The Highlander's Pirate Lass (Brothers of Wolf Isle)

by McCollum, Heather

  “No. I’m this troublesome all day long.” She smiled. “And at night when I’m not asleep.” She tipped her head, thinking. “Actually, I’m probably troublesome then too. Captain John says I talk in my sleep.”

  He was handsome when he glared, the breeze brushing his short hair. Stubble grew along his jawline and above his lip, showing the beard that would grow in quickly. His skin was tanned, lines of white radiating out from the corners of his eyes from squinting out at sea.

  Eliza looked away from him and ran her hand down the polished mast. “’Tis a fine carrack you built.”

  His face softened. “It took two years, but she is stout, straight, and will be fierce.”

  Eliza understood pride in one’s ship, and it practically gushed out of Beck as he looked upon the Calypso.

  “You would trade your soul to keep her afloat, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he said, looking at Eliza. “I love her.”

  “I want to name her Wolf,” Pip said, walking up holding a squirming pup who licked her face. “Does she have a name yet?”

  “’Tis a good name,” Anders said.

  Pip nuzzled her face into the pup. “Wolf Isle should have at least one wolf on it.”

  Beck continued to stare at Eliza. “Wolf is a fine name,” he said.

  Pip cheered, setting the pup down to run toward the shoreline off to the left. A floating dock was being poled across the narrow strip of water from the neighboring isle.

  “Visitors,” Eliza said, spying two women and a man who ferried them across the narrow waterway between islands.

  Beck murmured a curse and strode toward the ferry landing. Eliza hopped off the wooden dock and followed him. She had to take two steps to every one of his. The man was damnably fast and long-legged. He was back in his native clothing, the woolen red plaid wrapped around his narrow hips, a bit of skin showing between its edge and the top of his worn boots. His tunic stretched taut across his shoulders as his arms swung, his left one sliding across the scabbard he wore tied to his side for easy access. He was certainly a warrior on land and might well be one at sea. She’d like to see him swing that sword. Did he ever train with his tunic off?

  The ferry slid to a stop on the sand at the end of the rope that was tied across the narrowest stretch between the isles. “Ho there,” the man called.

  Callum appeared and jogged down to help tie the ferry in place. “Ho, Gavin,” he called. “Mistress Meg, Mistress Cecilia, welcome to Ulva.” He smiled appreciatively, but Cecilia looked right past him toward Beck.

  “When I saw Gavin, I knew you had returned, Beck,” the woman called. She was pretty with dark hair in loose curls, most of it on top of her head. Her nose was tipped upward at the end the slightest amount, and her pale skin looked smooth as milk.

  “Cecilia,” he said, nodding. “Meg.”

  “My father has a letter for Adam,” Meg said. “Is this Mistress Alice that Gavin mentioned?” She smiled warmly at Eliza. The dogs came tumbling and barking down the shoreline.

  “Nay,” Gavin said. “This is Mistress Eliza.”

  “Mistress?” Cecilia said and laughed. “In your breeches, I thought you were a lad.” Then she shrieked as the dogs ran around her. “Really, Beck, you need to tie them.”

  “Eliza sails, and the breeches keep her warm,” he said.

  Pip and Anders ran down to the shore, along with Hester who squealed, adding to the barking pups.

  “Well, I for one would rather wear breeches,” Meg said with a genuine smile. “Good to meet you.”

  Eliza nodded, and Meg laughed as Pip and Hester tried to ride the mother dog. “And who are these?”

  “My children,” Eliza said.

  “All of them?” Meg asked, her eyes widening.

  “They were not born of her,” Beck explained. “She has taken them in.”

  “Like Grissell?” Cecilia said.

  “Different, but…” Beck looked at her and then back to Cecilia. “Aye.” Cecilia took his arm, pressing close to him. Eliza smirked and looked away.

  “Drostan,” Meg called as Beck’s brother came to greet them. “So happy you are back. I made you some tarts.” Lord, did every woman bake tarts for men here?

  Pip was trying to get the newly named Wolf to sit. Hester sat instead, which made Anders plop down on the dock laughing. Their humor made Eliza smile, and she exhaled. What did it matter if Beck liked the dark-haired Cecilia? Eliza and her family would be back out on the sea as soon as she could find Captain John. She had a duty on the seas, one that would take her across the waters of the world. Aye, it was her mission, one that Captain John had promised she could continue. She owed it to the lost and forgotten. She owed it to Peter.

  Eliza jogged ahead of them all and leaped up onto the Calypso. Even if the Devil’s Blood had sunk, she would find another vessel on which to travel. The conviction strengthened her heart, protecting it from the worry growing each day Captain John and her family onboard remained missing. No matter what, she was raised to sail and win the lives of innocents. Just like Captain John.

  Her strides took her to the bowsprit that tilted out over the water. On the Devil’s Blood, she often climbed out on it, straddling it with her whole body so she could stare down at the dolphins that raced before the ship as it sailed. She was always careful, holding on to steel handholds that Captain John had placed onto it when he realized that he couldn’t keep her off it.

  The Calypso’s bowsprit was smooth white oak, and Eliza straddled it, sliding out over the water on her stomach, her legs clutched around it. She let her gaze drop to the water gently lapping against the hull.

  “’Tis not safe out there,” Beck said behind her.

  Her limbs clenched around the wood. He followed me. “’Tis peaceful,” she answered. “’Tis my favorite place on a ship.”

  “Ye should come into Gylin, talk with the lasses.”

  “I think Cecilia would rather talk with you,” she said, pushing upright to glance at him over her shoulder. He stood on the deck, leaning out toward her.

  “I am not leaving ye out here by yourself,” he said. “Ye will either fall and drown or steal my ship, both of which will ruin my day.”

  She grinned, slowly pushing back down the long wooden pole, aware that her arse was going first toward him. Once, Bingly had said it was her best feature, and she shouldn’t cover it with layers of petticoats.

  Eliza wriggled all the way down the pole, stopping at the bottom. She could almost feel his gaze on her arse. “I like to watch the dolphins that swim before the ship while we sail. They are my favorite animal.”

  Beck’s gaze lifted from her arse to her eyes. He swallowed, crossing his arms over his broad, muscular chest. “I never thought of a sea creature being anyone’s favorite animal.”

  She stepped down, adjusting her trews where they’d rucked up into the crux of her legs. “They saved my life once,” she said and leaned back against the rail. In the distance, she could see the two ladies and their escort waiting for Beck. “I fell overboard when we were sailing along the southern coast of Africa. There was a shark, but the dolphins surrounded me until Captain John could swing the Devil’s Blood around and throw a rope.”

  Beck stared, his mouth slightly unhinged. “Ye have either lived an uncommonly adventurous life or ye are an excellent liar.”

  She smiled broadly. “I choose both,” she said and raised one eyebrow.

  Beck chuckled as if he couldn’t help it and shook his head. “Ye are full of surprises, Eliza Wentworth.”

  “You have no idea, Beck Macquarie,” she answered, letting the hint of sensual insinuation dip and rise with the words. Even if she’d never let a man touch her that way, she’d learned the art of suggestive talk from the ladies at Claire’s house.

  What type of adventure could she have with Beck Macquarie? On t
he sea or in his bed? A single night with him, naked and teaching her things she’d only heard about, and she could walk away full of knowledge without worrying about any entanglements. Aye, an adventure of the most carnal kind.

  She could entice Beck to give her one glorious night and then she would sail away.

  Chapter Seven

  “I cannot imagine living onboard a ship with all those dirty, crude men,” Cecilia said, her fingers rising to tug absently on one of her many raven-colored curls.

  Eliza shrugged. “Captain John taught them some manners, and they keep their comments hushed when around the children.”

  Cecilia and Meg Maclean sat with Eliza, Alice, and Lark in a semicircle near the hearth. It had been a long day of exploring the village of Ormaig with the children and trying to avoid being indoors with the crow, which is what Eliza had decided to call Cecilia because she was loud and bossy, had black glossy hair, and seemed drawn to sparkly things.

  As the temperature dropped with the sun, and the rain began, Beck had started the fire to keep everyone warm in the great hall of Gylin Castle. The brothers, Gavin and Rabbie, moved about the hall, drinking, talking, and listening to the ladies. Callum especially seemed interested in what Cecilia had to say. She had a smile that could captivate men. The whole crew of the Devil’s Blood would be fetching her whatever she wanted.

  Eliza tried to imitate the woman’s smile, not too broad and not a frown. The tilt of her lips sat somewhere in between. The effort made Eliza’s cheeks ache. She sat up straighter and smoothed the skirt of the lovely gown Lark had lent to her. Even though she was more comfortable in her sea clothes, she would have been even more out of place without the feminine attire.

  “I mean,” Cecilia continued, “the smell in itself would make me more ill than the waves.”

  Eliza took a drink from the cup of ale and set it back on the small table between the seats. “They weren’t too dirty and smelly, especially after a rainstorm.”

  Cecilia’s delicate brows tipped inward. “After a rainstorm?”

  “Aye,” Eliza said, nodding. “The men would strip down, tie themselves to the masts so they would not be swept overboard, and rub soap all over themselves. The slashing rain would rid them of every speck of dirt and stink.”

  Meg snorted softly, her hand going to her mouth. Cecilia looked like she didn’t believe her. She looked to Beck. “Is that routine practice on sailing vessels?”

  Eliza didn’t let him answer. “I am sure Beck took advantage of the freshwater rains in such a way.” She looked at him, a mischievous smile in place. “Because he smelled deliciously fresh when he rowed over to me on Eilean Mòr.”

  Drostan spit his ale back into his tankard, and an explosion of laughter erupted from Eagan where he stood behind Lark’s chair. Meg laughed, and Cecilia’s lips turned up in a smile as if she did not want to be left out of the joke. Beck’s chest moved as he smothered a chuckle, but he smiled. “I am surprised ye could smell me when ye kept me far away with your sword.”

  She tapped her nose gently. “It works quite well.” They shared a moment, their gazes connecting. At least that was what Eliza felt.

  Adam strode downstairs, pulling Beck’s gaze away from her. Eliza noticed Cecilia’s frown had increased as she looked back and forth between her and Beck. Was she worried there was a fondness between them? Was there?

  “If I had a nose that large,” Cecilia said, “I’d be able to smell at sword’s length too.” The poorly veiled cut would have held more weight if Eliza’s nose were large in any way.

  Eliza nodded, leaning in to offer advice. “If you let me break your nose, it will grow larger.”

  The crow frowned, opening her pinched beak, but Lark cut in, trying to defuse whatever this was. “Your hair is quite lovely, Cecilia. Even with the weight of it so long, it curls beautifully.”

  The woman toyed with a curl that sprang up along her shoulder as she tugged on it. “Thank ye. I use chamomile rinses to keep the dark color shiny.” As if striking upon something interesting, she leaned slightly forward, her gaze going to Eliza. “I hear that lice infestations run rampant on ships. Is that why your hair is short? Ye had to cut it all off because of lice?”

  “We are careful to eliminate the bugs when we leave the ports,” Alice said, glancing at Eliza, her lips tight.

  Eliza’s hand went to her hair. It had grown past her shoulders and hung in natural waves of blond. “I… I cut it short to blend in with our crew a year ago when we stayed in the West Indies for a month.” Eliza caught Callum studying her hair. Did he think a louse might jump out of it?

  “’Tis such a bonny color,” Meg said, trying to make up for her friend. “And growing back so fast.”

  “Brothers,” Adam called from the table and beckoned them over. “Gavin, a question about Tor’s letter.” The chief of the Macquaries glanced at Eliza.

  “Does he know something about Captain John?” Eliza asked, standing up.

  “Nay, ’tis about an English sea captain looking for Jandeau,” Adam said. “With the last name Wentworth.” All eyes turned toward her. “Could he be a relation of yours?” Adam asked.

  Eliza clutched her hands to stop herself from touching her mother’s brooch tucked under her bodice. “I know of no living family members.” There had been her father’s younger brother, who had disapproved of her mother, someone her father avoided. She had never met him. “I think the name is common in England.”

  She walked over to the side table where she’d seen Callum pour himself a small cup of amber liquid. Lifting the stopper, she used her excellent nose to sniff at the contents. Whisky. Lark was offering the ladies wine, but Eliza wanted something stronger to deal with the crow the rest of the night.

  “So none of ye have any family?” the judgmental woman asked.

  “We have each other,” Pip said.

  “And the crew of the Devil’s Blood,” Anders added.

  “Oh my,” Cecilia continued. “Unless they’ve all drowned or been killed. Then ye will have lost your families again.”

  Eliza snapped around, her gaze landing on Pip’s downturned face. Did Cecilia not know how her words hurt the children, or was she purposely using whatever she could to make them all seem lower?

  “Cecilia,” Meg murmured.

  “Are ye so cruel as to bring that up to the children?” Alice asked, her mild Irish accent turning fierce with her ire. “I hope ye thank the good Lord every day for yer own family.” She rose abruptly, picking Hester off the floor. “’Tis time for this one to find her bed.” She marched indignantly toward the tower steps.

  Cecilia had the sense to flush red, her gaze going to Lark as if she had done harm to her instead of the kinless children around her. “I apologize. My thoughts just tumbled out. I have never met a group with such an unusual background.”

  Eliza snatched up the glass flask of whisky and some small cups that were stacked for easy tasting and walked back over, nodding to Alice as they passed one another.

  Eliza stopped beside Cecilia’s chair. “We have each other,” she said cheerfully, her gaze connecting with Pip. “Even if Captain John is sitting on God’s knee, entertaining him by strumming his lute, we are together with food in our bellies and clothes on our backs.” She nodded to Wolf lying across Pip’s legs. “And pups in our laps.” Pip smiled back at her. “Let us raise a toast to our crew,” Eliza said, “wherever they may be.”

  “Whisky?” Anders asked with a smile. Captain John had recently let him take a taste of the strong spirit.

  “Can I have a nip?” Pip asked.

  “The only whisky you’ll be enjoying is the mother of your pup,” Eliza said with an indulgent smile and nod to Beck’s dog. “Not until you are at least twelve.”

  “Twelve?” Lark asked, her eyes wide.

  Eliza poured only enough whisky to cover the bottom of one cup and hand
ed it to Anders and then poured herself a swallow. She looked to Lark. “When Captain John rescued me from Jandeau, he started teaching me to handle strong liquor.”

  “Most ladies on land drink wine or ale,” Cecilia said, her eyes on the amber drink in the glass flask.

  “Of course,” Eliza said, pouring into three more cups. “But when a scoundrel is trying to get a lady drunk, ’tis best for a lady to know what it tastes like and to build a tolerance so she can still think straight and gut the scoundrel if needed.”

  Both Meg’s and Cecilia’s mouths dropped open.

  “Do you want to know what it tastes like?” Eliza asked, handing them each a cup, the fullest to Cecilia.

  Lark waved her cup off. “I have seen the effects of whisky too much.”

  “It certainly can bring out the worst in people,” Eliza said softly and poured it back into the flask. The other two ladies sniffed their cups.

  “You do not need to drink it,” Eliza said and pointed to Anders. “But watch how he does it so as not to act like a novice.” Both ladies stared at the boy who straightened with the attention.

  “He breathes in, throws the liquid into the back of the throat, swallows, and then breathes out the fumes.”

  He did what she said, barely grimacing. “It warms me all the way down,” he said, grinning.

  Meg giggled. “I am going to try it,” she whispered, glancing over to the men who were engrossed in whatever Tor’s letter said about Captain Wentworth. “Da won’t let me at home, and Gavin won’t leave our sides.”

  She breathed in and poured the whisky into her mouth much too slowly. Meg spit it back into the cup. “Horrible,” she said, making a face.

  Eliza chuckled and downed her own swallow with ease. “It takes practice.”

  Cecilia eyed the liquid. “It makes one braver, doesn’t it?”

  “Some say it does,” Eliza said. “Although, it makes some stupider.”

  Cecilia took a deep breath, her shoulders rising. She threw the contents into her mouth, swallowed, and breathed out as if her mouth had flames inside. “Ugh,” she said, her eyes wide.