Chapter Three
Rowan was at a loss for what to do. Now he was sure he had a lass and not a lad sitting next to him. His concern for the spirited sprite had caused him to follow her into the water, and it was his pride that refused to let her escape. When he pulled her into his hold without the added layer of the surcoat, he’d felt the feminine curve of her waist, and the weight of her breasts hung over his forearm. Now they were closer to his ship than the shore. He looked down at the shivering woman next to him, and his fingers itched to pull the sodden cap from her head. He marveled at how she managed to keep it on despite her headfirst dive. As his eyes swept over her, their gazes, and for the first time he saw true unadulterated fear. Emotions stirred in his chest that he hadn’t felt in many years: shame and regret.
“Bluidy hell,” he uttered under his breath.
“Hell is at least warm,” came an answering murmur.
Once again, her comments tempted him to laugh, but the weight in his chest was pressing too heavily to muster any amusement.
Neither spoke until they reached the ship, and Rowan nudged her to stand. When she refused to move, he hefted her to her feet and leaned in so the oarsman couldn’t hear.
“Don’t embarrass me in front of my men, lass, or I’ll be forced to punish you. Since I have no intention of lashing you in public once you’ve been stripped bare from the waist up, I shall reserve the pleasure of that view for my eyes only in my cabin.”
Caragh scrambled up the ladder, and Rowan was amazed at the ease with which she moved. She’d clearly done it many times. She swung her legs over the rail and landed on the deck with nearly no sound. She looked around as the crew stood gawking at her. She’d discreetly looked down at herself in the dinghy and pulled her linen shirt from her body. She knew she could still pass for a boy, barely. Her hand reached for her knife, strapped to her ankle, but the same large body that captured her on the rocks pushed her forward.
“New cabin boy,” Rowan called out before dragging her below deck. He pushed the door to his cabin open and thrust her through the doorway. “Explain.”
Caragh moved around the table in the cabin’s center and went to stand before the porthole. She didn’t say anything and didn’t move once she took her spot before the small window.
“I said explain,” Rowan roared. His initial remorse had worn off and was now replaced with anger. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was angry at the young woman for risking her life by being in the cave and then jumping into the water, or at the men who allowed her to be part of the smuggling ring, or at himself for not realizing sooner that she was definitely not a “he.”
When one slight shoulder shrugged and no words came forward, Rowan charged across the small space. It only took him three steps to have his hands on her shoulders. He spun her around, yanked the cap from her head, and watched a wave of strawberry-hued hair fall about her shoulders and back.
“You’re testing the very last shred of my patience.”
Caragh knew she was toeing a fine line, but she didn’t care. She would rather be dead than a prisoner. She quirked an eyebrow at him in challenge.
“You think if you push me too far, I’ll lash out in anger and kill you. You’d rather not be a prisoner.”
Caragh sucked in a whistling breath, surprised that he understood her silent musing.
“No such luck. I have no intention of killing you, but I am keeping you.”
Caragh pooled as much saliva as she could and spat on his cheek. Rowan didn’t even flinch. He’d put his shirt back on in the dinghy, and now used his sleeve to wipe his cheek. He looked down at the trembling woman and saw the defiance in her eyes. Her quaking was from the cold or perhaps out of anger, but it wasn’t from fear. That had vanished since their boat ride to his ship. He took her by her elbow and crossed the cabin to a chair. He sat and drew her across his lap, her hair trailing on the ground. His hand rained down four hard smacks, two for each cheek. When she made not a peep, he swatted her four more times. This time with more force, but she still didn’t make a sound. His hand hurt him more than her backside seemed to hurt her.
“You’ll come to understand very quickly that aboard my ship, those under my command heed my orders the first time they are given, or they face punishment. My men receive the lash on-deck, but I shall reserve your punishments for the privacy of our cabin.”
Rowan frowned as he heard the last two words ring in his ears. He knew there was no way he could allow her above deck to sleep near the other men, but the term “our” implied that the cabin would be shared as if they were equals. He clenched his teeth.
“Count yourself lucky. This first indiscretion has earned you a spanking with my hand over your clothes. You won’t be so fortunate in the future. I’ll warm your bare bottom if you’re insolent again.”
Rowan stood, and Caragh nearly tumbled to the floor, catching herself in time. She shook her hair out of her eyes, where mutiny simmered. Rowan saw the teeth marks and the blood on her lip and realized she hadn’t uttered a sound because she’d muffled her discomfort. He reached up, and while she flinched, she didn’t pull away. He ran the pad of his thumb over her lip away from where she’d split it. He looked to the table on his left and spotted a handkerchief, old but clean. He blotted her lip until the linen came away clean.
“Must you be so stubborn?” He asked quietly, more to himself than to Caragh. “I know your given name is Caragh, but I don’t know your surname, nor do you know my name at all. I’m Rowan MacNeill, the captain of the Lady Grace.”
A smile twitched at the corner of her lip but died when she realized he would see.
“Named for your wife?”
Rowan shook his head but smirked. “Haven’t got one.”
“Ah, then for your mistress?”
“Haven’t got one.”
“Not just one, I would imagine. Several, but you picked one?”
“I don’t keep a mistress. Too expensive and too bothersome.”
“Then perhaps your favorite whore,” Caragh deduced.
“You’re making quite a lot of assumptions.”
“Only the last was an assumption. The others were questions.”
“You’re still not right.”
“A daughter?”
“I have no daughters, nor any sons.”
“Then I’m at a loss, unless you simply like the name Grace.”
“My mother.”
“Your mother?” Caragh couldn’t keep the shock from her voice as her eyes widened, and her crossed arms unfolded to her sides.
“We all have one. Even pirates.”
“Was she a pirate queen?”
“Decidedly not,” he quipped. “Though it would’ve been a fitting name, since she had the grace of a queen.”
Caragh caught the sadness that flashed into his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. However, there was a shift in their dynamic. His gentle touch had soothed Caragh, though she couldn’t fathom why. Not why he did it, nor why she permitted it.
“Are you a MacNeill of Barra?”
“I am,” That one question made him more wary than anything else during this odd evening raid. He was surprised that he admitted as much to her, but not many Englishwomen would know of Barra, let alone that it was a MacNeill stronghold. A piratical MacNeill stronghold.
“Then I should tell you that my mother is a MacLeod. Of Lewis.”
Rowan’s face broke into a broad smile, and what had been an uncommonly handsome face transformed into a thing of beauty. Caragh felt heat suffuse through her as the recipient of such a warm gaze and charming smile. She wanted to believe it was genuine, that the mirth in his gaze was real and not mocking her. She suddenly wanted far more than was reasonable with her captor.
“She’s a long way from home,” Rowan observed. “And you’ve avoided telling me your family name. I’m sure it’s not Scottish.”
“True,” Caragh watched as his smile slipped at her monosyllabic response, and it compelled her t
o say more. She didn’t want his smile to vanish. His even white teeth mesmerized her. “It’s Pedrick. My father is a fisherman and sometimes trades as far north as Scotland. He met my mother one summer when he made several runs up the coast. By winter, he asked her to marry him.” Caragh shrugged. “And now you found my brother and me in Bedruthan Steps.”
“Aye. A village known as much for smuggling as Barra is for pirates.”
Caragh’s eyes narrowed. She only knew about Barra because the MacLeods of Lewis and the MacNeills of Barra were seafaring rivals. Not many knew of the sleepy hamlet of Bedruthan Steps.
“You needn’t glare. Your little village is gaining a name among the pirating world. A few loose lips aboard a privateer boat that was captured, and yours is now a well-known smugglers’ cove.”
Caragh’s heart sank. If what Rowan said was true, not only would their main source of income dry up because no one would be willing to store their contraband there, the villagers would be in danger of future raids. She needed to return home to warn them.
“You can put aside any notions of escaping this ship. We have already set sail. We’re too far from the coast for you to make it before you would drown from freezing.”
“Then you should let me row ashore. You have more than one dinghy. You can spare one.”
Rowan’s laugh was deep and smooth, much like the Scottish whisky her father preferred.
“You needn’t laugh at me for wanting to warn my family. Wouldn’t you do the same?” Cara huffed indignantly, but she watched all traces of humor leech from Rowan’s face.
“Perhaps once upon a time. My family is my crew now.” Rowan moved to a chest and pulled free one of his shirts. “I’m tired of you making puddles upon my floor. You shall warp the boards. And it’ll be more work for you when you clean up the cabin.”
Caragh was taken aback by the swift change in his mood. She caught the shirt he tossed her. They stood at an impasse, as Rowan made no move to leave the cabin or even turn his back, and Caragh had no intention of undressing in front of him.
“Can you put aside your plundering ways for a moment and turn away, so I might change?”
“I can think of something I would very much like to plunder,” Rowan stepped forward and wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger and ran his thumb over the silken strands.
Caragh looked at Rowan, and in that moment, she knew she had a decision to make. One that would be irreversible. One that was nearly made for her. She had no intention of letting Rowan rape her, and while she didn’t get the impression that he would try, she didn’t want to test that theory. She also knew that he would insinuate he would bed her until he finally said it outright, which could be at any moment. Caragh swallowed as she admitted to herself that not only was she attracted to the man standing before her, even though logically it was ridiculous; she also knew that there was nothing left of her reputation. Everyone would know by now that she’d been taken aboard a pirate ship, crewed only by men. Even if she made it home untouched, no one would believe she was still a virgin. She would never find a man to marry her now. Her options had been slim before her capture, and now they no longer existed.
She knew she could fight the obvious attraction he felt and her own unspoken desire, or she could seize an opportunity she would never again have. She would die a spinster if she refused Rowan. She dreamed of a husband and children, of finding love like her parents had, of having a cottage of her own one day. But those dreams dissolved into the puddles around her feet. She could fight and deny herself, grow lonely and bitter aboard this ship for as long as Rowan decided to amuse himself with her presence, or she could answer long-burning questions. She could discover what it meant to experience passion with the most handsome man she had ever seen, one who had pressed the hard planes of his body against her twice. Despite the way in which they met and how she came to be aboard his ship, she didn’t feel threatened by him. He challenged her, but he didn’t frighten her. Her fear in the dinghy stemmed from the unknown, rather than from his actions. He’d been surprisingly gentle with her. He hadn’t abused his size when he handled her; even when he spanked her, he could have inflicted far more pain. She knew she deserved a punishment for spitting on the man, though a spanking wasn’t what she expected. She’d shown a propensity for disobedience that no captain of any boat could overlook while expecting to maintain order among the crew. She realized in a heartbeat she was lucky to only have received a spanking rather than a fist to her face or stomach–or worse, a slit throat. Her decision was made in the space of only a few breaths despite all the thoughts that raced through her head.
Caragh stepped back and placed the dry shirt on the table, then pulled her waterlogged one over her head. She heard Rowan suck in his breath before the garment cleared her head. She assumed he would be looking at the binding around her breasts, but his eyes were focused lower. She looked down and saw the angry and fresh bruises that mottled her sides from her fight in the cave. She hadn’t noticed them, but she knew she would in the morning. She paused until Rowan looked up to her face. She saw what she was sure was regret. He took one step toward her but then stopped short. She met him, again they stood toe-to-toe. His roughened fingers caressed the bruises with such feathery softness that she barely felt his skin brush hers.
“I’m all right,” she whispered.
He only nodded.
Caragh untied the knot at her back and slowly unwound the strip of linen that painfully pressed her breasts against her ribs but flattened her chest. As the skin that had been covered became visible, Rowan groaned softly. He lifted her hands away as he took over unwinding the linen. “It’s a good thing you killed him, or I would’ve had to do it.”
Caragh’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.
“He bruised more than just your ribs,” he explained. “Such fine skin shouldn’t be marred by anything, let alone bruises earned defending yourself from a pirate.”
Caragh snorted, and Rowan’s eyes snapped up to hers.
“That’s rich coming from the pirate captain who could’ve just as easily given me these bruises as any of your men. You didn’t know I was a woman until you’d already taken me.”
“But I do know now, Caragh.” It was the first time he’d used her name, and he liked how easily it flowed from his mouth, just as much as Caragh liked the way the burr filled her ears. “What’re you doing, Caragh? Why did you take up my challenge and undress before me?”
“Because I can keep fighting you and eventually be forced to accept fate, or I can welcome it on my own terms.”
“I’ll never force you. I don’t force women. I’ve done many unsavory things over the years and earned the name the Blond Devil, but I have never taken advantage of a woman.”
“I’m sure you have no need to. I imagine most women drop their clothes for the Blond Devil just as easily as I am.”
Rowan bit his tongue before he mused aloud that it usually cost him a few pieces of silver.
“What’re you dodging saying outright?” Rowan caught the linen as it dropped from Caragh’s slim frame. He stared at breasts that seemed to be created to perfectly fill his hands. His palms itched to prove himself right as the dusky nipples protruded, hardened from the cold.
“I’m saying that you and I are attracted to one another,” she shrugged her shoulders. “My options for a future, if I make it back to my home, are none. Why not make the most of what I can have now?”
Rowan’s smile returned once again and was nearly blinding.
“Are you always so pragmatic? Does it mean I don’t need to woo you with flattery and flowery words?”
“I suppose they wouldn’t go amiss, but I don’t want to hear untruths. I would rather we simply agree that this is what it is.”
“And what’s that?” Rowan asked.
“Satisfaction.”
“I certainly think we’ll have that, but I’m not sure we have the same notion of satisfaction. Or are you more experienced than I imagine?�
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“Hardly,” she glowered at him. “The satisfaction will be finally getting answers to questions I’ve never been able to voice.”
Rowan nearly choked when images of the things he wanted to do with and to Caragh flashed before his eyes. He knew she was an innocent regardless of the shocking things she said. It was her innocence that led her to say them. Desire coursed through him as he looked her over, and her innocence intrigued him more than it piqued his conscience. While his conscience had been resurrected earlier, he shoved it aside now.
“And just what do you know of the things that go on between a man and a woman?”
“The mechanics and what I’ve overhead from the men when they think I can’t hear, or what sailors say in the tavern.”
“What the bluidy hell are you doing in taverns?” Anger sparked when he thought of what types of men and things she would be exposed to in a place where ale and whores were served.
“Where do you think I made most of the agreements that brought the goods into the village?”
A growing anger sidetracked Rowan’s desire.
“And where the bluidy hell have your parents been, allowing you to traipse about making deals with scoundrels and criminals?”
“They’re not all a bad sort,” she had the audacity to smirk.
Rowan pulled her against his chest and fisted her hair.
“I’m not joking. Why has your family allowed you to get involved in these nefarious dealings that could get you raped or killed?”
Caragh tried to make a space between them, but when her hands landed on his chiseled chest, the heat nearly scorched her. Rowan watched her nose flair, and her body practically hummed with pent-up energy he hoped would translate to desire. But not until he had his answers.
“I’m waiting, Caragh. You’re developing a dangerous habit of keeping me waiting when I ask a question.”
Caragh caught the warning that flashed in his eyes, and this time she heeded it.
The Blond Devil of the Sea: The Highland Ladies Book Three Page 2