The Blond Devil of the Sea: A Steamy Enemies to Lovers Pirate Romance

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance; Historical Romance; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander; Tudor Romance

Synopsis

What happens when a lady smuggler meets a ruthless pirate?

Caragh Pedrick is used to men on the wrong side of the law since she runs her Cornish village’s smuggling ring. Fishing no longer feeds their families in her coastal village, so she puts her resourcefulness and bravery to use. But she’s unprepared for the pirate captain who captures her during a raid. Whisked away on a pirate ship, Caragh soon discovers that her pirate captain’s form of command is anything but unsavory. Tempted by his piercing blue eyes and powerful manner, Caragh finds herself giving in to the Blond Devil. Can Caragh leave her smuggler’s life behind for life on the high seas? 

What happens when a pirate captain tries to tame the fearless woman he mistakes for a lad?

Rowan MacNeil was forced from his home on the island of Barra and into a life of piracy. Now the captain of his own ship, Rowan expects obedience from the minx he unwittingly captures. When he raids the quiet village of Bedruthen Steps, Rowan decides Caragh, dressed as a lad, would make a fine cabin boy, but it’s not long before Rowan discovers the curves that lay beneath her disguise. While he likes her spirit, his palm itches to lay down the law with the woman who’s invaded his cabin and his life. The question is: will she give in to the Blond Devil?

When misunderstanding and distrust threaten his burgeoning relationship, Rowan must put his faith in his lady smuggler. With a choice to make, Caragh must decide if she can forgive her pirate lover and make a new life with him. Can Rowan put his painful past behind him to save his burgeoning relationship? Can she curb her independent spirit in exchange for an adventurous new love?

Pirates of the Isles is a STEAMY series where lust and love become tangled when pirates and their ladies toe the line between pain and pleasure. Travel to the Hebrides and the coast of Scotland as these pirates pillage and plunder not only villages and ships but the women fearless enough to take them on. Each book can be read as a standalone, but many characters appear throughout the series. ​The first third of this book appeared as a novella in the Pirates, Passion & Plunder anthology. It has since been expanded to add more than two hundred pages of new content.

This passionate love story is ready to go up in flames. It contains steamy bedroom scenes in which the hero takes the hero over his knee ... which is exactly where she wants to be. If this type of explicit offends you, please do not download.

Release date: December 10, 2020

Publisher: Oliver Heber books

Print pages: 284

Sample

Chapter One

 

Caragh lifted her torch into the air as she made her way down the precarious Cornish cliffside. She made out the hulking shape of a ship, but the dead of night made it impossible to see who was there. She and the fishermen of Bedruthan Steps weren’t expecting any shipments that night. But her younger brother Eddie, who stood watch at the entrance to their hiding place, had spotted the ship and signaled up to the village watchman, who alerted Caragh.

As her boot slid along the dirt and sand, she cursed having to carry the torch and wished she could have sunlight to guide her. She knew these cliffs well, and it was for that reason it was better that she moved slowly than stop moving once and for all. Caragh feared the light from her torch would carry out to the boat. Despite her efforts to keep the flame small, the solitary light would be a beacon.

When Caragh came to the final twist in the path before the sand, she snuffed out her torch and started to run to the cave where the main source of the village’s income lay in hiding. She heard movement along the trail above her head and knew the local fishermen would soon join her on the beach. These men, both young and old, were strong from days spent pulling in the full trawling nets and hoisting the larger catches onto their boats. However, these men weren’t well-trained swordsmen, and the fear of pirate raids was ever-present. Caragh feared that was who the villagers would face that night.

She arrived at the mouth of the cave, which could only be accessed on foot during low tide. She slowed down and looked around, but neither saw nor heard anything from within the cave. The tide was shifting, so there were only a few minutes when she and the others could make their way inside. If they waited too long, the tide would rise too high for them to use the path while making it possible for whoever was on the ship to send rowers and dinghies into the cave. She met Eddie at the mouth, and they moved inside to the spot where the villagers always met to relight their torches, which were kept where the light wasn’t visible from the outside. She prayed the others all extinguished their lights; otherwise, they would lead whoever lurked in the distance directly to their hiding place. 

At the sound of footsteps, Caragh froze until she heard the mimicked owl hoot to know it was friend, rather than foe, who entered. She returned the call and felt around for the box that held the torches and flints. She struck one of the stones and lit the first torch. She placed it into a sconce that had been fitted into the rock wall. She’d lit the third torch as the men arrived at their meeting spot. She handed off torches, and they hurried to the back of the cave.

“Who do you think they are?” Derrell, the youngest of the fishermen, asked once they were among the crates and barrels they kept stashed away.

“I don’t know, but the boat is obviously too large for fishermen, and we aren’t expecting any shipments. It can’t be good.” Caragh responded.

“They must have seen us coming down the cliff, even if there weren’t that many torches. I pray they sail past the eddy that leads to the mouth of this cave.” Eddie whispered. At seventeen, he was tall and filled out, but had little experience dealing with smugglers and privateers. The older by three years, Caragh had only recently allowed him to stand watch, and then only after the older men pressured her. They argued that Eddie was a man now, but to Caragh, he would forever be her little brother whose nose she used to wipe.

“We’ll know soon enough since the tide is rising quickly,” mused one of the older men.

“Help me pull the newest load into the back of the cave,” Caragh pointed. “It’s our most valuable bounty yet, and I don’t want it to be the first thing anyone finds.”

They all worked without saying a word, hand gestures sufficing to help them move barrels of Spanish and French wine, along with crates of spices and Dutch silk, into a natural alcove in the rear of the cave. Caragh was carrying a small chest of Spanish gold when they all froze at the sound of oars splashing through water. She scurried to hide the chest, but the sound of steel on steel told her whoever joined them was prepared for a fight.

She pulled the woolen cap low over her eyebrows and ensured she tucked all her strawberry-blonde hair under it. The night was cool, so it made sense that she wore a thick woolen surcoat. The added layer kept her warm while also disguising her feminine shape. She looked more like a lad than a woman of twenty. She counted on that boyish appearance until she got to know the privateers with whom she did business. It was only after she observed them interact with the older men that she made it known that she ran the village operation. Now she pulled a wickedly sharp dagger from her belt and inched forward. She came out of the alcove and brandished her knife at the man who rushed toward her.

The pirate was a giant who stood nearly a foot taller than Caragh, and his snarl revealed several missing teeth. He swung his sword at her, and the metal from both the sword and the hoop in his ear flashed. Caragh waited as long as she dared before she slashed her knife across the forearm of his sword arm. She drew back quickly when he reared back, but she lunged forward, striking when he was unprepared. Her knife entered just below his sternum, and she twisted as she pushed the blade up. Blood squirted toward her, but years of gutting fish left her unaffected as the warm liquid splattered her surcoat. The man staggered to his knees, but his eyes were unseeing. Caragh dashed to the man who fought her brother, leaping onto a nearby crate to give her the height needed to run her blade along the man’s throat.

“You hale?” she asked her brother as she cast a quick glance over him.

“Yes. You?”

“For now.”

Little time was left to talk as the battle waged on. The fishermen weren’t adept enough to hold off the attacking pirates. She watched as the men she’d known her entire life dropped one after another, felled like saplings rather than the solid tree trunks she’d thought them to be. Caragh’s eyes swept the cave until she noticed the man who was clearly the captain of the raiders. His sun-bleached blond hair was pulled back at his nape, and his white shirt billowed as his sword cut through the air while he fought Derrell. If he hadn’t been attacking men she considered family, she would have admired the grace with which he moved. The fluidity of his motions looked more like a well-rehearsed dance than a fight to the death. His hair, nearly white, reminded her of the stories of the raiding Norsemen her Scottish mother regaled her with when she was a child. Snapping back to the present, Caragh made a decision that she prayed would save the men who were still standing.

“Enough!” she barked. “We surrender. Take your plunder but leave the men. They are nothingmore than fishermen and villagers.”

She did her best to deepen her voice, but the blond man turned toward her with an eyebrow cocked. She was certain he’d figured out she was a woman. She held her breath as he shoved Derrell to the ground and pointed the tip of his sword at the young man’s throat.

“Do not move from this spot or it shall be your final act,” the pirate captain growled. He spun to look at Caragh. “And who are you to be giving orders, lad?”

Caragh almost sighed when the man acknowledged her as a male, but she took note of the burr in his accent. It sounded like a deeper version of her mother’s Scottish brogue.

“I’m nothing but the voice of reason. If you’re an experienced marauder, then you know villagers and fishermen do little more than guard what’s brought ashore. We have nothing to do with how it gets here.”

“But you have everything to do with how it’s distributed once it lands upon your shores.”

“And if it’s gone because you’ve taken it, then we have nothing left of value to you.”

“I would think your lives are of value,” the pirate pointed out.

“Then you can be generous and leave us with them.”

“I’m not known for my generosity.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

The captain barked a laugh that had several of his men chuckling. He stepped toward Caragh, and she once again prayed, this time that the dim light of the cave wouldn’t give away her smooth cheeks.

“You have quite a mouth on you. Perhaps losing your tongue would keep you quiet.”

“Not bloody likely,” grumbled Eddie, who had inched closer.

Caragh shot him a quelling look, but not before the captain noticed their resemblance.

“Your younger brother doles out the orders, does he? And why would that be? Why isn’t it one of the older men, or even you, in charge?”

“I never said I was in charge. I said I was the voice of reason.”

“I suspect they are one and the same in this case.” He stepped toe-to-toe with Caragh but did nothing more for a long moment. Then he called over his shoulder, “Load everything the boats can hold.”

Caragh shifted as though to stop them before a manacle captured her upper arm. When she looked down, it was the man’s hand, not iron.

“Where did that reason go? I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you make another move.”

 

Chapter Two

 

Rowan McNeil watched. Eyes the color of Highland grass after a storm turned into emerald shards that shot daggers toward him. The transformation would have been astonishing if it weren’t so menacing. Even though he stood head and shoulders over the small figure in front of him, he was almost tempted to take a step back. After a puzzling moment of doubt, Rowan remembered who was in control of the situation. The green eyes bored into his as anger seethed from the youth, who didn’t flinch as their gazes met.

“A bit of temper there,” he spoke softly.

“Unlike any you could imagine.”

This time his laugh held no humor. Rowan bent down to peer more closely at the slim body, with narrow shoulders and cheeks without the hint of bristles. While the boy’s physique struck him as odd, he was more intrigued by the spirit the lad was showing. He lacked a cabin boy since his last one caught a fever and died. Rowan liked his spunk, even if he would have to train the lad to curb it.

“You shall get your wish that no more of your villagers are harmed, but we shall take what I want, including you.”

“I think not,” Caragh had another knife poking into Rowan’s ribs before he saw her hand move. With one of his hands still clasping her arm in a punishing grip, the other wrapped around the fine bones of her wrist and squeezed, but she refused to drop the knife no matter how much pain he inflicted.

“Stubborn to boot,” Rowan quipped. It took little force on his part to push the arm away, but he noted the wrist seemed almost feminine. Without much more thought, he wrapped his arm around the lad’s waist and hoisted him over his shoulder.

Caragh felt the wind whoosh from her as her belly landed against what she was sure was granite and not a shoulder. She kicked out, but an arm clapped around her legs after a firm swat landed on her backside. She growled and snagged her fingers into his hair and yanked down as hard as she could. Rowan’s neck snapped back with the unexpected force, and Caragh found herself falling to the ground. The height from which she fell created an impact that knocked the wind from her.

“You had best learn now, before we board my ship, that I don’t tolerate insubordination,” Rowan growled.

“Then you should learn now that taking me will be a mistake that you rue,” Caragh responded.

“We shall see.” He yanked her back onto her feet but thought twice before letting her near any part of him again. He pushed her in front of him toward the mouth of the cave.

Caragh heard the running feet and knew who they belonged to before she could see him. She tried to turn and step around the beastly man, but he shoved her forward.

“Stop! Take me instead,” came the voice of her younger brother, and she cringed.

“No.” The flat statement from the pirate was both an annoyance and a relief to Caragh.

“Stop!” Eddie tried once again.

“Let it go, Eddie. Stay and care for Mama and Da.”

Rowan’s brow crinkled at the familiar term for father. He didn’t know too many Englishmen who would use the word. He had no more time to muse over it as he shoved the boy into the dinghy and stepped in behind him. It was loaded down with the treasures his men had hauled, but there was just enough room for the oarsman, his large frame, and his unexpected guest.

The dinghy had just entered the open water beyond the eddy when a voice reverberated against the cliffs.

“Caragh!”

Rowan looked back at the shore to see a line of men as the young man who tried to stop him continued to scream a woman’s name. Movement caught the corner of his eye as a surcoat flew toward him and a boot thumped against his oarsman. Then a splash. He watched in shocked silence as toes sunk into the depths. He didn’t stop to think before he pulled his sword belt from his waist and his shirt over his head as he toed off his boots. He was in the water only moments later. His hands swept along as he tried to find his captive’s body. He was sure the lad would sink. He resurfaced when his screaming lungs could bear no more. He looked around and saw a figure on the other side of the dinghy swimming toward the headland, which was now closer than the beach where they launched. 

Caragh kept her head down and kicked as hard as her wool leggings would allow. While all the extra layers kept her warm while she was on land, they were like an anchor on her now. She wind milled her arms as she made progress toward land. She prayed the pirate captain was unable to swim, like so many other sailors. Hearing a splash entirely too nearby, she kicked harder and pushed herself as her arms and legs began to feel like lead in the frigid water. She refused to let the sea swallow her, and she had no intention of being a pirate’s captive. She made it to the outcropping of rocks and began to scramble, but a hand wrapped around her ankle and tugged. She wanted to kick out with the other foot, but that would only cause her to fall face first. She struggled to grasp rocks above her head and tried dragging herself up, but it was no use. The hand around her ankle let go just long enough for an arm to replace it around her waist. She flailed and kicked, but her struggle was futile. The oarsman brought the small boat around, and the man hauled her over the side. He clamped her onto the seat next to him, and his glare told Caragh she would gain nothing at this point if she rebelled.

 

Chapter Three

 

Rowan was at a loss for what to do. Now he was sure he had a lass and not a lad sitting next to him. His concern for the spirited sprite had caused him to follow her into the water, and it was his pride that refused to let her escape. When he pulled her into his hold without the added layer of the surcoat, he’d felt the feminine curve of her waist, and the weight of her breasts hung over his forearm. Now they were closer to his ship than the shore. He looked down at the shivering woman next to him, and his fingers itched to pull the sodden cap from her head. He marveled at how she managed to keep it on despite her headfirst dive. As his eyes swept over her, their gazes, and for the first time he saw true unadulterated fear. Emotions stirred in his chest that he hadn’t felt in many years: shame and regret.

“Bluidy hell,” he uttered under his breath.

“Hell is at least warm,” came an answering murmur.

Once again, her comments tempted him to laugh, but the weight in his chest was pressing too heavily to muster any amusement.

Neither spoke until they reached the ship, and Rowan nudged her to stand. When she refused to move, he hefted her to her feet and leaned in so the oarsman couldn’t hear.

“Don’t embarrass me in front of my men, lass, or I’ll be forced to punish you. Since I have no intention of lashing you in public once you’ve been stripped bare from the waist up, I shall reserve the pleasure of that view for my eyes only in my cabin.”

Caragh scrambled up the ladder, and Rowan was amazed at the ease with which she moved. She’d clearly done it many times. She swung her legs over the rail and landed on the deck with nearly no sound. She looked around as the crew stood gawking at her. She’d discreetly looked down at herself in the dinghy and pulled her linen shirt from her body. She knew she could still pass for a boy, barely. Her hand reached for her knife, strapped to her ankle, but the same large body that captured her on the rocks pushed her forward.

“New cabin boy,” Rowan called out before dragging her below deck. He pushed the door to his cabin open and thrust her through the doorway. “Explain.”

Caragh moved around the table in the cabin’s center and went to stand before the porthole. She didn’t say anything and didn’t move once she took her spot before the small window.

“I said explain,” Rowan roared. His initial remorse had worn off and was now replaced with anger. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was angry at the young woman for risking her life by being in the cave and then jumping into the water, or at the men who allowed her to be part of the smuggling ring, or at himself for not realizing sooner that she was definitely not a “he.”

When one slight shoulder shrugged and no words came forward, Rowan charged across the small space. It only took him three steps to have his hands on her shoulders. He spun her around, yanked the cap from her head, and watched a wave of strawberry-hued hair fall about her shoulders and back.

“You’re testing the very last shred of my patience.”

Caragh knew she was toeing a fine line, but she didn’t care. She would rather be dead than a prisoner. She quirked an eyebrow at him in challenge.

“You think if you push me too far, I’ll lash out in anger and kill you. You’d rather not be a prisoner.”

Caragh sucked in a whistling breath, surprised that he understood her silent musing.

“No such luck. I have no intention of killing you, but I am keeping you.”

Caragh pooled as much saliva as she could and spat on his cheek. Rowan didn’t even flinch. He’d put his shirt back on in the dinghy, and now used his sleeve to wipe his cheek. He looked down at the trembling woman and saw the defiance in her eyes. Her quaking was from the cold or perhaps out of anger, but it wasn’t from fear. That had vanished since their boat ride to his ship. He took her by her elbow and crossed the cabin to a chair. He sat and drew her across his lap, her hair trailing on the ground. His hand rained down four hard smacks, two for each cheek. When she made not a peep, he swatted her four more times. This time with more force, but she still didn’t make a sound. His hand hurt him more than her backside seemed to hurt her.

“You’ll come to understand very quickly that aboard my ship, those under my command heed my orders the first time they are given, or they face punishment. My men receive the lash on-deck, but I shall reserve your punishments for the privacy of our cabin.”

Rowan frowned as he heard the last two words ring in his ears. He knew there was no way he could allow her above deck to sleep near the other men, but the term “our” implied that the cabin would be shared as if they were equals. He clenched his teeth.

“Count yourself lucky. This first indiscretion has earned you a spanking with my hand over your clothes. You won’t be so fortunate in the future. I’ll warm your bare bottom if you’re insolent again.”

Rowan stood, and Caragh nearly tumbled to the floor, catching herself in time. She shook her hair out of her eyes, where mutiny simmered. Rowan saw the teeth marks and the blood on her lip and realized she hadn’t uttered a sound because she’d muffled her discomfort. He reached up, and while she flinched, she didn’t pull away. He ran the pad of his thumb over her lip away from where she’d split it. He looked to the table on his left and spotted a handkerchief, old but clean. He blotted her lip until the linen came away clean.

“Must you be so stubborn?” He asked quietly, more to himself than to Caragh. “I know your given name is Caragh, but I don’t know your surname, nor do you know my name at all. I’m Rowan MacNeill, the captain of the Lady Grace.”

A smile twitched at the corner of her lip but died when she realized he would see.

“Named for your wife?”

Rowan shook his head but smirked. “Haven’t got one.”

“Ah, then for your mistress?”

“Haven’t got one.”

“Not just one, I would imagine. Several, but you picked one?”

“I don’t keep a mistress. Too expensive and too bothersome.”

“Then perhaps your favorite whore,” Caragh deduced.

“You’re making quite a lot of assumptions.”

“Only the last was an assumption. The others were questions.”

“You’re still not right.”

“A daughter?”

“I have no daughters, nor any sons.”

“Then I’m at a loss, unless you simply like the name Grace.”

“My mother.”

“Your mother?” Caragh couldn’t keep the shock from her voice as her eyes widened, and her crossed arms unfolded to her sides.

“We all have one. Even pirates.”

“Was she a pirate queen?”

“Decidedly not,” he quipped. “Though it would’ve been a fitting name, since she had the grace of a queen.”

Caragh caught the sadness that flashed into his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. However, there was a shift in their dynamic. His gentle touch had soothed Caragh, though she couldn’t fathom why. Not why he did it, nor why she permitted it.

“Are you a MacNeill of Barra?”

“I am,” That one question made him more wary than anything else during this odd evening raid. He was surprised that he admitted as much to her, but not many Englishwomen would know of Barra, let alone that it was a MacNeill stronghold. A piratical MacNeill stronghold.

“Then I should tell you that my mother is a MacLeod. Of Lewis.”

Rowan’s face broke into a broad smile, and what had been an uncommonly handsome face transformed into a thing of beauty. Caragh felt heat suffuse through her as the recipient of such a warm gaze and charming smile. She wanted to believe it was genuine, that the mirth in his gaze was real and not mocking her. She suddenly wanted far more than was reasonable with her captor.

“She’s a long way from home,” Rowan observed. “And you’ve avoided telling me your family name. I’m sure it’s not Scottish.”

“True,” Caragh watched as his smile slipped at her monosyllabic response, and it compelled her to say more. She didn’t want his smile to vanish. His even white teeth mesmerized her. “It’s Pedrick. My father is a fisherman and sometimes trades as far north as Scotland. He met my mother one summer when he made several runs up the coast. By winter, he asked her to marry him.” Caragh shrugged. “And now you found my brother and me in Bedruthan Steps.”

“Aye. A village known as much for smuggling as Barra is for pirates.”

Caragh’s eyes narrowed. She only knew about Barra because the MacLeods of Lewis and the MacNeills of Barra were seafaring rivals. Not many knew of the sleepy hamlet of Bedruthan Steps.

“You needn’t glare. Your little village is gaining a name among the pirating world. A few loose lips aboard a privateer boat that was captured, and yours is now a well-known smugglers’ cove.”

Caragh’s heart sank. If what Rowan said was true, not only would their main source of income dry up because no one would be willing to store their contraband there, the villagers would be in danger of future raids. She needed to return home to warn them.

“You can put aside any notions of escaping this ship. We have already set sail. We’re too far from the coast for you to make it before you would drown from freezing.”

“Then you should let me row ashore. You have more than one dinghy. You can spare one.”

Rowan’s laugh was deep and smooth, much like the Scottish whisky her father preferred.

“You needn’t laugh at me for wanting to warn my family. Wouldn’t you do the same?” Cara huffed indignantly, but she watched all traces of humor leech from Rowan’s face.

“Perhaps once upon a time. My family is my crew now.” Rowan moved to a chest and pulled free one of his shirts. “I’m tired of you making puddles upon my floor. You shall warp the boards. And it’ll be more work for you when you clean up the cabin.”

Caragh was taken aback by the swift change in his mood. She caught the shirt he tossed her. They stood at an impasse, as Rowan made no move to leave the cabin or even turn his back, and Caragh had no intention of undressing in front of him.

“Can you put aside your plundering ways for a moment and turn away, so I might change?”

“I can think of something I would very much like to plunder,” Rowan stepped forward and wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger and ran his thumb over the silken strands.

Caragh looked at Rowan, and in that moment, she knew she had a decision to make. One that would be irreversible. One that was nearly made for her. She had no intention of letting Rowan rape her, and while she didn’t get the impression that he would try, she didn’t want to test that theory. She also knew that he would insinuate he would bed her until he finally said it outright, which could be at any moment. Caragh swallowed as she admitted to herself that not only was she attracted to the man standing before her, even though logically it was ridiculous; she also knew that there was nothing left of her reputation. Everyone would know by now that she’d been taken aboard a pirate ship, crewed only by men. Even if she made it home untouched, no one would believe she was still a virgin. She would never find a man to marry her now. Her options had been slim before her capture, and now they no longer existed.

She knew she could fight the obvious attraction he felt and her own unspoken desire, or she could seize an opportunity she would never again have. She would die a spinster if she refused Rowan. She dreamed of a husband and children, of finding love like her parents had, of having a cottage of her own one day. But those dreams dissolved into the puddles around her feet. She could fight and deny herself, grow lonely and bitter aboard this ship for as long as Rowan decided to amuse himself with her presence, or she could answer long-burning questions. She could discover what it meant to experience passion with the most handsome man she had ever seen, one who had pressed the hard planes of his body against her twice. Despite the way in which they met and how she came to be aboard his ship, she didn’t feel threatened by him. He challenged her, but he didn’t frighten her. Her fear in the dinghy stemmed from the unknown, rather than from his actions. He’d been surprisingly gentle with her. He hadn’t abused his size when he handled her; even when he spanked her, he could have inflicted far more pain. She knew she deserved a punishment for spitting on the man, though a spanking wasn’t what she expected. She’d shown a propensity for disobedience that no captain of any boat could overlook while expecting to maintain order among the crew. She realized in a heartbeat she was lucky to only have received a spanking rather than a fist to her face or stomach–or worse, a slit throat. Her decision was made in the space of only a few breaths despite all the thoughts that raced through her head.

Caragh stepped back and placed the dry shirt on the table, then pulled her waterlogged one over her head. She heard Rowan suck in his breath before the garment cleared her head. She assumed he would be looking at the binding around her breasts, but his eyes were focused lower. She looked down and saw the angry and fresh bruises that mottled her sides from her fight in the cave. She hadn’t noticed them, but she knew she would in the morning. She paused until Rowan looked up to her face. She saw what she was sure was regret. He took one step toward her but then stopped short. She met him, again they stood toe-to-toe. His roughened fingers caressed the bruises with such feathery softness that she barely felt his skin brush hers.

“I’m all right,” she whispered.

He only nodded.

Caragh untied the knot at her back and slowly unwound the strip of linen that painfully pressed her breasts against her ribs but flattened her chest. As the skin that had been covered became visible, Rowan groaned softly. He lifted her hands away as he took over unwinding the linen. “It’s a good thing you killed him, or I would’ve had to do it.”

Caragh’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“He bruised more than just your ribs,” he explained. “Such fine skin shouldn’t be marred by anything, let alone bruises earned defending yourself from a pirate.”

Caragh snorted, and Rowan’s eyes snapped up to hers.

“That’s rich coming from the pirate captain who could’ve just as easily given me these bruises as any of your men. You didn’t know I was a woman until you’d already taken me.”

“But I do know now, Caragh.” It was the first time he’d used her name, and he liked how easily it flowed from his mouth, just as much as Caragh liked the way the burr filled her ears. “What’re you doing, Caragh? Why did you take up my challenge and undress before me?”

“Because I can keep fighting you and eventually be forced to accept fate, or I can welcome it on my own terms.”

“I’ll never force you. I don’t force women. I’ve done many unsavory things over the years and earned the name the Blond Devil, but I have never taken advantage of a woman.”

“I’m sure you have no need to. I imagine most women drop their clothes for the Blond Devil just as easily as I am.”

Rowan bit his tongue before he mused aloud that it usually cost him a few pieces of silver.

“What’re you dodging saying outright?” Rowan caught the linen as it dropped from Caragh’s slim frame. He stared at breasts that seemed to be created to perfectly fill his hands. His palms itched to prove himself right as the dusky nipples protruded, hardened from the cold.

“I’m saying that you and I are attracted to one another,” she shrugged her shoulders. “My options for a future, if I make it back to my home, are none. Why not make the most of what I can have now?”

Rowan’s smile returned once again and was nearly blinding.

“Are you always so pragmatic? Does it mean I don’t need to woo you with flattery and flowery words?”

“I suppose they wouldn’t go amiss, but I don’t want to hear untruths. I would rather we simply agree that this is what it is.”

“And what’s that?” Rowan asked.

“Satisfaction.”

“I certainly think we’ll have that, but I’m not sure we have the same notion of satisfaction. Or are you more experienced than I imagine?”

“Hardly,” she glowered at him. “The satisfaction will be finally getting answers to questions I’ve never been able to voice.”

Rowan nearly choked when images of the things he wanted to do with and to Caragh flashed before his eyes. He knew she was an innocent regardless of the shocking things she said. It was her innocence that led her to say them. Desire coursed through him as he looked her over, and her innocence intrigued him more than it piqued his conscience. While his conscience had been resurrected earlier, he shoved it aside now.

“And just what do you know of the things that go on between a man and a woman?”

“The mechanics and what I’ve overhead from the men when they think I can’t hear, or what sailors say in the tavern.”

“What the bluidy hell are you doing in taverns?” Anger sparked when he thought of what types of men and things she would be exposed to in a place where ale and whores were served.

“Where do you think I made most of the agreements that brought the goods into the village?”

A growing anger sidetracked Rowan’s desire.

“And where the bluidy hell have your parents been, allowing you to traipse about making deals with scoundrels and criminals?”

“They’re not all a bad sort,” she had the audacity to smirk.

Rowan pulled her against his chest and fisted her hair.

“I’m not joking. Why has your family allowed you to get involved in these nefarious dealings that could get you raped or killed?”

Caragh tried to make a space between them, but when her hands landed on his chiseled chest, the heat nearly scorched her. Rowan watched her nose flair, and her body practically hummed with pent-up energy he hoped would translate to desire. But not until he had his answers.

“I’m waiting, Caragh. You’re developing a dangerous habit of keeping me waiting when I ask a question.”

Caragh caught the warning that flashed in his eyes, and this time she heeded it.

“My father and older brothers are gone much of the time, and my mother is a MacLeod.”

Caragh assumed that explanation would suffice, since the implications seemed obvious to her.

“And your father doesn’t ask what goes on while he’s away? Your mother assumes that growing up around her pirating family makes it safe for you to conduct business with strangers?”

Anger coursed through him at the thought of how much danger Caragh seemed to blithely accept, or worse yet, was unaware of.

“Of course, my father asks. He knows. But it’s a small village, and the fishing near our harbors has been sparse in the last few years. It’s either find alternatives to fishing or starve. My mother understands that since she’s the one responsible for feeding six of us. I have a head for numbers and, as you’ve said, I’m rather practical. The smugglers were already using the fishermen in our village, but the townspeople weren’t getting anything but risk out of the deal. I arranged for us to receive payment for storing goods or transporting them inland. We are all now able to go to bed with full bellies.”

“Or be put to sleep with swords through your guts.” Rowan’s hushed tone made Caragh pause. It was far more menacing than if he yelled.

“Is that what you plan to do with me when you tire of me?”

“What?” Rowan looked at her as if she sprouted a second head. “Why would I do that when I’m furious at the notion of anyone harming you?”

Rowan’s declaration surprised them both. He scrubbed a hand over his face and considered her inexperience with men and bed sport.

“Caragh, before this goes any further, you should understand what you’re agreeing to.”

She cast her eyes to the bed and smiled shyly. “I believe I understand already.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Rowan lifted her chin and stared into the depths of her green eyes. Caragh had noticed his eyes were an unusual shade of deep blue, but up close she saw flecks of silver shot through almost like a starry night. “I expect obedience aboard my ship. At all times. From everyone. I told you that already. I told you I punish those who don’t heed that rule. That includes you now, too. If you thought I was harsh with the spanking earlier, then you underestimate me. But Caragh, hear me now and hear me well, you’ll also earn yourself a trip over my knee if you continue to do things that risk your life. You’re under my protection now. Aboard this ship and off it. That means no one can touch a hair on your head without risking my wrath, but don’t put me into positions where that’s tested. And don’t do things that cause me to worry about you rather than captaining this ship.”

Caragh opened her mouth but shut it as she bit into her top lip. She wasn’t sure of what to say. She didn’t like his high-handedness assuming she needed, or even wanted, his protection. She wasn’t interested in being treated like one of his deckhands. She hadn’t asked to come aboard, so blind obedience was a hard pill to swallow. And the thought of another spanking intrigued her as much as it frightened her. The feel of his large hand upon her backside hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. In fact, it had awoken a burning ache in her belly, but now his promise of retribution scared her as she took in his size and the power that she knew had been barely restrained. She wanted to retreat, but he held her in his embrace. She wasn’t sure what he would do if she tried to pull away. She felt trapped like a fox, and a fox would chew off its own leg rather than die in the snare. Her brain began to spin trying to find a way to put space between them.

Rowan felt as if he could read every thought that passed through her head. Her expression barely changed, and she had the face of an experienced negotiator. It gave away very little to those who didn’t understand how her mind worked, but her eyes were windows to her mind. Rowan had already discovered it worked very much like his own. He could tell she was scrambling to find a way to free herself. He’d frightened her more than he intended.

“Caragh, I’ll never strike you out of anger. I don’t hit women. But I will punish you if I think you deserve it.”

“Wouldn’t the point of the punishment be because I angered you?” Her hushed voice trembled for the first time that night.

Rowan brushed hair away from her temple and slowly dropped a kiss. Although she stood there with nothing covering her breasts, it was the first true act of intimacy between them, and the kiss charged the air between them.

“I’ll never act in anger. By the time I’m ready to deliver your punishment, it’ll be with a calmness. My intention isn’t to harm you, Caragh, but to be sure you understand there are certain things I won’t tolerate.”

“What if I don’t agree with your level of tolerance?”

Rowan knew it was a fair question. Not one he would have ever permitted one of his men to ask, but Caragh wasn’t one of his men. He kissed her temple once again before pulling back.

“I’m not an unreasonable man. We can discuss whatever transpires, but you should not expect to change my mind. I’m willing to listen to your thoughts, but it doesn’t mean it will change mine.”

“Then what would be the point other than to hear my own voice?”

“You would feel listened to and heard.”

“And then disregarded.”

“Or you could simply behave in a way that doesn’t endanger you, then there would be no qualms between us.”

“Hardly likely I’ll manage that for long,” Caragh huffed. “I suspect you’ll find fault in much of what I do just so you can turn me over your knee. I think you’re controlling to an extreme, and I think you take a perverse pleasure in causing pain.”

“If that’s truly what you thought, you would be trying harder to get away from me rather than standing before me half-naked,” Rowan pointed out. “I think part of you liked being spanked. I think you also crave someone who is present and attentive enough to punish you when you do things that common sense says you shouldn’t.”

“You think you understand me far better than you do.”

“I do understand you.”

“How could you? We’ve known each other for a couple hours.”

“You remind me of someone I know very well.”

“Who?” she sneered.

“Me.”

Rowan pulled her against him as his mouth descended and hovered just above her own. He waited for her to struggle or pull away, and Caragh knew he was giving her a choice. It was a choice she’d already made and in fact declared. She tilted her chin and brought her lips to his. The initial contact was soft, merely a brushing. The hand still ensnared in her hair cradled her skull. They came together with mutual eagerness, and as the kiss deepened, they both moaned. Rowan swept his tongue along the seam of her lips, but when he could tell she didn’t understand, he retreated just enough to whisper.

“Open for me, mo Caragh.”

“Mo cara? This is when you consider me your friend?” Caragh giggled.

Rowan paused.

“A bheil Gàidhlig agad?” Do you speak Gaelic?

“Gu leòr.” Enough.

Rowan brushed his nose against hers.

“I didn’t mean my friend. That wasn’t what I was saying.”

Caragh’s eyes widened with realization. Her body swayed toward his as she pulled the queue loose from his hair.

“Mo bhris,” she whispered.

“Hardly,” Rowan chuckled.

She froze. Had she overstepped? “Which do you dislike? Me saying ‘my’ or calling you a Viking?”

Rowan pressed his lips against hers as he lifted her and guided her legs around his waist. He walked them to the table where he sat her. “I’m all yours. But I’m no Viking.”

Caragh refused to read more into his statement than she’d intended by hers. “You certainly look like the Norsemen my mother described.”

“My clan is descended from them, but I’m not one myself.”

Caragh quirked an eyebrow. “You pillage and plunder. Sounds like a Viking.”

“And I’ve already told you what I want to plunder.” Their time for talking came to an end. Caragh pulled him toward her and opened to him when his tongue swept across her lips again. Rowan’s hands roamed across her back until they came up to cup her jaw. She could feel restrained power in his soft touch, but she wasn’t interested in gentleness in that moment. She struggled to pull his shirt over his head, and he had to help her. She pounced when she caught sight of his bare skin. It was tanned to a golden brown, and a large tattoo covered his shoulder. She skimmed her finger over it as Rowan devoured her neck. The Celtic scrolls looped and intertwined to make an intricate pattern that was a piece of art unlike anything she’d ever seen. The quality of the craftsmanship was far too superior to be what an average sailor or even pirate could find. This was work done for someone of significance, someone important to and within his clan. Caragh didn’t have time to ponder it further when Rowan found her mouth again. She was swept away in a current of need and desire as his hands palmed her breasts. They were heavy and achy as his thumbs passed back and forth over her nipples, which were still sensitive after the extreme cold of the seawater. She arched her back, and her head fell back. Rowan watched her face as her cheeks grew flushed and her throat tightened with each swallow. He ran his hand down between her breasts until he could cup her sheath. He felt the heat radiating through her leggings, and he almost spilled imagining what it would be like to sink into her.

“Mo Caragh,” the words felt right as he said them once again. The first time he was testing them, now they seemed natural. “I’m going to finish undressing you, then undress myself. If you don’t want your first time to be on this table, you should get on the bed as soon as I take the last bit of clothing off you.”

“What if I do want you to take me right here? Like this,” she asked. 

Rowan growled as he pulled her from the table and stripped off her leggings. He took in her trim legs and the thatch of strawberry curls at the apex of her thighs. He cupped his aching cods as he adjusted himself long enough to undo the ties of his own leggings, pushing them from his lean hips and stepped out of them. He never took his eyes off Caragh as she watched him. He fisted his cock and stroked it, in part to relieve some of the ache and partly to test her reaction. She didn’t flinch or shy away. Instead she licked her lips. Rowan felt himself drip when her eyes riveted to his cock.

“Does it frighten you?”

“Hmm? No. Fascinates, not frightens.” Caragh raised her hand tentatively but pulled it back.

Rowan lifted her back onto the table and whispered against her ear, “Touch me. I long to feel your hands on me.”

“Will you touch me in return?”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me from it.”

Rowan bent as he lifted one of her breasts. As he suckled, he felt her hand reach between them and wrap around his engorged cock. He forced himself to slow his breathing as he took in the scent of lavender and saltwater that clung to her. As she began to stroke him, he pressed her down to the table’s surface. His body followed hers, and his tip glided along her entrance. He felt the tremble that coursed through her at this introduction to something that must have felt very foreign to her. He could barely remember the first time he was with a woman, but he did remember it had been nearly too much for all his senses at once. His hand covered hers as he guided her to stroke him faster and then slower, alternating the pace.

“Do you understand what happens next? Do you know how our bodies will join?”

“Yes. My mother explained it many years ago.”

“There’s a difference between being told and understanding.”

“Then perhaps you should show me to see whether I did understand.” Caragh pulled her feet back to the edge of the table to lift her hips toward him. She was resolved to her earlier decision, and she intended to maintain the little control she had in this situation. She would find pleasure, perhaps even joy, in the arms of this man. What was done was done; she was here now, with a man she wouldn’t deny she wanted.

Rowan was tempted to plunge into her, but the point of his question had been because he knew she was a virgin. He would hurt her despite wanting to do anything but. He could do his best to ease her initiation. He slid a finger into her sheath and felt the dew coat it. Her hips rocked toward him, so he slid one, then two more, into her. He pistoned his fingers into her just as his cock would do soon enough. His thumb made slow circles around her bud. Her hips lifted in rhythm to his fingers and the hand still wrapped around his rod stroked him. Rowan knew she was ready when her legs began to quiver, and her breath hitched. As her back arched off the table and she moaned her release, he lined up his sword with her sheath. He clenched his teeth as he surged forward. He seated himself to the hilt and froze. He felt her muscles seize around him, and he wanted to thrust over and over. It was the first time in years that he felt a cunny suck his cock in all the way to his cods. He preferred other methods of pleasure. Ones that prevented disease and children.

Caragh gasped at the invasion, but waves of ecstasy crashed over her and masked the pain she expected. Now her body needed to adjust to the feeling of intrusion. It wasn’t unpleasant, just unprecedented. She looked at Rowan and saw his jaw twitch as he clenched his teeth. She realized he wasn’t moving. He was waiting for her, and it was taking every bit of self-restraint he had. Her heart thudded for a different reason as she realized he wasn’t going to take advantage of her for his satisfaction alone. She reached out and cupped his jaw.

“Come here,” she knew her words were a double entendre, and she meant them.

Rowan’s breath hissed from his lips as he leaned over Caragh.

“You don’t know what you do to me.”

“If it’s anything like what you’re doing to me, then it would be bliss.”

Rowan was sure the sound that came from him was a whimper as his mouth sought hers. This kiss had none of the frenzy of before. It was tender and languid. It was unlike any other kiss he’d ever shared, but then he’d never deflowered a virgin before and rarely kissed any of his bed partners. His hips rocked slowly until Caragh began to squirm beneath him.

“Rowan,” she begged. He looked into her eyes and saw need he was sure she didn’t understand.

“Wheest, mo leannan. I’ll make it better. I just didn’t want to hurt you any more than I had to.”

“You didn’t hurt me. But Rowan--” her words trailed away as her body welcomed his. She lifted her hips in tandem with his thrusts. As the need gained a hold of her, she scraped her nails along his back, and Rowan was sure she would leave marks. In the past, such an act annoyed him. He didn’t like women who thought to mark him as theirs. With Caragh, he wanted to encourage her. He rather liked the notion of being hers, and it was the most disconcerting idea that ever passed through his mind. This coupling was unlike any other he’d ever experienced, and there had been enough for this lifetime and the next. But his intuition already knew Caragh was unlike any other woman he’d ever met.

He looked at her as she chanted his name in a whisper-like mantra. Her head was tilted back once again, and her throat begged for his attention. He licked a path from her collarbone to her earlobe, which he flicked before sucking. That was all it took for her to shatter within his arms. Her entire body went rigid, and the strength of her channel held his cock captive as his body took control, leaving his mind racing to catch up. Before he could pull himself fully loose, he spilled within her. He froze as guilt, shame, remorse, anger, and the need to thrust again waged a war within him. The damage was done, so he slid back into her as her knees cradled his hips. He stroked her hair away from her damp forehead, and he watched her rest beneath him with her eyes closed. She was like a mythical sea creature, a selkie from the fairytales his mother told him as a child. She’d lured him in, and now he was guilty of the one sin he had yet to commit. He’d never spilled his seed into a woman’s cunny. He’d spilled it on and in other parts of a woman, but he’d never risked creating a child, not even when he was a green lad. His position within his clan had dictated he take care, and his traveling had shown him the hardships unwed mothers faced. He had no intention of leaving bastards strewn left and right and wouldn’t abandon his children, so he always took care to prevent them. This time, his conscience had fallen silent as his body felt like it had come home at last.

Now that the need was satiated, he had time to regret his actions. He held the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen within his arms. A woman who was full of fire and ice, a woman who challenged and amused him in equal measure, a woman he may have trapped in a far tighter noose than he originally intended. If she did carry his child, he would never be able to let her go. He wouldn’t take a child from its mother, but he’d pledged years ago never to desert his child.