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

by Celeste Barclay

  “It’s about time you showed your face. You’re late.” The earl’s voice boomed through the Great Hall. It was obvious that he was trying to shame Ruairí, who ignored the bait. Instead he stood in silence, waiting for the earl to continue. After a pause and a sneer when Ruairí failed to respond, the earl continued. “Where is your cousin?”

  “He was unable to join us, but he sends his regards and his coins,” Ruairí offered.

  “Unacceptable,” the earl sneered. “He was to pay his fealty to me in person.”

  “His wife has been unwell, so he asked that I represent the MacNeils. This isn’t be the first time one of us appeared on behalf of both ships.”

  “Wife? The Blond Devil would never wed. And who is this slut you’ve brought with you? Whores aren’t welcome in the Great Hall.”

  Ruairí placed his hand over the hilt of his sword. No one had attempted to divest him of his weapons, a courtesy only paid to one of the most infamous pirates in the British Isles. “I wouldn’t speak of my wife like that. Not if you want to live long enough to see your own whore,” Ruairí’s voice was so low that conversation ceased as many strained to hear the exchange. Before Senga understood what was happening, Ruairí whipped a dirk from his belt and sent it sailing toward Argyll’s head. It whizzed past his ear, surely close enough to cut through his hair, and embedded in the screen behind the dais. Senga waited for guardsmen to seize her and Ruairí, but no one dared approach. Senga had met Ruairí in a smugglers’ den where his reputation preceded him, but there he was among pirates and other criminals. She hadn’t anticipated the power his reputation had among polite society.

  “Wife? And what brothel did you find her at?”

  “I wouldn’t speak so of the MacLeod’s niece. Her father was the previous laird.”

  “MacLeod? He has no nieces,” the earl retorted.

  “The one on Skye may not, but the one on Lewis does,” Ruairí spat as he tossed another dirk into the air; it rotated before the hilt landed back in his hand. He continued to toss it as though the earl was boring him. Senga forced herself to move only enough to breathe. “The MacLeods of Lewis and Skye are allied these days. I don’t think either sept would appreciate the foul words you’re tossing at one of their own.”

  Senga prayed the earl wasn’t familiar with her life story, or he might call Ruairí’s bluff. She held her breath as she waited for the axe to fall, but the earl nodded. Ruairí sheathed his knife and drew a pouch from his waist that his cloak had hidden. He handed the pouch to a guardsman, who carried it to the dais. The earl peered into the velvet purse before dumping its contents onto the table. He pushed the coins around, even biting one to check that it was real. When he was satisfied that Ruairí had paid both his and Rowan’s due, the earl nodded his acceptance.

  “Perhaps you and your wife care to join me for a meal.” Senga interpreted it as an order, not an offer, but Ruairí shook his head.

  “We shall have to decline, my lord.” It was the only sign of deference Ruairí had offered the odious man. “My wife and I will sail with the tide.”

  “And it isn’t for several more hours.” The earl offered a jovial smile, but his next word was a command. “Stay.”

  Ruairí was unaccustomed to taking orders, and he didn’t trust the earl with Senga nearby. He wouldn’t risk Senga’s safety by causing a fight with any of the guardsmen, but he also refused to remain there for the man to insult his wife again, or to make the lusty offers Ruairí knew were inevitable. He’d known the earl for years, but the Campbell’s reputation for mistreating women was blacker than his own for piracy. Before Ruairí could refuse again, Senga squeezed his arm and dipped into shallow curtsy.

  “If I may, my lord,” she smiled coyly. “Captain MacNeil has promised me time in the shops as a wedding gift. I also have medicinals to restock. My husband won’t break his word to me, but I don’t want to keep the entire crew waiting. You wouldn’t have me upset such a group of sailors, would you? Unpredictable lot and all.”

  The earl’s smile appeared more like a grimace as he nodded. “Very well, MacNeil. You have your wife to thank for being excused. One should never break their word to a lady. It is Lady Senga MacLeod, is it not? Even if your husband doesn’t have the manners to introduce us properly, I recognize you. Your uncle is a good friend of mine. I shall be sure to pass along your regards when next I see him.”

  “Perhaps you could stop by my parents’ graves while you’re there. I’m sure they’d appreciate you passing along my regards to them. as well.” Senga’s voice was smooth and unassuming, but the earl flinched, revealing to Senga that the man knew how her uncle came to power. Ruairí didn’t wait for the earl to respond. He dipped his head once more and spun them around.

  “Do take care, Dark Heart. I hear there is rough water ahead,” the Earl of Argyll called out to their retreating backs. Neither Ruairí nor Senga missed a step as they swept out of the keep. They both recognized the threat, but they denied the powerful man the reaction he hoped for. Ruairí and Rowan had spent a decade on the high seas, and had faced far worse foes than Argyll.

  Ruairí ordered the Lady Charity underway as soon as he and Senga boarded, but they sailed just beyond the port and dropped anchor. They planned to wait until the cloak of darkness allowed Ruairí to unload the contraband cargo he didn’t dare move during daylight. The rum and wine were worth a fortune, and he had no intention of having the earl claim Ruairí owed him more in taxes. Ruairí left Snake Eye behind to guard Senga in their cabin while he rowed ashore to complete his trade. Senga was already asleep when he returned, but she pushed her hair from her sleepy eyes as he sat on the bed.

  “Did all go well, mo chridhe?” Senga’s groggy voice had a rasp that went straight to Ruairí’s cock.

  “Aye. Better than I’d hoped. I received more than enough coin to make up for what Rowan and I had to pay. We also took on cargo the Irish will welcome.”

  “Dare I ask what?”

  “Weapons. Swords, knives, shields. All things they desperately need as they continue to battle the English.” Much like the Scottish, the Irish refused to silently accept English dominion. They’d been fighting the English for centuries, successfully sometimes, but more often taking heavy losses.

  “Where do we sail to?”

  “Rathlin Island, off the northern tip of Ireland. We will meet smugglers there, then sail to Ballycastle.”

  “That’s two days sail from here, assuming the weather holds.”

  “Aye. Whatever shall we do to pass two days’ time?” Ruairí leaned back and kissed Senga before twisting and capturing her beneath him, setting the tone for those two days. Kyle manned the helm most of the time, but Ruairí also took shifts, unwilling to ignore his duties completely as captain. As they approached Rathlin Island, Senga thought of Caragh and how her cousin had managed a smuggling ring. Caragh had lost half her men during Rowan’s raid; her brother Eddie had died during Ruairí’s attack. Senga didn’t want to see any of the men she’d grown used to, even softened toward, come to harm. She prayed that history didn’t repeat itself.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ruairí scanned the beach as the dinghies approached. He saw wraithlike figures emerge from the caves, and he recognized the man with whom he’d trade. Aidan O’Flaherty was nearly as infamous as the Blond Devil and the Dark Heart, but unlike the cousins he preferred to stay closer to home and terrorize the waters around England. Ruairí only trusted Aidan out of necessity. O’Flaherty was more likely to plunge a dagger in a friend’s heart than share any treasure.

  “Stay beside me, Senga. I mean it,” Ruairí whispered. Senga, dressed in leggings and a tunic with her hair tied back, was more than happy to comply with Ruairí’s orders. She hopped over the side and splashed into the surf before Ruairí could help her. His scowl seemed to glow in the moonlight.

  “I’m not going anywhere, but neither am I going to appear frail in front of these men,” Senga insisted.

  Ruairí nodded, but his sc
owl remained. He led the landing party ashore with his sword in one hand and a protective arm stretched out to keep Senga tucked behind him. “I was wondering if the Dark Heart had lost his way,” came a voice that seemed far too loud for such a secretive meeting.

  “O’Flaherty, you’re a long way from home. Aughnanure Castle is nowhere near here.” Ruairí had explained to Senga that the man they planned meet preferred to stay near his home in Galway, on the western coast, whenever he wasn’t on the water.

  “Aye, well business calls, shall we say?” Aidan peered at Senga. The smile he offered was seductive and predatory as he approached. His inky hair gleamed like a raven’s wing, and Senga was fairly certain his eyes were the blue of a midnight sea. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen beside Ruairí, and Rowan, who was practically her husband’s twin. She could understand how a man such as Aidan had the power to lead a woman to any manner of sin, but she wasn’t interested. She felt Ruairí’s anger mounting the longer Aidan stared at her, so she slid her hand along Ruairí’s back and down his arm as she stepped beside him. She slid her hand into his, her possessiveness clear in her actions, and her understanding of Aidan’s intentions clear upon her own seductive smile.

  “Will you introduce me, mo ghaol?” Senga turned an inquisitive face toward Ruairí. She didn’t turn to look at Aidan, or any other man as Ruairí spoke. She nodded, but she kept her gaze on her husband. She wouldn’t have Aidan or any of the other Irish pirates presume they could lure her away.

  Ruairí felt the anger rise within him as Aidan O’Flaherty continued to ogle his wife; much as he needed O’Flaherty’s coin, he was tempted to run the man through. Ruairí decided, instantly and unequivocally, that he was retiring from piracy. He would take Senga back to Barra, or anywhere she’d be protected from the unsavory men he’d spent half of his life dealing with. He felt Senga squeeze his hand, and the resolute expression he could see in her eyes encouraged him, allowing him to relax long enough to remember that he couldn’t gut Aidan. At least not at the moment.

  “Aidan O’Flaherty, I’d have you meet my wife Senga MacNeil.”

  “Wife? Wonders shall never cease. I never took you for the marrying man.”

  “Aye, well, I wanted him and refused to let him go.” Senga tucked herself under Ruairí’s arm as she wrapped hers around him.

  “A woman issuing you orders? And outside of bed at that. I never thought to see the day,” Aidan crowed, but his lascivious grin hadn’t slipped despite learning Ruairí and Senga were married, despite seeing how Senga clung to Ruairí. Instead, he seemed to take it as a challenge as he approached.

  “Senga is my partner. And I had no desire to run once she captured my heart.”

  “Such sentimental drivel,” Aidan spat. “Are you going soft?”

  “There’s nothing soft when my wife is near.”

  Senga was certain her face would go up in flames, but she understood the peacocking both men were doing. It wasn’t about her so much as the posturing that both men did before the others. She remained close to Ruairí’s side as the conversation between the two captains moved to business. She watched as the sailors from the Lady Charity carried crates onto the beach and pried open the lids. Aidan inspected each one, but Ruairí’s men were quick to slap the lids down until Aidan signaled his men to carry out their own cargo to trade. There were several enormous chests that revealed coin, jewels, clothing, and even bottles of various types of alcohol.

  Senga had never seen so many riches gathered in one place. She’d never paid attention to what the smugglers brought ashore on Canna. She purposely stayed far away from the caves at all times, and never went near the shore when pirates and privateers moored their ships off the coast. She guarded her reaction to Aiden’s riches, but the treasure Ruairí received still impressed her. To Senga’s mind, Ruairí had gotten the better end of the trade, but she understood it only proved how desperate the Irish were to defend their homes.

  “Cross over to Ballycastle, and I shall offer you my hospitality.” Aidan looked at Senga rather than Ruairí when he made the offer. She squeezed Ruairí’s hand like a vice when he accepted. She didn’t want to spend any more time in Aidan’s company than necessary. Ruairí shot her a look that only she understood; he was asking her to have faith in him. It made her realize that business hadn’t concluded despite dinghies loaded with bounty being rowed back to the ships.

  The six-mile crossing seemed to take only a few minutes, and Senga stared up at the limestone cliffs upon which Kinbane Castle sat. She had to admit that she welcomed the warm fire that burned in the castle’s Great Hall. The building was certainly more hospitable than Dumbarton. Aidan offered them seats at the dais.

  “Do the MacDonnells know you’re enjoying the MacAlisters’ home as we speak?” Ruairí raised a chalice of wine to Aidan before taking a long quaff. Senga wasn’t familiar with the politics among the Irish clans, but she assumed they functioned in a similar fashion to their Scottish counterparts. She wondered if the MacDonnells were as powerful in Ireland as the MacDonnells–a cadet branch of the MacDonalds–were in Scotland.

  “They were no doubt aware of our meeting on their beach, and I assume they have lookouts here.” Aidan shrugged as he poured more wine into his chalice. “The MacAlister men have gone hunting, and for reasons I cannot fathom, their noblewomen refuse to leave their chambers.”

  The hair on the back of Senga’s neck rose with the threat that lay beneath Aidan’s words. She refused to look at him as servants placed platters of food on the table. Ruairí placed a healthy serving before Senga, and while it was more than she normally ate, it provided a reason to keep herself occupied as conversation flowed between Ruairí and Aidan. But she couldn’t ignore the man any longer when he addressed her by name.

  “Lady Senga.” She tried not to grimace at the use of a title she hadn’t possessed in years. She’d given up the honorific with ease when she married Alexander, so hopelessly in love was she. Nowadays, it seemed ridiculous to hear it associated with her name after living in her small cottage and working in a tavern for five years. She nodded and finally turned her gaze to meet Aidan’s. “My lady, perhaps you’ve heard the tale of how my crew and I found ourselves nearly stranded at Belmullet?”

  Senga understood Aidan’s intentions. The man was aware there was no way Senga could be aware of such an event, so when he forced her to admit as much, he would have the opening he needed to regale her of some impressive feat. She shook her head once.

  “Ah well, it is quite a tale, my lady. My men and I were bound for Blacksod Bay before returning home to Galway. By our misfortune, we arrived at Broad Haven to find the waterways as dry as an Arabian desert. I thought to turn around, sail further around the coast in the open seas, but my men assured me they were strong enough. Do you know what they were strong enough to do, Lady Senga?” Aidan made her name roll off her tongue in a way that only an Irish accent could do. However, she much preferred her husband’s Highland burr, which he was able to hide and that he shared only with her from time to time. “My men and I carried our ships overland. It might have been less than a league, but it was no simple task. But my men and I were up to the challenge.”

  Senga turned away when Aidan flexed his arms and chests as if to prove his strength. When she didn’t offer him the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ he’d expected, he tried another tack. Senga sensed Ruairí’s anger returning as Aidan flirted with her. She wished she could reassure him that this obnoxious man annoyed her more than anything else. The best she could do was grip his thigh under the table and make a quiet sigh of annoyance. She hoped Ruairí understood. He patted his hand over hers, then lifted her hand from his thigh. She glanced up at him and discovered Ruairí directed his anger at her. Aidan’s knowing smile made Senga want to plunge one of her dirks into his eye.

  “Do you know what my friends call me, Senga?” Aidan grew more brazen as he observed Ruairí’s tension mounting.

  “I wouldn’t know, since we aren’t
friends,” Senga snapped. “Until today, I didn’t know you existed.” But he was not deterred.

  “That just means we must make time to become friends,” Aidan pressed. “My friends call me Naoise.” Senga wanted to laugh as she repeated the name in her head. Nee-sha. It didn’t sound particularly masculine to her.

  “Do you know what it means, Senga?” Aiden nearly purred.

  “Some of your Irish Gaelic differs from ours.” Senga hoped she sounded disinterested as she turned back to her trencher and took another bite of roasted fowl.

  “It means warrior.” Aidan grinned, proud of himself.

  Warrior indeed. Arrogant prig seemed be a better name. Senga leaned toward Ruairí and whispered, “Can we leave soon?”

  Ruairí narrowed his eyes at her as though he tried to read more into her words than she intended. She feared they’d have an argument once they returned to the Lady Charity, but she wasn’t certain of the reason. She’d tried to disabuse Aidan of any sign that he held her interest. When he shook his head, Senga’s heart sank. Her disappointment must have been too obvious, because Ruairí had a moment of doubt that he’d made the right choice in bringing Senga on land and to this infernal meal.

  “What news have you?” Ruairí ended Aidan’s self-gratifying storytelling.

  “Those bluidy MacLeods are nipping at my heels once more. They’re sailing too far to the west when they come into the North Channel. They act as though they own the bluidy ocean.”

  Senga tensed as she listened to Aidan speak of her former clan, but she wasn’t certain if he meant the MacLeods of Skye or Lewis. She glanced at Ruairí and sensed he wondered the same thing. She refused to speak again, so she prayed Ruairí asked for her.

  “And which MacLeods are you at war with now?” Ruairí quipped.

  “Those blighters from Lewis. Their laird is a pustule on the arse of a hog.”

  “Who’s their laird these days? I haven’t paid attention since we avoid that part of the Hebrides.”