Authors: Pamela Montgomerie
Sapphire Dream (14 page)
Her fingers laced tighter around Rourke’s waist. At least she had the pirate. What would she have done if he hadn’t followed her over the side of the ship? The thought made her shudder. There was no denying he wasn’t an easy man, yet she felt totally safe with him. If she’d had any doubts before, last night proved it. Not many men could have found the strength to break off sex halfway through. Far fewer men
would
have. Yet he had, confirming her earlier belief that within that hard exterior beat the heart of a good man.
would
have. Yet he had, confirming her earlier belief that within that hard exterior beat the heart of a good man.
If only she weren’t so ungodly attracted to him. She’d never met anyone who affected her like this. A simple touch of her hair, a glance from those pale eyes, and she was out of her head with wanting him.
She didn’t want this attraction. Her forays into intimacy had always been a disaster, and she couldn’t afford any more of those with the pirate. She’d never find Hegarty without him.
Fear pressed in on her and she clung to the pirate harder. She’d thought life was through tossing her about like a tin can in a thunderstorm. For eight years, from the time Aunt Janie died until she turned eighteen, Brenna had been shuffled from one foster home to the next. No control. Never knowing what tomorrow would bring.
When she turned eighteen, she swore she’d never live like that again. She’d make a home for herself, a life where no one was in charge but her.
Now, here she was, the tin can all over again, with no more idea how to live alone in this world than she had in her own.
So
not fair.
So
not fair.
With a sigh, she lifted her head from the pirate’s back and caught sight of another village in the distance. He seemed to be heading straight for it.
“Are we going to stop there?”
“Aye. We need supplies and a fresh mount.”
They were going through horses faster than a Holly-wood starlet through fiancés. They pulled up behind a stone building on the outskirts of town where laundry hung from lines, drying in the warm breeze.
Rourke took her hand, and she slid awkwardly to the ground, then groaned when her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. She hobbled back far enough for him to dismount, feeling the sticky sea grime chafe her skin with every move. What she wouldn’t give for a long soak in a warm tub. Soap. Shampoo. Heaven.
“Wait here, Wildcat. I’ll no’ be long.”
She caught her breath. “I’m coming with you.”
He scanned every building, every bush, his expression grim. “I want ye to hide amongst the laundry until I return.”
“No way, Rourke.” A flush of dread turned her hands damp. “I want to go with you.”
He turned his full attention on her, gripping her shoulders and meeting her gaze. “I’ll be back for ye forthwith. I’ll not have you marked.”
She tilted her head. “Marked?”
“Remembered.”
Her gaze slid to his mouth, watching his lips form the word. She could almost recall the feel of his lips against her neck. Her pulse leaped with a mix of desire and real fear. What if he didn’t come back?
“I’m wearing a dress. I’ll fit in perfectly.” She hated the panicked edge to her voice, but was helpless to control it.
His gaze softened and warmed as it traveled slowly to her feet and back up again. “Even in servant’s rags, ye are bonnie enough to make a man lose all reason.”
The heat in his eyes shimmered through her, making her catch her breath. He pulled her toward him and slowly lowered his head, giving her every opportunity to pull away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She longed for the taste of him.
His mouth covered hers, opening as his tongue swept inside. His hands slid over her back with a pressure that spoke of unbearable need, turning her limbs weak, sending heat arcing to her womb. She grabbed hold of his shirt, feeling as if she’d be swept away if she let go.
He pulled back, his eyes gleaming silver, his damp mouth turned up in a sliver of a smile—pure male satisfaction.
The look nearly sent her up in flames.
Before she could recover, he swung back into the saddle. “I willna be long.”
As the horse trotted off, she swore softly, feeling like the victim of a hit-and-run. Every time she thought she was gaining even an ounce of balance, he knocked her feet out from under her again. And this time it had been intentional, straight out of Pirate Deportment 101: Charm the lass, then desert her before she comes to her senses.
Brenna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then ducked into the waving laundry. That might be
his
game, but she wasn’t playing. Instead, she followed him, staying behind the laundry as far as she could. She figured she had two choices: either wait where he’d told her to, which she’d already decided against, or keep him in sight. Anything else and she might lose him for good.
his
game, but she wasn’t playing. Instead, she followed him, staying behind the laundry as far as she could. She figured she had two choices: either wait where he’d told her to, which she’d already decided against, or keep him in sight. Anything else and she might lose him for good.
She hated this feeling of utter dependence.
When the laundry line came to an end, she kept to the shadows, head down so as not to attract undo attention, and followed him into town. As he rode into what appeared to be a stable, she ducked into a narrow alley across the street to wait for him. The sun had broken through the clouds again, but the alley was shaded and cool even if it smelled like an outhouse.
From the relative safety of the shadows, she watched the people pass by. A woman in an outfit similar to the one Brenna wore, her feet bare, walked side by side with a little girl dressed much as her mother. Around the two of them scampered a boy of maybe three or four, circling them, squeezing between them, then darting off to explore a weed growing between the cobbles at the side of the road.
“Duncan!” The woman’s scolding was tinged with laughter. “Get back here, ye wee scamp.”
The little boy grinned and ran back, his chubby hand clinging to a small wildflower. He thrust it at his mother and was gifted with a smile filled with such love it made Brenna’s heart ache.
She’d been loved like that once. She knew she had. Sometimes she thought she remembered a woman singing her to sleep at night. A woman who wasn’t Aunt Janie. Could she have been her mother? If only she could remember. If only she could get back to her time to find out.
The pirate emerged from the stable with a different horse, shielding his eyes as he looked around. With a smooth, practiced move, he mounted and turned the horse down the cobbled street, away from her.
Brenna remained where she was until he turned the corner, afraid he’d look back and spot her, then hurried after him. She heard the loud clank of a hammer striking metal as she neared the corner. A flash of sparks caught her eye. The village blacksmith.
She picked up her skirts and leaped over a puddle just as a figure stepped into her path on the other side. She collided solidly with the young man.
“Whoa, lass!” He grabbed her upper arms and steadied her when she would have fallen. He was tall and lanky, his skin freckled, his eyes friendly. “Are ye hurt?”
Brenna shook her head and stepped out of his reach with an apologetic smile. “No. Sorry. I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She turned and dashed the short way to the corner.
She peered around it, praying the pirate was still in sight. To her vast relief, she spotted him immediately, tying up the horse. He climbed the stairs of one of the buildings with an air of total confidence, as if he owned this town. Powerful, strong, arrogant as hell. Why did she find that so darned sexy?
As she watched, he entered a door with a sign swinging over it: Alex. McDonald, Merchant.
“Are ye lost?”
Brenna jumped and swung around.
The young man she’d run into grinned apologetically. “Och, I didna mean to scare ye.”
Brenna returned his smile ruefully. “Sorry. I’m a little jumpy. And no, I’m not lost. I’m waiting for my . . . brother. He had to meet someone and told me to wait by the creek . . . the burn.”
“Och, aye. And ye fancied ye’d see what he was up to, eh?”
Brenna raised a rueful brow. “Something like that.”
“Yer not from around here. Yer not Scottish.”
“You know, the funny thing is, I am. Or at least I used to be. I’ve been living . . . away.” Way away. Other side of the world and about three centuries to the right.
“If ye be needin’ anythin’, I work at the smithy’s, there.” He motioned to the building behind her where all the clanking and hammering was coming from. “Come find me, eh? I’m Rabbie.”
Brenna smiled warmly, then froze as she heard a low rumble—a rumble she was starting to recognize. Horses. A moment later, she saw them. Bluecoats entering town, riding a wave of dust.
Her mouth went dry, her heart pounding in her chest.
Rourke.
She had to get to him, warn him. She ducked her head, wishing she had a wide-brimmed cowboy hat to hide beneath.
Rourke.
She had to get to him, warn him. She ducked her head, wishing she had a wide-brimmed cowboy hat to hide beneath.
Rabbie made a growling sound deep in his throat and stepped in front of her, his lanky height shielding her as the riders approached.
Seconds felt like hours as the pounding hooves tore up the road, pelting her with bits of mud and pebbles. Chills danced over her skin. With every dust-filled breath she feared discovery.
But the pounding continued past her. No shots rang out. No shouts of her name.
Rabbie turned to look down at her. “They’re by.”
She stared at him, head whirling. “You protected me.”
Rabbie’s lip curled as his gaze followed the bluecoats. “Aye. The Earl of Slains sends his soldiers to one village or another near every month to fetch lasses to entertain his guests. Some little more than bairns.” He held his hand out, hip-high.
Brenna blanched. “That’s terrible.”
“Och, aye. Beltane last, one of the villagers was killed trying to stop them from taking his wee daughters. The earl returns the ones who survive the bed sport, but they’re ne’er the same.”
“Someone needs to kill that man,” she said heatedly, even as she shivered. These were the same men looking for her.
“Some have tried. But the earl’s too powerful. Two years past, the village of Dunlochy rose against him. He burned it to the ground.”
“The whole village?”
“Aye. He claimed they were harboring witches, but all kent the truth. ’Twas retribution, plain and simple.”
She had to get out of here. Find Hegarty and get out of this nightmare world. But Rourke . . .
She swung around to see the bluecoats pulling up in the center of town. They dismounted and split into three groups, each drawing their swords and guns and heading toward a different building.
Her heart stuttered. They’d kill Rourke before he had a chance to defend himself.
What chance did she have without her pirate? She couldn’t let him die if she could save him.
Brenna grabbed her companion’s arm. “Those men are after us. I’ve got to distract them before they find . . . my brother. Can you help me?”
She slipped around the corner and pulled the cap off her head, then began pulling at the laces of her bodice. She turned her back to him. “Untie this skirt, will you?”
When he didn’t reply, she glanced over her shoulder to find the young man’s eyes had swallowed his face.
“I have clothes on underneath, Rabbie. Help me, please?”
He blinked, then nodded, and had her out of the skirt in seconds. Clearly, the guy had had some experience disrobing females. When she turned around, he stared at her Hard Rock tee and torn monkey pants with a mixture of disbelief and dismay.
Okay, maybe not the greatest clothes.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back. I’ll need your help again.”
“Ye play with fire, lass.”
“I know. If he’d just carry a cell phone . . .” She raked her fingers through her hair, digging deep for courage, and met his somber gaze. “They’ll kill him if they catch him.”
He pursed his lips and nodded.
Her legs felt stiff as she rounded the corner. The soldiers and Cutter had all disappeared inside the various shops and buildings. The breath caught in her throat. Was she already too late?
Then Cutter and a bluecoat strode out of one shop and started toward the next. Alex. McDonald, Merchant. Cutter had his back to her. She had only one option and scant seconds to execute it.
Forcing her legs to move, she ran into the street. “Rourke! Watch out!” She couldn’t have drawn any more attention if she’d run into the street stark naked. Passersby—the few who hadn’t hightailed it out of there at the first sign of the soldiers—stopped and gawked at her.
“Get her!”
Cutter.
Mission engaged. Now for the hard part—surviving it.
Mission engaged. Now for the hard part—surviving it.
She turned and ran, her clunky boots tearing at the blisters they’d rubbed yesterday. As she rounded the corner by the smithy’s, she almost plowed into Rabbie again.
He was waiting for her. Without a word, he threw the skirt over her head, then followed with the top. While he tied the skirt, she tried to pull her front laces closed, but they were stuck.
Rabbie brushed her fingers aside and tried to make the laces cooperate, but he had no better luck. “They’re tangled,” he hissed.
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