The Highlander’s Pirate Lass by Heather McCollum
Chapter Ten
“I did not expect you to be a timid mouse,” Jasper said, even though his back was toward the door where Eliza peeked into the kitchens. She had found the building sitting in an herb garden off the back of the keep.
Eliza stepped inside, glad to see that the cook was alone. “I am no mouse,” she said with a small grin. “Just trying to find the kitchen in this huge place.” She liked Jasper and his gruff quietness. He reminded her of Kofi, her serious protector on the Devil’s Blood.
Eliza had bathed with the strawberry soap Lark had left her, but didn’t want to dirty another gown, so she put the rumpled one back on. Alice was talking with Gavin Maclean in the great hall while Anders helped Pip and Hester train their new pup, so Eliza was free for the afternoon.
She cleared her throat. “I would like to learn how to bake tarts.”
Jasper studied her for a long moment. He was large with markings on his forehead along the edge of his very short hair, like tattoos but light-colored like scars. “What type of tart?” he asked.
“Do you know what type Beck likes the best?” After the night they’d had, where the pleasures had been delicious, she wanted to give him something delicious in return.
Jasper snorted softly, the edges of his white teeth showing as a grin crept across his mouth. “All the brothers like sweets. Beck likes apple honey tarts best.” He beckoned her over with a floury hand. “And we will cut the apple so the tart looks like a rose.”
Eliza smiled broadly. “That sounds perfect.” She might never be a lady, but she would surprise Beck with something else that made his mouth water.
…
“I said, do you care for my gown?” Cecilia’s sweet voice had taken on an irritated twist as she stood beside Beck in the bailey. The whip-like branches of the mostly dead willow tree danced in the breeze.
He nodded. “Aye, very rich indeed.”
Where was Eliza? He hadn’t seen her since she’d climbed the stairs that morning. Her children and Alice had been about all day, playing with Whisky’s pups, talking to Gavin and Lark. Anders had brought a foldable wooden tables board down for them to play. In all that time, Beck hadn’t seen Eliza. And he must talk to her. To say what? That they couldn’t continue her education because she wouldn’t marry him and might doom the isle if he got her with child?
Bloody hell. It sounded ridiculous, but standing there before the cursed willow tree with the dagger in the trunk, the curse was all too real. Adam was right. Real or not, if his brothers and others believed in the curse, Beck must do what he could to break it, which included learning to love and marrying if he wanted to have children.
Cecilia smoothed the pale mauve petticoat. “Let us go inside. This damp air is ruining my curls.”
He walked with her inside and into the great hall where the others sat. Everyone except Eliza.
Lark spotted them and stood up, carrying a goblet. “A cup of my brew to settle the stomach, Cecilia.” She studied her face. “You still look a bit green.”
Cecilia frowned. “Whisky is poison. And we still have to ride the waves back to Mull.” She looked to Lark. “Do ye think I angered Eliza last night, and she sought to poison me?”
“She drank from the same flask,” Meg said.
Cecilia turned her gaze on Beck. “Then she certainly must drink a lot. Could she be a bloodthirsty pirate?” She shivered.
“She sails,” Beck said. “Her captain is a privateer for England.”
“That makes her a pirate to the Scots,” Cecilia said.
“I do not see her as bloodthirsty,” Lark said, taking a seat within the semicircle. “Just displaced and unsure of what will happen if her captain is not found. It must be frightening.”
Meg smiled, her eyes wide. “I do not see Eliza Wentworth fearing anything.”
“Pirates show little fear,” Cecilia said as if she were an expert on the subject. “They just resort to trickery until they find a way past whatever disaster they’ve created for themselves.” She leaned toward Lark and whispered, “I would hide any silver and valuables ye may have here, Lady Macquarie.”
Beck sat down heavily in another chair. “Eliza is no thief.”
“Really?” Cecilia asked. Her lips pinched into a tight line. “Where did those poor children get that nice set of tables? And the gown her woman, Alice, is wearing is made of silk. Would a simple sailing woman own such clothes?”
“They could be gifts,” Meg said, her voice low. Tor Maclean’s daughter was much more positive than Cecilia. How had Beck ever thought Cecilia Maclean bonny? The more she disparaged Eliza and her family, the uglier she became.
Meg cleared her throat. “I think ye are feeling unwell, Cecilia, and it is making ye see faults where there are none.”
“None?” Cecilia said, her brows rising. They looked too dark on her pale face. “The woman curses, wears men’s trews, and swigs whisky. She seems to know nothing of the womanly arts or how to care for a house unless it is rocking up and down on the waves. And the children are being raised to be wild heathens.”
“They have lived through some terrible events,” Beck said, his voice low with an edge of annoyance.
“We all have,” Cecilia said. The woman had lost her mother young and her father often left her alone as he journeyed off Mull. She had her share of difficulty, and it seemed to come out in waspish ways. “That doesn’t excuse her. If they were my children, I would make certain they learned manners and how to live in society.”
Lark stared at her. “You do not know the horrors they have all seen.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “That she was in the clutches of Captain Jandeau… Well, it is a miracle she survived it.”
“Makes me wonder how she survived it,” Cecilia said, opening her eyes wide.
The insinuation that Eliza may have kept her life by whoring cut through Beck like the sharpest blade. His usual forgiving nature bled out with it, his jaw becoming painfully clenched. “They say men are crass and tactless, but it amazes me how blackhearted a woman can be.”
The small smile fell away from Cecilia’s face. “I don’t mean anything bad about her. I am just saying… She may have had to compromise herself to keep that terrible captain peaceful and giving her treasures.”
Jandeau giving Eliza treasures? He was brutal—torturing, raping, and selling children and women. He was the devil himself. “Eliza was twelve at the time,” Beck said, his voice rising, “and the treasure ye say he gave her was to see her family slaughtered before her eyes.”
Gavin strode across toward them at the uproar. Cecilia’s hand went to her bare chest above the lace-edged bodice. “Well, this is coming out all wrong if I am raising your ire, Beck. I am just saying that a woman who has obviously won luxuries from a seaman, with whom she has lived. Not that Jandeau captain, but the one she has lived with since then. Well, she could possibly be giving out her favors in return for things.” She tipped her head and looked at Beck with innocent eyes. “I do not want to see you be the laughingstock of the Macquaries. And who knows what happened to her at twelve, ruining her for any honorable man,” she whispered.
Lark’s chair scraped as she stood up abruptly, her face red as she stared down at Cecilia. “You have no knowledge of what it might be like on board a ship filled with men who rape and slaughter. If you cannot find a way to kill yourself, you are at their mercy. And a woman who survives should be applauded for her cunning and strength, not whispered about and ridiculed.”
“Captain John, who rescued her, is like her father,” Beck said.
“Who left her on an isle to starve,” Cecilia said softly. “Perhaps he had grown tired of her.”
Meg’s face had gone white as she stared at Cecilia, her mouth open. She looked to Gavin, who wore a frown. “I think it’s time for you to see us back to Mull before Cecilia’s foolish tongue gets her in more trouble.”
“Good Lord, I have done it again.” Cecilia looked apologetic. “Perhaps this man, who cared for her as a daughter, has just fallen to bandits,” she said, her eyes wide. “I meant nothing untoward. I am speculating about the peculiarities she shows, the strange clothes she wears. She is like no one I have ever met.” She looked at Beck, who stood with his arms crossed. “I am sure Eliza has the morals of a saint.”
“A saint?” came Eliza’s voice from the hallway. She laughed. “Hardly.” She walked into the room, her arms holding a flat board covered with some type of pastry. The gold-streaked waves of her hair floated unadorned around her shoulders, with several wisps curled tightly to caress her flushed cheeks. Jasper walked behind her, looking more like a bodyguard than a talented baker and cook. Just the sight of Eliza relaxed Beck’s shoulders even as he held his frown. She’d been in the kitchen with Jasper.
“Tarts,” Jasper announced, walking over to a small table that held a water basin and pitcher. He lowered both to the floor and lifted the table, bringing it over to the hearth for Eliza to place the board upon. Perfectly baked tarts sat in three rows, each looking like a rose and smelling of apples and cinnamon.
“My first tarts,” Eliza said, her smile full. She opened her arms wide over her creations as if revealing them. She wore a flour-covered apron over the rumpled gown from last night. A smear of flour lay across her forehead as if she’d brushed a strand of hair away. “Jasper is the best teacher I have ever had.” She laughed, her gaze going to Beck. “At baking, that is.” She smiled at him, her eyes dancing with mischief.
Lark, Meg, and Cecilia all turned to stare at him, but he kept his face neutral.
“Go ahead, take a bite,” Eliza said. She lifted one and went over to Beck, holding it up to his mouth. She didn’t seem to pick up on the stilted silence in the small circle.
Beck inhaled through his nose, his gaze searching Eliza’s beautifully exuberant face. To think of what she had been through over the years, how people as snobbish as Cecilia could hurt her with insults, how she could have been raped and sold by Jandeau ten years ago… It stuffed his chest until he felt it would burst if he could not hold and protect her. But right now, staring into her joyous expression, he was going to eat whatever she put before him. He opened his mouth as she pushed the tart inside, almost choking him.
He coughed, raising his hand to hold the rest she hadn’t crammed in. “Sorry, I thought your mouth was bigger,” she said, her tone sounding wonderfully wicked. She winked, which drove home the fact that she was being wicked. He smiled around the tart, chewing. Damn. He was supposed to tell her they must stay apart. His smile faded.
“How does it taste?” she asked, her smile dropping. Worry bent her brows. “There is honey, apples, and cinnamon.” She glanced at Jasper, who stood stoically watching, and then back to him. “Everything you like in a tart.”
He turned his attention to the apple cinnamon sweet on his tongue and made certain to smile despite being highly aware of the judgmental silence behind her. “Delicious,” he said. “My favorite.” And he meant it. The tart was the perfect balance of sweet, tangy, and spicy. Just like Eliza.
Her face relaxed, the pinch in her forehead releasing, and her smile opened to fill her expression with joy. The result caught Beck, making him unable to breathe with the beauty of it.
Behind her, Cecilia made a small noise. “Did ye stay up all night baking those?” she asked. “For Beck?”
And just like that, the light of joy snuffed out of Eliza’s face. She turned around slowly. Did Cecilia, a teasing smile on her face, know how easy it would be for Eliza to throw one of the sgian dubhs she kept on her person? Beck stood, still chewing, looking for hints of pending murder.
But Eliza lifted the tray and turned in a small circle. “I baked them for you all,” she said and carried the tray around so Gavin, Meg, and Lark could have one. She stopped before Cecilia.
Cecilia made an obvious perusal of Eliza’s unadorned appearance. “You went straight for him, shoving one of these things in his mouth.” She grinned, her gaze going to Meg before leaning in slightly. “We could teach you not to be so obvious about who you like,” she whispered, but it was loud enough for all to hear.
“Oh, I do like Beck,” Eliza said, her voice loud to contrast against Cecilia’s mock whisper. “But I would be happy to give a tart to people I do not like as well.” Eliza set the tray back down and lifted one of the pastries, turning to bring it before Cecilia’s lips. “Open wide.” It looked as if she would shove the sweet directly into Cecilia’s mouth.
“I love the way the apple looks like a rose,” Lark said, trying to pull Eliza’s attention away from smothering Cecilia. Behind her, Callum and Drostan walked into the hall, striding directly over to sample the treats.
“Oh yes,” Meg agreed. “Almost too pretty to eat.”
“The best I’ve ever had,” Callum said after taking a bite, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head.
Eliza set the tart she held for Cecilia into her lap and turned, bringing the tray over for Anders, Pip, and Hester to take one.
“Perhaps you could become a baker,” Cecilia said, dusting off her petticoat with a pinch of annoyance on her mouth. “So you wouldn’t have to dress nicely.” She looked Eliza up and down. “You look like you went right from a rainstorm into the kitchen, Mistress Eliza. Or did you sleep in your clothes, rising early to impress us with your culinary skills?”
Eliza looked down at herself as if trying to remember what she was wearing. Her cheeks turned red, and Cecilia grinned as if she’d won some sort of contest. Eliza looked up, her gaze connecting with Cecilia’s superior look. The flush in Eliza’s face remained even as it hardened into determination.
Mo chreach, he’d have to jump in front of Cecilia to save her life. Beck stood again.
Cecilia shook her head. “Perhaps you could come back with Meg and me to Mull.”
“Not if she bakes like this,” Callum said, his flirtatious grin in place. It added more irritation to Beck’s anger.
Cecilia kept her gaze locked on Eliza. “Meg and I would be happy to help you…learn the ways of a gentle maiden and how to tame your wildness. It will help you find a man.”
“Ohhh…” Eliza drew out. She set the tray down on the small table and untied the dirty apron, pulling it from her water-stained gown. “I have no need, Mistress Cecilia.” She turned to her, standing in the center of the half circle before the hearth. “I have no desire to be gentle, and I am no maiden.”
Bloody hell. Eliza was giving credence to what Cecilia had speculated. He wanted to shout that she’d been a virgin as of last night but bit his tongue.
“’Tis what I thought,” Cecilia murmured, a smug smile on her face as she glanced at Lark and Meg. “’Tis such a shame.”
Eliza’s brow furrowed, not knowing what she was talking about, and Beck wanted to pull her away from the cruel rumors that would abound. Could he warn Cecilia not to say anything back on Mull?
“A shame?” Eliza said, a half grin tipping up her lips. She looked at Beck, slanting her head. “I would say it was bloody splendid.”
Drostan choked on a mouthful of tart, and Callum’s brows rose high. Cecilia’s mouth opened in surprise, as did Meg’s. Lark held a hand to her cheek and glanced over to where the children were playing, hopefully out of earshot.
“Eliza,” Beck said, trying to warn her, but Eliza turned back to her enemy.
“Oh, Captain John certainly kept me a maiden, but I will never marry, so I saw no real need.” She shrugged. “And since I am a woman who wishes to know things in life, like how to bake tarts and how to…swive, tup, fornicate, or fok”—Gavin started coughing into his fist, so Eliza raised her voice—“I found a teacher.”
She turned to smile openly at Beck. “One who did not seem to mind my wildness.” Eliza made it abundantly clear who she was talking about. “Although perhaps he disapproved of my wet gown, because he stripped me right out of it.” With that, she walked up to Beck, threw her arms around his neck, and planted her lips right onto his.