by Eliza Knight
Gooseflesh rose along his limbs. Someone was trying to tell him something. Was not the ship’s name The Avenger for a reason? He was letting his whole purpose for saving her, his whole purpose for living, slip away.
Problem was, part of him wanted it to slip away. More than a part of him wanted to live a life with Faryn. Have her to wife. Raise a few bairns he could bounce on his knee.
All rubbish! Nothing would ever come of his foolish fantasies. He had revenge to play out. She was the key.
But dammit if he wasn’t going to continue to enjoy her while the voyage lasted, key or not, foolish dreams or nay.
A sharp rap on the door pulled Faryn from her reverie as she’d stared out the porthole. Making sure she was covered as much by the blanket as she could reasonably manage and appeared somewhat decent—despite her lack of clothing—she called out, “Enter.”
The door opened and in hobbled several crewmen carrying a copper tub, followed by numerous buckets of warm, steaming water.
“A bath?” she asked.
“Aye, his cap’nship wants a bath fer hisself,” one of the crew stated while pouring a steaming bucket into the tub.
Oh, she hoped he’d allow her to use the tub when he was finished. She looked toward the water bowl and basin she’d been using, filled only with cold water. As soon as the crew left, she would fill the basin with warm water from the captain’s tub. Even if she couldn’t submerge herself in a hot, delicious bath, she would at least have warm water to wash her face and body with.
“Now, dinna ye be usin’ his cap’nship’s bath!” the insolent Churl warned. “He dinna like no second handlins’ of the water.”
She rolled her eyes and turned away in a huff.
The door closed quietly as the last of them left and still she refused to look at the copper tub. As much as she’d decided she would put warm water into her own small water bowl, rebellion rose inside her. He didn’t like to be second to wash. Well then, those nefarious crewmen would have to refill the tub for him, because like it or not, she was getting in!
Before she could turn around, there came a loud splash. She gasped and whirled to see that the captain had already plunged into the steamy water, and she’d not even heard him come in. He must have slipped in before Churl finished closing the door.
Noir laid his head back and glanced over at her. “Join me?” he drawled. His lips were curved in that devilish teasing way he had and she realized the crew had only been toying with her.
“I would love to.”
She dropped the blanket and shucked off her shirt before sauntering toward the tub. She loved the way the captain’s eyes roved over her body as she made her way there. Made her feel like a goddess.
He held out a hand to her and she lifted a leg up and over the side. Holding on to her hips, he settled her between his thighs. His cock was hard and pressed against the small of her back, and a frisson of need wound its way from her breasts to her core.
“Have I told ye today what a vision ye make?” he murmured against her neck as he moved her hair out of his way.
“Only five or six times,” she laughed softly.
“Ye are…but as beautiful as ye are, my love, ye smell ungodly.”
She gasped at him and turned around to slap at him for saying such a thing but he only laughed and ducked. Only realizing too late, that he’d called her my love. Had he meant it?
“Ye are no flowerbed yourself, Captain.”
“Indeed, rutting as much as we have would certainly make one smell a bit wretched.”
They laughed and teased each other some more, comparing scents with animals, barns and other awful situations until tears filled their eyes.
“I’d have still fu—” he stopped himself short, “make love to ye if ye asked.”
She rolled her eyes and laughed as he tickled her ribs. “No need to sweeten your words for my womanly ears, Noir. I’ve enjoyed every minute of our rutting.”
“Now onto the bathing, so we might rut some more.”
He washed her back, her breasts, her most sensitive parts, stopping a moment to stroke her until she writhed against him. But he stopped just short of letting her climax. He continued down to her toes, massaging sweet-scented soap into the soles of her feet. He poured warm water over her hair and kneaded her scalp until she couldn’t keep her eyes open from the pleasure of it.
When he was finished, she turned around to kneel between his legs and rubbed soap into his chest, returning the intimate gesture of washing.
She lathered up his arms, marveling in the feel of the sinewy muscles beneath his flesh. She washed his face, his neck, his shoulders and down over his back. He too closed his eyes as she washed his hair and then she moved down his legs, to his feet, purposefully ignoring his hard cock, which peeked above the froth-covered water.
But she didn’t make him wait too long. Soon enough she stroked a soapy hand over his thick length, up and down, up and down until he grew hard as granite in her hand. Even sitting in the water, she grew slick with the need to slide him inside her, but she wasn’t sure how it would work. He took up nearly the whole tub. She couldn’t straddle his lap.
He must have seen her mind working, as his eyes darkened and he caught her mouth in a demanding kiss. His tongue delved deep, his hands gripped her hips, her breasts. He plucked at her nipples until she moaned into his mouth.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
She did as he asked, turning on her knees, her hands holding the rim of the rub. He knelt behind her, his thick arousal probing her entrance. A sudden thrill rushed through her. He pressed against her again. Desire sparked through her and every inch of her flesh tingled. She rolled her hips back, wanting him to push inside her. He thrust hard.
She gasped aloud as he worked her body. One hand around front, caressing her nipples then sliding lower to thumb over her nub.
Her body felt on fire as pleasure and excitement swirled up and down her limbs and to her center and back again. She moaned nearly constantly and Wraith grunted and moaned behind her.
He pumped faster, harder still, water sloshing over the sides and the sound of their wet bodies joining echoed in the room.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, her body had mercy on her. She climaxed with uncontrollable shudders, her womb contracting, body arching, head thrown back. A guttural, feral moan escaped her lips and along with her Wraith too shuddered, pulling out, his warm liquid finish dripping over the skin of her behind.
Neither one of them moved for several moments and then a warm wet cloth stroked across her buttocks as her pirate captain cleaned away their lovemaking.
When he was finished he pulled her from the tub and gently dried the water from her bottom to the top with a linen towel, his own body still covered in droplets that fell in rivulets over the curves and contours of his muscles. After toweling her hair, he gazed into her eyes and stroked her cheek. A tiny smile curved his lips.
“Thank ye, leannan,” he whispered and brushed a kiss on her lips.
A booming sounded in the distance and the romantic connection was lost. Both whipped their heads toward the porthole and Wraith made it to the wall in two strides to peer out.
“What is it?” Faryn came up beside him but couldn’t see past his broad shoulders.
“Ship.” His voice held no emotion but the clenching of his jaw gave way that it affected him.
“Friend or foe?” she asked, hoping against all hope it was friendly.
“My friends dinna shoot cannons at me, lass.” He chuckled bitterly. “That is unless I deserve it, and I assure ye, I have not vexed any of my friends of late.”
She nodded, swallowed hard, remained silent.
Shouts from above and the pounding of running feet echoed in the captain’s quarters.
A crewman burst through the door and Faryn clutched her towel tightly to her body.
“Cap’n! Pardon me, my lady,” he bowed, but then returned his attention to Wraith. “The
Avenger’s under attack!”
Beside her, she sensed rather than saw every muscle in Wraith’s body tighten. Her heart constricted and her stomach plummeted.
Today she would die.
Chapter Eight
“Stay here,” Wraith ordered.
Faryn nodded, her throat tight from fear. She eyed him warily as he plunged his muscled legs into breeches, stuffed his feet in boots. He didn’t bother to put on a shirt but placed his plaid belt at his hips, a gun on one side followed by knives, which made their way around his belt to the other side. A sword loop remained empty at his hip, as he held the long deadly weapon within his hand. He tossed a look back at her, one of longing, before heading to the door.
She opened her mouth to speak and held out a hand imploringly, but was unsure of what to say. “Captain,” squeaked out.
He turned to face her and, most likely seeing the fear and vulnerability etched on her face, turned around and in just a few strides made his way to her. He threaded fingers through her hair with one hand and pulled her face to his.
“Dinna worry so, my love. I am the dread pirate Captain Wraith Noir.” He said no more, only captured her lips with his in a demanding, erotic kiss. One that broached no argument, one that said how powerful he was and that when he finished with his enemies, he would come back to claim her.
When he pulled away, leaving her bemused, she gazed at his storm cloud eyes with glazed ones of her own. “Be careful, Wraith. Come back to me.”
He nodded once, his lips curved in a wicked smile and then he was gone.
She stood in the empty room, cold, alone, scared, and listened to the sounds of bloodshed being committed above, to the sounds of the dying and a faint triumphant calling, which she hoped was Wraith as he cut through the lines to regain control of his ship.
Wraith wielded his sword at the men who poured onto his ship like ants on a forgotten sweet mincemeat pie.
But his ship was no piece of pie, and was not forgotten either. His men and he would fight to the death to keep the ship. For this was his life, and the cargo it held more precious to him than anything else—the lass and his ticket to freedom.
The men they fought were not other pirates. Although the men were not dressed in uniform or in particularly lavish attire, their weapons looked like they belonged to a military faction, although he had the distinct impression they’d not been trained to use them. He felled one man after another until he came upon a gentleman who was dressed in noble attire. Sweat covered the man’s brow as he fought for his life against Churl.
He was pleased to see that most of his own men had gotten the upper hand and had either sent the attackers to their maker or tied them up as prisoners.
Noir stood beyond the circle Churl and the gentleman were making with their parried dance, arms crossed over his chest, fist swinging out every once in a while to knock a man who attacked him unconscious with the butt of his sword.
Watching Churl fight was a pleasure. The man had a unique style of bringing his prey in, letting them think they had the upper hand and then springing an unseen hit on them.
He laughed aloud when Churl kicked the man in his ballocks, causing him to fall to his knees. The gentleman cursed and turned his eyes on Wraith.
“Ye the captain?” he asked, his accent distinctly Irish, at the same time as Churl prepared to butt him on the back of the head.
Wraith held up his hand and to Churl said, “Hold, man, let me speak to him.”
Churl nodded and snickered, giving the man a kick in the ribs instead. The gentleman doubled over, holding his belly.
“I am the captain of this ship. What the bloody hell do ye think ye’re doing attacking us? Are ye mad, man?”
The man looked up, blood sweating into his eye from a cut on his brow. “Ye have something of mine, I believe.” His lip curled into a mean smile showing dark rotted teeth and a few spaces where teeth should have been. For all his noble clothes and weaponry he looked as though he drank a cask of wine an hour and never once cleaned his teeth with a bit of root or the like. There was something oddly familiar about the man, too. “And I want it back.”
Wraith laughed cruelly, sheathed his sword and walked forward, stalking the man. “Ye think to become a pirate yourself then, mate?”
“I am a peer and ye shall address me so,” the man sneered.
Wraith shot forward, jolting the man. He grabbed him by his collar and lifted him up to face Wraith eye to eye. “A peer? On the open seas there are no peers, and here I am king.”
The man actually shuddered but quickly pulled himself to rights. “I shall require my betrothed. She is mine. Sold to me by her parents.”
“Betrothed ye say? I dinna think so.”
“I’ve already had it confirmed by one of your men, Captain Noir. Lady Faryn is mine!” Spittle flew from the man’s mouth.
Wraith ignored the spittle. Ignored the red-faced man he held in the air. All he could think of was the beauty below stairs. How much she meant to him, and that he couldn’t possibly lose her. Especially not to this man. Not to this monster, with his blackened teeth and foul breath. His sweating, stinking body. His evilness that radiated off him in waves. She’d never make it.
Finally, Wraith smiled. It was a deadly smile. Cold, unforgiving. “Funny thing is, mate,” he said, dropping the man back on the deck, “I bought her myself. And I dinna take kindly to others stealing what is mine.”
The man on the deck let out a desperate growl and lunged at Wraith, a dirk that had before been concealed glinting in the sunlight. He jabbed at Wraith with manic intent. The man was mad. No matter how Wraith blocked the blows, here the wretch came back, cutting wherever he could and shouting vile curses. Even when Wraith was able to wrestle him to the ground, the bastard wouldn’t give up. He pulled a pistol from his belt and held it to Noir’s belly, every intention to pull the trigger. Enough was enough. With one click of his skull and crossbones ring, Wraith put an end to the assault and sliced the man’s neck from ear to ear.
The maggot fell to the deck again, clutching at his severed neck, blood spilling from between his fingers.
“Shouldna have lunged at me, mate. ’Tis a shame, since I fully intended to keep ye alive and negotiate.” Wraith wiped the thin blade on the man’s coat and then clicked the button to retract it back into his ring, watching the dying man look at his ring. “Thing comes in handy in a pinch. Didna even catch your name to ask the lass if ye were her man. Could be I dinna have Lady Faryn onboard and my man was mistaken. Could be ye died for nothing.”
Wraith left the man to die with the thought of his vile mistakes the last on his dying mind.
“We take no prisoners! Toss ’em to the sharks. Those who make it back to their ship are saved, those who dinna become feed for the fishes.”
His men shouted and cheered, happy to toss their prisoners overboard. He could hear the splashing with subtle differences. The splashing of those who could swim making a mad dash for their ship, and those who could not swim as they thrashed for their lives.
Life had made him a bitter man.
Now to find out whom exactly his new bounty piece was. Pleasure had to now be at an end.
Chapter Nine
He opened the door and let it bang sharply against the wall. Faryn jerked from her place at the porthole where she peered out onto the expansive sea.
“Men died today, lass. ’Tis your doing.” He scowled at her.
She scowled back, arms spread wide. “My doing?” Her voice was high-pitched, exasperated. “How in the world can ye see fit to blame your pirating ways on me?”
“’Tis quite easy actually. They came looking for ye.”
“For me?” Her face lost all color and she sank to the floor in a puddle of white linen.
“Aye. Never got the maggot’s name, but he had blackened teeth and claimed ye for his bride.”
“Nay,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Nay, it canna be!”
“Are ye calling me a liar?�
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She looked up sharply, tears glistening in her eyes, making his heart lurch. He longed to reach out and hold her, tell her everything would be all right, but he couldn’t. He needed answers.
“Tell me everything,” he demanded.
“I dinna know where to start.” Her voice was so small and vulnerable. Her hands clutched at the linen in a grip so tight her knuckles were white.
“Start with his name, who he was to ye.”
“His name is Lord Bréagadóir.”
The name meant nothing to him. “He says ye were sold to him. What does he mean by that?”
Her face flushed red and she looked down at the wooden planks of the floor. “My parents gave him a large dowry to take me off their hands as no other man would have me.” She looked up, her wide eyes glassy with unshed tears. But he was struck more with the defiance he saw. She was a fighter and would not cower easily. “But ye see, when ye took me from the shore that night, he had not yet received the coin. Bréagadóir is in deep with his creditors. My father promised him a lot of gold if he would only look the other way when there was no blood on the sheets on our wedding night. If he didna get the coin, he would have been dead as the creditors would have killed him or sent him to debtor’s prison.” Her gaze flicked around the room, settling on anything but him. “Bréagadóir would have killed me, I am sure. He all but promised once he got what he wanted, he’d be done with me.”
“Who is your father?”
“My father is Henry, Baron Claneford.”
Wraith drew a deep breath, excitement coursing through his veins. He’d known her father was a powerful man, but not how close he actually was to getting his future back. The baron would be instrumental in his freedom.
“Was Bréagadóir the man who took your maidenhead?” The bastard. He could kill him all over again.
“Nay,” she said, shaking her head, her long blonde locks bobbing against her bare shoulders. “I was naïve. Fancied myself in love and let a handsome young groom seduce me. He promised to take me away, to marry me.”
