Captured by the Pirate Laird by Amy Jarecki Read Free Book Online Page A

he.
    Sickly
dread stabbed Thomas in the gut. He envisioned a pirate with his kilt hiked up
around his hips forcing his maiden bride. It blinded him with rage. He wanted
to know who this pirate was, damn it. His fists clenched. When I uncover his identity, he will rue the day he was born. And if he
defiles my wife, I’ll make the rutting bastard gag on her blood before I carve
out his bowels and hang him.
    ***
    Anne
clutched the bedclothes under her chin. The air had turned markedly colder on
their voyage north. She’d heard about the bone-chilling wind from the North
Sea. Now March thirtieth, she expected a bit more warmth, but the gooseflesh on
her skin hinted that it might even snow. She shivered.
    She
wished she could pull up her feather duvet and go back to sleep, but that
luxury remained behind, still covering her bed at Titchfield House. From the
hurried footsteps clamoring above, she could tell that the morning’s work had
begun. The anxious voices told her this wasn’t just any morning and curiosity
took hold. She threw back the bedclothes and wrapped her woolen dressing gown
around her shift.
    Footsteps
clomped down the corridor followed by a tap on her door. “Time to break yer
fast, milady.”
    “Come
in.”
    The
tray jostled in Bran’s hands, reflecting his excitement. “We’re rounding
Trotternish on the Isle of Skye. We’ll see Rona and then Raasay within the
hour.”
    Anne
settled her hand on the boy’s brown curls. He reminded her of her brother,
Henry, but there was a world of difference between the two. Henry had succeeded
her father as Earl of Southampton, and Bran stood on gawky legs in a moth-eaten
kilt, his face caked with dirt and sea salt. He looked happy as a puppy, but he
wasn’t wearing his sling. “How is your arm?”
    He
stretched out his hand and jiggled his fingers. “All healed, milady. Yer
ointment fixed me up like new.”
    “I
still want you to be careful for at least another week.” Anne pushed up his
sleeve and examined his arm for bruising. The swelling had gone down and the purple
was fading into an ugly yellow—an unattractive, but sure sign of recovery. “Are
you excited to return home?”
    “Aye,
milady. It’s been a harsh winter and the clan’s starving.” He straightened the
plaid across his shoulder and looked up with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “I
cannot wait to see the look on me ma’s face when she sees the Flying Swan and her cargo.”
    Anne
wanted to share in Bran’s excitement, but these were stolen goods. Arriving in
Raasay filled her with the same trepidation as the thought of arriving at
Alnwick. What would Calum do with her once they arrived? Would she be safe?
Would they take her trunks and divvy out her clothing amongst the heathens?
    After
she’d eaten and dressed in her most modest gown—a woolen frock that showed as
little cleavage as possible, she pulled a cloak around her shoulders and
ventured out to the main deck. The brisk wind cut through her multiple layers
of clothing, took hold of her silk veil and snatched the coronet off her head.
With a squeal, she chased after it. The headpiece was amongst her favorite and
seemed to grow a mind of its own, spiraling across the deck like a blue rogue
sail.
    A
large hand reached out and stopped the coronet before it flew over the rail and
into the sea. Anne’s eyes trailed up the arm to a pair of broad shoulders.
Calum wore his dark auburn hair loose. It shimmered with copper as the wind tossed
stray strands across his face. White teeth flashing with his grin, he pushed his
hair aside.
    The
wind swirled in puffs across Anne’s skin, leaving a tingle behind. She reached
for the rail to steady herself. Calum had shaved his beard. If anything, his smooth,
square jaw brought more prominence to his raw masculinity. She wished she could
reach out and brush her fingers across his unblemished skin.
    Why
did he have to be so rakishly good looking? Curses, every time she looked at
him, he seemed more