Chapter Six
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Ye are a bold woman.”
“Ye only live once, Coire, and what a short life ’tis.”
His amusement reshaped, as if he sobered. A darkness fell upon him. One she recognized. And shared. Base, honest, raw.
She dropped her hold on her bodice and let the fabric fall. But he didna look down at what she offered.
His nod was near imperceptible. “’Tis a verra short life indeed. I’m eager to savor my good fortune.” He yanked her flush to him. Skin to skin, her breasts mashed against his hard chest. She didna wait for his next move but he met her kiss with an open mouth.
Treva couldna get close enough to him. Any hairsbreadth between them was a chasm.
Without breaking the connection, they twisted and stumbled but soon she was on her back in his bed reveling in the weight of him, in how he caressed her breasts. The sensations he created thickened the potent fog once more. She explored every inch of him she could reach, committing his back, shoulders, and waist with her hands to memory as if she were a blind woman. But she fell short, unable to touch him in equally tantalizing parts of his body. And taste. She had to taste him. She broke the kiss in favor of his neck. Salty, masculine, heady.
Coire pushed back on his fists. Confidence budded within her as his gaze feasted upon her. “Beautiful.”
She skimmed a finger down the rippling ridges from his chest to his navel. “Beautiful,” she answered.
“I want the rest of you naked.”
“Ye first.” Twasn’t out of modesty. Nay, she simply wanted to admire him before the power of desire overcame them.
Coire got to his knees with a devilish smirk and slipped his breeches off his hips down to his thighs.
Treva swallowed…hard. His shaft nestled in a crisp thatch stood out thick and stiff. Spellbound, she reached for him. His whole body became rigid as she touched him, tested the weight of him, stroked his velvet smooth length. He sucked in breath through his teeth. She glanced up to his pained, curious expression staring back at her.
Driven by an erratic pulse, she brought her tongue to the tip of him to capture the bead of moisture there. Never had she ever tasted a man this way, but suddenly she wanted to devour him. She slipped him into her mouth, wrapped her lips around him. Treva wasna sure what she was to do next, but she loved hearing his raspy curse and throaty moan. She withdrew, dragging her tongue along the underside of him. Coire’s breath hitched, his shaft twitched. Aye, she loved eliciting his response. She did it again, taking him further into her mouth and licking him as she pulled back. And then again. His sounds, they goaded her. She gripped him tighter, sucked faster. His hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers gripping her hair, and he guided her pace. But when she moaned, he abruptly tugged her away.
“Ye do much more of that, love, and this’ll be over too soon. Lie back.”
She wasna ready to stop, but by his randy, dark expression there was more good things to come. He stalked up her body to snare her mouth, momentarily distracting her until his hand roved across her hip and veered between her legs. Acute sensitivity perforated from her center as his fingers buried into her downy mound and dipped into her folds. Heaven above, she lost her faculties as he expertly slid inside only to drag her wetness back over her achy nub. He swirled and sank his fingers in again. Each pass, he plunged deeper, rubbed longer. Mind-numbing flutters beat from her crux. She couldn’t return his kiss, unable to perform even the simplest function as he manipulated her to heights she’d never been before. Just as she was about to burst from the inside out, he stopped. She couldn’t be sure, but she may have whimpered.
His gruff voice rasped in her ear. “I canna wait any longer.”
“Nay.” ’Twas a plea, a plea to bring her as close to heaven as any sinner could reach.
Coire settled between her thighs. The tip of his shaft wedged at her entrance. Anticipation of him penetrating her drove her mad. But then he pierced her with a searing stare she felt all the way to her heart. She couldna look away, he held her suspended between unknown passion and a secret place only he could take her.
Captive in his eyes, he entered her slowly, allowing for her to adjust to his generous size.
“Lass…so good.”
’Twas all she could do to swallow. No man had taken time to relish the prelude of joining with her like this. This felt…amazing. She bit upon her lower lip at how he filled her. Treva tilted her hips up as he seated himself as far as he could go. He eased nearly all the way out and slid back in, setting a deliberate pace. The leisurely friction was tormenting. She gripped his arse cheeks, encouraging him to pick up momentum. Otherwise, she might perish from going insane.
Coire pumped faster. Skin slapped against skin. Musk of their union mingled in her quickened breaths. She abandoned his arse to plant her palms on the wall behind her head to keep from slamming into it as he plunged into her. Treva met him thrust for thrust, needing him to take her to the very edge of existence. More, she had to have more of him, crawl inside him, be one with him.
Rocking, bumping, they ground together. Higher she soared. Unable to see past the cloud of desire, she finally closed her eyes. Treva spiraled, her center bunched tight. Like kindling catching fire, she exploded.
Coire captured her scream in a fierce kiss as he continued to pound into her. He broke away mere heartbeats later and withdrew. The corded sinew in his neck clenched upon his release, his groan echoed through the cabin. ’Twas the most sensual thing she’d ever heard.
Her body rained down like embers into a sanguine repose. Coire collapsed beside her on the paltry mattress. He tucked her into him. Sticky sweet, she nestled into his chest.
His fingers drew circles upon the curvature of her back spreading blissful shivers in their wake. “Mo sionnach àlainn,” he whispered.
His beautiful fox? If she hadna already lost her head over Coire, she was gone now. It didna matter what the future held for her, for him. All that mattered was this moment.
“Thank ye…for showing me what…this…can be like.”
His circles stalled. “Pleasure is to be given. And ye gave well.” He sat up, kissed her soundly, and left the bed.
“I’m needed topside.” He handed her a rag from the wash basin to clean up evidence of their coupling. “We must find a place to ride out the coming storm.”
“I understand.” Though she would rather remain wrapped in his protective arms, revel in the unfamiliar peace she found there, she couldna expect him to stay.
He stuffed himself back into his trousers, watching her. She wished she could read his mind. As it was, his expression was guarded. Treva should do the same. Should. Not so easy while lying naked in his bed.
Coire scooped his tunic off the floor. On his way up, he gripped her chin and placed a tender kiss upon her lips. And then he was gone.
His affections were so…personal. Her head reeled, her heart billowed. The void within her felt even more barren with his departure. ’Twas startling. Was it possible to be so high in the boughs for someone so quickly? It was. She was.
Coire just may be her biggest risk yet.
The rain fell in heavy, wayward sheets, the wind boisterous. Kelpie found shelter in a small Colonsay cove to ride out the storm. Coire stood at the rail as the ship bobbed and jounced on the turbulent surf, mindlessly scanning the island’s black outline against the moody nighttime sky. The cold rain splattering him was refreshing against his heated skin. But still, it didna wash away the persistent thoughts of the woman he left in his cabin.
She had done something to him. Made him feel differently. She understood a pirate’s life, that there was no promise of tomorrow. That even the next breath was not guaranteed. It saddened him. She shouldn’t know how that feels. More still, the injustice brought on by Graer and Dread against her infuriated him. Infernal scugs. While Graer wasna an immediate threat to Treva, Dread was. Coire had dismissed the way the vile pirate captain had eyeballed her at the tavern. Thinking back, he realized he’d mistaken ogling a fresh, fair lass for overdue retribution. Dread likely would have succeeded had Coire not decided to go after her.
He meant what he said to her. He would protect her from Dread as long as he was able. Hell, if luck smiled upon him, Coire would have an opportunity to kill the unhung, soddin’ wastrel. How many lasses hadn’t escaped him? How many have suffered at his hands? Just the thought had Coire itching to shove his pistol between his deadlights and pull the trigger.
Ah, but he was no fool. Without her hardships, Treva might not be the person she was today. And that connection between them wouldna exist.
Despite her saucy tactics to bed him, it had been clear she shared herself with him in a way she never had with another man. ’Twasn’t just a swive for her. Not for him, either. Every sigh, the taste of cream beneath the brine, the musk hanging in the air, the friction they created seared upon his mind. Whatever became of them, this night, with this woman, he would treasure.
The storm’s temper lulled, but the rain drummed steady. Coire decided to fetch food from the galley. Mr. Shaw sat at the long table cradling his bowl of pottage in the crook of his beefy arm and doing his damnedest to get a spoonful into his mouth without spilling the broth. Coire ladled up his own bowl and sat across from his first mate. The hot, savory gruel chased the chill away, but not the bushy-browed stare of Mr. Shaw.
“Speak yer mind, Mr. Shaw.”
His jowls flapped as his frown deepened. “’Taint me bidness.”
“The lass? Nay, ’tis not.”
“But Jonesy—”
“Will get his head straight.”
“And ye?”
“Have my eyes wide open.”
Mr. Shaw, finding his answer acceptable, nodded. “What next?”
“We sail for Fairlie. The girl is convinced a slaughter awaits rebels in Oban should they follow through with an uprising. We dispatch Redd on shore to secure a courier to relay word by way of Glasgow. And we send Jonesy into Taylough to find Angus.”
“Oban isna our concern. We’re not collectin’ payment for sending word to Oban.”
“Nay, but we winna get any future commissions to get us through the season should we be delayed in our return home if the rebels are squashed now, either.”
“Ye believe what this woman is saying? That the English are there?” His skepticism in Coire’s decisions threaded in his tone. “We’re to get the cargo to the rebels in haste lest we lose our commission.”
“They winna get their arms at all if we’re intercepted by the English or we’re blown to the hereafter. We take what precautions are necessary.” He shoved his empty bowl aside and stood to gather bread and cheese for Treva. “Get us under way by the morning watch. The storm will have passed and we will still have the advantage of the dark hours.”
Jonesy stopped short at the galley threshold upon seeing Coire. His gaze hit the floor and he left without a word. Coire shook his head and put the food in a cloth. The lad had designs for Treva. He didna know what the jack thought he’d accomplish by catching her eye. Was he looking to retire from the sea and settle down with a wife? That’d be good and well, would surely extend his lifespan. But with a woman like Treva? Perhaps, if the right one were to come along. Treva wasna the right one. Not for Jonesy, anyhow.
Coire wasna prepared for what awaited him back in his cabin. She lay sound asleep upon her belly, blunt locks of her mahogany hair falling across her serene face. His sheet covered most of her bare body from the waist down except for one delicate foot. He was as enthralled with her tiny ankle as he was with the rounded mound of her breast pressed against the mattress. He craved to touch every inch of her, hardened at the very idea of it.
He quietly set the food down and settled into a chair with a flask of Caribbean arrack. The Scottish whiskey simply wouldna do now. He twisted the cork out and drank deep. If he wasna careful, he would have to get his head on straight, too.
She snored softly, a small bit of drool dampened his pillow. So deep in slumber, he was willing to wager she’d wake from the best rest she’d had in a long time. He could crow with pride for being the cause of her peace. But a niggling in the back of his mind had him fearful of what that meant.
He pulled a hearty swallow from the bottle. Tonight, he’d drown out that damned niggling voice.
’Twas just as well the crew kept a wide berth of Coire. The arrack had done its job too well and he was suffering for it even late this morn. Stabbing behind his eyes intensified as he looked to the bright clouds draped high in the sky. Though the sun tried to poke through the overcast, more rain was inevitable, curdling his mood further. He was tired of the damned dreary weather.
He probably woulnda be so snappish if it hadn’t been for the English frigate that had been following them for the last glass. The strait from which they followed them through had been narrow, but since widening and giving way to the sound, the ship continued to tail them. In fact, they were gaining on Kelpie.
Mr. Shaw sidled cautiously up to him. He was the only tar with the ballocks enough to do so when Coire was in a temper. “Cripes, lad, ya smell like ya bathed in arrack. Didya save any for me, ya greedy bastard?”
He glanced at the first mate who wore a lopsided grin. “Not tired of whiskey, are ya?”
“Eh. Like to cleanse me palate with variety, m’ boy.” He shrugged. “But I’m long past the navy dogs plaguing us.” He tipped his scraggly chin to the vessel closing in on their wake. “She’s the same Andrew cornering us up at the Corryvreckan.”
Which confirmed what he’d known all along. “Order the men to prepare for boarding. Keep weapons out of sight but at the ready.”
“Not rollin’ the bones on our luck this time, eh, Capt’n?”
Luck for a pirate was fleeting. “We’re due for a hot fight.”
“Lads are itching for one. ’Tis been an age.”
Lord knew he was, too. Coire had more pent up aggressions than he cared to admit—Graer holding out on him, Dread’s threats, too many months away from his Caribbean home, the Royal Navy beleaguering him like pesky flies, and her. “Keep ’em at bay. We’ve a mission to complete.”
“Aye, Capt’n.” Mr. Shaw strode off to deliver the directives.
Coire searched the ship for Jonesy. The fellow couldna hide from him forever and he finally found him, trying and failing to avoid eye-contact with him. Coire snarled. He was going to have to have a word with him. Something he didna want to do. Nor have the time.
Within a half-glass, the Royal Navy had secured Courser together with Kelpie and armed soldiers were crowding Coire’s ship like vermin.
Coire was familiar enough with the naval captain, having avoided conflict with him and his soldiers in an altercation in months back.
“Welcome aboard, Captain Rush.” He’d shake the man’s hand had he’d meant the greeting. Instead, he rested his hand upon his sword’s hilt hanging from his hip.
“You were Captain Bane’s man,” Rush acknowledged. He studied the crew, the ship, as any wise captain trespassing on an enemy ship should. “You’ve taken over for him, I see.”
“He’s handling his affairs in Skye. And there’s been no more trouble.”
“Yet, just last night, a mutual acquaintance forced you into the Corryvreckan whirlpool. I’d consider that troublesome.”
“Not troublesome when ye consider Captain Dread is a pox to all.”
“True. Seems to me the devil favored you over Dread. I’d be remiss if I didn’t investigate further. Especially since contraband is being shipped to traitors under the nose of the crown.”
Coire spread his arms wide. “No traitors here. We claim no country, being men of the sea.”
“Nevertheless, your ship will be searched.”
“Ye will be disappointed in yer findings.”
Captain Rush gestured for his men to fan out. “For your sake, you better hope so.”
Coire’s crew, seasoned as they were, ignored the slanderous remarks of the soldiers shouldering past. On the surface, the jacks seemed compliant, yielding to a superior power. They were anything but. One sign from Coire and blood would flow swift and thick.
Treva burst through the hatch at a fleet-footed speed and came nose to nose with the naval captain, startling everyone. The lass couldna have stayed in his cabin? Blast it! Coire reached for his cutlass. How readily he was to defend her. He cursed to himself for his impulsive reaction.
“Oh my!” She bowed in deference and kept her head down. “Pardon me, captain.”
“Who’s this?” Rush frowned dubiously.
“A passenger,” Coire rushed to answer. “Needing travel to family of failing health.” Not entirely untrue if Treva was to be believed and her cousin was in danger.
“You accommodate passengers now?”
“I do nothing that doesna come with compensation.” ’Twas hard to imagine a pirate lived by so many verities. And here he was with another honest answer. He will get remuneration for all he has done for Treva. Money, possessions, the next commission, relations with the right people, or a debt to be paid—something would come of this.
Rush narrowed his gaze. “Lieutenant Geary.”
A lieutenant in an equally crisp uniform stepped forward. “Sir.”
“That escaped woman from Man, you’ve seen her before.”
“Once, sir.”
Coire’s blood thrummed. This was fast spiraling out of control.
“Is this woman her?”
Coire tightened his grip upon his hilt as Geary’s scrutinized Treva, his gaze slithered over her. She stood stock still, frowning as if she didna understand what the fuss was about.
“Nay, sir. It is not.” Geary spun away to return to his commander at the forefront.
Satisfied, Captain Rush moved on. “What’s in your hold, captain?”
“Rum. Bound for Greenock.” ’Twas the pretense he used with Captain Pullings and relied on regularly. They had rum and all of Europe traded for it.
“Rum.” Rush repeated the word as if the likelihood was nonexistent. “This is not Liverpool.”
“If I may, sir.” Treva took a step forward. Coire could throttle her for not keeping her tongue. “Is it not true that the burgh outside of Glasgow is growing due in part to Caribbean imports? Able to trade salted herring, iron, and cloth?”
Rush tilted his head at the lass’s forward interruption. “And you know about this how, Miss…”
“Douglas.”
Douglas? A convenient name loyal to the British she probably used often. It hadn’t slipped notice that she hid her accent.
“My family has been in the shipping trade for centuries. Cattle, mostly.”
Coire suppressed a derisive grunt at that. The MacDougalls were certainly into trade—trading coins for weapons. And clearly this MacDougall couldna keep out of his precarious business.
“That is quite enough Miss Douglas.”
With his dismissal, she bowed. “Of course, Captain Fletcher.”
Coire was suspicious of her easy smile, but the naval captain insisting to inspect the cargo took precedence.
“Lieutenant Geary, take charge.” Rush extended his arm. “Your hold, Captain Fletcher.”
One of his men handed him a lit lantern and Coire, Redd, and two others from his crew led Rush and three of his men below deck. They crowded into the dank hold where the stale air stank of wet, slimy wood, the hull groaning from riding the sea’s swells. His lantern illuminated the belly full of hogshead barrels.
Captain Rush gestured a soldier forward. The soldier used a crow to pry open a barrel’s lid and without warning dumped the contents over. Rum splashed upon Coire’s trouser legs. The amber liquid spread across the planks with his anger as the scent of molasses soaked the air.
“I will appeal to ye, captain, to be more reasonable.” He admirably kept his ire from seething through, though his underlying threat was unmistakable. “That was three hundred thirty pounds of my profit ye just wasted.”
Rush gestured for his man to pop open another barrel. “It is my duty to make sure your cargo is legitimate, Fletcher. Under His Majesty, I’ll do what is necessary.”
Coire expected as much. The soldier checked under the lids of several more hogsheads with the same result. Rum. His hand resting comfortably upon his sword gripped the hilt as the soldier and another with a lantern moved further to the back to where the real cargo was stored. The fellow picked a random barrel. He had a difficult time breaking open the top but when he did he frowned, leaning down to see inside better.
Shite. Had the bastard discovered the false bottom? If he found the gunpowder, Rush would unseal every barrel finding all the ammunition and the weapons stored farther into the hold. Hell would break loose.
“If yer man takes a drink of my cargo, I’ll have to charge him.”
“Send your bill to the king,” Rush said dryly.
Coire slid his gaze to Redd and gave an unspoken command. Redd eased his hand to a dagger in his belt. His other two men also got ready to quietly dispatch the British. No gunfire. No noise. Would keep them from blowing up and give them the advantage to overtake the rest topside. ’Twasn’t what he wanted, but he’d do what was necessary to stay alive and finish the commission. And protect the female passenger that had firmly wedged herself as a part of this mission.
The soldier waved for the lantern to be shined inside the keg. Coire stretched his fingers upon his hilt one by one in anticipation.
“Careful, mate. It’ll catch ye on fire.”
Both men straightened away from the liquor.
“What did you find, Fields?”
“More rum, sir.”
“Mm.” The naval captain exhaled nosily, flattening his lips. No fantastic discovery this day.
“Disappointed? I warned ya, Captain Rush.”
The irascible man faced him. “Your arrogance will catch up to you, Fletcher.”
“And when it does, it winna be at the hands of the British.”
Rush grunted and pushed past. “Just so long as you are not my problem.”