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

by McCollum, Heather

  “Wait for the warmth,” Anders said, patting her on the back as she coughed into her hand. “Do you feel it?”

  Cecilia wrapped both hands around her wine goblet and took a big drink. Lowering it, she nodded. “Yes, ’tis hot,” she said, trailing a finger down her front.

  Eliza nodded. “You have the makings of a fine pirate, Cecilia. If you feel like taking a bath,” Eliza indicated the window up high in the keep walls, “we can strap you to the Calypso’s masts since it’s raining.”

  Anders doubled over with laughter. Cecilia smiled cautiously as if she weren’t sure if she was being made fun of.

  “What is so humorous over here?” Beck asked as the group broke up and the men joined them again.

  “Eliza was teaching us how to be sailors,” Meg said, smiling at her friend. “Cecilia seems to be more fit for it than I am.”

  Gavin took Meg’s cup, sniffing it. “Whisky?” He frowned.

  “I spit mine back in,” Meg said. “Horrid stuff.”

  “But it makes one warm,” Cecilia said, smiling up at Beck.

  Beck frowned at Eliza, and she smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes. “Ye drink whisky with your crew?” he asked.

  “Only when we have something to celebrate or forget,” she said.

  “And we sing songs, dance, and speak poetry,” Anders said. “Eliza is the best at that.”

  “The dancing around naked in the rain? I bet she is the best at that,” the crow said and hiccoughed, which sounded like a squawk. Aye, the name suited her.

  “Cecilia,” Meg admonished again. Maybe the whisky was loosening the crow’s tongue. Eliza did not care if she talked about her as long as she wasn’t making her children sad.

  Cecilia leaned into Callum’s arm, her eyes on Beck across the way. There was an invitation in them, which irritated Eliza. Cecilia waved her hand, her fingers scissoring as if they were legs turning in a circle. “Eliza dancing with her crew on a ship, if not naked then in her man clothes, smelling of rain and whisky.”

  “No,” Anders said, frowning. “Eliza is best at telling tales and poetry. She makes them up on the spot. Tell them one,” he said.

  Callum was looking down at Cecilia. Was he falling for her simpering? She reminded Eliza of the ladies in port who tricked the crew out of their money with unspoken promises and then disappeared. Whoring or thievery. Both were wrong. At least Mistress Claire did not lie and act coy.

  Cecilia leaned closer to Meg, but her voice carried. “She probably sleeps in and wears that one set of breeches every day.” She tsked.

  “Tell a poem,” Pip said, picking up the heavy puppy and spinning around with her.

  “Aye,” Eagan said. “I’d like to hear something clever.”

  “Clever?” Cecilia snorted and covered her mouth and nose with a pale hand that was surely smooth, not a callus in sight. Damn haughty crow.

  Eliza stood, her mind floating along the rhymes that might have something to do with the lady’s fair attributes. She’d try to keep the curses that made the crew howl out of it.

  “I met a fair lass with curls the color of night, lips ruby red and skin pale as moonlight.”

  Cecilia smiled, holding up her pale hand and touching her dark curls.

  “She teased and twirled, prompting songs from bards. Her smile and blinking eyes made all the lads hard.”

  Eagan laughed, and Meg covered her mouth with both hands, but Eliza continued.

  “But beware my good men,” Eliza said, leaning in to meet each brother’s eyes. “The bait, do not bite. For her promises are hollow. And her legs are locked tight.”

  Silence.

  Meg had her hands overlapped across her mouth, her eyes full of mirth. Lark’s eyes were the same. Gavin looked appalled, and Cecilia’s smile faded to a glare.

  What could Cecilia say? She could not deny it without looking like a loose woman. And accepting the portrait of her made her look like a woman who lured men as a game.

  Pip clapped loudly, her smile bright. “Well done, Eliza,” she called out. “It all rhymed.”

  Gavin shook off his paralysis. “And accurate,” he said, his gaze sliding to connect with each of the Macquarie brothers. “Mistress Cecilia’s legs are locked tight until she weds. Same with Lady Meg.” His hand waved in the air. “And all the unwed lasses here. Shut tight, I say!” The man’s face had turned crimson. “Or your das will be slicing my head from my neck,” he said, pointing at Meg.

  Hiccough. Everyone looked at Cecilia. “I feel strange,” she said. “A bit dizzy.” Her hand slid against her stomach.

  “The whisky you drank,” Meg said.

  Lord, could Cecilia be drunk on one swallow of whisky? It had been a rather large swallow, but it was still just one.

  The woman stood up, and with a slight motion from Lark, all the brothers stood too, including Beck. “Yes, definitely dizzy,” Cecilia said, her hand going out to catch Callum’s arm.

  “Shall I escort ye to your bedchamber?” Callum asked, pulling her into his side.

  “Absolutely not,” Gavin said, practically climbing through the assembled chairs to pull Cecilia away from him. “I will take her and Lady Meg up. ’Tis late already.”

  “Rest well,” Meg said with a smile and followed after them.

  Beck’s gaze went to Eliza, but he didn’t say anything. She shrugged one shoulder. “’Twas one swallow,” she said. “And she deserves any ache in the head that she gets from it.”

  “Cecilia has a tendency toward jealousy,” Lark said. “And does not thoroughly think through her actions.” She pointed at Callum and then the other brothers. “You should all stay away from her.”

  “Even though we are supposed to be finding brides?” Eagan asked, raising his eyebrow as if arguing her point.

  “You are all trying to find brides?” Eliza repeated. “To marry?”

  “That is typically what one does with a bride,” Drostan answered.

  Adam sat in the chair next to Lark that Meg had vacated. “The Macquarie Clan is all that ye see here. The rumor of a curse from long ago has scared away all the families, but we are rebuilding our clan and isle. To do that, we should each take a wife and start our own families.” He took up Lark’s hand, kissing her knuckles.

  She smiled at him, her cheeks pink and her eyes joyful. She looked truly happy to be bound to him for life. “And rebuild the clan together,” she said. They shared a nod, and she looked out at Adam’s brothers. “Be careful when choosing, for you will have her as a partner your whole life. Do you want a wife who slanders others or one who will help you build a home with friends?”

  “I want neither,” Pip said and covered her yawn with a hand, which made Anders and several others yawn. “Like Eliza, I am not marrying anyone.”

  Eliza felt Beck’s gaze. “Ye are not planning to marry? Ever?” he asked.

  She lifted her eyes to his. Her parents had married and seemed happy, but that was the only example she had known before meeting Lark and Adam Macquarie. “No. I will captain the Devil’s Blood when Captain John asks me to take over in his old age.”

  “Don’t ye want children?” Callum asked.

  Her gaze cut to Pip, who had taken up a spot near the hearth with the sleeping puppies, her own eyes closing. Wolf nuzzled against her face.

  “I have children already.”

  “Ye’ve borne children out of wedlock?” Rabbie asked.

  She frowned at him. “I could if I wanted to, but no. My children are those lost in the world, those who need a home. I have Anders, Pip, and now Hester. And I certainly do not need to wed a man to do that.”

  Anders stood from his chair. “And if a man gets Eliza with child, Captain John will geld and gut him.” He joined Pip with the puppies.

  She met Beck’s gaze. “I can protect myself and my family even if we do not find Cap
tain John.”

  “But don’t ye want love?” Callum asked. “Most lasses do.”

  Eliza turned her face, meeting his stare. “Love makes one weak, vulnerable.”

  “I would argue against that,” Adam said.

  She turned to see the eldest Macquarie studying her. “When you lose someone you love, the pain of it swells inside, choking you when you cannot pour it out on them. ’Tis like poison.”

  “But you love your children,” Lark said, her brows bent, almost like she pitied Eliza.

  Pity went hand in hand with shame, and Eliza hated both. “Aye, I pour the love for those I’ve lost onto them, and the children need it to grow properly. But I would never invite a full-grown man into my heart.” She shook her head. “’Tis too dangerous. I would just hurt more when the sea separated us.”

  Everyone sat in silence for a moment, and she took a sip from her cup.

  “You are welcome to stay on Ulva if you decide you would rather not return to sea,” Lark said. “You and your children. We can make one of the large cottages in town yours.”

  “Thank you, but the sea is in my blood,” Eliza said with a smile.

  But Lark continued. “We plan to start a school soon with Grissell’s children. Pip and Anders can learn to read and write and cipher numbers.” She looked to where the two were falling asleep amongst the pups and smiled. “You too, of course. We will have ladies from Mull coming over to learn.”

  “Thank you,” Eliza said. “I was taught before I was captured, and I’ve started teaching Pip and Anders.”

  “Ye read and write?” Eagan asked, obviously surprised.

  “I read to the crew, stories from books they find at port.” She smiled, thinking of the gruff men sitting on deck along the sides of the ship, listening intently. Even serious Kofi would sit, legs crossed out before him. Edgar would make them all stay quiet, and Bingly always wanted a story about mermaidens. “Myths and legends are their favorites.” Sadness tightened inside her chest, and she blinked, glancing down at her lap draped in borrowed wool. Damn that pressure of love. “I need to find them.”

  “We will,” Beck said. “Right after the wedding this week.”

  “Maybe this Captain Wentworth has come across the Devil’s Blood,” Adam said. “He’s English, but he may be of help.”

  “Anyone hunting Jandeau is someone I can work with,” Beck said. The vehemence in his voice warmed Eliza.

  “I think a couple of young sailors need to be put to bed,” Lark said, tipping her head toward Pip and Anders near the hearth, where they were piled up with the sleeping pups as if they were part of the litter.

  Beck stood, striding quietly toward the two. He lifted under Anders’s arms, and the boy woke. “I’m too old to be carried off to bed,” he mumbled, so Beck guided him, half carrying him.

  Eliza followed, picking up Pip, the big girl heavy with sleep.

  “Do ye want to trade?” Beck asked.

  There were a bloody lot of steps in a castle. She nodded and transferred Pip into his strong arms. He held her effortlessly as Eliza followed, steadying Anders with his half-closed eyes. Perhaps the nip of whisky had affected him too. She’d have to build his tolerance to liquor before he was a man. Lord, the responsibilities of raising children were endless.

  Beck turned left when they reached the floor with bedchambers along it. Alice stood from a rocking chair next to the bed Hester was sharing with her and Pip when Eliza opened the door. Beck lowered Pip into the middle bed.

  Eliza guided Anders to the room next door where there were two small beds. A splash of light from a lit sconce in the hall helped her guide him into one. “Night, Liza,” Anders mumbled.

  “You too,” she whispered back, touching the hair that had fallen along his forehead. Eliza turned and stopped short. Beck stood in the doorway, the light from behind his form casting his face in shadows. His wide shoulders filled the space, his hands perched on the doorframe above.

  “Where will ye sleep?” he asked.

  She indicated the other small bed. “In here. ’Tis comfortable.”

  “I can light ye a fire.”

  It was cool despite it being summer, but she was used to much colder onboard a ship where they only lit fires when absolutely necessary. Fire was a wooden ship’s natural enemy.

  She shook her head. “We are fine without one. ’Tis a luxury to sleep without worrying about being dumped from our hammocks by an irksome wave.”

  “Lark was right,” he said softly. “If ye do not find Captain John, or even if ye do, ye can stay on Wolf Isle.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot live landlocked.”

  “This is an isle, Eliza, and ye can sail with me on the Calypso.”

  “I am certain your future wife will be absolutely jubilant with that arrangement,” she said.

  One of his hands lowered from the doorframe to grab the back of his neck as if it were starting to pain him. “I have no plans to wed anytime soon.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Isn’t that your duty as a Macquarie?” she asked, her brow rising in mock question. “Marry and fill the isle with Macquarie lads and lasses?”

  “Any and all children will be safer here than on the sea,” he said.

  She opened her mouth to deny something that she knew was true, but he held up his hand. “Just something to consider,” Beck said. “Sleep well.” He shut the door.

  Eliza listened to the hollow sound of his boots fading away. She sat on the edge of her bed for long minutes, listening to Anders’ breathing as he fell deeper into sleep. Would he have a better life growing up with the Macquaries? Pip and Hester would be safer from Jandeau and his ilk. Even if Eliza wanted to continue to sail the seas, they could stay. She could too. With Beck.

  She drew in a full breath, feeling heat in her middle. Surely it wasn’t the whisky anymore. She’d barely had any. No, she liked the Scotsman.

  Without thinking further, Eliza rose and left the room. The corridor was silent as she padded down it in the slippers she’d borrowed. She counted the steps silently as she descended, her fingers following the rough stone in the dark. The arched alcove at the bottom kept her hidden from the room that still glowed with firelight.

  She peeked around the corner. Beck and three of his brothers were still there. Only Adam had gone to bed with Lark.

  “That rhyme was clever,” Eagan said. “Even though Cecilia looked like she’d just downed bilgewater.”

  “’Twas right vicious,” Callum said, but smiled.

  Beck crossed his arms. “She made Eliza angry. Cecilia could have ended up with a dagger in her gut.”

  “I think she was jealous,” Drostan said.

  Eagan flopped back in his chair. “Who?”

  “Eliza,” Drostan said. “She watched ye,” he said to Beck.

  Had she? Eliza frowned. Eagan grinned. “Jealousy lands a lass in your bed.”

  Beck’s face pinched with annoyance. “She’s not a fish.”

  “She is rather like a mermaiden,” Callum said. “Golden hair and a lovely tail.”

  Eliza clamped a hand over her mouth so as not to snort.

  “But she won’t marry ye,” Drostan said, shaking his head. “Like Adam said, ’tis best to stay away from her. Ye need a wife.”

  “And no bastards or our clan is doomed,” Eagan said, pointing at Beck with each word.

  “I know how to prevent that,” Beck said.

  “Spill outside the lass,” all three Macquarie brothers said in unison and raised imagined tankards as if saluting.

  Drostan cursed. “I swear we should have chiseled it on Da’s tombstone.”

  Beck scratched fingers through his hair. What did it feel like? It looked as clean as the rest of him.

  Eliza felt a giddiness in her stomach. Beck wasn’t married yet, and he knew what
to do to prevent a babe from growing in her. Maybe this was her chance to learn about carnal delight, as Wretch called it.

  Choose wisely, Eliza. Captain John’s words echoed in her ears. There was only one first time, no matter what the whores pretended. And Captain John had lectured her on the lies men tell to trick maidens into thinking they are honorable. But Beck was honorable and strong and good.

  Choose wisely. She stared across the hall at the large, well-muscled, clean-smelling Scotsman. I choose you, Beck Macquarie.

  Chapter Eight

  Beck strode briskly out the door in the wall surrounding Gylin Castle. Rain pelted down on him, the wind gusting the raindrops sideways. Even Eliza wouldn’t try to steal his ship on a night like this.

  The lass was bold, clever, and rash, but she wasn’t foolish.

  He trudged to the top of the rise that led down into Ormaig and to his cottage. He carried a candle enclosed in glass. Aye, it was good he’d left the castle, or he would be tempted to go back up to Eliza’s room. Adam was right. He should stay away from her. As soon as she could, she would sail away, probably never to return.

  As he’d stood across from her in the hallway, watching the candlelight play across her lovely, open features, he thought he’d seen…something, something that beckoned him. More than her beauty and wit. Hair down around her shoulders and the gown showing her full curves, Eliza had looked like a half-undone woman. And if he didn’t know better, which he surely did, she had looked like she wanted him to undo the rest of her. No bastards. You must marry soon. I won’t be landlocked. Voices filled his head, scattering the heat her imagined look had started within him.

  Beck took a step down the hill and paused. Crunch. The sound of pebbles behind him made him turn. Eliza? She trudged toward him along the path. The heavy rain weighted her hair and gown, and she held her petticoats high, her slippers squishing in the increasing mud.

  She stopped before him, her face tipped up. “Why are you standing out here getting soaked through?” she asked.

  He wiped a hand down his face to briefly rid it of water. “Why are ye out here getting soaked through?”