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

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

H olding her breath, Aileen closed her eyes, anticipating the touch of Maxwell’s warm lips on hers. With his rock-hard body pressed against her, she had no hope of resisting him. He was so close she could breathe in the smell of the salt-sea on his face and absorb the fresh scent of the cold wind in his hair.

He stayed as he was for several more seconds and Aileen found herself counting. One… two… three. Then his bulk shifted, he released her pinned arms and stepped away.

She leapt to her feet hardly knowing whether to be enraged at his high-handed treatment or disappointed that the kiss she’d been waiting for had not eventuated. Rubbing her gloved-arms she scowled at him.

“As I said. Ye’re a brute MacNeil.”

His lip curled in a sneer. “And ye? What kind of woman would chain a man who had nae harmed her?”

She turned away so he could not see the doubt in her eyes. “Ye dinnae understand.”

He pshawed loudly. “If ye but explained more of yer purpose in keeping me, mayhap ye’d make sense to me. I ken nay more than that ye are using me as bait tae capture me braither the Laird Everard, and that ye and all yer crew are in thrall to Andrew Sutherland. I dinnae ken what he wants wi’ me braither.”

Aileen hesitated. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him the full story. That her master wished to destroy the MacNeils. For years they had interfered with his ships, at times blockading the passage near to, hampering Sutherland’s ships from journeying south to the mainland with their stolen bounty. Everard MacNeil had cost him dearly by forcing his ships to sail the longer, more dangerous, easterly route to deliver their cargo.

Instead of revealing the truth, she held her tongue. She could withstand Sutherland’s fury at her failure to deliver the Laird MacNeil by compensating him with Maxwell’s capture. Should Maxwell escape, her own father’s life as well as both Finn’s and Séamus’s lives would be at risk. Sutherland would not hesitate to put them both to his sword simply to punish Aileen.

She could never hold Maxwell to his vow once he learned he would be tortured and would meet a shocking death at Sutherland’s hands.

“I’m nae yet at liberty tae answer yer questions, MacNeil.”

He dipped his head, giving her the hint of a bow. “In that case, milady, I shall take me leave. I’ll be more comfortable sleeping on the deck near the other oarsmen than I’d be in here. And I’d like tae remind ye, I’m nae yer prisoner. ‘Tis me choice tae continue wi’ ye all tae Dunrobin Castle.” He swiveled and stormed to the door, wrenched it open and departed into the darkness.

Aileen huffed. The man was altogether too proud for his own good. Let him suffer the cold for the rest of the night. What did she care?

She returned to her hammock, determined not to allow thoughts of Maxwell and his pig-headedness get in the way of what was left of a peaceful night. But, try as she may, the longed-for oblivion in the land of dreams eluded her. She groaned, cursing Maxwell, as her confused thoughts roamed again and again over him. She was in awe of him but she despised him, she wanted his company but she shunned him. Most dangerous of all was her reaction to the press of his body on hers and his closeness. Even as she’d struggled, she’d yearned to enfold him in her arms and let his mouth consume hers.

She’d wanted him to kiss her. Now, curse the man, he’d left her in a flurry of wanting and the feeling her body was being consumed by flames. A strange new aching need robbed her breath, leaving her bedeviled and sorely confused.

Huffing in frustration, she rolled over and stepped out of the hammock. She reached for the bottle of whisky on the shelf and poured herself a dram. As the fiery liquid rolled over her tongue, Aileen reviewed what Maxwell had said. He was accompanying her to Dunrobin Castle of his free will.

Her stomach lurched. Was it possible MacNeil intended to pit himself against Andrew Sutherland? Could he prevail against the laird’s might?

After helping herself to another dram, and considering this new possibility, she returned to her hammock, tucking her fur cloak around her. In no time, she slept, waking before many hours had fled. It was time for them to sail on.

The men were already at their oars when she braced herself against the cold and walked along the deck. Trusting herself with no more than a swift glance, she dwelled for a moment on Maxwell’s broad back as he bent and pulled on the oars. She sighed and turned away, not wanting him to notice her gazing at him with longing.

Although the wind had dropped, there was still a strong breeze blowing and the sail was full. They moved at a good pace, although by now the ocean was becoming rougher as they entered the North Sea, where the weather was always unpredictable.

She joined Ewen, taking her seat beside him, placing her hand on the heavy oak rudder. Séamus and Finn were in the stern along with two of the youngest crew members. Séamus, as the armorer, was in charge of the ship’s weapons, an assortment of two-handed claymores, knives, dirks, lances, and axes, as well as his, Finn’s and Aileen’s own bone-handled dirks. He and the lads were engaged in the constant cleaning and sharpening required as protection against the salt sea-air.

Finn was responsible for tautening the bows and fletching with fresh feathers where they were needed. She grinned at Aileen. “I hear there were certain shenanigans afoot last night with our prisoner.”

Aileen shook her head. “Aye. Shenanigans indeed, but from now on ye need tae ken he’s nay our prisoner.”

Séamus stopped his sharpening of a blade on the whetstone and looked up. “Ye’re nay gullible enough tae believe the lad isnae intent on escaping? Surely nae man in his right mind would wish tae accompany us tae Dunrobin.”

Aileen shook her head. “Mayhap he has lost his mind, but I ken in me heart he willnae escape. I have an idea he intends tae confront the laird.”

Séamus gave a disbelieving snort. “Sutherland will make short work of him.”

“I’m nae so sure of that, Séamus. Ye’ve seen the inks across the lad’s body, along his arms, even on his neck.”

“Aye. I’ve never seen a lad as marked as he is.”

Aileen gave a soft laugh. “Fer each of those marks, ye can count a foe he’s killed. Maxwell MacNeil is the clan War Chief. He’s a renowned warrior so I’d nae discount him in a conflict wi’ Sutherland.”

“I’d like tae see it.” He went back to polishing a heavy two-handed sword.

Finn glanced at Aileen. “Is this yer plan? Tae pit MacNeil against Sutherland so that we can make our way out of Dunrobin and flee tae another place?”

Aileen thought of that for a minute. A possibility was dawning. “I’ve naye plan, Finn. But mayhap me mind is moving in that direction.” A pulse in her throat beat faster as she allowed herself to contemplate freedom from the man to whom she’d been trapped in servitude for too long.

Séamus drove the men hard during the day and into the darkness. He aimed at them making as much distance as possible while the weather held. They rested at their oars, and when the morning came again, with its sky streaked with pink, they were urged on again.

It was only at dusk of their second night of hard slogging, that the men were allowed to take a break.

Aileen conferred with Séamus, Finn and Ewen. “Thanks tae ye and all the men, we’ve made such headway that come tomorrow we’ll be round the headland and heading south toward Dunrobin.”

“Aye.” Séamus managed one of his rare smiles. “And tonight, the men deserve a rest.”

Ewen, his clay pipe between his teeth nodded. “Happy men work harder than surly ones. It so happens that we’re close tae a wee village that has a fine inn that welcomes sailors.”

Aileen laughed. “Ye want me permission taego ashore and carouse the night away.”

Seamus and Finn exchanged looks. Finn grinned. “Och, Captain. Couldnae we all dae wi’ some merriment. The Lord kens there’ll be little mirth once we arrive at Dunrobin.”

This reminder fell on Aileen shoulders like a black cloud. She nodded slowly. “Aye. Time ashore has indeed been earned. I’ll grant the crew one night.” Before Finn could respond, she added, “But make sure there’s nae sore heads slowing us down next day.” She turned to the others, “And that goes fer ye three as well.”

Finn gave her a mischievous look, one eyebrow raised. “And does that apply tae ye also Captain?”

Aileen’s only reply was “Tish, tish tae yer cheek.”

She returned to the cabin, noting her decision in the notes she was writing in the log. She was well aware that Sutherland went over everything, missing nothing, and every hour needed accounting for. But once she’d granted time ashore, there was no accounting for what the men – or herself, for that matter – might get up to.

Once the word circulated that they were heading for land and would be able to spend the night ashore, a cheer went up from the tired crew. Aileen smiled to herself. They’d find new energy to guide the little ship into a safe berth and spend their night in revelry.

Aileen took more care with how she looked than usual, brushing her hair until it floated like a cloud over her shoulders and down her back, a few feather-soft ringlets framing her face. She donned an almost clean, woven, red-wool skirt and white stockings, a pale green linen shirt that she’d been told made much of her green eyes, and a luxurious white fur tunic her father had gifted her long ago.

She told herself that this unwonted fussing was naught to do with Maxwell MacNeil but everything to do with changing her appearance from piratical to something approaching a normal, everyday lass.

With Finn beside her and Séamus guiding them, they stepped over the side into the knee-high water. They had their boots tied around their necks and she and Finn held their skirts and cloaks high, while Séamus had rolled up his kilt and fastened it into his belt. She was surprised and delighted to find Maxwell on the shore awaiting them, holding a lantern high. He’d been in such high dudgeon when they’d last spoken that she’d wondered if he’d ever wish to be anywhere near her again.

He reached out to help her as she took her last steps onto the pebbly beach. Clasping his big hand, she managed to bite her tongue on the words “I can manage very well without your help.” She sparkled a smile of thanks at him instead.

While they put on their boots and adjusted their clothes he waited, an amused smile lighting his face. She couldn’t help noticing that his wild raven-locks had been tied with a leather strip at his nape. Beneath his plaid cloak he wore his same shirt, now torn and grubby and the worse for wear. But someone must have given him a leather vest that covered some of the grime.

She looked him up and down admiringly as they marched along the path leading from the shore to the Flying Fish Inn. Grime or no grime, there was no denying it; Maxwell MacNeil was the finest figure of a man she’d ever clapped eyes on.

“’The inn looks like a place where blood might be shed.” He muttered as they stepped into the noisy, smoky interior, breathing in the smells of peat, ale and sweaty bodies. He threw a glance at Aileen as if expecting her to reel back in horror at his words.

“Aye. ‘Tis a wicked place, MacNeil. All sorts are washed in here from the sea. Smugglers, pirates, and escaping slaves. ‘Tis a place of rowdy brawling sailors and bawdy women.”

MacNeil shook his head. “Nae place fer a lady.”

She threw him an impish, playful look. “I’ll remind ye one more time that I’m nae lady.”

“Och. I kent that when we met in Ullapool. Ye were far too wild fer me tae ever think of ye that way.” She pondered on this as they made their way through the boisterous crowd. They found a small table where they could sit. Four empty tankards were already in place on the table.

He leaned in, whispering. “’Tis yer very wildness and yer fierceness that I admire most about ye.” Chuckling, he allowed his gaze to wander over her from head to toe as she took her seat. “When I’m nae fair stunned by yer bòidhchead that is. Ye’re the bonniest lass I’ve seen.”

“I cannae fathom why ye’d say such a thing,” she said lightly. Her cheeks burned and she turned her face away to hide the pleasure coursing through her at his words.

He reached a hand to cup her chin and turn her head so that she faced him. “Because it’s true Captain. I’ve told ye, I’m a man of my word. Ye’re beautiful.”

At that moment a pretty serving girl with an unlaced blouse displaying an expanse of white and fulsome breasts and a hint of exposed pink nipple, leaned over the table with a jug of ale and filled their tankards.

Aileen grinned. “The lads will have their pleasure this night.”

Finn shot a glance at Séamus, her eyes alight. “Mayhap they’ll nae be the only ones to sate their passion.” With a fond smile she took his hand under the table.

Aileen smiled at her two friends. “’Tis a welcome respite we have. Enjoy it to the full. Once we arrive at Dunrobin there’ll be nay relief.”

A cold stone sank in her stomach as she spoke. This was her last night of freedom. A day’s sailing with fair winds would take them to Dunrobin by the following night. Once the ship set sail there’d be nothing but grinding work until they reached their destination and whatever fate awaited them there.

She shivered pushing thoughts of Dunrobin from her mind.

Turning to Maxwell, she raised her tankard. “ Slàinte Mhath .” She drank a long draft. “Tonight, we should enjoy ourselves with the rest. What say ye?”

“I’m all fer that.” He quaffed the ale. “Tonight, we should lose ourselves in taking our pleasure. Dinnae dwell on whatever fate may have in store.”

Aileen’s pulse quickened. She wanted to reach out and touch him. Tae hell with it. Why should I nae touch the man? Reaching a hesitant hand, she stroked Maxwell’s burly forearm, marveling at the hardness and strength in his arm. For once she wished to shed the fine kidskin gloves she wore. She wanted to feel his warmth under her fingers and toy with the dark hair visible above his strong wrist. She wanted to feel him and she wanted his arms around her.

She took another long draft of the ale and raised the tankard, drawing the innkeeper’s attention.

The man scurried over with another jug of ale. “Why Captain MacAlpin, ‘tis indeed good tae see ye again in me establishment. ‘Tis been long months since ye and yer men were here last. He nodded to Finn, “And yer loyal First Mate, of course.”

“D’ye have the same rooms available fer us tonight, Tam?”

Tam nodded. “I’ve two rooms if ye wish them.”

Aileen glanced at Finn and Séamus who nodded in unison. Finn leaned a little closer to Séamus’s wide shoulder, her eyes lighting up. These two were lovers who rarely spent a night together without the ever-watchful eyes of the crew observing their every move.

The landlord looked pointedly from Aileen to Maxwell. “That’s one room, Captain. D’ye require the other?”

For an instant Aileen was frozen, her head suddenly flushed with the prospect of spending a night with Maxwell. The last time she’d been here she’d spent the night alone in an expansive feather bed, relishing the space, the warmth and the fact that she was alone and far from Andrew Sutherland. Mayhap, tonight she’d relish the comfort even more if she was sharing the bed with MacNeil.

While she wavered, considering this, her heart beating fast against her ribcage, Maxwell, spoke out. His deep voice flowed over her senses, filled with honey and promise. “Aye.” His gaze flickered over her but, clearly, he was not waiting for her to make up her mind. “The captain will take yer second room. She doesnae wish tae spend the night in the barracks wi’ her crew, but enjoying the pleasures of yer bed.”

Tam grinned at Maxwell. “Good lad.” He looked to Aileen for confirmation. “Captain?”

“Och.” The fire was in her cheeks again. “Aye.” She took a deep breath, to steady herself. What she was doing now could never been undone, and if Sutherland heard of it, he might well take his sword to her as he would to Maxwell. “I’ll have yer room.”