The Laird's Reckoning: Romancing the Pirate, #6

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The journey of this book had been intended to be a quick jaunt across the pond. The sails had been trimmed, the course plotted. But I sailed into foreign waters. This uncharted territory had me doing quite a bit of research. Fortunately, I love research. Inspiration and the siren’s song of another seaworthy tale can be found there.

I had help staying the course as I wandered this new horizon. My most heartfelt thanks to SP, EN, JJ, CJ, BF, and TKG for their invaluable contributions. And I raise my glass to my friends and fans for their generous support. I’m such a lucky girl.

As always, my deepest gratitude to my treasured, beach-lovin’ family for their continued love and patience as I reach for the stars.

CHAPTER ONE

1726, Tradale Port, Isle of Skye, Scotland

THEY’RE coming!

The panic in Sheena’s eyes matched Birk’s racing heart. Their breaths stirred the dust they had kicked up crouching behind the crates. Shouts carried down the alleys, drawing closer.

Sheena gripped his arms. Go! Her pleading command rushed out in a hoarse whisper. Run, before they catch you.

Come with me. It was a desperate attempt to keep Sheena by his side, a selfish one. But he was no fool. If the magistrate found out she helped him escape, his bonny lass would be imprisoned. He couldn’t protect her if he left her behind.

She shook her head, mahogany tresses slipping free from the knot at her crown. I canna leave my father and Mallabroch Manor. Gruff voices neared. Her eyes widened, begged. Please, Birk. If ye are hanged, I’ll kill myself, I swear I will.

He believed it. By the heavens, he loved his lass. Loved her more than anything this world had to offer. He’d give his life for her. But never would he allow her to give hers for him. Never. I canna leave you. He could hardly swallow, the lump of fear wedged tight in his throat. She was his air, the beat of his heart. He was terrified to be without her. Terrified and angry. Angry for the pain marring her beautiful effervescent smile. He swore whoever set him up, accused him of being a false coiner, would pay and pay dearly.

Ye must go. She grabbed his face with both hands. Ye must. For me.

The tears cresting in those moss green eyes, the tremble in her bottom lip, tore at his soul. What choice did he have? Sheena would not leave her father, her home. This he knew. Her love and loyalty for her da was fierce. Could he really expect her to leave Ramsay, the laird of Mallabroch, alone, as ill as he was? Would he be able to protect her any better on the lam? No. He had no choice. She was a mighty one. She’d be fine, if only he’d let her go. Let her go and run. Damn it, he never ran from anything. He tucked a wayward lock behind her ear. For you, he repeated.

A shaky smile accompanied her gusty breath of relief. I love you, Birk.

And I you. More than the moon and stars. He pressed a kiss to her mouth. I will clear my name, he vowed against her lips. I will come back for you.

Birk gripped the back of her neck and she deepened the kiss. For a moment, he lost himself with her. The accusations, the magistrate’s guard closing in, his damaged, jaded world faded into the light, musky, floral scent of heather and urgent caress of her lips.

This way! The strident shout broke the haze, yanking him back to the present.

Promise me. She choked on the words.

Footfalls pounded against the packed dirt.

He could take no more of her agony. Aye. He would see the man who framed him dead. "I promise, mo teine, my fire. I will return for you."

Back here! This way!

Tears streamed down her creamy, flushed cheeks. She nodded once. Without a word, she spun to stand, ready to face the men chasing after him.

Birk took off at a run, dodging barrels and crates, cutting around the buildings on the leading edge the rest of the way through the town to the docks. Behind him, he heard her shrill scream. He pushed hard against the urge to hasten back to her. He had to believe she would be all right. She was a hellcat when provoked. Sheena would be fine. She had to be.

He jumped over a pile of ropes and looped through stacks of lumber. The stench of timber and pitch mixed with brine. Off to the left, a carpenter hammered, the thudding so familiar. Ahead, several stevedores unloaded cargo from a ship. Birk hadn’t thought beyond fleeing the cell which Sheena unlocked. He hadn’t thought to where he’d go. But Sheena had. He was to flee to the only place he’d known—his father’s shipyard. Now as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the yard, realization struck. He had trapped himself between the town and the men coming for him and the sea. Bloody hell. Aye, there was a boat waiting for him somewhere, but would he reach it in time?

Sheena’s plan. Take a skiff across the Sound of Sleat to the mainland. Find a horse in Mallabroch and disappear. It was his only option, though he would rather have her by his side. Running from all the injustices their young lives had suffered, together.

Birk slunk through the maze of planks, boxes, casks, and tools, weaving through the scaffolding beneath the hull of a brigantine. He set his sights to the end of the docks where fishermen cast out in their skiffs. Just as he cleared the last support beam, he came face to face with his father.

Bewilderment flashed across his haggard face but was soon replaced with a flare of venom.

Birk slid his gaze past his father to his cousin rounding the other side of the scaffolding and coming up short. Cam slowly took a step back, as if he hoped not to become entangled in a confrontation.

Birk. A sneer crooked his father’s mouth. Let ye out, did they? His tone belied he knew the better.

Shouts traveled through the shipyard. His pursuers were nearly upon him.

Hmph. The old man lifted his chin and sneered down his nose. Suppose not.

I didna do it, Father. Speaking truths, hell, speaking at all was lost on the man.

Since birth, Hugh Bane, laird of Creaganbroch Manor, the village of Tradale, and the surrounding lands, had shunned his youngest son—the weak, sickly child who wasn’t expected to live. But his mother refused to accept her little bairn could not grow happy and healthy. Through her love and nurturing, never leaving his side, Birk survived the infant months to become the favorite of her three sons. That didn’t change as he grew a few years older. Hugh had become resentful, claiming his wife mollycoddled Birk. He’d force Birk into harsh labor around the yard, harsher than he should have for a boy his age. This but angered his mother and many fights were waged over Birk. Until his mother fell ill with fever. Upon her final breaths, it wasn’t Hugh she called for, but Birk. And Birk had suffered for it ever since.

Except that he didn’t. He hadn’t let the old man get the better of him. Not after the last time he took a backhand across his face at the age of fifteen.

Didna do it? Hugh spat. ’Tis your fault I’ve buried James. Ye and your goddamned defiance.

And there it was. The blame he’d been burdened with and the guilt that his father was right this time. But that was his cross to bear and he’d be damned to let the old man lay one more thing at his feet. He’d be damned to give him any such satisfaction.

A wicked grin crooked one side of Cam’s mouth. One day, Birk would bloody up that idiot’s face, the toady.

I didna kill James.

Ye did, and ye sullied the Bane name with your thievery. Hugh, quick as a viper, snatched Birk’s arm. Cam.

Yes, uncle?

His father’s expression hardened. Alert the authorities in the yard, he leaned within an inch of Birk’s face, his eyes darkened with hate, we have the bastard here.

Birk had never gotten along with his cousin, but something about the toothy grin splitting Cam’s face didn’t set right with him. ’Twas more than Birk facing certain death at the end of a rope. ’Twas something...triumphant. Cam spun on his heel toward the approaching men.

May ye rot in hell, Hugh spewed.

Birk wrenched his arm free and leaned in even further, a hair’s breadth from the man. Ye first.

Hugh’s nostrils flared. Birk smiled. Come what may, the prig would know that he could throw his son to the dogs and Birk would give him no satisfaction in groveling, begging, or even acknowledging him as his father or his betrayer.

A group of men burst from behind the scaffolding of the half-built ship at the end of the row, Cam among them, pointing in Birk’s direction.

Birk jostled past his da and sped for the fishing docks. As he neared, he couldn’t locate a single skiff. Shite. He scanned the rocky shoreline. It was still early in the day and the fishermen were not back with their hauls. Nothing out on the water but a passing merchant.

A shot rang out. Gravel sprang up at his feet. Another pop of gunfire. A wooden crab trap beside him exploded into shards. No time to think. Birk ran full speed down a pier and flung himself into the water. The shock of chill immobilized him for only a moment before he stroked his arms through the water beneath the waves. His lungs burned but he swam hard until he was forced to break the surface for air.

There he is! Bullets slapped at the water around him urging him to swim faster until the shot could no longer reach him.

His eyes stung from the brine, his mouth salty as he swallowed gulps of the sea. He couldn’t see where he was going, not that he had a destination other than away from the shoreline. The wool of his plaid had swollen with water, the weight of it dragging him under. Birk fumbled with his belt, twisting and jerking until he shed the garment. Free of the deadweight, he surged for the surface once again. Pain strained upon his muscles, his breath stolen from exhaustion. Still he swam. If he drowned, he’d drown a free man.

Weakened, he slowed, managing only to stay afloat as his limp arms were giving out, the water too heavy to lift them from. Birk rolled to his back, sparing the last moments of his existence fighting the waves. The sky above was white with high overcast clouds. What a disappointing, yet appropriate, view. His life had been shades of gray, dismal and fraught with torment.

The only color in his life was Sheena. She was his ray of hope. Her love, pure and utterly blind to his shortcomings, sparkled and shined in a way that made him want to be a better man for her. ’Twas because of her that he was able to rise above his da’s hostility and abuse without trading in completely to becoming a hellion. She deserved better than a man that thrived on causing trouble. She made him realize that for all the bother and vexation, Birk never really hurt anyone. And that rankled. He was a vile rogue. But she didn’t see him as the threat he wanted to be. Nay, she saw right through him. Because of her, he made it his mission to make her happy. He would love her and love her good.

As the water lapped at his tired body, lulling to pull him under, he prayed that he did love his Sheena good. He closed his eyes. Her beauty filled his mind’s eye—thick, luscious auburn hair tumbling down sleek shoulders, mesmerizing green eyes, not-so-innocent smile, perfect breasts bouncing as she rode him. Aye, that was the image he wanted emblazoned in his memory as he drifted to eternal sleep.

Grab hold!

SHEENA raced toward the bluff overlooking the harbor, her skirts hindering any allowance for speed. She had only managed to distract the men chasing Birk for a moment. The empty cart had been convenient, pushing it in front of the advancing men and blocking the narrow path. She stood her ground as they clambered over the cart and moved it aside. As they raced past, she tripped one, which caused another to fall. That earned her a bruise or two. She had been shoved to the dirt, the force knocking air from her lungs, and quickly yanked back up with a threat to turn her over for helping the thievin’ maggot escape. With a wrench of her arm from the pinching grasp, she ran.

Gunfire popped down near the docks. Fear iced in her chest. Please let him be all right. Please, Lord, let him escape alive. She had no right to pray for anything. Her prayers had gone unanswered for so long. She prayed for good harvests, mild winters, and contentment for her clan. Harvests were meager, winters harsh, and clan misfortunes were commonplace. As a child, she prayed her mama would have an easy birthing. Mama had died along with the bairn, a son. She had prayed her da would heal from his illness. He worsened. She prayed Birk would find acceptance in his father. Hugh Bane’s back continued to be turned. She always prayed for Birk. In her bitterness, her faith had faltered.

But not her love for Birk Bane. Her love for him knew no bounds. None. ’Twas why she gave no second thought to disobeying her father and crossing the sound to Tradale with one objective, to free Birk and help him escape. The allegations against him for false coining were drivel, lies, wholly absurd. Aye, Birk was mischievous, one of the reasons she fell for him. But he was no criminal. She was not going to lose him. She was not going to stand by while they hanged an innocent man, the one who had her heart. Sheena risked her