CHAPTER Fifteen
With her satchel packed, Anne wished she could make this journey without Calum MacLeod. Her breeding would never allow her to clench her fists and stomp across the floor, but that’s exactly what she wanted to do. How could he just walk into her chamber and completely ignore the intense passion they had shared the night before?
The stone walls closed in on her. Anne whirled in a circle. She would never hold Calum like a lover again. Mercy, the next time she’d touch a man, it would be Lord Wharton. She needed some fresh air, but it was still morning. Calum would be in the courtyard sparing with his men. Perhaps if she snuck through the kitchen, she could make it to the garden without catching his eye.
She pattered down the steps, pushed out the door, and headed toward the garden at the side of the tower. She caught a glimpse of Calum, clashing swords with three at once, his shirt off. She held a hand to her eye to block the sight of his rippling muscles. How dare he display himself in the courtyard half-naked? The sight of him would put impure thoughts in any maiden’s mind. There should be a law against it.
Anne dashed to the solitude of the gardens and the privacy the hedge provided. With a heavy sigh, she lowered her hand and slowed her pace. She needed to regain control of her anger. She detested it when she teetered on the brink of losing control. A few deep breaths of the crisp island air and she’d come around. Her fists loosened and the blood flowed back to her fingertips. Anne walked along the hedge and fought to reason with her feelings. Calum had been a pleasant diversion during her captivity. He could never be more than that and they both were painfully aware of it. She had no choice but to face her responsibilities.
Rounding the corner, Anne nearly tripped over Friar Pat. “Oh my, pardon me, Father.”
He stood and brushed his hands on his robes. “Ah, Lady Anne, ’tis good to see ye out this morning. Do ye take an interest in gardening?”
“Yes, well I admire a well-kept garden.”
He gestured toward a recently sewn plot. “This is a bit o’ land the Laird gave me to grow healing herbs for the clan.”
“’Tis good you cultivate your own herbs. Do you get much chance to gather in the forest?”
“Aye, I collect willow bark, that sort of thing.”
“I see.” Anne hung her head and continued on her path.
The friar hurried beside her. “It looks as if something is ailing ye, milady.”
She hesitated.
He gestured to a nearby bench. “Would ye care to talk to an old friar about it?” Anne cast a glance at him. His careworn eyes twinkled in the sunlight. “It never did a soul a bit o’ good to hold its worries inside.”
She nodded and sat on the bench. He took her hand between his warm palms. “Now tell me, what ails ye?”
“Calum’s ransom note has been delivered to Lord Wharton, and John has delivered the baron’s reply.”
“Ah, so ye’ll be leaving us?”
“On the morrow.” She took in a deep breath. “There are a great many things weighing on my heart.”
He ran a hand across his mouth as if trying to collect his thoughts. “Ye’ve formed a fondness for the laird.”
Anne’s cheeks burned. “’Tis humiliating to admit I have, and since I’ve never met my husband, I harbor no such feelings for him as of yet.” She pressed her free hand to her face. “I am so ashamed. I feel like I’ve betrayed Lord Wharton, yet I have always been uneasy about meeting him.”
“And why is that, lass?”
“He is eight and fifty.”
The friar grimaced. “I can see where that would bring ye some concern.”
“Aside from his age, I’m aware of his conquests in Scotland. And news of his atrocious actions as High Sheriff of Cumberland reached as far as Titchfield House.” She squeezed her fingers around the friar’s hand. “What if he’s a tyrant?”
He patted her hand. “What do ye feel in yer heart? Would Lord Wharton have gone to the trouble to arrange this marriage if all he wanted to do was mistreat ye?”
Anne bit her lip. “What if he did?”
“Then I’ll be the first to lead an army to send the baron to his grave.” He shook his head. “I do not believe a wife should endure living under a tyrant’s roof, but ye should no’ be thinking of that now. Ye are going to meet yer husband at long last. A marriage in the eyes of God is a very holy thing. Ye should be a happy bride.”
Anne looked up and watched a wisp of cloud sail through the fathomless blue sky. “Thank you, Father. Your words bring my mind peace.”
As they stood, the friar rested his hand on Anne’s shoulder. Just like the cloud above, she had no control over her destiny. Her time on Raasay had been a distraction which had postponed the inevitable.
“I hope ye will always remember us fondly.”
Anne tried to put on a brave smile. “I will.”
She headed back toward the keep when the friar called after her. “Calum is a good laird and a good man. He will keep ye safe until ye are in yer husband’s arms.”
***
Calum watched Anne from across the hall, laughing and bright. She had declined to dine with him on this, her last night at Brochel Castle. She sat beside Mara and John carrying on as if they had been the best of friends since birth. She had not so much as glanced his way since he’d visited her chamber and gave her the news. Had last night meant nothing to her? It had been the most erotic experience in his life. If only he could share this last eve with her in his arms. But it was done—Anne would probably prefer to skewer him with her father’s knife than cradle him against her breast.
Calum’s edgy frustration was further incensed by Norman who would not cease yammering into his ear. “The men will start work adding the poop deck tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“Are ye sure ye want the work to continue once ye set off to Carlisle?”
“Why should it not? The longer it takes, the more likely an English ship will spy her.”
“But won’t Robert have charge of the keep?”
Anne’s laughter twisted Calum’s gut. “He’ll manage for a few days.”
“I don’t know. He should have his eyes on the women and children,” Norman pressed.
Calum snapped his head around and raised his voice. “The carpenters will tend the ship while Robert tends the keep. Where’s yer brain, brother?”
Norman held up his hands. “I’m no’ the one who’s fallen for the wife of Scotland’s greatest adversary. Ye need to pull yer head out of yer stubborn arse.”
Calum sprang to his feet, toppling his chair. He pounded his fist on the table. “Are ye challenging me? ’Cause if ye are, I’d like nothing better than a good sparring match this night.”
Norman thrust his nose an inch from Calum’s. “I dunna want me face broken by a raging bull. But ye need to set yer priorities and get yer mind off that English wench.” Sneering, he leaned in. “Ye cannot have the lass, and the sooner we’re rid of her, the sooner ye’ll be back to yer old self.”
Calum eyed his brother. He snapped his jaw shut. The noise of the crowd had lowered to a hum and he didn’t need to look to know everyone watched. He pushed past Norman’s shoulder and shoved through the big doors of the great hall.
The cool air provided a welcome chill to the sweat on his brow. Norman was right. How could he have allowed an English woman to slip under his defense? Her tentacles had wrapped around his heart, and it was his own fault for permitting it. What an idiot he’d been, treating her as a guest and letting her sleep in his chamber because of her blasted highborn status. He was a laird, by all the saints. He should never have allowed her to sleep in his bed. Fool.
Calum ran down to the beach. He kicked stones over the remnants of last night’s bonfire. Images of Anne’s hypnotic eyes, gazing at him across the maypole attacked. He could still see her breasts as they strained against her bodice with every breath. He roared aloud. Falling to his knees, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, but visions of Anne were burned into his soul. God, did she know what she did to a man simply by looking at him?
She was so innocent, yet so desirable, so consuming. Had the queen of the fairies sent Anne to Raasay to torture him? Did he need to send up an offering and pay to remove this vise from his heart?
Calum threw back his head and wailed, “Yes, brother, I admit it. Ye are right. She tortures me every waking moment and she cannot be mine!”
***
The next morning, Anne stood beside Swan’s mews and slid her hands into her falconry gloves. At least the eagle would have a permanent home. Friar Pat had agreed to look after Swan until Bran returned to resume the eagle’s training. She reached in with a morsel, and the bird plucked it from her fingers. He jumped onto her outstretched hand, and she stroked the long, brown-gold feathers. They had all come in now, and he was a remarkably powerful specimen in full plumage. “I shall miss you more than anything.” Though that wasn’t completely true, she would miss Swan terribly nonetheless. “I will always sing to you, and mayhap one day you’ll fly far away and will hear my song on the wind. We’re two of a kind, we are—free spirits who will always be held captive.” Her voice warbled and she bit down to stop her trembling chin.
Mara walked up the path, carrying Anne’s satchel. “Are ye ready, milady?”
Anne returned Swan to his perch, ran her hand over his feathers one more time and closed the door. Hanging her gloves on a peg, she turned to Mara and nodded, wiping a tear from her eye.
For the last time, Anne walked the winding trail to the beach. At one time it had seemed such a long path, but now it only took moments to reach the bottom. Two skiffs sat cradled on the rocks as the men loaded them with provisions. When they approached, Calum straightened. “Where are yer trews?” he demanded, his tone far from his usual polite tenor.
“She’s wearing them, m’laird.” Mara lifted the hem of Anne’s skirt all the way to the knee so Calum could see the boots and the hem of the trousers. Anne batted her skirts down.
His hands flew to his hips. “The whole purpose was to travel in disguise.”
“I’ll not be breaking sumptuary laws.” She wouldn’t back down on this. In a few hours, Calum MacLeod had torn down and taken away everything she’d grown to love. He’d shown her she was no more important than the ransom he aimed to collect. She had become a pawn for him, just as she had been for her uncle.
“Aye, but if anyone recognizes you, we’ll all be dead.” Calum snatched Anne’s satchel from Mara’s grasp.
The back of Anne’s neck burned. “Dead, you say? That is an outrageous assumption. Who would possibly recognize me in the Highlands?”
“I provided the clothing I expected ye to wear on this journey. I am chieftain of this clan, and while ye are under my protection, me word is final.” He sliced his hand through the air. “I would have ye no’ forget it.”
The burn from her neck spread up her cheeks. Anne clenched her fists. Her nostrils flared with each puff of air she drew in. The heartless pirate stood before her, setting off to collect his ransom. At last he had shown his true form.
Mara touched Anne’s elbow and peered at her with a smile that looked more like a grimace. “We gave it a try.” She threw her arms around Anne and hugged. “I’m going to miss ye, milady.”
Anne closed her eyes and returned the squeeze, her throat closing. “Ah, Mara, you have become like a sister to me.” She held her at arm’s length and looked upon her warm brown eyes. “Remember to keep track of the stores.”
“Aye, milady.”
“And don’t let anyone slack off in their cleaning.”
“No, milady.”
“Of course you won’t.” Anne hugged her again. “I’ll miss you enormously.”
“And I will you.”
Friar Pat reached out and placed his hands on Anne’s shoulders. “Go with God, milady. He always provides an answer to prayer.”
“Yes, he does.”
Norman stood next to the friar, a smug grin fixed across his pinched face. She gave him a clipped nod. Calum offered his hand to help her into the boat. Anne reached for it, but pulled her hand away. Her gaze trailed across to the second skiff where Bran coiled a rope. “Master Bran, would you please help me aboard?”
“Aye, milady. But I thought ye’d be riding in the boat with Calum.”
“I believe I trust the strong arms of your crew this morning.” She stole a glance at Calum out of the corner of her eye. He frowned like the rough brigand who’d kicked in her stateroom door. She wished he would have looked at her like that during her entire stay on Raasay. If he had, her insides wouldn’t be tearing her apart right now.
She took a seat at the back of the boat. Bran and Ian clamored in after her, and the men on the shore pushed them into the Sound of Raasay. Fast approaching deep water, Anne’s stomach lurched. She looked down at the dark waves beneath the skiff and clamped her fingers on the sides of the boat. How small she seemed compared to this large expanse of water. Anne looked across to the mainland and tightened her grip. They had a long way to row and the boat rocked and listed in the wind.
Swallowing hard, Anne tried not to think of the icy waves beneath her. This was the party that would accompany her to Carlisle—three men and a boy? And what had Calum meant by traveling in disguise? Was she putting them in danger? She did not want to see anyone hurt, and would try to discuss it with Calum when things settled. Besides, if the wind blustered any harder, they might not even make it to Applecross.
Grasping the side of the boat, Anne turned and looked over her shoulder. Mara and the clansmen stood on the shore and waved. The hole in her heart stretched. She had enjoyed every moment with these hard-working, unpretentious souls. She would miss them.
As Brochel Castle became a tiny fortress in the distance, the bottom of the boats scraped onto the sands of Applecross—the mainland. The lead sinking to the pit of Anne’s stomach did nothing to lift her spirits at this first stop of a trudging journey.
Calum and John quickly pulled their skiff ashore then Calum splashed through the water. He lifted Anne out of the boat without a word.
“I could have stepped out on my own.”
“I didna want ye to wet yer skirts, milady.” He kept his eyes forward and scowled as he trudged to the beach. Before he set her down, he whispered in her ear, “Let me do the talking. The English have spies everywhere. If they hear ye speak, ye’ll put us in harm’s way. Do ye ken?”
Anne nodded her head. Calum held his back straighter. There was no swagger to his step. Though she wasn’t completely blind to the danger of traveling in the far reaches of the country, she honestly had not considered she’d be in peril. John had gone to Edinburgh and returned safely, but he hadn’t been travelling with an English lady in his company.
Calum led them through the windblown sea grass to a set of stables. The men had made quick work of saddling the horses when a big Scot appeared in the doorway, a sword in hand. “Calum MacLeod, ye’ll not be taking those horses until ye pay yer rent.”
Calum whipped around and faced him, the two men standing eye-to-eye.
Bran leaned over and whispered in Anne’s ear, “That’s Dougal MacKenzie—they sort of have an arrangement.”
“Och, MacKenzie, ’tis always a pleasure to see yer bonny smile.” Calum slid his hand into his sporran without taking his eyes off the Scot. “I’ve got it right here for ye.” He pulled out a pouch of coins and handed it to the man.
Dougal weighed it with a bounce and slipped the pouch into his sporran. “Yer brother’s causing me kin some consternation to the north.”
“What Ruairi does is nay concern of mine. Raasay no longer answers to Lewis.”
“When next ye see him, remind him to keep his arse in Lewis and off MacKenzie land.”
Calum bowed his head. “I’ll send him a missive upon me return.”
Dougal’s gaze strayed to Anne. He assessed her from head to toe. “And where are ye off to with a fine lassie in tow?”
Wearing her day gown, Anne thought she looked the part of a commoner, but her embroidered dress was a far cry from that of a Scottish woman’s plain kirtle. Her cheeks prickled with heat as Dougal’s glare raked across her body yet again.
“Returning me cousin to her family in Edinburgh,” Calum lied.
“Lowlander, aye? It seems they’re taking on more of the English customs all the time.”
“Aye,” said Calum, motioning for the others to mount.
Bran slipped over and gave Anne a lift. Though a man’s saddle, she tried to sit aside, but Bran shook his head and whispered, “astride.”
Anne had never ridden with her legs either side of the horse. Thank heavens she had worn the trews. Her mother would be horrified to see it. Bran helped her adjust her skirts so they rested across the horse’s rump in the back and gathered in the front, but as they set out, her seat felt decidedly more secure.