The Dark Heart of the Sea: A Steamy Fated Lovers Pirate Romance (Pirate of the Isles Book 2) Read online

  Ruairí puzzled over how Senga came to be on the tiny isle of Canna. There wasn’t much here other than caves below Carn a Ghaill, or the Cairn of the Stranger, where pirates often hid their smuggled and stolen treasures. Ruairí weighed anchor there just after sunset, and his crew unloaded the hold before they sailed around to Suileabhaigh, the wide bay near Sanday. They came ashore here and made their way to the Three Merry Lads, which Ruairí now entered for the second time that night. He once again watched Senga navigate her way through the hoard of men, who were drunker than when they stepped out not even a quarter of an hour earlier. He wondered again how a MacLeod of Lewis ended up working in a tavern on one of the smallest Hebridean isles.

  “She’s my niece, so don’t get any ideas in that pirate head of yours,” said a colossus of a man who was suddenly standing across the bar from Ruairí.

  “Shamus Sorley! How are you, my friend?”

  “Well enough, I’d say. But I’d be a far sight better if you stopped watching my niece like she was a rare gem in a pile of dung.”

  “I don’t know that I’d let her hear you make that comparison. But I ran into her earlier, then I watched three men follow her out to the well. They attacked her in the time it took me to get through these heathens and make my way outside.”

  Ruairí watched as Shamus’s already ruddy cheeks turned a dark shade of magenta. The man was old enough to be Ruairí’s father, but a lifetime of owning a tavern didn’t make for a weak man. He looked like an irate bear.

  “Who?” he growled.

  “I don’t know. They ran in the opposite direction after I roughed them up.”

  “I thank you for watching over Senga. She’s a tough one, but she’s no match for three men.”

  “She’s your niece?” Ruairí asked. “She said she was a MacLeod.”

  “She is. She’s my niece-by-marriage.”

  Ruairí felt the air whoosh from his lungs as though he’d taken a poleax to the gut. He was certain he saw stars dance before his eyes. “Marriage?”

  “Aye, she married my nephew, Alexander, may God rest his soul,” the older man made the sign of the cross. “And she stayed on after he and their babe died five winters ago. A fever. It wiped out a third of the island.”

  “I remember that. We had to find somewhere else to stash our goods that winter.”

  Ruairí turned back and watched Senga again as she made her way back to the bar, but she went to the opposite end from where Ruairí and Shamus spoke.

  “She stayed on rather than go home?”

  “She didn’t have much to go home to. Her parents had already died, and while her uncle was the laird, he had no use for another woman in his household. He turned her out when she married my nephew, told her she wasn’t welcome back if she didn’t want the arranged marriage he planned. Some MacLeod from Skye for some alliance or another.”

  Shamus shook his head as he wiped down the bar and moved on to help other customers. Ruairí looked over to his crew, half of whom were passed out drunk while the other half were still entertaining whores. Ruairí considered finding one for himself, but his gaze drifted back to Senga, and the idea soured. He chided himself for letting one woman ruin his plans to get sotted and bedded. Just as he was about to leave and return to his cabin, a woman he recognized from a visit earlier that year approached.

  “She won’t have you, you know.”

  Ruairí put on a look of confusion.

  “She doesn’t have anyone. Refuses to dirty herself as though she’s too good to earn a few extra coins. She’d rather live in the shack she calls a cottage than lay on her back for a good rogering now and again.”

  The woman, whose name Ruairí couldn’t remember if he’d ever learned it, pressed her ample breasts against his arm.

  “She might not have you, but I would. Again.”

  The whisper was none too quiet, and Ruairí wanted to cringe. The whore’s stale breath wafted across his face, and he realized he’d smelled mint on Senga’s breath when they embraced.

  “Not tonight, love. Perhaps the next time I’m around.”

  The woman sneered at him before flouncing away. Ruairí saw her march over to a man in the corner and whisper in his ear. The man left without looking back, and the whore went back to work. Something warned him to stay after all.

  Chapter Three

  The evening wound down as men stumbled out of the tavern or passed out where they sat. Ruairí had been sipping his ale all night, never one to overindulge when on land. He moved to sit with his men after the whore–whose name he still couldn’t remember–propositioned him. His first mate, Kyle, was still mostly sober and awake, so he and Ruairí discussed their plans in hushed tones. They knew roughly where they intended to sail next, but the final decision would depend upon the weather. Senga walked past as she pulled her apron over her head and hung it on a peg by the kitchen entryway. She pushed her hair from her face and lifted her long braid as she wiped the back of her neck.

  “I’m going home now, Uncle Shamus. I’ll see you tomorrow eve.”

  “Take care, lassie. I heard what happened earlier.” Shamus stuck his head out from the kitchen. “Bar your door when you get home.”

  “I will. Goodnight.”

  Senga walked out the main door of the tavern and looked around. She was prepared this time and pulled a dirk from each of her pockets. Had she not carried two buckets earlier, she would’ve had a dirk in at least one hand when the men attacked. She learned years ago to walk to few places at night without having a weapon at the ready. She hadn’t needed it, but she’d heard from the other women what happened to them when they were unprepared. Senga shifted her gaze continuously as she walked home, just like she had countless times in the last five years. Even though she was alert, her mind wandered. She wondered how she’d never seen Ruairí before when he sounded as though he knew her uncle. She’d overheard them when she returned to the bar to refill mugs. They were friendly and seemed familiar with one another. Senga rolled her eyes when she realized she’d never seen Ruairí before because he probably went directly abovestairs rather than milling about. She saw Agnes brush up against him and had wanted to bash her over the head with her tray. She knew it was an unreasonable reaction, and she’d assumed Ruairí would follow Agnes upstairs. But when he turned her away, Senga realized she’d been holding her breath.

  When Senga reached her door, she paused as she always did and looked over her shoulders. When nothing stirred, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. A hand covered her mouth as another hand squeezed her breast without mercy. She swung one dirk wide as she tried to stab backwards with the other. The man behind her howled, and his grip on her breast only tightened.

  “You will pay for that, bitch.”

  He moved his hand from her mouth in an attempt to squeeze her wrist hard enough to make her drop the dirk. Senga ground her teeth as she refused to release the weapon. She once again swung her free arm in a wide arc as she tried to keep the other two men away.

  “Where’s your hero now?” one of them mocked as they dragged her to the table in the center of the room. “No pirate captain to save you, huh?”

  “He broke my bluidy nose because of you. You’re nothing more than a whore who thinks too highly of herself. You’ll be just the same as the others once I sink my cock into you.”

  “Then you should have picked one of the others,” Ruairí roared as the door slammed against the wall. He took in the scene before him. Senga was stretched on the table as two men held her wrists and rubbed their groins while the third man stood between her legs with the ties of his leggings undone, his hand down the front.

  With little thought, Ruairí whipped a blade from his wrist bracer and threw it at the man about to assault Senga. The knife embedded in the assailant’s neck, and blood squirted like a geyser. It was the distraction Senga needed as she rolled to the right, jerking one man off-balance. She broke free and pulled a dirk from her thigh, which was only an inch from being discove
red when her attacker pushed up her skirts. She came onto her feet beside the man who was now pulling and twisting her wrist and stabbed him in the throat. He grabbed her hair and grasped her neck, but his strength was already draining from him, and he collapsed. Senga spun around as she heard a howl of pain, and then the table toppled over as the third man crashed to the floor with a dirk through his eye. Before she could register the gruesome sight, she found herself hauled against the chest that had offered her protection earlier that night. Ruairí held her against him until he was sure she wouldn’t be ill or faint, then swept her into his arms and turned toward the only door inside the cottage. His mind flashed to the tavern wench’s snarky comment about Senga’s home being a shack and chalked it up to jealousy. The cottage was spacious and cozy from what he could see. He carried Senga into the bedchamber and sat her on the edge of the bed before stepping back. The last thing he wanted was for her to fear he’d molest her after saving her once again.

  Senga stared blankly at the door Ruairí kicked closed. She ran her hand absentmindedly over the bed cover before looking with vacant eyes to Ruairí. He approached her with caution and kept his hands where she could see them. He came to squat before her.

  “Lass?”

  “Aye, I’m well enough. They didn’t have a chance to do any real harm.”

  Ruairí reached out but dropped his hand before he touched her.

  “Really, I’m all right, just very startled,” Senga assured him.

  “Startled? That’s how you’d describe being attacked twice in one night, once in your own home?”

  “Would you like me to wail and pull my hair? Am I not hysterical enough for your liking?” Senga spat at him.

  Ruairí pulled her into his arms as they stood. He held her and felt the shuddering breaths as she tried to keep from falling apart.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did, since that’s what I want to do myself. Nothing ever frightened me more than when I could hear male voices yelling while I was still a fair distance away. I wasn’t sure I’d make it in time. I never want to see you held against your will, and I’ve seen it twice tonight. If I hadn’t been so frightened you might get hurt in the middle of a fight, I’d have done far worse to them.”

  “You were frightened?” Senga’s hoarse words barely reached Ruairí, even though she still stood in his embrace.

  “Terrified. Though I was supremely impressed to see you plunge your dirk into one of their throats, and I saw a gash across another man’s side. You fight like a wildcat.”

  “And like one, I’d rather chew my leg off than remain caught in a snare.”

  “If I hadn’t been so enraged, I would’ve been awestruck. I’m proud of the way you fought them both times. I just want to know what manner of place you live that men would attack you like that twice.”

  “It’s a tavern on a small isle. It limits the choices for women. I refuse to whore, and so some men think I mean to offer a challenge. I saw Agnes send her younger brother outside, so I should’ve known her older brother would be back to finish what he started.”

  “Who’s Agnes?”

  “The woman who seemed to remember you quite fondly.”

  Ruairí felt his cheeks burn from embarrassment for the first time since he was a lad. He didn’t know what to say, so he opted to stay quiet.

  “Her brother has been hounding me for weeks, so it didn’t surprise me to see him when I was at the well. I just hadn’t expected his two friends would slink out to help him. I didn’t think they’d come here after the way you handled them, but they wanted revenge for the beating as much as they wanted to rape me.”

  Ruairí swallowed the lump in his throat as he listened to Senga’s detached assessment of her evening. He wanted to carry her away from this cottage, the tavern, and the blasted island. Instead, he continued to hold her and ran his hand over her back. She relaxed enough to step back. Senga looked around the room and sighed. Nothing had been the same since her husband died. Even though their marriage was brief, she’d been happy. Now she had little to look forward to.

  “Why do you stay?”

  “Where else can I go? I heard Uncle Shamus tell you my uncle won’t have me back. I tried to return after the illness passed, but he wouldn’t let me into the bailey. Turned me away in front of my entire clan. I boarded the birlinn and returned here that night.”

  Senga looked up but saw that Ruairí was looking past her. She knew what he’d spotted, and her heart pinched. Senga had almost forgotten the cradle that sat covered in the corner. She walked to it and ran a hand over the curved end.

  “It’s one of the few things I have from my childhood. My da carved this for me before I was born. My aunt smuggled it to me just after I married.” Senga held her breath trying to keep the tears from falling. “It’s stood empty for a long time, but I’ve nowhere else to store it.”

  Ruairí stood behind her, and she could feel his heat against her back. When he cupped her shoulders and pulled her back against him, she didn’t resist.

  “It’s not too late for you to have a family one day.”

  Senga’s laugh was hollow if not bitter. “You saw my choices tonight. I will die alone just as I live alone. My chance for a family came and went.”

  “Shamus said it’s been five years since they passed. You must have loved your husband to not have found some other option.”

  Senga shook her head as her fingers continued to trail over the cradle covered by a bed linen. “I was only five and ten when I married. My parents died a few years earlier during a raid, and I was desperate to get away from my uncle. He had plans to marry me to the old MacLeod laird. The man was old enough to be my grandfather. I met Alexander when we were still children and his father came to trade. We were fond of one another, and as we grew older, we were attracted to each other. Along with that came curiosity. When he asked for my hand, I agreed, and we wed within three sennights. Alexander had the banns posted here, so my uncle wouldn’t hear of it. I got with child two moons after we wed, and they were both dead two moons after I delivered our son.”

  Senga rested her head against Ruairí’s chest as his arms wrapped around her. “I loved Alex just as any girl my age would have, but I don’t know that I’d still love him as the woman I grew into. I loved the idea of being loved, and he loved the idea of being a protector and provider. He was three years older than me, and he was a good protector and provider. I was happy here as a farmer’s wife. That life just wasn’t meant to be.” Senga took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before stepping away from Ruairí. “I’ve been remiss in thanking you again for coming to my rescue not once, but twice this evening. I don’t know that I’d be alive right now if you hadn’t followed me home.” Senga’s brow creased. “What made you follow me home?”

  Ruairí looked around the bedchamber and saw chemises and nightgowns folded neatly on a shelf, and a fresh blouse and skirt hanging on pegs. He’d walked past a chest at the end of the bed when he followed Senga to the cradle. The room, much like the rest of the cottage, was spacious, but it held the bare minimum. He could only describe it as sparse, and his heart ached for the umpteenth time that night as he thought about Senga and what she endured.

  “I don’t know for sure. The same feeling that has warned me of an impending attack at sea told me something would happen tonight. Nearly everyone was passed out at the tavern, so I knew it wouldn’t be there. My intuition screamed to follow you, so I did. I learned long ago to listen to that voice, and I’m glad I did.”

  Ruairí knew it was the middle of the night and he should let Senga go to bed, but he felt unsettled. He wasn’t sure if it was she who made him feel off-kilter or if it was the events of the night, but he didn’t feel ready to leave.

  “You must be exhausted. I should let you get some sleep, but I don’t feel right leaving you alone. I could sleep by the hearth, if you’ll let me. I’d feel better knowing you’re still protected, and I could clean up.”

  Senga had comple
tely forgotten the three dead men in her home. She shuddered to think how the village would react to learning the men died in her home, at her hands and at the hands of a pirate. “I’ll help you.”

  “Lass, you don’t have to do that. I’ll go back to the tavern and get some of my men to help me. You should rest.”

  “You think I’ll be able to sleep knowing there are three dead men in my cottage or when you and your men are moving about out there? Carrying away those bodies? I think not.”

  Senga walked to the door but turned back to Ruairí. He was only a few steps behind her, so she waited until he stepped near her. She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.

  “I know your reputation. I know what people think of you, and I’m sure much of it is true. But I haven’t seen that side of you tonight, and I’m grateful. I won’t tell a soul how kind you’ve been, but I doubt I’d be standing here in one piece without that kindness. I’d either be dead or a puddle of tears.” She kissed his cheek once again.

  Ruairí’s arms itched to hold her again, and a look of mutual desire passed between them. Senga made the decision easy for Ruairí when she embraced him. He’d spent his adult life angry and bitter about his past and vengeful for the course his life took. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel those emotions. Instead, he felt hope.

  “Lass--”

  Senga cut him off when she leaned back and tugged on the front of his leine. She lifted her chin and parted her lips, and Ruairí needed no clearer an invitation. Their lips fused together on a sigh that exchanged breaths. Ruairí swept his tongue over her lips, and she opened wider for him. She flicked her tongue and lured him in where they dueled and tangled until she gently sucked. Ruairí growled as his cock strained against the front of his leggings. He forced himself to cradle her, not willing to frighten her, but she ran her hands down his back to his buttocks. She pressed against him as her mound grazed his aching rod. Her moan echoed his growl as she shifted restlessly. It had been years since a man touched her or aroused her desire. Ruairí’s touch made her combust as a need coursed through her stronger than anything her husband had stirred. The events of the evening melted away as Ruairí replaced fear with passion. A small voice in her head warned she was insane for kissing a man only minutes after those men had attacked her a second time, but a much more strident voice told her to keep going.