The Dark Heart of the Sea: A Steamy Fated Lovers Pirate Romance (Pirate of the Isles Book 2)

by Celeste Barclay

  “We have to go ashore somewhere, Kyle. I have to collect medicinals for him, otherwise, I fear we will lose him to infection.”

  “It may take us days to sail somewhere we can anchor,” Kyle shook his head.

  Senga was on her feet with a blade beneath Kyle’s throat.

  “You either find somewhere to sail to or don’t fall asleep.” She nicked his skin to make her point. “You saw me today. I know you did. Don’t doubt my willingness to sacrifice you, any of you, for him.”

  Kyle pushed her wrist away before nodding. “I want him to survive too, Senga. He’s my friend as much as he’s my captain. I’ll do what I can, but we aren’t in friendly seas. You may not know it, but those weren’t Spaniards. They were Barbary corsairs. They buccaneered the carrack from a Spanish captain before we found them. We passed Gibraltar but are still close to the north coast of Africa. We must sail closer to Europe, but that’ll bring about danger from Spanish and French pirates. Even if we go ashore, none of us speak the language well enough to ask for what you need. Our vocabularies are a mite more limited and specific.”

  Senga glared at him knowing he meant they only knew how to order drinks and women. She walked around to one of the maps she knocked to the floor earlier. She picked it up and held it out to Kyle.

  “Where do you think we are?”

  Kyle pointed to the map and the area near the southern tip of Spain. Senga bit her lip.

  “It’ll take at least six days to sail just to the south of England. We can’t wait that long. He could be dead by then. Are there no bays or coves we could sail into? I could go ashore and look for the few plants I have to have. We wouldn’t have to see or speak to anyone.”

  Kyle looked between the map and Senga who still held the dirk. “We can try.”

  “That’s all I’ll ask for.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Once the men helped her move Ruairí to the bed and left the cabin, Senga sank onto the chair beside the bed. She took his hand and breathed a sigh that it was neither too hot nor too cold.

  “You can’t leave me alone on this ship full of pirates, Ruairí. Stay with me. I need you, mo chridhe, mo ghaol.” My heart, my love. Senga clenched her eyes closed, but the tears still leaked from them. “Why did you have to tell me you love me then walk away? I never got to say it back. I didn’t even get to think about it.” Senga let the tears fall. “I don’t even know if I can tell you. Every man I’ve loved or trusted has abandoned me to death. My father, my husband, my son, and now you might too. Ruairí, I need you too much. I can’t let you go. But perhaps, if I don’t love you, then you’ll live. Is it my love that kills the men in my life? Am I a curse that brings nothing but sorrow? Live, and I’ll leave you. Not because I want to, but if that’s the sacrifice God demands, then I’ll walk away knowing you’re hale once more.”

  She bent to kiss the back of his hand, and she was sure she felt a meek squeeze of her fingers, but when she waited and watched, Ruairí did nothing else. The only movement was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

  The next four days passed with little to distinguish night from day as Senga refused to leave Ruairí’s side. She fed him broth sip by sip and insisted he have water and nothing else to drink. She bathed his wounds with whisky, then linens soaked in more boiling water. She changed the bandages throughout the day and night. She kept vigil, praying he wouldn’t develop a fever. She awoke early on the fifth morning to an inferno blazing beside her forehead. She’d fallen asleep once again leaning against the bedside, holding Ruairí’s hand. She reached out to touch his skin but already knew what she’d find. She dipped a cloth into the basin of water and placed it onto his forehead before going to the door and calling for Kyle. Senga paced the cabin while she waited and nearly jumped out of her skin when Kyle walked in.

  “He’s developed a fever. We can’t wait any longer to go ashore. I know we must be close to the north of France by now. There has to be somewhere we can go ashore. I don’t need a village or town. I just need somewhere with an open field or trees nearby.”

  “It’s not that easy, Senga.” Kyle held his hands up as Senga reached for a dirk. “I’m not disagreeing with you, nor am I saying no. I’m just warning you it’s not as simple as spotting land and weighing anchor.”

  “I know that. But you have to do something, or we will lose him.” Senga did exactly the opposite of what she intended. She burst into body-wracking sobs as she sank to her knees. She hadn’t sobbed in years. Senga believed most of her tears dried up when her husband and babe died. Now they flooded her cheeks and dripped from her chin. Kyle eased her to her feet and led her to a chair, but before she could sit, she heard a croak. She looked to Ruairí and saw he reached out his hand to her. Kyle helped her to the beside and pushed the chair under her.

  “Sen--” Ruairí’s voice was too hoarse to say more. Senga tilted a cup of cool water to his lips but only allowed him enough to wet his throat. “Senga.”

  He said no more but his fingers wrapped hers even if his grip was weak. Senga looked up to Kyle, pleading with her eyes. He nodded and left the cabin.

  It took another day before Senga heard a call to drop anchor. She looked out the porthole but couldn’t see land. Ruairí hadn’t moved or said anything else since he whispered her name. She continued to speak to him throughout the day and night, even though she wasn’t sure if he could hear her.

  “I must go ashore, mo chridhe. I’ll try not to be long, but I must search for anything I can use to bring down your fever. Don’t go anywhere until I get back.” She tried to infuse some humor into her voice, but it sounded more like begging to her own ears. Tomas rowed her ashore, but they had to wade the last few feet. “Bluidy hell, that’s brisk,” she grumbled to herself, but it gave her an idea.

  Tomas helped her climb a natural path to the top of the cliffs they stopped near. She looked around and wasn’t sure what she’d find. She’d seen trees as they approached, so she hoped she might discover something she could use. The pair moved in silence toward the trees, keeping their eyes peeled for anyone or anything that might alert their presence. When Senga arrived at the first few trees, she worried that she’d wasted everyone’s time, but as she moved further into the woods, she could have whooped with joy. She spotted yarrow, which was the most important medicinal she needed. She found the wormwood that would work well with the yarrow to keep infection away from the wounds; Senga had seen small red streaks beginning to form around the edges of his front wound. She also found cloves, henbane, and angelica. They were all ingredients she could use to bring his fever down and help him fight infection from the inside out.

  As she looked around, another thought came to her. She’d considered none of the items Ruairí’s crew ransacked from the corsairs’ ship, but she remembered something her mother once told her about. She’d explained to Senga that the myrrh spoken of in the story of Christ’s birth could also heal. Her mother told her it came from far-away lands and had a distinct smell. Senga wondered if there’d been any in the cargo they plundered.

  Once she gathered everything she needed, Tomas rowed her back the Lady Charity, and she set to work making possets and a tincture for Ruairí. Even in his unconscious state, his face scrunched as the horrible tasting brew slid down his throat. Another five days passed as they sailed further north. They made slow progress, with a headwind that forced them to keep their sails lowered. Senga added changing the possets and brewing the tincture to her routine. Senga also demanded that men bring buckets of seawater to the cabin along with the tub. She ordered Tomas and Snake Eye to help her get Ruairí in and out of the tub. She had him soak in a cold bath thrice a day for as long as she dared keep him in the water. Senga was desperate to get his fever down, but it continued to burn even though the red streaks had faded and neither the front nor the back wounds smelled putrid. Despair was setting in, and Senga turned away most of the food brought to her. She was coming to terms that the worst would happen when they turned a corner at last.<
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  Senga dozed next to Ruairí, his hand in hers and her head resting on her other arm as she leaned on the mattress.

  “Mo ghaol, what I wouldn’t give for a bowl of lamb stew right now.”

  Senga jerked awake to find Ruairí looking at her. His eyes were clear, and his skin was no longer clammy. She stared at him as though he were an apparition, and he chuckled. Her arm swung out to slap him for laughing at her, but she caught herself and tucked it by her side.

  “I’d hoped for a hug and a kiss. I’ve missed you.”

  “How could you have missed me when you’ve been unconscious for the better part of a fortnight?” Senga was already exasperated.

  Ruairí’s brow crinkled before he spoke, “I’m not sure, but I’m certain I could hear your voice even when I couldn’t make out your words. I kept trying to call out to you, but you never seemed to hear me. I tried to squeeze your hand when I felt yours in mine, but my fingers never cooperated. The harder I tried, the deeper I seemed to fall into blackness.”

  “I’m so relieved you’re awake. I---” she couldn’t finish, and only shook her head.

  Ruairí tried to raise his arm but felt his stitches tug. “Come to me, little one. I’d feel you next to me.” Senga gingerly moved to the edge of the bed but didn’t dare rest her entire weight on the mattress. “No. Not close enough.”

  “I don’t want to bump your wound or jostle you.”

  “And I don’t want to wait any longer to hold you.” There was just enough space for Senga to lie on her side facing Ruairí. She stroked his cheek, and his eyes began to drift closed. He clasped her wrist and stopped her. “I’m not ready to sleep again. I’ve done enough of that. I’d look at you and hold you. Kiss me, Senga.”

  She brushed her lips against his, and the strength he had to deepen the kiss surprised her. Fear, frustration, passion, and love coalesced into a need that neither could control. Ruairí ran his hand over every part of Senga he could reach, and she skimmed her fingers over his chest.

  “I need you, but I know I’m unable to do anything,” Ruairí grumbled.

  “I don’t care. I can wait. I’m just thankful your fever broke. You’ve scared years off my life,” her voice trailed off.

  He kissed her nose. “After I make love to you until neither of us can see straight, I have a bone to pick with you.” It was the first time either of them referred to their coupling as making love. Senga’s hazel eyes stared into Ruairí’s blue ones, and she knew what they shared was no longer about careless tumbles and tupping. It had become much more long ago, but to hear him say the words was as astonishing as his profession of love.

  “A bone to pick with me? How about the one I have to pick with you for nearly dying?”

  “We could easily have been in the same boat. I was awake when you came across those planks. I saw you fight those corsairs. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. I told you to remain here.”

  Senga pointed to the splintered door that didn’t close all the way. “You must not have noticed that this cabin isn’t as impenetrable as you believe. I killed two men here, knowing I couldn’t remain in such an enclosed space. I went above deck to hide, but when I saw the man rush at you from behind, I chose you. I chose you over everything else.” Senga felt the tears pool in her eyes. “Bluidy hell, I’ve become a watering pot since they injured you.”

  Ruairí wiped the tears and kissed her. “I would never have you shed tears over me.”

  “You’re days late to stop that.”

  Ruairí smiled, “Tongue as sharp as ever. No mercy for an injured man?”

  Senga tugged gently on his hair. “It ran out when you tried to worry me into an early grave.”

  “You look exhausted. The circles under your eyes are very dark. Have you slept at all?”

  “A little here and there.”

  Ruairí ran his hands over her sides and then her bottom. “You’ve lost weight too.”

  Senga quirked a brow, “We both have.”

  “Senga,” he warned.

  “Ruairí,” she mimicked.

  They sank into another kiss until both of them drifted into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  After a fortnight in bed, Ruairí demanded to go above deck. When Senga said she wouldn’t allow it, she was certain the vein in his temple might pop. She acquiesced when he agreed to remain seated while he was on deck. He argued the fresh air and sunshine would do them both good, and Senga had to admit she agreed.

  The wind had shifted, and they were making progress back along the coast of England. Senga and Ruairí agreed they’d sail toward Glasgow since it was time for Ruairí to pay his fealty to the Earl of Argyll. He and Rowan both sailed under the earl’s marque when they needed an alibi and the disguise of being honest merchants. It was too late for them to sail up the other coast of the English isle, and he preferred Glasgow since it was a safe distance from the earl’s far reach. Ruairí also knew Rowan was due to sail into port soon.

  Senga watched the crew hoist the white sails once more as they approached the entry to the River Clyde. Ruairí sat beside her, but he was shielding his eyes and trying to see what looked like a blurred lump to Senga. He pushed himself to his feet, and Senga rose to hers. She put her arm out, but he stepped around it and walked to the rail.

  “Young Braeden, is that the Lady Grace I spy?” Ruairí called up.

  “I do believe so, Captain.”

  “How can you tell? I can barely tell it’s a ship,” Senga asked, stunned.

  “Sixth sense I suppose, though Braeden has a clearer view than we do.” He looked to Kyle, who stood at the helm. “We put ashore now.”

  Ruairí needed to see Rowan and explain what happened before they all arrived in Glasgow. A tremendous scene would unravel on the docks if Rowan saw Ruairí was injured. Ruairí knew his cousin would be livid and want revenge. Ruairí had to admit he rather wanted it too, but he was satisfied knowing that Senga was unharmed. Ruairí wasn’t sure he wanted to keep her onboard knowing the danger, but he also knew he couldn’t go anywhere without her.

  It was a few hours later that Ruairí and Senga watched as a couple lowered themselves into a dinghy and were rowed ashore. They followed in their own dinghy. When they reached land, Ruairí climbed out first and gained his balance before reaching for Senga, but she’d already stepped onto the beach.

  “Cousin!” Senga heard a voice that sounded remarkably similar to Ruairí’s, and when she peered around his shoulder, it shocked her to see a man who could pass for Ruairí’s twin.

  “Rowan. And Caragh. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Ruairí laughed as Rowan growled and Caragh turned a deep shade of red. Ruairí had met Caragh under less-than-honorable circumstances several months earlier. Ruairí reached a hand for Senga, and it was his turn to growl when he saw Rowan’s appreciative look. But before either man could introduce the women, they ran to one another and embraced. A tangle of strawberry and raven locks blew in the wind as the women stood together.

  “Senga?”

  “Aye, Caragh. What are you doing with Ruairí’s cousin?”

  “I’d ask the same of you. How did you come to be aboard a pirate ship? Did you go willingly?”

  Senga leaned back to get a clear view of Caragh. “Of course, I did. Did you not?”

  “Well---”

  Senga released Caragh and drew her blade as she turned to Rowan. Ruairí howled with laughter as Rowan put his hands up in surrender, and Caragh grabbed her wrist. Ruairí limped over to Senga and wrapped his arm around her. “She’s fierce, Cousin. I’d be sure she hears the story from Caragh and not you.”

  “Senga, it’s a long story, but I ended up on Rowan’s boat after a night raid. I’m glad that I did. He’s my husband now.”

  Senga stared at Rowan before smiling at Caragh. She put her blade away, and they embraced again.

  “You know each other?” Rowan dared to ask.

  “Yes. Rowan, you know how my mother was your mother’s bes
t friend. Senga’s mother was my mother’s cousin. They all grew up on the Isle of Lewis together. When my mother took me back to Lewis each summer, the same summers I went to Barra, I always played with Senga.” Caragh waved Rowan closer, and the look of love they exchanged reassured Senga that all was well. The women were similar in build, and while their hair and eyes were different colors, their faces looked quite similar once they stood beside one another.

  “Ruairí, what happened to you?” Rowan got around to asking.

  “A run in with a Spanish ship filled with corsairs.”

  Senga watched as all the color leached from Rowan’s face before rising in a shade she could only liken to burgundy. “Don’t worry,” Ruairí assured him. “Between my crew and Senga, they’re all dead.”

  “Senga?” Caragh and Rowan chimed.

  “Aye, she’s fierce and bloodthirsty. Bluidy Barbary corsair injured me, and she came to my rescue. Fought off I don’t know how many men then nursed me back to health for the past fortnight.”

  Rowan turned to Senga and reached out his hand. She looked to Ruairí first before placing it in Rowan’s. Rowan brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “You can see we are practically twins. He’s as close to me as a brother. I thank you for keeping his arse in one piece.” Rowan winked at her, and Ruairí growled, pulling her back to his side.

  “Fair turnaround,” Rowan muttered before Caragh pinched him. He pulled Caragh in for a kiss that rivaled any of Ruairí’s and Senga’s. “I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered as he brushed his nose against Caragh’s.