Captured by the Pirate Laird by Amy Jarecki Page A

Norman’s collar. He twisted it taught and muscled his
face to within a hand’s breadth. “Watch your mouth.” He released the shirt with
a shove.
    The
wee blighter huffed, rubbing his neck.
    What
business was it of Norman’s how he felt? Calum reached for the pitcher and
poured himself another drink. “John leaves on the morrow with a missive for her
husband.”
    Norman
folded his arms. “’Tis no’ soon enough.”
    Calum
took a long draw from his ale and slammed his tankard on the table. “Keep your
mind on yer own business, brother.”
    Norman
shoved his chair back. “Her beauty has half the men in the room wanting to bed
her. She’s a temptress. She’s no’ meant for the likes of you.”
    “Don’t
ye think I ken?” Calum scowled into his drink. She’s no’ meant for the likes of Wharton either.
    However,
Norman’s words struck a nerve. It seemed every man on Raasay wanted to dance
with the beautiful and refined English lass. When Anne finally returned to the
table, her coronet had been knocked from her head, her tresses hung loose around
her shoulders—she looked wild and wanton. She could seduce the Holy Father with
that wild mop of thick tresses flowing everywhere.
    Calum
groaned.
    “Are
you well, my lord?”
    Calum
leaned back in his chair, his knees parted to the sides. “I’m fine, but it
seems ye’ve lost a piece of yer costume.”
    Her
hands went to her head. “Oh dear. It fell off a dance or two ago.” She stood.
“I must go fetch it.”
    Calum
gestured to the chair beside him. “Nay, stay and drink a pint of ale. Ye must
be thirsty after having the entire clan spin ye around the floor.”
    She
giggled and pressed her hand to her chest—just above those creamy breasts that had
managed not to burst free. Calum swiped his hand across his mouth and forced
his gaze away.
    The
dance and the drink cast aside the stone façade the lady had worn earlier.
Calum watched her, chatted with her, while his heart swelled with desire.
Norman was right. The sooner she left Raasay, the faster he could return to the
way things were—the way things ought to be.
    When
the hall began to empty, Anne glanced toward the stone tower stairs. “I think
I’d best retire.”
    Calum
stood. “I shall escort ye.”
    “That
shouldn’t be necessary.”
    “I
insist.” He didn’t want to admit it could be dangerous for a stunningly
beautiful woman to climb the stairs of the keep alone after the entire clan had
partaken in a feast. Whisky had a way of pulling away men’s inhibitions where
the lassies were concerned. That’s why Calum stuck to ale.
    Anne
accepted his arm. The stragglers watched him lead her to the staircase,
whispering behind their hands.
    “It
seems we’re making quite a spectacle.”
    “Pay
them no mind. They’re not used to seeing a fine lady like yourself in the
keep.”
    “I
saw a number of pretty girls dancing.”
    “Pretty,
aye, but none have yer refinement.” He grasped a piece of her blue damask
fabric between his fingers. “Or a gown as fine as this. ’Tis never seen in
these parts.”
    “Ah.
I am a bit out of place.”
    Calum
clamped his jaw shut. She shouldn’t be there at all—Brochel Castle was no place
for an English maid— matron . His heart
thundered against his chest He walked the lady to his chamber, fighting an internal battle. How could he convince her
to allow him inside—and how the hell was he going to resist if she did? The
offending chamber door came all too quickly. Anne stopped and lifted her chin
to face him. His stomach squeezed when her stare met his in the dim shadows of
the landing. A slow burning torch danced shadows over her. A strand of blonde
hair covered her sultry face. Heaven help him, he wanted to ravish her.
    “We
made it the whole two flights without mishap.” Her eyes flickered in the light reflecting
her amusement. She offered him a teasing smile.
    “Aye,
milady.” His voice rasped.
    He
grasped her silky smooth hands between his and