The Red Drifter of the Sea: A Steamy Opposites Attract Pirate Romance (Pirates of the Isles Book 3)

by Celeste Barclay

  Moira had an answer, but she couldn’t force the words out between her lips. Her breasts ached, and her nipples stung from both the crisp Irish air and from the need for Kyle’s attention. They remained silent as Kyle continued to work Moira’s channel until she could no longer fight the response.

  “May I climax, Drifter?” Moira whispered. With a growl, Kyle increased the pressure and speed of his ministrations until he felt Moira’s inner muscles clench around him. Her fingers now wrapped around the forearm that kept her from slipping over the rail.

  “And what shall you do for me now, sweet one, that you’ve given me a rampant cockstand?” Kyle whispered against her ear before pressing a brief kiss behind it.

  “What do you want from me, Drifter?”

  “Don’t call me that. Not like this,” Kyle muttered.

  “What do you want from me, Kyle?”

  “To be inside you. To let my men watch as I plow you, so none are in doubt that you’re mine.”

  “You’d want them to see me like that? If not naked, with my arse to the breeze?” Moira asked with feigned incredulity. “You brought me aboard your ship. I slept in your cabin. Your hand is up my leine and in my cunny. I’m pretty certain there isn’t a man on this ship who doesn’t know I’m your captive.”

  “And if I want you as my mistress instead?”

  “In this case, are they not one and the same?”

  “If I refuse to return your clothes and shoes, if I lock you in my cabin, will you still call yourself my mistress?”

  “Will you be tupping me?” Kyle’s only response to Moira’s question was a growl as his fingers pinched her nipples until he was certain it was painful.

  “Do you still want me to?” Kyle wondered.

  “What else will there be to entertain me?” Moira shrugged. “So captive or mistress. Captive and mistress. One and the same at this point, wouldn’t you say?”

  “But you decide how you’re treated when I’m not between your creamy thighs, sweet one.” Kyle trailed his fingers along the inside of her thigh, and Moira couldn’t fight the shiver of arousal it created.

  A particularly rough wave slammed into the ship’s boards, and icy water from the Irish Sea splashed up Moira’s legs, soaking the ends of her leine. Another wave, even larger than the first, drenched the front of Moira. With a shiver, Moira accepted that she had to admit defeat.

  “Kyle, this leine will be sheer now and is going to stick to me. It was one thing when I knew your men could see the bottom of my legs and my feet. I didn’t intend for them to see my nipples,” Moira confessed. “They’ll see everything.”

  “And you wish for me to save you the embarrassment, the shame?” Kyle scoffed.

  “I’d like to keep how I look private for just you,” Moira spat. “But if you’re set on humiliating me…”

  Kyle lifted Moira down from the rail, setting her on her feet, and using his larger body to shield her, he grasped her buttocks and squeezed. “I will take you to my cabin, where you will strip off the shirt and give it to me. And you will await me there, kneeling in the corner just as a naughty wean would, until I return to dole out your spanking.”

  “And if I don’t agree?” Moira argued.

  “You already did. Each time you let me touch you without a fight. Each time you come apart with my hands. When you took me in your mouth and hummed. You like this as much as I do, Moira.”

  “I do, and I don’t understand why,” Moira whispered, tears threatening once again. She didn’t know if it was being cold or another wave of exhaustion, but she was confused and had no will to fight Kyle or the truth. Kyle’s emerald eyes met her sapphire ones, locked in a gaze that communicated physical need. He could see the truth in her gaze, and he understood that while Moira might know the acts that went on between a man and a woman, might even enjoy them, she was out of her depth to understand the power exchange they shared. She didn’t understand why she wanted to submit. Even so, he was certain that she did want to submit. He lifted Moira over his shoulder, her hair tumbling down his back and swishing against his thighs as he carried her to the ladder well. He swatted her bottom with one stinging slap that echoed even on the open sea. “Was that for your men’s sake?”

  “Aye. And yours. You will remain silent until we reach my cabin, and I’m done talking.” Kyle felt the fight go out of Moira as her body relaxed against his shoulder. Once they were inside, Kyle lowered her to her feet once again, and motioned for her to raise her arms. Still sore from the day before, she groaned as Kyle pulled the sodden leine over her head and tossed it onto the back of a chair tucked under the table. He looked over Moira’s shivering body, and just as it always seemed to do when she was within reach, his cock took notice.

  Kyle watched Moira as her eyes settled on the bulge within his breeks. She glanced up at him, and he could read the question in her eyes. It nearly killed him to shake his head. He might not have any qualms about denying Moira her pleasure, but it was agony to deny his own. He pulled the MacLean plaid from the foot of his bed and wrapped it around Moira, rubbing her arms and back. She’d spoken the truth that only her arms were bruised. He’d noticed her grazed chin, but there weren’t any other noticeable injuries. At least, there were none on the surface.

  “Moira, you knew what you were doing by coming above deck in nothing but a man’s leine. You did it to instigate trouble and to gain my attention. You disregarded the common sense I’m certain you possess by traipsing around half naked in front of not only men, but pirates!” Kyle took a calming breath as he felt his blood pounding in his neck. “While I may not have explicitly ordered you to remain here, you knew that’s what I wanted because I removed your boots and leggings. You defied me, Moira, and I will not tolerate any defiance aboard my ship. I don’t allow it from my men, and I won’t allow you to inspire mutiny because they suddenly think I’m weak. If you were a man, your defiance would earn you the lash before the rest of the crew. Instead, you shall receive your punishment in the privacy of this room. But do not doubt that I will mete out justice, Moira.”

  As Moira listened, she only half-heard what Kyle said. Each time he used her name, she wanted to cringe. In the space of a day, she’d grown accustomed to him calling her “sweet one,” and it was jarring to hear him address her any other way.

  “Are you listening to me?” Kyle demanded.

  Moira looked at him blankly before hesitantly shaking her head. “How do I earn back being called ‘sweet one?’”

  “What?” Kyle expected her to beg for forgiveness, to blurt out an apology, to even sulk. He was unprepared for her question.

  “I don’t like you using my name,” Moira confessed.

  “I’m displeased with you,” Kyle stated flatly.

  “I know. And I want to know what I can do to earn back your—” Moira didn’t know if it was his trust, his affection, or his lust that she wanted to earn back. Whatever it was, it was a need that threatened to swallow her just as the waves crashing against the hull would.

  “Kneel in the corner until I return, Moira.” Kyle waited until she was positioned in the nook, with her nose inches from the corner. He crossed the room and bent over her, tugging back on her hair. He pressed his lips to hers, plunging his tongue into her mouth as she immediately surrendered. His other hand pulled the plaid apart and cupped her breast, squeezing gently as his thumb ran over her nipple. Just as Moira made to reach out for him, he once again pinched her nipple until he knew it was painful. He pulled away and stalked back to the door. “And don’t you dare touch yourself.”

  Moira watched the door swing closed and heard the key in the lock. She turned back to face the wall and contemplated what she’d gotten herself into.

  Eight

  Kyle shaded the candle with his palm as he turned in the direction of the goods they’d stolen from Moira’s ship. Looking between containers, he finally found what he sought. He reached for Moira’s sack, then placed the candle on top of a barrel. He opened the bag and ru
mmaged through it, finding only a few changes of clothes. There were no coins, nothing personal.

  Where could she have been going that she didn’t need more clothes or any money? Who would take her in with just the clothes on her back and nothing to offer in return? Maybe she intended to work wherever she went. Would she find a village and claim to be a widow? As far as I know she doesn’t know anything about running a farm or livestock. At least, I don’t think she does. But how the hell would I know? Maybe she was going to a town where she could hire herself out to be a seamstress or a servant. Can she cook? I’m certain she sews. What lady doesn’t? She’s better suited for giving orders than taking them.

  That’s not true. She’s already told me that Dónal treats her like a servant. Did that bastard give her the cut on her chin? Maybe she could be a servant. I would wager she’s a hard worker and asks for very little. Her defiance is based in fear. She fears me, and why wouldn’t she? She’d be daft not to fear the man who threatened to set her adrift.

  Kyle looked inside the sack and considered whether he wanted to return the clothing to Moira. He pictured her as she’d been when she walked on deck. Her trim legs emerging from the bottom of the leine. He’d truly believed taking her leggings and boots would be enough to keep her inside. He even thought to test her by leaving the door unlocked, giving her just enough freedom to feel trapped. He’d meant to control her, and instead she’d taken control. Kyle felt equal parts annoyance and intrigue. The Moira who boarded his ship was not the woman he’d spied at Dunluce, not the woman he’d heard about in passing.

  Scowling, Kyle closed the bag and dropped it back where he found it. He would indulge himself in having a half-naked woman in his cabin, and he would ensure Moira understood who captained this ship. If she refused, then he would put her ashore somewhere. He’d give her enough coin to find her way back to Dunluce or to start fresh somewhere. What she did once she was out of sight wasn’t his problem.

  Do you really believe that?

  The same mix of conscience and desire that forced him to bring her onboard the Lady Charity rather than have her thrown overboard reared its head. He admitted to himself that he wanted Moira to be his problem. He wanted to see if she was the woman he sensed: a woman who wanted to submit to him. A woman who needed a teacher, a mentor of sorts, to show her what lay dormant within her. A man who would shoulder the burden of the outside world while freeing her inhibitions.

  Kyle’s cock hardened as he pictured several scenes that he longed to enact. Some were ones he’d held for years and never been able to fulfill while others were specific to Moira herself. The sounds she’d made while his fingers worked her core had nearly pushed him over the edge. As he remembered them, his cock ached so badly that he adjusted himself to ease the discomfort. His eyes swept the hold, and he was tempted to stroke himself until the need to dominate eased, until he could be inside her.

  Kyle scowled at the sky as the gale hurled icy drops of rain against his face. He’d emerged from the hold to discover the sky had turned gray, and heavy clouds threatened to release their torrent. An hour later, Kyle was soaked and freezing. He longed for nothing more than to slip into his cabin and rub himself dry before donning fresh clothes and wrapping himself in his plaid. He considered where his plaid had been last: wrapped around Moira.

  Wrapping myself around Moira would be a more pleasurable way to get warm. I should check on her. The seas have been rough, and she’s unaccustomed to the jarring feel. She might be ill and suffering. She’s been kneeling for more than an hour. That punishment should suffice.

  But Kyle had no choice. He had to remain on deck while the storm battered the ship and crew. He prayed Moira had enough sense to give up kneeling and at least sit on the floor, if not a chair or the bed. As the ship rocked and the wood creaked, Kyle wondered if this was the storm that would rip the Lady Charity apart. He’d survived worse, but he wasn’t sure if the ship would. He wiped the water from his eyes as he craned his neck to see the crew of the Lady Grace, which bobbed in the water alongside him but a safe distance to prevent the waves from crashing them together. He could make out the matching waves of red hair standing at the helm. As though he sensed his twin, Keith looked over at Kyle. The brothers waved to one another as they braced themselves against the wheel.

  “Tomas!” Kyle called out to his first mate. Bent against the wind, Tomas fought his way to Kyle’s side. “We can’t go anywhere now. We must anchor and furl the sails before we’re blown into the cliffs or the Lady Grace. Go to the rail and call over to the Grace.” He’d been prepared to signal to his brother that they should be underway once more as he left the hold, but the brewing storm made him wary. There’d been no wind and the seas had been calm, so the Lady Charity and the Lady Grace had remained near where Kyle attacked the MacDonnell ship.

  While Tomas struggled to the side of the ship to call out to the nearest crewman on the Lady Grace, Kyle called out orders for the men to drop the anchor. All the other hands worked to bring down the sails. He glanced up to ensure that Braedon wasn’t in the crow’s nest. Looking down, he found the boy instead lashed to the mainmast. Without the weight of the adult men, Braedon would have been blown hither and yon, more likely to wind up overboard. Ruairí had ordered the boy to tie himself to the mast during any rough seas, and Kyle kept the same mandate. Braedon sat with his knees drawn to his chest and his head tucked. Kyle breathed easier.

  The boat shuddered as it jerked in place as the anchor bit into the sea bottom. He noticed the Lady Grace’s crew lowered their sails, and the ship remained alongside his. Calling Snake Eye over to keep watch at the helm, Kyle pushed against the gusts to stand on the starboard side. Keith met him when their ships drew close enough for them to yell over the storm’s noise.

  “We have to wait it out,” Keith called.

  “I know. Look,” Kyle pointed to the sky in all directions. “This isn’t going to blow over any time soon. We’re stuck here for at least the next day.”

  “Then we’ll have to assess the damages. I don’t like the sounds coming from my yardarm.”

  “Is it going to give?” Kyle worried.

  “It might. I don’t want to risk it, so when this stops, my crew will have to repair it.”

  “I must give the hull a look while you work on that. Nothing I can do about damage below the water for now, but I can sure up any boards that we can reach,” Kyle thought aloud.

  “This isn’t an ideal place to remain,” Keith pointed out. “The O’Malleys sail these waters, and they won’t hesitate to attack.”

  “I ken. Why can’t they stick to their own bluidy side of the island?” Kyle grumbled.

  “Because no one sails that strip of the Atlantic?” Keith mused. “Anyway, I’m headed back to the helm. I suggest you and your men tie yourselves down. I shall do the same.”

  “I love you,” the brothers mouthed, knowing this might become the storm that could separate them.

  Kyle called out the order that the men tie themselves to the rigging, and he used rope to bind himself to the wheel. He wondered how Moira fared below deck. He wished more than ever to check on her, but the wind and rain had only intensified while he talked to Keith. He’d barely made it to the helm without sliding and falling. As the boat continued to pitch and heel, Kyle was relieved that he’d ordered the men to tie themselves down, or several would have likely slipped overboard. Moira was surely being tossed about the cabin. He was going to his cabin the first chance he had.

  Nine

  Moira gripped the headboard as the ship rocked from side to side. She watched as books and maps flew from the table, the bowl on the washstand crashed to the floor, and Kyle’s trunks slid across the cabin. She’d remained kneeling until a particularly powerful swell made her lose her balance and knock her head against the wall. She abandoned her punishment, reasoning that Kyle would want her safe; if he didn’t, then she cared not. She’d scrambled onto the bed, waiting out the storm that seemed intent upon tearing the boa
rds apart. She listened to the creaks and groans, fearing the boat would splinter at any moment. She could hear the wind above, but the sounds of the ship rattled around her.

  As the storm carried on, the air in the cabin grew colder. Moira shivered as she pulled Kyle’s plaid more snuggly around her and burrowed under the meager covers. Never would she admit it, but she longed for the warmth of Kyle’s body beside her. She even wished for her draughty chamber back at Dunluce. If such a storm had pounded her home at night, she would have crawled into bed beside Sean to calm his fears. She would have stroked his soft inky curls as she sang him lullabies. When he tired of those, she would tell him stories of the ancient kings of Ireland, or the monsters that roamed the sea around Rathlin Island and Ballycastle.

  Moira’s stomach roiled as the boat tilted precariously to port. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying she could sleep through the rest of the storm. As the hours passed, she wondered how Kyle was surviving above. She had waves of panic that he’d been washed overboard, drowning in the churning abyss. A headache throbbed behind her eyes, and she wasn’t certain if it came from the noise and movement or her concern for Kyle.

  Why do I care? Is it because I don’t want to be left aboard this bleeding ship without his protection? No. You know that’s not the truth. I’m worried about him. I’m worried that he won’t return to challenge me, to—what? Pleasure me? Is that my priority? No. I just wish to see his face, touch him and know that he’s well. I’m so bluidy scared. I wish he could come below. I wish he could climb into bed beside me and hold me. I just wish he could make this all go away.