by Pride, Mia
That thought almost made her gasp. Mayhap he was. The locals avoided this cave for that very reason. She had thought it all to be naught more than their mythology, but she did believe in the fay and knew they had sent her trinkets in the past to help aid the Irish. Yet this one was not here to give her a trinket… at least not one she would willingly accept.
With a roar of strength, the man… or demon… dropped the crate onto the ground only a few paces past her, where the ground was quite dry. It was usually the place she chose to read, in fact…
The demon looked down at the crate, bending, it seemed, to pick something up beside it. It was hard to see much with him being so far away from the lantern that now sent shadows over his large back and rather muscular backside. He was most intriguing, however incredibly frightening. When he stood back up and turned around to face the light, she saw what he held in his hand and once more had to stifle a gasp. Oh, nay! If the man saw what was within the leather-bound book he held, goodness knows what he would think of her. She enjoyed literature of all sorts, especially Chaucer and Shakespeare, but this book, the one the demon now held in his hand as he walked back toward the light, was a special find and one she kept hidden from prying eyes… until now.
She could hear the man mumbling under his breath and hoped he would not look at the contents of the book until he was well and gone. Tucking the book into the back of his breeches, he leaned over to pick up his lantern and headed back toward the cave’s entrance. Relief flooded her. He was on his way out, and she could run home to the safety and warmth of her four-poster bed.
Then, Katherine did the worst thing possible. With the chill of the cave and the dry dust now floating in the air from the crate he had dropped so violently to the ground, Katherine sneezed. It was high pitched and feminine, but quite loud, and she winced. Her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest when the demon growled and turned in her direction, holding the lantern up before him.
His features were now cast in eerie relief, his eyes looking like sunken sockets in his head, and his lips… well, those looked rather nice actually. Yet, his clenched jaw beneath his beard made her eyes widen as he scanned the cavern. “Who’s there?” he barked, stepping forward menacingly. “I will find ye, lass…” his words sent chills up her spine and made the hackles on her neck stand on end. There was no way out of this.
As he turned in a circle with the lantern, his gaze finally landed on her, and he sent her a menacing scowl. “Who are ye? Spying on me, are ye?” He stepped forward and all she could think to do was launch herself at him. With a piercing scream, she clawed his cheek with her right hand and kicked his shin, before trying to move around him.
He was quick, too quick, and dropped the lantern just before wrapping a steely arm around her waist. The cavern went pitch black just as the sound of the shattering lantern echoed around them. She screamed again, twisting violently against his grasp, but his other arm came around her as well, pinning her against him.
“Let me… go!” she roared, heaving for breath. It felt as if all the air had left her lungs and she was not sure if it was from fear or his vise-like grip. “Ye are hurting me!” she wailed.
“Then stop yer screaming and kicking!” the demon shouted in her ear, making her flinch at his nearness. Was he going to take her down to the Underworld? She suddenly thought of the tales from Greek Myth lore she so loved. She was Persephone, cleverly hiding away in a cave, and the god of the Underworld, Hades, had come to steal her away. Her heart rate sped up, while some sense of adventure yet lingered. This man was made of steel, about as godlike as a man could be. She was terrified and enthralled all at once. This was the most adventure she had had in her entire boring life.
Finally, she stopped struggling, both worn out and weary, and true to his promise, the man put her down and loosened his grip, but just enough to turn her in his arms. She could not see a single blasted thing in the pitch dark of the cave, but she imagined his menacing eyes would be glowering.
“Are ye a god? A fay? Or, a pirate?” she breathed, trying to ignore his painful grip still around her waist, even if it had loosened up.
“None of the above, love,” his deep voice rumbled, and she actually felt his chest move against hers. “I am a knight of the realm, but I dinna like wee lassies who spy on me.”
Struggling to get away once more, hoping he would be caught off guard in the dark, she was most distressed to feel his hands tighten around her once more. “I was not spying!” she huffed. “I was here before ye were! I couldnae leave once ye were already inside, dropping off whatever goods needed transport—” She gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth, realizing she had just said too much.
Taking her by the flesh of her upper arm, he dragged her toward the entrance, but she bucked against him, dragging her feet and doing her best to make his task as difficult as possible. “Walk!” he roared.
“What do ye know about goods and transport, lass?” he whispered in her ear just before exiting the cave and dragging her to a nearby tree. The moon’s light, though dim, felt like a blinding relief to the blackness of the cave. “Ye are but a wee…” his gaze locked on hers and she saw his eyes grow wide as he took her in. “Lass,” he finished. His eyes narrowed as he perused her and she bristled. How dare he manhandle her so, then take liberties to look at her as if she were his next meal. “Ye are no lass. Ye are a woman full grown, aye? Just wee.”
“Just let me go!” Surprising even herself, she pushed hard against his chest, but the man moved as much as she supposed a stone wall would.
“Nay.”
“Nay?” she asked, stepped back slightly and feeling herself inconveniently pinned between this man and the tree. Then, realization dawned on her as she recognized the man, now that he was pressed up against her. He was the man who had been accompanying the Pirate Queen earlier. He was mighty handsome, for certain, but his height and muscle were much too frightening up close. She had to keep her mouth shut. If she made mention that she had seen him with Grace O’Malley, he would wonder how and her spying game would be up. She had to break away and alert her father of the location of the goods. She had not seen what was inside, but surely the good people of Ireland could use it more than whoever this beast was leaving it for. Mayhap another awful man who received a share of the supplies in exchange for other dastardly deeds?
“Who are ye?” he asked, with a touch of warning in his voice. Pursing her lips, she looked away and folded her arms over her chest as best she could with his body so close. All that did was direct the man’s lecherous gaze downward as her breasts pushed up higher.
“Who are ye?” she asked in return, raising a blonde brow. She was being bold, she knew. In truth she was so frightened she worried she may wet herself, but cowering was not something she would easily do.
“My name is Sir Thomas Esmonde,” the man answered easily, and she was quite shocked he would do so. Sir? He claimed to be a knight, yet all the queen’s men were in the north fighting her people… not her people, she reminded herself. She was meant to be English, yet she truly thought of the Irish as her people. “So… who are ye, lass?”
The truth was on the tip of her tongue. If he was truly an English knight, he was not her enemy. He would not dare hurt an English woman. And yet, how could she believe such a thing? She had seen him down in Clew Bay just hours before. Not only that, he had been calmly conversing with the Pirate Queen. The man was a bloody liar. He was a pirate and would snap her neck if he knew she was the only daughter of the man whose life was spent trying to destroy pirates. Only one name continued to float through her mind. The one she obsessed with daily. One so feared that mayhap he would be much too afraid to harm her.
“My name is Katherine. Katherine O’Malley,” she said, holding her nose up to him.
He snorted and scowled at her. “Not bloody likely, love.”
“’Tis the truth!” she stomped her foot on top of his, hoping to make the man at least flinch but apparently, he was
immune to any pain she inflicted, though even in the dark the claw marks across his left cheek did look angry.
“Lie to me again and I will silence yer tongue… with my own.” His brows waggled, and her heart stuttered in her chest. He was a fine-looking man. She had never kissed a man and had always dreamed of kissing a pirate… but it had to be the pirate of her dreams. It had to be the one who stole from the rich to give to the poor, like her favorite Robin Hood. She did not know who this man stole for, but it was most definitely not for the needy people scattered across the land. And she certainly was not prepared to kiss him.
“I am not lyin—”
His mouth came down on hers, hard. She gasped and pushed back against the tree yet did not try to push him off as hard as she could. Instead, her hands went up to his chest in a feigned attempt to rebuke him. His breath tasted quite sweet, and she reveled in the hard warmth of his muscular chest and the thumping of his heart against her palm. What sort of brute kissed a lass he did not even know? A Pirate, of course.
She was being plundered by a pirate! Suddenly, her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt and he groaned into her mouth, sweeping his hot tongue against her lips. She sighed, and he delved deeper, creating a wave of warmth that spread through her stomach. It was the same tingling sensation filled with a forbidden need that she felt when she watched a pirate take a wench from a distance, or when she looked at the many erotic drawings in her book… the book still tucked into the back of this man… Sir Thomas Esmonde’s, as he called himself, breeches.
Och, she was a wanton lass. Her father would send her on the next boat back to England if he knew what she was doing with a pirate beneath a tree.
Pulling away from her slowly, he leaned his forehead against hers and she felt herself panting for breath. She had never kissed a man, aye, but she was fairly certain she had just experienced the best kiss she would ever receive.
“Tell me yer name, lass,” he murmured, his lips almost grazing hers as his hands circled her waist, much more gently than before, she noticed.
“My name is Katherine O’Malley.” It felt wrong to continue her lie, yet she could not very well tell her real name and she could think of no other realistic name to give. Many of the residents in Clew Bay were, in fact, O’Malleys.
“Oh, aye?” he said, licking her lips gently with his tongue, before nipping at them with his teeth. She felt the hardness, the same bulge she had admired from a distance earlier, pressing against her stomach and she found it near impossible to breath. By the rood! She was going to collapse if he kept doing that to her. “Who are yer parents, then, love?” His eyes narrowed, and she knew he was testing her, but he could not possibly know every person in the O’Malley family, especially if he truly was a knight from England.
She decided that in order to keep her lies straight, she should at least add some truths to her tale. “My mother is Margaret and my father is Richard.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he pulled away from her so swiftly, she could not help but look over her shoulder quickly, wondering if someone approached. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. Spitting on the grass of the hill, he swiped his hand across his mouth and cursed in more languages than she thought any pirate must know. “Devil’s bollocks!” he roared and spit again.
“Ye are the daughter of Margaret O’Malley and her husband Richard?” he blustered, beginning to pace in circles with a scowl. Why was this man so angry? Had she inadvertently named a woman that was perhaps his mistress and now he thought he had kissed his lover’s daughter? The thought made her laugh. They truly were like Persephone and Hades, after all. Only, he had nothing to worry about, not truly. Though watching him squirm, big man that he was, only made her laugh harder.
Stopping in mid-step, he scowled at her. “Ye think this is bloody funny, do ye? Do ye ken ye just kissed yer brother? Och! Bloody bollocks!” He spat again and her faced blanched, smile forgotten. Brother?
“Ye… ye said yer last name is Esmonde,” she countered, stepping back.
“Does yer grandmother know ye are out here… in the bloody dark, kissing strange men?” he roared and almost gagged, doubling over. Well, this was not at all how she had expected her first kiss to go. The night chill, and something much more glacial crawled up her spine. What had she done? “I am taking ye to her… right now, lass! I cannae believe my wee sister is hiding in caves! Kissing men! Kissing me! Och, bollocks!”
Before she could comment on his overuse of the word “bollocks” he turned to her and frowned. “I have not been on this island for twenty-three years. I ken my mother married Richard Burke, and I ken they had a daughter after I left Ireland. Ye are, what… twenty-one?”
She swallowed hard and licked her lips. “Twenty-two,” she whispered and crossed her arms, feeling rotten for now making the man believe she was his sister. She needed to tell him the truth. She could not say who she was, not truly, but she had to put this poor man at ease. She had always been a foolish lass, but this was by far the worst thing she had done. What was worse, the man had kissed her so passionately she had wanted to melt into his arms, and now he was disgusted by it… by her.
“Thomas, I need to tell ye…”
“Nay! Save it for grandmother,” he growled, and grabbed her hand, dragging her painfully down the hill. “Niall will have to handle the rest of the cargo himself, bastard,” he snarled.
Katherine opened her mouth to speak again, but the man was so angry that she feared his reaction if she did tell him the truth.
Having no choice but to allow herself to be dragged away by an angry pirate, or knight, she prayed to the Christian God, as well as to all the pagan and Greek ones, that “their” grandmother was at least forgiving.
* * *
Thomas’s stomach could not stop churning. Never in his life had he felt so disgusted with himself. He knew he had a sister named Katherine who had been born about a year after he left Ireland, but Katherine was a common enough name. He had been attracted to her from the moment he saw her. His body reacted to her so profoundly and he had been so hard… he clutched his stomach again and grimaced. She had desired him, as well. Her reaction was clear enough. A fine way to meet his wee sister.
He had been so pleased to return to Ireland and in one day he had lost his ship, been abandoned by his own men, forced to carry cargo into a cavern, and now he had ravished his own bloody sister. Bile rose in his throat. How could he ever look her in her cursed blue eyes again? Blonde hair was rare in these parts. His mother had red hair and he believed his stepfather had dark hair. Never would he have suspected this lass to be his kin, much less his sibling.
Grinding his teeth in anger at himself, he stared at his grandmother who looked between him and Katherine with a frustrating look of smugness on her face. Waiting for her to speak, to say anything at all, he fisted his hands at his side, digging his nails into his palms. He told his grandmother that he found his wee sister in a cave alone at night, but he made certain to leave out the kiss… the kiss that had torn him to shreds with its intensity, and then torn him to shreds with the truth. He wanted to vomit once more but had already done so twice outside. To be attracted to one’s sister was a sin against nature… to desire her… what the bloody hell was wrong with him? And hell and bollocks if he still did not find her most beautiful.
Finally, Grace opened her mouth, but when she did, it was to laugh uproariously, slapping her leg and stomping her feet and she wiped a tear away from her eye. “Ye are attracted to her, aren’t ye? Ye would not be so bloody furious if ye were not.”
“She is my cursed sister! I am not… attracted to her!” His gaze shifted away from his grandmother’s before she saw the traitorous truth in his eyes. He knew he always bordered on being considered lecherous where women were concerned. He honored them and would never force them, but he was well known for taking what he wanted and making damned certain the lass was pleased in the end. But this? He was worse than he thought. His lips pulled down into a deep frown.
“She is nay yer sister, Tomás. I dinnae know who she be, but she be not yer sister. Yer wee sister resides on Burke land with yer mama and Richard. She is a fiery red-head, just like yer mama… and me. And, yer sister’s surname is Burke, not O’Malley.”
His stomach twisted and turned as all the knots released at once, and he breathed deeply for the first time. He had been in absolute turmoil and angst. “I hesitated to tell ye… I thought to play with yer mind a bit, but I can see ye are all in knots over it and Pirate Queen though I be, I dinnae like to see me family suffer.” Swallowing hard, he said a prayer of thanks, before both their gazes narrowed in on the lying wee bitch who had turned his life upside down with her tale.
“Next question is, who are ye, how do ye know so much about me family, and why are ye telling lies?” Grace hissed at the lass and stepped closer. She placed her hand on the handle of the rapier always strapped to a belt around her waist and bared her teeth. “Tell me now lass, before I cut out yer tongue.”
For the first time since arriving, Katherine… or whoever she was, gasped, clutched her hand to her chest, and widened her eyes. He wanted to pity her, but he could not for all she put him through. And damned if his body did not respond once more to her small curves and bonny pink lips. Now that they were inside with more lighting and he could look at her knowing she was not his kin, he was more than pleased with her appearance. Silky blonde hair that shimmered in the light of the several candles surrounding her made him want to run his fingers through it.
He shook his head and snapped out of it. She was nothing but trouble. “If ye were not a lass, I would gut ye right now,” he snarled, trying to force himself to stay angry with her, yet his relief was a far stronger emotion.
“I… I…” she stumbled on her words, clearly unsure of what to say for herself.
“Ye what, love? Who are ye?” Grace asked menacingly. “Why were ye up in that cave?”
