The Highlander’s Pirate Bride (Sparks and Tartans #10)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

“ L ass, ye’ve bested me after all. But nae by fair means.”

“Be silent ye foolish rogue.” Her face was burning and Maxwell took some small satisfaction in observing how his contempt unsettled her.

“Ah. I understand now.” He grinned, snatching a deep breath, hiding the surge of rage threatening to set him on fire, casting his glance over the other two, who stood in silence beside their Captain, seemingly unsure of what she might wish them to do. “Ye desire tae keep me by yer side, tae toy wi’ me and use me as yer bedmate whenever ye wish.” He laughed again, softly and with menace. “While, I’m happy tae oblige yer whims lass, I’ll be requiring that feather bed ye spoke of if I’m tae dae what ye ask of me.”

Aileen glared at him, huffing loudly. She opened her mouth and it seemed she was about to make a retort, when a shudder rippled through the cabin.

“We’ve raised the anchor Captain.” Séamus rested his hand on the table as the ship rolled. “We’re already moving into mid-stream.”

Maxwell swore under his breath. Once the damned ship sailed, he had little hope of getting away. At least until they made their next landfall.

Aileen lifted her head. “Aye. I left orders that the crew were to take up their oars once I was secure on board.”

She swiveled and turned her gaze on Maxwell. “Ye’d dae well tae wipe that smirk off yer face Maxwell MacNeil. ‘Tis nay ye I want. If ye didnae resemble yer older braither so closely I’d nay have brought ye here. The Laird Everard MacNeil is the man I want.”

At hearing this, Maxwell drew his brows together in a forbidding glare. “A curse on all of ye,” he snapped. “What d’ye wish wi’ me braither?”

“I am doing the bidding of Laird Andrew Sutherland.” She raised a brow. “I daresay ye would ken him as a sworn enemy of the MacNeils. Sutherland will deal wi’ Everard MacNeil in his dungeons.” Aileen cast a rueful glance at Maxwell. “And ye? Why we’ll have nay need of ye once I have Everard.” She gave a careless shrug. “But nay matter. Ye’ll dae as bait fer the trap I’ll lay fer him. I daresay, he’ll soon be searching fer ye.”

Maxwell groaned inwardly. Of course, the lass was right. Everard would never rest until he’d done everything, he could to track his captive brother and bring him safely home. For years he had attempted to thwart the pirates use of the islands around Barra for their evil purposes. In the process of blockading the passage with his own vessels, Everard had earned Andrew Sutherlands undying enmity. If only there was some way he could warn him not to seek him out.

Maxwell wrenched his arms, rattling the chains holding him fast, earning a scathing glance from the man they called Sea.

“Lad,” he glared at the man. “Can ye help me tae stand? ‘Tis uncomfortable and unseemly fer me tae lie at yer feet.”

Séamus looked to Aileen for her assent to the captive’s request.

“Aye.” She did not look at Maxwell as she spoke. Ashamed perhaps? He took some pleasure in this small victory and Séamus leaned down and half-heartedly assisted Maxwell to his feet. He stood, swaying, glowering at Aileen.

“And now, take these chains off my ankles,” he commanded.

She cast him a scornful look, forcing him to modify his tone and add a hint of pleading. “If ye please milady.” This earned a half-smile from those lush lips of hers.

“If yer wee boat is sailing already, there’s nay place I can walk save to the railing to relieve myself. Ye’ve naught to fear from me if ye unbind me feet.”

Again, Séamus looked to Aileen and, again, she nodded without glancing at Maxwell.

He grunted. Yet another small concession. It would not take him long to convince them to unleash his arms. Even if it meant he would need to take up an oar to prove he meant no harm.

However, for the time being, he was content enough that he could move his legs freely. Well, as content as a man held captive could be.

“Ye can sleep on the deck wi’ the oarsmen.” Séamus bent to relieve the chains, regarding Maxwell with narrowed eyes. “Methinks ye’ll soon freeze tae death if ye attempt tae swim to shore.” He wheezed a malevolent snort of laughter.

“If I’m tae sleep with the rough galley men I’ll expect me shackles to come off me arms. I dinnae trust those brutes.”

“Ye must take us for fools, MacNeil.” Aileen shrugged. “Ye’ll sleep in yer chains or nae at all. ‘Tis nay me concern.”

“Mayhap it is nae.” Maxwell flung at her. “But ye’ve the makings of a lady and I thought ye may have some compassion fer a man that no so long hence ye were kissing and pressing with yer body.”

“I’m nay lady. I’d have thought ye’d have kent that by now.”

“Aye. Ye may be a pirate but ye can still have the manners of a high-born lass. Mayhap ye’re nay the hard lass ye play at being.”

She hesitated and Maxwell thought for an instant she would weaken. But she tossed her head. “Give him his cloak Finn, he’ll be needing it on deck. Ye’ll spend the night in chains MacNeil and I’ll see tae ye in the morning.”

He growled a curse at her as Séamus led him out to the deck. There, he hunkered down among the oarsmen amid a series of grumbles and mutterings at their being disturbed while he rolled clumsily in his cloak, the chains clanking, trying to maintain his body heat.

Lying awake, he stared into the void. A smattering of stars winked back at him from the wintry sky. This was a long way from the feather bed the lass had promised. He should have known by then that following the whims of his cock could lead him to trouble. But, thank the good Lord the weather was fine. There was a wind to fill the sails and spare the oarsmen, but no sleet or snow or rain that could be the fate of any Highlander who slept outdoors.

It was a long while before he allowed his clenched fists to unfurl and for the tightness in his chest to release, allowing him to sleep at last.

The sky was grey with pre-dawn light when he was wakened by Sea’s boot in his backside.

“Captain wishes tae see ye in the cabin.”

Maxwell grunted, his head thumping sorely where he had been hit, and rolled over, levering himself to his feet while Sea stood by, stamping his feet with impatience.

“I’d be damned faster getting to me feet if ye took off these shackles, ye knave.”

Sea snorted, turned on his heel and headed along the deck with Maxwell following. He ducked his head as he entered the tight space of the cabin to find Aileen seated at the table breaking her fast. She stood as he entered and he was surprised to see that she wore long, knitted, fingerless gloves that reached above her elbows.

Her long hair had been tamed and hung down her back in a thick braid and she was clad in a long-sleeved linen shirt covered by a leather, fur-lined tunic. She’d dispensed with the skirt she had had on the previous night, replacing it with a pair of black britches. He looked her up and down observing, with a twist of pleasure, the way the fabric of her trews clung to her shapely hips.

He dropped a courtly bow, favoring her with a mocking smile. “Good morrow, Captain.”

She fixed him with her clear, green eyes. ‘I trust ye slept comfortably?” She spoke with all the concern of an innkeeper’s wife, concerned about the wellbeing of an honored guest.

He laughed. “Indeed, Captain. Yer pirate hospitality is second to none. Mayhap I’ll return the favor one of these dark nights and have ye sleeping in the bonny dungeon at Barra Castle”

The benign expression on Aileen’s face faded, replaced by the now-familiar scowl.

“Sit, MacNeil. Break yer fast.” She proffered a plate of sliced black-pudding, hard-boiled eggs and oatcakes, which Maxwell eyed hungrily.

“That’s a kind invitation, Captain, but if I’m to accept I’ll need yer man tae remove these chains holding me arms.” He snorted. “Unless, of course, ye intend tae feed me with yer own fair hands.”

Her scowl deepened and she turned to Sea. “Ye heard the man, Sea. Release his arms.”

Sea hesitated, his rugged features reflecting his concern at her command.

“I trust ye’ll keep an eye on our prisoner and if he displays any unwarranted behavior, I expect ye’ll deal with it at once.”

Sea was holding the ebony rod Aileen had cracked Maxwell’s head with the night before. As Maxwell’s eyes lit on it, he shifted the brutal weapon from hand to hand. His threat was clear. Should there be any move from Maxwell not to Sea’s liking, he’d waste no time in applying it.

Maxwell nodded to Sea. “Dinnae fash, fellow. I’ve nay experience in sailing a pirate ship so ye can rest assured I’ll nae try any smart moves while I’m in yer company.”

A hint of a smile played on the man’s harsh features, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod as he lowered his truncheon. After unfastening the lock holding the chains, Sea unwound the weighty length from around Maxell’s arms. With a nod to Aileen, he straightened and walked the two steps to the door. “If ye need me Captain, I’ll be conferring with the sail master.”

Maxwell shook his arms, feeling the blood rushing painfully back into his veins. Once movement returned to his hands, he pulled out a chair and sat facing the now seated Aileen. She surveyed him with an expression that told him nothing of her thoughts, as he assembled his features into a bland expression that hid his admiration as he, in turn, studied her.

He helped himself to a bannock and a generous slice of black pudding.

“And, fair lady, can ye inform me where we’re heading this day?”

“Why, ye can ask, but whether I inform ye of me plans is another matter.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ah, ye’re a difficult lass.”

She looked at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised while he chewed on the bannock. “Had ye nae already figured that out, MacNeil?”

He helped himself to another slice of pudding and looked up with a wry smile. “I dae believe I had grasped that fact before now, Captain.”

He was enjoying this sparring of wits almost as much as the pleasure he’d taken in their bout outside the tavern and the kiss that followed. She guarded herself well, always ready with a cutting reply, but he sensed there was another, more passionate and more vulnerable part of her she kept hidden. A part of her he’d touched briefly when he’d held her in his arms and felt her body melting into his.

It was that part of her that might offer him freedom.

That moment the door swung open and Finn entered the cabin, putting a stop to the sliver of intimacy Maxwell was attempting to bring to his conversation with Aileen.

Finn appeared taken aback to see Maxwell dining at Aileen’s table. She opened her mouth as if to speak and closed it again. Her brown hair was tousled and she tugged her cloak tight around her as if it would offer some protection from Maxwell’s gaze.

“Aileen… Captain… I’ve left the rudder in Sea’s hands, but it looks as if the wind is dropping and the sails are sagging. The Master has said we need to ply our oars if we’re to keep up this pace and reach…” She glanced warily at Maxwell. “…our destination before tonight.”

Aileen nodded. “Why, ‘tis fortunate that we have an extra pair of hands on board then.” She reached for a bannock and smeared it with jam. “A strapping lad who’ll be of use with the other oarsmen. Tell the master tae bring the men down from the rigging and set them tae the oars. I’ll take this lad out meself and see him take his place wi’ the others.”

She bit delicately into her bannock, throwing Maxwell a look that, to his mind, was pure gloating.

Soon thereafter, they walked together along the deck, Aileen a few steps behind him. He felt her eyes boring into his back and swung around once, catching her staring at him. She looked flustered, like a naughty child disturbed in a forbidden act. He laughed softly, amused by her sudden burst of anger at being caught out.

She was alive with contradictions. On one hand she appeared to be unfaltering; a ruthless captain whose hold on her crew was absolute. Yet, there were chinks in her armor that Maxwell was well aware of. He sensed her wanting him every bit as much as he desired her.

He’d felt her mouth on his, heard her moan with desire and knew he could claim her body again, although she would struggle against it.

“Here.” There was a harshness in her tone as she signaled to the leading oarsman. The seven men were settling into their seats, taking up their oars with one oar resting athwart and a vacant space on the bench.

Maxwell took his seat beside one of the men who’d complained about him the night before. He was older than Maxwell, his hands cracked and calloused from his years behind the oars. As Maxwell sat, the man sneered.

“Let us see how ye fare now.” With that she swiveled and without further words headed back along the deck, leaving Maxwell seething. With her orders and her contempt for him, the lass was far too big for her boots. He bit his tongue on a retort aimed at deflating her importance. At least for now, the power rested with Aileen. She was the captain and he was under no illusion that, should she wish it, the Irishman would tip him overboard without a moment’s hesitation.

As he bent himself to the oars, he became heated despite the icy breeze. He removed his cloak and then his shirt, as did most of the other men, displaying brawny arms and strong backs. Determined to gain the friendship of at least one man on board, Maxwell ignored the obvious disdain of the man seated beside him.

“This is nay work fer weak men.”

The man grunted his assent and Maxwell sensed a softening in his attitude.

“Ye’re right, lad. Ye’ll swiftly find out what it means to hold an oar on this vessel.”

In response to his prodding, he discovered that the man’s name was Bran. He was a Viking who’d been captured by the pirates when he and his crew were, themselves, intent on raiding.

At one point, noting that the rhythm of Maxwell’s rowing was growing ragged and threatened to unbalance the rowers, Bran whispered, “Count between strokes, and stay in time with the others. If yer bad rowing sends our ship to the bottom ye’ll die wi’ us.”

Maxwell thanked him and seized an opening. “I ken we’re headed north, Bran.” Two…three…four… “ Can ye tell me where we’re destined for?” Two…three…four. “Is it near or far?” Maxwell held his breath, praying they were not bound to travel any great distance If they were ashore before they travelled much further, he could escape. He could make it to Barra alone, travelling at night.

“I dinnae ken the names of these Scottish places,” Bran said, grudgingly, “Only that it’s the home of Sutherland we’re bound fer.” He pronounced the name as “Southland” but Maxwell quickly surmised he must be speaking of Dunrobin, where the notorious Laird Andrew Sutherland had his castle.

Heart sinking, he gritted his teeth. There was a great distance yet to go to reach Dunrobin and with every hour his chances of escape lessened alarmingly.

It was closing on darkness before the men were relieved of their oars and another group of men took to the benches. Maxwell donned his shirt and cloak, his shoulders aching mightily and his arms quivering like jellies. His palms were covered in blisters. And all this, after only one day at the oars.

His only sustenance since he’d broken his fast had been a bowl of broth served to the rowers when they had had a brief moment’s respite before resuming their task. He was almost mad with hunger when Finn appeared, wrapped from head to toe in a heavy woolen cloak and bade him to follow her.

Her disapproval seemed to radiate in waves toward him and he held back from attempting any conversation. He’d have liked to ply her with questions about the captain and what linked her to that dastardly Sutherland. The answers would come soon enough.

Mayhap Aileen would be waiting in the cabin. His mouth watered as he pictured her there, the table spread with a repast of roast beef, neeps and carrots, and an overflowing jug of warm mead. But his fantasy died with a curt, “Wait here,” from Finn and he was left outside, cooling his heels.

He squatted on the deck, resting his head against a timber stanchion. He was dozing when Aileen’s voice roused him.

“If ye wish tae spend the night out here in the wind, I bid ye good luck, MacNeil. If nae, I’ll invite ye tae join me.”