CHAPTER Fourteen
Calum rose early and met John and Norman in the solar behind closed doors. “I was worried ye wouldn’t return in time, John. The missive instructed Wharton to launch the ransom in an unmanned skiff in the Firth of Solway on the seventeenth of May.”
“The seventeenth? Are we sailing, then?” John asked.
“Nay, we’ll ride.”
Norman leaned in. “Ride all the way to Carlisle with a woman in tow?”
“Aye, a proper English lass at that. She’ll no’ last a day,” John added with a shake of his head.
Calum sliced his hands through the air. “Hear me out afore ye start yer bellowing.” He eyed the two men. “We’ll ride to Carlisle with Lady Anne. It should take a fortnight, give or take. Norman, ye’ll set sail in the Sea Dragon a week after we leave and moor in the north cove of the Firth of Solway—ye ken the place.”
Norman nodded. “Aye.”
“Once we recover the skiff, I’ll have Bran head to the cove with the ransom. I’ll take Lady Anne to the citadel. With some luck, she’ll cooperate and I’ll be out of there by the time Wharton and his men realize it’s her.”
John scratched his chin. “Ye dunna think the baron will recognize her?”
“Nay.” Calum grinned. “I’ll dress her in trews and tie her hair under a bonnet.”
“Ye best ensure the cap’s no’ made of Raasay plaid,” Norman said.
“I’ve asked Betha to fashion me one of grey wool.”
John looked worried behind his dark eyes. “Ye think the lady will betray us?”
Calum sucked in a ragged breath. His actions from last eve had not been carried out with a mind to coax her into going along with his scheme. This whole business had torn his insides to shreds. The only positive thing about it was it would soon be done. Hell, if Anne stayed at Brochel any longer, he’d betray his honor—he nearly had already. “Nay.”
Norman shot John a sideways glance. “She won’t. She’s grown a fondness for our laird whilst ye’ve been away.”
John sat back and folded his arms. “Good. ’Twill help aid our escape if she doesna start screaming outside the citadel of Carlisle.”
Calum pushed away from the table and stood. “Now I’ve got to go tell her we cannot take all those blasted trunks with us.”
The two men exchanged frowns and Calum lowered his voice. “I’ll no’ tell her about the Sea Dragon. ’Tis best she doesn’t ken our plans to return to Raasay.”
“And what about after?” Norman asked. “Wharton will come hunting us with guns blazing.”
“Aye, ’tis another reason why I want to sail home. We’ll need to prepare for battle by land or by sea.”
Calum strode out of the solar and headed up the winding stairs to Anne’s chamber. “Lady Anne?” He rapped on the door. “Are ye within?”
“A moment.”
After an inordinate amount of rustling, she opened the door, smiling with those dimples that made his heart pound against his chest. She dropped into his arms, and Calum’s resolve turned to butter. If he could only pick her up and take her to bed—but last night had been a mistake. He never should have been so forward. It made what he had to do all the more difficult.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Calum kissed her forehead then held her at arm’s length. “We need to speak.”
From the crease on her brow, she knew why he was there. She gestured toward the table.
Calum’s stomach turned over—twice—and he took the seat opposite her. It had all seemed so easy when he’d left the solar—walk up to her and tell her they were leaving on the morrow. Now, staring into those fathomless pools of Icelandic water, his mouth went dry. If only she had not married the bastard. “Och, damn it all.”
Her arms folded. “I beg your pardon?”
“We should not have—I should not have…” Calum bent his head and spread his palms to his sides. “We must leave on the morrow. Yer letter of ransom has been answered, and I must take ye to Carlisle.”
Anne frowned. “Carlisle? But Lord Wharton is in Alnwick.”
“The terms are the baron will meet ye there.” Calum couldn’t look at her face. He glanced to the five trunks lining the wall. “We’ll be on horseback and cannot take yer things. Pack a satchel with yer keepsakes. I’ll see yer trunks delivered to Alnwick when things settle.”
Anne covered her face with her hands as if pressing away tears. “What of Swan? His training has only begun.”
He’d just told her they were going back to England, and she was worried about a damned bird? “Bran will look after the eagle. We cannot tow a squawking fledgling with us.” Calum cringed. He sounded far less sympathetic than he had intended, but the eagle could not make this trip. Not with so much at stake.
He stole a peek at Anne. She stared at her hands, folded tight in her lap. Her knuckles blanched white. “So that’s it, then?”
His heart told him to kneel before her and beg her not to leave. She could seek an annulment, falsify her death, anything so she could stay at Brochel. But she was a lady, born into nobility. She was too refined for a life on frigid island in the north of Scotland. She deserved the comfortable life of a Baroness, planning fetes and luncheons, fretting over the penmanship on her invitations. Besides, the longer she remained at Brochel, the more dangerous it was for his entire clan.
“’Tis time to join yer husband.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, the words constricted in his throat. He could not tell her how he felt. It would only make things worse.
***
Anne hid her emotions behind a stoic fa?ade and listened to the news. She waited until Calum walked out of her chamber and closed the door. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek. Pulling a kerchief from her dressing gown pocket, she held it to her eyes.
That sickly, hollow feeling came over her as it had the first day on the Flying Swan. Last night had been a delusion—she had allowed him to take advantage. Her feelings of belonging had been the musings of a lonely woman who would be an old maid if it weren’t for a baron who had spied her from across Westminster Abbey. How foolish she’d been to allow herself feelings for Calum MacLeod, pirate laird of Raasay. His rugged good looks and charming manner had captivated her and betrayed her heart.
Anne doubled over and wailed into her kerchief. Her fantasy was over. Now she must leave her things behind—and Swan. The bird had become her tie to Raasay, he brought her hope, gave her a piece of something of which she so desperately wanted to be a part. What could she pack in a satchel? Her head still throbbing, she threw herself on the bed and wept into the pillow. She didn’t care who heard.
Mara’s voice chimed from the passageway. “Milady?”
“Go away.”
“But I have a parcel for you.”
Anne wiped her tears and opened the door. “You do realize I have no room for a parcel of any sorts.”
Mara held up a bundle of clothing and stepped inside. “Trews, a shirt and boots to make the journey more comfortable, milady.”
“Whose idea was that?”
“Calum’s”
“He must be daft.” Anne held up the trousers. “Have you ever heard of sumptuary laws decreed by King Henry VIII?”
“Och, no milady.”
“If I’m seen in England wearing men’s clothing, I could be thrown into prison or worse.”
Mara pushed inside, the door closing behind her. “That makes no sense at all.”
“Tell that to the magistrate. The laws were enacted to keep the different classes separate, and distinguish men from women, no doubt. Dress as a man? ’Tis absurd.” Anne massaged her temples and closed her eyes. “Besides, I’m only allowed a satchel, and I must have a gown when I meet my h-h…” she couldn’t say it. “Lord Wharton.”
Mara took back the trews and set the clothing on the table. “Tell you what. I think ye should wear the trews under yer skirts. ’Twill stop the chafing from the saddle and will be warmer when yer sleeping on the trail—and ye’ll need the boots, regardless. Ye cannot ride a pack horse in satin slippers.”
Anne pursed her lips. Mara’s argument had merit. She could wear a day dress over those wretched man-trousers, and roll up one of her finer gowns for her satchel. Anne walked over and unclasped a trunk. She rifled to the bottom and pulled out a brown, linen gown with an embroidered square-necked bodice. She used the dress for falconry. On the top lay one of her favorite gowns, a red silk she only wore during fine weather. But summer months approached. Surely, Calum would ship her things before winter.
“Can I help ye, milady?” Mara asked.
Anne’s eyes shot to the smaller trunk, which held her most precious keepsakes.
“I understand if ye dunna want me here,” Mara offered.
Anne studied the kind face that reflected so much concern. In the short time the she had been at Brochel Castle, Mara had become as dear to her as Hanna. Anne tried to smile. “Stay. You can help lift my spirits.”
Anne pulled out a satchel from the small trunk. When she opened it, she also pulled out her box of keepsakes and set it on the table.
Mara ran her finger over the woodwork inlaid with ivory. “’Tis beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“My mother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. I’ve always kept my cherished possessions in it.” Anne opened the lid, and Mara gasped. She didn’t have a lot of jewels, but the ruby necklace alone was enough to cause a stir. A golden locket with a small portrait of her father, a pearl ring, and a dozen or so necklaces glinted within the box. All had been purchased to match her gowns. They were beautiful, but not inordinately expensive. Anne put the jewels into a leather pouch and removed the false bottom of the box.
Mara leaned closer. “Look at the fine green velvet inside. What else do ye have in there?”
Anne pulled out the marriage decree and held it up. “Just this.” She unfolded it and remembered Mara couldn’t read. “’Tis proof of my marriage to Lord Wharton. I may need it if he doesn’t recognize me.”
Mara laughed. “I’ll bet he’d recognize ye from a hundred paces. Ye are too bonny to forget.”
“You cannot mean that.” Mara had a knack for lightening her heart. Anne refolded the document and slipped it into the pouch. She tossed her shillings on top and tied it closed. It would be the first thing in her satchel to ensure she wouldn’t lose it.
Mara helped her roll the red gown carefully to avoid wrinkling it, though silk was prone to creases. “Whatever will become of all yer fine things?”
“Calum said he would ship them to me later, though I can’t help but fear I’ll never see them again.”
“If Laird Calum MacLeod makes a promise, he’ll see it kept. On that ye have me word.”
“But what if…” Anne busied herself with folding a spare shift.
“What if?”
“What if the baron chases after him? What if he has an army waiting in Carlisle? What if he…Calum is killed?”
Mara placed her hand on Anne’s shoulder. “There, there, ye cannot be letting thoughts of doom cloud yer mind. Ye’ll drive yerself mad afore ye get there.” Mara led her to the chair and massaged Anne’s shoulders. “I always say when ye have a choice between a good thought and a bad, pick the good. What use is the bad? It only serves to make ye feel worse.”
Anne leaned into Mara’s magic hands and closed her eyes. “I wish it were that easy.”
Mara twirled around her. “It is, milady. It is.”
Anne reached for her keepsake box and held it out. “Since I cannot take this with me, I’d like you to have it.”
“Me? Och no, I couldna accept. It looks awful expensive and ’twas a present from yer ma.”
Anne pushed the box into Mara’s hands. “It is mine to give. You have shown me kindness when there was no motivation for you to do so. Take it and remember me.”
“Oh, milady, ye are too kind. And to look at you. Ye are the one who helped me organize the keep. There’s plenty here to remember ye by.”
Anne smiled. “Good. That’s how I want it.”