Alas, none of her dreams that would lead her to freedom had come to fruition.
But something must have made him believe she was alive, and yet, she could not guess at who or what it could be. No one here knew of her identity, save for Mother Superior and her aunt. Even in her letters, she’d not written as Jane or given any other truly identifying information.
There was always the chance that Mother might have accidentally let some piece of information slip, for though she knew that Marina was her aunt’s niece and that her name was Jane, she did not know the circumstances regarding why she must be hidden.
She did not know that Livingstone had killed Jane’s husband.
That he wanted to kill her.
For Jane held a dark secret. One a man would kill for.
A secret she was willing to sell to a pirate for his protection.
A secret a pirate would be willing to barter with her for.
A secret would be the undoing of an entire kingdom.
If only she could have lived out her days in peace here. But only a naïve lass would have thought such a thing. Even when she’d come here at the age of sixteen, she’d not been naïve. She’d lived the previous three years with the most arrogant of earls—her young husband. He’d treated her like rubbish. He’d disrespected her in front of his men and made sport of seeing her look dejected because it made him feel superior. Jane had been nothing more than a pawn in their marriage bargain. Betrothed at age seven and married at age thirteen, she’d spent three miserable years with William Douglas, and the only friend she’d made was his younger brother, David.
They were both dead now.
Wee David was dead by association, for possibly knowing too much. William was dead for the latter, and for his arrogance. For he’d been the one to proclaim he knew the secret. And from that moment forth, he’d had a target on his chest.
It was only by sheer instinct that Jane had thought to ask William what the big secret was, playing on his need to brag. And then he’d told her.
Now she harbored the most dangerous secret in the country.
And Livingstone knew it.
Castle Dheomhan, Isle of Scarba
There was nothing to spoil a man’s debauchery more than a messenger arriving with an urgent missive from a woman. An important woman if she knew where he resided. Besides the wenches lounging on his and his crewmen’s laps, there was only one woman who had ever sent a missive to his pirate stronghold.
Gently knocking the two buxom wenches from his lap, who fell in a heap of drunken, naked laughter to the thick fur beneath his throne chair. The same throne chair that had been commissioned from steel and velvet with the Devils of the Deep skull and swords crest at its top and had parts that dated back to the original king of pirates, Arthur MacAlpin, from hundreds of years before.
Rock hard and half-drunk on whisky, Shaw settled his gaze on the messenger and willed his raging cock into submission. But that was almost impossible, given the inebriated state he was in and thinking of precious Jane. She’d be twenty-one now. Old enough that he didn’t have to feel ashamed for thinking about her pert breasts and luscious mouth.
Was it she who’d sent this old man to him? Would she dare?
He’d not heard from her since his letter of warning, though he’d hoped to every day since.
But when he unrolled the parchment to behold the looping scrawl of his Lady Jane, he glanced at the messenger who stood cowering before him. This was not her usual girlish letter, but one full of desperation and a bargain.
Taking the steps down from his dais, he leaned down to look the fisherman in the eyes. “Dinna piss yourself.”
“I willna, my…my… Your Highness.”
Shaw grunted, sneering and not bothering to correct the old man. “How do I know this is not a trick?”
The fisherman stepped forward, reaching for his sporran. A bad idea in a room full of men expecting weapons to be drawn at any moment, and the old bastard was awarded with a dozen sharp blades at his throat.
The bloke raised his arms, glancing around fearfully, knees knocking. His mouth was open in a silent plea before he finally found his voice. “Please, sir, I hold proof.”
Shaw waved his hand at his men. When they lowered their weapons, the fisherman continued to reach for his sporran and pulled out a golden ring of emerald and pearls. Shaw knew this ring. He’d given it to Jane as a gesture of friendship. A token of…his affection. He’d told her to send it if she ever needed him. When he’d told her he meant to collect on their debt, he’d never actually meant to take anything from the lass—other than perhaps convincing her when she was of age that she might like to grace his bed. It had taken a feat of pure willpower not to write her back when she’d said a life at sea would suit her to say he was coming to get her.
“Lady Marina,” the fisherman said.
Marina… Jamarina… He let out a short laugh.
He’d not heard the name in a long time. It was the one he’d given her before she disembarked his ship. The lass had plagued his dreams for five long years. More beautiful than a woman had the right to be. He’d always felt guilty about his desire for her. For she’d been so young at the time, and pirate or nay, he had a code when it came to women. But not anymore. Now she’d be a woman grown, and the curves he’d felt when he carried her aboard his ship would have blossomed.
Shaw grunted and went back to the letter, the women on the floor pawing at his boots all but forgotten.
Dear Gentle Warrior,
I am prepared to pay my debt straightaway. ’Tis most urgent that you come now. Else, the balance will never be repaid, for there are others who wish to lay claim to the treasure I alone possess. I trust that your desire for adventure and thirst for the greatest of prizes will allow you to make haste to me. And know that I do not flatter myself that any sense of honor would bring you forth.
Most urgently yours in debt,
Lady M
“When did she give ye this?” Shaw demanded. The man stank of fish, his face the color and texture of dried leather.
“Early this morning, my laird. When I dropped off the fish at the abbey.”
Shaw grunted. “And what was your payment for daring to step foot on my island?” He kept his voice calm, low, but it still had the power to cause the man to quake.
“The ring, sir.”
“The ring,” Shaw mused. He held the emerald jewel up to the candlelight. “So ye’ll be wanting it back?”
“I’d be happy to leave with my life.” The man’s knees knocked together.
Shaw grinned, baring all of his teeth as he did so. “I suppose ye would.” He closed his fingers around the ring. “Go then. Afore I unleash my beasts to feed on your bones. Ye were never here. Ye never saw this place. If anyone so much as lands on my beach by accident, I will hunt ye down and kill ye.”
The old man nodded violently, then turned and ran toward the wide double doors that made up the entrance to Shaw’s keep.
“Wait,” Shaw called and two of his crew stepped in front of the old man to bar him from leaving. “Ye forgot something.”
Trembling visibly, the fisherman turned, and Shaw tossed him the ring. But his reflexes, or his nerves more like, weren’t expecting it, and the ring fell to the stone before his feet. There was a measure of held breath in the air, and Shaw wondered if the man would pick it up or if the moments would tick by to the appropriate count that his men knew meant free game for whatever treasure had been dropped.
Seeming to understand the urgency, or perhaps just wishing to get the hell of Shaw’s island, the fisherman scooped up the ring.
But instead of rushing out, he asked, “What should I tell my lady?”
“Ye needn’t tell her anything,” Shaw said. “I’ll be there before ye get the chance.”
With that, he blew a whistle to assemble a small crew and marched past the old fisherman, thinking at the last second to grab him by the scruff and drag him down to the docks before he was robb
ed for having overstayed his welcome.
Soon Shaw would lay his gaze on the beautiful lass again. Only this time, she would be a woman. Had the years at the abbey done her well? Was she now a child of God as she’d often struggled with deciding upon in her letters? And if she was, would he have the ballocks to corrupt her?
At that thought, Shaw laughed aloud as he gripped the helm.
Of course, he would.
He was Shaw Savage MacDougall. He took what he wanted, when he wanted. And never had he shied from debauching a willing woman.
Better yet was the question regarding what was this prize she claimed to possess? This treasure that he would not be able to resist?
He imagined a mountain of jewels and gold. A key to the king’s own treasure stores. But truth be told, those were not the treasures he’d been pining over for years since last seeing her. Nay, the treasure he wanted was her.
In just a few hours time, he’d know what it was she was offering.
“Where to, Cap’n?” Jack asked, eagerness in his eyes.
“Iona.”
Jack frowned. “Ain’t nothing there we want, Cap’n.”
Shaw turned a fierce glower on his crewman. “There is indeed something I want there. And ye best not be telling me again what it is I want, else I’ll have ye hanging from the jack and make good on your name.”
“Aye, Cap’n. Willna overstep again.”
Shaw growled. “Make certain no one else does, either.”
Chapter Three
As dawn approached, Jane climbed the bell tower, sat on the small bench and gazed out one of the arched belfry openings that looked toward the sea. Saints, but she hoped and prayed that at some point she’d see the black sails of MacDougall’s ship coming through the fog off the Firth of Lorn.
The gentle sound of the waves lapping and the slight breeze that blew through the bell tower coupled with sheer exhaustion lulled her into a state close to sleep. She huddled deeper into her cloak and let her eyelids droop to half slits, still managing to keep a partial view of the sea.
“Come for me, gentle warrior,” she murmured.
Jane didn’t know how much time had passed, but in the courtyard below, she watched the sisters file into the nave. She knew they would wonder where she was, but she didn’t having the energy to join them, or the nerve to leave this perch in case she missed the approach of his ship.
And then she saw them—the unforgettable darkened sails of the Savage of the Sea. One prominent sail was ruddy in color and had a massive ship painted on it with the image of a devil’s head with a sword-bearing fist crushing it.
He’d come for her.
Jane sat up taller, her eyes suddenly wide and all remnants of sleep gone from her as renewed energy flowed rampantly. She made her way to the narrow ladder and climbed down from the bell tower, passing the nun whose duty it was to ring the bell for lauds.
“What is it?” she asked, taking in the urgency in Jane’s darting gaze.
“I must go,” was all Jane managed to say, her breathing quick.
Down in the cloister, the sisters of Iona walked from the refectory where they’d broken their fast and prepared for lauds in the nave. None seemed to notice as she passed going in the opposite direction, as it wasn’t uncommon to see Jane—or rather Marina—wandering around at all hours and going in any manner of direction.
When she reached the wide double doors that locked them into their sanctuary, she felt the biting grip of her aunt’s fingers on her arm.
“What are ye doing, child?” Aunt Agatha whispered, her brown eyes bright with concern, face pale in the dawn light. The too-tight wimple on her head made her skin taut at the edges.
“He has come for me, Aunt. Have faith, I will be safe.”
“Who has come?” Agatha’s brow tried to wrinkle beyond the tight wimple.
For a moment, Jane considered not telling her aunt and just demanding to be let go. Shaw had come for her, and if she didn’t meet him out on the beach, who was to say he wouldn’t come knocking on the abbey doors in search of her. After all, she had bribed him with treasure. “My protector.”
“God is your protector, child.”
Jane struggled with how to answer, for she’d never negate her aunt’s beliefs. But she was fairly certain that when Livingstone came brandishing a sword, she would not be spared. “God protects us all, aye, my aunt, but he canna protect me from who comes. Not like Savage can.” Oh, no! She’d not meant to let that name slip out.
“Savage? What kind of name is that?” Her aunt gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as understanding dawned. “Nay, lass. Ye canna mean…a pirate?”
It was too late to go back on what she’d said. Besides, all her aunt had to do was look outside the abbey walls and she’d see the swift approach of the pirate ship. And it was obviously a pirate ship. “Aye, Aunt Agatha. He is the one who brought me to Iona. He saved my life. And he is the only one who can save me now.”
Aunt Agatha’s face lost much of its piety in that moment as her eyes burned with protective rage. “Nay! I forbid it. I canna let ye go with a man who would destroy ye. I have sworn an oath to protect ye, to keep ye here. I told your father—”
“What did ye tell my father?”
“Nothing.” Agatha glanced away.
All this time, Jane had thought her father believed her dead. She’d wanted him to think she was dead. Because if he believed her alive, if he knew where she was, then he could be tortured into giving the information away.
“Aunt! How could ye? He will be in danger!”
“From a pirate.”
“Nay! From the men who killed the Earl of Douglas. The same ones who want me dead.”
“Your father does not believe ye’re here. He believes ye safely in Rome.”
“Rome?”
“Aye. I told him we sent ye there.”
Well, that was something at least.
“Please, dinna go with that pirate. He will be the death of ye.”
“He will not, Aunt. But Livingstone…” Jane shuddered, and just from that gesture, understanding once more dawned in her aunt’s eyes. “I’ve said too much. ’Tis better if ye know naught. Let me go, and dinna despair. Savage saved me once before, and he will do so again. I swear to ye. I will be safe.”
But her aunt was shaking her head, her lips trembling as she stared at Jane as though she’d never seen her before.
“He will ruin ye. He will drag ye down into a life a crime. Ye’ll be shunned by all. Shunned by God. Excommunicated. He is a devil.”
MacDougall’s brethren were known as the Devils of the Deep, and he was the prince of their fleet, but would the devil have brought her to God’s house? She doubted it. Despite the rough exterior, the vicious reputation, there was something more to Shaw “Savage” MacDougall than met the eye. She could feel it.
“And ye’d rather see me dead? Because if I stay here, I’ll be dead and buried within the week.”
Tears gathered in Agatha’s eyes, and she tugged Jane into her embrace, trembling as she held her.
“Pray for me, Aunt Agatha.” And with that, she wrenched up the bar on the doors and ran through the opening, knowing that this was perhaps the last time she’d see her aunt, as Mother Superior would not allow her back once she knew the truth of where Jane had gone.
The moors were damp with dew that seeped into her sturdy leather boots, and then her feet were sinking into cool sand. The ship had laid anchor some distance out, but even in the dawn light she could see a skiff being rowed toward shore, and standing in the center of it was MacDougall himself.
The man’s balance had to be impeccable, his strength evident. For who could stand so stoic on small boat like that?
He seemed taller than she remembered. Broader somehow. He wore a plaid of dark reds, golds and deep green almost black, a leine of black wool, and weapons that gleamed in the dawning pink light. His wild black hair blew in the wind and bronzed skin glistened in the glowing sun. In five y
ears, she’d somehow shrunken him in her mind, lessened his roguish good looks. A mistake, for he was more mesmerizing than ever.
Jane’s heart lurched. Her breath ceased, and her legs were suddenly wobbly. Had she made a mistake? Would he offer her protection in exchange for the secrets she kept? Or would he ravish her as her mind was now conjuring up all sorts of…
Get a hold of yourself, Jane!
What if her aunt was right, and he truly was a devil? What if him helping her before was only a single chance? What if…? Saints, there were so many questions darting back and forth in her head she was growing weary and dizzy.
She wanted to sit and catch her breath, or at least figure out how to breathe again. But to do so would be to show weakness, and the only thing she knew he despised more than Livingstone was weakness.
If she didn’t stand tall and steady in what she wanted and needed, it would only allow him entry to walk all over her.
And she would get what she needed—his protection.
So Jane stood tall, hands on her hips, chin jutted, as she waited for him to arrive on the beach. The men chanted as they rowed, and then before she could turn around and run back to the sanctuary of Iona’s abbey walls, the skiff was sliding up onto the beach and MacDougall was stepping down into the water, his large leather boot sinking into the sand and leaving a footprint the size of a crater. Their eyes met for an instant, and time stood still. She remembered those well. Emerald green and piercing. The way he was looking at her, as though he would devour her whole, made her limbs tingle, and she nearly faltered in her purposeful stance.
With deliberate intent, he marched toward her. Long, muscular legs with naked knees peeking from beneath his plaid. She jerked her gaze back up to his face to see that his eyes had darkened, and he either didn’t like her perusal, or he liked it very much. It was hard to tell.
Oh, heaven help her… She didn’t remember him being so…tall and large.
Or handsome.
Dark, wavy hair blew in the breeze and his face held a day or two’s worth of stubble. When last she’d seen him, he’d a beard covering most of his face. Now she could make out the square jaw, the wide, intimidating mouth, a distinguished nose that had been broken at least twice, and his eyes… She felt he could see straight into her soul. If he were the devil, he’d know just what she was willing to sell her soul to him for.
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