Captured by the Pirate Laird (24 page)

Calum
lay curled on his side. He could not control the shaking. “Light a fire in the
hearth, ye miserly bastards.” He tried to shout through his arid voice box, but
all that came out sounded like a garbled croak.

A
damp cloth draped across his forehead. Calum’s teeth chattered as if frost
covered his body. He attempted to reach his hand up to pull the cloth away, but
something held him down.

A
voice echoed down the passage of a narrow cave. What was he doing in a cave?
The voice called to him again. “Calum.”

“Mara?”

The
voice came closer. “Yes, ’tis me.”

Calum
tried to open his eyes, but something weighed down his lids. Why could he not
move? Did they think him dead? But she spoke to him. He heard her speak his
name again, further away this time—almost a whisper.

“Anne?
Come back.”

His
mind took him to the dark dungeon. Calum tried to focus. John and Ian had helped
him flee. He tried to move, but the dungeon walls closed around him. Soldiers
burst through the door and dragged him to the torture chamber. Calum cried out
when he spied the rack. They would not strap him to it. Not again.

Something
ice cold touched his wrists. Shaking ripped through his body.

He
heard a crack. Lashes of a bullwhip cut his skin. A soft voice gasped. Could it
be Anne? Yes, she was beside him—but her arms were bound over her head. He
heard the crack of a whip and steeled himself against the sting he knew would cut
through his flesh. But Anne shrieked in pain. Anne? They could not lash her.
She had done nothing wrong. Anne’s face contorted until it faded into the
blackness.

Dark
shadows surrounded him. He shivered again. “Anne. Where are you? Anne! I will
save you.”

Mumbled
voices came from afar…

“Has
he awaken?”

“Still
delirious—but I thought he recognized my voice for a moment.”

“’Tis
a good sign. Help me remove his bandages. I’ve mixed a fresh poultice.”

“I
dunna ken what the clan would do without ye, friar.”

Something
cool pressed against Calum’s shoulder—and then there was nothing.

***

The
drastic change in her sleeping pattern made Anne’s head spin as if suffering
from the latent effects of poppy essence. She tried to straighten out her legs
and her muscles screamed. Her limbs weighed her down as if tied to bricks. How
far had she walked? Further than ever before in her. She wasn’t prepared for
such exertion. The only thing that ached more than her muscles was her empty stomach.

She
reached for her satchel and pulled out the parcel of food. Since she’d lost her
knife in Fort William, she tore into the meat with her teeth. She leaned her
head back and salivated. Never had a piece of beef tasted so good. She ate half
and forced herself to stop. She’d need it for her next meal—and then who knew
where she’d find food.

Anne
shoved her hand deep into her satchel and found the leather pouch that
contained her precious possessions. She worked it to the top and shook it.
Good. Her shillings glinted silver against the worn leather. Once she traveled
further into Scotland, she’d find a guide to take her to Applecross—someone
trustworthy. Her quandary was who? Calum had been careful to stay away from
others on their journey south. Anne quaked at the thought of finding a mob of
drunken Scots like those at the inn in Fort William. Perhaps if she came across
a well-kept manor or a keep, she would find someone with a thread of kindness.

She
slipped her shillings back and retied the pouch. If she told someone she had
fled from the baron, they might help her—as long as she kept it silent that she
was his wife. She loosened the thong again and fished inside. Yes. Lord Wharton
had kept her copy of the marriage decree. Otherwise, she’d tear it to shreds
and bury it.

Anne
slid out from under her rock ledge and stood. Putting weight on her left foot
shot daggers of pain up her leg. She crouched down and rubbed it. The flesh beneath
her boot had swollen during the night.

“Curses,
curses, curses.” She would not let a few sore muscles and a swollen ankle stop
her. She scanned the ground and found an old staff of the perfect height,
knarred by nature, the bark stripped at the thick end. With her satchel over
her shoulder, she took several practice steps. With each one, she became more
surefooted—at least that’s what she told herself.

The
ankle strained under her weight, but her muscles did loosen a bit with the
exercise. She hobbled to the edge of the trees. With summer coming, the sun
stayed out longer, and she wondered if she could chance setting out during
daylight. Green hills rolled as far as the eye could see. She had no idea where
to find the main path north. Surely she had veered far from it.

Without
a soul in sight, Anne headed north, the sun her only guide.

***

Two
nights had passed since she camped under the rock overhang, and Anne had not seen
so much as a hovel. Thus far, she had been fortunate enough to find water but
she hadn’t eaten in over a day now. Certain she’d crossed the border into
Scotland, she needed to find a compassionate soul soon.

Her
ankle had gone past hurting and a dull ache reverberated up her leg with each
step. At least the hunger had dulled the pain. She prayed the kind soul would
also have a horse. She must have been daft to think she could walk all the way
back to Raasay.

It
was still light when Anne dragged herself to the top of a crag. How many more of
these hills would she have to climb before she found a horse? She climbed onto
a boulder and turned full circle. From her breathtaking vantage point, she
could see hills of green rolling for miles in every direction. The vastness of
the world around her was daunting.

She
spied movement in the distance and a tremor shot through her fingers. Anne drew
in a quick breath and crouched behind a clump of heather. Down in the valley, a
contingent of soldiers in blue tunics rode with purpose.
English
. Were they looking for her? Was the baron with them? She
squinted against the glaring sun and strained to discern if his large form was
amongst them, but she couldn’t tell. She slid down the north side of the rock
where she would be less obvious. With the sun shaded, she blinked twice. On the
horizon, loomed the grey battlements of a stronghold.

At
last, an ally. She would see Calum again. She would declare her love and beg
for his forgiveness. The needles of guilt pricked at her neck yet again. But
she’d had no other choice. If she hadn’t told the baron about Raasay, Calum
would be dead and she would be lost forever. Anne clutched her arms tightly
around her ribs. Calum lived. She would find him.

Filled
with renewed energy, Anne watched as the soldiers turned west—away from her.
She leaned on her walking stick and hurried down the hill as fast as her ankle
would allow. Once at the bottom, she could no longer see the keep. That didn’t
stop her. Spurred on by what she had seen, Anne climbed and clenched her teeth
against each jarring step. She had to find a way to Calum. She had to kneel at
his feet and kiss them. Even if he forced her to be a servant, her life would
be more fulfilled on Raasay—she could train his eagles and teach the children
to read—she could help Mara manage the keep.

She
stepped faster, dragging herself up with her walking stick.
Nearly there
. When she reached the crest
of the next hill, her shoulders sagged. She had thought this would be the last one.
Anne took in a deep breath and stood tall. One more slope and she would be
there. Her head swooned and she pressed her palms against her temples. She
would
not
succumb to her hunger.
Sucking in a labored breath, she lumbered ahead.

Anne
could barely focus her eyes, but the keep was in reach at last. Massive grey
walls towered above, but the lines seemed jagged. She blinked. A portion of the
battlements had crumbled as if hit by cannon shot. She limped to the archway.
No gates secured it. She turned full circle, listening. No voices, no horse
hooves, no clang of a blacksmith—she heard nothing but the call of a willow
warbler on the breeze.

A
lead ball sank to the pit of her stomach, but she proceeded through the gates.
The sun had set and little light remained. She could not go on without food. A
burnt out shell of a once great stronghold enveloped her. Anne clutched her
arms across her chest. Had Wharton driven all good Scots away from this place?

Her
entire body ached. A sharp pain jarred her ankle. With a cry of utter helplessness,
she dropped to the ground. She had to reach to Raasay. She must find food, but
she had no weapon and no trained falcon to pluck a pigeon from the air.

Anne
crouched on her knees and cradled her head in her hands. With every sob, Anne
fell deeper into despair. She had been traveling for days.
Dear God in Heaven, help me.

***

Calum
opened his eyes. He rested upon the comfort of a familiar bed and ran his
fingers along the crisp clean sheets. He pushed up with a shaky arm. This bed
was not only familiar, it was his. How had he gotten here? His arm gave way and
he tried to roll onto his back. Sharp pain brought back the memory of the angry
tongues of a cat ‘o nine tails tearing into his flesh.

Hunger
clawed at his gut. He licked his lips with a gritty tongue.
Water
. He heard a rustle by the hearth.
“Water.” The word grated like a rasp in his throat.

“Are
ye awake, laird?” Friar Pat’s deep voice held a note of fear.

“Water,”
Calum said, louder this time.

In
seconds, the friar held a goblet to his lips. Calum gulped the liquid—not water
but mead.

“This
is me own brew. ’Twill help ye come round, m’laird.”

Thick
sweetness coated his tongue and throat. Calum nodded toward the empty goblet.
“More.”

The
friar held up his hand. “Ye must go slow. Ye’ve been fevered for days.”

“Food.”

“I’ll
bring ye some broth.”

“Broth?”
With the mead coating his throat, his voice became clearer. Calum struggled to
sit but his limbs trembled. “I want food—meat.”

The
friar patted his exposed shoulder. “We’ll start with broth. If ye can keep that
down, we’ll add some porridge.”

Left
alone, Calum grumbled and muscled himself to a sitting position. He tugged up the
pillows behind him and lay against them. Hissing through his teeth, he tested
the tender flesh on his back. A hundred knives sliced angrily, but once he
settled on the goose down, the pain dulled.

Friar
Pat bounded through the door, clutching a bowl, with wide-eyed John and Mara
behind him.

“Calum,
you’re sitting up?” Mara dashed to the bedside. “How is yer back?”

“Feels
like a nest of stinging honey bees have taken up residence.” Calum barely
recognized his own voice.

The
friar held up a spoon of broth.

Calum
grabbed it. “I can feed meself.”

The
three exchanged exasperated shrugs, and Pat handed Calum a spoon, but held the
bowl. Calum’s hand shook and ladled the broth into his mouth as if he hadn’t
eaten in days. For all he knew, he hadn’t. “How long have I been abed?”

John
stepped in beside the friar. “It has been three days since the ship dropped
anchor in the bay.”

Calum
rubbed his head. “Six days since we left the firth?”

“Aye.”

“Any
word of Wharton?”

“Nay.
But blue tunics lined the shore as the wind picked up the sails in Solway.”

Calum
swallowed his last spoonful of broth. “Wharton will come after us. Anne gave
away the keep to spare me.”

Mara
gasped. “She told them of Raasay?”

Calum
pushed his hair back from his face. “She did it to save me from the lash.”

“Little
good that did,” John said.

“I’m
alive, am I no’?” He sliced his hand through the air. “Dunna think ill of her.
She is in her own hell, living under the roof of a monster. I never should have
ransomed her.”

Calum
looked at the solemn faces of his closest clansmen. “Have ye sent out the
spies?”

“Aye.”

“Have
ye called for reinforcements?”

“Do
ye think we need them?”

“If
I ken Wharton, he will attack us with a fleet of English warships.” Calum
leaned forward and grimaced. Mara adjusted his pillows. “Send Norman to Lewis.
Have him tell Ruairi all of the Hebrides are in peril. If we do not stop Wharton,
he will take all until we all fall under his tyranny.”

John
nodded and took his leave. With a grunt, Calum leaned back and closed his eyes.
“I need me strength. Bring me meat.”

“Aye,
we will but first must check yer dressing.” The friar tugged on Calum’s
shoulder and pulled him forward. “Tis a miracle ye are sitting up, m’laird. I
thought it would be days yet afore ye could do that.”