The Red Drifter of the Sea: A Steamy Opposites Attract Pirate Romance (Pirates of the Isles Book 3)

by Celeste Barclay

  Elizabeth suddenly snapped her attention; while everyone else intoned the twelfth—or was it thirteenth—amen of the Mass, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She had the strongest feeling that someone was watching her. Her eyes scanned to her right, where her parents sat further down the pew. Her mother and father had their heads bowed and eyes closed. While she was convinced her mother was in devout prayer, she wondered if her father had fallen asleep during the Mass. Again. With nothing seeming out of the ordinary and no one visibly paying attention to her, her eyes swung to the left. She took in the king and queen as they kneeled together at their prie-dieu. The queen’s lips moved as she recited the liturgy in silence. The king was as still as a statue. Years of leading warriors showed, both in his stature and his ability to control his body into absolute stillness. Elizabeth peered past the royal couple and found herself looking into the astute hazel eyes of Edward Bruce, Lord of Badenoch and Lochaber. His gaze gave her the sense that he peered into her thoughts, as though he were assessing her. She tried to keep her face neutral as heat surged up her neck. She prayed her face didn’t redden as much as her neck must have, but at a twenty-one, she still hadn’t mastered how to control her blushing. Her nape burned like it was on fire. She canted her head slightly before looking up at the crucifix hanging over the altar. She closed her eyes and tried to invoke the image of the Lord that usually centered her when her mind wandered during Mass.

  A Spy at the Highland Court BOOK 1.5 SNEAK PEEK

  A Companion to the Series

  Dedric Hage watched as the English king continued his royal rage as courtiers and advisors eased away from their irate sovereign. His Majesty’s face was mottled with red splotches that only accentuated his fair complexion, and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as his rant amplified. King Edward stalked about the chamber on the long legs that earned him the moniker “Longshanks.”

  “I don’t give a bloody damn who oversaw the attack. It failed!” He railed against the last advisor who tried to reassure him that the recent loss was not the end of his campaign against the Scots. “Failure is failure. That usurper believes he’s gotten the upper hand, and he will continue worming his way further into England now that he thinks he has outsmarted me. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

  King Edward muttered his final comments as he sank back into the engraved and carved chair that sat on a dais. His bile spewed the king retreated into his own thoughts as the rest of the chamber was left wondering what to do next.

  Dedric had seen this pattern countless times over the course of his life. He was all too familiar with the king’s mercurial temper and unpredictable outbursts, but he also knew Edward was one of the best strategists and logisticians to have every lived. While he might not like the man, he respected him. At times. Ric watched as the king scanned the crowd, assessing each knight present until his eyes settled on rich, who wished he could melt into the curtains and watch the people in the gardens below.

  “Sir Dedric, approach.”

  A Wallflower at the Highland Court BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

  The din of music and loud conversation–along with the pervasive odor of too many unwashed or over-perfumed bodies crowded into Stirling Castle’s Great Hall–gave Maude Sutherland a pounding headache. As she observed the dancers from her position at the side of the chamber, part of her envied the other ladies-in-waiting who twirled with ease and confidence, but mostly she wished for nothing more than the blessed silence of her chamber. While Maude propped up the wall, she spied her younger sister, Blair, who moved through the country reel with what must have been her seventh partner that evening. Though she was only an observer, sweat trickled down Maude’s back and between her breasts. A warm snap—unseasonable for spring in the Highlands— had the doors to the terraces wide open. This should have been enough to ease Maude’s discomfort, but the breeze did little to offset how her thick brown hair trapped the heat on her head and neck. Unlike most maidens, Maude wore her hair up almost every waking moment. She possessed a massive amount of thick, coarse, mousey brown hair that was unruly even on the best of days. By evening the weight of the hair, regardless of whether it was up or down, pulled on her neck and contributed to her headache. She would have loved nothing more than to cut it all off and wear it short like her father, Laird Hamish Sutherland, or her brother, Lachlan. She envied them the freedom to wear their hair however they wanted.

  A crimson gown floated in Maude’s periphery, so she turned to watch her closest friend, Arabella Johnstone. She and Arabella were as different as chalk and cheese but had somehow struck up a close friendship. Where Arabella’s hair glowed in the candlelight, Maude accepted her hair was dull. Where Arabella’s face looked like an artist’s masterpiece, Maude was aware she was plain. Where Arabella was petite and lean through her hips and legs, Maude considered herself far too broad across the beam. As she grew into womanhood, her frame filled out, and while she had a bust most women would envy, her hips and legs were proportionate. Whenever Arabella or Blair glided across the dance floor, she recalled the many adjectives her brother and his friends had come up with for her when they were younger. “Sodgy,” “bamsey,” “bowzy,” “jostly,” “podg,” and “flobbed up” were the ones that always came to mind. Her brother had since repented for the unkind and merciless teasing. Lachlan noticed that the more he and his friends teased Maude, the less she ate. On the day she collapsed and nearly fell down the stairs leading to the family chambers, he was the one to catch her and carry her to her chamber. In her hazy state, she confessed to have only eaten dried fruit and bannocks the previous three days in hopes of slimming. Lachlan never said an unkind word to his sister again and thereafter became fiercely protective of her, fighting more than one friend when they failed to cease teasing her.

  A Rogue at the Highland Court BOOK 3 SNEAK PEEK

  The crunch of frost echoed in Stirling Castle’s royal gardens as Allyson Elliot trudged along with the other ladies-in-waiting, enduring another one of the queen’s morning strolls through the struggling blossoms. It was mid-March, and spring had arrived for their neighbors to the south, but Mother Nature seemed to have forgotten that Stirling wasn’t truly in the Highlands. Sitting on the border between the Highlands and Lowlands, the weather in Stirling was fickle, playing both sides of the fence. Allyson puffed out a cloud of condensation as the ice crackled beneath her booted feet. She didn’t mind the distance of the morning constitutional, but having been raised in the Lowlands, Allyson was still unaccustomed to the frigid temperatures of the north.

  “I still can’t believe he married her.” Allyson caught the waspish voice of Cairstine Grant as her attention returned to the young women around her. Allyson realized Cairstine spoke of Maude Sutherland without hearing the former lady-in-waiting’s name. Maude had been a shy lass from the northern Highlands, and several of the other ladies-in-waiting–Cairstine Grant included–had teased her without mercy. It had come as a shock when Kieran MacLeod arrived at court and immediately took an interest in Maude, who the other ladies considered overweight and plain. He’d been one of the most eligible lairds, and more than one nose was out of joint when he chose a woman so many believed was beneath him.

  Allyson struggled to smother her giggle as she considered just how Maude was beneath Kieran these days. Allyson arrived at court four years ago as an impressionable girl overwhelmed by the attention her fair hair and robin-egg blue eyes garnered. She soon realized she enjoyed the attention after being the youngest of her parents’ six children. A few batted eyelashes and a coy smile earned her the appreciation of the young courtiers who flocked to court hoping to gain attention and favor from King Robert the Bruce. While Allyson wasn’t as daring as some of her peers, she had stolen a few kisses from these men, hoping to find one who would make her his wife and take her away from both the royal court and her family. Her attempts hadn’t garnered a husband, but it had resulted in a reputation as a flirt.

  “Allyson. Allyson, are you
listening to me?”

  A Rake at the Highland Court BOOK 4 SNEAK PEEK

  Eoin Gordon raised his chalice once more to toast his twin brother, Ewan, and his new sister-by-marriage, Allyson. As he did, he had a sense that someone was watching him. As the hairs on the back of his neck rose, Eoin passed a quick glance over the diners seated below the dais, but no one seemed to be paying attention to him. He raised his chalice again but didn’t take a sip; instead, he continued to scan the crowd. He looked for anyone doing the same: studying him while attempting to ensure no one else noticed.

  “What’s amiss?” Ewan, the elder twin by five minutes and the heir to Clan Gordon, leaned toward him. The brothers had been inseparable since the day of their birth. They possessed an uncanny intuition for one another and seemed to share the same thoughts more often than not. Until Ewan fell in love with Allyson, neither trusted anyone more than they did each other. As he heard Allyson laugh, Eoin’s memory flashed to her courtship with Ewan. Their relationship started poorly when Allyson ran away rather than consider a marriage to Ewan. More than once during that time, Eoin had wanted to shake Ewan, whose views on marriage and fidelity had changed all too slowly. Eoin was grateful for Allyson’s influence; he was certain his brother was a better man for it.

  “Naught. I just have a sense that someone is watching me,” Eoin explained. “It’s making me want to squirm.”

  “I haven’t a clue why women find you so attractive, but it’s probably some bored wife or lonely widow,” Ewan grinned. His reputation as a rogue was entrenched in many women’s minds, but his obvious devotion to Allyson no longer caused Eoin concern that his brother intended to stray from his marriage vows. “You do have a reputation as a rake. One of them is hoping they’ll warm your bed tonight.”

  “Only one?” Eoin cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “My charm must be slipping.”

  “You assume you had any to begin with. Perhaps it was my charm that lured the women, and they figured two is better than one,” Ewan teased. The twins were mirror images in every way except for their battle scars. Ewan had a scar that split the left corner of his lip, and Eoin had a less noticeable scar above his left eyebrow. While their scares weren’t in the same place, they were still on the same side. There was little to distinguish them apart, and they’d relied upon that throughout their lives, often trading places.

  “That very charm had me running for the hills,” Allyson elbowed her husband as she leaned around Ewan to speak to her brother-by-marriage. “It’s Cairstine Grant. I don’t have a clue why she keeps looking at you, but she can’t seem to distract herself.”

  “Cairstine? Why would she be staring?” Eoin wondered aloud.

  An Enemy at the Highland Court BOOK 5 SNEAK PEEK

  A crack of thunder followed only moments later by a blaze of lightning made several ladies-in-waiting jump within the queen’s solar. The early autumn storm seemed to rattle one’s bones as much as it did the window embrasures. Cairren Kennedy glanced around Queen Elizabeth’s private salon and stifled her chuckle as the newest ladies-in-waiting trembled. Mostly Lowlanders, these young ladies were not yet accustomed to the raging storms the Highlands flung upon Stirling from the north. Cairren arrived at Robert the Bruce’s court three years earlier as a wide-eyed and quiet girl. But in the time she’d spent there, she’d developed a thick skin and a significant cynicism. As she watched the newer arrivals, she wished she could return to her days before becoming a lady-in-waiting to Elizabeth de Burgh. It had been just over a year since her best friend, Allyson Elliot, married Ewan Gordon and moved to the Highlands. During that year, Cairren awaited the announcement of her own betrothal, and with each passing month, she found her mood increasingly matched the weather outside.

  Cairren received a hint from her father around the time of Allyson’s wedding that he was in the midst of arranging a betrothal to a Highlander, but he’d volunteered no specifics. Cairren suspected that news came several prospective suitors ago. Growing up near the border, with constant strife between the Scots and the English, made life among the contentious Highlanders seem peaceful. While her clan’s land sat along the coast, their allies were the Dunbars and Armstrongs, which meant the two border clans often called upon the Kennedys to lend warriors to the cause. She understood her father wanted her away from the ever-shifting political dynamics that were a daily part of life in the south. However, moving to the Highlands sight unseen terrified her. She was blessed with a doting father who always had her best interests at heart, but she couldn’t help but wonder how he thought the Highlands were a better option. She’d rather move to her mother’s people in southern France. At least there, she would blend in.

  “Lady Cairren,” Queen Elizabeth’s voice drew Cairren out of her pensiveness, forcing her to abandon her thoughts. “Please pick up where you left off yesterday.”

  Cairren retrieved the vellum copy of Summa contra Gentiles from the table upon which she’d laid it the day before. With a slight French lilt to her voice, Cairren was among the queen’s favorites to read aloud. She was also one of the few women who read fluently. She accepted that the queen had committed her to an hour of droning prose on providence and the soul. While she was as devout as the next person, Cairren swallowed her sigh as she prepared to read the divine insights of Thomas Aquinas. As she settled onto a stool, a page entered the solar and whispered to the Mistress of the Bedchamber who, in turn, cast an eye at Cairren.

  “Your Majesty, I beg your pardon, but Lady Cairren has been summoned to see her father and mother, who are newly arrived,” the Mistress of the Bedchamber announced, all eyes swinging to Cairren.

  A Saint at the Highland Court BOOK 6 SNEAK PEEK

  “Sister,” Lachlan Sutherland approached Blair with Arabella Johnstone on his arm. Arabella had been Maude’s only other close friend while she was at court. The women had been roommates, and Arabella took Maude—and by extension Blair—under her wing when she arrived. “Every mon in this gathering hall keeps looking at you, and yet you seem to be in a world of your own, uninterested in them. Well done. I approve.”

  Lachlan grinned at his youngest sibling as Arabella released his arm. He swiped three mugs of ale from a passing servant, handing one to each lady. The three Sutherland siblings were very close, and Blair was ecstatic any time Lachlan appeared at court. The only family she knew that shared this kind of closeness were the Sutherlands’ cousins, the Sinclairs. Lachlan wrapped his arm around Blair’s shoulders and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. They hadn’t seen one another since Lachlan’s unexpected arrival in late autumn, when he accompanied Cairren and Padraig to Stirling, but he had returned to settle the annual taxes their clan owed the crown. The brother and sister enjoyed a fortnight of each other’s company. With Maude no longer beside her, Blair was starved for time with her family. Lachlan never shied away from showing his affection for his sisters, and Blair welcomed it.

  “Shall I take you for a lap around the floor?” Lachlan inquired as he grinned at Blair. “Or will you prop up this wall a little longer? I may be your brother, but I shall be the envy of every mon with a heartbeat.”

  A Beauty at the Highland Court BOOK 7 SNEAK PEEK

  “I just need a few moments more,” Blair looked over her shoulder at Arabella.

  “You needn’t rush. We still have time,” Arabella reassured as she dabbed rose water behind her ears and into her cleavage. She knew the Great Hall would be sweltering, and the fresh scent was as much for her as it was for anyone else. It would offer her a reprieve from the stench of too many unwashed and overheated bodies.

  As Arabella watched Blair, she wondered when her friend would find her match. She suspected that it would happen soon, since Blair and Hardwin Cameron were inseparable. It wouldn’t surprise Arabella if Blair and Hardi (as she called him) handfasted before a priest could read the banns. Thoughts of Maude and Blair inevitably turned her mind toward their older brother, Lachlan. Arabella stifled her sigh as she thought about the handsome, dark-hai
red man who appeared at court every few months. She didn’t envy him his lengthy rides south from Dunrobin. The keep was along the northeastern coast of Scotland, almost as far north as that of the Sinclairs, and marriage linked the two clans. Arabella had long admired Lachlan’s easygoing nature and protectiveness of his sisters. The three siblings were extremely close, and both Maude and Blair had looked forward to his visits. Arabella knew Lachlan looked for excuses to see them. She couldn’t help the sadness she felt when she realized Lachlan would rarely make the long trip to court once Blair left.

  “I’m almost done,” Blair said as she bent to pull up her stockings and slip on her shoes. She disliked wearing stockings, so she put them on last.

  Arabella thought about her other friends who had left over the past three years. Nearly all her original friends were gone, one after another marrying and leaving court.

  A Sinner at the Highland Court BOOK 8 SNEAK PEEK

  I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. How can he do this to me? How could he pick her over me? That fat sow. Kieran will regret this till the day he dies. He and she both. This is her fault. All her fault. I hate her too.

  Madeline MacLeod felt the four walls of her tiny convent cell closing in upon her. Her brother, Kieran, had dragged her from Robert the Bruce’s royal court at Stirling Castle and dumped her at Inchcailleoch Priory earlier that week. She refused to accept that any of her words or actions had caused her fall from grace. She’d only spoken the truth each time she told Maude Sutherland how unconventionally curvaceous she was. Why her brother wanted to marry a woman who looked more like a tavern wench than a lady was beyond Madeline.