The Wicked Ways of Alexander Kidd (The MacGregors: Highland Heirs) (7 page)

“Come.” He tugged her toward his cabin and didn’t look back at Sam or anyone else before he shut the door behind them.

“I can sleep in the cargo hold tonight without the others knowing.”

“Ya’ll sleep in the bed,” he corrected her, letting her go. He leaned against the door to watch her while she turned, pale, and had a long look at the bed.

“And where will ye be sleeping?” she asked, returning her attention to him, chin raised.

He had to grin at her resolve. Her inner strength wasn’t something taught but rather it flowed through her veins from the blood of her kin. He found her damned sexy. So much more so than the whores he paid for. He thought she deserved his approval and his appreciation, but her fire tempted him to pillage her.

“I’ll be sleepin’ in my bed, as well.”

Her eyes widened to delightful proportions, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. “I’ll throw myself overboard first.”

He considered her vow and remembered that she had
already escaped from his hold. “Can ya escape any lock then?” He clicked the lock on his door and took a step toward her. Perhaps it was her cousin who knew how to—

“Mostly any,” she replied, taking a step back.

He quirked his mouth and tilted his head at her. She piqued his interest. What kind of life had she led in Skye? Did she break into rooms and rob other people’s goods? Did the rest of her clan know? He wanted to learn more about her. “Yar aim with an arrow is quite remarkable.” He caught the subtlest hint of pride squaring her shoulders. She liked compliments, like any woman did. When he reached her, it took all his strength to resist the urge to hold her, kiss her mouth… “Ya know how to pick locks and board ships.” He circled her, closing his eyes while he breathed in the sweet fragrance of her hair. Her backside brushed against his groin, but it was her reaction that nearly did him in. He moved away, despite his desire to remain and feel her tremble against him. “What else can ya do that I should know about, Miss Grant?”

A sharp pinch in his abdomen made him look down. He was surprised to see not just any dagger pushed against him, but
his
personal dagger that she held.

“I can protect myself from wild beasts.”

He threw back his head and laughed, sincerely delighted by her untamed spirit. He moved aside, stepping out of her reach, and held out his hand for his dagger. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said with the residue of his amusement lingering in his smile. “I suppose lockin’ ya in is senseless then.”

“Aye. ’Twould be, Captain.”

“Ya’ll use caution around the men, aye?” He paused for a moment to let Cooper in with two bowls and bread in his hands. “Only use yar own blade if ya must,” he
continued when they were alone again. “I’ll get ya home safely to Skye.”

He invited her to sit and then strode to a thick covered jar swinging from a rope. He set it free and sat in the seat near hers. He was surprised to see that she had pushed away her bowl.

“Ye mentioned delivering a message to my kin?”

“Aye,” he said and told her of it. “I explained to yar father that ya and MacGregor came aboard and fell asleep until ’twas too late to return ya. I vowed to bring ya both safely to France.”

She looked relieved and completely grateful. She even smiled, until she looked at her gruel again.

“Ya don’t like oat gruel?” He tossed a playful grin at the jar, then popped the cork. “I have the remedy.” He dipped his spoon into the jar and gathered several drops of golden honey. “I use it sparingly.” He moved to tilt his spoon over her bowl. She stopped him.

“Then, please, dinna’ waste it on me. Fer I willna’ eat those oats, sweetened or not. There are bugs in them.”

“It happens, Miss Grant.” He shrugged. “Bugs get into everything the longer ya have it. We haven’t been fully stocked since we left New York.”

She forgot her food and rested her chin in her hand like she was settling in for a good tale. “Tell me, what is New York like?”

She liked adventure, this one. He could see the light of anticipation in her eyes. Though she had tried to hide it, she wore the same breathless look in Camlochlin when he told her and Kyle about Madagascar. She yearned for it just as he did. “’Tis very proper,” he told her, liking the effect his words had on her, “or so ’twould seem until ya move about in its darkened alleys. Where I was, there are
no mountain ranges, not too many wide-open spaces at all. Everyone wears too many clothes; ruffles are fine in moderation.”

Her laughter gave his heart pause. Soon, he found that he liked talking with her. He liked watching her face and the different play of emotion that danced over her features when she told him about her kin. He liked listening to her, as well, but his duties of the day called to him and he rose from his chair. He left his honey jar with her, on the table in case she changed her mind about the oats.

“I would like to hear more about Camlochlin,” he told her while he moved toward the door. “Perhaps later.”

When she nodded, he offered her a smile. “I’ll return later and show ya around the ship.”

“That would be nice, Captain,” she replied. “Thank ye.”

He severed his gaze from hers, but he didn’t want to. Then he returned his dagger to his sash and left the cabin without another word. When he reached the helm, he relieved his sailing master of the wheel and took over the course to their destination.

Hell, it was going to be a hot day, Alex thought, thankful when Sam appeared at his side and handed him his hat, still damp and sporting two new holes. “Who retrieved it?”

“Gustaaf,” his friend told him.

Alex eyed him from beneath the familiar brim after he fit his beloved hat onto his head. “Gustaaf can’t swim.” It was shocking really. Gustaaf was the only Dutchman he knew who’d never learned to swim.

“I know. He nearly drowned. He was in the infirmary until this mornin’. I didn’t know he had it ’til now.”

Six months on his ship and Gustaaf was already loyal enough to drown for him. Alex had the notion that if he
was ever arrested and hanged for piracy, Sam and Gustaaf would be there to see him off. Such loyalty was rare on board a ship. Alex would see that he did not go by unnoticed. “I’ll see to his deed.”

Sam nodded. “What do ya think of our guests?”

He thought about it, about how he’d known Caitrina Grant for a day and he’d already given her his honey, an abundance of his smiles, and his time, if he kept his word and gave her the tour she wanted. What else would she get from him? “Thieves. They be thieves after me treasure, Sam.”

“What shall we do with them?”

“Sail to France and toss them overboard, then continue on our quest.”

“Aye,” his quartermaster agreed. “The sooner they’re gone, the better.”

“Aye.” Alex turned the wheel, setting course for France. No truer statement was spoken today. His reasoning had nothing to do with her kin. If they still came after him, he would handle it. No, he wanted to get rid of Caitrina Grant so badly because if he didn’t, he would end up in her arms, in her body, and probably in her heart. He didn’t want to be the one who tamed her heart and then broke it when he left her.

Since when did he care about such trivial matters as a woman’s heart? He didn’t. Caring led to heartbreak, and he would never put himself through it again.

Caitrina Grant needed to go. The sooner the better.

T
rina didn’t wait for the captain to return. She grew restless after a while and pulled open the door. Her first thought was to find her cousin. He wasn’t taking to sailing very well and she felt terrible for him. How was the crew treating him? Would he truly try to take them all on if she was hurt? She knew he would, or he would try to. He’d likely kill many of them too before they killed him. She had noted his hands slipping into the folds of his plaid earlier today, when Mr. Pierce pushed him toward the plank. He was reaching for his pistols, or daggers, or whatever he had hidden there. Sick or not, when it came to battle skill, no one compared to Kyle. He began his training early and became one of Camlochlin’s most fearsome swordsmen. Trina prayed he wasn’t provoked and she also prayed that he wasn’t still suspended over the railing growing weaker with each crashing wave.

The rest of her thoughts revolved around the captain. Wasn’t it thoughtful of him to pen a letter to her kin reassuring them that she and Kyle were safe? It gave her such relief knowing they wouldn’t come after her. Enough
relief, in fact, to let her consider his easy laughter and the way it drizzled down her spine like warm honey. How did he manage to paralyze her with a mere slant of his mouth? Och, his mouth… She cursed him for kissing her because she was quite certain that no man on earth would ever kiss her that way again. None would make her feel all weak and willing the way he did. She wondered how many women he’d kissed in the past in order to become such an expert at it. His mouth was so hot and hungry, his body consumed her and made her feel small and delicate… and eager for something more from him. He didn’t mind her drawing his dagger on him. Would she do it again if he tried to touch her while they shared the bed? Och, they couldn’t share the bed! The thought terrified her to her core. She didn’t worry about how to stop him, but about not wanting to stop him. It was as if he had some powerful hold over her senses. When he was in her vision, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His touch set her nerve endings on fire. The sound of his voice, his laughter, even to mock her, melted the fibers of her bones. He tasted of rum and danger when he kissed her, and she wanted more of him. His power over her frightened her a little but it excited her too. It was like setting sail to a distant, unknown territory. Her heart pounded for it.

The ship rose on a swell, twenty feet high, and then fell to the waves. Trina clutched her belly and prayed Kyle wasn’t hurling into someone’s shoes.

She made a face and looked across the deck for any sign of her cousin. She didn’t see him and let her gaze drift to the crew attending to the running riggings. Odd, she hadn’t noticed before but none of them wore shoes. They did, however, all wear the same close-fitting canvas pants that the captain wore, along with bandannas to
keep the hot sun from burning their heads and their hair out of their eyes. They sang while they worked and twice she blushed at the use of their words to describe women’s breasts.

She turned and looked behind her, upstairs at the helm. Was the captain there? Before she could stop them, her feet moved her forward. She climbed, passing the sterncastle deck to the poop deck.

She saw him, hands on the wheel, legs braced, guiding the behemoth beneath him over the thrashing sea while sea spray moistened his shirt and made it cling to him. He had the look about him like he could conquer the world… and her, if he so chose. He was a danger to her and she knew it. Still, she angled her head to see his profile beneath his rescued hat. His gaze was steady on the horizon, his mouth set to his course.

“I told ya to wait fer me.”

“I grew bored,” she told him, only slightly surprised that he sensed her presence. “I’d hoped to find Kyle.”

He slipped her a brief glance. His sexy smirk weakened her kneecaps. “Ya thought he’d be sailin’ the ship then?”

“Nae, of course not.” Hell, he was infuriating; subtly insinuating that she was looking for him and not her cousin. “I came up here because I… I… well, I…” She wasn’t any good at lying. Kyle never could get her to master the skill the way he had. Then again, she’d never wanted to be a spy but an adventurer… She glared at the grinning captain, balled her hands into fists, and stormed away, back toward the stairs.

“Best remove them—”

She slipped on the wet stairs and tumbled down the rest of them.

“—shoes.”

“Cap’n’s right,” Mr. Pierce said, standing over her and lending her a hand. “Deck’s slippery. Ya can balance better barefoot.”

“Thank ye.” She rose to her feet and wiped her palms down her skirts. “Where is my cousin?”

The quartermaster broke his gaze from her and motioned with his chin along the port side of the ship. “He’s bein’ pierced.”

Trina nearly shouted. “Pierced? Why?” She shoved past him without waiting for his response—which he gave her anyway as she hurried off.

“He’s been pukin’ all afternoon, that’s why.”

Good lord, what were they doing to Kyle? Had they overpowered him? Taken him down while their captain sailed off into the sun, oblivious to the cruelty of his crew? Was the captain oblivious to anything? Nae, the bastard wasn’t. He knew what they were doing to Kyle. She came to the hatch leading down to the mate’s quarters and descended without hesitation. Almost immediately she was abducted by a pair of grimy, groping fingers. It was dark below deck, but she managed to smash the end of her palm into his throat, the way her mother had taught her. She didn’t wait for him to fall but hurried onward, eager to find her cousin. Her attacker hadn’t fallen but gave chase and grabbed her by a fistful of hair. She cried out as he dragged her to her knees and fire lanced her scalp. She had to think, not about her pain, but about his. Her heart raced, making her feel a little light-headed with fear. No man had ever attacked her before. This was real. There were no big, brawny Highlanders here to protect her. Would he kill her? She had to control her terror and think about what she had been taught.

Clenching her hands together, she swung her arms
back between her thighs and then hauled her double fist high into his groin.

He came down beside her, still holding her hair. For a moment, she couldn’t see, or think, almost as helpless as he. He gave her locks a yank, proving his quick recovery. She realized with the prick of a knife at her throat just how close her head was to his wounded groin. He pulled, wanting her face there, ripping the hair from her flesh. Trina fumbled for her dagger, hidden beneath her skirts. Suddenly, his hold on her loosened and then he released her. His knife quickly followed and he raised his hands in defense of the arm coiled tightly around his throat.

Trina fell back, freed and relieved. She watched the captain hold fast while his mate struggled and then collapsed at his feet.

“Are ya injured?” His face appeared above her own, his brow knotted with concern, touching some deep cavern of her heart. She had to guard against him and his maddening allure. More now than ever, since she would be sharing a bed with him. She broke their gaze and looked around him at the seaman.

“Not enough to warrant his death.”

“He isn’t dead, just subdued,” the captain assured with a smile in his voice. Trina wanted to look at him and see it. Finally, she did. His gaze on her softened as he reached out his hand to touch her.

“Yar head…” His pitch dipped and he glared over his shoulder at his fallen mate.

“My cousin.” She bounded to her feet, winced at the scorching hot pain in her head, then hurried off. “I must find him.”

“Mr. Bonnet!” The captain’s booming command made her whirl around, holding her ears.

“Aye, Cap’n?” came a slightly muted reply from down the narrow hall.

The captain’s mouth crooked into a barely visible half-grin that made Trina’s belly flip. He motioned her forward and followed her to a door behind which men’s voices and laughter could be heard.

Trina put her hand to the wood, but the captain covered her fingers with his rough palm, stopping her from pushing the door open.

Her heart accelerated and then stopped altogether when he leaned down behind her and said close to her ear, “Ya don’t want to be molested again, do ya?”

His warm breath stirred tendrils of hair over her neck. His body brushed ever so briefly against her rump. “Nae,” her voice quavered. “Of course not.”

“Let me enter. I’ll see that ya’re satisfied.”

Trina closed her eyes, unable to slow her shallow breath. What did he mean? It had to be the thick, sensual timbre of his voice that conjured such perverse images to fill her head. Mayhap it was his close proximity behind her… and his promise, laced with double meaning.

“The men aren’t accustomed to havin’ a woman aboard,” he explained, moving away from her. “Most of them will follow the rules, but there are some…” He left her with the memory of her attacker. “I’ll bring yar cousin to ya.”

She nodded, too afraid to open her mouth and say something that might mortify her, like,
I’m in yer debt ferever. Just tell me how to repay ye.

She watched him open the door and step inside. He erred in not closing it behind him. Peering inside, Trina spotted Kyle slumped in a chair, blood trickling down his neck. She could wait no longer and plunged into the quarters,
oblivious to the gaping stares of the men she passed, and to the captain, who raked his eyes over each of them.

“Kyle!” she rushed to him. This was all her fault. If he was dead… “Saints have mercy, what have they done to ye?”

“We pierced his ear is all.” A one-eyed man she’d seen before stepped forward and scowled at her. “What do ya think we did to him?”

“Trina, I’m fine.”

No one paid any attention to Kyle’s assurance. Trina was too busy glaring at the patched pirate. “Why on earth would ye pierce him? And what in God’s name did ye pierce him with? A harpoon?”

“Hell, I didn’t know he came with a nursemaid,” the rude one-eyed man said. The others around him agreed. “No wonder he has such a weak constitution.”

Kyle stood to his feet, a full head taller than most of the men there, save the captain. “Mr. Bonnet, if ye would care to have someone meet me above, I’ll be happy to prove how determined my constitution is.”

Mr. Bonnet threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t need someone to stand in stead fer me, boy. Don’t let the absence of me eye fool ya.”

Kyle smiled, looking pleased to hear it. Trina knew the first mate had just earned her cousin’s respect. There were men in Camlochlin who fought with less than two eyes.

“After supper then?” Kyle put to him.

“Will yar mother be with ya?” Bonnet asked him. “If I damage ya, will she come at me with her little dagger again?” He held his hand up to show her a small scratch and she remembered him reaching for her and her slicing at him. She realized that getting off on the wrong foot with these men wasn’t her best course of action.
Especially if they were going to be traveling together to France.

“I apologize fer—”

“After supper then, MacGregor,” Mr. Bonnet cut her off and winked his eye at Kyle. “Bring her.”

Trina bristled in her spot but said nothing. Ruffians. Miscreants. Black-hearted—

“Mr. Bonnet,” the captain interrupted her string of silent insults. “Have the men see to Jacques in the hall. He attacked Miss Grant on her way here. Prepare him fer me when he wakes, aye?”

Immediately, Kyle stepped forward and clutched her elbow. “Someone attacked ye? Are ye hurt?” Without giving her a chance to answer, he turned his attention and anger to the captain. “We haven’t been here a full day and she has already been attacked? I wish to see the man who touched her.”

The captain eyed him coolly and shook his head. “This is me ship, Highlander, and while ya’re aboard ya’ll obey me commands. I will deal with me men. If ya take issue with that, ya can leave today and swim back to Scotland.”

“The Cap’n’s fair, MacGregor,” one of the men called on his way out the door with a few others to see to her attacker. “Jacques will be punished.”

Kyle didn’t look convinced, so Trina pinched him.

She caught the captain’s brief glance beneath the brim of his hat. She was glad he’d gotten it back—glad that he was there to help her a moment ago.

“How do ya intend to pay fer the gold in yar ear?” he asked, returning his attention to Kyle.

“By swabbing the decks every day until ye bring us to…?” Kyle waited for the captain’s reply.

“France.”

Her cousin looked at her and smiled, his good mood restored. She wanted to punch him. So what if it was where she had wanted to go in the first place? She didn’t want to go there now. Her grandsire would probably lock her up for stowing away on a pirate ship.

“The hoop’s a loan, Cap’n,” Mr. Bonnet pointed out. “He’s been pukin’ since he got here. We thought it might help.”

The captain nodded, then looked around and called out to a tall blond man in the back of the quarters. “Gustaaf, fer returnin’ me hat, ya’ll take a half of me next share.”

“I know how ye fancy that hat, Captain,” the hulking, leathery-skinned sailor pointed out. “But you’re too generous.”

“Nonsense.” The captain snatched Trina’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “Don’t argue.”