The MacLeod Pirate Read online

  Rue his actions? God help her, all she wanted now was to retrieve her sword and take the jewels back home.

  Home? Nay, she had to get to Lewes to find the remaining jewels. Then she could return home. But aye, her father was allied with the MacKays; she’d be able to find help here.

  “Please?” she whispered, hating herself for it.

  And from his wince, he knew how much it had cost her to say it.

  “Turn around, lass,” he said.

  Eagerly, she did, whirling to offer him her bound hands. But after he untied her, he only held her long enough to turn her back around and bind her wrists in front of her once more, albeit less tightly than before.

  When he met her gaze, she saw an apology there. “I cannae risk my men, lass.”

  He wasn’t letting her go.

  But he wasn’t going to rape her either.

  With her hands tied in front of her, she was a little less helpless and felt a bit more in control. When she’d stood in front of him with her hands behind her back, she’d felt like a piece of goods on display in a market stall, eager to catch someone’s eye.

  And why had that feeling made her throat go dry and a secret flood of warmth to spill between her thighs?

  With a sigh he probably hadn’t meant her to hear, he tugged her forward by her hands, and she followed dully, done trying to analyze her reaction to this man.

  But when she stepped on a sharp stick in the near-darkness, she sucked in a hissing breath, unable to stop the reaction to the pain.

  He whirled, his hand dropping to his hilt, before his quick gaze took in the problem. “By the saints, lass!” He lifted her skirts just enough to reveal her bare feet, then cursed quietly.

  Before she knew his intentions, he’d bent and grabbed her behind her knees. When he straightened, she gave a little yelp of alarm as he lifted her effortlessly.

  He didn’t look down at her but kept his gaze straight ahead. She pulled her hands up to her chest, not sure if she should be fighting his hold or not, and gazed at the muscles working in his jaw.

  Just as they reached the circle of firelight and could hear his men making merry, he stopped. He still didn’t look at her when he finally said, “I’ll find ye some shoes.”

  It wasn’t an apology, but the knowledge he cared for her discomfort sent another flood of surprising emotions through her chest.

  ’Tis likely just exhaustion.

  Surely that explained the haze in which she found herself, sitting beside the fire as she gobbled up the bread and cheese someone offered her, and even taking a few swigs from the wineskin the withered man who’d been at the rudder offered her.

  She sat and watched the men taunt one another, some drunk and some not, until Banner stood and called out assignments for the watch. Struggling to her feet, she caught his surprised glance, before something changed in his eyes.

  “Come with me, lass,” he said gently and led her toward the edge of the firelight, ignoring a few hoots and bawdy jeers from his men.

  She stiffened, not sure what to expect.

  I am honorable.

  Reminding herself of his words did help, and when he laid out a plaid—impossible to tell the pattern in the darkness—and tugged her down to it, she was almost certain she’d be safe enough to sleep.

  But as tired as she was, when he rolled onto his side and tugged her up against him, fitting her arse against his erection, she couldn’t sleep. She knew what he was feeling, knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t acting on it.

  I am honorable.

  Finally, she forced herself to close her eyes, to pillow her head on her bound arms and relax. More of her back touched him then, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “Go to sleep, lass,” came his deep rumble beside her ear, his voice feathering the hairs on the back of her head. “I’ll keep ye safe.”

  On that promise, she obeyed his command and fell into an exhausted slumber.

  Chapter Six

  It was the first time Rory had woken up with a woman in his arms, and he discovered he didn’t mind it at all.

  Since becoming a man—and mayhap a little before that—he’d taken his pleasure where it was offered. That meant he’d never had occasion to spend the night with a woman and had always assumed his wife would be the first.

  But this lass…What was her name? Last night, among the trees, he’d come so close to kissing her, he could taste it. And although she held herself apart, although she told him an emphatic no, there was something about her which hinted at a mayhap.

  He blew out an exasperated breath, careful to keep quiet and not disturb her.

  Honorable, he reminded himself. The lass had said no, so he’d respect that. But he couldnae just release her, not here. They’d camped in this spot before, and he knew they were miles from the closest village. She’d likely get lost and die in the wilderness as find help…and that was if she didn’t attack him first.

  Nay, he’d keep her safe—and tied—until they reached Durness. He could release her near enough for her to walk to town, and by the time she raised the hue and cry, he and his men would be long gone.

  Instinctively, his arms tightened around her, surprised at the disappointment the idea of letting her go brought him.

  Mayhap I’m turning into a real pirate, eh?

  She stirred and murmured, her cheek pillowed against his shoulder, and her arms resting beside his hip. Sometime during the night, she’d rolled over, and he’d been glad for it. That bag she carried had been poking him while he laid there holding her, unable to sleep, and this position was much more comfortable.

  So much so that, when Jock had come to wake him for his watch, he’d shaken his head.

  “Sorry, friend,” he’d whispered, “but I’ll have to keep watch from here.”

  Jock had chuckled, but Rory spoke the truth. The lass was exhausted, and he’d not disturb her further. He kept watch from his back, his arm around her.

  Glancing over at her, he was surprised to see her eyes open, although she didn’t look totally awake yet.

  “Good morning,” he murmured. “How do ye feel?”

  “Safe.”

  Her eyes widened at her confession, as if she hadn’t meant to say the word, and he pretended not to notice the telling slip. Instead, he sat up, pulling her upright as well.

  “Let us be on our way then.”

  She didn’t speak again as he led her into the woods to perform her morning necessities, nor as his crew handed over hard bread to break her fast. She followed him down to the beach quietly enough and allowed him to lift her over the gunwale, so Bull could reach under her shoulders and pull her up the rest of the way.

  She even settled into her place from yesterday in the stern, beside the rudder.

  Rory wasn’t sure how he felt about that; her having “a place” on his ship meant she was beginning to belong, and it was clear she’d murder him if given the chance.

  He and the other men shoved their shoulders against the clinker-built bow of the birlinn and pushed it out into the water. Offering his hands as a perch, he and two others helped most of the men aboard.

  Then he and the other two stripped out of their kilts, tossing them up onto the bow as they shoved the vessel into deeper water. The water was warmer here than Lewes, but not by much. Still, it was as invigorating as always.

  And when, with a grunt, he hoisted himself up by the line Bull had dropped for them, Rory couldn’t help but notice the way she was staring at his bare arse.

  He was grinning as he wrapped his kilt around himself once more and took the rudder.

  Once they were far enough from land, he called Auld Marcus back to his post as steersman and crossed the deck to crouch beside her. She was sitting cross-legged today, her bare feet tucked under her dress, her bound hands in her lap, and her gaze merely curious.

  Safe.

  That’s what she’d said this morning. He suspected it wasn’t so much that she wasn’t used to being safe, but that she was us
ed to providing for her own safety. Who was this woman?

  With her staring back at him, he settled on his heels and enjoyed watching her. She was beautiful, aye, but his sisters were beautiful women, too. What was it about her which was so tempting?

  She has Charlotte’s spirit.

  Aye, that was it. This lass was no meek lady, content to sit quietly and become a powerful laird’s wife. She was nothing like his sisters or his future wife. His wife, who’d agreed to shackle herself to him, the youngest son of a laird, in the hopes of an alliance with his father.

  This woman was no pawn.

  Between their battle yesterday and the night on the ground, her braids had come completely undone, and now her honey-blonde hair hung in snarls around her shoulders. Reaching out one hand, he tugged a twig from the rat’s nest and flicked it away, surprised she didn’t lean away from his touch.

  Instead, her light brown eyes followed his move. Light brown? Nay, that didn’t do them justice. Here in the sun, they shone topaz. Gold, even.

  Her lower lip was still just as tempting, and her freckles still made him want to taste her.

  “What will ye do with me?”

  Her voice, low and private, jerked him out of his musing. “What?”

  “Yesterday, ye told me ye were honorable and wouldnae rape me. Last night, ye kept me safe. But now, the way ye’re looking at me tells a different story.”

  Chagrined, he rocked back on his heels and shoved a hand through his short hair. Honorable. Aye, he was.

  In one swift move, he stood, then tugged her to her feet. It was clear from the way she wobbled that she hadn’t expected the move, and he relished the chance to hold her arm a bit too long.

  When she was steady, he reached for the dirk at his belt. If he’d been wearing his boots, he would’ve used the smaller one he kept there, but he’d never pulled them back on after his morning swim.

  Sure, she was watching him intently, so he kept his attention on her hands as he sawed through the hemp fibers, then picked the line away from her skin. This time, though, instead of rubbing her skin to ensure the circulation was back, he flipped the dirk over and offered it to her, hilt-first.

  She was rubbing at her own wrists and glanced up at him, surprise evident in her eyes. “Why?”

  Unsure himself, he shrugged. “I’ll no’ dishonor ye, lass. We’re too far from land for ye to escape before I’m ready to let ye go, and if ye do me harm, ye have to ken my men will no’ be happy.” He shoved a hand through his hair again. “So, take it.”

  Frowning now, she didn’t ask again, but flicked it around in her fingers and tucked it through the decorative, braided belt that hung low on her hips. The weapon looked out of place with her gown…but not out of place in her hands.

  This was the start of a hesitant truce.

  The day progressed with the birlinn tacking back and forth to take advantage of the winds pushing them northeastward. They passed by two potential prizes, but none of them questioned Rory’s decision to make for Durness without delay.

  She began to ask him questions about the ship, and he settled beside her on the aft deck to answer. He even made her chuckle once or twice and was impressed by the depth of her knowledge and intelligence.

  And he still didn’t know her name.

  “And why is it most of yer men sit idle now, Banner?”

  Banner. She didn’t know his name, either, and it was most definitely for the best.

  “The wind is steady today, and we’re moving fast enough.” He pointed to the expanse of white wool which was luffing for the briefest of moments before it caught the wind again as they came about. “Every man aboard keeps one eye on the sail, for if it fails or the wind dies, they’ll be back to rowing in nae time.”

  “And is rowing as efficient?”

  He chuckled. “No’ nearly, but with enough strong backs, we can overtake anything.”

  Mayhap it was the reminder they weren’t sailors but pirates, which had her shifting uncomfortably. “And I assume we’re turning back and forth like this to catch the wind?”

  “Aye.” He was grateful for the change in topic. “’Tis called tacking, and the only way to sail against the wind as we are now.”

  They were sitting on the edge of the aft deck, their feet dangling over the storage area below, level with the heads of the men on the benches. Rory leaned back on one hand and reached for the pouch on his belt with the other. It was second nature to pull out the pearl to roll it between his knuckles while he spoke.

  “The square sail is powerful, see? I’ve heard of some birlinns with sails in the shape of triangles, but true power would come from a second sail.” With the hand holding the pearl, he gestured toward a spot forward of the mast. “A second mast there with another sail. And deep sides”—he waved toward the gunwales—“to protect from boarders like us. A deep keel, mayhap, although ’twould make it impossible to beach effectively. And—och, never mind.”

  He turned to her with a wry grin, a little embarrassed to be caught spouting his ideas for a new class of ship, but it died when he saw her expression.

  She wasn’t even listening to him, he’d wager. Her attention was focused entirely on the pearl in his hand, and unconsciously, he tightened his fingers into a protective fist around it.

  Her hand darted out, and to his surprise, strong fingers wrapped around his wrist as she yanked his fist toward her. Unbalanced, he almost toppled into her, and the knowledge their positions were reversed from yesterday made his lips twitch, even as he lifted a brow in question.

  “Lass?”

  Her other hand was scabbling at his fingers, and he loosened his hold enough for her to pry them open and reach for the pearl. He made a swipe for it, but she was faster, and scrambled to her feet before he could stop her.

  Genuinely worried now, he hopped to his feet and lunged for her, but she darted out of the way. Instead, his hand closed around the material of her sleeve, and when he tugged, her gown pulled a bit, revealing one creamy shoulder to the sunshine.

  She didn’t notice; her attention was entirely on the pearl she held between two fingers.

  He moved closer, not wanting to startle her into dropping or throwing the precious jewel, but knowing she couldn’t get away from him.

  “Lass?”

  “Where did ye get this?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “Where?” When she lifted her eyes to his, he saw fury and intelligence and recognition in them.

  She kens this stone.

  It was his first thought, and with a certainty he hadn’t expected, he knew it was the right one.

  Why would she recognize the stone?

  Without answering her, he shifted his hold from her sleeve to her hand and turned to his men.

  “Bull!” His call traveled over whatever conversations and songs the men were engaged with and caught their attention. “Did any of ye—the ones who went through the lady’s chests—find any jewels? Stones of any kind?”

  Some of the crew shook their heads, but others scrambled for their own bags and chests under their benches. Three men held up jewelry, two necklaces, and a jeweled belt. They didn’t look anything like his pearl, but he gestured to Bull to bring them up, not wanting to let go of her.

  “These are yer things?” he growled as Bull held them up.

  When Rory glanced her way, she pressed her lips together and stared daggers back. He then shook his head to Bull, letting his second know he could return the jewelry to the men who’d stolen it for themselves or their sweethearts.

  Rounding on her, he lifted her hand—not the one with the pearl. “Ye ken that stone. Why? How? Do ye have its match?” He’d long wondered about the pearl’s origins and how it came to be in his mother’s headboard. Did this lady know the answer to the mystery? “What are ye hiding?”

  She was good. Verra good. He wouldn’t have guessed her secret had she not lowered her lashes just a fraction when he’d said the word hiding.

  But what?

  The
satchel!

  With a curse, he dropped her hand and reached for the leather satchel she’d kept snug against her body since yesterday’s attack. She tried to twist to stop him, but with the pearl in her hand, was unable to prevent him from yanking the strap over her head and down one arm. She grabbed at the bag then, but not enough to prevent Rory from tearing it open.

  A box! A small wooden box.

  With a triumphant glance her way, he wrenched the lid open.

  “Nay! Please—”

  She bit down on the plea with a noise not unlike a sob, but Rory’s attention was caught by the contents.

  Two pouches rested atop a folded tapestry. He lifted a pouch and poured the jewels out.

  An agate, as big around as his thumb, shined up at him. Hurrying now, he dumped the other pouch over, revealing a large sapphire whose facets caught the afternoon sun. Both were smooth on one side, as if they’d been set into a piece of jewelry like his pearl.

  Sucking in a pleased breath, he glanced at her with a raised brow. She was staring, stricken, down at the jewels.

  “Ye ken exactly how to please a pirate, lass,” he crooned.

  Slowly, she shook her head, reaching for the box with the hand holding the pearl. He lifted it out of her reach and tsked quietly.

  “Ye’ve been keeping secrets.”

  Swallowing, she turned anguished eyes to him. “Ye said ye were honorable.” Her chin jutted out mulishly, and the look in her eyes slowly turned to anger. “Ye said ye were honorable.”

  “Aye,” he taunted, knowing he’d rather have her angry than distraught. “But that was about the matter of yer body. Yer verra, verra fine body.” He made a point of dragging his approving gaze to her tits and back up again. “This is about jewels.”

  Her eyes flashed with golden fire, but she swallowed against. “They’re mine.”

  He grinned. “No’ anymore.”

  “Ye bastard!” she hissed, jerking her wrist fruitlessly. “Ye whoreson! Give them back!”

  “Nay.” When she was livid at him, she was a formidable opponent. But if he allowed her to turn anguished eyes on him again, he knew himself well enough to know he’d lose out on these magnificent jewels which matched his pearl. “I’ll no’ give them back willingly.” An idea came to him. “But mayhap a trade…”