Captured by the Pirate Laird (14 page)

Norman
filled their tankards with ale. Anne overheard him whisper in Calum’s ear,
“’Tis a good thing John will be here soon. Her ladyship has ye enchanted.”

Anne
pretended not to hear and reached for her cup. Perhaps a few tots of ale would
do them both good. She practically guzzled the potent liquid and reached for
the pitcher. She offered some to Calum and he held up his tankard. “There’s a
good lass, I mean lady.”

He
smelled delicious as she leaned over him and poured. “I think a bit of ale will
be good for the both of us this night.”

His
eyes trailed down the length of her body. He raised the tankard to his lips and
drank. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he watched the dancers. Anne
watched him. He seemed much more subdued than before. Had she caused him to
lose his enthusiasm? She wanted him to have a good time—it was his festival.
She thought to ask Bran to escort her back to the castle, but Calum’s hand
inched across the tartan. His rough fingers brushed hers.

Anne
glanced at him, but he kept his eyes averted. He clasped his fingers over hers
and leaned toward her. “I wish we lived in another time.”

“As
do I.” She lowered her voice. “Would you like me to retire so you can dance
with the others?”

Pain
filled his eyes. “I want ye to stay put. I’ll escort ye to your chamber when ’tis
time.”

Smiling,
Anne spread her skirts over her legs and nestled against his warm chest. He
wanted her beside him. There was no place on earth she’d rather be.

The
bonfire ebbed to coals, sending columns of sparks into the sky. The night
smelled of wood smoke and sea air. Calum slipped his arm around Anne’s
shoulders and rubbed. “Ye are shivering.”

“A
bit, but you radiate enough heat for us both.” She lowered her head and nestled
into him.

He
wanted to draw her onto his lap, but the accusing looks coming from Friar Pat across
the fire told him his actions had already stretched beyond appropriate. Calum
strengthened his grip upon her shoulders. He could sit there with Anne in his
arms until morning.

They
watched unmarried couples jump across the pit with laughs and giggles. He ached
to take Anne’s hand and pledge his adoration by jumping across the coals with
her. But it couldn’t be. Calum could not allow himself to forget she was
married.
Married but still innocent
.
The throbbing under his kilt continuously reminded him of that fact. No amount
of ale could drown the longing.

Anne
had made it worse—unintentionally, of course. She looked a goddess, dancing the
reel with her long skirts swishing, her cheeks rosy. He’d lost control when he’d
placed his hands on her waist and heard her gasp. If they had been alone, he
would have thrown her down right there and shown her the extent of his affection.
But like a responsible laird, he forced himself to lead her back to his plaid,
rather than into the shadows where he could have had his way. Damned be to hell
his responsibility. This was Beltane—the one night when he might cast aside
caution and surrender to his passion.

Calum
inclined his head toward Anne. Like the other clanswomen, she wore her tresses
loose for the gathering and the vigor of the dancing had tousled it, giving her
a raw appeal that enticed his deepest urges. A wisp of silken hair with the honeysuckle
scent tickled his cheek. Why must every fiber of her being entice him? Should
he forget about the future and enjoy the moments he had until he turned her
over to Wharton? His gut clenched. He would never be able to forget she belonged
to the devil.

Anne
glanced at him and tensed beneath his grasp. “Is something amiss?”

“Nay.
Just thinking of the future.”

Anne
bit her bottom lip and shuttered her eyes. She knew what he meant.

Across
the coals, Mara squealed. Dread crept up Calum’s neck. He slid his hand from
Anne’s shoulders and followed Mara’s line of sight. A skiff glided up onto the
beach.

Mara
dashed toward it. “John. Praise the heavens, you’re home!”

Calum
loved John as a brother, but his arrival cast a black shadow across the
celebration.

John
splashed onto the shore and hefted Mara into her arms. She wrapped her legs
around him and they twirled across the beach. Calum wanted to hit something. Hard.
God on the cross, how he wished Anne would wrap her legs around him like that—but
now his days with her would be few.

Pushing
his sudden gloom aside, Calum rose to greet his cousin. Standing on his plaid,
he waited for John to finish kissing his wife. He glanced at Anne who watched, open
mouthed, while John put on a display of mad passion, his lips locked with
Mara’s, their bodies clinging together. It must have been the longest kiss in
the history of Scotland when John finally came up for air.

He
set Mara down and held his hand out to Calum. “’Tis good to be home.”

“Welcome
John, ye’ve been sorely missed.”

The
friar waddled up and slammed John’s shoulder with a hearty whack. “’Tis good
luck to arrive on Beltane.” He winked at Mara. “I’ll bet God will bless ye with
a bairn this very night.”

Mara
turned a brilliant shade of scarlet.

Calum
stepped up to John’s ear. “Before ye go, did ye get a response?”

“Aye.
Do ye want it now?”

Calum
pulled him aside. “Give me the short version.”

“The
bastard nearly shot me dead in Edinburgh—betrayed by the runner I was.” John
pulled Wharton’s missive from his sporran. “But this says he agrees to terms.”

Calum
slipped the note away and clapped John’s shoulder. “We’ll talk more in the
morning. Go enjoy yerself.”

John
grinned and cast his eyes toward his wife. “That I will, m’laird.”

Anne
moved in beside Calum and touched him on the shoulder. “They look so happy.”

He
tapped a stone with the toe of his boot. “They do.”

“Wouldn’t
it be divine if all marriages could be carved of such love?”

Calum
watched John lead Mara up the hill—up to their marriage bed. A burning void swelled
across his chest. He’d most likely never marry, never have a loving woman to
hold in the night. He turned to Anne and tried to smile. “Aye, a marriage
without love is a woeful tragedy, but we live in a time when it happens all too
often.”

He
offered his elbow. “Would ye like to retire, milady?”

They
didn’t speak as Calum walked with Anne up the hill and into the keep. Her
nearness, her hand upon his arm, tore his insides to shreds. John had returned
and she must soon leave.

Entering
the keep, the bell-like timbre of Anne’s voice broke the silence. “Thank you
for allowing me to celebrate the festival with the clan.”

“Do
they have a May Day festival in Southampton?”

“Nothing
as invigorating as Beltane. My family does not encourage such—ah—displays of
exuberance.”

Calum
ran his fingers along the rough stone walls. “The ever so proper English.”

“I’m
afraid so.”

Calum
wondered how the English ever actually got married with their code of proper
conduct. But then there was Anne’s plight. She had been wed by proxy, without
the enjoyment of being courted.

They
stopped outside her chamber door and Calum took her hands in his. “Lady Anne,
I…” So many conflicting emotions boiled under his skin and tied his tongue.

“Yes?”
She swayed slightly as if tipsy.

“Ye
are a beautiful woman, both inside and out.”

She
plopped her head against Calum’s chest. It hit him a bit hard, though he could
understand the gesture, if half his frustration also coursed through her.

“I’ll
be leaving soon.”

He
brushed her cheek with is forefinger. “Aye.”

“Staying
here hasn’t been anything I could have imagined.”

“Oh?
Did ye expect us to be hostile?”

“After
plundering the ship? Yes.” Anne swayed and leaned against the door. With her
eyes half cast, she looked a woman ready to be ravished. “How could you do that
and live with it on your conscience?”

“How
can ye marry a man ye dunna know, and cannot love?” He reached out and clasped
her fist to his heart. “We’ll no’ be pirating again, as long as we can sustain
ourselves.”

Anne
slid her arms around his waist. Calum’s heart thudded against his chest. He clasped
his hands around her back. Ferocious, demanding heat spread under his kilt.
Anne raised her chin, lips parted. “I’ve tried, but I cannot block your kisses
from my mind.”

Calum
needed no more coaxing. This was Beltane. He would think on the future
tomorrow. He bent his head and brushed his lips across her lovely silken mouth.
Pulling her body against his, Anne’s breasts molded to his chest. He licked the
tip of her tongue. Groaning, he increased the pressure and swirled her tongue
with his. She rubbed her hips against him, and his manhood hardened with a deep
searing heat.

He
could no longer resist the fire burning for her. Christ, what was he protecting
her from? He was saving the lady’s virtue for a tyrant. Calum’s hand slipped down
to her round buttock and pulled her closer. Her pliable flesh gave way to his
touch, but when a prolonged and satisfying moan escaped her lips, he ground his
manhood against her and nearly spilled his seed.

Squeezing
his eyes closed, desperate to regain control, he pulled his lips away and tasted
her sweetness with the tip of his tongue. He wanted to savor her, to hold this
moment forever close. He showered kisses along her neck and inhaled her
luscious scent. Calum lifted his finger and ran it across the surging flesh above
her bodice that had so often teased him. With a gasp, she shuddered in his
arms. All he had to do was pick her up and carry her to the bed—
his
bed. He slipped his finger under the
fabric of her gown and found a taut nipple straining against her stays, every
bit as erect as his cock.

Anne
stared at him, her breasts heaving.

He
slid his fingers toward her cleavage, but she clamped her hand around them.
Meeting her eyes, she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. She rested her
head on his chest—gently this time. “Thank you.”

His
hope sank like lead. “The pleasure is mine, milady.” Calum pulled down on the
latch and opened her door.

Anne
took a step inside and staggered. Calum darted to her. “Are ye ill?”

She
put a hand to her forehead. “My head is spinning.” She sucked in a deep breath.
“I want you so badly, I cannot breathe.”

Merely
flesh and blood, Calum could take no more. He lifted her into his arms and
kicked the door closed behind them.

Anne
jerked. “We cannot.”

“I’ll
see ye to the bed.”

With
all the flames snuffed for Beltane, only the sliver of moon glow shone through
the window.

Anne
wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, closing her eyes. “I wish
I could hold you always.” Her voice sounded far away and dreamy.

He
gently sat her atop the duvet and removed her slippers. Kneeling before her, he
held her hands to his lips. “Lady Anne, it would be unfair of me to confess my
love, but I want nothing more this Beltane Eve than to bring ye pleasure.”

“But…”

Calum
held up his hand. “I have vowed I will no’ take yer innocence, but a man and a
woman can find pleasure together without consummation.”

“They
can?”

“Aye.”

Anne
cupped his face with her palm. “I trust you.” Her voice was but a throaty
whisper.

Calum’s
hands trembled. He had won her trust. At one time she’d thought him a merciless
pirate, and there she sat, completely vulnerable, sapphire eyes boring into
his, declaring her belief in his ability to control his urges. God help him.

He
ran his finger along her low cut bodice, savoring her yielding flesh beneath.
“May I remove yer gown and yer stays?”

Without
a word, Anne stood and held out her arms. He realized she had done that many
times and it dawned on him, an earl’s daughter would have had a serving maid—most
likely a great number of them.

Calum’s
hands trembled as he unlaced her bodice and pulled away her gown. Her breasts
blossomed over the top of her stays, and he sucked in a ragged breath. She wore
her laces in front—the only way she would have been able to tie them by
herself. He tugged on the satiny string, slowly tugging the laces from each
eyelet.

Pulling
it away, Anne’s breasts sprang free and pushed against her shift. Calum stood
back, clasping the stays in his hands, salivating. The pink buds of her nipples
strained into the white cloth, highlighted by a ray of moonlight. The good Lord
had endowed her with ample bosoms indeed. His own knees buckled. He could
barely control his desire, gazing upon the shadow of her form. How would his
body respond if she stood naked before him?

He
placed her garments on the chair. Anne moved in behind him, running her hands
over his chest. Calum rolled his head and groaned at the pleasure from the silky
smooth touch of her fingertips.

“Now
you,” she said.

Anne
skimmed her hand around his waist and crossed in front of him. She unlaced his
shirt and tugged it from his kilt. He helped her pull it over his head. Her
fingers went to his belt, but he grasped them. “If ye unbuckle it, the only
thing I’ll be wearing is me hose and me boots.” He loved the shadowy blush that
rose up her cheeks. “But if ye want to…”

“I
do want to.”

“I
may no’ be able to stop meself.” Anne bit her lip and released her hand. Leaving
his kilt in place, Calum kicked off his foot gear and led her to the bed. “I
want to savor this moment forever.”

“I
do as well.”

Sitting
on the bed, Calum pulled her between his legs. He placed his hands on her hips
and pulled her mons against his erection. Groaning, he kissed her. With his
hands, he showed her how to rock her hips against him with only his kilt and
her thin shift between them. “Does this feel good for you?”

“Unbelievably
so, but my insides are screaming for more.”

He
ran his hands over her breasts, kneading round, firm flesh. Watching him, she reached
up and pulled the bow to open the front of her shift. Calum pushed the material
aside and licked her nipple. Anne’s moan ignited his lust. He covered the tip
of her breast with his mouth and suckled. Her entire body shuddered.