The Maclean Groom (32 page)

Holy heavens!

She'd been captured by a pirate
.

Shocked, Rory stared at his wife, who looked at him in soundless horror. He barely noticed the grimace of repugnance that marred her lovely face. Instead his stunned gaze fastened on her belly, and he grinned in perfect delight as an extraordinary joy filled his entire being.

Joanna was big with child
.

His wee bonny bride was gloriously, marvelously, unequivocally pregnant.

“Joanna,” he said, the single word a harsh rasp.

She lifted one shaky hand toward him, confusion in her violet-blue eyes. “Rory?” she whispered with a catch of
hesitation, and then slowly crumpled in a faint.

He reached her instantly, sweeping her limp form up in his arms before she touched the floor. His heart in his throat, Rory looked down at his wife. Her long hair spilled over his arm in strands of copper satin. Her delicate features with their sprinkling of faery dust were shadowed with circles beneath the long lashes. The firm mound of her abdomen pushed tautly against her bright yellow gown. As he looked at the unmistakable evidence of his child growing within her small body, a feeling of awe came over him.

Rory turned and discovered Lachlan standing at the doorway, one hand braced on the jamb, the other loosely holding his broadsword. He had a superficial cut on his arm, but was otherwise unscathed. “Is she hurt?” he asked with a frown of concern.

Shaken to his boots, Rory gazed at his beloved wife. “She fainted, is all.” His heart swelled with pride. He glanced over once again to meet his brother's worried gaze, and the unimaginable joy he felt made his deep, twenty-eight-year-old voice crack like an adolescent's. “
She's pregnant
.”

“Well, there goes the annulment,” Lachlan replied with a wry grin.

Holding her close to his chest, Rory carried Joanna Màiri Macdonald MacLean out of Castle Dhòmhuill's keep and into his surrendered heart.

 

Joanna sat on the edge of the narrow bed, listening to the muted sounds of activity as the
Sea Dragon
got under way. She could hear her husband's shouted orders to the helmsman and the muffled rattle of the rigging above decks as the sails were unfurled. Wrapped snugly in a warm plaid, she looked about her. Rory had been plotting the course home; the materials were spread across a worktable bolted to the wall.

Curious to see his things, she wandered about the cabin, touching the sandglass, the lodestone enclosed in a filigree case, and the unfamiliar maritime instruments.

Fascinated, Joanna studied the mechanical compass and rulers, the tables of high and low tides, the magnetic navigational compass, the mariners' maps and charts of the heavens. Like so many Scotsmen, Rory appeared to have a natural gift for mathematics and science. She'd ask him to show her how he used his nautical tools, though she doubted she'd understand the half of it. Her studies at Allonby Castle had centered on languages, deportment, and religion.

The baby kicked at that moment, a strong, sudden blow, and she pressed her hand to the spot. “Do you want to be a seafarer like your da?” she asked happily. “Who are you, I wonder, my wee love. Are you a comely laddie who'll sail to exotic places and bring back marvelous treasures, or a bonny lassie who'll stay home with your mama when she's old and gray-haired?”

Restless and impatient to see the babe's father, Joanna peeked out the stern windows to the castle, where a cloud of billowing black smoke drifted across the leaden sky. She finally sank down on the edge of the mattress and drummed her fingers on her knees.

Rory came inside less than twenty minutes later. He entered the cabin stark naked, and she jerked at the sight of his imposing figure, bare-arsed and splendrous. The three-headed sea dragon on his upper arm glistened in the lantern light.

“I washed up on deck with the other men,” he explained with a sideways grin at her startled reaction. “Our clothes and hair stink of gunpowder after a battle, and we're covered with charcoal dust. So we strip and suds down, then empty casks of fresh water over our filthy hides before coming below.”

There must have been lots of Macdonald blood to wash away as well, though he was too polite to mention that.

He came closer, and she could see a row of blisters on one arm, where he'd probably brushed against the barrel of a cannon. In addition, he had several cuts and scrapes on
his hairy chest and long legs, though nothing appeared serious.

“You've been hurt,” she said, pointing to the raw weals.

He shook his head briskly, and drops of water sprinkled about his wide shoulders. “Only minor scratches.”

“And you've grown a beard. 'Tis why I fainted,” she explained. “I didn't recognize you with the whiskers and the pirate clothes. Godsakes, I've never seen you in breeches before. You looked like an English sea rover.”

Her husband smiled, not saying a word.

“I don't usually faint, I can promise you that,” she announced, unnerved by his enigmatic silence. “Idoine's the one who passes out at the least provocation.”

Rory came over to the bed and sank down on one knee in front of her. He took Joanna's hands and gazed at her, the light in his brilliant eyes dancing. God's truth, having just successfully stormed an impregnable fortress and vanquished his foes, he certainly had the right to be happy.

He traced the callused tip of his forefinger in a half-circle beneath her lower lashes. “Have you been ill?” he asked tenderly, though the smile never left his eyes. “You look a bit pale.”

So he hadn't noticed
. Well, wasn't that just like a man who'd spent all his time being the scourge of the seas? What would a dragon know about women and babies, anyway?

Joanna had regained consciousness just as Rory laid her on the bed in his cabin. The moment she looked into those mesmerizing green eyes, she'd realized her foolishness. She'd forgotten back there in the tower room that her husband
was
a pirate. A predatory, half-civilized sea raider, who'd gone to great pains to ensure that his bride had the most romantic wedding day possible—until she'd ruined it by threatening him with a crossbow.

But they hadn't had time to talk then. He'd only stayed a few brief moments before returning to the castle to oversee the final stages of the siege, collecting the prisoners, treating the wounded, tallying the movable ordnance, and
loading the sacks of shot and casks of gunpowder onto the skiffs to be taken to the waiting galleons.

“I haven't been sick, exactly,” Joanna said as she adjusted the ample yards of wool tartan about her swollen body. She'd wait until the right moment to tell him he was going to be a father. “What happened to Beatrix and Idoine?”

“They and the other women, along with Andrew, are on board the
Hawk
. Lachlan will return them safely to Glencoe, where they can find shelter with kinsmen. After Dhòmhuill's arsenal is dismantled and the remaining armaments loaded into the holds, Laird Angus will be on his way to Edinburgh with Keir on the
Raven
.”

“'Tis a shame Ewen's greed and ambition brought another man down with him,” she said. “I told the chief of Clan Uisdean the day I arrived that I was being held against my will. He refused to help me leave.”

“Joanna,” Rory said in a thoughtful tone, “we searched the entire castle and never found Godfrey.”

“He was never there.” Inhaling the clean scent of her husband's freshly scrubbed skin, she caught the medal of St. Columba on the tips of her fingers and rubbed the pad of her thumb absently across the engraved gold.

“When did you see him last?”

“He left us on the road out of Archnacarry Glen, after they'd fired the byres and outbuildings. Beatrix and Idoine were waiting on a fishing boat in the loch, which took us to the ship in Loch Linnhe. Apparently Godfrey was supposed to meet us at Ballachulish, but he never came, so we sailed without him. I don't think even Ewen knew his whereabouts.”

“Godfrey's been declared a fugitive from the law. He'll eventually be brought to ground.” As Rory talked, his fingers slid along the edges of the plaid covering her, and Joanna clutched it tighter.

“I'm cold,” she said, feigning a shiver. Actually, the cabin had grown cozy from a glowing brazier in the corner.

Her husband glanced around the small space with a
scowl, and his voice grew sharp with displeasure. “Hasn't Arthur seen to your comfort?”

“He's been very helpful,” she said in the young man's defense. “He brought me food and drink and lit a fire in the stove.”

Satisfied, her husband began to peel away the sheltering green and black tartan once again.

“Rory, there's something I have to tell you,” Joanna blurted out, clasping the plaid to her. She could feel her color rising as she wondered frantically how best to approach the delicate subject of fatherhood.

He lifted her tangled hair off her shoulders and smoothed the stray wisps away from her face and lashes. Then, as he cupped her cheeks in his rough palms, the smile in his eyes faded.

“Joanna,” he said quite seriously, “I know how you must feel about this. Believe me, darling, I'm not happy about it myself. Often we have no control over the events in our lives. We must learn to accept the tragedies fate brings us and carry on.”

For a moment, she thought he meant the unborn babe, and her shoulders drooped at the possibility that he felt such repugnance. Then she realized he was talking about the siege and the spilling of Macdonald blood.

“That's so true,” she said softly. “And sometimes wonderful things happen without forewarning—at least, I hope you think it's wonderful, because I certainly do.”

For the third time, Rory began to lift the wool from her shoulders, and Joanna gripped his fingers and held them in place. Though he outmatched her strength tenfold, he waited patiently for her to go on.

“'Tis been over five months since we were wed,” she stated in her most prosaic manner. “But we never really had a chance to get to know each other. That is, to know how the other one felt about…well, even small, inconsequential things.”

He nodded encouragingly. “Such as?”

She took a quick breath and the words came out in a
rush. “Such as how you feel about children.”

In sudden and jubilant relief, Rory comprehended the cause of Joanna's creased brow and the troubled look in her eyes. His wife didn't blame him for Ewen's death or the deaths of her other kinsmen. She recognized that her clan had left him no choice. But for some inexplicable reason known only to Joanna, she believed he was unaware of her pregnancy.

He spoke to her with perfect solemnity, though the effort not to laugh nearly strangled him, as he quoted an old Gaelic proverb. “‘A house without a dog, a cat, or a little child is one without affection or merriment.'” He pressed his lips to her forehead, then added, “I think 'twould be a sad thing for a man not to have several offspring, at the very least.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

The violet-blue eyes flashed with happiness as she released his fingers. “Then I have something to tell you.” She shucked off the plaid that wrapped her small figure, flung her arms wide, and smiled delightedly. “I'm carrying your child.”

“I noticed.”

Her throaty contralto squeaked in surprise. “You did?”

“I did,” he said softly, busy removing her shoes. Sliding his fingers up her shapely leg, he brought down one garter and hose.

She braced her hands on Rory's shoulders, scarcely aware of his movements or of his body's fiercely intense reaction to her nearness. “Are you happy about the bairn?”

“I'm very happy.” He disposed of the other stocking, and cupping her high arches in his hands, he massaged her dainty feet until she sighed with pleasure. Then he lifted the hem of her gown and brought it up to her hips. “And now I'm going to show you just how very happy I am, Joanna.”

Easing her legs apart gently, Rory kissed her bare thighs. Slowly, tenderly, he pushed the yellow gown higher and
drew it over her head, then removed her petticoat and chemise. His heart thudding with elation, he sank back on his haunches and gazed at his pregnant wife.

She blushed as he studied her in wonderment. Her small breasts had grown fuller, their pink nipples slightly enlarged. Her previously flat belly protruded in a firm, compact ball.

Lifting her in his arms, Rory laid Joanna on the bed, where he searched for any bruises that might indicate she'd been mistreated. When he found no sign of injury, he breathed easier.

“No one hurt you?” he asked gruffly as he bent over her. His manhood brushed intimately against her thigh, hard and pulsing with need.

“I wasn't harmed,” she assured him, then gave him a trembling smile. “Though my cousins were certainly unhappy when they noticed my condition.” She touched his bearded cheek, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I attempted twice to escape. After the second time, I was never left alone. I think Ewen planned on trying to do away with the baby once it was born. That's why I prayed for you to come day and night, Rory. I was so frightened you wouldn't find me in time.”

“I was imprisoned in Innischonaill.” He kissed her fluttering lids and the tip of her nose. “Otherwise, I'd have been here much sooner.”

“Why were you put in that horrible place?” she asked in alarm. “Who took you there?”

“I don't know, lass. 'Tis something I'll have to find out later. Right now, I'm just grateful you're safe and here in my arms where you belong.”

He kissed her deeply, tasting her sweetness, and their tongues met with frantic eagerness. Joanna threaded her fingers through his wet hair as Rory moved across her body, raining kisses on the creamy skin. He caressed her soft breasts, laving their crests; then he progressed lower and kissed her distended belly. The babe stirred in her womb, and tears sprang to his eyes as he saw the living proof of
the seed he'd sown. The seed her body had so lovingly nurtured.