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

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

M axwell studied her as she pulled open the cupboard and took a large carafe off the shelf. She poured two pots of the ruby liquid and handed one to him.

For the first time since they’d met, she was smiling at him. It was a warm, unfeigned smile from the heart that made him smile in return. The sharp lines around her cheeks had faded, her face glowed in the candle light, her cat’s-eyes sparked as she caught his gaze on her. He caught his breath – she was beautiful.

She raised the pot. “ Slàinte mhath ,” they both chorused and each took a gulp of the stolen French wine.

“Ah. Delicious.” Maxwell sighed. All at once it seemed ridiculous to be sailing a wild sea, crouched in this tiny lean-to with the wind howling and shrieking around them, quaffing the finest of wine in the company of a beautiful woman who had kidnapped him. After all, that woman was a lawless pirate, dangerous and ruthless. He was being held hostage, journeying to God-alone- knows-where, a dubious fate awaiting him. He sighed again and took another mouthful.

“I’ve long heard of yer faither. A man feared by many. I take it that practicing the sweet trade of piracy runs in yer family, Captain.”

Her smile faded and she placed her wine on the table. “Aye, that it daes, MacNeil. Me faither before me, and me braither, whose life was taken much too early. Just as fighting, stealing cattle and land runs in yours.”

Dipping his head, he kept his grin hidden. “Ye’re right, lass. Mayhap ye and meself are nae such different creatures after all.”

She huffed, but he sensed a softening in her attitude that encouraged him to keep on.

“Pray tell me this, what d’ye want with me braither, the laird? Why is it of such import that ye capture him?”

Fer a moment he could see behind her eyes. What he glimpsed was an instant of hurt and despair. Then she shook her head as if dispelling the temptation to tell him more, and when she met his gaze, her eyes told him nothing. The moment was lost, she had closed herself to him.

She leaned over and refilled his wine. “Drink up, lad, ye may never again have an opportunity such as this.”

He grabbed the rough pot and took another swig of the wine, taking a moment to swirl it on his tongue. “If I’m tae earn another superb full-bodied claret such as this, mayhap I need tae save yer life more often.”

“Indeed.” She offered a wry expression. “Me life may well need tae be saved before much time has passed.”

Resisting the urge to ask her any further questions, Maxwell allowed Aileen’s enigmatic words to hang in the air between them. Piracy is a dangerous trade, but is there something else that could put her life in jeopardy?

He was saved from further conversation as the ship gave a sudden lurch, sending the carafe and its remnants of the claret skidding across the tabletop. Aileen grabbed their pots and Maxwell snatched up the carafe as it flew off the table. The ship rolled back in the opposite direction while they braced their feet and clung to the heavy oak table which was held to the floor by stout iron nails.

Aileen stumbled to her feet. “The wind has picked up; I’d best check the crew and the rudder. This is the storm that’s been building all day, we’re still some distance from the nearest shelter.”

She snatched up her cloak and took off, leaving Maxwell holding on as the pitching intensified, his stomach roiling as the sickening heaving and seesawing kept on without respite. He inhaled a deep, steadying breath and slowly exhaled, willing the seasickness away.

“Ye can dae this lad,” he muttered to himself as he levered himself up from the chair and took two swaying steps to the door. He held tight to the timber surround for another moment before launching himself into the darkness where the crew were battling the storm as it spewed foam across the decks and almost swallowed the ship with every wave.

He had no choice but to endure the nausea and his spinning head, and join with the crew.

The sea was surging and boiling, throwing itself at the ship with extraordinary vigor, salty spray rising from the depths and, if Maxwell had not reached the mast and wrapped his arms around it there was every chance he’d have been washed overboard.

Lightning flashed, momentarily lighting their path among the furiously swelling white-caps. Then came the crash of thunder overhead. The storm was all around them.

Already, the oarsmen were at their places as Maxwell stumbled over the deck to join them, the chief oarsman chivying him to take his place with all speed. As they bent their backs to oars, the wind struggled against their pulling and heaving, trying to turn them, the mast dipping, the sea sluicing in relentless deluges as they hauled and stretched in a fight for their lives.

He could only imagine Sea, lashed to the tiller, using all his strength to try and hold steady, perhaps with both Aileen and Finn lending him their strength.

The hours rolled on and Maxwell, scarcely aware of anything beyond the relentless forward and back of the oars, kept time with the other men. He was oblivious to the ache in his shoulders and the sting of the new blisters over where the old blisters were. He joined in their ragged songs, raising their voices to maintain their tired rhythm as the onslaught of the storm kept on.

Then, when it seemed everyone on board would simply collapse, exhausted, and allow the storm to win, the rudder turned, the ship moved closer to shore, and they made their way out of the boiling sea into a calmer, gentler place. They’d entered a naust, a cut in the banks beyond the rocks. A safe haven where a birlinn could ride out the hours until a storm subsided and they could continue on their way.

The men, groaning at their oars, pulled with a new, raw burst of energy. The sailors in the rigging slowly descended to the deck, stretching, revolving their shoulders, breathing deeply after the hours spent aloft among the straining sails.

Aileen and Finn appeared at last. Their faces – although now wreathed in smiles – were harried, displaying purplish-dark half-moons beneath their eyes like bruises, hollowed-out cheeks, skin whiter than white, disheveled hair. All telling their story of the storm.

“Thank ye lads. We’ll shelter in this little cove until the sea is calm again.” Aileen scanned their faces, her glance resting briefly on Maxwell. Then she swiveled on her heel and headed toward the stern.

Maxwell, leaning back on the bench, both hands still gripping his oar, breathed a sigh of relief along with the rest of them. The glance that had passed between himself and Aileen had sent a pulse of heat through his half-frozen body, causing him to hope that now the ship was anchoring, mayhap there’d be another opportunity to talk with her and find out more about the things that troubled him.

He watched her disappearing form and Finn trailing behind her. There’d be no more companionable sharing of wine, and no possibility of continuing the conversation interrupted by the storm. Besides, there were still hours of work ahead as the men labored to put to rights some of the storm-bent wreckage. Not the least of these were shattered railing where, only hours earlier, a barrel had churned through into the sea.

By the time he and the others fell asleep, cocooned in their woolen cloaks on the damp oak decking, he was too tired to spare a thought for Aileen or even escape, before his eyelids slammed shut and he was claimed by a deep, dreamless sleep.

Already awake and stretching his tired limbs, Maxwell looked up in surprise as Finn approached in the shadowy early dawn light.

“I bid ye good morrow, MacNeil.”

He nodded his response. “What de ye wish of me lass?”

She hesitated, studying him briefly as if sizing him up in some way. “There’s a wee market nae far from where we’re anchored. The captain is going ashore to purchase supplies.”

“What concern is this to me?”

“She doesnae trust ye to stay on board without attempting to flee and she doesnae wish ye tae be tied while she’s ashore.” She narrowed her eyes. “Because of this she wishes ye tae accompany her.”

This set his mind reeling. An opportunity presenting itself for him to either spend time at Aileen’s side or to leave her side and make his way back to Barra. He chuckled. “Thank ye, lass. Please tell the Captain I welcome the opportunity that affords me to stretch my legs again on land.” He grinned wryly. Dammit, if nae fer Aileen I’d never have left dry land in the first place . “And I appreciate her wish to spare me from being bound again.”

He gathered his cloak and tied his boots around his neck to ensure they stayed dry and when Aileen appeared along the deck, he was ready. He caught his breath as she neared. Her hair had been combed and floated in a bright cloud around her face and flowed over her shoulders almost reaching her trim waist. She was clad in a fur-lined tunic covering a blue linen blouse. Under this, she had on the same plaid woolen skirt she had worn when they met. He gave an imperceptible nod. She was a fair sight, her beauty shining in her green eyes.

He went swiftly over the side as she waited and descended the rope ladder. As they’d anchored close by rocks, he was able to step from the ladder onto a large rock where the waves lapped and crashed below it.

He rolled up his plaid at his belt, slung his cloak around his neck and when Aileen descended, he took her in his arms. Using the rocks as stepping stones he carried her toward the shore. She stiffened as he tightened his arms around her and he sensed that accepting his assistance did not sit well with her. She was a woman of independence and self-reliance and leaning on his broad shoulders this way would not be something she’d relish.

Yet he delighted in the unexpected opportunity to hold her, to feel her breath on his cheek and feel the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest.

Once he’d left the rocks behind and was knee-deep in the icy water, he was able to wade across to the pebbled shore. Despite her obvious distaste at accepting his aid, she thanked him.

“I’m grateful fer me dry boots, me cloak and skirt fer our foray into the little market. It is never wise to draw attention to the fact that we’ve come from the sea. All these shore-living folk are wary of raiders.”

Maxwell was well aware that years of ruthless raiding, first by Vikings and then by generations of pirates, had resulted in hatred and suspicion from fishermen and others who dwelt by the sea toward any stranger’s vessel. Aileen was wise to keep her profession securely hidden.

Although the storm had passed over, it was a blustery day, with clouds scudding across a forbidding grey sky as they set out along a rocky path on their walk to the small village. They’d not progressed far when Aileen opened the satchel she’d slung across her shoulders and took out a length of fine chain.

His eyes on the chain as she unwound it, Maxwell drew in a sharp breath.

“Are ye planning to shackle me again, Captain? If so, ye’ll need to knock me senseless as ye did before, fer I’ll nae stand still while ye confine me.” He gave a hollow laugh. “Foolish lass.”

He ignored her answering growl.

“Have ye forgotten I can best ye? Why, I could throw ye over me shoulder and make off wi’ ye even as we speak. Ye’re nae match fer my strength and guile. It’s already proven.”

Aileen uttered a frustrated huff. “Dinnae tell me, MacNeil, that ye’re nae thinking of escape.”

“Aye. It has crossed my mind that I could leave ye here and make my way. I’m certain there’d be one or two villagers willing to assist a MacNeil to return to Barra.” He gave her a withering look, a frown drawing his brows together. “Especially if I informed them I was running from a pirate’s ship.”

She paused. “Ye wouldnae…”

“Oh yes I would, Aileen. Ye’d best believe it. But I’ll bargain wi’ ye now. If ye leave me unchained I give me word I’ll nae take flight.”

She looked at him with suspicion dancing in her yellow-green eyes. “I cannae believe ye, MacNeil.”

He had no intention of revealing that he wanted to protect his brother from whatever it was Sutherland had in store, and the best way of doing that was to continue with Aileen and her crew to Castle Dunrobin. Once he found out the nefarious laird’s plans, he could make his own to thwart them.

Not only that. He had closely observed Aileen at every opportunity. Although it was clear enough that she was in command and her crew followed her every direction without hesitation, there were moments when he detected a bleakness in her, a sense that this was not what she wished for herself. He’d noticed both Sea and Finn regarding her with worried eyes. He’d calculated that whatever it was that caused her gaze to cloud over with sadness and despair was linked to Sutherland.

Against all his better judgment, he’d made his mind up to find out more about this bold lass who was like no other.

He snorted. “I’ve given ye me word, Captain. And the word of a MacNeil is as binding as any of those wee shackles ye might restrain me wi’.”

With a reluctant nod, she shoved the length of chain back into the satchel which she flung over her shoulder. “I’ll accept yer word, War Chief. Dinnae make me regret it.”

Once they were in sight of the first scattering of cottages she took his arm, holding tight, as if by her own sheer tenacity, she could keep him from fleeing.

The market was a simple affair. Farmers sat beside their produce: sacks of potatoes, carrots and neeps, trussed up chickens, eggs, bundles of nettles, a wriggling sack of eels, walnuts and blackberries, an occasional tethered pig. Beside them were their wives with their own wares. Black pudding and haggis, baked oatbread, bannocks, oatcakes, pies both sweet and savory, jars of pickles and jams, slabs of butter.

There was a general air of good humor as the local villagers mingled with the farmers, children played hide and seek or knuckle-jacks, while small dogs yapped and ran in circles. Aileen and Maxwell drew many curious glances as they filled the satchel and another sack with supplies. All the while Aileen maintained her strong grip on Maxwell’s arm.

“Lass,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “D’ye have to keep such a hold? I dinnae fancy being taken for a hen-pecked husband whose wee wifey cannae allow him out of her sight.”

She laughed at that and loosened her grip, but did not release him altogether.

He was sorely tempted to wrench his arm out of her grasp. No doubt this would lead to a tussle between them, causing no end of amusement for the watching villagers. He sighed. There was little point in drawing more attention to themselves than was necessary. He resisted the mischievous impulse and stayed docilely at her side.

It crossed his mind that she was enjoying not only this sliver of power, but also taking pleasure in holding him close.

It was only when they left the market and were on their way back to the shore that Aileen released him.