Chapter Five
A fine chase he did give Dread. A fine but short one. ’Twas his damned luck that an English frigate appeared ahead of them on the horizon. Kelpie would soon be caught between the two. Add to that, the southwestern winds were becoming more blustery. A storm was brewing. Coire had to give careful consideration to how he was going to get them out of this. To the east, the mainland. Scarba to the west. But just below Scarba was the Gulf of Corryvreckan. A possible way out, but not ideal given the extreme dangers of the pass.
“We can tack across toward the mainland,” Jonesy suggested.
“And what?” Mr. Shaw tossed out his hands, shaking his head as if it were a ludicrous idea. Which it was. “Hope the English dinna see us?”
A boom resonated the moment before a splash off the port quarter.
“Dread.” Coire seethed through clenched teeth.
Mr. Shaw joined him in a hearty curse.
“What the devil is he doing?” Jonesy gripped a ratline and leaned over the rail to regard the pirate ship gaining speed.
Coire calculated their position again. “He’s ensuring we sail into the gulf.”
“Can we make it?” Jonesy looked up to the sails and then to the English frigate advancing to the mouth of the narrow strait between Scarba and Jura islands.
“We can. Though we stand a better chance engaging with the Royal Navy.” He nodded to his first mate. “Give the orders, Mr. Shaw.”
“Hands to braces!” Mr. Shaw marched across the deck giving orders.
“I don’t understand,” Jonesy said. “Wouldn’t the gulf provide us with the best escape?”
Redd joined them, offering an opinion shared by most Scottish sailors. “Not unless ye are a master sailor.”
Treva had edged closer, her expression needled with earnest. “There’s a monster in the water and it will gnash and swallow us whole.”
Jonesy frowned. “You all right, Miss MacDougall?” He reached out as if to touch the darkening bruise upon her cheek but thought better of it. “You did take a mighty hit.”
He almost felt sorry for Jonesy. Though she took the insinuation that she was but a delicate flower well, by the dip in her frown, she found offense in his remark.
“This strait, even on the calmest of days, has taken countless lives, mostly those who are unschooled and foolish enough to cross here with nary a consideration.” She turned her dour gaze upon Coire. “Are yer men capable, Captain Fletcher? Or are ye committing us to death?”
“I’m familiar with the maelstrom, lass.” He couldn’t help the smirk creeping up the corner of his mouth any more than he could let her challenge go unanswered. “We’ve Dread on our aft, the English hunting traitors on our bow. Would one of those options suit ye better?”
Trepidation flickered upon her expression, but she held firm. “Knowledge of the water doesna mean ye can navigate it.”
“Then we shall hope for the best.” He’d been caught in many a terrible storm in the West Indies, including one where the ship had broken apart. Not all had survived, may they rest in peace. He hoped that experience would be on his side this afternoon.
Jonesy stared out at the strait. “It doesn’t look to be a danger.”
“Trust me, ’tis,” Redd said, rubbing at the back of his neck.
The whitecaps spreading out over the surface did indeed appear harmless from this distance. But looks could be deceiving. The woman facing Coire proved it.
The ship canted to the left as she took in the wind to yaw into the gulf.
“What is that sound?” Jonesy asked. Several other crewmen made their way to the gunwale, drawn by the roar they could now hear.
“The maelstrom.” His flat tone had several men glancing over their shoulders wondering if they should be worried. And they should. The water wasna slack but instead churning.
“Heaven help us.” Treva backed away until she bumped into Coire. He gripped her by the arms, holding her flush to him. She rolled her head to peer up at him. Curse it! Now was not the time to be preoccupied by her soft body, kissable lips, and an overwhelming urge to lose himself in her eyes.
Another explosion rent the air, the resulting cannonball splashed just short of Kelpie’s hull.
“Shite!” Coire took the ladder to the helm by twos. The Damned Jewel had already taken an inside path into the channel. Dread was going to force them into the middle of the whirlpool.
“All hands! Back to yer stations!” Men darted to their positions. Orders were rattled off. The crew had handled rough seas, but ’twas clear they were at a loss at what to do. Would be apparent soon enough. Aside from the steady, vigorous winds, the weather was mild. Building storm clouds, darkening with the slow descent of the afternoon sun, wouldna be upon them for a couple of hours. ’Twas misleading. Treva had darted to the gunwale and when she turned her gaze upon him, he felt the burden of keeping them all alive settle square and heavy upon his shoulders.
“Do yer damnedest to skirt the edge, Jacob,” he instructed the helmsman.
Kelpie jolted as volley smacked the water mere feet from her hull. And then another, closer still.
“Capt’n!” Mr. Shaw called from the deck below. “The next one’ll send us to hell.”
Dread wouldna strike the ship’s belly. ’Twould be what was expected. Nay, the next hit would be their main mast. Disable his ship and be helpless to the gnashing mouth of the maelstrom. Sod it, he wasna going to let the bugger best him.
“Two points port bow! Make haste!”
Jacob spun the wheel, but Mr. Shaw stalled on following through with bo’sun commands. “We’re sailing into it?”
“Haul off or I’ll have someone else see to it.”
Mr. Shaw’s back straightened with Coire’s harsh tone. “Aye, sir!”
Treva scampered up the ladder calling his name as she went. “Are ye mad? That thing will tear us apart.”
“Hold yer tongue, Miss MacDougall. I’ve no use for objections.” He jostled past her, ignoring the drop of her jaw, to watch the current patterns. They swirled and roiled very much like a cauldron for which the whirlpool was named. ’Twas daunting. He never claimed to be a good captain. Hell, he’d only had the title for a few months. He’d have to rely on instinct and pray that was enough.
Kelpie dipped hard as she entered the grinding tidal surges and curls. Coire had to grip the railing to stay on his feet. Treva had slammed into the gunwale beside him to keep from falling. For a split second, he thought to order her below deck for her safety. But ’twould be folly. She’d not do as she was told, and if the ship broke apart, ’twouldn’t matter.
The ship’s stern began to slide out to the starboard quarter. They were losing control to the twisting swells. An oily feeling of helplessness sickened him.
“Hard to larboard! Hard to larboard!” He shot to the port side. “Keep her turned into the slide!”
Shouts and orders bellowed out over the thunderous din of angry water. Crew raced here and there to keep the canvases crowded. The jostling of the ship had the men swaying and grasping anything to maintain upright. Sea spray whipped across the gunwales and rained down, dampening the decks.
Kelpie careened unexpectedly to the right, nearly turning the keel up. The force threw Treva off her feet. She screamed out as she tumbled up and over the gunwale.
“Treva!”
Coire dove to the side where she hung on to the railing, her fingers losing purchase from the wet wood. He grabbed her wrists just as she let go and yanked as the ship rolled back. They flopped back to the deck, the unforgiving planks biting into his shoulder and spine.
Christ! His heart had stopped. He wasna sure it had started beating again. Not until she squirmed against him and her knee dug into his groin. Then he couldna breathe.
“Are ye okay?” He untangled them and helped her to stand.
The narrow escape from a watery grave had stolen her tongue, but she nodded.
“Below deck. Now!” He was harsher than he intended, but damn all, he couldn’t coddle her whilst the bloody ship was in danger of becoming one with the sea.
Thankfully the lass did as bade.
Kelpie continued her backward spin. He jabbed a finger toward Jacob. “Steady larboard!”
“I’m trying, Capt’n!” Jacob’s face was stained red from the exertion, his arms trembling, as he hung onto the wheel.
Coire gripped the wheel, too, to help. His eyes burned from the brine of sea spray blasting into their faces. He squeezed his lids shut, fighting the urge to swipe at them. Within seconds, his muscles protested against the strain. And still the ship spun. The moments ticked off with stunning clarity as they skated sideways through the surge. To his horror, they were now facing the opposite direction. Swells battered against the vessel relentlessly, the drumming was deafening. The sails flapped as the change of the wind’s direction emptied them. They were at the mercy of the crushing, rolling, lurching currents.
“Hard to starboard!”
Jacob nodded and together they spun the wheel into the swell. “Dinna let go!” Grunting and wrestling the resistance, all seemed hopeless. Kelpie succumbed to the pull and was now facing forward once more.
They had mere seconds to make the spin work in their favor. “Pack the sails! Pack the sails!”
Wind bloated the sheets and Kelpie, though pitching side to side, vaulted forward. By what Coire could only assume was the sheer grace of God, the maelstrom spit them out on the other side.
Cheers rang out when Kelpie sailed into the glassy waters of a calm current.
They made it. Coire’s sigh of relief was deep. Perish and plague, they made it.
Jacob cupped his shoulder. “Ya did it, capt’n. Ya saved us all.”
Had he? There was little choice.
He searched the horizon behind them for his enemies. Dread had not fully crossed the gulf. The English frigate hovered on the other side. They would not be beleaguered by either. ’Twas good. Coire needed respite after the harrowing ride through the whirlpool.
“Set a southwestern heading, Jacob. As night falls, switch course to Colonsay.”
“Aye, sir.”
The setting sun was an advantage, as was the approaching storm. He had no reason to not presume Dread would follow. In fact, he was certain Dread would think they would sail around Jura and continue on to their Taylough destination. Visibility would be nigh impossible with the darkness and rain. The bugger would not expect Kelpie to seek shelter for the duration of the squall in one of the Colonsay’s coves. But first, they needed to put distance between them.
He climbed down the ladder and was greeted with whoops and slaps upon his back. He was quick to remind the men they had a hand in keeping the ship afloat. “One man alone canna man a ship.”
After the brief celebration, ’twas back to work. “We’ll drink deep tonight, lads. Till then, man yer stations.”
A stout drink was what he needed now. He turned to go below deck only to find Treva leaning against the hatch’s threshold. She looked like a wet, drowned cat, water dripping from the ends of her hair. But, damn all, if she didna take his breath away. Her damp clothes hugged all the right places, as did her grin.
Suddenly aware that the others might be ogling the beauty the way he did, he took her by the arm and guided her down the companionway to his cabin.
She spun to face him as soon as the door latched closed. “Ye’ve proven you are capable, Captain Fletcher.”
Oh, it was too good a comment to pass up. “Never doubt it, lass.” He crowded into her space enough he had to peer down into her artful eyes. Green on green. The mossy shades blended darker to the center. Such a curious find. His tone dropped to a coarse timber. “I am capable at many things…Treva.”
Her pupils expanded. “Yes, well, I’m duly impressed with yer skills.”
“Ah…that, I have, too.” He toyed with her. Hell if he knew why. He could only determine ’twas because his blood still rushed through his veins from the maelstrom. And from the rise and fall of her chest, her blood thrummed, too. A drink. That was what he needed. Well, no, he needed to relieve the pressure building at his crotch. But he wouldna take advantage of the situation. Not now. He rolled in his bottom lip and bit it, muscling up the will to not kiss her senseless.
Coire stepped back, marched to the shelves, and plucked out a bottle of whiskey.
“Once again, find myself thanking ye for saving my life.” Disappointment infused her tone. Was it because he did not kiss her or that she felt indebted to him? He’d be content with no kiss being the reason. He wanted her to desire him as much as he desired her. Some small part of him wanted to turn the table on her, let her know he could shield himself from her coquettish ploys.
He poured her a drink and handed it to her. “It has become a habit,” he teased.
“One I am unaccustomed to. I have needed rescuing more these last two days than my entire life. ’Tis hard to accept when I’ve always had to save myself.”
Damn. Her disappointment wasna because he didna kiss her.
She sank down into a chair. “I canna imagine what would have become of me if ye hadn’t been there.” Her voice trembled as if she just realized she was not invincible.
He sat in a chair across from her. “A prison escape into the sea, the Royal Navy finding ye in my cabin, fleeing from Dread, and nearly falling overboard into a maelstrom, ’tis quite a lot for anyone.”
“And ye have been there each time.”
“So I have.” He shrugged. “Ye’re a resourceful one. Ye would’ve found a way to survive.”
“I will repay ye somehow.” In no way had she meant it in a physical manner. And that surprised him. As wily as she was, he assumed she would use her body to bring her on equal footing. ’Twas what he expected. All women used coition to get their way. He’d fallen victim to it enough when he was younger to recognize it. But that wasna what she was doing. There was grit and perhaps a little sadness behind her words.
He was about to break one of his own rules: get to know more about her.
“Tell me about Dread. Why are ye so afraid of him but of no one else?”
No one knew her secret. Not even Duncan. If no one knew, it could never be used against her. But the way Coire asked, pointed, yet sincere, roused her to want to tell him her story. Could she gain a sympathetic ally?
She swirled the liquor in her cup and heaved a fortifying breath. “It wasna long after my parents’ death, I was forced from our croft, thanks to Graer.” She added that last bit with years-worth of sour rancor. “I was ten and two when I was put on a boat to seek out distant clansmen in Kilmartin, hoping that I wouldna be turned away.” Her uncle had told enough lies no one in Oban would take her in.
“I dinna understand.”
“Graer has never cared for me. I’m his brother’s daughter…by the woman he loved. I remember him coming by the house often when my da was not around. Mama had once told me she felt bad for him, that he had no woman to care for him. She’d feed him, was always kind to him, though she grew weary of his visits. And then there was a big quarrel between Da and Graer. Soon after, my parents were found dead. ’Twas thought Da killed Mama out of anger, dishonoring him with Graer. I know better. I know Graer was behind their deaths, but I have no way to prove it.”
By God, if she could, Treva would see her uncle hang a hundred times over for what he’d done. The older she became, the more she came to terms with the fact there was nothing she could do. She’d waste no more hate or anger on her uncle. ’Twouldn’t bring her family back, anyhow. So, he simply didna exist in her mind.
“He’s a bastard. Someday, he’ll get his, lass. Fate has a way of striking back.”
She chuckled without humor. “To fate.” She raised her cup.
Coire, too, lifted his mug and together they quaffed their drinks. She cringed as the whiskey burned down her throat. Ah, but the fire tasted good and was just what she needed to continue with her tale.
“A terrible storm in the middle of the night had the crew taking shelter in an inlet of Scarba. I’d never been on a boat, it was terrifying—the relentless waves battering us, the howling wind, the snapping and creaking as if the boat would splinter apart at any moment. And the tossing…I was so sick.” It had been the worst feeling. Afraid the boat would sink and she’d be too sick to do anything to save herself. And that was only the beginning. “’Twas in the dark hours before the weather cleared. But then the real nightmare began. Dread and a band of his men had rowed out to board the boat while most of us slept. I awoke to him hovering over me.”
The memory was so vivid. He was inches from her face, his grin more vile and evil than anything she’d ever witnessed. Even the dark seemed to be frightened of him, not daring to touch him with shadows. Her heart had lodged in her throat blocking her scream.
“What have we here?” He cocked his head as he leered. “What’s yer name, lass?”
His gravelly voice pricked her into a shaky answer. “Treva MacDougall, sir.”
“Treva, eh? A ripe morsel, are ye?”
He ripped the blanket she held tight to her chest from her. “Aye. Ripe, ye be. The lads will find many a use for ye.” He bent closer still, his rancid breath smothered her and his lips curled into a ghastly grin. “When I’m done with ye.”
He grabbed her arms, pulling her upright. She had found her voice, screaming with all she had, desperately trying to fight him. The more she thrashed the harder he held her. But she struggled against him anyway. He struck her so hard the tang of blood coated her tongue. All went white for a moment, and then the sharp pain followed, bringing tears to her eyes.
He hit her again, spouting curses and calling her nasty names. She couldn’t get her bearings, struggled to stay awake. Was vaguely aware he had ripped her clothing. Oh God, he was going to rape her. Terror slammed into her chest. She scratched at his face, shrieking, as he tried to bunch up her skirts.
Shouts and clamoring broke out somewhere else on the ship. A loud thud slammed against the cabin door. The racket had stalled him just enough for her to snatch at the sgian dubh at his waist. It happened so quickly. The knife had little resistance as it punctured through flesh. He bellowed, grabbing at his crotch and buckling to the floorboards.
Half-blind from horror and swirling darkness, she fled, crashed into the door and flung it open. In that moment, she flinched at the gunshot blasting through the companionway. A pirate crumbled at her feet. The sailor who had fired the shot helped her over the dead man. ’Twas like a terrible dream she wasna quite living—running topside, metal clashing against metal, shouts, guns discharging. She slipped on the wet deck, falling to her hands and knees. ’Twasn’t from the rain. ’Twas blood. Blood from a sailor not much older than she who lay dead, staring wide-eyed at her. She scampered back, fighting the rise of bile in her stomach.
The ship jolted. Someone had cut the anchor, sails unfurled. By the looks of the skirmish going on around her, the sailors were regaining control. The pirates were jumping overboard.
She spotted her wretched attacker at the boat’s railing. Wet stains darkened down the leg of his breeches. He swayed, clearly suffering immeasurable pain. But his deranged stare bore straight through her.
“I will hunt and kill ye, little girl.” His strained warning was a promise she fully believed. He smiled broad and true just before he stepped back off the railing and disappeared. She couldn’t take a full breath. What was wrong with her? He was gone and she still couldn’t fill her lungs.
Warmth enveloped her hand. She blinked hard to clear her vision, unaware that tears had welled in her eyes.
“’Tis all right, Treva. Breathe. Look at me. Breathe.”
Coire had squatted before her and was holding her hand. He seemed…concerned. She hadn’t realized she’d been trembling until he rubbed her arm.
“He’s not here. He canna hurt you.”
“I…I…haven’t had a restful night since. I know he will make good on his promise.”
“Nay, lass.” He reached up to swipe a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “I winna let that happen.”
Confused, she searched his face. Why? Why would he say such a thing? “Nay. Dinna say things ye dinna mean.”
He dropped his head, and her heart crushed. She knew better than to think he cared enough to honor his vow. She had not met a man that could keep his word. Even Da had disappointed her. He broke his promise of always protecting her and Mama. But then Coire looked up. His blues were a stormy blend of doubt and wonder.
“I canna say what will happen tomorrow, in a fortnight, or a year from now, but while ye are with me, Dread winna harm you.”
A promise he could keep. Nothing more, nothing less. Treva knew then he was the closest she’d ever come to an honorable man.
What was this strange feeling? Aye, from nearly the moment she met him, she wanted Coire, wanted to lie with him, moan his name. She was drawn to his prowess and his wolfish grace. But she didna expect to feel this…this exposed.
He moved her in ways she couldn’t describe. ’Twas scary but exciting, too. Like riding a pony full speed down a steep hillside. She thrived on risk. He was a risk worth taking. “I want to kiss ye.”
He shifted his weight to sit on his knees; he hadn’t expected her to say that. The corner of his mouth curled. “For saving yer life?”
“Nay.” She slid from her seat before him. “Because I want to.”
Slowly his lingering gaze upon her mouth rose to meet hers. “I winna stop you.”
“Thank God.” Treva cupped her hand to his cheek. The stubble scratching her palm was delicious. His jaw clenched, the muscles contracting beneath her touch. Her fingers slid into his long chestnut-honey hair at the back of his neck. The length of it tickled and brushed down her arm. A lifetime could have passed as she wandered in the cornflower blues of his eyes.
His tongue licked his bottom lip and she couldna keep her taut need at bay any longer. Treva pulled him in for her kiss. Lips soft and giving were just what she longed for on lonely nights. Lips like Coire’s were something she wished to wake up to…someday, though she doubted she’d ever settle into a quiet life. But now, at this very moment, here with an enticing pirate, her lust of his flesh quashed sweet and dreamy.
She pressed harder against his mouth, twined her arms around his neck. Clutching her waist, he gathered her closer. Their tongues met in fervent union, a dance of exploration. Just as with their first kiss, she drowned in him, losing all sense of surrounding.
Treva wanted to touch him, run her hands over his bare skin. She couldn’t think beyond ridding him of his tunic. Grappling with the fabric while refusing to leave his mouth for even a breath proved difficult. He ripped it over his head and his mouth collided with hers again. Her palms skated over his shoulders and back, mapping out the solid, heated planes. Down her hands slid until they dipped into the valley below his waistband.
Coire growled into the kiss, gripped a handful of hair at her nape, and yanked her head back. He devoured her throat, laying waste to any shred of caution she might have had if she were a proper lady. Treva arched into him, giving him better access. Her breasts rubbed against his chest. She hadn’t been prepared for the bundles of shock shooting to her core as the damp cloth of her dress abraded her nipples.
He slipped a hand into her bodice, gently kneading her breast until he freed her. Cool air was quickly replaced by his wet, warm mouth. Heaven help her. Coire suckled, licked, and grazed his teeth upon her nipple whilst his other hand plied her other breast. Soon, with a little writhing and help from roaming hands, she, too, was bare from the waist up. Sweat sheened her forehead, her panting was nearly as quick as her racing heart.
She was wilting in a haze of desire, desperate to be led further into celestial sin. Treva had to have him. Now. She shoved him back to the floorboards and hiked up her skirt to straddle him. Whilst still stunned by her sudden action, she gripped his face with both hands and kissed him hard. Only the need to suck in breath drew her away. And then she became focused on untying his breeches.
The cabin door swung open.
“Capt’n.”
Treva froze, didna dare turn around at the sound of Jonesy’s voice.
Coire shot daggers over her shoulder. “Get. Out.”
“Uh, um, ’pologies.” The door clicked closed.
An uneasy feeling settled within her. Jonesy was a nice fellow. He’d been trying so hard to be a gentleman. But the captain had her eye, not him. And that made her feel bad.
Coire expelled an agitated sigh. “I’m verra sorry.” He rolled her off, lifted her bodice to cover her, and helped her to her feet.
“I’m only sorry that ye want us to stop.” With the hand not holding up her dress, she brushed aside the hair in his eyes. The impulse was too much, perhaps too intimate.
He grasped her by the wrist. “I dinna want to stop, lass.”
“Then let’s not.”