Captured by the Pirate Laird (22 page)

Wharton
yanked Anne to his side. “This man is guilty of treason and pirating on the
high seas. He will be hanged, drawn and quartered at dawn on the morrow. His
head will be spiked on the citadel as a warning to all who think to cross me.”

“No,”
Anne croaked. The world around her began to spin out of control. She couldn’t
breathe under her constricting stays. Wharton pulled her into the crowd. She
reached out her hand but guards surrounded Calum.

Without
a word, the baron dragged her into the inn and up to her chamber. He pushed her
inside and slammed the door behind him. “I watched you. You have feelings for
that traitorous cur.”

He
sauntered toward her, and Anne clutched her hands against her chest. “He means
naught to me.”

“What
happened during time you were away? Did he touch you like this?” Wharton yanked
her into his body and ran a chubby hand across her breast. It felt grating,
sick, for it was nothing gentle and nothing like Calum’s touch.

“Of
course not. Calum didn’t know I was aboard the
Flying Swan
. He worked as quickly as he could to return me to
England.” Anne gritted her teeth and feigned her best adoring gaze upon her
unsightly husband. “To you, my lord.”

“Do
not seek to placate me, woman. I can see through your pretty exterior.”

“You
must stop this insanity. I was abducted en route to you. I have done nothing
wrong.”

He
raked his eyes down her body and stepped toward her. “So you say.”

Anne’s
fists flew to her hips. She stood her ground and faced him.

Wharton
wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and tightened his grasp. She
wanted to cry out, but he shoved his mouth onto hers. Anne tried to pull away
but he held her fast. It took every effort to remain calm and allow Wharton to thrust
his tongue in her mouth, but she could not bring herself to respond. She wanted
to bite down. No. That would be a costly mistake.

When
he finished, Anne backed away. He advanced with revulsion in his eyes, rubbing
his hands. “I’ll not have my wife looking at another man. Do you understand?”
With a quick step, he drew his arm back and slammed his fist into her gut.

Anne
doubled over, and he shoved her to the floor.

“Answer
me!”

Sucking
in air, tears burned her eyes. “I-I understand.”

With
a step, he drove the tip of his shoe into her side and pushed her hip into the
hardwood. Anne cowered, cradling her head with her hand. He bent down, picked
her up and tossed her onto the bed.

She
grasped a pillow for protection. “Stop. Please.”

Wharton
untied the front of his breeches and climbed on top of her. Anne pulled her
knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She screamed as he fought to open
her arms and straighten her legs. He lay forward and pinned her under his
weight. Anne struggled, gasping for breath. Her mind flooded with images of the
brute in the stable, forcing her. Calum wasn’t here to fight for her. Wharton
tugged up her gown. Holding her down, he fondled himself. Anne cried out,
writhing beneath him, barely able to breathe.

She
glanced down. He yanked on his manhood with rapid strokes, but it remained
flaccid. He lifted his face to her, his eyes hard. He shoved himself back into
his breeches. “We’ll resume this later when my blood has cooled.”

Anne
rolled out from under him and curled into a ball. The door slammed. He would be
back.
When?

Tears
welled in her eyes and her throat burned with inaudible screams.
They’re going to kill Calum. They cannot.
They cannot.

Gathering
her wits, Anne rose and tiptoed across the room. She pressed her ear to the
door. Everything remained silent. She cracked it open. Two battleaxes crossed
before her. She closed the door, turned the lock, and drew in a ragged breath. As
she feared, she had married a monster. Anne held her head with her hands and
staggered to the bed. She needed her wits. How could she escape this nightmare,
and save Calum from the gallows?

Calum
lay upon a musty bed of straw in the corner of a dank cell. Stone walls encased
him, a small wooden door the only portal to freedom. Still without water, he
ran his rough tongue across cracked lips. And without food, he had lost control
of his wits. His hands shook.
Hanged,
drawn and quartered
. He shuddered, completely aware Wharton would insure a
man wasn’t killed by the hanging. The bastard would want to watch as the
executioner cut Calum open and pull out his innards. It was the most hideous
death imaginable.

Devoid
of light, Calum lost track of time. In and out of consciousness, pain
controlled his mind. He tried to remember how beautiful Anne had looked. His
good hand dropped to the straw, his finger brushed something soft—cloth. He
reached out and brought it to his nose. Anne’s scent. His mind flashed back to
the night she’d given him the kerchief. She’d said she wanted him to have
something to remember her by. Could he ever forget her? No, not even if he
lived to be ninety. He crumpled the kerchief into his fist. He would die with
it there.

The
lash marks on his back throbbed with knife-like sting. Anne had revealed his
home, told them he was from Raasay to stop the lashings. Didn’t she know he’d
rather meet his end than give away his clan? Though she had done it for him, he
needed to warn them.
What was she
thinking?
Trembling, he raised to his elbow and peered across his cell. His
stomach convulsed with dry heaves when he tried to push himself to his knees
and his broken wrist gave way. He traced his good hand over the swelling. He
heaved at the agony of a mere light touch and swallowed back the bile.

Footsteps
approached his cell. They scuffed across the dirt floor as if creeping. A lock
clicked. The door opened and closed quickly. Two soldiers stood over Calum,
holding a torch. “Ye look like ye’ve been through the fires of hell.”

“John?”

“Aye,
and Ian.”

“I
told ye to sail back to Raasay. Is the ship lost?”

“Nay.
Norman has the ship hidden on the Scottish side of the Firth.” They eased him to
his feet. “Put on this uniform. We need to move fast.”

Calum
reached for the trews, but his knees gave out and he stumbled. “I’ve no use of
me left hand.” John helped on his left and Ian on his right.

“Can
ye walk?”

“Not
sure—The rack.”

“Christ,”
John swore. “Ye’ll have to bear it until we can get ye to a horse.”

Calum
gritted his teeth and hissed against the pain of a shirt scraping over his open
wounds, but he held in his bellow. John helped him into his trews and Ian pushed
a helmet onto his head and draped a cloak across his shoulders. Supporting him
under his armpits, the two men helped him past two dead guards and up the
stairs.

Calum
barely maintained consciousness as John and Ian led him through the back
corridors of Carlisle. When the smell of fresh hay wafted to his nose, he knew
they’d arrived at the stables. John pushed a mounting block in front of
him—something only used by women and old men. Calum didn’t balk, but leaned
into them as they helped him step up and throw a leg over a horse.

He
reached for the reins and stopped. He opened his palm, holding the kerchief. “Anne.”

“She’s
with her
husband
now,” John said.

Her husband? That evil monster?
She’ll die.
Calum slid her gift into his pocket. His
head spun. “We need to save her.”

“She’s
lost to us.”

Calum
tried to argue but everything faded. His consciousness blurred in and out. The
pain nearly skewered him but Calum grit his teeth and wrapped his good hand
around the reins. With cloaks pulled close about them, they headed for the
citadel gates. Barred, a soldier stopped them and asked their purpose.

Calum
pulled the helmet down over his face and crouched behind Ian, out of the soldier’s
line of sight.

John
leaned forward in his saddle. “By order of Lord Wharton, we are in pursuit of
the enemy’s men.” John delivered his response with a practiced English accent.

The
soldier leaned around Ian and eyed Calum. John spurred his horse and pulled on
the reins. The steed reared. “Open the gate now, soldier,” John bellowed with
unmistakable command.

The
iron gates groaned as the guards winched them up. The horses’ shod hooves
stuttered on the cobblestones, anxiously anticipating their chance to run
beyond the town gates. Calum’s gut lurched as the gate raised high enough for
them to duck under and ride through. Following John’s lead, Calum and Ian barreled
out, and turned their horses north, fleeing to Scotland.

Calum
grabbed a fistful of mane to keep his seat. Blinded by pain, he fought to keep
his wits. If he survived this, he would kill Thomas Wharton and free Anne from the
demon’s wicked grasp. But now he had no choice but to flee for his life. He must
regain his strength. Without it, he would be of no use to her.

***

Anne
used an eating knife from her luncheon tray to pry open the immobile window. At
the sound of thumping down the corridor, she turned her head and froze for an
instant. Heart pounding, she dashed to the door and pressed her ear against it.
Rapid knocks beat not far away.

A
door creaked. “What the devil?” Wharton’s voice bellowed.

“The
prisoner’s escaped.” Denton’s gravelly voice delivered the curt response.

“That’s
not possible. The man hung on the precipice of death.”

“He
had accomplices.”

Anne’s
mind raced.
Calum has escaped? Praise God
.

Doors
slammed, footsteps thundered back through the corridor and down the wooden
steps. She ran to the window and pulled aside the drapes. Nearly nightfall, the
courtyard amassed in a flurry of turmoil through the distorted view from the
diamond-shaped sections of glass. Her breath fogged the widow as she waited and
watched the scene below. Using the drapes to wipe away the condensation, she
craned her neck. His lordship and a cache of soldiers cantered toward the
gates. Citizens scurried in every direction to avoid being trampled. She
glanced to the ground below her window. It was a bit of a drop, but not so far the
jump would kill her.

The
baron, clad in a coat of shiny armor, disappeared through the citadel gates. A
mass of helmeted heads and blue tunics bobbed, as the soldiers trotted behind
him. How long had Calum been gone before Wharton and the guards discovered him
missing? John must have doubled back. Calum was too weak to escape on his own.
She wondered if he even had the strength to flee but knew the answer. Calum
would hang on. He had far too much to live for.

Anne
whipped around, pulled her trews out from under her mattress and held them up.
She reached back to untie the laces of her bodice when a rap came at her door.
“Your supper, my lady.”

Crabapple
.

“A
moment.” Anne stuffed the clothes back under the bed. She’d need food. It would
be madness to flee until the sun had lost all its light, and the townspeople
had shuttered themselves inside.

Anne
opened the door, and Mrs. Crabapple stepped in. Her stare shifted across the
room as if she suspected Anne of having a hand in Calum’s escape. She tromped
to the table and set down a tray. “Full supper for you. You must have found
favor with his lordship.”

Anne
looked at the slab of roast beef overlapping the pewter plate. A slice of bread
sat on a cloth, and a tankard of ale beside it. With a tsk of her tongue, Anne
asked, “How long do you think I should be punished for my own kidnapping?”

Crabapple
folded her arms and raised her chin. “’Tis not the kidnapping. ’Tis the way you
embarrassed the baron by appearing at the citadel wearing those abominable breeches.”

“I’ll
hope you tell that to the murderous Scot when my husband brings him back to
serve his sentence.” Anne’s skin crawled at her own words, but she needed
Crabapple to think she had accepted her fate, else soldiers would be guarding
her window as well as her door.

Crabapple
cackled. “I’ll watch his execution with great satisfaction.”

Anne
sat at the table and picked up the eating knife. “As will I.”

When
the door closed, Anne shoveled in a few bites of meat and a hunk of bread.
Guzzling the ale, she darted to the washbasin and snatched up the drying cloth.
She wrapped up the remaining food and pushed it into her satchel.

Working
loose her laces, she slipped out of her gown and braided her hair. By the time
she finished dressing in her shirt and trews, nightfall blanketed the town. Anne
glanced across the room and stared at the bed. She pattered over and arranged
the pillows under the bedclothes to give the illusion of a sleeping form
beneath. Hopefully, Crabapple wouldn’t notice her disappearance until
morning—and Wharton would not return this night.

She
snuffed her candles and tried to open the window. The cursed thing still
wouldn’t budge. Anne bore down and used all her weight to force it up. With a
creak that could have awakened the dead, it cracked an inch. Anne snapped her
head around, certain the guards would barrel through her door, but it remained
closed. Now the window was started, it took less effort to push it up far
enough to slip through.

Anne
secured her satchel across her shoulder. It still had her shillings and her
keepsakes. She pulled the bonnet low over her head so it shadowed her face. She
poked her head out and surveyed the courtyard. The hum of the crowd from the
pub buzzed through the air. In the distance, horses clomped across
cobblestones. She heard a voice and cast her gaze to the battlements. Guards
chatted with their backs turned, watching the scene beyond the walls.

Anne
slipped her legs over the sill and slid down until she hung by her fingertips. Closing
her eyes, she released her grip. Her knees burned as she landed in a crouch,
but the pain eased when she straightened. Hugging the brick walls, she tiptoed
through the shadows toward the gates. Soldiers inside the guardhouse chatted. Holding
her breath, Anne slipped past their open door and hid in a recess alongside the
iron gates which barred her from freedom.

Anne
waited, worried her white shirt would pick up the light. She bent down and
swiped her hands over the dirty cobblestones and rubbed the muck across her
clothes and face. Why hadn’t she thought to sully herself with ash from her
chamber hearth?

The
clomp of hooves approached. Anne pressed against the stone wall and held perfectly
still.

The
deep bass of a soldier’s voice echoed through the archway. “Night patrol. Open
the gate.”

The
chain creaked as the gate cranked up. Anne remained frozen in place. The soldiers
rode through. She waited for the last man to ride clear before she slipped out
the gates. She hugged the outer baily walls until she came to a copse of trees.
Motionless, Anne listened. Footsteps on the battlements above walked toward her
and stopped. Trembling, she tried to mold her body into the wall. After an
eternity, the footsteps started again. She waited until the sound faded and then
ran for the cover of the trees.

Her
foot squished into mud, and she crouched down and rolled in it. Holding her
hands up, her fair skin was barely discernible.

Anne
ran until a stitch in her side screamed for her to stop. Panting, she leaned
forward with her hands on her knees. She looked across the shadowy lea around
her, now peppered with trees. Though she must stay away from the path, she had
a good sense of north from the stars overhead and the moon’s position. She
gazed toward the black horizon. She hated the dark, but it was the best time to
move unnoticed. Shoving her satchel tighter over her shoulder, Anne trudged
ahead.

***

Calum
had no idea how he got in the skiff, but he welcomed the sight of the
Sea Dragon
. John and Ian rowed toward
the ship with strong strokes. Calum scanned the shoreline for the enemy and
exhaled a long breath when he saw no one.

The
skiff thudded against the ship and John hauled in the harness. “Help me get shift
into this.”

“I
can do it.” Calum stood, but his head spun the world upside down. The next
thing he knew, he was on his arse in the bottom of the boat.

“Stubborn
Scot.” Ian braced his feet either side of him and lifted. Calum couldn’t stop
the bellow roaring from his gut. Shards of pain shot through the welts on his
back and his eyes rolled back. Calum nearly lost consciousness as John slipped Calum’s
legs through the ropes and shouted, “Pull him up.”

Nausea
clamped his gut. He gripped the ropes with his little remaining strength as the
men hoisted him up the hull of the ship. Calum had nothing left, no fluid.
Nothing. Hands reached over the rail and pulled him onto the deck.

“Holy
Christ, Mother Mary and all the saints. Ye look like ye’ve been to hell and
have no’ made it back yet.”

Calum
couldn’t focus, but he’d recognize Norman’s voice anywhere.