Once Upon a Pirate: Sixteen Swashbuckling Historical Romances

by Merry Farmer

  Ruairí focused on Senga as they circled one another. He gave her credit for patience. She refused to go on the offensive even though she made several moves to trick him into it.

  “One of us has to strike, Ruairí. I’ll follow your leadership,” she taunted.

  “Ladies first,” as soon as the words left his mouth, Ruairí wanted to draw them back in. Before her parents died, Senga was a lady. She would have held the title, but as an orphan who ran away to marry below her, she forfeited the honorific. Ruairí saw the pain register on her face, and it tempted him to call an end to the match before it started.

  “Good thing I’m not one,” she whispered, but there was an edge he had not heard before.

  Ruairí could have kicked himself. The least he could do was honor her desire to show her abilities to him and his crew. If she could not earn their respect from a title, she could do it with her actions. Ruairí tested her with a wide swipe of his sword. He was unprepared for the invitation it signaled. Senga responded with a series of punishing blows that made Ruairí realize she was far better trained than he expected. Throughout their mock battle, Senga breathed with ease and spoke to Braeden as though she was explaining a child’s game rather than how to maim or kill. Ruairí felt sweat break out across his forehead, but she seemed unfazed.

  The longer they fought, the more willing he became to lend some actual force to his strikes. Senga blossomed under the challenge, and she caught Ruairí off-guard more than once using moves he had never seen before. It disconcerted him how she read his moves and what he unintentionally telegraphed to her without much thought. The fight ended when they locked swords, and it was clear neither would have their sword knocked loose from their hand. Senga dropped her dirk and grabbed a handful of his leine as she pulled him down to her. She smacked a loud kiss before stepping back. She dropped her sword and squealed as he once again lifted her over his shoulder. He smacked her backside playfully.

  “You have a reckoning coming your way, little one.”

  “Do you promise?”

  They walked away from the gales of laughter that erupted after minutes of stunned silence as they watched their formidable pirate captain match wits and skill with a woman half his size. They lost none of their respect for him, but she gained more in their estimation.

  Ruairí eased Senga to the floor of their cabin as he sheathed his sword. He pulled the sword belt from his waist and dropped it on the foot of the bed.

  “Are you furious with me?” After the fierceness she showed, Ruairí balked at the timidity in her voice. He could tell her fearfulness was genuine.

  “No. Not anymore. You need to stop making me panic.”

  “Or perhaps you shouldn’t overreact. I’m not always in danger.”

  Senga softened her words as she ran her hands over his chest. Her finger glided over the smooth planes of his bare skin, and she marveled at the feel of the muscles as they jumped beneath her touch.

  “I know we met under less than auspicious circumstances, and you took me away from Canna to keep me safe. You told me which men I could trust and which ones I couldn’t. I’ve listened to you. Tomas and Kyle knew I was above deck, and they even tried to convince me return here before you awoke, but they kept an eye on me nonetheless. I took pity on Braeden when I saw him struggle with a sword far too large for him. Snake Eye was patient, but no one would intervene and give him the right sword.”

  Ruairí covered her hands on his chest with one of his while the other tucked strands of hair behind her ear. She titled her chin up and smiled softly as his cornflower-blue eyes gazed into her hazel ones.

  “I remembered how he must have felt when my father sent me to train with the boys my age. I was smaller than them and struggled to hold my own until my cousin Alfred fitted me with the right sword. My father had trained me, but mostly with a wooden sword and more on how to use my knives in close proximity to my enemy. It was Alfred who taught me to use a falchion because it was a size I could manage. He gave me the confidence I needed to go against the boys my age. I came out the victor more often than not. After my parents died, I was filled with hurt and anger. Alfred’s time training me was the only thing I had to look forward to when Alex was back on Canna. Alfred even took me raiding a few times, and he tested me more than once against a real enemy. I know what I’m doing, Ruairí. But I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Ruairí was speechless as Senga revealed more of her past. Part of him wanted to hunt down her cousin Alfred and throttle him for encouraging Senga to think she could fight against men twice her size, and then the other part of him wanted to thank the man for showing Senga how to fight men twice her size. Since he could do neither of those, he pulled her onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. She caressed his shoulder as she traced his tattoo. He had discovered she found running her fingers over his tattoo as soothing as he found the feel of her hand upon him.

  “We still have a lot to learn about one another. I don’t want you to feel stifled or like you can’t be yourself. I would just ask that you warn me before you do something daring, and I will try not to panic at the first sign of something wrong.”

  “Thank you, mo ghràidh.”

  They had not used many terms of endearment, but Senga wanted to. She tested out a simple “my dear” to see how Ruairí would react. The smile she received was almost too brilliant to look at. His face went from being uncommonly handsome to breathtakingly beautiful. Once again, he looked more like Adonis than a mortal man. He took her breath away, and she could not believe she was the woman he had chosen. She knew by now that he had never brought another woman on any ship he traveled aboard.

  “Mo chridhe,” My heart. Ruairí’s voice was little more than a whisper as he pulled Senga in for a kiss different from the ones they had shared before. There had been kisses of passion and desire; there had been kisses of tenderness and hope, and there had been fun pecks. This kiss conveyed the love that was blossoming between them. They both felt it as they leaned their foreheads together, but neither voiced their emotions.

  Neither had broken their fast, so Ruairí fetched a tray. They breakfasted as they discussed their current location near the southern coast of Portugal. Senga wondered more than once why they had not attacked or been attacked and why they had only anchored once. She broached the subject as they ate.

  “Why haven’t we seen any other ships? Are we not traveling in the shipping lanes?”

  “We weren’t. I unloaded half my cargo back on Canna, but I also brought things onboard. I had an arrangement with a merchant near Lisbon and could not afford to lose any of it. Now we will sail closer to Seville, and we will encounter other ships.” He scrutinized her, but her face showed little reaction. “Are you worried?”

  Senga shook her head.

  “Bored perhaps, but mostly curious about why I haven’t seen you attack anyone yet.”

  Ruairí chuckled. “Bloodthirsty wench, aren’t you? Don’t let the crew hear you, or they might mutiny and replace me with you.”

  Senga shrugged as she bit into the cheese she had saved for last.

  “I wasn’t sure if you avoided attacking because I’m here. I don’t want to interfere with your livelihood or that of your men. If you get yourself worked up when you don’t find me in the cabin, I worry about how you will act if we come under fire. Perhaps it isn’t so good that I am here.”

  Ruairí reached across the table and clasped her hand.

  “Don’t say that again. I want you here, and yes, I have panicked more than once when I fear you’re in danger. However, that has been when it has come unexpectedly. I can prepare as best I can before an attack. I can know you’re locked in this cabin. I reinforced the door with the bar, and it’s thicker than normal to make it nearly impossible to hack through. It’s not the same as walking into my cabin or waking up not knowing where you are.”

  “Fair enough. Do you think you will find a ship you want to board as we sail closer to Spain?”

  “I
’m certain of it. Among the Dutch, Portuguese, Spanish, French, and Arab traders, there is always plenty to find near the tip of Spain.”

  “You mention traders, but what of the pirates from Spain and France?”

  Ruairí turned her hand over and placed his palm over hers. His hand appeared to swallow hers.

  “They are no laughing matter. British and Scottish pirates are quick about our business. We attack, we kill, we plunder, we leave. We know the Spanish and French to torture their captives, especially those from other pirate ships.”

  Ruairí’s tone made it sound as though he knew from experience. Senga walked around the table and sat on his lap. It was her favorite place to be besides joined with him. He saw the questions in her eyes, but she did not speak.

  “Yes, I know firsthand. You’ve never asked about my scar.”

  Senga knew which one he referred to. She had felt it countless times, and the first time she saw it, she wanted to burst into tears. The raised mark ran from his right shoulder, across his back, and wrapped around to his left rib cage.

  “I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. The wound must have nearly killed you. I didn’t see a need to revisit something like that unless you brought it up.”

  Ruairí appreciated that about Senga. She listened to everything he had to say, but she kept her curiosity to herself. He had lied to many women about how he came by the scar, making up a different tale each time, but none were as extreme as reality.

  “Rowan and I had been sailing two years before we made it as far as the Barbary Coast of northern Africa. We had heard tales of the corsairs and their cruelty, but neither of us knew what to expect until we encountered them as we sailed past Gibraltar. They seemed to materialize out of nothing, and the attack was so unexpected, we had little time to ready ourselves. They boarded us and swept through the crew as though we were carved figurines rather than trained marauders. Rowan and I fought beside one another, but when he moved to defend his back, it left an opening to mine. The blade landed against my ribs, and as I tried to spin away, it sliced up to my shoulder. It was so severe, the corsair assumed I would die where I lay. Rowan was able to defend himself and then drag me to the galley where he hid me until the battle was over. It was Rowan’s turn to hover over me as I teetered between life and death. It was weeks before I could move from the bedroll they gave me. Rowan just about whittled himself to death with worry. To this day, it is still the most gruesome battle I have been in. They were savages but fought with a skill unrivaled by any other pirates I have ever encountered.”

  “Have you fought any since then?” Senga’s hushed tones spoke of her fear, and Ruairí held her closer.

  “Yes. But none were like those. I have prevailed since then. Small nicks and cuts, but none as bad as that one.”

  Senga kissed each of his shoulders as she squeezed his waist.

  “I thank God for that. I’ve survived raids and even gone on them, but the thought of that battle makes it hard for me to breathe. To think I might never have met you.”

  They held one another in silence, once again unwilling to put into words what they both felt.

  Chapter 8

  Over the next three days, Senga could sense the tension rising among the crew. It was a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Everyone was eager for the thrill and profit of an attack. Ruairí handed Braeden’s training over to Senga, and she even began to train some of the other men who had used bloodlust as their only tutor. Ruairí made time to spar with Senga every morning, and the time spent bantering brought them closer.

  In the evenings, Ruairí showed Senga the maps he used to navigate the North Sea, the Atlantic, and the Mediterranean. They had had a smooth passage through the Bay of Biscay near France, but Ruairí regaled Senga with tales of choppy oceans and gale-force winds. They shared tales they grew up hearing that made them both curious and fearful as children. Ruairí told Senga more of his childhood than anyone other than Rowan knew. In turn, Senga shared the loneliness of being an only child. While she had her cousin Alfred, it was clear Senga and Alfred were nowhere near as close as Rowan and Ruairí. Senga learned they had been born less than an hour apart with Rowan arriving first, making them more like brothers than cousins.

  The fourth day changed everything for both Ruairí and Senga. The morning was overcast, and the crew was sure it was a sign of a storm brewing. Senga looked to the clouds but was not convinced. She argued the clouds would blow over, and it would be warm. The morning clouds made it difficult for Braeden to scout the horizon, so it came as a poor surprise when Braeden whistled a warning of the impending attack. He spotted a Spanish carrack riding low in the water. Ruairí’s ship was armed with cannons, a new artillery device he had little experience with. His men ran to load the cannonballs and gunpowder as Ruairí bellowed orders for their black sails to replace their white ones. The clouds shifted, and the carrack came into view. The three cannons on each side were visible even from a distance, and Ruairí was thankful Rowan had convinced him to outfit his ship with them.

  As his crew prepared to attack the merchant ship, he spotted Senga handing weapons to the crew. He stormed over to her and lifted her around the waist before hauling her toward their cabin.

  “Haven’t you any sense? You see us preparing for attack, and you’re still standing on the deck. I told you, you were to go to the cabin and bar yourself in when the ship engages in a battle. Why were you still up there? A cannonball could land on the deck any minute, and it could kill you.”

  Ruairí burst through the door and dumped Senga onto the bed before spinning around.

  “Oh no, you don’t. If you had the time to carry me down here, you have a moment to say a proper goodbye.”

  Senga grasped his elbow and tugged until he turned around.

  “I didn’t mean to worry you. I wanted to help and was handing over the last weapon before I planned to come below here. I don’t want to be a distraction to you, but I also don’t want you to fight without us saying goodbye.” Her unspoken words hung between them.

  Ruairí pulled her into his arms, and their bodies pressed together as they had so many times before, but this time there was an urgency born of fear rather than need. Senga cupped his jaw and held on as she smattered kisses over his cheeks before they came back together for another searing kiss. Ruairí let go and looked at her for a long moment before stepping back. Just before he walked through the doorway, he turned back to Senga.

  “Stay here where you’re safe. Senga, I love you.”

  He closed the door before Senga could respond. She stood there stunned but jumped when she remembered to lock and bar the door. Once she sat on the bed, she felt her world tip. At first, she thought it was the shock of Ruairí’s declaration, but she realized it resulted from cannons firing from the holes along the side of the ship. The vibration rattled almost everything within the cabin, along with Senga’s teeth. She moved to the porthole and was glad it was on the correct side of the ship for her to see the impending battle.

  Senga did not have to wait long before Ruairí’s crew was swinging grappling hooks onto the deck and rails of the Spanish boat. She grasped the table behind her when she made ready for impact. Once the boat stopped rocking more than normal, she returned to the porthole. She watched with fascination as the crew laid planks from their ship to the Spanish deck and began running across. She saw Ruairí lead the way as he swung from ropes on the Lady Charity to the ship he was about to commandeer. The battle became a blur as Spaniards tried without success to board the Lady Charity. She strained to follow Ruairí as he moved about the deck, but she often lost sight of him. Senga forced herself not to panic when she could not see him, and she convinced herself to have faith that he would survive this battle just as he had countless previous ones.

  As she watched the gruesome scene unfold, her mind echoed Ruairí’s last words.

  I love you.

  Senga knew in her heart she loved him too, but the thought of saying it out loud
terrified her. She knew it should be easy for her to respond. After all, she felt the same way, but the words lodged in her throat every time she thought about telling Ruairí when he returned to the cabin.

  The battle felt interminable as it raged on now moving between both decks. Senga could hear the pounding of feet and the screams of pain from above. She walked to the corner where she kept her falchions. Ruairí had gifted them to her. Senga still had the two dirks she kept in her boots, along with the one strapped to her thigh. She pulled off the skirts she still wore whenever she was not sparring, then unstrapped the knife before kicking off her boots. Senga changed into the leggings and replaced the knife along her thigh high enough to be covered by the leine she pulled from Ruairí’s chest. She swam in it, but it hid the knife. She pulled on her boots and found another belt in Ruairí’s chest. When she began digging, she had hoped she would find the type where she could sheath more daggers. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found one, even though she had to improvise fastening it since she was much narrower than Ruairí. She knew where Ruairí kept more blades, so she sheathed three more dirks into the belt. Then she waited.

  Senga heard feet clomping down the stairs, then boots stomping in the passageway before the sound of an ax struck the door. She would have pushed the table or chests against the door, but they were all anchored to the floor. When a second ax joined the first, Senga knew the door would not hold forever despite being thicker than normal. Unsure of what type of weapons the enemy held, she was certain she did not want to be visible when they opened the door. She crept across the cabin to hide behind the door. It was not long before the door splintered from the force of the dual attack. It swung open so hard, it nearly hit Senga. She held her breath as the first man rushed in. She counted to three to make sure he was in line with her before she launched two dirks at him, one sinking into his neck and the other between his shoulders. The man staggered before pitching forward. Senga pulled two more dirks out as the door slammed shut behind the second attacker. Senga leaped forward before the man turned all the way toward her. She aimed once more for the neck, and when she felt that blade wedge into the man’s throat, she thrust the second dirk just below his sternum. She twisted as she levered the hilt down and pushed the blade up. Senga intended to do as much damage as she could. Despite having two knives embedded in him, the second attacker swung at Senga, coming too close to her right cheek. She recognized the sword as one Ruairí had called a scimitar. While it had a longer reach, it was hard for the man to maneuver in such close quarters. Senga pulled the dirk from her thigh and slashed at the man as she fumbled to reach one from her boots. Once armed with both, she slashed and struck with such ease, the man paused for a moment. It was just the time Senga needed to bury the two blades into his chest. His face showed his shock before his eyes turned sightless, and he fell to the ground.