Free Delight by Jillian Hunter

loch and lovingly converted it into a fu ll-rigged minia ture version of Douglas ' s last sloop, the Delight, which had been wrecked on the coast of Cuba during his final raid.
    Phelps, the ship ' s carpenter, had even mounted a topsail and prow carved into the shape of a black fire-breathing dragon. The reflections of tiny brass cannons gleamed upon the darkened water.
    Douglas enjoyed approximately fifteen seconds of nostalgia before panic set in. "And how the hell am I supposed to explain this to the princess? " he shouted. "What will the gentle folk of the glen think to see a pirate ship sailing the peaceful waters of their loch?"
    The loch, in fact, was anything but peaceful, rain slashing the surface. A rising wind churned the water into powerful waves that pounded the shore. It took an hour for Douglas and Dainty to row to the small tidal island where they hoped to catch Neacail's men taking shelter from the storm.
    They found only a few stones, a bird carcass, a merlin ' s nest.
    "We will try again tomorrow, " he said grimly as he brought the outrageous rowboat back to shore. "Perhaps they have gone out raiding. ' Tis almost light now. The last thing we need is for the princess to see her host sailing a pirate ship under her window. "
    The princess slept all day in her tower, guarded by her gargoyle of a governess. She slept through the thunder and lightning. She slept in innocence, oblivious to the black atmosphere that surrounded her.
    Douglas pa ced, cursing the storm that pre vented him from searching the outlying heath and hills. Rain gushed from the cannon spouts, muddying roads and overflowing rivers. He did not know this wild land he lorded over, but he would learn.
    He went to bed that night without seeing Rowena once. Yet h e felt an odd contentment, know ing she lay protected within the tower, safe from the elements that battered the stone castle.
    Safe in the lair of a dragon and not the white knight with a broken leg she undoubtedly dreamed of and deserved.
     
     
    N eacail of Glengalda stood by the fireplace of the tower bedchamber. He had remembered the hidden passage inside the castle he hoped to claim.
    He watched the woman who slept in the bed only steps from where he stood.
    A few hours earlier he had been watching the tall man, his enemy, brave the storm to pace the parapets. The man had stolen what belonged to Neacail, he'd tried to kill him, and he would pay. The pain of the pistol wound in Neacail's arm strengthened his hatred.
    Neacail was the rightful heir to Dunmoral, or so his whoring mother had confessed to the priest on her deathbed last summer. She ' d sworn that the former earl ' s nephew was Neacail ' s father, and any fool could see a family resemblance.
    There were no papers to prove this. The former earl and his nephew were both dead. Yet Neacail had always known he had been born to privilege.
    Six months ago Neacail had carried his blood claim to the Scottish Court of Session. The judge had laughed in his face.
    "Perhaps the papers proving your nobility were burned at your birth," the judge had suggested with a sneer.
    A week later Neacail had burned the judge ' s country house to the ground, not caring that the magistrate ' s bedridden sister was trapped within.
    He ' d watched her beat at the window like a caged bird. There was pleasure in that, and a lesson to those who laughed at him.
    He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his torn saffron shirt. His deep-set eyes smoldered with thwarted ambition. His arm ached, but that weakness would not stop him.
    He would sleep tonight in a cave like an animal. He would awaken amidst men who smelled like swine when he should be living in this castle like a lord.
    Neacail had worked as a servant once in the castle scullery years ago. He had learned a few of the secret passages that others had forgotten, thinking such knowledge might prove useful.
    He was not a fool though. He had not entered the castle to be caught. He had a grander plan.
    The