The MacLeod Pirate Page 5

  So Rory was chuckling as he climbed atop one of the rower’s benches and then up and over the gunwales. He turned.

  “Jock, slice the sail lines. Bartholomew, I want all but four of those oars onboard by the time we shove off.”

  He wouldn’t leave the conquered ship to flounder and sink, knowing he would be condemning the sailors to death. But without a sail and most of their oars gone, it would take a while for them to rally, and impossible to chase down Rory’s own boat. He’d have Bull drop the oars overboard closer to shore, so the captain of the merchant ship could pick them up if he were lucky enough to find them.

  When Rory received a nod from his men, he lifted a brow to Bull, who turned and bellowed to the crew. “Ye heard the Black Banner, men! Grab yer spoils, and let’s catch some wind!”

  As his men lifted their weapons in a cheer and began to rifle through her chests, Rory turned with his own struggling cargo.

  She was kicking and calling him all sorts of interesting names, but that’s not what caught his attention. Nay, it was the way her struggle had caused her braids to loosen, so they fell around his shoulder.

  Aye, she was the most fascinating piece of plunder he’d ever taken, and he hoped he didn’t live to regret it.

  Chapter Five

  Pirates!

  Citrine realized she was shaking as she huddled against one of the walls of the ship and watched her captors bustle about.

  Their captain, the one who’d so easily overpowered her, had stomped aboard his birlinn and shrugged her off his shoulders. Determined to show him she wasn’t beaten, she’d thrown herself at him, intent on scratching off his face if nothing else, but he’d had no trouble catching her wrists once more and tying them before her with a thin piece of braided rope.

  Within moments, it seemed as if the pirates finished on the merchant vessel and had flowed back over the sides to their own ship. Some were carrying packets or bales of wool they’d stolen, and more than a few had her gowns draped over their dirty arms or shoulders.

  She couldn’t imagine what they planned to do with the gowns, other than sell them for the fabric, but she was surprised how little she cared. The clothing wasn’t important to her in the first place; she’d only taken it so Da wouldn’t suspect she intended to return to the Sinclair lands soon.

  God’s wounds, what would happen now?

  She was tied up on the Black Banner’s ship, getting farther and farther from the only people who knew anything about who she was, and her mission was in tatters. If she couldn’t get to Lewes to search for the two missing jewels, she’d never be able to bring the brooch back to her father completed.

  Thank the Blessed Virgin the pirates apparently hadn’t seen the bag she still had slung over her shoulder—or had but didn’t care to search it. The sapphire and agate—and the tapestry—were still nestled safe against her back, and she’d do absolutely everything in her power to keep them there.

  Of course, the pirate captain had shown her that he could easily overpower her, which meant that the stones—and herself—weren’t as safe as she’d like. If he could steal her from a Sinclair ship, claiming her as spoils of the battle the same way his men took coin and goods, then what did that mean?

  It meant she—and the jewels—belonged to him now.

  Oh God.

  Damn William and his treachery!

  Deciding it was better to stay angry than to think of her hopeless situation, she pushed herself into a sitting position, pulling her knees up, and hooked her bound hands around them. From this position, she could better see the pirates as they moved away from the helpless Sinclair ship.

  Even by twisting around, she couldn’t see her former vessel, and was almost glad for it. If she’d seen William smirking at her, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Why had he looked at her that way as she’d called for his help? Why had he just stood aside and let the pirate take her?

  He was her guard. Granted, she’s sparred with him enough to know she was as good a swordsman as he and didn’t need his help. But as a Sinclair warrior, it was up to him to protect her. Instead, he’d practically invited the Black Banner to take her.

  William Sinclair was either a coward or a traitor, and when she returned home, she’d make sure her father knew.

  If I return home.

  Nay, thinking like that did no good.

  Surely not everything about the future was bleak? What were her assets?

  The Black Banner had easily stolen her sword from her—it still rested on the deck of the other ship, presumably. Without her boots, she didn’t have her dirk, either. In fact, in this ridiculous gown, she was completely without weapons…except her mind.

  Aye, her mind wasn’t as sharp as her twin’s, but surely, she could think of a way out of this situation?

  First, I need to ken why I’m here.

  Why was she taken? Once she knew, she’d have a better idea of how to fight these pirates.

  Aye, knowing what the Black Banner expected of her would—

  When he stepped up on the raised deck in the stern of the ship, where she sat, she completely lost that thought.

  He stopped and turned to the older man at the rudder. “Auld Marcus, go have a rest. I’ll take over.”

  The older man nodded gratefully and waited until the Black Banner had stepped up to his spot, then scurried down the small ladder toward a wineskin hanging from the side of the boat.

  Now would be the time to shove a dirk between his shoulder blades.

  If only she had one.

  When she sighed, probably more forlornly than intended, he glanced at her. One side of his lips twitched upward, and he raised a slightly mocking brow.

  “Ready to admit defeat, wee firebrand?”

  She was exhausted. Exhausted and beaten and helpless.

  But she’d be damned if she let him know that.

  She thrust her chin out. “Ready to release me, whoreson?”

  He tsked and turned his attention to the front of the boat once more. “’Tis the second time ye insulted my mother. If I didnae have such an easy-going nature, that might merit punishment.”

  Punishment? Citrine swallowed, wondering what he could possibly do that was worse than he had done already.

  Well, there was one thing, but she wasn’t sure yet if that was his plan. Didn’t pirates rape and pillage? Or was that the Norsemen? Blessed Virgin, but she was tired…her mind didn’t seem to want to work properly.

  Her chin sank to her knees, and she decided whatever he had planned for her, she wouldn’t be foolish to prick his ire more than necessary.

  For now.

  Save yer strength, lass. For when it matters.

  The hours dragged on, and Citrine’s rear end went numb. She shifted her weight from side to side, pushing against the deck with her bare feet to take some of the pressure off her aching muscles. But she did her best not to move too much, not wanting to draw unwanted attention.

  Occasionally, the Black Banner would glance at her, but he made no effort to engage her in conversation—taunting or otherwise. It was as if the pirates had forgotten she was there.

  To her surprise, the pirates sang. Like…normal sailors. In fact, did any number of things she’d seen the sailors on the Sinclair ship do: sing, bicker, climb the single mast with a speed she couldn’t imagine, and challenge one another to contests of strength at the oars.

  The only difference between these pirates and the sailors on the other birlinn—besides the fact these were dressed all in black—was the mood. These pirates were almost joyful.

  Because they just took a fine prize, ye ninny. Why would they no’ be happy?

  Their songs ranged from wistful to bawdy, and Citrine recognized a few of them from the men back home. Of course, her father would’ve never approved of her knowing the words, but she found herself humming under her breath to several.

  Then there was the one she’d never heard before; one about treasure and battles and piracy. It seemed as if each verse
was made anew by the man who stood from his bench to call it out, resulting in jeers or cheers, depending on the rhymes. Some verses were about the battle she’d just witnessed, and when the huge man who seemed to be second-in-command sang about her crossing swords with the captain—with plenty of double meanings—Citrine found herself blushing.

  The refrain was simple, but the men roared it together.

  “One of brown, and one of white,

  And one of the deepest blue!

  One glows gold in the fire’s light,

  Jewels in the hearthstone’s view!”

  To her surprise, the Black Banner even joined in, throwing his head back and laughing along with his men, obviously cheerful about the day’s work.

  He had a lovely voice, and why did she have to notice that?

  In fact, he was lovely all over. That was something she’d seen right away, although she had been busy fighting him at the time.

  He rested one hip against the side of the ship as he pushed easily against the long rudder, his strong legs encased in black boots. Above the simple black kilt, his stomach was flat and defined, and his chest…

  Citrine swallowed and forced her gaze higher, to muscled shoulders and a strong jaw.

  God forgive her, but she’d always been partial to a strong jaw.

  His was covered in stubble a few shades lighter than the dark brown of his hair, which he kept cut short. He was younger than a pirate captain ought to be—at least one as notorious as he was. Come to think of it, she’d been hearing stories of the Black Banner since she was a girl, and this man couldn’t be that much older than her, could he?

  He was handsome, aright, and that was the problem.

  From the moment she’d seen him, the moment she crossed swords with him, she’d known she could want this man. Did want him, wanted to feel him…but then he’d beaten her, taken her prisoner.

  And now, no matter how handsome, how alluring, he would never have her.

  It was almost twilight when he turned the ship toward shore. The men quieted, knowing their jobs well enough they didn’t have to be told. They made landfall on an empty stretch of shoreline and worked together to pull the birlinn up on the sand and secure it, the process easier than she’d experienced the last few nights.

  In fact, her escort had been taking her westward, toward Lewes. This pirate ship had been heading away from Lewes. Back toward home.

  I can use that.

  But when, without words, the Black Banner scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder once more, easily jumping down into the sand while carrying her, it was hard to hold on to that determination.

  He carried her out of the sand to where the men were already lighting a fire and starting to cook, before easing her off his shoulder. It was…courteous of him?

  “If I let ye loose, will ye run?”

  She lifted her chin and met his eyes in the fading light. “If ye let me loose, I’ll steal a dirk and slit yer throat.”

  To her surprise, he chuckled at her threat, shaking his head. “Fair enough. But I ken ye have to relieve yerself before the night, aye?”

  All afternoon, she’d watched the men piss over the side of the ship, not caring at all for privacy. The knowledge this man had not only thought of her comfort, but something so intimate, brought an immediate flush to her cheeks.

  “I thought so,” he chuckled. “Come.”

  Before she could object, he’d wrapped a large hand around her bindings and tugged her toward the nearby wood. As she stumbled along behind him, her bare feet crunching on twigs and last year’s leaves, he called over his shoulder.

  “Stay in yer black, lads. We have a visitor!”

  The series of groans behind her had Citrine’s eyes opening wider with an important realization.

  Stay in yer black. It meant that, after an attack, the men were used to changing out of the pirate costumes. The Black Banner was concerned that whatever they changed into would reveal their real identities.

  And he didn’t want that.

  So, who was he really?

  That line of thought came to a crashing halt when he pulled her into the wood and reached for her wrists. Pulling a small dirk from his belt, he sawed through the rope near the knot, then tucked the weapon back where it belonged.

  Her attention was on the weapon so long—wondering what would need to be done to pull it from his belt and use it against him—she didn’t notice he was rubbing at her wrists until the tingling in her fingers started. She stared down at her hands, lips slightly parted.

  He was being courteous? Not only that, his touch, where his callused fingers were massaging at her stiff wrists, was causing an odd warmth to race up her arm.

  Flustered, she tugged away from him.

  He, of course, tugged right back, causing her to stumble against him. He lifted a brow in challenge.

  “Can I trust ye to piss without being tied, lass? If ye’re planning on running, I’ll tie ye and damn the inconvenience.”

  God’s wounds, she wanted to run! But her body’s needs were greater.

  Thrusting her head high, she met his eyes with a mulish glare, and gave her arm another yank. This time, he let her go, and she turned to stalk to a nearby tree she could lean against as she squatted.

  Although her back was to him, she could feel his gaze on her as she lifted her skirts to perform the necessary deed. It was humiliating.

  But he’d rubbed her wrists.

  And why did that make her feel…tingly?

  Before she’d even stood completely, he was there again, reaching for her wrist, tugging her away from the tree. She expected him to lead her back to camp, but he didn’t.

  Instead, he halted under a large birch and spun her around. Startled, she didn’t realize what he was doing until after he’d grabbed her other hand and was tying her wrists together behind her back.

  That’s when she started to struggle, but it was too late. Her hands were secure in the most awkward way possible. There was no way she’d be able to fight him like this.

  Panicking now, she lurched forward, but was halted when he grabbed her bound wrists. The jolt sent a pain up her shoulder, and she hissed aloud.

  And he cursed. “By all the saints, lass, cease or ye’ll hurt yerself further!”

  It was the regret in his tone which stopped her more than anything else.

  Barefoot in the dirt and detritus of the woods, she held her breath as he came around to face her. For a long moment, he said nothing, just stood there looking at her, and she’d never felt so naked.

  Aye, she was clothed, but with her hands behind her back like this, her beasts were thrust forward, and his gaze definitely lingered on them.

  She swallowed, wondering if this was the moment she’d been dreading. Was this the reason he’d taken her?

  Before she could ask, he stepped forward, bringing their chests much closer. He made no move to ravish her, but the anticipation—the fear—had her heart pounding and made her throat dry.

  Without lifting a hand, he leaned forward, his lips near her ear. His stubbled jaw scraped against her cheek, but rather than hurting her, it was a deliciously intimate sort of feeling.

  What in damnation?

  Why was her body reacting this way?

  “Ye’re a beautiful woman, lass,” he whispered in her ear. “I would have ye for my own, but ye’re a firebrand.”

  It took her two tries to get her voice to work, but she didn’t pull back. She just straightened her shoulders and stared ahead, not daring to move for fear her body would betray her by swaying toward his heat.

  “A—Aye, a firebrand who’ll never join with ye, Banner.”

  A brush of warm air against her ear sent a shudder through her, and she realized it had been a chuckle. “Nay, I suppose ye wouldnae. I’d hoped to be able to convince ye otherwise, but tying ye up was likely no’ the right kind of convincing, was it?”

  She was surprised he was willing to admit his mistakes and this time, did pull ba
ck enough to meet his eyes. “Ye want me willing?”

  His brow twitched, and in the failing light, she saw he had dark blue eyes, a shade darker than her sister Saffy’s. “Aye, lass.” And that’s when he lifted one hand to her cheek and dragged the back of his finger down to her jaw. “’Tisnae fun if both parties arenae enthusiastic.”

  “A dishonorable man wouldnae care,” she carefully pointed out to keep herself from thinking how his touch had made her shiver.

  He dropped his chin in acknowledgement. “And whatever I am, I am honorable.”

  I am honorable.

  Relief made her knees weak. He didn’t intend to rape her.

  But she had to know… “What will ye do with me?”

  To her surprise, he blew out a breath and stepped away from her, running his hand through his hair. “I donae ken. ’Twas likely a mistake to take ye.”

  That was such an unexpected admission, a startled laugh burst out of her.

  “Aye,” he said with a shrug. “But a hopeful cock makes many a poor decision.”

  It sounded like the truth. A little more hopeful now, she twisted slightly to show her bound hands. “Will ye let me go?”

  In a flash, he was upon her once more, close enough she could reach out and knock her head against his.

  Or kiss him.

  She squeezed her eyes closed on that thought. She was tired. That was the only explanation for how her emotions had been jumping around since he’d pulled her off the ship.

  “Lass,” he said in that quiet murmur. “I cannae let ye go.”

  His words should’ve caused despair, but all she was focused on was the scent of him—salt and leather and hemp. With her eyes closed like this, her entire world became the knowledge he was so close, and oh-so-touchable.

  “I ken ye, lady. If I untie ye, ye’ll do yer best to kill me afore ye run.”

  I ken ye.

  It was a disturbing and somehow exciting thought. She shuddered and opened her eyes. “I’ll no’. I swear.” Did she sound as if she was pleading? Did it matter? “If ye cut me loose, I’ll run, and never tell a soul I saw ye.”

  He cocked his head, but it was hard to read his expression in the failing light. “Ye’re a MacLeod then? We’re on their land or close enough ye could get help and return to make us rue our actions.”