Highland Faith

by Hill, Madelyn

  What could she do now? Here she stood, just a breath away from Captain Ross, and she wanted to reach out and trail her finger along his strong jaw. Feel him, touch his skin just to see if it was as warm as it looked with his skin tanned from the sun.

  She flexed her hand to stop the impulse. A reckless impulse to give the captain any indication of her attraction. He captor, a man she should loathe.

  “Aye, darling?” he said with a husky drawl.

  Shards of awareness tingled up her spine and heated the pit of her womb. She wasn’t a lass who swooned over a man, even a man such as Captain Ross. But here she was breathless and wanting to hear him speak once again.

  A knock at the door garnered their attention. He cocked a brow at her and said, “Enter.” The door opened.

  “Ah, Bram. Set it over there.”

  The man entered dragging a tub behind him. She sighed with relief. A bath would be glorious.

  Bram moved slowly; his profound limp hindered his actions. Why the devil did Captain Ross just stand there and not help the man? She stepped forward, then bent to pick up the copper tub. The captain grabbed her arm. When she turned to glare at him, he gave a curt shake of his head. What an amadan, to be sure. Why watch one of his crew suffer and struggle?

  “Thank you, Bram,” the captain said with obvious kindness. ’Twas perplexing, this man.

  “Anything for ye, Captain Ross.” Bram winked at her and slowly left the chamber.

  She shook her head at the strange behavior of the men on the blasted ship. Then the ship cast upward and she found herself stumbling.

  Right into the muscular wall of Captain Ross’ chest. She held on as the ship settled back.

  A sensual grin curled his mouth and she almost lost herself thinking how perfect his mouth appeared.

  “You’re piercing my skin, darling.” His words were spoken with a low burr, as if it pained him not that her nails were currently gouging his chest.

  She released him, still wobbling.

  He gripped her elbow and drew her toward the chairs. “Settle yourself before you attempt to bathe.”

  How she hated the rush of heat over her skin. Surely she looked like a fool with a red face, stumbling all over his cabin. Here she had no control. In the forest, ahh, ’twas her domicile and she loved every twig, bush, animal and sound. The ship represented a cage; trapped with no way to escape. And blast if the captain didn’t realize this. He’d seen her cast up her stomach, how ill she’d become in the small boat. He knew she’d not attempt to escape on her own.

  She glanced at the tub. ’Twas empty. Dear God, poor Bram had to bring bucket after bucket of water to fill it.

  “Why the Devil did you make that poor man drag the tub?” Anger rose quick and furious in her. She had to find something, anything to push her attraction aside.

  He sent her a quelling glare, which she promptly ignored. “The man is injured. Why would you make him do such labor?”

  What a sight, the storm of emotions coursing over his face. Hard planes of displeasure, then his blue eyes darkened. “The poor man has pride and I’ll no take more from him.”

  She nodded and peered at Captain Ross from beneath her lashes. He’d gone back to the decanter and filled another glass. Did she try his patience? Seemed she forever tried the patience of one person or another. Mayhap if she vexed him enough, he’d tire of her and send her back without another thought of his ridiculous ransom.

  “No matter his pride. He is in pain.”

  The captain fisted his hands at his waist and glanced down at her. Her gaze traveled from his black boots those lean hips. She envied the way his tartan hung low and his sword was perched just at the juncture of his thigh and hip. When her gaze traveled over the loose liene, over the opening at his neck exposing his tanned skin, and then to his face, she inhaled. The icy blue of his eyes bore into her with such fury, she longed to run from the chamber. And she never ran from any type of confrontation.

  “The injury is old and ’twill always vex him. But he’s a hardworking man and won’t allow my charity.” His hard tone brooked no room for argument. “Did he look as if I forced him to bring the tub?” He bent toward her, set his hands on the arms of the chair, locking her in. “These men rely on me almost as much as I rely on them.”

  He abruptly stood and left the chamber.

  She caught her breath, truly at a loss of words or thoughts. She rose, then sat.

  These men rely on me almost as much as I rely on them. They were his family. Even though he’d most likely never term the crew as such. Men were such amadans when it came to sentimentality. No matter what was said or done, her sisters knew she loved them, would protect them with her life.

  Another knock on the door and Bram re-entered with a bucket.

  “Yer water, m’lady.” He staggered toward the tub.

  She rushed to help him, then remembered the captain’s words. A throat cleared behind Bram. A smile pulled at her mouth as she watched Captain Ross carry two buckets of water.

  “’Tis all we can spare,” he warned. “Fresh water canna be wasted.”

  She nodded, then realized he didn’t face her. “Aye, I ken the truth of it, but I also appreciate the bath.”

  Bram nodded to her and left the chamber.

  Captain Ross crossed his well-muscled arms and kept a steady gaze on her. A rogue to be sure, with that arrogant grin and the primal look to his gaze. ’Twas as if he were perplexed and enthralled with her at the same time.

  Well, she’d not make things easy for him. She didn’t fear him, which she didn’t understand. Even though he’d stolen her from her land, the domain of her clan and the solitary comfort of the forest. He planned to demand a ransom from her sister. Och, a ransom was laughable, but he’d see the Lairds of Clan MacAlister wouldn’t be threatened, especially since Hope and Aidan led the clan as one.

  The captain cocked his brow as if waiting for her to speak. She merely returned his gaze.

  Hope and Aidan would come for her, soon or later, but they’d come and Captain Ross would be the one who needed to be fearful. Aidan would gather men from neighboring clans if necessary to rescue her.

  The sea concerned her. The hounds would only lead them so far in the search. Once Aidan reached the shore, ’twould be nigh impossible to glean where Captain Ross and his blasted ship were.

  “The water is growing cold.” He paced toward her, lifted her chin with his finger. “And you’re in desperate need of a bath, darling.”

  She snapped away from him. “Leave.”

  Humor glittered in his blue eyes. One minute he acted stern; the next, laughter played about his mouth. Blasted man.

  He chuckled. “Are you sure you dinnae need my help?”

  “Leave,” she said again as she shoved him out of her way.

  He tsked. “Not the way you want to treat your captor if you want him to treat you well.”

  She sighed and waited, hoping he’d leave and she could find peace in her bath.

  When the door clicked shut, she shoved a chair beneath the handle, quickly undressed, and slid into the glorious water. A lump of soap rested on the ledge of the tub, and she washed from head to toe. Her hair proved cumbersome but she managed, as she usually did.

  Not one for pampering, she’d often secured her locks with a piece of thin rope or strip of leather. In her hunt of the stag, she’d lost the tether and her hair had become a tangled mess.

  After she’d rinsed her head, Faith leaned against the back of the tub and closed her eyes, the water now tepid, but she’d bathed in worse.

  The water started to slosh over the sides; dear God, the ship rocked as if they were in the midst of a storm. A glance out the window confirmed her fears. Huge waves curled over the ship’s railing, crashing against the cabin’s windows.
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  The captain bellowed to his men above the roar of the wind. She clenched the sides of the tub, fearful to attempt to get out. Her heart pounded in her chest as bile rose in her throat.

  She hated the sea.

  The footsteps of the men resounded outside the chamber, on top of the cabin as they ran across the quarterdeck. They were scrambling to secure the ship. She nearly jumped out to help them, but knew she’d be little help since her fears stifled any actions.

  But she had to do something—

  She stood and reached for the swath of toweling while balancing in the tub. Just as she brought the linen around her body, a figure appeared in front of the colored glass. The spanker sail flapped against the ship with vengeance. The person reached for it.

  “No,” she yelled as rigging whipped at the man, then wrapped around him. ’Twould whip him out to sea. She raced to the window.

  The captain? Where were his men? She pressed her hands against the window, wanting to help, but not knowing how.

  “Watch out,” she yelled. Terror filled her as another wave began to crest behind him. He’d be swept away in just a moment.

  The captain turned toward her. His eyes narrowed—then widened. He smiled, winked, and gathered the rigging as if it were mere string. Her warning echoed foolishly in the cabin.

  She frowned; of course he controlled the rigging. But, why did he smile so?

  She stepped back, determined to ignore the brute. She reached for her clothing, then looked down.

  She was as bare as a newborn bairn.

  ~ ~ ~

  He nearly fell off the ship.

  Bollocks, the woman stood naked. In his cabin. Standing before the window. Standing before him.

  He could barely think straight as he grappled with the riggings and the sail beat against him.

  “Colin, grab the sail,” he yelled after he saw Lady Faith finally wrap herself in a towel.

  His rigger jumped next to him, did as he bade. “Aye, Captain.” Colin then held out his hand and they gripped each other’s wrist. He heaved a sigh of relief as his mate helped leverage him to the deck.

  All the while, he saw only full breasts and a slim waist. The gentle slope of womanly hips and lean legs. Skin kissed by the sun, all of her skin.

  Lady Faith MacAlister was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

  Truly. Ever.

  “Captain?”

  He refocused on Colin and grinned. “Secure the sail. I’ll see to the wheel.”

  The wind buffeted his body, forcing him against the bulwark. Damn, the storm had come out of nowhere and he had to get the ship away from shore, lest the surge slam the Blue Boy against the rocky coast.

  He couldn’t lose her, his ship a means to regaining all his family had lost.

  “Alec,” he called to his first mate, “I’ll take the wheel. Raise anchor.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Alec held the wheel until he relieved him, then the mate headed toward the stern to begin raising the anchor.

  He held onto the wheel with all of his strength in order to keep the ship afloat in the midst of the storm. Sea swell rose over the bulwark, the railing doing little to hinder the flooding of the deck. His muscles strained as he tried to steer the ship farther out to sea.

  The wicked wind fought against him, roaring in his ears and sweeping his orders away as if they were a whisper.

  Not that his men needed the orders. They were a well-ordered crew, to be sure. Dougal, his sailing master, came to his side. They’d work together as they navigated the ship farther from shore.

  “Give me a go,” Dougal said.

  He slapped the man on the shoulder. “Aye.” ’Twould be a long night ahead of them keeping Blue Boy in one piece and not swept too far out to sea. It proved tricky, since they needed to remain near MacAlister’s land so Amit could find them.

  He prayed Amit made it ashore and found a safe haven to wait out the storm. With a quick shake of his head, he disregarded his worry. Amit would be fine. A resourceful, stubborn man to boot. And out of their loyalty to each other, he’d fight the very Devil to keep his promise to his captain.

  But they wouldn’t see Amit tonight. And mayhap not on the morrow if the weather refused to ease.

  He hated the quick turn of weather and the danger his rigger now faced as he made his way to shore and headed toward Wild Thistle Keep. But Graeme had to get word to the Lairds MacAlister.

  The image of Faith behind his cabin window appeared before him. Lust shot straight to his cock, and he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman.

  ’Twas a distraction, his lust, especially since he barely kenned her. But, damn, when he’d touched her, he couldn’t ignore the tremor of awareness he’d experienced. And when he had seen her in naked glory, he nearly crashed through the window to explore the beautiful body before him. Slide his hands along her smooth skin, cradle those glorious breasts in his palms, and then kiss her senseless.

  Most women had white skin, protected beneath their hats or by the fact they rarely spent time in the sun. Not Lady Faith MacAlister. Her skin as golden as honey, he wanted to taste her like a parched tongue lapped water. He’d never seen a woman so tanned. Every inch of her skin glistened—her full breasts, her flat stomach, and God help him, even the apex between her thighs.

  With a quick shake of his head, he refocused on steering the ship. She was not the lass for him, could never be.

  He was her captor, her enemy.

  Something bothered him as he thought upon Lady Faith and his quest to restore his family home.

  He thought about his mam. How her death molded his life from the time he was eight. So few years he had with her. ’Twas a bitter loss for them all. And his father clung to his elder son as if he were the salvation of the family.

  From that point, his father ignored him. At times, he relished being forgotten, and at others, it festered like a boil on his arse. He wanted his father to look at him with pride and love. After his mother’s death, it never happened.

  But now, he’d secure the needed funds and prayed his father would change and love him for saving the family.

  That goal pushed him, made him take the risk of kidnapping Lady Faith MacAlister.

  His plan had to work—his life depended on it.

  Chapter 4

  She dressed with haste, wished for clean clothing, but she’d have to wear the same things she’d worn for hunting.

  When her mind veered to Captain Ross and the look on his face as she stood naked before him, she quickly scolded her thoughts to ponder other matters.

  Had Amit made it ashore? Was he on his way to Wild Thistle Keep? The storm may have taken him off course, or worse, mayhap he capsized. Damn the small boat.

  She grappled for the edge of the table when the ship heaved to the left. Her stomach protested and she found a pot to retch into. Dear God, she’d never go on the sea again. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to remain calm and push away the panic racing through her veins.

  Avoiding the view of the churning sea outside the window, she inspected Captain Ross’ lair, hoping if she avoided the view, the nausea would simply go away.

  Focus, Faith.

  ’Twas little in regard to ornamentation, despite the ornate woodwork. But so clearly his. Weapons hung on the walls along with drawings of the ship and a castle. Surprising, he didn’t think to remove the swords from her reach. She smiled and thought about using a sword to gain her freedom. But she had little skill with a sword, more’s the pity. Not to mention the problematic stretch of water between her and land.

  A few lienes hung by the door with a leather belt she assumed secured his tartan. The tidied, huge bed and looked as if it were carved into the very ship. Most men she knew left the tidying task to serving l
asses. Mayhap one of the men she’d met had the duty to keep his chamber clean. But as she thought of the small crew, most likely they were too busy elsewhere.

  A shelf with numerous books flanked the large window, and his desk sat right in the middle of chamber. He’d taken the map, so there was nothing of interest there; however, she made her way over to the books by grabbing onto the furniture nailed to the floor. Many sported nautical titles; a few, the history of Clan Ross. If she had the time, she’d explore them later.

  She wanted her quiver and bow so she could practice and forget about the raging storm. Her hands itched to hold the bow, feel the sinew of the string and the taut stretch when she nocked an arrow and drew. Not a day went by that she didn’t practice. And here she sat without her trusted weapon.

  Captain Ross had stated he wouldn’t give it to her. She may have to resort to begging.

  And if she went to him and asked? He’d surely refuse her request.

  The storm still brewed outside, tossing the ship. Faith gripped her stomach, trying to calm it. The captain said he’d bring food, but ’twould be hours before the storm settled and any meals would be made.

  If she were in the forest, she’d be able to find her own meal. A rabbit or grouse ’twould be the perfect meal. She clutched her roiling stomach again. The ship pitched and she fell against the bookcase.

  She’d be bruised on the morrow.

  And he was to blame.

  The blasted captain had plucked her from her home. And now flashes of the night her father died playing in her mind, making her seasick and miserable. Och, how wretched the weather proved to be with strikes of lightning and rumbles of thunder. Add waves big enough to swallow a man whole—or toss a person from a ship. Her hands shook as she held onto the wall. Breathe. She tried to calm the tremor of her nerves and the fear that nearly buckled her knees.

  “Damn,” she said to herself. This wasn’t her. She didn’t whine or complain. When the clan needed something, she did it. And now she acted like an arse.