The Pirate's Temptation (Pirates of Britannia World Book 12)

by Tara Kingston

  Something about this man unleashed a side of her she hadn’t known existed.

  “A man like you has certain advantages. Strength. Power.” She took a step back, hoping the small distance would help keep her thinking clear. “You’re quite tall. Rather imposing, really.”

  “I’ve neither the time nor the interest for games, lass.”

  She trailed her gaze over the breadth of his shoulders, dipping down to the vee of golden-hued skin where he’d left the top buttons on his shirt undone. “I’m well aware of that.”

  “What is it ye want of me?” His voice had gone lower, even huskier than before, and he studied her intently, as if she were a puzzle to be solved.

  “It’s quite simple, really,” she said, her voice a near whisper now. She arched her back ever so slightly, thrusting her fully covered bosom a bit higher for emphasis. “I require your assistance.”

  He reached out as if to touch her, but pulled back, seeming to reconsider at the last moment. His nostrils flared, as if he were a predator who’d caught her scent, and he raked a hand through his hair.

  “If ye think to curry my favor—”

  Flashing a little scowl, she took a step in retreat. “Really, Captain, what is it you think I’m after?”

  He regarded her for a long moment. “Truth be told, I have no bluidy idea.”

  “Why, I’d think it would be obvious. A man like you…so tall and strong.” Shifting her gaze from his face to the bookcase, she sauntered to the shelf where the novel sat, slightly out of reach. “As I told you, I would appreciate your assistance.”

  His scowl looked as though he’d fashioned it deliberately. “All ye want is a book?”

  She plastered on a look of innocence. “What else could I possibly need?”

  “Ah, I could give ye an answer, lass.” He marched to the shelf. “Which one is it?”

  She stretched her arm, nearly touching the volume. “The one about the intrepid investigator.”

  As he reached for the book, his hand brushed hers.

  Sensation rippled through her, warm and inviting, and somehow, electrifying.

  He felt it too. Of that, Leana was quite certain. He stilled, holding the contact a heartbeat longer than necessary. Her amusement at teasing him dissolved into a wave of sudden, unanticipated awareness.

  Of him.

  Of the man who’d made her heart race with the slightest touch.

  A strange longing unlike anything she’d ever felt pierced her heart.

  Until the spell broke.

  Leana retreated a step, then another. He retrieved the novel and extended it to her, his expression unreadable.

  She took the book from his hands. Her fingers brushed against his, taking in the slightly rough texture of his skin, so very different from her own.

  “Next time, ye dinna need to be coy. Simply tell me what ye need.”

  “Thank you,” she said, swallowing against a rush of emotion she didn’t understand.

  Simply tell me what ye need.

  How was it possible to express the hunger deep in her heart, a longing she couldn’t begin to put into words?

  He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. A flash of emotion—hunger? or something more?—darkened his green irises.

  “Sleep well, Miss Fraser.”

  As the door closed behind him, Leana stared down at the volume in her hand. Nothing of consequence had happened between them. A few teasing words. Little more.

  And yet, as the clock behind her chimed in the midnight hour, somehow… everything had changed.

  Giving her head a brisk shake, she brought herself back to reality. It wasn’t like her to be so fanciful. She’d never been prone to girlish dreams of tall, dark, handsome princes and costume balls—let alone fantasies of devilish pirates who were much too handsome for her own good.

  And yet, try as she might, she could not banish the image of his enigmatic eyes, rich with intrigue and emotion, from her thoughts.

  She flopped into the chair and thumbed open the book. She would banish James MacArron from her thoughts. In the future, she’d know better than to let her defenses down.

  The pirate provoked no fear, no sense of intimidation. No matter his ruthless reputation, he would never hurt her. Or any woman, for that matter. Mrs. Taylor had bemoaned the fact he would not lay a hand on his daughter in anger. Rather, he’d shown tenderness to his children when they were in distress. His deep-seated caring for his bairns had taken her by surprise.

  And when he’d peered down at her, she’d seen a keen hunger in his eyes, a longing he kept well in check.

  In her heart, she knew the truth—his gentleness might be the most dangerous weapon of all. She’d do well to protect herself against it.

  Or else she’d face a danger more profound than she’d ever faced with Lord Gilford.

  If she wasn’t careful, she might well lose her heart to the Devil of the Highlands.

  Chapter Ten

  “I heard what ye said last night.”

  Isla’s matter-of-fact tone belied her youth. She glanced up from sketching in her notebook as Leana joined her in the library.

  “Oh, did you now?” Leana replied. “Do you make a practice of eavesdropping?”

  The girl shrugged. “If ye must know, I’m rather good at it. I like to know what’s going on. Adults tend to talk about me as if I should have no say in what happens to me, as if I were a puppet without feelings.”

  Smoothing out her skirts, Leana perched on the seat of a delicately upholstered chair. “I don’t see you that way, Isla.”

  Isla averted her gaze, putting pencil to paper. “Ye’re different. Ye gave the old crone what’s what.”

  Leana fashioned a stern expression. “You shouldn’t refer to an adult that way.”

  Wrinkling her nose, the girl looked up from her sketchbook. “Even if it’s true?”

  “Yes, dear, even if it’s true.”

  Isla giggled. “I wasn’t expecting ye to agree with me.”

  Leana gave a quick shake of her head. “I wouldn’t say I was agreeing. I do understand, better than you know.”

  “Were ye lonely after yer mum died?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t as young as you, but it was so very hard. I do want to understand what you’re feeling.”

  Isla’s mouth thinned, her young face displaying a maturity well beyond her years. “Ye’re not like the others.”

  “The others?”

  “The governesses… They all wanted me to be something I’m not.”

  “And what was that?”

  Isla lifted her gaze and cocked her chin. “They wanted me to be a fine little lass without a brain in my head. The last one said I was incorrigible. I looked it up in the dictionary. I suppose it does fit.”

  “Well, I don’t believe that. Not at all. You possess a strong will, like your father, but that’s not a bad thing. If anything, it is to be celebrated.”

  A smile tugged at the child’s mouth. “Our last governess would not agree with ye. Why, she wanted me to sit in a corner and stare at the wall, simply for questioning what she’d said. She tried to convince me a woman’s brain is not meant for arithmetic. She insisted a lass like me has no need to calculate sums—when I told her nine times nine doesna equal ninety-nine, like she said, she was hoppin’ mad at me. And she didna like my way of speaking. She wanted me to sound like a blasted Englishwoman.”

  “Did you call her that?”

  “Yes. And more.” Isla folded her arms defiantly. “Now ye’re goin’ to tell me I shouldna use such language.”

  “We’ll work on that later. For now, I’m more interested in what you’re telling me.”

  Isla scrunched up her face, as if puzzled. “She wanted to wash my mouth out with soap. Da sent her packin’.”

  “Good for him,” Leana said. “I would have done the same. She’d no right to threaten such a thing.”

  “Ye’re not on her side?”

  “Absolutely not.”

&nb
sp; “Most of the others were just like her. They didna want to teach me anythin’ I wanted to know.”

  “Well, we’ll be sure to study subjects of interest to you. There’s so much to learn. You’re a clever girl, but I’ll share a secret. I’m clever as well. A young lady shouldn’t hide her intelligence and the special light that makes her unique.”

  “That willna matter. Ye’ll still leave. I know ye will.”

  She met the girl’s gaze. “Tell me the truth—do you want me leave?”

  When the girl shrugged, Leana leaned closer. “Well, Miss Isla MacArron, you are not going to run me off with a bit of sass and mischief. Even frogs in the bed won’t work with me.”

  A pleased-with-herself smile played on the girl’s mouth. “Ye heard about the frog?”

  When Leana nodded, the child’s grin broadened. “It was a plump one, too. Mrs. Humphries nearly jumped through the ceiling. Uncle Rory had to bring a glass of brandy to calm her down.”

  “Did he now?”

  “Did Uncle Rory tell ye about the mouse in Mrs. Whitson’s shoe?”

  “No, he didn’t mention that.”

  “The horrid old woman found the poor wee thing hiding in her shoe and thought I’d put it there.”

  “And did you?”

  Isla shook her head. “Of course not. I wouldna want to see the tiny creature smooshed by her fat foot.”

  Leana bit back a smile. “A very good point, indeed.”

  A look of worry darkened Isla’s eyes. “They all leave. You will too. Even if I don’t want ye to.”

  “I have no intention of going anywhere. I rather like it here,” Leana said.

  “They all hate this house. The ghosts frighten them.”

  “Ghosts?” Leana pulled in a breath. “If that’s why they left, they should’ve been made of sterner stock. I know better than to be afraid of a shadow or a creak in the night.”

  The girl furrowed her brow. “Ye dinna believe me, do ye?”

  “I believe someone was a bit skittish and let their imagination get the better of them.”

  “Ye’ll find out. Ye’ll see I was right. And then, ye’ll leave…like the others.”

  “I promise I will not leave as long as you and your father want me here.” Leana cupped her fingers over the girl’s small hand. “And I’ll tell you this—if there are ghosts in this house, I’ve learned there are much more frightening things to face. A phantom bumping about in the night isn’t going to send me running.”

  Freshening herself before the evening meal, Leana splashed cool water on her face, then tucked a few wayward curls back into her upswept hair. She’d enjoyed a productive day with Isla and Bridget, coming to a better understanding of Isla’s inner struggles while formulating plans of instruction the girls would find engaging.

  She sat at the small painted desk in her room and reviewed her curriculum notes from the day. Her initial observations noted Isla’s ability in mathematics. The girl’s facility with computations and problem solving would challenge many tutors with several years’ educational advantage. She was keenly intelligent. More likely than not, her mischievous behavior had been a product of boredom. Bridget was also exceedingly bright, displaying a ready aptitude for learning her letters and numbers. With consistent schooling, both girls would prove accomplished students.

  If only Isla was not preoccupied with the notion that Leana would leave almost as quickly as she’d come—not at Captain MacArron’s request, but fleeing the murderous phantoms the young lass was convinced roamed the halls of the castle. How had she come upon such a notion?

  The clock on the dresser chimed in the dinner hour. Tucking her notebook in the top drawer, she straightened her shirts, washed a spot of ink off her finger, and made her way to the dining room.

  To her surprise, the captain had already taken his seat and engaged his daughters in what seemed an easy, flowing conversation. When he looked at his children, his expression softened just a bit. The creases around his eyes were ever so slightly less pronounced, the set of his jaw more relaxed. The man who’d inspired stories of ferocious battle at sea had shown a surprising gentleness with his girls.

  After Rory settled in, the meal proceeded without incident. Mr. Howell and Mr. McKown had left earlier in the day, allowing for a small group and easing what had seemed an ever-present frown on Mrs. Taylor’s face.

  “Tomorrow, Miss Fraser is going to teach me the waltz,” Isla announced between bites of mutton stew.

  “So, ye’ve decided to become a fine and proper young lady,” Captain MacArron said, a smile flickering over his features. “What happened to your calculations? Have ye lost interest in those so soon?”

  “Of course not,” Isla replied. “But that does not mean I cannot dance as well, does it?”

  “It is important for a young lass to be well-rounded,” Leana added.

  MacArron nodded his agreement as he took another bite. “Isla fancies herself an astronomer in training. She had me set up a telescope.”

  “How fascinating,” Leana said. “You’ll have to show me the constellations one night. I’ll confess I’m not as familiar with them as I should be.”

  “You would never pass muster as a navigator,” Rory said with a grin.

  “But I will. Someday,” Isla said hopefully. “I’ll be on Da’s ship. Won’t I?”

  “Time will tell, lass,” the captain said, evading the question.

  Rory stared down at his plate, his jovial mood seeming to sag. “I take it dancing is important to a fine lass.”

  Leana gave a little shrug. “It may be. I suppose it depends on the lass in question.”

  He took a drink of ale, seeming to reflect on her words. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  Leana met his eyes. “Afraid of?”

  Rory took another drink. “I didna mean anythin’ by it.”

  Captain MacArron flashed a questioning look at his brother, but did not pursue the matter. Their genial banter resumed, and the meal came to an end with pleasantly full stomachs and a sense that finally, Leana had found a contented existence—in the home of a pirate, of all places—if only for the next seven days.

  Jamie poured himself two fingers of Scotch and took a seat in a comfortable chair by the hearth. The fire’s warmth washed over him, just as the whisky did. To his right, a small mahogany table bore a lacquered chess board. Idly, he lifted one of the ivory pieces between his fingers—the queen. Always the most valuable piece in the game. And in life.

  Memories flashed through his mind like waking nightmares. Siobhan’s lifeless body on the ground beneath the tower. The horror he’d seen in Isla’s eyes when he’d returned home that cursed night. The wee lass had seen too much, more than her young mind could fully comprehend. The man sprawled over the tower floor, his eyes wide and sightless, one hand pressed to the gaping wound in his chest.

  You will not like the consequences…

  The unwanted visitor’s words played in his mind. Finch had dared to threaten him. Jamie had already paid the price for what he’d done years before. If any bastard dared to come after him or his kin, they’d end up just as the Lachland brothers had.

  Dead at the hand of a MacArron.

  A soft knock upon the door tore him from his thoughts. A small mercy, he thought, toying with the chess piece.

  “Captain MacArron, I would like a few moments of your time,” Miss Fraser called through the panel.

  “Come in,” he said. At the very least, she’d provide a diversion from the memories rearing their ugly heads.

  She closed the door behind her and approached him. He motioned to the Chippendale wingchair on the opposite side of the chess table.

  “Well, Miss Fraser, it seems ye’ve made an impression my daughters,” he said as she swept her skirts aside and settled herself on the seat.

  “I do hope whatever impact I have on your children will be positive. I will not take much of your time, Captain,” she said softly. “We do need to talk. I am concerned about yo
ur daughter.”

  “Isla?”

  She nodded, her coral-tinged mouth pulling taut for a moment. “As you’ve no doubt noticed, the girl possesses a keen intellect.”

  “She’s a clever one—that’s one reason she’s sent her governesses scurrying for cover. Most dinna take to bein’ outsmarted by a bairn.”

  “She possesses a particular aptitude for mathematics. For the most part, she’s quite logical, and does not strike me as being prone to flights of fancy. This makes her preoccupation with hauntings all the more concerning to me.”

  “The bluidy ghosts again,” he said, setting the chess piece on the board.

  “Your daughter is convinced spirits haunt this place, and she’s not referring to those who paid old Scrooge a visit. In Isla’s mind, the phantoms in this house are threatening. As you know, she’s convinced one of them killed her mother. Do you have any notion why she’d think such a thing?”

  By hellfire, he’d no desire to discuss such matters, much less with a woman who’d likely be on her way back to Inverness within the week. If she knew the truth, she’d pack her things and be on her way at first light.

  “Isla was verra young when her mother died.” He kneaded the back of his neck, as if he could ease the sudden tension. “She saw the aftermath. I will always regret that I was not here to shield her from the horrible sight.”

  The ache in his neck crept to the back of his skull. Why was the governess looking at him like that—as if she knew he wasn’t telling her all of it? He hadn’t lied to her. Every damned word had been true. She didn’t need to know why Siobhan had fallen. The very thought of her death plunged a hot blade deep in his chest.

  Miss Fraser folded her hands in her lap. “At some point, you are going to have to address Isla’s unhealthy preoccupation with her mother’s death—you must speak with her.”

  “No,” he said, the word coming out blunt and hard. “There’d be no point to it. Let the dead rest.”

  “But Captain MacArron—”

  He met her questioning eyes. “Ye’re not to speak of it in her presence. Is that clear?”