My Cursed Highlander

by Kimberly Killion

  Taveon bore her weight when her legs no longer would. As if she stood in a summer rainstorm, hot tears flooded her cheeks. She wept against his chest for what seemed like an eternity, spending tears she’d been deprived of far too long.

  “Shhh…‘tis over,” he cooed, soothing the helpless child that had been left on the steps of Santa Reparata. He stroked her back and circled the ridges of her spine until her sobs dwindled to a snivel and a hiccup. “Had ye been my kin, I would have gone back for ye.”

  His protectiveness washed through her like a welcome burst of warmth, but the disapproval in his tone needed to be addressed. While he did not say it, she knew he thought ill of Fioretta for leaving her. “My sister witnessed the brutal assassination of her child’s father. The shock of it all sent her into her labors.”

  Taveon stiffened.

  “She struggled with the rigors of childbearing for days before Giulio was born.”

  “Your nephew was a bastard?”

  Viviana nodded, embarrassed by her position in society. “Devastated by the loss of his brother, Lorenzo had Fioretta sign an illegal marriage document to legitimize Giulio’s birth. She gained Lorenzo’s promise to watch over Giulio and me before…” Viviana shivered, unable to finish.

  “Before she died,” Taveon supplied for her, the harshness in his tone was laced with superstition. “How old was she?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “‘Tis the curse. It stole your sister from ye.”

  Viviana stepped back and shook her head. “No.” She was hard pressed to believe a stone that had provided her with such wonder played any part in Fioretta’s death. “The assassins stole her from me, the same as they stole my eyes.”

  “What do ye mean?” He looked down at her. Black lashes, spiked with tears, lay against her cheek.

  “I awoke some days after the assassination in a darkness that became my life. Lorenzo’s physicians argued whether it had been the shock or the fall that blinded me. Regardless of the cause, their wisdom and famed techniques for healing failed to return light to my eyes… until Angelo.”

  “And me.” Taveon brushed the tears from her cheeks, then brought her fingers to his lips. He looked out the window, skimming over a row of buildings lining the busy street, before he studied a sky dotted with black and white birds. “I’m your light now.”

  “Until we reach Scotland and the power of the amulet is used for a greater purpose. You cannot know what it is like to live in constant darkness.”

  Taveon’s heated exhale feathered over her face. He slumped and held quiet for long moments. “Let me be your eyes until we know what is to come. Do not let your stubbornness rob you of a gift only I can give ye.”

  Viviana pressed the amulet against her skin. Only a fool would refuse his offer. She was exhausted with her own rebellion and wanted nothing more than to trust Taveon with her heart.

  She nodded and felt his excitement in his hurried movements.

  He scooped up her tablet and the single satchel she kept with her then led her to the door. “Come, m’lady. Wait til ye see our ship.”

  “Ship?” Viviana dug her boot heels into the wooden slates, halting his footing. “What do you mean, our ship? Where are we?”

  “We are at the coast. I’ve spent the morn loading provisions with the rest of the crew. ‘Tis why I was not here at dawn to collect ye. Your days astride have come to an end.”

  The man was completely witless. Viviana had seen maps of the continent as a child. “M’laird, have you forgotten about the bit of land between France and Scotland?”

  “Ouish, woman! If ye think I will step one foot on English soil, then ye dinnae know me at all.” He popped a quick kiss on her nose.

  “Then we are to sail?” She swallowed a new bout of anxiety. “On a ship? Surrounded by water?” Why did she suddenly feel ill?

  With the sweep of Taveon’s strong arm, Viviana found herself flushed up against his chest. “Fear not, m’lady. I will never abandon ye. I give ye my word as your husband and as a mon of honor.”

  Before she could respond, his lips were on hers, sealing his promise with a gentle kiss. The first kiss they’d shared since Chillion Castle. A kiss that ended far too quickly.

  “Come. I’ve so much to show ye.”

  Chapter 19

  “Get those barrels of oil below deck, grommet.” The second in command issued the order to a gangly boy from the quarterdeck of a two-masted galleon.

  “Right-o.” The grommet spun on his heel and nearly knocked Viviana over in his haste. “Pardon, miss,” he offered then blew passed her.

  Viviana’s grip on Taveon’s hand tightened as the crew bustled all around them preparing to set sail. Miocchi presence didn’t seem to ease her angst as the beastie appeared as nervous as a lone hare amidst a pack of wolves. His paws danced atop the teakwood planks while his tail beat a furious tune against her pale yellow skirt.

  “It is a busy vessel.” Viviana hooked her other hand around Taveon’s forearm where his sleeve rolled at the elbow.

  “Aye. ‘Twill settle once we raise anchor.” His gaze flitted over the ropes bound to the rails of the ship. He tried to study his surroundings knowing it would calm her, but found the only thing he wanted to look at was her.

  She nibbled at her bottom lip while a salty breeze blew wisps of black hair over her face. “M’laird, look up. I want to see the ship.”

  He pulled her closer and tried to ignore the way his heart jumped inside his chest. She’d trusted him this day. She’d told him something he was certain she’d never shared with anyone. He could be her champion. Nay. He would be her champion.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear and swallowed, wanting to kiss the lobe, then his wandering eyes slipped down her neck to her satiny breasts. He only intended to glance at her favors, but they were so damn enticing. His body tingled, and his sac tightened with nine days of unspent need.

  “M’laird, please.”

  Damn-it-to-Hell! He wanted her. He ached for her and was certain he could move mountains if it would gain him another night with her. Tearing his gaze from her, he resisted the urge to adjust himself inside his braies and looked up. The cry of gulls circling overhead only added to the cacophony of organized chaos.

  “Ready off the port bow,” a man bellowed from the crow’s nest. Topmen swarmed into the rigging with an agility to astound an acrobat.

  The boatswain’s piercing whistle straightened Viviana’s spine. Her entire body trembled as the launching crew labored over turning the capstan to raise the anchor. The vessel hurled into an unsteady quiver, rocking to and fro in harmony with the booming cracks of her skeletal frame.

  Miocchi whined, his toenails slipping on the wooden planks.

  Viviana might have comforted her pet if she wasn’t clinging to Taveon with both hands. Her skirts smashed against his shins and her dark brows pinched in the middle.

  “Ye will get used to the motion.” Taveon escorted her across the newly painted red deck toward the bow of the ship.

  Canvas snapped from the halyards overhead when the main sail caught its first breath of wind.

  Viviana paled. “It is overwhelming.”

  “Come. I’ll introduce ye to the mon in charge. Mayhap he will ease your fears.”

  “The captain?”

  “Aye. Laird MacKaskill likes that title as well.”

  “Cora-Rose’s father?”

  “Aye.” Taveon led her up a ladderway eager to introduce her to the man who’d become like a father to him and Keegan. Taveon waited for Laird MacKaskill to finish with his first mate. A sun-baked hand pressed against his bald head and the sun glinted off a new gold lope in his ear.

  “Is he a pirate?” Viviana asked in hushed tones.

  “Nay. He deals in trade, but I suspect he might warm to the idea of becoming a pirate.” Taveon smiled inwardly. The man certainly presented himself like a rogue. A pale lawn shirt stretched over broad shoulders tucked into dark chausses where two dirks were secur
ed at his waist. A basket sword hung from his hip and the hilts of two more blades poked out of the tops of knee-hi black boots.

  “He is heavily armed.” Viviana tucked herself a little further behind Taveon’s back.

  “Ye will find most Scots pride themselves on the number of weapons they can carry on their person.”

  Laird MacKaskill turned, his smile deepening the lines at his temples. “Where the hell ‘ave ye been, son? Ye said ye were going back to port for your belongings.” His head cocked, and his gaze slipped around Taveon’s shoulder.

  Taveon felt only slightly guilty for not mentioning his belongings included a wife. Truth be told, he was a little nervous about the man’s reaction. He inhaled and pulled Viviana out from behind him. Pride lifted his chin. “Laird MacKaskill, I would like ye to meet my lady wife, Viviana—”

  “Your wife?” Laird MacKaskill’s wide grin fell. A thick blue vein whelped out of his neck and his entire head turned red. He’d warn the same look not long ago when he learned Cora-Rosa was carrying. “Ye selfish bastard! Did ye learn naught from your da?”

  An unexpected fist of iron slammed into the side of Taveon’s face and knocked him off his feet. Splintered planks bit his arse and a searing pain exploded in his jaw. Shite! He shook his head and blinked to clear the stars from his eyes.

  Viviana’s eyes flew wide, then a fierce scowl replaced her shock. “You barbaric cretin!” She reached out, found Laird MacKaskill, and ripped a tuft of hair from his forearm.

  “Ack! Ye minx!” Laird MacKaskill bellowed which sent an already agitated Miocchi into fits.

  The beastie leapt over Taveon and took a stance at Laird MacKaskill’s boot tips baring lethal, white teeth. “Yap, yap, yap.”

  Viviana’s purple eyes filled with upset as she dropped to her knees beside Taveon. Her gown melted around her like soft buttermilk, and he could practically taste her sweet scent on his tongue. Part of him wanted to laugh at her theatrics, but another part of him craved her attention. She caressed his face, her small hand easing the sting beating in his cheek.

  Unfortunately, the beating in his ears remained.

  “Stand down, Miocchi,” Taveon demanded, but was nonetheless humbled by the dog’s protection. ‘Twas good to have Miocchi’s loyalty.

  “Yap!” The beastie snapped a final threat then whined overtop of Taveon and licked his face with a warm wide tongue. A handful of topmen tangled in the ropes overhead paused in their duties to watch the scene. Some were members of Clan Kraig, but the majority were kinsmen of Laird MacKaskill—fighting men who were sure to assist their chieftain should things go awry.

  “Ye are just like your brother. Have ye no care for—”

  “Fear not, Laird MacKaskill. My lady wife is far too stubborn for the curse to take her from this earth.” He pressed Viviana’s palm against his lips and then found his feet.

  “Your humor is not welcome.” Laird MacKaskill rubbed the bald patch of skin just below his elbow.

  “She is barren,” Taveon stated bluntly.

  The crew exhaled overhead with enough force to fill the foresail.

  “Oh.” Laird MacKaskill’s features smoothed as quickly as Viviana’s lips pursed.

  She punched her fists onto her hips. Her coloring had transitioned from a pale white to an angry crimson, but was now turning the dingy color of spoiled meat. “Must you always succeed my introduction with that statement?” She aimed her glare toward Laird MacKaskill. “You may as well know my other qualities. Not only am I barren, I’m also a blind whore.”

  “Ouish, woman. Ye are not a whore.” Taveon turned toward Laird MacKaskill to clarify. “She is not a whore.” He slapped his hand on the back of his neck and rubbed his tense muscles. He was going to put his wife in a verra small cabin with naught but a verra small bed and demand she leave this foolish quarrel behind them.

  Her angry grimace wavered far too quickly, and her weight shifted to one foot. Her hands slid from her hips to her stomach. She turned and made a hasty retreat toward the rail of the ship. Fortunately, Miocchi was there to guide her, lest she might tumble over the port side.

  “Did she naught just say she was blind?” Laird MacKaskill stared after her.

  “I fear she oftentimes refuses to accept it.”

  “Forgive me, son, but your wee wife is a hellion.”

  “Ye cannae even begin to fathom.”

  “Wherever did ye get her?”

  “She came with the amulet,” Taveon blurted out and regretted his heartless words the moment they slipped passed his lips.

  Viviana scowled at him just before she bent over the rail and heaved her guts up.

  Chapter 20

  Taveon finished the tune he’d been humming and popped a quick kiss atop Viviana’s cold nose, thankful sleep finally overcame her. “The morrow will be better, Venus.” Diamond-shaped glass on the port and starboard sides filled Laird MacKaskill’s cabin with dusk’s colors making Viviana look surreal. Unable to resist that tiniest tickle, he brushed the pads of his fingers over long inky lashes lying peacefully against a cheek sprinkled with pink and yellow light.

  The same sandglass that had rolled back and forth across the floor all afternoon thudded against the bulkhead only to roll back beneath a large desk bolted to the floor. Taveon shook his muddled head. Something was definitely wrong with him. He’d spent the better part of the afternoon holding her hair while she cast up her accounts into the privy pot, yet here he sat at her bedside fawning over her like some damn goddess.

  He pulled the down counterpane to her neck, wedged its thickness around her hips, then patted the surface. “Come, Miocchi.”

  The dog, who’d been staring at Taveon with pleading gray eyes, leapt atop the berth, made a full circle, and then plopped beside Viviana. A burst of air shot out his snout before he settled.

  As quietly as he could muster, Taveon added bits of coal to the potbellied stove to ward off eve’s approaching chill, then stood atop a fur rug and studied the confines of a cabin filled with clutter. A heap of blankets and nonessential rubble buried what he thought might be a piece of furniture against the back wall, but couldn’t be certain. A thick-backed chair piled high with soiled garments sat beside the desk covered with charting maps.

  Ouish. Laird MacKaskill was a bona fide pig.

  After returning Laird MacKaskill’s loose articles to their lockers, Taveon hung Viviana’s gown with care and stepped out of cabin onto the captain’s deck. He closed his eyes and inhaled a breath of cool salty air.

  “I trust your wife’s color has returned?” Laird MacKaskill appeared beside him with a proffered silver flask.

  “Aye.” Taveon accepted the drink and drew a long swill. Familiar heat burned his throat and coated his insides. Months had passed since he’d tasted the peppery flavor of a good whisky. “God, I miss Scotland.”

  “Aye that, son.” Auburn colored brows pushed wrinkles upward toward a bald head coated with a sheen of mist. “Think your new wife will fair Scotland’s weather?”

  “She is a strong lassie,” Taveon defended.

  “S’truth, she’s got plenty o’ flesh to keep her warm. Lots of curves.”

  The man toyed with him. This fact didn’t prevent the scowl from weighing down Taveon’s face.

  “What? I might be auld, but I’ve still got a cock between me legs.” Laird MacKaskill patted the inside of his thigh just above his knee, as if his cock really hung that low, and then slapped Taveon on the back with the strength of a seasoned warrior. “Come, walk with me.”

  Taveon matched Laird MacKaskill’s gait across the deck. A squealing cluster of men sat atop crates tossing dice against the ship’s rail. An older man, whose hair cropped tight to his head, pranced about in a circle. Even though every other word spewing from his toothless mouth was utter profanity, he appeared jovial.

  Taveon passed the flask back to Laird MacKaskill then rest his forearms over the rail. The sun’s final glow blinked out as it disappeared beneath the horizon.
“Viviana thanks ye for the use of your cabin.”

  “I suspect she’s a woman o’ refined breeding. ‘Twould not do weel to put her below deck, or worse, put her in a rope bed alongside the bilgemates.” Laird MacKaskill swallowed another swig of drink and steadied his gaze on the swelling waves. “Remi told me how the lass can see because of the stone. ‘Tis remarkable. No?”

  Taveon rolled his eyes heavenward and cursed beneath his breath. Remi was a babbling magpie. “I’ve every confidence the amulet is powerful enough to break Elise’s curse,” he assured the man knowing he undoubtedly fretted on Cora-Rose’s behalf.

  “If ye truly believed that, why would ye take a barren woman to wife? Much less the same woman Noreen warned ye against getting familiar with?”

  Taveon felt Laird MacKaskill’s accusing eyes on him. “Viviana’s guardian is one of the most influential people in Italy. He left me little choice.”

  “Then ye were forced into a marriage to a woman who can bear ye no heirs. I trust ye will take a mistress.”

  “Nay!” The man prodded, and Taveon knew it, but was nonetheless appalled by the assumption. “Makayla is my heir, and Cora-Rose will provide the clan with another heir in a matter of weeks.”

  Laird MacKaskill snorted and tossed his head back for another drink. He swallowed. “Cora-Rose is carrying a lass. She said so herself, and she’s never wrong.”

  ‘Twas true Cora-Rose had guessed the sex of every bairn delivered at Ravenhurst over the past two years. Arguing with Laird MacKaskill was a moot point. The man was hunting, but for what? He’d fought with Da for years trying to claim Kraig soil for his own, but that battle was behind them. “Keegan and Cora-Rose’s marriage bound our clans. We are allies.”

  “We are allies as long as Cora-Rose is alive.”

  Taveon glared at him, more hurt by the man’s words than his threat.

  Laird MacKaskill cocked a brow and wiped the sea spray from his head. “Ye need a son to bear your name. A woman cannae be chieftain and ye weel know it.”

  “The Cariston’s chieftain is a woman.”