Pirates, Passion and Plunder

by Victoria Vale

  Caragh’s heart sank. If what Rowan said was true, not only would their main source of income dry up because no one would be willing to store their contraband there, the villagers would be in danger of future raids. She needed to return home to warn them.

  “You can put aside any notions of escaping this ship. We have already set sail. We are too far from the coast for you to make it before you would drown from freezing.”

  “Then you should let me row ashore. You have more than one dinghy. You can spare one.”

  Rowan’s laugh was deep and smooth, much like the Scottish whisky her father preferred.

  “You needn’t laugh at me for wanting to warn my family. Wouldn’t you do the same?” Cara huffed indignantly, but she watched all traces of humor leech from Rowan’s face.

  “Perhaps once upon a time. My family is my crew now.” Rowan moved to a chest and pulled free one of his shirts. “I’m tired of you making puddles upon my floor. You shall warp the boards. And it will be more work for you when you clean up the cabin.”

  Caragh was taken aback by the swift change in his mood. She caught the shirt he tossed her. They stood at an impasse, as Rowan made no move to leave the cabin or even turn his back, and Caragh had no intention of undressing in front of him.

  “Can you put aside your plundering ways for a moment and turn away, so I might change?”

  “I can think of something I would very much like to plunder,” Rowan stepped forward and wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger and ran his thumb over the silken strands.

  Caragh looked at Rowan, and in that moment, she knew she had a decision to make. One that would be irreversible. One that was nearly made for her. She had no intention of letting Rowan rape her, and while she did not get the impression that he would try, she did not want to test that theory. She also knew that he would insinuate he would bed her until he finally said it outright, which could be at any moment. Caragh swallowed as she admitted to herself that not only was she attracted to the man standing before her, even though logically it was ridiculous; she also knew that there was nothing left of her reputation. Everyone would know by now that she had been taken aboard a pirate ship, crewed only by men. Even if she made it home untouched, no one would believe she was still a virgin. She would never find a man to marry her now. Her options had been slim before her capture, and now they no longer existed.

  She knew she could fight the obvious attraction he felt and her own unspoken desire, or she could seize an opportunity she would never again have. She would die a spinster if she refused Rowan. She dreamed of a husband and children, of finding love like her parents had, of having a cottage of her own one day. But those dreams dissolved into the puddles around her feet. She could fight and deny herself, grow lonely and bitter aboard this ship for as long as Rowan decided to amuse himself with her presence, or she could answer long-burning questions. She could discover what it meant to experience passion with the most handsome man she had ever seen, one who had pressed the hard planes of his body against her twice. Despite the way in which they met and how she came to be aboard his ship, she did not feel threatened by him. He challenged her, but he did not frighten her. Her fear in the dinghy stemmed from the unknown, rather than from his actions. He had been surprisingly gentle with her. He had not abused his size when he handled her; even when he spanked her, he could have inflicted far more pain. She knew she deserved a punishment for spitting on the man, though a spanking was not what she expected. She had shown a propensity for disobedience that no captain of any boat could overlook while expecting to maintain order among the crew. She realized in a heartbeat she was lucky to only have received a spanking rather than a fist to her face or stomach–or worse, a slit throat. Her decision was made in the space of only a few breaths despite all the thoughts that raced through her head.

  Caragh stepped back and placed the dry shirt on the table, then pulled her waterlogged one over her head. She heard Rowan suck in his breath before the garment cleared her head. She assumed he would be looking at the binding around her breasts, but his eyes were focused lower. She looked down and saw the angry and fresh bruises that mottled her sides from her fight in the cave. She had not noticed them, but she knew she would in the morning. She paused until Rowan looked up to her face. She saw what she was sure was regret. He took one step toward her but then stopped short. She met him, again they stood toe-to-toe. His roughened fingers caressed the bruises with such feathery softness that she barely felt his skin brush hers.

  “I’m all right,” she whispered.

  He only nodded.

  Caragh untied the knot at her back and slowly unwound the strip of linen that painfully pressed her breasts against her ribs but flattened her chest. As the skin that had been covered became visible, Rowan groaned softly. He lifted her hands away as he took over unwinding the linen. “It’s a good thing you killed him, or I would have had to do it.”

  Caragh’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

  “He bruised more than just your ribs,” he explained. “Such fine skin shouldn’t be marred by anything, let alone bruises earned defending yourself from a pirate.”

  Caragh snorted, and Rowan’s eyes snapped up to hers.

  “That’s rich coming from the pirate captain who could have just as easily given me these bruises as any of your men. You didn’t know I was a woman until you’d already taken me.”

  “But I do know now, Caragh.” It was the first time he had used her name, and he liked how easily it flowed from his mouth, just as much as Caragh liked the way the burr filled her ears. “What are you doing, Caragh? Why did you take up my challenge and undress before me?”

  “Because I can keep fighting you and eventually be forced to accept fate, or I can welcome it on my own terms.”

  “I will never force you. I don’t force women. I’ve done many unsavory things over the years and earned the name the Blond Devil, but I have never taken advantage of a woman.”

  “I’m sure you have no need to. I imagine most women drop their clothes for the Blond Devil just as easily as I am.”

  Rowan bit his tongue before he mused aloud that it usually cost him a few pieces of silver.

  “What are you dodging saying outright?” Rowan caught the linen as it dropped from Caragh’s slim frame. He stared at breasts that seemed to be created to perfectly fill his hands. His palms itched to prove himself right as the dusky nipples protruded, hardened from the cold.

  “I’m saying that you and I are attracted to one another,” she shrugged her shoulders. “My options for a future, if I make it back to my home, are none. Why not make the most of what I can have now?”

  Rowan’s smile returned once again and was nearly blinding.

  “Are you always so pragmatic? Does it mean I do not need to woo you with flattery and flowery words?”

  “I suppose they wouldn’t go amiss, but I don’t want to hear untruths. I would rather we simply agree that this is what it is.”

  “And what is that?” Rowan asked.

  “Satisfaction.”

  “I certainly think we will have that, but I’m not sure we have the same notion of satisfaction. Or are you more experienced than I imagine?”

  “Hardly,” she glowered at him. “The satisfaction will be finally getting answers to questions I’ve never been able to voice.”

  Rowan nearly choked when images of the things he wanted to do with and to Caragh flashed before his eyes. He knew she was an innocent regardless of the shocking things she said. It was her innocence that led her to say them. Desire coursed through him as he looked her over, and her innocence intrigued him more than it piqued his conscience. While his conscience had been resurrected earlier, he shoved it aside now.

  “And just what do you know of the things that go on between a man and a woman?”

  “The mechanics and what I’ve overhead from the men when they think I can’t hear, or what sailors say in the tavern.”

  “What the bluidy hell are you doin
g in taverns?” Anger sparked when he thought of what types of men and things she would be exposed to in a place where ale and whores were served.

  “Where do you think I made most of the agreements that brought the goods into the village?”

  A growing anger sidetracked Rowan’s desire.

  “And where the bluidy hell have your parents been, allowing you to traipse about making deals with scoundrels and criminals?”

  “They’re not all a bad sort,” she had the audacity to smirk.

  Rowan pulled her against his chest and fisted her hair.

  “I’m not joking. Why has your family allowed you to get involved in these nefarious dealings that could get you raped or killed?”

  Caragh tried to make a space between them, but when her hands landed on his chiseled chest, the heat nearly scorched her. Rowan watched her nose flair, and her body practically hummed with pent-up energy he hoped would translate to desire. But not until he had his answers.

  “I’m waiting, Caragh. You are developing a dangerous habit of keeping me waiting when I ask a question.”

  Caragh caught the warning that flashed in his eyes, and this time she heeded it.

  “My father and older brothers are gone much of the time, and my mother is a MacLeod.”

  Caragh assumed that explanation would suffice, since the implications seemed obvious to her.

  “And your father doesn’t ask what goes on while he is away? Your mother assumes that growing up around her pirating family makes it safe for you to conduct business with strangers?”

  Anger coursed through him at the thought of how much danger Caragh seemed to blithely accept, or worse yet, was unaware of.

  “Of course, my father asks. He knows. But it’s a small village, and the fishing near our harbors has been sparse in the last few years. It’s either find alternatives to fishing or starve. My mother understands that since she’s the one responsible for feeding six of us. I have a head for numbers and, as you’ve said, I’m rather practical. The smugglers were already using the fishermen in our village, but the townspeople were not getting anything but risk out of the deal. I arranged for us to receive payment for storing goods or transporting them inland. We are all now able to go to bed with full bellies.”

  “Or be put to sleep with swords through your guts.” Rowan’s hushed tone made Caragh pause. It was far more menacing than if he yelled.

  “Is that what you plan to do with me when you tire of me?”

  “What?” Rowan looked at her as if she sprouted a second head. “Why would I do that when I’m furious at the notion of anyone harming you?”

  Rowan’s declaration surprised them both. He scrubbed a hand over his face and considered her inexperience with men and bed sport.

  “Caragh, before this goes any further, you should understand what you’re agreeing to.”

  She cast her eyes to the bed and smiled shyly. “I believe I understand already.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Rowan lifted her chin and stared into the depths of her green eyes. Caragh had noticed his eyes were an unusual shade of deep blue, but up close she saw flecks of silver shot through almost like a starry night. “I expect obedience aboard my ship. At all times. From everyone. I told you that already. I told you I punish those who do not heed that rule. That includes you now, too. If you thought I was harsh with the spanking earlier, then you underestimate me. But Caragh, hear me now and hear me well, you will also earn yourself a trip over my knee if you continue to do things that risk your life. You are under my protection now. Aboard this ship and off it. That means no one can touch a hair on your head without risking my wrath, but do not put me into positions where that is tested. And do not do things that cause me to worry about you rather than captaining this ship.”

  Caragh opened her mouth but shut it as she bit into her top lip. She was not sure of what to say. She did not like his high-handedness assuming she needed, or even wanted, his protection. She was not interested in being treated like one of his deckhands. She had not asked to come aboard, so blind obedience was a hard pill to swallow. And the thought of another spanking intrigued her as much as it frightened her. The feel of his large hand upon her backside had not been entirely unpleasant. In fact, it had awoken a burning ache in her belly, but now his promise of retribution scared her as she took in his size and the power that she knew had been barely restrained. She wanted to retreat, but he held her in his embrace. She was not sure what he would do if she tried to pull away. She felt trapped like a fox, and a fox would chew off its own leg rather than die in the snare. Her brain began to spin trying to find a way to put space between them.

  Rowan felt as if he could read every thought that passed through her head. Her expression barely changed, and she had the face of an experienced negotiator. It gave away very little to those who did not understand how her mind worked, but her eyes were windows to her mind. Rowan had already discovered it worked very much like his own. He could tell she was scrambling to find a way to free herself. He had frightened her more than he intended.

  “Caragh, I will never strike you out of anger. I don’t hit women. But I will punish you if I think you deserve it.”

  “Wouldn’t the point of the punishment be because I angered you?” Her hushed voice trembled for the first time that night.

  Rowan brushed hair away from her temple and slowly dropped a kiss. Although she stood there with nothing covering her breasts, it was the first true act of intimacy between them, and the kiss charged the air between them.

  “I will never act in anger. By the time I am ready to deliver your punishment, it will be with a calmness. My intention is not to harm you, Caragh, but to be sure you understand there are certain things I will not tolerate.”

  “What if I do not agree with your level of tolerance?”

  Rowan knew it was a fair question. Not one he would have ever permitted one of his men to ask, but Caragh was not one of his men. He kissed her temple once again before pulling back.

  “I am not an unreasonable man. We can discuss whatever transpires, but you should not expect to change my mind. I am willing to listen to your thoughts, but it doesn’t mean it will change mine.”

  “Then what would be the point other than to hear my own voice?”

  “You would feel listened to and heard.”

  “And then disregarded.”

  “Or you could simply behave in a way that doesn’t endanger you, then there would be no qualms between us.”

  “Hardly likely I’ll manage that for long,” Caragh huffed. “I suspect you will find fault in much of what I do just so you can turn me over your knee. I think you are controlling to an extreme, and I think you take a perverse pleasure in causing pain.”

  “If that’s truly what you thought, you would be trying harder to get away from me rather than standing before me half-naked,” Rowan pointed out. “I think part of you liked being spanked. I think you also crave someone who is present and attentive enough to punish you when you do things that common sense says you shouldn’t.”

  “You think you understand me far better than you do.”

  “I do understand you.”

  “How could you? We’ve known each other for a couple hours.”

  “You remind me of someone I know very well.”

  “Who?” she sneered.

  “Me.”

  Rowan pulled her against him as his mouth descended and hovered just above her own. He waited for her to struggle or pull away, and Caragh knew he was giving her a choice. It was a choice she had already made and in fact declared. She tilted her chin and brought her lips to his. The initial contact was soft, merely a brushing. The hand still ensnared in her hair cradled her skull. They came together with mutual eagerness, and as the kiss deepened, they both moaned. Rowan swept his tongue along the seam of her lips, but when he could tell she did not understand, he retreated just enough to whisper.

  “Open for me, mo Caragh.”

  “Mo cara? This is when you
consider me your friend?” Caragh giggled.

  Rowan paused.

  “A bheil Gàidhlig agad?” Do you speak Gaelic?

  “Gu leòr.” Enough.

  Rowan brushed his nose against hers.

  “I did not mean my friend. That wasn’t what I was saying.”

  Caragh’s eyes widened with realization. Her body swayed toward his as she pulled the queue loose from his hair.

  “Mo bhris,” she whispered.

  “Hardly,” Rowan chuckled.

  She froze. Had she overstepped? “Which do you dislike? Me saying ‘my’ or calling you a Viking?”

  Rowan pressed his lips against hers as he lifted her and guided her legs around his waist. He walked them to the table where he sat her. “I’m all yours. But I’m no Viking.”

  Caragh refused to read more into his statement than she had intended by hers. “You certainly look like the Norsemen my mother described.”

  “My clan is descended from them, but I am not one myself.”

  Caragh quirked an eyebrow. “You pillage and plunder. Sounds like a Viking.”

  “And I’ve already told you what I want to plunder.” Their time for talking came to an end. Caragh pulled him toward her and opened to him when his tongue swept across her lips again. Rowan’s hands roamed across her back until they came up to cup her jaw. She could feel restrained power in his soft touch, but she was not interested in gentleness in that moment. She struggled to pull his shirt over his head, and he had to help her. She pounced when she caught sight of his bare skin. It was tanned to a golden brown, and a large tattoo covered his shoulder. She skimmed her finger over it as Rowan devoured her neck. The Celtic scrolls looped and intertwined to make an intricate pattern that was a piece of art unlike anything she had ever seen. The quality of the craftsmanship was far too superior to be what an average sailor or even pirate could find. This was work done for someone of significance, someone important to and within his clan. Caragh did not have time to ponder it further when Rowan found her mouth again. She was swept away in a current of need and desire as his hands palmed her breasts. They were heavy and achy as his thumbs passed back and forth over her nipples, which were still sensitive after the extreme cold of the seawater. She arched her back, and her head fell back. Rowan watched her face as her cheeks grew flushed and her throat tightened with each swallow. He ran his hand down between her breasts until he could cup her sheath. He felt the heat radiating through her leggings, and he almost spilled imagining what it would be like to sink into her.