Captured by the Pirate Laird Read online

“No?” Mara pressed.

  With a sigh, Anne explained what had happened and why she’d been found alone in her stateroom. “You see, I’ve no idea what he looks like. He’s eight and fifty. At that age, I am not convinced I want to meet him.”

  Mara shuddered. “I shouldna let John leave this morning.”

  John’s gone? Already? A rock formed in the pit of Anne’s stomach. “’Tis nothing that can be helped. I cannot stay here. I’d take a skiff and row down the coast if I thought it safe.”

  “I wouldna think twice about doing that. Ye’d be taken by Gypsies or worse.”

  “Gypsies? In the Highlands?”

  “Aye, they’re everywhere.” Mara ran her hands over her linen wimple. “Are ye comfortable here?”

  Anne spread her arms wide. “I’m staying in the laird’s chamber. That’s a situation which cannot last.”

  Mara took the seat across from Anne. At Titchfield House it would be unheard of for a servant to take a seat uninvited, but one look at Mara’s angelic face and Anne didn’t mind. Mara had an endearing air about her, and Anne needed a friend now more than ever.

  The Scottish woman leaned forward with a sly grin, as if she had a secret she couldn’t keep. “He likes ye.”

  Anne picked up her spoon and studied her porridge, praying the fire in her cheeks hadn’t resulted in a brilliant blush. “My heavens. What are you talking about?”

  “Calum.” Mara sat up, appearing satisfied with herself. “He looks at ye the way a starvin’ man eyes a leg of lamb—same way John looks at me.”

  Anne fought her smile by forcing the corners of her mouth into a frown. “Oh please. There must be hundreds of eligible women in the Hebrides who could win the laird’s affections.”

  “A few have come to Raasay on their father’s arm, but they always go home with long faces.”

  “Why would that be? Surely Calum would want an heir.”

  “Of course he does, but he’s a difficult man to please—stubborn like all Highlanders if ye ask me.” Mara sprang up and studied Anne’s handiwork. “I think he wants to marry for love.” Her voice trailed off, as if that were the most romantic thought she’d ever had.

  “Marry for love?” Anne shook her head—that was a fantasy she could ill afford. “You must be daft.”

  Mara crossed to the bed and slammed her fist into a red satin pillow, giving it a hearty fluff. “Why would ye think that? I fell in love with John. Heavens, I cannot imagine being married to any other man.”

  Anne scooped a spoon of porridge. Calum probably hadn’t chosen a wife because he was too busy privateering. “May I ask you a sensitive question?”

  “Hmm. Ask it and I’ll tell ye if I’m able to answer.”

  Anne set down her spoon and dabbed her lips with the cloth. “What’s it like—ah—being married to someone you love?”

  Mara smiled as if she’d opened a window to a field full of fragrant blooms. “Tis like sleeping with yer dearest friend every night.” She lifted her hand across to her shoulder and it skimmed down to her wrist. “Except he’s a brawny man, and in his arms I feel safe and protected…and loved. As if I’m queen over all the Earth.”

  Mara’s gaze turned distant. With a turn of her head, she shook her finger at Anne. “Ye should have seen Calum when ye were dancing last night. I thought he’d go mad watching ye with the others.”

  Anne again frowned, fighting her urge to smile. “I’m his prisoner. Under his protection until he can deliver me to the baron. ’Tis all.”

  “Think what ye like. I ken what I saw.” Mara bustled to the door. “I must away. I have to find somewhere to store all the food from the Flying Swan, see to the day’s meals, change the linens, see to the sick—there’s a nasty cough going ’round—Oh yes, and there’s never enough time for all the housekeeping.”

  “You’re not doing all those things yourself?”

  “Aye, who else?”

  “Mara, you cannot possibly think you can take on everything and still maintain your sanity.”

  “Well, someone’s got to do it.”

  “You’re right, someone must, but not you. I have experience as the mistress of an estate. Your job is to see the tasks done to your satisfaction.” She held up her finger. “It is not for you to do them yourself.”

  “But what am I to do? Everyone is busy. They’ll think me a laggard if I dunna pull me weight.”

  “They will not. They will respect you for your clever management. Let me dress and I’ll watch you work. If the keep looks anything like it did yesterday, you could use a lesson or two from an earl’s daughter.”

  Mara smoothed a hand down her worn kirtle. “I dunna know.”

  Anne threw open the lid of her trunk and found her apron. “What harm is there? Besides, I must do something rather than sit in this dank chamber waiting to be whisked back to England.”

  ***

  Calum took a skiff over to the Flying Swan right after John left for Applecross on the mainland.

  Walking the deck with his boatswain, Robert, Calum discussed necessary changes. “We need to rid ourselves of the obvious signs, like the swan maiden on the bow.”

  “What shall we name her?”

  The first thing that came to Calum’s mind was Lady Anne. That wouldn’t do. It would remind him of her long after the woman was gone—haunt him even. “Let’s call her The Golden Sun.” He ran his fingers along the rigging. “’Twill remind everyone of our crest, yet will no’ drive anyone to suspect the MacLeod’s of Raasay.”

  “The Golden Sun?” The boatswain scratched his chin. “I like it.”

  Calum patted Robert’s back and led him to the captain’s cabin, tossing his satchel on the bed. Together they went over the drawings of the ship and pointed out where the carpenters could make changes so the ship could no longer be recognized as the Flying Swan. It wouldn’t take much—adding a cannon portal on each side, changing the shape of the bow, adding a poop deck—all subtle changes to make the ship unrecognizable.

  “How much time do ye need?” Calum asked.

  “Two, mayhap three months, given we have the materials.”

  “Good. Check the stores and get back to me with a more definite timeline. I’ve heard word the Spaniards are hauling loads of silver from the New World and Sir John Hawkins is the only one plundering.” He leaned in. “I want a piece of that.”

  Robert rubbed his hands together. “Aye, captain. I’ll have the carpenters start on it straight away.” His eyes strayed to the satchel. “Are ye planning on staying on the ship?”

  “I thought about it.”

  “Has it anything to do with the English lassie ye were dancing up a storm with last eve?”

  Calum bristled, yanked open the satchel, and pulled out a shirt. “What of her?”

  Robert ran a hand across his beard. “So you’re hiding from the clan?”

  “Never.” Calum threw the shirt on the bed. “I’m putting a safe distance between me and what I ken I shouldn’t be trifling with. Mind yer step when ye leave. The rain’s made the deck slippery and a fellow can end up in the sea with no one to throw him a rope.”

  ***

  “You cannot read or write?” Anne asked and then cringed. She was well aware few had access to tutors as she had.

  “Nay, milady.” Mara threw up her arms and walked toward the kitchen door.

  “Wait. Forgive me. I can be a muttonhead at times.” Anne patted the bench beside her and motioned for Mara to resume her seat at the table. “You could draw pictures and use ticks to count the number of barrels.”

  “But why is it so important to record the inventory? When we run out, we’re out.”

  “If you know how many barrels of oats you have, you can determine when you’ll run out. It will help you plan for sewing seed—you might even have enough of something to sell.” She avoided suggesting they send a ship out and steal it. After all, she wanted them to become self-sufficient so they wouldn’t need to plunder English ships.

  Ma
ra opened her mouth as if to object but shut it. Leaning forward, she looked at the parchment.

  Anne drew a bowl with a squiggly line across the top. “This could be your sign for oats.”

  “Aye, that looks like a bowl of porridge.”

  “Good. How many barrels did you count?”

  “Ten.”

  “Easy, just make ten marks like this.” She drew precise strikes in a row beside the picture. “When you open a new barrel, put a line through it like this—Now how many barrels of oats are left?”

  Mara hesitated, but didn’t need to count the tick marks. “Nine.”

  “Do you know how often the keep goes through a barrel of oats?”

  “It takes about a fortnight.”

  “So how many weeks do you have in store?” Anne held her breath, praying the math wouldn’t be difficult for someone with no education.

  Mara looked at the paper and counted twice for every tick.

  “Eighteen weeks?”

  Anne clapped her hands. “Exactly! You’re very good at this.”

  “Ye think?”

  “I know it. It comes natural to you.”

  Grinning, Mara sat a bit taller.

  By the midday meal, they had all the food stores inventoried. Anne’s heart swelled with pride when she watched Mara show the cooks how to mark off items when they pulled things out of the larder.

  Even Friar Pat came by the kitchen and inspected the morning’s work. “Calum will be pleased.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Aye, child.”

  Anne looked at his brown habit and bit her bottom lip. “I hope I won’t go to hell over this.”

  “And why would ye say that?”

  “I’m helping the enemy manage their stolen wares.”

  “First of all, we’re no’ the enemy.” He grasped her shoulders. “And secondly, these people are starvin’. Aye, Calum may have taken the Flying Swan, but he did it for a good cause.”

  “Men were killed.”

  “He tries to spare as many lives as possible, but this is war. Do ye ken what the English have done to our lands? Do ye ken about the embargoes?” The friar dropped his hands and shook his head. “They left us with nay other choice.”

  Anne wanted to believe him, but sighed. She was definitely going to hell. “Will you bless me, Father?” After all, her family had secretly remained Catholic. At least she needn’t hide it on Raasay.

  “Aye, child.” He placed his hand on Anne’s head and made the sign of the cross, reciting Latin prayers.

  By supper, Anne and Mara had organized a cleaning schedule and had assigned all women to specific tasks. Mara’s face glowed with amazement at how much easier it would be for each person to have their own area of responsibility. No one would be overburdened, and if things went as planned, Mara would have idle time in the afternoon.

  Anne sat beside Mara at the kitchen table, enjoying a cup of warm milk. Mara bit her bottom lip. “I’m a bit worried on how to go about telling everyone about it.”

  “I think you should do it at the evening meal—have Calum announce it. You’ll have far more cooperation if he shows his support.”

  ***

  When the bell rang for supper, Anne stood along the wall and watched the clan pour into the hall. She gazed past the door, searching for Calum. Norman sauntered past, his shoulder brushing Anne’s. “He’ll nay be coming.”

  “Oh?” Anne lifted her chin, giving him her best show of indifference.

  “He sent a message with Robert saying the ship needed his undivided attention for a few days.” Norman grasped her elbow. “Let me escort ye to the table.”

  Prickles of warning fired across Anne’s skin. The hold Norman had on her arm was none too gentle and he reeked of whisky. She pulled back, but he held fast.

  “’Tis no proper way for a married woman to act, flaunting herself so.”

  Anne jerked her arm away. “Pardon me? I have done nothing of the sort.”

  “I saw the way he ogled ye while you gaily danced away last eve.” He stopped and faced her. “Have ye forgotten you’re a hostage?”

  “The fact has not left my mind for one minute.”

  “If it were up to me, ye’d be locked in the tower, just as the English do to our kin when they’re captured.” He leaned close and inhaled. “Ye should smell like shite, yet ye’ve been treated like some sort of highborn lassie, sleeping in the laird’s chamber, traipsing around the keep in all yer finery like the damnable Queen of England.”

  “If my presence in the hall offends you, then I shall happily retire from your sight.”

  Anne didn’t wait for his reply. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she raced from the hall. Mara called after her, but Anne continued up the stairs. She was Calum’s guest and the wife of one of his bitter enemies. Is that why he was staying away? Was he hiding from her?

  Anne returned to her chamber and locked the door. She wrung her hands. Blast Calum for kissing her. He had taken advantage of her weakness and her inexperience.

  For a moment, she paced her room, hands clenched tight. Tears stung the back of her eyes, welled hot and salty. She threw herself onto the bed, and beat a fist into a pillow. With every hit, she muttered, “The sooner I am gone from this place…the better!”

  Anger surged hot, and ebbed, leaving her limp as a doll. Pushing her face into the pillow, she gave into the tears, her shoulders shuddering as she wept.

  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?”

&
nbsp; “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.