Captured by the Pirate Laird

by Amy Jarecki

  She pulled a piece of fabric from her pocket and stared at it. Looking closer, Calum could see it bore the crest of the MacLeod of Raasay. She beamed at him with those adorable dimples. “I imagine this is the best time to give this to you. I stitched it to resemble the tapestry in your chamber.”

  Calum’s mouth went dry. He accepted the gift and studied it in the moonlight. How intricate the needlework. Anne had taken the time to make this for him, the sign of his clan? “’Tis perfect.” He held the kerchief to his lips, closed his eyes and kissed it, his heart squeezing as if encased in a vise. “Made by yer fine hands. I will cherish it always.”

  Anne smiled—a naughty grin he’d only seen a few times. “I hoped you’d like it. I wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

  Calum had thought he could steel his heart against the agony, but this pushed him too far. He gathered Anne’s hands and held them to his thundering chest. “I cannot let ye go. All ye need to do is say the word and we’ll turn around.”

  She froze. Her mouth opened and closed. “We agreed to this at Brochel…” She looked away. “The ransom…”

  Calum tightened his grip. “I care nothing for Wharton’s coin.”

  Anne trembled violently beneath his palms, the whites of her eyes round in the moonlight. “We’ve come this far…my family honor…And Friar Pat said…”

  Honor? That is the only word she need utter. Calum lowered her hands and released them. “Enough.”

  What was love without honor? Their love had been doomed before it began.

  “We’ve no recourse but to see the plan through.” Calum rested his lips upon her forehead and grimaced against the stabbing pain in his heart. “I will nay forget ye, Lady Anne. Yer bonny face is burned into me soul forever.”

  ***

  Anne lay on her side and listened to Calum’s breathing. She didn’t think he was asleep but there was nothing left to say or do. They had agreed. She was doing the right thing. Truly? Friar Pat had cemented her conviction. Holy in the eyes of God, she must honor her marriage vows.

  Calum rolled to his side, and Anne stared at his broad back. Earlier, she’d run her fingers along the solid muscles of that back. If only she could touch it now. She shouldn’t have been so forward, but God help her, she wanted him. Without thinking, she had yanked down her trews and cast aside nine and ten years of noble breeding, giving into the desire which consumed her. If it weren’t for Calum’s restraint, she would have been compromised. She inclined her head toward him. They had shared intimate passion, yet no guilt crept up her spine. He’d given her a gift she could lock in her heart and treasure until her death.

  When she’d exposed his manhood, her thighs had shuddered. She’d lost her sense of reason. He’d shown her delights she could never have possibly imagined. The flesh between her legs still tingled. She’d never felt the pull of longing as powerfully as she did in that moment. Anne opened and closed her palm. She had held his manhood in it and had milked him as he had milked her. Together they had reached the pinnacle of passion. He said it was but a sampling of what could be. How could anything be better? She had wanted to pull the shirt over her head and unbind her breasts. If only Calum could hold her breasts in his hands and suckle them one last time.

  She took in a deep breath. She recalled catching him ogling them a time or two at Brochel Castle. Of all her womanly parts, she thought he liked her bosoms the best.

  Anne balled her fists. On the morrow she would face Lord Wharton, and he would expect the same things from her she’d shared with Calum. How could she give herself to a wrinkled old grandfather—open her legs and let him touch her? She shuddered at the thought of Wharton’s mouth over hers with the rotten taste of decaying teeth. She loved Calum. Sharing such intimacy with any other man was unthinkable—as if she were a courtesan to her soul. Sold to the highest bidder.

  This path would take her back to England to resume her life where she had left it when the big Scot had raided her ship like a pirate. She knew differently now. He’d secured the food and grain for the livelihood of the clan. She might have done the same thing, faced with sick children and nothing but pickled herring and seaweed to eat. He hadn’t lied. They were all far too thin, living on that piece of rock they called an island.

  She’d grown a fondness for the MacLeods of Raasay whom she would not forget. Aside from Hanna, she’d never had a friend like Mara, nor known a young man as full of vitality as Bran. Life at Titchfield House had been a bore in comparison, with everything so utterly proper and so utterly dull.

  She closed her eyes and prayed life with Lord Wharton would at least harbor some kindness. Anne rolled to her back and gazed at the stars. Please make him compassionate toward your servant, Calum. She steepled her fingers against her lips. If Lord Wharton was anything like his reputation, her prayers might be mere whispers in the wind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anne and the men dawdled a bit the next morning. They changed into trews and linen shirts, opting to stuff their plaids into their satchels. Calum folded the tartan sash he’d given Anne to wear and packed it as well. He wanted nothing to identify the clan. They mounted their horses later than usual, this time in silence, as if they all had an unsavory task to perform. Even Bran frowned and watched the trail in front of him.

  The sun had moved to the western sky when Calum looked at his men. “This is the path. Go with God.”

  Bran looked at Anne and raised his hand, as did the others. Yet, they said nothing. Anne realized they were in enemy territory now. If spies were lurking about, they’d pick up on any unusual movement.

  She reined her mount beside Calum and kept her voice low. “Where are they going?”

  “Tis best ye dunna ken.”

  They continued on in silence until the sun set and then Calum spoke. “I will take ye to the citadel of Carlisle. Once there, I ask ye to wait and allow me some time to ride away.”

  “Will the baron be there?”

  “Aye. ’Tis also why I didna want ye in yer gown. He’d recognize ye straight away. Dressed as a man, ’twill take them some time and I’ll be able to ride nearer the citadel with you.”

  “Do you think it safe?”

  “I cannot leave ye to ride alone. I must see ye arrive unharmed.”

  Anne reached her hand out but he shied away.

  “Guaranteed, the baron has spies lurking in every dark corner.” His gaze shot to her with a look of longing and defeat. “We said our goodbyes last eve.”

  Anne ground her teeth and turned her attention to the dark path ahead. She wanted to turn her mare around and gallop back to Scotland. Lord Wharton was an old man. What would his skin feel like beneath her hands? Would his lips be as tender and caring as Calum’s?

  Her stomach clenched. She loved Calum MacLeod. Blast the proxy marriage. How could it be upheld in a court of law when she had not given her consent? Her family was powerful. Surely a botched marriage would be a minor blemish on the Wriothesley name that would soon be forgotten. But what about ruining her younger sister’s chances? Could she stage her death? She moved to rein her horse around when Calum pointed.

  “Ye can see the flames atop the battlements of the citadel.”

  The nape of Anne’s neck pricked. Could that be the light of her doom?

  Calum led her to the edge of the town and stopped in the shadows. “This is where we must part ways.”

  Her mouth went dry and Anne swallowed. She didn’t want to say goodbye. Could she change her mind now? “I wish...”

  “Ye’ll be fine, lass.”

  “How will you get back?”

  “Ride like hellfire.” Calum leaned toward her. “I’ll never forget ye, Lady Anne.”

  He reached back and slapped her horse’s rump. Before she could object, the mare took off toward the gates. Anne steadied herself against the sudden jolt and slowed the horse to a trot. Looking ahead, her skin crawled as if she approached an executioner. It didn’t help when a rider neared, wearing black, w
ith a gaunt face. Passing, the dark rider eyed her like she was a thief. A group of soldiers clomped behind him.

  She gazed at the two rounded towers, joined by a sharp-toothed portcullis. The tall curtain walls around Carlisle reminded her of a prison. She reined her horse outside the black gate. What should she do next? Merchants and people swarmed around her, but no one appeared to be stationed at the wall, waiting for a baroness to arrive. Should she dismount? She wanted to give Calum plenty of time to make good his escape.

  Her questions were answered when the gaunt man reined his horse beside her. “What business have you in Carlisle?” he demanded.

  Anne jolted in her seat. Hadn’t she seen him leave? She bit her lip and glanced back over her shoulder. She thought to run, but the man grabbed her reins. “I asked you a question.”

  “I-I’m looking for Lord Wharton.” She removed her bonnet and pulled the braid out from under her shirt. “I am the Baroness of Wharton.”

  Fury flashed in his eyes. He pointed to two men. “Take the baroness to his lordship.” With a thudding into his horse’s ribs, he charged away at a gallop, a dozen men behind him.

  A cool breeze swept through loose wisps of her hair, but perspiration stung the creases of Anne’s arms. With a sharp breath, she wanted to flee, but a soldier had hold of her reins. Run, Calum, for hell has just made chase.

  A foot soldier grabbed her horse’s bridle. He led her into the city. The world spun. More soldiers surrounded her. Leading her to a lime-washed inn, they pulled Anne from her mount. With a guard on either side, Anne followed them inside and up the stairs. A sentry opened the door and someone shouted, “Lord Wharton, the baroness has arrived.”

  Perspiration sullied her palms. The soldiers ushered her through a chamber door and closed it behind her. A bald man dressed in red velvet with white hose peered at her through squinted eyes. His chubby jowls jostled around his chin and he folded his arms across his rotund frame.

  He eyed her with a dour frown. “You could not possibly be the beautiful maid I watched from across the aisle at Westminster Abbey.”

  Anne curtseyed and swallowed her revulsion. “Lord Wharton. I’ve been traveling on horseback for weeks. I have a gown in my satchel. Please allow me a moment to compose my person.”

  He walked around her with an appraising glower. “You certainly don’t sound like a guttersnipe.” He sniffed. “Though you smell as foul as one.”

  Anne dug in the pouch tied to her waist. “I have the decree of marriage if you do not believe me.” She held it out, wondering if she should have excused herself and said it was a hoax. No. He would undoubtedly throw her in gaol for breaking sumptuary laws.

  Wharton snatched the paper from her hand and held it to the light. When he lowered it, he pursed his lips and faced her. “Well, wife. We meet at last.” He tossed the decree on the table and rang a bell.

  A grey-haired servant appeared from a side door. “Simon, show the baroness to her quarters, and see Mrs. Crabapple draws her bath.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The servant beckoned to Anne, but Lord Wharton stopped her before she reached the door. “Remain in your dressing gown. I will have the physician attend you.”

  Anne turned. “I am in good health, my lord.”

  “We shall let the doctor attest to that.” He folded his arms. “And when you next address me, I expect to see a woman fitting for the title of Baroness.”

  He did not have the decency to ask about her person, or how she had been treated during her captivity. Of all the pompous old men she’d met, he had to be the most insufferable. She cringed. He also had to be the most unpleasant to the eye.

  ***

  When Calum saw the man reach for Anne’s reins, he knew she would have no choice but to reveal her identity. Watching her go, a part of him died.

  He galloped his horse northward, but he’d cut the timing too close. The man on the black steed chased after him, a parcel of soldiers in tow. Calum’s mount was tired from a full day of riding but he spurred him on, running for his life.

  He got his wish and clouds shrouded the sky with darkness. Trees whipped his face, and he could not see far. Calum’s mind raced. If he turned west toward the ship, they’d send scouts to trail him for certain. If he stayed on his course to the north, with fresh horses, the English would eventually catch him, unless he encountered a miracle.

  Calum glanced over his shoulder. Their outlines neared closer against the dark sky. If he rode all night, he might reach Lockerbie. There, he could ask for protection from the Douglas. As far as he knew, Ruairi hadn’t done anything to land on their bad side. The Douglas Clan had been hit hard in the battle of Solway Moss as well. They hated Wharton even more than the MacLeods.

  The thundering of a dozen horses neared from behind. Calum leaned further forward in his saddle. He could not stop. He would not look back again.

  He galloped into a forest and darkness enveloped him. Heels dug deep, he pushed harder. The horse under him lurched and stumbled. Calum flew from his saddle. Instinctively, he tucked his body and prepared for the crushing fall. His back hit first. Air whooshed from his lungs. Straining to gasp a breath, he looked back to see a gaping hole dug in the path. A trap. His horse lay across from him, rocking and trying to rise. His leg is broken.

  The soldiers surrounded him. Calum panted, still struggling to reclaim his breath. A gaunt, darkly clad man walked up beside him with a tsk of the tongue. He swung his foot back and kicked Calum in the gut. With sharp gasps, Calum curled into a ball to protect his innards from another assault.

  The ugly man crouched down beside him. “You thought you could escape from the likes of Baron Wharton?” He drew his fist back and slammed it into Calum’s jaw. “I’d kill you now, but that would spoil the baron’s fun.”

  The iron taste of blood spilled across Calum’s tongue. Rolling to his knees, he surveyed the copse around him, seeking his best chance of escape.

  A boot to the arse laid him out flat. A soldier hopped down and tied his wrists with hemp rope—so tight the bindings cut into his skin.

  The darkly clad man stood, drew his knife and ran his blade across the lame horse’s throat. “Drag this traitor back to Carlisle, but make sure he stays alive. The baron will want a word before we hang him.”

  Calum focused on controlling his breathing. His jaw throbbed but he steeled his mind against the pain. A mounted soldier yanked on the rope. Calum had no choice but to run to keep up with the fast trot. If he fell, they would drag him for certain. The more they battered his body now, the less his chances were he’d survive once they got him inside.

  ***

  Though Anne had longed for a bath, this one was anything but soothing. She wondered where Lord Wharton had found the crotchety old matron with a cadaverous face who scrubbed her down with the roughest piece of sackcloth imaginable. “I’m quite capable of bathing myself.”

  “I beg to differ. I could smell you from the passageway.” Mrs. Crabapple took one more turn, scrubbing Anne’s back. “My lady.”

  “I’ve been traveling for weeks. There was little opportunity for a bath.”

  Mrs. Crabapple stood back and inspected her work. “How could you appear before the baron in a pair of trews? He will not soon forget that. His status is of utmost importance.”

  “I didn’t have much choice in the matter. After all, I was a hostage.”

  “You should have begged for a bath before you were presented to him.”

  Anne glowered into the water. As she remembered it, she was pulled off her horse and marshaled up to Lord Wharton’s chamber without so much as a word.

  Mrs. Crabapple ground soap into her hair. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t request an annulment.”

  Anne folded her arms across her breasts. If Lord Wharton wanted an annulment, he was welcome to proceed. But she wasn’t going to say another word to the old biddy. Anne had tried to explain, but the nasty woman countered everything she said—as if Anne had kidnapped herself.
She would send for Hanna at her first opportunity.

  Once she had scrubbed Anne’s skin raw, Crabapple held up a drying cloth. Anne snatched it from her hands. “I’ll do it myself. I’d like to keep the skin that remains.”

  “His lordship is displeased.” The old woman wrung her hands. “Very displeased indeed. He instructed me to insure you were cleansed of all Scottish filth.”

  Anne reached for the dressing gown the woman had brought in with the wooden bath and tied the sash around her waist.

  Mrs. Crabapple picked up Anne’s clothes and headed for the hearth.

  “You burn them and I will tell his lordship of your deplorable mistreatment of my person.” Two could play at her game.

  The woman dropped the clothes in heap and shook her hands nervously. “Please do not disparage my actions before his lordship.”

  Anne stepped forward. “Has he been unkind to you?”

  “Ah, no.” Mrs. Crabapple’s eyes shot to the door. “Dear blessed Jesus, spare me his wrath…But those clothes should be burned.”

  “They need to be washed.”

  “Heaven help us all.” She cowered from the pile of clothing as if it were alive. “Are you planning to wear them again?”

  “Presently, they are the only set of clothes I have aside from the dress in my satchel. The Scot kept my trunks.” She didn’t want to speak too harshly against Calum and honestly, she had no idea why she didn’t want Mrs. Crabapple tossing her trews in the fire, aside from the fact they were hers and they had been Calum’s. Her heart squeezed. They were the only things she possessed to remind her of him.

  A sharp rap sounded at the door.

  A creaky voice resounded from the corridor. “Doctor Smallwood at your service, my lady.”

  Crabapple scurried to open the door. Stepping aside, she let him pass. Holding a candle, his black robes whooshed against the floorboards. Pulled low over his brow sat the black coif of a physician. He turned to the matron. “If you don’t mind, I am to examine Lady Anne in private.”