A sharp pain slashed through her calf. She yelped, thrashed about wildly. A monster, shark, something bit her! Horror shuttered her mind, her vision. Glimpses of whipping black water accompanied visions of blood, teeth, flesh. She was going to die!
Quite suddenly, the beast grabbed ahold. Tentacles wrapped around her waist. No, I’m not going to die like this. She slapped and jabbed, twisting and writhing, but it wouldna let go.
“Treva! Stop! Ye’re going to drown us both!”
Coire? Thank God. The fear drained from her. Until more pops and bullets peppered around them.
“Swim!” Coire propelled them forward.
Her leg burned as if on fire but she kicked hard. The little boat seemed so far away but and after what seemed like a lifetime, she grabbed the side, but her clothing weighed heavy. She hadn’t the strength to pull herself up. Several pairs of hands helped her and Coire inside.
“Get us outta here!”
Jonesy, Redd, and two others grabbed oars and rowed, putting their backs into it, to get out of firing range of the Invictus.
Treva flopped back on the seat to catch her breath. But the sting of her calf was too much. She gathered up her skirts to see just how much of her leg was gone from the bite as Coire knelt in front of her. “Something bit me.”
With a careful touch, Coire twisted her leg to inspect it. Blood coursed down her calf in watery rivulets. “No, love. Ye’ve been shot.”
“Shot? Oh, thank God.”
Coire chuckled, though his smile was constricted. “The bullet went clean through. Jonesy, yer shirt.”
Jonesy shed his dry tunic and handed it to Coire who ripped a strip off the bottom. “Are ye hurt anywhere else?” She winced as he wrapped the cloth tightly around her leg.
“I dinna think so.”
“What about ye, captain?” Redd asked, ducking as stray bullet splintered the edge of the boat.
“I’m fine,” he groused.
“My arse.”
“Just get us outta here. We haven’t much time before Pullings makes repairs.”
“Capt’n.”
“No more!”
Redd clamped his mouth shut and Jonesy shook his head.
The oarsmen put distance between them and Invictus apace. Each stroke of the oars loosened the grip of doom. They had a chance. As they rounded an outcropping, Kelpie loomed like a blackened devil ship. A rope ladder waited, the crew raced about on deck.
“Get the boat secure,” Coire said to the men. “We weigh anchor even before it’s on deck.”
He held out his hand for Treva. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Treva wasna prepared for the shooting pain as she put weight on her leg when she stood. She flopped back down on her arse with a grunt. Embarrassment and anger had her on her feet in an instant. She would not slow their escape because she couldn’t manage a little stitch. She hated that she needed assistance. But she didna hate Coire’s encouraging words and arm around her waist.
The climb up the rope ladder was grueling, the pain in her calf absurd. Once on board, Coire led her to a box to sit upon. She was surprised her makeshift tourniquet was soaked in blood.
“We’ll get Nicolas, the ship’s carpenter, to sew ye up.” He squatted to take a look. “Ye’ll be good as new.”
She swiped wet strands of his long hair from his eyes. “Doesna matter as long as I’m with you.”
His lips parted, ticked upward, before his tongue wet his bottom lip and his teeth bit down. Crivens, that one small action had her ready to whisk him to his cabin.
“Capt’n.” Jonesy strode over with purpose. Redd looked on with a frown as he helped with hauling the boat up.
Coire closed his eyes a moment before he stood.
Treva gasped when he turned to face his quartermaster. His tunic was dark red with stain, as was the waistband of his trousers.
She sprung to her feet, panted against the bolt of pain through her leg. Without preamble or permission, she scrunched up the shirt. Treva caught a glimpse of his weeping bullet-riddled shoulder. “Oh my God, Coire!”
He shrugged away. “’Tis all right. I’m all right.”
“No, ye are not.”
He met Jonesy with his hand out. “I am.” He hollered over Jonesy’s shoulder at Mr. Shaw. “Get this bucket under way.”
Jonesy cocked his chin at Coire, challenging him. “You can’t captain the ship dead.”
“But ye will be if you dinna get us out of here.”
Jonesy smirked, his boyish dimples deepening. “Aye, Capt’n.”
Even in what must have been acute agony, Coire commanded his ship and crew. And he was admired for it.
Coire stumbled forward as Kelpie lurched forward with the release of the sails. Jonesy caught his arm. ’Twas then Treva saw just how pallid he’d become and the beads of sweat forming upon his damp brow. Two brawny sailors rushed in, propped Coire up and, with Jonesy to lean on, she followed them to the captain’s quarters.
Nicolas bustled in after them with several younger men in tow carrying bowls of water, leather satchels, and rags.
“He was hit with fowling shot,” Jonesy announced. “At close range. By Captain Pullings, the crowing motherless bastard.”
Coire grunted. “Never liked him.”
The carpenter dominated the scene, having Coire lie on his stomach while directing his helpers to get his instruments ready.
“Her first.” His voice was gnarled in pain even as he barked this last order.
“Dinna ye dare.” She squared her jaw and slapped away the reaching hands of one of the young helpers. She plopped into a chair and propped her leg up on another. “Just get me some whiskey.”
Coire mumbled something about defiance. Lightning quick, he yanked a pistol out from under his mattress and pointed it at Nicolas. “Her first.”
Unfazed, the carpenter shook his head. “Sorry, capt’n. Your injuries are more serious. I can’t let you die.”
Coire must have been spent. He let his arm drop and the pistol slipped from his grasp. “I winna die here,” he mumbled. “My soul will be free in the lush tropics, God willin’.”
Jonesy’s troubled brow redoubled. He quickly corrected his countenance once he realized Treva watched him. He nodded to the crewmen to get topside and trailed after them, leaving her alone with Nicolas and Coire. If Jonesy was worried, this was every bit as bad as Treva thought. She fought against another deluge of panic.
For the next hour, Treva drank more whiskey than she needed. Coire’s agonizing, torturous grunts and moans as Nicolas dug out the bullets from his shoulder were unbearable. Until he lost consciousness.
Jonesy came in to check on them just as Nicolas retrieved the last pellet and dropped it into a plate with the others. The lead ball clinked into the metal dish, punctuating how lucky Coire was to be alive.
“How is he?”
“He’ll recover.”
Jonesy visibly relaxed and saw his way out when Nicolas shooed him away so he could turn his attention to her. She’d been brave for her man, hardly making a whimper as her wound was cleaned and properly bandaged.
“I’ll be back to check for fever.” Nicolas glanced at his captain, as if he just wasna sure Coire would indeed make it if fever set in.
When he took his leave, Treva crawled into bed beside Coire, facing him. Careful not to bump his mangled shoulder, she curled into him. The rise and fall of his even breathing lulled her. She traced the lines on his face, around his mouth. So beautiful, so strong, so indomitable. How had she come to this moment, this man? He had started out an infatuation. The silly bloom in her heart was just because she dallied with someone dangerous. Or so she thought. Aye, she wanted the risk, fed on it. But now she knew just what she’d done. Falling in love was one thing. But somehow, she had become completely dependent on that love. He was one half of her whole. Without him, she would be lost. Without him, she wouldna be able to breathe. Without him, she would be no one. She had been irrevocably change
d, forevermore.
Though he couldn’t hear her, she whispered her first truly frail feelings aloud. “I’m scared, Coire. Please, dinna leave me. Dinna ever leave me.”
She stayed that way a long time, nestled against him, watching for any sign of fever. Blessedly, none came and she finally closed her eyes.
Treva awoke slowly, drifting away from an ethereal dream—a ship, a pirate, tender kisses. Her eyes fluttered open. Staring back at her were the most alluring blue eyes.
“Hello, mo sionnach àlainn.” Coire kissed the tip of her nose.
“A girl could get used to waking up to this.”
His returning smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Good. I intend to say it every morning.”
Her heartbeat staggered. “What does that mean?”
He lifted his good arm to cup her cheek, rub his thumb over her bottom lip. “It means I love ye, Treva Shawna MacDougall. I want to spend the rest of my days with you.”
“Truly?”
“If ye’ll have me.”
“A pirate? I dinna know…” she teased.
He chuckled. “Ye, a pot calling the pan a burnt arse.”
She good-naturedly popped him on his shoulder and he groaned. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Are ye all right?”
Coire smirked, not being able to hold in his ruse. “Aye.” He tucked her in closer. “And I’m looking forward to recovering with you, here, in my bed.” Her head spun from the sound kiss full of promise.
She snuggled into his chest, breathed in his salty warmth. “I love you, Coire Fletcher, with my heart and soul. Dinna ever leave me.”
“Never.”
Epilogue
The day Coire tired of making love to Treva would be the day he died. The way she scratched his back, tightened her legs around his waist, as he plunged into her over and over was intoxicating. The sounds she made, the breaths she took were all for him. And her taste… Blazes how he loved the way she tasted.
He hadn’t believed he was capable of love again. After Cait and Fenella, he was certain he’d never trust a woman again. Without trust, there canna be love. But Treva changed all that. He loved her more than he ever thought possible.
She was his, and he was hers.
Fugitives on the run.
Would Captain Pullings or Dread ever stop hunting for them? Let that be a worry for another day.
Treva cried out her release as he sank into her one final time. The muscles in his arse seized, and he ground out a heady groan through clenched teeth. Euphoria suspended him in time until Treva’s kiss broke the spell.
They lay together wordless as their sticky sweat cooled and the golden rays of the morning sun broke the horizon and spilled in his cabin through the nebulous window glass.
He loved this woman and couldn’t wait to share with her another love of his.
A whistle trilled on deck, rousing him from the bed. “Quickly, love. Get dressed. I want to show ye something.”
“What is it?” She languidly sat up and reached for his naked waist as he folded himself into his trousers. “Canna it wait?”
Coire pulled her from the mattress and spun her around. Blazes, her soft, bare flesh watered his mouth. “I promise ye winna be disappointed.”
“All right,” she giggled. “All right.”
Soon, she was dressed and he led her outside.
“No peeking,” he warned. “Just a little farther.”
Coire led her to the railing. He took a moment to soak in her beauty. She fairly glowed in the sunlight against the bright blue backdrop of sea and sky. Her rosy lips were still plump from his rough kiss before stepping out on deck. Strands of her honey-kissed hair, longer now than at the beginning of their journey, fluttered in the warm breeze. She was simply stunning.
“All right, open yer eyes.”
His heart swelled when her lips parted in awe.
The tropical island was indeed magnificent. Turquoise waters lapped at the blindingly white sandy beach. Black boulders dotted the shoreline. Proud palm trees danced in the wind. Where the beach gave way, deep, lush green plants with yellow and white blooms hugged the ground. The copse of trees beyond flaunted the flamboyant red and orange flowers of the flame trees here and there. Birds flit from treetops and if the wind shifted, their musical calls would be heard.
On the other side of the island, there was a port. And in that port was an establishment with some of the best saltfish dishes and finest rum in the Caribbean. He couldn’t wait to take her there. Never mind the owner had a score to settle with Coire. That should be entertaining.
Coire cast a glance over his shoulder to his crew gathering topside. By their grins, they were all happy to be back. Mr. Shaw clapped Redd on the shoulder, and Jonesy hopped upon the gunwale gripping the braces and whooped. Aye, they were home.
“’Tis…” Treva slowly shook her head at the words she seemed to not be able to form.
“Breathtaking, eh?”
“’Tis more than I imagined.” Moisture glistened upon her lashes.
“I’m glad ye like it. There are thousands more like it.”
“Like it? I love it!” She threw her arms around his neck. “Promise ye’ll show me every one of them?”
“The Caribbean is a wild and dangerous place,” he cautioned.
“Wild.” Her lips curled deviously. “I can think of no other place more fitting for the likes of a pirate.”
“Or two.” Coire pressed her closer—she’d know what she did to him—and soundly kissed her.
Treva turned back to the island. Her smile paled the scenery all around him. “I think I will love it here.”
“Good. We have many adventures ahead, love.”
THE END
About the Author
Award-winning author Jennifer Bray-Weber is a proud native Texan. That means she’s loud, proud and a bit on the sassy side. She is a married domestic goddess/beach bum with two beautiful daughters. The type to take on dares, she has been able to express her creative thinking through countless questionable, often hilarious, life experiences.
She loves the beach (was that already mentioned?), horses, muscle cars, tattoos, loud music, outdoor activities, reading, writing, scrapbooking, traveling, researching, fishing, shopping, and, of course, carousing about like a pirate.
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Other Books from the Author
Romancing the Pirate
Bring Me The Horizon
Blood And Treasure
Beneath the Water’s Edge
A Kiss in the Wind
The Siren’s Song
Mutiny of the Heart
Dead Man’s Kiss
The Laird’s Reckoning
Righteous Side of the Wicked: Pirates of Britannia Page 15
