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Conquered and Seduced
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Tempted By Innocence
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October 10, 1487

Northern Spain

In the camp of the Zincali, Gypsy fires were burning. Fires to dispel the darkness and ease the chill of the mist that swept in, covering the wild terrain of Galicia with the sea.

As she stood before one of those fires, Anne Lithgow shivered and pulled her thin wrap more tightly about herself.

“You’re quiet tonight,” her companion said, turning an intent gaze her way. “Are you all right?”

Anne wasn’t actually, but she doubted the young Gypsy woman Dulcinea would understand. “Too much upheaval,” she said. “I need time to sort through it all.”

The woman’s expression softened. “Poor thing. Sent to a foreign land to marry a man you’ve never met, then captured at sea by pirates! I’d say you’ve had enough upheaval for a lifetime in only the past three weeks.” She touched Anne’s hand gently. “But at least that nightmare’s over now. How fortunate that in your escape you crossed paths with the Zincali. We’re also bound for Portugal, and you’ll travel with us in safety. Soon we’ll have you back to your betrothed in Lisbon and all will be well.”

How could Anne dispute that? And yet, tears misted her eyes.

It was true she now had every reason to rejoice. She’d managed to miraculously outwit her captors. They’d not missed the key she’d stolen, hadn’t heard her when she’d eased out onto deck, hadn’t noticed that the ship’s apprentice was missing a change of clothing. They’d not heard the creak of ropes when she’d lowered the small boat into the sea or the solid thunk when she jumped into it. The watch in the crow’s nest must have been asleep.

She had every reason to be proud of her daring and thankful for her freedom. So she surely hadn’t expected this profound attack of melancholy.

She could hardly believe her own thoughts. She was Lady Anne Lithgow, daughter of an earl and a member of the royal family. No lady of her rank should admit to what she now felt.

She longed for a man she hardly knew. And not just any man. A pirate.

Surely it had been the right thing to do—to leave him, to flee from his imprisonment, to risk all for freedom. It must have been the right thing, but the dull ache inside told her differently.

A shout from nearby startled her from her thoughts. Dulcinea hissed a warning, grabbed Anne’s arm and pulled her deeper into shadow.

There was a chaos of activity on the other side of the encampment, loud voices in question and reply, a flurry of color and motion as several guards wielding torches and swords led in two strangers, their hands resting on top of their heads. The guards pushed them into place before the largest fire and the wiry, gold-toothed Gypsy named Simon, recognized by all as the leader, the count, of this small band.

The woman beside Anne spoke in a hushed, almost reverent voice. “Well look at that. Visitors to the camp, and my, what a visitor! Who is that, and what does he want, and do you think I might could get it for him?”

Anne did not speak, though she knew the answer to at least two of the three questions.

The man and his companion were not looking her direction, but she didn’t have to see their faces. She knew them, especially the dark-haired, handsome one. She was well acquainted with that arrogant stance, the breadth of his shoulders, the narrow hips and those lean, straight legs sheathed in boots of fine leather.

Her pirate had come.

To be continued…



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