by Amy Jarecki
She narrowed the gap to a hair’s breadth from touching him. “But it can when your body aches for more.” Her breathy voice could charm the dead.
Calum covered her mouth and pulled her into him. Sweet as honey, she welcomed him. Groaning, Anne molded to his body while her hips gently rocked. Calum’s breath ragged, the pleasure from her friction nearly unmanned him. It took every bit of control not to follow her into his chamber and throw her down on his bed. God, he wanted her.
Anne cupped his head with both hands and kissed him softly. “I thank you for your gallant rescue,” she whispered, her voice faint, not half as assured as her actions. She took a feeble step away. “Sleep well, my lord.”
Closing the door, she left him standing alone, holding a candle with a wicked ache under his kilt. Her lock clicked. Calum groaned and slid down the stone wall. A month with Lady Anne in the keep would send him into complete lunacy.
Chapter Nine
Before breaking her fast, Anne opened her trunk, pulled out her sewing basket and fished for a piece of linen. Her escape attempt thwarted, she mulled over whether to try again. Calum had now reassured her safety—and never in her life did she think kissing would be that enjoyable. Heaven help her.
Why should she risk her life to flee back to England and Grandfather Wharton? What lay in England for her? The Countess of Southampton, her mother, had ignored her pleas to refuse the baron’s proposal.
…This is a man of great esteem who will provide for you…Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find worthy peers for five daughters? No, Anne, this is an alliance that will bring riches to the family. It is your responsibility to honor your uncle’s proxy agreement…
Anne shuddered. Sharing a bed with a gouty, wrinkled old man? Curses. Why should I be anxious to join him?
She held up her assortment of thread. A bright yellow strand peeked over the top. She glanced back at the tapestry on the wall. Would Calum like a kerchief with the MacLeod of Raasay crest? She rolled her eyes and admonished herself for thinking of him yet again.
Her wayward hand snatched the yellow thread. She sat in a chair beside the fire and started in on the kerchief. Whether she would give it to Calum or not was yet to be decided. She’d probably be united with Lord Wharton by the time she finished it. Calum MacLeod would then be but a memory along with his late night kisses. She pushed a round hoop over the linen and threaded a bone needle. It didn’t take long to outline a perfect circle with even stitches.
Anne held it up to the light. If she kept it for herself, the kerchief would always remind her of this time. Never again would she be captured by pirates and held in their keep while they awaited her ransom. Anne heaved a heavy sigh.
She touched her fingers to her lips, savoring the memory of Calum’s kiss. Such a ruggedly handsome man, but ever so gentle and affectionate. When he ran his hands down her back, her insides had turned to mush. Oh, how she wished she didn’t have to resist him, but she mustn’t shirk her duty.
Plunging her needle in for another stitch, she bit her lower lip. A scuffle outside the door stopped her.
Mara’s muffled voice carried through the timbers. “Calum MacLeod, now just what are ye doing sleeping out here in the passageway?”
“I had a mind to guard her ladyship with Norman so deep in his cups last eve.”
Anne set down her sewing and tiptoed to the door.
“Ye slept out here just because Norman barked at her before supper?”
“Nay, I caught him trying to force himself on her after ye sent Bran to fetch me.”
“Bloody bastard.”
“That’s me brother you’re referring to.”
“I don’t care if he’s the brother of Saint Francis, he’s a bastard. What are ye going to do about him?”
“I’ll have the carpenters mend the floorboards in the next room for starters. She’s my responsibility. I’ll be the one watching out for her.”
“Aye? What else? ’Tis just a matter of time and Norman will cross the line—if not with her, with one of our own lassies.”
“He already has if ye ask me. I’ll have him work on The Golden Sun in my stead. That’ll occupy him for a time.”
After a moment of silence Anne placed her hand on the latch and pressed her ear to the door.
“She’s no’ like the others is she?” Mara said.
“Whatever are ye on about, woman?”
“Lady Anne. Ye like her.”
“Ye mean the Baroness of Wharton? I cannot afford to like her.”
Anne gasped at his use of her formal name. No one had called her “baroness” since she’d arrived on Raasay. She hated how the sound curled off his tongue.
“Her title doesna matter. Ye are in love with her.”
“Silence, woman,” Calum bellowed. Anne could scarcely breathe. Was there any truth to Mara’s words? No. Calum shushed Mara with such ferocity in his tone that Anne could hardly believe him as the same man who’d kissed her so tenderly the night before.
Anne took a step back and released her hand from the latch. It clicked. Complete silence swelled from the passageway, and Anne froze as if she were a child caught pinching a sugared date.
“Milady?” Mara’s voice resounded through the door.
“A…a moment.” Anne’s voice came out in a much higher pitch than she would have liked.
She took a few deep breaths and opened the door, effecting her most noble, passive expression. Calum and Mara stood shoulder to shoulder with wide eyes, looking as if they were the culprits who’d pinched the sugared dates.
She forced a pleasant smile and lifted her chin. “Is it time to break our fast?”
“Aye,” Mara said, reaching for Anne’s arm.
Calum bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I must cleanse the sleep from me eyes before heading to the hall.”
Mara waited for Calum to take his leave and then squeezed Anne’s hand. “Ye heard us, did ye not?”
Anne shrugged. “And what of it?”
“What are yer feelings for the laird?”
“He said it himself. I am a married baroness. I cannot have feelings for his lordship.”
Mara leaned in and waggled her eyebrows. “Aye, but ye do.”
Anne hoped Mara would soon forget this nonsense. Things were difficult enough, stealing kisses from Calum in the shadows without Mara meddling.
They walked to the great hall where Mara served up two bowls of porridge and led Anne to the far end, away from the others.
Anne studied the young matron. She seemed happy, content to live out her life in the keep, married to John. “You are so fortunate.”
Mara looked up with a spoon in her mouth. “Why do ye say that?”
“Being married to the man you love.”
“Aye.” A satisfied smile crossed her face. “I couldna imagine being married to anyone else.” She contemplated that for a minute, staring at something, or nothing in the distance. Mara focused her gaze upon Anne and shook her spoon. “But dunna take me wrong, he can be a stubborn as an ox.”
“Stubbornness seems to be a common trait among Scotsmen.”
Mara laughed and scooped another spoon of porridge. “Aye, ye are observant.”
***
By late morning, Anne had seen nothing further of Calum and opted to take a walk. Daybreak’s fog still shrouded the castle grounds with a drizzle that cast a slippery dampness over everything. Anne pulled her cloak closed and raised the hood.
Outside the main door of the great hall, the enormous gates to the shore propped open. With people bustling around her, she stopped at the head of the trail that led to the beach and looked out over the Sound of Raasay. Blurred by the mist, the Sea Dragon moored in the bay alongside the Flying Swan—she’d been told the name had been changed to The Golden Sun. Anne pressed her fingers against her temples. That ship stood as a reminder of Calum’s privateering activities.
She did not want to contemplate all the reasons why she should abhor the ship and turned
to observe the day’s activities in the courtyard. People, most too thin, scurried about with their daily work. Hammers cracked in the workshop. The clang from the blacksmith rang out above the stir. Two men laden with a load of lumber passed on their way to the beach. “Good morn, milady.”
She bid them good morning and noted the drizzle hadn’t affected them at all. They worked in their linen shirts and kilts just as if it were a summer’s day.
Anne made her way across the courtyard and around the back of the tower. She stopped at the sound of swords clashing.
“Is that all ye’ve got, Ian?” Calum’s voice echoed between the bailey walls. “Ye’ll no’ last against an English army if ye tire so easily.”
“Nay, m’laird, I was just afeared I’d hurt ye.”
“Come again and this time, fight like a man.”
Anne peered around the corner. The MacLeod guard was sparring with Calum in the middle, wielding his massive claymore against a burly man. Not only Calum, but all the men were shirtless, their red and black kilts low around their hips.
Every muscle in Calum’s back rippled as he brandished his weapon with deadly precision. His arms flexed and strained when his opponent, Ian, locked swords. Calum lunged against the strain, his calf muscles swelled as he pushed into his attacker.
Circling, Calum shoved Ian away and swung his sword in an arc with a victorious grin. “Better, but come again. Use yer heart this time.”
Calum crouched with legs spread wide, ready for another bout. His chest heaved and the tang of male sweat hung in the air, not entirely unpleasant—just different. His skin had a light tawny glow as if he practiced shirtless often, and his abdominal muscles rolled in concert with the massive claymore swinging in his hands.
Anne could not pull her gaze away from the magnificent masculine form that sparred with potent strength. Calum whipped around and his kilt flicked up, showing Anne a peek of alabaster thigh. Tilting her head, she strained to see more.
When Ian again broke away, Calum glanced her way. Anne stepped behind the corner and fanned her face. She turned to leave, but his deep voice spoke softly behind her. “Lady Anne.”
Still heaving, his chest glistened with sweat—and he grinned at her. His clean shaven face left his bare chin looking even bolder than before—smooth and ever so kissable. Anne averted her eyes. She would not ogle the bulging muscles across his stomach. “Yes, my lord?” She glanced back at him.
He looked toward the drizzly sky. “I’m afraid the weather has no’ complied with our plans to picnic.”
She watched a bead of sweat trickle down the center of his chest, all the way until it disappeared under his kilt. Her heart stuttered. He hadn’t forgotten. “Perhaps the weather will improve on the morrow.”
“I’ve been thinking about it all morning and I believe I know the perfect spot to find your fledgling.”
Training a fledgling golden eagle would certainly help her mind focus on things far less disturbing than the laird’s well-muscled chest. “I shall look forward to it, then.”
He grinned, his blue eyes dancing, and her heart squeezed tight. With a quick bow, he strode back to his men. Anne clutched her cloak tighter, as if she could hide the heavy tingling in her breasts. She headed to the gardens, praying for the mist to cool the fire in her cheeks.
***
Days later, Anne held up her work to study it in the light. She’d finished sewing the circular belt of the crest and now used different shades of gold and yellow to bring out the brilliance of the sun.
The hammering in the adjoining room stopped, and Mara’s voice carried through the walls. “Ye’ve done fine work on the bed. The laird will be very comfortable indeed.”
The bed was finished? When would Calum start occupying it? She looked at the adjoining door. Truly, she’d best keep it locked, given her inability to control her impossible urges.
The door opened, and Anne jolted in her seat. Mara stepped in, smiling as always. “I thought I’d find ye here, milady.”
Anne covered the stitching of the sun with her hand. “I thought I’d spend some time perfecting my needlepoint.”
“’Tis a worthy pastime.” Mara walked in and sat opposite her. “What are ye working on?”
Anne fidgeted with the silk thread. “Just trying some new colors I purchased in Portsmouth.”
Mara leaned forward. “Well, give me a look.”
Anne moved her hand and scrunched her nose. “The tapestry is the only picture in the room.”
“Ooo. ’Tis beautiful.” Mara sat back and chuckled. “But I dunna think the baron will admire it.”
“No. I daresay he’ll burn it and chastise me firmly.”
“Are ye going to give it to him, then?”
“The baron?”
“Nay, silly. Calum.”
From the fire beneath her cheeks, Anne knew she was blushing—radiantly. Mara had the most maddening way of pulling secrets from her—the few she had. “If you must know, I thought I’d give it to him to remember the woman he captured and held hostage.”
“It doesna sound so romantic when ye put it like that.”
“Good. ’Twas not meant to be romantic.” Well, mayhap a little romantic. Anne looked at the kerchief. She had used painstakingly tiny stitches to achieve the desired texture. “Besides, I needed something to keep my hands busy.”
Mara stood. “I’ve got to get on with me chores.”
Anne held up her hand. “Let this be our secret.” The last thing she needed was for the entire clan to be gossiping about her making a keepsake for the laird.
***
Calum had become accustomed to having Anne beside him during the evening meal, but tonight he clamped his fingers around his tankard and ground his teeth. Mara had invited the lady to sit in John’s stead, and the two women leaned their heads together, chatting like a pair of hens. Mara’s glance shot toward him time and time again. They had to be talking about him, damn them. Why the pair just couldn’t sit up on the dais and talk about him to his face was confounding.
He kneaded the knot in the back of his neck. John would arrive soon then things would return to normal. At least the work had been completed on his chamber—temporary chamber. He wondered if Lady Anne had any idea he’d spent the past week sleeping on the floor outside her door. He hoped not.
Working with Mara and the children, the lady had already endeared herself to the clan in so many ways. Losing her would leave a void. Of that he had no doubt. Was his unmitigated attraction because he could never have her? Calum shook his head at his stubbornness—always wanting that which could never be.
Friar Pat blocked his view of the lady with his brown robes. He held up a ewer. “Would ye care for a tot of me potent mead, m’laird?”
A slow smile spread across Calum’s lips. He would indeed enjoy a tot of the friar’s fine drink and he held up his tankard. “Ye are a saint among men.”
“Ye over estimate me talents.” Pat glanced over his shoulder. “It seems ye are a tad fixated on the baroness.”
Calum ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s distracting—and she’s in me care. I’ll not have one of our young bucks touching her.”
“’Tis a slippery spot you’re in.” The friar saluted with the ewer. “But, God willing, ’twill all work out in the end.”
Calum toasted him with his tankard and took a long swig. The honeyed liquid slid like cream down his throat. His eyes returned to Anne but she was no longer there. He took quick inventory of the hall. Many had headed for their beds, but Mara remained talking and laughing as always. He caught her eye and beckoned her to the dais with a wave of his hand.
Mara skipped across the floor. “Yes, m’laird?”
“Has Lady Anne retired?”
“Aye.”
“Who saw that she made it safely to her chamber?”
“Oh come now, Calum. Ye ken she’s safe with Norman on The Golden Sun. My oath. She comes and goes all day, but after supper yer fretting over the las
s like a mother hen, ye are.”
“Och, woman, you’re too trusting.” Calum stood. “The lady is under my care. Not yers.”
Calum pushed past her with a curl to his upper lip. Mara trusted everyone to a fault—except Norman. Nonetheless, she shouldn’t have allowed Anne to leave the hall without an escort. Not at night. Sure, Raasay was an island, but one easily accessed by a small boat. And now the galleon had been plundered, his clan had more enemies than ever before.
He bounded up the stone stairs of the tower. In moments, he rounded the corner and stood outside her door. Should he knock? There was rustling within. “Lady Anne?”
“A moment.” Her voice sounded clipped. It seemed an eternity before she opened the door, her dressing gown clutched closed under her chin. “Is everything well, my lord?”
She obviously was going to continue to address him as lord and Calum had stopped correcting her. “I wanted to ensure ye made it to yer chamber without incident.”
“As you can see, I am here.”
Calum looked beyond her to the bed. If only he could lead her there now.
Lady Anne eyed him with a demure smile. Did she have to bless him with those irresistible dimples? Again? She lowered her lashes and moved to close the door. “If there is nothing else…”
Holding out his hand, he pushed the door open and walked inside. “Work on the other chamber is complete.” He didn’t want to bid her goodnight. Not yet.
Lady Anne hesitated a moment, but she closed the door behind her, leaving them alone in her chamber. “My lord, ’tis late.”
He strode to the adjoining door and opened it. “Ye see.” He gestured to the newly appointed room. “We’ll have to keep this locked to ensure I don’t sleepwalk and end up in bed beside ye.”
Calum nearly stepped on her when he turned.
Anne’s eyes opened wide, round as shillings. “You sleepwalk?”
“Nay, but it could happen.” Improvising, he snuck his hand around her waist and pulled her into his body. Warm, unbound woman molded against him. Though her arms remained at her sides, she had the most delectable way of arousing him.