Captured by the Pirate Laird (27 page)

Though
the sun had not yet set, the horses needed rest and they stopped to make camp
at Loch Long. Surrounded by rolling hills, the Eilean Donan Castle stood guard
in the distance at the confluence of three great sea lochs. Anne remembered
passing it when she had traveled south with Calum and his men. He’d told her the
castle was a MacKenzie seat and it was best to give them a wide berth.
Remembering that Dougal MacKenzie had not been overly accommodating when they
took the horses at Applecross, she understood Calum’s reasoning.

Anne
dismounted and tested her ankle. Stepping on it, a dull ache spread from her
calf to her knee—definitely an improvement. Fortunately, Rorie had caught one
of the fallen English soldier’s horses for her to ride and several days in the
saddle had provided needed relief. She had also taken an English sword from the
battle site. Smaller and lighter than a claymore, she pulled it from the
scabbard she’d tied to her saddle.

Anne
turned the weapon over in her hand and sliced a practice swing through the air.
The iron hissed with the downward blow. Never having wielded a sword in her
life, she thought her first attempt showed promise, until Rorie eyed her with
his fists on his hips. “What do ye think you’re doing with an Englishman’s weapon?”

“I
took it at the castle. I need to be able to defend myself.”

“Well,
ye’ll no’ be able to fend off much with that. A rabbit, perhaps.”

Anne
swung it again, trying to make her effort look like Calum in the courtyard. “Why?
’Tis the same weapon the cavalry use throughout England.”

“Aye,
but they’re men.”

“You
think I cannot learn to wield a sword because I am a woman?”

He
chuckled. “Ye can learn to wield it, aye. But ye’ll no’ be able to hold onto it
in a fight. Yer bones are too fine.” He drew his long claymore from his belt.
“Let me show ye what I mean. Now come at me.”

“You’re
not serious. I could hurt you.”

He
shook his head and beckoned her with his fingers. “Ye’ve surely seen men spar
before, come now, lass.”

Anne
looked at her sword and recalled how easily Calum had wrenched the dagger out of
her hand when he burst through her stateroom door. That quick twist of her
wrist had hurt. She wouldn’t let that happen this time. Grasping the sword with
both hands, she raised it over her head and lunged at him with a downward
slash.

Rorie
deflected the blow with an effortless swing of his arm. The sword flew out of
her hands and somersaulted through the air. To the laughs of the guards, Anne
snapped her head around and narrowed her eyes at Rorie’s smug smirk.

At
least the sword hadn’t hit anyone, or the horses. The muscles in her shoulders
tensed as Rorie’s son, Hamish, retrieved her sword and playacted her pathetic
attempt to attack. The men roared with laughter. Anne clenched her fists. This
was nothing to laugh about. More than once her life had been threatened. It
made good sense for her to learn to use a weapon.

“Silence!”
Rorie shoved his son aside and wrenched the sword from his hand. “What are ye
standing around for? Build a fire and hunt us down some supper.”

He
turned to Anne with an apologetic frown, but tossed the sword aside. “If ye are
hell bent on carrying a weapon, ye need something a bit less cumbersome.” He
bent down and pulled the dirk from the sheath worn outside his knee-length hose.
“Ye need the deadly blade all men use when locked in battle, and being a
lassie, a dirk isn’t hard to hide or carry.”

Anne
nodded and accepted the knife. She rolled her fingers over the iron basket weave
hilt. “Will you show me how to use it?”

“If
you’re attacked, the first thing ye need to do is center yer weight.” He
demonstrated by spreading his legs and bending his knees. Anne followed. He
chuckled. “Tis a good thing I’m a married gentleman. The sight of ye in those
snug fitting trews is enough to boil any man’s blood.”

“But
Calum said I was safer traveling dressed this way.”

“Aye,
but if one were to take a good look at ye, there’s no mistaking yer gender.” He
sliced his hands through the air. “Back to the lesson—Once yer weight is
centered, hold the dirk in yer fist with the blade pointing down. That gives
the greatest leverage for a downward strike.”

Anne
copied Rorie’s movement and slashed the knife through the air. He showed her
the tender spots on a man and how to kill a soldier wearing armor. By the end
of the lesson, Anne’s confidence had grown tenfold.

Rorie
led her to his horse and reached inside his saddlebag. “I always carry a spare.
If ye ask me, a dirk’s the most important weapon in a man’s arsenal.” He handed
it to her with a leather thong. “Tie it to yer leg.”

“Thank
you. I hope I never have to use it but I’ll be forever grateful to you for
helping me.” She looked up and smiled. “Both for the dirk and taking me back to
Calum.”

“Baa—’tis
no trouble.” He looked at her and squinted his weathered eyes. “What do ye plan
to do once ye reach Raasay?”

Anne
took a deep breath. She had thought of little else during the ride north. “The
first thing I must do is ask Calum’s forgiveness. I never meant to betray his
clan, I only wanted to spare him further torture.”

“Any
reasonable man will understand.”

“I
hope so. I cannot live with myself, thinking he hates me.”

“’Twould
be very difficult indeed to go through life and hate a lassie as fair as you.
Look at all ye’re risking to go after him.” He pulled his saddle off his horse
and set it down. Anne did the same. “What will ye do after ye see him?”

Of
course she had considered Calum might not easily forgive her, but she’d do
everything she could to make herself worthy of his love. But what if Calum
banished her? “I cannot go back to England as long as Wharton is alive.”

“What
about yer family?”

“Mother
would insist I go back to the baron. My sister, Elizabeth is a countess—married
to the Earl of Sussex.”

“Right
near royalty, aye? That’s a possibility.”

Anne
unrolled the tartan blanket Rorie had loaned her. “No. The earl is active in
the House of Lords. I doubt he’d offer me sanctuary.”

Rorie
patted her saddle. “Sit. If Calum MacLeod won’t pull his head out of his arse,
I’ll take ye back to the Douglas and see what me lady wife can think to do with
ye.”

Anne
tried to smile. She could imagine no other life except one on Raasay. She
closed her eyes and pictured Calum dancing with her from across the maypole.
His dark gaze had focused only on her almost as if he were hungry, starving—but
not for food—for her. When they danced together, his eyes had strayed to her
breasts and remained there. And yet they had shared so much more than lust for
flesh. An unwelcomed doubt splayed across the back of her neck. She couldn’t
forget he had not fought for her when it came time to collect the ransom. But Rorie
wouldn’t even accept a few shillings to escort her to Raasay.

Calum
had never shown her a greedy side, but he could spurn her, cast her aside now
he had the baron’s money. Something deep inside told her to stop. She would not
be the one to let go without a fight.

I want a life where I can make a
difference, like I had on Raasay. Wharton wanted me to be used like a stuffed
deer head to mount in his wall. At Brochel Castle, no one cared what I looked
like or how I dressed. The clan opened up to me because I worked beside them,
taught the children, and helped them inventory their stolen goods…which they so
desperately needed.

I love Calum with every fiber of my
soul, and I will do everything to make him fall in love with me.

Being
the laird and protector of Raasay, Calum had an understanding of the heightened
emotional state of women when they were with child, but the way Mara carried on
exceeded the limits of his imagination. Her wails rang through the hall as if
her husband had already been skewered by an enemy blade.

John
didn’t help matters. He grasped her by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake.
“I’ll be back in no time. Ye need to tend to the keep, and nay think of me.”

“How
can I do anything with ye out in the night with English ships sailing about?”

John’s
face turned to panic as he looked toward the rafters as if in search of the
right words.

Calum
stepped in to lend a hand to his tongue-tied cousin. “He’s needed to protect
the clan. If he stays here like a milk-livered coward, he’ll be no use to the
lot of us.”

Mara
shifted her gaze to him, and red-hot pokers shot from her baleful stare. “’Tis
all yer fault, turning to piracy and leading the murdering English to our
home.”

“Mara!”
John swooped behind her and lifted her into a bear hug.

Calum
rubbed his jaw. “John will be safer on
The
Golden Sun
than any other place.”

John
hauled his kicking bride up the stone staircase and her voice echoed through
the cavernous walls. “He should be with his wife and unborn child. Blast the
lot of ye.”

Sometime
after supper, John descended the stairs smoothing out his shirt and kilt.
“There’s just no placating her.”

Ian,
who had three bairns of his own shook his head. “Ye’ve got several more months
of it too—and it doesna get better.”

“John,
ye must keep yer mind focused.” Calum had no time to worry about what to do
with a matron who had lost her mind. He took charge and stationed a trumpeter on
the high point lookout and climbed down to the shore, leading his men. John’s sailors
boarded
The
Golden Sun
and Calum decided his crew would sleep on the
Sea Dragon
. There was much needed
preparation ensuring the cannons and ammunition was stocked and ready for
battle. Besides, he couldn’t listen to Mara carry on as if all the menfolk were
going to die—and if he couldn’t take it, neither could his men. No one needed
the bellyaching of a naysayer the eve before a battle. They loaded up
provisions and headed for the ships.

Friar
Pat opted to row across with Calum for the night. He said his prayers might be
better received by the Holy Father if chanted from the deck of the
Sea Dragon
. Honestly, Calum thought the
friar needed to slip away from Mara’s grousing too. The entire keep was in for
a very long summer.

After
making his rounds and discussing strategy with his men, Calum retired to the
captain’s cabin. Though not as extravagant as his cabin on
The Golden Sun
, this chamber had been his seafaring home for near seven
years now and served his needs. His father had given him the carrack with the
lairdship, and Calum had loved the ship as much as any human—except Anne.
Perhaps that was why no lassie on the isle had turned his head. Of course he
had a fond taste for women—but none under his watch. The wenching he’d done was
away from the clan and away from scandal.

Calum
removed his shirt and unwrapped his dressing. In the mirror, he eyed the marks on
his back. Pink skin peeked out from under the scabs which had formed on the
outer edges. The deeper lashings in the center of his back still oozed.

He
answered the rap on his door, and the friar came in holding a pot of poultice.

“I’d
like to let it air for the night.”

The
friar placed the stoneware pot on the sideboard. “Very well. Shall I return in
the morning then?”

“Aye,
but first come in and have a tot of whisky with me.”

“I’ve
never been one to turn down a fine sip of distilled spirit.”

“Ah,
Father, you’re a holy man of keen sensibilities. ’Tis what I like most about ye.”
Calum filled two goblets with his flagon and gestured to the table with four
rickety wooden chairs. “Sit.”

Patrick
held the liquor to his nose and inhaled the aroma before he sipped. “Do ye
really think the baron is aboard the English ship?”

“I
have no doubt. That man is a hater, that one. He and his black-hearted henchman
are both hewn from the same cloth. Their hate feeds them.”

“’Tis
a sad thing they cannot leave well enough alone.”

“Aye,
but the English would have been after us sooner or later, looking for the
Flying Swan
.”

“They
wouldna have found it.”

Calum
tossed the whisky down his throat. The smooth amber liquid slid down with
scarcely a burn. “They would have suspected
The
Golden Sun
and blasted their cannons
at us anyway. This just hurried them along.”

The
friar reached for the flagon and poured two more goblets. “Ye will kill him?”

“I
plan to.”

Friar
Pat frowned and stared into his goblet.

“A
man like that will no’ let up, and if I dunna stop him, Lady Anne will be his
next victim.”

“And
what will ye do once the baron is no more?”

“I’ll
find her.”

“That’s
what I thought.” Patrick drained his drink and set his goblet on the table.
“That’ll do it for me. I’ll see ye in the morning.”

Calum
watched the friar leave and pulled Anne’s kerchief from his sporran. He traced
his finger around the needlework of the belt circling the sun. He held it to
his nose and closed his eyes. With a deep inhale, he prayed she could hear him
in her mind’s eye.
Know that I love you
.

***

Lord
Wharton woke before dawn, dressed and clamored out of the captain’s cabin. He
used the hilt of his dagger to pound on all the stateroom doors. “Wake, you
lazy sots. There’s a battle to be fought.”

Wharton
didn’t wait for the officers. He strode down to the sailor’s quarters and
clanged the meal bell. Men suspended in hammocks griped and glared at him with
murderous scowls. Wharton chuckled. He liked their spirit, but he wouldn’t tolerate
even a hint of insolence. “All hands on deck and wipe that evil grimace off
your face sailor, or I’ll have you whipped.”

Wharton
lumbered up to the main deck and paced. A sailor scurried past, and Wharton
caught his arm. “Ready the skiffs.”

“But
I…”

“No
argument, sailor. Ready the blasted skiffs, I say.”

“Yes,
my lord.”

Wharton
committed the man’s face to memory and watched him scurry away. If the skiffs
weren’t ready by the time Raasay was in sight, he would make an example of that
useless sailor.

Captain
Gilman stepped onto the deck, adjusting his feathered cap.

“Sir
Edward. ’Tis about time you showed yourself. I’ve asked the men to ready the
skiffs.”

“Why,
may I ask?”

“Do
you know nothing of warfare? I would expect more from a knighted captain in the
queen’s navy.” Wharton waited for a reaction, but the captain restrained his
ire well. “We shall drop foot soldiers at the north of the island. If we fail
by sea, then we will conquer by land.”

“Hmm.
And the terrain on the north of Raasay is passable? I thought it was
uninhabited.”

“Of
course it is passable. No obstacle can stop an English soldier.”

“Very
well. And will you be accompanying these troops with your keen knowledge of fighting
the Scots overland?”

Wharton
watched as more surly, stinking sailors swarmed to the deck. “Do not think your
impertinent tone has gone unnoticed. I might think to send
you
.”

With
a thin-lipped nod, the captain climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. “Prepare
to launch the skiffs, quartermaster.”

Wharton
headed back to the officer’s quarters and found Master Denton. “I want you to
take a contingent overland and attack from the rear.”

“Very
well, my lord.”

Wharton
ground his fist into his palm. No one would stop him from killing the Scot and
blasting his keep off the island. He would take back the
Flying Swan
and shove it down Fortescue’s throat. He smirked. Perhaps
the queen would grant him other titles, possibly even an earldom. Then he’d be
on a level playing field with Northumberland. The queen might offer him his
pick of any castle in Northern England. With her permission, he would take a
fortress as grand as Alnwick. Lindsfarne on the Holy Island would suit—and what
an excellent stronghold from which to control the pillaging Scots.

Wharton
rubbed his belly. This day his appetite was not for eggs and rashers of bacon.
This day he would satisfy his hunger with victory.

Under
Wharton’s orders, they moored the
White
Lion
off the Isle of Rona, nearly a stone’s throw from the northern shore
of Raasay. There, he commanded the skiffs to be launched. The
White Lion
would lay in wait until the
sun set. Wharton preferred to attack under cover of darkness, to pull the Scots
from their supper feast, skewer them and rape their women. Wharton could
scarcely control the jittering inside his bones.

***

Late
morning, the battle trumpet sounded from the north cliff, signifying Wharton
had rounded the Isle of Skye and entered Raasay waters. Calum used his spyglass
to locate William MacLeod. The skinny man skittered down from the lookout and
headed toward the beach.

Friar
Pat walked in beside Calum. “It looks as if William has news.”

“Aye.
And ’tis time for ye to head back to shore.”

“I’ll
hear what William has to say and take the boat back with him.”

Calum
filled his lungs with the crisp salty air. Clouds blanketed the sky and he
hoped the rain would stay at bay. He preferred to fight upon the sure footing
of dry decks. He raised his arms over his head and stretched. With fresh air in
his lungs, Calum’s strength returned and his muscles twitched in anticipation
of the battle to come. He flexed his wrist. Even it felt stronger.

They
crossed portside to meet William as the winch hoisted him to the main deck. Bran
and Calum reached out and pulled him across the rail.

“What
news?” Calum asked.

“They
are ferrying men to the shore. Looks like they’re planning an attack by land as
well as sea.”

“How
many have gone ashore?”

“Forty
or so.”

Calum
stroked his chin. “They think the troops will make it to Brochel from the rocky
north and be here by in time for the battle?”

“Could
be done with hard marching. The ship dropped anchor off Rona. Looks like
they’re waiting for nightfall.”

“Dropped
anchor did ye say?” Calum looked across the Inner Sound to Applecross.
The
Golden
Sun
was hidden from sight. He could send a skiff across to bring back a few
men, but they were needed to man the ship. “Blast it all, where is Norman with Ruairi?
Can I no’ count on me own kin?”

He
searched the surrounding faces for an answer. All looked as baffled as he.

“William,
take a skiff over to
The
Golden Sun
and tell John half the
Sea Dragon’s
crew will fight the English
troops by land. I’ll be severely handicapped once the battle starts.
Friar—muster the women and have them patrol the battlements with long bows.”

“The
women, m’laird?”

“It
cannot be helped. Besides, they shoot arrows in the games. They’ll be safer on
Brochel’s wall walk than any other place on the island.”

The
friar crossed himself. “Heavenly Father, help us.”

“Once
we take charge of the English ship, we’ll protect the castle. No need to worry,
there are only forty foot soldiers. Brochel can withstand ten times that.”
Calum marched across the deck and scowled. “What can forty foot soldiers do
with no catapult, no cannon?”

He
split the crew, ensuring Bran stayed with him where he could protect the lad.
He surveyed the twenty MacLeods who would remain on the
Sea Dragon
. All good men, all trained by Calum himself. “Follow me
to the gun deck. We’ve got a strategy to revise.”

***

They
rounded Loch Carron and Anne’s palms grew moist against her leather straps of
her reins. If only she could fly like an eagle, she’d see the Isle of Raasay
from here. By the time the sun hung low in the western sky, they approached the
shores Loch Kishorn. Rorie pointed. “She’s a salt water loch and opens up at
the bottom of the Sound of Raasay.”

Anne’s
insides fluttered. “We can reach Applecross.”

“’Tis
five to seven more miles of riding. It will be well past dark when we arrive. I
think it would be wiser to camp here for the night and make a fresh start at
dawn.”

She
could no sooner bed down than fight with a sword. “We cannot stop. Not when we
are so close.” Anne wrung her hands. “’Tis only seven miles, Rorie. Surely we
can make that.”