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

by Celeste Barclay

  “O’Driscoll is here to see you. Says you’ve had enough time to make it up to your bride.”

  “There is never enough time,” Ruairí grumbled. “Tell him I’ll be on deck in just a moment.” When Kyle turned away, Ruairí crept back into the cabin, but Senga was already seated, brushing hair from her face. He walked to the bed and lifted her onto his lap, tipping her to rest on her hip, careful not to put weight on her abused skin. He was certain her backside would still be sore.

  “I’ll order you a bath, little one. You can soak as long as you like. O’Driscoll is here. I must deal with the fallout from earlier, and discover whether Aidan survived meeting with Fionn alone.”

  “I might come with you, but that bath sounds lovely.” Senga grinned as she kissed Ruairí. “I want more of that. Much, much more, but I know duty calls.”

  “I will make it as quick as I can. Perhaps I’ll be back in time to wash your back,” Ruairí shot Senga a cheeky grin as he helped her stand.

  “Be back in time to wash a lot more than just my back.” Senga tossed back as she pulled a robe on.

  Ruairí stepped out of the cabin and found Tomas, ordering him to have a bath filled for Senga. He made his way above deck and found O’Driscoll waiting by the mast, his back to the tall wooden pole. Ruairí smothered his grin. O’Driscoll remained as untrusting as he’d always been, but Ruairí couldn’t fault him. He stood with his back guarded too when he went aboard any ship other than his own or Rowan’s.

  “Is there one dead body or two?” Ruairí called as he approached.

  “Only one for now. The whelp had the good sense to listen to a man who’s been sailing since before his father fucked his first whore.”

  Ruairí only nodded. There wasn’t much he could say to contradict Fionn since he spoke the truth. Fionn appeared old enough to be Aidan’s or Ruairí’s father, and it was no secret that Aidan’s mother had been a tavern wench who became the mistress of the O’Flaherty clan’s chieftain. As the chieftain’s only surviving son, presumably the title would one day pass to Aidan.

  “What did you decide, and how upset are the MacAlisters?”

  “Upset? I’d say they’re rightly furious that you murdered their chieftain in their very home before their very eyes. But I doubt anyone will miss the man. You have left them with no clear successor, though. The MacDonnells will have to decide, and that is where the trouble will come from. I doubt they’ll be eager to see you or agree to aught you ask once they learn what you’ve done.”

  “Would you have let him get away with what he said?”

  “You know I wouldn’t. Aisling meant as much to me as your lass means to you. But that won’t matter to the MacDonnells.”

  “Then I’ll gladly remain aboard my ship while you and O’Flaherty negotiate. Or better yet, I’ll cross back over to Scottish water.”

  “And bob about as a sitting duck? You’re safer over here.”

  Ruairí drew in a deep breath. Fionn was correct that he was safer surrounded by Fionn’s and Aidan’s ships than anchoring on his own closer to home. “I’m not going ashore until you have the MacDonnells agreement, and I know Senga won’t be left a widow.”

  “Very well,” Fionn grinned. “O’Flaherty is already aboard his Baile Diabhail.” Devil’s home. Ruairí had always thought it a fitting name for the man’s ship, even if his moniker, Naoise, meant warrior. Fionn clapped him on the shoulder before walking to the rail, tossing over his shoulder, “We sail within the hour.”

  Ruairí watched the older captain make his way across the dock to his ship the Aisling, named for his wife. Fionn no longer sailed looking for bounty or loot, but he remained fearsome. He fought battles with equal ease aboard his ship and on land. Ruairí shook his head as he turned toward his cabin, grateful that Fionn O’Driscoll chose his side. Ruairí returned in time to help Senga wash her hair, and even though she’d already used a linen square to scrub herself from top to bottom, Ruairí insisted they be thorough as he lathered up the soap.

  Senga felt the boat rock as the anchor rattled onto the deck. Not long after, she and Ruairí made their way onto the deck as they headed south once more. Ruairí explained it should be less than a day’s sail to Dunluce, where the MacDonnell sept most likely to support Aidan lived. While MacDonnells occupied Rathlin Island, the MacDonnells of Dunluce had grown more powerful. As they stood together at the rail, Ruairí shared the Irish tale of Nessa, a warrior princess.

  “She was named Assa, or gentle one, and she was a great scholar blessed with twelve foster fathers. But one day she caught the eye of the druid chief Cathbad, who fell in love—or rather in lust—with her upon first sight. He is said to have had her foster fathers killed, so he could have her. So great was her anger and pain that she became a warrior and known as Ní-assa.”

  “Not easy or gentle,” Senga murmured. She remembered something of this myth from her childhood. “Did Cathbad trick her when he discovered her bathing alone? She had to marry the man who orchestrated the death of her foster fathers.”

  “Aye, that is part of it.” Ruairí opened his mouth to continue, but Senga interrupted.

  “That sounds rather familiar. I was supposed to marry the MacLeod of Skye, the very man who attacked and killed my parents.”

  Ruairí froze, wanting to kick himself for not thinking through what he said. He’d intended on telling Senga a well-known Irish story, but instead, he reminded her of her loss. He straightened from leaning his forearms on the rail, but Senga laid her hand on his arms, staying him.

  “Keep going,” she murmured.

  “Her father was king of Ulaid, so he gave the couple land where they made their home. The story goes that Cathbad demanded a drink from the river, but when Ní-assa returned, the water contained two worms. Cathbad insisted she drink it instead, and some insist that’s how she conceived her child, Conchobar. Others claim she had a lover, Fachtna Fáthach, despite being married already. They say Conchobar was his son.”

  “One of the greatest, and cruelest, kings ever to reign in Ireland.”

  “That would be him. It’s said that after Cathbad died, she remarried Fergus mac Róich and convinced him to abdicate his throne for a year in favor of Conchobar, which he did. Nessa, as they called her, turned out to be more cunning than either of her husbands. She whispered in Conchobar’s ear, guiding him to give wealth and gifts to their people so that when the year ended, the people refused to take Fergus back as their king.”

  “I remember now. Wasn’t Nessa also the mother of Deichtine and Findchóem?”

  “Aye, and some say she was also the mother of Conchobar’s son, Cormac Cond Longas. But others claim that his wife, Clothru, fathered his son.”

  “I’d rather think the latter, but naught in fairytales surprises me.”

  “I wouldn’t let any Irishman hear you call their history fairytales. The fae have their own stories to be told.” Ruairí chuckled.

  “At least my story turns out to be much happier and doesn’t involve incest.”

  “True, little one. Though I foresee a great tale to be told one day of how a set of piratical cousins fell in love with beautiful cousins, one English and the other Scottish.”

  “The tale must include how the cousins, both MacNeils and descended from the O’Neills of Ireland, were born to the sea, sailing from the great Hebrides to the coast of Africa.”

  “As long as it includes the part where the MacNeil of Barra charms the lovely MacLeod lass from Lewis and how they fell madly and passionately in love.”

  “That’s my favorite part.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Ruairí paced the deck in the dark while Senga sat on the stacked crates by the mast. She watched as his hulking shadow passed back and forth, but she remained quiet. She understood Ruairí’s anxiety over Aidan and Fionn meeting with the MacDonnells. Padraig’s death had been unplanned and unexpected, but Senga had no sympathy for the man. Ruairí warned him, but Padraig chose to test Ruairí’s resolve and came out the
loser.

  However, Ruairí worried that the tenuous truce between Fionn and Aidan might crumble once the MacDonnells heard what happened. If they refused to aid Aidan’s cause, there was no reason for the O’Driscolls to remain. Ruairí didn’t want his deal to fall through with Aidan, but that was inevitable if the alliance collapsed. And while he didn’t want Senga anywhere near Lewis or Skye, he admitted to himself that taking a pound of flesh from Neil MacLeod held a great appeal. He would fight to avenge the life Senga’s uncle stole from her, even if Senga remaining on Lewis meant they never would have met.

  The stars appeared while Ruairí continued to pace, but his hand went to the hilt of his sword when he heard the splash of oars. He glanced at Senga, who was invisible against the mast, but he was certain she hadn’t left her spot. Ruairí strained to see who approached, but as he leaned toward the rail, he noticed dinghies rowing toward Aidan’s and Fionn’s ships while one pointed at his. He’d observed Aidan and Fionn rowing ashore earlier and recalled that neither captain took more than one dinghy. He resigned himself to accepting a visit from Dónal MacDonnell.

  Senga inched closer to Ruairí, remaining behind him, so he blocked the view of her from the approaching boat. “Do you want me to go below?” she whispered.

  “Aye, for now. If it’s safe, I’ll send Snake Eye for you.” Senga darted across the deck and down the ladderwell, but she remained at the bottom rather than going to their cabin. She heard Ruairí’s voice after the last splash of the oars. “Come to pay a visit, Dónal?”

  “Aye. Seems you’ve sent my cousin to the devil. I’m not sure if I should thank you or run you through.”

  “I’d prefer your thanks,” Ruairí quipped. He didn’t offer a rope ladder to Dónal, nor did the man ask for one. “Why’d you row out here?”

  “To let you know I hold no hard feelings. O’Flaherty began the tale of woe, but Fionn cut him off and told me a version I believed. The prig insulted your woman. You’re the Dark Heart.” The chieftain shrugged in the dark. “It was easy to figure out what happened before Fionn got to the part where you drew your dagger the first time. If my mother didn’t threaten to skelp me alive, I’d have done the job myself years ago.”

  “Aye, well, I still wasn’t sure how you’d receive the news.”

  “With bells on. I couldn’t stand him. If you’re concerned that your actions will make me refuse to aid O’Flaherty and O’Driscoll, then put your mind at ease. The MacDonnells will join in. We have no love for the MacLeods of Lewis, bluidy thieves, and anything that rankles the O’Malleys makes for a good day for me.”

  “Is it that simple?” Ruairí was skeptical that anything could be as easy as a brief conversation with Dónal MacDonnell.

  “I want half of what O’Flaherty promised you,” Dónal was quick to reply.

  “Fine.”

  “That simple, Ruairí?”

  “Aye. I never wanted to be a part of this, but I am. I don’t need what O’Flaherty promised, and I’m not greedy enough to sail into battle with my wife on board without a force equal to the one we attack.”

  “That’s reasonable. But if you have a wife now, why sail to Lewis at all?”

  “Don’t play daft. I’m certain you’ve heard who I married. I respect O’Driscoll, and I’ll avenge my wife’s family. But O’Driscoll drew me into this battle as part of the trade between O’Flaherty and me. O’Flaherty refused pay without O’Driscoll’s pledge to fight, and in turn, O’Driscoll refused to fight unless I agreed to join them.”

  “That’s quite a tangled web of friendship.”

  “Friendship?” Ruairí barked a laugh, and Dónal chuckled.

  “Perhaps not friends. But it still makes for odd bedfellows,” Dónal conceded.

  “The only person in my bed is my wife. If I suspect any of this will fall apart, I will leave all of you blowing in the wind. She’s the person least interested in going to Lewis and fighting her clan.”

  “It seems the lass is the only one of us with any sense. I won’t gut you, MacNeil. Come ashore in the morning, so we can strategize and be underway. The sooner we leave, the sooner I return home.”

  Ruairí grunted his agreement as MacDonnell’s man pushed the dinghy away from the side of the Lady Charity. When the MacDonnells were an inky blip moving toward the shore, Ruairí called, “You can come out, Senga.”

  Senga eased her way to Ruairí, unsure of whether she’d angered him by not locking herself in their cabin. “You’re not in trouble. Come here.” Ruairí held his arm out to Senga.

  “That seemed to go well. Do you trust what he said?”

  “About as much as I trust Aidan, but if we can speed things along, we can be on our way to meet Rowan and Caragh. It’s been nearly a moon, and our meeting draws nearer. I’d rather sail with them than this Irish rabble.”

  “I’d take Rowan and Caragh over the Irish any day of the week and twice on Sundays.” Senga gazed at the keep that sat upon the cliffs. The stars shone over it, making it glow. She wondered what manner of men belonged to the Irish MacDonnell clan. If they were anything like their Scottish brethren and the MacDonalds, they would be fierce fighters, but their priority would always be themselves.

  Ruairí spent a restless night in bed beside Senga, who sensed his unease in her sleep and tried to comfort him by wrapping an arm around his waist. It calmed him for a while, but it was never long before he shifted again. It was before dawn when Ruairí abandoned sleep and climbed out of bed. Senga grumbled, but her eyes didn’t open.

  “Come back to bed, Ruairí. The sun isn’t up, and it’s too soon to go ashore,” Senga mumbled.

  “Sleep, little one.”

  Senga sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing hair from her face. She watched Ruairí as he completed his morning ablutions. She doubted she’d ever tire of watching the muscles in Ruairí’s back bunch and ripple as he bent over the bowl and ewer. Her eyes slid to his backside as he moved to get dressed. “But I was enjoying that,” she complained as he pulled his leggings over his first leg.

  “Enjoying what, mo ghaol?” Ruairí asked, but they both knew he was aware Senga watched with appreciation. She slid from the bed and stretched, her back arching and her breasts rising. Ruairí stalked back toward her, his leggings forgotten. He wrapped his arm around her, his other hand going to her breast, pinching her nipple. “Tempting me?”

  “Maybe. Perhaps this is what you need to fall back into bed and catch a little more sleep,” Senga seductive smile dropped as she lifted her hand to run the pad of her finger under his eye. “You have raccoon eyes. You haven’t slept well in days. I worry about you, mo chridhe.”

  “I have time to sleep when I’m dead.”

  “That will be all too soon if you’re exhausted before you even show up for the fight. Please, Ruairí. We have at least another two hours before we normally rise. It will set my mind at ease if you at least try to get a bit more sleep.”

  Ruairí relented and climbed back into bed, pulling Senga into his embrace. It wasn’t long before he noticed his eyelids were drooping. He realized that he would have slept better if he’d been holding Senga as he did once they returned to bed. The sun had been up at least an hour when Ruairí’s eyes opened again. He could tell Senga was awake, but she was still, understanding he slept so well because of their position. He kissed her shoulder, a wave of tenderness washing over him as he considered how fortunate he was to have found a woman who cared enough about him to lie beside him, presumably bored, just so he could sleep.

  “I love you, Senga.”

  Senga rolled over and ran her fingers over his tattoo. Having memorized the pattern, she could have traced it with her eyes shut. She found it soothing, and Ruairí enjoyed the touch. She’d been the first and only woman whose tracing his tattoo put him at ease. It had always annoyed him in the past.

  “I love you too, Ruairí.” Senga eyes narrowed as she assessed Ruairí’s expression. “You say that as though you need to remind me in case you don’t have a
n opportunity to later. What’s going on?”

  Ruairí shook his head. “I intend to live a long life telling you that every day. Many times a day, in fact. I didn’t mean to be maudlin. I suppose I was being sentimental,” he chuckled. When Senga cocked an eyebrow, he relented and explained. “You’ve been awake for a while. I can tell, but you remained beside me just so I could rest. You take care of me when I never thought I needed it. You’re good to me and for me. I love you.”

  Senga wasn’t sure what to say. Ruairí never lacked displays of affection and desire. He even told her several times a day that he loved her. But the admission that he understood how much she loved him, even if it was as simple as remaining in bed beside him, touched her. “I do with all my heart.”

  Ruairí offered her a smile that dazzled and made him look like anything but the Dark Heart. She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before rolling to get out of bed. Both of them accepted that it was past time to rise. They hurried to go ashore, where they joined Dónal and the two other pirate captains to break their fast. Senga noticed a comely woman sitting beside Dónal, and she assumed she was the lady of the clan. When the meal ended, and the men moved to Dónal’s solar to strategize, Senga moved to a seat on the left of the woman, avoiding the laird’s chair on the other woman’s right.

  “Good morn,” Senga ventured.

  “Good morn,” the woman’s voice was tentative and her smile shy, but she was receptive.

  “I’m Senga MacNeil.” While her surname was still new to her, neither MacLeod nor Sorley ever felt so natural.