by Merry Farmer
“Not one more move,” she commanded, and Bastian soon joined them.
“I’ve got him from here, lass,” he said, and she nodded before taking the few steps toward Ramsay. She grinned at him, sliced through the rope tying his hands together, and then took his face between her palms and kissed him with all the life he knew was coursing through her veins.
“What in the blazes did you think you were doing, woman?” he demanded. “You nearly got yourself killed.”
“So did you,” she countered, as defiant as ever.
“I am a pirate,” he said, exasperated and yet enamored all the same.
She laughed.
Amid a bloody battle raging around them — though his pirates were quickly taking control — she laughed.
“You are becoming far too used to the pirate life,” he said, looping one arm around her, the other on his cutlass as they traversed to safety. His crew seemed to be looking out for her as much as he was, however, for they had a wide berth to escape to an empty part of the shore.
“Stay here,” he commanded before returning to the battle. “For once in your life, Penelope Carstairs, listen!”
There was not much left to be resolved when he returned to the battle. Bastian had led his crew, and they now surrounded the bound men in front of them.
“What was that you were saying, Ortego?” Ramsay asked now. “That you would rather side with the Spanish than hang?”
Ortego said nothing, refusing to meet his stare.
“Well,” Ramsay said, crouching down so that their faces were level. “If you so want to be with the Spanish, then here you will stay. Alone. For I am taking your ships and all within them, and you can fight your own damn way out.”
“Men!” he called to his pirates. “To the rowboats! We will find their ships and seize them!”
Ramsay followed his men to the boats, stopping, for a moment, to pick up an unsuspecting Penelope, throwing her over his shoulder, despite her yelp of surprise.
“How you didn’t get yourself killed in that skirmish, I’ll never know,” he said, depositing her on the seat in the boat in front of him. As his men pushed off the beach and began to row back to The Raven’s Wing, he began his questions.
“How did you get here? How did you know my other ship was arriving?” he demanded.
“Which question would you like me to answer first?” she asked, but she wore a smile.
Ramsay took a breath. What he really wanted to do was reach across the space between them and kiss her senseless. He wanted to tell her how she had nearly caused him to lose his mind with worry about her. He wanted to shut her in his cabin, make love to her for days, and never let her out for fear that harm might come to her.
But he had already tried that last bit and knew that she wouldn’t be exactly pleased with such a situation.
“The first,” was all he said.
She began her tale of sitting in a tavern in San Juan, finishing with throwing the rocks over the edge. Ramsay rubbed the slight bump that had already begun to form from her attempt at hitting Ortego.
“And how did you connect with the other ship? How did you know it was arriving?”
“I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I was only trying to provide some distraction so that your men from The Raven’s Wing could, at the very least, make it on shore.”
Ramsay stared at her in disbelief, nausea rolling within his stomach.
“Ortego would have taken you,” he said, hearing the words, despite the fact they nearly made him sick.
“I know,” she said, her mouth twisting in revulsion. “But I thought that, perhaps, it might give you a slight chance to overcome them.”
Ramsay ran a hand through his hair. The woman had been willing to sacrifice herself for him. It was a greater love than he had ever known or even deserved. It nearly made him tear up — nearly.
“You are quite the woman, Penelope,” he said gruffly instead, and she bestowed one of her wide smiles on him.
“I will take that as a compliment, coming from you,” she said.
“Why, Penelope?” he asked, needing to hear the words. “You had everything you wanted — a berth north, passage to find your uncle. Why not let us pirates sort things out among ourselves?”
It was her turn for exasperation. “For a man who claims to be the most intelligent among the seas, you are proving rather daft,” she said, flinging her arms up in despair. “Because I love you, you fool.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I agree. But I do.”
“I’m not a good man, Penelope,” he said, raising his hands in frustration, torn between wanting to forget everything and take what she offered him, and doing the right thing.
“How can you say that?” she asked him, and he raised his eyebrows. Was she serious?
“You just offered to give your life for your crew,” she said.
“Of course I did. I’m their captain.”
“You are loyal and selfless and brave — if a bit foolhardy,” she said with a quirk of a smile. “You have shown me what it means to live the life you are meant to live. Sure, you are surly and I would love it if you would talk a little more, but I suppose I can do most of the talking for us.”
He looked at her for just a moment before closing that small gap between them, lifting her and kissing her with all his heart — which he had never given another, and never would again.
“As it happens,” he murmured, and then pulled her close to whisper in her ear so that he would be unheard by the men surrounding them. “I love you too, Penelope.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked loudly, attracting some attention, but she grinned up at him and he kissed her on the top of her head.
“Now,” he said as they approached The Raven’s Wing and re-boarded his ship, “Just what are we going to do with you?”
Bastian strode over toward them now, his steps unhurried, a glint in his eye.
“The woman’s back on board, is she?”
Penelope stiffened beside him.
“Welcome aboard, Miss Penelope,” he said with a wink. Penelope looked at Ramsay, astonished, but he shrugged his shoulder. Bastian could be unpredictable.
“You’re one of us now,” Bastian said. “Isn’t that right, men?”
The men hefted their swords in the air with a cry in the affirmative.
“Men from the scout team told all of us of what you did,” Bastian said. “That was mighty brave of you.”
“Some would say foolish,” she said with a laugh, catching Ramsay’s eye.
“Perhaps,” Bastian replied, with what looked like the slightest of smiles. “But you saved our men, for which we are grateful.”
“What of the article, Bastian?” Ramsay asked. As much as they might appreciate Penelope, there was still the issue of no woman allowed on the ship.
“Shall we take a vote?” Bastian asked, looking around.
“If you’re willing for Miss Penelope to stay on, say aye!” There was a resounding cry around the ship. Ramsay kept his eye on Penelope, watching her cheeks redden, her eyes grow wide as she listened to the men around her, then heard the silence when asked who voted her off the ship.
“You see?” he murmured. “They love you as much as I do.”
Penny loved this bed.
It was not the most comfortable of mattresses, to be sure. But it was where she had first made love to Ramsay, where they — or rather she, but he had listened — had spent much time speaking of matters from the important to the trivial — and where he now promised her she could stay.
For the moment, at least.
He sat up in bed, taking her hands in his.
“I’m not entirely sure what to do with you, Penelope,” he said, looking into her eyes, and while his were still deep and dark, she was sure they were not as haunted as they once were. “Do you still wish to find your uncle?”
“Perhaps someday,” she said, and she saw the corners of her mouth droop, “bu
t only to wish him well, to make his reacquaintance. I certainly do not wish to be anywhere but with you.”
“That’s the thing,” he said with insistence. “I cannot have you sail with me throughout the seas, attacking ships and plundering. I would spend all my time worried that you were going to come to harm, holding myself back to stay and protect you.”
“Do you not have a home off the ship?” she asked, tilting her head to study him. “Surely you cannot spend all your time aboard.”
“No,” he said slowly. “We most often make port in Nassau. I have a small but serviceable house there. However—”
“Very well,” she said as though the matter had been decided. “Then that is where I shall live."
“Penelope—"
“Unless it is a safer voyage that I can accompany you on," she said, holding a finger in the air. "Then you have to allow me aboard the ship. Your men have already decided that it is fine."
“There is still too much danger,” he said. "You could be killed."
"As you could be, every time you come aboard," she said stubbornly. "We cannot change that fact. We simply have to live with it and enjoy each day as it comes."
"Very well," he said, his lips curving into a smile. "If you say so."
"I do."
"You see, Penelope?" he said. “That is how you take orders."
"I'm so glad you have learned!” she said, and all he could do was laugh.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, where did you get this scar?” She traced the long, jagged scar over his forehead.
“My first sword fight,” he said, stroking the back of her arm.
“You lost?”
“I won,” he said with a wry smile. “I was twelve.”
Her eyes widened in shock, but he ran his fingers over her forehead as though to erase her worry.
“You're a treasure," he said, nuzzling her neck, bringing her back to the present.
“Better than that you were hoping to steal from Ortego?"
“Much," he said, his hand skimming her ribcage as he lightly bit her. "Besides," he said, "you're a little booty too."
She smacked him.
“Be my wife?"
“That's your proposal?"
“Take it or leave it."
“Very well," she sighed dramatically. "Take it I shall."
She leaned in.
“Now, what were you saying about keelhauling?"
About Ellie St. Clair
Ellie has always loved reading, writing, and history. For many years she has written short stories, non-fiction, and has worked on her true love and passion—romance novels.
The lake is Ellie’s happy place, and when she’s not writing, she is spending time with her children, her Husky/Border Collie cross, and her own dashing duke.
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The Bruce’s Angel
by Caroline Lee
Prologue
The last time they’d made love had been on the deck of a pirate’s ship.
Of course, at the time, Liam hadn’t believed Charlotte when she’d told him of the birlinn’s history, but that was probably because she had been giggling as she’d pulled him along the quay that evening toward the innocuous-looking boat. All she’d told him was she wanted to feel the motion of the waves under her, while he moved over her, and, well…
How in the hell was a man supposed to deny that?
“A pirate boat?” He hummed good-naturedly. “Ye expect me to believe the mighty MacLeod family, the pride of Lewes, harbors pirates?”
In the darkness, it was impossible to see the sparkle in her eyes, but he could hear it in her voice as they reached the plank offering access to the birlinn.
“Of course!” she teased. “Ye’ve never heard of the Black Banner?”
He snorted distractedly, paying more attention to ensuring she crossed over to the vessel safely. It wasn’t necessary; Charlotte MacLeod was many things—talented, passionate, capable—but clumsy wasn’t one of them. She trotted across the plank and landed firm-footed on the deck, as if she’d done it many times.
Maybe she had. Her brother Tavish, who was also Liam’s friend, was a sailor. Was this his ship?
“Is this Tav’s boat?”
She giggled, even as she tugged him toward the stern. “I told ye, my heart...this is the Black Banner’s birlinn.”
Ah yes, the Black Banner: the child’s horror tale, and the likely mythical pirate who stalked the merchants of the Western Isles. And Charlotte expected him to believe he resided here on Lewes.
Liam had arrived in the isles a month ago to formally court the Lady Charlotte, and was still just as delighted with her as he remembered being when they’d met in the Highlands. She wasn’t at all proper and ladylike, but met him nose-to-nose.
She’d make a good wife—a good partner—and Liam looked forward to formalizing their betrothal with her father, the MacLeod laird.
Until then, he saw no reason not to continue learning all about the woman he’d spend his life with.
They reached the stern platform where the captain would stand, and the helmsmen could lean on the grand rudder.
“Well, my angel…” He pulled her into his arms, lowering his voice to a murmur. “Ye’ve supposedly dragged me out to the Black Banner’s boat. Now what?”
She twisted about, managing not to step out of his hold, as she flourished a bundle, which she then shook out to reveal a blanket.
“Now, Liam…” She pressed up on her toes, until her lips were beside his ear. “Now you’re going to make love to me.”
It was her playful tease, more than her words, which set him hardening under his kilt, but the way she brushed against him as she squirmed out of his arms didn’t hurt either.
Before he had time to catch his breath, or do anything more than groan in anticipation, she’d spread the blanket out on the deck, and was tugging at the ties of her gown.
His blood was pounding in anticipation, the way she always made him feel when she matched his passions head on this way, but he had the forethought to glance toward the shore.
This late at night, surely her pale skin and fiery halo of hair would stand out like a torch?
She guessed what concerned him. “That’s what makes it fun, Liam,” she whispered in that husky voice of hers, and he gave up caring about propriety.
If she, the willful and beautiful daughter of the laird, was willing to buck convention for him, who was he to argue?
“Aye, my angel.” With a smile, Liam made short work of his own clothing, adding them to the pile on the deck beside the blanket. Truthfully, he was glad his kilt wasn’t too complicated, because when she began to peel away her chemise, his fingers—and his mind—turned into lumps of rock.
His Charlotte had always preferred making love out-of-doors, but usually they made do without fully disrobing. It hadn’t been often he’d been able to drink in the sight of her this way, standing nude and proud, managing to look strong and capable, even on the deck of a sailing ship.
Liam drank in the sight of her, grateful beyond measure to have found such an incredible woman.
I love you.
He needed her to know that, but he couldn’t seem to make his voice work.
Then she was reaching for him, pulling him down beside her so they could cradle one another with their arms, and he had more important things on his mind.
“Ye’re sure about this?” he murmured against her skin, as he trailed kisses from her neck to her breast. “Sure ‘tis safe?
She arched against him with a moan. “Can ye no’ feel the power of the surf under us, my heart?”
He was too busy to focus on her poetry, but knew she was right. The boat rocked in time with
the waves, the way he wanted to rock atop her.
“I need ye, Liam,” she panted. “I want ye to be mine.”
“Yer only.”
“My only,” she agreed, breathless.
His mouth was occupied for the next little while, and the sound of her small cries and mews was enough to keep him standing stiffly at attention. He stroked her softly, marveling at her enthusiasm.
God Almighty, but she was ready for him.
When she curved against him once more, he knew she was as ready as he was. Grasping her thighs, he slid her closer, settling himself between her legs as she writhed on the thin blanket.
“Liam!” she cried, part plea, part command. “Donae stop, please.”
“Aye,” he breathed, his hand tracing up her chest to rest against her cheek. “Ye’re so hot, so passionate, Charlotte. I’m afraid ye and I will both burn up, leaving nothing but cinders.” It was a joke between them, when he called her Char.
“If we do,” she panted beneath him, “’twill be your fault as much as mine. Now stop delaying!”
“As my lady commands.”
When he finally pressed home, she cried out in pleasure.
Or mayhap it was joy.
She met him, thrust for thrust, as the familiar pressure built behind Liam’s bollocks.
He’d been with other women, aye, but this was Charlotte, and making love to Charlotte was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
He watched her face as she contorted, and marveled at how well he could read her, despite the near-darkness. Even without her wrapped around him, he could tell when she was close. The pleasure mixed with frustration he saw when she met his gaze told her everything he needed to know.
He dropped a hand between their joined bodies and stroked the pearl nestled within her curls.
She gasped his name, and he felt her muscles contracting around him.
It took everything in him not to roar her name, not to beg for God’s mercy, the way she was doing, but as he spilled his seed deep inside her, his only indication was the way he stiffened against her.
