Caribbean Scot

by Kimberly Killion

  He stood and rolled the wick higher inside the brass lantern to provide her more light as the moon was but a sliver this night. “I have to relieve Jean-Pierre at the helm.”

  She waved him away and for reasons unbeknownst to him, he bent down and kissed her cheek. It felt natural. ’Twas meant to be a courtesy. An innocent gesture of farewell. Nothing more, but the quickening of her pulse in her neck told him she hadn’t received it as much.

  Her fingertips touched the skin he’d kissed. Her knuckles whitened as her grip intensified on the quill. Her gaze remained pinned to the desktop.

  “Forgive me.” He dashed out of the cabin before she had the opportunity to scold him.

  * * *

  Slightly stunned, Robbie watched Reid flee the cabin. She should’ve scolded him for showing such affections, but if truth be told, scolding him wasn’t even on the list of things she wanted to do to Reid MacGregor.

  She wanted to pull him against her and feel the heat of his body crushed against hers. She wanted to taste the salt of his skin and explore the exotic scent that had tempted her beyond reason the whole of the day. But she resisted the urge to act on her desires, knowing it would be wrong, knowing the temptation would cost her and so many others their livelihood.

  Eoin would punish Robbie by ousting anyone close to her or Reid from the clan, regardless of how much gold they returned with.

  Robbie coiled her hair into a knot atop her head and secured it in place with a bone stylus she found in Reid’s desk drawer. She fanned the back of her neck and blamed the rising temperature for the perspiration trickling down her spine. Unfortunately, that lie didn’t hold true with the heady arousal pooling low in her belly.

  She would give her eyetooth for a cool brook to ease the heat from her body and free her mind of her sinful thoughts. Unfortunately, the Obsidian lacked such grandeur, so she opened the small door to the balcony, hoping the setting sun would push a breeze between the open doorways.

  It didn’t. ’Twas still as death. No breeze drifted in. Just thick, heavy air.

  Thump.

  Oscar jumped onto the balcony and stole a beat of Robbie’s heart.

  “Holy Loki, Oscar! Ye nigh scared the pink out of me.”

  Oscar responded by dragging his hot, heavy tongue over her forearm, which didn’t help her condition. She could go to her quarters and rid herself of her heavy wool, but she wanted to continue her work deciphering the stone tablet. With Reid occupied at the helm, the basin behind the partition was a temptation she could enjoy without guilt.

  “Ye keep watch for me, aye?”

  Oscar yawned, showing her his threatening teeth, then plopped down at her feet to lick his paw.

  “Worthless beastie.” She rounded the partition, located a cake of soap amongst Reid’s toiletries, and dipped a cloth into the basin. As she washed her face, the exotic scent of his soap stimulated her senses and filled her mind’s eye with unwanted images—two bodies, wet with perspiration, tangled in a sensual position that was most likely physically impossible.

  She cursed her traitorous imagination and pressed the cool rag against the back of her neck, but it wasn’t enough to douse the fire rushing beneath her skin. She loosened the laces of her bodice and pushed the garment off her shoulders.

  She shouldn’t have closed her eyes, for it was there she saw Reid bathing her. Cool water ran down her back and over her breasts, then the cake of soap slipped over her sensitive nipples—nipples Reid tormented one at a time between his teeth in her wanton vision.

  A caress as soft as silk drew a line across her shoulders.

  Her eyes shot open. Her hands trembled.

  She sucked in air and held it. The soap shot from her hand like a boulder from the catapult. She wiggled back into her sark and crossed her arms over her small breasts.

  He was behind her. His exhales cooled her wet skin and curled a shiver over the knobs of her spine. Had he purposely snuck in? Or had she been so wrapped up in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard his approach?

  A tiny giggle lay trapped in her throat. Blast her foolishness!

  She should yell at him, tell him to leave, but she was barely capable of breathing with him so close. Her heart pounded like a drum between her ears, and she prayed her knocking knees wouldn’t fail her. Sensations coursed through her body and gathered between her legs to mimic the throbbing of her pulse.

  The man wasn’t even touching her, yet her breasts grew heavy and her nipples turned into hard aching stones. She hugged herself a little tighter, part of her hiding, part of her desperate to alleviate this undeniable arousal.

  Reid leaned into her ear and swallowed. “I forgot my…I forgot something, though I cannot recall what it was.”

  “’Tis late. I should go.” She scrambled to pull her plaide back over her shoulder before she turned around. “Eoin might be looking for me.”

  Reid nodded, but didn’t remove himself from her path. Instead, he reached up to touch her face.

  The rise and fall of her chest intensified. She pulled the corner of her lip between her teeth and waited for him to touch her…but he didn’t.

  He fisted his hand, pivoted on his heel, and exited the cabin in three strides.

  Robbie pulled in air in greedy doses. She felt as if she’d climbed the tallest mountain in Scotland. Her throat burned and her skin tingled.

  She didn’t know how, but she had to get the man out of her mind. Without further delay, she left and rushed below deck. A lantern in the narrow passageway lighted the way to her quarters where she found Eoin leaning against the entrance holding a flask of drink.

  “Where have ye been?” he asked in a tone more curious than accusing.

  Guilt had her mind racing. A trickle of sweat fell over her temple. “I’ve been studying a stone tablet that will lead us to the gold. ’Tis fascinating really. The symbols represent different words in a language centuries old. Would ye like to see it?” Cease! Robbie swiped the back of her hand over her brow. ’Twas not like her to babble or sweat. Eoin would suspect something. As well he should.

  “Nay. I’m more interested in seeing ye.” He blinked slowly and grinned. ’Twas the first time she’d seen him smile since they boarded the Obsidian.

  She returned his smile more as a courtesy than a form of acceptance. Eoin wasn’t uncomely. His jaw was square and strong when it wasn’t covered with a beard. Dark boyish locks fell over his brow and reminded her of a man less conflicted with responsibility. A time, not long ago, she might have regarded his heavy-lidded dark eyes as seductive, but now she knew ’twas the drink.

  She’d once felt giddy when he looked at her. He was the Gregarach. ’Twas a privilege to have him call her his woman, so why did she cringe when he pulled her close?

  He dipped his head low and nuzzled her ear with his nose. “I love ye.”

  Robbie scoffed internally. Of course he loved her. The man’s bollocks were undoubtedly blue, and there were no other women aboard to love.

  He raised her skirt and slid his hand up the back of her thigh.

  She wished she desired him. She wished he made her toes curl when he touched her.

  But he didn’t.

  He reeked of drink and filth and when he forced his thick bitter tongue in her mouth, she felt naught but disgust. She pushed against his chest. “Do ye intend to have your way with me right here where anyone might pass?”

  “Holy Christ! I swear the man set ye up in these godforsaken dwarf quarters so I couldnae bed my own woman.”

  S’truth, the chamber was far from spacious. She couldn’t lie flat on the narrow palette else her head and feet would touch the bulkhead. The room had walls and a door, which was more than most were privy to, so she had hardly complained.

  “I have needs, Robbie.” He flanked her against him, squeezed her duff beneath her skirt with the hand not holding his precious drink, and kissed her throat.

  She had needs, too, but Eoin rarely concerned himself with them. Just as she was about to shove
him off her, he stiffened.

  “I smell him on ye.” He leveled his dark eyes with hers and released her. “Ye’ve been with him.”

  “Nay. ’Tis not what ye imply.” She shook her head so hard her hair came undone. “We’ve been at his desk studying the stone tablet all day. Reid left to tend his duties at the helm, and I washed in his basin with his soap. ’Tis all.”

  Eoin poured rose-colored drink straight into his gullet. “Think ye I am such a fool?” He drew up a wad of mucus and spit on the floor. “You’d do weel to remember who ye belong to and what your betrayal would cost ye.” He pivoted and ducked beneath an overhead beam, leaving her with his threat.

  Robbie slipped inside the dark confines of her quarters and pressed her forehead against the wooden door. She felt trapped, confined to a prison with no walls. Scotland was her home, but she was not free there, nor were any of the women bearing the mark of the MacGregor. They roamed the mountains, hiding in the mist like beggar thieves.

  A warm tear fell over her cheek. Her wants were not so greedy. She wanted a home, a place to raise a half dozen bairns. She wanted a place Grandda could live out his days in peace. And she wanted a man who was proud to call her wife.

  She buried her face in her hands and sobbed as she admitted to herself, she no longer wanted that man to be Eoin.

  8

  ~ BARGAINS ~

  “X-I-T-A-L-I.” Robbie sounded out the letters, then double-checked her notes for accuracy. She’d done it. After three days of poring herself into deciphering a single column of glyphs, she finally reaped the rewards.

  “I know her name,” she announced and stood, pushing the chair backward. The discovery had her trembling. “Reid, I know her name.” She turned and found a sleeping giant sprawled out atop the bed in black breeks and a white lèine shirt with his “kitten” tucked into his side.

  She could have cooed over the perfectly charming pair for hours, but her excitement couldn’t be contained. She fell to her knees beside the bed and shook him. “Reid.”

  His response was a quiet whistle.

  She grabbed hold of his muscular arm and shook him harder. “Reid!” she hollered this time.

  He shot upright, plucking a pistol out from beneath the bolster. Black waves of sweat-soaked hair lay plastered to his temples as his confused gaze scanned the cabin. “What is it, love?” In a protective gesture, he wove his fingers through her hair and held the side of her head.

  Love? The way he used the word sounded so natural. As if he’d been calling her that for years. Most likely, he used the same endearment on all women to coax them into his bed. A sudden bit of jealousy made her frown, but she pushed the thought aside and redirected her energies on the reasons she’d awoken him. “I know her name.”

  “’Tis hotter than the fires of the Underworld in here.”

  She would have stomped her foot had she been standing. Instead, she growled. The man really had difficulty focusing at times. He shoved the pistol back beneath the bolster, got to his feet, and then peeled off his lèine shirt. Sweat-slicked muscles rippled beneath a late afternoon sun shining in through the windows.

  Blast it! Now she had difficulty focusing.

  She pulled the corner of her lip between her teeth and ogled her fill while he wiped his brow. Did the man have to be so distracting?

  She stood, punched the rolled sleeves of her sark farther up her arms, and grumbled. “Think ye are hot? I am wearing bluidy wool.”

  “I see no one preventing you from taking it off,” he tossed the lewd comment over his shoulder as he walked toward the basin to wash.

  She did stomp this time and mentally searched for a barb, but none came. S’truth, she’d been cold the whole of her life, and the heat was a welcomed change.

  The stone, Robbie, she reminded herself. “I’ve deciphered some of the glyphs on the stone. The tablet is a burial marker. It belonged to a woman named Xitali. She died in 857 AD. I believe she was royalty of some sort as the stele bears the marking of ‘lady.’ She was a wife, but left no bairns behind.”

  Reid poked his head out from behind the partition. His smile lit up his entire face and warmed her insides. She’d impressed him. She could tell by the way his pale eyes shimmered with hints of blue.

  “Ye did well, Robbie.” He retrieved a clean lèine shirt from a locker and met her at the desk. He smelled good. Verra good. She wished she could name the exotic scent. ’Twas like a sweet treat combined with musk and salt and man. ’Twas delicious. She swallowed the saliva thickening in her mouth.

  Mayhap she needed to eat.

  “Argyle would be proud of you.”

  She toyed with a loose curl and tamped down the emotions that accompanied thoughts of Grandda.

  “Xitali was a Maya priestess and she died in 957. You counted wrong.” Reid pointed at the grouping of lines and dots on the stele.

  His smell forgotten, frustration pinched her entire face into a scowl. She dropped the curl and punched her fists onto her hips. “Ye knew? Why in the name of Odin would ye trouble me to decipher information ye already knew?”

  “I wanted you to discover it on your own. Tell me ye dinnae find the whole process fascinating.”

  She couldn’t. She’d been enthralled the past few days. Each glyph revealed a little more about Xitali’s life, but there was a great deal Robbie still didn’t know, and damn if he was going to make her figure it out on her own. “Tell me the rest.”

  Reid retrieved a scroll from the top drawer. “I drafted this map of the Yucatán jungle about a year ago.” He weighted it down beside the stone slab. “Xitali’s tomb is beneath an old temple between these two wells.” He pointed at two circles, one larger than the other.

  “Ye already found the tomb?”

  “Where do you think I acquired my wealth?” He snapped a wink at her.

  Feeling slightly deceived, Robbie harrumphed. “If ye already found the gold, then what are we searching for?”

  “More.” Reid grinned and brushed a curl behind her ear. “Xitali was more than a Maya priestess. She was a goddess.”

  “We are searching for gold that belonged to an ancient goddess?” Did he think her so gullible?

  “We are searching for more than gold. I believe Xitali left behind a library.”

  “A library? As in books? In the first century?”

  “Their books—called codices—were made from the thin inner bark from the ceiba tree. ’Twas where they recorded their religious beliefs.”

  Robbie cocked her head and gave him a look that called him adder-bitten. “Point one: gods and goddesses are not human and therefore cannae be buried. Point two: a library is not gold and cannae be sold to the Laird of Luss or the king.”

  “Nay, but knowledge can be a treasure in and of itself.” Reid pointed at a grouping of picture words at the bottom of the stone tablet. “‘Knowledge is truth and truth is power.’ Xitali lived by these words, and I suspect ’tis what got her killed the first time.”

  “The first time?”

  The man chuckled. “Xitali wasnae born a goddess, but she was smart, like you. I suspect the ruler of her city felt threatened by her intelligence, which is why he threw her in the Well of Sacrifice.” Reid pointed at the larger of the two wells on the map.

  “If she died in the well, then why was she buried in the tomb?”

  “She did not die in the well, but the people of her time believed she did.”

  “And ye have a different theory?”

  Reid nodded and checked the empty wooden bowl sitting atop the desk. “I believe she swam from the Well of Sacrifice to the water reservoir through an underground river.” He pointed at the second well on the map. “When she appeared two months after her supposed drowning, the people believed her risen from the Underworld and hailed her daughter to Chalchiuhtlicue—the goddess of running waters.”

  “Sounds like one of Grandda’s tales about the Norse gods.” Robbie had always believed those stories, too.

  Reid st
rode to the table beside the bed and picked up a second wooden bowl, but it, too, was empty. “Myth or no. The distance between one well and the next is over four thousand feet.”

  “’Tis too great. She would have drowned.” She watched him open a locker and pop the lid off a ceramic container. Whatever he was looking for wasn’t there.

  “’Tis my thinking she spent that two months somewhere in between. In an underground cave, mayhap.” He returned to her side and propped himself at the edge of the desk. “She would have drowned, lest she could breathe in the water.”

  Robbie studied his crooked grin. “’Tis doubtful they tossed a diving barrel in when they sacrificed her.”

  “’Twas no diving barrel that kept Xitali alive. ’Twas air. Good air. If my suspicions are correct, she had planned for her sacrifice.” Reid dropped to one knee in front of the same strongbox where he kept the stele and retrieved a gold container in the shape of a triangle. He set it atop the desk in front of her. “Xitali was holding this in her tomb.”

  The gold mesmerized Robbie, but the mystery of its contents was what had the hair on her arms standing up. Shaking, she lifted the lid, then stared unblinking at white frosted crystals of various sizes.

  “The symbols engraved on the lid name the crystals mus ik’ kuxtal—The Breath of Life.”

  She pressed her palm to her chest in an effort to calm her fluttering pulse. “’Tis a bit overwhelming.”

  “Touch them.” Reid picked up one of the crystals and set it in her palm.

  It was hard, but not like diamonds. It smelled like the ocean, so she tasted it—a little salty, tangy—but cool. The crystal was cool on her tongue. “’Tis not a gemstone. What do ye suppose it is?”

  “Air.” From a locker, Reid retrieved a round transparent sphere with four weights soldered onto the feet of the globe. Inside was a wick soaked in oil. “Jax’s woman made this for me out of sand glass.”

  “I dinnae know Jax had a woman.”

  “Aye. Black Dove. You’ll meet her and her many sisters soon.” Reid pulled a wooden cork out of the top and transferred fire from the lantern to the wick inside. “Pay attention.” He returned the cork which immediately choked the flame.