Captured by the Pirate Laird (20 page)

Anne
said nothing.

He
faced her and clasped her hands between his. “I wish I didna have to do this,
but ye belong to another man.”

Anne
dropped her gaze and stared at their intertwined hands. “I understand. I must
honor my family’s wishes.”

“I
need to ask ye to dress in yer trews one last time.”

Anne
shook her head. “In England, such a thing is illegal, a crime punishable…”

Calum
held up his hand. “Lord Wharton will protect ye from that, and ye can say I
forced ye. We’ll be riding straight into the lion’s den. If ye care anything for
me, ye will do as I ask.”

She
raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “Very well. If it will help you, my
lord.”

He
knew she was hurting by her clipped speech—and the way she refrained from using
his name. Calum’s heart skipped a beat. She cared. Though from the outset, he’d
wanted to earn Lady Anne’s respect, it made parting so much more bittersweet.

She
stepped closer. “When we reach Carlisle, there will be no time to say goodbye,
will there?”

He
cupped her face with his hands. “No, lass.”

She
rested her hands on his shoulders. His entire being turned molten. She closed
the gap and met his gaze. Her warm body touched his. Calum laced his arms
around her waist and squeezed his eyes shut. Anne pressed her lips to his, her
mouth sweet and moist. The heat rising beneath his kilt liquefied his knees.

During
this journey, his erections had grown harder and more painful. She rubbed her
mons against him and he groaned. Heat spiked and hit him low in the gut. He
rocked his hips with the need to enter her. The friction of her movement made
his eyes roll back. She would unman him right there in the woods if he did not
ease the pressure.

His
thighs shuddered and his ballocks ached like hellfire and brimstone. It took
every ounce of control Calum could muster to restrain himself to a kiss. Right
now, this very moment, he should lead her into the brush and rip off those
damnable trews. Thank God he’d been riding in front of her this whole trip,
because the view from behind rendered him dumb as well as mute. He’d been a
fool to think he could make her look masculine. Everything about her, from her
nose, to her tiny waist, to her womanly hips, and her heady smell that invaded
his senses whenever she was within his grasp, drove him to the very edge of
insanity.

Anne
slid her hand down the length of his back and around the front of his waist.
She rested her palm on his abdomen and stroked him. He tried to breathe. Calum
knew he should move her hand away, but it felt too good.

“When
I stitched you up, I wanted to brush my fingers over the coppery curls below
your navel.”

A
rush of heat blasted through the tip of his cock and a moist bead pooled where
it tapped his kilt. He pulled his shirt out and guided her hand across flesh
that screamed for her touch. Her fingers tickled him, teased him, but it wasn’t
low enough.

Watching
her eyes, Calum slid his hand down and untied her trews. Damn his soul to the
devil, he could not resist her.

***

Anne
could scarcely breathe as Calum thumbed her laces loose and slid his hand into
the front of her trousers. The entire journey she had ached for him to touch
her again. When they lay beside the campfire at night, it took all of her
willpower not to reach out and wrap her arms around him, even with the other
men present.

“I’ve
wanted this so much—wanted you.”

Calum
covered her mouth and pulled her against him with unbridled force, as if he’d been
holding in as much longing as she had.

Anne
yanked his shirt over his head and unfastened the buckle of his kilt. She
looked him square in the eye and dropped the plaid. Oh Holy Mother, he was
beautiful. Standing naked in the shadows, the outline of his erection stood
proud. He bent his knees and rubbed it between her legs.

Anne
threw her head back and moaned. She shoved down her trews, yanking them over
her boots. Pulling him with her, she lay back on the mossy ground.

Calum
kneeled over her, kissing her, eating her as if he’d been starved. Anne reached
between them and wrapped her fingers around his manhood and stroked. Calum’s
groan inflamed her core. She didn’t know how to do it, but he was right over
the sacred spot where he could claim her.

“I
want to feel you inside me.”

Calum
pulled back so she could see his eyes. “We cannot. Do ye ken what he’ll do if I
take yer innocence?”

“I
no longer care.”

“Ye
would be ruined…I cannot…”

Anne
stroked him, arched her back and touched his manhood to her sex. Her thighs
shuddered with the longing heat that spun tight inside her.

Calum
eased his body over her. His manhood brushed along her opening. Anne’s hips
rocked, mimicking his motion. “I must pleasure ye without entering yer core.”

“Then
do so.”

Anne
closed her eyes and clamped her fingers on Calum’s buttocks as he built the
friction, rubbing his cock against her. Moisture from her sex spread over him
and she thrust her hips up, bucking out of control. The tension mounting, she
would explode at any moment. Calum’s mouth demanded more from her, exploring,
sucking. And then it happened—sweet release that took her over the top and gave
reprieve to the coiled tension which had built for days. Straining against the
need to cry out, Anne subdued her voice to a throaty rasp.

Calum
rose to his knees and ran his lips down her neck and across her bound breasts.
His manhood rested on her belly, still hard. Anne gently rolled him to the side
and stroked him. He moaned and moved with her motion, sliding his hand down to
tickle the sack just beneath. Anne increased her friction in concert with
Calum’s thrusting hips. Oh, how she wished she could straddle him and feel his
manhood slip inside.

With
a muffled groan that grated in his throat, Calum pulled her lips to him and
found his release.

“Is
there no end to your treasures?” Anne rested her head against his chest. “I
don’t know whether to love you or despise you.”

Calum
ran his hand across her hair. “Why would ye despise me, lass?”

“Because
you have shown me a world I can never have.” She ran a finger down the center
of his chest. “And a potent man who will never be mine.”

“I
ken what ye say.”

“If
this were another time and place, I’d ask you to run away with me. But you have
your clan, and I my family honor. We must follow our duty.”

They
lay in each other’s arms until John called for them.

***

As
Calum watched Anne retie her trews, his hate for Wharton dove to new depths.
Calum cursed his weakness for understanding Lady Anne’s duty. And he was all
too aware he must return to Raasay in one piece. For the first time in his
life, he resented it.

She
pulled a piece of fabric from her pocket and stared at it. Looking closer, Calum
could see it bore the crest of the MacLeod of Raasay. She beamed at him with
those adorable dimples. “I imagine this is the best time to give this to you. I
stitched it to resemble the tapestry in your chamber.”

Calum’s
mouth went dry. He accepted the gift and studied it in the moonlight. How
intricate the needlework. Anne had taken the time to make this for him, the
sign of his clan? “’Tis perfect.” He held the kerchief to his lips, closed his
eyes and kissed it, his heart squeezing as if encased in a vise. “Made by yer
fine hands. I will cherish it always.”

Anne
smiled—a naughty grin he’d only seen a few times. “I hoped you’d like it. I
wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

Calum
had thought he could steel his heart against the agony, but this pushed him too
far. He gathered Anne’s hands and held them to his thundering chest. “I cannot
let ye go. All ye need to do is say the word and we’ll turn around.”

She
froze. Her mouth opened and closed. “We agreed to this at Brochel…” She looked
away. “The ransom…”

Calum
tightened his grip. “I care nothing for Wharton’s coin.”

Anne
trembled violently beneath his palms, the whites of her eyes round in the
moonlight. “We’ve come this far…my family honor…And Friar Pat said…”

Honor? That is the only word she
need utter
. Calum lowered her hands and released them.
“Enough.”

What
was love without honor? Their love had been doomed before it began.

“We’ve
no recourse but to see the plan through.” Calum rested his lips upon her
forehead and grimaced against the stabbing pain in his heart. “I will nay
forget ye, Lady Anne. Yer bonny face is burned into me soul forever.”

***

Anne
lay on her side and listened to Calum’s breathing. She didn’t think he was
asleep but there was nothing left to say or do. They had agreed. She was doing
the right thing.
Truly?
Friar Pat had
cemented her conviction. Holy in the eyes of God, she must honor her marriage
vows.

Calum
rolled to his side, and Anne stared at his broad back. Earlier, she’d run her
fingers along the solid muscles of that back. If only she could touch it now. She
shouldn’t have been so forward, but God help her, she wanted him. Without
thinking, she had yanked down her trews and cast aside nine and ten years of
noble breeding, giving into the desire which consumed her. If it weren’t for
Calum’s restraint, she would have been compromised. She inclined her head
toward him. They had shared intimate passion, yet no guilt crept up her spine.
He’d given her a gift she could lock in her heart and treasure until her death.

When
she’d exposed his manhood, her thighs had shuddered. She’d lost her sense of
reason. He’d shown her delights she could never have possibly imagined. The
flesh between her legs still tingled. She’d never felt the pull of longing as powerfully
as she did in that moment. Anne opened and closed her palm. She had held his
manhood in it and had milked him as he had milked her. Together they had
reached the pinnacle of passion. He said it was but a sampling of what could
be. How could anything be better? She had wanted to pull the shirt over her
head and unbind her breasts. If only Calum could hold her breasts in his hands
and suckle them one last time.

She
took in a deep breath. She recalled catching him ogling them a time or two at
Brochel Castle. Of all her womanly parts, she thought he liked her bosoms the
best.

Anne
balled her fists. On the morrow she would face Lord Wharton, and he would
expect the same things from her she’d shared with Calum. How could she give
herself to a wrinkled old grandfather—open her legs and let him touch her? She
shuddered at the thought of Wharton’s mouth over hers with the rotten taste of
decaying teeth. She loved Calum. Sharing such intimacy with any other man was
unthinkable—as if she were a courtesan to her soul.
Sold to the highest bidder.

This
path would take her back to England to resume her life where she had left it
when the big Scot had raided her ship like a pirate. She knew differently now.
He’d secured the food and grain for the livelihood of the clan. She might have
done the same thing, faced with sick children and nothing but pickled herring
and seaweed to eat. He hadn’t lied. They were all far too thin, living on that
piece of rock they called an island.

She’d
grown a fondness for the MacLeods of Raasay whom she would not forget. Aside
from Hanna, she’d never had a friend like Mara, nor known a young man as full
of vitality as Bran. Life at Titchfield House had been a bore in comparison,
with everything so utterly proper and so utterly dull.

She
closed her eyes and prayed life with Lord Wharton would at least harbor some kindness.
Anne rolled to her back and gazed at the stars.
Please make him compassionate toward your servant, Calum.
She steepled
her fingers against her lips. If Lord Wharton was anything like his reputation,
her prayers might be mere whispers in the wind.

Anne
and the men dawdled a bit the next morning. They changed into trews and linen
shirts, opting to stuff their plaids into their satchels. Calum folded the
tartan sash he’d given Anne to wear and packed it as well. He wanted nothing to
identify the clan. They mounted their horses later than usual, this time in
silence, as if they all had an unsavory task to perform. Even Bran frowned and
watched the trail in front of him.

The
sun had moved to the western sky when Calum looked at his men. “This is the
path. Go with God.”

Bran
looked at Anne and raised his hand, as did the others. Yet, they said nothing.
Anne realized they were in enemy territory now. If spies were lurking about,
they’d pick up on any unusual movement.

She
reined her mount beside Calum and kept her voice low. “Where are they going?”

“Tis
best ye dunna ken.”

They
continued on in silence until the sun set and then Calum spoke. “I will take ye
to the citadel of Carlisle. Once there, I ask ye to wait and allow me some time
to ride away.”

“Will
the baron be there?”

“Aye.
’Tis also why I didna want ye in yer gown. He’d recognize ye straight away.
Dressed as a man, ’twill take them some time and I’ll be able to ride nearer
the citadel with you.”

“Do
you think it safe?”

“I
cannot leave ye to ride alone. I must see ye arrive unharmed.”

Anne
reached her hand out but he shied away.

“Guaranteed,
the baron has spies lurking in every dark corner.” His gaze shot to her with a
look of longing and defeat. “We said our goodbyes last eve.”

Anne
ground her teeth and turned her attention to the dark path ahead. She wanted to
turn her mare around and gallop back to Scotland. Lord Wharton was an old man.
What would his skin feel like beneath her hands? Would his lips be as tender
and caring as Calum’s?

Her
stomach clenched. She loved Calum MacLeod. Blast the proxy marriage. How could
it be upheld in a court of law when she had not given her consent? Her family
was powerful. Surely a botched marriage would be a minor blemish on the
Wriothesley name that would soon be forgotten. But what about ruining her
younger sister’s chances? Could she stage her death? She moved to rein her
horse around when Calum pointed.

“Ye
can see the flames atop the battlements of the citadel.”

The
nape of Anne’s neck pricked. Could that be the light of her doom?

Calum
led her to the edge of the town and stopped in the shadows. “This is where we
must part ways.”

Her
mouth went dry and Anne swallowed. She didn’t want to say goodbye. Could she
change her mind now? “I wish...”

“Ye’ll
be fine, lass.”

“How
will you get back?”

“Ride
like hellfire.” Calum leaned toward her. “I’ll never forget ye, Lady Anne.”

He
reached back and slapped her horse’s rump. Before she could object, the mare took
off toward the gates. Anne steadied herself against the sudden jolt and slowed
the horse to a trot. Looking ahead, her skin crawled as if she approached an
executioner. It didn’t help when a rider neared, wearing black, with a gaunt
face. Passing, the dark rider eyed her like she was a thief. A group of
soldiers clomped behind him.

She
gazed at the two rounded towers, joined by a sharp-toothed portcullis. The tall
curtain walls around Carlisle reminded her of a prison. She reined her horse
outside the black gate. What should she do next? Merchants and people swarmed
around her, but no one appeared to be stationed at the wall, waiting for a
baroness to arrive. Should she dismount? She wanted to give Calum plenty of
time to make good his escape.

Her
questions were answered when the gaunt man reined his horse beside her. “What
business have you in Carlisle?” he demanded.

Anne
jolted in her seat. Hadn’t she seen him leave? She bit her lip and glanced back
over her shoulder. She thought to run, but the man grabbed her reins. “I asked
you a question.”

“I-I’m
looking for Lord Wharton.” She removed her bonnet and pulled the braid out from
under her shirt. “I am the Baroness of Wharton.”

Fury
flashed in his eyes. He pointed to two men. “Take the baroness to his lordship.”
 
With a thudding into his horse’s ribs, he
charged away at a gallop, a dozen men behind him.

A
cool breeze swept through loose wisps of her hair, but perspiration stung the
creases of Anne’s arms. With a sharp breath, she wanted to flee, but a soldier
had hold of her reins.
Run, Calum, for
hell has just made chase.

A
foot soldier grabbed her horse’s bridle. He led her into the city. The world
spun. More soldiers surrounded her. Leading her to a lime-washed inn, they pulled
Anne from her mount. With a guard on either side, Anne followed them inside and
up the stairs. A sentry opened the door and someone shouted, “Lord Wharton, the
baroness has arrived.”

Perspiration
sullied her palms. The soldiers ushered her through a chamber door and closed
it behind her. A bald man dressed in red velvet with white hose peered at her
through squinted eyes. His chubby jowls jostled around his chin and he folded
his arms across his rotund frame.

He
eyed her with a dour frown. “You could not possibly be the beautiful maid I
watched from across the aisle at Westminster Abbey.”

Anne
curtseyed and swallowed her revulsion. “Lord Wharton. I’ve been traveling on
horseback for weeks. I have a gown in my satchel. Please allow me a moment to
compose my person.”

He
walked around her with an appraising glower. “You certainly don’t sound like a
guttersnipe.” He sniffed. “Though you smell as foul as one.”

Anne
dug in the pouch tied to her waist. “I have the decree of marriage if you do
not believe me.” She held it out, wondering if she should have excused herself
and said it was a hoax. No. He would undoubtedly throw her in gaol for breaking
sumptuary laws.

Wharton
snatched the paper from her hand and held it to the light. When he lowered it,
he pursed his lips and faced her. “Well, wife. We meet at last.” He tossed the
decree on the table and rang a bell.

A
grey-haired servant appeared from a side door. “Simon, show the baroness to her
quarters, and see Mrs. Crabapple draws her bath.”

“Yes,
my lord.”

The
servant beckoned to Anne, but Lord Wharton stopped her before she reached the
door. “Remain in your dressing gown. I will have the physician attend you.”

Anne
turned. “I am in good health, my lord.”

“We
shall let the doctor attest to that.” He folded his arms. “And when you next
address me, I expect to see a woman fitting for the title of Baroness.”

He
did not have the decency to ask about her person, or how she had been treated
during her captivity. Of all the pompous old men she’d met, he had to be the
most insufferable. She cringed. He also had to be the most unpleasant to the
eye.

***

When
Calum saw the man reach for Anne’s reins, he knew she would have no choice but
to reveal her identity. Watching her go, a part of him died.

He
galloped his horse northward, but he’d cut the timing too close. The man on the
black steed chased after him, a parcel of soldiers in tow. Calum’s mount was tired
from a full day of riding but he spurred him on, running for his life.

He
got his wish and clouds shrouded the sky with darkness. Trees whipped his face,
and he could not see far. Calum’s mind raced. If he turned west toward the
ship, they’d send scouts to trail him for certain. If he stayed on his course
to the north, with fresh horses, the English would eventually catch him, unless
he encountered a miracle.

Calum
glanced over his shoulder. Their outlines neared closer against the dark sky. If
he rode all night, he might reach Lockerbie. There, he could ask for protection
from the Douglas. As far as he knew, Ruairi hadn’t done anything to land on
their bad side. The Douglas Clan had been hit hard in the battle of Solway Moss
as well. They hated Wharton even more than the MacLeods.

The
thundering of a dozen horses neared from behind. Calum leaned further forward
in his saddle. He could not stop. He would not look back again.

He
galloped into a forest and darkness enveloped him. Heels dug deep, he pushed
harder. The horse under him lurched and stumbled. Calum flew from his saddle.
Instinctively, he tucked his body and prepared for the crushing fall. His back
hit first. Air whooshed from his lungs. Straining to gasp a breath, he looked
back to see a gaping hole dug in the path.
A
trap
. His horse lay across from him, rocking and trying to rise.
His leg is broken
.

The
soldiers surrounded him. Calum panted, still struggling to reclaim his breath. A
gaunt, darkly clad man walked up beside him with a tsk of the tongue. He swung
his foot back and kicked Calum in the gut. With sharp gasps, Calum curled into
a ball to protect his innards from another assault.

The
ugly man crouched down beside him. “You thought you could escape from the likes
of Baron Wharton?” He drew his fist back and slammed it into Calum’s jaw. “I’d
kill you now, but that would spoil the baron’s fun.”

The
iron taste of blood spilled across Calum’s tongue. Rolling to his knees, he
surveyed the copse around him, seeking his best chance of escape.

A
boot to the arse laid him out flat. A soldier hopped down and tied his wrists
with hemp rope—so tight the bindings cut into his skin.

The
darkly clad man stood, drew his knife and ran his blade across the lame horse’s
throat. “Drag this traitor back to Carlisle, but make sure he stays alive. The
baron will want a word before we hang him.”

Calum
focused on controlling his breathing. His jaw throbbed but he steeled his mind
against the pain. A mounted soldier yanked on the rope. Calum had no choice but
to run to keep up with the fast trot. If he fell, they would drag him for
certain. The more they battered his body now, the less his chances were he’d survive
once they got him inside.

***

Though
Anne had longed for a bath, this one was anything but soothing. She wondered
where Lord Wharton had found the crotchety old matron with a cadaverous face who
scrubbed her down with the roughest piece of sackcloth imaginable. “I’m quite
capable of bathing myself.”

“I
beg to differ. I could smell you from the passageway.” Mrs. Crabapple took one
more turn, scrubbing Anne’s back. “My lady.”

“I’ve
been traveling for weeks. There was little opportunity for a bath.”

Mrs.
Crabapple stood back and inspected her work. “How could you appear before the baron
in a pair of trews? He will not soon forget that. His status is of utmost
importance.”

“I
didn’t have much choice in the matter. After all, I was a
hostage
.”

“You
should have begged for a bath before you were presented to him.”

Anne
glowered into the water. As she remembered it, she was pulled off her horse and
marshaled up to Lord Wharton’s chamber without so much as a word.

Mrs.
Crabapple ground soap into her hair. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t request an
annulment.”

Anne
folded her arms across her breasts. If Lord Wharton wanted an annulment, he was
welcome to proceed. But she wasn’t going to say another word to the old biddy.
Anne had tried to explain, but the nasty woman countered everything she said—as
if Anne had kidnapped herself. She would send for Hanna at her first
opportunity.

Once
she had scrubbed Anne’s skin raw, Crabapple held up a drying cloth. Anne
snatched it from her hands. “I’ll do it myself. I’d like to keep the skin that
remains.”

“His
lordship is displeased.” The old woman wrung her hands. “Very displeased
indeed. He instructed me to insure you were cleansed of all Scottish filth.”

Anne
reached for the dressing gown the woman had brought in with the wooden bath and
tied the sash around her waist.

Mrs.
Crabapple picked up Anne’s clothes and headed for the hearth.

“You
burn them and I will tell his lordship of your deplorable mistreatment of my
person.” Two could play at her game.

The
woman dropped the clothes in heap and shook her hands nervously. “Please do not
disparage my actions before his lordship.”

Anne
stepped forward. “Has he been unkind to you?”

“Ah,
no.” Mrs. Crabapple’s eyes shot to the door. “Dear blessed Jesus, spare me his
wrath…But those clothes should be burned.”

“They
need to be washed.”

“Heaven
help us all.” She cowered from the pile of clothing as if it were alive. “Are
you planning to wear them again?”

“Presently,
they are the only set of clothes I have aside from the dress in my satchel. The
Scot kept my trunks.” She didn’t want to speak too harshly against Calum and
honestly, she had no idea why she didn’t want Mrs. Crabapple tossing her trews
in the fire, aside from the fact they were hers and they had been Calum’s. Her
heart squeezed. They were the only things she possessed to remind her of him.