Captured by the Pirate Laird (16 page)

With
her satchel packed, Anne wished she could make this journey without Calum
MacLeod. Her breeding would never allow her to clench her fists and stomp
across the floor, but that’s exactly what she wanted to do. How could he just
walk into her chamber and completely ignore the intense passion they had shared
the night before?

The
stone walls closed in on her. Anne whirled in a circle. She would never hold
Calum like a lover again. Mercy, the next time she’d touch a man, it would be Lord
Wharton. She needed some fresh air, but it was still morning. Calum would be in
the courtyard sparing with his men. Perhaps if she snuck through the kitchen,
she could make it to the garden without catching his eye.

She
pattered down the steps, pushed out the door, and headed toward the garden at
the side of the tower. She caught a glimpse of Calum, clashing swords with
three at once, his shirt off. She held a hand to her eye to block the sight of his
rippling muscles. How dare he display himself in the courtyard half-naked? The
sight of him would put impure thoughts in any maiden’s mind. There should be a
law against it.

Anne
dashed to the solitude of the gardens and the privacy the hedge provided. With
a heavy sigh, she lowered her hand and slowed her pace. She needed to regain
control of her anger. She detested it when she teetered on the brink of losing
control. A few deep breaths of the crisp island air and she’d come around. Her
fists loosened and the blood flowed back to her fingertips. Anne walked along
the hedge and fought to reason with her feelings. Calum had been a pleasant
diversion during her
captivity
. He
could never be more than that and they both were painfully aware of it. She had
no choice but to face her responsibilities.

Rounding
the corner, Anne nearly tripped over Friar Pat. “Oh my, pardon me, Father.”

He
stood and brushed his hands on his robes. “Ah, Lady Anne, ’tis good to see ye
out this morning. Do ye take an interest in gardening?”

“Yes,
well I admire a well-kept garden.”

He
gestured toward a recently sewn plot. “This is a bit o’ land the Laird gave me
to grow healing herbs for the clan.”

“’Tis
good you cultivate your own herbs. Do you get much chance to gather in the
forest?”

“Aye,
I collect willow bark, that sort of thing.”

“I
see.” Anne hung her head and continued on her path.

The
friar hurried beside her. “It looks as if something is ailing ye, milady.”

She
hesitated.

He
gestured to a nearby bench. “Would ye care to talk to an old friar about it?” Anne
cast a glance at him. His careworn eyes twinkled in the sunlight. “It never did
a soul a bit o’ good to hold its worries inside.”

She
nodded and sat on the bench. He took her hand between his warm palms. “Now tell
me, what ails ye?”

“Calum’s
ransom note has been delivered to Lord Wharton, and John has delivered the
baron’s reply.”

“Ah,
so ye’ll be leaving us?”

“On
the morrow.” She took in a deep breath. “There are a great many things weighing
on my heart.”

He
ran a hand across his mouth as if trying to collect his thoughts. “Ye’ve formed
a fondness for the laird.”

Anne’s
cheeks burned. “’Tis humiliating to admit I have, and since I’ve never met my
husband, I harbor no such feelings for him as of yet.” She pressed her free
hand to her face. “I am so ashamed. I feel like I’ve betrayed Lord Wharton, yet
I have always been uneasy about meeting him.”

“And
why is that, lass?”

“He
is eight and fifty.”

The
friar grimaced. “I can see where that would bring ye some concern.”

“Aside
from his age, I’m aware of his conquests in Scotland. And news of his atrocious
actions as High Sheriff of Cumberland reached as far as Titchfield House.” She
squeezed her fingers around the friar’s hand. “What if he’s a tyrant?”

He
patted her hand. “What do ye feel in yer heart? Would Lord Wharton have gone to
the trouble to arrange this marriage if all he wanted to do was mistreat ye?”

Anne
bit her lip. “What if he did?”

“Then
I’ll be the first to lead an army to send the baron to his grave.” He shook his
head. “I do not believe a wife should endure living under a tyrant’s roof, but
ye should no’ be thinking of that now. Ye are going to meet yer husband at long
last. A marriage in the eyes of God is a very holy thing. Ye should be a happy
bride.”

Anne
looked up and watched a wisp of cloud sail through the fathomless blue sky.
“Thank you, Father. Your words bring my mind peace.”

As
they stood, the friar rested his hand on Anne’s shoulder. Just like the cloud
above, she had no control over her destiny. Her time on Raasay had been a distraction
which had postponed the inevitable.

“I
hope ye will always remember us fondly.”

Anne
tried to put on a brave smile. “I will.”

She
headed back toward the keep when the friar called after her. “Calum is a good
laird and a good man. He will keep ye safe until ye are in yer husband’s arms.”

***

Calum
watched Anne from across the hall, laughing and bright. She had declined to
dine with him on this, her last night at Brochel Castle. She sat beside Mara
and John carrying on as if they had been the best of friends since birth. She
had not so much as glanced his way since he’d visited her chamber and gave her
the news. Had last night meant nothing to her? It had been the most erotic
experience in his life. If only he could share this last eve with her in his
arms. But it was done—Anne would probably prefer to skewer him with her
father’s knife than cradle him against her breast.

Calum’s
edgy frustration was further incensed by Norman who would not cease yammering
into his ear. “The men will start work adding the poop deck tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Are
ye sure ye want the work to continue once ye set off to Carlisle?”

“Why
should it not? The longer it takes, the more likely an English ship will spy
her.”

“But
won’t Robert have charge of the keep?”

Anne’s
laughter twisted Calum’s gut. “He’ll manage for a few days.”

“I
don’t know. He should have his eyes on the women and children,” Norman pressed.

Calum
snapped his head around and raised his voice. “The carpenters will tend the
ship while Robert tends the keep. Where’s yer brain, brother?”

Norman
held up his hands. “I’m no’ the one who’s fallen for the wife of Scotland’s
greatest adversary. Ye need to pull yer head out of
yer
stubborn arse.”

Calum
sprang to his feet, toppling his chair. He pounded his fist on the table. “Are
ye challenging me? ’Cause if ye are, I’d like nothing better than a good sparring
match this night.”

Norman
thrust his nose an inch from Calum’s. “I dunna want me face broken by a raging
bull. But ye need to set yer priorities and get yer mind off that English wench.”
Sneering, he leaned in. “Ye cannot have the lass, and the sooner we’re rid of
her, the sooner ye’ll be back to yer old self.”

Calum
eyed his brother. He snapped his jaw shut. The noise of the crowd had lowered
to a hum and he didn’t need to look to know everyone watched. He pushed past
Norman’s shoulder and shoved through the big doors of the great hall.

The
cool air provided a welcome chill to the sweat on his brow. Norman was right.
How could he have allowed an English woman to slip under his defense? Her
tentacles had wrapped around his heart, and it was his own fault for permitting
it. What an idiot he’d been, treating her as a guest and letting her sleep in
his chamber because of her blasted highborn status. He was a
laird
, by all the saints. He should
never have allowed her to sleep in his bed.
Fool
.

Calum
ran down to the beach. He kicked stones over the remnants of last night’s
bonfire. Images of Anne’s hypnotic eyes, gazing at him across the maypole
attacked. He could still see her breasts as they strained against her bodice
with every breath. He roared aloud. Falling to his knees, he pressed the heels
of his hands against his eyes, but visions of Anne were burned into his soul.
God, did she know what she did to a man simply by looking at him?

She
was so innocent, yet so desirable, so consuming. Had the queen of the fairies
sent Anne to Raasay to torture him? Did he need to send up an offering and pay
to remove this vise from his heart?

Calum
threw back his head and wailed, “Yes, brother, I admit it. Ye are right. She
tortures me every waking moment and she
cannot
be mine!”

***

The
next morning, Anne stood beside Swan’s mews and slid her hands into her
falconry gloves. At least the eagle would have a permanent home. Friar Pat had agreed
to look after Swan until Bran returned to resume the eagle’s training. She
reached in with a morsel, and the bird plucked it from her fingers. He jumped
onto her outstretched hand, and she stroked the long, brown-gold feathers. They
had all come in now, and he was a remarkably powerful specimen in full plumage.
“I shall miss you more than anything.” Though that wasn’t completely true, she
would miss Swan terribly nonetheless. “I will always sing to you, and mayhap
one day you’ll fly far away and will hear my song on the wind. We’re two of a
kind, we are—free spirits who will always be held captive.” Her voice warbled
and she bit down to stop her trembling chin.

Mara
walked up the path, carrying Anne’s satchel. “Are ye ready, milady?”

Anne
returned Swan to his perch, ran her hand over his feathers one more time and
closed the door. Hanging her gloves on a peg, she turned to Mara and nodded,
wiping a tear from her eye.

For
the last time, Anne walked the winding trail to the beach. At one time it had
seemed such a long path, but now it only took moments to reach the bottom. Two
skiffs sat cradled on the rocks as the men loaded them with provisions. When they
approached, Calum straightened. “Where are yer trews?” he demanded, his tone
far from his usual polite tenor.

“She’s
wearing them, m’laird.” Mara lifted the hem of Anne’s skirt all the way to the
knee so Calum could see the boots and the hem of the trousers. Anne batted her
skirts down.

His
hands flew to his hips. “The whole purpose was to travel in disguise.”

“I’ll
not be breaking sumptuary laws.” She wouldn’t back down on this. In a few hours,
Calum MacLeod had torn down and taken away everything she’d grown to love. He’d
shown her she was no more important than the ransom he aimed to collect. She
had become a pawn for him, just as she had been for her uncle.

“Aye,
but if anyone recognizes you, we’ll all be dead.” Calum snatched Anne’s satchel
from Mara’s grasp.

The
back of Anne’s neck burned. “Dead, you say? That is an outrageous assumption.
Who would possibly recognize
me
in
the Highlands?”

“I
provided the clothing I expected ye to wear on this journey. I am chieftain of
this clan, and while ye are under my protection, me word is final.” He sliced
his hand through the air. “I would have ye no’ forget it.”

The
burn from her neck spread up her cheeks. Anne clenched her fists. Her nostrils
flared with each puff of air she drew in. The heartless pirate stood before
her, setting off to collect his ransom. At last he had shown his true form.

Mara
touched Anne’s elbow and peered at her with a smile that looked more like a
grimace. “We gave it a try.” She threw her arms around Anne and hugged. “I’m
going to miss ye, milady.”

Anne
closed her eyes and returned the squeeze, her throat closing. “Ah, Mara, you
have become like a sister to me.” She held her at arm’s length and looked upon
her warm brown eyes. “Remember to keep track of the stores.”

“Aye,
milady.”

“And
don’t let anyone slack off in their cleaning.”

“No,
milady.”

“Of
course you won’t.” Anne hugged her again. “I’ll miss you enormously.”

“And
I will you.”

Friar
Pat reached out and placed his hands on Anne’s shoulders. “Go with God, milady.
He always provides an answer to prayer.”

“Yes,
he does.”

Norman
stood next to the friar, a smug grin fixed across his pinched face. She gave
him a clipped nod. Calum offered his hand to help her into the boat. Anne reached
for it, but pulled her hand away. Her gaze trailed across to the second skiff where
Bran coiled a rope. “Master Bran, would you please help me aboard?”

“Aye,
milady. But I thought ye’d be riding in the boat with Calum.”

“I
believe I trust the strong arms of your crew this morning.” She stole a glance
at Calum out of the corner of her eye. He frowned like the rough brigand who’d
kicked in her stateroom door. She wished he would have looked at her like that
during her entire stay on Raasay. If he had, her insides wouldn’t be tearing
her apart right now.