The Pirate’s Angel

by Lee, Caroline

  Isabel wasn’t certain what he meant, but Tavish’s thumb had started its comforting circles once more, and she noticed the way Liam’s gaze lingered on that hand.

  “Who else will ye send?” he asked abruptly, whirling to face his wife.

  Charlotte was bent over the parchment. “I’ll no’ leave the Queen and Maud unguarded, if this is merely a taste of what’s to come.” When the Queen whimpered softly, Charlotte winced. “Apologies, Elizabeth, but until we ken why the princess was taken, we have to be prepared for all eventualities. I’m sending Angels to Argyll to investigate that branch of the MacNeils, and as for Barra…”

  Nodding once in satisfaction, she straightened, holding the Queen’s gaze. Something seemed to pass between them, and the Queen finally sighed and nodded. Isabel was touched by the trust Elizabeth showed in her friend, even during a time when her heart must be as torn as Isabel’s was.

  But Charlotte surprised her when she swung her attention her way again. “Isabel, I’m sending ye to Barra with Tav.”

  “Me?” Isabel blurted out, before she could think better of it. There were Angels more equipped to handle an offensive against a castle.

  But the spy mistress nodded. “The court already thinks ye’re indisposed, thanks to that brilliant bit of acting out there. We’ll just put the word out that ye’ve taken to yer bed for a fortnight or so.” She took a deep breath and held Isabel’s gaze. “I have complete confidence in my brother to do all he can to protect the princess and Alex, but I also ken ye’ll be nae help to me here, no’ if the strongest possibility for retrieving yer son is on Barra. If Elizabeth could, I suspect she’d be hying off to the Isles herself as we speak.”

  “She’s right.”

  In shock, Isabel’s gaze flicked to the Queen’s, who gave her a small nod. “You know I love my daughter, Isabel, and I would do—” Her voice caught, but she swallowed regally and continued, showing the strength inside herself which Robert had seen so many years ago. “You and I are mothers. If I cannot be there for Margaret, I pass that duty on to you. Bring me back my daughter, Angel. Bring back our wee Earl of Carrick.”

  Bring back Alex.

  This time, when Isabel stood, Tavish MacLeod’s hand slid away from her shoulder. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on his strength until it was gone, but by then, she’d found her own.

  She would do this. She would go to Barra, and if Alex were there with wee Margaret, she’d save them both. She refused to allow any harm to come to them. Ever.

  Twining her fingers together in front of her, she squeezed, the discomfort anchoring her to this time and place, and keeping the panic at bay. She tried to nod as regally as the Queen, but knew she’d failed. No one could be as composed as Elizabeth at that moment.

  “I beg yer leave, Yer Majesty,” she whispered. “I must prepare.”

  As the Queen nodded in agreement, Brigit darted forward and wrapped her arm around Isabel’s waist when she stood. “I’ll pack for ye, love. If we cannae be there in person, Ava and I will send everything we can think of to help.”

  “And prayers,” Avaline added as she stood, curtseyed to the Queen, and hurried to Isabel’s other side.

  Not certain prayers would be more useful than, say, a vial of poison or a grappling hook, Isabel nodded anyhow, pleased to have her friends’ support. With one on either side, she lurched toward the door. But before they passed through, she paused, one hand on the frame, as she turned back.

  Tavish was watching her. Liam had crouched to help Murtaugh tend Tearlach’s wound, while Charlotte was speaking quietly with the Queen. But Tavish MacLeod was watching her.

  And there was a determination in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.

  He held her gaze. “We’ll get him back, Isabel.” The vow was low and intense. “We’ll save yer son.”

  And that promise—more than her training or her love for Alex or her faith in the Divine—brought Isabel her first ray of hope.

  Chapter 3

  The way his heart was beating, Tav might’ve thought he was preparing for a raid again. Was it excitement or worry? Aye, it felt good to be doing something once more, to have a mission…but ‘twas at the expense of a gentlewoman, one whose heart must be aching, right along with the Queen.

  The thought of Dane being taken from him made Tav’s stomach twist with pain, so he couldn’t imagine what Isabel de Strathbogie and Elizabeth must be feeling.

  He and Dane were waiting in the courtyard of the royal stables, their bags lying at their feet, when Isabel appeared. Tav almost didn’t recognize her; not that she’d changed her appearance all that much, although she was wearing a far more rugged traveling gown now, rather than one of those silk concoctions the ladies at court seemed to feature. Nay, what surprised him was that she was all alone, carrying a bag of her own, as she slipped from the palace’s side door.

  “Milady, allow me to help,” he offered gallantly, reaching for her bag.

  But she side-stepped him and placed her luggage beside his and Dane’s in the pile. Tavish, understanding ‘twas her way of saying she didn’t need his help, hid his smile as he turned to his son.

  “This is my son, Dane. He will be traveling with us back to Dumbarton. Dane, this is the Lady Isabel de Strathbogie, mother to the Earl of Carrick.”

  His son’s eyes twinkled as he reached for Isabel’s hand. “Milady,” he murmured, bowing over her hand as if he were a courtier. “I ken who ye are. I’ve seen ye at court.”

  This last was said with a smirk shot in his father’s direction, and Tav cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “Nae teasing, lad,” he growled, although he wasn’t sure if he was protecting himself, or Isabel.

  The lady, for her part, smiled gently at his son, then offered him a curtsey worthy of a great lord. It might’ve been mocking, but it didn’t seem that way to him. She was a mother; mayhap she was offering the lad the same encouragement in his fancies as she might offer her own son.

  When she straightened, she met Tav’s eyes briefly, before glancing away. There was pain there, aye, but also determination. And he was struck by her strength.

  Unable to stop himself, he reached for her hand. Instead of bowing over it, as would be proper, he gave it a little squeeze, offering her what support he could. “Milady, allow me to offer my condolences.”

  “Ye’ve already offered me yer promise to retrieve Alex.” Her voice was low, but he heard the faint hint of pleading. She needed him to fulfil the vow he’d given her as she left Char’s office. “That will be worth more than—than any—”

  When her voice caught, he squeezed her hand again. “Are ye certain ye want to come with us?”

  ‘Twas the wrong thing to ask, judging from the flash of determination in her eyes and the way her chin lifted. “Yer own sister sent me on this mission.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “And the Queen called ye Angel.”

  Beside him, Dane sucked in a breath. “Ye’re an Angel, Lady Isabel? Truly?”

  Her grin was weak. “Only the Lord God could send an angel, Dane.” She was clearly used to deflecting questions of that nature.

  “Nay, no’ that kind of angel. An Angel. One of Aunt Charlotte’s secret agents. Ye’re one of them?”

  Isabel’s brows were a few shades darker than her tightly braided blonde hair, and they lifted in question as she glanced at Tav. He winced.

  “Dane…travels with me. Charlotte speaks freely in front of him.”

  “Aye, and I was just asking her if ye were one of her Angels only this afternoon! Afore Uncle Liam burst in with the news of the kidnapping and Da kicked me out to plan. Are ye truly the Queen’s spy? Ye look the part of an Angel, for certes!”

  ‘Twas obvious Isabel had no idea how to answer his son, especially after the added bit of flattery at the end. She was likely still reeling from the casual admission this eleven-year-old knew state secrets.

  Well, she’d soon find out Dane—and all of Tav’s crew—knew all sorts of interesting sec
rets. Secrets about black sails and legends. He trusted the lad and his men with these secrets, and she would have to do so as well.

  But Tav’s only acknowledgement of her dilemma was a shrug, before changing the subject. “I’m having the stablemaster prepare one of the coaches. We’ll be traveling hard to Dumbarton, but in a coach ye’ll be comfortable—”

  “We can travel harder and faster on horseback,” she interrupted, making a little slashing motion with the side of her hand. “The weather is fine and darkness is still hours away. We would make it farther tonight on horses than a coach.”

  She was right, but did she forget she was a gentlewoman?

  “The days are getting shorter, milady, and the journey will no’ be easy atop a horse.” He only had to remember Dane’s complaining over the last sennight, and they hadn’t even been in a hurry to get to Scone. “Allow yerself some comfort.”

  “Do ye think MacNeil’s men are allowing my son—and the princess—much comfort? They are no’ traveling by coach or stopping early. If we take horses, we can be in Dumbarton in three days. Sooner, if we stop arguing here.”

  She was right. Tavish inclined his head in acknowledgement, then turned to cock a brow at Dane.

  The lad was as stubborn as his aunt and raised his chin in response to the challenge. “I can do it, Da. Mayhap, by the time we return to the birlinn, I’ll have come to an accord with the damned saddle.”

  Resigning himself to spending the next few days listening to them complain, Tav stifled a sigh. “Ye’ll tell me if ye need a rest,” he ordered, then shifted his gaze to include her in the command, “both of ye.”

  Her chin rose in a gesture which matched Dane’s so perfectly, Tav’s lips twitched.

  “Ye are a sailor, Sir MacLeod. For certes, I ken horseback better than ye.”

  Remembering she was not only the mother of the Earl of Carrick, but the daughter of the Earl of Atholl, Tav finally allowed his grin to bloom. “I have no’ always been a sailor, Lady Isabel. Remember, my father is the Lord of Lewes, recognized by the Bruce and the other lords of the Isles. Dane and I do ken a few things about horses.”

  “Lewes is an island, Sir MacLeod,” she said blandly, and heaven help him, but his smile flashed again at her dry reminder.

  “So ‘tis, milady. But ye must call me Tav. Or Tavish, I suppose, if ye have need of formalities.”

  She cocked her head as she studied him, and the pins in the serviceable crespine confining her tightly wrapped blonde braids flashed in the afternoon sun. Finally, she nodded. “Verra well, since we are to be partners.”

  Partners.

  He liked the sound of that, mayhap more than he should.

  During the next few hours, she was the one to push them hard, despite him offering her respite. They made it to Drummond land before it became too dark to see, and he insisted they stop at a small inn.

  She was breathing heavily, as if she’d been the one to run, rather than the horse, and he kept an eye on her as he swung himself down and handed his animal over to the sleepy stablemaster.

  ‘Twas obvious Isabel was exhausted, and likely weakened from the journey, but that didn’t stop her from swinging her leg over the saddle—revealing an intriguing glance of trewes-covered leg in the process. But when her feet touched the ground, her legs buckled, and he was at her side in a moment, holding her up.

  For the first time he’d seen, her cheeks flushed—in embarrassment or shame?—as she clung to his arms, clearly unable to trust her own legs for a moment.

  He said naught, afraid of bothering her further. But he stared down at her, willing her to find just a little more strength, or to take some of his if she needed. Her gaze was focused on his chest, but after a moment, she took a deep breath and pushed herself upright.

  She was holding herself up, but still swayed as if ready to collapse at any moment. Tav took hold of her elbow and escorted her and Dane into the inn. He arranged a room for her and one for them, and for supper to be sent up to both.

  “Milady?” he murmured when the proprietor had hurried off to do his bidding. She was watching the portly older man, her pale eyes glazed with exhaustion. “Isabel.”

  She startled, and her gaze swung to him. His hand tightened on her arm, just briefly, before letting it go. He had to let her go, because the more time he spent in this woman’s company, the more tempted he was to pull her into his arms and offer her the comfort she so desperately needed.

  “Go with him,” he said gruffly, nodding up the stairs, “and keep yer door locked. We’ll get an early start.”

  After a moment, she nodded, then sighed and lifted her hem to follow the proprietor.

  Tav stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up after her like a forlorn puppy, worried for her.

  * * *

  Despite the comfort of the bed, Isabel didn’t think she’d slept much the night before. At least she wasn’t too hungry; although she had no appetite, she’d forced herself to eat the supper Tavish had so kindly arranged to be sent up. After though, she’d performed only the barest of ablutions before falling into bed.

  Her body had felt wrung out, full of tension, but exhausted at the same time. Lying there in the inn’s bed—which really was quite comfortable, had she allowed herself to enjoy it—she’d pulled the pillow to her chest, taken a deep breath, and allowed herself to react.

  Alex had been taken. Her precious lad was in danger, and there was naught she could do but chase after him.

  When the tears came, she welcomed them. And at some point, she’d fallen asleep, but the ache in her head and back this morning told her it wasn’t anywhere near enough.

  Still, she wasn’t going to allow that to slow her down.

  Somewhere out there, her son needed her. Alex, and the princess too, were out there scared, alone, and maybe hurt.

  And she would find them.

  Surprisingly, Tavish MacLeod was turning out to be a satisfactory partner. Her experience as an Angel wasn’t as great as, say, Lady Melisandre’s, but she’d been on a few missions over the years with her team, and even others, but she’d never worked with a man like Tavish; a man who had no trouble deferring to her demands, and who didn’t insist he knew best. Was he just being kind because he knew she was hurting and frantic?

  Today, she’d find out because she was pushing him and his son both. Since she hadn’t slept well, she was already dressed and downstairs waiting for them, which had earned a slight nod of approval from the handsome sailor, before he’d commanded Dane to fetch their horses as he haggled for some food to break their fasts. She appreciated he understood the need for haste and was willing to eat on the backs of their horses.

  They changed animals once mid-morning, then again at noon at an inn on the other side of Sterling. This time, when Tavish suggested they rest for an hour and enjoy their meal, her instinct was to object, but he cocked a brow at her before she even really got started.

  “Isabel,” he said, in that deliciously low voice of his, and she tried not to shiver at the sound of her given name on his lips, “ye’ll be of nae help to Alex if ye collapse afore we get to him. Rest.”

  And when his gaze flicked to Dane, she understood his plea. The lad looked worn out, and she felt a flicker of guilt for pushing him so hard. ‘Twas clear he was not the horseman his father had claimed they both were, for whenever they stopped, the boy hobbled in circles, rubbing at his arse.

  So she inclined her head in acknowledgement. “An hour. Nae more.”

  The food was good, and it was nice not to eat on horseback. But she arranged for the innkeeper’s wife to pack up enough food for their evening meal, because she didn’t want to stop again too soon.

  They changed horses again in the afternoon as the Trossachs rose in the west. ‘Twas clear Tavish intended them to stop at the inn there for the night, but Isabel took a deep breath and prepared to defend her reasoning.

  “We are almost on Stewart land,” she began, as the stablemaster led their exhausted mounts
away. “We can acquire fresh horses and push on ‘til dark.”

  “And stay where, exactly, milady? This is wild country.”

  Was that mocking in his tone?

  She set her jaw. “Then we camp, partner. I am no’ gentlewoman enough to fall apart at the thought of missing a soft bed. I am an Angel.”

  He studied her for a moment, before one corner of his lips tugged upward. “That ye are, Isabel, but for certes, we have had a long day.”

  “And there is still daylight, so the day could be longer. If we push on and camp tonight, we will be in Dumbarton hours ahead of schedule tomorrow.”

  “Aye, but ’tis worth it?”

  It wasn’t until his dark blue gaze flicked to his son that she understood his objections. He wasn’t protesting because he thought she couldn’t handle the pace, but rather, because he was worried about Dane.

  Closing her eyes on the burst of shame the realization brought on, Isabel tried to swallow down her flush of embarrassment. Dane was clearly not used to this pace and looked as exhausted as she felt.

  But Alex needed her.

  Her resolve firmed, and her chin rose, as she locked eyes with Tavish. “I understand. The two of ye should rest here for the night.”

  “While ye go on?” he asked, amusement in his voice. “The birlinn willnae sail without me, nae matter if ye get there first.”

  Damnation. He was right. How could she convince him to go on with her then?

  At court, ‘twas common for ladies to use flirtation to get what they wanted from courtiers and lords—everything from favors to trinkets to pleasure—and Isabel was no exception; she’d spent years honing her flirtatious skills.

  But the thought of using them on Tavish—the thought of manipulating him—left her with a sour taste on her tongue.

  Must be the exhaustion. Nae technique is too low when it comes to achieving this mission.

  Her tongue flicked out over her dry lips, trying to remember how to flirt, but salvation came from an unexpected source.