CHAPTER Three
Calum didn’t blame Lady Anne for holding him in low esteem. He would feel the same if he were in her predicament, though he wished it could be otherwise. He’d searched the seas for a woman like her. Upon his first glimpse, an inkling twitched at the back of his mind. Could she be the one? Bloody dreamer, he was.
Over the past few days, he’d ducked out of sight whenever she made an appearance. Though he watched with great interest when she set her basket of herbs on the deck and tended his men as if they were her kin. He needed her off the ship before she made them all soft.
After learning she was Wharton’s bride, he’d thought of little else but Anne. Memories of the terrified waif cowering in her stateroom under that wild mane of blonde curls made his pulse race, but he couldn’t assuage the grotesque image his mind conjured of Anne in Wharton’s arms. Fortunately, the thought put a damper on his lustful urges.
However, he now feared for her, which was a miserable state of affairs for a privateer and his hostage, whom he must ransom. If only he could protect the lass.
The baron’s legacy followed him. Wharton had been successful in the battle of Solway Moss back in 1542, when Calum was just a lad. His clansmen still spoke of it. The English raided Scotland and seized James V at Lochmaben. Even after the English council disapproved of Wharton’s action, he pushed on and burned Dumfries. There, he beat the Scots down and took many a noble Scotsman prisoner. Calum’s father had escaped with his life and little else. Wharton raided again in ’47, and two years ago he’d joined Northumberland against the Scots. Calum got his taste of battle then. Wharton took no prisoners—hung them all. Many MacLeods lost their lives, and bloody Wharton led the lot—her husband.
Calum pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and stood at the helm. Twilight, he shed his thoughts and enjoyed a rare moment of calm seas and clear skies. They would reach Raasay on the morrow and his life would return to normal, running the keep, solving problems.
Wearing a red gown with a low square neckline that accented her lily white breasts, Anne stepped onto the deck below and walked to the rail. His gut flew to his throat as if he’d jumped off a cliff. He considered ducking into the navigation room, but stopped.
The breeze picked up her hair from under her veil, and golden strands fluttered proud as a flag. She moved with grace, reminding him of a swan swimming upon a still pool. Facing the sea, Calum admired the way her shoulders tapered to a waist so tiny, if he grasped it with both hands, his fingers would touch. He tapped them together, imagining how her waist would feel with his hands upon her.
Bran tottered up, wearing that sling he’d become outrageously proud of, and engaged her in conversation. Calum rested his elbow on the rail and cradled his chin, completely enthralled. He watched Anne chat easily, comfortable with the lad. Though Calum held her captive, she maintained her regal refinement. If she was afraid, she had not shown it since that first night. He’d never encountered a woman like her—petite, totally in control, perceptive with unfaltering manners. How could she have become entangled with Wharton?
Calum would send the ransom note once they arrived on Raasay. The missive would be carried to Edinburgh by one of his men and passed to an English runner there. Calum watched Anne, wishing he’d been six stone heavier and thirty or so years older—like bloody Wharton. What he wouldn’t do to lie in her arms for just one night. If only he could run his fingers through that tangled mane of silken tresses, caress the tops of her breasts with his lips. But a liaison with such a lady could never be. Calum blinked and shook his thoughts away.
Soon she would know where his keep hid in the cove on Raasay. He couldn’t kill her nor could he keep her.
If he ransomed Anne, she could tell Wharton how to find them, but Calum’s spies would see the blackguard coming days before he reached Raasay. That wouldn’t stop the battle, but it would give Calum a chance to prepare—mayhap even send the bastard to his grave.
Would he have a chance with the widow when Wharton was dead? Baa. She thought him an outlaw. No highborn, beautiful woman like Lady Anne would give a man like him a second thought.
Though he’d tried, he had yet to find a woman to share his keep—a strong, capable, beautiful woman. No one on Raasay had laid claim to his heart and his bed remained cold—lonely even.
She turned and caught him staring. He bowed and his heart melted when she smiled—a smile with dimples that could light up the horizon. He half expected Lady Anne to turn up her pert little nose and head the other way.
Before he could persuade himself otherwise, Calum pattered down the steps and stood beside her. She watched the sunset and her warmth pulled him close to her like a magnet.
“’Tis beautiful,” she said when the sky shone with violet and pink, highlighted against the strips of clouds that sailed toward the ship.
He inhaled. Her scent ever so feminine, Calum inclined his head to capture more of it. “Aye, milady.”
She placed her hand on the rail. Again his reflexes took over and he rested his palm atop it. Calum expected her to snatch it away, but she did not. Her fingers lay cold under his touch, and he held his much warmer hand there as a comfort. They stood in silence as the sun dipped low, glowing orange-red on the horizon. He wanted to stand there forever—touching her. Barely breathing, he watched the sun disappear and held his hand still, unwilling to move it. Fresh air made pure by the salty sea filled his nostrils. The sounds of rigging flapping above, the sway of the ship—everything in this moment embodied perfection.
Darkness replaced the sun. Lady Anne slipped her hand out from under his, and the dark of the evening took up residence inside him. She was not his to lust after. “May I walk you to your stateroom?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded husky. Had she felt the connection too? Of course not.
Calum offered his arm and that same small, cold hand grasped it. “We’ll arrive at Raasay in the morning.”
“Our destination?”
“Aye.”
“Bran told me.”
Secrets were impossible to keep on a ship. “I will send a letter of ransom to yer husband upon our arrival.” He didn’t like how that sounded—ye are my prisoner until Lord Wharton pays for your release. But that’s how it had to be. If he sailed up the mouth of the River Aln, he would incite yet another war between Scotland and England, and this time his countrymen might side with the enemy.
When they stepped into the corridor, warm air relaxed the tension in his shoulders.
Anne stopped outside her cabin door, breasts straining against her bodice with every breath. “I’ve never met him.”
Calum forced himself to concentrate on her face. “Who?”
“Lord Wharton.”
“What? How?”
“We were wed by proxy. My uncle made the arrangements.”
Ah Jesus. Calum understood the way of highborn marriages, arranged for the trade of lands and riches. “Ye ken he’s old enough to be yer father?”
“He’s three times my age plus one year to be exact. His children are older than I.”
A hundred questions flooded his mind. “Why?” he clipped with shocked disbelief.
Anne nodded as if fully understanding his monosyllabic inquiry. “I’m told the baron fancied me from across Westminster Abbey during the queen’s coronation.”
“No.” She doesn’t even know the bastard. That’s why she wears no ring.
“Yes. My uncle said he kissed my hand, yet so many lords greeted me on that trip to London, I’m at a loss to place him.”
The despair in her lovely eyes twisted around his heart. “Mayhap ye will remember if we playact it.” With a halfcocked grin, Calum reached for her hand. His mouth went dry when her silken skin met the rough pads of his fingertips. Though a grown woman, her fingers were fine and delicate.
When she didn’t pull away, he moistened his lips and bowed. Hovering above her hand, the soft scent of honeysuckle mixed with her—the unmistakable scent of woman now more captivating than it had been on the deck—ignited his insides as if she stood naked before him. Closing his eyes, he touched his lips to the back of her hand and kissed. Anne’s sharp inhale made his skin shiver with gooseflesh. She did not try to pull away but remained so still, her pulse beat a fierce rhythm beneath.
Calum held his lips there longer than necessary. He wanted this moment to linger. He wanted a memory he could cherish long after she was gone. As he straightened, his eyes locked with hers. Her lips parted slightly, almost as if asking him to kiss her mouth, but he knew she wouldn’t want that.
He stood for a moment, not saying a word. She did too.
“Any recollection?” His voice rasped.
“No.” Her voice low, she then blinked as if snapping back to the present. “You mustn’t ever do that again.”
“Forgive me, milady.” Grinning, he opened her door and bowed, though he did not regret her lack of recall.
Anne stepped into her stateroom. Calum could not pull his gaze away until the door closed and blocked the bewilderment reflected in her sapphire eyes. Calum stared at the hardwood door—the same one he’d kicked in five nights ago. What the hell was he doing?
He ground his teeth and headed back to the quarterdeck. He needed the lady out of his life. She was not his to care for. Worst of all, she had wed the enemy.
***
Standing behind the closed door of her stateroom, Anne held up the hand that he’d kissed and brushed it against her cheek. Such a simple gesture—how did he make it so impassioned? She could still feel his lips searing into her flesh. She pressed the hand to her mouth and kissed it—kissed the very spot where his lips had been.
Anne held out her open hand and watched it tremble. How could he inflame her insides and captivate her thoughts? He was a pirate, an outlaw. She closed her fist over her heart. After their argument, she’d avoided him for days, tried to forget him. She nearly had except during the night.
The dreams tortured her. She’d barely slept in the five nights of this voyage. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—the powerful shoulders, the chiseled features, the penetrating eyes that could turn her insides molten.
Oh how sinful her thoughts had been when she lay in her bed at night. Calum’s infectious smile, his playful banter, and mostly, her dreams fixated on the virile man presiding over the helm of the ship—a figure of command and power. Anne clutched her fists against her stomacher. She should not allow herself to entertain scandalous thoughts of Calum. The Church taught that a person could sin with thoughts alone. She fanned herself. Oh no, she mustn’t allow him to touch her again.
What a precarious situation this had become. Without Hanna to console her, Anne wanted so desperately to be loved. Lord Wharton’s impersonal marriage left her feeling like chattel. The baron had never held a chair for her, never enquired as to how well she’d slept or held her hand and watched the sun set on the horizon. Perhaps he will one day—and be gentle like Calum?
Anne groaned, certain her mind had strayed due to her fear of meeting Lord Wharton—grandfather Wharton. Calum had said he would ransom her. Ransom? Seek payment for her, no less. Was that an act of an honorable man? Undeniably not.
Anne hoped Calum would send word to the baron soon, for she could not bear to remain among these outlaws much longer. Their unsophisticated ways brought out a restlessness she did not know existed within her.
Always the solid daughter in her family, Anne’s priorities were firmly grounded. She must not allow these impulses to overrun her sensibilities. She was a married woman. The reservations she had about her husband must be buried. She had a responsibility to her family to protect her virtue and serve the lord who’d asked for her hand in marriage and expected her to honor him.
Anne rubbed the back of her hand against her palm and wiped away the searing kiss. She would block it from her mind. Calum’s heart could not have possibly inflamed as hers had. He was so adept at courting, he must be well practiced—most likely trifled with thousands of unsuspecting women.
She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Calum was going to ransom her—he’d get his money and he would move on to the next unsuspecting passenger when he plundered her ship. Anne’s stomach churned when she considered there could be another woman like herself in his future. Would she be married by proxy too?
Anne shook her head. Once the ransom had been paid, she had little doubt Lord Wharton would seek revenge. After all, the baron had been the Sheriff of Cumberland and now maintained order for the Earl of Northumberland. Thomas. The name is so unfamiliar to me.
“Calum.” Anne spoke aloud, the L rolled off her tongue as she hummed the M. She liked the sound of it.
Would Thomas see him hanged? She pictured Calum’s powerful neck swinging in a noose and nearly wretched. A stream of cold sweat slid down her forehead.