Righteous Side of the Wicked: Pirates of Britannia

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  They made it as far as the rear of the barn before Treva called out to him. She was definitely not going to make this easy.

  “I’ll see ya back at Kelpie.” Jonesy gave him a pitied nod and left Coire alone to wait for her to catch up.

  A myriad of emotions skipped across her face as she wrung at her skirts. “I…I dinna want ye to leave this way.”

  “What way would ye have me leave, lass?”

  “I dinna know.”

  “Ye are safe now, with yer cousin. The plot has been halted. There is nothing more for me to do.”

  “Isn’t there?” She gazed up through her lashes with the sad attempt at appearing coy while on the verge of despair. Despair he shared.

  “What do ye have in mind?”

  Treva gripped his arms and rose on her tiptoes. “Kiss me, Coire. Give me something more of ye to cherish.”

  Her beguiling green eyes dropping upon his lips were more than he could handle. He granted her wish and seized her mouth.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and fed greedily from him. He succumbed to the haze of desire, to the woman who would forever torment his dreams. Tongues swirled and lapped, so desperate to taste more. They stumbled into the barn’s rear door. He fumbled for the handle and once inside, still locked in a heated kiss, he spun her around and backed her against the door. Coire indulged until he was forced to break away for air, breathing in the sharp odor of fresh hay and horse dung.

  Dust floated in the dying sunlight slanting through the seams of the barn’s walls. The faint light cast Treva in a mysterious, enticing glow. Her swollen lips parted to draw in a hitched breath.

  “More.” Her robust whisper filled his soul.

  Fire and brimstone, that one word was a temptress’s call.

  He captured her mouth hard and fast. Hands frantically grappled for purchase of their own volition, finding smooth, warm flesh beneath her bodice, under her skirts. He ached to be inside her, his shaft straining against the coarse fabric of his trousers heightened the friction.

  Treva mewled as his lips skimmed down her throat. Her palms caressed his back, circling to his chest, skimming down to his cock. His hips bucked into her hand, a growl vibrated from deep within him. He was near unloading just from her palm rubbing up and down over him.

  “Treva,” he rasped against her neck. “Stop. We must stop. I dinna want to take ye like this.”

  “Please, Coire. Dinna do this.” Desperation was thick in her tone.

  “Ye deserve so much more than a prig against a filthy barn door.”

  “Dinna deny me…us… Doesna matter how we enjoy it, so long as we do. Tomorrow has no guarantee. We…deserve the pleasures of now.” She squeezed his cock through his trousers. “Give me more of you before ye leave me.”

  She made him weak, rationale scrambled around in his head. He wanted her more now than ever before. More than his next breath. Damn the consequence!

  “What have ye done to me.” He descended upon her mouth, snatching away her gasp.

  Driven by sheer animalistic need to become one with her, he bunched up her skirts, tossed aside the weapons she hid there, all the while she worked to free him from his trousers.

  “Coire. Now.”

  He drove inside her, smacking her hard against the door. Her satisfied cry was drowned in his kiss. He needed to be deeper, needed to feel her wet warmth all the way to his hilt. Coire grabbed her thighs and hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, rode him as he pounded into her.

  She threaded one hand into his hair tied back at his nape, her nails from her other hand scored his back, driving him mad. So good. She was so good. Her neck tasted salty, delicious. And her feminine moans prodded him to thrust urgently, relentlessly.

  Treva’s breath labored, her nails dug deeper. As she stiffened in his arms, Coire cupped his palm over her mouth to muffle her cries. Someone had entered the barn through the front. But that wasna enough to stop him from his final thrust, he’d already fallen over the edge. He threw his head back, biting back his own growl, as he pulled out, releasing his seed.

  Coire held her close, repressing their pants, hoping to maintain her dignity, as the intruder put away the horses he and Treva rode in on. After the man left, she relaxed in his embraced and giggled. Music to his ears.

  He grinned down at her. “Christ, woman. That was incredible.”

  “Aye, it was.”

  But her smile faded with his as the obvious became clear again. ’Twas time for him to go. He packed himself into his trousers while she smoothed her skirts. “I must weigh anchor in a few hours, leave before we become hemmed in by the British.”

  She nodded, though she would not meet his gaze. “I understand.”

  He put his knuckle under her chin and tilted her head up. “Treva, mo sionnach àlainn, ye have given me a great gift to cherish.” He thumbed away a lone tear slipping down her cheek. “I will always remember you.”

  She leaned into his palm. He had to get away. Had to go now. To lessen the pain. He kissed her forehead, quietly opened the door, and stepped over the threshold.

  “I regret nothing, Coire Fletcher.”

  Neither did he.

  Chapter Ten

  Treva dinna know what to do. Her mission was accomplished. She stopped a massacre from happening. Was reunited with Duncan and surrounded by the few people who cared about her. But she felt…wrong. And ’twas all because of Coire. Her thighs still quivered for him and surely, even now as she sat at the table across from her cousin recounting the days since escaping Peel Castle to him, she was still flush. The pirate captain obliterated her world. Nay, this was willfully her fault. She fell for him and would suffer for it the rest of her days. Gladly. So why was she so sad?

  “I’ve known ye yer whole life, Treva.” Duncan refilled her mug but the whiskey wasna strong enough. “Ye are bold, strong, courageous. Ye have survived the unthinkable, stood up for what is right, for others, for you. I’ve never seen ye afraid. Until now.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  He sat beside her, put his hand upon her wrist to stop her from taking a sip. “Ye are. Because ye are in love.”

  “I winna deny it.” Her vision blurred and Duncan pulled her into a hug. She hated for him to see her this way. It harkened back to when she was young, homeless, crying, when he waved goodbye to her from behind a tree on the bluff as the boat she was put on sailed from Oban.

  “What is next? What are ye going to do now?”

  She shrugged. “Go back to Liverpool, continue to pass secrets.”

  “Are ya now? Ye are a wanted fugitive.”

  He was right. She wouldna last long before someone spotted her and outed her to the authorities. “I could go to Paris.”

  “Too dangerous. France is rife with traitors.”

  What was she to do? Her options were few. “I will stay here. Help ye and Ranald plot another raid.”

  “Or ye could follow yer heart. Yer tenacious heart is a match for his.”

  Her chest hurt. ’Twas an impossible hope. “Coire winna want me.”

  “Dinna be so sure. I saw the way he looked at you. A man doesn’t look at a woman that way out of desire alone. And he sure as hell doesna look at another man like he would rip his arms off and beat him with them for hugging ye unless he has strong feelings for you.”

  “He dinna.”

  “He did.” Duncan’s grin tilted one side of his mouth. “I reckon he loves you.”

  Her heartbeat picked up rhythm, though she tried to will it to stop. “But he dinna ask me to come with him.”

  “Maybe he believes that a woman who jeopardized her life daily for her country wouldna want to leave.”

  She would not have thought of that. Could Duncan be right? “He’s a pirate. I’ll only be baggage.”

  He shook his head. “And ye are a pirate at heart and by blood.” He noisily released a tiresome exhale. “Cripes, Treva. Ye are a risk-taker. Take a risk now. Go to him. Board his ship. T
ell him ye love him. Ye love him, right?”

  More than life itself. “With all I have.”

  He opened his palms like she had the answer in front of her. “Tell him ye want to go with him to Skye, to the West Indies.”

  “And if he refuses?”

  “Since when do ye accept a no? Worry upon that if it comes to that.”

  Duncan was right. She had nothing to lose. Well, her pride. And her heart. But was it not better to try rather than steep in regret wondering what could have been? Every day she had spent with Coire was a chance taken. What was one more?

  “What would I do without ye?”

  Duncan grinned and she hugged him again, thankful for the one relative who never turned his back on her.

  “Come. I’ll walk ye to the docks.”

  She downed her mug, in some small part to ward off the evening chill. But mostly to give her the courage to stand up to Coire, make him agree to take her with him. She had done it before, she’d do it again.

  They walked down the hill and weaved through the buildings leading to the wharf. Through the thatched roofs of the squat structures, she could make out the masts of a handful of ships bobbing in the water. They reached the road to the docks lit with a handful of torches and Kelpie was within view. Her veins thrummed with anticipation. Soon she’d be up to her old tricks and convince Coire they belonged together.

  In a blink, someone slapped a cloth over her mouth and grabbed her from behind. Treva cried out but the sound was muffled behind the caustic, sweaty rag. She struggled uselessly against the solid band wrapped around her.

  “Hey!” Duncan’s shout was cut short with a grunt and was followed by a thud.

  Treva thrashed about in the hold of the brute pinning her to him, caught sight of Duncan scrambling from the ground and tackling a Redcoat. Fists connected with flesh. Dust swirled about their feet as they shuffled in to strike. Duncan got in a good clip, spinning the soldier. But a third soldier attacked him from his left and the other recovered quick enough to bash him in the side of his head. The hits were coming too fast for Duncan. He was unable to get more than a punch or two in while being pummeled.

  She fought against her attacker, tried to scream through the rag. Duncan didna have a chance against the two soldiers. She heard a crack as one of the men landed a square blow. Blood flung from Duncan’s mouth, trickled from his nose, as he landed in the dirt. The Redcoats kicked him in his ribs, kidney, over and over, even after he stopped trying to protect himself, stopped moving.

  “Filthy rebel.” A soldier rubbed his chin where Duncan had managed to hit true.

  Hot tears burned from her eyes. Weakened from fighting to get free, from wracking sobs for which she could not breath in enough air, Treva’s knees buckled.

  “Ah, no. Don’t make this hard on yerself, missy.” Stale breath mingled with the rancid stench of the cloth under her nose. “Ya better walk, lest ya end up like yer friend, here. Captain Pullings didn’t say what condition ya have to be in when we bring ya to ’im.”

  She was placed in shackles and dragged away from Duncan’s broken body. Within minutes, she was rowed out to a familiar English frigate. She entertained the idea of throwing herself overboard for one brief moment, but the fire inside her over Duncan’s death burned out of control. She would not go down without a fight. ’Twould be what Duncan would do. ’Twould be what Coire would do.

  Captain Pullings met her on the deck of the Invictus, an unamused smile upon his cleanly shaven face. “Miss MacDougall. You are a sly, enterprising young woman. What a thrill it is to have finally captured you.”

  She smiled politely. “And what a feat it must have been. I do hope yer superiors dinna harangue you too much for the lost time.”

  His upper lip twisted. “Indeed. Dare I say that I at least have time, whereas you do not. The noose awaits you at Man, traitor.”

  He spun on his heel, stiff as a pole, and marched away. “Take her below.”

  Treva was forcibly tossed into a wet, crusty cell. The door clanged shut, and she sank to the hard plank that would be her bed. She buried her face into her hands, letting the tears flow freely. A sob cleaved from deep inside. Then another and another. She couldn’t stop the weeping. She’d spent a lifetime scoffing at the injustices that lined up against her, incessantly battering her like the waves that would carry her to the hangman. Now she cried all the unshed tears of her life. Cried for what was taken from her—her parents, her youth, Duncan, her chance at happiness with Coire.

  Coire. Thank God for him. She had no remorse for what led to this moment. For if she hadn’t escaped Peel Castle and coerced her way onto his ship, she would never have had a taste of love. Oh yes. She loved him. She had fallen, that she knew. But she hadn’t known how far until he shut the barn door behind him. She’d felt so fulfilled, yet so empty. He had her heart, wholly and truly. She’d hold onto that until her final breath, whether from getting her neck stretched or attempting an escape.

  On that thought, Treva regained control. She swiped angrily at her damp cheeks and sat a little straighter. She’d been in this predicament before. ’Twasn’t likely she could make a second escape from the prison, but she had to try. She would spend her dwindling hours scheming, watching for opportunities, going over scenarios of getaways between the ship and the gallows. And she would spend her final night dreaming of a handsome captain and all the ways he made her feel.

  Fate had a strange sense of humor. Treva had always been proud of being a descendant of the almighty pirate Savage MacDougall, even as she was condemned for displaying too much picaroon behavior. Yet she had been terrorized by the nasty Captain Dread, had believed he would be the death of her. Now she would cast her lot blindly with a blue-eyed brigand for all eternity.

  Fight for freedom like a pirate or die like a pirate trying.

  “Blazes! What the hell happened?” Coire helped Mr. Shaw clear the table as Jonesy and Redd carried Duncan inside Kelpie’s galley. The fellow was a grisly sight—blood coated his tunic, dried in rivulets from his nose and mouth. Contusions darkened around his bloodshot eyes, his left temple, his knuckles. Dirt caked his hands and nails.

  “Jonesy and I found the lad dragging himself to the docks.” Redd held Duncan’s legs as he and Jonesy hoisted him onto the table. “He was askin’ for you.”

  Duncan cried out as Redd moved one leg too quickly. His eyelids fluttered as he tried to remain awake.

  “Hang it. The pain’s getting to him.” Coire swung out his arm to Mr. Shaw. “Rum.”

  Mr. Shaw shoved a flagon into his outstretched hand.

  He lifted Duncan’s head and put the bottle to the lad’s swollen lips. “Drink.”

  Duncan swallowed and promptly sputtered from the rum’s potent strength. But the liquor did its job. He heaved as if his lungs were on fire. “Shite,” he groaned, gripping his side and cringing.

  “What happened, man?” Coire asked again.

  “They took her.” Duncan seethed through his teeth at the pain.

  Coire met Jonesy’s troubled gaze, looked to the other lads. His blood iced. “Who took her? Who took Treva?”

  “Soldiers.” He coughed, blood tainting his spittle. “To someone named Pullings.”

  “Sod it!” The English captain had found her! “He’ll take her back to Man to hang.” He spun and planted his fist into a beam. The sting splintered across his knuckles further angering him.

  “Pullings must be anchored further up the coast,” Jonesy offered. “There are no English buckets here.”

  “How long ago did they take her?”

  Duncan shook his head. “I…dinna know. We came to the wharf about an hour after ye left.”

  That was nearly three hours ago. Invictus would be sailing down the Clyde by now. Coire closed his fists again, coiled to bloody his knuckles more.

  “We must go after her.” Duncan toiled to sit up, growling against his pain.

  “Nay, Duncan.” Coire gripped his shoulder to keep the lad from
rising.

  He addressed Redd and Jonesy. “Get word to Ranald to come fetch Duncan. We sail immediately.”

  “No!” Duncan floundered under Coire’s hold, but Coire held him firmly pinned in place.

  “Handsomely!” he barked at his men. The boys hurried from the galley. The sooner they returned, the sooner they could leave.

  “She’s my cousin,” Duncan pleaded. “I’ve got to help.”

  “Ye are no good to us, mate. ’Tis clear ye’ve broken ribs, probably yer leg, too.”

  Coire waggled his fingers for Mr. Shaw to hand him the rum again. “Drink more of this, help numb the pain. We’ll get ye back on the docks and fetch ya a healer.”

  Duncan’s head fell back on the table. “Ye have to save her.”

  “I will.” There was no other option. He’d been busying himself with his stash of arrack in the dark of his cabin since he left her earlier, slowly drowning himself in pickled self-pity. Weighing if he was making the right decision leaving her behind. He’d be taking her from her Scotland, from her cause. And for what? Because he wasna ready to give her up? Because his body craved hers? Because he might care for her more than anyone he’d ever cared for before? Hell, he didna know what he was feeling, though was familiar…and somehow more profound.

  But now… Now what he was feeling was terrified. What was happening to her? Was she hurt? Had Pullings or any of his men touched her? Coire growled, slammed his fist into the beam again. He cursed the pain away. By his deathless soul, he would kill anyone who laid a hand on her.

  Duncan gripped Coire’s wrist. “She was coming to you.”

  “What?”

  “She was going to persuade ye to take her with you.”

  “I dinna understand. To where?”

  “Wherever ye go.” His frown deepened with austerity. “If ye know anything about Treva, ye know she will do anything it takes for what she believes in. She was coming to you, gamble on what she feels for you. She loves you, Fletcher.”