CHAPTER Eight
Calum stood on the deck of The Golden Sun and watched the lights of Brochel Castle burn brighter while the sunlight faded. His belly growled, complaining about his meal of bully beef and whisky. His stomach never gave him trouble at sea, but somehow it knew when he was home.
Anne would have eaten by now. He pictured her in the exquisite blue dress she’d worn the eve before. With all those trunks, she surely had a plethora of enticing gowns, but he’d be content if she wore the blue one every night He loved the way it hugged her womanly shape, and could watch her dance in that gown until the day when the stars lost their sparkle.
He groaned and looked at the vast, twinkling sky above. He’d banished himself to the ship for a reason. Visualizing a maid—no, a matron in lavish gowns—and wanting to run his lips over every inch of her exposed flesh, was exactly what he needed to block from his mind.
But he couldn’t, unless he could find a way to avoid blinking or closing his eyes. He very well might be damned to the fires of hell the next time he got her alone. Oh how deeply he desired to cast his duty aside and show her the delights of passion. And Anne wanted it. He read it in the way her blush crawled up her face, and the longing reflected in her eyes. God, it would be sweet to guide her to a fervent passion. Calum closed his eyes and reached out his hand as if he could brush his fingers across the pliable flesh above her bodice.
A loud thud banged against the hull. Snapped from his thoughts, Calum’s hackles pricked. Drawing his sword, he eased to the starboard rail and peered over.
“Ahoy the ship.”
Only the white of Bran’s teeth shone in the moonlight. Good thing the lad had said something. Calum would have cut the rope ladder and given him a good dousing. Sheathing his sword, he bent down and offered Bran a hand. “What the blazes are ye doing here?”
“Mara sent me.”
“What’s wrong?” Is Anne ill, did she take a tumble?
“Norman’s been in his cups again.” Bran stumbled over the rail. “Had words with Lady Anne, he did.”
“Och, for the love of God.” Norman could be an arse the size of Scotland when he dipped into the whisky—bloody swine. “Tell me lad, what did he say?”
“I dunna ken, but Lady Anne fled to her chamber without eating supper.”
“Bull’s ballocks. I cannot turn me head for a minute and Norman shows his beasty side.”
“Aye, yer brother has never been able to hold his liquor.”
Or keep his cock under his kilt. Calum froze. “Where is Norman now?”
“He had his supper in the hall with everyone else.”
Blast it all. If Calum hadn’t promised his father he’d teach his younger brother some refinement, he’d ship Norman back to Lewis where he could annoy Ruairi. Calum hoisted himself over the rail and skittered down the ladder to the skiff with Bran right behind.
***
After sending Mara away, Anne dashed to her trunk and snatched her shillings and jewels out of her treasure box. What had she been thinking, going along with Calum’s plan to ransom her? To dally about Brochel Castle, helping them inventory stolen goods made her no better than a pirate herself.
If she escaped, Lord Wharton would not be blackmailed into paying a fortune for her release. Anne counted the silver coins. She certainly had enough to pay someone for safe passage.
She thanked the stars Norman had confronted her. It was the kick in the backside she’d needed to get out of Calum’s chamber and do something about this miserable state of affairs. Kissing him and then wanting more? She must take matters into her hands and stop this nonsense.
Besides, Calum had said he would protect her. Now he’d hid himself on the Flying Swan. He might as well be in France for all the protection he could provide from the ship’s decks.
Anne waited until the rumbles from the hall silenced. She opened the door a crack and listened, only the growl of her belly resounded against the stone walls.
Taking a candle, she pattered down the steps to the first landing. The chamber doors she could see appeared closed, their occupants tucked in for the night. Her patience in waiting had been rewarded. She descended the remaining stairs into the great hall. The embers of a fire dimly gave the immense room a ghostly dancing light. A chill hung in the air.
Anne made her way across the floor, careful not to bump into the tables. A light glowed from the kitchen, suggesting someone might be within. She nearly dropped her candle when a man’s deep chuckle echoed. Was it Norman? She hesitated. She needed to gather some food before she launched a skiff, but she wasn’t about to have another confrontation with Calum’s brother. Anne whipped around and headed for the double oak doors. A bench caught the hem of her gown and screeched across the floor.
Behind her, footsteps clapped on the floorboards. She broke into a run.
She’d nearly made it to the door, when a voice called out. “Lady Anne?” Friar Pat leaned against a table, catching his breath. “Whatever are you doing up at this time of night?”
Stopping, she blew out a rush of relief. She rubbed her hand against the pouch in her pocket. “I was feeling a bit hungry. I apologize if I startled you.” She glanced over his shoulder, toward the dim light shining from the open kitchen door.
As he approached, Anne could see his cheeks were flushed red. He hiccupped and covered his mouth. “Pardon me. I’m afraid I may have dipped into the mead a bit much. I brew me own and I only have use of the kitchen well past supper.”
Anne rubbed her arms. “The keep takes on a chill at night.”
“That it does.” He took another step closer. “And how are ye finding it here amongst us wayward souls?”
“Everyone has been quiet pleasant. Mostly.”
The friar gestured toward the bench. “It seems our laird has taken a liking to ye.”
She was not going to slip away without a polite chat. “Oh? But he’s sent off a note of ransom.”
“Aye. I suppose he has.” The friar ran a hand over his belly. “He wouldn’t have had much of a choice in the matter given you’re married.”
There was that “married” word again. How it followed her as if she’d been a baroness her entire life. Anne shot a hungry glance toward the kitchen and slid onto the bench across from him. “Our choices in this life are rather limited.”
“But I see yer presence here as a blessing.”
“You do? Why?”
“I watched ye with Mara today and studied yer ledgers when I was taking grain from the stores for me mead. Mara hasn’t been the matron of the keep for long, ye ken.”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“Well, she probably didna have time. When Calum came here, the keep was in ruins. The clan members were crofters, paying rent to the Chief of Lewis, living in long houses and hovels up in the hills. Calum spent seven years rebuilding the keep and the people love him for it, but like God’s sheep, some work harder than others. Mara’s ever so busy—takes too much upon herself.”
“I agree and we’ve come up with a plan to share the work more fairly.”
Friar Pat reached across and patted her hand. “Ye see what I mean. ’Tis exactly what the lassie needs.” He stretched his arms out with a yawn. “I’d best find me bed afore my head drops to the table.”
Anne bid him goodnight. What a sweet man, and he cared so much for the clan. Calum was lucky to have him. But she needed to continue with her plan. She inhaled deeply through her nose and let the air whistle through her lips. Picking up her candle, she headed to the kitchen.
Inside the vast room, she found a fire banked in the great hearth. Long wooden tables stood cleaned and ready for morning. Cast iron pots hung on hooks overhead. Anne opened a cupboard door and peered inside, hoping to find the breadbox.
A footstep slapped the stone floor. Expecting the friar, she glanced over her shoulder with a smile. But her heart flew to her throat.
Norman.
His voice came from behind like a rat crawling up her spine. “Why are ye sneaking about, wench?”
The sour stench of a man who’d guzzled too much whisky permeated the room. His arm clutched her waist. He wrenched the candle from her hand and pressed his lips to her ear. “Ye didna answer me.”
Anne fought to pull away, but he squeezed her tighter and pressed his unwelcome body against her. “I’m seeking a bit of bread. I missed supper because of you.”
“Ye missed supper because of yer own highborn pride.”
Norman set the candle on the counter. Anne twisted free. He was faster and flung his arm around her waist, tugging her into his body.
“Release me!”
“And why should I? You’re an English wench and a ripe one at that.”
Something hard rubbed against her buttocks. Turning, she cast her gaze downward. His kilt tented. Anne’s heart raced with fury. With a shot of strength, she pounded her fists against his chest. He tightened his grip. Swiftly, she cocked back her knee and slammed it into his crotch.
With a roaring bellow, Norman released her and doubled over. Anne darted for the door. Norman lurched after her, caught her arm and yanked her back.
“That was a dirty trick,” he said, his voice strained. “But I’d expect no less from the likes of an English wench.”
Anne twisted away, but Norman yanked her back, and struck her face with his open palm across.
Recoiling from the sharp sting, Anne stumbled into a bench. She flung out her arms, but couldn’t stop the momentum and crashed to the ground.
Footsteps pounded. A tall figure burst into the kitchen.
“Ye miserable rutting bastard,” Calum roared.
Anne rolled to her side. Calum leaped through the doorway and launched himself at Norman. The two brothers careened across the floor, fists flying. Norman slammed an undercut into Calum’s jaw, but he caught Norman’s arm and twisted. Calum laid his brother flat on the ground, locking his hand in a death grip around Norman’s neck.
“Ye’ll no’ touch her again,” Calum growled.
Anne sprang up, but the two men blocked the path to the door. She pressed her back to the wall, searching for an out.
“What is she to you?” Norman’s voice strained as he choked out the words.
Calum’s eyes darted toward Anne. “Ye want the English to come and blast Raasay out of the sea? That’s what they’ll do if ye defile Wharton’s wife.”
Calum released his grip and Norman slithered out from under him. He stretched his neck and coughed. “Ye are infatuated with her, ye bloody miserable sop.”
Anne’s mouth went dry.
“Get out of me sight. We’ll have words in the morning when you’re no’ blinded by drink.”
Norman scrambled to his feet.
Calum pointed toward the cove. “Take a skiff to The Golden Sun and sleep it off. If ye touch her ladyship again, I’ll kill ye, brother or no.”
Calum’s hard, dark glare in the shadowy light told Anne he could do it. Barreling away, Norman didn’t look back.
Anne pushed herself into the wall. Calum looked the deadly predator when his gaze shot to her.
Anne clenched her fists under her chin. Could she make a run for the door?
The furrow between Calum’s brows eased and his eyes became human again. “Are ye all right, milady?”
Gasping, Anne nodded.
“Apologies, me brother is such an arse.” He offered his hand. “Ye have me word it will no’ happen again.”
Anne placed her hand in his and let out a breath. She should have just slipped down to the beach without attempting to get food.
“You’re trembling.”
She tried to still her tremors. “I had nearly overcome him. I slammed my knee into his…ah…between his legs.”
“Aye? That was very brave.” Calum grimaced. “Ye could have been hurt.”
“How did you know he would do this? I thought you were sleeping on the ship.”
“Bran fetched me.”
“You said I would be safe here.”
Calum squeezed her hand. “Forgive me. ’Twas wrong for me to stay away from the keep.”
“Norman is a bastard.”
“Aye. He cannot hold his liquor. But I promise, he’ll never touch ye again.”
Anne pulled her hand away and glanced toward the door. At this moment, Norman headed to the beach. Drat—she could not hope for an escape this night.
Calum placed his arm around her shoulders. “Now tell me why ye were wandering through the hall at this time ’o night.”
Oh heavens, he felt warm. “I—I missed supper, and after Norman’s castigating, I decided…ah…”
“What?”
She rested her head against his shoulder and bit her lip. “Nothing.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. Anne relaxed into him, the tension cascading from her shoulders like a waterfall. She snuck her arms around his waist.
Calum held her cocooned within his embrace. He showered her forehead with feathery kisses. Heat coiled tight deep inside her—that new feeling that had become increasingly urgent since the first time she’d seen the laird’s face. Anne closed her eyes and pulled him closer, powerless to deny his allure.
Calum’s kisses caressed her cheek. Anne lifted her chin, her lips tingling. If only he would kiss her mouth again—just one more time. Calum’s hand slid up to the back of her neck, sending waves of gooseflesh along her spine. His long lashes shuttered his eyes and he brushed his lips across hers.
Calum’s tongue swept over her lips. Anne nearly exploded with the tingling. Without the barrier of a stiff stomacher, her breasts rubbed against his hard chest and her lips sought his as if growing a mind of their own. The friction of his body ignited every inch of her flesh.
When his mouth clamped over hers, she gave in to him. His powerful arms held her against his body and her knees weakened. With little licks, he parted her lips. A burst of salty-sweet flavor enticed her mouth. With languid swirls, his tongue danced. Wanting more, she squeezed him tighter, the tips of her breasts aching to rub against the steely muscles under to his shirt.
With a sigh, he rested his lips against her forehead. “Forgive me. I didna mean to take advantage. But ye are so fine to me.”
Anne closed her eyes and forced herself to pull back. “Please forgive my moment of indiscretion. It seems I’m having some difficulty resisting you, my lord.” She brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Though I feel safe in your arms, I wonder, who is the greater threat?”
Calum lifted her chin with his pointer finger, his eyes dark, serious. “I promise ye are safe with me.” He placed his hand in the small of her back. “Now let’s go see if we can find ye a morsel.”
***
Calum couldn’t look her in the face. Again he’d kissed the wife of Lord Wharton. Did he want a death sentence? Worse, she had turned to jelly in his arms. Her supple body sent his mind into a frenzy of blind passion. When the softness of her breasts plied his chest, his erection jutted against her abdomen. So strong his lust, he clutched her skirts and tugged, but the blasted voice of reason bellowed at the back of his head. No matter how much he wanted to bed her, he could not take advantage. He had a responsibility to protect Lady Anne. His very own flesh could not betray him.
Though married, Anne was as innocent as a maid. He would not ruin her. It couldn’t be. In her moment of distress, she needed a strong arm for comfort. That was all.
She watched him, her ravaged lips plump and red. He used her candle to light the torch on the wall. He found a stack of oatcakes under a cloth on the sideboard and reached for two. “One of these ought to hold ye till morning.”
Anne gave him an apologetic smile and took one. He gestured to the table and they sat.
“I missed you at supper.” Lady Anne kept her eyes on her oatcake.
“Apologies. There’s a great deal of work to do on the ship.”
“I see.” She shifted on the bench as if she had something she was holding back.
“Did I miss anything?”
“No, not really. I spent the day with Mara.” She pinched a morsel from the cake. “I helped her inventory the stores.”
“’Tis a good idea. We’ve never had much of note, but with a bounty this great, we should keep track of it.”
“Mara picked up well. We’re using a system of pictures and tick marks since she cannot read.”
Calum frowned. Most of his clansmen were illiterate—another thing he wanted to address, especially with the children. Lady Anne could help him in so many ways but she wouldn’t be there long enough. She took his hand and led him into the musty larder. With a dirt floor and solid stone walls, it had always reminded him of a cave.
She held the candle to the ledger. “See, she’ll keep track of the inventory here.”
“Och, ye have been busy.”
“And that’s not all. Mara told me how unbalanced the work is, and we came up with a schedule to even out the duties.” She studied what looked like a line of little porridge bowls on the ledger. “We thought it would be best if you could announce it and show your support.”
He rubbed his chin. “I do ask a lot of her, but I named her matron of the keep. The women should be following her lead without question.”
“Should be, but the friar tells me she hasn’t been matron for long. A few words from you would be an enormous help.”
“Very well, if you think it necessary, I’ll do it on the morrow.” His eyes drifted to the swollen lips he’d kissed moments ago. He caressed her cheek. It took his every ounce of strength to resist kissing her again. God help him.
Calum led her back to the kitchen and again sat at the long table.
Anne delicately chewed on a bite of oatcake. Calum’s hand grew a mind of its own and slid over the top of hers. “I’m thankful for yer help.”
She looked at his huge hand covering her smaller one, but showed no sign of disapproval. “I was accustomed to running my family’s estate. I need something to occupy my time. Idleness does not suit me.”
Calum stroked the back her hand with his fingertips. “Helping Mara is a great service. What else do ye like to do?”
“At Titchfield House we had little time for amusement, but I like falconry and picnics.”
“Falconry? A keen sport of skill. Did ye train your own falcons?”
“An earl’s daughter?” She sucked in her cheeks like an old biddy and shook her head. “My father would never allow his daughters to partake in such common work—that was for George, a servant employed solely for the purpose. Before my father’s death, I spent many a summer’s afternoon following old Master George.” Her eyes lit up. “He was a Scot. He’s the one who taught me a bit of Gaelic.”
“Ah. That explains it.”
“I’m not fluent, though.”
He drummed his fingers. “Do ye think ye can do it?”
“Train a falcon?”
Calum nodded.
“Perhaps. If I found a fledgling I might have success, but I’d never be able to tame a fully grown raptor. They’re much too large.”
“A fledgling, aye? What, do ye take it from a nest?”
“Yes—about this time of year.”
“We might be able to arrange that. What about a golden eagle—would ye be able to work with a larger bird?”
Anne sat up with wide eyes. “An eagle? They’re among the best specimens for falconry—if you can handle one. My father used a golden eagle. They can fly higher and faster than hawks. Father often caught large prey such as geese.”
“Aye?” Calum loved the way her dimples darted into her cheeks when something caught her interest. “We have a great many golden eagles nesting on the north of the island. And as ye said, now’s the season for fledglings.” Calum gave her hand a light squeeze. He’d like to hold her dainty hand through the entire night, but he forced himself to let go. “Picnics are aplenty, too. If the weather is fine, we could ride up there on the morrow.”
“’Twould be lovely.” Anne’s hand covered her lips. “Mayhap we should have a chaperone.”
An intense urge spread beneath Calum’s sporran and he shifted his seat. A chaperone was the last thing on his mind. Heat still radiated where her unbound breasts had pressed against his chest. If only he could reach across the table and pull her onto his lap. Oh, to feel her round buttocks grind atop his cock while he suckled her.
Christ. Calum shoved the heel of his hand against his forehead. Had he lost his mind?
If he could rewind time and find a way to void her marriage, he’d not hesitate to do it. Would she want him if she were not wed? No highborn English lass will want the likes of Calum MacLeod. Why must me mind continue to dwell on it?
Anne finished her oatcake and pointed at his. “Are you not hungry?”
“What?” He hadn’t touched it. “Would ye like it?”
“I’d best not, but thank you.”
Calum shoved the whole dry cake in his mouth, chewed a few times and swallowed. “’Tis time to retire, milady.”
Anne nodded. Calum rose and offered his elbow. “I shall see you to yer chamber.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“My lord?”
“You are a laird.”
“Aye, but ye are a higher born lady. Calum will do.”
“Very well. Thank you, Calum.”
Och, why did me name have to sound so…so intoxicating when she spoke it? When they reached her door, Calum rested his hand on the latch. “Is there anything else ye will be needing, milady?”
“No.” Anne’s eyes trailed down the length of his body. “But I would prefer it if you would find another chamber for me. I cannot continue to displace you.”
Calum looked around the curved corridor and pointed to the next door. “That chamber is in need of refurbishment. I haven’t given it much thought, but ’tis intended for the lady of the keep. Mayhap I’ll have the carpenters determine how much work is needed.”
“Queen’s knees, I don’t want to create more work for you. E-especially when I will soon be gone.”
Calum leaned against the door jamb, wanting to prolong the moment. “We-ell make up yer mind, milady.”
Her bow-shaped lips formed a darling pout. “You’ll not reconsider moving me, will you?”
An errant finger reached out and brushed her silken cheek. “Nay.” Forcing his voice to take on an unhurried lilt, he said, “Ye are me guest. And besides, I dunna want to move all those trunks again.”
“You can be a stubborn laird, Calum.”
“I suppose ’tis me right as clan chief.”
Lady Anne rose up on her tiptoes and lightly kissed him on the cheek. Calum’s insides flipped. He grasped her shoulder and focused on her succulent lips. The inebriating scent of her inflamed the burning deep in his gut.
Her tongue slipped out and moistened her lips as her lashes lowered. Her hot breath quickened against his mouth. “Though I know I should not, I like kissing you, Calum.”
Air rushed from his lungs when she spoke his name. His heart thundered against his chest. “Kissing could be no sin.”
She narrowed the gap to a hair’s breadth from touching him. “But it can when your body aches for more.” Her breathy voice could charm the dead.
Calum covered her mouth and pulled her into him. Sweet as honey, she welcomed him. Groaning, Anne molded to his body while her hips gently rocked. Calum’s breath ragged, the pleasure from her friction nearly unmanned him. It took every bit of control not to follow her into his chamber and throw her down on his bed. God, he wanted her.
Anne cupped his head with both hands and kissed him softly. “I thank you for your gallant rescue,” she whispered, her voice faint, not half as assured as her actions. She took a feeble step away. “Sleep well, my lord.”
Closing the door, she left him standing alone, holding a candle with a wicked ache under his kilt. Her lock clicked. Calum groaned and slid down the stone wall. A month with Lady Anne in the keep would send him into complete lunacy.