The Dark Heart of the Sea: A Steamy Enemies to Lovers Pirate Romance

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

Synopsis

What happens when a ruthless pirate meets the woman who warms his dark heart?

Ruairí MacNeil is one of the most feared pirates sailing the British Isles, but when he rescues a woman from attack, not once but twice, he discovers he can’t resist her when she matches wits without fear. Tempted by a future he never considered before, Ruairí makes an impetuous offer to the widow he discovers working in a tavern. Can Ruairí offer this mystery woman a better life aboard his ship than she has on the tiny island of Canna? Can he protect her from outside danger while he surrenders his heart?

What happens when a widow puts her trust in a notorious pirate known for a heart as merciless as his deeds?

Senga MacLeod Sorley didn’t expect a chance encounter with a pirate to lead to a kiss and an adventure on the high seas. A widow with little to her name, Senga provides for herself by working in a local tavern, but she refuses to earn her living by doing anything other than serving food and ale. When men from the village demand more than she’s willing to give, she discovers the menacing pirate has a protective side he only reveals to her. Will Senga seize a chance at love after one kiss with a brooding pirate? Will she submit to his dominant nature when his form of discipline is anything but expected?

A new life aboard a pirate ship brings Senga an independence she never imagined, but along with that comes danger that puts her life and Ruairí’s at risk. When foreign enemies threaten their burgeoning love, Senga must choose between life as a pirate queen or life as a lonely but safe widow. Ruairí refuses to give up on happiness he never thought possible after running away from home. He must fight to show Senga her past doesn’t have to determine her future when she fears history repeating itself. Can the Dark Heart convince the one woman who brightens his life to stay? Can Senga trust herself enough to accept the love Ruairí offers?

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 Once Upon a Pirate 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. This novel contains sensual scenes involving lady who enjoys being taken over her lover's knee. If this type of explicit material offends you, please do not download.

Release date: December 10, 2020

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

Chapter 1

 

Ruairí MacNeil opened the door to the Three Merry Lads and tried not to curl his nose in disgust. The overpowering odor of too many bodies, stale beers, and burned food created a cloud of stench inside the tavern. Ruairí scanned the crowd as he stepped inside and immediately noticed that many members of his crew were already settled, a pint in one hand and a woman in the other. His ship, the Lady Charity, had docked an hour earlier. With their most recent bounty already stored in the nearby cave, Ruairí had granted them shore leave. He nodded his head once to his first mate, Kyle, who was the only sober one in the lot. Ruairí made another visual sweep of the room, checking whether there were any other sailors who might be less enthused to see him come ashore. When he was satisfied none of his rivals were waiting to stab him, he attempted to make his way to the bar. As he pushed through the standing-room-only main room, he noticed a tavern wench attempting to carry a tray of empty mugs to the bar. She was a sturdy sort, but short when compared to the mountainous Highlanders and Hebrideans who made up the patrons of the Lads. Ruairí couldn’t help but smile as she tried to twist and shoulder her way past men who blocked her on purpose to give themselves more time to ogle her body.

It was rare that Ruairí felt mercy, sympathy, or compassion for anyone, let alone a woman, but there was an odd twinge in his heart as he watched her try to maintain her smile as she became more frustrated. The woman swatted away a hand that dared come too close to her modest neckline. That observation caused Ruairí to quirk a brow and inspect the woman. She had on a clean white blouse–a rarity in this tavern–and it fit loosely over her entire bust. It left much to the imagination, and Ruairí found his was alive and well. Her skirts reached her ankles instead of hiked up on either side like the other women who worked in the tavern. From what Ruairí could tell, she looked more like a farmer’s wife than a tavern wench. She didn’t fit in.

Ruairí’s sense of compassion grew alongside his annoyance at not being able to make his way to the bar. He began to elbow men around him, and the crowd parted. Between his size and reputation, Ruairí MacNeil was a hard man to ignore. He grasped the top of the woman’s hips and propelled her forward. She attempted to look over her shoulder, but she couldn’t make out the man who was either her captor or her protector. When they made it to the bar, the woman set her tray down and spun around.

Senga MacLeod couldn’t believe the man who stood before her was real. He was more Adonis than man. Her eyes swept over his sun-bleached blond hair, taking in his broad shoulders, the ring in his ear, and the cornflower-blue eyes. He wasn’t the largest man she’d ever seen; after all, she lived near the Highlands. But he was somehow the most imposing, which made him the most impressive. There was a smirk that twitched at the corner of his mouth as he watched her assess him.

“Am I not what you expected, lass?” The deep timber felt as though it vibrated through every fiber of Senga’s body, wrapping around her like a warm woolen plaid on an icy winter morning. “Or am I just what you hoped for?”

His second question snapped Senga out of her glazed stare. She frowned as she appraised him. “You’re exactly what I expected, and far less than I could hope for.” She exchanged the dirty mugs on her tray for full ones.

“How could you’ve known what to expect when you couldn’t see me?” Ruairí asked, amused.

“A man who assumes he can put his hands on me and do as he wants with me? Shockingly unexpected. An arrogant pirate with an earring, even more surprising.” Senga once again turned away.

“You seem to know me so well, lass, but you’re an enigma to me.”

“An enigma? A pirate who can do more than curse. You are full of surprises.”

“And you’re as prickly as a thistle, but then, they’re among the most beautiful flowers.”

Senga turned to stand facing Ruairí once again. “If I’m prickly, it’s because I’ve learned to take everything men say here with a barrel of salt,” she huffed out. “But I can at least be gracious enough to say thank you for helping me through the crowd. I wasn’t making any progress on my own.”

Senga lifted her tray and dove back into the crowd as Ruairí watched her waist-length black braid swish close to her backside. He couldn’t help it when his eyes were drawn to her trim waist, broad hips, and ample bottom. He’d already noticed her eyes were a deep shade of brown shot through with light green lightning strikes. It made her eyes luminescent, and he suspected they’d change color with her mood. A consuming desire to discover what hue they became when locked in the throes of passion heated his bollocks.

Ruairí watched her throughout the evening as she wove her way through the crowd, avoiding clawing hands that tried to roam over her or attempted to pull her onto the lap of a drunkard. Each time he was ready to stand and come to her defense, but she’d pull a drying linen from the waist of her apron and snap it across those daring hands. All the while, Senga served the men with a smile plastered to her face, but even from a distance, Ruairí could see the strain around her eyes and how her smile stretched her cheeks taut. He admired her calm and patience, but his blood boiled as he watched patrons manhandle her. He couldn’t understand where these feelings of sympathy and possessiveness came from. When he initially approached her, he found her form appealing. When she faced him, he was interested, and when they matched wits, he was intrigued. It had been a long time since any woman intrigued him past what she could do in bed or against a wall. He found he wanted her to come back so they could talk again, but she never did.

Senga felt overheated and could feel her shirt sticking to her back. Her backside was sore from an overly firm slap. She forced herself to continue smiling, but her cheeks ached along with her head. Senga never acclimated to the noise and smells of the tavern, and she left every night with a sharp headache. She was relieved when her uncle sent her to get two pails of fresh water from the well. Senga moved into the kitchen and grabbed the buckets before making her way to the side door. She sensed the pirate’s attention all night, but he didn’t seem as lecherous as the other men. Instead, he seemed almost protective, which she found puzzling. She chortled to herself as she thought about their brief exchange. He’d frightened her when she first felt his hands grip her waist, but his touch had been gentle even as his stride was determined. It was the first time since she began working at the tavern that she could make it to her destination without being stopped or pawed, and the men had made no lewd comments. She had to admit she appreciated it, but the man’s attractiveness had stunned her too much to remember her manners. Then he spoke. His arrogance raised her hackles even though she could tell his comments were made in jest. She couldn’t keep her eyes from shifting back to watch him as she worked the thirsty and rowdy crowd.

The fresh air was a balm to her sweaty skin. She gulped a breath of unfettered air as she flushed the tavern funk from her airways. She looked to the well and picked her way along the uneven path.

Ruairí watched Senga walk out the back door of the tavern. He scanned the crowd as his senses fired. These were the same instincts that kept him alive throughout his years of sailing and pirating. He watched three men elbow one another before they made for the side door. Ruairí was on his feet, but the tavern was even busier than when he arrived, and not as many people were willing to clear a path for him. Some didn’t care; others had nowhere to move. He walked past his crew’s table but shook his head when several slammed their mugs on the table and began to stand. Ruairí made his way through the crowd, even throwing two punches when a man had the audacity to smirk. He barreled through the door just in time to see Senga pressed against the wall of a nearby building. She swung an empty bucket against the ribs of one of her assailants as she tried to knee another, but her skirts kept her from connecting. Her other hand scratched at anything it could reach as she headbutted the man in front of her. She was quick to duck when a fist came at her, forcing it to smash into the brick where her head had been only a moment ago. A hand attempted to go over her mouth, but she snapped her teeth onto the fingers coming toward her. The man howled and wrapped his hand around her throat.

Ruairí catapulted himself across the open space and launched himself at the men. His shoulder collided with the first man, and the momentum knocked the other two over. Ruairí was swinging his fists before he was on his knees.

“Run!” he called out to Senga. He heard her scramble away as he rained down several more blows before rising to his feet.

“Do you know who I am?” His voice was soft and menacing as he glared at the men still on the ground. “I am Ruairí MacNeil,” he bellowed.

Senga paused when she heard the name of one of the most feared pirates to sail the Hebrides. He and his cousin, Rowan MacNeil, were infamous for their bravery and their cruelty. She tucked herself behind the corner of a building and leaned around to watch. She was in awe as she watched the men scramble backwards on their hands and backsides as they tried to get away. Clearly, they recognized the name too.

Ruairí took one step forward and placed his hands on his hips as he bent over them. “Don’t touch women who aren’t willing. There are plenty of whores inside to keep you going for a month of Sundays. You don’t need to force the only one who clearly isn’t a whore.”

“But Captain, that’s what makes her even more appealing. She isn’t used up like the others, and she taunts us with her smile and hints of a body made for sin. It’s not our fault.”

Ruairí roared as he lifted the man by the collar of his shirt and shook him like a rag doll before tossing him aside. “Consider her under my protection. Do. Not. Touch. Her.” He punctuated each word with a hiss.

Ruairí watched as the men stumbled away from him and from the tavern. He hoped they’d learned their lesson, at least for that night. There wasn’t much he could do once he sailed out of port, but he could save her this evening. He turned back to the tavern, but he knew he wouldn’t make it all the way back without stopping.

Senga tried to sink back into the shadows of the building as Ruairí walked toward her. He’d told her to run, and she had, but she knew he meant back to the tavern. His manner of fighting didn’t give rise to fear; rather, his ferocity eased the terror she experienced while the men attacked her. However, now a bone-deep sense of trepidation came over her as Ruairí prowled toward her.

“Come out, lass. I know you’re hiding.”

 

Chapter 2

 

Senga took a deep breath before squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. She stepped out of the shadows and rushed into a wall, one that happened to be broad and made of muscle. Ruairí’s hands shot out to catch her as she stumbled backwards, but he pulled a little too hard, and she tilted back toward him. They stood there, with Senga’s cheek against Ruairí’s chest and his arms wrapped around her. Neither of them moved as they took in what was happening. Senga could hear Ruairí’s steady but rapid heartbeat, and it soothed her in a way she hadn’t been calmed in many years. Ruairí held her, and for once wanted to console rather than seduce. Senga’s hands crept to his waist, where she held onto his billowing leine before easing her arms around to hold him too. He kissed the top of her head, and she was sure she’d dissolve right where they stood.

“You were supposed to go back to the tavern. Believe it or not, you’d be safer there. Why didn’t you listen?”

“I was going back, but then I heard your name, and well, I--” Senga stammered and squeezed her eyes shut, chiding herself for sounding addlepated. 

“And what did you think when you heard my name? Did it freeze you and frighten you into hiding? Is that why you’re still out here?”

“No. It made me curious. I never would have thought you the type to rescue a damsel in distress.”

“No, I wouldn’t say I am. Admittedly, I haven’t met many damsels in distress, but I had a sick feeling when I saw those arses pass through the same door I’d seen you use.”

“I count my blessings you were watching me. It might have embarrassed me earlier, but it saved me.”

Ruairí kissed the top of her head again as he stroked her hair. He couldn’t remember ever being so gentle with a woman; the last time he’d been so tender was when he cared for his younger sisters. That was half a score of years ago. There was something about this woman that brought out every protective spark within him, even though her attempts to defend herself impressed him.

“You fought valiantly, and had there only been one or maybe two, you would’ve gotten away,” he murmured.

“Perhaps.”

They stood in silence for a long time before Senga pulled back and looked up at Ruairí. His face was cast in the moonlight, and she reached up to caress his angular jaw. “Thank you, Ruairí,” she whispered and pulled away.

Ruairí caught her hand before she stepped around him. “You know my name, but I haven’t a clue about yours. I never heard it inside.”

“Senga. Senga MacLeod.”

Ruairí couldn’t hide his shock, and his face revealed it because Senga laughed as she darted back to the tavern. “Which ones?” he called after her.

She paused at the door before calling back, “Lewis.”

She ducked inside, and Ruairí stood there shaking his head. Of course, the woman who mesmerized him would have to be from not only a neighboring clan, but from the rivals to his own clan. Ruairí grew up on the isle of Barra, where men and women were born to the sea. Their Viking heritage showed both in their looks and in their innate ability to sail. Ruairí grew up sailing with his father as they traded along the coast, and he was captaining a boat by the time he was four and ten. He was tall and strong for his age, so none of his clansmen questioned his ability to sail, and he was a natural leader. His neighbors, the MacLeods of Lewis, were as renowned for sailing as the MacNeils of Barra. They were rival merchants and, at times, raiders. 

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 3

 

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 discovered 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 completely 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.

Ruairí was lost to the raging storm of emotions, floundering like a wind-tossed boat. His bollocks screamed for him to hike up her skirts, wrap her legs around his waist, and sink deep within. His head told him to slow down before he frightened her. And his heart demanded he care for her that night and all the ones to come.

Senga felt the ache low in her body take hold as she clung to Ruairí as though he was the only thing keeping her from floating adrift. He anchored her to the spot, both physically and emotionally. She didn’t want to ponder the connection she believed they had. She didn’t want to set false hopes, but she knew his need matched hers, and it wasn’t something she’d ignore.

“Ruairí,” she breathed against the stubble that abraded her swollen lips. “Make me forget the past, forget tonight.”

“Are you sure, Senga?”

“Aye.”

The one word of consent was all they both needed before they ripped the clothes off one another and tumbled onto the bed. Ruairí was careful not to crush her small frame under his much larger one. His feet hung off the end of the bed as he slid lower to take one of her breasts into his mouth. His tongue whorled around her nipple as he alternated breathing warm and cool air over the puckered flesh. These were the nipples of a woman who had nursed a babe, and he found he enjoyed having more to suckle. He turned his head and worshipped her other breast before switching between them. He nipped and pulled with his teeth as his hand kneaded the opposite breast. Senga’s back arched, and she cupped her breasts in offering to him. One of his hands trailed from the dip in her throat, down between her breasts, over her belly until it came to the thatch of raven curls at the apex of her thighs. He ran his fingers through them and tugged gently. He used one finger to slide over her bud and between the folds until he was sure she was as eager as he imagined. Her sheath drenched his finger as she moaned, unsure whether to raise her breasts or her hips in offering.

“Shh, little one. I’ll take care of all of you. What do you want?”

Senga looked into his blue eyes and moaned again.

“You inside me. Hard.”

Ruairí’s chuckle rumbled across her body, and she tightened her grip on his hair. She hadn’t even realized she’d pulled his queue loose and tunneled her fingers in his blonde waves.

“We’ll get there soon enough, but I won’t rush us. What do you want?”

“Your fingers then. I want, need, some part of you there.”

“Where? Can you not say it?”

“Cunny. Quim. Pussy. I can say it, but I don’t want to talk.”

Ruairí once again chuckled, but it was cut short when he groaned as he thrust three fingers into her channel. Her hips lifted off the bed, and for a moment he worried he’d been too forceful. She was no virgin, but it had been years since she was with a man.

“More,” she panted. She pressed his hand further into her sheath. “Harder. I need more, and I won’t break. Please.”

Ruairí plunged his fingers into her over and over, and as she watched, he inched down to blow cool air over the heated flesh.

“Yes,” she mewled.

His tongue whipped out to lave her pleasure nub before sucking it into his mouth. Her knees fell wide before trapping his shoulders. He slid his hands beneath her and lifted her hips to his feasting mouth. His tongue replaced his fingers as he brought her close to climax over and over. When her moans of need turned to ones of frustration, he once again plunged his fingers into her as he sucked her nub. She exploded around him, screaming his name.

Ruairí lifted himself over her and before he could guide himself in, he felt her wrap her hand around his leaking shaft. She stroked him thrice before aligning him with her entrance. She locked her ankles around his waist as she pressed him into her. He needed no further instructions and surged forward until he was seated to the hilt within her tight sheath. He groaned as he dipped his head to once again suckle her breast, but it wasn’t enough. Ruairí looked up at Senga and saw her watching him. She stroked the hair away from his face, and a tenderness that would normally fizzle his desire made him want to possess her. Their lips came together with the same force and need as their hips. Ruairí held her as he thrust into her over and over. Senga pressed her heels into the bed to help her meet him each time he rocked forward. Theirs was a rhythm of give and take that felt natural, as though they’d always been lovers. Ruairí sucked in what air he could as he tried to slow the growing need to climax. He refused to finish so soon. He didn’t know if he’d ever join with Senga again, and he wouldn’t let it be over yet.

Senga’s hands roamed over every part of Ruairí she could reach. She brushed his hair back as they kissed, then scored her nails down his back as his thrusts drove deeper still. Her fingers dug into his backside as she felt her release rip through her.

“Ruairí!” she screamed again as he pushed her over the edge once more.

“Mo bhòidhchead.” My beauty. “I’m close, but I don’t want this to be over yet. Can you keep going?”

“Yes. Oh, Ruairí. Don’t stop.”

Those were the last words spoken for some time as they moved together toward completion. Senga found her release twice more before Ruairí could no longer fight his body’s need. He pulled free and watched as his seed painted her belly. Never had such an image called to him. He couldn’t cease the thought that this marked her as his. He knew it was ridiculous. Ruairí would leave in the morning and never see Senga again, but even that felt more outrageous than the idea that she was his. He watched her for a long moment as she, too, stared at his seed. He wasn’t sure of her thoughts, but her face relaxed as though she liked what she saw. Ruairí climbed from the bed and found a cloth beside a pitcher of water. After wetting it, he returned and sat beside her as he cleaned her. Senga tried to take the cloth, but Ruairí batted her hand away.

“Let me,” his hoarse voice was almost unrecognizable to him as he leaned forward to kiss her nose. “I want to.”

He’d never in his life done such a thing for a woman. When he ceased his ministrations and prepared to stand, Senga snatched the cloth from him as she sat up. She reached forward and ran the cloth over Ruairí’s cock. It twitched beneath her hand. Senga dropped the cloth to the ground and wrapped her hand around the already lengthening rod. She stroked it as her breasts pressed against his shoulder. Ruairí turned his head to look at her, and Senga leaned in for a kiss. This was slow, sensual, and filled with a different need. Ruairí couldn’t believe he was hard and aching to be inside her again already. He hadn’t recovered that quickly since he was a green lad.

Senga pressed his shoulder until he laid back, and she slid from the bed to kneel before him. She continued to stroke him as he came to his elbows. Propped up, he watched her stare intently at his cock as though considering her means of attack. Her tongue whipped forward and circled his tip before flicking its head. Ruairí growled as his head fell back. Her lips slid down his length and closed around him. He jerked forward when she began to apply pressure. The suction made him want to thrust, but he was careful to keep his hips grounded to the mattress. He knew he was a large man in length and girth. He neither wanted to scare her nor choke her, but Senga continued to sink lower onto his cock. It mesmerized him to see how much she could take in before she could go no further. She cupped his bollocks and rolled them in her palm as he scooped her hair off her sweaty neck. He watched her head bob as he had with so many other women, but it felt entirely different. Whores rendered a service, and while some pretended, or even genuinely liked the task, Senga seemed to revel in it. She worshipped his length as she alternated licking, sucking, and stroking until Ruairí thought he might lose his mind with need. He felt his release gathering at the base of his cock, and he had no intention of holding back this time.

“Senga,” he grunted. He pressed on her shoulder, but she wouldn’t release him.

“Senga,” he said more forcefully, and she looked up at him, her translucent hazel eyes locked with his deep blue ones. “Let go. I want to see my seed on you again.”

Ruairí couldn’t believe his own ears. He hadn’t intended to speak that thought aloud, but Senga released him at once and leaned back on her heels. Ruairí stroked himself several times before the jets of seed splashed across her chest and onto her breasts. Once again, Ruairí felt he’d marked her as his own, and she smiled at him as though proud to bear his release. She trailed a finger through the viscous fluid and licked her finger.

“I wonder if I taste as good to you as you do to me,” she purred.

Ruairí thought he might climax again at her seductive words. He looked into her eyes once more and saw curiosity rather than seduction, and he realized she was being truthful in her musing. He reached beside her for the cloth and once again cleaned her, then himself. He pulled her from the ground and lifted her onto the bed before stretching out beside her. Ruairí ran his hand over her flat belly where he could see tiny, fine lines that were a testimony that she’d carried a child. Her hand covered his, and he watched embarrassment redden her cheeks.

“I called you ‘my beauty’ for a reason, little one. Every part of you is beautiful. Don’t hide from me.”

She looked at him for so long, Ruairí wasn’t sure what she would do next, but she let her hands fall away.

“Kiss me again, please,” she whispered, and Ruairí was only too happy to indulge her request. Once again, this was slow and languid, unlike the consuming need during the first time they coupled. Ruairí ran the calloused pads of his fingers over her belly, and when they broke apart, his eyes spied the cradle. He continued to run his fingers over her belly as a vivid image of Senga round with their child came to his mind. He saw her first standing at the prow of his ship with the wind blowing back her hair, then standing beside the cradle as she checked on their other sleeping child.

Other? Ruairí thought to himself. I’ve known her a night, and I’m imagining us with not one but two bairns. Well, one in the cradle and the other in her belly. Bluidy hell. What is wrong with me?

Ruairí looked down at Senga again, but her eyes were closed. He knew she wasn’t asleep because her fingers were running over the tattoo that covered the entire left side of his chest before wrapping over his shoulder and covering his left shoulder blade. It was a Celtic design of knots and twists with a water serpent slithering from his back to his front. The fine lines that had marred her brow and cheeks all night disappeared, and she looked serene. His heated palm rested on her belly, and she covered it with one hand before opening her eyes. They gazed at one another, both searching for something they couldn’t identify but recognized.

“Come with me, Senga.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a perfect oval. Ruairí’s cocked twitched as he remembered her lips on his cock, but he forced his body to relax.

“It won’t be safe for you here, whether the men’s families retaliate or other men try to finish what they attempted. You’ve said you’ve nowhere else to go, and I think you’re lonely here alone. Come with me.”

“As what? Your mistress? One good bedding doesn’t make us compatible to share a cabin.”

“It’s more than that, and we both know it. There is something here. Something between us too special to ignore.”

“And if it turns out it was only one night of wonder, what then? You return me here where everyone will know I’m a whore. That doesn’t seem better than what I have now.”

“You’re not a whore,” he growled. “If you use that word again to describe yourself, I will turn you over my knee.” Ruairí worried he was too harsh, but he saw desire, not fear, flare in her eyes. He whispered against her ear, “Do you like that idea?”

Senga only nodded. Ruairí cupped her breast as he rolled her nipple with his thumb. “Has any man ever spanked you before?”

“No. It wasn’t something my husband ever considered.”

“But it was something that intrigued you. Something you wanted.” She nodded once again. “Senga, I’m not an easy man to live with. I demand obedience from my crew. I’m brutal and violent during battle, and I show no one mercy. No one until you. I’ve never been kind or gentle with anyone, but I find a calmness and peace with you. I can let my guard down and not be the dreaded pirate captain. I can just be Ruairí. I find I like it, and I don’t want it to end with tonight.”

Senga rolled toward him, so they both lay on their sides.

“I also find myself protective and possessive of you. I’ve never felt that way about anyone. The closest I’ve come is how protective I am of my cousin, Rowan. I’ve never felt this toward a woman before. It must mean something.”

Once more Senga stared into his eyes, searching for something Ruairí prayed she would find. He began to grow nervous the longer she looked, but she cupped his jaw and bussed a kiss across his lips.

“I’ll go with you.”

There was little to keep Senga here but old memories that haunted her nights. She knew the risk she was taking, sailing away with a man she’d known for less than a night, but a feeling buried deep within her urged her to take that risk, to make a new life, even if temporary, with Ruairí.

The kiss they shared differed from the others. It was filled with promise and anticipation, not of their next round of coupling, but for the future.

“Know that if you’re unhappy, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I’ll do what I can to help you establish a new life. You could go back to Lewis, even if not to your uncle’s keep. You could even go to Skye. I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want, and that includes remaining aboard my ship.”

“Thank you, Ruairí.” 

She laid back and opened her arms to him. He settled his upper body over hers and kissed her forehead, nose, and each cheek before sinking into another languid kiss. He rolled them so she was draped over him. The soothing sweep of his hand over her back and bottom had her dozing within moments.

Ruairí watched as her eyelids fluttered closed and she sighed, her hand resting over his heart. He covered it with his own as his other rested on her backside. He knew of the trust she was placing into his hands, and he prayed for the first time in years. Ruairí prayed he’d remain worthy of that trust. He’d do all that was in his power, but he knew she’d face danger and see sides of him he wished he could hide. His trepidation at her seeing him as the pirate captain almost made him wake her to rescind his offer. He’d spent almost all his adult life harboring a simmering rage for what happened to him and his cousin. People knew him for being cold and aloof to most women, earning the name Dark Heart for that, among other sins. None had seen the side of him that he so willingly showed Senga. Women enjoyed him for what he could do to their bodies and the coin they earned from what they could do with theirs. But most women avoided him if he wasn’t tupping them.

Senga hadn’t avoided him at all. She’d worked as was expected of her, but she hadn’t avoided him. Ruairí wasn’t sure if her lack of fear came from his softheartedness toward her, or if it was the other way around. They seemed to understand one another on an elemental and intuitive level. Ruairí didn’t feel angry or bitter when he was near Senga. His earlier anger was directed at the men who dared to defile her, but it evaporated each time as soon as he knew she was safe. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was from carrying the burden of his hatred until he found respite in Senga’s arms. His own eyes drifted closed for a brief time, but he didn’t sleep.