CHAPTER Six
“Ye look like a queen.” Bran held out his elbow and puffed his chest. “Calum sent me to fetch ye.”
“Thank you, Master Bran, but I’m a lowly maid in comparison to Her Royal Majesty, Elizabeth.” Anne had chosen a blue gown with gold embroidery and wore her hair pulled back by a matching coronet and veil. “Does the laird always work beside the people as he did today?”
“Aye, none has a stronger back than Calum MacLeod. ’Tis why his da made him laird of Raasay.”
“He was not heir? Who was laird before him?”
“We were annexed to Lewis, but the people of Raasay were starving. They needed a leader. So the big chief sent his son to help us.”
“I see. Is Calum’s father still living?”
“Nay. His heir, Ruairi, is the Chief of Lewis now.”
“How interesting.” Anne had never considered that Calum might be a younger son.
“If ye ask me, Raasay got the better end of it. Laird Ruairi is a tyrant. He pays no mind to us—would no’ even help us when the frost came early and killed our crops.”
“How did you survive?”
“Herring and seaweed.” Bran scrunched his nose. “I dunna recommend it.”
Voices rumbled from below. As they rounded the steps into the great hall, Anne gasped at the enormity of the crowd. Rows of wooden tables stood around the hall, pushed together and lined by benches. Men wore plaids pinned at their shoulders and the swish of the women’s straight-bodied kirtles hushed across the floor.
She spied Mara sitting on John’s lap, gazing into his eyes as if no one else existed. John covered her mouth with his and devoured her. His hand slipped to her breast and rested there for a moment before Mara pushed it away. With a gasp, Anne quickly averted her eyes. What heathen place have I come to?
As Bran led her toward the far end of the hall, Anne wondered how it would feel to have Calum place his hand on her in such a way. The friction of her nipples against her stomacher rasped as if they’d become the most sensitive flesh on her body. A flicker of heat twisted deep inside and her palms grew moist. She swallowed. Hard.
The crowd filled hall made it toasty, warmer than the crackling blaze in the hearth. Calum sat at the head of the table with a man she didn’t know to his left. She turned to her escort. “Where are we going to sit?” She could bear to sit next to Calum if Bran were there to distract her.
“Why, Calum wants you to dine beside him, milady. It’s only appropriate for our guest to be seated in a place of honor.”
“Will you be joining us?”
“Nay. I’ve been gone for weeks.” Bran pointed across the hall. “Me family’s here. Besides, sitting at the head of the table with the laird is too serious for the likes of me.”
Anne wished she could be in Bran’s shoes, flitting about chattering with everyone—with no concern as to whether or not someone would place his large, masculine hands on her. She looked toward Calum and caught him staring. The image of his hand on her breast invaded her thoughts again. A tingle of longing shot to her core. Here she was a married woman, yet had not experience of a man’s touch. If only Bran could sit between us, my mind would be free of these sinful thoughts.
When climbed onto the dais, Calum stood and reached for her hand. “Lady Anne. You are stunning this eve.”
***
Calum didn’t hear a word Norman said when young Bran entered the great hall with Lady Anne on his arm. Her ornately embroidered gown accented the rose of her cheeks and complimented her honey-blonde hair. But most of all, the deep blue brought out the glittering color of her eyes, fanned by long, dark-blonde lashes. She reminded him of a brilliant sapphire in a setting of gold.
“Don’t ye think?” Norman asked.
“Aye.” Calum had no idea to what he’d just agreed, nor did he care. At that moment, he also did not care that the woman walking toward him was married. He would put that misfortunate fact aside and enjoy the celebration.
When he stood and took her hand, their eyes met. He caught a flicker of longing in those deep pools of blue. There was no mistaking it. He bent down to kiss her hand. When he straightened, the desire he’d glimpsed had been replaced with a cool fa?ade—the same one he’d seen many times since he kicked in her door on the Flying Swan.
“Please do me the honor of dining at my table.” He gestured to the chair beside him. Anne sat with such grace, he imagined she’d practiced that move in her etiquette lessons a hundred times. He pointed to the man on his left. “This is my younger brother, Norman.”
Anne leaned forward and nodded. “You have your brother’s eyes.”
“Aye.” Norman pointed to his bright red mop of hair. “But I’ve a fair bit more upstairs, unlike me swashbuckling brother.”
Calum laughed. “Don’t let him fool ye, milady. Norman can be as shrewd as any other MacLeod.”
Norman batted the air with his hand. “Baa.”
“Me elder brother sent Norman from Lewis so I could teach him some refinement.”
Anne’s jaw dropped. “You?”
Calum sat back. “And why not me?”
“The plunderer of English ships? The pirate who kicks in a lady’s stateroom door?”
“Aye, but I didn’t ken ye were within. Had ye made some noise, I might have been a bit more genteel.”
Anne’s quick tongue had a maddening way of raising his ire—made him want to show her exactly what a true plunderer could do with a woman. Holy merciful God, what he could do with her. She tempted him, blast it all. And must she wear those damnable gowns that revealed her bosoms aplenty? Every man in the hall could view her ample breasts peeking above her bodice. She’d soon have them all breaking down her chamber door.
It was a good thing a trencher of roast beef was placed in front of him. Calum snapped his mind from its wayward thoughts.
“A welcome change from herring,” Norman said.
“Aye, and with the heifers from the ship, we’ll see a good deal more beef come next spring.”
Norman speared a slab of meat with his eating knife. “And lamb.”
“Where are yer manners, brother?” Calum snatched the trencher from Norman and held it out to Anne. “Milady?”
“Thank you.”
Calum watched her daintily select a small slice of meat with her ivory handled knife that she pulled from somewhere in the folds of her gown. Her clothing was much different from the simple kirtles and bodices the highland lassies wore over their shifts. In English style, her gown pushed her breasts above a stiff stomacher, filling the neckline with lovely silken mounds of lily white flesh—too much for this raucous crowd. He resisted the urge to reach out and brush a finger across her breasts, though he ached to feel their softness yielding to his touch.
Anne cleared her throat.
Calum’s gaze snapped to her face. “M-milady, I was admiring your gown—such expert needlework is rarely seen in the Highlands.”
An adorable blush crawled up her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Calum reached for his tankard of ale. He needed to fixate on something other than the lady’s breasts. Then his leg brushed against her gown. He drew in a sharp breath and downed his pint.
Calum used his side vision to watch Anne eat. Everyone around him tore at their meat with their teeth, but Anne cut hers into small bits, placed them in her mouth and chewed delicately, as if she were handling a flower.
She caught him watching and raised an eyebrow. Calum cut his meat into smaller portions and pulled a piece off his knife with far more care that he had ever attacked a slab of meat in his life.
“I saw that Mara was quite friendly with Master John,” she said, lifting her tankard.
“Aye, they were married only a month ago.”
Understanding crossed her face.
“John is leaving for Edinburgh on the morrow.”
“Oh? Why must he leave so soon?”
Calum adjusted in his chair. “He’s carrying a missive for Lord Wharton.” He couldn’t bring himself to say, your husband.
Disappointment flashed across Anne’s face so fast, Calum thought he’d misread it. But he realized Lady Anne had mastered covering her emotions. He could look her in the eye and have no idea how she felt. He’d thought she resented him for capturing her ship, but he picked up on little nuances—flashes of looks or words that told him all was not as it seemed with Lady Anne. He wondered if she had trepidations about her marriage. No. She married Wharton. She must have loyalty to cur. And who am I, a lowly Scot trying to make a go of it on this tiny island. No, no, no. A woman such as Lady Anne is far too refined for a life on Raasay.
She toyed with the handle on her tankard. “I apologize for putting you out of your chamber. If there is a more suitable room…”
He should have known he couldn’t fool her. “It is no great thing. We have been rebuilding the keep, and ’tis the most fitting chamber for a lady of your station.”
“But it isn’t right. You are laird.”
He held up his hand. “I’ll hear no more on it. Ye are me guest.”
When the meal ended, the fiddler hopped up onto the dais and launched into a foot-stomping ditty with the piper following his lead. Tables were quickly pushed aside at the far end, and the hall erupted into a sea of dancers. What his clansmen lacked in technique, they made up for in exuberance with the men swinging the lassies by the crooks of their arms.
Bran sidled up to Lady Anne, doing his own rendition of a gawky lad’s hornpipe. “Will ye dance with me, milady?”
Anne pointed at Mara and John who were swinging in a circle with their arms locked at the elbows. “Do that? ’Tis nothing like a volta.”
As she faced him, Calum caught a hint of lovely honeysuckle bouquet. He leaned in closer than decorum allowed, just to sample it once more. “Aye, but ’tis every bit as vigorous.”
Anne clasped her hands under her chin. “I’m not sure I would be able to...”
Bran tugged on her elbow. “Ye dunna need to ken how. Ye just need to have a bit ‘o fire in yer belly.”
Anne glanced at Calum. “The boy isn’t going to allow me to say no.”
He waved toward the dancers. “Go on. Ye’ll have fun for a change.”
Anne gaped, but had no time to fire off a rebuke. Bran yanked her arm and dragged her to the dance floor so fast, she nearly stumbled over her skirts, but she brushed herself off with flair. Calum laughed out loud, though would have to have a word with the lad on controlling his high spirits.
Calum reclined in his seat. He afforded himself few luxuries, but he did sit in a red-velvet upholstered chair in the great hall. It was from there he heard issues and petitions from his clansmen and where he took his meals. His father had done the same on Lewis. Though Calum’s lairdship did not encompass the same great number of people, there were still some two hundred souls under his protection.
Calum nursed another tankard of ale while he watched Bran spin Anne around the floor. She tried to keep up as best as she could. Even Calum would have difficulty keeping time with the lad, though Anne’s smile lit up the room. She threw her head back and laughed as Bran kicked out a leg and spun her in a circle. When she stumbled a bit, Calum sat forward, ready to spring off the dais and cross the floor, only to ease back when she gracefully recovered and giggled pressing her fingers to her lips.
It pleased him to see her having a good time. He wanted her to accept him, accept his clan. It shouldn’t concern him, but for some reason Calum cared a lot about what Lady Anne thought of him. And he wouldn’t allow a young lad to overshadow him on the dance floor.
Calum waited until the tune was nearly over before he pushed back his chair and sauntered around the room to where Bran had absconded with the lady. When the dancers applauded at the end of the reel, Calum made his move and tapped Bran on the shoulder. The lad frowned, but knew better than to argue with his laird.
Anne’s chest heaved as she caught her breath. Calum held out his hand and she placed her dainty fingers in his palm. “My heavens, I’m nearly out of breath.”
Calum tried not to notice the rise and fall of the breasts which teased him over her bodice. “I shall endeavor to be a bit more genteel, milady.”
Anne bowed her head and curtseyed. Och, every bit of her filled his senses with woman. He felt like a stag tracking a doe during the mating season. Calum took in a deep breath to clear his head. What the hell am I thinking?
He led Anne in the dance with as much grace as the vivacious fiddling would allow. When the music stopped, the fiddler announced a strathspey. Calum took Anne’s small hands and leaned his mouth close to her ear so he could be heard over the crowd. “Ye’ll like this one. ‘Tis a bit slower.”
They stood across from each other with a line of men on one side and the women on the other. The dancing had piqued the color in Anne’s cheeks and she looked as fresh as dew, sparkling in the glory of a summer’s sunrise. She gazed across the open space between them, her eyes alive with anticipation of yet another dance with unfamiliar steps. There was no need for her to worry. He could guide her through every footfall.
The music began and Calum stepped forward, grasping her hands in his. By the suppleness of her movement, he could tell that she’d been trained to follow a man’s lead. She responded to every twist of his hand and turn of his foot as if she could predict each move. He would expect the daughter of an earl to have mastered grace and she followed well.
He sashayed in a circle holding Anne’s hands. Her skirts tickled his calves. Anne’s sapphire eyes slid up to meet his. He swallowed. It was time to return to the line. His insides tightening, he didn’t want to release those rose petal soft fingers, but the music demanded it.
Anne again stood across from him. The music and step sequence forced them to move sideways. He beheld another face, friendly, but not intoxicating like Anne’s. He locked arms with Sarah. They spun in a circle—Anne circled with Adair behind him. Calum wanted Anne’s hands back in his. He got his wish and her eyelashes fluttered with her giggle.
This time he grasped her possessively. He wanted her to himself and when they sashayed, he could see no other face but hers. The music in his ears dimmed to a low hum. His breath loud in his ears, he pulled her in for the spin and the sweet bouquet of honeysuckle and woman flooded his senses. In that moment, time stopped. He stood motionless and held Anne inches from his body, staring into those eyes. She gazed back at him with an expectant fire.
Adair tapped him on the shoulder. Calum begrudgingly released his grasp and turned to Sarah. The music came flooding back. He glanced over his shoulder and watched Anne as Adair whisked her in another circle. If only they could dance alone.
Calum wished the fiddler could play a volta, then he would have an excuse to wrap his arms around her without bringing attention to his deep-seated desires. But this was not England, thank God. Calum picked up his feet and danced to the music of his kinfolk. That’s how he wanted it. Seeing Anne’s face smiling up at him while he took every care to swing her around the floor, filled him with desire aplenty. Hell, if he danced a volta with her, he’d have to go down to the beach and throw himself into the icy sea to cool off.
To his surprise, when the music ended, Friar Pat tapped him on the shoulder. If it had been anyone else but the kindhearted friar with his careworn face, Calum would have told him to go jump in the bay, but he couldn’t very well say no.
Anne’s eyes popped when she looked at his brown habit—fortunately the reformation hadn’t reached the island. “’Tis good to see the people of Raasay have a spiritual leader.”
The friar took her hand and waggled his eyebrows. “Aye, milady. ’Tis a difficult job indeed, bringing the word to a heathen like the laird.”
Calum looked toward the heavens. The friar had obviously had a few too many pints of ale and by his color, possibly a cup of whisky or two.
Nursing a tankard, Norman watched Calum return. “Ye’ve got eyes for her.”
“What the blazes are ye talking about?”
“Ye like the sassenach wench.”
Calum’s hand shot out and gripped Norman’s collar. He twisted it taught and muscled his face to within a hand’s breadth. “Watch your mouth.” He released the shirt with a shove.
The wee blighter huffed, rubbing his neck.
What business was it of Norman’s how he felt? Calum reached for the pitcher and poured himself another drink. “John leaves on the morrow with a missive for her husband.”
Norman folded his arms. “’Tis no’ soon enough.”
Calum took a long draw from his ale and slammed his tankard on the table. “Keep your mind on yer own business, brother.”
Norman shoved his chair back. “Her beauty has half the men in the room wanting to bed her. She’s a temptress. She’s no’ meant for the likes of you.”
“Don’t ye think I ken?” Calum scowled into his drink. She’s no’ meant for the likes of Wharton either.
However, Norman’s words struck a nerve. It seemed every man on Raasay wanted to dance with the beautiful and refined English lass. When Anne finally returned to the table, her coronet had been knocked from her head, her tresses hung loose around her shoulders—she looked wild and wanton. She could seduce the Holy Father with that wild mop of thick tresses flowing everywhere.
Calum groaned.
“Are you well, my lord?”
Calum leaned back in his chair, his knees parted to the sides. “I’m fine, but it seems ye’ve lost a piece of yer costume.”
Her hands went to her head. “Oh dear. It fell off a dance or two ago.” She stood. “I must go fetch it.”
Calum gestured to the chair beside him. “Nay, stay and drink a pint of ale. Ye must be thirsty after having the entire clan spin ye around the floor.”
She giggled and pressed her hand to her chest—just above those creamy breasts that had managed not to burst free. Calum swiped his hand across his mouth and forced his gaze away.
The dance and the drink cast aside the stone fa?ade the lady had worn earlier. Calum watched her, chatted with her, while his heart swelled with desire. Norman was right. The sooner she left Raasay, the faster he could return to the way things were—the way things ought to be.
When the hall began to empty, Anne glanced toward the stone tower stairs. “I think I’d best retire.”
Calum stood. “I shall escort ye.”
“That shouldn’t be necessary.”
“I insist.” He didn’t want to admit it could be dangerous for a stunningly beautiful woman to climb the stairs of the keep alone after the entire clan had partaken in a feast. Whisky had a way of pulling away men’s inhibitions where the lassies were concerned. That’s why Calum stuck to ale.
Anne accepted his arm. The stragglers watched him lead her to the staircase, whispering behind their hands.
“It seems we’re making quite a spectacle.”
“Pay them no mind. They’re not used to seeing a fine lady like yourself in the keep.”
“I saw a number of pretty girls dancing.”
“Pretty, aye, but none have yer refinement.” He grasped a piece of her blue damask fabric between his fingers. “Or a gown as fine as this. ’Tis never seen in these parts.”
“Ah. I am a bit out of place.”
Calum clamped his jaw shut. She shouldn’t be there at all—Brochel Castle was no place for an English maid—matron. His heart thundered against his chest He walked the lady to his chamber, fighting an internal battle. How could he convince her to allow him inside—and how the hell was he going to resist if she did? The offending chamber door came all too quickly. Anne stopped and lifted her chin to face him. His stomach squeezed when her stare met his in the dim shadows of the landing. A slow burning torch danced shadows over her. A strand of blonde hair covered her sultry face. Heaven help him, he wanted to ravish her.
“We made it the whole two flights without mishap.” Her eyes flickered in the light reflecting her amusement. She offered him a teasing smile.
“Aye, milady.” His voice rasped.
He grasped her silky smooth hands between his and raised them to his mouth. His tongue slipped through his lips ever so subtly as he kissed those dainty fingers. The sleeve of her gown slipped to her elbow, revealing the luscious white of her forearm.
Hot yearning swirled beneath his kilt while he languidly smoothed kisses along the length of that silken arm. Anne’s muffled groan sent him undone. The thickening beneath his kilt shot to rigid. He stepped in and gazed down upon her lovely face. “I want to kiss ye.”
Her breath quickened, but the desire in her darkened eyes expressed all. Taking her hands, he placed them on his hips. With one more step, he pressed his body against hers, molded to it as if God almighty had made them a matched pair. Calum lowered his head, and Anne’s eyes stared at his mouth, hungry.
Gently, he touched his lips to hers. Anne’s fingers dug into his flesh. Her breathing quickened to shallow gasps, but her lips did not move. The realization that she had never been kissed shot through the tip of his cock like lightning. Calum stroked the parting of her lips with his tongue and dove into her mouth. Sweet, feminine, Anne didn’t resist. Taking her hand, he showed her how to caress his skin, how to touch him.
Gradually, Anne responded. Her hands clamped around his hips and slowly crept lower. The tops of her breasts pushed into his chest. Calum wanted to feel more of her, but the stiff stomacher of her gown forced distance. If only he could unlace it and free her from her bindings—all of her bindings.
His heart raced while he fingered an errant lace at the back of her gown. He rubbed the length of his body side-to-side in harmony with hers. She completely melted in his arms.
Heaven help him, he needed to stop. Now. His breath stuttered as he pulled away. Her eyes glazed, her cheeks red with lust, she panted. As if shamed, she released hands and cast her gaze downward. “Please forgive me, my lord.” Her voice warbled.
Calum caressed her cheek. “It is I who must be forgiven. Ye are far too delectable to resist.”
“I must not forget the fact that I am married.”
Calum’s gut clenched—must that offensive detail continue to plague him? “Of course.” He took a step back wiped his palms on his kilt. “I will endeavor to practice restraint, milady.”
“Yes, we must.”
Anne stepped into her room. When the door closed, the lock clicked. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to block the image of Anne undressing and releasing those breasts that had toyed with his sensibilities all night. He’d just kissed her—threw decorum out the window and had given into his lust. He was no better than Norman who tried to take advantage of every lassie in sight.
Calum raced down the stairs and grabbed a bottle of whisky.
He passed the friar, slumped in the corner with one eye open. “Where are ye going?”
“To the stables. ’Tis the only place where I can forget a temptress with golden hair and sapphire eyes.”
Once outside, Calum took a long draw of the whisky and coughed. Having Anne in his chamber for a month would drive him mad. He pictured her sleeping in his bed, lying under his bedclothes—alone. He took another drink. Och, one bottle wouldn’t be enough.