Chapter 1
Moira MacDonnell peered around the narrow staircase leading from the family chambers into the Great Hall. Her gritted teeth felt as if they would surely crack, and she suspected deep grooves were forming around her lips from pursing them in disgust so often. She observed her brother Dónal, the MacDonnell chieftain, dribbling grease onto his sleeve before taking a healthy draught of Scottish whisky. Her gaze shifted to her sister Lizzie.
“Shameless trollop,” Moira muttered as Lizzie slid her hand between her body and Aidan O’Flaherty’s to cup his groin. In turn, Aidan pinched Lizzie’s nipple, eliciting a deep moan from the willowy blonde. Moira swept her gaze across the diners in the Great Hall, but as usual, no one paid attention to the antics of those seated on the dais. Moira’s nephew Sean darted across the hall, followed by his friends and his ever loyal Irish wolfhound. She snapped her gaze back to Lizzie and Aidan, Sean’s parents, but they were oblivious to their son as he ran wild. Aidan was in port for a few days and spent more time dropping anchor in Lizzie than being a father to Sean. Lizzie was little better as a parent, having ignored Sean for most of his life, except for when Ruairí MacNeil had visited.
A smug smile pulled at Moira’s lips as she recalled the last time the Dark Heart appeared at Dunluce. Despite being a year ago, the memory of his visit burned bright in Moira’s mind. Ruairí arrived with his wife Senga on his arm, and Lizzie made the dreadful mistake of trying to—as before—pass Sean off as Ruairí’s son. She compounded her error by trying to seduce him in front of Senga. The pirate queen nearly gutted Lizzie before the entire clan, yet not one person flinched. Manipulative as the serpent in the Garden of Eden, Lizzie had sworn since before Sean was born that Ruairí was the boy’s father. Everyone who could count to nine knew it wasn’t possible, since Ruairí had been nowhere near Ireland, let alone Dunluce, when Lizzie conceived Sean.
She must think we’re a right daft lot. As though none of us knew the moment the lad was born that he’s Aidan’s. The lad has his father’s black hair, not Ruairí’s blond.
It was Senga who forced Lizzie to finally admit that Aidan was the then-five-year-old Sean’s father. Since then, neither Lizzie nor Aidan—who had never been discreet—made any attempt to hide their liaison. But neither did they intend to wed. With no heirs of his own, it forced Dónal to acknowledge Sean as the next MacDonnell chieftain, despite the boy’s bastardry.
I will bear no man a bastard. I’d have to be coupling to do that, and since that isn’t in my future, I suppose I have nothing to worry about. Selfish pile of shite. Pay a bluidy decent dowry if you want me off your hands, Dónal. But then who would run this pile of cracked bricks and rotting mortar? Sure as bluidy hell won’t be Lizzie.
“Moira!” Dónal bellowed before belching. “Where the devil are you, you worthless wench?” Dónal may have muttered the last words, but Moira knew plenty of people heard. She doubted any of them cared. They were far too used to Dónal’s domineering attitude toward her. Dónal didn’t care what Lizzie did, as long as the men she bedded brought more trade to clan MacDonnell. That had been the entire point of trying to lay a trap for Ruairí.
Moira slipped from behind the staircase and entered the Great Hall. She wasn’t certain if Dónal’s grimace was from indigestion or disgust at seeing her. She assumed it was both. They had never gotten along, even as young children. Lizzie and Dónal were cut from the same jib: their father’s. Moira didn’t resemble either of her siblings; she was the spitting image of their mother. She was diminutive in stature and looked years younger than twenty-two. Her light brown hair felt dull and dreary when she looked at her siblings’ thick flaxen locks. Despite being unwed, she wore her hair up since she spent most of her days toiling alongside the servants.
Preparing herself for her brother, she blew a puff of air before plastering a shy smile she didn’t feel at all. She clasped her hands before her as she came to stand in front of the dais.
“Where is the rest of the meal?” Dónal demanded as he belched again.
I think you’ve eaten most of the meal already. I’m surprised no one’s lost a finger from you snatching the food away.
“The last dish was already served, Chieftain,” Moira forced herself to address her brother by his title, even though no one who sat at the dais did. He insisted upon it. She twisted away as a bone flew in her direction.
“This slop was barely edible, and now you tell me there is nothing more?” Dónal roared.
If it’s such slop, then why would you want more?
Moira forced herself to keep her expression neutral. Years of practice taught her that any reaction would end poorly for her.
“I will see what I can find, Chieftain.” Moira kept her answer succinct, dipping her head before turning toward the kitchen. She would never understand how a corpulent man like her brother could move so quickly. His chair flew backwards, and he met her at the bottom of the dais steps as she passed by. He grabbed Moira’s upper arm, his stubby fingers biting into the flesh. Moira darted a quick glance over Dónal’s shoulder and found Aidan watching, but she knew the man would never speak on her behalf. He never had. Instead, he reached for his mug and drank, keeping his eye on the chieftain and sister until Lizzie’s roaming hand once more found his rod.
“See what you can find? See what you can find?” Dónal spluttered. “I expect three more courses served, back to back.”
“The servants already served five, Dónal,” Moira hissed, her voice low so only her brother would hear. She would appease him when others could hear, but she wouldn’t when they spoke in private. “There is nothing else prepared. You’ve eaten it all.”
Dónal shook her, but Moira stood firm. She’d learned to steel herself against Dónal’s fits of temper. He often attempted to intimidate her with his substantial height and girth. The clan council had drawn the line two years ago when Dónal threatened to drive his fist into Moira’s cheek for spilling wine on him while she trembled with fever. She recognized she lacked the size or the training to fight back physically, but she found inconspicuous ways to retaliate. Small things like pulling out chairs in his solar that she knew he would stumble over in his drunken stupors. She placed ants on his pillow and mused that it was the leftover mead at his bedside that must have drawn them. She’d even gone so far as to dip the hems of his breeks in beef fat, leading the keep’s hounds to knock him over and bite his ankles.
“You stupid sow. No wonder no man will take you off my hands. You haven’t the sense of a gnat and can’t run a keep to save your life,” Dónal snarled before shoving Moira. Despite her tiny size, especially when compared to Dónal, she had the sea legs of an old sailor. After years of Dónal’s tyranny, she no longer swayed and was able to stand her ground. She didn’t bother to hide her mutinous glare as she notched up her chin before staring at the clan council members who sat at the table Dónal abandoned. Her silent defiance dared him to lash out further, even in front of the men who could strip him of his seat as chieftain.
“Get out of my sight,” Dónal spat. Moira was only too happy to comply. Without a second look, Moira glided toward the staircase. She might not have the lithe figure that Lizzie had even after bearing a child, but their mother drilled the same grace in Moira’s movements as she had Lizzie’s.
“Moira,” Lizzie called. “Don’t forget to take Sean.”
Moira adored her nephew, but Lizzie knew it was salt in an open wound: of the two of them, Moira was the one who wanted children. But it was unlikely that she would ever have them, since Dónal was too stingy to pay an adequate dowry. Lizzie had flown into a rage to rival an angry sea god’s when baby Sean called Moira “mama.” The aching pain had come with a sense of satisfaction as Moira bounced Sean on her hip. She’d shrugged at Lizzie and taken Sean to lie down for a nap. Just as she had done nearly every night of his life, Moira helped Sean prepare for bed, then laid on the trundle bed in his chamber. He’d had night terrors for years, and Moira didn’t remember the last time she’d slept a full night in her own chamber. She now went to the trundle bed by habit.
One day. One day when I’m certain Sean is cared for, I will be done. I will leave and not look back. Well, mayhap one glance if I can see Sean. But then, never again. Moira’s eyes drifted closed as she drifted off.
Chapter 2
“I don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss,” Lizzie whined the next evening as she ran her hand over Aidan’s chest, pressing her breasts to his body.
“I’m making a fuss because the agreement is that you bed no one but me when I’m here,” Aidan pushed Lizzie away. “I don’t try to control you when I’m gone, but our arrangement will end faster than you can drop your skirts if you tup another man while I’m in port, Lizzie.”
“But I had to,” Lizzie pleaded, as Aidan scoffed. “Dónal wants to know O’Malley’s secrets, so he can better negotiate. What other woman is going to get that information? Moira? She could stand naked, coated in honey, and no man would offer her information in exchange for a roll.”
“So you came to your brother’s aid by rolling around with the messenger,” Aidan snapped.
“What do you care? You abandon me here as easy as you please,” Lizzie whined.
“Mayhap I picked the wrong—” Aidan’s voice came out smothered as Lizzie covered his mouth with hers. “—after all.”
Moira watched in disgust as the couple reconciled with a kiss, Aidan’s groping hands settling on Lizzie’s backside. She wondered why, after all these years, anything the couple did or said surprised her. It was as if she watched a stranger’s horrible accident. She didn’t care for the people, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Turning to the serving women, she nodded and walked toward the dais while the others brought food to the lower tables. The platter she herself carried threatened to slosh over the sides as the roasted duck bathed in cream sauce slid back and forth.
As she rounded the table closest to the dais, she watched in horror as Dónal glanced at the hounds begging below the raised table, then threw a leg of pork at her. The three massive wolfhounds stood above her waist when they were on all fours; standing on their hind legs they were nearly a foot taller than her. The animals plowed into her, vying for the meat laying at her feet. But unlike when Dónal tried to push her over, she couldn’t withstand the impact of the three dogs. The sauce from the platter poured down her front as her feet came out from under her. She tried to keep her balance, but her heel landed on a dog’s paw, making him headbutt her in the back. She pitched forward, and the roast skidded across the floor and with it the dogs’ attention. She landed hard, bashing her chin on the floor and knocking the wind from her lungs.
“Aunty Moira!” Sean yelled as he rushed forward. Moira pushed herself onto her hands before manly palms grasped her around her ribs. She looked over her shoulder as Aidan settled her on her feet.
“Are you hurt?” Aidan whispered.
“No more than in the past,” Moira muttered as she pulled away from him and brushed rushes and crumbs from her kirtle. She sighed before looking back at Aidan. “Thank you.”
“Clumsy wench,” Dónal mocked.
“Aunty Moira,” Sean slipped his hand into hers and looked up at her. She tried to smile at the child, but she’d bitten her tongue hard, and her chin burned. She wanted to rub it, but she wouldn’t give Dónal the satisfaction. She sensed more than saw Aidan step away before he returned to his seat beneath Lizzie. “Your chin is bleeding,” Sean whispered.
Moira looked down at Sean and felt a drop of blood land on her chest. She glanced at it and sighed. She was filthy and had a gash on her chin to match her humiliation. Until it healed, it would remind everyone of her ungainly performance before them and, worse, the clan’s guest.
“No wonder the O’Malley demands such a high dowry,” Lizzie chortled. “He knows he’ll be replacing everything in sight once you plow through it.”
Moira froze as the blood leached from her face. She doubted her heart still beat in her chest, and it was only Sean’s hand in hers that let her know she hadn’t gone numb. She turned to look at Dónal, then cast her gaze at the O’Malley messenger who shifted in his seat, attempting not to look at her. She’d wondered why the man ate at their table, since the O’Malleys and MacDonnells were on hostile terms. Now she understood. Dónal intended to fob her off on Dermot O’Malley, a man old enough to be her father. The last sliver of hope that she might one day make a love match like Ruairí and Senga’s vanished in a breath.
“Perhaps he knows I’m worth more than my used-up older sister,” Moira spat. “You should wed first, but no one’s beating down our doors for your hand, either. You can’t even get the man who sired your son to stay with you for more than a sennight at a time. You’re no more than a free whore to any man Dónal sends you to.”
Moira clamped her mouth shut, remembering far too late that Sean stood beside her. She squeezed his hand, but his fingers flexed. She released him, expecting him to run away, but he remained at her side. Lizzie darted from the dais and yanked Sean behind her before she lashed out and slapped Moira.
“I’m still the one getting married,” Moira taunted.
“You bluidy little bitch. Say what you want, but we all know you can’t keep a man in your bed,” Lizzie crossed her arms and gloated.
“Aye, and I’d rather sleep alone than having to ask for tonics to cure the pox,” Moira crossed her arms to match her sister.
“Enough,” Dónal roared as his fist pounded the table. “Remove yourself, Moira. You belong in the sty with the other sows.”
Moira cast a challenging glare at the O’Malley man before turning her withering stare on Dónal. Despite being shorter, she looked down her nose at Lizzie as she walked away. Standing behind his mother, Lizzie had no chance to stop Sean before he ran to Moira’s side. Moira cocked her eyebrow at her sister as she went. Moira MacDonnell had drawn the line in the sand, and her family would now have to accept that she had a voice and would use it. After all, if she was forced to marry Dermot O’Malley, she was likely headed to her death anyway. He’d already strangled his first wife in her bed after she bore him a stillborn son. Moira didn’t hope for anything better.
Chapter 3
Moira opened her eyes but remained still, trying to determine why she’d woken from the deepest sleep she’d likely had in years. When she heard a soft knock at the door, she glanced over at Sean, who slumbered in his bed beside her trundle. She looked back at the door as another knock sounded.
“Moira,” a soft voice called to her. “Moira, it’s Beagan.”
Moira’s brow furrowed as she rose, once more checking on Sean. The head of their clan council had never visited her at night; in fact, he’d barely spoken to her since she was a child. She opened the door a crack and peered out to find Beagan standing with other members of the council. Behind him were Curran and Cormac, brothers who’d been on the council since her father was chieftain. Devlin, Finnian, Grady, and Hogan stood behind their fathers Curran and Cormac. Loman and Malone stood on either side of Beagan. The only two members missing were her brother and his second, Orran.
“What’s this about?” Moira leaned her head into the passageway and looked both ways. Her astonishment at finding the group of men outside her door had led to her stomach churning with fear. She prayed they wouldn’t attack her with Sean sleeping behind her, but she had no way to know.
“Your brother has gone against the council once more. None of us voted for you to marry the O’Malley. Just the opposite, in fact. He is not an ally we wish to make,” Beagan explained. “He will rob us blind. Your brother has always been a wee slow on the uptake, but since his injuries on Lewis when we fought the MacLeods, he is even more of a tyrant.”
Moira listened with surprise that she struggled to keep from her expression. She never dreamed any of the council members would speak against her brother, at least not outside her brother’s solar or to someone not on the council.
“Lass, the O’Malley will take your dowry, kill you, then attack us,” Devlin spoke up. “You don’t deserve the mistreatment you receive here, and you certainly don’t deserve to die for your brother’s greed.”
“Has he already signed the contracts?” Moira whispered, listening for any movement behind her.
“Aye. After the meal. The messenger leaves in the morn,” Grady spoke in low tones. “We will get you away, but you must come now.”
“Away?” Moira repeated and shook her head. She tilted her head toward the bed within the chamber. “I can’t.”
“Your time to raise the lad is over. You’ve done more than any of us could have expected. But once you’re shipped off to the O’Malleys, you won’t have the lad with you. This way, you’ll live.”
“But until it’s time, I have a duty to stay with him,” Moira argued.
“Aunty Moira,” a soft whisper came from beside her. She’d never heard him stir, let alone walk across the chamber. “Is Beagan here to rescue you?”
“Rescue me? Why do you say that, lovie?” Moira stroked back the mop of black curls from Sean’s sleepy face.
“Because Uncle Dónal is going to hurt you before I’m big enough to defend you,” Sean stated, with a tremble in his voice. Moira pulled her nephew into her embrace, her heart breaking to know that the boy understood more than she realized. Guilt sank its teeth into her; as duty bound as she felt toward Sean, the little tyke felt the same for her. “I don’t want you sent off to the fucking O’Malleys.”
“Sean!” Moira gasped. “Where did you learn that? I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”
“Uncle Dónal. All the men. We all talk like that,” Sean said with a shrug.
“You aren’t a man till you have hair on your chin,” Moira asserted. “So that filth will not come out of your mouth. Promise me that, Sean. Don’t do what Uncle Dónal does.” She gripped both of the boy’s shoulders before bending over to embrace him.
“I’m sorry, Aunty Moira.” Sean stretched to kiss her cheek. The light flickering in the passageway shone on his upturned face, and it stunned Moira to see how mature he looked. It was a glimpse at the man he would one day become. With a stoicism she didn’t know he possessed, he continued. “If Beagan is here to rescue you, you must go. I won’t say a word to anyone. I’ll pretend that I have no idea where you’ve gone.”
“Moira, we have to hurry,” Beagan pressed. “We must get you away while the tide is with us.”
“We’re sailing?” Moira looked at the faces of the hardened warriors, who were also among the best sailors in Ireland. Or at least that was what her clan boasted.
“We’ll take you to Fionn first. We can make it look like we did a trade run,” Grady explained. “From there, either he and his men or we will take you to Ruairí and Senga.”
“Ruairí and Senga,” Moira breathed. She couldn’t think of a better place to make her home. She’d met Senga during her only visit the year before, but she’d taken to her immediately. She’d always liked Ruairí, and while he was usually indifferent to her, he was never unkind. She’d marveled at the changes she’d seen in Ruairí since he met Senga, and she wondered if going to the Isle of Barra would offer her the opportunity to find love, too. If nothing else, it would gain her a reprieve from her brother and sister.
“Let me dress and slip into my chamber for a few things,” Moira whispered as she picked Sean up and clung to the boy. He smelled of soap, the scent clean and fresh. She suspected she would never see the boy again, and that caused her a moment of doubt.
“You must go, Aunty Moira,” Sean murmured against her ear, seeming to sense her upheaval. She kissed each of his cheeks, his forehead, and the tip of his nose, just as she had every night since he was born. She lowered him to the floor and watched him scamper back into bed. Looking down the passageway once more, she eased the door shut behind her.
“Grady and I will sail with you,” Malone explained as they walked to her chamber, the other men seeming to vanish into the darkness as they padded away. “Pack only what you must.”
Moira was in and out of her chamber in less than five minutes. She pulled a sack from her chest, swiping a bar of soap and her comb from the washstand. She grabbed two chemises and two kirtles before donning a fresh chemise and gown. She looked in the corner, where her ruined gown from earlier that night lay. She turned her back on it as easily as she turned her back on her life at Dunluce. With stockings and boots on, she swept her gaze around the chamber, not with a longing last glance but a practical mental checklist. When the door closed behind her, she only considered what was ahead of her.
* * *
Moira gritted her teeth as she stood at the prow of the MacDonnell ship as it eased through the waves, drawing them closer to where Moira knew the O’Malleys trolled the waters. Grady and Malone already explained that they would drop anchor in a cove a day’s sail north of the O’Malley stronghold, then wait to sail past in the dead of night. The last thing Moira needed was for the O’Malleys to attack them. She would be served to Dermot like a stuffed Christmas goose. Despite her trepidation, she eased her grip on the railing and watched as the western horizon softened into hues of reds and oranges. She’d been at sea for three days, and the wind was not in their favor. She’d stayed below deck the first day, fearful that any passing ship would wonder why there was a woman aboard. But once they were well out of the popular shipping lanes, she ventured into the fresh air and spent hours watching the churning surf against the hull.
With the sun setting, the air grew chill, so Moira abandoned her post for the cabin Grady had given her. There was only a skeleton crew aboard the ship; only men Grady and Malone trusted never to tell Dónal of her escape. The men said little to her, and the pity in their eyes rankled, but she was grateful for their willingness to risk their lives to aid in her flight from Dunluce. Unused to the bracing air and brisk spray that coated the deck, Moira fell asleep easily and slept through the nights. She’d never considered how exhausted she was from years of waking with Sean’s night terrors. But the uninterrupted sleep was more restorative than manna from Heaven. It felt like only moments after shutting her eyes that they snapped open to pounding on her door and voices bellowing orders above deck.
“Moira, open the door!” Malone’s voices pierced through the wood. “We’re under attack.”
Moira sprang from the bunk and yanked the door open. “O’Malleys?”
“Pirates.”
Moira sucked in a whistling breath before she nodded. She knew Aidan wouldn’t raid them, and both Ruairí and Rowan MacNeil had retired. There were no pirates sailing along the Irish coast that she could count on as more friend than foe. Malone said no more before dashing back toward the ladder well. She shed her chemise and pulled on the oversized leine and leggings that one of the men had given her when she boarded in case this very situation arose. She stuffed her meager belongings into her sack before easing the door open. She could hear metal clashing against metal, and the stench of blood flooded her nostrils. Breathing through her mouth, she raced to the hatch that led to the hold. She slid more than stepped down the ladder until her feet hit the damp floor. She glanced around and spied the outline of a stack of crates and barrels that she could hide behind before tugging the rope that closed the door.
As the battle waged above her, Moira said all the prayers she knew and made up as many as she could conjure. She couldn’t tell from the muffled voices which side would be victorious. When she bounced against the bulkhead, she wondered if the jarring impact that sent her sailing was from a cannon or the pirate ship ramming them. She waited for water to rush in and engulf her, but when not even a sliver of light entered the blackness, she knew they hadn’t been rammed. That only left a cannonball. Few ships were equipped with the new weapon, but Moira suspected pirates would be among the first to arm themselves. She feared the deck would be alight and that she would still go to a watery grave when the ship burned around her. But she had no alternatives. If the MacDonnells were defeated, and she expected their tiny crew would be, she would die whether she entered the fray on deck or waited to sink with the ship.
As suddenly as the noise and turbulence began, everything fell silent. Moira didn’t dare move. Grady and Malone had been very clear with their instructions. In case of attack, she was to remain hidden unless one of them came for her. She wasn’t to trust anyone but them. If anyone found her, she was to appear and act like an adolescent boy rather than a woman. She’d fretted about appearing scrawny for years, but she prayed it would come in handy if the pirates discovered her. She wondered if she should try to climb into a barrel or crate, but that would mean discarding the container’s contents, and that would appear suspicious. She opted to remain crouched, curled up as tiny as she could make herself.
“Check the hold,” an order sounded from above. Moira frowned. Something about the voice was familiar. It was clearly Scottish, even if there was only a slight burr. “We have room in ours, so take everything. The MacDonnells always have goods worth a pretty penny.”
Bluidy hell. If they’re to take everything, they’ll find me. I should have hidden in something while I had the chance.
Moira had no time for further recriminations as the hatch swung open. The sound of men descending the ladder echoed. Remaining in the shadows, Moira blinked as light from several torches swept the cargo area.
“Ye heard the Capt’n. Nothing remains,” came the clipped words of a man Moira could only imagine would look as rough as his voice. She fought to keep her breathing quiet, praying that the pirate captain would be too impatient to wait for them to load everything. Perhaps the cargo she hid behind would be abandoned.
But do I actually have a better chance with them? I can’t sail this ship alone. Even if I swam to shore, what would I find? O’Malleys? Would I prefer pirates to Dermot O’Malley?
Moira had no chance for further wondering when the crate in front of her face was pulled away and a light shone in her face.
“Ay-up. What have we here?” A burly pirate with several missing teeth glared down at her. Moira refused to cower, choosing to make a show of bravado she didn’t feel. She stood and raised her chin, daring the man to say more. “A stowaway.”
“More like a rat,” another man snorted. “Scrawny runt. Even Braedon had more meat on his bones when Ruairí took him in.”
Moira struggled not to react when she heard the former pirate’s name. Were these men from the Lady Charity? Would that help? She stumbled when an enormous paw wrapped around her arm and pulled her from her hiding place. She tried to dig her heels in as the man attempted to maneuver her in front of him, but his growl was enough warning for Moira to know that this wasn’t the time or place to stand her ground.
“Up you go.”
Moira’s grazed chin banged against a rung of the ladder when the pirate shoved her forward. She scaled it with ease, grateful to be in leggings and not her skirts. As she turned to face the ladder well that led to the top deck, she came face-to-face with a man whose flame-red hair and freckles made her stomach clench. She had most certainly been found by the crew of the Lady Charity.
“Who’s this?” The redheaded man barked.
“Stowaway, Capt’n.”
“Toss her, Snake Eye.” Moira realized she was standing before the pirate captain.
“Does she get a plank?” The man named Snake Eye asked, to which the captain shrugged one shoulder.
“You’re going to drown me?” Moira gulped. The captain reached out and gripped her jaw between his thumb and fingers, pulling her toward him.
“That might be your fate. I’m setting you adrift.”
“Why?” Moira struggled to say. When the gathered men chuckled, she glanced around.
“Because that’s what I do,” the captain responded with another nonchalant shrug.
“Seems the lad hasn’t heard of you,” Snake Eye grunted.
“He has now,” the captain looked down at Moira. “The Red Drifter gives you his regards, whelp.”
Moira tried to pull the man’s thumb from her jaw, but he squeezed harder. She grabbed his pinky with both hands and pried it as far back as she could. His hand squeezed once again, but Moira saw the flash of pain in his eyes. The dim light didn’t disguise her pleasure either, because the red-haired man shoved her away from him.
“I have no need for stowaways. Set him adrift like the others.”
Moira had only a second to decide. She knew her choices were between likely death and certain death. She preferred to delay the inevitable as long as she could.
“You might want to keep me, Kyle MacLean.” The air stilled as the men’s eyes widened, and the captain took a predatory step toward her. “Ruairí might not care if you ransom me, but Senga will have your cods if you kill me.”
Moira banked on the crew still seeing the retired pirate and his wife. She banked on either of them caring about her. She banked on the captain believing even a smidge of her bluff. She saw the flash of recognition. With a jerky nod, Kyle spoke to Snake Eye but never looked away from Moira.
“Take the captive to my cabin. String ‘em up. I have better things to tend to,” Kyle sneered, but he blinked twice when Moira didn’t flinch. He narrowed his eyes before turning away and barking orders for the ship to burn once the cargo transfer was complete. Moira didn’t look back as Snake Eye pushed her toward the rail, so she missed Kyle’s speculative look.
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