Caribbean Scot Read online

  Ack! Enough, Mary-Robena Wallace! Enough.

  Content with her mental scolding, Robbie again started for the door, but another curiosity caught the corner of her eye. In the center of Reid’s desk lie a map weighted down by carved stones. The shape of the land was unfamiliar to her and the numbers and lines inked atop land and water could be no more than Reid’s charts for their voyage. Or mayhap it was more? Beside the map was an open log book filled margin to margin with a record of daily distances. She flipped through the yellowed pages and found a section filled with symbols similar to those she’d seen tattooed on Jax’s skin.

  An entirely different excitement rushed beneath her skin, but this bout of gooseflesh was safe, for it had naught to do with Reid MacGregor’s body. She rolled the wick on the brass lantern bolted to the desktop to increase the flame, then bent over the desk eager to analyze the journal. She was lost within seconds.

  Just as she’d decided the triangles represented mountains, a low growl interrupted her exploration. She should probably eat, but her stomach had not yet cramped.

  The growl turned into a steady vibrating rumble behind her.

  What in the name of Odin? Her heart jumped into her throat. She swallowed, scared to turn around, but scared not to. She slowly swiveled. With her buttocks pressed against the edge of the desk, she came face to face with a spotted cat the size of a goat. Black stripes painted its brown and white face, and curved teeth hooked over its bottom lip.

  It leapt onto the bed, stared at her with huge golden-brown eyes, then it opened its toothy mouth and screamed.

  Robbie gripped the edge of the desk and screamed back.

  The cat lunged from the bed and pinned Robbie to the desktop. Its heavy paws held her shoulders down and its pink nose hovered over her face.

  Robbie screamed two more times.

  Just as she was certain her heart would explode through her ribs, the feline beastie dragged its thick raspy tongue over her cheek.

  A pounding of footsteps preceded the whoosh of the cabin door. “Damn the Devil, lass!” An audible breath followed. “I feared you were under attack.”

  Was the man soft in the skull? “I am under attack. Get this beastie off me!”

  The said beastie licked her again and set a heavy paw on her throat. Its purr vibrated against her chest, but now seemed less menacing combined with Reid’s chuckle.

  “Oscar, come.” Reid clicked his tongue and bent down on one knee. “He was simply curious. ’Tis all.”

  The instant the cat bounced off her, Robbie shot upright and then backed up against a row of lockers built into the bulkhead. “Curious? Curious as to what I tasted like before it bit my face off?” She held her burning chest and watched the cat crawl onto Reid’s shoulders and rub its forehead against his bristled chin.

  “I’ll wager she tasted sweet. What say you, Oscar? Did she taste of honey or was she bitter like new wine?” Reid scrubbed the cat’s ears, but received comeuppance for his remark when the beastie knocked him to the planked floor. Its long tail whipped side to side as its wide jaw wrapped around Reid’s forearm, but not so hard it drew blood. They were playing.

  She’d seen Reid’s smile, but this one was different. The smile he wore now set dimples high up on his cheeks just beneath his eyes. He really was easy to look at. She watched them wrestle until she felt brave enough to leave the safety of the wall. “What is he?”

  “He’s a cat. A rather big cat I s’pose.” Reid motioned her toward him. “Come, he’ll not hurt you.”

  Oscar wrapped its paws around Reid’s forearm as he scratched its furry belly. ’Twas obvious to her now how Reid had acquired all the scratches. Robbie had never known the affections of a pet. The clan ate anything with a face that wasn’t human. Just last spring Shane and Bryson gave a couple barn cats to auld Angus’s granddaughters, but Cait and Anice set them free into the wood knowing auld Angus would turn them into vittles.

  The connection between Reid and his feline beastie warmed her in a way that was unfamiliar, yet safe. Robbie knelt down and cautiously stroked Oscar’s soft fur. “’Tis like no cat I’ve ever seen.”

  “He’s not quite a jaguar. I’ve heard him named an ocelot, but I simply call him Oscar. His mother was killed during a hunt in the jungle. Jax and I found two kits after the fact. One died, but Oscar learned to like goat’s milk and has been with me ever since.”

  “I’m certain ye make a fine mam,” Robbie jested as Oscar flipped to his feet and slinked about the cabin until he found a resting place in the center of the bed where he began to bathe himself.

  “Did ye make the bed?” Reid asked.

  “’Twas unmade.” Robbie realized her propensity for order might not be welcome.

  “’Tis because I’ll be getting back in it shortly.”

  Must he talk about the bed? The image she’d conjured up earlier slammed back into her mind’s eye just as she turned toward him. His heavy-lidded eyes held hers, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. She suddenly became very aware of her position. Oscar’s absence left her kneeling between Reid’s splayed legs on the floor and an uncontrollable force seemed to draw them closer. The same force that had been present behind the barn. A force she admitted was desire.

  Awkward silence settled between them.

  A giggle tickled her throat, a nervous attribute she’d never outgrown. She swallowed and licked her lips while her stomach did flip-flops, and her fingernails dug into her palms.

  Reid’s gaze fell to her mouth.

  He was going to kiss her. And she didn’t possess the strength to stop him.

  “Are ye hungry?” His jarring question ripped her out of the moment but saved her from making a reprehensible mistake.

  “Aye.” She shot to her feet and looked out the open door into total darkness. What if Eoin had seen her? If she betrayed him, then she betrayed the MacGregors. She needed to control herself and put all the people she held close to her heart to the forefront of her mind. She didn’t want to think about what Eoin would do, or worse, wouldn’t do. Whether Robbie wanted to admit it or not, she needed Eoin. She needed his protection, not only for herself, but for the weak of the clan.

  As Robbie followed Reid out of the cabin, she focused on all the reasons she was with Eoin. The greatest of his qualities was his loyalty to the clan. He loved them. He loved being their leader. She would not destroy what she had with Eoin on adolescent lust.

  * * *

  Are ye hungry? Reid shook his head. He could have kissed her. She wasn’t pulling back and he asked, “Are ye hungry?” What an oaf. He’d been close enough to count the freckles on her pixie nose, and he killed the moment.

  In an effort to justify his idiocy, Reid decided it was for the best. Regardless of what his aching cock wanted, he didn’t want stolen kisses, nor did he want Robbie to have regrets. When they did kiss—and they would—she would not regret her actions.

  Reid led her down the companionway and walked toward the yellow glow of the binnacle lamp.

  “Is everything in order, Capitaine?” Jean-Pierre stood at the helm with one hand holding the tiller that steered the ship.

  Reid counted the strokes on the slate where the gromet lad kept track of the time. “You have another half hour before the change of guard.”

  “I’m early.” Jean-Pierre grinned wide, side-stepped Reid, and dipped an exaggerated bow before Robbie. He then cradled her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I am Jean-Pierre. I am the Capitaine when the Capitaine is not the Capitaine,” the Frenchman spouted his foolishness overtop her hand, then had the gall to kiss her knuckles a second time.

  Robbie batted her thick lashes. “’Tis a pleasure. I am Mary-Robena Wallace, but I insist ye call me Robbie.”

  “The pleasure is mine, I can assure you, ma chaton.”

  My kitten was Jean-Pierre’s favorite endearment for women, but Robbie was no sweet kitten. Reid suspected the woman was sharpening her claws right now.

  A giggle bubb
led out of her throat just before she retrieved her hand and proceeded to twirl her hair round and round her finger.

  Aghast, Reid gawked at the scene. Jean-Pierre wasn’t uncomely. He’d never had issue wooing the lassies at the port-of-calls, but Robbie’s response surprised him. Mayhap she simply wasn’t accustomed to the attention.

  The last thing Reid needed was another man fawning over his woman. He swiped a bowl of salted nuts off a wooden crate and shoved it in Robbie’s hands. “Nuts?”

  Robbie wasted no time stuffing a generous handful of cashews into her mouth, freeing her from further conversation with Jean-Pierre. Smart lass.

  “As my first mate has generously relieved me of my duties early, mayhap we could walk.” Reid didn’t wait for her agreement. A gentle shove encouraged her footing and their escape from Jean-Pierre.

  Robbie swallowed hard and peeked back over her shoulder. “He seems likeable for a Frenchman.”

  “I dare say King Louie might disagree. It seems Jean-Pierre has been tried and convicted of various counts of treason. Should they ever catch him, I suspect—” Reid drew his finger across his throat.

  Robbie laughed, which was the reaction he’d hoped for. “Do ye strive to employ the wicked?” She set another nut between her full lips, and Reid swore he wouldn’t taint their time together with lecherous thoughts.

  “I’ll tell you a secret, but dinnae be blathering it about.” He checked over his shoulder for drama. “Henrik is English.”

  Robbie feigned shock. “Satan will no doubt strike ye dead.”

  Reid chuckled and clasped his hands behind his back, escorting her toward the bow. This was what he wanted. Someone to talk to. Someone to share his life with. And he’d always dreamed that someone would be Robbie. “S’truth?”

  Robbie eyed him and licked the salt from her fingertips before dipping her hand back into the bowl.

  “They are loyal to me. Some of them have been with me for years. Mayhap because they have nowhere else to go, as is the case with Jean-Pierre and Henrik. The Mopán people assist me because I have earned their respect.”

  “One might call them your clan.”

  “I suspect.”

  Reid wanted to brush the hair from her cheek and take her hand, but he controlled his urges and simply walked beside her beneath the billowing sails. He introduced her to a dozen men and explained the workings of the ship in nautical terms, not because he wanted to flaunt his expertise, but because she wouldn’t stop asking questions.

  Their stroll ended on the prow where they shared a moment of silence as the sun dipped below a pink and yellow horizon. As if the sun’s disappearance altered her mood, she turned toward him, and stared him boldly in the eyes. “Why did ye wait so long to return?”

  Reid had prepared himself for that question. He wished he could tell her he’d been in captivity or that some act of God had prevented him from returning sooner, but naught was true, and he wouldn’t lie to her. He would offer his reasons and pray she saw the right of it, then forgive him. He pulled in a breath of salty air and rested his forearms over the forward rail. “When Da returned to Scotland, he tried to convince the elders to move the clan, but Uncle Alasdair refused to leave Kilchurn Castle.”

  “Did your da know the Colquhouns were going to invade?”

  “Mayhap. If he did, he never told me. When Da took me away, the clan was being safeguarded inside the walls of Kilchurn Castle. He pleaded with Nanna to return to the Yucatán with him, but she refused. He tried to save them, Robbie, but they didn’t want to be saved.” He paused to gauge her reaction, but her expression was guarded so he continued, “For eleven years, I have belonged to another clan. I accepted the ways of the Mopán people, studied their symbols, learned their religion. The jungle became my home, and the people, my family. Three years past, when Da died, I returned his ship to the Crown and purchased the Obsidian. I had intentions of going to Scotland then, but I went back to the Yucatán instead.”

  “Why?”

  Reid focused on the bow wave below. “I was three and twenty and had naught to my name. No home, no land…” His words trailed off, and he waited for Robbie to respond, but she held silent. “With the Mopán’s help, I built Rukux. ’Tis no castle of stone, no keep protected by scores of men, but a humble dwelling when compared to Kilchurn Castle. While falling trees in the jungle, I located a tomb where I found a treasure worthy of a king’s dowry.”

  “And ye thought I would have ye because ye found gold and built a home?” Her tone was sharp, scolding.

  Reid had battled on Scots’ soil. He’d protected the Obsidian from pirates on multiple occasions. He’d fought against the Kekchí tribe. But it took far greater courage than he’d ever possessed to face this one wee woman. “Ye said yourself you deserved more. Would ye have come with me if I was a broken man with no pride and no life to offer you?”

  A scowl narrowed her green eyes. The rise and fall of her chest increased. “What I might have done is of no consequence. I am with Eoin now, and I would never abandon the clan.”

  “Like I did?”

  She didn’t have to respond for him to know her opinion of him. With her chin jutted outright and her spine stiff, she handed him the empty bowl and held herself with dignity. “My thanks for the fare. I’ve had a trying day and wish to seek my slumber.”

  “You’re welcome to sleep in my bed.” That hadn’t come out the way he intended. An awkward pause fell between them.

  Robbie’s eyes rounded, her lips tightened. “I’m inclined to think that is a bad idea.”

  While Reid thought it a splendid idea, she didn’t appear to be in the mood for jests. “I meant to offer you a comfortable place to sleep—alone.”

  “’Tis on rare occasion that I sleep in a bed. I’ll be quite comfortable on the deck. Good eve, Captain.” Robbie pivoted with a jerk, her crossbarred kirtle spun wide with the action then settled as she walked away.

  “The watch is called, the glass floweth.” A dozen rungs up on the mainmast, Henrik belted out the verse that announced the change of guard. “We shall make a good voyage, if God willeth.” In his whisky tenor voice, Henrik proceeded to sing the Salve Regina in Latin. The song suited Reid’s mood—sullen and dark.

  He raked his fingers through his hair and set out on a mission which led him below deck. In the keel of the ship, he lit a lantern and searched their provisions; barrels of salted sardines, pickled beef, cheese, casks of wine, water, and blessed brandy. With a flask filled with enough spirits to kill a horse and a tinderbox containing the Mopán’s sweet tobacco, he settled atop a keg of molasses to soak his bruised heart.

  A familiar drawing up of mucus grated over Reid’s last nerve just before Eoin spoke. “Robbie is by far the most loyal person I know. She has dedicated her life to aiding the clan. ’Twill take more than charm to break her.”

  “Your color has improved.” Reid didn’t possess the energy to pick a fight with his cousin. Instead, he lit the tobacco in the lantern and offered Eoin the flask. “Brandy?”

  The man snatched the drink from Reid’s hand like a drunkard addicted to laudanum then settled atop a barrel to Reid’s left. Eoin readjusted his plaide and studied the ribbon of smoke with a curious eye. “What is that?”

  “The Mopán call it sikar. But because the damn English want credit for everything, they call it a cigar. I call it an escape from reality.” Reid thought it best he and Eoin come to some sort of mutual terms. If a bit of smoke and a dram of drink built the foundation of that amnesty, so be it. He lit a second cigar for Eoin and passed it to his cousin. “Truce.”

  “For now.” Eoin watched Reid take another long draw, then mimicked the action. He coughed, but only once, took a long swill of brandy, and then sucked his cigar until the embers burned a bright orange. “’Tis good. ’Tis verra good.”

  “Aye.” Reid leaned against the wall and propped his ankles atop another barrel. He closed his eyes and made a mental attempt to flush the frustration from his body.
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br />   ’Twill take more than charm to break her. Eoin’s words echoed in Reid’s head. He didn’t want to break her. Her loyalty and pride were qualities he admired, but feared those same qualities would prevent her from ever forgiving him.

  He drew on the cigar and rolled the smooth silky smoke over his tongue before he exhaled. “How did ye do it, cousin?”

  “Do what?”

  “Gain Robbie’s forgiveness for what happened in the cavern.” Reid half expected the man to mock him. What he was unprepared for was Eoin’s intensity.

  The scruff of brown curls hanging over Eoin’s brow didn’t hide the narrowing of his eyes. “Ye should’ve died in that cavern. Not Fergus.”

  “Is that how you justified it? You blamed me?”

  “The Colquhouns came for ye.”

  “Nay,” Reid corrected strongly. “They came for us—the sons of the MacGregor chieftains.”

  “I’m not to blame for their error.”

  Astounded, Reid sat up and gawked at Eoin. “You’re solely to blame.”

  “What would ye know of it? Ye werenae there.” Eoin turned away, but his eyes slipped to the corners.

  God’s legions! Understanding chilled Reid like a bucket of ice water. True, he hadn’t been at the surface, but he knew what had transpired. “You never told her, did ye?”

  If Eoin had a comment, he drowned it in brandy. He propped his elbows on his knees, spit between his boots, and glared at Reid. “Think ye can taint Robbie’s opinion of me with lies?”

  “They are not lies. Da was there, outside the cavern.”

  “Your da is dead. It is your word against mine.”

  The bastaird was delusional. Reid shook his head with minimal effort. “Have ye no conscience?”

  “Men with conscience make poor leaders. If a king relied on his conscience, he wouldnae win wars. What I did protected the MacGregor bloodline. Fergus was an unfortunate casualty. Had ye been in my position, you’d have acted in like.”