to arrange this marriage if all he wanted to do was mistreat ye?”
Anne bit her lip. “What if he did?”
“Then I’ll be the first to lead an army to send the baron to his grave.” He shook his head. “I do not believe a wife should endure living under a tyrant’s roof, but ye should no’ be thinking of that now. Ye are going to meet yer husband at long last. A marriage in the eyes of God is a very holy thing. Ye should be a happy bride.”
Anne looked up and watched a wisp of cloud sail through the fathomless blue sky. “Thank you, Father. Your words bring my mind peace.”
As they stood, the friar rested his hand on Anne’s shoulder. Just like the cloud above, she had no control over her destiny. Her time on Raasay had been a distraction which had postponed the inevitable.
“I hope ye will always remember us fondly.”
Anne tried to put on a brave smile. “I will.”
She headed back toward the keep when the friar called after her. “Calum is a good laird and a good man. He will keep ye safe until ye are in yer husband’s arms.”
***
Calum watched Anne from across the hall, laughing and bright. She had declined to dine with him on this, her last night at Brochel Castle. She sat beside Mara and John carrying on as if they had been the best of friends since birth. She had not so much as glanced his way since he’d visited her chamber and gave her the news. Had last night meant nothing to her? It had been the most erotic experience in his life. If only he could share this last eve with her in his arms. But it was done—Anne would probably prefer to skewer him with her father’s knife than cradle him against her breast.
Calum’s edgy frustration was further incensed by Norman who would not cease yammering into his ear. “The men will start work adding the poop deck tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“Are ye sure ye want the work to continue once ye set off to Carlisle?”
“Why should it not? The longer it takes, the more likely an English ship will spy her.”
“But won’t Robert have charge of the keep?”
Anne’s laughter twisted Calum’s gut. “He’ll manage for a few days.”
“I don’t know. He should have his eyes on the women and children,” Norman pressed.
Calum snapped his head around and raised his voice. “The carpenters will tend the ship while Robert tends the keep. Where’s yer brain, brother?”
Norman held up his hands. “I’m no’ the one who’s fallen for the wife of Scotland’s greatest adversary. Ye need to pull yer head out of yer stubborn arse.”
Calum sprang to his feet, toppling his chair. He pounded his fist on the table. “Are ye challenging me? ’Cause if ye are, I’d like nothing better than a good sparring match this night.”
Norman thrust his nose an inch from Calum’s. “I dunna want me face broken by a raging bull. But ye need to set yer priorities and get yer mind off that English wench.” Sneering, he leaned in. “Ye cannot have the lass, and the sooner we’re rid of her, the sooner ye’ll be back to yer old self.”
Calum eyed his brother. He snapped his jaw shut. The noise of the crowd had lowered to a hum and he didn’
t need to look to know everyone watched. He pushed past Norman’s shoulder and shoved through the big doors of the great hall.
The cool air provided a welcome chill to the sweat on his brow. Norman was right. How could he have allowed an English woman to slip under his defense? Her tentacles had wrapped around his heart, and it was his own fault for permitting it. What an idiot he’d been, treating her as a guest and letting her sleep in his chamber because of her blasted highborn status. He was a laird, by all the saints. He should never have allowed her to sleep in his bed. Fool.
Calum ran down to the beach. He kicked stones over the remnants of last night’s bonfire. Images of Anne’s hypnotic eyes, gazing at him across the maypole attacked. He could still see her breasts as they strained against her bodice with every breath. He roared aloud. Falling to his knees, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, but visions of Anne were burned into his soul. God, did she know what she did to a man simply by looking at him?
She was so innocent, yet so desirable, so consuming. Had the queen of the fairies sent Anne to Raasay to torture him? Did he need to send up an offering and pay to remove this vise from his heart?
Calum threw back his head and wailed, “Yes, brother, I admit it. Ye are right. She tortures me every waking moment and she cannot be mine!”
***
The next morning, Anne stood beside Swan’s mews and slid her hands into her falconry gloves. At least the eagle would have a permanent home. Friar Pat had agreed to look after Swan until Bran returned to resume the eagle’s training. She reached in with a morsel, and the bird plucked it from her fingers. He jumped onto her outstretched hand, and she stroked the long, brown-gold feathers. They had all come in now, and he was a remarkably powerful specimen in full plumage. “I shall miss you more than anything.” Though that wasn’t completely true, she would miss Swan terribly nonetheless. “I will always sing to you, and mayhap one day you’ll fly far away and will hear my song on the wind. We’re two of a kind, we are—free spirits who will always be held captive.” Her voice warbled and she bit down to stop her trembling chin.
