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Without another word, the woman turned on her heel and stepped into the darkness beyond the tavern.

Heart pounding, Maxwell followed. It crossed his mind that he should let James know he was venturing into the village to continue his dalliance with the lass. But surely, he would approve. As the mysterious woman’s footsteps grew fainter along the path, he threw caution to the wind and took off, quickly catching up with her as she strode purposefully through the village.

She led him along one winding laneway and turned into yet another equally tortuous path. As he followed, his footsteps keeping time with the hers, he looked around, frowning. He had no idea where he was. One or two windows showed flickering candle light, but there was little to distinguish one lane from another. While the moon lit their way with a silvery glimmer, finding his way back to the tavern come morning would prove a challenge.

A little further along, they turned a corner and, after a few more steps, emerged from the tangle of village streets onto a broad stone jetty where abirlinn, in full sail, rode at anchor.

Maxwell paused, expecting the lass to complain they’d taken a wrong turn. Instead, she strode toward the vessel.

He followed her to the foot of a rope ladder descending from the deck, where a lamp hung, casting a dim light over the hull. She placed a foot in the ladder and grasped the rope.

“Come.” She beckoned him to follow.

“Wait, lass.” As she swayed on the rope in the dim light, her cloak floating around her, she could have been a wraith or a pixie or some other supernatural creature. Was she real?

“I didnae ken ye’d bring me to a ship.” Tales of sailors lured to their doom or men captured from villages such as this and forced to row endlessly in pirate galleys sprang into his head. “I’ll wager there’s nay feather bed on board this wee boat.”

“Why, me brave warrior, are ye afraid of the sea?”

“Me concern is nae wi’ the sea lassie. ‘Tis wi’ ye. Are ye a siren intent on luring unsuspecting sailors tae a salty death?”

She gave a tinkling laugh. “Ye’ve naught tae fear. Ye’re nae a sailor and the sirens are nay danger tae a landlocked warrior.” She pshawed. “And as fer the feather bed. When we’re alone, I wager ye’ll nae care a jot whether the bed ye’re lying on is made of feather, horsehair or stones.”

With a grunt of laughter, he reached a hand for the ladder as she stepped higher.

“Aye. Ye’re right, pretty lass, I’ll care naught fer a feather bed when I have me hands on ye and ye’re writhing in me arms, squealing and crying out in yer ecstasy, begging me never tae stop.”

CHAPTER TWO

Aileen,

I write to remind ye of our pact. If ye value yer faither’s life, I trust ye will remember yer duty tae me. I wish ye tae bring me that upstart rogue Everard MacNeil, whose presence affords me great inconvenience and substantial sums of money. He would thwart the sweet business of piracy in which both ye and I are engaged. Dinnae delay. Bring him tae me so that I may deal with him as he deserves.

I send me regards.

The Laird Andrew Sutherland.

Aileen took a deep breath to steady her racing heartbeat as she glided silently across the deck. Behind her she could hear the man making his way up the rope ladder, cursing as he went. She smiled to herself.

Landlubber.

She didn’t look back. She had bewitched him, and no doubt her coquette’s talk and the promise of bed would be enough to ensure he’d follow her.

For the briefest of seconds, she allowed the possibility that it washewho might have enchanted her, with his warrior’s chivalry, deep skill, and great strength. To say naught of the piercing blue of his eyes, the raven-dark hair that fell to his shoulders, the face carved from stone like some statue of antiquity – barbaric yet beautiful – and the images she’d glimpsed inked on his neck and shoulders. An eagle’s wing, a Celtic symbol, crossed blades.

It was too bad she’d been ordered to deliver Everard MacNeil to her nemesis Andrew Sutherland. No doubt the sadistic man would soon tire of torture and Everard would be summarily executed. But fulfilling Sutherland’s demands would keep her father alive. For now, at least.

She paused briefly at the entrance to the small cabin – hardly more than a rough-built shelter in the ship’s stern – giving the lad enough time to be by her side as she took a step up into the candle-lit room. The tiny space had room for only a simple table and chairs. Resting on the table was a thick, black, ebony rod.

Casting a glance around, her companion gave a snort of laughter “Why, there’s nay bed here at all, lass.” Before she could respond he had seized her in his arms. “‘Tis of nay moment. I’ll have ye on the table, or the floor. I dinnae care. But I’ll have ye…”

She felt his manhood, hard and long, pressing against her thigh and her blood rose in response. He claimed her mouth in a continuance of the desperate passion they’d shared after their bout. For only a moment she allowed herself to succumb to desire and return the fire of his kiss.

This surge of heat coursing through her at his touch bore no resemblance to the ice in her blood when Sutherland laid his hands on her. This was compelling, demanding. She wanted his touch rather than being repelled, as she was by the man who owned her. Surely, it could do no harm to revel in the rapture of their kiss for a few seconds more?

In danger of losing herself in his arms, she steeled herself to bring a cold reserve to the present. She reminded herself how she despised arrogant men such as this, who patronized her, failing to respect her power and her own warrior’s skill. Their confidence of their power as certain as the rise and fall of the tides. She’d taught him a lesson and now she would follow her orders. There could be no respite, no dallying with pleasure and desire.

As their kiss deepened, Maxwell’s hands slid down her back, pressing her to him. She shifted, her hand, reaching slowly behind her for the ebony rod on the table. Her fingers curledaround it, grasping it tight. She paused. He seemed to have no inkling of her movement, or what was to come.