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

by Celeste Barclay

  “No.”

  “No? To which part?”

  “All of it. I don’t care if I never lay my eyes on Lewis again. I’ll be the one to plunge a blade into my uncle if ever I run into him, and I will spit on Alfred for playing me as a fool. I understand now that he only pretended to be my friend, training me and even taking me on raids, all while sharing my secrets with my uncle. It’s the only way my uncle could know that Alexander and I were growing serious and why he tried to rush the betrothal. I didn’t understand any of it at the time, but I’ve had years to grow up and learn people’s true nature."

  Senga shook head before gazing at the open water. Sadness and anger warred within as she thought about her cousin. She wanted to have fond memories from the time she spent with her cousin, but his betrayal was more than she could overlook.

  “Alfred won’t be any better than his father. My cousin might not be a murderer, but he has no qualms about taking what he wants regardless of who it hurts. He was delighted to become the heir to my clan’s lairdship. He never would’ve been heir if my father lived.”

  “Aye, your husband would have been.”

  Senga’s eyes widened as she stepped back from Ruairí. Her throat tightened as she tried to choke out her words. “Do you want the lairdship? Is that what this is about?”

  “Hardly.” Ruairí’s laugh was brittle. “I could have remained with my own clan if I wanted to be laird. Remember, I would have become the heir, too, in much the same way as your Cousin Alfred did. I only want to know what you want. If it’s returning to Lewis and returning to what’s rightly yours, then I will make it so. If you never want to step foot on Lewis again, never see its shores, then so be it.”

  Senga nodded, her heart slowing the rapid staccato that had made her chest burn. She closed her eyes, inhaling Ruairí’s fresh scent of sea air and soap. “I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Thinking about returning to Lewis fills me with dread and anger. It’ll never be my home again. Not now. That chance died the day my uncle refused to allow me in the bailey when I arrived as a childless mother and grief-stricken widow. I told you, if I catch sight of him again, it’ll be my blade that kills him. I’d sleep soundly that night, too.”

  “Then I will do what I can to avoid sailing to Lewis once the Irish are allied.”

  “Thank you, Ruairí.” Senga leaned her head against his chest once again as her calm returned. They stood together at the rail well into the early evening. They spent much of the time watching fish and dolphins swim alongside the hull. Senga pointed to a flock of seagulls that circled and dove off their starboard side as they made their way along the coast. They spoke about everything and nothing as they daydreamed about the family they hoped to start one day. They avoided any specific mention of where they might raise this family, but Ruairí made Senga choke on a gulp of air when he said he envisioned them having at least six children. He feared he’d gone too far when he suggested names. Never having learned her deceased son’s name, he feared that he mentioned the babe’s name. He’d never asked and hadn’t intended to until Senga drew quiet as she noticed Ruairí withdraw.

  “What’s wrong? A moment ago, you were naming our children, now you won’t meet my eye.”

  “I fear I’ve overstepped.”

  “Overstepped? We’re planning our life together. How is suggesting names wrong?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t mention so many lads’ names. Maybe I shouldn’t make you think about bearing bairns again.”

  Senga understood when Ruairí refused look at her but tightened his hold on her. She patted his forearms before sliding her arms around his neck. “You recall his name was Alexander.” Senga no longer considered the man as her husband; it felt odd to say as much, so she avoided it. She’d been truthful when she’d described to Ruairí what she’d felt all those years ago was puppy love. She’d been little more than a girl when she’d married the first time. What she experienced with Ruairí, what she shared with him, was unlike anything she’d experienced with Alexander, and she doubted it was possible even if he hadn’t died. She swallowed before whispering a name she hadn’t said since she watched her infant son being lowered into his grave. “My son’s name was James.”

  Senga blinked several times as memories from that day flashed before her eyes. She swallowed over and over, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t dissolve. Ruairí’s embrace kept her on her feet as she remembered the baby smell she’d treasured until the last moment. She’d lost Alexander and James within hours of each other. She’d believed that day that her life had ended, but she’d awoken the next morning and the morning after that, over and over until five years later, she met Ruairí.

  “I no longer think about Alex every day, but James pops into my mind at least once each day. But the pain has eased over the years. No child will ever replace him, but neither do I want to go without feeling a bairn growing within me because I lost my first one. I want to feel the kicks and flutters. I’d bear the agony of childbirth over and over to have a family with you. I would put my bairn to my breast once again. That bond, that experience is one I can never put into words, and it’s one that I never imagined experiencing again until I met you. Do you have any idea what I dreamed of that first night in my cottage?” Ruairí shook his head. “I dreamed of standing over the cradle my father built and looking down at our bairn, yours and mine—not anyone else’s—sleeping in the cradle while I rubbed my hand over my swollen belly. I dreamed you stood behind me, your hands resting on my belly as our bairn kicked within me. That’s how I was certain I should go with you.”

  Senga’s words astounded Ruairí, his mouth opening and closing several times before he found his voice. “I had the same vision. When I watched you standing beside the cradle, I envisioned the same thing. That’s why I asked you to come with me. I knew you were meant to be with me.”

  “Fate, mo ghaol,” she whispered.

  “Fate, mo ghràidh,” he returned as he kissed her temple. “Shall we go and try to make that first bairn?”

  Senga nodded and pulled his hand as she darted toward the ladderwell. They ignored the knock at their door when Snake Eye brought their dinner tray. They didn’t emerge until the middle of the following morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Lady Charity sailed along the eastern coast for the next five days. Fair weather and strong tides kept the Lady Charity at a steady clip, and Baltimore came into view during the middle of the fifth day. Senga stood beside Ruairí at the helm. He’d offered her the chance to take control of the wheel more than once since she joined the ship. She’d proven to have a keen sense of navigation and understanding of the sea. She loved the sense of freedom and control that came with such responsibility, and Ruairí found the sight highly arousing.

  “Is that Baltimore Castle?” Senga asked as a bawn, or curtain wall, came into view atop a ridge.

  “Aye, but they call it Dún na Séad.” They neared the harbor, but Ruairí had already given the order to anchor beyond the natural inlet. He’d explained some of the history of Clan O’Driscoll to Senga; she understood why they were wary of any ship they didn’t recognize. The O’Driscolls had taken control of the castle from the powerful McCarthy clan. While the O’Driscolls were smaller than the McCarthys, the people of County Cork had learned not to underestimate them. The castle they saw now wasn’t the original structure, built by the Anglo-Normans. It was at least the fifth or sixth iteration, the previous castles having burned down and been rebuilt several times. The O’Driscolls had proven themselves once and for all when a feud with Waterford City merchants carried on for nearly two hundred years. They overcame the most recent sacking of their castle only to build and fortify the most impressive castle yet. Their persistence garnered a reputation for stubbornness and ruthlessness. They were not a clan to cross; they also did not ally with others easily. “We’ll wait until we’re invited ashore. Their most recent tale of woe was an attack from Barbary pirates. The blighters sailed all the way from Algiers and
sailed off with more than a hundred captives, who are now probably slaves.”

  “So they’re not ones to offer strangers a warm welcome.” Senga nodded as returned her gaze to the harbor they neared.

  “Nay. Fionn O’Driscoll is the least trusting man in my acquaintance. He’s fearsome looking, with nasty scars across his forehead and down his left cheek and he’s missing half his teeth. He has Aidan and his men to thank for that. Aidan killed Michael O’Driscoll a few years back, and while that allowed Fionn to become chieftain, it left him with constant reminders that he’s indebted to Aidan for it. That’s the only reason Fionn will hear me out.” Ruairí turned to his crew and called out, “Hoist our sails. The marque of Argyll is more likely to earn us cannon fire than a place by the fire. Raise our red flag.” Ruairí and Rowan sailed with their signature red flags emblazoned with crossed golden basket-hilted swords.

  Senga stood at the rail as the crew dropped anchor and unfurled Ruairí’s pirate sales. A breeze made the canvas billow, and the Dark Heart’s flag flapped above them. It wasn’t long before the O’Driscoll banner hung from a top window of the keep. Senga made out a large ship and three rabbits stitched upon it. At her expression of confusion, Ruairí explained, “The rabbits represent their ties to King Conn Cead-Cathach, the ruler of the ancient kingdom of Connacht. The ship depicts the clan’s ties to the seas. They seem a bit of an odd combination, but it marks them as descendants of kings.”

  “Don’t most Irish clans claim they are descendants of kings?”

  “Aye. There’s bound to be some truth to the tales, but the Irish are more notorious bards than the Scots.” Ruairí grinned before ordering the crew to lower the dinghies.

  “I will remain quiet this time, Ruairí. I promise.” Senga kept her eyes lowered and her hands clasped before her. The couple hadn’t discussed the incident with Aidan, nor had they discussed whether Senga would go ashore. Ruairí simply told Senga that morning to prepare to meet the O’Driscolls. As the time to disembark drew nearer, Senga experienced a rush of nervousness that compelled her to reassure Ruairí that it wouldn’t be a mistake to take her with him.

  “I know you will, little one. But Fionn is not the same type of man as Aidan. His wife died a number of years ago during a Waterford raid, and he’s lived like a monk since. But he’s a man filled with rage and vengeance. I doubt he’ll take notice of you as a woman, but he will be suspicious of you as a stranger.”

  “I’d prefer that.” Senga offered Ruairí a tentative smile.

  “Senga, we may have settled into a new dynamic with me more dominant and you more submissive, but I never want you to be timid. Not with me and not with anyone else. If you fear me or how I will react, we end these roles and return to how we were before we married.”

  “Yes, Ruairí,” Senga’s words were once again submissive, but the hint of mischief in her eyes told Ruairí that the spirit he adored persisted. A deep rumble in Ruairí’s throat signaled his approval before he pressed his mouth to hers, swiping his tongue across her lips. When she opened, he dominated their kiss, and Senga happily gave in. She clung to him as the kiss carried on, her body pressed as tightly against his as were their mouths. When they heard the splash of the last dinghy, they pulled apart.

  “I shall have to be a patient man, little one, because all I want to do now is make love to my wife.”

  “That’s all you ever want to do,” Senga teased.

  “Can you blame me?”

  “Hardly, since all I ever want to do is make love to my husband.”

  “No wonder we’re so good together.” Ruairí tapped her backside before guiding her to the rope ladder. Once again, she wore leggings and a tunic. Senga reasoned that if things soured between Fionn and Ruairí, then she needed to be dressed to fight or to run. A kirtle wouldn’t allow her to do either easily. It was only a matter of minutes before Senga once again hopped over the side of the dinghy, but the atmosphere on the Baltimore beach differed vastly from the one only days ago at Rathlin. Local fishermen continued their work as if a band of pirates hadn’t arrived onshore moments before. Senga supposed it was a familiar sight for most of the locals. As they made their way along the dock, Senga spied the same people that a visitor expected in any coastal village. The dockside whores smiled and shimmied for Ruairí, but he took no notice as he strained to spot Fionn O’Driscoll, who he knew would never come to greet him. O’Driscoll expected nothing less than for Ruairí to go to him. Senga glared as more than one woman attempted to take a step toward them, and she drew her dirk when one had the audacity to bare her breasts. The woman snapped her blouse back into place when she caught the gleam reflected off Senga’s blade. Ruairí chuckled. “I’m glad to have you protecting my virtue, little one.”

  “It appears someone has to,” Senga huffed, then grinned. “I’m no more possessive than you are.”

  “Then no one will ever get near either of us.” Ruairí glanced down and offered his own broad smile. “O’Driscoll is just ahead, where the path twists toward the keep.”

  Senga whipped her eyes forward, but she struggled to see anyone. It wasn’t until they were nearly upon Fionn that she spotted him. He was exactly as Ruairí described. If she hadn’t recognized the blankness in his eyes that only grief could create, she would have been justly terrified. Instead, she sympathized with the man. Speaking of children the night before had flooded Senga with memories, alternately warm and horrifying, of her time with Alexander and baby James. She’d forced herself to relegate them to the corner of her mind where they usually resided. She hadn’t lied when she confessed that she thought of James at least once a day, but it was usually a brief glimpse of a cooing baby rather than one ravaged by fever. She’d awoken in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, trembling. Ruairí had settled her against his warm body despite remaining asleep. She’d drifted back to sleep immediately once she was wrapped in Ruairí’s protective embrace.

  “Fionn, come out and greet me and my wife. You are known for better hospitality than that.” Ruairí’s voice carried and seemed to bounce off the nearby cliffside. The scarred man stepped forth and offered what Senga assumed was a smile. He waited for the couple to approach, rather than meeting them halfway, proving Ruairí’s prediction was true: he wouldn’t offer a warm welcome. But, Senga reasoned, at least he wasn’t hostile toward them. When they were almost within sword’s reach, Ruairí stopped and dipped his head. “Fionn O’Driscoll, I would have you meet my wife, Senga MacNeil. Senga, this is Fionn O’Driscoll, chieftain of Clan O’Driscoll.”

  Senga stood in silence beside Ruairí but offered the warmest smile she could muster. The man swung his vacant gaze toward her and nodded before turning to walk up the path. Ruairí and Senga followed behind with Tomas and Snake Eye bringing up the rear. When they neared the keep, guards seemed to materialize from nowhere. They flanked the couple and their men. Guards ordered Ruairí, Snake Eye, and Tomas to remove their swords before entering, but they fooled no one: the men were still well armed. Senga’s tunic covered the dirks strapped to her thighs, and the sleeves covered the knives in her wrist bracers. The hilts of the dirks in her boots didn’t show beneath her leggings. Senga’s eyes swept the Great Hall, estimating the number of people within and checking for potential means of escape. She caught sight of more than one pirate hiding in the shadows, prepared to attack if Fionn gave the signal.

  Ruairí didn’t trust Fionn any more than he did Aidan, but entering the keep and taking the noon meal in the Great Hall were necessary to prove the Lady Charity arrived in peace. To refuse the offer would insult Fionn and his clan. He kept his arm around Senga’s waist, offering her a chair that placed her in the corner. He wasn’t keen on the seat since it meant she might be trapped if a fight broke out, but it kept her back protected and made approaching from the sides more difficult. It was the safest seat available. Snake Eye and Tomas found spots on benches below the dais. They talked quietly between themselves and offered their best manners to the serving women.<
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  “What brings you to Ireland, and more specifically, what brings you to Dún na Séad?” Fionn wasted no time as he poured himself a chalice of wine before passing the ewer to Ruairí. Ruairí did the same thing as he’d done at Ballycastle. He waited for Fionn to finish his first goblet, then drank his own. When neither man keeled over, he refilled the chalice and offered it to Senga.

  O’Driscoll continued, “You have the makings of a good husband, though I can’t imagine why the lass ever married you? Did you kidnap her?”

  Ruairí laughed, “No. That’s how Rowan met his wife. Senga came willingly.”

  Fionn peered past Ruairí, passing an assessing glance over Senga before looking back at Ruairí. Senga realized Ruairí hadn’t exaggerated. The man showed no more interest in her than he would any stranger. He barely seemed to notice she was a woman.

  “Did O’Flaherty send you?”

  “Do you have second sight?” Ruairí countered.

  “Not in the least. I wish that I had.” Fionn grimaced before taking a long drag from his chalice, and Ruairí wished to take back his words. He was sure they only reminded him that Fionn had been unprepared for the Algerine attack, and he’d been unprepared for his wife’s death at the hands of their Waterford enemies. “Nay. I assume that bastard still thinks I owe him.”

  “He may have said something along those lines when he suggested I sail down here.”

  “What dealings have you had with him? I thought you swore never to cross tides with him after he tried to attack you the last time you stopped at Canna.”

  Ruairí felt Senga tense, and he slid his hand over her knee beneath the table. He’d never shared that there had been an attack before Ruairí and his men arrived on Canna. Part of the reason he’d agreed to allow his men a night in the tavern was as a reward for the fight they put up against Aidan and his crew. It was also when Ruairí agreed to the trade of weapons for the chests of gold and coin. Aidan claimed he attacked because he learned the weapons were part of the cargo the Lady Charity carried. Ruairí had spared Aidan his life in exchange for a future trade, which had happened the week earlier. Both Aidan and Ruairí recognized Ruairí came out with a far more valuable bounty than Aidan, but Aidan obsessed over fighting the MacLeods and O’Malleys.