My Hunted Highlander Read online

  My Hunted

  Highlander

  Book #3

  in the

  Kilted Athletes

  Through Time

  Series

  by Nancy Lee Badger

  Copyright © June 2015

  by Nancy Lee Badger

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic

  or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval

  system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a

  magazine, newspaper, or on the Web without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no

  relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Names, characters, places, and

  incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. SW

  Cover illustration copyright © 2015

  by Nancy Lee Badger

  All rights reserved.

  THE STORY

  Plucked naked from the North Sea, bruised and nearly drowned, Niall Sinclair wakes bound to the mast of the pirate ship, The Black Thistle. Hiding his identity, and brutalized by the first mate and other seamen, their captain comes to his aid. Her identity, and gender, are a surprise, and his physical reaction to her makes him nearly forget his need to escape, and return to his clan.

  When kidnapped from her shipbuilding business in modern day Portsmouth, New Hampshire, the last place Blair MacIan figured to end up, was at the helm of a pirate ship in 1603 Scotland. With her abusive husband dead, and the ship, the crew, and their people under her care, the last thing she needed was to fish a naked man from the sea. His ravaged face and ragged sandy hair could not detract from his magnificence, and she sensed in him, a means for her own escape.

  DEDICATION

  To the folks who put on a wool kilt, or heavy brocade gown--and get into their Scottish vibe--I dedicate this book. Whether they strut their stuff, tune up the bagpipes, dance with swords, turn the caber, or volunteer, making everything run smoothly, everyone would enjoy a weekend at any Scottish Highland games. Also, I thank Audrey Beegle for suggesting the title.

  CHAPTER 1

  1603 Scotland

  The North Sea

  Niall Sinclair blinked, trying to open his eyes, but pain shot across his left brow and cheek. His vision was nothing more than a wavering fog, with pinpricks of bright light sending stabbing twinges shooting through his skull.

  Disoriented, he struggled to clear his head and regain his sight. However, when he attempted to raise his right hand to feel the aching left side of his face, his arm would not obey his command. His hands were bound behind him. When he shook his head to clear the cobwebs, a searing pain tore through his temples. He stopped. In all his thirty years, even when the tip of a broadsword wounded him during battle and left its mark across his chest, he had never endured such pain.

  A sudden wave of nausea had him swallowing bile. Pain erupted once more from his wrists to his neck. While he contemplated whether he had broken bones or dislocated a shoulder, a movement to his right made him as rigid as a Scottish standing stone. Until he knew if the movement was either friend or foe, his best option was to appear docile and unconscious.

  “He be awake. Better fetch the capt’n.”

  Too late.

  The voice rumbled low and craggy, like an old hound coughing up a bone. Its owner came no closer. Niall threw his head back in an unwise attempt to see the owner, and slammed against something hard and unyielding. They had bound his hands around whatever stood behind him. From its circular shape, his first thought was a tree. However, the wood was smooth against his naked back and buttocks, and the gentle rolling of the hard surface beneath his feet suggested the mast of a ship. The stranger’s use of the word captain added to his conclusion, yet how could he have ended up on a ship?

  Several other voices, along with the heavy stomping of boots, drew closer. A breath of cool air swept his damp hair across his face, and he could see little of his surroundings. When the same breeze made certain body parts shrink, he realized he was soaking wet, and naked.

  This was not a good sign of things to come. He was not ashamed of his body, but he did not wish to share his physical attributes with strangers. Should a bonnie lass join him for a night of bed play in a tavern, or he visited his former mistress, Lana, in her cottage, he was proud of his form. He had earned his muscles by brandishing a broadsword in battle, or releasing an arrow from his longbow, in order to fell a stag. His thighs were thick and powerful, from years of riding his warrior’s mount into battle, and his diet of roasted venison, apples, and wild mushrooms kept his waist trim.

  Several thoughts arose, even as tremors swept over his torso. He licked his lips, only to discover his mouth was dry as dust, and his lips caked with sea salt. Where was his mount? What had happened to his shirt and plaid? Worst of all, he had lost his weapons.

  “Wake up, ye scraggly cur,” a different voice ordered. This one’s voice was high pitched, as if someone had removed his bollocks at a tender age.

  “Aye, he be as ugly as a mongrel dog,” the first man said.

  “I be awake as I can be, so stop yer havering.” Niall coughed so hard, he shook against his bonds. Water, or blood, dripped from his bound wrists. His throat was raw and parched. When a meaty fist slammed into his belly, all breath fled his lungs. Pain stretched from his groin to his chest, as he attempted to take in enough air to stay conscious.

  “Ye best no’ kill him afore the capt’n takes a look, Thomas. He could be valuable,” the first man said, interrupting the other man’s attack. Niall nearly thanked him.

  “I wager yer words ring true, Bill. His golden hair might stir the captain to keep him as our captive awhile longer. The captain seems to prefer this color, more than the black of night, aye?”

  Laughter filled the air around him.

  “Doono’ tease Raven, Thomas. Ye know how he feels for the capt’n.”

  Niall’s stomach twisted in disgust. The notion that a man’s hair color would attract their captain left a bitter taste in his mouth. Since he could barely breathe, any words of protest were out of the question. He needed to find out who these men were, who their captain was, and how he had landed on their ship. His last memory was fighting two warriors in a battle on a cliff, near Castle Ruadh.

  “He is possibly a bonnie lad, but his face is a bruised mess.”

  Niall could rule out Hell, since he was in too much pain. The bitter wind chilled his body, even as the sun’s rays beat against his skin, and he was someone’s prisoner. What would they do if they deemed him valuable? He was the son of a laird. Would they ransom him, or kill him? His sire was not a well-liked man. Revenge would be swift, should they choose to murder Angus Sinclair’s eldest son, and heir.

  As he inhaled fresh sea air, and spread his legs to keep his balance on the rolling deck, his stomach settled. His throat was still as dry as a bone, but he dare not speak again. What had transpired since he battled two of his sire’s mercenaries? He and his followers had fought them, together.

  His head ached, and his memories were so twisted, that he was not sure how he had come to be tied to a ship’s mast. The ship’s gentle roll, and the clean air, battled with his empty belly. Weariness grabbed hold of his body and his mind. Rooted in place, his head fell forward, until all went black.

  Dreams can turn into nightmares with the blink of an eye, and Niall fell into the latter, with a jolt. Another wave broke over him, forcing his head below the surface. Drowning was a horrible way to die, but the opportunity to die by the swor
d had passed him by, the moment he fell from the cliff.

  He had narrowly missed falling onto the sharp black rocks, at the base of the precipice. Rocks that reached toward the sky, and him. Instead, he had landed in the water, sloshing between the pinnacles of certain death, flat on his back. Waves rolled over him, yanking him out to sea. He had managed to kick to the surface in time to glimpse the red sandstone walls of Castle Ruadh in the distance, before the next wave drove him to the rocky bottom of the North Sea. The entire left side of his face hurt more than when he had earned the scar crisscrossing his right cheek. When he had left Lana’s bed for the last time, and had explained that he had no wish to return, his former mistress had cut him. In severing their lust-filled relationship, he had not understood that she had expected more.

  Beneath the sea he had closed his eyes, resurfaced, and swam farther out from shore. Only then, did he escape the threat of smashing against the rocks. If he could circle back toward Gray Wolf Cove, where few rocks existed, he could make it to shore, before the cold water stole his strength.

  The cove was near Lana’s cottage, as well as the old cave he and his brother discovered as children. If he reached Lana’s home or the cave before nightfall, he might survive to greet the next day. He would find his men, and return to his quest to rout his sire, Angus Sinclair. The bastard had killed Niall’s gentle stepmother, and if his brother Gavin’s recent announcement was the truth, the evil bastard had killed their mother years ago.

  Niall had cursed Gavin, not believing his brother’s words. His rage had stirred him to leave the safety of Castle Ruadh, and stumble into an ambush. As anyone could see by the outcome, it had been a foolish reaction.

  The ocean’s frigid temperature had soon leeched away his remaining body heat, but death had not concerned him. After surviving thirty winters in the Highlands of Scotland, he was not worried that he might not live to witness the birth of the year 1604, in three short months. Winter was approaching, and he had much to do, before the Highlands turned white with snow. “If I could only wake up and remember what that is.”

  “I swear I heard him mumble something about winter, but he surely is no’ dressed for the coming season.”

  The man referred to as “Bill” laughed, and Niall had the urge to kick him in the shin. Unfortunately, the moment he moved his legs, pain seared along his ribcage. His lack of food, and a stomach full of seawater, made his knees wobble. Pitching forward, only his restrained shoulders held him from falling on his face.

  “Water,” was the only word he could force from his mouth. His skin felt crusted with salt. The unseen tendrils of something slimy had wrapped around his calf, and he prayed it was nothing more lethal than seaweed.

  “Capt’n? Shall I give the lad some water?”

  “Fine, Bill,” a low voice murmured.

  Niall sensed the man called Bill walk closer with what sounded like a wooden bucket sloshing water.

  Niall licked his lips in anticipation, only to have a wave of cold salt water suddenly drench him. Every muscle contracted, his bollocks shriveled up into hard wrinkled chestnuts, and his wet hair plastered across his face. Laughter filled the air around him, and the stiff breeze threatened to shrink another body part to nothing. He was cold, hungry, bruised, and bloody. What would happen if they discovered his identity? Angus Sinclair’s reputation for plundering, raping, and blood-thirsty battles was legendary.

  A bright spot of hope flared inside Niall. His plaid was lost at sea, so they could not connect him to his clan, unless someone recognized him. In the state he suspected his face was in, he would be easily unrecognizable, even to his own brother.

  “What shall we do with ‘im, Capt’n?”

  Niall stood as still as humanly possible, as a shadowy form stepped closer. In anticipation, his muscles trembled. His good eye was useless. His dripping hair and blurry vision still kept him all but blind. When a finger slid up his right cheek, following the scar that had nearly healed, he jumped. Several other fingers pushed a shock of dripping hair away, and the person’s inhaled breath meant the sight of his mangled face was worse than he feared.

  The shadow moved around to the rear of the mast, and spoke in a low whisper. Niall tried to listen, but pain wracked his body, and deep coughs made his aches intensify. Only certain words managed to get through.

  “This man is bleeding… my deck. Remove…bonds. Take him…feed him, water him, and for God’s sake…something to wear.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  Groans and grunts meant the captain’s orders upset the crew, as if they were expecting to slay him where he stood. Niall was happy for a reprieve, and a chance to eat and drink his fill, but he was still concerned about his blurry vision. His ears also presented a problem. He could have sworn the captain’s voice was a bit too feminine.

  ***

  Blair MacIan dragged her eyes from his bloody wrists. She then wrenched her gaze from her prisoner’s muscular attributes, and headed toward the stern of her ship. Her body trembled from the sight of their prisoner’s naked flesh, and pity for his ravaged body caused one small tear to slip down her cheek.

  As she brushed it away, a rustle beside a pile of ripped sails caught her attention. A small golden-haired boy popped up, brandishing a sword carved out of wood.

  “Did I scare ye? I was hiding when they pulled that man from the sea. Is he a pirate like us?”

  Blair pulled the boy into a motherly hug, then thought better of it. She was a pirate, on a ship filled with burly men who would slit her throat, if they thought a handsome prisoner could tempt her.

  I think the stranger is handsome?

  He was bruised, scarred and bloody. She had swept a finger over his injured cheek, and had nearly lowered her hand to the scar crossing his chest, from his left collarbone to his navel. When her gaze had drifted lower, following the thin line of dark sandy hair that led to the matching curls at his groin, she had licked her lips. Even naked, battered, and blasted by a stiff wind off the North Sea, he was well endowed.

  Returning her attention to her son, she stared at Keegan’s smile. He’d lost another tooth, but his cheeks were filling out. Starved and beaten, he’d been discovered hiding on her ship The Black Thistle. He said he was eight years old, yet looked about five, and would not explain his presence on their ship, except to claim himself an orphan. He had stowed away on a pirate ship. Why would he do something so dangerous? It was a mystery she would solve, but not today.

  “Keegan, go tell Cook to heat some broth, and find some bread for the stranger. I don’t think he’s a pirate. He nearly drowned, swallowing all that seawater, and he could die before I get a chance to question him.” Recalling the man’s raspy words, she added, “He’ll need fresh water, too.”

  “I shall run and tell Cook, but allow me to fetch the water?”

  “Okay, but don’t spill any. It will be days before we head in to land. Waste not, want not.”

  He nodded, then grinned. “Ye say the strangest things, mama…I mean, Captain.”

  Keegan disappeared down the stairs that led below deck to the kitchen, what seafarers called a galley. It was hours before cook would ring the dinner bell, but he might have some food handy for their guest.

  A shadow blocked the sun. “How sweet to see a mother and her child, smiling and conversing, as if there be no danger on board.”

  Blair turned her attention to Raven Snoddy, her first mate. He stood beside the sterncastle, cleaning his fingernails with the tip of a dagger. Casually dressed, in a billowing black shirt and black leather breeches, he stood with his booted feet crossed at the ankles. He seemed relaxed. Her own clean white shirt, dark green suede vest, and brown form-fitting trews were so different, and a bit too feminine. She wondered when he would set the men against her. A mutiny could prove disastrous. She watched her back, but her confidence waned. She was captain, but she knew better.

  He was handsome, in a dark caped-crusader sort of way, with his black hair tied at the nape of his
neck with a black ribbon. Hatred, or lust, flashed in his brown eyes, at her appraisal. He stood six feet-four inches, nearly half a foot taller than her, and was the epitome of a seventeenth-century Scottish pirate.

  “Is the lad running to clean up his latest mess? I can only assume he cast up his accounts once more, and was eager to share the news with his new mother.” Shoving away from the high railing, Raven hovered over her, with a wide smile and an all-knowing wink.

  Blair fought the urge to recoil, and raised her chin. “Keegan has finally gotten his sea legs, thank you very much. He was curious about our latest catch.”

  “As ye be?” Raven’s gaze swept over her, as if aware that their prisoner had affected her, sexually.

  Did it show? Shifting her feet, but refusing to step back, Blair squared her shoulders, and poked his chest with one broken nail.

  I miss manicures, and pink nail polish.

  “I’m worried he’ll go unconscious again, or die before I can interrogate him. That’s all, so get out of my face!”

  Raven’s grin turned into an ominous sneer, but he seemed to accept her statement. He stepped back, then bowed. Without another word, he turned on his heel, and sauntered away. When he reached her crew, gathered around the stranger they roughly dragged toward the stairs, laughter ensued. Raven must have cracked a joke, just out of earshot.

  Probably at my expense, the bastard.

  Why had she welcomed him into her bed? She blamed loneliness, and Raven was persistent in his pursuit of her. Their one romp in her cabin ended the moment the crew had spotted a ship. They boarded it, and found only fishermen hauling in their catch. “At least, we’d enjoyed fresh fish for dinner.”

  Several weeks had passed, yet the man persisted. Her lack of common sense had not produced a pregnancy.