The Savage Sabre

by Winchester, Rosamund

  “Aye!” Lucian shouted back, and Lucia gave a short salute before disappearing into the belly of the ship, no doubt headed to the captain’s quarters to check the heading and plot their course once they left the familiarity of the bay. While the way to Cobh was burned into their minds, it never hurt to have courses plotted out for every eventuality.

  Like sudden storms, a change in wind direction, and pirates—of course. But, in this case, it was the pirates they were after. Once they left the bay, they would keep vigilant watch for the Santa Maria, which was said to be anchored several miles off of the harbor at Cobh. Once they had the ship in sight, they would raise the white flag and signal for parley.

  Then he would take the skiff to the Santa Maria, open a dialogue with the true leader of the Demonios, and, perhaps, find a way to end their mutual “torment” at the hands of Ernesto Fernandez, the imposter.

  Her brother…will she resent you for what must be done? He pulled away from the woman in his arms and watched as confusion puckered her face.

  “What is it?” she asked. As expected, she was too perceptive and forthright.

  “I am only thinking on what must be done,” he replied, not yet willing to tell her the whole of it. Not yet ready to risk the loss of the one thing he didn’t think he could live without.

  “Troubling thoughts, si?” She crossed her arms and turned her back to lean against the railing. The wind caught at her hair, gently lifting and moving it as a lover would do. As he had done just that morning. “It seems we are both troubled. I can only hope that our troubles will come to an end soon. Madre de Dios, I only want to find the truth buried beneath the waves of deception.”

  Saban smirked at the poetry of her words, though the words themselves were heavy.

  “I did not take you for a woman of flowery words,” he remarked, grinning at her.

  Not surprisingly, Essa rolled her eyes and sneered, her beauty only enhanced by the fire blazing in her dark eyes.

  “I will have you know I have read several books of poetry, mostly by Spanish poets, such as Gilabert de Próixita. I have also read some of the works by Geoffrey Chaucer, though I cannot understand half of what he has written.”

  Saban couldn’t help it, he chuckled, tossing his head back to let the sound loose from his chest.

  “No one can, my Essa. Tis said he wrote his works in code, so only true Brits could enjoy it.”

  “That is a shame, then,” she said, her brows lowering pensively. “I would have liked to know what happened to the wife of Bath.”

  Her scrunched up nose, furrowed brow, and pinched lips only made her look all the more adorable. His chuckle deepened, until she glanced up at him with a flustered flush on her cheeks.

  “Are you amused by my ignorance?” she asked waspishly, the arms over her chest dropping to her sides where she made tight fists.

  He slammed his mouth shut but that didn’t stop the snort of levity from escaping. His eyes watered at keeping his mirth at bay. Her eyes twinkled with anger and he swore he could see steam rising from her ears.

  God, she was magnificent.

  “Never, my Essa,” he finally replied, then cleared his throat. “I would never amuse myself at your expense.”

  She drew her eyebrows down over her glittering brown eyes and glared at him.

  “I noticed you did not disagree with my remark regarding my ignorance,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. He knew the danger in that voice, the one that belied the true depth of her wrath. Lord, but he would pay for the assumed slight.

  Coughing into his fist, he leaned against the railing next to her, meeting her glare with a casual gaze.

  “Aye, I find you ignorant—” She gasped, the color rising in her cheeks, and he hurried to finish the thought. “In regard to what it will take for you to become Ganwyd o’r Mor.” She stilled at that, her eyes going wide and her mouth dropping open. Her shock mirrored his, for he had not meant to utter those words.

  But they felt right.

  She said something in Spanish before clamping her mouth closed and peering at him with an almost hopeful light in her eyes.

  “What is it you are saying, Saban?” she asked, her tone tight.

  He hadn’t known he was holding his breath until he let it out in an audible rush.

  Nervously, he pushed his fingers through his hair, his thumb ring catching on the strands. Disengaging his hand from his long hair, he met her gaze again. She was watching him, gauging his responses. No doubt, she wondered if he were mad. Perhaps she thought herself mad for having heard what couldn’t possibly be real.

  But it was real. Oh so real.

  “What I am saying, Essa, is maybe you are fighting on the wrong side.”

  His long, powerful legs eating up the distance, Essa swallowed back a groan of desire as she watched Saban cross the deck of the sloop toward the stern where Lucian was standing with a small group of men. They were speaking animatedly about something—she knew not what. And she dare not hazard to guess.

  “You seem like you have swallowed too much sea water,” Lucia remarked with a grin as she settled onto the deck beside Essa, who was sitting, cross-legged against the side. “Or is it that something has swallowed you?” Her golden eyebrow arching into the swathe of crimson fabric around her forehead, Lucia pinned Essa with a curious look.

  “What?” she asked, huffing and crossing her arms, a feeble shield against the growing sensations in her chest. “Why do you look at me so?”

  Lucia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her gaze flitted to Saban and then back to her. There was a measured expression on her face, one that told Essa the woman was weighing her words.

  “I have not seen my cousin so…” Lucia pinched her brow and her lips as though she were thinking what to say. Lucia Rees wasn’t one to just speak thoughtlessly, no. She was a woman who considered every word that came from her mouth.

  I envy her that. If she had thought even a fraction as hard as Lucia, she never would have left San Sebastian. Then again, she would still be living under the impression that her brother was an honorable man—even though he was a pirate.

  But was he really? Could he call himself anything other than a deceitful liar? He had taken on the name and reputation of someone else, using that name and the power it brought to enrich himself. And where did that leave her? What did that make her? She had been complicit to her brother’s activities, never once wondering where the silks and wines and jewels came from. She had only cared about how she could get them for herself—no. That wasn’t right. She hadn’t cared about getting those things for herself but rather being a part of the group that obtained them.

  For as long as she could remember, she had looked out over the glittering waves and the sun kissing the horizon and wondered what it would be like to make her life on the sea. It had called to her and, more than once, she’d given in, sneaking to the docks to take in the scents, the sights, and sounds. Though they were stinky, loud, and uncouth, the men on her brother’s ships lived a life she could only dream about.

  Until she’d taken that last step, hiding among the crew, boarding La Corona, and making a muck of things.

  “Happy.” The word snapped Essa from her thoughts and she turned to look at Lucia.

  “What?”

  Lucia cocked her head to the side and said, “I have never seen my cousin so happy. He smiles—and I mean the grin actually reaches his eyes. And he laughs. I do not think I have heard a genuine laugh from him in years.” Lucia slid her hand over Essa’s, gripping her fingers lightly. “You did that.” Essa felt a blast of warmth collide with her ribs. “Thank you, Essa.”

  The warmth from her chest rose up her neck and cheeks, and almost caught her hair on fire.

  Ducking her face, she replied, “I have done nothing but give your cousin cause to worry. If it were not for me, the men on the Torriwr would have been spared.”

  Lucia grunted, waving off Essa’s words. “What would you have done? Stopped each man from r
aising their swords? You were there, aye, but you were one among thirty, and you are a woman to boot.”

  Essa snorted at that. “And what are you? You co-captain a ship and, if I am not mistaken, that is a sword strapped to your waist.”

  Lucia looked down, her gaze catching on the sword at her side, and she sucked her teeth.

  “Aye, you are correct. What I meant, though, was that you are one against many. Could you have persuaded your brother to call off his attack? Mayhaps. But I doubt that a man so bent on destroying us would have listened to reason, no matter how pretty the messenger.”

  Struck by Lucia’s words, Essa bit the inside of her cheek. Would Ernesto have heeded her words? Would he have listened if she’d discovered his plans and asked him to rethink them? She thought about her brother, about how he would sneer at her whenever she mentioned the ships or going to sea. She thought about his growing disquiet and the intensity in which he’d been conducting his business over the last year. She shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh that brushed against the ties of her borrowed shirt. Her brother would have ignored her pleas and, more than likely, he would have locked her in her tower room until she “removed the fool notions from her head”.

  “No. He would not have listened to me,” she admitted.

  Lucia waited barely a heartbeat before asking, “So what will you do now?”

  Swallowing down the acrid taste of bitter regret, Essa answered, “Now, I do as I wish.”

  Drawing back, Lucia’s gaze scoured Essa’s face. “And what is it you wish to do?”

  Essa blinked up into the bright blue sky, her heart heavier than it ever had been.

  “No se,” she replied. “I do not know.”

  A prickling chill skittered over the flesh of her neck, raising the hairs there. She shuddered, her heart skipping a beat. What was that?

  Breaking her gaze from Lucia’s suddenly worried expression, Essa looked around for the possible source of her tremendous unease.

  Saban and Lucian had disappeared but there were several crew members moving about, checking lines, ropes, and watching the skies. There were two men napping, their hats over their faces to block out the sunlight as they took a siesta. Nowhere she looked did she see anyone that could account for the sensation of her skin crawling.

  “Were these men on the Torriwr during the attack?” Essa asked, her thoughts tumbling over one another.

  “Some. Why?”

  “Were any of them injured?” Perhaps one or more of the men aboard held animosity toward her for their discomfort.

  Lucia’s brows puckered. “No. We make the injured stay in port until they are cleared by me.”

  “Oh.”

  “What has you so curious?” Lucia asked, her expressive green eyes darkening. “If you are worried that one of these men wish you ill, you need not. There are some who were aboard the Torriwr during the attack, but none of the men of the Ganwyd o’r Mor would hold an innocent accountable for the actions of others. And besides, there are at least five men aboard who were not even there.”

  Essa widened her eyes in question.

  “We must sail with a full crew, so we replaced the wounded with men from the town. Some are a little…frayed at the edges, but they were all we could get on such short notice. They were eager for the income.”

  Despite Lucia’s assurances, Essa couldn’t dismantle the clock of foreboding tick-tick-ticking in her belly.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Stroking the wiry hairs of his beard, Saban waited as Lucian peered through the spyglass, his body tense.

  “We have made good time,” his cousin remarked, pulling the glass from his eye and stowing it in a pouch at his waist. “The Santa Maria is in sight, though, if we can see her, she can see us.” Before Saban could speak a reply, Lucia turned and bellowed, “Raise the white flag!”

  There was a clatter and the pounding of boots as men ran to follow orders.

  As always, Saban’s gaze sought out Essa. They had been at sea for almost two days and, in that time, he’d had little opportunity to spend moments alone with her. When she wasn’t with Lucia, deep in conversation, she was below decks in Lucia’s quarter’s resting. Because she was the only other woman aboard, the women stuck together. Not that he worried about his Essa with Lucia—he could trust his cousin implicitly. What bothered him the most was that Essa wasn’t with him.

  You have more on your mind that sweet curves, silken flesh, and heated kisses. Oh, aye, there was much on his mind, but his cock didn’t care for much else. Grunting, he spread his legs to give his bollocks some room before leaning into the wind now blowing in from the port side.

  “Damn,” Lucian grumbled, having noticed the change in the wind direction as well. “At this rate, we will find ourselves in Finland.”

  Saban chuckled, knowing full well that Lucian would get them where they needed to be without Saban remarking on anything. It was a weight off his shoulders, knowing his cousins were there with him, but that didn’t lessen the weight that was already there. A weight about the same size and shape as a comely Spanish seductress. And her goddamn brother.

  He bit back a curse, his gaze landing on the horizon where he knew the Santa Maria was anchored.

  Here there be monsters…

  As if sensing his disquiet, Essa appeared beside him, his tensions both lessening and rising with her near.

  “Santiago Fernandez,” Essa muttered, drawing his gaze to her mouth which was stretched into a thin line. “I can almost feel Death hovering over me.”

  Without thought, Saban did what he’d wanted to do since boarding the ship, he leaned down and took Essa’s mouth with his. The kiss was rough, he nipped her bottom lip then smoothed over the area with his tongue. He was drowning in her, in the need to prove to her that she was alive, they were both alive. And that they would remain that way.

  Breaking their kiss, his breathing ragged, be stared down into her flushed face. Her lips were swollen from their staggering and much too short kiss, and she was trembling.

  “My Essa, fy drysor, my treasure. I will not let anything happen to you. This I swear,” he ground out, his hands on her upper arms tightening. “Once we are in range, we will draw parallel to the Santa Maria, then we will use the skiff to row over and speak with Santiago.”

  “He is a dangerous man, mi amo. You cannot trust him,” she murmured, her eyes wide. The deep dark of her eyes were filled with troubles.

  “I know,” he said, offering her a slight smile. “I did not become Brenin because I was trusting. Besides, I have to live so you can say that again…in English.” At her deepening blush, he knew she realized what she’d said. And that he had caught it.

  Mi amo.

  She drew away, crossing her arms over her chest and pressing the globes of her breasts together most enticingly. With strength reserved for fighting for his life, he dragged his gaze from her lushness and took in her expression. Saban reached out to cup her face in his hands, sliding his thumbs over her cheeks, then lower, to trace her lips. They were soft, like velvet beneath the roughness of his skin.

  “You need not fear for me, fy drysor. I will have five men and Lucian with me. Santiago might be many things, but a murderer of those seeking parley is not one of them.”

  That did little to remove the crease of worry from her forehead. Leaning down, he brushed his lips over the lines there, closing his eyes as her scent—spice and woman—filled his nostrils.

  She leaned into the kiss, raising her arms to wrap them around his waist. Her palms pressed against his back, pulling him into her. He smiled. She needed this moment as much as he did.

  “I do not fear for you, Saban. I fear for myself,” she muttered, trying to pull away. When he didn’t let her go, she stiffened. “What will happen to me if you are gutted like a squid? I will be left to deal with Brendan and his sneering.”

  He wanted to laugh, but the realization of what she had said settled over him. She was worryin
g about Brendan…what he would do. That meant she hadn’t thought to leave. She would stay with the Ganwyd o’r Mor.

  “Brendan would care for you like a sister,” Saban murmured into her hair as he pulled her into his chest, holding her there against his heart.

  “I am sister to Ernesto Fernandez. What good has that done me?” Her voice was so low, he almost didn’t catch what she said next. “I have no one.”

  Palming her face, he pulled away to peer down into the deep pools of her eyes.

  “You have me, my Essa,” he whispered, the urge to kiss her trembling lips nearly kicking his knees out from under him.

  “Do I?” she asked, her tongue dashing out to lick her lips.

  He groaned, his body growing taut with want, burning with need for the woman so close to his heart. “Aye. And I have you.” Saban didn’t miss the flash of desire that burned through her eyes, just before the wariness doused it.

  “And what of my brother? What will you do to him?”

  He tensed. He’d known that question was coming, had lain awake the last three nights agonizing over it. But no matter how long he digested it, mulling over his choices, he kept coming back to the same conclusion. Her brother had to pay for what he’d done.

  “It is not so easy a question to answer.”

  “The hell it is not!” she snapped, jerking out of his embrace. “Si, I know he has caused you pain, killing and hurting your men, ruining your reputation, but he is still my brother. My only family. I cannot just step aside while you bind him to the mast and lash him to pieces.”

  The pit of his stomach filled with red hot acid, boiling up into his chest. He growled low in his throat, his expression hardening as did his grip on her face.

  “I am Brenin of the Ganwyd o’r Mor. I am responsible for more lives than you can count, in ports and villages in countries all over the northern reaches. Your brother has set out to hurt me and mine, killing innocent men, leaving grieving widows and orphans in his wake, and he does so without thought to the seriousness of his insult to the Demonios de Mar.”