CHAPTER Eighteen
Calum and his men had the horses saddled and the mule packed. The feisty English woman had locked herself in the room right after they’d broken their fast. She’d insisted on privacy and four ewers of hot water. Calum warned her they had no time for a bath, but of course she wouldn’t listen. Why does someone need four ewers of hot water to wash their face and hands? At this rate, we willna reach Carlisle until Christmas.
He didn’t care if she was bare arsed naked. Heading toward the inn to fetch her, he didn’t make it far. Anne walked out the door wearing her trews. The only problem, she looked nothing like a man. Calum rubbed his hands across his eyes and gaped again.
“What?” she asked.
Anne’s trews fit snugly, and she’d belted the linen shirt around the waist so it clung to her bosoms. He could tell she’d wrapped them, but she had far too much on top to be wearing a shirt snug against her body. Anne managed to stuff all of her hair under the bonnet, but she had the cap cocked halfway atop her head like one of her fancy coronets.
Her eyes had that spark behind them—told him he’d better tread lightly. “Ye look—ah—too pretty. I think we need to roughen ye up a bit.”
Bran trotted round the corner on his horse. “Milady? Dunna tell me you’re going to wear that? Ye’ll have every single man within a hundred miles on their knees beggin’ for a kiss.”
The lad was obviously coming of age. “Get back in the stable and check the mule,” Calum barked.
“But I’ve already checked him ten times.”
“Do it again.” Calum returned his gaze to Anne.
“And just how do you think you’ll turn this.” She gestured to her chest. “Into something that looks like a man? I’ve been at it all morning.”
Calum tried not to stare and pushed her back into the inn. He started to reach for her belt, but pulled his hands away. “May I?”
“If you must.”
“First thing, yer shirt needs to hang loose.” Calum pulled off her belt. “Looks better already.” He removed his plaid. “Ye can wear me colors.” He draped it across her shoulder, ensuring it covered her breasts.
She examined his work. “I say, that is an improvement.”
“Next we need to set yer bonnet to rights—I’m sorry, but you’re wearing it like a lassie.”
“My tresses are too thick. I even braided them and pinned them to my head.”
“Ye did a grand job. Ye haven’t a single strand of hair showing.” He reached up and tilted the hat to the side. A braid tumbled from beneath.
“You see?”
Calum stepped back and frowned. “What if ye wear a single braid down yer back and tuck it into yer shirt?”
“Do you think that will work?”
“’Tis worth a try.”
It was a mistake when Calum placed his hand on her shoulder to help her re-braid her silken hair and stuff it down the back of her shirt. Attacked by the heady scent of delicious woman and rose soap, his eyes trailed to her collar. He caught a glimpse of the pearly smooth skin of her nape. If only he could slip his hand down and touch her. And then push his hand under the waistband of those trews and fill his palm with sleek, creamy buttock.
“Does it look all right?” she asked over her shoulder.
“’Tis better.” He hoped she didn’t notice the crack in his voice. She turned to face him, and he bit back his yearning. He positioned the bonnet tipped over her right ear as a man would wear it and stepped back, allowing his senses a brief reprieve from her feminine scent. She was still far too beautiful. He ran his hands across the floor and smudged her cheeks with dirt.
Anne sneezed. “Queen’s knees, next you’ll be having me roll in a swine’s bog.”
“Is there one nearby?” Calum laughed, but it might dampen the scent of woman who drove him to the brink of madness.
He knew he’d overstepped decorum when she cuffed him on the shoulder. He didn’t mind. She wore her trews as he requested, and since the mishap last night, the wall of ice she’d thrown up between them had melted a bit. Though he could never make her his, he wanted to part on good terms. Not only so she would represent him well to Lord Wharton, but also because he valued her friendship and wanted her to remember him with fondness. He would always cherish her memory.
With a twinge of remorse, Calum grasped her elbow and led her toward the door. Anne stopped and faced him. “I wanted to thank you for last night.”
“Baa, ’twas just a wee skirmish.”
“It may have been to you, but things could have turned out very badly for me.” Shuttering her eyes, she stepped in and kissed him on the cheek.
Again, the achingly familiar scent of roses and woman attacked him. A rogue wave of desire crashed through his mind. All the emotion from the past month came flooding back. He grasped her shoulders. She lifted her chin, her eyes dark, lustful. He cast his gaze to her mouth and brushed his lips across hers. When her tongue flicked out and caressed him, he nearly came undone. If only he could take her upstairs and claim her for himself. But if this was all he could steal, he would savor every moment until forced to say goodbye.
He opened his mouth and welcomed her tongue. She tasted of fresh mint. Anne’s arms slipped around his neck and pulled him close.
“Calum,” John called from the doorway.
His heart sank as he pulled away. They’d already lost too much time. Calum bit his lip and stared into Anne’s fathomless sapphire eyes. They reflected the same torture branded into his heart. Unable to look away, he held her gaze, silently telling the lady how much he loved her. He could not say it, but he would make the memories from the past months last a lifetime.
***
Lord Wharton set up his command at the King’s Head Inn at Carlisle. It took little effort to raise an army, especially with the promise of quick payment. He placed an extra guard on the battlements of the citadel with instructions to watch for Scots, particularly those wearing red and black tartan. With any luck, the bastards who had his wife would pay a visit before they delivered Lady Anne and he’d have Denton track them to their camp.
He rubbed the spot where the outlaw had cut his arm. The pain of it constantly reminded him he’d nearly had the bastard in his clutches. But he’d slipped away like a rat in a sewer, leaving no trace, not even a clue to lead Wharton to the clan’s lair.
Since the kidnapper was a pirate, the baron stationed sentries at the mouth of the Firth of Solway and at Bowness-on-Solway, a half-day’s ride from Carlisle, it held the greatest vantage point of the entire waterway.
Lord Wharton ran his fingers over the small chest on the table in his room. It held one thousand gold sovereigns—the price of Lady Anne’s ransom. He hated being in this position. This was no longer about his wife. It had become an insult to his reputation. Wharton could not bear the thought of failure in the eyes of England.
Yes, Lady Anne had piqued his interest at the coronation. Thoughts of her had consumed him—to feel the taught flesh of a maiden beneath him after years of marriage. She had looked so pure, so ripe, so f*ckable the first time he glimpsed her from across the hall of Westminster. For months he could think of little else but his desire to bed Lady Anne Wriothesley, daughter of the Earl of Southampton. Forcing his cock through her maidenhead would empower him, show all he was a powerful lord to be feared. To hell with established noble families and their “old” blood. The name of Wharton would be respected throughout Christendom. Though Lady Anne was not the earl’s firstborn daughter, her breeding was impeccable, and her status on his arm would bolster his reputation—unless a scandal erupted.
Wharton had tried to keep news of his wife’s disappearance confidential, but it had been nearly impossible with the loss of the Flying Swan. A plundered ship created gossip in London, especially with the new galleon having been taken so close to the England’s shores. He must move quickly to ensure his reputation suffered no ill consequences.
The baron shook his head. His need to take Lady Anne to his marriage bed must wait until he was sure she remained pure. He would not have his name sullied by a whore nor would he have a bastard child foisted upon him.
A rap at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Master Denton stepped inside.
“Any word?” Wharton demanded.
Denton hissed a breath of air through his bottom teeth. “No. I think they’re smart enough not to come near Carlisle until they deliver the baroness.”
“What of my money? Someone must intercept an unmanned skiff with a thousand pounds with haste once she’s launched.”
“We’ll have lookouts posted.” Denton ran his finger across the top of the treasure box. “Have you changed your mind? We could still try to intercept them before the lady is delivered.”
Wharton nudged the box out from under Denton’s touch. “No. Proceed as planned, but we will recover the ransom after she’s safe. You have my word.” He shook his finger under Denton’s nose. “I want you on the bastard’s trail as soon as she’s spotted and I want a full out public display of horror for him and his men, understand?”
Denton grinned. It was not a smile anyone would care to meet in a dark alley.
***
As Calum expected, once Anne dressed in the disguise, no more skirmishes like the one at Fort William detained them. The remainder of their two-week journey south continued smoothly, aside from the rain, mud, and the increasing misery which lay siege to his heart.
Calum timed it perfectly and on the sixteenth of May they arrived outside Gretna, a small village on the north inlet of the Firth of Solway. He chose to avoid contact with humanity and they found a clearing in which to camp. Calum would not chance lighting a fire—not this close to Carlisle.
He asked Anne to take inventory of the food stores and pulled his men into a tight huddle. “At dusk on the morrow, Wharton will launch the skiff with a thousand pounds.”
“Have ye given any thought to how we’ll intercept it?” Bran asked.
“That’s what I was just going to tell ye.” Calum nudged the lad with his elbow. “John and Ian—rub Bran down with fat mixed with coal to turn his skin black and protect him from the cold. Wait until the dark of night. With any luck, we’ll have a cover of cloud.” Calum grasped Bran by the shoulders. “Swim to the skiff with a four bladders filled with air and a butcher’s hook.”
Bran grinned. “Then I’ll reach over the side of the boat and nab the coin.”
“Aye. Hook the ransom to the bladders and swim with it back to the north shore. Ye’ll need to shove the skiff on a path toward the southern shore. They’ll be watching it. I want the skiff as far off course as ye can manage.” Calum looked to the older men. “Once ye have the coin, ride west until ye reach the cove. Do not stop for anything. Ride hard.”
“Are ye planning to take Lady Anne to Carlisle alone?” John asked.
“I recon they’ll no’ be expecting two men dressed in trews to be riding into the citadel. I’ll take her as far as I can and then high tail it to the cove. If I’m not there by dawn the next morning, set sail without me.”
“I dunna like that. Wouldna ye rather have one of us up a tree to cover yer back when ye cross the border?” John asked.
Calum sliced his hand through the air. “The fewer of us there are, the less curiosity we’ll attract.” And the fewer of us will die.
Calum knew his cousin wouldn’t like it, but there was no use putting more good men in danger. If there was a skirmish, Calum could slip out easier on his own. And if he was caught, Wharton would most likely forget about chasing after the others. His men could return home safely and Brochel Castle might be spared an English attack.
John pulled him aside. “If ye dunna return is Norman in charge?”
“Nay, ye are, John. Just as I wrote into the charter. Ye’ll need to make the decisions until I make it back to Raasay.”
Anne came up beside Calum. “We’ve only enough food for two more days. You’ll need to do some hunting before you head home.”
“’Tis what I thought.” Calum hated misleading her, but it was best she remained unaware of their plans. One slip of the tongue and Wharton could engage the Sea Dragon in battle before it reached the protection of Brochel Cove.
Calum inclined his head down the path. “Will ye walk with me?”
“Of course, my lord.” Anne placed her hand in the crux of his elbow—a comfortable gesture—one that had become all too accustomed. But his insides churned. If only he could grovel at her feet and beg her to turn tail and ride back to Raasay with him.
Once out of earshot from his men, Calum stopped and steeled his resolve. “Tomorrow night I will take ye to Carlisle.”
Anne said nothing.
He faced her and clasped her hands between his. “I wish I didna have to do this, but ye belong to another man.”
Anne dropped her gaze and stared at their intertwined hands. “I understand. I must honor my family’s wishes.”
“I need to ask ye to dress in yer trews one last time.”
Anne shook her head. “In England, such a thing is illegal, a crime punishable…”
Calum held up his hand. “Lord Wharton will protect ye from that, and ye can say I forced ye. We’ll be riding straight into the lion’s den. If ye care anything for me, ye will do as I ask.”
She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “Very well. If it will help you, my lord.”
He knew she was hurting by her clipped speech—and the way she refrained from using his name. Calum’s heart skipped a beat. She cared. Though from the outset, he’d wanted to earn Lady Anne’s respect, it made parting so much more bittersweet.
She stepped closer. “When we reach Carlisle, there will be no time to say goodbye, will there?”
He cupped her face with his hands. “No, lass.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders. His entire being turned molten. She closed the gap and met his gaze. Her warm body touched his. Calum laced his arms around her waist and squeezed his eyes shut. Anne pressed her lips to his, her mouth sweet and moist. The heat rising beneath his kilt liquefied his knees.
During this journey, his erections had grown harder and more painful. She rubbed her mons against him and he groaned. Heat spiked and hit him low in the gut. He rocked his hips with the need to enter her. The friction of her movement made his eyes roll back. She would unman him right there in the woods if he did not ease the pressure.
His thighs shuddered and his ballocks ached like hellfire and brimstone. It took every ounce of control Calum could muster to restrain himself to a kiss. Right now, this very moment, he should lead her into the brush and rip off those damnable trews. Thank God he’d been riding in front of her this whole trip, because the view from behind rendered him dumb as well as mute. He’d been a fool to think he could make her look masculine. Everything about her, from her nose, to her tiny waist, to her womanly hips, and her heady smell that invaded his senses whenever she was within his grasp, drove him to the very edge of insanity.
Anne slid her hand down the length of his back and around the front of his waist. She rested her palm on his abdomen and stroked him. He tried to breathe. Calum knew he should move her hand away, but it felt too good.
“When I stitched you up, I wanted to brush my fingers over the coppery curls below your navel.”
A rush of heat blasted through the tip of his cock and a moist bead pooled where it tapped his kilt. He pulled his shirt out and guided her hand across flesh that screamed for her touch. Her fingers tickled him, teased him, but it wasn’t low enough.
Watching her eyes, Calum slid his hand down and untied her trews. Damn his soul to the devil, he could not resist her.
***
Anne could scarcely breathe as Calum thumbed her laces loose and slid his hand into the front of her trousers. The entire journey she had ached for him to touch her again. When they lay beside the campfire at night, it took all of her willpower not to reach out and wrap her arms around him, even with the other men present.
“I’ve wanted this so much—wanted you.”
Calum covered her mouth and pulled her against him with unbridled force, as if he’d been holding in as much longing as she had.
Anne yanked his shirt over his head and unfastened the buckle of his kilt. She looked him square in the eye and dropped the plaid. Oh Holy Mother, he was beautiful. Standing naked in the shadows, the outline of his erection stood proud. He bent his knees and rubbed it between her legs.
Anne threw her head back and moaned. She shoved down her trews, yanking them over her boots. Pulling him with her, she lay back on the mossy ground.
Calum kneeled over her, kissing her, eating her as if he’d been starved. Anne reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his manhood and stroked. Calum’s groan inflamed her core. She didn’t know how to do it, but he was right over the sacred spot where he could claim her.
“I want to feel you inside me.”
Calum pulled back so she could see his eyes. “We cannot. Do ye ken what he’ll do if I take yer innocence?”
“I no longer care.”
“Ye would be ruined…I cannot…”
Anne stroked him, arched her back and touched his manhood to her sex. Her thighs shuddered with the longing heat that spun tight inside her.
Calum eased his body over her. His manhood brushed along her opening. Anne’s hips rocked, mimicking his motion. “I must pleasure ye without entering yer core.”
“Then do so.”
Anne closed her eyes and clamped her fingers on Calum’s buttocks as he built the friction, rubbing his cock against her. Moisture from her sex spread over him and she thrust her hips up, bucking out of control. The tension mounting, she would explode at any moment. Calum’s mouth demanded more from her, exploring, sucking. And then it happened—sweet release that took her over the top and gave reprieve to the coiled tension which had built for days. Straining against the need to cry out, Anne subdued her voice to a throaty rasp.
Calum rose to his knees and ran his lips down her neck and across her bound breasts. His manhood rested on her belly, still hard. Anne gently rolled him to the side and stroked him. He moaned and moved with her motion, sliding his hand down to tickle the sack just beneath. Anne increased her friction in concert with Calum’s thrusting hips. Oh, how she wished she could straddle him and feel his manhood slip inside.
With a muffled groan that grated in his throat, Calum pulled her lips to him and found his release.
“Is there no end to your treasures?” Anne rested her head against his chest. “I don’t know whether to love you or despise you.”
Calum ran his hand across her hair. “Why would ye despise me, lass?”
“Because you have shown me a world I can never have.” She ran a finger down the center of his chest. “And a potent man who will never be mine.”
“I ken what ye say.”
“If this were another time and place, I’d ask you to run away with me. But you have your clan, and I my family honor. We must follow our duty.”
They lay in each other’s arms until John called for them.
***
As Calum watched Anne retie her trews, his hate for Wharton dove to new depths. Calum cursed his weakness for understanding Lady Anne’s duty. And he was all too aware he must return to Raasay in one piece. For the first time in his life, he resented it.
She pulled a piece of fabric from her pocket and stared at it. Looking closer, Calum could see it bore the crest of the MacLeod of Raasay. She beamed at him with those adorable dimples. “I imagine this is the best time to give this to you. I stitched it to resemble the tapestry in your chamber.”
Calum’s mouth went dry. He accepted the gift and studied it in the moonlight. How intricate the needlework. Anne had taken the time to make this for him, the sign of his clan? “’Tis perfect.” He held the kerchief to his lips, closed his eyes and kissed it, his heart squeezing as if encased in a vise. “Made by yer fine hands. I will cherish it always.”
Anne smiled—a naughty grin he’d only seen a few times. “I hoped you’d like it. I wanted you to have something to remember me by.”
Calum had thought he could steel his heart against the agony, but this pushed him too far. He gathered Anne’s hands and held them to his thundering chest. “I cannot let ye go. All ye need to do is say the word and we’ll turn around.”
She froze. Her mouth opened and closed. “We agreed to this at Brochel…” She looked away. “The ransom…”
Calum tightened his grip. “I care nothing for Wharton’s coin.”
Anne trembled violently beneath his palms, the whites of her eyes round in the moonlight. “We’ve come this far…my family honor…And Friar Pat said…”
Honor? That is the only word she need utter. Calum lowered her hands and released them. “Enough.”
What was love without honor? Their love had been doomed before it began.
“We’ve no recourse but to see the plan through.” Calum rested his lips upon her forehead and grimaced against the stabbing pain in his heart. “I will nay forget ye, Lady Anne. Yer bonny face is burned into me soul forever.”
***
Anne lay on her side and listened to Calum’s breathing. She didn’t think he was asleep but there was nothing left to say or do. They had agreed. She was doing the right thing. Truly? Friar Pat had cemented her conviction. Holy in the eyes of God, she must honor her marriage vows.
Calum rolled to his side, and Anne stared at his broad back. Earlier, she’d run her fingers along the solid muscles of that back. If only she could touch it now. She shouldn’t have been so forward, but God help her, she wanted him. Without thinking, she had yanked down her trews and cast aside nine and ten years of noble breeding, giving into the desire which consumed her. If it weren’t for Calum’s restraint, she would have been compromised. She inclined her head toward him. They had shared intimate passion, yet no guilt crept up her spine. He’d given her a gift she could lock in her heart and treasure until her death.
When she’d exposed his manhood, her thighs had shuddered. She’d lost her sense of reason. He’d shown her delights she could never have possibly imagined. The flesh between her legs still tingled. She’d never felt the pull of longing as powerfully as she did in that moment. Anne opened and closed her palm. She had held his manhood in it and had milked him as he had milked her. Together they had reached the pinnacle of passion. He said it was but a sampling of what could be. How could anything be better? She had wanted to pull the shirt over her head and unbind her breasts. If only Calum could hold her breasts in his hands and suckle them one last time.
She took in a deep breath. She recalled catching him ogling them a time or two at Brochel Castle. Of all her womanly parts, she thought he liked her bosoms the best.
Anne balled her fists. On the morrow she would face Lord Wharton, and he would expect the same things from her she’d shared with Calum. How could she give herself to a wrinkled old grandfather—open her legs and let him touch her? She shuddered at the thought of Wharton’s mouth over hers with the rotten taste of decaying teeth. She loved Calum. Sharing such intimacy with any other man was unthinkable—as if she were a courtesan to her soul. Sold to the highest bidder.
This path would take her back to England to resume her life where she had left it when the big Scot had raided her ship like a pirate. She knew differently now. He’d secured the food and grain for the livelihood of the clan. She might have done the same thing, faced with sick children and nothing but pickled herring and seaweed to eat. He hadn’t lied. They were all far too thin, living on that piece of rock they called an island.
She’d grown a fondness for the MacLeods of Raasay whom she would not forget. Aside from Hanna, she’d never had a friend like Mara, nor known a young man as full of vitality as Bran. Life at Titchfield House had been a bore in comparison, with everything so utterly proper and so utterly dull.
She closed her eyes and prayed life with Lord Wharton would at least harbor some kindness. Anne rolled to her back and gazed at the stars. Please make him compassionate toward your servant, Calum. She steepled her fingers against her lips. If Lord Wharton was anything like his reputation, her prayers might be mere whispers in the wind.