The Pirate’s Angel

by Lee, Caroline

  In some ways, she knew MacNeil was right. ‘Twas like she’d told Tavish; he needed someone strong who could teach him leadership skills. And although Tavish had told her she was strong enough to teach her son herself, she certainly hadn’t been able to keep him safe from kidnapping. Mayhap he did need a father.

  Not MacNeil, but a plan was beginning to form.

  “My dear, ye will remember our bargain. Ye have three days to prepare yer trousseau and yerself. Visit yer confessor and purify yerself for this sacrament. But I swear to ye, ye will never again see yer son if ye do not become my wife.”

  She squeezed her fingers tighter, but it did no good; her entire body was shaking with fear and pain. “I understand,” she whispered.

  “Mother?” her son whimpered, and she had to swallow twice to make her voice work.

  “I love ye, Alex. I will do whatever I must to keep ye safe.”

  “Nay—” the lad began, but MacNeil cut him off with a harsh slice of his hand.

  “She understands her duty, Alexander. Ye will understand that too, one day.” He nodded to the man holding the lad. “Take him away. Put him back in his room.”

  Her heart ached to watch him go, but she silently vowed she would find a way to save him once Margaret was safe. She didn’t trust MacNeil, but he hadn’t harmed Alex yet and seemed to only want to use him to get to Carrick.

  It wasn’t until something wet hit her clasped hands that she realized she was crying. Tears rolled down her cheeks, although she struggled to keep herself strong and still. MacNeil obviously liked the display of her weakness because he grinned as he came down the steps and stopped in front of her.

  When he reached out to cup her face, Isabel tried not to shy away and tried not to let him see how revulsive she found him. Mayhap it worked because he looked merely pleased.

  “My dear, I look forward to having ye in my bed as much as I look forward to seeing the Earl of Carrick grow into a strong man.”

  She couldn’t hide her shudder. “Aye, milord,” she whispered, her gaze on his chin. “May I go and start the preparations?”

  He studied her tears for a long moment, perhaps searching for subterfuge. But they were genuine—her heart was breaking at the thought of leaving Alex. Finally, MacNeil nodded and released her.

  “I would have ye stay with me, but I understand ye are weak and require yer own comforts. Go. I will prepare for our wedding here.”

  She managed a curtsey, although it wasn’t graceful. “Thank ye, milord.”

  And she didn’t have to fake the gratefulness. She’d just been given a three-day reprieve to figure out how to save Alex, merely because MacNeil assumed her weak.

  Well, she wasn’t weak. She couldn’t be weak if she wanted to save her son. For now, she had to get Margaret to safety, and then she would be back for Alex.

  With her head held high, she swept out of the great hall, followed by Tavish, who was still holding Margaret. Resisting the urge to run, Isabel reminded herself MacNeil’s men were watching. She had to keep up the charade until she was away from Kisimul

  She might not be a leader, but she was an Angel, and she knew what she needed to do. She had to be strong, and she needed a plan to get Alex out of this. Luckily, she thought she just might have one.

  Assuming Tavish agreed.

  Chapter 7

  Tav remembered the moment he’d met Dane for the first time. The laddie had been only about half a year old at the time, but his big blue eyes and auburn hair had marked him as Tavish’s, even if he hadn’t recalled the mother, though he had.

  But the bairn had been thrust into his arms, and Dane had smiled beatifically up at him, with just his two front teeth. Tav had bounced the wee thing a few times, and his son had let out a lusty burp, loud enough—and long enough—to rival one of Tosh’s.

  In that moment, Tav had felt a pride he hadn’t known possible.

  Aye, he’d been proud of Dane many times since then, but he’d never forget the feeling of that first time. And he’d been proud of his men too, and Charlotte. A few times, Tav had even been proud of himself.

  But right at that moment, Tavish wasn’t certain he’d ever been prouder of someone than he was of Isabel as she walked, head held high, out of Kisimul Castle. She must be hurting so fiercely, yet she walked away from her son in order to save the princess.

  Tav pressed the wee lassie’s head against his shoulder, and whispered again, “ ’Twill be aright, Yer Highness, just dinnae move for a bit longer, aye?”

  He was almost as proud of Margaret as he was of Isabel. The princess hadn’t made a sound since he’d caught her and warned her about being silent. Now that they were out of Kisimul, he could breathe a bit easier. But if MacNeil realized his mistake—that the small person he held was actually the royal heir to the throne, and not Alex’s simple-minded companion—then there was no telling what the bastard might do.

  As they settled into the skiff, Tav said the first thing on his mind. “Yer son likely saved Princess Margaret’s life by protecting her with that falsehood about being his servant.”

  Isabel’s expression was haunted as she whispered hoarsely, “Aye, Alex is a bright and brave lad.”

  Before Tav could agree, she held out her arms for Margaret, and Tav untangled the princess’s arms from his neck. As soon as he passed the small body across the bench seat to Isabel, Margaret began to wail.

  Even though he knew ‘twas in relief, Tav felt his protective hackles rise as he glanced back over his shoulder at the imposing castle.

  “Go easy, lassie,” he murmured. “We’ll have ye in a nice bed soon with clean sheets and warm water—”

  “Nay!” There were silent tears on Isabel’s cheeks when she straightened, the lassie still in her lap. “Nay,” she repeated, quieter, her gaze going over Tosh’s shoulder. “We cannae stay on Barra, nae matter how fine their inns are.” She took a deep breath. “We need more privacy. Everyone here will report to MacNeil.”

  Nodding, Tav agreed with her and supposed he shouldn’t be surprised she understood the necessity of privacy over comfort.

  “Take us to the birlinn,” he ordered Tosh in a low voice. “The men will still be onboard.”

  They were, and he was grateful they asked no questions, but set to work immediately to ready the boat to sail. Of course, for all they knew, the bairn Isabel refused to release was her son. Only Dane seemed to understand, frowning thoughtfully at the princess.

  For her part, Isabel sat on the deck near the rudder, the regal bearing of the last few days completely gone as she hunched around the young lassie in her arms. Margaret was intermittently crying and whispering to Isabel, while the woman mingled her own tears with the girl’s.

  It made Tav’s heart ache to see her in so much pain, but he knew there was naught he could do at that moment. He needed to get them both to safety, and then he could see about offering them comfort.

  After leaving MacNeil waters, he took the rudder himself, turning the birlinn northward. It felt good to be doing something besides barking orders, and his position allowed him to be close to Isabel. And standing firm on his deck, his feet planted, feeling the swells and movements of the sea creeping up through the soles of his boots had always comforted Tav and reinvigorated him.

  “Are we heading for Lewes, Captain?” Tosh called out from the bow.

  Tav shook his head. “Nay, nae time. But we need safety, so I’m making for Skye.”

  Skye was MacLeod land, even if it didn’t belong to his family’s branch. His second in command nodded. “And Dunvegan is strong enough to withstand a siege.”

  Aye, the holding was, but if Tav didn’t miss his guess, there’d be no siege. He glanced down at Isabel. She had three days to come up with a plan, and he guessed it would be proactive. She wouldn’t hide and cower, not while Alex was on Barra.

  “For tonight, we’ll camp,” was all he said to his men.

  When Isabel lifted her tear-streaked face and held his gaze, he saw gratitude i
n her eyes and knew she needed the privacy a camp would allow her. The way she was feeling right now, a visit to Dunvegan and his relatives would likely be low on her list of things to tackle.

  He didn’t like sailing at night, but by the time they spotted Skye, the sun was setting. Still, his men were well-trained and knew how to handle an evening camp without much input from him. He was able to focus on Isabel and Margaret with Dane’s help. The lad was the one who carried the princess to shore, while Tav carried Isabel, but he didn’t know if his son suspected the truth.

  When he set Isabel on the sand, Tav held her a moment longer than necessary. “There’s a spring nearby, which is why we chose this spot. I cannae offer much in the way of comfort, but mayhap the princess would appreciate a bath?”

  Her hands rested on his shoulders, and she didn’t seem in a hurry to remove them, but she nodded. “I think we’d both like that. Do ye have soap?”

  “Aye.” His lips twisted fondly. “ ’Tis no’ sweet-smelling but will do for ye both.”

  Was it his imagination, but when she stepped out of his arms, did she seem a little reluctant?

  She took Margaret’s hand, gathered up the supplies his men had scrounged for her, and led the princess toward the spring. Tav wanted to follow but told himself they’d be close enough to hear if they needed help. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the preparations for dinner.

  By the time the two females returned, a warm stew awaited them. Isabel had bathed but was wearing her simple traveling gown once more. Margaret’s Bruce plaid had been filthy, so now she wore Dane’s spare shirt. Belted as it was, it hung below her knees, and that—plus her brushed and clean hair pulled into a braid—made it obvious this was no lad.

  Dane was the first one to greet them. He stepped up to the pair with a bundle in his arms. His bow was awkward, obviously learned from watching the courtiers in Scone, but when he held out the spare MacLeod plaid, he smiled faintly. “In case ye get cold, Yer Highness.”

  So he’d figured it out, smart lad that he was.

  As the two females sat cross-legged to eat around the fire, Dane softly explained to Tosh, who then passed the story to the men. Soon they’d all know they harbored the royal princess in their midst, and Tav knew they’d voluntarily double watches tonight.

  Wee Margaret was yawning hugely by the time supper began, and she’d barely eaten a few bites when Isabel lunged for her, and Tav realized the lassie had fallen asleep sitting up. As he bent to scoop her up, Isabel stood as well.

  “She told me MacNeil fed them regularly, thank the saints, so she’s likely more tired than hungry right now.”

  Tav’s eyes found hers in the darkness. “Did she tell ye aught else?”

  Her nod was jerky. “It sounds as though MacNeil didnae mistreat them, as far as prisoners go.” He knew that must ease her pain somewhat. “But she also said he’s beyond determined to become my husband and wield power at court through Alex.”

  His lips twitched. “A five-year-old told ye all that?”

  “Nay.” Isabel shrugged ruefully. “I extrapolated.”

  He couldn’t stop the small chuckle which shook his shoulders, but Margaret was sleeping soundly enough it didn’t disturb her.

  Dane had made the princess a bed, and ‘twas clear he planned on sleeping alongside her. His son’s chin rose stubbornly.

  “What? She might wake and need comfort in the night,” he declared.

  Tav merely smiled as he clasped his son’s shoulder. “Ye’re a kind lad. If she does wake, ask her if she wants ye to wake one of us.”

  “Me,” blurted Isabel, then flushed. “I mean, I ken her. I’m her—well, no’ really her aunt, I suppose, but close enough.”

  Aye, if Prince Edward had married Isabel as he’d promised, she’d be the King and Queen’s sister-in-law, and the princess’s aunt-by-marriage.

  Just another reminder of how important Isabel de Strathbogie was in Scotland and how far above him she really was.

  Try no’ to forget it next time ye feel like touching her, aye?

  But when she reached out in the darkness and twined her fingers through his, he didn’t pull away. How could he? He allowed her to lead him away from the fire and his men until they were lost in the shadows.

  “She’ll be safe with them, will she no’?” Isabel murmured.

  “My men would give their lives to protect an innocent bairn, but now that they ken she’s the Bruce’s lassie? Aye, she’ll be safe. Dane will likely no’ leave her side, and in between watches, I’ll have Wee Robbie sleep on her other side. He’s the next closest in age, and mayhap that’ll bring her comfort.”

  She sniffed, wrapping her arms about her middle and turning back to the fire. “If he gets much taller, ye’ll have to stop calling him Wee Robbie.”

  Chuckling dryly, he moved up beside her. “When he joined my crew, we had a Robert, RobRob, and a Robbie. Robbie became Auld Robbie, and he became Wee Robbie. Auld Robbie’s been gone a few years now, but ‘tis hard to break the habit, I suppose.”

  The noise she made might’ve been a laugh, or might’ve been a sniffle, but either way, it reminded him how much she’d been through that day.

  “Isabel,” he whispered, “we can see them, but none of them can see us. Or hear us.”

  She turned to him. “What are ye saying?”

  “I’m saying…ye havenae really allowed yerself to react to what happened today. I ken yer earlier tears were for Margaret and Alex’s experience. But, here and now, if ye’d like, releasing yer tears might help.”

  Her face was shadowed when she shook her head, her arms still gripping herself. “I’m afraid,” she whispered, “if I allow myself to fall apart now, I’ll never be able to pick up the pieces in time to help him.”

  “Och, lass.” Unable to help himself, he reached out and gathered her in his arms. “I’ll hold ye together.”

  And as she began sobbing against his shoulder, he held her tighter, his vow becoming surety. He’d hold her together. He’d always be there for her if and when she needed him. And the fact she was sharing her pain with him now…? Well, that meant more to him than he ever expected.

  They stood there in the sand, him rocking her slightly as she cried against his plaid. Slowly, her sobs subsided to mere tears, then to hiccoughing breaths, as he whispered comforting nonsense against her hair. He wasn’t certain what he was saying, but her grip on his shirt eased, and her shoulders relaxed as he whispered, so he supposed it was helping.

  And part of him was glad neither of them were really paying attention to his words, because he was certain he was making all sorts of extraordinary vows against her hair and skin.

  As she relaxed, it seemed natural to brush his lips against her temple, then her ear, murmuring praise and promises and comfort. She stilled for a moment, then turned her head enough for his lips to brush against her jaw, and she didn’t shy away.

  In fact, she was the one to push herself up on her toes, to tighten her grip on his shirt, as if she were pulling him closer. And when their lips met one another’s, she didn’t thrust him away.

  The two of them stood, frozen, as his lips covered hers, nibbling gently, softly. Her little whimper made him wonder if he was hurting her, but she didn’t back down.

  Still, he had to force himself away because he was afraid he may go on kissing her all night. And soon enough, the kiss would turn from this soft, gentle affair, to something much more desperate and needy.

  And though it would suit him well enough, he couldn’t do it to her.

  The distant campfire’s flames sent flickering light across one side of her face as she stared, almost confused, up at him.

  “I’m sorry, Isabel,” he said, brushing one curl gently behind her ear.

  “Why did ye do that?”

  Her whisper was so soft, he almost didn’t hear it. But he couldn’t lie nor brush it off. So he smiled crookedly.

  “Och, lass, if ye havenae realized, I’ve wanted to do that since I firs
t saw ye. But now was no’ the time, so I’ll be apologizing.”

  “Ye’ve wanted to kiss me?”

  Did she sound surprised? “I’d have to be dead no’ to want to kiss ye, Isabel. But ye needed comfort, and I was doing well until I began thinking about myself.” With great effort, he managed to step back, to put some distance between them. “So now I’m asking ye, what else can I do to help? Do ye need a drink?”

  The way she blew out her breath might’ve been a snort. “Ye have whisky?”

  “I always have whisky.” He fumbled for the flask at his belt. “I’m a sailor, am I no’?”

  She didn’t answer but took the flask from his fingers and opened it. He had to admit he was impressed by the hearty swig she took before handing it back.

  With a deep breath, she patted her hair back in place, then cleared her throat and began to pace. “If ye’re serious about helping me—”

  “I am,” he interrupted, before she could doubt him.

  She nodded but didn’t look at him. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back and continued to pace in a circle around him, the firelight catching her serious expression each gradual rotation.

  “Before we came to Barra, ye asked me if I had a plan. Ye said I was in charge of this mission.”

  His agreement was immediate. “Aye, of course. Ye’re smart and far better at diplomacy than I am.”

  She stopped long enough to frown at him. “ ’Tis no’ true. Ye’re—”

  When she bit off her words, Tav crossed his arms over his chest—slightly damp from her tears—and raised a brow, although he didn’t think she could see it. “Aye? I’m what?”

  “Ye’re a good leader, Tavish,” she whispered.

  As she shook her head and resumed her pacing, he smiled. “Thank ye. But we were speaking of ye.”

  “If I’m truly in charge, does that mean ye trust me?”

  His answer was immediate. “Aye. Do ye have a plan?”

  “I…” She took a deep breath and stopped, her back to him. “I do.”

  ‘Twas the way her voice seemed to echo strangely which had his suspicions raised. “Lass?” He stepped around her, but he couldn’t see her expression in the shadows. “Isabel, tell me ye’re no’ thinking of marrying him?”