Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  Or would she hold Charlotte accountable for the crimes she’d committed today?

  How could Liam do anything but stand with Charlotte, knowing what that bastard MacDonald had done to her?

  He tightened his hold on Charlotte’s shoulders.

  Finally, Elizabeth hummed. “I have been held prisoner for eight long years, and I have not seen my husband. We are to be reunited after we land at Oban. I am hopeful today’s delay can be made up, once you and your pirates have left us in peace.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth to respond, but Liam squeezed her in warning, and she remained silent.

  The Queen inclined her head just slightly, as if in approval.

  “Once I am reunited with Robert, I presume there will be quite a few topics we’ll want to discuss, though the possible punishment of a traitor shall be low on that list, I’m sure. However,” she said, cutting off Charlotte’s objection, “I will get around to sharing this evidence with him.”

  Under his arm, Charlotte seemed to shrink as she exhaled in relief.

  “Ye will take the letters, Yer Majesty?”

  Liam understood the question. Although he hadn’t seen them, those letters represented Charlotte’s entire evidence against the man who’d attacked her. By giving them to the Queen, by trusting her to follow through on the prosecution, Charlotte was giving up her only weapon.

  But then Liam remembered how well she’d fought—how she’d held him at sword-point and threatened his life—and his lips twitched.

  Mayhap not her only weapon.

  Elizabeth was already folding the parchment back into the oilskin packet, and once she was through, she lifted her chin and swept her gaze around the gathered men—guards and pirates both. “I will take this evidence, and I will make it known to my husband, the King. The decision lies with him, but I am vowing to all of you gathered here today, MacDonald’s true nature will be made known.”

  Charlotte breathed another sigh of relief and dipped her head in acknowledgment.

  “Da will no’ force me to marry a traitor,” she murmured, and he wasn’t sure if the words had been meant to reassure him, or herself.

  He twisted her in his arms once more until they were facing one another, and lifted her chin with one finger. “Angel,” he said seriously, “ye will no’ marry John MacDonald. Ye’ll no’ marry any man but me. I swear it.”

  She met his eyes, and the cautious hope he saw in their dark depths made him ache over what she’d been through in the last year.

  “I love ye,” he whispered, wanting her to remember that.

  “Liam!” The Queen’s voice cut through the moment he shared with Charlotte, causing Liam to jerk upright. “Release her!”

  As much as he wanted to kiss Charlotte again, there was no need…not after his vow. So he nodded once and stepped back, his hands still on his love’s shoulders, as if he could offer her support from a distance.

  Elizabeth stood, the skirts of her ornate gown swirling around her. “Charlotte MacLeod, I have given you my word your King will learn of John MacDonald’s treachery. I have not stated what will become of you. You have attacked my vessel, threatened the lives and limbs of my guards and men, and forced me into a most difficult position.” Her eyes narrowed. “Your actions today…” She swept her gaze over the gathered men, lingering on Tav and Tosh. “Your actions were dangerous at best, treasonous at worst. You could pay with your lives, and if my husband demands it, I—a mere woman—can not gainsay him.”

  The silence which met her words was so deep, Liam could hear Charlotte’s shallow breaths.

  Elizabeth’s poise and cold glare were the very definition of regal. “You will leave now. You will leave immediately— Nay, do not even bid my bodyguard your goodbyes,” she hurried to amend her command as Liam attempted to draw Charlotte closer. “You will leave now, and if you are very lucky, you’ll not hear from myself or my husband again.”

  Beside him, Charlotte swallowed, met his eyes, then flicked her gaze away again. She placed her palm over her heart, lowered herself in a bow—she would’ve looked ridiculous attempting to curtsey without skirts—and stepped toward the rail.

  Tav, who was frowning—although just in general, not at Liam in particular—nodded to Tosh and grabbed his son Dane by the back of the lad’s black shirt.

  “Get the men on board,” Tavish commanded. “We’re leaving now. Yer Majesty.” He nodded in deference. “Liam.”

  And before Liam could nod in return, before he could draw Charlotte back into his arms and tell her he loved her again, the Black Banner’s men were back on their own birlinn and rowing away.

  Charlotte stood at the bow, facing him, as the boat retreated in the distance.

  Never once did she lift her hand in farewell.

  Chapter 7

  A fortnight later

  Charlotte folded her hands in her lap and did her best to emulate her mother. Despite her age, Lady MacLeod still sat straight and elegant, the picture of propriety and grace.

  It was enough to make a wild lass such as Charlotte roll her eyes.

  Tonight, Mother sat quietly with her head bowed, listening to Da rant about ungrateful children and unruly women who will wind up in hell. No one at the supper table—or in the great hall—could mistake who he meant, but few disagreed. Charlotte’s brother’s wives were just as biddable and sweet as Mother, and Tav wasn’t in attendance.

  After their adventure in the Western Isles, Tavish had returned her to Lewes. Not because she wanted to be subjected to her father’s whims or—even worse!—forced to return to the MacDonalds. Nay, Charlotte had gone home because she knew, if Liam had been telling the truth about his feelings for her and his attempts to contact her, Lewes would be the only place he’d know to look.

  As her father gestured emphatically with a leg of mutton, Charlotte tucked her chin near her chest—hoping it would make her seem subdued—and frowned in thought.

  A fortnight ago, she’d been in Liam’s arms once more, if only for a moment. She’d tasted him, held him, breathed in his scent. It was what she’d longed to do, what she’d given up hope of ever experiencing again.

  She’d mourned her lost love for a time. But then she’d pulled herself up and reminded herself the world hadn’t ended when she’d thought Liam had abandoned her. She’d reminded herself she was strong and capable, and would never be yoked to a cruel man like John MacDonald.

  Aye, she’d done all that, and more, when Liam had abandoned her.

  But now, it turned out he hadn’t.

  And she was still getting used to that.

  Despite what she’d told herself for the last few weeks, seeing him—kissing him!—proved she’d never stopped loving him. She loved Liam Bruce, and for the first time in months, she harbored hope they’d be able to have a future together.

  The Queen had taken on the responsibility, the onus, of seeing John MacDonald’s treachery exposed. Charlotte had worked toward that acknowledgment for so long, that it felt odd not to have to worry about it anymore. Instead, she worried about Elizabeth’s cold expression when she’d dismissed them.

  Nay, Charlotte didn’t have to worry about John’s treason anymore…but she did have to worry about the Queen and King’s vengeance.

  Each evening, as she said her prayers, Charlotte alternated between praying she hadn’t made things worse by bringing her concerns before the Queen in such a violent manner, and praying she’d have the chance to see Elizabeth again.

  Because Liam was with the Queen.

  “Ye’re no’ even listening!”

  Her father’s bellow jerked her attention away from the nearly full trencher in front of her. Charlotte’s spine snapped straight, and she smiled sweetly at the older man.

  “I’m sorry, Da. I was contemplating my sins.”

  Her father frowned, unsure if his youngest daughter was mocking him. “And what did you decide?”

  “That I’ll likely have quite a few penances when I go to confession.”

/>   “Aye,” Da growled, “for refusing to honor yer father.”

  “And mother,” Charlotte helpfully pointed out. When he frowned again, she widened her eyes in innocence. “Father Thomas says the passage speaks of honoring my father and mother, which of course I would, if Mother ever gave me any commands.”

  Somewhere down the table, one of her brothers snorted doubtfully, but Charlotte just smiled wider. Beside her, Mother murmured something she didn’t catch. Probably something encouraging and dutiful toward her husband, and not at all helpful to her daughter.

  Da’s fist banged against the table. “By refusing to honor the marriage contract yer father’s arranged for ye, ye’re showing the world ye defy no’ just yer father, but yer clan and tradition! Ye’re dragging yer entire family down, ye harlot! Ye want us all to rot in hell with ye—”

  “And what were ye doing, when ye destroyed the messages Liam Bruce sent to me? He’s a good man, and marriage to him would’ve been an even stronger alliance! So why did ye let me believe he wanted nothing to do with me?”

  It was the first time she’d asked the question—shouted it, more like—and when Da’s hands curled into fists, she knew he was angry. But it was something she’d been wondering about since that afternoon on the deck of the Queen’s birlinn, and she needed to know if Liam had been telling the truth.

  “I did it, daughter, because the MacDonalds offer a better alliance, and it’s up to ye to show ye honor yer clan—and yer father!—by following along with my commands!”

  Charlotte slowly exhaled. She hadn’t been exactly sure what she’d expected, but hearing her father admit so baldly he’d betrayed her, had come between her and the happiness which might’ve been hers, just because he thought he knew better, well, Charlotte couldn’t do much but sigh.

  A fortnight ago, Queen Elizabeth had commanded her to leave her ship, without even the chance to say goodbye to Liam. Charlotte had been the one to follow that command, knowing if she’d left the choice in Liam’s hands, he might’ve hesitated. He might’ve hesitated, or resented being forced to choose between her and his loyalty to the Crown again.

  So she’d made the choice for him. And now she knew he’d been telling the truth, and her father had made a choice for her, she knew how it felt.

  Da was still ranting about honor and duty, and Charlotte had had enough.

  He was getting worked up again, and the silence which reigned in the hall around him, told her his audience would be no help. Charlotte sighed and placed her palms flat on the table on either side of her trencher.

  “Da, I’m honoring my clan, by refusing to ally us with a traitor and a villain.”

  It wasn’t the first time her father had heard her arguments, and he rolled his eyes with great exaggeration. “John MacDonald is a good lad—”

  “A traitor by his own admission, and a rapist by my troth!”

  As always, when Charlotte dared to use that word, Da’s ruddy cheeks darkened. Not in anger, but a sort of blustery embarrassment. “Ye— I donae— Lads will be lads—”

  “The church also tells husbands to honor their wives and treat them well.”

  Da frowned again. “When in damnation did ye become to be so devout?” he muttered uncomfortably.

  For the first time, Mother spoke up. “Are ye considering holy vows then?” she asked hopefully, resting her hand on Charlotte’s arm. “My aunt would welcome ye at the abbey, I’m sure, and a quiet life of contemplation and service would do ye well.”

  Charlotte met her mother’s dark, naïve eyes, and did her best not to smile.

  Did Mother honestly think she was suited for quiet contemplation? No sword practice, no sailing, no intrigue?

  “Perhaps, Mother,” she finally managed to say, as she patted the other woman’s hand. “I’ll consider it.”

  Da was still frowning. “Ye’d take vows just to avoid marriage, lass?”

  Charlotte looked down the table where her brothers were involved in their own conversations, either with one another, or their wives. None of them had bad marriages, and although she didn’t personally want the same life her mother had built with her father, Charlotte could admit it wasn’t terrible.

  There were plenty of women out there who’d welcome marriage to a laird’s son, even a younger one like John.

  But she’d wager if those women had ever met John MacDonald, they’d be less willing. And now with that scar she’d given him, mayhap he’d think twice about forcing an unwilling lass.

  The Queen will make sure he’s punished.

  Elizabeth had promised. She had the evidence, and even if it took some time, Charlotte had to trust the other woman to use her power to do the right thing.

  And hope it wouldn’t mean doom for Charlotte and the Black Banner.

  So she lifted her chin and met her father’s eyes. “It will no’ come to that, Da. But I will no’ marry John MacDonald.”

  Mayhap he would’ve said more. Mayhap he would’ve ranted and raved and confined her to the dungeon without supper again—which had been a popular punishment when she’d done something particularly reckless as a child.

  But they never had the chance to discover his response, because at that moment, a messenger rushed through the door to the keep, his cloak wet from the rain, and appearing as if he hadn’t slept in some time.

  And he wore the royal livery.

  Da wasn’t the only one in the hall who shot to his feet as the messenger hurried toward the dais. Charlotte felt her heart pounding in her chest, and laced her fingers together atop her heavy skirts to keep them from shaking.

  Oh Lord.

  She realized she was praying again, but wasn’t sure what she was praying for.

  For the message to have nothing to do with her? Or have everything to do with her?

  The man pulled a scroll from a pouch and handed it to Da without a word. No announcement, no acknowledgment, no proclamation. Just a simple scroll.

  With the King’s seal dangling from it.

  Da’s expression was grim as he took the parchment, and he didn’t bother sitting to unroll it. Everyone at the table seemed to be holding their breath, and Mother’s hand dropped to Charlotte’s laced fingers.

  To offer support? Or to take it?

  Not all Highland lairds could read, and Da wasn’t as accomplished as some of his children. Charlotte watched his lips move as he read, and she tried to guess what the letter said.

  “A summons,” he finally said softly.

  Beside Charlotte, Mother slowly stood, her hands shaking as she gripped the edge of the table. “For ye, husband? Again? What do ye think it means? Is the Bruce calling up his forces once more?”

  “Nay,” Da said in a hoarse voice, turning his attention to Charlotte. “No’ for me. For her.”

  Around the table—around the hall—whispers broke out. Charlotte rose to her feet, not sure if she was relieved to finally have her question answered.

  Queen Elizabeth had said Charlotte would be lucky to never again hear from her.

  I guess I’m no’ lucky.

  But she couldn’t be disappointed, because, aye, Elizabeth was at court…but so was Liam.

  Beside her, Mother collapsed onto the bench, her fingers in front of her lips as if to keep from crying. She—and a few of Charlotte’s sisters-in-law—were staring at her with pity.

  Da’s hand shook just slightly, the scroll’s royal seal swaying, as he sank into his carved chair. His eyes were wide as well, but Charlotte couldn’t tell if it was from shock, or disappointment.

  And perversely, Charlotte felt herself grinning. She might be going to her doom, but at least Liam would be there. At least she would have answers to the question of what exactly had gone on months ago.

  Aye, she was on her way to her future, one way or another.

  Da swallowed, his voice hoarse when he waved the scroll toward her and asked, “What in the hell did ye do this time, Charlotte?”

  Chapter 8

  “And do ye bel
ieve the lass?”

  The Bruce, King Robert I, had no trace of skepticism in his voice when he asked the question. He was leaning on spread fingers, peering down at the letters from John MacDonald to the Earl of Surrey, and the question hadn’t indicated he doubted their veracity.

  Liam would’ve answered, except he knew the King hadn’t been talking to him.

  From her seat by the cold hearth, Queen Elizabeth hummed. She was stitching something, a perfectly acceptable queenly pastime, but Liam knew she’d only begun to care about it while in captivity, with nothing else to occupy her time besides prayer. From where he stood, he admired the way she kept her shoulders straight and proud, as she frowned down at the green thread.

  Finally, her chin dropped just slightly. “I do. I believe her. She is a bold lass, as you say, for certes. But she is passionate, and believed the MacDonald lad to be a traitor. I tend to agree, based on the evidence.”

  Robert grunted an affirmative and pushed himself upright once more. He wasn’t a particularly impressive-looking man, being of average build and coloring, but it was the belief in those dark eyes, which had united a nation. He might not have been the leader Scotland expected when he took power all those years ago, but he’d built a nation by sheer force of belief.

  And many, many sacrifices.

  Liam met his cousin’s dark eyes and inclined his own head, pleased to be in his confidences once more.

  “And ye, Liam?” Robert asked softly. “Ye believe her?”

  “Without a doubt,” Liam responded quickly. “Char isnae one to overact.”

  The King’s brows rose. “Really? Then what was this I hear about her threatening yer verra life, due to a misunderstanding?”

  Liam winced. When it was said like that, Charlotte sounded a wee bit unstable.

  “It was understandable, Yer Majesty. As far as she kenned, I’d declared my love for her, taken what I wanted, and left her to face the consequences. I would’ve threatened to stab me too.”

  Robert’s lips twitched as he crossed toward his wife. “I believe I might have as well.”