It couldn’t be more than an hour or two ’til dawn, but the night air was still crisp with unusual summer chill.
Finally, she laid a hand on his forearm and leaned close enough for her breasts to brush against his shoulder, severely distracting him.
“Make for the far side. The last row of cottages on the left. Pearl and Gregor live there.”
Her scent was so distracting—and his cock so attentive—he had trouble focusing on what she was saying. Instead, he offered a nod and slipped around the wall to head for the center of the village and beyond.
There were some people awake—a mother with a crying bairn, the baker already at work, and two men still laughing outside the tavern—but Rory was able to avoid them. However, when they reached the last row of cottages and Citrine stepped into the road, he grabbed her wrist.
In the moonlight, he could see her scowl, so he leaned close to her ear.
“Careful, firebrand. Ye donae ken who is faithful to yer Da.”
Her frown deepened. “Gregor is his Hound, his most loyal warrior.”
“Aye,” he breathed, “but what of the others in these homes?”
From the widening of her eyes, he knew she understood. She gave a sharp nod, then slipped from the shadows of one cottage to the next. It took a bit longer, but made Rory breathe easier, and soon enough, they stood outside Pearl’s door.
He waited for her nod before he sheathed his sword and scratched at the door.
It was a long wait before he heard movement on the other side of the door—the occupants were obviously still abed when he’d woken them. As the latch lifted, Rory knew he couldn’t risk Citrine’s brother-in-law standing in the doorway, loudly asking who woke him.
So, Rory lowered his shoulder, slammed into the door, and pushed the man—Gregor—back into the small home. He had just enough time to glimpse a quaint room with a bed behind a screen—a startled woman sitting up under the coverlet—and a cooking area, before they slammed into the table.
The man didn’t speak, but his fists were loud enough. One slammed into the side of Rory’s head, causing him to see flashes of lights, but he blocked the second blow before it crushed his nose. The larger man was reaching for Rory’s neck, likely to choke him to death, when Citrine finally slipped inside and shut the door.
“Hold, Gregor,” she hissed, then repeated the command louder.
The man, clearly surprised by her presence, held up his hands, in surrender and backed toward the bed. The woman, with long, blonde hair to match Citrine’s, scrambled out from the coverlet.
“Citrine?” Pearl cried, throwing herself toward her sister. “William told us ye’d been taken by pirates!”
The sisters embraced, not caring about the soot covering Citrine, and Rory’s lips lifted at the obvious relief and joy in their hug.
Until he glanced at Gregor and saw the man’s scowling eyes flick between Rory and the door.
Rory shrugged and lifted his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Couldn’t risk ye making any noise and alerting passersby before we ken who to trust.”
The man’s expression eased, and in the darkness, it was difficult to see his eyes. But he pointed to his throat.
Pearl pulled away long enough to giggle. “Gregor doesnae speak much, if he can help it. Who have ye brought us, Citrine?”
Citrine placed one last kiss on her sister’s forehead, leaving another dirty mark, then pulled away to move to stand beside Rory. She didn’t touch him, but he was impressed by her strength, nonetheless.
“This is the Black Banner.”
“The pirate?” Pearl gasped as her husband nodded to the MacLeod plaid he wore.
To his surprise, Citrine reached out and took Rory’s hand. “Aye, the pirate,” she said as she lifted her chin in a sign of stubbornness. “He’s a good man, and I trust him.”
“But William said—”
“William is dead,” Rory interrupted, then pulled Citrine closer and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I killed him myself, and I would do it again.”
Citrine leaned into his embrace, and he wondered how tired she was. “He was a traitor and a coward and deserved retribution.”
Her sister gaped, and it was hard to tell what Gregor was thinking, but Citrine sighed. “I’ll tell ye all, but might we have some food and drink?”
It was all which needed to be said; still in her nightclothes, Pearl sprang into movement, her braid swinging as she pushed her older sister into a chair at the table, commanded Gregor to fetch water, and began to slice up cold cheese and mutton.
The woman seemed to talk constantly, describing the meal they’d had the day before and how the leftovers would be just enough for them all to break their fasts—because clearly, she wasn’t sleeping again this evening, and thank goodness it wasn’t raining. Her silent husband lit candles, followed his wife’s bidding, and watched her with a fondness that made Rory jealous.
Finally, they were all seated at the table, and Rory ate while Citrine began her tale with her voyage from Reay and the boredom she experienced…right up until pirates were sighted. She told how the pirate captain targeted her specifically, and William let him pass without challenge, which caused Pearl to gasp.
Rory interrupted with a smile. “Aye, I couldnae resist her. She fought well—better than some of my men—but was wearing a gown which hampered her.” He noticed Gregor nodding proudly and assumed the man had trained with Citrine. “I eventually knocked aside her blade, tied her up, and took her and her bags with me as spoils.”
“And William?” Pearl whispered.
Rory’s gaze hardened. “The bastard let her go. Stood aside and smirked as I hefted her over my shoulder like a bag of goods.”
The younger woman’s fingertips were on her lips, eyes wide. “Oh, Citrine. After all the two of ye shared?”
Rory thought for a moment, she was speaking of what had passed between him and his firebrand, but he only had to glance at Citrine to see that wasn’t the case. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze locked on the wee dram of whisky in her shaking hand.
Citrine and William? He suspected she was no virgin just from her enthusiastic responses to his touches, but had she and that traitor once been lovers?
Under the table, his hand clenched into a fist, and he was surprised by how jealous the realization made him.
He’d never been jealous of a partner’s lovers before. But then, he’d never had a lover like Citrine before.
By St. Ninian, ye’re no’ quite lovers. Quit acting like she’s ye’re wife.
But she was his betrothed, wasn’t she?
And when she found out who he really was, would she still want him?
It was Gregor who pushed the story forward once more. “What happened?” he rasped.
Rory startled, assuming the man never spoke, but recovered quickly. “How could I resist the allure of such a tempting prize?”
Citrine rolled her eyes. “I was terrified, aye, but Banner is an honorable man.”
“Pirate,” spat Gregor in that odd rasp.
Citrine shrugged. “Aye, but honorable just the same. A great leader of men, and a good man.”
He felt as if he’d grown two inches. She thought that of him? It was heartening…and somehow shameful. An honorable leader of men shouldn’t be a pirate. He should find some other way to be in command, to have control of his life.
He thought of what he’d told Citrine earlier in her chambers. About how she’d make a fine laird, given the chance, and his heart sank. He never wanted the position of laird, not with older brothers, but…he knew he would’ve excelled at it.
Citrine was telling the rest of their adventure: discovering Rory had the missing pearl, figuring out the meaning behind the song, and ultimately their foray into the silent keep tonight. Gregor was nodding along, but Pearl seemed to be bouncing with excitement.
As soon as Citrine ended with, “And I kenned I could come here to see ye,” Pearl clapped her hands.
“Ye have t
he brooch? And the pearl? May I see them?”
Citrine was still carrying the box in the leather bag—that’s where they’d stowed the brooch—and now she carefully opened everything. As Pearl and Gregor leaned in to examine the brooch, Rory pulled the pearl from his pouch and tumbled it across his knuckles.
He’d had it for so many years, he’d forgotten how old he’d been when he found it. A lad, certainly. The youngest in a family with too many bairns who didn’t need him. He’d had it as he made his own way in the world, choosing piracy because at least it gave him the chance at control.
The smooth, white stone caught the candlelight as he rolled it across his palm, and he sighed.
He’d had it for years, but it wasn’t his. It had never been his. He was only protecting it until he could get it back to its real owners.
The Sinclair Jewels.
He leaned in as well, and carefully, deliberately, placed the pearl in its spot in the brooch. Pearl sucked in a delighted breath, her silvery eyes darting to him hopefully. Rory nodded.
“’Tis yers. I’m honored to have held it for so long.”
Gregor grunted—which Rory couldn’t translate—but Pearl nodded reverently, eyes wide. “Ye’re right,” she breathed, although it was hard to tell whom she spoke to. “He is honorable.”
Citrine sighed and scrubbed her clean hands over her sooty face, smearing the dirt more. “And now I have no idea where to look next for the citrine. We have three of the four stones and the brooch. Mayhap I should just present them all to Da and see if he kens aught about the citrine?”
Pearl reached across the table and covered her sister’s hand. “’Tis as good a plan as any. Ye can tell him of Dougal’s treachery and William’s accusations. Gregor will keep Da safe, I ken it, but Dougal needs to be handled.”
“Aye,” Citrine nodded. “Tomorrow. Today.” She glanced down at herself. “After I get cleaned up.”
Pearl giggled and made to stand, but Gregor stopped her with a raised hand. “No’ today,” he rasped. “He goes to the cliffs.”
From the way Citrine frowned, it was clear she wasn’t the only one confused by his words. Rory turned to Pearl, in case she understood.
She nodded and sank back into her chair. “I didnae ken how frequently Da visits the cliffs near Wick, but now that I ken Gregor’s schedule, I realize he goes once a month or so.”
“To the cliffs?” Citrine asked with a frown.
Gregor nodded as his wife spoke for him. “He only ever takes Gregor with him but doesnae allow him to descend the path to the beach. Right, my love?” Her husband nodded stoically, and she continued. “He said ’tis a small path, and Da leaves his horse up on the cliffs and doesnae even take his sword.”
Rory exchanged a glance with Citrine. “Where does he go?”
She shrugged, and Gregor matched the movement.
“He’s going later today?” she asked her brother-in-law.
Gregor nodded. “Afore noon.”
Citrine glanced at Rory, the question in her eyes. He nodded. “He cannae be left alone, now we ken what Dougal’s capable of.”
Gregor nodded, and Pearl placed her hand over his. “He willnae be.”
“Aye, he willnae be alone, because I’m following him,” Citrine stated firmly.
Rory’s smile was grim, but he nodded as well. “And I willnae let ye go alone.”
It was Pearl who broke the charged silence, jumping to her feet and clapping her hands together. “But first, ye need to get cleaned up.” She whirled away from the table and hurried to a trunk in the corner of the cottage. When she straightened, she was holding a simple, blue gown, and she winked at her sister. “I donae have an extra set of yer trews, but I do have all the gowns ye didnae want to take with ye.”
With a grateful laugh, Citrine rose and took the gown, along with the soap her sister offered her. “Thank ye. I’ve managed to go adventuring in gowns before, and I’ll do it again.”
“I’ll get the screen ready for some privacy while ye bathe,” Pearl offered.
Gregor rasped, “Or the loch,” which drew everyone’s attention.
From the way Pearl blushed, the loch had special meaning to the married couple. Citrine must’ve realized that, too, because she chewed on her lower lip while she considered her sister and Gregor.
Rory managed not to groan aloud at the reaction to that little habit, but his cock certainly made its preference known.
Then Citrine turned golden eyes his way, and he saw his own desire reflected back. “I think the loch sounds like a fine idea,” she murmured in a husky voice, and Rory knew his control was a thing of the past.
When he stood up, his kilt was clearly tented, but the sight only made her grin greedily. Gregor snorted, and Pearl giggled, but Rory didn’t care about either of them. He offered his elbow, as if escorting a fine lady at court.
“The loch awaits, Lady Firebrand.”
When she pressed herself against his side, he was sure sparks flew between them.
Tugging him toward the door, Citrine nodded over her shoulder to Gregor. “We’ll be back here before ye leave with Da.”
The man didn’t smile, but Rory thought he saw a glint of approval in his eyes. He held up a hand to pause their escape, then pulled a Sinclair plaid down from a hook on the wall. He handed it to Rory with a solemn nod, but it was his talkative wife who explained.
“On our forays to the loch, we’ve discovered ’tis often smart to have an extra plaid for warmth and drying.”
It was Citrine who leaned around him and winked at her sister, then looked up at Rory with promise in her eyes. “Donae worry, Banner. I’ll keep ye warm.”
As the door closed on Pearl’s giggles, Rory thought he might find release there in his kilt. He’d never known a woman as free and forward and certain as Citrine. She was perfect.
She was his betrothed, and he was lucky to be in love with her already.
But she’d called him Banner.
Chapter Thirteen
The eastern sky was already pink, but Citrine was in no rush. She knew she had hours yet before Da would leave on his mysterious errand, and she knew just how to spend those hours. Her belly was full, she had the opportunity to bathe, and as for the man walking beside her toward the loch…?
Well, Banner was very much part of her plan to occupy herself.
She’d known him for a such a short amount of time, but there was no denying the way he made her feel. He was a good man, just as she’d told her sister. And the way he’d made her feel last night before William interrupted them, was like nothing she could’ve imagined.
Aye, she was in love with the man, which was inconvenient. He’d go back to Lewes, and she’d stay here and figure out…whatever she was supposed to do with her life.
But no reason she couldn’t have a bit of fun first, aye?
When they reached the loch, Citrine pulled the gown from over her shoulder and draped it on some rocks. She’d managed to keep it clean—mostly—and didn’t want it any worse from the soot which covered her clothes.
She began to unlace her tunic, but when she turned to Banner, she halted. He was just standing there, his hands in fists by his sides, staring at her. His eyes had a tortured look in them, and although Citrine had no idea what was causing him pain, she ached to comfort him.
“Banner?” she asked tentatively.
He swallowed, then looked away. “Go bathe, Citrine,” he said hoarsely.
Her hands dropped from her laces, even though she knew her tunic and shirt were draping open alarmingly. “What is it?”
When he didn’t reply, she decided it was up to her to get some answers. Boldly, she stepped toward him, halting only when they were an arm’s’ reach from one another. “Tell me,” she commanded.
Still gazing out at the lake, Banner’s reply sounded hollow. “Tell ye what?”
Lifting her hand, she placed one palm on his cheek and turned his gaze to her. “Tell me what ails ye. Please. I would hel
p.”
He closed his eyes and inhaled. “I ken what ye want, Citrine. I want it, too.”
Glancing down at his tented plaid, it was very much obvious what he was referring to. She wanted to reach for that hardness, to stroke it, to guide it into her aching self…but why was he hesitating?
When she looked up at him, he was gazing into her eyes. “I’ve kept secrets from ye, my firebrand.”
“No’ the important ones. I ken who ye are.”
His hand covered hers, trapping it against his cheek. “Nay. Ye donae. Ye’ve never asked my name.”
His name? She scoffed. “Yer name has no bearing on yer honor or ability to lead, Banner.”
He winced when she called him that. Was that the problem? Fine, she’d ask him. “Would ye tell me yer real name if I asked?”
“Aye, Citrine Sinclair,” he said y. “I would. I trust ye.”
He bore the name of the most notorious pirate of the Minch, and he trusted her enough with his real identity? It was humbling. “Who are ye?” she whispered.
His lovely blue eyes closed briefly, and she saw his shoulders straighten as he inhaled. When his gaze met hers once more, she saw acceptance and trust.
“I am Rory MacLeod, youngest son of the MacLeod of Lewes…and betrothed to the firebrand of the Sinclairs.”
For a moment, she didn’t understand.
Rory MacLeod.
She knew that name. She knew him…
Betrothed to the firebrand of the Sinclairs.
Rory MacLeod and Citrine Sinclair.
He was her betrothed.
She was lusting after her own betrothed.
She’d been kidnapped by her own betrothed.
It was such a ridiculous coincidence; she did the only thing she could do; she threw back her head and laughed.
And mayhap she would’ve gone on laughing, had his lips not crushed down on hers, his arms pulling her flush against him. The hysteria caught in her throat and turned to something else between one heartbeat and the next, then she was kissing him back with all the desperation building in her chest.
The MacLeod Pirate Page 12