The Ravishing Rees (Pirates of Britannia Book 10)

by Rosamund Winchester

  Chapter Thirteen

  Glynnis had watched Robbie’s back bunch and twist as he’d maneuvered them through the maze of twisting passageways leading to the Rees hideaway. She’d admired the lithe yet confident movements of a man who was no stranger to leading; the flickering light of the passage torches only added to the masculine beauty. And once they emerged and he turned to face her, his eyes hard with deep emotion, she knew something had changed. Gone was the smile of a man who gave them out like grains of wheat to sea birds, and in his place was a man who seemed to struggle with something he was feeling. She could read it in the tension of his shoulders, the flaring of his nostrils, the tightness of his usually flippant words.

  “Aye, we are alone, Robbie,” she said, her tone stronger than she’d thought it would be. “And there is something I have been wondering.”

  His eyes widened for a fraction then returned to their hooded sensual expression.

  He crossed his arms, emphasizing the bulge of his biceps and the width of his shoulders, and—damn it—the overall appeal of dastardly criminal charmers.

  “And what is it you have been wondering?” Was it the air in the cavern that made his voice sound so hushed…so intimate?

  Inwardly shaking herself, she blurted, “You are a Rees…will you stay a Rees or will you go home…to be a Bowlin, once again?” Trembling, she allowed the words to form and then fall from her lips. Her heart lodged in her throat, her blood slowing to a crawl… She could not tear her gaze from the man before her, his alluring, deep green eyes peering down into her soul.

  It unnerved her, the weight of it, the strength of it, the absolute intensity of what she felt for this man.

  He had only been in her life for a little over a week, but he had pierced to the heart of her, shaking loose the emotions she thought thoroughly tangled in her past with William. She hadn’t loved William…not how she loved Robbie. Her heart sang for Robbie, crying out for him, to him. But with William…it had been silent, only beating for what she thought he could provide: a home for an orphaned girl, alone in the world.

  But she was no longer alone. Or at least, she hadn’t been. If Lucia and Rose could be believed—and those women never had cause to lie, even to make another feel better—Saban and Brendan had made sure to watch over her; those “gifts” left at her door had been their way of continuing to provide for their cousin—even if not blood. If Robbie did choose to leave, she still had the other Rees to rely on. She wouldn’t have to remain secluded in the forest, hidden away from the world to wallow in all the pain and bitterness she allowed to settle over her.

  She was free. She could choose to live…and love again. Though, if Robbie chose to leave…

  Please…stay…her heart whispered.

  He dropped his arms and cocked his head to the side, his gaze raking over her face as if to see beneath the mask she’d slipped over it.

  Slowly, as if gauging her response, he drawled, “I suppose that decision is best left until after the others have finished with me.” He took a step closer to her but stopped. “I do have a life in England to return to…a trove of stolen goods to sell…nobles to rob and maidens to plunder,” Robbie said plainly, his words sinking into her chest and gouging a furrow into her heart. As she should have known…she meant nothing more to him than a convenient tup. And she’d let him burrow into her with his charming smile, his intoxicating touch, his surprising gentleness. It was all just a means to an end, to find release wherever he could.

  So what? It is your turn to take what you want—and it is freely offered.

  Nay! She couldn’t throw herself at him as if she were a wanton…it would rip the heart right out of her. Swallowing, she plastered on a smile and nodded. “I suppose you are right. I will leave you to rest, then.” She meant to turn and leave, perhaps find a hole into which she could crawl…and then scream at the top of her lungs, but his hand on her shoulder stayed her.

  “Will you be here when I return?” This time, his words were nearly whisper soft, and there was a pleading to them she’d never heard before. And it flipped her over.

  Would she still be there in the morning, once the men had gained their revenge and their lost goods? Could she face the waiting, the wondering if he would return harmed or even return at all? Could she face him knowing he cared so little about her?

  How could she not? Despite everything, this man had rooted himself in the very essence of her, and she never wanted to cut him loose.

  “Aye,” she answered, her voice husky. “I will be here…”

  Robbie stepped closer, raising his hand to caress her cheek. His eyes burned with a green fire, a fire she knew was reflected in her own gaze.

  “And will you welcome me back with open arms?” Deep, resonant, hungry…and hopeful. “Will you miss me while I am gone?” She almost laughed at that—though humorous it was not; Ravishing Robbie was uncertain if she would be pleased to see him upon his return…but he wanted her to be. A swirling light stirred the emotion within her belly, and this time her smile was genuine.

  “That depends,” she said, teasingly, caging that voice that was demanding she remain strong against his allure.

  His black brows arched upward. “On what?”

  She pressed her trembling hand to his hard chest, and reveled in the beat of his heart against her palm. Warm, steady, strong…this man took her breath away.

  Even if all I had was one more night with him…it would be worth one-million more without him. “I will miss you…if you give me something to miss…” Her breath hitched, she let her gaze drop to his mouth. She watched as his lips curled, and the wicked smile that could so easily undo her slowly appeared.

  Growling, he drawled, “I think that can be arranged.”

  Their lovemaking was passionate, drawing out pleasures she never thought possible for any earthly being to feel. His kisses, his caresses, they stirred her, twisting her up until she cried out from the bliss of it all. And when they were done, he pulled her into him, cradling her against him as a man would a woman he cared for.

  It was confusing—she was just one of many, after all—but she reveled in it, the strength of his arms around her, the steady beating of his heart beneath her cheek, the slide of his fingers over her arm as they lay there, satiated, in the silence.

  “How did you come to marry William?” his voice rumbled into her and she stiffened. It was a question she’d never thought to answer, because she’d never thought he’d care enough to ask.

  “He offered what I could not decline,” she began, listening to Robbie’s breathing. She continued, “I had been an orphan for ten years, and I had found work in a tavern. One night, a handsome man entered and took a seat at one of my tables. He smiled, winked, and promised to make an honest woman of me.”

  Robbie’s heartrate increased.

  “What happened to your parents?” was his question, and she was certainly glad of it.

  “A plague swept through our village. We lived in a cottage on a small patch of fertile land where my father raised parsnips, and my mother raised me and my three younger brothers.” She swallowed, the memory a long and deep one. “They all died within a week of each other.”

  His hand stalled. “I am sorry…” he said, his tone telling her what his words did not…he knew and understood her pain.

  “I took ill but I was the only one who survived. I cannot remember many details, but I do remember someone carrying me to the doorstep of an abbey. The nuns there took me in. By the time I was well enough to leave my bed, my father’s creditors had taken the land, the cottage, and all that was left of my family. I had nothing. I could not stay with the nuns, they were barely able to feed themselves let alone a healthy and able young woman. So, I left and found work in the village.”

  “You met William there…when you were most desperate.” Robbie’s voice was flat, but there was an underlying danger to it.

  Sighing, she began tracing the outline of Robbie’s chest, drawing her fingertip throug
h the indentations between the plates of his muscles.

  “I was draw to him—not the way you are thinking—I cared little for his…physical charms. It was his promise that truly won me over. I had never met a man who could speak with such confidence about caring for someone. He’d so easily sworn to carry my burdens, to build me my own home, to give me the family I had lost.”

  Robbie began stroking her arm once again, as if sensing her need of his touch…his assurance. “He offered you what you wanted most.”

  “Aye.”

  “But he lied.”

  Her heart lurched. “Aye.”

  The tension in the silence was enough to make the cottage seem to shrink.

  Glynnis could feel something between them shift—it was barely there, but it was precious. Robbie let out a slow breath then tucked his finger under her chin and nudged her face up to meet his. In the light of the candles placed throughout, his face was soft yet sharp. His eyes fierce and fiery yet gentle. “If he were alive…I would kill him.”

  She reached up and pulled his head down until their lips almost met.

  “Not if I killed him first.”

  His deep, throaty chuckle made the points of her breasts harden and she gasped, suddenly overcome with the need for him. Heat bloomed in her belly, spreading in all directions until she was trembling uncontrollably.

  “What am I to do with you, Glynnis?” he asked, brushing his lips against hers.

  She sighed. “Make love to me.”

  And he did, until the sounds of returning Rees ripped them from their haven.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the morning of his fortieth day as a Rees, Robbie felt less like a Rees and more like a lovesick puppy, whimpering after his master.

  But he’d be damned if he didn’t like it. Over the course of the last several weeks, he’d spent more time with Glynnis than he had with any other woman. They made love—as he was wont to do at every opportunity—but afterward, they would lie in bed, spent and content, and talk long into the third watch of the night. She spoke of her pig and chicken, wondering about her little cottage, and she would ramble on about her many trips to the shore to find goods washed up by storms. And he…well, he spoke of his father—of how he was before he’d lost his wits. How his mother spoke of the great Sir Ioan Bowlin, knight of the Homme du Sang, a group of revered and feared warriors who fought for the Church and the king. As a lad, he’d begged for the stories of how his father and his brothers-at-arms would battle reivers and Church enemies, and come out victorious each time.

  As he spoke of his father and those stories, he began to surmise that his decision to turn to robbery had been born of his desire to hurt his own father…as his father had hurt him by choosing vengeance over his family.

  But he would find time to think of that later—if he ever did.

  When he wasn’t with Glynnis, he was helping the crew gather supplies. His knowledge of the back-alley market had become a benefit to the Rees as they looked to sell their stockpile of smuggled goods for the money they would need to implement their plan—a plan he had yet to hear. As it was, he’d left that morning, before the sun had even kissed the horizon, to accompany Brendan to Port Eynon Bay, where his ship was anchored.

  He’d left Glynnis in the care of Rose and Lucia…though Lucia was still nursing the wounded man, so it was up to Rose to keep Glynnis out of trouble.

  Keep watch over her, Rose… Or I will kill you myself… In all his years, he never thought to be trusting something as precious as the woman he loved with another woman. Though, Rose was more than capable of dispatching anyone who dared lay a hand on Glynnis, Robbie wasn’t too sure Rose could handle Glynnis. She was fierce and fiery and determined when he dared to tell her to remain in Dwyn Twll and not follow him to Port Eynon where the ships were moored. She nearly bit his lips off when he’d pressed his mouth against hers for a farewell kiss. He’d growled, she’d purred, and they’d kissed again…deeply, desperately. As if it were their last kiss. It had nearly set off another round of passionate bed play, but Brendan had called for him, interrupting his plans for a proper send off.

  A smile tugged at his lips. When he’d left her that morning, curled up, naked in their bed, he’d promised her he’d return…and then they’d repeat the pleasures of the night before…every night.

  For the rest of my life… But he hadn’t told her that last bit. How could he? He still couldn’t understand the driving need to claim Glynnis as his own, to put his name after hers, to put his baby in her belly. And to be as equally, unequivocally hers.

  Robbie gripped the ship rail and watched the crew load the supplies and cargo as they prepared to sail toward the hidden port near Cobh where they were to meet up with one of Brendan’s contacts in the Na Madrai Mara, the Irish faction of pirates who—according to Saban—hadn’t really picked a side yet. Were they enemies…were they allies?

  It remained to be seen.

  “Angus sent word to wait at the Cantankerous Cock for a boy…says the boy will know us.” Brendan came to stand beside Robbie, his gaze as far away as the sky from the sea. “I just hope the little pisser is loyal to money. They are easier to control when you have the coin.”

  “Are you worried about him betraying you? This boy?” The first mate asked, a man Brendan had called, Jaimie. He was bearded, sun baked, and wiry about the chest and arms. But Robbie knew that men like him, men of the sea, men of the Ganwyd o’r Mor, were more than how they appeared.

  “Nay. They are Irish but at least they aren’t as fickle and underhanded as the Spaniards or French,” Brendan grumbled, ducking his face as a large wave slammed into the ship, spraying them with chilly sea water. As one could expect, there was a storm on the horizon, churning up the sea, even in the harbor.

  Robbie wiped his face—which was quickly becoming a pointless task—and pushed away from the railing. “The Cantankerous Cock…” That’s the inn where he’d left Bruce. Damn, but that felt like years ago. He could hope the man had stuck around—Robbie had been his main source of coin during their venture, and he’d left more than enough money for the fool to find comfort and food at the Cock. If the drunkard didn’t spend the coin in a night, that is. “I might know someone there who can keep an eye on things for us…in case the boy decides to make off with the coin without us.”

  “Who?” Jaimie asked, his brown eyes wary.

  “Bruce Bolton. He accompanied me from Liverpool.”

  “Do you trust him?” Brendan asked, his expression sharp.

  Did he trust Bruce? Bruce was known for his slow simmering temper, but Robbie had gone and left the man behind—and after telling him he was useless. I really should have left a note. But it was too late to go back and pen a quick missive to a man who probably would have burned the note in pique anyway. So…could he trust that Bruce hadn’t gone and made Robbie an enemy?

  Fool. Bruce would die for you, and you know it. He’d have a lot to make up for once he reunited with his oldest, most trusted friend. He’d buy him an ox cart full of barrels of ale, just to show him he meant nothing by abandoning him in Cobh.

  “Aye, I trust him.” If he’s not deep in the bottom of a tankard already.

  Some time later, after the sun lit the water on fire as it was extinguished by the coming night, and while the men settled in for a meal of dried mutton, boiled parsnips, and ale, Robbie found Brendan standing at the aft railing staring out over the sea. His expression was pensive, weary, his hands holding tightly to the rail before him. He moved easily with the ship, as a man who’d been born to ride the boards, but he held himself stiffly, as if waiting for something.

  It had taken Robbie less time to acclimate himself to the rolling of the ship than it had when he’d boarded the Saint Anne for his trip east to Port Eynon, and he was thankful for it. As much as he hated the taste of mutton and parsnips, he knew food was the fuel that would get him through the next four days…before he could return to Glynnis, and find refreshment in her arms, once again.


  If they ever actually left Port Eynon, that is.

  God, but you have become maudlin. Soon you will be singing songs of meadows and ewes, and drinking brandy and pissing while sitting down. It was Bruce’s voice he heard in his head.

  Shaking himself, he took a place beside Brendan and looked out over the vast sea. The Irish Sea was a tumultuous bitch at the best of times, but tonight…it seemed as though she were holding her temper in check…just for him. The storm that had threatened earlier turned southward, leaving the Torriwr a little bucked but still seated.

  Smiling at the thought, he gripped the railing and peered through the gloom to Brendan; the flickering lanterns hung from the masts scattering meager light.

  “Have you dealt with the Spaniards before?” he asked, trying to get more information from a close-lipped Rees. Robbie hadn’t been invited into the closed meeting between Brendan and his cousins. He’d known that, though they claimed he was a Rees, they still didn’t see him as “one of the family.” And he wanted to believe he didn’t mind but…well…he did mind. The Rees had a plan, they just weren’t going to tell him about it. He hated running headlong into danger, especially danger he hadn’t created himself. And especially when Braw Bruce wasn’t there to be a meat shield for the more dangerous bits. Certainly, Robbie could handle himself in many situations—with a sword and even a pistol—but the not knowing made him wary. The anxiety pressed down on his shoulders, like a boulder of unknown and trepidation crushing him. He thought of the look of the Rees men as they huddled around a small fire in the corner of Dwyn Twll, speaking in hushed tones, and casting glances at him over their shoulders. Glynnis watched him as he watched them, saying nothing, just standing beside him. Even the memory of her comforted him—if only for a moment.

  Brendan didn’t speak but he did turn his head to meet Robbie’s gaze. Silence was met with the slapping of the water against the ship as it sliced through the murk.