7 RANKIN’S RUSE
ALONE IN THE sleeping area of Rankin’s quarters, Liza eyed the bowl of cold water and cake of coarse lye soap the youngest of the pirates, a lad named Rabbie, had just brought in. A linen drying sheet lay next to the bowl on the table in the corner of the cramped space.
She was loath to touch any of it.
Instead, she flexed her hands at her sides and swiveled, her gaze taking in the large straw-stuffed mattress upon a wooden pallet behind her. Covered with woolen blankets and sheepskins, it might have been a welcoming bed—in other circumstances.
However, in this one, the sight of Captain Rankin’s bed made her stomach roll over.
The Lord have mercy, she wasn’t sure she could go through with this. The moment he touched her, she’d turn into a clawing, spitting cat.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she counted slowly to ten, and as she did so, her rising panic settled, just a little. Her throat constricted, and the urge to weep was so strong that her eyelids started to sting.
“Courage, Liza,” she whispered shakily, opening her eyes once more. “This time tomorrow, ye shall be sitting in the laird’s seat in Moy Castle, Craeg on yer knee. Leod will be dead.”
That last sentence made heat flare under her ribs. She’d never thought of herself as vengeful, but that was before her husband tried to kill her. Leod’s callous words returned to her then. The bastard had said their son would be better off without her.
Soon, he’d eat his words.
Her gaze settled once more on the washbowl, and, dragging in a deep breath, she stepped toward it.
She started to unlace the front of her surcote, jaw clenching as her hands trembled and her fingers fumbled.
“Rankin’s a base knave,” she muttered, shrugging off the surcote before unlacing the kirtle beneath. “But he’s my weapon to wield.”
The fire burning in her chest started to pulse, even as her throat grew unbearably tight.
It was a dangerous bargain she’d struck, yet the pirate had backed her into a corner. She needed his help, and he’d exploited her desperation. Lord, how she hated him for it. But she had to remind herself that he was the only person who could get her son back.
She needed to hold that in her mind while he rutted her.
Sweating, as she imagined the pirate’s hands on her, Liza stripped down to the filmy lèine she wore under her kirtle and surcote. She’d keep this on.
The water was freezing, and the soap was gritty and abrasive, better suited to washing laundry than skin. Liza went through her ablutions swiftly, washing under her arms and breasts, and between her legs. She then uncoiled the messy braid from around the crown of her head.
Her hair was sticky from three days out in the salty wind. Lathering up her heavy tresses, she carefully rinsed her hair before wrapping it up in a drying sheet.
She moved away from the table in the corner then and perched upon the end of the bed, tucking her legs up under her. She didn’t have a comb, so she removed the drying sheet and teased out the knots in her hair with her fingers.
She’d almost finished her task when the creak of the door opening beyond the hanging made her freeze. A few moments later, the curtain drew back, and Captain Rankin slipped into the sleeping area.
Heart pounding, she stared up at him, taking in the way his damp hair hung over his broad shoulders. He too had bathed.
His gaze swept over her, and she held her breath, waiting for him to make an odious, lecherous comment. She’d inherited her mother’s lush curves and knew that the thin material of the lèine that covered them wouldn’t hide much of her modesty. Moments passed though, and he remained silent.
A sob rose up then, clawing at her throat, but she swallowed it down. Even so, her vision blurred. Mother Mary, how would she get through this?
Alec viewed the woman seated, legs folded under her, upon the edge of his bed.
Christ’s bones, he’d never seen anything lovelier than Liza Maclean clad in nothing but a translucent tunic, combing out her wet hair over one shoulder.
He took in every detail, storing it away.
He liked the way the thin linen strained against her heavy breasts, revealing the shadow of her dark, peaked nipples. The light from the single lantern hanging from the roof gleamed on her tawny skin and turned her dark eyes into limpid pools. It also highlighted her proud bone structure and strong features. And that hair. Earlier, it had been coiled in a tight braid, yet freed, it was a dark-brown mane with hints of red in its depths.
Aye, she was a siren all right. A woman torn from his dreams.
And she was waiting for him. His, for one night. All he had to do was rip the lèine off that sinful body and help himself.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he noted the tension in her face, the way her eyes gleamed with unshed tears, and the slight tremor that rippled through her.
“Ye have made yerself comfortable, I see,” he murmured.
She stared back at him, her smooth throat working as she swallowed.
He could smell her fear, and he marked the sharp rise and fall of those magnificent breasts.
It was time to put the poor woman out of her misery.
Crossing to the bed, and marking the way she flinched at his approach, he retrieved a woolen blanket and passed it to her. “Here … wrap this around yerself.”
Her dark eyes were wide and glassy, yet she obeyed, slinging the blanket around her shoulders and drawing it about her body.
Alec then pulled up a stool and lowered himself onto it. “Ye need not worry,” he said, meeting her gaze once more. “I shall not touch ye.”
Liza stared back at him, confusion clouding her eyes. However, the tension that shivered off her didn’t abate. She didn’t believe him.
“Apologies for putting ye through all that lecherous talk today,” he continued, “but … I had to make this look convincing.”
She still didn’t reply. Instead, the woman watched him as if he’d sprouted devil horns and a forked tail.
Alec sighed. He didn’t like seeing her so cowed. “It was all a ruse, Liza.”
She blinked before giving a gasp that sounded like a swallowed sob. “A ruse?”
“Aye.” He flashed her a half-smile. “Things aren’t always as they appear.”
“I don’t understand,” she said huskily, her gaze still shining with tears.
Alec grimaced before raking a hand through his damp hair. He’d bathed briefly on deck, suffering a ribbing from his crew as he’d done so. It was all part of the deception he’d woven, and so he’d gone along with it. All the same, he wasn’t a ravisher and didn’t enjoy pretending to be one.
It had been necessary though.
“I did it to fool my crew … I wanted them to think I’d take advantage of a desperate woman for my own ends.”
A groove etched between her eyebrows, confusion shadowing her eyes. Her throat worked then as she struggled to master herself. “Why?”
“Reputation is a fragile thing,” he replied with a shrug. “Hard to build and easy to lose.”
She frowned, and Alec’s gut tightened. He could see he wasn’t going to get away with a vague explanation.
“Aye, I’ve plundered and murdered … but I’ve always drawn the line at rape.” His mouth twisted. “A while back, one of my crew ravished a woman on a merchant cog and I killed him for it.” Her eyes widened at this admission, but he pushed on. “However, of late, the lads have started to doubt me. It’s not just because we leave the Macleans of Mull alone either … I’m simply not as bloodthirsty as I once was. We haven’t reived as much over the past year, and the men grow restless. They sniff weakness out like hounds. I had to do something to win them over.”
Alec broke off then, embarrassed at being so frank with her.
Liza drew herself up, even as her fingers clasping the blanket tightened. “And has yer ruse worked?” Anger crept into her voice now, her spine straightening. Alec sensed her rising outrage, although he couldn’t blame her for it. He’d manipulated the woman, after all.
“Time will tell,” he replied. “I’ve done my best to get them back on side of late … but they were still on the cusp of turning mutinous.” He paused, shaking his head. “And so, when ye asked me to help, I decided to twist this situation to my advantage.”
A muscle flexed in her jaw. A shiver rippled through her then. “So, ye have tricked them all?”
“Aye, except Cory. My first mate is the only one among them I trust.”
“I imagined pirate crews were bonded,” she said roughly, her mouth pursing with distaste, “like families.”
He snorted. “Ye grow close with time, aye … but I’d be a fool to think my crewmates look on me as their brother. Always watch yer back when dealing with cut-throats.”
He rose to his feet then, suddenly on edge. He wasn’t used to speaking so frankly, to exposing himself like this. “I could do with a cup of wine. Do ye want one?” Not waiting for her answer, he pushed aside the curtain, went to the sideboard, and helped himself to a clay bottle and two wooden cups. Beyond, he could hear drunken, slightly off-key singing. The lads were already into the ale.
They were all in high spirits this eve, looking forward to spilling some blood the following day and getting their hands on the loot. Earlier, they’d slapped him on the back and grinned as he’d made his way toward his cabin.
“Make her squeal, Captain!” Athol had called out.
“Aye, give her one for me!” Bryce had added with a leer.
Alec had kept his smile fixed in place, even if he’d itched to draw his dirk and go for the bastards. Their eagerness made anger clench in his gut. All the same, he was aware he’d set a precedent now. If he punished any of them for harassing or ravishing women in the future, he’d look like a hypocrite.