The Blond Devil of the Sea: The Highland Ladies Book Three

by Barclay, Celeste

  “I know you didn’t mean any harm. You’re not exactly used to hosting guests.”

  Rowan nodded as he bit into his eggs, but he tasted nothing as he realized Caragh thought of herself as a guest. This was better than thinking of herself as a prisoner or captive, but he thought of her as much more. The cabin felt more comfortable and more welcoming with her in it. He had something, or rather someone, to look forward to each night when he retired. He left the wheel in the hands of his first mate, and he could return to Caragh and forget about his duties for a while. In his mind, she’d become as permanent as any of his crew. Guests left. Guests returned home.

  “Rowan, what’s wrong?” He looked down at her small hand resting on his wrist.

  “Nothing really. We’re approaching the coast of Spain, so I must be more vigilant.”

  Caragh knew that wasn’t the truth, but she didn’t push. They ate their breakfast in silence, Rowan polishing off the overabundance of food much to Caragh’s entertainment. Rowan invited her above deck, where she spent the morning looking out at the horizon. They ate with the crew for the midday meal, and then Caragh returned to the cabin when the sun was at its zenith and beat down on the deck.

  This became their new routine for the next fortnight. Caragh had free roam of the deck, but she tended to find a spot near the prow, finding the ocean spray refreshing as she watched the fish swim alongside the hull. Periodically, she would spot a pod of dolphins. But the more freedom she gained, and the longer she looked at the open water, the more she longed to return home. She only wanted to be sure her family was safe. She needed to be sure the families of the men who died that night in the cave were provided for. She was homesick.

  Rowan watched Caragh retreat further into herself each day. He nearly regretted allowing her the chance to come above deck, but he didn’t want her to think she was a captive. It was bad enough she still referred to herself vaguely as a guest. He was keenly aware of where she was at every moment despite his focus being on navigating and commanding his ship.

  “Capt’n? Capt’n?” He looked to his first mate, Keith. Perhaps he wasn’t as focused as he believed. “You didn’t hear me, did you? Lost in thought again?”

  When Rowan looked at Keith, he saw Keith was looking at Caragh rather than him. He bristled until his first mate grinned. “Don’t get your hackles up. I’m not interested. You noticed she’s changing, don’t you?”

  “I can’t help but notice,” Rowan admitted.

  “She still smiles, but the spunk she showed that night on deck seems to have fizzled.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

  “Rowan,” Keith never called him by his first name in public. He dropped his voice, but Rowan knew his friend was serious if he dared speak so brazenly. “You need to take her home.”

  Rowan balked and jerked away as if slapped.

  “Hear me out. She’s wasting away worrying about her family. You know that’s what it is. You know just like the rest of us that she was their leader. She knows she’s responsible for those people, and I’m sure guilt at not being there is eating at her. It would do that to you or me if we were in her position. You have to take her home. Let her see all is well or help her fix it if we’re the reason things aren’t well. Then let her choose. I believe she’ll come back with you.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  Keith shook his head but kept quiet. Rowan stepped away from the wheel and was ready to make his way to Caragh when he saw her lean forward and shade her eyes from the sun. She spun around and raced to the center mast. She was climbing the rigging like a squirrel before Rowan could grasp what was happening. She was fast and nimble, and was in the crow’s nest before he could reach her. Rowan stood with his hands braced on his hips, prepared to bark orders for her to stop messing about and to come down when her loud whistle rent the air. It was a common trill that any experienced sailor knew was a warning of an impending attack.

  “Captain, to the starboard side. Two Spanish carracks that I can see, but I believe there’s another set of masts hidden by the low clouds. They’re just before the horizon. Three leagues and traveling toward us.”

  Rowan looked up at Caragh once more, and while he was angry that she risked climbing the rigging, he had to admit it was obvious she was experienced. And if they were about to go into battle, he wanted her high and out of sight. She would be safer there if they were boarded. He just hoped no cannon fire landed near the mast.

  He barked orders as the crew raised their sails that showed they sailed under the marque of the Earl of Argyll. Anyone who knew Rowan knew his ties to the Earl were loose. He paid fealty to the man twice a year, and in return, the earl turned a blind eye to anything else Rowan captured.

  If it were only one boat, he would have ordered the black sails raised and prepared the men to storm the ship, but he knew they were outnumbered. He willed the cloud cover to shift to cloak them as the boats approached one another.

  Chapter Nine

  The next hour passed slowly as the crew made few movements. Caragh called down as quietly as she could, knowing her voice would carry. Rowan manned the helm and steered them further into the descending fog. At Caragh’s last update, Rowan had the sails lowered as they held their collective breath. A vague outline of a ship passed by them, but it was too hard to make out any details. Rowan prayed the ships would pass by them none the wiser to their location. When the hulking forms of the carracks could no longer be seen, everyone breathed easier, but they remained vigilant and silent for another hour. They didn’t want their sounds to alert the Spaniards and intrigue them enough to turn around.

  When Rowan was sure they were safe, he stood at the bottom of the mast and looked up to the crow’s nest. His hands were back on his hips, and a scowl bore deep grooves around his mouth. It only deepened when Caragh peered down, grinned, and waved. All of Rowan’s pent-up fear that Caragh would be caught in the middle of a sea battle came pouring out.

  “Get down here! Now!”

  Caragh frowned at him but stepped out of the nest. She made her way down the rigging until she was low enough for Rowan to reach up and pluck her from the netting. He swung her over his shoulder and marched to their cabin. He didn’t say a word until they entered, and he kicked the door shut. Caragh cast a wary glance once he set her on her feet. She suspected he would be angry when she returned to the deck, but she hadn’t anticipated this level of fury.

  Rowan pulled the belt from his waist and wrapped the buckled end around his fist.

  “Lower your leggings, Caragh.”

  She shook her head and backed up until she was pressed against the far wall. She raised her hands as if they would block his approach.

  “Lower them. This is your last chance before I add to your punishment for disobedience.”

  “Rowan, no. You swore you would never strike me in anger.”

  “I’m not angry, mo ghràidh. I’m past that.”

  “But aren’t you relieved nothing happened?” She tried to plaster a smile on her face and recover the excitement she felt earlier. “It was as if we were a ghost ship that lurked among the clouds. They didn’t spot us.”

  Caragh watched the pulse tick in Rowan’s temple and realized her exuberance was only making him more upset. “I told you not to keep me waiting, and you have.” He took her hand and led her to the chair she both loved and dreaded. He wasn’t rough or impatient with her, and that made her worry even more. The calm menace frightened her. “Do you know why you’re to be punished?”

  Caragh slowly shook her head. She truly didn’t know what angered him.

  “Did I not warn you about taking needless risks? That I would protect you from yourself if need be?”

  She nodded her head but stayed silent.

  “And just what do you think you did climbing up that mast?”

  “I’ve done such hundreds of times. You brought me abroad as your cabin boy. You expected me to do that.”

  �
��You know bluidy well that was before I knew you were a woman. And I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. You’re aboard my ship and will follow my rules.”

  “But Rowan--”

  He cut her off when he grabbed the waistband and dragged the leggings to her knees.

  “You will come willingly and bend over my knee. You will count each one, and then you will thank me for caring enough to dole this punishment out.”

  Caragh shook her head and tried to back away, but her legs were tangled within the fabric that clung to her knees.

  “You just added two more to your tally. Do you intend to add more?”

  Caragh approached slowly. When she peered into Rowan’s eyes, she saw fear for the first time. She’d frightened him by scaling the mast without warning, coupled with his worry that she might be caught in the midst of a battle. She felt guilty for making him worry. She recognized his fear existed because he cared. If he didn’t, it would have been easier for him to ignore her. Instead, he was trying to show his concern through the only way he seemed to know how. She stepped up to him and cupped his jaw before placing a light kiss against his lips.

  “I’m ready.”

  Rowan’s expression remained the same except for the slightest widening of his eyes. It was the only indication that her capitulation surprised him. He sat down and drew her across his lap. He kneaded the flesh of her bottom before he rained down a series of spankings with his palm in preparation for the belt.

  “I don’t relish the idea of using a strap, but you refuse to take proper caution with your well-being. You seem to need something more compelling than just my hand.” He rubbed his hand across her once more. “You’ll count each one and thank me at the end.”

  Rowan brushed her hair aside and placed one hand upon the small of her back. Caragh barely had time to take a deep breath as she heard the leather cut through the air and land across her backside. She arched in pain but refused to make a sound other than to begin her count.

  “One.”

  “You’ll receive twelve spanks. If you try to stop me or move your hands in the way, risking the belt hitting them, I’ll add to the tally. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Rowan.”

  Blows landed across her bottom, leaving stripes in their wake. Rowan alternated where the leather struck her, making sure none cut through her skin. Caragh counted as she was instructed. The third lash made her cry out in pain. She could no longer hide her discomfort. By the seventh, she couldn’t keep from kicking her feet as tears streamed down her face. Eight and nine had her sobbing as Rowan rubbed her punished flesh between spanks. He’d caught the underside of her bottom where it merged into her thighs. He rubbed the heat from it, but he felt a different warmth in that area. His fingers dipped between her thighs until his fingers grazed her entrance. She whimpered not in pain, but arousal. Her head hung limply during the lashing, but now she looked back at him, her confusion clear.

  “Let us be done with this.”

  Caragh nodded and turned her head back. The tenth strike rocked her hips against his muscled thigh. She shifted as her bud found friction that built a need for release.

  “You’re not to find your release until I give you leave to, lass.” Rowan’s voice was hushed but held promise. A promise of further punishment but also impending pleasure.

  The fight drained from Caragh as the last two blows landed, and her need grew. As soon as he finished, Rowan dropped the belt and scooped Caragh into his arms. He cradled her and grazed his palm over her tender skin.

  She looked up at him through teary eyes.

  “Thank you, Rowan. Thank you for caring enough to want to keep me safe.” Caragh nearly admitted feelings she kept bottled and tucked away, certain they weren’t what Rowan wanted to hear.

  “I do care about you, mo chridhe.” My heart. He hadn’t called her that again since the night on deck when he came to blows with Skinny.

  Caragh shifted, and Rowan stifled a groan. Caragh still felt it rumble in his chest and felt his rod hardening. Her desire for release had been overwhelming as the last strikes pushed her against Rowan’s thigh, but now she felt another need: to make recompense and reconciliation. She slid from Rowan’s lap, even though he reached to stop her. She kneeled before him, careful to keep her inflamed flesh off her heels. She folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head.

  Rowan’s chest squeezed as he watched an unprecedentedly demure Caragh humble herself before him.

  “Caragh?” he murmured.

  At her name, she looked up and pressed her hands against his knees to widen them. When he acquiesced, she scooted forward. She looked up at him and saw his bewilderment. She reached out and rubbed her hand over his length. She dropped her gaze in submission as she continued to stroke him.

  “What’re you doing, mo chridhe?”

  Once again, the endearment slipped smoothly from him and encircled her with warmth. “I would show you I care just as much and that I’m grateful for you. May I?”

  Her quest for permission tore at Rowan’s heart. He’d fantasized as a younger man about finding a woman who would accept his dominance with willing submission. More recently, he wondered if Caragh possessed that nature, if only behind closed doors.

  “Yes, Caragh,” his voice hoarse and filled with emotions he couldn’t articulate.

  She untied the laces to his leggings and eased them open until he sprung forth. She traced her fingertip over his scorching skin with a feathery touch. She wrapped her hand around him and stroked him before lowering her mouth around him. Caragh poured all the love that had built within her for a man she never expected to meet, but now couldn’t imagine being apart from.

  Rowan watched her through slitted eyes and marveled as the satisfaction she seemed to get from the act. When he could no longer hold back his climax, he scooped her hair off her neck and pressed her away. He stroked himself as his seed coated her chest and dripped down her breasts. She wiped a finger along her nipple and brought it to her mouth, humming as she licked it. Rowan knew he pulled away not to save her from choking or the taste, which she seemed to like, but because he wanted to mark her as his. His possessiveness hadn’t flared this strongly since their first night together.

  He stood from the chair, and Caragh backed away but remained kneeling. Rowan returned with a damp cloth but rather than let him clean her, then himself as he usually did, she wiped the cloth along him like their first morning together. Once they were both tidy, he carried her to their bed.

  He always thought of the cabin and everything within it as theirs. It had ceased being his the night she arrived aboard his ship. Rowan covered them with the coverlet, then held her as she traced his tattoo. He’d noticed that following the intricate pattern soothed her, and he liked the feel of her caresses.

  Each night when he returned to the cabin for the evening meal, they talked about a variety of topics including his travels, the battles he’d fought, the treasures he accumulated, her village and townspeople, and her family. He never volunteered anything from his past before he became a pirate, and she never asked. He knew she wanted to know, but she respected his privacy. He appreciated it more than he could say, but he knew the time had come to reveal more of his story. Despite their closeness when they made love–and he admitted to himself that they didn’t simply couple–he hadn’t shared enough with her. He suspected that was part of the reason she was withdrawing further into a shell of her own making. She’d humbled herself before him that night and made herself vulnerable. It was time for him to do the same. He kissed her forehead before he began to speak.

  “Caragh, you’ve never asked about my past. The time before I became a pirate or even how I became one. I wasn’t ready to tell you, but I would share that with you now.”

  Caragh didn’t move except to nod her head twice.

  “You know I’m a MacNeill of Barra, and I suspect you know my tattoo isn’t typical of a sailor. I can only guess what your vivid imagination has concocted to explain
it.” When she did nothing but continue to trace the ink on his skin, he continued.

  “My father was the laird of our clan, and I was his heir. I was loved by my parents, and they were more attentive than most. While I remained close to my mother, I argued often with my father as I grew into a young man. We had differing opinions on how to treat our clansmen. My father ruled with a heavy hand and through fear, even though he made sure all members of the clan were cared for, especially the elders. We had an abundance of men willing to sail for us. My father believed it was because they sought riches like he did, but I understood it was freedom from his tyranny that they sought. My mother was the only voice that could soothe him when he was at his worst, but over the years, even my mother’s influence diminished as his greed grew.” Rowan paused to gather his thoughts. He was about to reveal to Caragh things that he hadn’t shared with anyone, not even his mother.

  “My father rode out twice a year to survey all of his land. He would be gone a fortnight or more as he checked the planting and harvesting of the meager crops we could grow on Barra. I began riding along with him and his men when I was three and ten. I watched the tenant farmers quake when they recognized their visitors. I watched him levy unfair taxes that kept the families indentured to him. I sailed with him when we raided the MacLeods.” He paused to see if she would react, but she only nodded once again. “I learned how brutal a sea captain needed to be. It was the only time I could agree with his method of leadership. I gained my fearlessness from the things he made me do as I learned to captain the crew. These skills have kept me alive.”

  Caragh continued to stroke his shoulder and arm as she listened in silence.

  “When I was six and ten, it was time to ride out to oversee the spring planting. He wanted to follow a stream that was known to overflow its banks in spring after the thaw. I tried to warn him we could lose a horse if it went lame in a mudslide, but he refused to consider my caution. He called me weak and unfit to lead if I was afraid of a bit of mud. He insulted me and questioned my manhood in front of our warriors, men I would someday have to lead. I had no choice but to agree with him and ride out, though my gut warned me it was a mistake.”