Captured by the Pirate Laird (3 page)

She
nodded, not trusting her voice.

She
sipped her wine again and studied the ruby liquid within. She could feel his
boring eyes upon her, assessing her as she had done him. She dared glance at
him and those blues caught hers. He smiled. Again, her cheeks burned.

“Am
I making ye nervous, milady?”

“Yes…er,
no.”
Where is the food?

As
if answering her thought, the side door opened and the cabin boy brought in pewter
plates filled with roast meat and vegetables.

“Thank
ye, Bran.”

The
boy bowed. “Will there be anything else, m’laird?”

The
captain arched his brow her way, and Anne shook her head. “That will be all for
now. Go eat yer supper, lad.”

He
reached for a basket of bread and offered it to Anne.

“That
is the second time I’ve heard to you referred to as laird.”

“Aye,
’tis what me clansmen call their chieftain.”

“Chieftain?”
She grasped a slice of bread. “So you
are
a Scottish laird?”

“Aye.”

“Of
which clan?”

“Ah,
milady, I cannot say.”

“Must
I always call you Captain? I find it quite uncivilized that I am sitting at the
table of a man whose name I do not know.”

“Calum.”

“Calum?”
She liked the simplicity of it. “Is that all?”

“For
the moment.” He leaned toward her and winked. “Now ye have to tell me
something.”

Anne
cut a small bit of meat and savored it in her mouth. But chewing was nearly
impossible. That rakish wink sent her insides aflutter yet again.

“Why
were ye bound for the River Aln?”

Anne
studied the stern countenance that had now lost its jovial teasing. If she told
him, he might ransom her on the spot—but that’s what she wanted. Wasn’t it?
Yes
.

“Lady
Anne?” He persisted.

“I
was to join my husband in Alnwick.”

“Husband?
But ye wear no ring.”

She
covered the naked finger. “The ring is with him.”

“Odd.”
Calum pushed his chair back a bit, as if distancing himself from her. “The
journal said nothing of yer husband.”

“Captain
Fortescue was well aware of my proxy marriage to Lord Wharton.”

“Wharton?”
Calum’s chair screeched across the floorboards. “That ruthless son of an ill-breeding
dog.”

She
sat erect. “Pardon me?” But she knew the Scots hated Thomas Wharton. He’d
devastated them at the battle of Solway Moss, where he’d earned his barony.

“How
could ye be married to the likes of him?” Calum stood and paced the room, then
turned with his fists on his hips. “A fine lot ye’ve got us into.”

“Me?”
A sharp twist of her gut replaced her unease with unabashed disbelief. “I’m not
the one who plundered this ship.”

“Ye
were no’ supposed to be aboard.”

“Tell
that to my husband. He paid my fare.” She assumed he had. Anne watched Calum
pace. “Am I to eat while you walk the floor like a brooding tyrant?”

The
deadly glare she’d seen when he kicked in her door returned. He dropped his
hands and plodded back to his seat. He didn’t touch his food, but guzzled the
goblet of wine. Anne waffled between fear of the man and pity. That she chose
pity shocked her.

She
wrung her hands. Presently she knew more about the Scot sitting across from her
than she did Baron of Wharton, and that was very little. Calum reached for the
ewer and refilled his goblet, his face unreadable.

Anne
wanted to say something, but no words came. Her concern for Calum’s plight came
as a surprise and toyed with her sensibilities. She turned her attention to her
meal but she couldn’t eat. He’d cursed her husband. Did that mean he felt the
same contempt for her? She pushed her plate away. “I should like to return to
my stateroom.”

Calum
didn’t respond immediately. He swirled the wine in his goblet and then looked
up with eyes that had no resemblance to the friendly blues that had greeted her
when she entered the room. A tempest brewed behind his eyes. Deadly as
nightshade, he watched her as he swallowed and placed the goblet on the table.
“’Tis best.” He stood. “I’ll escort ye.”

He
said nothing as they walked the few feet to her stateroom door. Calum used his
key to open it and bowed. “Milady.”

She
thought to thank him, but held her tongue and strode into her room. Turning,
she saw only the door close. The latch offered a soft click against the
creaking of the wooden ship.

Blessed
saints, she’d practically swooned at the sight of him. Blast her betraying
heart, and blast Calum’s wayward charm.

***

Anne
was already up when a knock sounded on her door. “Come in.”

Bran,
the cabin boy who had served dinner peeked in. “I’ve brought ye some porridge
and bread, milady.”

She
gestured to the table. “I was wondering if the captain would see fit to feed me
today.”

“What?
Ye think he would push a crust of bread and a jug of ale under yer door?”

“Possibly
not the ale.”

“Ye’ve
got the laird all wrong. If it weren’t for him, the people of Raasay would have
starved last winter.”

“Oh?
Is that why he plunders ships? To feed the poor?”

“We-ell,
aye, truth be told.” He reached out and dropped a key in her palm. “This is for
yer door. The captain says you’re free to come and go.”

“How
generous of him. I can now leave my stateroom and consort with pirates.”

“We’re
no’ all that bad, milady. Just trying to make a go of it just like any other
scrapper out there.”

Anne
studied the boy. As friendly as a Spaniel puppy, he was as tall as her with dark
brown curls. “How old are you, Bran?”

“Two
and ten.”

“Oh
my, you’re quite tall for your age.”

Bran
ran his fingers along the plaid that crossed over his shoulder and stood a bit
taller. “Calum’s training me to be a knight.”

“Honestly?
That is quite a great responsibility at two and ten.” She reached for the bread
and broke it in half. “Where are your parents?”

He
kicked a floorboard with the toe of his boot. “Me da’s dead but me ma works in
the kitchen at Brochel Castle.”

“Brochel?
Is that your clan’s keep?”

“Aye,
milady. ’Tis on the isle of Raasay.”

Anne
lifted her spoon. “And to which clan do you belong?” Hmm. Gathering information
would be easier than she thought. She only need ask the right person.

“MacLeod.”
The boy rubbed his arm and grimaced.

Anne
studied him furrowing her brow. “Are you injured?”

“’Tis
only a bruise, milady.”

She
stood and folded her arms. “Show me.”

Bran’s
gaze shot to the door. Biting his bottom lip, he reluctantly rolled up his
sleeve. “’Twill be right in a week.”

Anne
swallowed her shock. The boy’s whole arm was purple from the wrist right up to
his shoulder. “What happened?” She inspected it for swelling. “This should be
immobilized. It could be broken.”

“I
took a tumble off the rigging.” With effort, he flexed his muscle. “See. I can
move it.”

“I’m
not convinced.” Anne pulled her bundle of healing essences from her trunk.
“First, I shall rub a salve into it and then we’ll put it in a sling.”

Bran
stepped back. “I cannot work with me arm bound up.”

Anne
made him sit in the chair and carefully smoothed in a salve of houseleek and St.
John’s wort. “It will not heal properly unless you take care of it.”

She
fashioned a sling from a piece of linen and tapped his nose. “Rest it as much
as you can. Do you understand? ’Tis very important.”

“Aye,
milady. Thank ye.”

“Bran,”
a deep voice bellowed from the corridor.

The
boy blanched. “’Tis Master John. I must away.”

***

When
Anne finished her breakfast, she picked up the key and swung her cloak around
her shoulders. She wished she had her dagger. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d
find out on the decks, but she couldn’t hide in her stateroom forever.

Slowly
opening the door to the main deck, Anne listened for any sign of improper
behavior. Sails flapped in the whistling wind, men worked together mending the
rigging above and when she stepped out, she saw John manning the wheel.
Rather a peaceful setting for a band of
pirates.

Scanning
the deck for Calum, Anne pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders and walked
to the rail. The dark sea rolled and foamed white in the ship’s wake. Water
stretched in every direction. Refreshing, salty wind caressed her face.

Footsteps
tapped on the stairs leading from the quarterdeck above. The captain stepped
beside her with that fetching grin of his. “Good morning, milady. I trust ye
slept well.”

She
hoped her sudden queasiness had been caused by the rolling of the sea. “Reasonably
well, considering I have no idea where we are headed or when I’ll see my
blessed England again.”

Calum’s
lips thinned. He rested his elbows on the rail and looked out to sea. The wind
blew his hair away from his face, unveiling the attractive and angular lines to
his jaw.

Anne
followed his gaze. “Where are we? There’s no land in sight.”

“We’re
giving England a wide berth. Once we cross into Scottish waters, ye’ll see the
coast.”

“And
what am I to do until then?”

“Whatever
baronesses do, I suppose.”

“I
expected you to force me to swab the decks or mend the sails.”

“Would
ye like to mend sails?”

She
cleared her throat. “I’m your prisoner. Of course you might do all sorts of
horrible and vile things.”

“Mending
sails is vile?”

Anne
looked skyward. “Saints preserve me.”

Calum
rubbed his palm over a belaying pin, which supported a coil of hemp rope. “I
could set up a surgery. Half me men asked to rap on yer stateroom door to show
ye their battle wounds—fix them up as ye did Bran.”

Anne
wrung her hands. “Are there many injured?”

“A
few scrapes and cuts.”

“Of
course I’ll tend them right away.”

Calum
grinned—almost laughed.

“They
do need my assistance do they not?”

“Mostly
no’, but I’ll have John ferret out the ones who do and ask him to bring them to
ye.”

“Very
well.” Anne smoothed her hands over her skirts. “And in the interim, I’d be
much obliged if you would determine how you’ll return me to England as quickly
as possible.”

Calum
bowed, his eyes sparkling in the sun. “As you wish, milady.”

He
sauntered away, whistling some jaunty ditty, while Anne stifled the urge to giggle—for
no reason. Queen’s knees, he toyed with her. He probably flaunted his good
looks before every maiden who struck his fancy. She could risk her reputation
by befriending him. Heading back to her stateroom, Anne vowed Calum MacLeod would
never
charm her into believing him well-mannered
and chivalrous.

Calum
didn’t blame Lady Anne for holding him in low esteem. He would feel the same if
he were in her predicament, though he wished it could be otherwise. He’d
searched the seas for a woman like her. Upon his first glimpse, an inkling
twitched at the back of his mind. Could she be
the one
? Bloody dreamer, he was.

Over
the past few days, he’d ducked out of sight whenever she made an appearance. Though
he watched with great interest when she set her basket of herbs on the deck and
tended his men as if they were her kin. He needed her off the ship before she
made them all soft.

After
learning she was Wharton’s bride, he’d thought of little else but Anne. Memories
of the terrified waif cowering in her stateroom under that wild mane of blonde
curls made his pulse race, but he couldn’t assuage the grotesque image his mind
conjured of Anne in Wharton’s arms. Fortunately, the thought put a damper on
his lustful urges.

However,
he now feared for her, which was a miserable state of affairs for a privateer
and his hostage, whom he must ransom. If only he could protect the lass.

The
baron’s legacy followed him. Wharton had been successful in the battle of
Solway Moss back in 1542, when Calum was just a lad. His clansmen still spoke
of it. The English raided Scotland and seized James V at Lochmaben. Even after
the English council disapproved of Wharton’s action, he pushed on and burned
Dumfries. There, he beat the Scots down and took many a noble Scotsman
prisoner. Calum’s father had escaped with his life and little else. Wharton
raided again in ’47, and two years ago he’d joined Northumberland against the
Scots. Calum got his taste of battle then. Wharton took no prisoners—hung them
all. Many MacLeods lost their lives, and bloody Wharton led the lot—
her
husband.

Calum
pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and stood at the helm. Twilight, he shed
his thoughts and enjoyed a rare moment of calm seas and clear skies. They would
reach Raasay on the morrow and his life would return to normal, running the
keep, solving problems.

Wearing
a red gown with a low square neckline that accented her lily white breasts, Anne
stepped onto the deck below and walked to the rail. His gut flew to his throat
as if he’d jumped off a cliff. He considered ducking into the navigation room,
but stopped.

The
breeze picked up her hair from under her veil, and golden strands fluttered
proud as a flag. She moved with grace, reminding him of a swan swimming upon a
still pool. Facing the sea, Calum admired the way her shoulders tapered to a
waist so tiny, if he grasped it with both hands, his fingers would touch. He
tapped them together, imagining how her waist would feel with his hands upon
her.

Bran
tottered up, wearing that sling he’d become outrageously proud of, and engaged
her in conversation. Calum rested his elbow on the rail and cradled his chin,
completely enthralled. He watched Anne chat easily, comfortable with the lad.
Though Calum held her captive, she maintained her regal refinement. If she was
afraid, she had not shown it since that first night. He’d never encountered a
woman like her—petite, totally in control, perceptive with unfaltering manners.
How could she have become entangled with Wharton?

Calum
would send the ransom note once they arrived on Raasay. The missive would be
carried to Edinburgh by one of his men and passed to an English runner there.
Calum watched Anne, wishing he’d been six stone heavier and thirty or so years
older—like bloody Wharton. What he wouldn’t do to lie in her arms for just one
night. If only he could run his fingers through that tangled mane of silken
tresses, caress the tops of her breasts with his lips. But a liaison with such
a lady could never be. Calum blinked and shook his thoughts away.

Soon
she would know where his keep hid in the cove on Raasay. He couldn’t kill her
nor could he keep her.

If
he ransomed Anne, she could tell Wharton how to find them, but Calum’s spies
would see the blackguard coming days before he reached Raasay. That wouldn’t
stop the battle, but it would give Calum a chance to prepare—mayhap even send
the bastard to his grave.

Would
he have a chance with the widow when Wharton was dead?
Baa
. She thought him an outlaw. No highborn, beautiful woman like
Lady Anne would give a man like him a second thought.

Though
he’d tried, he had yet to find a woman to share his keep—a strong, capable,
beautiful woman. No one on Raasay had laid claim to his heart and his bed
remained cold—lonely even.

She
turned and caught him staring. He bowed and his heart melted when she smiled—a
smile with dimples that could light up the horizon. He half expected Lady Anne
to turn up her pert little nose and head the other way.

Before
he could persuade himself otherwise, Calum pattered down the steps and stood
beside her. She watched the sunset and her warmth pulled him close to her like
a magnet.

“’Tis
beautiful,” she said when the sky shone with violet and pink, highlighted
against the strips of clouds that sailed toward the ship.

He
inhaled. Her scent ever so feminine, Calum inclined his head to capture more of
it. “Aye, milady.”

She
placed her hand on the rail. Again his reflexes took over and he rested his palm
atop it. Calum expected her to snatch it away, but she did not. Her fingers lay
cold under his touch, and he held his much warmer hand there as a comfort. They
stood in silence as the sun dipped low, glowing orange-red on the horizon. He
wanted to stand there forever—touching her. Barely breathing, he watched the sun
disappear and held his hand still, unwilling to move it. Fresh air made pure by
the salty sea filled his nostrils. The sounds of rigging flapping above, the
sway of the ship—everything in this moment embodied perfection.

Darkness
replaced the sun. Lady Anne slipped her hand out from under his, and the dark
of the evening took up residence inside him. She was not his to lust after.
“May I walk you to your stateroom?”

“Yes.”
Her voice sounded husky. Had she felt the connection too?
Of course not
.

Calum
offered his arm and that same small, cold hand grasped it. “We’ll arrive at
Raasay in the morning.”

“Our
destination?”

“Aye.”

“Bran
told me.”

Secrets
were impossible to keep on a ship. “I will send a letter of ransom to yer
husband upon our arrival.” He didn’t like how that sounded—
ye are my prisoner until Lord Wharton pays for your release
. But
that’s how it had to be. If he sailed up the mouth of the River Aln, he would
incite yet another war between Scotland and England, and this time his
countrymen might side with the enemy.

When
they stepped into the corridor, warm air relaxed the tension in his shoulders.

Anne
stopped outside her cabin door, breasts straining against her bodice with every
breath. “I’ve never met him.”

Calum
forced himself to concentrate on her face. “Who?”

“Lord
Wharton.”

“What?
How?”

“We
were wed by proxy. My uncle made the arrangements.”

Ah Jesus
.
Calum understood the way of highborn marriages, arranged for the trade of lands
and riches. “Ye ken he’s old enough to be yer father?”

“He’s
three times my age plus one year to be exact. His children are older than I.”

A
hundred questions flooded his mind. “Why?” he clipped with shocked disbelief.

Anne
nodded as if fully understanding his monosyllabic inquiry. “I’m told the baron
fancied me from across Westminster Abbey during the queen’s coronation.”

“No.”
She doesn’t even know the bastard. That’s
why she wears no ring
.

“Yes.
My uncle said he kissed my hand, yet so many lords greeted me on that trip to
London, I’m at a loss to place him.”

The
despair in her lovely eyes twisted around his heart. “Mayhap ye will remember
if we playact it.” With a halfcocked grin, Calum reached for her hand. His
mouth went dry when her silken skin met the rough pads of his fingertips.
Though a grown woman, her fingers were fine and delicate.

When
she didn’t pull away, he moistened his lips and bowed. Hovering above her hand,
the soft scent of honeysuckle mixed with her—the unmistakable scent of woman
now more captivating than it had been on the deck—ignited his insides as if she
stood naked before him. Closing his eyes, he touched his lips to the back of
her hand and kissed. Anne’s sharp inhale made his skin shiver with gooseflesh. She
did not try to pull away but remained so still, her pulse beat a fierce rhythm
beneath.

Calum
held his lips there longer than necessary. He wanted this moment to linger. He
wanted a memory he could cherish long after she was gone. As he straightened, his
eyes locked with hers. Her lips parted slightly, almost as if asking him to
kiss her mouth, but he knew she wouldn’t want that.

He
stood for a moment, not saying a word. She did too.

“Any
recollection?” His voice rasped.

“No.”
Her voice low, she then blinked as if snapping back to the present. “You
mustn’t ever do that again.”

“Forgive
me, milady.” Grinning, he opened her door and bowed, though he did not regret
her lack of recall.

Anne
stepped into her stateroom. Calum could not pull his gaze away until the door
closed and blocked the bewilderment reflected in her sapphire eyes. Calum
stared at the hardwood door—the same one he’d kicked in five nights ago. What
the hell was he doing?

He
ground his teeth and headed back to the quarterdeck. He needed the lady out of
his life. She was not his to care for. Worst of all, she had wed the enemy.

***

Standing
behind the closed door of her stateroom, Anne held up the hand that he’d kissed
and brushed it against her cheek. Such a simple gesture—how did he make it so
impassioned?
She could still feel his
lips searing into her flesh. She pressed the hand to her mouth and kissed
it—kissed the very spot where his lips had been.

Anne
held out her open hand and watched it tremble. How could
he
inflame her insides and captivate her thoughts? He was a pirate,
an outlaw. She closed her fist over her heart. After their argument, she’d
avoided him for days, tried to forget him. She nearly had except during the
night.

The
dreams tortured her. She’d barely slept in the five nights of this voyage.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—the powerful shoulders, the
chiseled features, the penetrating eyes that could turn her insides molten.

Oh
how sinful her thoughts had been when she lay in her bed at night. Calum’s
infectious smile, his playful banter, and mostly, her dreams fixated on the
virile man presiding over the helm of the ship—a figure of command and power. Anne
clutched her fists against her stomacher. She should not allow herself to
entertain scandalous thoughts of Calum. The Church taught that a person could
sin with thoughts alone. She fanned herself. Oh no, she mustn’t allow him to
touch her again.

What
a precarious situation this had become. Without Hanna to console her, Anne
wanted so desperately to be loved. Lord Wharton’s impersonal marriage left her
feeling like chattel. The baron had never held a chair for her, never enquired
as to how well she’d slept or held her hand and watched the sun set on the
horizon.
Perhaps he will one day—and be
gentle like Calum?

Anne
groaned, certain her mind had strayed due to her fear of meeting Lord Wharton—
grandfather Wharton
. Calum had said he
would ransom her.
Ransom?
Seek
payment for her, no less. Was that an act of an honorable man?
Undeniably not
.

Anne
hoped Calum would send word to the baron soon, for she could not bear to remain
among these outlaws much longer. Their unsophisticated ways brought out a
restlessness she did not know existed within her.

Always
the solid daughter in her family, Anne’s priorities were firmly grounded. She
must not allow these impulses to overrun her sensibilities. She was a married
woman. The reservations she had about her husband must be buried. She had a
responsibility to her family to protect her virtue and serve the lord who’d
asked for her hand in marriage and expected her to honor him.

Anne
rubbed the back of her hand against her palm and wiped away the searing kiss.
She would block it from her mind. Calum’s heart could not have possibly
inflamed as hers had. He was so adept at courting, he must be well
practiced—most likely trifled with
thousands
of unsuspecting women.

She
sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Calum was going to ransom her—he’d get
his money and he would move on to the next unsuspecting passenger when he
plundered her ship. Anne’s stomach churned when she considered there could be
another woman like herself in his future.
Would
she be married by proxy too?

Anne
shook her head. Once the ransom had been paid, she had little doubt Lord
Wharton would seek revenge. After all, the baron had been the Sheriff of
Cumberland and now maintained order for the Earl of Northumberland.
Thomas. The name is so unfamiliar to me
.