Highland Faith Page 3

  But she had better things to worry about than a man’s muscular shoulder.

  Her freedom.

  She looked toward the shore and then to the crew making their way onto the ship. The opportunity for escape disappeared with every cresting wave.

  Her sister wouldn’t miss her for a day or two. She’d made sure of it, since she hunted for days or even a sennight, most times by herself. Aye, there were times in which a group of men would nag until she allowed them to join her, but mostly she loved the solace of the forest.

  She created her own adventures there. She didn’t have to worry about her sisters’ accomplishments, how her sister Hope was laird and Honor the sweet lass everyone loved.

  But the very place that brought her solace may now have led to her doom.

  And now—with her out to sea? ’Twould be impossible for the clan to find her.

  Her father had understood her—even when she was wee, he kenned she didn’t desire to lead like Hope or be an endearing lass like Honor. He kenned she loved animals, respected them, but also knew the clan needed the animals to survive. He’d taken her hunting, against her mother’s wishes. And since then, her position dictated she secure food and train others how to hunt with the same respect and success she had.

  Of course some of her clansmen were amadans, with not a wit of sense when it came to stalking prey. They were used to Hope leading them and now with Aidan, she imagined they were more comfortable with the standing of the clan. But following her, being taught by her, damn, it hurt some of the men down to their cods.

  She glanced at Captain Ross. He’d certainly hate taking orders from a woman. The man exuded strength, confidence, and masculinity. When he returned her intrusive gaze, she quickly looked back to the shore.

  She gripped her stomach, which threated to pitch, and she grabbed the bulwark just as Wee Will climbed onto the ship.

  Dougal reached for her. “Easy, m’lady. Dinnae fall overboard.” He grinned and his face wrinkled, making the markings even more menacing.

  She pulled back, bumping into Captain Ross. He gripped her with strong, warm hands. She shivered as her nerves tingled—nay, the man merely aggravated her. Did the vexing man aim to destroy her life? Destroy her mission to support her clan, provide for her clan?

  And instead of fear, anger surged through her as she ripped from his grasp. She’d not accommodate the enemy, this wickedly handsome man. Damn him, she wanted to retrieve her bow and let an arrow go—not to kill him, mind, mayhap a direct hit to his leg. Hobble him while she made her escape.

  He cocked a brow at her as if he could read her thoughts, and she quickly removed the slight grin from her face.

  “Aye?” she asked.

  “I need proof,” he said, then he glanced at her hair.

  She touched the snarled mess. “Nay.”

  “Then I’ll send yer quiver and bow.”

  “Nay.” She gripped a hank of her hair and pulled it out toward him.

  Captain Ross sighed, perhaps wishing to send her weapon as evidence, reached for his knife from its leather harness on his tartan belt, and cut her hair. She bit the inside of her mouth to stop from yelling at him. While many claimed her hair was her crowning glory, she’d rather her quiver and bow remained on board with her. He could take all he wanted as proof he held her captive.

  She watched him secure her hair in a piece of rope, then hand it to Dougal. “Give it to Amit before he heads for shore.”

  With a steady gaze, he turned to her and pointed in the direction of the cabin beneath the quarterdeck. The ornately carved door indicated the importance of the chamber. “I’ll send Bram with water to bathe.”

  She nodded and started walking toward the cabin, painfully aware of the crew watching her as she moved, wobbly as she’d yet to get her sea legs, if she’d ever acquire them. She ran her damp hands along her legs. Damn her britches, she thought, they were most likely watching her arse.

  “That’s it, darling.” Humor laced his tone, distracting her as she tripped on coiled rope. “Men, we’ll stand by until Amit returns.”

  Where was Amit going? She ducked beneath the stairs leading to the quarterdeck and entered the cabin. Without hesitation, she partially closed the door and turned to peek through the thin opening as Captain Ross spoke with the man he called Amit. Amit nodded and headed back over the side of the ship, presumably into the rowboat.

  If only she could speak with the man, she may have been able to find a way off the blasted ship and back to Wild Thistle Keep. She gripped the doorknob, trying to remain steady as she continued spying on the captain and his men.

  Her hand began to shake as it rested on the knob. She needed to take her ease. She felt as if she’d fallen off the cliffs surrounding her clan keep. Each and every muscle hurt from her hunting excursion, being tossed over the shoulder of a brute, and heaving her guts out. Not only could she use a bath, but she’d love water just to rinse her mouth. She swallowed and grimaced. Her mouth tasted as if an animal had died within her and she loathed to think what the captain thought.

  Bah, as if she cared what the loathsome man thought. She rolled her shoulders to help lessen the tension nesting between them, hoping to keep limber in case a way to escape the ship presented itself.

  She forced herself to stop watching the men, despite her fascination with the strange group. She turned and viewed the cabin the captain had assigned her. She gasped.

  The captain’s cabin.

  Why would he give her his cabin? Oh, dear God! He didn’t expect her to . . . to sleep in the cabin with him, did he?

  She locked the door with the key hanging beside it.

  She gripped her stomach—damn, what a lass, she.

  She’d taken down prey, gutted and dressed the animals without a second thought. Many men were sent to their knees at the sight of innards. And here she squirmed over the man who captured her, albeit a handsome man.

  She had to control herself if she were to escape. Aye, the captain’s cabin may prove to be the best place to be. What would the chamber reveal about the man? Learn about the man who held her and mayhap she’d learn his weakness. A man’s weakness could very well lead to his demise.

  His desk seemed like the best place to start. She crossed the wide cabin and surveyed the desk for anything that would help her.

  Sextants and a map littered the surface. A decanter and two glasses held down one corner and a weight held down the other corner of the map. She traced the lines he’d sketched from Scotland to areas she’d never heard of. How exciting his life must be, traveling to places other than the Highlands. Envy filled her as she thought of her clan and her little contribution to their survival. This man had made his own destiny, steered his ship to places she’d never see.

  There were a few stars on the map, one for the Ross territory in the Highlands, two for lands named New Guinea and India. She inspected the shapes of the land, how there were crude markings with arrows and lines drawn in the lands as if Captain Ross indicated the paths he’d taken.

  Where his destiny had taken him.

  Her father chose her destiny when he’d uttered those final words, “Remember, lasses. Through Hope, Faith, and Honor, ye can rule.” She’d loved her father and she continued to live through the stories told by the elder clansmen. But she resented the pledge he’d spoken just moments before his death.

  Each of them had taken a different path with regard to her father’s statement. Hope had ruled the clan with her mother, much to the chagrin of the Clan Council. Hope had fought for the right after their mother’s death and when Aidan MacKerry had come to steal the lairdship from her. Only…her sister had fallen in love with the very man who tried to take all from her. And now, they ruled together, and Aidan had taken the MacAlister name as dictated by tradition.

  They did we
ll by the clan, she admitted. But she’d never seen herself as the type of person who relied on others; nay, she wanted to be on her own, fight her way through the forest and find some type of acceptance within the green of the pine and the rough landscape of the Highlands.

  But her duty to her clan forced her to remain and help Hope and Honor in any way she could. Honor was still a lass, but she’d come into her own soon enough. And she imaged the lass would be brilliant at whatever she chose to do. There was something special about Honor. Her sweet demeanor and the compassion she felt for those around her pulled others to her. With her skills, she’d woven a spell over all of them. And with her growing talent in healing herbs, Honor would become an important woman within the clan.

  Even though she’d often found solace in the forest on her own, at this moment her heart ached with some sort of melancholy. She missed her sisters. Aye, even the bossy Hope. Mayhap Hope would have a solution to the mess. Right now, there weren’t any.

  “Darling?”

  She glanced up and there stood Captain Ross, leaning against the doorjamb with his lazy smile. A ring of keys hung from his hand. Dressed in a clean liene and tartan, he looked as comfortable in the small cabin as he did in the wood and on the ship’s deck. Commanding, in control in an effortless way.

  He cocked his head toward the map.

  Damn, she’d been caught spying.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Captain,” she replied with a cool tone. She held onto the desk, still a bit pale, and he prayed she wouldn’t lose her stomach all over his map. She glanced at the chairs by the bank of stained glass overlooking the stern and made her way to them, sat and watched him as he stayed his position.

  What did she see when she looked at the map? Did she surmise his plan? Where he’d been and the direction in which they were headed?

  Not that it would do her any good. Lady Faith MacAlister had no escape. Especially after he’d seen the green of her lovely skin in the rowboat. The lady appeared to loathe the water, which may indicate her lack in skill as swimmer, and would most certainly, he determined, prevent an escape in the middle of the night with his small boat.

  He waited at the threshold for a moment longer, letting her stew, ponder his next move. And as he watched her, he too pondered what the hell to do with her until her sister sent the ransom.

  Such a strange woman. Wearing britches and threatening his men—laughable behavior, but she’d been serious when she challenged them. Even now, she flexed her hands as if she wanted to form a fist and punch him in the face. And a part of him wanted to see her try.

  She canted her head at him. The light from the window filtered around her in a soft caress of various hues of blues and greens. Bollocks, did she have to be so lovely? He prayed his tartan hid his burgeoning desire. Damn, his cods ached at the mere sight of the line of her neck, that graceful, long neck.

  Aye, he’d a weakness for the female neck. ’Twas wonderful to feast upon, lap his tongue along the soft, sensitive flesh. The feminine intake of breath and the quiver of skin when he administered his attention to his favored spot. And when one nuzzled in the area where the neck met with the cup of the shoulder, the sweet scent of a woman filled the air.

  Bollocks. He needed a woman.

  And that woman could not be Lady Faith MacAlister.

  He’d not prove his father right. He’d changed. He wasn’t a rogue. He was now the responsible son, the only son. And he had to save their family home.

  After another look at the fetching woman, he entered his domain. “’Tis my chamber,” he warned as he removed the decanter from weighting the map and poured a glass of liquid sustenance. He drank the brandy in one gulp. Removing the other weights, he rolled up the map.

  Her eyes bored into him as he slowly slipped the parchment into a leather case. Better to keep it close. He didn’t want her to glean more than necessary.

  “You’re my guest,” he continued. “Until your lairds pay the ransom.”

  She grunted, but otherwise remained silent. Yet, tension thrummed around her, vibrant and strong. The woman wanted to do more than grunt and he’d wager she wanted to render him helpless with a swift barrage of arrows.

  “On the morrow we set out to sea. My man will have delivered the ransom demand. He’ll wait ashore for the coin.”

  At this she rolled her eyes.

  He thought about Clan MacAlister. He and his men had spied upon the keep for more than a fortnight. During this time, he’d determined the sisters were the very thread keeping the clan woven together and working as one.

  When he’d spied Lady Faith leaving Wild Thistle dressed like a stable boy, the opportunity presented itself for him to secure a hostage. They’d followed at a respectable distance for three days and he’d made his move just when she drew the bowstring to fell the stag. More out of concern for her; surely the lass didn’t think she’d be able to kill a deer so large? They’d watched her snare a rabbit for her meals, but even a wee lad could do such in the Highlands. A stag? Too ambitious, to be sure.

  And in the end, they’d thwarted her efforts. Dougal tossed her over his shoulder and the lady bellowed and demanded the entire way.

  He grinned, thinking of his mate tolerating the lass and her kicking and pounding. Dougal showed patience, patience he hadn’t realized the man had.

  Thank the Lord he had, or else Graeme would still be looking for a way to secure the needed funds.

  No matter, the lairds would send the ransom—he’d bet his life on it. However, why did Lady Faith grunted or rolled her eyes every time he mentioned it? What did it mean? And why hadn’t she traveled with men for protection as she hunted? Had her laird banished her from the keep?

  “I want my quiver and bow,” she demanded as she crossed her arms.

  Lady Faith’s actions pushed her breasts upward and pulled her liene so tight, her full breasts strained the linen material.

  “Nay,” he croaked, then gulped more brandy. Mayhap he shouldn’t have lived like a priest for the past few months. But damn! He must behave like the man his father needed. And his father didn’t need a rogue slaking his lust all over Scotland.

  She stood and came toward him. Direct, strong. Aye, an unusual woman. Not afraid in the least. Most woman would have fainted dead away by now—which would have made his job easier, he thought with a grin.

  “Darling, I’ll no’ arm my hostage.”

  Again her hands clenched as anger darkened her eyes. “I need to be able to protect myself.”

  He held out his arms and looked around his chamber. “From whom?”

  “Your men,” she said, her voice coming deep from her throat. Still no fear in her tone, just confidence.

  He laughed at the outrage clenching her jaw. “Darling, my men will not touch you.”

  “Aye, and I’m the laird of the castle.” She snarled at him. “They’re savages, just like you.”

  He gripped her shoulders and pulled her close. Her scent surrounded him—womanly musk and the outdoors. He narrowed his gaze in order to keep focused and ignore the feel of her beneath his hands. Warm, strong, aye, a temptation. “My men are not savages.”

  She tore from his grip, her eyes ablaze with fury. “What type of man has strange markings on his face, and the other man, where is he from?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “They are my men. I’d trust them with my life—and yours.”

  She pulled back, surprise widening her eyes. His instincts flared when she shrugged her shoulders. Why did the lady now act indifferent?

  “You may remain in my cabin. I’ll bunk belowdecks.” He grabbed the leather map case and walked toward the door. “A bath and meal will be readied.”

  When he turned back toward her, he started. “Damn!”

  Lady Faith MacAlister stood directly behind hi
m. He’d never heard her approach. Dear God, never had he thought a person could move about so silently. Her sly grin worried him.

  “You’d do best to warn your men about me, Captain Ross.”

  Chapter 3

  The man looked worried. His blue eyes shifted over her face as if he were trying to read her mind. She’d never let him know what she thought. ’Twould be the end of her if she did.

  If Captain Ross could hear her musings, he’d know she thought him handsome, truly the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Something primal pulled her toward him. When he had walked toward the door, she had to think of something to keep him in the chamber. ’Twas as if he left, the cabin would be missing something it desperately needed—the presence of a man, the leader of the ratty group who she heard singing and relaying orders on deck.

  ’Twas shocking, her reaction to this man—the man who’d captured her and wanted to ransom her back to her family. Disgraceful, to be sure, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Mayhap his confidence drew her, the way he gave orders and how the men listened. Or his roguish grin or the when he called her “darling.” Damn, how it made her stomach swirl with longing and her breath to hitch.

  Bah, her sister Hope would laugh if she were here. Mock her and her constant griping about Hope mooning over her husband and the proclamation that she’d never marry. For years, she’d stated she didn’t need a man, she’d provide for herself and those in the clan. Mayhap her feelings were because her sister led and made it appear as if she didn’t need Faith or Honor’s help.

  Her father had wanted them to lead together.

  Through Hope, Faith, and Honor, ye can rule.

  Yet, Hope ruled with Aidan and Faith and Honor had yet to fulfill their pledge. Their contributions to the clan wee compared to Hope’s and would never surpass being laird.