Devil May Care

by Unknown

  “They’ll kill you!” she shouted.

  Ewan met her gaze with a resolute stare. “His name is Stephen.”

  Hell! “I know you lied,” she yelled as he turned around. “At the Tower!”

  Dory held her breath. Ewan glanced back, his harsh features transformed, full of something bright. Hope. “In that case, a little diversion might help me return.” He climbed as more cannon fire boomed overhead.

  Diversion? Bloody hell, she needed to make a diversion, one that wouldn’t kill Ewan in the process. She tried to hand the girl over to Will but she clung to her.

  “He’s a good pirate,” she assured her but the girl held onto her legs in the bottom of the boat. Will began to row them away from the Raven.

  “Not too far!”

  “You need to be able to see what you’re firing at,” he countered.

  She looked at Will. “I can’t control—”

  “Aye, you can. Focus, Dory!” Will ordered.

  Men waited at the top of the ladder for Ewan. At the bow, issuing orders, stood Julian O’Neil with James Wellington. A boy stood near them, his eyes wide, though he wore a sneer to match O’Neil’s. Ewan was four rungs from the top and wasn’t slowing. He trusted her.

  Dory inhaled, packing her lungs with sea air. With a whoosh, she exhaled, spitting out the wind, its force shattering through the men waiting with cutlasses at the top. They flew backward like thistle seeds off a ripe flower, several ripping over the gunwale to fall overboard on the other side. Ewan lifted himself up and over.

  “He has no sword,” Will called.

  “But he has me,” she gritted out, raising her hands to the heavens where bits of lightning hummed, waiting.

  Ewan ran full force toward the three at the bow. He bent low and scooped up a cutlass from the deck. Dory readied her magic, playing with the fast moving bits of water and air above her. The lightning exploded through the clouds like the skeleton inside a billowing beast.

  Ewan met James Wellington’s attack, blocking the blow and letting its momentum slide past him to make the man stumble forward. With two more slices, Wellington flopped down on the deck and she couldn’t see him anymore.

  O’Neil pulled his cutlass and a chill ran through Dory. Fear flooded her as the two met upon the deck. Lightning shot from the sky, snapping down on the water at points all around.

  “God’s balls, Dory!” Will bellowed. The white bolts sizzled through the water, snapping and spraying as it hit, lighting up the growing night so that it looked bright as day. The snapping thunder made hearing anything else impossible. Will’s mouth opened, but all she heard was cracking and ringing.

  Dory breathed deeply, reining in her fear, her control. She spotted a pirate at the top, poised by the wheel. O’Neil’s quartermaster, a black-hearted partner to the captain. With focus she reached up to the clouds with her mind and shot at him.

  Lightning sliced down at the man, exploding the entire top of the Raven into a million splinters, the quartermaster with it. Will cheered, but Dory’s stomach clenched. Was there any way to control God’s lightning?

  The boy on the deck picked up a cutlass and came up behind Ewan. Bloody hell! He was going to attack Ewan.

  Dory inhaled quickly and shot out a puff of air, knocking the boy back. He jumped up and caught Dory’s sharp gaze. She pointed directly at him and flashed some lightning over his head in the clouds. The boy ducked. As if aware of the boy’s befuddlement, Ewan scooped him up with one arm around the middle and threw him over the side of the ship. Flailing, he fell down into the sea.

  “Will!” Dory yelled and her brother dove over the side of the rowboat, and in four swift strokes caught the stunned boy as he spluttered on the surface. There wasn’t much fight left in him. Dory crouched low and countered Will’s weight as he hefted first the boy and then himself into the small row boat. The little girl released Dory’s legs and crawled over to grab the boy in a fierce hold.

  “Go!” Ewan commanded from on top as he leapt forward and back against two of O’Neil’s men with the force of someone used to swinging a sword. “Not without you!” she screamed. O’Neil yelled for more of his men to attack Ewan, his own sword ready in his uninjured arm. The bastard knew he couldn’t defeat Ewan on his own, but he had a bloodthirsty crew ready to execute his every wish.

  The Raven fired a volley against the silent Queen Siren. With their dinghy still close to the Raven, Captain Bart wouldn’t fire back. Will began to row.

  “We aren’t leaving him!”

  “The Queen Siren’s already been hit,” he yelled and put his shoulders into the oars. “They need a clear shot.”

  Bloody hell! That’s what she needed, too, a clear shot at O’Neil and his crew. Clear, focused, definite shots.

  “Stop rowing. I need a steady stance,” she called behind her and stood tall, her arms out for balance. She needed to give Ewan an opening to dive overboard. Wind wouldn’t work. For it to have the force to do more than startle a lad, it would cover a large area. Ewan would be hit, maybe thrown off balance enough for those bastards to strike. No, it had to be lightning and it had to be placed just so.

  Dory searched the clouds overhead with her magic, feeling the strings of energy, hot and volatile, barely controlled until she found a line of energy sizzling in a cloud. Dory imagined it as a thread, a single sliver of silver. She held her thumb and finger together as if threading a needle.

  Her Scotsman’s strength was obvious even after life in the Tower and onboard ship. The rain had slicked his linen shirt to his body, his arms bulging with sinewy strength as he fought two pirates before their shouting pirate captain, falling back only to move closer to the rail. If she could just get a clear shot at O’Neil, the others would be so stunned that they’d pause enough to give Ewan a chance! But they were all so close.

  Dory blurred her eyes, imagining O’Neil as a needle, his head the eye, the thread in her grasp. “Jump,” she whispered, afraid to strike with Ewan so close. “Jump, damn it.”

  She breathed in through her nose, careful not to unleash the lightning without absolute control. Even her breath came out thin. “Now,” she whispered and felt rather than saw a line of energy between the cloud and the eye of the dancing needle. “Now!”

  She released an instant of energy to follow the line from the cloud to the needle eye. Lightning, so thin it couldn’t be seen, popped in the night air. A slight flash lost among the darkness. With one guttural cry, O’Neil crumpled to the deck and his two crewmen turned to him. Another cannon boom echoed as its shot cut to the waiting Queen Siren.

  Splash!

  “Ewan!” Dory crouched to the side of the boat. He surfaced, shaking his head and cut through the dark water toward them, pulling himself to the edge.

  “Nice shot,” he said. Will leaned over to give him a hand up while Dory balanced the boat.

  One side of his mouth quirked up in a grin. “Feel free to stop those cannons now,” he said as he wiped a hand down his dripping face.

  Dory breathed fully and looked to the devil’s ship. “By all means,” she said quietly and unleashed her power.

  …

  Ewan stared down at the main deck of the Queen Siren. All was quiet, the night calm and inky dark. Stars by the millions sat like sparks in the heavens. But the sight that kept Ewan riveted below was the lovely, exceedingly complicated lass lying flat on her back on the deck, staring up into the dazzling void. After only an initial touch, she’d been whisked off to heal and deal with the little girl and the belligerent boy.

  Captain Bart came to stand by him. He held a small wooden box. “Did she tell you?”

  “We haven’t talked.”

  “’Tis hers now. What she does with it…” He shrugged and set the box in Ewan’s hand, walking away. Pandora’s box begged to be opened. Instead he pocketed it and climbed the ladder down.

  His boots clipped on the polished wood planks. She didn’t stir, her chest rising on a deep breath. He sat and then lowered to lie
flat next to her.

  “There are billions of them,” she whispered.

  “Aye, reminds me of the skies back home.” He frowned, his voice sounding too rough for the soft night.

  Water lapped at the ship sides. Laughter from below occasionally rose up into the stillness. The crew celebrated the end of Julian O’Neil and the Raven with grand gusto. The constant sea breeze slid over them. Despite the smoothness of the night, there was tension. He wasn’t sure where to start.

  “Ye know I lied in the Tower,” he said. “To make ye leave. The guards were coming. Ye’d have been burned.” Damn, just the words of her torture made it difficult to swallow. “I…” He breathed deeply. “I couldn’t allow that.”

  “We both said bloody horrible things,” she whispered and turned her head to look at him.

  “Could I have said anything else to make ye leave, to save yer own life?”

  Ewan waited, his heart thumping hard in his chest and he inhaled slowly, silently, waiting. She didn’t say anything.

  “For twelve days of darkness,” he began again, “I sat in that dank hell going over every word I said, hating each lie, but… I still don’t know what else I could have done to make ye leave.”

  She cleared her throat as if her words were stuck there. “You could have had Will knock me out and carry me away,” she said without looking at him. “The pain would have been less.”

  Ewan’s eyes squeezed shut, as if he could shut out the pain he’d caused. But he couldn’t.

  “Will’s too scared of ye to try and knock ye out,” he said.

  She twitched and he propped his head up on one hand. Could that have been a chuckle? Her hair lay out from her head like golden rays from a sun, surrounding lovely features reflected like porcelain caught in the sporadic moon’s glow.

  “Ye are still mine, Dory,” he said low.

  She turned her head so that she could look at him, her words tight. “Perhaps I’m not the woman you want. Not everything you said in the Tower was a lie.”

  “Every word that said ye weren’t for me, every unfounded criticism, every foul phrase that said ye were unworthy was a complete lie.” His voice dropped. “I am the unworthy one, lass.”

  She slid her head against the boards in a shake. “There’s absolutely nothing in my mother’s letter that shows her innocence. I’m the bastard of two traitors. I’m a witch. I’m a penniless heiress with traitorous ties to a country ye despise. I’m a pirate—”

  “A good pirate,” he interjected, using her own words. “One who has helped save many children like that red-haired girl.”

  “Charissa,” Dory whispered.

  “The wee one, too.”

  “Margery gave her the made-up name she used before. Charissa likes it.” He’d only ever had one name. Perhaps that’s why these changes baffled him, but he nodded.

  He listened to her shallow breath. It sounded pained. He hated that sound. It reminded him too much of that day in the Tower. “I don’t care about England,” he said. “And my very best friend is married to a woman with magic like ye.”

  Dory looked at him. “Caden?”

  Ewan nodded. “I thought Meg to be the most complicated woman I’d ever meet, but ye, Pandora Wyatt Brody, make Meg look like a simple lamb.”

  She seemed to ignore his use of her married name. “You said it yourself, I’m no lady.”

  “Och lass,” he said and ran a hand through his hair. “That was part of the lie. Ye are—”

  “You like comfortable, simple lasses who will make you sweets,” she interrupted. “I don’t bake sweets.”

  That foolish advice he’d given Searc seemed a lifetime ago. “Sweets slow a warrior down, and a simple lass would bore me into an early grave.”

  She looked back to the stars, her face tight. “I’m also a traitor’s spawn.” Her voice broke a bit. “It’s in my blood.” Her voice quieted to the breath of a whisper. “I’m not good enough for you, Ewan Brody.”

  Ewan let his shoulders return to the boards. They stiffened under him, making the polished planks almost painful. Lord, she didn’t know him, didn’t know the nightmares that used to plague him, used to remind him exactly how unworthy he was. All trace of his humor disappeared as he linked the stars with his gaze. Yet he didn’t see them at all.

  “I had a sghian dubh when I was a lad, its handle was black and sleek. Caden’s father, The Macbain, chief of our clan, he gave it to me, taught me how to use it, to throw it.” He paused, breathing in and out for several moments.

  “But you don’t like the sghian dubh,” she said softly, using his words.

  “I did then. It does the most damage by throwing it, hitting just the right spot. And I was good with it, always found my mark.” He fought with the words. They were stuck within him. Probably because he’d never uttered them before. He cleared his throat. “The chief said that I should always keep it to defend myself and those I love.”

  “He was wise,” she said.

  Ewan wouldn’t argue that. Caden’s father had been very wise, wise enough to see what was going on within the Brody cottage at the edge of Druim’s village. “I had bruises.” He stopped, his nose wrinkling as if in disgust. Bloody hell, this wasn’t even the hard part. He rubbed his hand down his face. “That’s when Caden’s father taught me to use the sghian dubh, how to secret it away on my body so no one knew I had it to take it away.”

  She didn’t say anything, but he felt her cool fingers press against the hand by his side.

  “I spent many days and nights learning how to use it. I was too young and scrawny to do much with a sword or even a dagger.” He cleared his throat again. Blast! The words were nearly as difficult as the lies in the tower. “But I could kill with the sghian dubh. Knew where on a body to strike.”

  He didn’t say anything more for a long while, just listened to the lapping water and breathed the damp night air.

  “Why did you have bruises?” she whispered.

  He inhaled fully. “My father… was very angry most of the time, worse when he drank whisky. My mother tried to protect me.”

  Dory didn’t move. He lay there, letting his words escape as if he were alone.

  “I hated him,” he said, his jaw aching. “I spent as much time as I could away from the cottage. I trained with the boys, with Caden.”

  He felt her fingers creep over to his arm, touching, easing.

  “One night…” He bit down on his lip, his breath hitching in his too-tight throat. He sucked in air through his nose. “I wasn’t there… When I went home…” The picture he saw in the stars of that night brought acid up from his stomach, and his eyes stung. “She was dead, I wasn’t there and he killed my mother.”

  Dory buried her face in the crook of his neck.

  “Her body was broken, bent, blood coming from her face. I should have been there.”

  “You were a boy,” she whispered.

  “But I could have…” He stopped. She needed to hear the rest, needed to hear his sins. His stomach tightened, and with his breath he forced the words out. “He turned on me when I walked in. He smelled of whisky and blood.” Ewan laid an arm over his face, remembering the curl of his father’s lip as he blamed him for not being there to hold him back. They’d been fighting about Ewan and his laziness.

  “I had my sghian dubh, and… he was unarmed, but I… I threw it at him,” he said, letting the truth fly up into the night. “It hit his neck, sliced through it. I watched him crumple, bleed on the rushes.”

  He felt Dory’s warmth drape over his chest, and he shook silently. “I abandoned my mother and I killed my father.”

  “He was armed. His strength—he’d have killed you.” She paused. “And you didn’t abandon her,” she said against him. “Blast, Ewan, I shouldn’t have left you in the Tower. You didn’t deserve that. But you made me.”

  Her words floated on the surface of his mind as he poured out the rest. “If I had been there, I could have saved her,” he said. “But I stayed
away. He’d been angry because again I wasn’t home. She tried to stop him from punishing me when I returned.” He ran a hand down the softness of her hair. “An eye for an eye, Dory. I did deserve to be abandoned.”

  She lifted her head up and pried his arm away from his eyes. She stared down into his, her face a shadow in the dark. “Ewan, you didn’t abandon her. You were a child trying to survive.” She searched his eyes. “You have to forgive yourself. If you don’t… how can you let me forgive you?”

  Her words caught at the pain inside him, untwisting it a bit. “You forgive me?”

  She exhaled long and slow. “Just like your mother has. In both instances, you did what had to be done. You stayed away to protect yourself and you lied to me,” she swallowed hard, “to keep me alive.”

  He felt her thumb trace down his temple, her fingers raking in his hair as she lowered down. Her kiss was feather soft against him, and she pulled back slightly. “Ewan Brody, I claim you, for my own, forever.”

  His breath caught. “Don’t pity me.”

  She shook her head, her hair making a curtain around them. “You are strong and honorable. You haven’t let that hell taint you. Surviving made you stronger. I don’t pity you, I… I love you.”

  The words slid into him, into the ache he always held in his heart, melting some of the old ice. He ran his fingers through the tangles of her hair, pulling her mouth back to his. He held her face in his palms while he loved her lips with gentleness, tasting, worshipping this uniquely exquisite woman.

  He rolled to the side, turning her under him and broke the kiss. Light from the moon cast a glow on her face. Happiness lurked there, no pity, and he felt hope swell up in his chest. “Tha gaol agam ort,” he said, his voice rough. “I love ye, Dory Wyatt Brody, now and forever.”

  She pulled the scrap of plaid out of her pocket to wind around his hand and hers, tying them together. “Now and forever,” she said.

  He kissed her soundly, his mouth slanting against hers with all the joy and relief and love he felt. He pulled back gently and gazed down at her beautiful face, an angel with a devil’s tongue. The thought sent heat coursing through him. “There’s no privacy onboard a ship,” he said and she laughed.