Ernesto offered him a snarl of a grin. “Si. It was easy enough because you were so desperate for men to fill the crew—”
“Because of your raid on my ship!”
“A raid that would have worked perfectly if my darling Essa had not interfered, getting caught by the likes of you,” he snapped, peering at Essa’s face from the corner of his eye. She was pale, her eyes half-closed as she took in the scene before her.
What was his treasure thinking about?
“Enough of this, mi hermano. Let me go. We can discuss this without violence,” his treasure pleaded in Spanish, making the disgusting Welshman turn a vibrant shade of red. So…he did not like Essa speaking in a language he could not understand. Perhaps he thought she was plotting against him. He wanted to laugh at that, but Rees made to take another step forward.
Essa cried out, holding up a hand to stop him.
“Please, Saban,” she murmured, her voice strained. Ernesto could feel all the eyes on him, could feel Essa’s gaze land on him. “Tell me what you have done, Ernesto,” she demanded in English, obviously wanting everyone to hear. “You say we will marry, but we cannot. We are brother and sister.”
“No, we are not,” he admitted, turning his attention to her so he could watch her expression as the truth dawned. Her eyes, already wide, turned to saucers, deep, dark, and brimming with shock.
“He abducted you when you were a child,” Rees interjected, and Ernesto hissed at him.
“I took what was rightfully mine!”
“What does he mean, Ernesto?” his darling treasure asked, her voice cold. Flat.
His heart pounding, he told her, “Your parents stole my family’s land, and so, I stole their only child. They placed the land and its wealth in trust for when you turned one and twenty. So, I made sure that when the land was given to you, I would be there to lay claim to it as your husband.”
Essa didn’t move, didn’t blink, and he didn’t know if she was even breathing. She stared at him as if he were made of the most wretched of things.
“You stole me so that you could have my land?” she rasped.
“Aye.” Rees was moving closer, so Ernesto pulled Essa back and into his chest, holding her in place. She stumbled a bit, but righted herself, bracing her back against him. But this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to rescue her, bind her to him, and then he would tell her the truth—if it pleased him. Now, though, he was trapped in a cabin, on the ship of his enemy, with far too many men between him and Essa and freedom.
“My real name is not Fernandez?”
“No.”
“His real surname is Gabon. His family were liars and thieves.”
Shrieking, Ernesto pulled his sword from Essa’s neck and pointed it at the Welshman.
“You are the liar and thief—you and your pendejo grandfather! He stole my grandfather’s fortune, leaving him without money to support our family. So we began to steal to live.” As the anger tore through him, so did the need to scream the injustice to the heavens. “I was not meant for a life of begging on the streets! I was the grandson of a nobleman, I was meant to live in luxury and reign over all lesser men.”
Rees snorted, crossing his arms over his massive chest.
“From begging to stealing. Aye, truly noble,” the man scoffed.
Ernesto hissed, opening his mouth to object, but a flash of something caught his attention. Essa raised a sabre, her hand steady as she glared at him.
“Leave us, Saban. I would have a word with my…brother,” she drawled dryly, not once taking her gaze from Ernesto.
“Nay, fy drysor,” Saban barked, making her flinch. She couldn’t let him have his way this time. She needed this, she needed to ask her brother all the questions storming through her mind. Swallowing the nervous knot in her neck, she tightened her grip on her sabre.
“Rees! I will have a word with my brother,” she demanded, her voice loud enough to carry to the men standing behind him.
Ernesto glanced at Saban who opened his mouth, paused, then shut his mouth before turning on his heel and pushing the other men out of the doorway.
“We will be on deck, fy drysor,” he grumbled, his gaze filled with wariness, but there was something else there that turned the chill in her veins into a roaring fire; pride.
He was proud of her. And that wasn’t all. He was leaving her because he knew she could handle herself. He trusted her.
She sucked in a breath, held it, then let it out slowly, silently.
“Now that we are alone, Hermano, you will tell me the truth. Who are my parents? What is my true last name? I know I am not Fernandez, just as you are not.”
Ernesto shrugged, turning to face her. She allowed him to move but kept her focus on him and the sword he held in his right hand.
“Garcia-Lopez,” he offered. “I suppose you should know since you will be seeing them soon enough.”
“You mean on my birthday, when the estate you so covet is released to me?”
“Si. And I, as your husband, will take control of what was meant to be mine from the beginning.”
She snorted. “So you say.”
He tensed, growling. “It is the truth. After that bastard Ioan Rees stole mi abuelo’s fortune, he could not afford the taxes on the land he had planned to pass to my father. Your parents came to collect the taxes owed, and when my abuelo could not pay, they took the land.”
“It is theirs, fair,” she insisted.
“No!” he yelled, his face dissolving into a mockery of human expression. “It is not fair to steal what was mine.”
“You stole what was theirs,” she cried. “You stole me from my own family, you lied to me for fifteen years, you kept me locked away like some bird in a cage, and now you say you plan to marry me and steal my inheritance from me?” Outraged didn’t begin to describe the level of anger she felt. “You will not get away with this, Ernesto. This ends today.”
He snickered, his dark eyes filling with a glint that was wholly evil.
She hissed out a breath.
“And what will you do, darling Essa? Will you fight me? Or will you spread your legs for me and beg me to spare your beloved Welshman if you let me fuck you?”
She grimaced, his hideous words like screams in her ears.
“No. I would rather die than let you touch me, Bastardo.” He growled at her, his sword hand twitching. She raised her sabre higher, pointing it at his chest.
With a smirk, she gestured to him with her other hand. She knew she was being somewhat foolish, instigating a sword fight with a man who was skilled with the sword he held in his hand, but how else was she to prove to herself that she was capable of more?
That she was worthy of being a Ganwyd o’r Mor. With Saban. For Saban.
The man she loved.
No. She hadn’t fought a true opponent before. Si. She was well-trained and had nearly bested Saban during their swordplay in the cottage. But now was not a fight over something trivial. Now, she was fighting for her life against an enemy who had stolen her rightful life.
Who were her parents? What were they like? Did they think she was dead? Did they care that she was gone?
Too many questions. Ernesto raised his sword, his face a black mask of hatred.
She would get no more answers from him.
“Fine. You wish to die? I suppose it is better for you to die at my hand than live to let that filth ever touch you again.” With a cry, Ernesto lunged.
She braced herself for the battle.
Chapter Eighteen
In an instant, all her years of training under her fencing master came to the fore, replacing the fear and trepidation that had suffocated her moments before. She raised her sword just as Ernesto swung his, and the resulting clang and power of the strike vibrated through her.
He raised his sword again, and she blocked his strike. He slashed and she danced out of the way, nearly colliding with a sea chest. Her heart thundering, she let out a breath to steady her
nerves. Ernesto scowled at her, his sword glinting just as his eyes were.
“I see you were serious with your training under Master Caldrone,” he sneered.
“Si,” she answered, taking a short step to the left, toward the center of the cabin, in order to give herself more room to move. Sword fighting in an enclosed space wasn’t ideal, but it had to be done. Only one of them would leave that room alive, and she was determined for it to be her. “Are you impressed, Brother?” she ground out, her tone sharp and yet mocking.
With a roar that sounded like the cry of a maddened beast, Ernesto charged her, swinging his sword wildly. She dodged his slicing movements but not fast enough to save the sleeve of her shirt from his blade edge.
“You missed, Brother,” she rasped, pushing him with her words, knowing that the wilder he became, the more mistakes he would make.
Again, he lunged at her, his sword raised to strike at her. She moved to the right just in time to miss being gutted. A dull thud sounded and she turned to see what made the noise.
Ernesto, in his thoughtlessness, had missed her and sunk his blade deep into the wooden writing desk. His face red, his breathing ragged, she watched as he, with jerking movements, attempted to free his blade.
This is it!
She spread her feet, lowered her center, and lifted her sword to chest-level, but just as she moved to strike a death blow, he tugged the sword free, spinning to counter her move with a powerful parry. Their swords rang and the vibration moved down her arm and into her chest.
She grunted, her body on fire from the stress of moving, taking blows, and trying to remain upright under the onslaught of Ernesto’s blade.
He swung, she blocked. She swung, he sidestepped and slashed. They danced the dance of swords and death until Essa’s knees threatened to give out. He was a far better fighter than she was, she knew it, but she had wanted this so much; the chance to avenge herself and all the people Ernesto Gabon had killed in his crazy mission to destroy the Welsh smugglers, besmirch the Demonios, and steal back land his grandfather had lost.
“All of this, Ernesto, for land? For revenge?” she blurted, her voice husky from exertion. She stumbled, catching herself on the desk where a large gash now scarred the surface.
“No one matters but me, Essa. I would kill a thousand men if it meant I could live as a king,” he rasped, his face wan and covered in beads of sweat. “And now, I will kill you, my darling Essa.”
Startled by the eerie calm on his face, Essa held her breath, her heart slamming frantically in her chest, her sword arm screaming with pain and fatigue.
I cannot fail now. She let out the breath she’d been holding and forced her body to obey. Tensing, she waited for him to make his move.
Ernesto straightened, leveled his sword at her, and lunged one final time.
Her sabre sank into his belly. She gasped as the hot, wet blood poured over her hand.
She pulled the sabre free, her eyes wide in horror as Ernesto dropped to the floor, surrounded by an ever-growing, thick, crimson pool.
The sabre fell from her grip, clattering to the floor and she sank to her knees beside it.
It was over. She had won.
So why did she not feel victorious?
Sucking in a deep breath, she lifted a shaking hand to her throat, feeling her chest rise and fall, a testament to the fact that she was still breathing. She was still alive. She bit back a sob.
Ernesto did not deserve her tears. He had stolen everything from her. And now, it was time to take it back.
The fight had only lasted a handful of minutes, but it felt as though he’d walked the whole face of the earth with the moon perched on his shoulders. Aye, he knew Essa was skilled with the sword, and that she need to get her revenge against the man who had lied to her the whole of her life. But that didn’t stop him from worrying about her. It had taken Lucian, Lucia, and several men to hold him back, keeping him from going back below deck to kill Ernesto with his own hand.
But his Essa prevailed. She had won. And he couldn’t be prouder of her.
Essa trembled against him as they all watched the body of Ernesto Gabon sink into the sea.
“The fool,” Lucian grumbled. “How did he expect to get off the ship alive? Even if he could get through Lucia, he could not swim to shore.” He looked over his shoulder to where Lucia was standing, staring down at the man he now knew as Pedro. He’d admitted that he would have preferred to face the man who killed two of his friends, but he was happy enough that the man was bound on his ship, incapable of hurting anyone else. Of ever taking another life.
Saban shook his head, sighing. “He was mad, Cousin. From what we have heard of him from Santiago, he lost his mind long ago. There is no way of knowing what he had planned once he had Essa, but I am glad he was stopped before he could follow through with it, whatever it was.”
“I am glad as well,” Essa murmured, tucking her head into his shoulder. He groaned, pulling her closer and kissing her dark, silky hair.
As if sensing their need to be alone, Lucian bow his head and walked away. With a shout, he ordered the crew to prepare to set sail. They were headed home.
But what of Essa? Her home was in Spain, with her parents. Her true family. He was a fool to think that she would remain with him and his smuggling family just because he’d fallen for her.
Sliding a hand up her spine, he nearly groaned again when she shuddered.
“Essa,” he whispered into her hair, the need to plead with her, to beg her to stay with him clawing at him. God…what would he do if she said no? How could he live without Essa? She’d become the breath in his chest, the blood in his veins, the light of his soul. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed with the fear of losing her. His hands shaking, he opened his mouth to speak, to beg, but the words would not come.
She leaned into him, her lush breasts pressed against the hardness of his chest. “Saban. I…” she began but then stopped as Lucia passed, winking at her. Essa grumbled something under her breath, pushing against him to pry herself from his hold. “I want to know,” she continued. “I want to know if you meant it when you said I could become Ganwyd o’r Mor.”
Stunned, he blinked down at her, his heart soaring into his throat.
“Essa…I always mean what I say, fy drysor. Fy artaith. Fy nghariad.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, lifting her chin impertinently.
“I have heard you say those things before. What do they mean?”
A wicked smile curled the side of his mouth, and he flashed his teeth at her, the urge to take her pursed lips and nibble on them was like a clarion call he didn’t want to ignore. But he must.
“My treasure. My torture. My love.”
She stiffened for a moment before she gasped, her beautiful eyes widening as the biggest, most stunning smile he’d ever seen lit up her face.
“You love me?” she asked, her voice pitched high as if in joyous disbelief.
He chuckled, reaching out to pull her back into his embrace, where she belonged.
“Aye. I love you, Esperanza.”
She seemed to hesitate, her lips turning downward into a pout. “Even though I have killed a man?”
“You love me even though I have killed many more?” he asked, taking her chin in his grasp to hold her face still. He kissed her once, twice, wordlessly telling her that his love was without condition.
“You are wicked with a sabre, my love, but not so skilled as me. We will forgive one another our past sins and live to sin together in the future.” At her incredulous look, he chuckled, his heart light.
“Saban ‘the Sabre’ Rees. Does that make me Essa ‘the Sabre’ Garcia-Lopez?”
She was teasing him, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself from correcting her.
“Nay,” he replied, and at the frown that creased her forehead, he hurried to finish. “I much prefer Essa Rees.”
When she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck, he hauled her up into his arms, kis
sing her with every piece of his heart and soul.
It took several weeks to get word to the Garcia-Lopezes that their daughter was alive, well, and bound to a rapscallion of a Welsh smuggler. It took another several weeks to receive word back: her madre and padre were beyond thrilled to hear that she was alive and eager to see them again. So thrilled were they that they planned to leave immediately following their missive to come and meet her in Port Eynon Bay.
It was to be a reunion long in the making.
But her reunion with her family wasn’t the only thing to celebrate.
“Congratulations, Glynnis,” she cried, clapping her hands gleefully. “I have just heard about your coming wedding.”
Glynnis grinned, blushing. “Aye. Robbie finally got around to asking me proper, and I thought to ease his mind and say yes.”
Saban laughed. The sound was a joyful one that filled Essa’s chest with warmth and longing.
“I will have to go into town and find a gift for you,” Essa remarked, her eyes glittering. “I have never purchased a gift before.”
And she hadn’t. All her years trapped in the castillo and she’d never had the opportunity to buy something on her own for someone else. It was something she would remedy forthwith!
She turned to hurry to the beach-level sea cave opening so she could make the walk into town but Saban’s hand on her elbow stopped her. She swung around to glare at him only to find that they were alone; Glynnis had disappeared. And there was a look on Saban’s face that she knew well.
“What trouble are you looking to create, mi amo?” she drawled teasingly.
His chuckle was deep, rumbly, and hit her square between her legs. She groaned, pressing her thighs together to stop the aching.
“With Brendan gone to France on his assignment from Santiago, we cannot leave for longer than a few days. But…” He leaned in and brushed his hot mouth over hers. “That does not mean we cannot make good use of those days.”
According to Lucian, Santiago had supplied them with information on Ernesto Gabon and his history, including his abduction of a nobleman’s daughter. In return, Santiago required a cask of Italian wine the Ganwyd o’r Mor had smuggled, and he wanted information of his own. Information on the French faction, the Les Porteurs d’eau. To get that information, they’d chosen Brendan, their unofficial master of spies, to travel to France.
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