Captured by the Pirate Laird (19 page)

Calum
and his men had the horses saddled and the mule packed. The feisty English
woman had locked herself in the room right after they’d broken their fast.
She’d insisted on privacy and four ewers of hot water. Calum warned her they
had no time for a bath, but of course she wouldn’t listen.
Why does someone need four ewers of hot water to wash their face and
hands? At this rate, we willna reach Carlisle until Christmas.

He
didn’t care if she was bare arsed naked. Heading toward the inn to fetch her,
he didn’t make it far. Anne walked out the door wearing her trews. The only
problem, she looked nothing like a man. Calum rubbed his hands across his eyes
and gaped again.

“What?”
she asked.

Anne’s
trews fit snugly, and she’d belted the linen shirt around the waist so it clung
to her bosoms. He could tell she’d wrapped them, but she had far too much on
top to be wearing a shirt snug against her body. Anne managed to stuff all of
her hair under the bonnet, but she had the cap cocked halfway atop her head
like one of her fancy coronets.

Her
eyes had that spark behind them—told him he’d better tread lightly. “Ye
look—ah—too pretty. I think we need to roughen ye up a bit.”

Bran
trotted round the corner on his horse. “Milady? Dunna tell me you’re going to
wear that? Ye’ll have every single man within a hundred miles on their knees
beggin’ for a kiss.”

The
lad was obviously coming of age. “Get back in the stable and check the mule,”
Calum barked.

“But
I’ve already checked him ten times.”

“Do
it again.” Calum returned his gaze to Anne.

“And
just how do you think you’ll turn this.” She gestured to her chest. “Into
something that looks like a man? I’ve been at it all morning.”

Calum
tried not to stare and pushed her back into the inn. He started to reach for
her belt, but pulled his hands away. “May I?”

“If
you must.”

“First
thing, yer shirt needs to hang loose.” Calum pulled off her belt. “Looks better
already.” He removed his plaid. “Ye can wear me colors.” He draped it across
her shoulder, ensuring it covered her breasts.

She
examined his work. “I say, that is an improvement.”

“Next
we need to set yer bonnet to rights—I’m sorry, but you’re wearing it like a
lassie.”

“My
tresses are too thick. I even braided them and pinned them to my head.”

“Ye
did a grand job. Ye haven’t a single strand of hair showing.” He reached up and
tilted the hat to the side. A braid tumbled from beneath.

“You
see?”

Calum
stepped back and frowned. “What if ye wear a single braid down yer back and
tuck it into yer shirt?”

“Do
you think that will work?”

“’Tis
worth a try.”

It
was a mistake when Calum placed his hand on her shoulder to help her re-braid
her silken hair and stuff it down the back of her shirt. Attacked by the heady
scent of delicious woman and rose soap, his eyes trailed to her collar. He caught
a glimpse of the pearly smooth skin of her nape. If only he could slip his hand
down and touch her. And then push his hand under the waistband of those trews
and fill his palm with sleek, creamy buttock.

“Does
it look all right?” she asked over her shoulder.

“’Tis
better.” He hoped she didn’t notice the crack in his voice. She turned to face
him, and he bit back his yearning. He positioned the bonnet tipped over her
right ear as a man would wear it and stepped back, allowing his senses a brief
reprieve from her feminine scent. She was still far too beautiful. He ran his
hands across the floor and smudged her cheeks with dirt.

Anne
sneezed. “Queen’s knees, next you’ll be having me roll in a swine’s bog.”

“Is
there one nearby?” Calum laughed, but it might dampen the scent of woman who
drove him to the brink of madness.

He
knew he’d overstepped decorum when she cuffed him on the shoulder. He didn’t
mind. She wore her trews as he requested, and since the mishap last night, the
wall of ice she’d thrown up between them had melted a bit. Though he could never
make her his, he wanted to part on good terms. Not only so she would represent
him well to Lord Wharton, but also because he valued her friendship and wanted
her to remember him with fondness. He would always cherish her memory.

With
a twinge of remorse, Calum grasped her elbow and led her toward the door. Anne
stopped and faced him. “I wanted to thank you for last night.”

“Baa,
’twas just a wee skirmish.”

“It
may have been to you, but things could have turned out very badly for me.” Shuttering
her eyes, she stepped in and kissed him on the cheek.

Again,
the achingly familiar scent of roses and woman attacked him. A rogue wave of
desire crashed through his mind. All the emotion from the past month came
flooding back. He grasped her shoulders. She lifted her chin, her eyes dark,
lustful. He cast his gaze to her mouth and brushed his lips across hers. When
her tongue flicked out and caressed him, he nearly came undone. If only he
could take her upstairs and claim her for himself. But if this was all he could
steal, he would savor every moment until forced to say goodbye.

He
opened his mouth and welcomed her tongue. She tasted of fresh mint. Anne’s arms
slipped around his neck and pulled him close.

“Calum,”
John called from the doorway.

His
heart sank as he pulled away. They’d already lost too much time. Calum bit his
lip and stared into Anne’s fathomless sapphire eyes. They reflected the same
torture branded into his heart. Unable to look away, he held her gaze, silently
telling the lady how much he loved her. He could not say it, but he would make the
memories from the past months last a lifetime.

***

Lord
Wharton set up his command at the King’s Head Inn at Carlisle. It took little
effort to raise an army, especially with the promise of quick payment. He
placed an extra guard on the battlements of the citadel with instructions to
watch for Scots, particularly those wearing red and black tartan. With any
luck, the bastards who had his wife would pay a visit before they delivered Lady
Anne and he’d have Denton track them to their camp.

He
rubbed the spot where the outlaw had cut his arm. The pain of it constantly
reminded him he’d nearly had the bastard in his clutches. But he’d slipped away
like a rat in a sewer, leaving no trace, not even a clue to lead Wharton to the
clan’s lair.

Since
the kidnapper was a pirate, the baron stationed sentries at the mouth of the
Firth of Solway and at Bowness-on-Solway, a half-day’s ride from Carlisle, it
held the greatest vantage point of the entire waterway.

Lord
Wharton ran his fingers over the small chest on the table in his room. It held
one thousand gold sovereigns—the price of Lady Anne’s ransom. He hated being in
this position. This was no longer about his wife. It had become an insult to
his reputation. Wharton could not bear the thought of failure in the eyes of
England.

Yes,
Lady Anne had piqued his interest at the coronation. Thoughts of her had
consumed him—to feel the taught flesh of a maiden beneath him after years of
marriage. She had looked so pure, so ripe, so fuckable the first time he glimpsed
her from across the hall of Westminster. For months he could think of little
else but his desire to bed Lady Anne Wriothesley, daughter of the Earl of
Southampton. Forcing his cock through her maidenhead would empower him, show
all he was a powerful lord to be feared. To hell with established noble
families and their “old” blood. The name of Wharton would be respected
throughout Christendom. Though Lady Anne was not the earl’s firstborn daughter,
her breeding was impeccable, and her status on his arm would bolster his
reputation—unless a scandal erupted.

Wharton
had tried to keep news of his wife’s disappearance confidential, but it had
been nearly impossible with the loss of the
Flying
Swan
. A plundered ship created gossip in London, especially with the new galleon
having been taken so close to the England’s shores. He must move quickly to
ensure his reputation suffered no ill consequences.

The
baron shook his head. His need to take Lady Anne to his marriage bed must wait
until he was sure she remained pure. He would not have his name sullied by a
whore nor would he have a bastard child foisted upon him.

A
rap at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Master Denton stepped inside.

“Any
word?” Wharton demanded.

Denton
hissed a breath of air through his bottom teeth. “No. I think they’re smart
enough not to come near Carlisle until they deliver the baroness.”

“What
of my money? Someone must intercept an unmanned skiff with a thousand pounds with
haste once she’s launched.”

“We’ll
have lookouts posted.” Denton ran his finger across the top of the treasure
box. “Have you changed your mind? We could still try to intercept them before
the lady is delivered.”

Wharton
nudged the box out from under Denton’s touch. “No. Proceed as planned, but we
will
recover the ransom after she’s
safe. You have my word.” He shook his finger under Denton’s nose. “I want you
on the bastard’s trail as soon as she’s spotted and I want a full out public
display of horror for him and his men, understand?”

Denton
grinned. It was not a smile anyone would care to meet in a dark alley.

***

As
Calum expected, once Anne dressed in the disguise, no more skirmishes like the
one at Fort William detained them. The remainder of their two-week journey
south continued smoothly, aside from the rain, mud, and the increasing misery
which lay siege to his heart.

Calum
timed it perfectly and on the sixteenth of May they arrived outside Gretna, a
small village on the north inlet of the Firth of Solway. He chose to avoid
contact with humanity and they found a clearing in which to camp. Calum would
not chance lighting a fire—not this close to Carlisle.

He
asked Anne to take inventory of the food stores and pulled his men into a tight
huddle. “At dusk on the morrow, Wharton will launch the skiff with a thousand
pounds.”

“Have
ye given any thought to how we’ll intercept it?” Bran asked.

“That’s
what I was just going to tell ye.” Calum nudged the lad with his elbow. “John
and Ian—rub Bran down with fat mixed with coal to turn his skin black and
protect him from the cold. Wait until the dark of night. With any luck, we’ll
have a cover of cloud.” Calum grasped Bran by the shoulders. “Swim to the skiff
with a four bladders filled with air and a butcher’s hook.”

Bran
grinned. “Then I’ll reach over the side of the boat and nab the coin.”

“Aye.
Hook the ransom to the bladders and swim with it back to the north shore. Ye’ll
need to shove the skiff on a path toward the southern shore. They’ll be
watching it. I want the skiff as far off course as ye can manage.” Calum looked
to the older men. “Once ye have the coin, ride west until ye reach the cove. Do
not stop for anything. Ride hard.”

“Are
ye planning to take Lady Anne to Carlisle alone?” John asked.

“I
recon they’ll no’ be expecting two men dressed in trews to be riding into the
citadel. I’ll take her as far as I can and then high tail it to the cove. If
I’m not there by dawn the next morning, set sail without me.”

“I
dunna like that. Wouldna ye rather have one of us up a tree to cover yer back
when ye cross the border?” John asked.

Calum
sliced his hand through the air. “The fewer of us there are, the less curiosity
we’ll attract.”
And the fewer of us will
die.

Calum
knew his cousin wouldn’t like it, but there was no use putting more good men in
danger. If there was a skirmish, Calum could slip out easier on his own. And if
he was caught, Wharton would most likely forget about chasing after the others.
His men could return home safely and Brochel Castle might be spared an English
attack.

John
pulled him aside. “If ye dunna return is Norman in charge?”

“Nay,
ye are, John. Just as I wrote into the charter. Ye’ll need to make the
decisions until I make it back to Raasay.”

Anne
came up beside Calum. “We’ve only enough food for two more days. You’ll need to
do some hunting before you head home.”

“’Tis
what I thought.” Calum hated misleading her, but it was best she remained
unaware of their plans. One slip of the tongue and Wharton could engage the
Sea Dragon
in battle before it reached
the protection of Brochel Cove.

Calum
inclined his head down the path. “Will ye walk with me?”

“Of
course, my lord.” Anne placed her hand in the crux of his elbow—a comfortable
gesture—one that had become all too accustomed. But his insides churned. If
only he could grovel at her feet and beg her to turn tail and ride back to
Raasay with him.

Once
out of earshot from his men, Calum stopped and steeled his resolve. “Tomorrow
night I will take ye to Carlisle.”