CHAPTER Thirteen
The bonfire ebbed to coals, sending columns of sparks into the sky. The night smelled of wood smoke and sea air. Calum slipped his arm around Anne’s shoulders and rubbed. “Ye are shivering.”
“A bit, but you radiate enough heat for us both.” She lowered her head and nestled into him.
He wanted to draw her onto his lap, but the accusing looks coming from Friar Pat across the fire told him his actions had already stretched beyond appropriate. Calum strengthened his grip upon her shoulders. He could sit there with Anne in his arms until morning.
They watched unmarried couples jump across the pit with laughs and giggles. He ached to take Anne’s hand and pledge his adoration by jumping across the coals with her. But it couldn’t be. Calum could not allow himself to forget she was married. Married but still innocent. The throbbing under his kilt continuously reminded him of that fact. No amount of ale could drown the longing.
Anne had made it worse—unintentionally, of course. She looked a goddess, dancing the reel with her long skirts swishing, her cheeks rosy. He’d lost control when he’d placed his hands on her waist and heard her gasp. If they had been alone, he would have thrown her down right there and shown her the extent of his affection. But like a responsible laird, he forced himself to lead her back to his plaid, rather than into the shadows where he could have had his way. Damned be to hell his responsibility. This was Beltane—the one night when he might cast aside caution and surrender to his passion.
Calum inclined his head toward Anne. Like the other clanswomen, she wore her tresses loose for the gathering and the vigor of the dancing had tousled it, giving her a raw appeal that enticed his deepest urges. A wisp of silken hair with the honeysuckle scent tickled his cheek. Why must every fiber of her being entice him? Should he forget about the future and enjoy the moments he had until he turned her over to Wharton? His gut clenched. He would never be able to forget she belonged to the devil.
Anne glanced at him and tensed beneath his grasp. “Is something amiss?”
“Nay. Just thinking of the future.”
Anne bit her bottom lip and shuttered her eyes. She knew what he meant.
Across the coals, Mara squealed. Dread crept up Calum’s neck. He slid his hand from Anne’s shoulders and followed Mara’s line of sight. A skiff glided up onto the beach.
Mara dashed toward it. “John. Praise the heavens, you’re home!”
Calum loved John as a brother, but his arrival cast a black shadow across the celebration.
John splashed onto the shore and hefted Mara into her arms. She wrapped her legs around him and they twirled across the beach. Calum wanted to hit something. Hard. God on the cross, how he wished Anne would wrap her legs around him like that—but now his days with her would be few.
Pushing his sudden gloom aside, Calum rose to greet his cousin. Standing on his plaid, he waited for John to finish kissing his wife. He glanced at Anne who watched, open mouthed, while John put on a display of mad passion, his lips locked with Mara’s, their bodies clinging together. It must have been the longest kiss in the history of Scotland when John finally came up for air.
He set Mara down and held his hand out to Calum. “’Tis good to be home.”
“Welcome John, ye’ve been sorely missed.”
The friar waddled up and slammed John’s shoulder with a hearty whack. “’Tis good luck to arrive on Beltane.” He winked at Mara. “I’ll bet God will bless ye with a bairn this very night.”
Mara turned a brilliant shade of scarlet.
Calum stepped up to John’s ear. “Before ye go, did ye get a response?”
“Aye. Do ye want it now?”
Calum pulled him aside. “Give me the short version.”
“The bastard nearly shot me dead in Edinburgh—betrayed by the runner I was.” John pulled Wharton’s missive from his sporran. “But this says he agrees to terms.”
Calum slipped the note away and clapped John’s shoulder. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Go enjoy yerself.”
John grinned and cast his eyes toward his wife. “That I will, m’laird.”
Anne moved in beside Calum and touched him on the shoulder. “They look so happy.”
He tapped a stone with the toe of his boot. “They do.”
“Wouldn’t it be divine if all marriages could be carved of such love?”
Calum watched John lead Mara up the hill—up to their marriage bed. A burning void swelled across his chest. He’d most likely never marry, never have a loving woman to hold in the night. He turned to Anne and tried to smile. “Aye, a marriage without love is a woeful tragedy, but we live in a time when it happens all too often.”
He offered his elbow. “Would ye like to retire, milady?”
They didn’t speak as Calum walked with Anne up the hill and into the keep. Her nearness, her hand upon his arm, tore his insides to shreds. John had returned and she must soon leave.
Entering the keep, the bell-like timbre of Anne’s voice broke the silence. “Thank you for allowing me to celebrate the festival with the clan.”
“Do they have a May Day festival in Southampton?”
“Nothing as invigorating as Beltane. My family does not encourage such—ah—displays of exuberance.”
Calum ran his fingers along the rough stone walls. “The ever so proper English.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Calum wondered how the English ever actually got married with their code of proper conduct. But then there was Anne’s plight. She had been wed by proxy, without the enjoyment of being courted.
They stopped outside her chamber door and Calum took her hands in his. “Lady Anne, I…” So many conflicting emotions boiled under his skin and tied his tongue.
“Yes?” She swayed slightly as if tipsy.
“Ye are a beautiful woman, both inside and out.”
She plopped her head against Calum’s chest. It hit him a bit hard, though he could understand the gesture, if half his frustration also coursed through her.
“I’ll be leaving soon.”
He brushed her cheek with is forefinger. “Aye.”
“Staying here hasn’t been anything I could have imagined.”
“Oh? Did ye expect us to be hostile?”
“After plundering the ship? Yes.” Anne swayed and leaned against the door. With her eyes half cast, she looked a woman ready to be ravished. “How could you do that and live with it on your conscience?”
“How can ye marry a man ye dunna know, and cannot love?” He reached out and clasped her fist to his heart. “We’ll no’ be pirating again, as long as we can sustain ourselves.”
Anne slid her arms around his waist. Calum’s heart thudded against his chest. He clasped his hands around her back. Ferocious, demanding heat spread under his kilt. Anne raised her chin, lips parted. “I’ve tried, but I cannot block your kisses from my mind.”
Calum needed no more coaxing. This was Beltane. He would think on the future tomorrow. He bent his head and brushed his lips across her lovely silken mouth. Pulling her body against his, Anne’s breasts molded to his chest. He licked the tip of her tongue. Groaning, he increased the pressure and swirled her tongue with his. She rubbed her hips against him, and his manhood hardened with a deep searing heat.
He could no longer resist the fire burning for her. Christ, what was he protecting her from? He was saving the lady’s virtue for a tyrant. Calum’s hand slipped down to her round buttock and pulled her closer. Her pliable flesh gave way to his touch, but when a prolonged and satisfying moan escaped her lips, he ground his manhood against her and nearly spilled his seed.
Squeezing his eyes closed, desperate to regain control, he pulled his lips away and tasted her sweetness with the tip of his tongue. He wanted to savor her, to hold this moment forever close. He showered kisses along her neck and inhaled her luscious scent. Calum lifted his finger and ran it across the surging flesh above her bodice that had so often teased him. With a gasp, she shuddered in his arms. All he had to do was pick her up and carry her to the bed—his bed. He slipped his finger under the fabric of her gown and found a taut nipple straining against her stays, every bit as erect as his cock.
Anne stared at him, her breasts heaving.
He slid his fingers toward her cleavage, but she clamped her hand around them. Meeting her eyes, she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. She rested her head on his chest—gently this time. “Thank you.”
His hope sank like lead. “The pleasure is mine, milady.” Calum pulled down on the latch and opened her door.
Anne took a step inside and staggered. Calum darted to her. “Are ye ill?”
She put a hand to her forehead. “My head is spinning.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I want you so badly, I cannot breathe.”
Merely flesh and blood, Calum could take no more. He lifted her into his arms and kicked the door closed behind them.
Anne jerked. “We cannot.”
“I’ll see ye to the bed.”
With all the flames snuffed for Beltane, only the sliver of moon glow shone through the window.
Anne wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, closing her eyes. “I wish I could hold you always.” Her voice sounded far away and dreamy.
He gently sat her atop the duvet and removed her slippers. Kneeling before her, he held her hands to his lips. “Lady Anne, it would be unfair of me to confess my love, but I want nothing more this Beltane Eve than to bring ye pleasure.”
“But…”
Calum held up his hand. “I have vowed I will no’ take yer innocence, but a man and a woman can find pleasure together without consummation.”
“They can?”
“Aye.”
Anne cupped his face with her palm. “I trust you.” Her voice was but a throaty whisper.
Calum’s hands trembled. He had won her trust. At one time she’d thought him a merciless pirate, and there she sat, completely vulnerable, sapphire eyes boring into his, declaring her belief in his ability to control his urges. God help him.
He ran his finger along her low cut bodice, savoring her yielding flesh beneath. “May I remove yer gown and yer stays?”
Without a word, Anne stood and held out her arms. He realized she had done that many times and it dawned on him, an earl’s daughter would have had a serving maid—most likely a great number of them.
Calum’s hands trembled as he unlaced her bodice and pulled away her gown. Her breasts blossomed over the top of her stays, and he sucked in a ragged breath. She wore her laces in front—the only way she would have been able to tie them by herself. He tugged on the satiny string, slowly tugging the laces from each eyelet.
Pulling it away, Anne’s breasts sprang free and pushed against her shift. Calum stood back, clasping the stays in his hands, salivating. The pink buds of her nipples strained into the white cloth, highlighted by a ray of moonlight. The good Lord had endowed her with ample bosoms indeed. His own knees buckled. He could barely control his desire, gazing upon the shadow of her form. How would his body respond if she stood naked before him?
He placed her garments on the chair. Anne moved in behind him, running her hands over his chest. Calum rolled his head and groaned at the pleasure from the silky smooth touch of her fingertips.
“Now you,” she said.
Anne skimmed her hand around his waist and crossed in front of him. She unlaced his shirt and tugged it from his kilt. He helped her pull it over his head. Her fingers went to his belt, but he grasped them. “If ye unbuckle it, the only thing I’ll be wearing is me hose and me boots.” He loved the shadowy blush that rose up her cheeks. “But if ye want to…”
“I do want to.”
“I may no’ be able to stop meself.” Anne bit her lip and released her hand. Leaving his kilt in place, Calum kicked off his foot gear and led her to the bed. “I want to savor this moment forever.”
“I do as well.”
Sitting on the bed, Calum pulled her between his legs. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her mons against his erection. Groaning, he kissed her. With his hands, he showed her how to rock her hips against him with only his kilt and her thin shift between them. “Does this feel good for you?”
“Unbelievably so, but my insides are screaming for more.”
He ran his hands over her breasts, kneading round, firm flesh. Watching him, she reached up and pulled the bow to open the front of her shift. Calum pushed the material aside and licked her nipple. Anne’s moan ignited his lust. He covered the tip of her breast with his mouth and suckled. Her entire body shuddered.
Anne smoothed her hands over Calum’s hair. “Oh God. Please.”
In one motion, he pulled her onto the bed and lay beside her. “I want to touch you.” Tugging up the hem of her shift, he exposed her white skin. Though he could scarcely see in the dark, the flowery bouquet from her sex made his head spin. Calum slid his fingers up her thigh. A gasp caught in Anne’s throat. She tensed.
“Open yer legs for me.”
“Are you certain?”
“I will respect ye. I promise.”
Slowly, she eased her legs apart. With a feathery touch, he slid his hand into the hot moist core of her womanhood. She was so wet, he could slip into her in one thrust. His cock throbbed, pressing her hip.
Anne tensed again and tried to sit up but Calum coaxed her back down. “Relax and let me show ye pleasure.”
“Yes.”
Anne eased against the pillows and he swirled his finger around the tiny nub just above her opening. Yielding to his touch, she rocked her hips. Her moans drove his pulse and passion to thrum faster. Calum rubbed his erection against her hip, teetering on the edge of losing control. He slid his finger inside her, and she clamped tight around him. A bit of seed leaked from his cock. If he could only enter her, claim her for his own. But he wanted to show her pleasure, wanted her to know what it was like to come. He worked his finger faster, slipping it over and around her sex until Anne arched her back and cried out, clutching him and panting. Kissing her hair, Calum held her to his chest until her breathing eased.
“W-what was that?”
“’Twas only a sampling of what could be between a man and a woman.”
Anne kissed him and brushed her hand over his sex. “You said a woman can pleasure a man.”
Calum’s cock throbbed. “Aye. But I wouldna expect a lady to lower herself.”
“I want to.” Anne pushed up onto her elbow. “Will you show me?”
He guided her hand under his kilt and wrapped her fingers around his shaft. Holding his hand over hers, Calum showed her how to stroke it. “No’ too fast, but steady.”
“I wish I could see it, but ’tis too dark.”
Anne milked him with her soft touch, and he drew her mouth to his. Calum pushed into her hold, hips bucking faster. Anne instinctively sped her stroke. He could only think of her core, that hot opening which had yielded to his touch. His mind lost control as she worked him. With one final thrust, he roared, “Anne!” He spilled his seed, his cock pulsing over and over again until they both fell back against the pillows.
Calum pressed his lips against her forehead. “Ye are the fairest lass in all the Earth.” But only mine this night.
After a languid kiss, Anne curled up beside him and fell asleep in his arms. He watched her peaceful countenance in the moonlight. Never before had he seen a woman so beautiful. Never before had he wanted a woman so much that the need consumed him. Calum brushed a lock of hair from her face.
He must take Anne to her husband soon, else they’d be damned forever.
***
Lord Wharton studied the map of Scotland strewn atop his parlor table. Master Denton hovered across from him, his arms folded. “Fortescue said they wore red and black plaid.”
“Large checks or small?”
“He didn’t say.”
Wharton looked at his beady-eyed henchman, and the scrambled eggs from his breakfast roiled in his gut. “He didn’t say or you didn’t ask?”
“Oh I asked—right before I sliced off the tip of his finger.”
“And?”
Denton studied his gnawed fingernails. “I honestly believe he did not know.”
“Stupid Londoner. Doesn’t know a Stewart from a MacGregor, I’d wager.” Thomas studied the map. “Where does that leave us?”
“My guess is they’re from the Hebrides. In London, I learned MacNeil is making a name for himself pillaging English ships. Word has it his lair is on the Isle of Barra.”
Wharton slid his finger across the map and found it, a small island in the Outer Hebrides. He reached for his cup of peppermint tea. “Out of the way, is it not?”
“And well-fortified I’ve heard.”
“Bastards,” Wharton growled under his breath. “Are you certain it’s them?”
Denton shook his mop of straight black hair. “No. Lawlessness permeates the Hebrides. Their allegiance is to the clans. They scarcely recognize the throne of Scotland and despise England.”
“I can raise an army, but to fight a war on the sea…” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I would need to appeal to Her Majesty.”
“That woman?”
Wharton frowned. Denton was right. It would take a year or more of petitioning before Her Majesty would grant him warships to find his wife—if she ever did. War with the Spaniards was eminent. He could possibly seek Northumberland’s assistance.
“Exactly what did the missive say?” Denton asked.
Gritting his teeth, Thomas snatched it from his ornately carved mahogany desk and read aloud. “At dusk on the seventeenth of May, launch a thousand pounds in an unmanned skiff at the mouth of the Firth of Solway. Do not follow the skiff. Do not hide in the skiff. After payment is received, Lady Anne will be found outside the citadel of Carlisle. If payment is not received in full, the lady will be executed.”
Wharton slammed his fist on the desk and drew his sword. “I will gut the miserable bastard and destroy his clan.” He pointed the blade at Denton’s heart. “I will have my vengeance.”
Denton waited for him to sheathe his sword before he reached for the missive. “’Tis not signed.”
“Motherless tit-sucking swine.”
“We must formulate a plan.”
Denton always had to be the voice of reason. Wharton didn’t care to be reasonable right now. “I won’t let them steal away with a thousand of my pounds. They can eat my shite. Her dowry wasn’t even half that.”
Denton tossed the missive on the desk. “What is worth more, the money or the baroness?”
“You over step your station.” Wharton pursed his lips. “They will not murder my wife. We will sail the skiff as they request and once Lady Anne is in our grasp, we will hunt them down like the savages they are. They may have my coin in their hands for a time, but it will not make it to their coffers.”
Denton grinned, his yellow teeth making his appearance even less formidable. “We should be able to slip over to Maryport to hire a ship, if need be.”
“Yes, and raise an army. I’m sure there are still loyal men from my days as sheriff. We shall leave on the morrow. I’ll need rooms there and a physician to examine…” Wharton stopped himself. It was no concern of Denton’s that he planned to have Anne examined before taking her to his marriage bed. He didn’t trust the rutting Scots, and if they had touched her, it would be a greater disgrace to his name than he could bear.
“With some planning we should be able to capture them outside the citadel.”
“My thought exactly.” Thomas plodded to the hearth and snatched up a piece of coal with cast iron tongs. “I will see them all hanged, drawn and quartered.”
“We shall line the bailey of Carlisle with their heads.”
“No.” Wharton pointed at Denton’s sternum. “We will ship their heads back to their mothers and wives and show those bloody Scots who is the superior race.”