Devil May Care

by Unknown

  “You were talking in your sleep,” she murmured and felt him tense.

  “What did I say?”

  “It was in Gaelic.” She gently rolled toward him, but his face was in complete shadow.

  “Just dreaming of the Highlands.” He kissed her forehead as he tucked her into him.

  “You miss your home,” she whispered. He made a small sound that sounded like agreement. “Tell me about it.”

  “’Tis rugged and raw, untainted by human waste. The flowers bloom across the green moors, the beinns are majestic, reaching the clouds, and the lochs glitter when the sun shows itself.”

  “It sounds beautiful,” she said with a sinking feeling. “You love it.”

  “It’s part of me, in my blood.” He spoke softly. “Sometimes it’s gentle and sweet but it holds passion and has a fierce temper.”

  “Sounds like the sea.” She smiled, her cheek against his chest.

  He paused for a long while. “I suppose it does. Except for the flowers.”

  She laughed silently, only her body shaking. “Yes, except for the flowers. I’d like to see it someday.”

  She caught her breath on an inhale of his scent. A long moment passed and she let her exhale seep out, disappointment heavy in her stomach.

  “I can take ye there, Dory.”

  Her senses reached out instantly. His breathing remained even, his muscles relaxed. No hint of a lie.

  “I would like that,” she said, her voice just above a breath.

  Like the gentle brush of a leaf fluttering against her lips, he leaned down and kissed her. So soft, but the heat of it ignited inside Dory. He pulled back. “Let’s try to get through this alive first. Now get some sleep.”

  “No swiving tonight,” she teased.

  “That requires privacy,” he answered though she knew he was thinking about it.

  She smiled in the darkness. “Actually Adela told me that’s not a requirement. In fact, she had a story about two blokes—”

  “Sleep, Dory,” Ewan said. She sighed and turned back around to face Charissa. Dory scooted her backside into him and heard a faint groan. If she was going to be uncomfortable tonight, so should he. She closed her eyes with a smile. Amazing that she could feel so happy after the day she’d had.

  …

  “You weren’t here, lazy boy! Making you sweet cakes instead of my dinner, she was!” Bloodshot eyes squinted over snarling, wet lips. His father’s fists shook in the air with his rage.

  Ewan couldn’t move his feet as he stared at the lump on the floor. He tried to go to her, would have thrown himself over her if he could only move.

  Ewan’s eyes opened before his mind fully left the nightmare he’d been having. He pried his fists open and rubbed his hands down his face. Despite the coolness in the room, sweat left a sheen over his skin. Bloody hell! He hadn’t dreamt of his father for over a year.

  The latch on the door jiggled. ’Twas what had woken him. Ewan slid silently from between the linens, and wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword.

  “Is someone there?” Dory asked. She was sitting up in the bed, the low cut of her chemise barely covering her shape.

  “Panda?” a voice called.

  “Captain? It isn’t even dawn yet.” She pushed out of bed and lit an oil lamp while Ewan unbarred the door.

  “Will and I are headed out.”

  Will glanced at the sleeping girl and then nudged Ewan with his elbow. “I see we weren’t interrupting anything going on in here.” The man’s jest bit, letting Ewan know how badly he wanted to take his place in bed with Dory.

  His almost-sister ignored him. “Why now?”

  “We slept some in Searc’s room. Fine lad, he is. Offered him a place on the Queen Siren.” Captain Bart looked at Ewan. “But he seems to love his Highlands.”

  “And his Mama,” Will teased, but again the jest seemed bitter.

  “The sooner we return to the ship,” Captain Bart continued as he held Dory’s shoulders, “the sooner I can get you that blasted box.”

  “How are ye going?” Ewan asked.

  “We walked down to the docks yesterday evening,” Captain Bart said. “There’s a merchant ship which might give us passage around Wales to Barry Sound before heading west. You said the Queen Siren was waiting off the western shore.”

  “She is unless something happened.”

  “If she ran into trouble, Pete would steer her into the port at Barry to get supplies. I’ll find them there and most likely return over land.”

  “If all goes smoothly,” Ewan said and walked back to Dory, “ye could be back in a fortnight.”

  “Before you can miss me.” Captain Bart leaned in and kissed Dory on the forehead then looked straight into her eyes. “O’Neil is down at the docks, too. I saw the Raven at anchor.”

  Ewan felt Dory tense next to him. “He is gathering strays like Charissa said,” Dory whispered.

  “And you are not to go anywhere near him,” Captain Bart ordered with a quick glance at Ewan. “We will deal with him on open water.”

  “I’ll keep her away,” Ewan said. “She has a habit of getting into trouble.”

  Dory shot him a glare. “So do you.”

  “Actually that only started after I met ye.”

  Captain Bart chuckled. “My Panda needs someone strong to keep her from running head first into disaster.”

  “Captain—”

  “’Tis true, girl,” Captain Bart finished. He looked at Ewan and smiled. “She’s trouble, but if you stick around, I think you’ll find she’s worth the disaster.”

  “Captain!” she called as loudly as she dared. If there had been enough light, Ewan was certain he would see a deep flush on her cheeks.

  Her father kissed her again and turned. Will walked over and before Ewan could step in front of her, he scooped her into a hug with a loud smacking kiss, then set her back down. He glanced at Ewan with an I-dare-you look. Dory hit Will’s shoulder as he turned.

  “See you in a fortnight,” Will threw over his shoulder. At the door he did turn to Ewan. “Like the captain ordered, take care of our girl.”

  Dory huffed. “I can take care of myself. You surely know that,” she tossed at him as he stepped out. His snort came from the hallway and then they were gone.

  She stood staring at the closed door as Ewan slid the bar across.

  “This will be easy for them,” he said.

  She nodded but chewed gently on her bottom lip. Guilt churned in her stomach. She wasn’t worth all this effort. “It seems I’m always causing danger for someone,” she said.

  “Ah now. A little danger makes the living sweeter.”

  She tipped her chin up, a slight grin softening the tension in her face. “Now who sounds like a pirate?”

  “I have a sudden yearning to see ye climbing the mast lines,” he said and pulled her into the circle of his bare arms.

  He kissed her gently. Aye, a little danger never tasted so sweet, like warmth and waking passion. She was delicate yet so strong in spirit. She touched her tongue to his, eliciting a low growl from him. On the bed, Charissa rolled over. Dory sighed against his mouth and he released her to breathe deeply.

  He turned away from Dory. “I’ll be by the fire.”

  “The bed is big enough,” she said as she crawled back in.

  He glanced at her there among the furs and blankets, the look of an angel in white, hair spilling around her shoulders. Did she even realize how tantalizing she looked? “Sleep,” he ordered softly. “Tomorrow we need to raise a traitor from the dead.”

  …

  The morning flew by. Tilly brought breakfast and wove Charissa’s hair while Dory questioned her about what she remembered from the past.

  “Well now, m’lady, I was just a young maid working here when your mother walked these halls,” Tilly said, Charissa’s brown hair twined deftly between her fingers.

  “Do you remember who she spoke with, perhaps saw her riding out with a man?” Dory
asked.

  Tilly glanced up. “Hmmm…other than Lord Wellington, her husband? A time or two, perhaps. She walked a lot in the gardens, lovely thing she was.” She smiled at Dory. “Just like you, m’lady. She had many admirers.”

  Dory studied the letters strewn on the small writing desk. “Perhaps she met with Richard Pembroke?”

  Tilly scrunched her face. “I do not recall that, though she had an argument with her husband’s brother once that left the court whispering for a week,” she said with a nod.

  “James Wellington?”

  “Aye. I also saw her with a thin man with dark eyes, caught them whispering in the alcove near what’s now Lord Cromwell’s office.” Tilly’s gaze remained fastened to Charissa’s hair.

  Rowland Boswell? Dory blushed, wondering if she could possibly have been conceived in the same alcove she nearly demanded Ewan ravish her in.

  “Cromwell wasn’t the king’s advisor then?” Dory asked and watched Tilly’s fingers fly down the short braid, then twist it up across Charissa’s head.

  “Nay, m’lady. He was young and studious, always being clever with the king when he was around, impressing him, I suppose.” She shrugged. “And it worked. Look where he is now. Only the king himself has more power than Lord Cromwell.”

  “Quite clever,” Dory murmured and turned back to the letters.

  “Oh, and your lady’s maid,” Tilly said, squeezing Charissa’s shoulders, “has been assigned the room right next to mine…and I found you some dresses,” she said near the girl’s ear.

  Shortly after the two left to find Charissa’s garments, Searc and Ewan came in. Dory filled them in on what she’d learned from Tilly.

  “See what ye can find out from that grizzly old groom out in the stables,” Ewan instructed Searc.

  The tall boy said something in Gaelic, his eyes straying to Dory. Ewan sighed as if resigned and nodded. She waited until the door shut behind Searc before turning on Ewan. He held up his hand. “Searc saw a ship that matches the look of the Raven. It is still docked along the Thames near the Tower.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “Ye’re not going down there,” Ewan said.

  His command bristled inside Dory even though he was just repeating her father’s order. Blast it! O’Neil was within her grasp, and he didn’t even know she was here. She could strike while he slept, skewering him to his pox-infested bed.

  She’d never actually killed anyone before, but O’Neil was long past due in being sent to Hell. How many children had suffered and died under his tainted care? An image of the red-haired girl popped unwilling into Dory’s mind, her little fist curling as she slumped in the fiend’s arms. That child could have been herself if her mother had been taken by the Raven.

  Dory felt the burn of her useless tears and pushed the image away. The girl was probably dead now and in Heaven, warm and loved. Either way, the bastard needed to die.

  “Do ye understand, Dory?” Ewan asked.

  She blinked until her wet eyes cleared. “I understand that you are trying to follow Captain Bart’s orders and that is a valiant idea.”

  “Dory,” he warned. “Do I need to tie ye to me?”

  She smiled wickedly. “Adela did mention that some blokes like using ropes.”

  He frowned but she could almost see his pulse quicken in his throat. “Dory, it is too dangerous for ye to confront this O’Neil bastard on yer own.”

  “You’d be right with me whether I order you to stay here or not.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Order me,” he repeated like it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

  “Yes, order you.” She glanced purposely at his crotch. “I don’t know why people think that just because men have a fifth appendage that they get to be the ones giving all the orders. I’m much more powerful than any man I’ve ever met.”

  Ewan stared at her for a long moment. “So ye can do everything all on yer own then?”

  She frowned, sensing a trap but not sure where it was.

  “Like escaping the Tower,” he continued. “And Henry’s grasp. Ye can do it all alone, without anyone’s help.”

  She felt her flush but didn’t acknowledge it. “I could make do somehow.”

  “Or ye could die, or worse.”

  She didn’t need to ask what was worse. She’d seen it in the faces of those children rescued from slave traders. “My death would be worth it if O’Neil is stopped.”

  Ewan grabbed her shoulders, turning her to him. “Nothing,” he all but yelled in her face. “Nothing is worth yer death.”

  She glared back in mute defiance as he met it with an equal strength. He blinked long and exhaled, his voice lowering back to a normal volume. “If ye’re dead… ye will hurt yer father who will most likely kill me if harm comes to ye. Charissa will have no champion, and I’m thinking that there are a great number of children who still need ye alive to save them. Is all that worth the life of one bastard?”

  “I didn’t say I was just going to sacrifice myself,” she said, breaking out of his hold on her. “We will just go down there, kill him, and scoot right back.”

  “I think ye know this O’Neil character better than that,” Ewan challenged. “He doesn’t seem like the type to just let a lass saunter in, kill him, and walk back off his ship. Dory, ye need to think these rash plans through.”

  “You think too much.” She plucked a bun off the serving tray Tilly had brought.

  Ewan ran a hand down his face like he’d rather scrape off his own skin than deal with her. The motion reminded her much of the captain.

  “Look,” he said, walking toward her. “Ye have power, a lot of it.” He grabbed his long sword that he’d polished that morning. She watched the muscles stretch the linen of his shirt as he hefted it upward. Stepping back with it, he braced his feet apart so that the steel balanced in his hand like an extension of his well-toned body. Slash!

  The blade hummed through the air as he sliced it downward, turned, and carved into an invisible foe, a lethal blow for certain. “But if ye don’t think, don’t hone that power.” He let the tip of the sword dip until it struck the rug. The devil wasn’t even breathing heavy! “It will do little good.” He raised the blade up again. “Yer power could kill innocents, ye being one of them.”

  Dory found herself sitting, the bun on the floor. She breathed again, her whole body taut. Ewan Brody was amazing! She’d never seen power like his. The promise of death in his swing was undeniable. She’d been around sword play all her life, but he was different, power restrained, tuned into lethal beauty.

  He looked at her like it was her turn to throw something back in their volley. She couldn’t even remember his last comment. Her mouth a desert, she pushed the tip of her tongue through to wet her lips. His focus moved to her mouth. “Swing your sword again,” she said.

  One of his eyebrows rose. He breathed in and shook his head slowly.

  “Please,” she said, turning the command into a request. That one word seemed to freeze him more solid than any ice storm she could have created. “Please,” she whispered. Her breath hitched in her tight throat as he lifted the steel length. His strength sent a bolt of molten energy snapping through her.

  Ewan tossed the long sword from one hand to the next, its weight perfectly balanced. He moved then. A step one way, a step the other, a sure thrust, a deadly pivot as the blade sang again. The muscles of his arms, shoulders, and back flexed within the thin linen of his shirt. The rhythm seemed as natural as breathing for him. She could easily imagine him in battle, a swarm of warring Scots falling to his blade.

  Dory’s stomach tightened into a coil, her blood rushing about her in a frenzied heat. She stood as she watched him maneuver with the grace of an angel of death. He stared at her as he rotated, his eyes hard like his body, centered directly on her face. Another slash cut the air in half and she heard the gasp before she even knew it had left her mouth.

  Ewan stepped closer, his sword still moving in controlled arcs. If on
ly his shirt was off, she’d be able to watch the ripple of his muscles contract with each shifting of weight. Just the thought rolled another wave of heat through her. She exhaled long and wind whistled down the chimney, flattening the flames for a heartbeat.

  He stopped, lowering the sword, his chest rising with the exertion of his practice. She moved toward him slowly. “There’s no child in the room,” she whispered. “I’m ready for my lesson.”

  Thunder rumbled deep outside. She took another step into his chest, hoping very much that he would respond.

  A deep growl-like sound came from within him as the hilt of his sword thudded on the thick rug. His hands caught her head, fingers threading desperately into her hair. His mouth met hers in a crush. She could feel his blood surging, muscles contracting, eyes dilating, everything to match her own. Together they were pure power—his physical, hers magical.

  Ewan lifted her from the rug without breaking the kiss and Dory wrapped her hands around the back of his strong neck as he carried her across the room. When she felt the bed cushion her backside, she yanked at the base of his shirt, pulling it out of his trews and tugging his laces undone. She grazed his lower half and felt a giddy fear bubble inside her. She must have stiffened because he pulled back to look in her eyes.

  “Ye’re afraid,” he said, his breathing ragged like he was holding back a dam of flood waters.

  Oh no! He wasn’t backing out of this. She shook her head fast. “I trust you.”

  His face was fierce. “I don’t take virgins to my bed.”

  He started to back away, but she grabbed his shirt front. Yes, she was afraid, but more so of him stopping. He hesitated but continued. Blast it! Dory slipped her foot upward to stop his retreat from behind. With quick fingers born of desperation, she plucked open his trews and reached inside, wrapping her hand around his length. He was large and hard, velvet over steel.

  “I’m not your typical virgin,” she said and moved her hand. “And you said you’d teach me.” She trembled a bit inside, but continued.

  He groaned low and leaned over her on the bed, hovering, pushing her backward with his closeness. His arms came down on either side of her head on the fur coverlet.