But, now that she was here, surrounded by laughter and warmth and the truth…she didn’t know what to feel.
“If I had known the truth…” she began, and the man stared, apparently waiting for her to continue. “I never would have boarded La Corona.” And that was the truth.
“Is that so?” the man asked, his lips quirking again. “What would you have done, then?”
She shrugged because she didn’t know. Up until that morning, she believed her brother was the best man alive. And now…she only knew she could never go back.
Is this the end of me? Have I come to Dwyn Twll to die?
“So, Essa…why were you on…La Corona?”
More questions. Exhaustion sucked the life from her body, allowing a chill to ice over her. She rolled her eyes and her shoulders, feeling the aching, throbbing return to her wrist.
“I thought that I could help.” Her answer was short and honest. She had thought she could help—more fool her.
“I see…” When the man didn’t continue, she closed her eyes and dropped her head, the weight of her thoughts dragging her very being into the floor.
For long moments, she heard the susurration of many conversations, the whimpering and sobbing from the cottage behind her, the crashing of the waves on the other side of the sea cave walls, and the laughter of a group of children she still couldn’t believe were there.
And they are not captives.
“What is your name?” she inquired, opening her eyes to see the man examining her face.
When he simply lifted a pale eyebrow and quirked his lips again, she let out an exasperated sigh. “I told you mine. I cannot continue thinking of you as ‘that man’.”
He chuckled. “Do not tell Saban you think about me.”
Her expression must have shown her disbelief and annoyance because “that man” chuckled louder. “I am Lucian.”
Lucian. “And Lucia,” she remarked.
He nodded. “Our mother had little imagination.”
A smile tugged on the corners of her mouth. “My brother once told me that my mother named me Esperanza because she had hoped for a child for so long…” Dios mío! Why was she saying anything to this man—Lucian? He was a stranger, an enemy, and potentially a member of the family that would condemn her to death.
Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his much too critical gaze.
“What did the child say?”
He cocked his head and slowly drew a tapered finger along his jaw before tapping his chin twice.
“I assume you speak Welsh,” Essa snapped, thoroughly frustrated by Lucian and his deep gaze and weighty, judging intent.
“She said, ‘Why should we fear you? Saban does not.’”
Essa couldn’t explain the sensation that stole her breath. She just knew that everything within her stopped spinning one way and began spinning the other.
The children did not fear her because Saban did not.
“Why are they here?” she asked, finally forcing words from her mouth.
“In the sea cave?”
“Si.”
He shrugged. “Because their fathers were wounded in the raid. Lucia is the only healer in the faction, and her medicaments and herbs and poultices are here in her cottage.”
“That is her home?”
“Aye. The wives of the wounded sailors were notified and brought here to remain by their husbands, and the children came with them,” he intoned dryly, and Essa’s heart thundered in her ears.
“Oh,” was all she could muster. “Is it safe?”
He grunted, his eyes narrowing. “Why would it be otherwise?” She immediately understood how he might think her question offensive.
Rushing to explain, she tried to reach out with her sprained wrist. As the sling snapped tight over the joint, the pain exploded through her. She cried out, clutching the limb to her chest. Stars blazed behind her eyes and she whimpered.
“What is this?” a familiar, deep, commanding voice boomed. She looked up, peering through the haze of tears in her eyes. Saban was glaring down at her, his large hands braced on his waist. Lucian stood.
Saban turned to glare at Lucian. “What has happened?”
Lucian pinched his lips into a thin line before answering, “Saban, I—”
“He did nothing,” she rasped, whimpering as the agony pounded through her body, stealing her breath. “I was…thoughtless. I—” she shuddered—“hurt myself.” A shiver of pain shook her, and Saban was there, kneeling before her, bracing her wrist in his hand.
“Fy artaith,” he murmured, his rumbling voice turning her inside out. “You must be careful.” He took her uninjured hand in his, rubbing his callused thumb over the flesh above her knuckles. She jerked at the tingling his attentions created, the jostling making another spike of pain burst through her.
The pain was a flood of chilly water over her nerves.
“Be careful?” she ground out through the pain.
He growled low. “Aye.” The thumb continued rubbing her hand and no matter what her mind said, she couldn’t pull away. His touch was soothing, calming, and yet thrilling, tantalizing. How could a simple stroking thumb awaken such awareness?
A tremor sliced through her breath. “So that I am whole when you break me?”
He stared at her in silence, the air around her vibrating with anticipation. The sea cave seemed to fill with mist, cloaking everything except the man before her.
“Not if you break me first, Esperanza.”
Chapter Eleven
Saban helped Essa from Ceyffel’s back and watched as she slowly made her way into the cottage at the edge of the Marches. The cottage where she would spend the night without the manacle around her ankle.
At first, Brendan and Lucian had vehemently disagreed with leaving her feet unshackled; they worried she would try to escape and find her way home, wherever that was. But, after she’d entered the heart of the sea cave, he could see the truth beginning to dawn on her. With every sight, every conversation, every revelation, he watched as Essa’s eyes filled with uncertainty, confusion, and finally sorrow, as though she were grieving a great loss. Perhaps the loss of all she had once believed.
Whoever her brother was, he’d done his sister great harm filling her head with lies. And who was he to malign people he had never met, and why? Certainly, the Ganwyd o’r Mor weren’t on the straight and narrow path to heaven, but they weren’t necessarily on the path to hell, either. They stole and smuggled, but they didn’t do it just for the power or the money; there were people depending on them—nearly a whole port town depended on the monies from their smuggled goods to support the many families of the men who crewed the sloops, moved the goods, and worked as the eyes and ears in the port towns around the Irish Sea, the British Channel, and even along the coasts of Portugal, Spain, and France. There was an entire network of men—and some women—who were loyal to the Ganwyd o’r Mor, and he was responsible for each and every one of them.
Untying the sack of supplies he’d gathered while in Dwyn Twll, Saban let Ceyffel loose to graze around the cottage. The steed would come when called, so Saban had little worry for him.
Hauling the heavy sack over his shoulder, he followed Essa into the cottage, where he found her sitting in the only chair.
I will have to remedy that if we are to make this a proper dwelling. A proper dwelling? When had the cottage gone from a place of isolation and the hiding of goods to a place where he lived with a woman? But, now that he saw the cottage for what it would be and not what it had been, he realized they would need more than another chair. They would need a proper bed, preferably large enough to sleep two, a cook pot, linens, and—his thoughts stopped as he spotted something utterly shocking: a tear sliding down Essa’s face.
His breath catching, he dropped the sack on the floor just inside the door and was next to Essa in a heartbeat. He knelt beside her, taking her uninjured hand in his and gazing up into her face. She’d tucked her chin into her
chest, trying to hide the obvious from him, but he wouldn’t allow it. With one hand, he curled a finger under her chin and gently lifted. She tried to pull her face away, to hide it in her shoulder, but he wouldn’t allow that either.
She would open for him, she would tell him what was so painful that she shed tears over it. Aye, he knew she’d experienced a blow that afternoon, but he couldn’t read her thoughts—as much as he wanted to, and he couldn’t determine what those thoughts would do.
He did know, though, that he hated seeing those tears. He hated that she hurt and there was little he could do about it. In all his years as a man and as the leader of other men, he had never felt so helpless.
“Essa, fy artaith, why do you weep?” His voice came out in a gentle coaxing tone, one he wasn’t accustomed to using.
She didn’t answer at first. Instead, she shrugged sloppily, raising first one shoulder then the other. Her body was strung tightly, and Saban wondered just how much she could take before she broke.
He moved closer to her, until he could look up under the fall of dark hair and see the tears beading on the ends of her lashes. He swore under his breath. “Tell me, fy artaith.” This time, there was a command in his voice he was used to using on small children. But it wasn’t a child before him.
Essa, still hiding her face from him, shuddered, the tremor moving from her and into him. He closed his eyes for a moment as the sensation moved through his limbs, colliding with the heat smoldering in his belly. Something was happening to him—he’d be a fool to deny it—but what that something was…he had no inkling. He only knew it was growing worse with every second spent with Esperanza.
Breaking into his thoughts with a sigh, Essa finally murmured, “It is all so much.”
He immediately understood her words. “Aye, it is,” Saban agreed. “But you are strong, capable.”
She raised her chin in a jerk, leveling him with a glare so haunted it gutted him.
“Strong? Capable? So strong I abandoned those men on the ship to save my own life. So capable I allowed myself to be captured. So strong and capable that I have allowed myself to be fooled for more than fifteen years!” Her voice was high, tight with emotion. She shook. “How could I be so gullible? I believed him, was so caught up in him and his glorious mission that I actually risked my life to help with the raid, a raid that was ill-planned and pointless. No, Rees, I do not feel strong or capable. I feel like the lowest and weakest of all.”
With that, Essa tried to turn herself away from him, but he reached out to grip her shoulder, holding her in place.
“Look at me,” he demanded softly, knowing harsh words would do naught but hurt them both. When she didn’t respond, he repeated, “Essa, look at me.”
Essa sucked in a deep breath, held it, and then lifted her eyes to finally meet his gaze.
“Que? What is it you want to see? That you have finally broken me as you had planned?” The sharpness in her words did not match the aching sadness in her eyes.
Lord, what am I to do with this woman?
“Nay. I do not wish to see innocents broken—and you are, innocent.”
She opened her mouth to say something but he stopped her by slipping a finger over her lips. They were soft, plump, and trembling slightly.
“You are innocent, Essa. I can see that now. Aye, you were on the ship during the raid. Aye, you are part of those responsible for harming those men you saw earlier. Aye, you believed something someone you trusted told you…but I cannot fault you for that. You could not know they were lies because you did not see the truth with your own eyes until it was shown to you. I cannot hold that against you, and I will not let anyone else do so, either.” Those words seemed to strike her because her gaze sharpened from the one of hazy despair.
“What do you mean?” she asked, and he couldn’t miss the miniscule bloom of hope he’d heard there.
Still kneeling before her—another thing he’d never done before, kneeling before anyone—he rested his large hand on her knee. He wanted to slide his hand upward, over her thigh, to grasp her hip and pull her into him, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He needed to gain her trust, allow that hope within her to bloom bigger.
Why? He had no idea.
“I mean that I believe you when you say you would not have boarded La Corona if you had known the truth. Despite my frightening exterior, I am a man of insight and careful observation.”
He didn’t miss the slight curve of her mouth. Hell, he’d give anything to see her smile at him without restraint.
“I saw the look on your face when you realized that the Ganwyd o’r Mor are not the villains you thought us. Are we smugglers and pirates? Aye. But we do so to support the people we hold dear, the men and women who would be destitute and probably dead if we did not look after them. When my daid, my grandfather, started this faction, he did so because he wanted the power and money it would bring him.”
Saban suppressed a moan at the sight of Essa licking her lips nervously.
“Is that not why you took his place, for the power and money?” she asked, looking down at him with a spark of curiosity and a heaping supply of disdain in her dark brown eyes.
He shook his head. “Nay. Daid was blinded by the lure of money and power, so much so that he lost what was most important to him. After all he had gained, in the end, he had lost what was most precious. I witnessed this, as did my cousins, and when it came time to pass the title of Brenin to one of his grandchildren, he chose me.”
“Because you were the biggest and most fierce,” she stated, as if she knew the extent of it.
He chuckled, the sound booming through the small cottage. She flinched at the sound, but he continued rubbing her soft, silky hand, both to calm her and just for the pleasure of touching her.
“Aye, I am the biggest and the fiercest. None can match my skill with the sabre.”
She narrowed her eyes as if to say “That has yet to be seen”, and he bit back another laugh.
“But that is not the only reason Daid gifted me with the mantle of Brenin of the Ganwyd o’r Mor.”
He could see the tide of thoughts surging in her mind. She was truly curious about him, about the faction of pirates she had feared for much of her life.
Suddenly, she asked, “What is the other reason?”
He snagged his bottom lip with his teeth to fight back the smile at her question, and he didn’t miss the way her gaze dropped to his mouth and darkened. Oh, aye, she was hungry for a taste. Swallowing down the growl of satisfaction, he answered, “I earned the mantle because I knew that what made the Ganwyd o’r Mor the most powerful were her people. Without the men and women who supported our smuggling efforts, we would be run aground in a storm and be torn to pieces.”
She seemed to think on that, her lips drawn down in a frown he wanted to kiss away.
“The Ganwyd o’r Mor smuggle…for the people?” He could hear the disbelief in her tone, but he didn’t let that bother him. He knew what other people thought of them, that smuggling was evil even though the outcome was for the better.
“Aye,” he replied, dropping his hand from her leg. She pressed her thighs together, a thrum of a deep, heady tension spilling into the air between them.
“And…you use the money to help your people,” she remarked, and he nodded, her gaze watching the motion skeptically. “What of the men you killed on the Torriwr?”
He leaned back, the question catching him unaware.
“They attacked us, and to protect our people from further attack, we had to make sure that no one escaped with word of our ambush. If this Ernesto learned that we had been waiting for him, what is to stop him from launching another attack, this time on the port itself? We did what we had to do to ensure that our women, children, and livelihoods were safeguarded. If that meant killing every last man…” He didn’t bother finishing that sentence, because he could see in the way she tensed that she knew what he hadn’t yet said.
“I see,” she replied, and he k
new she did. The bright light of hope warmed his insides, and the muscles in his back loosened, just a bit. He let out a sigh at the relief that brought, but that relief was short lived. “I want to help.”
Taken aback by her burst of words, he said, “Help.” He sounded like a sea lion stuck in the rocks.
She nodded quickly. “Si. I want to help Lucia tend to the men from the Torriwr.”
Suddenly, suspicion was there where a struggling hope had once been. “Why would you want to do that?”
His body nearly bucked when she took hold of his hand, tightening her grip and she settled his palm against her thigh. He could feel the thudding of her heart through the leather of her breeches. Stunned, he couldn’t form words.
“I want to help her because if it were not for my brother, your ship would have been spared. Those men would not have been hurt. Those wives would not now be sitting at their bedsides praying for their healing. And those children would not be wandering around a sea cave, wondering if their fathers will survive their wounds. I am, in part, responsible for what happened, so I will do what I can to make amends.”
Every word she spoke caressed his senses, and he lapped up the sensation like a man dying of thirst while surrounded by water. But then, a single word she’d spoken gleamed like a shard of glass on a beach of black sand.
The Savage Sabre Page 10