Savage of the Sea (Pirates of Britannia: Lords of the Sea Book 1)

by Eliza Knight

  “Ye’re incorrigible, Shaw.”

  “As any proud pirate would be.”

  She thought he was more of a gentleman than a pirate, but she decided to keep that knowledge to herself. It wouldn’t do to get him rankled if she wanted him to stay. Already she was treading in shallow water.

  “Your uncle was lying,” Shaw said casually as he slid into his chair.

  “Oh?” she asked, not revealing that she too had found his behavior odd.

  “Aye. Unless he’s an extremely stupid man, but as ye are not an extremely stupid lass, I doubt that ye would put such a treasure in the hands of a man so easily able to lose it.”

  “Aye.”

  “So, tell me, what do ye think?”

  Just what she’d been avoiding—any talk that might lead them down that tension-filled path again.

  “I did find it odd that he would have allowed Lorne to take Alexander to a boxing match. The lad should have been locked up tight.”

  “And what do ye think they may have been doing instead?”

  She shrugged. “They could have been there hiding, to be sure, and my uncle simply did not want to release those in his care to us, as he wasna certain if we could be trusted.”

  “I appreciate ye adding the we, but we both know it is me that he doesna trust.”

  Jane shook her head and bit into her chicken, chewing as she mulled her answer. “I am certain that he doesna trust ye, aye, and given that he doesna know ye and that he guards the greatest treasure in Scotland, one canna blame him for such. As for me, why should he completely trust me? I showed up unannounced and with a stranger demanding he simply hand the treasure over.”

  “I see your point. Do ye think he will come before dawn?” Shaw bit into a carrot, chewing slowly as he watched her, and she had the distinct impression she was being measured.

  “I hope so. What will ye do if he doesna?” This answer she feared the most, because their agreement for her safety was based on her handing over the national treasure. And while they’d shared many passionate moments and he’d declared more than once that he wasn’t letting her go, he’d also leapt backward and avoided her, as well.

  She supposed she could make her way back to her uncle’s house if she needed a safe haven, but who was to say that her uncle would accept her, or that he was still there? He could have packed up in a rush of panic and moved everyone out after their visit. There were no guarantees. He’d offered to protect the Black Knight and Alexander. He risked much already because of that.

  “I willna turn ye out, lass.”

  Was she that easy to read?

  “Ye’re emotions read like an open book.” He picked up a hunk of meat and took a bite, watching her. “Even now, I can see just what ye’re thinking.”

  “And what is that?” She tried to school her features into something plain, and when that didn’t work, she scowled.

  Shaw laughed. “Ye’re thinking how irritating it is that I can see what ye think, that even when ye try, it’s too hard to hide from me. Even that scowl ye have on your face is nothing but a ruse.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ye’re not mad at me.”

  “I assure ye, I am quite vexed.”

  “Not with me.”

  “Than with whom?”

  “I’d say Livingstone for certain. And your uncle. Even though ye understand the reasons behind his actions, they still irritate ye. Ye want this business in London done with so ye can get back to your life.”

  Incredible. His read of her was pretty accurate. Except for the last part. “I have no life to get back to. I didna take vows at Iona, and given they all saw me leave with a pirate, and perhaps a few of them saw ye kissing me on the beach, I would certainly not be welcomed back into the fold of their saintly religious order.”

  A slow grin curled his lips. “Which is fine by ye, lass, because ye didna want to be a part of it anyway. Ye wrote it in your letters to me. And if ye were interested then instead of summoning me, ye would have taken vows and asked to be transferred to another abbey.”

  She pursed her lips, her gaze flicking to his lips as she recalled the kiss that had changed so much for her. Aye, she’d not known exactly what she wanted before. Even yesterday and this morning, she’d not known. And perhaps now, she was still uncertain, but the way he kissed her, the way she reacted to it, the way she liked talking to him, had practically begged him to sit with her to eat… The fact that her feelings were hurt when he avoided her, Jane knew that a life without love and desire, without Shaw, was not for her.

  Aye, she wanted him. Wanted it all. But how could she make him see that was the right course to take? What if she was making a big mistake? What if it was only the danger she was in that made her want to align herself to the strongest man she knew?

  “Ye want me to kiss ye.” Shaw’s gaze had darkened, his lids growing heavy with answering desire.

  Jane scoffed and tore off a piece of her bread, shoving it into her mouth.

  “Badly by the looks of it.” He sat forward, pushing his food aside and leaning his elbows on the table.

  She scoffed again and chewed harder.

  Shaw chuckled and stood up, rounding the table at a slow predatory pace. “I’m happy to oblige, lass.”

  “Ye’re wrong,” she murmured.

  He moved to the back of her chair, his hands on the wood as he bent to whisper, “Am I?”

  “Aye.” The word was barely audible above her racing heartbeat.

  The backs of his fingers brushed her neck as he moved her hair back. “Then why is your pulse jumping?”

  She was on the verge of retorting that she had no pulse, but that was just ridiculous, because one, of course she had a pulse and two, it was pounding so hard in her neck, she knew he could probably see it. Instead, she said, “Because I am nervous.”

  “About?”

  She locked eyes with him. “Ye’re such a good mind reader, why do ye not tell me yourself?”

  “There are many things that make ye nervous, lass.” He slipped her small hand into the grip of his large callused one and gently tugged her to stand. “Foremost on your mind was your uncle and the treasure. But that has changed.”

  Slowly, he turned her to face him, and her breath caught. The man was simply striking. She wanted to run her hands through his silky dark hair, trace the lines of his strong jaw and tug his lips with her teeth.

  “Has it?” Her breath hitched as his hand slid around her waist to cup the small of her back, while her other hand remained a captive of his.

  Gently, he swayed her, dancing to a tune that she couldn’t hear, and then she realized that she could hear it faintly. It was the sound of the fiddlers playing on the deck just outside the porthole.

  She allowed him to dance with her, following the lead of his steps, the gentle rocking of his body. If he’d asked her before, she would have said he didn’t know how to dance. That pirates didn’t dance. And clearly, she’d be wrong, for he danced better than any of the lords at court.

  “Now ye’re wondering where I learned to dance.” He grinned. “And if I’ll kiss ye.”

  “I was not,” she admonished, realizing how much she actually did want him to kiss her, and that the thought had been placed into her mind without her even realizing it.

  “I will, if ye wish it.”

  “I do not wish it.”

  “Then why do ye keep staring at my mouth?”

  She jerked her gaze back up to his, not realizing that she had been staring at his lips. Wide, full and very kissable lips. Lips that had tantalized her before and made her want to explore them again.

  “I was…reading your lips.”

  “Now ye’re a lip reader? I had no idea ye had such a talent. What am I saying?” He mouthed something that looked very much like liar.

  She frowned. “Ye’re…such a pirate.”

  He laughed at that, his chest rumbling against hers. They were pressed so closely together she could smell the spicy, salty scent of
him. He’d washed before they’d gone ashore, and all she wanted to do was bury her face against his neck or chest to breathe him in. Did he even have any idea of how intoxicating he was to her? And why, she had no idea. Perhaps this was natural, and if she’d not spent the last five years at an abbey, she might have taken note of such things, but then again, maybe it was just him.

  “That I am, lass. And what does that make ye?”

  “I dinna know,” she whispered, her eyes falling to his lips once more.

  He was right. She did want him to kiss her. Badly.

  And she didn’t have to ask. He lowered his mouth to hers, laying claim to her mind, body and soul. Life without Shaw would be infinitely different and she suspected disappointing. He was full of surprises and…desire. He made her body come alive with just a look, and the way he kissed her, so passionately as though she were the only thing that mattered in the entire world, made her melt.

  She was going to miss him when they separated, which seemed inevitable as much as she was certain she didn’t want to part from him. She wanted to be his wife. To sail the seas with him—though she didn’t want to be a pirate herself, and she couldn’t ask him to give that up for her. So she would do her best to be the best wife a pirate could ask for. Which was absurd. He’d hinted enough times that having a family was not in the cards.

  Even still, if only to just take a piece of him with her, a private, passionate memory. Maybe holding onto her maidenhood wasn’t as important as she thought. Maybe that was the memory she wanted to take with her. So, when he lifted her up against him, backing her toward the bench where he’d given her pleasure before, she didn’t stop him.

  Shaw laid her out like she was a fine treasure, and then he knelt on the floor beside the bench, kissing her, caressing her ribs, her hips. But nowhere else. And she wanted him, too. She squirmed and wriggled, shifting closer, until she finally grasped his hand and pressed it to her breast, her tight, hard nipple aching with need. He growled against her lips at the bold move, tearing his mouth from hers, eyes popping open to study her.

  “I want ye to touch me,” she murmured.

  Shaw let out a noise that bordered on feral and kissed her again as he massaged her breast. Sensation whipped through her quickly, her body remembering the way this had felt before and causing her to anticipate all the more that crashing wave she wanted so desperately. He tore his mouth from hers and trailed kisses down her neck to her breast, teething her nipple through her gown and then yanking the fabric out of the way to wrap his lips around the turgid peak, sucking in earnest.

  Jane cried out, arching her back. Murmuring, “Oh, aye.”

  As he teased her nipple, his fingers trailed beneath her gown, sliding up her thigh to find her pulsing, hot center.

  “Bloody hell, ye’re so wet…” he growled against her breasts. “I must taste ye.”

  To her surprise, he lifted her skirts and ducked beneath, pressing his lips to her thigh. Jane gasped and tried to sit up, to pull him away, but then he breathed on her most sensitive place, and she fell back on a moan. What in heavens…?

  Wicked… Oh, how she desired every touch this pirate offered her.

  She couldn’t think, could only feel as his tongue slid between her slick folds and sent her entire body and mind into a tailspin. “What…? Oh my… Oh!”

  Someone banged on the door, and shouts arose from above at the same time her entire body broke apart in that same pleasurable way he’d made her climax before, only this time, more intense. Her body quaked, and he gave her one more long lick, before standing up and going to the door, leaving her there trying to gain a grip on her senses.

  He shouted through the wood, “Someone better be dying.”

  “Come quick, Cap’n. The Spaniards have boarded our ship.”

  Jane’s heart lurched, and all pleasure quickly evaporated and was replaced by fear.

  Shaw growled and bit out, “Los Demonios de Mar. Ballocks!” He turned to Jane. “Stay here. Bar the door.” And then he was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  With a cock harder than granite, Shaw marched up on deck to find Captain Santiago Fernandez, of Los Demonios de Mar, the Demons of the Sea, standing on his deck. The man was tall, wiry thin, with a long, pointed beard and sharp black eyes that could have been molded from the depths of the deep, deathly sea.

  For several breaths, they eyed each other. The tension on the ship pulsed. Santiago had three of his crew standing behind him, their hands on the hilts of their deceptively thin swords. In answer to that subtle, threatening gesture, Shaw’s men also had their hands on their weapons, ready to spring at the slightest provocation.

  Shaw stared him down, murder in his eyes, gritting his teeth and wishing they were anywhere but here so he could engage the bastard in combat. “Get off my ship.”

  From the corner of his eye, Shaw watched as Constantine leapt from his own ship onto Shaw’s.

  “Ye’re outnumbered, ye slimy Spanish bastard,” Shaw warned. “Back up slowly toward the gangplank and remove yourself.”

  Santiago grinned cunningly, as though he held a secret. “What are you doing in England?”

  “None of your damned business.”

  The Spanish captain unfurled his fingers and pointed toward the dock. “But I’m certain the Royal Navy would love to know what a bunch of pirates are doing in their port.”

  “To give me away. Ye’d have to give yourself away. And we both know ye arena going to do that. ”

  Santiago chuckled, though there was no mirth in the sound. “Ah, but you see, I have already paid off the dock master. He allows me passage whenever I please. You, on the other hand, I doubt have done so. He also tells me if there is someone in port who might be of interest. He was very interested in you and your bride, and where you were going. Tell me, where did you go? And where is your woman?”

  Shaw gritted his teeth. Blast it! He should have thought of that. Of course, Santiago, the slimy whoreson would have spies. Everyone had spies. He kept his face blank and stared the man down. “Ye wouldna get more than three feet from me before I sent ye to Davy Jones’s locker, maggot. In fact”—Shaw took a menacing step forward, and at the same time, his men and Constantine’s circled the Spanish captain and his three lackeys—“if ye want to make it off my ship alive, I suggest we escort ye and your men back to your ship and see ye untied.”

  Santiago’s lip curled. “You think it will be so easy?”

  “I know it will be easy.” With a flick of his wrist, Shaw produced the dagger that he always kept up his sleeve and pressed it to the breeches of the Spanish Captain. “Else ye’ll be leaving here without your ballocks.”

  Santiago chuckled as though Shaw had just told the wittiest jest. “You’re a savage.”

  “I live up to my name.”

  “Get out of my port,” Santiago demanded. “Else I’ll have my men return to the house you visited to find out why.”

  Damn, he should have known they’d be followed. He was so intent on keeping Jane safe that his senses had not been keen enough. The woman weakened him. But he couldn’t let that show. “This isna your port, no matter how much coin ye’ve paid the dockmaster. If I have to double it, I will to see your greasy arse sink at sea.” He pressed the blade tighter, signaling to Jack, who signaled the men, and all of them pulled their swords at once. “Shall I call the dock master over to settle the matter, or will ye be on your way?”

  Santiago jerked his head forward and hissed. Shaw wasn’t jesting, nor would he allow the bastard to think he didn’t mean business. He flicked his hand to the right, slicing the man’s breeches at his hip, and cutting him just enough to sting but not do any serious damage.

  “Get off my ship,” Shaw snarled.

  Santiago held up his hands and backed away slowly, nodding to his men to stand down. He might be retreating, but this was by no means over.

  “I’d be happy to escort him,” Constantine said with a menacing smile and gesturing for a few of his men t
o board the Savage of the Sea.

  “What kind of ally would I be to take that away from ye?” Shaw said, swiping the black velvet hat from Santiago’s head.

  “You’ve not seen the last of me, ye Scottish dung heap.”

  Shaw chuckled as though he’d not a care in the world. “See ye at sea.”

  Santiago glowered, murder in his eyes. They’d always been enemies, but this was war. After Shaw helped Constantine take care of the French, he’d have to ask his English ally to help eradicate the Spaniards, too. Not that Constantine would mind. The two of them loved a good battle, and whenever they teamed up, they were unstoppable. Which is why, perhaps, they preferred to keep their alliance, for if either one of them went up against each other, there was no telling what kind of damage would be done. The immeasurable kind.

  Shaw watched them go down the docks but caught movement to the left of his ship, which sent a prickle of apprehension up his spine. Was Santiago a distraction for a greater attack? Instantly, he recognized Jane’s Uncle Edward, though he stood quietly in the shadows. Standing beside him was a tall, broad man with a menacing look about him, and a young lad of perhaps fifteen or sixteen summers.

  His first impression of Alexander, the supposed King of Scotland, was that he was lacking. There was a hunted look to him as his gaze darted about. He would have been noticed right away at a boxing match, and Shaw concluded right then and there, that they had not been at a boxing match at all. Despite the hunted demeanor, Alexander was nothing compared to the lad of ten Shaw had seen five years ago when he met Jane. To think that grown men had to bow to a prideful child who knew nothing of running a country really made him shake his head. And here was yet another poor, weak lad being used as a pawn in a great game of men. But the closer they drew to Shaw, the more he realized that this boy king had none of the boastful pride of his brother. There was an earnest look about him. Alexander didn’t know if he was going to live or die. Always on the run. Always looking over his shoulder. That ate at a man, let alone a lad. They reached the bottom of the gangway, heads bowed, the hoods of their cloaks concealing parts of their faces.