Was it truly possible?

Rosamond squinted through the quickly fading sun at the ship bearing down on them. Its sail bore the standard of her father, the blue and yellow checkered squares that made up a shield rolling proudly with the wind. Could he have so quickly returned? Perhaps changed his mind?

She flicked her gaze to the Highlander standing beside her. The one who’d saved her thrice now: once from the flames, second from the cave and third from nearly going overboard.

If this was her father—did she want to go with him?

Could she?

A shiver coursed through her and instinctively she stepped closer to Tierney. The resounding answer in her mind was: nay. But how could she ask this man, this stranger, to save her yet again? When would his limit of favors dry up?

“Ye said Papa. Is that your father’s ship?” Tierney’s voice was low, calm, as though he did not wish to startle her.

Though he spoke to her, his gaze was directed on the ship in the distance. Shadows marred his eyes, and his hair whipped around to shade his face from her view as it had when he’d first approached the cave.

She’d not yet told him the entire story behind her father abandoning her, but the man was not dense, he could surely figure it out. Especially after he’d learned the truth of her father’s identity. Rumors abounded in London and had likely reached around the world now. Tragedy always did.

“Their flag bears my father’s coat of arms: chequy d’or et d'azur.” Checkers of gold and blue. Her father often boasted his coat of arms represented a game of chess, and he was always the victor.

Tierney grunted. “If only my standard was flying. ’Tis a warrior’s sword arm crushing a ship.”

Rosamond gasped. Who was Tierney MacDougall? He’d scaled the craggy cliff side as if it were nothing, and he the god who ruled all manners of earth. Soothed the burns on her arm as though she were a child and he a nursemaid. With lightning reflexes, he had saved her life from tumbling overboard. And now, he seemed not at all phased that her father was bearing down on them. The madman of England. The men on the ship had called Tierney, my laird. Obviously he was some titled warrior, the chief of his clan. But… The way he stared at the encroaching ship, the way he was so interested in her father… What was she missing?

“What were you doing here?” she asked quietly, and before he took her words literally, she added for clarification, “On the coast of Wales. By the caves.”

Tierney’s dark gaze flashed on her. “Ye think the ship seeks me?”

She chewed her lip, and dared to look into his stormy eyes. “Is it possible?”

He shrugged, a little too nonchalantly, whatever emotion had flickered in his gaze quickly shuttering. “Anything is, I suppose.”

Rosamond’s eyes widened. Had she been bait? Nay, her father could not have known MacDougall and his English friends would find her. Or had he?

“Ready the men for a fight,” Tierney shouted to Sir Samuel. “I will not go back.”

Go back… The Tower. “Why do you think they’ll take you back?” Rosamond hugged herself fearful for what was to come. The ship was filled with Scots and an English galley bearing down on them could not be good.

Without answering, the Highlander gripped her by her elbow and steered her back the way she’d come. Down the stairs, along the corridor and into the cabin.

Gripping both of her shoulders tight, he said, “Dinna leave this cabin. I dinna know what will happen. Perhaps they will sail right past us. But if they engage, it will be bloody, I assure ye, lass. Dinna come up. Even if ye believe it to be your father. Your presence will be a distraction and get men killed. Do ye understand?”

Her lower lip trembled, but she refused to cry from fear. She was made of stronger stuff then that. Clenching her fists at her sides she nodded.

Tierney gave a curt nod and started to back away, but she grabbed his arm, and murmured, “Wait.”

He stopped, gazing at her with his emotions hidden. Unreadable. And yet she could sense them pulsing on his skin, in the very air around her. Dark, tormented thoughts that struggled to be set free.

“I…” Saints, but how could she tell him what needed saying?

“Lass…,” he warned. “I’m needed up on deck.”

“Please do not tell him I’m here.”

“What?” Tierney frowned, eyes searching her face as if there might be some answers there.

She swallowed, sucking in a breath at the same time and nearly choking as she hurried to say what needed saying. “I do not want to go back to England, either. I do not want to go back with my father.”

The muscle in the side of his jaw ticked, but he nodded again.

“Promise me, my laird.”

“I promise ye that when we’re through above, ye and I will talk.”

She’d have to accept him at his word. He wouldn’t let her leave if he promised to talk with her. Right?

“I cannot go back,” she added. “I will wait here.”

“We’ve something in common then.”

Now it was her turn to nod. Rosamond let go of his sleeve and backed up toward the bed, watching as he took his leave, ducking through the door built for a smaller man.

“Bar the door, lass. Dinna open it for anyone but me.” The seriousness with which he gazed at her left her heart fluttering with unease. What was going to happen? He retreated from the door, coming back toward her as he reached into the sleeve of his new shirt and pulled out a glinting dirk.

Rosamond flinched. Tierney rolled his eyes.

“I dinna intend to use it on ye, lass. ’Tis for your protection. Dinna brandish fire should the enemy breach your door, we both know how that will end up. And pray, dinna slice yourself with this either.”

He held out the dirk on his palm, and she grasped hold of it.

“If ye’ve cause to use it, be quick and be sneaky. Hardened sailors can easily overpower ye, but not if they dinna see your blow coming.”

“Do you think I’ll have need to use it?” She searched his face, needing reassurance.

“Nay. I’ll not let anyone get near ye. I offered ye my protection and I intend to see my oath through.” He closed the door without another word.

Rosamond followed his instructions to bar it behind him. As soon as she did, she hurried to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening outside, but her side of the ship faced the wrong direction and she could not see her father’s galley approaching. What she did see was infinitely more terrifying.

A great ship, bearing black sails, and a flag that depicted the devil with swords crossing behind his fiery skull.

“Pirates,” she gasped, clasping one hand to her mouth and the other over her swiftly beating heart.

She had to warn those above. They were being boxed in. The English at their rear and pirates at their front.

With the sun fading fast and the pirates drenched in black, how would they see them?

Above, she heard the men readying the ship, and then shouts of warning, a horn blowing. They were preparing for battle. They must have seen the pirate ship approaching. She had to trust that they did.

Tierney had bid her stay put behind the barred door. Had told her if she were to attempt to come up, she’d be a distraction. Get men killed—if she didn’t get herself killed first.

She’d have to have faith in him. Even though she barely knew him. He’d done nothing but show her he was honorable. That much was true. More so than her own father had when he’d abandoned her.

Even still, she glanced down at the knife in her hand, her fingers clutching the hilt. If need be, could she use it? Against her own sire?

“Buaidh No Bas,” Tierney growled as he withdrew the sword at his hip. Victory or Death, his clan’s motto. The MacDougalls on board repeated their clan motto in a shout behind him.

“Let us hope it’s nothing,” Samuel muttered beside him.

The English ship seemed to gain speed, and then warnings came from the stern, as men rushed to arms. Tierney whirled to see another galley race the setting sun, its sails as black as the impending night sky, but the pirate flag waving proudly did not go unnoticed.

“Ah, my friend has arrived.” Samuel issued orders to the men, and with the pirates at their back, they sailed straight for the English galley.

Tierney raised a brow. “MacLeod?”

“Aye, but out on the sea, he’s known simply as the prince of the Devils of the Deep.”

Tierney had heard rumors of the Devils years ago. Beastly Scots pirates that descended from Vikings.

“Glad I am he’s on your side,” Tierney said, his tone quite serious.

“And yours.”

MacLeod approached, the lanterns around the ship were lit so the men could see each other standing on the rails, swinging from ropes. Would they indeed engage in battle this night? The pirate ship sailed along their portside, and at the helm was a massive Scot, his braided hair waving briskly in the wind they created. The pirates steered themselves between The Tower and the approaching English ship.

The Scots pirate captain raised his arm in salute and Samuel returned the gesture.

Moments later the three ships reined in their sails, tossed grappling hooks to each other, connecting as one large vessel floating in a line.

“Shall we rid ye of your tail?” MacLeod called out to Samuel.

Tierney hoisted himself to the rail to better see who was on the English vessel, expecting to recognize John de Warenne. Though he didn’t see the blackguard anywhere, he did recognize another man. One of the English bastards who’d escorted him to the quay where Samuel had awaited him in Dover. Simpson was his name, from what Tierney recalled. Where was Surrey if this was his ship?

“Allow me to speak,” Tierney said.

MacLeod nodded, and fanned out his arm as if giving permission.

“Why do ye follow us?” Tierney called.

“You’ve aligned yourself with these blackguards?” Simpson shouted back.

MacLeod’s chest puffed out as if being called a blackguard was a compliment.

“On the contrary, I’ve never met the captain,” Tierney glanced at the ship’s name proudly painted on the side, “nay, this pirate prince, in my life.”

“What did you take from the cave? We saw you with a bundle.” Did Surrey give Simpson orders to guard the cave?

“Och, ye’ve a treasure aboard?” MacLeod raised a questioning brow, the glance passing between him and Samuel that spoke of truces being broken.

Tierney bristled. How could Samuel have aligned with a pirate who would so easily turn his back on him? Had the man no honor?

“Naught that concerns either of you.” Samuel frowned, fingering the broadsword at his hip.

MacLeod smiled broadly, his gaze roving between the ships, and made a signal with his hand then everything seemed to happen at once. Gangplanks were slapped onto both the English ship and The Tower, and within minutes, pirates were swinging through the air, hooting and hollering like heathens.

Samuel called for the men to prepare for battle and swords were quickly drawn.

Although the pirates engaged the men on The Tower, Tierney could tell it was only playfully, as though they were simply following through with an act, participating in a training, and meanwhile, men from The Tower, were slowly leaking onto the pirate ship and then onto the English galley, engaging the men there with full force. Was this some sort of plan that had been put into place without his knowledge? A deal Samuel had struck with MacLeod? Tierney found himself with a newborn respect for them both. This was brilliant.

When Samuel made a move to go across, Tierney stopped him. “I’ll go. Ye make sure she stays safe.”

Samuel gave an imperceptible nod, and Tierney took the opportunity to leap across the gangplank, then he sprinted across the deck of the pirate ship and jumped onto the English vessel. He searched out Simpson, finding him rather quickly. The pirate who’d engaged him in a swordfight, nodded and backed away when he saw Tierney. ’Twas a move he’d never seen before on the field of battle, but was grateful for nevertheless, and again made him wonder at the alliance the pirate had made with Samuel.

“Why are ye here?” Tierney demanded, slamming his sword against Simpson’s weapon hard enough that sparks flew. “Why do you sail Surrey’s ship?”

Simpson grinned. “You know your crests well. I serve Surrey and my king. We were told to follow. To make sure you returned to where you belong.”

“Or were ye sent to see to my execution.”

Simpson laughed. “Nay, but that can be arranged.”

“I was set free.” Tierney growled, swinging hard again, only to have Simpson block him at the last second. The man was sweating, droplets beading on his brow.

“And now you align yourself with savage criminals,” Simpson spat.

“A falsehood ye’ll no doubt take to the king.”

A cruel grin spread on Simpson’s face as he parried and struck out, narrowly missing Tierney in the ribs. “Swear your allegiance. Prove it by killing the pirate prince.”

“I’ve no gripe with MacLeod.”

“Then you betray your king.”

“By letting a pirate sail on?”

“By fighting with the king’s men.”

“Ye attacked me first.”

Simpson thrust his head forward in an attempt to strike it against Tierney’s, but Tierney leapt back in time, only to feel the skim of the jackanape’s forehead on his. They fought harder then, Tierney feeling rusty at first, but soon recalling all the moves he’d excelled at a decade before. Imprisoned, he’d not been allowed a sword, but he continued to train. To keep his body strong, praying one day he’d be free, and that dedication was paying off now.

The English captain seemed surprised at the ferocity, the power, the skill behind Tierney’s assault, but he didn’t back down, if anything, he seemed to grow bolder. Darkness had fallen, and the lights of the lanterns made the sweat beading on his opponent’s brow and upper lip glow like tiny blooms sprouting.

Tierney backed Simpson against the rail, relieved him of his weapon and was ready to simply toss the blackguard overboard, when a hand touched his shoulder.

MacLeod. “Leave him to us. Ye’ve only just been let out, aye? I’ve a bounty on my head, what is one more charge?”

Tierney was reluctant to back away, but the pirate had a point. If he were going to make enemies with the English King, it would be for aligning with his own Scottish king. Not for taking the life of a man who was essentially meaningless to him.

Once Tierney had given his allegiance to his rightful king, he’d gladly take the head of any English knight on the field of battle. Especially the one English life he wanted above all others: John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey.

Slowly he backed away, nodding. Without a backward glance, and ignoring the shouts from Simpson naming him a traitor, Tierney walked the planks between the ships until he stood beside Samuel once more.

The grappling hooks were removed, sails were raised, and the rowers were put to rowing. Wind tunneled through his hair. The two ships soon became dots on the horizon, the twinkling of their lanterns slowly disappearing.

All he could think of was Rosamond.

He descended the stairs and marched toward the cabin. Fist to the door, he demanded she open it.

A second later, she stood before him, eyes wide, mouth agape, taking in the splatters of blood on his shirt.

“You’re alive,” she murmured, and threw herself into his arms.

Without hesitation, Tierney wrapped her in his embrace, letting the warmth of her supple body sink into his and feeling the familiar rush of desire pummel him once again.

“What of the pirates? Is my father dead?”

“He was not aboard the ship. I left the English in the pirates’ hands.”

“They are letting us go?”

“The pirates, aye. The English have no choice.”

Her hands splayed over his back massaging the sore muscles he’d worked so hard.

“Thank God,” she murmured.

“He has nothing to do with this.” Tierney caught her gaze. “Nor this.” The very thing he’d wanted to do since first looking at her ruby lips had been to kiss her. And he denied himself no longer.

There was no tentative brush of lips, or even a gentle caress that would ease her into his kiss, but a hard, ferocious crush of his mouth to hers. Claiming her. Letting the rush of battle be replaced by the pulse of his craving.

The power behind his kiss startled him, and he fully expected her to shove at him, to rail against him for taking such liberties, but the lass only clung to him more. She sighed against his mouth, and opened her lips for his invading tongue.

Bloody hell, he wasn’t going to let go. Ten years without a woman, and to have one as willing, beautiful and fiery in his arms was enough to break any man. He cupped her bottom, pulling the crux of her thighs tightly to his hardened cock, groaning and nipping at her lips when the quake of lust made him shudder. Breasts crushed to his chest, he had to touch her. To feel the weight of those soft globes and the contrasting tightness of her pebbled nipple. He palmed her breast, brushing his thumb over one sensitive peak.

The lass let out a sharp gasp, her hips thrusting forward.

He should pull away. Should leave her in his cabin. Demand she bar the door—against him. But he couldn’t. Instead, he shifted both hands to her bottom and lifted her into the air, carrying her swiftly to the bed where he laid her down, tumbling with her. He covered her with his length. Devoured her mouth. Massaged her breasts. Gripped her buttocks. Rubbed his turgid arousal against the soft warmth of her inner thighs.

“Wait,” she murmured, her hands flattening to his chest.

“For what?” Tierney kissed the side of her neck, tracing the column of her throat with his tongue, all the way to her chest until he nuzzled those sweet breasts, pushing them together to cup his face.

Heaven help him, she smelled so sweet, divine. Her skin was like silk, and he wanted to bury himself inside her. Lose himself forever and a day.

“Please, stop.” While she did give him a little shove, pushing him away, her voice was filled with longing, contradicting her actions.

Her tone confused him, as did the desire in her eyes when he glanced up at her. But then reality swooped in, slashing at the haze of need overcoming him.

Tierney leapt from the bed and raked his hands through his hair. Shame filled him for having taken advantage of her. Savagely ravaging her. Ballocks, but he’d nearly taken her. He muttered a curse, and turned his back on her. His cock throbbed with the need for release, but his mind berated him for having nearly ravished a lady.

“I’m sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “Bar the door.” And he rushed from the room.