CHAPTER Two
Calum pushed through to the captain’s cabin and turned full circle. The English hadn’t spared any expense on this new ship. A row of five leaded glass windows looked over the ship’s bow. In the center of the room stood a walnut table with six chairs upholstered in red with gold embroidery. A desk sat starboard with a thick leather-bound log atop. Port side, a bed hugged the dark paneling to hold firm during rough seas. Brass oil-burning lamps hung from the rafters to provide maximum light.
Calum strolled to the aft windows and peered through one of the small glass panes. The sun touched the eastern horizon in violets and pinks. Soon they’d turn north for the journey home, but first they must make a wide berth around English waters. Once the captain and crew were found, there would be retribution. Of that he had no doubt.
He rubbed his eyes, unable to remember when he’d last slept. But sleep didn’t matter. He had secured the galleon, and its bounty would supply his people for months to come. The manifest of the cargo contained more than he’d dreamed with food aplenty, sheep, ponies and milking heifers, as well as fine cloth and a cache of hardwood for building.
The only thing he hadn’t counted on was Anne, a beautiful woman, truth be told. Expecting another fight, he’d nearly hurtled into her room and started swinging. Never before had a woman stopped him cold, but those almond-shaped eyes shone cobalt blue, just like the sky in the hour before night falls.
She’d looked fierce as a baby badger crouched in the corner of her bed holding that ridiculous knife—it was nearly too small to be called a dagger.
Wrapped in a red dressing gown, her honey-blonde mane had partly shrouded her face and cascaded all the way down to her enticing hips. Calum hadn’t been able to stop himself from mentally undressing her in that moment. Her hair draped across one eye gave her the appearance of a woman ready to be bedded. Fortunately, he’d recovered his wits when she tried to attack.
Calum chuckled.
He needed only to look at the collection of trunks to know she was a lady of stature, and her accent had confirmed it. He groaned. Plundering a ship was one thing, but plundering a ship and kidnapping a highborn lady would buy him more trouble than he cared to bargain for. Anne. He must find out who she was so he could ransom her, and fast. A beautiful woman amongst his men would cause mayhem.
At a rap on the door, Calum turned. John entered holding the manifest. “All accounted for, m’laird.”
“Excellent. And the lady’s door?”
“The carpenters are working on it now.”
“Very good.”
John placed the paperwork on the table. “Who is the woman?”
“She would only say that her name is Anne. But she’s English nobility, there’s no question.”
“Have you checked the captain’s log?”
Calum strode to the ornate desk and opened the large volume, thumbing the pages until he found the last entry. 25th March, Year of our Lord 1559. Set sail mid-afternoon. One passenger, Lady Anne, daughter of Lord Southampton, destination the River Aln. Clouds rolling in from the west. Rain likely.
John peered over his shoulder. “Southampton—he’s an earl, no?”
“He’s a dead earl. I think his heir’s but a child.”
Calum pulled out the map of England and rolled it open on the table. “She’s headed toward the River Aln.” He ran his finger along the east coast until he found the said river and found the closest town. “Alnwick.”
“The seat of the Earl of Northumberland,” John said.
“The plundering bastard and his murdering sheriff, the Baron of Wharton.”
John leaned in and studied the map. “Ye wouldn’t think she’d be tied up with the likes of them?”
“And why not? Her da’s an earl.”
“Bloody hell. The last thing we need is Wharton and his henchman bearing down on us.”
“’Tis a good thing our plaid looks like the Stewart’s. That’ll confuse the English until we can arrange terms for her ransom.” Calum rolled up the map. “I’ll have Lady Anne dine with me tonight to see what more I can pull from her.”
John waggled his eyebrows. “Aye, and feast yer eyes no doubt.”
“Don’t let your shameless mind consider it. If she weren’t worth a farthing, I’d bloody well throw her arse over the side of the ship.”
“Aye, Laird Calum, Robin Hood of Raasay—always willing to drown a lady in distress.”
“She’s no lady to me. Be gone with ye.”
Calum turned his back and closed his eyes. His palms perspired as he pictured the voluptuous Lady Anne, her full red lips trembling—undeniably kissable lips. He rubbed his palms against his plaid. Surely she would not be as alluring once she’d donned a proper gown and headpiece.
***
Anne stared at the door with its new hinges—and a lock she could not turn as before. Now a prisoner, she paced the room still wearing her shift and dressing gown. The night had been endless and carried on into a day trapped within. She’d heard about Scottish pirates who preyed on Her Majesty’s ships. Even one of her family’s cargoes of grain had been plundered by pirates. Whether it had been Scots or not, no one knew, but pirates were a thorn in England’s side, not only to the crown but to every landowner who shipped their goods abroad.
At the time, she’d reported the incident to the Privy Council and they assigned Captain Hawkins to the task. Hawkins. He was a known pirate himself.
Anne balled her fists. The business of running her family’s estates was no longer her concern. She needed to find a way off this ship and back to her family. No—her mother had made clear, she must honor the contract of marriage. She must find a way to her husband. Thomas Wharton had earned his barony by his shrewd talent for law enforcement. Once the baron learned that his new wife had been captured by Scottish pirates, he would surely not rest until the savages were brought to justice.
Aside from being much older, Anne knew little of her new husband, but one thing was certain—he hated the Scots. News of his raids into Scotland had even reached Titchfield House.
Her door opened with a light tap. “Excuse me, milady. The captain would like ye to dine with him this evening.” John, the second-in-charge, who’d repaired her door, wore a green and blue plaid opposed to the red and black the captain and the cabin boy who’d brought her food had worn.
Anne lifted her chin. “I would prefer to take my meals in my stateroom.”
“Trom féineil nighneag,” he cursed under his breath.
“Pardon me, but I am neither selfish nor burdensome.”
Anne enjoyed watching the shocked bulge to John’s eyes when she translated his Gaelic. He fumbled with the latch. “I’ll be back to escort ye to the captain in an hour. I’d think with all these trunks ye would have more than a dressing gown to wear over yer shift.”
He closed the door and the lock clicked.
Anne rushed forward and jerked on the handle. Blast them for caging me like I’m the one they cannot trust. When the pirate had first kicked in the door and entered her room, she’d been terrified, afraid he would kill her—a big man with a big sword, splattered with blood. Well, she knew differently now. The captain wanted to dine with her? Fine. She would use his misplaced hospitality to uncover more about him. Any information she could gather would assist Lord Wharton to capture the plunderer and his men.
She would dress the part for this meal. If the captain saw her in a gold silk gown—fabric reserved only for baronesses and above—he’d think twice about taking her back to Portsmouth.
It took three times as long to dress without Hanna. Turning in front of the dingy looking glass, Anne inspected her handiwork. All ribbons were tied, though she’d had to lace up her stays in the front, but no strings stuck out. While she secured the matching headpiece in place, a knock sounded.
“Yes?”
Opening the door, John appraised her with a half-cocked smile. “Och. Looks like I’ll no’ have to strong arm ye to the captain’s cabin.”
“You are brash, sir.” She stood as tall as her frame would allow. “I would still prefer to dine in my quarters.”
“’Tis fortunate ye’ve reconsidered.” He offered her the crook of his arm. “Ye look lovely.”
She glanced to the mirror and caught a rosy flush crawling up her face. “I presume you’re expecting me to thank you.”
“A lady generally does when a gentleman pays her a compliment.”
“So you’re a gentleman now that you’ve pillaged the ship?”
She placed her hand on the elbow he’d offered and inclined her head toward the door.
“We’re no’ as bad as ye think.”
John ushered her into the captain’s quarters, lavishly inlaid with the rich warmth of walnut wood. The captain stood with his back to them, staring out the windows behind the table, elegantly set for two. He’d tied back his dark auburn hair and wore a clean linen shirt. Anne had forgotten how enormous he was—his broad shoulders tapered down to his waist, supported by slim hips beneath his red and black plaid.
John bowed. “Her ladyship, m’laird.”
The captain turned. Anne’s breath caught. He’d cleaned the soot and blood from his face, but his eyes still bore through her like an arrow. She scarcely heard the door close behind her. He approached, his frown replaced by a smile, displaying a row of perfectly straight teeth.
Anne forced herself to breathe. She wanted the dirty face with the scowl back—it was easier to detest that pirate.
“Thank ye for coming, milady.”
Anne’s hands trembled as he neared. No man had ever made her hands shake like that. She clenched her fists to stop the tremors. “My lady?” she asked. “I did not tell you I was nobly born.”
“Nay, but the captain’s log did.”
The log? “Oh? And what did Captain Fortescue note about me?”
Anne could not ignore how his muscles stretched his hose when he sauntered to the sideboard and poured two goblets of wine. “Ye can read it there on the desk if ye like, but he said you’re the daughter of Southampton, bound for the River Aln.”
“I see.” She walked over to the bound volume smoothed her hands down the coarse velum. The entry made no mention of her marriage by proxy. Interesting.
He handed her the goblet. “Wine?”
She looked him in the eye and her heart stuttered. Gold flecks danced around rims of blue. She snapped her gaze to the goblet. “Thank you.”
He pulled out a chair. “Please, sit. I trust ye have been treated well since our last...ah…encounter?”
She stepped toward him and ignored the chair. She caught the familiar bouquet of rosemary soap, though not mixed with blood and sweat this time. “If you call locking me in my stateroom good treatment, then yes.”
The narrowing of his eyes reflected annoyance, but he politely bowed and gestured for her to sit. “Apologies. Your confinement was more for yer sake than to keep ye imprisoned.”
When he helped her push in her chair, his hand brushed her shoulder. A tingle trickled down Anne’s spine, though she suppressed her gasp. Her gaze drifted to his hand—large, strong, sprinkled with coppery hair. He was quite unlike what she’d imagined for a pirate captain.
He took his seat at the head of the table—a foot away, close enough for her to touch him. He smiled again, white teeth, fetching as the devil.
She studied the silver salt cellar and nervously tapped it to the exact center of the table. Why does he have to be wickedly handsome? On the few times Anne had been to court, there had been good looking men, but none so imposing as the captain. He had lines at the corners of his gold flecked blue eyes, as if he often squinted directly into the bright sun. His nose was not subtle, but the size and slight hook to it suited him. The nose alone announced this was not a man to trifle with. And his hands…They were large and powerful, but the nails were now clean and neatly trimmed, and in his hands, an elegant brass goblet was held utterly secure.
Her gaze trailed down to the laces of his shirt and tight heat coiled deep inside when she spied the auburn curls peeking just above his neckline. For no reason at all, she had an urge to touch him—to discover if those curls were as downy soft as they looked.
“Is my appearance displeasing?”
“N-no.” Anne glanced behind her, hoping the food would come soon so this meal would be over and she could escape back to her chamber.
“I will see to it ye have leave to walk the deck.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
She sipped her wine again and studied the ruby liquid within. She could feel his boring eyes upon her, assessing her as she had done him. She dared glance at him and those blues caught hers. He smiled. Again, her cheeks burned.
“Am I making ye nervous, milady?”
“Yes…er, no.” Where is the food?
As if answering her thought, the side door opened and the cabin boy brought in pewter plates filled with roast meat and vegetables.
“Thank ye, Bran.”
The boy bowed. “Will there be anything else, m’laird?”
The captain arched his brow her way, and Anne shook her head. “That will be all for now. Go eat yer supper, lad.”
He reached for a basket of bread and offered it to Anne.
“That is the second time I’ve heard to you referred to as laird.”
“Aye, ’tis what me clansmen call their chieftain.”
“Chieftain?” She grasped a slice of bread. “So you are a Scottish laird?”
“Aye.”
“Of which clan?”
“Ah, milady, I cannot say.”
“Must I always call you Captain? I find it quite uncivilized that I am sitting at the table of a man whose name I do not know.”
“Calum.”
“Calum?” She liked the simplicity of it. “Is that all?”
“For the moment.” He leaned toward her and winked. “Now ye have to tell me something.”
Anne cut a small bit of meat and savored it in her mouth. But chewing was nearly impossible. That rakish wink sent her insides aflutter yet again.
“Why were ye bound for the River Aln?”
Anne studied the stern countenance that had now lost its jovial teasing. If she told him, he might ransom her on the spot—but that’s what she wanted. Wasn’t it? Yes.
“Lady Anne?” He persisted.
“I was to join my husband in Alnwick.”
“Husband? But ye wear no ring.”
She covered the naked finger. “The ring is with him.”
“Odd.” Calum pushed his chair back a bit, as if distancing himself from her. “The journal said nothing of yer husband.”
“Captain Fortescue was well aware of my proxy marriage to Lord Wharton.”
“Wharton?” Calum’s chair screeched across the floorboards. “That ruthless son of an ill-breeding dog.”
She sat erect. “Pardon me?” But she knew the Scots hated Thomas Wharton. He’d devastated them at the battle of Solway Moss, where he’d earned his barony.
“How could ye be married to the likes of him?” Calum stood and paced the room, then turned with his fists on his hips. “A fine lot ye’ve got us into.”
“Me?” A sharp twist of her gut replaced her unease with unabashed disbelief. “I’m not the one who plundered this ship.”
“Ye were no’ supposed to be aboard.”
“Tell that to my husband. He paid my fare.” She assumed he had. Anne watched Calum pace. “Am I to eat while you walk the floor like a brooding tyrant?”
The deadly glare she’d seen when he kicked in her door returned. He dropped his hands and plodded back to his seat. He didn’t touch his food, but guzzled the goblet of wine. Anne waffled between fear of the man and pity. That she chose pity shocked her.
She wrung her hands. Presently she knew more about the Scot sitting across from her than she did Baron of Wharton, and that was very little. Calum reached for the ewer and refilled his goblet, his face unreadable.
Anne wanted to say something, but no words came. Her concern for Calum’s plight came as a surprise and toyed with her sensibilities. She turned her attention to her meal but she couldn’t eat. He’d cursed her husband. Did that mean he felt the same contempt for her? She pushed her plate away. “I should like to return to my stateroom.”
Calum didn’t respond immediately. He swirled the wine in his goblet and then looked up with eyes that had no resemblance to the friendly blues that had greeted her when she entered the room. A tempest brewed behind his eyes. Deadly as nightshade, he watched her as he swallowed and placed the goblet on the table. “’Tis best.” He stood. “I’ll escort ye.”
He said nothing as they walked the few feet to her stateroom door. Calum used his key to open it and bowed. “Milady.”
She thought to thank him, but held her tongue and strode into her room. Turning, she saw only the door close. The latch offered a soft click against the creaking of the wooden ship.
Blessed saints, she’d practically swooned at the sight of him. Blast her betraying heart, and blast Calum’s wayward charm.
***
Anne was already up when a knock sounded on her door. “Come in.”
Bran, the cabin boy who had served dinner peeked in. “I’ve brought ye some porridge and bread, milady.”
She gestured to the table. “I was wondering if the captain would see fit to feed me today.”
“What? Ye think he would push a crust of bread and a jug of ale under yer door?”
“Possibly not the ale.”
“Ye’ve got the laird all wrong. If it weren’t for him, the people of Raasay would have starved last winter.”
“Oh? Is that why he plunders ships? To feed the poor?”
“We-ell, aye, truth be told.” He reached out and dropped a key in her palm. “This is for yer door. The captain says you’re free to come and go.”
“How generous of him. I can now leave my stateroom and consort with pirates.”
“We’re no’ all that bad, milady. Just trying to make a go of it just like any other scrapper out there.”
Anne studied the boy. As friendly as a Spaniel puppy, he was as tall as her with dark brown curls. “How old are you, Bran?”
“Two and ten.”
“Oh my, you’re quite tall for your age.”
Bran ran his fingers along the plaid that crossed over his shoulder and stood a bit taller. “Calum’s training me to be a knight.”
“Honestly? That is quite a great responsibility at two and ten.” She reached for the bread and broke it in half. “Where are your parents?”
He kicked a floorboard with the toe of his boot. “Me da’s dead but me ma works in the kitchen at Brochel Castle.”
“Brochel? Is that your clan’s keep?”
“Aye, milady. ’Tis on the isle of Raasay.”
Anne lifted her spoon. “And to which clan do you belong?” Hmm. Gathering information would be easier than she thought. She only need ask the right person.
“MacLeod.” The boy rubbed his arm and grimaced.
Anne studied him furrowing her brow. “Are you injured?”
“’Tis only a bruise, milady.”
She stood and folded her arms. “Show me.”
Bran’s gaze shot to the door. Biting his bottom lip, he reluctantly rolled up his sleeve. “’Twill be right in a week.”
Anne swallowed her shock. The boy’s whole arm was purple from the wrist right up to his shoulder. “What happened?” She inspected it for swelling. “This should be immobilized. It could be broken.”
“I took a tumble off the rigging.” With effort, he flexed his muscle. “See. I can move it.”
“I’m not convinced.” Anne pulled her bundle of healing essences from her trunk. “First, I shall rub a salve into it and then we’ll put it in a sling.”
Bran stepped back. “I cannot work with me arm bound up.”
Anne made him sit in the chair and carefully smoothed in a salve of houseleek and St. John’s wort. “It will not heal properly unless you take care of it.”
She fashioned a sling from a piece of linen and tapped his nose. “Rest it as much as you can. Do you understand? ’Tis very important.”
“Aye, milady. Thank ye.”
“Bran,” a deep voice bellowed from the corridor.
The boy blanched. “’Tis Master John. I must away.”
***
When Anne finished her breakfast, she picked up the key and swung her cloak around her shoulders. She wished she had her dagger. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d find out on the decks, but she couldn’t hide in her stateroom forever.
Slowly opening the door to the main deck, Anne listened for any sign of improper behavior. Sails flapped in the whistling wind, men worked together mending the rigging above and when she stepped out, she saw John manning the wheel. Rather a peaceful setting for a band of pirates.
Scanning the deck for Calum, Anne pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders and walked to the rail. The dark sea rolled and foamed white in the ship’s wake. Water stretched in every direction. Refreshing, salty wind caressed her face.
Footsteps tapped on the stairs leading from the quarterdeck above. The captain stepped beside her with that fetching grin of his. “Good morning, milady. I trust ye slept well.”
She hoped her sudden queasiness had been caused by the rolling of the sea. “Reasonably well, considering I have no idea where we are headed or when I’ll see my blessed England again.”
Calum’s lips thinned. He rested his elbows on the rail and looked out to sea. The wind blew his hair away from his face, unveiling the attractive and angular lines to his jaw.
Anne followed his gaze. “Where are we? There’s no land in sight.”
“We’re giving England a wide berth. Once we cross into Scottish waters, ye’ll see the coast.”
“And what am I to do until then?”
“Whatever baronesses do, I suppose.”
“I expected you to force me to swab the decks or mend the sails.”
“Would ye like to mend sails?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m your prisoner. Of course you might do all sorts of horrible and vile things.”
“Mending sails is vile?”
Anne looked skyward. “Saints preserve me.”
Calum rubbed his palm over a belaying pin, which supported a coil of hemp rope. “I could set up a surgery. Half me men asked to rap on yer stateroom door to show ye their battle wounds—fix them up as ye did Bran.”
Anne wrung her hands. “Are there many injured?”
“A few scrapes and cuts.”
“Of course I’ll tend them right away.”
Calum grinned—almost laughed.
“They do need my assistance do they not?”
“Mostly no’, but I’ll have John ferret out the ones who do and ask him to bring them to ye.”
“Very well.” Anne smoothed her hands over her skirts. “And in the interim, I’d be much obliged if you would determine how you’ll return me to England as quickly as possible.”
Calum bowed, his eyes sparkling in the sun. “As you wish, milady.”
He sauntered away, whistling some jaunty ditty, while Anne stifled the urge to giggle—for no reason. Queen’s knees, he toyed with her. He probably flaunted his good looks before every maiden who struck his fancy. She could risk her reputation by befriending him. Heading back to her stateroom, Anne vowed Calum MacLeod would never charm her into believing him well-mannered and chivalrous.