Rowan halted in his story as long-repressed memories flooded his mind. Caragh’s tender touch as she ran her fingers over his bristle brought him back to the present. He looked down at the luminescent emerald eyes that he lost himself in time and time again. She stretched to kiss him before tucking her head back against his chest. He found it easier to tell his tale if he didn’t have to see her reactions.
“We were gone a sennight when a storm crashed down upon us. It wasn’t anything unusual for the Hebrides, but the stream turned into a river. My father sent men out to scout where we could cross while he and I remained at the camp. We had argued the night before and once again that morning. While I tried to keep our disagreements private, my father relished dressing me down in public. He said being able to maintain my baring before my men was building my character. It just made me loathe him.”
Rowan paused to swallow the lump forming in his throat. His chest felt as though a ball of fire had come alive and burned him from the inside out. Caragh’s patience lent him strength as he pushed past the pain.
“I’d turned away to lead my horse from the bank. I didn’t trust the sludge that shifted beneath our feet, and I feared my steed would get sucked into the mud and end up lame or drowned. It wasn’t my own horse I should have feared for. I heard my father’s horse scream and his bellow. I turned back in time to see the mudslide pour over the hilltop and cascade down to where we had just been standing. It washed away both my father and his horse. I ran along the banks and tried to find him. I could see his hair just beneath the surface, but there was no way to get to him without being swept away. I finally decided entering the water on my own was better than being swept away. I ran further down the bank, trying to get ahead of my father before I waded in. The current swept my father toward me, and I clung to an overhanging branch as he came toward me. I reached for him and dragged him toward me with all the strength I could muster. The current shifted and gave up its hold on him. He went crashing into the branch I clung to. He bashed his head, leaving a massive gash that squirted blood. I knew head wounds could bleed profusely, but this was unlike anything I had ever witnessed.”
Caragh nodded her head as her hand rested, cupping his cheek.
“I clung to the branch and my father as I called for help. I could barely hear my own voice over the rushing water. When no one came running, I knew I had to get us out, or we would both die. I pulled my father against my chest and wrapped my legs around him as tightly as I could. I pulled us, hand over hand, along the branch until I felt the bank against my back. I dragged us through the muddy embankment until I could get to solid ground. I dropped down beside him, and I don’t remember anything until I awoke to one of my clansmen kicking me in the ribs.”
Rowan had to stop once again. The memories felt like a weight crushing his skull, and he gripped his head between his hands. He felt Caragh shift against him, then her fingers prying his hands away. She replaced his hands with her cool ones then brushed the back of her fingers along his temple and forehead. Rowan never thought he would share this story with another living soul, never thought he would allow anyone to see him this vulnerable. His pride tried to rear its head, but his need for comfort, comfort only Caragh could offer, was far too strong. He rolled onto his side and looked into her eyes. He saw anguish on his behalf, but there was no pity. He couldn’t have managed her pitying him. Not when he told a tale of his father questioning his manhood. Caragh opened her arms to him, and it was his turn to burrow into her chest. His cheek rested against the pillow of her breasts. He heard the solid, steady rhythm of her heart as she stroked his head.
“You don’t have to tell me anymore,” she murmured against his hair.
“I do.”
“I won’t think less of you. I don’t believe any of what your father must have said. I could never.”
Rowan leaned back, and it was his turn to offer a kiss, except his wasn’t quick. It was a drawn-out merging of their souls. When they finally pulled apart, Rowan settled back against her chest.
“I awoke to my clansmen staring at me. There was only anger and hostility in their stares. ‘Why’d ye do it, lad?’ Timothy, my father’s second, asked. I sat up and looked around. ‘Do what?’ I asked. ‘Kill him. Kill yer da.’ I remember shaking my head as I looked over at my father lying next to me. His skin was a deathly blue, and blood caked the wound on his head. We were both soaking wet. ‘I did no such thing,’ I remember yelling. I remember the grumbling and curses as Timothy pulled me to my feet. ‘Then explain how yer da’s ended up dead, and ye barely have a scratch on ye.’ I couldn’t believe anyone would accuse me of killing my own father. We might not have gotten along, but I always believed my clansmen knew me, my character, better than to think such a thing. I explained to them about my father and his horse being swept away, how I’d run alongside trying to catch sight of him, how I entered the river downstream from him and caught him as he floated past. I told them how he hit his head as I tried to pull him to me and how I yelled for help, but no one came. I pointed to the branch that hung in the water now that the surface had risen further. I recounted how I pulled him onto the bank using the tree limb and that I collapsed next to him before I could even check on him.”
Rowan was certain tears would soon flow from his eyes, but he was compelled to tell Caragh everything. He wanted her to know. He wanted to share his entire tale with her.
“Not a one of them believed me. They either accused me or agreed with the accusation of patricide. They bound my wrists and tied me to my saddle. They made me ride with my father’s dead body swaddled in cloth in front of me. It took a sennight to return to the keep. My mother greeted us as we arrived in the bailey, but she took one look at the corpse over my saddle and my bound wrists and began wailing. She ran to my horse, but it wasn’t me she cried out for. She barely noticed me. She sobbed for a man who had begun to mistreat her as badly as he did me. Someone pulled me from my horse and dragged me to a cell in the dungeon. The clan elders held a trial in absentia and declared me guilty of killing my father. They stripped me of my title as his heir, and they decided rotting away in a cell was a far worse punishment than killing me for the crime they accused me of. I would have to agree. Once they handed down the sentence, they moved me from a cell with a door and bars I could look out of to the oubliette. I spent a moon down there. I was sure I would perish, and the rats that shared my new living quarters would eat the skin off my bones. I lost all sense of time. I had no idea if it was day or night, or which day it was. The hatch opened only once daily, when stale bread and a water skein were lowered to me. Once or twice in what I imagine was a sennight, dried beef was also sent down. I had all but given up until the hatch opened and someone flung a rope ladder down. I looked up to see my cousin Ruairí standing at the top of the pit. He called down to me to climb up, but I hadn’t the strength. He cursed up a storm, then scrambled down. He pushed me to the ladder, and only with his help was I able to make it out. It was the dead of night, and he’d been away for nearly two moons with his own father and brothers. He discovered what had become of me and knew the lies for what they were. He freed me, and we stole a birlinn. We sailed down the coast for several days, but we had no choice but to put ashore when I developed a fever. There was a tavern where the owner allowed me to stay until I was well enough to leave. My cousin and I knew we needed to find work since we had nothing to our names but the clothes on our backs. We thought we found a merchant ship, but it wasn’t until we were under way that we realized the captain was a privateer. Caragh, we did what we had to survive that first crew. They were cutthroats and evil to their core, but we learned how to fight and to earn our share of the riches. It was aboard that ship that I earned the moniker the Blond Devil. Three years passed before Ruari and I went our separate ways on different boats. It wasn’t long after that we both became captains of own ships, I through inheritance and election, my cousin through mutiny. My anger over the betrayal subsided as I made the best of my new life, bu
t in Ruairí, the anger turned to bitterness that still burns. He never let go of it, and it’s what still drives him to this day.”
Rowan stopped speaking, but he realized his hand continued to stroke Caragh’s hip. It was a habit he developed from nearly the beginning of their time together. Caragh ran her hands through his hair and laid next to him in silence. When Rowan could no longer bear it, he looked up at Caragh. Just as before, she cupped his face and kissed him. She rolled onto her back and drew him with her. She reached between them and guided him into her.
“I believe you, Rowan. I wish I could hurt those who hurt you and mistreated you, both in your clan and among that first crew. I have a rage burning in my chest at the injustices you’ve faced. But I admire you, too. You’ve made a success of yourself when most men would’ve crumbled. You captain your own ship, you’re wealthy, and your crew respects you. It’s not simply fear, though there’s a healthy dose of that; they truly respect you. And so I admire you.”
They melted into each other as Caragh sought to provide him relief as he discovered solace in her embrace. When neither could hold back, they found their release together, and for the second time in his life and his acquaintance with Caragh, he climaxed within a woman. This time, no remorse or shame flooded him. While he didn’t intend to make it a habit, it felt right.
Caragh stilled when she realized what Rowan had done. She waited for him to pull away, for the shame and regret of the last time to return, but she saw none of it.
“I’m not letting you go, Caragh. I can’t,” Rowan whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
They fell asleep in one another’s arms.
Chapter Ten
Rowan’s admissions about his past brought them emotionally closer, but Caragh still remained reserved over the next fortnight. The only time she seemed to stir and show her wilder side was when Rowan returned to the cabin each evening. She threw herself at him with abandonment, and they rarely touched their meal until the middle of the night. Within their cabin, they couldn’t be closer or more in tune with one another, but as light shone over the deck each day, and Caragh took her place at the prow, she seemed to meld into the wooden ship head. Both had hair blowing in the wind as they faced the horizon. Both were unmoving and stoic in their beauty. Rowan thought allowing, even encouraging, her to return to the crow’s nest might bring back a spark. She did as she was told, even sometimes taking more daring ways up and down than needed. Rowan understood she did it for the consequences it would render. She found things to do that would earn her a spanking, but nothing that ever necessitated the belt again. After each punishment, she kneeled before him with a serenity that existed only during her submission. She wanted to show her repentance, so she took him into her mouth each time. Rowan knew it was this part of their interaction that she really looked forward to, and while they engaged in oral pleasure when they made love, this was different for them both. Afterwards, he would hold her until she fell asleep.
He knew much weighed on her mind, and that it was her neglected duties that were suffocating her. He’d already made his decision, but he hadn’t informed her yet when one night she stood from their bed to replace the plate on the table after their midnight supper. She saw a light through the porthole and went to peer through it.
Rowan heard her gasp and came to stand behind her. He’d planned to surprise her with the sunrise, but he supposed now was as good a time as any. Before he could say anything, she pushed past him and grabbed her clothing.
“Hold on, mo Caragh. I know you’re excited to be home, but we shall go ashore in the morning. I’ll take you there. I know it’ll be hard to be pat--”
The cabin door slammed as Caragh stormed out still lacing her leggings, her shirt barely pulled to her waist. Rowan raced after her and caught her as she leaned too far over the railing.
“Let me go!” She yanked at his fingers and stomped at his feet. “You don’t understand. Let me go. I have to go!”
“I know you’re excited to be home, but you nearly fell overboard.”
“No, you idiot. That’s the warning signal. Those boats aren’t there to deliver goods, they’re raiding. Just like you did. God only knows who’s dead now.”
She fought like a wildcat, but Rowan had no trouble restraining her. He even overlooked her insult, understanding her panic. “Stop, Caragh. I’ll go ashore with my men. I’ll end whatever is happening. When it’s safe, I’ll return for you. Go to our cabin and wait until I’m back. We shall sail closer before we lower the dinghies, but I must ready the crew.”
Her fight seemed to drain from her, and Rowan released her. She nodded and turned toward the ladder well, her shoulders rounded in defeat.
Caragh returned to their cabin, but only long enough to pull woolen socks over her feet, tuck her hair under her cap, and strap her belt on. She pulled the knives from her boots and pushed those into her belt too. She wouldn’t be taking her boots since strapping them anywhere on her arms or legs would make swimming harder. She watched through the porthole until she knew the ship had gotten as close as its hull would allow. She crept back to the ladder well and waited until she could find Rowan. He was easy to spot, if not for his booming voice, then his impressive stature. She waited until he crossed the deck and stood with his back to the shore. She darted out and was on top of the railing before even she realized it. She entered the water just as she heard the alert go out. She forced herself to remain below the surface as she swam through the icy water. She couldn’t afford to come up too soon and have Rowan easily spot her. She surfaced when she could wait no more. She heard Rowan calling her name in the distance, but the crash of the waves interfered even though they helped push her to shore. When she reached the beach, she moved to where the path from the cliff met the sand. She pressed her back against the rock wall and inched forward, keeping herself fully in the shadow since the full moon shone brightly. Hiding behind a boulder, Caragh watched as pirates flooded into the cave. It was low tide and easy to access on foot. She heard the screams of the wounded, one after another. She crept further along until she could see into the mouth of the cave. The fight was already over, the fishermen either dead or huddled together. The only one who stood out was Eddie. She watched a man press the tip of his blade to her brother’s throat. They said something to one another, and the pirate laughed, but it was cut short when he abruptly ran his blade across Eddie’s throat. Caragh didn’t pause. She surged forward, grasping a sword that lay on the sand, and charged toward the man who had slain her brother. No one saw her coming, least of whom the man she stabbed.
“You killed my brother,” she hissed. She pulled the blade loose and wiped it across the man’s chest as blood gurgled from his mouth.
“And who do we have here?” a gravelly voice came from entirely too nearby.
Caragh spun to see a man who bore such a resemblance to Rowan she immediately knew who he must be. He, however, hadn’t a clue who she was. Until Caragh heard an unmistakable voice that both sent relief and chills along her spine.
“She’s mine.” Rowan stalked toward her and stepped in front barely sparing her a glance. “Back away, Ruairí. I saw your man kill her brother. She was within her rights.”
“Ah, but now I’m a man short. And if this sprite is as bloodthirsty as she seems, then she would make a fine replacement. You know I would be within my rights.”
Rowan growled even though Ruairí spoke the truth. He felt Caragh grip his sleeves as she trembled behind him. He reached back to her. Caragh thought it would be in reassurance, but he dragged her in front of him. The stare he cast her was one she didn’t recognize. It was cold and distant, as if they were enemies rather than lovers.
“Have dinner with me aboard my ship and see if you still want her by the time we’re done.”
Caragh gasped, unsure which part of his statement scared her the most. Certainly the implications of his last words were enough to make her try to run. She took three steps and was lifted off h
er feet. She hung like a rag doll over Rowan’s arm until he tossed her roughly into the dinghy.
“Row,” was the only command he gave to the oarsmen.
Caragh sat in the hull, shivering and terrified. The Rowan she saw now was far more menacing than the night she met him. She knew there would be no playing when they returned to their cabin. She corrected herself, since she was sure it was already back to being his cabin. He didn’t say a word until they passed through the doorway and he made his way to a chest Caragh had never seen open before. He pulled a sheer length of material from it and flung it at her.
“Put it on.”
Caragh stared at him, but when he snarled, she hurried to comply. She realized it was a nightgown of some sort that was completely transparent. There was little reason to even wear it.
“Pull your hair back and make yourself at least partially presentable.”
Caragh gasped, “You can’t mean to let anyone see me like this.”
Before he could answer, a strident knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Rowan called.
Ruairí and two other men entered behind him. Caragh tried to back into a corner with her arms crossed in front of her, but Rowan’s hand pressed painfully on her shoulder until she sank to the ground. He left her where she kneeled as he crossed the now-cramped cabin. He and Ruairí embraced and slapped each other on the back.
“She’s far more attractive when she looks like a ‘her’ rather than a ‘him’. And she’s not brandishing a sword,” mused one of the men who joined them. Rowan felt his eye twitch at the observation, but he pushed away any soft emotions.
The Blond Devil of the Sea: The Highland Ladies Book Three Page 8