The Highlander's Pirate Lass (Brothers of Wolf Isle)

by McCollum, Heather

  We cannot father bastards. His words twisted in her mind. Not that she wished to have a babe. There were too many lost in this cruel world. But the thought of a wee babe with Beck’s smile and beautiful gray eyes made her chest squeeze.

  He rolled back to her, pulling her into him, his arms encircling her. She inhaled his scent as she nuzzled her face against the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. Their legs twisted together, and he tugged up the quilt to cover them. His fingers grazed her cheek, and she looked upward into those perfect gray eyes.

  She smiled seductively. “I am quite certain I chose the right teacher.”

  He gave her a cocky grin. “’Twas just the first lesson. There are plenty more, lass.”

  She drew a circle with her finger on the skin of his chest. “And did I earn superior marks, teacher?”

  He laughed outright, falling onto his back and pulling her to lie across his chest. “The highest marks possible.” He looked up into her face, his expression growing more serious. “I have never met anyone like ye, Eliza.”

  Something inside her clenched, making it hard to swallow. His words, the feel of him against her, the respect in his gaze… Aye, Beck Macquarie was dangerous. He could slice her heart into a million pieces when he left her. Because all men left in some way. Through a need to adventure, or through death, or through wedding another. All men left. ’Twas another reason not to lose one’s heart to a man.

  He stared at her, seeming to wait for an answer. She gave him a saucy smile. “And I have never met any man who smells as good as you, Beck Macquarie.” She inhaled along his skin as if savoring a steaming sweet bun.

  He laughed, rolling her onto her back as he started to nuzzle along her skin. She gasped at the tickling. “Ye smell delicious too,” he said and caught her head between his hands for another long, leading kiss.

  …

  Such pleasure couldn’t be dreamt. Beck’s eyes opened as a deep groan funneled up from his chest. Deep shadows sat in the corners of his cottage, the fire burned down but still giving off a glow. Was this another glorious fantasy about Eliza?

  “A Dhia,” he said, his rasping whisper breaking the quiet of the night. The stroke along his rock-hard jack was no dream. “Eliza?” He glanced down his body and sucked in an inhale so hard his lungs could have jumped from his chest.

  The woman knelt between his legs, both hands wrapped around his length. She glanced up at him, a mischievous smile on her glorious face, her hair cascading down over her shoulders to tickle along his knees. “Lesson number two,” she said. “I want to taste you.”

  Her lips opened, and he watched her mouth descend. Heat, good Lord, wet heat enveloped Beck, and another deep growl grew, breaking from him. He forced his eyes open to watch her as the pleasure of her exploration shot through him. “Oh God, Eliza,” he groaned as she worked along him, back and forth. She was the most exquisite torture he’d ever experienced, making him stronger and weaker at the same time. Her hands worked with the rhythm along with her generous mouth, touching all of him. Tasting him as he’d tasted her.

  She pulled back, and the coolness of the room replaced her heat. “Tell me what you like,” she whispered.

  Eliza was an angel and a devilish siren at the same time. She was everything alluring and intriguing. Her breasts hung down over him as she waited, continuing to stroke him.

  “Everything,” he said. “I like everything ye do with that foking glorious mouth.”

  She smiled broadly. “You said fok. I must be getting superior marks again.” She didn’t wait for him to respond but dove back down over his rigid jack. His roar of pleasure filled the cottage—and maybe the night.

  …

  “I don’t mind if people know,” Eliza said as Beck walked with her along the path leading to Gylin Castle. They held hands in the dawn light. It was the first time Beck could remember being awake at dawn with a bloody smile on his face.

  He stopped, pulling her around to give her another kiss. Lord, why had he made her get up instead of keeping her next to him in his bed all this day? He pulled back gently, the reasons clearer when he didn’t have his lips on her warm body. “I don’t want to give anyone a reason to say something that will make ye cut their tongue out.”

  She chuckled, her fingers fiddling with the chain that tucked into her bodice. “You think my feelings will be hurt?”

  He looked straight into her eyes. “Cecilia is still here, and she has a waspish tongue.”

  “Maybe she needs to have it removed.”

  He turned to gently tug her along. “Exactly why we are up at dawn to sneak ye back into the castle.”

  “Even if I say I want another lesson?” She slid her hand up his kilt to squeeze his arse.

  With a playful growl, he pulled her around and swept her close in his arms. He kissed her soundly, their mouths slanting together in a gloriously familiar way. He held her under her arse in the stiff and rumpled blue gown. His jack rose to the call for Eliza’s further education, but he finally set her back down, pleased that her teasing face had relaxed into open want.

  He leaned in. “Tonight, on the Calypso.”

  Hunger sat in her eyes, and she let the tip of her tongue come out to slide along her bottom lip. He groaned and tugged her along behind him. “I cannot even look at ye or I’ll drag ye off into the bushes.”

  Her laughter made him smile despite the torture, and they walked up to and through the door in the wall to an empty bailey. He whispered into her ear, “Ye should sneak up the stairs and go to bed in the room with Anders before he wakes.”

  “I am not tired,” she said, her voice sounding loud in the quiet morning air.

  He put his finger across her lips, giving her a for-the-love-of-God-stay-quiet look. Her lips curled up under the pressure of his finger, and she opened her mouth, sucking his finger inside. Her teeth grazed it, and her tongue swirled around it with perfect suction. His mouth dropped open.

  She slid her mouth off his finger and turned to saunter away, her hips swinging most provocatively. At the archway she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze dropped to his fully tented-out kilt. She chuckled and walked into the keep. “Sleep tight.”

  Good Lord, how was he going to last the day?

  “Ye are up early,” Adam said as he walked down those same stairs. His brows rose as he saw Beck’s obvious erection. He glanced back at the archway, and then at Beck, a frown growing. “I thought ye were staying away from her.”

  Beck once again tried to adjust himself. “She came to me.”

  Adam exhaled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ye cannot get her with child. Even if the curse is not real, people make it real by believing it. If they hear ye’ve fathered a bastard, they will never settle here.”

  Icy anger froze away the desire that had infiltrated him. “Bloody hell, Adam. Do ye not think I know that? I spilled outside her.”

  Adam looked back at the stairs. “’Tis not a guarantee.” He shook his head. “Would ye wed her?”

  Beck exhaled, rubbing a fist against his forehead. “She says she will not wed. Ever.”

  Adam stared hard at him. “Ye should break off whatever is between ye before either of ye gets attached. She will be leaving soon, and ye will wed someone else.”

  Beck frowned. Adam was the eldest and the chief of the clan. “Is that an order from my chief?”

  “If it needs to be in order to safeguard the clan.”

  “Daingead,” Beck swore. “Before ye were all ‘I don’t believe in curses.’” Beck mimicked his brother. “It didn’t matter to ye that Lark is a bastard.’”

  Adam took a step closer to stare evenly at his brother. “We found out from the bible that it doesn’t matter if the bride is a bastard, only if we father them, which ye will if ye stay with Eliza Wentworth and she won’t marry ye.”

  “Well, she’s not one,” Beck
said. “She’s an orphan who has lived with rough men for ten years. It could take some time before she is ready to wed anyone.”

  “Or she will not at all,” Adam said, dropping his arms and striding toward the bailey.

  Beck caught up to him in the dark entryway, slamming his hand down on his shoulder. His brother turned abruptly toward him, ready for an attack, but Beck just stared at Adam’s shadow. “Is it your order that I stay away from her?” he asked. “Because I need to know if I am breaking my allegiance to my clan or not.”

  “Beck,” Adam said, “ye may just be intrigued by her, a lass who is alluring and one ye know won’t tie ye down.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  Adam’s outline in the dark stepped closer. “We all know ye don’t want to settle down with one lass yet, but we need ye to.”

  “Ye know there are three other Macquarie brothers,” Beck said. “They are welcome to start. It doesn’t have to follow oldest to youngest.”

  “So what then?” Adam asked. “Ye follow Eliza with the Calypso, tupping until she does get with child but still won’t marry ye?”

  “Maybe I’ll leave the isle,” Beck said, his voice low. Would he do that? Leave his family for a woman he’d only just met? Was his attraction to Eliza that strong or was he just annoyed by Adam’s dictates?

  Adam’s hands fell onto his shoulders. “Ye are a Macquarie wherever ye roam.”

  “But if folks don’t know I’ve had a bastard, and curses aren’t real, then it wouldn’t matter what I do as long as no one knows.”

  Adam exhaled, dropping his hands from Beck’s shoulders. “Ye would give up your family for a lass ye just met? One who may or may not be a pirate herself?”

  Beck raked his hand through his hair. “Dammit, Adam.”

  “Try to pull back some from her and see. Ye need a clear head, and tupping her will just cloud it. Promise me ye will think about breaking off whatever ye’ve started with her.”

  Beck released his breath in a huff. “Aye, I will think about it.”

  “Good.” Adam turned, walking out into the morning air, and Beck followed him.

  In his mind he saw Eliza sailing away with a crew of pirates. He must marry for the sake of the clan. Damn. Was Adam right? Should he cut things off with Eliza? Now, before this heaviness in his gut grew any weightier?

  Chapter Ten

  “I did not expect you to be a timid mouse,” Jasper said, even though his back was toward the door where Eliza peeked into the kitchens. She had found the building sitting in an herb garden off the back of the keep.

  Eliza stepped inside, glad to see that the cook was alone. “I am no mouse,” she said with a small grin. “Just trying to find the kitchen in this huge place.” She liked Jasper and his gruff quietness. He reminded her of Kofi, her serious protector on the Devil’s Blood.

  Eliza had bathed with the strawberry soap Lark had left her, but didn’t want to dirty another gown, so she put the rumpled one back on. Alice was talking with Gavin Maclean in the great hall while Anders helped Pip and Hester train their new pup, so Eliza was free for the afternoon.

  She cleared her throat. “I would like to learn how to bake tarts.”

  Jasper studied her for a long moment. He was large with markings on his forehead along the edge of his very short hair, like tattoos but light-colored like scars. “What type of tart?” he asked.

  “Do you know what type Beck likes the best?” After the night they’d had, where the pleasures had been delicious, she wanted to give him something delicious in return.

  Jasper snorted softly, the edges of his white teeth showing as a grin crept across his mouth. “All the brothers like sweets. Beck likes apple honey tarts best.” He beckoned her over with a floury hand. “And we will cut the apple so the tart looks like a rose.”

  Eliza smiled broadly. “That sounds perfect.” She might never be a lady, but she would surprise Beck with something else that made his mouth water.

  …

  “I said, do you care for my gown?” Cecilia’s sweet voice had taken on an irritated twist as she stood beside Beck in the bailey. The whip-like branches of the mostly dead willow tree danced in the breeze.

  He nodded. “Aye, very rich indeed.”

  Where was Eliza? He hadn’t seen her since she’d climbed the stairs that morning. Her children and Alice had been about all day, playing with Whisky’s pups, talking to Gavin and Lark. Anders had brought a foldable wooden tables board down for them to play. In all that time, Beck hadn’t seen Eliza. And he must talk to her. To say what? That they couldn’t continue her education because she wouldn’t marry him and might doom the isle if he got her with child?

  Bloody hell. It sounded ridiculous, but standing there before the cursed willow tree with the dagger in the trunk, the curse was all too real. Adam was right. Real or not, if his brothers and others believed in the curse, Beck must do what he could to break it, which included learning to love and marrying if he wanted to have children.

  Cecilia smoothed the pale mauve petticoat. “Let us go inside. This damp air is ruining my curls.”

  He walked with her inside and into the great hall where the others sat. Everyone except Eliza.

  Lark spotted them and stood up, carrying a goblet. “A cup of my brew to settle the stomach, Cecilia.” She studied her face. “You still look a bit green.”

  Cecilia frowned. “Whisky is poison. And we still have to ride the waves back to Mull.” She looked to Lark. “Do ye think I angered Eliza last night, and she sought to poison me?”

  “She drank from the same flask,” Meg said.

  Cecilia turned her gaze on Beck. “Then she certainly must drink a lot. Could she be a bloodthirsty pirate?” She shivered.

  “She sails,” Beck said. “Her captain is a privateer for England.”

  “That makes her a pirate to the Scots,” Cecilia said.

  “I do not see her as bloodthirsty,” Lark said, taking a seat within the semicircle. “Just displaced and unsure of what will happen if her captain is not found. It must be frightening.”

  Meg smiled, her eyes wide. “I do not see Eliza Wentworth fearing anything.”

  “Pirates show little fear,” Cecilia said as if she were an expert on the subject. “They just resort to trickery until they find a way past whatever disaster they’ve created for themselves.” She leaned toward Lark and whispered, “I would hide any silver and valuables ye may have here, Lady Macquarie.”

  Beck sat down heavily in another chair. “Eliza is no thief.”

  “Really?” Cecilia asked. Her lips pinched into a tight line. “Where did those poor children get that nice set of tables? And the gown her woman, Alice, is wearing is made of silk. Would a simple sailing woman own such clothes?”

  “They could be gifts,” Meg said, her voice low. Tor Maclean’s daughter was much more positive than Cecilia. How had Beck ever thought Cecilia Maclean bonny? The more she disparaged Eliza and her family, the uglier she became.

  Meg cleared her throat. “I think ye are feeling unwell, Cecilia, and it is making ye see faults where there are none.”

  “None?” Cecilia said, her brows rising. They looked too dark on her pale face. “The woman curses, wears men’s trews, and swigs whisky. She seems to know nothing of the womanly arts or how to care for a house unless it is rocking up and down on the waves. And the children are being raised to be wild heathens.”

  “They have lived through some terrible events,” Beck said, his voice low with an edge of annoyance.

  “We all have,” Cecilia said. The woman had lost her mother young and her father often left her alone as he journeyed off Mull. She had her share of difficulty, and it seemed to come out in waspish ways. “That doesn’t excuse her. If they were my children, I would make certain they learned manners and how to live in society.”

  Lark stared at her. �
�You do not know the horrors they have all seen.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “That she was in the clutches of Captain Jandeau… Well, it is a miracle she survived it.”

  “Makes me wonder how she survived it,” Cecilia said, opening her eyes wide.

  The insinuation that Eliza may have kept her life by whoring cut through Beck like the sharpest blade. His usual forgiving nature bled out with it, his jaw becoming painfully clenched. “They say men are crass and tactless, but it amazes me how blackhearted a woman can be.”

  The small smile fell away from Cecilia’s face. “I don’t mean anything bad about her. I am just saying… She may have had to compromise herself to keep that terrible captain peaceful and giving her treasures.”

  Jandeau giving Eliza treasures? He was brutal—torturing, raping, and selling children and women. He was the devil himself. “Eliza was twelve at the time,” Beck said, his voice rising, “and the treasure ye say he gave her was to see her family slaughtered before her eyes.”

  Gavin strode across toward them at the uproar. Cecilia’s hand went to her bare chest above the lace-edged bodice. “Well, this is coming out all wrong if I am raising your ire, Beck. I am just saying that a woman who has obviously won luxuries from a seaman, with whom she has lived. Not that Jandeau captain, but the one she has lived with since then. Well, she could possibly be giving out her favors in return for things.” She tipped her head and looked at Beck with innocent eyes. “I do not want to see you be the laughingstock of the Macquaries. And who knows what happened to her at twelve, ruining her for any honorable man,” she whispered.

  Lark’s chair scraped as she stood up abruptly, her face red as she stared down at Cecilia. “You have no knowledge of what it might be like on board a ship filled with men who rape and slaughter. If you cannot find a way to kill yourself, you are at their mercy. And a woman who survives should be applauded for her cunning and strength, not whispered about and ridiculed.”

  “Captain John, who rescued her, is like her father,” Beck said.