The Red Drifter of the Sea: A Steamy Opposites Attract Pirate Romance (Pirates of the Isles Book 3)

by Celeste Barclay

  Eventually, fatigue drained Moira of her strength. She rolled as close to the wall as she could, using the pillows as a barrier to the edge. She hoped they would be enough to keep her from falling off the bunk. She let her eyes drift closed. Without realizing it, she was asleep.

  The howling rain let up long enough for Kyle to inspect the hull. He breathed easier when he found only small dribbles of water rather than pools. He could have his men reinforce the spots that seemed weak, but there was no reason to fear that the boat would capsize or swamp. With Moira onboard, he felt even more compelled to ensure the ship’s condition. He’d never once considered a sole person’s well-being when he made decisions about his ship, but knowing Moira was with him created an urgency he hadn’t felt before.

  When he finished touring the hold, he made his way to his cabin. Unprepared for what he might find, he steeled himself for the mess and an irate woman. He eased the door open, first taking in the mess, then catching sight of Moira sleeping on his bunk. He smiled to himself as he wondered how long she’d slumbered and how she was even able to sleep through the storm. But worry took hold when he feared she wasn’t sleeping, but unconscious. He crossed the cabin and peered down at Moira. Her eyes fluttered open, and she screamed, unprepared to find a face hovering over hers.

  “Bluidy bleeding hell, Kyle,” Moira snapped. “You leave me down here to rattle around like teeth in an old woman’s head, then terrify me when you wake me.”

  Kyle reeled back from the biting words, reminding himself that he had startled her, and she likely spent the entire storm petrified. But her murderous glare tested his already frayed patience. Gritting his teeth, he stepped away from the bunk, noticing the puddle he’d created. With a scowl, he stomped across the cabin to where one of his chests landed and ripped open the lid before pulling out drying linens. He slammed the lid shut and moved to the other chest that held his clothes. Kyle tossed a fresh leine and leggings on the table before pulling his sodden boots from his feet. Peeling off the clothes that stuck to him like a second skin, he ignored the watching Moira.

  Unwilling to let her witness his arousal, which stirred despite his annoyance at both her and his own body, he remained turned away from her. When Moira gasped, he looked back over his shoulder to find her staring at his legs.

  “What?” Kyle growled.

  “The bruises,” Moira hissed as she pointed to the back of his thighs. He knew what she meant. He’d tied the ropes around his ribs and thighs to keep him upright.

  “Wishing I’d been cast overboard?” Kyle snarled as he pulled leggings on but left them unlaced. He walked past the table, not bothering with the leine despite being chilled. “While you slept away the day, I tried to keep us afloat.”

  Moira’s eyes widened as she realized her sour mood when she awoke only provoked Kyle’s frazzled nerves. She kneeled at the edge of the bed and beckoned him to sit on the bed beside her. Despite narrowing his eyes, he relented and sat down. Moira shuffled to kneel behind him as she massaged his hunched shoulders. She’d grown cold earlier, but Kyle’s skin was like ice. She dropped the plaid from her bare shoulders.

  “You’ll catch your death. Come lie with me, so I can warm you.”

  “Lie with you?” Kyle smirked, purposely misinterpreting her meaning. “Is that all you think about, you lusty little wench?”

  Moira’s lips pursed before she returned his smirk. “At least the only important part of you would be warm.” Her eyes widened when his eyes turned thunderous. “I jest,” she whispered.

  “I came to ensure you were safe, and you’ve hissed and snarled like a harpy. Then you tell me the only thing you care about is my cock. Fear not, sweet one, I shall give you just what you want.” Kyle pressed Moira onto her back before he rose and stripped off his fresh leggings. He crawled onto the bed, waiting for Moira to cower, to shun him. Instead she opened her arms to him and made space for him between her legs.

  Kyle drove into her with a single thrust, the feeling as close to heaven as he could imagine. He gazed down at Moira to ensure he hadn’t hurt her. Her welcoming smile urged him to capture her mouth in a punishing kiss as he surged into her with abandon. He used his body to pin her to the mattress as he plundered her mouth and her sheath. Unable to move with him, Moira tried to writhe, but Kyle captured her wrists and lifted her arms over her head.

  “My cock is all you wanted, so it is all you shall get,” Kyle growled. He watched Moira’s pupils dilate until they nearly flooded her sapphire irises. He knew she must be in pain from how he relentlessly pounded into her, but she said nothing, giving no indication that she wanted him to stop. She looked aroused. All too soon for his taste, he felt his bollocks tightening. He intended to punish Moira, but he hadn’t intended to punish himself. He wanted to draw out the sensations of being within her body, the bliss that came from joining with Moira for the first time. But what his mind—and his heart—wanted didn’t coincide with his body’s need for release. Unable to hold back, he withdrew, with his essence spreading across Moira’s belly. He moved off the bed, not looking at Moira as he put his leggings back on and donned his leine. He retrieved dry stockings from his chest and found his spare pair of boots scrunched between the chest and wall.

  Kyle knew she would ache with the unspent lust. He knew she’d be uncomfortable until he deigned to remedy her predicament. If his rod was all she wanted, then that was all she would get. She wouldn’t get his sentiments, his need to ensure her pleasure. She would get the one part she wanted, but he wouldn’t let her have what she desired. He crossed back to the bunk to stand beside a shivering Moira, who watched him as though he were an unpredictable wild animal. He supposed he was.

  “Touch yourself, and I shall know. Ease the ache in your quim, and you will earn yourself a thrashing, Moira. We shall see if my cock is the only thing you want from me. I gave you what you said you wanted. You never asked for release.”

  “Would you have given it to me if I asked?” Moira wondered.

  “No.” Kyle turned his back on her yet again and stormed out of the cabin, leaving Moira distressed and unsatisfied.

  Kyle felt unsettled after leaving Moira. He assumed it was the need to set his crew to work since the rain had slowed, and the wind was manageable. But he couldn’t push Moira from the forefront of his mind. It was one thing to deny her pleasure while they were engaged in their foreplay, but it was the second time he’d done it as a punishment. He hadn’t thought twice about it the first time, and he didn’t feel guilty the second time. But he missed seeing the rapture on her face, hearing her moans as he made her climax. He felt hollow.

  With tasks aplenty to keep him busy, he ordered men into the hold to repair the weakened spots along the hull. He sent a handful of men to the Lady Grace to assist Keith’s repairs to his yardarm. Several of the sails on the Lady Charity had been tattered by the wind before they had been lowered. He ordered them down and mended. The rain kept him chilled just as his heart felt. He wished he could offer his men respite in the galley and passageways, but with the weather still unpredictable, they had to work while they could. It wasn’t the first storm they’d pushed through.

  “Braedon, how do you fare?” Kyle asked as he stood beside the adolescent. “Not too battered?”

  “No, Capt’n. A wee banged about, but no worse for wear.”

  “Good. I don’t want you in the nest until this wind ceases altogether. The last thing I need is for a gust to carry you off,” Kyle warned with a grin. He was fond of the lad, seeing much of himself in the youth. He and Keith had been barrel men at different points in their piratical lives. He knew the freedom that came from spending his days in the crow’s nest, the feeling of soaring above the world. But he also knew the perils of a captain who didn’t care, who ordered the scouts up the mast in inclement weather. He was harsh with his crew, but he didn’t purposely endanger their lives, and he drew the line at risking a mere boy.

  With some time to prepare before the next onslaught, men pitche
d tarps that would provide them some protection for when the storm inevitably returned. They worked until the grim cloud cover made it impossible to see. Ordering his men once more to batten down the hatches and lash themselves to the gunwales, he tied the wheel in place before tying himself to it. The minutes felt like an eternity as the crew of both ships waited for the new deluge. When it came, it made the previous storm appear like a spring shower. Water washed onto the decks as swells crashed over the sides. The only blessing Kyle saw was that the boat keeled away from the waves, sending the water off the opposite side rather than accumulating on the wood planking. He kept his eyes on the water, trying to predict each surge and how it would hit.

  Despite more than two decades at sea, Kyle had never experienced a storm as intense as the one that battered them. It was impossible to tell if it was day or night because the sun or moon was blocked. The sea was slate colored, and he expected Neptune to rise from the depths and skewer the Lady Charity and Lady Grace with his trident. Not as superstitious as most sailors, Kyle still wondered if a sea creature would emerge to wrap its tentacles around the ships and draw the men to their deaths. When he dared look away, his eyes traveled to the hatch leading to where his cabin lay. He may have watched the water, but his mind returned to Moira over and over.

  A bolt of lightning struck the water not far off the Lady Grace’s starboard side, creating a phenomenon Kyle had never seen. The epicenter of the strike sucked water into a sinking whirlpool while the water surrounding the site pulsated, driving waves in all directions. The enormous ripples slammed into the Lady Grace first, then the Lady Charity. The ships trembled as though a giant swung them between his fingers. Both ships keeled so far to port that the gunwales nearly touched the surf. Then just as suddenly as the water roared toward the ships, it was drawn back toward the whirlpool. In the next blink, the sea returned to its regular churning brew.

  With the next monstrous clap of thunder and gust of wind, two of the shrouds–the lines that supported and kept the mainmast upright–snapped. A loud crack warned Kyle only moments before the foot of the mainsail tore from the mast. It crashed to the desk, the weight of the rolled sail adding to its force. The front of the beam pierced the deck and disappeared under the planks.

  Moira!

  The beam would have entered the cabin across from the bunk, but he had no way to know where Moira was at the time of impact. He fought the soaked rope with fingers so cold they felt as though they would snap. Once free, he fought against the rolling waves and wind as he descended the steps from the helm. Grabbing the rope that was tied between the helm and mast, he pulled himself hand over hand. He heard Tomas’s voice, but he didn’t try to make out the words. His only concern was getting to his cabin.

  When he reached the mast, Kyle paused to catch his breath, his heart pounding behind his ribs. He could only hear the howl of the wind, the rain making it impossible to see. The crew tied ropes in a cross from the mast, connecting the bow and stern and each side in case they needed to move around the deck just as Kyle was. Taking a deep breath, Kyle pushed on, trying to calm his fears and his breathing.

  Kyle fell more than jumped past the ladder well and stumbled as he slammed against the bulkhead. Crashing from side to side, he made his way to his cabin. He tried to push the door open, but something obstructed the doorway. He pounded on the door.

  “Moira!” Bang, bang, bang. “Moira!” He knocked another loud trio, but he heard nothing from the cabin. For all he knew, she was screaming and he couldn’t hear her. Or perhaps she couldn’t hear him. He leaned his shoulder against the door and pushed, but the ship tilted away from the cabin’s side. His feet slid on the floor as he tried to gain purchase. Just as quickly as it listed to one side, it pitched to the other. The force allowed Kyle to drive the door open.

  “Kyle!” Moira clung to the headboard as she had during the first round of the storm. The table had slid against the door and remained unmovable as the ship pitched back and forth. Unable to push it out of his way, Kyle scrambled over the tabletop and rolled onto the bed. He swept Moira into his arms as she trembled. The jagged point of the foot beam that stuck inches into the cabin drew his gaze. It hadn’t breached the cabin as badly as he expected, and the post was nowhere near Moira.

  “I’m here, sweet one. I’m not letting you go,” Kyle promised as he buried his face in Moira’s hair, relieved to find her unharmed.

  “I thought the—” She waved a hand in the sail’s direction without turning her head away from Kyle’s chest. “Whatever that thing is, was going to skewer me when it burst through the wall. I tried to get above deck, but I couldn’t move the table. It was wedged between the door and bunk. I was so scared that thing was going to slide further into the cabin.”

  “I know, sweet one. That’s why I came to you. I feared the same,” Kyle confessed. Moira clung to Kyle as she recited every prayer she knew at least twice. He couldn’t keep his lips from twitching when he heard his name more than once. He suspected God had forgotten about him long ago, so “redemption” and “savior” didn’t sound like achievable requests for his fate. But he felt Moira’s body release some of its tension as she prayed. He would support anything that eased her fears.

  “The wind sounds so horrible. And from the way the water slapped against the porthole, I knew it was washing onto the deck. I was so scared you would be washed away. All I could picture was the ropes around you fraying and the wind carrying you off before it dropped you into the depths,” Moira said around the lump in her throat.

  “I told you, I’m not letting you go,” Kyle murmured. Moira tilted her head back, and their lips brushed against one another. It was light and quick before Moira tucked her head back under Kyle’s chin, but it was reassuring to them both.

  As the minutes turned into hours, Kyle remained with Moira. He thought about returning to the helm, obligation and duty clawing at him, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it. The ship kept pitching to the bow and forcing the stern, where the cabin was located, higher than the other end. It would have been an uphill struggle to even reach the ladder well, let alone climb it and drag himself back to the helm. He hoped his crew survived and that if needed, Tomas could get to the wheel.

  Moira and Kyle sat in silence throughout the night in the pitch-black cabin. Moira wondered if not being able to see the porthole was a blessing or an omen. With no way to tell the time by the stars or to see the water level, neither Kyle nor Moira could guess what had happened outside.

  Sometime near dawn, the boat stopped heeling from side to side. It swayed on calm seas, and the water no longer pounded against the porthole. The skies were lighter, and the wind no longer howled. The sound of rainfall continued, but it was more a gentle pitter-patter than the driving nails that had pounded the wood during the gales.

  “I’m sorry,” Moira blurted as Kyle loosened his hold. “You startled me when I woke up earlier, and I spoke without thinking. I offended you without intention, but then you taunted me. I’d been terrified during the first storm, and instead of finding comfort with you after my first typhoon at sea, you ignored me. I lashed out. I’m sorry.”

  “I know, sweet one. I, too, lashed out. I was cold and tired, hoping for a warm welcome from you. When I didn’t get it, I let my disappointment get the better of me,” Kyle confessed.

  “Even before the second storm hit, I swear to you, I didn’t disobey you,” Moira promised. She had no idea why she felt that was the moment she should declare her innocence. But Kyle had said she’d disappointed him, and she wanted redemption. She wanted to offer him some piece of news that didn’t bring more frustration or fear.

  Kyle cupped her jaw as he gazed into the blue depths that reminded him of the sea on the calmest of days, when its gentle tide lasted to lull him to sleep at night. He saw the honesty in Moira’s gaze, and her need for him to believe her. The notion that she’d been pleasuring herself while the ship nearly blew apart hadn’t occurred to him, but he saw how badly she needed
him to accept her pledge. He sensed her need for something familiar that would set her at ease. He knew she needed some predictability that she could rely on after being alone and afraid.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Moira,” Kyle chided. “I would be very disappointed if I touched you and found you no longer yearned for me to pleasure you. I would have known if you were sated rather than aching for me.”

  “I know,” Moira whispered. Kyle watched Moira and noticed her hands still trembled. His acceptance had soothed some of her nerves, but she was still dithery.

  “You may not have intended to speak out of turn when you woke, but you spoke without thinking. Your words were unwarranted and unkind, Moira. All of them.”

  “I know,” Moira repeated.

  “You received your punishment already, yet you don’t seem to be at ease. All is forgiven, sweet one,” Kyle reassured. Moira nodded, but she looked no more convinced than she had when they started talking. “Have you not forgiven yourself?”

  Moira shook her head, her eyes lowered. She came to her knees and rested her hands in her lap. The need to rub her thumb over her knuckles to soothe herself was tempting, but she remained still. She waited for Kyle to speak again, and while it was only a few seconds later, it felt like an eternity before she heard his voice.

  “What do you need, Moira?” Kyle nudged her chin up, but she kept her gaze averted. “Look at me, mo ghràidh.”

  Moira sucked in air, the Gaelic term feeling like an anchor in her emotional storm. It might not be the Irish Gaelic she spoke, but she understood its sentiment . Swallowing, she lifted the hem of the leine to her waist. Kyle had found one during the storm, realizing Moira was still naked beneath the plaid.

  “Are you asking for a spanking, Moira?” Kyle watched the color rise in Moira’s cheeks. “You must say it aloud. Make your request and explain why you think you deserve it.”