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

by Celeste Barclay

  “Aye, he did. He wanted weapons for his war against the MacLeods. He thought to steal them from me, but I had them stashed elsewhere.” Ruairí wasn’t about to admit to Fionn that the weapons had been onboard all along and hidden in the false bottom of the hold. “He’s agreed to leave the Western Isles and Orkney to the Scots if I asked you to fight alongside him.”

  “And why would I do that?” Fionn muttered around a mouth full of pottage.

  “Because doing away with Neil MacLeod would make passage through the North Channel easier, and the O’Malleys would have one less ally.”

  “My argument isn’t with the MacLeod. He leaves me alone since I threatened to share his secret.”

  Senga had relaxed with Ruairí’s calming touch, but she tensed once more. She shifted in her seat but stilled, fearing Fionn sensed her eagerness. She covered her anxiousness by leaning forward to reach the pitcher of wine. She sneaked a quick glance at Fionn, but he was intently looking at his food.

  “And what secret would that be?” Ruairí inquired.

  “It’d hardly be a secret if I told you, now would it?” the O’Driscoll smirked.

  “And what does the man have on you if you’re willing to stay quiet? It’s got to be more than being left alone.” Ruairí took a risk that he prayed paid off. “Did I mention that Senga was a MacLeod before she became a MacNeil?”

  Fionn nodded, then swallowed a mouthful Senga feared would choke him. “You look like your da, lass, but those are your mother’s eyes.” Fionn’s words shocked both Ruairí and Senga, but she recovered faster.

  “You knew my parents?”

  “Aye. I did quite a lot of trade with your father before his bastard brother had him killed. I was glad to hear you escaped marrying the auld MacLeod from Skye. A nasty dragon, he is.”

  “Is that the secret? That you’re aware my uncle orchestrated that raid?”

  Fionn put down the hunk of bread he was about to bite into and looked at Senga, then Ruairí. He lowered his voice before speaking once more. “Nay, lass. I’m aware he tried to rape you, and that your young Sorley took you away from Lewis to protect you. I also know word spread of why you left. The MacLeod of Skye was livid when he discovered you’d not only escaped but gotten yourself married. He prepared to attack Lewis, but your uncle came here before the MacLeod of Skye had the opportunity to sail. He hid the dowry he was supposed to pay auld MacLeod close to here. I’ve told no one but you. It’s a small fortune that I’ve guarded in exchange for the MacLeods of Lewis keeping their distance from my ships and my shore.”

  “Why’re you telling us this?” Senga leaned around Ruairí, but shrank back when she realized she was being outspoken. She glanced at Ruairí, but his nod gave her the confidence to look back at Fionn.

  “Because I may have been glad that my father died, even if it weren’t by my hand, but your ma and da didn’t deserve to die. Family shouldn’t kill family. They were good people, and you were still a young lass when it happened. I have no tolerance for men who force themselves on women.” Fionn stared out into space, seeming not to see the crowd before them. “It changes the woman forever. She loses a piece of her soul.” He shook his head as though he might clear the maudlin thoughts and remember who he spoke with.

  “You recognized who I was even before Ruairí introduced us.” It was a statement, not a question. Senga tried to recall if they’d met when she was a child, but she drew a blank.

  “Nay, my lady. We never met,” Fionn offered the first sign of warmth since they arrived when he smiled at Senga. “I met your ma before you were born. She sailed with your father often, and as I said, I traded with your father often. It’s why Neil thought he’d find an ally in me.”

  The trio sat in silence for several minutes before Fionn cleared his throat. “I will fight alongside O’Flaherty, but you will join the fight, MacNeil. I don’t trust that bastard not to run me through in the middle of the battle. And I’ll return the dowry to you, my lady. It should have been yours all along. That’s what your father would have wanted. I don’t care a whit about the Western Isles or Lowlanders invading your precious Highlands. I’ll fight Neil MacLeod in honor of your mother and father, Lady Senga. Your mother was kind to my wife many moons ago.”

  It was the first time since she escaped her uncle and the isle of Lewis that Senga didn’t experience discomfort from the honorific. It felt sincere coming from Fionn O’Driscoll, which shocked her even as she appreciated it. While she wasn’t eager to return to Lewis–she’d only felt disinterest, at best, when Aidan spoke of sailing to her former home–she was filled with a new sense of purpose with Fionn O’Driscoll at their side. Ruairí squeezed her thigh, and she understood the question in his eyes. She gave a quick nod, and Ruairí turned back to settle the agreement with Fionn. They returned to the Lady Charity with the agreement to meet Fionn at dawn to retrieve her hidden dowry. Then the crews of the Lady Charity and the four ships that made up the O’Driscoll fleet intended to sail north with the tide.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A storm off the coast of Dublin forced the ships to drop anchor as the gale blew in from the northeast. It marked them as easy prey as they sat in a cove with the sails lowered and hatches battened down. The last of the wind had barely settled before the sound of cannon fire erupted just before dawn. Ruairí awoke with a start, but as the Lady Charity shuddered and listed to port, he understood they were under attack. Senga was already awake when he shook her shoulder. She rolled out of bed and donned her clothes as quickly as Ruairí. She strapped her falchion to her belt and hurried to fasten her bracers. After the last attack, Ruairí admitted that the door wasn’t as secure as he’d always assumed. He didn’t want Senga trapped in the cabin again, so he’d told her that she was to find a crate or barrel on deck to hide within. He even ordered her to use the freshwater barrel if needed.

  The couple emerged on deck as a cannonball whizzed over the bow, striking the water within spitting distance of the ship. Senga swept her eyes across the deck and noticed none of the men appeared injured. She squinted, trying to catch sight of the O’Driscoll ships through the smoke and predawn haze. She counted four, but one seemed off-kilter, and she feared a cannonball had struck it. She glanced up at the cliffs that towered above the inlet where they’d spent the night. There were two cannons that Senga spotted, and both appeared to have smoke rising above them.

  “Ruairí, look!” Senga pointed toward the mouth of a sea cave. She doubted any of the captains had spotted the cave the night before, in the driving rain and under the black cloud cover. Four small but fast ships emerged from the mouth of the cave. Senga didn’t recognize any of them. “What are those?”

  “Bluidy hell,” Ruairí growled. “The low-profile ship with oars and sails is a fuste. They’re popular with Barbary corsairs. We didn’t recognize the Barbaries when they attacked because they weren’t in their regular ships. The other three are French corvettes. Those are the ones we must keep our eye on because they usually have anywhere from four to eight small guns on the deck.”

  “Who are they? Are they O’Malleys?”

  “Aye. Senga, we need to get you hidden. They’ll try to board us.” Ruairí guided Senga toward a barrel he knew was empty. It had been a freshwater container, but they’d emptied it a few days earlier. He pulled the lid off and lifted Senga into it before she said a word. They exchanged an all-too-brief kiss before Ruairí ordered Tomas, Kyle, and Snake Eye to surround the barrel with him. He understood he was running the risk of the O’Malleys figuring out there was something–or someone–of value within the container. But Ruairí refused to take the risk of one of the Irish pirates taking the barrel and discovering Senga as the real treasure. Senga watched in horror through a hollow knot in the wood as the battle ensued. The crew of the Lady Charity defended their ship valiantly, and more O’Malleys fell into the water than boarded the vessel, but the battle waged on.

  “These rats must have climbed out of the woodwork,” Kyle called out
as he and Tomas fought back to back, preventing anyone from approaching Senga’s hiding place from the port side.

  “They’ll all be drowned rats soon enough,” Snake Eye puffed as he swung his sword in a wide arc, then thrust his dirk into the man who prepared for the sword strike instead. He had no chance to say more as two O’Malleys rushed toward Snake Eye. Tomas shifted to come to Snake Eye’s aid, but it left Kyle’s back unprotected. Senga covered her mouth in horror as a man thrust his sword at Kyle’s ribs, the blade slicing through the first mate’s tunic and flesh. Kyle bellowed in rage as he turned toward his enemy. Blood poured from his wound, and as the minutes dragged on, Senga witnessed Kyle’s strength waning.

  Senga shifted to find where Ruairí fought, discovering that he was battling two opponents. Tomas and Snake Eye were both enmeshed in their own fights for survival. Kyle wouldn’t make it if someone didn’t come to his aid. From what Senga’s limited vision allowed, there was no one able to come to Kyle’s defense. Beside Rowan, Kyle was Ruairí’s closest friend and had been his confidante for years. As angry as Ruairí would undoubtedly be if she helped Kyle, it would devastate him if Kyle died. She was confident that she could assist Kyle, then find another hiding spot. She knew there was a space between the mast and a stack of crates. It was what Braedon used to give him a higher start when he climbed the mast to the crow’s nest. If need be, she knew she and Braedon could both fit in the small perch above the deck.

  Senga didn’t wait to make her move; she refused to reconsider the choice that would undoubtedly land her across Ruairí’s lap, and not for their pleasure. She pushed the lid free and leaned all of her weight away from where the fighting took place. She scrambled out of the barrel and came to her feet. She leaped over it as she drew her falchion. She swung the sword high overhead, using momentum to add force when she brought the blade crashing down onto Kyle’s opponent’s neck. Blood geysered from the wound, and the man collapsed on the deck.

  “Thank you,” Kyle gasped.

  “You need to apply pressure to that wound, or you’ll bleed to death.” Senga ran to Kyle’s side. “You have to go below to—”

  “No. I’m not running away from battle.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that. I was going to say, go below and get something to bandage your wound. Tightly. Then come back to fight. If you don’t put pressure on that, you will die. Are you going to put Ruairí through that?”

  Kyle gave her a long look before he nodded once and bounded toward the ladderwell that took him to his quarters. Senga had no time to watch Kyle disappear below deck before her next opponent was on her. The man grinned as he approached.

  “I shall enjoy killing you, leannán. But first I think I shall find a wee bit o’ privacy where I can bend you over first.” The man leered as he lunged for Senga, but she was quicker than he anticipated. She flicked a dirk from her wrist bracer and flung it at the man’s crotch.

  “You won’t be rutting anything now.” She followed through by plunging her sword into his groin, withdrawing it, then thrusting it into his sternum. She pulled her dirk loose as Ruairí’s voice roared her name.

  “Punish me later, Ruairí. You need all the sword arms you can get.” Senga spun around and spotted a man reaching for the mast. He had his dirk between his teeth as he prepared to climb the rigging. She wasn’t sure if the pirate intended to saw through the sails or go after Braedon, but she wasn’t willing to risk either. She threw the dirk in her hand, watching with satisfaction as it embedded in the man’s throat. She pivoted as she spied movement in Ruairí’s direction. She watched her husband fell an enormous man with skin like the midnight sky. She’d seen no one like him during her time sailing with Ruairí in the Mediterranean. But she had little time to ruminate on the stranger as two more men ran toward Ruairí. Senga didn’t hesitate to rush to her husband’s back. She crouched as one of the O’Malley sailors shifted to take her on, while the second man focused on Ruairí. She and Ruairí had sparred with each other for countless hours after he discovered she knew how to fight. They’d grown used to one another’s movements and were compliments to one another’s prowess as they moved with synchronicity. Husband and wife defended one another like a choreographed dance.

  “You shall have a red bottom that you won’t be able to sit on for a month of Sundays when this is over,” Ruairí growled.

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  “Now you can obey?” Ruairí failed to keep the amusement from his voice despite his anger that his wife purposely ignored his order to remain hidden. Again.

  “Not very well, but I can,” Senga puffed. “You should’ve learned the first time that I wouldn’t leave your back unprotected. You can turn me over your knee after I celebrate your survival.”

  “Senga!” Ruairí’s bellow warned Senga that he didn’t appreciate her sense of humor. She opted to remain quiet as they twisted and turned, thrusting and parrying against their opponents. Movement at the corner of her periphery had her whipping her head around in time to notice a man pulling Braedon down the mast. When they landed on the deck, the pirate lifted his sword to Braedon’s throat.

  “I have to help Braedon,” Senga yelled over the sound of swords clashing.

  “Go,” Ruairí nodded. Senga didn’t wait another moment before she ran toward the man as he pressed the blade against Braedon’s skin. She witnessed the first drop of blood bloom on the polished metal, and all reason left her mind. She swept up a short sword as she passed it on the deck. The blade was wider and flatter than her falchion; it made cleaving the man’s head from his neck much easier than it would have been with the thin blade of her own sword. Braedon staggered when the hold on him suddenly disappeared.

  “Go back up, Brae. I’ll stay below. No one will touch you again. I swear it,” Senga panted as she pushed the boy back toward the rigging. She climbed atop the crates she had once thought to hide behind. The superior height gave her leverage that even the tallest man didn’t have, and most of the enemy had already seen her fight. None approached her or the mast. She remained on guard, protecting both Braedon and the sails until the fighting ended.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Senga watched as the crew of the Lady Charity tossed the dead bodies of the O’Malleys onto the fuste that had come alongside their boat. When the last one landed on the deck with a thud, the men severed the grappling hooks from the ropes, keeping the metal grips while throwing the ropes into the water. The O’Driscolls fared the same as Ruairí’s crew, but the ship Senga had seen earlier listing to one side was slowly slipping beneath the surface of the water.

  “They may have lost that one, but they gained two corvettes. Fionn won’t be too disappointed,” Ruairí observed as he dumped a crew member’s body over the rail. One of the corvettes had abandoned the fight and returned to the O’Malleys’ lair with a skeleton crew that had survived the fight against the O’Driscolls. None of the O’Malleys who boarded the Lady Charity survived. Senga was in the middle of pouring whisky over Kyle’s wound as he cursed under his breath. She offered him some of her own, some that made even the toughened pirate blush. “Wife, you have a foul mouth,” Ruairí observed.

  Senga grinned unrepentantly. She knew this was the least of her transgressions, and it distracted distracted Kyle from the pain as she stitched him up. She teased Kyle that the ladies in the next port would vie for the chance to minister to his needs. He begged that she not make him laugh as he gripped his ribs below his wound. When she finished with the first mate, Senga moved on to other crew members who needed suturing. They spent the rest of the afternoon setting the deck to rights, disposing of dead bodies, and tending to their wounded as they sailed north and away from the unprovoked attack. When Senga finished tending the last man, she swiped her sleeve across her sweaty forehead and tipped her head from one side to the other in an attempt to loosen the stiff muscles in her neck. She squealed when Ruairí slung her over his shoulder and carried her toward the ladderwell.

  As they descended out
of sight of the crew, Ruairí didn’t wait to rain down painful swats to Senga’s behind. They entered their cabin, and Ruairí kicked the door shut so hard that the frame rattled. He lowered Senga to the floor and narrowed his eyes. She didn’t meet his gaze, instead pulling her belt loose and dumping the sword and knives on the table. She kicked off her boots and lowered her leggings without a word. When she was bare from the waist down, she stood with her hands clasped behind her back and her head lowered.

  “You’re prepared to receive your punishment?” Ruairí drawled as he stalked toward Senga. When his booted toes brushed against her bare ones, he reached around her and grabbed her backside in one hand and her braid in the other. He tugged her braid, bringing her chin up and giving him access to her mouth. The kiss was hungry and uncontrolled, and Senga met him with equal measure.

  Fear and anger melted away while they clung to one another, needing the solace and reassurance that they had both survived yet another threat against their lives. When the initial frenzy calmed, the kiss turned tender and languid until they both pulled away, needing to breathe. Ruairí took Senga’s hand and led her to the chair where he administered most of her spankings. Senga draped her body over his lap before he had the chance to speak any instructions. She pulled the tunic out of the way, bunching it high around her ribs.

  “Senga, you disobeyed me when I ordered you to stay hidden for your safety. I won’t deny that you saved Kyle’s life, and probably mine and Braedon’s, but I can’t ignore how willingly you put yourself in danger when you fight men twice your size with far more experience in battle. It’s not that I don’t believe you are skilled and able to defend yourself, but your opponents aren’t there to spar. They’re trying to kill you, and that thought makes the blood in my vein turn to ice. I see stars and break out into a sweat picturing you lying dead on the deck of our ship. I’m of two minds as to whether you deserve this punishment. I’m torn between wanting to thank you and throttle you.”