by Pride, Mia
Thomas cringed and put a hand over her mouth. “Ye need be careful how ye speak, lass. Now, what is it ye need?” He spoke softly and placed his hands on her hips, pulling her so close she could smell the sea salt in his hair.
“I need ye, Thomas. Once again, ye have withdrawn from me.”
“Have I not shared yer bed every night?” he whispered, dragging his lips down her throat and causing her mind to grow hazy with desire.
“That is not what I mean. Ye make love to me every night.”
“Many times a night,” he corrected before running a finger down her chest and over her breasts. Even through the layers of wool and linen, he caused her entire body to burst into flames.
“Aye… then ye avoid me for the rest of the day. I am not here just for yer pleasure, Thomas. And ye have not listened to a word I’ve said about my father.”
His eyes clouded over and he pulled back, a sudden mask of stone on his face. “There is nothing to discuss, Katherine. He marked yer body. He killed my Uncle, imprisoned my grandmother, killed my entire crew, blew up my ship and with it, supplies to clothe and feed many Irish people, and for it all, he shall die.” The cold determination in his voice sent chills up her spine. “I would kill him simply for laying a hand on ye. I do this for ye, though I ken ye do not see it.”
“And I ken my father deserves it, yet… he is all I ever had. Cannae ye just capture him and deliver him back to the queen? Allow her to decide his punishment? What becomes of ye if ye sink an English galleon, kill the Governor of Connaught commissioned by the queen, and take the cargo for yer own?”
“It is not for me! It is for my crew and the people of Ireland! Ye ken this! Then we can chase the Treasure of Danu without him on our tail! I willnae discuss this further with ye!” Katherine fumed at his stubbornness to see reason. He would destroy himself, his honor, his knighthood, everything she knew he held dear. She wanted to stomp on his foot and pull his hair, she was so blasted mad at the man.
“Sail, ho!” A man shouted from above them. Looking up, Katherine saw the man up in the crow’s nest holding a spyglass to his eye. Thomas stormed over to Juan, dragging Katherine by the arm the entire way.
Using a spyglass of his own, Juan looked out to sea and cursed. “’Tis the bloody British, Capt’n. I see Bingham on board,” he hissed as he passed the device to Thomas. Looking through the glass, Thomas spotted the vessel and smiled wickedly.
“All hands on deck! Beat to quarters! A Sassenach ship ahoy!” Thomas yelled and dragged Katherine up to the poop deck.
“Should we lower our flag, Capt’n?” Juan asked.
“Nay! Let those bastards know that pirates approach! Ready the cannons!”
“Aye, Capt’n!” Juan hollered just before turning to shout more commands to the crew. Thomas’s grip tightened on her arm as they approached their cabin and she yanked out of his grasp.
“Ye are hurting me!” she cried.
Opening the door, he pushed her inside, following behind her. “Ye stay in here! That is an order!”
Crossing her arms, she scowled at him. “Ye are not my Captain!” she growled and stomped her foot.
“Nay. I am yer husband and ye shall obey me on this!” He crushed his mouth to hers fiercely, making her gasp at his sudden onslaught. “I love ye, Kat. I said it before, and I meant it. But, I must do this. Stay here,” his voice gentled and she nodded. She loathed being stuck in here, but mayhap it was best. She trusted Thomas to keep her safe, along with his crew… yet could she stand aside and allow him to kill her father?
Stomach clenching and heart pounding, she watched as Thomas neared the door, preparing to kill her own father.
“Be careful, Thomas. I love ye,” she whispered just as he shut the door behind him.
* * *
Arriving back on deck, Thomas could see the English ship in the distance, its flag whipping in the wind. His body buzzed with the need for revenge, hatred clouding his judgment. Aye, Bingham deserved to die, his cargo to be stolen, his ship to sink, but Thomas needed to avoid the bloodshed of the rest of his crew. If he killed them, what truly made him better than Bingham?
Cursing under his breath, he directed his crew to approach the ship from starboard and lower the skiffs. “Run a shot across the bow! Then, we board!”
“Aye!” his crew roared and the sounds of cannons rolling into place rattled through the air.
“Fire in the hole!” One of the gunners shouted from below just before the warning shot blew out of the cannon and sailed intentionally over the bow of the British galleon. It would be the only warning they received to cooperate or die.
As expected, a white flag began to rise up their mast and Thomas smiled. “Mayhap we need not blow em’ to pieces this day, mates!” Thomas roared. “Board em, but save Bingham for me!” Just before he boarded the skiff with Juan, he turned to his boatswain, a younger man named Charles, and ordered him to stay with Katherine and keep her in the cabin. He knew his wife would balk at having another man guard her, but Thomas could not risk her leaving the cabin or being harmed.
His gunners stayed at the ready, in case the British attempted an attack, while the rest of the crew climbed the rope ladder, jumped over the taffrails and stepped onto the main deck. Men glared at them as they boarded, some glaring with malice and others turning white as dozens of pirates boarded their vessel.
“Ye were smart to surrender, lads!” Thomas shouted, addressing the British crew. All I want from ye is your cargo… and the life of yer captain, Richard Bingham!” Thomas’s rapier hung at his side and he clenched the pommel, searching for the bastard who killed his family and beat his wife. “Where is he?”
“I am here, you thieving bastard! Give my daughter back or I shall run you through!”
Turning on his heels, Thomas spotted the man and smirked, the need to destroy him taking over all his senses. The man’s blond hair matched the color of his daughter’s, but his dark eyes were shallow, as if nothing more than evil remained of the man. With a harsh laugh, Thomas faced Richard and drew his rapier. “I will never give ye my wife, Bingham! Ye beat her! I stole her to ruin her, aye, but I kept her because I knew ye would kill her. She is safer with me than with ye.”
Richard turned red and pulled his rapier out. “You married her?” he spat and growled. “Have you tainted her with your foul seed?”
Thomas waggled his brows and grinned. “If ye mean to ask whether or not I have bedded my wife, or if she may carry my child, that answer is aye. Ye will never touch her again!” His words were working as they were meant to. Thomas had fought enough men in enough battles to know that the verbal spar was just as effective as the physical. It may not leave a mortal wound, but done correctly, it would throw a man off balance.
“You may as well forfeit your life, Esmonde! The queen has been notified of your treachery! You abandoned Captain William and took up with your Sea-Banshee grandmother! You turned pirate! Then you stole my daughter and defiled her! Now, you attack her ship, her captain and governor, and pirate our cargo! You are done. You will never be allowed back in England again!”
With a grunt, Thomas lifted his sword and readied himself for battle. “Do ye truly believe Good Queen Bess will trust yer word, Bingham? Why do ye think she sent me here? To watch over ye. Ye sank my ship and crew, given to me by the queen! That cargo was meant to help the Irish aye, but I was to bring some back to her majesty. As far as I can see, this is simply retribution. Eye for an eye, mate. Let’s finish this.”
“Now, now, Thomas. Are ye not going to greet your Uncle Murrough?”
“What?” Confusion at Richard’s words caught him off guard just before his heart began to beat in overtime. His traitorous, abusive uncle was on this ship, as well? He should have suspected as much. “Where is the bastard?” he said through clenched teeth. He would gut him first, then move on to Bingham. He had enough crew aboard this ship to watch his back if Bingham tried to fight dirty.
“Well, if it ain’t me worthles
s nephew back from England,” he heard a man say from behind him. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with the man he had dreamed of killing since he was a lad of seven. Before he could respond, his uncle swung his right fist hard, connecting with Thomas’s jaw, causing him to stumble back from the unexpected blow.
“Coward,” Thomas hissed and spat a wad of blood onto the deck. His uncle’s brown eyes narrowed and his stringy red hair appeared to have gone unwashed for a fortnight. Thomas had once thought the man a towering beast, but now he saw him for what he was: an average-sized man who used what little strength he had on those weaker than him or to take shots at unprepared opponents. Thomas smiled. Let him see what his uncle was capable of in a fair fight.
“Draw yer sword,” Thomas said calmly, locking eyes on the man. He cared not if they were blood. He would kill two men who abused women on this day. They were foul, loathsome creatures.
“I thought yer bitch of a mother sent ye to England to be a knight, lad! I see ye fell into the family business, even after all she sacrificed for ye,” his uncle chuckled as he slowly drew his sword. Thomas was determined to drown out any words uttered by his uncle. He knew he meant to hit his weak spot, knowing Thomas loathed him for his treatment of his mother. All that mattered was the man was armed. Thomas could kill him with honor now.
In one hand, he gripped his rapier tightly, prepared to run his uncle through. With his free hand, he silently signaled his uncle to make the first move, internally smiling when he saw Murrough raise his sword to take a swing at him.
Not fast enough. Thomas sidestepped his uncle’s attack easily and in one fluid motion, drove his weapon into his uncle’s belly, just as he had always meant to do. Not an ounce of remorse or guilt riddled Thomas’s conscience. The man was scum and deserved his death, not only for his treatment of his own sister, but for turning traitor and becoming one of Bingham’s lackeys after the man killed Murrough’s brother and imprisoned his mother.
“Ye lived a coward and ye die a coward,” Thomas whispered when he pulled his rapier out of the man’s stomach. Murrough slumped and lay dying on the main deck of the English galleon, and Thomas spat as his uncle’s life’s blood flowed from his mortal wound. He had not seen his uncle in over twenty years, yet had killed him within moments of their reunion. Just as it should have been, for Thomas had no time to waste on the bastard. He had another bastard to dispatch.
Thomas scowled as he turned toward Bingham and narrowed his eyes, looking at the man who destroyed his family and so much of Ireland. He remembered the bruises marring Katherine’s fragile face, and her ribs they had believed broken for a time. The man deserved to die. Here. Now. His lifeless body would join Murrough’s upon his deck. Katherine would hate him when he was finished, but he would seek her forgiveness later.
“Are ye ready to join my uncle in death, Bingham?” Thomas snapped, eyeing the man he most despised in the world. His blood curdled with hatred.
Bingham, smug bastard that he was, only shrugged. “The only good O’Malley is a dead O’Malley. You saved me the trouble. Now you will die for ruining my daughter!” the man shouted, all pretense of disinterest gone.
“Thomas!” he heard Katherine’s bonny voice screaming in his direction and he snapped out of his thoughts, losing his concentration. “Thomas! Dinnae do it!”
Eyes shifting away from his opponent, he followed the distant sound. There she was, his cursed wife who he had ordered to stay in his cabin, whom Charles was meant to control, leaning over the taffrail of the ship, waving her arms wildly as Charles frantically tried to pull her back. She kicked and flailed, catching the man in the shin, then elbowing him in the face. “Thomas!” she cried.
A sharp pain sliced through him and he roared, looking down to see blood turning his white tunic sleeve red as blood poured from his arm.
“Ye bloody coward!” Thomas roared. The man had no honor, attacking an enemy with his backed turned.
“Give me my daughter back, you filthy Irish bastard!” Richard hissed. “She will hate you if you kill me.”
“I will take that chance!” Thomas charged at Richard, deflecting the man’s defensive swipe, pushing him back several feet. Fear flashed in Bingham’s eyes and Thomas grinned. He should be afraid. Thomas was a knight, and not one of those knights awarded the honor due to his title or riches. He had come from nothing and risen above because he fought with brute force and absolute focus.
“Take a swing at me, ye old Sassenach bastard!” Thomas backed off and put his hands out, waiting for the man to make his move, all other sounds except the beating of his heart fading into the wind. Pain throbbed through his injured sword arm, but he would focus through the sensation of blood flowing down his limb. With a sneer, Bingham charged Thomas, sword pointed straight at his heart.
He could hear Katherine scream, and cursed his wife and boatswain for not being able to follow simple instructions. He would punish them both when this was over. If he lost his life, it would be her doing.
Just before his enemy’s blade caught his chest, Thomas deftly slid to the right, rotating his body so he swung around and caught Richard in the side. The man grunted and looked down at his wound as Thomas pulled his blade away and watched Bingham crumple to the ground, blood spilling from his side. “You are nothing more than a dirty pirate!” Richard roared.
Leaning down to wipe his blade on the man’s tunic he whispered, “I am no pirate. I am a knight. All I do, I do for the people of Ireland whom ye have betrayed. I shall make certain my queen knows of yer treachery.” Looking across the way, he saw his blasted wife staring at him with wide-eyed horror, covering her mouth with her hands just as his boatswain finally got her under control and carried her away.
“Devil’s bollocks!” he cursed under his breath and turned to face all the men. “Load the cargo! None of Bingham’s crew is to be harmed under the white flag unless any man dare challenge me.” Looking around, the English crew stepped back and he nodded with a grunt. His men may have been fewer than Bingham’s, but they were also desperate men with little else to live for than a good fight, a bonny wench, and the thrill of their next conquest. They would not think twice to slay any man aboard this ship, if he dared interfere.
His men began their descent into the cargo hold, coming out carrying multiple wooden crates of random goods. Once the last one was hauled across to The Morrígan using the plank they had placed between the two ships, Thomas took a deep breath before facing Bingham’s remaining crew. A few men had dragged Bingham and Murrough’s bodies away and another hurried to scrub the deck of the blood. No doubt there would be a new captain stepping up as soon as Thomas left. He had just killed his two enemies. It was done. Now, to deal with his unyielding wife.
“Ye were saved today by yer white flag. Steal Irish goods again, and no flag will save ye.” Thomas winked as he walked across the gangplank. He had regained some cargo and was interested to see what they had secured. Then he would deliver it to his grandmother for distribution. Some would call it piracy. He called it justice.
Clutching at his injured arm, he hissed at the sting. He knew it was a mere flesh wound, but it would need to be sewn up by the ship’s surgeon. First, he needed to face his wife’s ire and teach her a lesson about obeying his commands.
* * *
Katherine swallowed hard as her husband slammed the door behind him, shaking the walls all around. Mayhap she should have stayed in the cabin, but knowing Thomas was about to battle with her father, her nerves had caused her to quake, replacing all logic with a need to flee. Poor Charles. She had kneed him in the bollocks, causing the man to grunt and fall to the floor from the unexpected blow, but the cursed lad refused to relent or see reason. She was not a prisoner aboard this ship, no matter what her husband believed. Still, the lad now had a fat lip, sore bollocks, and likely a bruised shin due to her sudden onslaught of panic.
In truth, watching Thomas cut her father down had only been the second worst moment of her life. The first worst w
as watching her father take a swing at Thomas when he had his back turned. It had been her fault for distracting her husband, but she had hoped to make him cease in his actions, to convince him to take her father hostage and allow the queen to choose his punishment for his crimes. Instead, she had left Thomas distracted and vulnerable, allowing her coward of a father to cut him across the arm.
Looking at him now, blood dripping down his arm and soaking through his tunic, she gasped and clutched her chest. Her father had done that to him and she praised all the gods, Christian, Pagan, Greek and Roman, whoever would listen, that the gash had not been across his chest or worse. She would never have forgiven herself. She resisted the urge to vomit. Her father was dead. In her heart, she knew he deserved it, but he was still her papa and despite his latest treatment of her, he had always loved her and been kind… however, she had recently learned that he held too many secrets from her: a wife and daughter in England, his treatment of the people he was meant to govern, his theft of their needed goods, the murder of Thomas’s uncle and the needless slaughter of Thomas’s previous crew, to name a few. Katherine shuddered, wondering what else she still did not know of her father. Mayhap she was better off not knowing.
“Thomas…” she whispered and stepped toward him. “Yer arm needs stitching.”
She gasped in fright as Thomas’s green eyes flashed at her, his teeth gritted with suppressed rage. Grasping her outstretched wrists, he pushed her back until she fell onto the bed, his hard body towering over hers. “Blast my arm, Katherine! Ye disobeyed me!” His voice rumbled through the room, causing her to flinch and close her eyes. “Why? Why could ye not listen to me?” He shook her slightly and she steeled herself against his anger.
“Why?” she hollered back, refusing to cringe or cower. “Ye tell me ye plan to kill my father, then ye think I will stay in the cabin? I only meant to convince ye to reconsider, to take him as a prisoner, but once I saw what he did to ye,” her eyes looked away from him and locked on his wound, “I knew ye had no choice but to kill him.” She was losing her resolve. Saying the words out loud shook her to her core. Her father was dead. Would they be throwing his body overboard? A tear trickled down her cheek for the loss of her papa, yet she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that Thomas had come back to her whole. This wound would heal. Never had she felt so bereft, yet relieved, at the same time. Her husband was well, and her father would never hurt another innocent again.
