by Caroline Lee
John spoke up again then, his voice smug and oily. “I want a wife who understands her place.”
A wife’s place was beside her husband, was it not?
In confusion, still not entirely sure she understood what was happening, Charlotte lifted her gaze from the floor to stare at the stranger she was supposed to marry.
“Her place, John?” she whispered, allowing her anger to seep into her voice.
He didn’t notice, judging by his smirk as he crouched beside her. “Behind me. Or under me, as the case may be.” He reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I want heirs, ye ken.”
Before she could spit her defiance, he thrust her away from him and stood in one motion, turning toward her father once more. “Let us sign the betrothal, MacLeod, so I can escort yer daughter to her new home and start instructing her in her new duties.”
Da grunted as he scrawled something across the bottom of the parchment and held the stylus out for the younger man to do the same.
Hollowly, Charlotte watched as her father reach for the wax to press his seal into the document, and knew her life would never be the same.
And she was right.
Chapter 1
Late spring, 1315
The Western Isles
* * *
The knuckles of her hands were pale from the force of her grip on the bow rail, as Charlotte MacLeod peered toward the distant speck. It was near impossible to see from so far away, but if her intelligence was correct, she was sure it was another birlinn. And not just any boat, but one carrying a very important passenger.
Elizabeth Bruce, Queen of Scotland.
Whom Charlotte planned to kidnap.
“Calculating again, sister?” Tavish asked as he joined her at the rail, the wind playing merry hell with his auburn curls. “Ye’ve gone over the plan so many times, even Dane has it memorized, and he’s a lad.”
“He’s six,” she murmured, still staring at the distant boat. “And he’s no’ to come into battle.”
Of all her family, Tav was the one she loved best. They were twins, the youngest of the MacLeod siblings. He’d been the one to teach her swordplay and sailing, and had stood beside her as her biggest support, before she’d been sent to Finlaggan with John.
And when she’d needed help to escape…? Well, Tav had been there for her then as well.
But despite their mission, his tone was still teasing when he replied, “Dane’s six, aye, but this is my boat and he’s my son, so I get to decide what he does and doesnae do.”
Frowning, Charlotte forced herself to release her hold on the rail and turn to her brother. They’d argued over this before; she couldn’t bear the thought of her wee nephew being hurt if this went wrong.
“Ye swore this was my raid. I’m in command,” she reminded him.
“Aye, once metal meets meat. Ye’ve planned it all and deserve to see it come to fruition. But ye ken fuck-all about actual sailing.”
“No’ true,” she snapped. “I ken at least as much as Dane.”
The grin, which was never far from her brother’s lips, finally burst free. “Ye’re no’ wrong there. The lad cannae seem to put down his pipes long enough to learn a halyard from a forestay.”
“He’ll stay on the birlinn, aye?” she asked, her tone gentle. Wheedling. “I’ll no’ be able to concentrate, worrying for him.”
With a great sigh, Tav rolled his eyes and braced his palms against the rail beside her. “Fine. But afore ye start crowing, ken I wasnae going to allow him aboard the Queen’s birlinn. ‘Tis safer here.”
So he’d been merely teasing her about allowing Dane on the raid. How like her rarely serious brother.
“Now, the first rule of pirating is to pay attention to yer prize.” He nodded toward the distant birlinn.
With a snort, she turned her attention back to the ship. It was closer now, close enough to see some of the more obvious details.
“First rule?” she murmured distractedly. “I didnae realize there were rules.”
“Oh, aye,” her brother scoffed. “The second is learning how appealing the deck of a pirate ship can be to a certain type of lass. Dane’s mother was like that, as I recall.”
Charlotte knew her brother was only trying to make her laugh. There was no way he knew of her secret dalliance on the deck of this very birlinn, well over a year ago.
And there was no way he could know how much her heart ached at the memory of her gullibility, the way she’d taken Liam into her body and believed his lies about loving her until his dying breath.
She swallowed down her shame and anger, and focused instead on their prize. She couldn’t even bring herself to respond to Tav’s flippant references to his many dalliances.
“By all the saints, ye’re somber,” her brother said as he nudged her shoulder. “ ’Tis a raid, no’ a funeral.”
Her fingers flexed against the wood of the rail. “Is that no’ a danger, when pirating?”
“Of course,” he quipped, with a snort. “Rule three, I believe.”
She leaned forward, eager to get a better look at her prize. “Ye’re a terrible pirate, Tav.”
“I’m a brilliant pirate. The Black Banner is feared by fat merchants from here to Durness.”
“So feared, ye’ll no’ even tell Da what ye do on those long months away from the keep, aye?” She shot him a smirk, knowing it was a sore point.
Sure enough, her brother scowled. “Da is a horse’s arse, and I’ll be happy no’ to return to Lewes, after what he did to ye.”
Her father had betrothed her to the very devil, and Charlotte wasn’t sure she could forgive him either. But she couldn’t go back to Finlaggan, and no one in Scone would listen to her. If today’s mission didn’t work, she had no place to go, except back to Lewes.
Charlotte swallowed as she and her brother both peered at the distant ship in silence. Their birlinn was tacking toward the prize, who likely still didn’t realize the danger heading their way.
Long moments passed before Charlotte allowed her shoulders to slump in relief.
“Is it her?” Tav murmured.
“ ’Tis her.” Charlotte examined their target. “She flies no colors, as Tosh said, but the sailors wear a bit of yellow, see? And the stern…” She trailed off.
The birlinn was larger than theirs, but not by much, and not at all worthy of the Bruce’s Queen. But that was why he’d chosen it for her return, after all, for it was supposed to be a covert trip, with no announcements, until she joined him in Scone.
So her method of transport was not at all fit for a queen, but it was ideal for a woman who’d spent the past eight years as a prisoner of the English. All the same, having been kept in isolation and treated as little more than a pawn, it probably seemed quite luxurious to her.
From where she stood, Charlotte could see the tent erected in the stern of the vessel, a platform set high enough to catch the breeze, which missed the men on the rowing benches.
There were likely couches and tables set up inside the tent, filled with every sort of indulgence the returning Queen deserved.
Not for the first time since planning this mission, Charlotte swallowed down the spike of regret which pierced her stomach. Queen Elizabeth had endured much because of her role as the Bruce’s wife, and even though Charlotte hated to add to the woman’s pain, it was that very role which made the Queen her best chance to complete this mission.
“Char?” her brother quietly prompted.
Charlotte swallowed again, then schooled her features into a determined mask and nodded firmly.
“Aye, it’s the Queen’s. I’m sure of it.”
From the way Tav watched her as he returned her nod and straightened, she knew he understood her hesitation.
“Are ye sure this is the only way, Char?”
“Aye,” she snapped. “Ye said ye trusted me. And donae call me that.”
It was a childhood nickname, one her brothers all used. Her brothers…and one other.
<
br /> By sheer force of will, she ignore the memories the thought provoked—memories of the man who’d called her that with affection, as he’d playfully skimmed his fingertips across her breast, or kissed the sensitive spot below her ear, or held her gently after she’d collapsed, spent, atop him.
Liam Bruce was gone from her life. He’d run back to Scone when his royal cousin had snapped his fingers, and it was only after he’d long been gone, her father had told her the man was contracted to marry a Lowlander.
He’d been merely dallying with her.
Her brother must’ve seen the play of emotions across her face, because he grimaced and patted her hand, where it rested once more on the rail. “Aye, I trust ye, wee sister. Ye’ve a sharper mind than all of us, even if Da doesnae see it.”
She had to clear her throat to get the words out. “And donae forget it,” she rasped.
“Banner!” The cry came from atop the birlinn’s single mast. Wee Robbie, a lad not much older than Dane, perched awkwardly on the cross-spar, one bare foot braced on the mast and one against the rigging, his sharp eyes peering at their distant prize. “They’re pointing at us!”
Suddenly serious, Tav stepped away from the rail. “Are they running?” he called up to the lad.
“No’ yet. They’ve nae reason to suspect.”
Charlotte moved up beside her brother. “Except we’re miles and miles from bloody land.” It was why she’d chosen this spot, south of Mull, for the attack. “And they ken why they’re out here, but why in the hell would we be out here?”
Tav’s grin flashed. “Mayhap we like the fishing?”
She snorted as he moved down the center of the boat, calling out preparations. “Auld Robbie, hold our course until Charlotte says otherwise. I donae want to give them enough time to run. Rowers, to your benches.” He tilted his head to peer up at the billowing white mainsail and the lad atop it. “Wee Robbie, when I give the word, ye ken what to do! Beware the black!”
“Beware the black!” the men roared in response, as they scrambled to their positions.
Like Tav, like Charlotte, they each wore black breeches and shirt. The clothing was expensive to dye, but traditional. Their uncle hadn’t been the first Black Banner, the name which chilled the hearts of fat merchants from here to Reay, but he had been the one to teach Tavish what he’d known. She and her twin had spent hours sitting on Uncle Rory’s knees, hearing stories of his adventures.
They’d been mere bairns when Tav had declared he’d be the next Black Banner, and their uncle had laughed and agreed. Since the man had married Aunt Citrine and retired from the sea to rule the Sinclair clan, he often invited his “favorite niece and nephew” to visit.
It had been at the Sinclair keep where she’d first met Liam Bruce.
Tav nodded briskly to her as he returned forward, two long black scarves dangling from his fingertips. He tossed one to her, then began wrapping the other around his neck and lower face. It too was part of the tradition of the Black Banner; no one knew the man’s face, or what he looked like.
The Black Banner was part legend, part fairy tale. After all, the masked pirate had been terrorizing the Western Isles and further for generations. Many didn’t believe in him…which suited Tav just fine. He’d often laughed about the way merchants panicked when they saw his black sail on the horizon, just as the stories claimed.
When Charlotte had come to him with a far-fetched plan, her brother had chuckled, but had been polite enough to listen.
And when he heard why she wanted to take the Queen’s ship, he’d agreed.
Well, first, she’d had to talk him out of attacking the MacDonalds directly. If any of the MacLeods were to be found responsible for John MacDonald’s death, no matter what his sins may be, it would mean a clan war they couldn’t afford. So she’d convinced Tav it was better to make John pay through proper means…which is why she’d been to Scone twice in the last year, trying to convince someone to listen to her.
It hadn’t worked, but it explained why the Black Banner had started to target MacDonald ships exclusively. Tavish wanted to make John MacDonald pay for what he’d done, and that was why he supported her scheme.
And why, today, he’d handed control of his ship and his men—and his legend—to her.
No one on that birlinn would recognize her, all dressed in black as she was and her face hidden…but no one would mistake her for a man either, not with her build. Still, she would fight, if necessary, for what she needed Queen Elizabeth to know. And once she had the Queen on her brother’s ship, she’d reveal her face and her plea to the woman, and pray it would be enough.
As she wrapped first her hair, then the crown of her head in the black material, she considered what Tosh’s informant had told them. The old sailor relayed the Queen traveled with only five bodyguards. The rest of the men on her birlinn were sailors, who also presumably knew how to fight.
She supposed the Queen had been counting on that fact, were they attacked.
What Her Majesty likely hadn’t counted on, was the fact that most of those sailors were MacLeods.
MacLeod sailors were legends among the Western Isles. Father had never shared Tavish and Uncles Rory’s interest in the sea, despite Lewes being an island and the MacLeods’ domination of the trading channels. Still, when the Bruce had requested a ship and men for a secret mission, Father had sent them.
And Charlotte had figured out why they were needed.
“Are ye ready?” Tav asked as he returned to the place of honor at the bow.
Charlotte nodded and finished wrapping the scarf about her red hair, leaving the tail dangling below her chin, to be pulled up across her face. “I never thought I’d be the Black Banner.”
Tav’s easy grin flashed as he winked. “I’ll no’ let ye take my place, wee sister. But for today, the ship—and all of us—are yers.”
Taking a deep breath, Charlotte turned to survey the men. Their eyes were as bright as their blades as they sat easy on their rower benches, looking for all the world like their Norse great-grandfathers must have.
“Ye ken the plan, lads?”
Most nodded, more than a few looking unsure about taking orders from their captain’s little sister. But Charlotte was sure of them. They’d do what needed to be done, hopefully without too much bloodshed.
She needed to neutralize the Queen’s bodyguards without killing them. Her Majesty would be far more amenable to Charlotte’s request if she wasn’t holding a grudge.
“Char…”
At her brother’s prompt, she glanced over her shoulder. They were coming up fast on Queen’s birlinn.
“Are ye ready, Banner?” Tav asked with a teasing smirk.
Aye.
She straightened her shoulders, took in a deep breath, and pulled her blade.
“Ship those oars! Wee Robbie, drop the banner!”
Atop the yard, the lad cut a line, and the Black Banner’s signature black sail—painstakingly sewn from smaller pieces of wool—dropped in front of the white one. It wouldn’t catch as much wind, but it was impressive as hell.
Seeing it luffing before it caught the wind and snapped filled Charlotte with a sense of certainty.
This would work. John MacDonald would not be her husband.
She whirled her short blade above her head. “Beware the Black!”
“Beware the black!” the lads screamed in return, as they pulled for all they were worth.
She thrust her sword forward, as if urging the birlinn toward their approaching prize, and grinned in excitement. Her brother matched it, even as he fastened the tail of his scarf across the lower half of his face. She mimicked him, then stood at his side at the bow rail, one booted foot planted and prepared to leap over to the other boat.
He lifted his blade and bellowed, “MacLeod!”
Behind them, the men took up the cry, and Charlotte joined in.
“MacLeod! Beware the Black!”
Chapter 2
Liam Bruce’s gr
ip on the stern rail was tight enough to make the wood crack. It was utterly galling to be stuck standing there, unable to do a damn thing except watch, as the enemy inched closer in their lighter and faster ship. More than once, he’d considered pushing aside one of the rowers and taking his place on the benches—his shoulders were twice as wide as some of the sailors’—but the captain had glared him away when he’d offered.
“ ’Tis likely nothing, cousin.”
The quiet murmur startled him enough to throw an irritated glance at the beautiful woman beside him.
“Do ye really believe that, Yer Majesty?”
Queen Elizabeth, his cousin Robert’s wife, smiled a little sadly. “Nay.” She joined him at the rail, and he noticed her gloved hands were trembling as she gripped the wood as well. “I will not go back to England.”
He resisted the urge to pat her hand. “I’ll no’ let them take ye back.”
She drew in a shuddering breath, then nodded. In the month he’d spent with this woman, he’d come to admire her courage and strength…and her mind. She’d been little more than a pretty face and an advantageous alliance when Robert had married her so many years ago, but Liam saw her differently now.
She was still beautiful, aye, but four years after her marriage, and three months after Robert declared himself King of Scotland, she’d been taken prisoner by Scotland’s enemies. And had spent eight long years in captivity, where she learned strength and bravery and cunning.
Liam was impressed by the woman, and if his heart didn’t reside on Lewes, he would be half in love with his Queen already.
They stood in silence, watching the approaching birlinn. The large white sail seemed to sparkle in the sunlight.
“Do you think it’s from King Edward?” Elizabeth finally asked.
Liam frowned, watching the way the smaller boat moved. “Nay,” he finally said, and realized he sounded as if he were lying to make her feel better, so he elaborated. “I donae ken what they’re doing way out here, but England’s King would have to ken taking ye back would be a mistake, no’ when he gained so many earls and barons in return. Besides, that ship’s smaller than ours and coming from the west.”