by Caroline Lee
“Fishermen?” she asked hopefully.
“Mayhap,” he murmured, although doubtfully.
Stepping away from the rail, he raked his gaze over his men once more. The captain, a burly MacLeod man, was calling all sorts of nautical commands—gibberish to Liam, although the sailors seemed to understand. If an attack did come, either from the other ship or while they were anchored each evening, Liam counted on the sailors to fight to protect their Queen.
Under the awning set up for Her Majesty’s use, Murtaugh and Tearlach were playing Nine Man Morris. The easy-going brothers didn’t seem to take anything seriously—including possible oncoming danger—and didn’t mind taking advantage of the shade.
At the bow, Ross Fraser stood with his arms crossed. The loyal warrior was peering at the distant ship, and as Liam watched, he dropped his arms to adjust his sword. The last of their guard, Finn, was sleeping against the main mast. Because of course he would be.
With a sigh, Liam crossed to the lazy man, wondering yet again why Robert had saddled the mission with him. He nudged Finn in the side with his toe, not bothering to be gentle.
“Awake, ye slug. Danger approaches.”
Credit where it was due, the lad sprung to his feet in a blink, his twin blades already in his palms, and an eager look in his eyes.
Acknowledging mayhap his cousin had chosen wisely, Liam sent the lad to the bow to watch with Ross. As he was turning back to the threat, he heard the Queen gasp.
And a moment later, understood the cause.
The other birlinn was close enough to see individual figures now, and what he saw wasn’t encouraging. Two on the bow were dressed all in black, and the one atop the mainmast had just lowered a new sail.
A black sail.
“The Black Banner!” came the cry from a sailor mid-ships, uttered with far more terror than the English would’ve provoked.
When Elizabeth turned, her face was pale. Liam reached for her, prepared to catch her if she fainted, but she lifted her chin at the last moment.
“I thought he was but a legend, a myth to keep children in line.”
As gently as he could, Liam took her elbow and hustled her toward her awning. “Ye’ve heard of him, then?”
“Aye,” she said in a shaky voice. “Ulster is not so remote we have not heard of pirates. Gallowglass mercenaries would often speak of him.”
She was speaking of her childhood, and Liam wasn’t surprised. He’d heard of the Black Banner—who hadn’t?—even near Linlithgow where his father had grown up. Liam’s mother had been a Cameron from Inverlocky, and in the years he’d spent with his grandda on the water, he’d heard all the Black Banner legends the old man knew.
Legends or not, it was clear the pirate not only existed, but was a threat here and now
By the time they reached her sanctuary, Murtaugh and Tearlach had stowed the game and were standing alert. Liam nodded approvingly, even as he led the Queen to a padded chair at the rear of the tent.
“Stay here.” He pushed her down. “If they have arrows, I want ye behind here—the chair back will protect ye somewhat.” He pulled a dagger from his boot and flicked it around in his palm, holding it out to her hilt first. “And take this.”
Elizabeth folded her hands on her lap and offered him a serene smile. Someone who didn’t know her as well as he did would’ve missed the tightness around her eyes, which belied her smooth expression.
“No need,” she said lightly. Then she pulled a thin dirk from one sleeve and tucked it under her arm, concealing it once more.
Liam grinned, even as battle-lust pumped within his veins. She was smart and brave, and he was proud to call her his Queen.
He nodded to his men, who’d all drawn their weapons now, and positioned himself with his back to Elizabeth.
If the pirates boarded this vessel, they’d find a fight waiting for them.
He was so focused on the coming battle, it wasn’t until the damn black birlinn was almost upon them when he realized the sailors were still pulling strong. They hadn’t armed themselves, and quite a few of them didn’t appear to be one bit nervous.
Liam had just a moment to wonder at that, when the cry rose from the other ship.
“MacLeod! MacLeod!”
He didn’t understand, until—as one—the men on the rowing benches lifted their oars from the water. Moments later, the other birlinn slammed into their side, cracking the rail where Liam and the Queen had so recently stood. Ross and Finn were already rushing back along the raised center ridge, but Liam knew they’d be too late.
Men dressed all in black—what kind of flashy gimmick was that?—swarmed across the space between the two birlinns. Had the MacLeod sailors not boated their oars, more than a few would’ve been broken by the impact. And the reason they’d done that, Liam realized, was because they knew their attackers.
So the Black Banner must be a MacLeod.
Mayhap Liam would’ve had time to ponder over this information, but their attackers came armed. Murtaugh and Tearlach threw themselves into the fray, their quick blades flashing. More than a few of the black-clad men fell back from the brothers’ attack, but no one appeared to be mortally wounded.
Finn and Ross were doing their best to hack through the pirates from the rear, and Liam had to fight down the instinct to throw himself into the battle.
Nay. My place is here. Standing between my Queen and death.
The pirates left the sailors alone, focusing on Liam’s men. The MacLeod sailors seemed confused by the attack, but many of them sat on their benches and merely watched. The captain was bellowing something, but Liam couldn’t hear it over the shouts of “MacLeod!” and the clash of steel on steel.
Two figures broke away from the fight, and moving in perfect tandem, twisted and ducked as they rushed toward the Queen’s sanctuary. Liam adjusted his grip on his sword, planted his feet, and prepared to meet this new threat head-on.
Unlike the other attackers, these wore masks—scarves wrapped around the lower half of their faces. They could’ve been twins, except one was much smaller.
Father and son? Brothers?
Stepping into the attack, Liam thrust his sword toward the smaller one’s belly, but the man leapt aside with a surprised grunt. Unexpectedly, the larger of the two didn’t counter, but twisted to one side with his blade up, as if keeping an eye on both battles at once.
He was watching?
Liam dismissed him for now, and raised his sword to block an attack which never came. The smaller pirate—was this the Black Banner then?—stood with his blade up and his shoulders back, but he didn’t push the advantage. Instead, he simply stood, as if unsure.
Liam needed this over, sooner rather than later.
“Come, ye coward!” he taunted, certain the insult would goad the lad into attacking. “I have nae time for fools who hide behind masks!”
When the lad still hesitated, Liam grunted and threw himself forward, ready to lop the black-clad head from his black-clad shoulders. The lad got his blade up in time and blocked the next two blows as well, before shaking his head slightly and going on the offensive.
And to Liam’s surprise, he actually fell back under the lad’s attack.
His gaze flicked forward in time to see Tearlach go down under a black-clad attack. His brother was already on the deck, and Ross was nowhere to be seen. Finn’s whirling twin blades were keeping the pirates back, but their sheer numbers would overwhelm the warrior soon enough.
Damn these pirates! Damn the MacLeods for not fighting!
“What do ye want?” he growled, slamming his sword into the lad’s. “Why are ye here?”
The figure didn’t answer, but jerked to one side. “Banner!” he called. “The Queen!”
The other man—the Black Banner himself?—still stood to one side, and Liam could hear the laughter in his voice when he called back, “Nay, lass, this is yer fight.”
Lass?
Her blade rose again, but Liam stepped inside he
r defenses. Instead of taking advantage of his longer reach to pierce her torso with his sword, he slammed his larger hilt down across her forearm and wrist, causing her to hiss in pain as he reached for her mask.
While she was distracted, he yanked down the black scarf covering all but her eyes…and froze.
“Charlotte?” he whispered incredulously.
That’s when her dark eyes flashed with rage, and she head-butted him.
Chapter 3
If Charlotte hadn’t grown up with older brothers, hadn’t seen men train and fight and be wounded since the earliest she could remember, well then, mayhap she wouldn’t have landed the blow. Mayhap she would’ve come up with some way to distract him, to use the mind she was so proud of for something other than percussive force.
But she’d needed a reprieve from the battle, a reprieve from the turmoil choking her gut and making it hard to breath…so she head-butted him.
“Damnation!” he growled as he stumbled backward, his palm cupping his nose as red began to leak through his fingers.
But he hadn’t lost his grip on the sword, even if she wasn’t an active threat. No, of course not. He was a warrior.
It was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him.
Liam Bruce.
She’d hesitated, there at the beginning, when she’d realized who it was protecting the Queen. Even Tav had noticed her pause, and she’d shaken off the indecision with a signal that she was fine once more.
Liam Bruce.
He’d gone running back to the King, forgotten all about her, and now she found him standing between her and her prize.
She tightened her grip on her short sword and stepped forward without raising it. He was shaking his head—trying to clear the fogginess caused by her blow?—while blood still dripped from between his fingers and across his lips.
His lips…
Oh God.
This wasn’t the time to be remembering the way they’d felt on her bare skin, or the way they had pulled up in a teasing smirk when their eyes had met across the supper table. This wasn’t the time to think about the way he’d used them to pleasure her—
“Char?”
Liam’s voice jarred her back to the present day, the pain of his betrayal still as fresh as it had been months ago.
He’d left her, run back to his betrothed, and now she found him here? Standing between her and the one person she wanted?
The one person she needed?
“Ye lost the right to call me that,” she growled, raising the sword and allowing her anger to show as she advanced toward him. “Ye may no’ use that name!”
To give him credit, Liam still knew how to meet her ire head-on. He dropped his hand, wiping the blood from his palm along the Bruce tartan covering his thighs, and raised a brow at her.
It’d been the same expression he’d had when she’d challenged him to a chess game or a horse race. It meant he knew he had an even chance of winning this competition.
Because they were well-matched, damn him.
“Why are ye here, Char?” he asked in that same low tone, hints of warning in his voice as he ignored her bold claim. “And with him?” His gaze flicked to Tav and back, before she could take advantage of it. “Ye’re a pirate now?”
“There are plenty of things ye donae ken about me, Liam Bruce! The same way there are obviously plenty of things I donae ken about ye! Now get out of my way.”
He didn’t. He wouldn’t be the man she once loved if he had acquiesced to her demand, after all.
Instead, he planted his feet and rolled his shoulders, the movement drawing her attention to their width. He looked…good. Almost as good as he’d looked last year when they’d met at Uncle Rory and Aunt Citrine’s table, where Liam had distinguished himself in the warrior games. Almost as good as he’d looked, laughing and carefree, at the MacLeod holding on Lewes, as he’d charmed her into his arms.
Arms which now held a sword, not-quite-raised against her. Arms which were still as sinewy and muscle-bound as she remembered. Arms which could hold her and stroke her, even as they coiled with suppressed power.
She swallowed.
“Char,” he said again, softer, and she tried not to melt at his tone. “Char, please answer me. Tell me why ye are here. What kind of trouble are ye in? Let me help ye.”
As she snorted with disbelief, her sword arm jerked upward, and she saw Tav take a step toward her. That must mean the battle had gone well, and the ship was theirs. She shook her head once, letting her brother know she was still in control of her feelings.
Mostly.
“Listen closely, Bruce,” she growled. “Ye’ve hurt far more than ye’ve helped, and I’ll never allow ye that opportunity again! I’m here for the Queen, and I’ll no’ let you lie yer way out of this again.”
At the mention of her goal, she heard a startled gasp from behind Liam’s broad back, but couldn’t afford to focus on it. Nay, instead, she was watching his face, watching for an indication, before he attacked.
What she saw instead, was a flicker of confusion.
“I’ve never lied to ye, Char.”
She couldn’t help it; she snorted again. “Aye, ye conveniently forgot to mention yer betrothed when ye bedded me!”
“I’m no’ betrothed.”
Of course. Of course a man, who’d lied about it once, would lie again. Suddenly weary—from the battle? From her efforts to get John MacDonald’s treachery recognized? Or from the last year of grief since she’d realized her idiocy with Liam?—Charlotte’s shoulders slumped, the tip of the sword pointed down at the deck of the birlinn.
She sighed and took a moment to look around.
Her assumptions had been right; the Black Banner’s men had been victorious. She saw Auld Robbie deep in conversation with the MacLeod captain, while a few others guarded the sailors. Tosh was crouched beside one of the Queen’s bodyguards, and as she watched, he rolled the younger man to his back, then offered a sip from his water skin. The other three were receiving similar treatment from her men, although they were being restrained as well.
Good. No one had died.
Yet.
She pushed her shoulders back and turned to the man she’d once loved. “Aye, ye are,” she said in a firm voice. “Ye’re no’ the first man to get what he wanted, they fly away without a second thought. But I will no’ be lied to.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed, as if offended she was calling him a liar. “I’m no’ betrothed,” he said again, slowly and distinctly. “The Bruce called me back to Scone, but has given me permission to return to Lewes once my mission here is—”
“I care no’ for yer reasons, Liam,” she said wearily. “Just move aside and let me have at the Queen for a few moments, aye?”
“He’s telling the truth.” The voice, coming from behind Liam, was refined and delicate, with just a hint of accent from her native Ulster. “Liam has never been formally betrothed.”
Formally.
So mayhap her father’s claim had referred an informal betrothal, but that hardly mattered. Her own arrangement with John—or rather, their fathers’ arrangements—proved informal betrothals were just as binding.
So Charlotte scoffed outright. “Stay out of this, Yer Majesty,” she snapped, finally losing control. “This has naught to do with ye.”
“On the contrary,” the woman said as she stood, every inch royalty. “I believe it has everything to do with me. Why are ye here, Charlotte MacLeod?”
Chapter 4
Briefly, Liam wondered how Queen Elizabeth had known Charlotte’s name, then remembered the conversations they’d had on the long days of travel from Carlisle. He’d confessed his feelings for the hot-headed MacLeod lass, chafing under his obligation to the Bruce, which kept Liam from returning to Lewes.
And, knowing the Queen, he shouldn’t have been surprised she’d remembered.
Charlotte frowned when the Queen spoke, and knowing her, it was because she couldn’t figure out the situation a
nd was irritated by it.
But when Elizabeth stepped away from her chair and toward Charlotte, he had to act. He didn’t know what his lover was doing here, or why she claimed to want access to the Queen, but he couldn’t allow it. He shifted to put his body between the two women.
Elizabeth’s hand rested briefly on his arm, and he didn’t miss the way Charlotte’s gaze dropped to glare at it.
Interesting.
“Easy, Liam,” the Queen murmured. “Ye really believe the woman ye love could harm me?”
“I’m no’ sure what I think right now, Yer Majesty,” he replied. Then, raising his voice and piercing Charlotte with a hard stare, he repeated his earlier question. “Why are ye here, Char? What do ye want with the Queen, and why are ye associating with pirates?”
Mayhap she would’ve answered, had her companion—the Black Banner, who’d been standing so peacefully off to one side—not decided to interrupt.
“Oh, are we dispensing with the masks now?” He tossed a wink toward the Queen, and Liam almost groaned when he realized he now recognized those dark eyes. “I thought mayhap we were going to stand around and talk this arsehole into surrender.”
The man pulled down the tail of his scarf, revealing the smiling face of Charlotte’s carefree brother, Tavish.
Despite the presence of his Queen, Liam spit out a nasty curse.
“Yes indeed, my once-friend.” Tav’s mouth was still curved into a smile, but too many teeth were bared for it to be called friendly. That, and the dangerous glint in his eyes, told Liam he was in trouble.
The man Liam had called friend smoothly sheathed his sword, but didn’t drop his glare, and Liam wasn’t fool enough to think the man was unarmed now.
“Yes indeed,” Tavish repeated. “That seems like something ye ought to say, when confronted by the woman ye lied to, stole her maidenhead and abandoned, coward.”
Liam felt the muscles in his jaw pop as he clenched his teeth.
Lying?
There they went again, accusing him of lying. And worse!
