Her lower lip trembled with fear she tried to hide. She met his eyes, and he saw the tears she was trying desperately not to shed.
Rage simmered in Jamie’s veins. He fought against it. Emotion would make him impulsive. Foolish. He had to stay in full control and avoid acting from the heart.
“Let her go, Lachland.”
“In time.” Lachland edged toward the side, imprisoning Leana in his arms. Keeping his distance, he used her slender body as a shield. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to come after her. We both know she’s naught to you but a trollop.”
“I should kill ye for that,” Jamie said. “Let her go and I’ll give ye what ye wanted. I’ll take the woman and go on my way.”
“You have the Bloodhead Sword?”
“Aye. It’s yers for the takin’. But first, ye must release her.”
“Prove it to me.” Lachland dug the tip of his dirk against the underside of her jaw. “Show me the sword.”
He slid a jeweled saber from the scabbard at his hip. In the dim light, the ruby-encrusted hilt on the weapon passed down to him through generations of MacDougalls would pass for the Bloodhead Sword—long enough for him to put a bullet between the jackal’s hate-filled eyes.
“Throw it here.” Lachland’s voice was low. Dangerous. He wouldn’t put it past the evil son of a bitch to use the blade on Leana.
“Let the lass go and it’s yours.”
Lachland pressed his knife against her throat. She bit her lower lip, seeming to stifle a cry as her eyes met Jamie’s. “Throw down the sword.”
Jamie released the saber. Metal clattered against the wooden planks.
Holding Leana to his body, Lachland shielded himself, coward that he was. Sheathing the dirk, he dragged her with him as he snatched up the sword.
Jamie leveled his pistol. “Let her go. Now. Before I splatter yer brains all over this place.”
Lachland’s gaze flashed to something—or someone—behind Jamie. “I suggest you come up with a better plan. Or else, another MacArron is going to die.”
Jamie’s pulse thundered in his ears. Rory stood across the deck, blood streaming from a gash over his left eye. A bastard in Lachland’s crew held a pistol to the base of his skull.
Regret etched his brother’s features. “Dinna concern yerself with me,” he said in a voice marked with pain. “Save the girl.”
Lachland’s mouth curved in a serpent’s smile. “Throw down your weapon, and I’ll let one of them live. I’m a generous man—I’ll even allow you to choose.”
Rage and fear filled Jamie’s veins. His gaze locked with Rory’s, and his brother gave a small nod.
“Save the girl,” Rory repeated.
Quick as a snake, his brother whipped around. His fist plowed into his unsuspecting captor’s gut. Seizing the gun, he turned the tables on the cur and pulled the trigger.
“Send Lachland to hell,” Rory cried out.
It was high time.
Damnation, he couldn’t get a clear shot. He couldn’t risk Leana’s life.
Lachland tightened his arm around her throat. With Leana as his prisoner, he couldn’t wield the heavy sword with one hand. But he could still break her neck.
“Have you forgotten, Captain? I still control if she lives. Or if she dies.”
“Take your hands off her.”
Lachland stilled, regarding him without emotion. Suddenly, he twisted sharply to the left, hauling Leana against the top of the railing.
“As you wish, MacArron.”
One vicious shove, and she tumbled backwards over the edge.
Jamie bolted forward, arms outstretched. Desperately, he reached for her.
He was too late.
“Jamie!” Crying out in terror, she plummeted into the darkness below.
Fury unleashed in Jamie’s heart. “You bastard.”
“As I see it, you have a choice. With those heavy skirts, she won’t last five minutes in the sea. You can save her. Or you can kill me.”
“Ye’re wrong.” Rory ran to the edge. “Kill the son of a bitch.” He dove over the side, plunging into the waves.
“I would’ve let you live.” Jamie ground the words between his teeth. “I would have allowed the hangman to do his job.”
Lachland tossed his weapons onto the deck. “I am now unarmed. You don’t have it in you to kill a defenseless man.”
One of Jamie’s lieutenants rushed to his side. “Captain, we’ve secured the ship.”
“Aye. Good work,” Jamie said. “Bind this bastard hand and foot. We will transport him to—”
As the young sailor went to carry out his instructions, Lachland pulled a gun he’d concealed beneath his trouser leg.
With lightning speed, Jamie took aim.
He fired.
Lachland froze. The revolver tumbled from his hand. Shock spread over his features as his hand splayed over the wound.
“I thought it would hurt…to die. But it doesn’t. I don’t feel a bloody thing.”
His head slumped forward. He collapsed. Unseeing eyes stared at the planks beneath his head. His body was wracked with shudders.
And then, he stilled.
Jamie bolted to the rail. From the water below, he could hear Rory calling for Leana as he searched in the darkness.
But there was no answer.
“Summon the others,” he ordered the lieutenant. “Bring every lantern they can get their hands on. I’ll find her. Then I’ll need yer help.”
Casting aside his weapons, Jamie dove into the frigid water.
The cold slammed into him, robbing him of breath. He gasped for air and pushed forward. He had to find her. He had to get to her.
He had to save her.
One by one, his men rushed to the edge. Their lanterns lit the murky sea.
“There!” Rory called. “She’s alive!”
Jamie saw her then. Leana had managed to tread water, barely keeping her head above the surface. Could she see him? Did she know he’d come for her?
Relief pumped through his veins, giving him strength he hadn’t known he possessed. Even as the frigid water set his teeth to chattering, he summoned the will to get to her. Damnation, he would not lose her.
Not now. Not when hope lay within reach.
With swift, sure strokes, he cut through the water. Closing the distance, he pulled her to him. Holding her, he pressed a hand to her sweet face, as if to reassure himself she was real and not a figment conjured by his desperation.
“We’re going to get ye back on the ship.”
“You came for me,” she said, her voice sounding like a whisper against the waves and the wind.
“How could I not? Ye’re in my heart, Leana. Mo cridhe.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Two Weeks Later
Leana swept her skirts aside and settled onto the piano bench. Her fingers moved easily over the keys. When a bout of sadness overcame her, the lyrical notes of Songs Without Words seldom failed to lift her spirits. But on this bright and shining spring morning, her mood remained as dismal as a dreary rain.
Ye’re in my heart, Leana.
Jamie’s declaration played in her thoughts. Had he truly meant the words he’d spoken? Had his relief at saving her life stirred powerful—but fleeting—emotions? In the days since he’d rescued her from the sea, it seemed an invisible shield had fallen between them. After bringing her aboard his ship, he’d been gentle with her. But he’d kept his distance, treating her with respect and quiet decency without a shred of tenderness or intimacy.
It seemed they’d become strangers. She’d lain with him, and she’d loved him before his anger at her deception drove a wedge between them. Now all of that seemed forgotten. He regarded her with a casual detachment, as if diving into the fierce waves that night had been an act of duty and not of the heart.
Would she ever understand him? If she lived to be ninety and nine, she’d never puzzle out James MacArron. He cared for her. She could see it in his eyes
on those rare moments when he let down his guard. But he would never allow himself to break through the barrier her lie had created.
It would be easier to endure his anger, rather than the cool regard that betrayed his lingering distrust.
Soon, she’d shore up her strength and leave this place behind. She couldn’t pretend this civil, oh-so-polite existence wasn’t a quiet hell much longer.
Her finger pounded an off-key note. She sighed, struggling to clear her thoughts. It did no good to ruminate over her feelings. She’d face the inevitable soon enough.
And then she’d leave Castle MacArron behind, her heart’s protests be damned.
Repositioning her fingers on the keyboard, she began again. Isla came in quietly, plopping down next to her on the bench as she hummed along with the tune.
“The melody is beautiful.” Isla said. “Will ye teach me to play this one?”
“Of course,” Leana said, forcing a smile even as she wondered if she would have the opportunity to honor her word. An invisible thorn pricked at her heart. How would she ever find the strength to say goodbye?
An hour later, she sat at the dining table with the captain, Rory, and the girls. Leana gazed at the bowl of lamb stew Mrs. Taylor had prepared for supper, willing herself to eat lest she wound the cook’s feelings. Ordinarily, the dish’s savory scent would have perked her appetite. But tension had stretched her nerves tight, and her stomach had picked this moment to be most uncooperative.
Across from her, Jamie ate heartily, evidently suffering no ill effects from their close proximity. His nearness filled her chest with butterflies. How she wanted him to touch her, a simple caress. But he kept his distance and spoke to her in the infernally bland tone he’d adopted—courteous, gentlemanly, and utterly unlike the man she’d fallen in love with.
Love.
The word hammered in her brain. She’d considered the possibility she loved him before this night. But now, looking at the face she longed to touch and the mouth she yearned to kiss, the truth slammed into her—she’d fallen in love with the captain.
How could she have been so foolish? Why had she opened her heart?
A flash of utter clarity came upon her. It was all so very simple, really. She knew what she had to do.
Loving Jamie was a fool’s game. She had to protect her heart.
She had to leave.
The sooner, the better.
Leana poured herself a small glass of brandy and downed it. At this moment, she needed courage, even if it was of the liquid variety. She’d tell him tonight. She’d inform him she’d decided to leave. There was no choice. The pain of loving him while he treated her with cold, quiet civility was simply too much to bear.
She had to do this. Now. While she could still bear the thought of leaving this place. Before she was hopelessly ensnared by her heart’s longing.
Earlier that night, Jamie had been in his study. She’d passed by the half-closed door. His hands had been pressed against the desk as he studied a map of something or other.
With any luck, he’d still be there.
She walked quietly to the room. A soft knock upon his door announced her presence.
He glanced up. “Ah, Leana, come in.” He rose from behind his desk. “I’ve been meaning to speak with ye.”
“Have you now?” she replied. “It seems we have that in common.”
Clad in dark trousers and a linen shirt, he’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows. Oil light glimmered off the dusting of hair on his forearms. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking as if he was at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
“Leana, I’ve been pondering a decision…one that hasna come easy to me. Not after what’s gone before.” He took her hands in his own. “I am not a romantic man. I couldna quote a poet if my life depended on it. But ye need to know—I want ye to stay here. With me and my girls. As my wife.”
Stunned, she swallowed hard, trying to breathe. This should’ve been a joyous moment. But instead, confusion swarmed her thoughts.
Something isn’t right.
“Your wife? I don’t… I don’t understand. This is so very unexpected.” She met his gaze, searching his eyes for the answers she desperately needed. “Why do you wish to marry me?”
Surprise flickered in his eyes. “Ye have to ask? My daughters would be heartbroken if ye left. Ye risked yer life to shield those girls. They need ye. And so do I.”
She gave her head a brisk shake, as if doing so might clear it. “I hid Isla and Bridget because I wanted to protect them. That had nothing to do with you…and me.”
“Ye’re wrong, lass. After what’s gone between us, I canna stop thinkin’ about ye. I want ye in my bed, Leana. And at my side. Ye deserve to be treated as the lady ye are.”
Do you love me? The question echoed in her thoughts.
He wanted her. He needed her. For himself. And to be a mother to his girls.
Jamie desired her. Neither could deny their passion for one another.
Pity that wasn’t enough.
She loved him. And she needed to be loved in return.
His green eyes darkened as he studied her. “I would be honored if ye’d agree to be my wife, Leana.”
Her pulse roared in her ears. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what she’d dreamed of. Every fiber of her being ached at the thought of leaving, at the thought of lonely nights yearning for his touch and his kiss, longing for him.
But she had to protect her heart. Much more of this pain, and it would shatter beyond repair.
“I’m so very sorry, Jamie,” she whispered, breaking away. “I cannot do this. I cannot marry you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jamie’s foul mood carried over to the morning. Arrogant arse that he was, he’d never anticipated Leana might actually refuse his offer of marriage.
After his proposal, she’d expressed a desire to leave Castle MacArron. He’d summoned Rory to his study. His brother could see to her departure. Jamie didn’t have the patience to deal with the trivial details. The gut-punch she’d delivered the night before had nothing to do with it. Or did it?
Rory flashed a scowl to match his own. “I’ve got better things to do than help ye make the worst mistake of yer bluidy life.”
“What in the name of Robert the Bruce are ye talking about?”
“Ye canna let the lass go. Ye’re a damned fool if ye do.”
Jamie stalked around the desk. “Ye’re an insolent arse. Ye know that, don’t ye?”
“Aye. It’s a family trait.” Rory settled into a chair and stared up at Jamie. “So, what are ye goin’ to do about this?”
“Damned if I know.” Jamie prowled over to the window and stared out at the coastal sea. “Why do women have to be so blasted difficult?”
His brother smiled. “I think a better question is, why do ye have to be an arse? Did ye think the lass would dance a jig when ye asked her?”
“I might’ve expected some show of happiness.”
“Did ye tell her ye love her?”
Jamie shot him another scowl. “Have ye been spendin’ yer time reading poetry to impress the shopkeeper’s daughter?”
Rory pinned him with a gaze, wise beyond his years. “Well, did ye? Did ye tell her the truth?”
“I did not say it. She should know—”
“Bah.” Rory dismissed his excuse. “Ye’ve got to tell her.”
A commotion in the corridor leading from the main entry drew their attention. Mrs. Davidson and Mrs. Taylor were shrieking, “Stop!” in near unison.
What the hell is going on?
Rory rushed to the door as Mrs. Davidson appeared at the entry. Standing very still, the housekeeper wrung her hands in a knot.
“Captain, there are men here to see ye.” She twisted her hands again. “We tried to stop them, but they would not—”
A tall, wiry man with features best described as ordinary pushed past her. His mouth thinned as he brushed a speck of dirt from his well-tailored suit. A mountain
of a man in a shabby jacket followed close on his heels—hired muscle, most likely, given the disparity in the quality of their clothing and the flinty look in the big man’s eyes.
The wiry man fixed Jamie with a narrow-eyed gaze. “Captain MacArron, I understand you are harboring a thief.”
“What is the meaning of this—barging into my home uninvited, making mad accusations?”
“I assure you, there is nothing mad about my complaint. You have a woman under your roof…she goes by Leana Fraser.”
Leana slipped past the women who gaped at the scene from the hallway. Facing her accuser, she hiked her chin and squared her shoulders. “That is my name. There’s nothing suspicious there.”
Jamie stood toe to toe with the intruder. “Identify yerself before I toss ye out on yer arse.”
Contempt blazed in the man’s pale eyes. “I will have you know you are addressing the Earl of Gilford.”
“I dinna give a damn if I’m talkin’ to the ghost of Robert the Bruce.”
“I speak the truth. This woman is a thief. My hired investigator tracked her here. She was in my employ.” Gilford pointed to a recently healed cut on his temple. “Until she accosted me and made off with a prized heirloom.”
“I presume you mean this.” Leana pulled a jeweled dagger from her skirt pocket. “I’d intended to return it. I only took it to defend myself…from you.”
“Liar,” the man spat out.
Leana’s cool gaze was seasoned with contempt. “I assure you, I am not lying. Consider yourself lucky I did not put it to good use. If I had, you might never again be able to assault a woman.”
Jamie’s hands clenched into fists. “Assault a lass?”
“Yes,” she said, stepping away from the earl. “I served as a companion to Lord Gilford’s daughter. She grew to be a fine young lady, despite having this cur as her sire. When she no longer had need of a chaperone, Lord Gilford offered to keep me on as his assistant. He failed to explain his view of my duties. One night, after he shoved my skirts up and made his intentions quite clear, I shattered a vase—hopefully, a very expensive one—over his thick skull. And then I fled. I took this dagger in case he or one of his hired men came after me.”
The Pirate's Temptation (Pirates of Britannia World Book 12) Page 17