Birk Bane was born the second son, the unwanted son, the unneeded son. Crossed by family and falsely accused of a crime, he flees Scotland to the sea where he’s recruited by a pirate. Five years later, he’s captain of his own ship and embraces his new life, though an ache for the woman he left behind remains. When he receives word of his father’s death and his clan is floundering, Birk begrudgingly returns home. Little does he know there’s more he left behind than a title…much more.
The longer he’s home, the more betrayal Birk uncovers. There will be a fiery battle ahead for Birk and his brethren. If he survives, how will he choose between the life he loves and the love of his life?
“They’re coming!”
The panic in Sheena’s eyes matched Birk’s
racing heart. Their breaths stirred the dust they had kicked up crouching
behind the crates. Shouts carried down the alleys, drawing closer.
Sheena gripped his arms. “Go!” Her
pleading command rushed out in a hoarse whisper. “Run, before they catch you.”
“Come with me.” It was a desperate
attempt to keep Sheena by his side, a selfish one. But he was no fool. If the magistrate
found out she helped him escape, his bonny lass would be imprisoned. He
couldn’t protect her if he left her behind.
She shook her head, mahogany tresses
slipping free from the knot at her crown. “I canna leave my father and
Mallabroch Manor.” Gruff voices neared. Her eyes widened, begged. “Please,
Birk. If ye are hanged, I’ll kill myself, I swear I will.”
He believed it. By the heavens, he
loved his lass. Loved her more than anything this world had to offer. He’d give
his life for her. But never would he allow her to give hers for him. Never. “I canna
leave you.” He could hardly swallow, the lump of fear wedged tight in his
throat. She was his air, the beat of his heart. He was terrified to be without
her. Terrified and angry. Angry for the pain marring her beautiful effervescent
smile. He swore whoever set him up, accused him of being a false coiner, would
pay and pay dearly.
“Ye must go.” She grabbed his face with
both hands. “Ye must. For me.”
The tears cresting in those moss green
eyes, the tremble in her bottom lip, tore at his soul. What choice did he have?
Sheena would not leave her father, her home. This he knew. Her love and loyalty
for her da was fierce. Could he really expect her to leave Ramsay, the laird of
Mallabroch, alone, as ill as he was? Would he be able to protect her any better
on the lam? No. He had no choice. She was a mighty one. She’d be fine, if only
he’d let her go. Let her go and run. Damn it, he never ran from anything. He
tucked a wayward lock behind her ear. “For you,” he repeated.
A shaky smile accompanied her gusty
breath of relief. “I love you, Birk.”
“And I you. More than the moon and
stars.” He pressed a kiss to her mouth. “I will clear my name,” he vowed
against her lips. “I will come back for you.”
Birk gripped the back of her neck and
she deepened the kiss. For a moment, he lost himself with her. The accusations,
the magistrate’s guard closing in, his damaged, jaded world faded into the
light, musky, floral scent of heather and urgent caress of her lips.
“This way!” The strident shout broke
the haze, yanking him back to the present.
“Promise me.” She choked on the words.
Footfalls pounded against the packed
dirt.
He could take no more of her agony.
Aye. He would see the man who framed him dead. “I promise, mo teine, my fire. I will return for you.”
“Back here! This way!”
Tears streamed down her creamy, flushed
cheeks. She nodded once. Without a word, she spun to stand, ready to face the
men chasing after him.
Birk took off at a run, dodging barrels
and crates, cutting around the buildings on the leading edge the rest of the
way through the town to the docks. Behind him, he heard her shrill scream. He
pushed hard against the urge to hasten back to her. He had to believe she would
be all right. She was a hellcat when provoked. Sheena would be fine. She had to
be.
He jumped over a pile of ropes and
looped through stacks of lumber. The stench of timber and pitch mixed with
brine. Off to the left, a carpenter hammered, the thudding so familiar. Ahead,
several stevedores unloaded cargo from a ship. Birk hadn’t thought beyond
fleeing the cell which Sheena unlocked. He hadn’t thought to where he’d go. But
Sheena had. He was to flee to the only place he’d known—his father’s shipyard.
Now as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the yard, realization struck. He
had trapped himself between the town and the men coming for him and the sea.
Bloody hell. Aye, there was a boat waiting for him somewhere, but would he
reach it in time?
Sheena’s plan. Take a skiff across the
Sound of Sleat to the mainland. Find a horse in Mallabroch and disappear. It
was his only option, though he would rather have her by his side. Running from
all the injustices their young lives had suffered, together.
Birk slunk through the maze of planks,
boxes, casks, and tools, weaving through the scaffolding beneath the hull of a
brigantine. He set his sights to the end of the docks where fishermen cast out
in their skiffs. Just as he cleared the last support beam, he came face to face
with his father.
Bewilderment flashed across his haggard
face but was soon replaced with a flare of venom.
Birk slid his gaze past his father to
his cousin rounding the other side of the scaffolding and coming up short. Cam
slowly took a step back, as if he hoped not to become entangled in a
confrontation.
“Birk.” A sneer crooked his father’s mouth.
“Let ye out, did they?” His tone belied he knew the better.
Shouts traveled through the shipyard.
His pursuers were nearly upon him.
“Hmph.” The old man lifted his chin and
sneered down his nose. “Suppose not.”
“I didna do it, Father.” Speaking
truths, hell, speaking at all was lost on the man.
Since birth, Hugh Bane, laird of
Creaganbroch Manor, the village of Tradale, and the surrounding lands, had
shunned his youngest son—the weak, sickly child who wasn’t expected to live.
But his mother refused to accept her little bairn could not grow happy and
healthy. Through her love and nurturing, never leaving his side, Birk survived
the infant months to become the favorite of her three sons. That didn’t change
as he grew a few years older. Hugh had become resentful, claiming his wife
mollycoddled Birk. He’d force Birk into harsh labor around the yard, harsher
than he should have for a boy his age. This but angered his mother and many
fights were waged over Birk. Until his mother fell ill with fever. Upon her
final breaths, it wasn’t Hugh she called for, but Birk. And Birk had suffered
for it ever since.
Except that he didn’t. He hadn’t let
the old man get the better of him. Not after the last time he took a backhand
across his face at the age of fifteen.
“Didna do it?” Hugh spat. “’Tis your
fault I’ve buried James. Ye and your goddamned defiance.”
And there it was. The blame he’d been
burdened with and the guilt that his father was right this time. But that was
his cross to bear and he’d be damned to let the old man lay one more thing at
his feet. He’d be damned to give him any such satisfaction.
A wicked grin crooked one side of Cam’s
mouth. One day, Birk would bloody up that idiot’s face, the toady.
“I didna kill James.”
“Ye did, and ye sullied the Bane name
with your thievery.” Hugh, quick as a viper, snatched Birk’s arm. “Cam.”
“Yes, uncle?”
His father’s expression hardened. “Alert
the authorities in the yard,” he leaned within an inch of Birk’s face, his eyes
darkened with hate, “we have the bastard here.”
Birk had never gotten along with his
cousin, but something about the toothy grin splitting Cam’s face didn’t set
right with him. ’Twas more than Birk facing certain death at the end of a rope.
’Twas something…triumphant. Cam spun on his heel toward the approaching men.
“May ye rot in hell,” Hugh spewed.
Birk wrenched his arm free and leaned
in even further, a hair’s breadth from the man. “Ye first.”
