Seduced by a Rogue by Amanda Scott

little over six hours. But the farther into the Firth
     the flood tides pushed, the swifter they moved. From low to high tide at Annan could take just under four hours on a spring
     tide, while its ebb could take as long as nine and a half hours.
    Traveling outward on the ebb was always slower and would be more so with wind from the southwest, but almost any wind could
     prove useful in sparing his oarsmen and would aid them when time came to enter Kirkcudbright Bay.
    He had meant only to learn the lay of the land at Annan House. First he had intended just to see how well guarded the place
     was from a river approach. He would then have anchored in Annan harbor and explored more from there.
    Depending on what he learned, he would either have returned to Galloway to reconsider his plans or stayed in the area until
     opportunity arose—or he had created one—to put his plan into action. Instead, the lass had stepped into his path, and he had
     seized the moment—and her ladyship as well.
    He waited only until they were out of sight from Annan House, before stooping to free her. The big square sail was up, blowing
     full above them as he loosened her gag. Removing it, he expected a flood of reproaches, even tears.
    But after an initial, unmistakable flash of fury, she remained stonily silent.
    Deciding she must be too terrified to speak, he began to untie the rope he had wrapped around her over her cloak.
    Quietly, he said, “You’ve nowt to fear, my lady. I mean you no harm.”
    She said nothing, merely shifting to let him deal with the rope more easily.
    When he had finished, he said gently, “Take my hand, lass. I’ll steady you whilst you stand. Then you may take a seat on that
     wee bench by the stem locker.”
    She let him help her stand but warily, and again he could sense her anger. Being a man who vented his anger whenever it stirred,
     Rob looked on her continued silence as proof that he had terrified her. That would not do.
    “By my troth, Lady Mairi,
no
one will harm you,” he said. “Your predicament is a matter of politics only—of necessity, in fact—to avoid much bloodshed.”
    “Indeed, sir?” she said tartly. “One hesitates to question such noble intent, but does your helmsman
mean
to smash us all on those rocks straight ahead?”
    “Nay, they are but tacking against the wind,” he said, relieved to learn that it was not him she feared. “Often, to move forward,”
     he added pointedly, “one
must
take what seems a strange course. As you will see, though, we are about to turn.”

    Mairi had realized as much as soon as she had spoken, because one of the crew moved then to reset the angle at which the big
     sail caught the wind. The helmsman shifted the steerboard then, to take a course very near the wind and no longer heading
     toward shore.
    Maxwell, apparently realizing that she did not want to talk to him, slipped off his heavy leather jack and rolled it up. “Here,
     lass,” he said. “Put this behind you so you don’t bruise yourself against the wood.”
    Accepting it with a nod and exerting herself not to reveal that she found the leather disturbingly warm from his body, she
     adjusted it to cushion herself. Then she turned so she could watch the water and the shoreline that they followed west.
    He had clearly thought she feared him, but she did not. Perhaps she ought to, she mused. But for now, she was grateful to
     feel only anger.
    She had occasionally been out in a small boat during neap tides, when the rise and fall of the water level was minimal. Also,
     she and Fiona had ridden ponies across the open, muddy sands east of the Annan during low tide, when all twenty miles of the
     Firth from its head almost to the outflow of the river Nith looked more like a boggy desert—with two narrow rivers through
     it—than a vital waterway. The Firth was thus deceptive, and one dared never underestimate its dangers.
    Only neap tides came in and went out courteously.
    She had heard tales