Shaw MacDougall stood in the great hall of Edinburgh Castle with dread in the pit of his stomach. He was amongst dozens of other armored knights—though he was no knight. Nay, he was a blackmailed pirate under the guise of a mercenary for the day. And though he’d not known the job he was hired to do until he arrived at the castle, and still didn’t really. He’d been told to wait until given an order, and ever since, the leather-studded armor weighed heavily on him, and sweat dripped in a steady line down his spine.

The wee King of Scotland, just ten summers, sat at the dais entertaining his guests, who were but children themselves. William Douglas, Earl of Douglas, was only sixteen, and his brother was only a year or two older than the king himself. Beside the lads was a beautiful young lass, with long golden locks that caught the light of the torches. The lass was perhaps no more than sixteen herself, though she already had a woman’s body—a body he should most certainly not be looking at. And though he was only a handful of years over twenty, and might be convinced she was of age, he was positive she was far too young for him. Wide blue eyes flashed from her face and held the gaze of everyone in the room just long enough that they were left squirming. And her mouth… God, she had a mouth made to—

Ballocks! It was wrong to look at her in any way that might be construed as…desire.

There was an air of innocence about her that clashed with the cynical look she sometimes cast the earl, whom Shaw had guessed might be her husband. It wasn’t hard to spot a woman unhappily married. Hell, it was a skill he’d honed while in port, as he loved to dally with disenchanted wives and leave them quite satisfied.

Unfortunately for him, he was not interested in wee virginal lasses. And so, would not be leaving that lass satisfied. Decidedly, he kept his gaze averted from her and eyed the men about the room.

Torches on the perimeter walls lit the great hall, but only dimly. None of the candelabras were burning, leaving many parts of the room cast in shadow—the corners in particular. And for Shaw, this was quite disturbing.

He was no stranger to battle—and not just any type of battle—he was intimately acquainted with guerilla warfare, the pirate way. But why the hell would he, the prince of pirates, be hired by a noble lord intimately acquainted with the king?

Shaw glanced sideways at the man who’d hired him. Sir Andrew Livingstone. Shaw’s payment wasn’t in coin, nay, he’d taken this mission in exchange for several members of his crew being released from the dungeons without a trial. Had he not, they’d likely have hung. Shaw had been more than happy to strike a bargain with Livingstone in exchange for his men’s lives.

Now, he dreaded the thought of what that job might be.

This would be the last time he let his men convince him mooring in Blackness Bay for a night of debauchery was a good idea. It was there that two of his crew had decided to act like drunken fools, and it was also there, that half a dozen other pirates jumped in to save them. They’d all been arrested and brought before Livingstone, who’d tossed them in a cell.

And now, here he was, feeling out of place in the presence of the king and the two men, Livingstone and the Lord Chancellor, who had arranged for this oddly dark feast. They kept giving each other strange looks, as though speaking through gestures. Shaw shifted, cracking his neck, and glanced back at the dais table lined with youthful nobles.

Seated beside the young earl, the lass glanced furtively around the room, her eyes jumpy as a rabbit as though she sensed something. She sipped her cup daintily and picked at the food on her plate, peeking nervously about the room. Every once in a while, she’d give her head a little shake as if trying to convince herself that whatever it was she sensed was all in her head.

The air in the room shifted, growing tenser. There was a subtle nod from the Lord Chancellor to a man near the back of the room, who then disappeared. At the same time, a knight approached the lass with a message. She wrinkled her nose, glancing back toward the young lad to her left and shaking her head, dismissing the knight. But a second later, she was escorted, rather unwillingly, from the room.

Shaw tensed at the way the knight gripped her arm and that her idiotic boy husband didn’t seem to care at all. What was the meaning of all this?

Perhaps the reason presented itself a moment later. A man dressed in black from head to toe, including a hood covering his face, entered from the rear of the great hall carrying a blackened boar’s head on a platter. He walked slowly, and as those sitting at the table turned their gaze toward him, their eyes widened. In what though? Shock? Curiosity? Or was it fear?

Did Livingstone plan to kill the king?

If so, why did none of the guards pull out their swords to stop this messenger of death?

Shaw was finding it difficult to stand by and let this happen.

But the man in black did not stop in front of the king. Instead, he stopped in front of the young earl and his wee brother, placing the boar’s head between them. Shaw knew what it meant before either of the victims it was served to did.

“Nay,” he growled under his breath.

The two lads looked at the blackened head with disgust, and then the earl seemed to recognize the menacing gesture. Glowering at the servant, he said, “Get that bloody thing out of my sight.”

Shaw was taken aback that the young man spoke with such authority, though he supposed at sixteen, he himself had already captained one of MacAlpin’s ships and posed that same authority.

At this, Livingstone and Crichton stood and took their places before the earl and his brother.

“William Douglas, sixth Earl of Douglas, and Sir David Douglas, ye’re hereby charged with treason against His Majesty King James II.”

The young king worked hard to hide his surprise, sitting up a little taller. “What? Nay!”

The earl glanced at the king with a sneer one gives a child they think deserves punishment. “What charges could ye have against us?” Douglas shouted. “We’ve done nothing wrong. We are loyal to our king.”

“Ye stand before your accusers and deny the charges?” Livingstone said, eyebrow arched, his tone brooking no argument.

“What charges?” Douglas’s face had turned red with rage, and he stood, hands fisted at his sides.

Livingstone slammed his hands down on the table in front of Douglas. “Guilty. Ye’re guilty.”

William Douglas jerked to a stand, shoving his brother behind him, and pulled his sword from its scabbard. “Lies!” He lunged forward and would have been able to do damage to his accusers if not for the seasoned warriors who overpowered him from behind.

“Stop,” King James shouted, his small voice drowned out by the screams of the Douglas lads and the shouts of the warriors.

Quickly overpowered, the noble lads were dragged kicking and screaming from the great hall, all while King James shouted for the spectacle to cease.

Shaw was about to follow the crowd outside when Livingstone gripped his arm.

“Take care of Lady Douglas.”

Lady Douglas. The sixteen-year-old countess.

“Take care?” Shaw needed to hear it explicitly.

“Aye. Execute her. I dinna care how. Just see it done.” The man shrugged. “We were going to let her live, but I’ve changed my mind. Might as well get her out of the way, too.”

Livingstone wanted Shaw to kill her? As though it was acceptable for a lord to execute lads on trumped up charges of treason, but the murder of a lass, that was a pirate’s duty.

Shaw ground his teeth and nodded. Killing innocent lassies wasn’t part of his code. He’d never done so before and didn’t want to start now. Blast it all! Six pirates for one wee lass. One beautiful, enchanting lass who’d never done him harm. Hell, he didn’t even know her. Slipping unnoticed past the bloodthirsty crowd wasn’t hard given they were too intent on the insanity unfolding around them. He made his way toward the arch where he’d seen the lass dragged too not a quarter hour before.

The arch led to a dimly lit rounded staircase and the only way to go was up. Pulling his sgian-dubh from his boot, Shaw hurried up the stairs, his soft boots barely a whisper on every stone step. At the first round, he encountered a closed door. An ear pressed against the wood proved no one inside. He went up three more stairs to another quiet room. He continued to climb, listening at every door until he reached the very top. The door was closed, and it was quiet, but the air was charged making the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Taking no more time, Shaw shouldered the door open to find the knight who’d escorted the lass from the great hall lying on top of her on the floor. They struggled. Her legs were parted, skirts up around her hips, tears of rage on her reddened face. The bastard had a hand over her mouth and sneered up at Shaw upon his entry.

Fury boiled inside him. Shaw slammed the door shut so hard it rattled the rafters.

“Get up,” Shaw demanded, rage pummeling through him at having caught the man as he tried to rape the lass.

Tears streamed from her eyes, which blazed blue as she stared at him. Her face was pale, and her limbs were trembling. Still, there was defiance in the set of her jaw. Something inside his chest clenched. He wanted to rip the whoreson limb from limb. And he knew for a fact he wasn’t going to kill Lady Douglas.

“I said get up.” Shaw advanced a step or two, averting his eyes for a moment as the knight removed himself from her person, letting her adjust her skirts down her legs.

Shaw waved his hand at her, indicating she should run from the room, but rather than escape, she went to the corner of the chamber and cowered.

Saints, but his heart went out to her.

Shaw was a pirate, had witnessed a number of savage acts, and the one thing he could never abide by was the rape of a woman.

The knight didn’t speak, instead he charged toward Shaw with murder in his eyes.

But that didn’t matter. Shaw had dealt with a number of men like him who were used to preying on women. He would be easy, and he would bear the entire brutal brunt of Shaw’s ire.

Shaw didn’t move, simply waiting the breath it took for the knight to be on him. He leapt to the left, out of the path of the knight’s blade, and sank his own blade in quick succession into the man’s gut, then heart, then neck. Three rapid jabs.

The knight fell to the ground, blood pouring from his wounds, his eyes and mouth wide in surprise. Too easy.

“Please,” the lass whimpered from the corner. The defiance that had shown on her face before disappeared, and now she only looked frightened. “Please, dinna hurt me.”

“I would never. Ye have my word.” Shaw tried to make his words soothing, but they came out so gruff, he was certain they were exactly the opposite.

He wiped the blood from his blade onto the knight’s hose and then stuck the sgian-dubh back into his boot. He approached the lass, hands outstretched, as he might a wild filly. “We must go, lass.”

“Please, go.” She wiped at the blood on her lips. “Leave me here.”

“Lady Jane, is that right?” he asked, ignoring her plea for him to leave her.

She nodded.

“I need to get ye out of here. I was…” Should he tell her? “I was sent by Livingstone to…take your life. But I willna. I swear it. Come now, we must escape.”

“What?” Her tears ceased in her surprise.

“Ye canna be seen. The lads, your husband…” Shaw ran a hand through his hair. “Livingstone willna let them leave alive. He doesna want ye to leave alive.”

That defiance returned to her striking blue eyes as she stared him down. “I dinna believe ye.”

“Trust me.”

She shook her head and slid slowly up the wall to stand, her hands braced on the stone behind her. “Where is my husband?”

Shaw grimaced. “He’s gone, lass. Come now, or ye’ll be gone soon, too.” He’d not been hired for this task, to take a shaking lass out of castle and hide her away. But the alternative was much worse. And he’d not be committing the murder of an innocent today.

Indeed, he risked his entire reputation by being here and doing anything at all, but he was pretty certain the two lads she’d arrived with were dead already, and along with them the rest of their party. Livingstone and Crichton weren’t about to let the lass live to tell the tale or rally the rest of the Douglas clan to come after them. That line was healthy, long and powerful.

“I dinna understand,” she mumbled. “Who are ye?”

“I am Shaw MacDougall.”

She searched his eyes, seeking understanding and not finding it. “I dinna know ye.”

“All ye need to know is I am here to get ye to safety. Come now. They’ll be looking for ye soon.” And him. This was a direct breach of their contract, and Livingstone would not stop until he had Shaw’s head on a spike.

But Shaw didn’t care. He hated the bastard and had been looking for retribution. Let that be a lesson to Livingstone for attempting to blackmail a pirate. His men would be proud to know he’d not succumbed to the blackguard’s demands. As he stood there, they were already being broken out of the jail at Blackness Bay.

Stopping a few feet in front of the lass, he held out his hand and gestured for her to take it. She shook her head.

“Lady Jane, I canna begin to understand what ye’re feeling right now, but I also canna stress enough the urgency of the situation. I’ve a horse, and my ship is not far from here. Come now, else surrender your fate to that of your husband.”

“William.”

“He is dead, lass. Or soon to be.”

“Nay…” Her chin wobbled, and she looked ready to collapse.

“Aye. There is no time to argue. Come. I will carry ye if ye need me to.”

Perhaps it would be better if he simply lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Shaw made a move to reach for her when she shook her head and straightened her shoulders.

“Will ye take me to Iona, Sir MacDougall?”

“Aye. Will Livingstone know to look for ye there?”

She shook her head. “My aunt is a nun there. Livingstone may put it together at some point, but I will be safe there for now.”

“Aye.”

“Oh…” She started to tremble uncontrollably. “Oh my… I… I’m going to…” And then she fell into his arms, unconscious.

Shaw let out a sigh and tossed her over his shoulder as he’d thought to do just a few moments before. Hopefully, she’d not wake until they were on his ship and had already set sail. He sneaked back down the stairs, and rather than go out the front where he could hear screams of pain and shouts filled with the thirst for blood, he snuck her out the postern gate at the back of the castle. He half ran, half slid down the steep slope, thanking the heavens every second when the lass did not waken.

Though he’d arrived at the castle on a horse, he’d had one of his men ride with another and instructed him to wait at the bottom of the castle hill in case he needed to make an escape. Some might say he had a sixth sense about such things, but he preferred to say that he simply had a pirate’s sense of preservation.

Livingstone was a blackguard who’d made a deal with a pirate to commit murder. A powerful lord only made dealings with a pirate when he needed muscle at his back. And when he chose to keep his own hands clean. But that didn’t mean Livingstone wouldn’t hesitate killing Shaw.

Well, Livingstone was a fool. And Shaw was not. There was his horse waiting for him at the bottom of the hill just as he’d asked.

“Just as ye said, Cap’n,” Jack, his quartermaster—called so for being a Jack-of-all-trades—said with a wide, toothy grin. “What’s that?”

Shaw raised a brow, glancing at the rounded feminine arse beside his face. “A lass. Let’s go.”

“Oh, taken to kidnapping now, aye?”

“Not exactly.” Shaw tossed the lass up onto the horse and climbed up behind her. “Come on, Jack. Back to the ship.”

They took off at a canter, loping through the dirt-packed roads of Edinburgh toward the Water of Leith that led out to the Firth of Forth and the sea beyond. But then on second thought, he veered his horse to the right. When they rowed their skiff up the Leith to get to the castle, they’d had more time. Now, time was of the essence, and riding their horses straight to the docks at the Forth where his ship awaited would be quicker. No doubt, as soon as Livingstone noticed Shaw was gone—as well as the girl—he’d send a horde of men after him. Shaw could probably convince a few of them to join his crew, but he didn’t have time for that.

A quarter of an hour later, their horses covered in a sheen of sweat, Shaw shouted for his men to lower the gangplank, and he rode the horse right up onto the main deck of the Savage of the Sea, his pride and joy, the ship he’d captained since he was not much older than the lass he carried.

“Avast ye, maties! All hands hoy! Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen. Ignore the wench and get us the hell out of here. To Iona we sail!” With his instructions given, Shaw carried the still unconscious young woman up the few stairs to his own quarters, pushing open the door and slamming it shut behind him.

There, he paused. If he set her on the bed, what would she think when she woke? What would he think if he saw her there? She was much too young for him, aye. But whenever he brought a wench to his quarters and laid her on the bed, it was not for any bit of saving, unless it was release from the tension pleasure built.

And yet, the floor did not seem like a good spot, either.

He settled for the long wooden bench at the base of his bed.

As soon as he laid her there, her eyes popped open, and she leapt to her feet. “What are ye doing? Where have ye taken me?” She looked about her wildly, reaching for nothing and everything at once. Blond locks flying wildly.

“Calm yourself, lass.” Shaw raised a sardonic brow. “We sail for Iona as ye requested. And from there, we shall part ways.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “And nothing more?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. As the seconds ticked past, her shoulders seemed to sag a little more, and that crazed look evaporated from her eyes. “Nothing save the satisfaction that I have taken ye from a man who would have done ye harm.”

“Livingstone?”

“Aye.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Aye. He will want to kill all who bear the Douglas name.”

Shaw’s eyes lowered to her flat belly. “Might there be another?” he asked.

She shook her head violently. “Ye saved me just before that awful man could…”

“Ye misunderstand me, my lady. I meant your husband’s…” Ballocks, why did he find it hard to say the word seed to the lass? He was a bloody pirate and far more vulgar words, to any number of wenches, had come from his mouth.

She lifted her chin, jutting it forward obstinately. “There is nothing.”

Shaw chose to take her word for it rather than discuss the intimate relationship she might have had with her boy husband and when the last time her courses had come. “Then ye need only worry about your own neck, and no one else’s.”

He expected her to fall into a puddle of tears, but she didn’t.

The lass simply nodded and then said, “I owe ye a debt, Sir MacDougall.”

“Call me Savage, lass. And rest assured, I will collect.”

November 1441

Dear Savage of the Sea,

I deplore writing that out, but as it is the name you bid me address you, who am I to give you another? I write on this, the one year anniversary of having arrived at Iona via your impressive ship. And given I am still safely ensconced, I must thank you for seeing me brought here, as well as for keeping the secret of my whereabouts. I am reminded on this one-year mark, that I still owe you a debt, and I did not want you to think I had forgotten.

The nuns at Iona treat me well, though they are irritated I have not yet chosen to take vows. As such, I’m certain they give me the worst of all chores. But I do them with a glad heart because I am alive, and I know more so than any other woman here that life is precious. Except perhaps that of Sister Maria. I’ve yet to learn her story. She thinks me too young. I am almost seventeen though, and I’ve been married before, which I’m certain she has not. Does that not make me more of a grown up?

Well, I am rambling, and I’m certain that a man of your trade has no use for ramblings.

I bid you adieu.

Yours in debt,

Lady Marina (I have often caught myself saying my true name, so much so, that I’m certain at least three of the sisters at Iona believe my name to be Jamarina.)

---

March 1442

Dear Jamarina,

I quite like your new moniker. I was at sea many months, traveling near India. An exotic place to be certain, though too hot for my tastes. I’ve only just returned and received your missive.

It is good to know you are safe, and trust that your secret is safe with me, for we are both hunted by the same rat. Alas, I am the hawk that feeds on vermin.

Perhaps your Sister Maria has a secret as profound as yours. Perhaps she only toys with you.

I have not forgotten our debt, but I have not had cause to call upon you for it.

As you say, you are only just a lass of seventeen.

Yours in service,

What name would you give me?

---

June 1442

Dear Gentle Warrior,

Aye, I believe I quite like that.

I confess I was surprised that you returned my letter. I had not thought a man of your trade to possess such beautiful script.

Sister Maria is gone. In the middle of the night. Mother Superior will not tell us what happened, and neither will my aunt. I suppose she did have a dark secret. I pray I do not disappear.

Again, they have asked me if I would take vows to become a novice nun, but there is something holding me back. I shall think on it a little longer.

Yours in debt,

Jamarina

---

November 1442

Dearest Gentle Warrior,

I hope you are well and that I did not offend you with my last letter. If it pleases, I will not write again. But I must say thank you once more, for it has now been two years since I arrived safely at Iona.

I confess, I long to leave. I do not think a life of servitude is for me. I am a child of the Lord, to be certain, but I find myself heavy with thoughts that lead me to confession idle thoughts.

Yours in debt,

Jamarina

---

April 1443

Dearest Gentle Warrior,

I confess I am much worried over you. It has been over a year since I’ve heard from you.

What it must be like to sail the sea. Free from walls. Free from judgment. Free. I am still grateful for what you did for me, but I feel a heavy cloud of melancholy. A sadness and loneliness, though I am surrounded by people. Perhaps, what I long for is the open sea.

Sister Maria has come back. I should think she is hiding something, for she avoids me, though not everyone else.

Yours in debt,

Lady J

---

December 1443

Dearest Lass,

A pirate’s life is not for thee.

I bid you good-bye until we meet again. Your last letter was read by someone other than myself.

Your Gentle Warrior

PS. I wish you well on celebrating your eighteenth year. I do not know my own birthday, so I have celebrated mine with you these past few years.

Isle of Iona

October 1445

The nights were normally quiet at the abbey. Lady Jane Lindsay walked the open-air cloisters between compline and matins when everyone else was sleeping, because sleep rarely came to her.

It was an issue she’d dealt with ever since that horrible night five years before, this inability to rest. And the only thing that seemed to help was walking in the nighttime air, no matter the weather, with no one present so that she could clear her mind, stare at the stars and think of a world outside these confining walls.

Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it did not.

She was Lady Marina now, her birth name of Jane a secret between herself, her aunt and the Mother Superior. Well, and her gentle warrior. She’d not written him since that day he’d warned someone else was reading her letters. And ever since she’d stopped, the scornful gazes she’d been receiving from Mother Superior had subsided. Was it she who read the letters?

Marina had been on Iona since the day the pirate prince had left her at the shore just before dawn so none of the sisters at the abbey would be able to identify her rescuer. And though five years had passed in the company of the devoted women of God, Marina had yet to take formal vows herself. Though not for Mother Superior’s lack of trying. She wasn’t certain what held her back, only that she felt destined for something, and she’d yet to figure out what. Perhaps the overarching fear of discovery had been at the heart of that desire to keep herself free and separate from the women who had taken her in.

She’d once thought that she might like a life at sea. Those few days upon the Savage of the Sea had been the most peaceful of her life. No one had looked at her as though she were a pawn. No one had expected to use her, as had been her lot since the day she was born. Surprisingly, not even Shaw MacDougall, who she owed a debt.

For now, she knew that their lives could be in danger.

Even that rakishly handsome devil prince of pirates did not know the true danger she was in. The secret that would have made Livingstone want her dead. She’d kept that from Shaw. The less people who knew, the better.

Och, but she had thought of him often over the years. Her gentle warrior. The way he’d gazed at her with barely restrained longing, seeing the shame in his eyes for having done so. The way he’d gone against direct orders from Livingstone in order to save her. And who was she to him other than a lass?

The days she’d spent on his ship, he’d talked with her, played cards and knucklebones with her. She’d even taken two nights to read to him as the sun set. Their connection had been oddly easy and fluid. It had felt right. But then she’d had to leave him, and she wondered if maybe she’d only made up that connection after having an arrogant pig for a husband. Dare she call Shaw a friend?

She thought so. And given the fearsome pirate had been willing to write a naïve lass when she sent him letters, well, that proved it, didn’t it?

Jane dropped to her knees where she was in the center of the cloister and stared up at the sky. She had to leave. And yet, she could not leave without the help of the man who’d brought her here. And there was only one way to get him to return to her. To help her.

She owed him a debt, and she was certain a pirate would never forget his debts. Especially those owed to him. And now, she would need him to do her another favor. But only if it were worth his while. That morning she’d managed to get a missive sent off with a local fisherman. She could only pray the messenger made it back alive, and that no one intercepted her letter this time. The man had agreed to take her message, but not for free. Especially when he heard where she wanted him to go. But the sight of her ring had been enough for him to agree. She’d given him one of her precious jewels, not only as payment, but also as proof to MacDougall that it was she who’d sent for him.

“Pray, come in time,” she whispered to the night air, hoping her words reached Shaw wherever he was.

But it had been five years since she’d seen him, and well over a year since she’d gotten his last letter. She’d not replied to that one, fearful of who it was that had intercepted it, and she’d been waiting every day since then for Livingstone to come crashing through the abbey doors. But her day of reckoning was coming.

The name Livingstone had not crossed her lips since the day MacDougall had saved her from the knight’s vicious attack. Not even when they’d been on the ship traveling to Iona. But it had crossed Mother Superior’s tongue that morning while the sisters and Jane broke their fast. His name hung in the air, causing Jane’s ears to buzz. Her worst enemy was going to be making a visit to the abbey on his pilgrimage across the country. Her hands still trembled at what Mother Superior had relayed to her.

The ladies in attendance had all been pleased to hear it, for it meant more coin would be placed in the abbey’s coffers. Perhaps this coming winter, they might all have newly darned hose rather than the threadbare ones they’d used the year before. But to Jane, it had meant something else entirely—certain doom.

It meant death.

For she alone knew that Livingstone was not making a pilgrimage across the country in hopes of redeeming his soul, but instead was ferreting her out. Somehow, he must have gotten word she was seeking sanctuary at an abbey. Perhaps even this abbey.

In truth, she was surprised it had taken him this long to do so. How had he found out? Who’d told him she was here? Was it whoever read had the letter? Mother Superior? Sister Maria who’d disappeared several years before? Or was he just that clever? Perhaps in the last five years, he’d left no stone unturned but those lying atop Iona.

Mayhap for a while, he’d thought her dead, or that the pirate had kidnapped her, ravaged her and done away with her by tossing her out to sea. Part of her had hoped her gentle warrior had taken flight as a hawk and sank his claws into the blackguard.

Alas, none of her dreams that would lead her to freedom had come to fruition.

But something must have made him believe she was alive, and yet, she could not guess at who or what it could be. No one here knew of her identity, save for Mother Superior and her aunt. Even in her letters, she’d not written as Jane or given any other truly identifying information.

There was always the chance that Mother might have accidentally let some piece of information slip, for though she knew that Marina was her aunt’s niece and that her name was Jane, she did not know the circumstances regarding why she must be hidden.

She did not know that Livingstone had killed Jane’s husband.

That he wanted to kill her.

For Jane held a dark secret. One a man would kill for.

A secret she was willing to sell to a pirate for his protection.

A secret a pirate would be willing to barter with her for.

A secret would be the undoing of an entire kingdom.

If only she could have lived out her days in peace here. But only a naïve lass would have thought such a thing. Even when she’d come here at the age of sixteen, she’d not been naïve. She’d lived the previous three years with the most arrogant of earls—her young husband. He’d treated her like rubbish. He’d disrespected her in front of his men and made sport of seeing her look dejected because it made him feel superior. Jane had been nothing more than a pawn in their marriage bargain. Betrothed at age seven and married at age thirteen, she’d spent three miserable years with William Douglas, and the only friend she’d made was his younger brother, David.

They were both dead now.

Wee David was dead by association, for possibly knowing too much. William was dead for the latter, and for his arrogance. For he’d been the one to proclaim he knew the secret. And from that moment forth, he’d had a target on his chest.

It was only by sheer instinct that Jane had thought to ask William what the big secret was, playing on his need to brag. And then he’d told her.

Now she harbored the most dangerous secret in the country.

And Livingstone knew it.

Castle Dheomhan, Isle of Scarba

There was nothing to spoil a man’s debauchery more than a messenger arriving with an urgent missive from a woman. An important woman if she knew where he resided. Besides the wenches lounging on his and his crewmen’s laps, there was only one woman who had ever sent a missive to his pirate stronghold.

Gently knocking the two buxom wenches from his lap, who fell in a heap of drunken, naked laughter to the thick fur beneath his throne chair. The same throne chair that had been commissioned from steel and velvet with the Devils of the Deep skull and swords crest at its top and had parts that dated back to the original king of pirates, Arthur MacAlpin, from hundreds of years before.

Rock hard and half-drunk on whisky, Shaw settled his gaze on the messenger and willed his raging cock into submission. But that was almost impossible, given the inebriated state he was in and thinking of precious Jane. She’d be twenty-one now. Old enough that he didn’t have to feel ashamed for thinking about her pert breasts and luscious mouth.

Was it she who’d sent this old man to him? Would she dare?

He’d not heard from her since his letter of warning, though he’d hoped to every day since.

But when he unrolled the parchment to behold the looping scrawl of his Lady Jane, he glanced at the messenger who stood cowering before him. This was not her usual girlish letter, but one full of desperation and a bargain.

Taking the steps down from his dais, he leaned down to look the fisherman in the eyes. “Dinna piss yourself.”

“I willna, my…my… Your Highness.”

Shaw grunted, sneering and not bothering to correct the old man. “How do I know this is not a trick?”

The fisherman stepped forward, reaching for his sporran. A bad idea in a room full of men expecting weapons to be drawn at any moment, and the old bastard was awarded with a dozen sharp blades at his throat.

The bloke raised his arms, glancing around fearfully, knees knocking. His mouth was open in a silent plea before he finally found his voice. “Please, sir, I hold proof.”

Shaw waved his hand at his men. When they lowered their weapons, the fisherman continued to reach for his sporran and pulled out a golden ring of emerald and pearls. Shaw knew this ring. He’d given it to Jane as a gesture of friendship. A token of…his affection. He’d told her to send it if she ever needed him. When he’d told her he meant to collect on their debt, he’d never actually meant to take anything from the lass—other than perhaps convincing her when she was of age that she might like to grace his bed. It had taken a feat of pure willpower not to write her back when she’d said a life at sea would suit her to say he was coming to get her.

“Lady Marina,” the fisherman said.

Marina… Jamarina… He let out a short laugh.

He’d not heard the name in a long time. It was the one he’d given her before she disembarked his ship. The lass had plagued his dreams for five long years. More beautiful than a woman had the right to be. He’d always felt guilty about his desire for her. For she’d been so young at the time, and pirate or nay, he had a code when it came to women. But not anymore. Now she’d be a woman grown, and the curves he’d felt when he carried her aboard his ship would have blossomed.

Shaw grunted and went back to the letter, the women on the floor pawing at his boots all but forgotten.

Dear Gentle Warrior,

I am prepared to pay my debt straightaway. ’Tis most urgent that you come now. Else, the balance will never be repaid, for there are others who wish to lay claim to the treasure I alone possess. I trust that your desire for adventure and thirst for the greatest of prizes will allow you to make haste to me. And know that I do not flatter myself that any sense of honor would bring you forth.

Most urgently yours in debt,

Lady M

“When did she give ye this?” Shaw demanded. The man stank of fish, his face the color and texture of dried leather.

“Early this morning, my laird. When I dropped off the fish at the abbey.”

Shaw grunted. “And what was your payment for daring to step foot on my island?” He kept his voice calm, low, but it still had the power to cause the man to quake.

“The ring, sir.”

“The ring,” Shaw mused. He held the emerald jewel up to the candlelight. “So ye’ll be wanting it back?”

“I’d be happy to leave with my life.” The man’s knees knocked together.

Shaw grinned, baring all of his teeth as he did so. “I suppose ye would.” He closed his fingers around the ring. “Go then. Afore I unleash my beasts to feed on your bones. Ye were never here. Ye never saw this place. If anyone so much as lands on my beach by accident, I will hunt ye down and kill ye.”

The old man nodded violently, then turned and ran toward the wide double doors that made up the entrance to Shaw’s keep.

“Wait,” Shaw called and two of his crew stepped in front of the old man to bar him from leaving. “Ye forgot something.”

Trembling visibly, the fisherman turned, and Shaw tossed him the ring. But his reflexes, or his nerves more like, weren’t expecting it, and the ring fell to the stone before his feet. There was a measure of held breath in the air, and Shaw wondered if the man would pick it up or if the moments would tick by to the appropriate count that his men knew meant free game for whatever treasure had been dropped.

Seeming to understand the urgency, or perhaps just wishing to get the hell of Shaw’s island, the fisherman scooped up the ring.

But instead of rushing out, he asked, “What should I tell my lady?”

“Ye needn’t tell her anything,” Shaw said. “I’ll be there before ye get the chance.”

With that, he blew a whistle to assemble a small crew and marched past the old fisherman, thinking at the last second to grab him by the scruff and drag him down to the docks before he was robbed for having overstayed his welcome.

Soon Shaw would lay his gaze on the beautiful lass again. Only this time, she would be a woman. Had the years at the abbey done her well? Was she now a child of God as she’d often struggled with deciding upon in her letters? And if she was, would he have the ballocks to corrupt her?

At that thought, Shaw laughed aloud as he gripped the helm.

Of course, he would.

He was Shaw Savage MacDougall. He took what he wanted, when he wanted. And never had he shied from debauching a willing woman.

Better yet was the question regarding what was this prize she claimed to possess? This treasure that he would not be able to resist?

He imagined a mountain of jewels and gold. A key to the king’s own treasure stores. But truth be told, those were not the treasures he’d been pining over for years since last seeing her. Nay, the treasure he wanted was her.

In just a few hours time, he’d know what it was she was offering.

“Where to, Cap’n?” Jack asked, eagerness in his eyes.

“Iona.”

Jack frowned. “Ain’t nothing there we want, Cap’n.”

Shaw turned a fierce glower on his crewman. “There is indeed something I want there. And ye best not be telling me again what it is I want, else I’ll have ye hanging from the jack and make good on your name.”

“Aye, Cap’n. Willna overstep again.”

Shaw growled. “Make certain no one else does, either.”