The Wicked Ways of Alexander Kidd (The MacGregors: Highland Heirs) (14 page)

T
rina thought she could ignore her surroundings and enjoy her adventure. She thought her mettle was strong enough. She was wrong.

Just a week into her journey and she began doubting every decision she’d made since jumping off the cliffs and boarding the ship.

She didn’t mind being wet almost every day, or the splinters in her feet, or the constant rocking and having nothing more to look at than the horizon. Those things she could ignore. But she hadn’t counted on Captain Kidd and his all-consuming presence day in and day out to drive her mad. She hadn’t prepared herself for the way the husky dip of his voice when he said her name made her kneecaps melt. Or for the sight of him stepping out on deck in the morning, shirtless and slumberous and looking better than any man had the right to look fresh out of bed. How could she pretend to be unaffected by the sight of him standing firm at the wheel, guiding the beast beneath him over the roiling sea, or the thrill that singed her blood when she caught him watching her.

And och, how she missed his comfortable bed, which she’d insisted on changing into a mat stuffed with hay in a damned closet.

Her body ached from her cramped quarters, so when Alex called her to practice swordplay with him, she thought about refusing. She prayed he would be a little easier on her but five minutes in, she knew she was in trouble.

It wasn’t that he struck her or hurt her in any way. On the contrary, he was patient and careful not to touch his blade to her flesh. Nae, he wasn’t dangerous to her body, but to her good senses, to her heart, to her reasoning. She knew it was a bad idea to practice with him when he parried her jab, sidestepped her next blow, and wound up behind her. Before she could react, he looped his arm around her neck and pressed her back intimately against his hard angles.

He took her breath away and conjured images in her head that made her heart accelerate.

“Lass.” His warm breath just beneath her ear sent quivers through her body. “I could jam me blade up into yar sternum from here. Try again.”

He gave her a gentle shove and waited for her to begin again. She lifted her blade to strike, a cutlass he’d given her to use. It was lighter and smaller than the claymores at home and unfamiliar in her hand. He countered with an arced strike above her head and then another quick blow to her legs. She tried to block but he changed position suddenly and his blade twisted and danced in the air before sending her sword across the deck. He took a swift step forward and held the tip of his blade to her throat.

“Ye’re showing off.”

He smiled, swept his blade away from her, and bowed.
“What good is bein’ so skilled if I can’t show off once in a while?”

All right, she was done letting him win. He was damned good but she’d trained with the best and it was time he saw just how good she was. She hadn’t realized that some of the crewmen had gathered around to watch. Kyle was there, as well, laughing and rooting her on. She wouldn’t let him down.

Readying her blade, she braced her bare feet and smiled while he circled her. She could feel the heat from his body radiating off him. She listened close to the rhythm of his breathing. Hell, he made her blood boil, her palms moist. A small, secret part of her wanted to let him conquer her. But she came from men and women who never surrendered.

Just as he was about to strike a blow to her shoulder, she bent her knees and ducked. His blade whooshed over her head as her sword came around and whacked him across the backs of his knees. Unfortunately, his balance was superior, as was his defense… and offense. He could have taken her out at any time, but the wickedly seductive grin he wore the whole time was an indication that he was enjoying this game too much to end it.

She didn’t want to stop either, though she was growing tired of the quick pace and even quicker thinking she had to do to keep up with him.

When she swiped her weapon close to his throat, he offered a stunned, yet pleased, look and then came at her with a bit more zest. It took every ounce of determination she possessed to keep him from disarming her. He was quick on his feet, quicker than any man she knew. He swung with one arm and reached for her with the other. Catching her, he dragged her in close and for a moment
that seemed to last an eternity, he simply looked into her eyes, triumphant and sexy as hell.

“Do ya concede?” he asked her in a very low whisper that twisted her belly into knots. “Or do we continue until ya end up in me bed?”

In his bed? Saints, judging by the husky tone of his voice and the smoldering embers in his eyes, he wasn’t threatening injury. It wasn’t the first time she’d imagined him in bed with her, but it wouldn’t do to think on it now with Kyle and the crew watching. She didn’t want to concede. She hated having to do it. But she believed his promise and ending up in his bed scared the hell out of her.

Difficult as it was, for being near him weakened her, she slipped out of his grasp and backed away. “Ye leave me with nae choice but to concede then.” She bowed to him and then stepped up close to him to hand him back his sword and to whisper, “When I give myself to a man, I willna’ be fergotten the next day.” She offered him a stiff smile, then turned on her heel to leave.

She tried her damnedest to ignore the shard of wood that pierced her heel upon making her exit. She didn’t want to limp away like a wounded animal in front of Kyle and the men. Mostly, she didn’t want the captain to think she couldn’t take pain. She could… but truly, wearing her boots and falling was worth exchanging for the holes and pain in her feet. She’d never had a splinter before. They weren’t excruciating, like, say, an arrow piercing flesh might be. But they poked and they itched and irritated until she thought she might go mad. This one felt different. Bigger. But she refused to limp.

“Yar flesh will adjust.” The captain’s deep voice just behind her, falling so intimately against her ear, vanquished pain and every other thought save one. That she
wanted to fall back in his arms and rest on him, for just a moment.

“And until then?” she asked. When she felt his arms come around her, she let go.

“Until then,” he told her, scooping her up off her feet, “I’ll just have to carry ya around.”

She smiled at him. He didn’t deserve her scorn after giving her such rest. But if he meant to take her to his cabin, she would prefer to walk. After another moment or two.

“Where are ye taking her, Captain?” It seemed Kyle was thinking the same thing she was.

“To the infirmary.”

She didn’t know if she could trust her mettle to fight him if she was alone with him. She looked to her cousin for help, but it didn’t come.

“Don’t be afraid.”

She blinked up at the captain, caught in her worry. “I’m not afraid,” she promised. “Afraid of what? That ye’re helping me.” She laughed. “Dinna’ be absurd.”

He watched her from beneath his hat with eyes that didn’t believe her, and didn’t care. Amusement danced across his features and set her nerve endings aflame.

She noticed that he wasn’t in any hurry to reach their destination. “Will ye be strolling slowly along the entire way?”

He laughed, a rich, robust, resonating sound that saturated her skin and seeped into her muscles, her bones, and finally her heart. “If I wasn’t certain ya were a woman”—as if to convince her that he spoke the truth, he squeezed her buttock in his palm and hefted her closer to his chest—“I would think ya had balls to speak to me so.”

She didn’t know what possessed her. Mayhap it was
the way he always seemed to appear when she needed him, or the way his eyes betrayed the glib words of his mouth. Whatever it was made her loop her arms around his neck. “Ye’re not accustomed to women standing up to ye then?”

“Ya’re not standin’, lass.”

Goodness, he was infuriating. She tugged at his hair and when he laughed playfully, she wished she had the courage to keep her fingers curled around his locks.

“What are ye accustomed to then, Captain?”

“No one like ya, Caitrina.”

She had the urge to press her palm to her forehead and check herself for fever. Her body felt hot enough to combust. She hoped he was complimenting her. She suspected he was from the warmth in his eyes while they took her in and the subtle hook of his mouth when his gaze settled on her lips.

He hadn’t kissed her since that first day, but she could tell, on more occasions than one, that he wanted to. What was stopping him? She doubted it had anything to do with his morals. If he had any at all. He’d told her that he preferred his women more worldly. But how was one supposed to become more worldly if no one kissed her? And why the hell was she thinking in such ways? What did she care about kisses and innocence and coy smiles? That wasn’t the life she wanted. Not yet, at least. That was why she’d refused her suitors.

They entered the temporary darkness of the stairwell below deck. She listened to the rhythm of his steady breath, was acutely aware of his hands on her while he carried her down the next stairwell. The only light came from lanterns scattered here and there. In the soft golden glow that reflected off the light streaks in his hair, he looked even more irresistible.

“Ya fought me well.”

“I could have fought ye longer.”

“But ya knew I would enjoy it all the more?”

Hell, was it the devilish quirk of his lips or the twinkle in his otherwise dark eyes that bubbled her blood and made her want to go toe-to-toe with him?

Damn him, why wouldn’t he kiss her?

He brought her to the infirmary and set her down on a wooden table. She hopped off when she spotted bloodstains from some prior patient.

She looked around at a heavy cabinet and hooks drilled into the walls. Hanging from them were various knives, razors, head saws, forceps, cauterizing irons, syringes, and some horrifying apparatus that looked like it might be used for pulling teeth. In the cabinet were scissors, stitching quill and needles, splints, sponges, soft rags, cupping glasses, blood porringers, chafing dishes, a mortar and pestle, weights and scales, and plasters.

“Who is the physician on board?”

“Harry Hanes.”

“Is he not the carpenter?” Trina asked, dreading the answer.

“Aye, but he’s quite able,” he told her. “Patchin’ up a body is similar to patchin’ up a ship. Or so I’m told. I’ll go fetch him.”

“Nae!” Trina grabbed for his arm. “I’ll see to the splinter myself.”

“Nonsense.” He took her by the shoulders and sat her down in a wooden chair, probably carved by Mr. Hanes. “I’ll see to it meself. I’ve removed plenty of these things.” He pulled another chair close and sat opposite her. “Let’s have me a look, then.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted him poking around in her
skin, but she supposed he was a better alternative than a carpenter… although a carpenter was likely very familiar with splinters.

“Did ya have many suitors in Scotland?” he asked, interrupting her reasoning to pull her foot out of his hand and wait for Hanes after all.

“A few,” she told him, watching him place her foot in his lap and examine her wound. His fingers were warm and they tickled. “Dinna’ ye need more light?”

He shook his head and unlatched a large medicine chest close to his feet. He looked inside. “What happened to them?”

“Who?”

“Yar suitors? Did ya refuse them all?”

“I did.”

“Preferrin’ adventure as yar husband.” He smiled with her when she dropped all pretenses and nodded.

“Finally,” she admitted, “verra’ recently, in fact, my faither agreed to a betrothal fer me. He fears my dreams will get me killed, and if they do not, then I should have a husband to take care of me, protect and provide fer me while I live.”

She jumped and hissed at him when he tugged on the splinter.

“Were ya runnin’ away then?” he asked her.

“Mayhap… in a way.” She smiled, feeling at ease enough to be perfectly honest with him. “’Twas selfish of me, I know. I didna’ think my actions through and I fear fer my kin if they come after me.”

“Don’t fret over that,” he told her. He poured something cool over her foot and picked up a tool.

“Did any of them kiss ya?”

She was about to answer when he plucked the shard
from her foot. She looked at it, feeling queasy by the size of it. She was grateful that he’d asked such a jarring, unexpected question to keep her mind off the splinter, but when he looked at her, expecting an answer, she blushed to her roots.

“One of them did.”

He reached for a few jars inside the chest, uncorked them, and sprinkled a bit out from each. After producing a little pile, he spit into it and molded it in his fingers to make a paste.

“And what became of him, Miss Grant?” The thick cadence of his voice fell like an elixir over her, summoning her heart from its hiding place.

“He returned to his home and I never saw his face again.”

“He was a fool.”

He lit her blood with flames of desire. But she didn’t want to be another notch on his cutlass. She’d meant what she said above deck. When she decided she wanted a man, and that wasn’t coming anytime soon, she would choose one who was loyal to her.