“If you find Moira with them, do what you can to get her separated from the O’Malleys. I don’t want her in the middle of the fighting. That’s what got us in this mess to begin with.”
“And if she’s not there?” Snake Eye asked.
“Then I don’t have to worry that someone will injure her while we slay each and every bastard who claims O’Malley as his name,” Kyle said matter-of-factly. There was no rancor in his tone. It was deadpan and blunt. Tomas and Snake Eye recognized it as the lethal voice that Kyle reserved for attacking slavers. He never thought twice about punishing the slave traders before prolonging their agony by setting them adrift. This attack wasn’t about looting a ship. It was revenge.
Kyle watched the amorphous outline of the men and dinghy in the moonlight as Tomas and Snake Eye reached the shore. From such a distance, he could barely make out Tomas moving across the sand, and he disappeared as he ascended the cliff. Kyle’s heart thudded as the minutes passed with no hint of when Tomas would return. His mind filled with one idea after another of how his plan could go awry. He glanced down to see he clutched the rail so tightly that his knuckles glowed an unearthly white. He forced himself to relax before he looked out at the water again.
To Kyle’s surprise, the dinghy was cutting through the surf, making its way back to the Lady Charity. He hadn’t noticed Tomas crossing the beach or getting in the rowboat. He held his breath as the men approached, then climbed aboard in silence. The three men crossed the deck and went to stand where they could speak to Keith and his first mate.
“I don’t ken how they are still alive,” Tomas spat in disgust. “Two men posted on watch, and they’re both sleeping!”
“They assume no one dares to take them on,” Kyle muttered before looking at the coast again. “We make our move now. How many are there?”
“I counted two dozen,” Tomas stated.
“That’s it?” Keith asked in disbelief.
“Aye. We killed at least fifty of their crew during the last battle,” Tomas pointed out.
“I suppose that’s true,” Keith agreed. “Then this should be over and done with before it’s time to break our fast.”
Kyle nodded with a grin. He was glad to hear Dermot didn’t have hidden reinforcements that would force both crews on land. This would allow Kyle to go after Dermot, and Keith could destroy the O’Malleys’ fleet. Moving in silence, the crews of both ships lowered their dinghies into the water, with five from the Lady Charity going to the beach, and five from the Lady Grace going to the cave Kyle pointed out to Keith. Kyle and his men hadn’t reached the beach before an alarm went up from the O’Malleys on watch with the boats. Kyle prayed there weren’t more O’Malleys with the ships than on land. By the time he reached the sand, the sound of Keith’s battle had faded. As his men crept along the beach and up the cliffs, not even a breeze stirred.
With hand and arm signals, the crew of the Lady Charity encircled the O’Malley camp. When Kyle found Dermot reeking of whisky, he gave the signal. Honor among thieves meant Kyle’s crew didn’t skewer the men in their sleep. Instead, the Lady Charity’s crew woke them at knifepoint, dragged them to their feet, scoffed at them for having such poor guards, hurled several insults, allowed the O’Malleys a chance to fight, then ran them through.
“You come with me,” Kyle barked before the hilt of his sword bashed into Dermot’s temple. The rotund man dropped like a sack of potatoes. “Get him in the boat.”
Kyle swept his eyes over the fallen men, and not an ounce of remorse pecked at him. These men were cut from the same cloth as he and his crew. They sealed their fate the moment they joined Dermot for the attack against the MacLean twins, and when Dermot set his sights on taking Moira.
The contracts may say he can marry her, but she’s mine. Men toasting their arses in Hell don’t marry.
Men from the Lady Charity maneuvered the unconscious Dermot onto the ship, nearly dropping him thrice. Kyle ordered men to lift him and follow Kyle. As he approached his cabin door, he considered the hook in his ceiling. He’d tortured more than one man in that very place. But as he pictured the inside of his cabin, a resolve swept over him. Never again would he use that hook to torture a captive. The hook had become Moira’s, and only she would be restrained there for her pleasure—if she agreed. He would never bring another prisoner into his cabin. Full stop. The space would be Moira’s haven if she agreed to return to him. He motioned for the men to follow him to the hold.
Carrying a lit candle Braedon handed him, Kyle led the way down the ladder into the underbelly of the ship. When Dermot’s awkward frame was uncooperative and slipped, none of the men made a move to prevent his fall. He landed against the hull with two thuds, first his body then his head. Now that Kyle had him confined to the hold and his men outnumbered his foe, there was no reason for him to remain unconscious. Kyle drove his booted foot into Dermot’s ribs. The man groaned and tried to roll away, but that only put him next to Tomas’s toes. The first mate kicked him in the belly.
“You’re awake. Be a man and stand up,” Kyle growled, this time only nudging him with his boot.
Dermot let loose a stream of curses in Irish Gaelic that the men could guess the meaning of. Unfazed, Kyle crossed his arms and tapped his toes until Dermot lumbered to his feet. As soon as he was upright, Tomas and Snake Eye captured an arm each and dragged Dermot to the center of the hold where there were several hooks screwed into the ceiling. With ample rope available, Tomas and Snake Eye soon had Dermot secured. Kyle added his strength as the three men pulled Dermot’s arms over his head until he dangled from the rope.
Dermot watched Kyle through bleary eyes. He’d drunk himself to sleep that night, angered that he’d lost most of his men to Kyle and Keith, lost his horse to Moira, and lost her as well. He opened his mouth to spit at Kyle, but Kyle drove his fist into Dermot’s face, shattering his nose.
“Where is she? She wasn’t at your camp,” Kyle demanded.
“Who?” Dermot asked innocently.
“Where is Moira MacDonnell?”
“I don’t know where my bluidy bride is. Dead, hopefully.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kyle sneered as he brought his palm to Dermot’s cheek in a ringing slap. “We found the cave she likely hid in. You went to look for her but didn’t find her, did you?”
As they sailed past Arklow, Kyle ordered torches lit and a dinghy lowered. He and Keith went alone to explore the jetty. They found the narrow opening that the crashing waves of high tide hid the last time they searched for Moira. Kyle had no evidence to substantiate his belief, but he was certain Moira was still alive. His heart and mind screamed it in unison.
“She wasn’t there,” Dermot conceded.
“But you found her when she left. What did you do to her?” Kyle plowed his fist into Dermot’s jaw. “Tell me, and the beating ends. Play games with me, and I beat you until you look forward to me setting you adrift.”
Dermot smirked but said nothing. Kyle drew a dirk from his belt, easing it from its sheath. He held it so it glowed in the candles Tomas and Snake Eye now held aloft. Kyle examined both sides before he pressed the tip against his forefinger, drawing a drop of blood. He held up the knife and his finger for Dermot to see.
“You know, just as I do, that sharks come at the scent of blood in the water. You know that there are several varieties of sharks in the Irish Sea. Big sharks, little sharks. It matters not. They will all fight for a chance to eat you. So once more, you decide. Do I beat you to a bloody pulp, then set you adrift to be disemboweled and quartered by sharks? Or do you receive my mercy and don’t end up as chum?”
Not waiting for Dermot’s response, he slashed his blade across Dermot’s protruding belly. The knife cut through the man’s doublet and sliced the skin below. Blood blossomed and spread across the material. Kyle canted his head as though he was assessing his work. He canted his head back the other direction and turned the corners of his mouth down in a mocking frown.
“You
shouldn’t have made me ask twice,” Kyle mused. “That may draw a few of the smaller fishies. The next one will draw the beasts who will swallow you whole, like Jonah. Except unlike Jonah, God doesn’t give a shite about you or your life. Unlike Jonah, the beast shall chomp you into tiny bits before swallowing you only to shite you out later.”
Kyle twirled his blade left and right as he waited. Dermot remained silent, his stare belligerent and daring.
“You know you’re going to die, so you think to wait me out. You think there is no reason for you to tell me anything. The trouble with your thinking is that no man has survived to tell the tales of the torture I make my captives endure.” Kyle turned to his men. “Mind him.”
Kyle scaled the ladder and made his way to his cabin, where he flipped open the chest that held the implements he’d had little chance to share with Moira. A lump caught in his throat, and it firmed his resolve to make Dermot’s remaining hours humiliating agony. Pushing aside what Moira discovered, he delved deeper, a wave of relief sweeping over him that Moira hadn’t the opportunity to discover everything he kept hidden. Retrieving what he needed, he made his way back to Dermot. With his eyes narrowed, he held up the objects he’d collected. Dermot’s eyes widened, and Kyle saw the trepidation and confusion. Kyle understood Dermot knew they would inflict pain, but he didn’t know how.
“Let me explain, since you seem confused.” Kyle held up a plug far larger than any in the set Moira found. “I’ve heard from more than one whore how you like to tup them. You shall now know what it feels like. Unless, of course, you’ve been buggered before.”
Kyle nodded to Tomas, who cut away the ties to Dermot’s leggings and yanked them down. With his arms extended over his head, his belly hung below his hem, obscuring his member. Kyle howled with laughter and pointed. Following their captain’s lead, Tomas and Snake Eye joined in, their laughter raucous and echoing in the hold.
“Where is it?” Snake Eye snorted. “Does he even have one?”
“Bluidy good thing you found Moira when you did, Capt’n. She knows what a man can do.” Tomas pointed and frowned. “Does it even do anything? It’s such a wee stick. It doesn’t look like it’s up to the task.” Kyle and his men doubled over with laughter as they continued to taunt Dermot.
“No wonder he pays so much, and the whores still look disappointed,” Kyle chortled before stepping around Dermot to stand behind him. He poured ginger oil to coat the plug, and without warning, he inserted it, making Dermot release a high-pitched howl. “Sounds like the sheep I hear he likes to fuck.”
“Aye. Only quim he can satisfy,” Snake Eye mused.
“Tug on it,” Kyle nodded at Dermot’s groin once he stood before him. “Let’s see if it can poke it’s head out.”
Tomas stepped forward and freed Dermot’s right hand. When Dermot made no move to obey Kyle’s command, Kyle cocked an eyebrow at Tomas. In turn, Tomas slammed a nearby plank against Dermot’s arse, making the man scream. Four more blows had Dermot reaching down to his groin, following Kyle’s order.
“What do you know? It can grow,” Snake Eye snickered.
“Finally, enough for this to be of use,” Kyle said as he held up a ring. “Put it on.”
At Dermot’s confused look, Kyle huffed and looked at him as though he were a simpleton. Kyle lifted the ring for Dermot to see before he slid his forefinger through it. He held out the ring toward Dermot’s groin and cocked an eyebrow, waiting to see if Dermot would catch on or if he would have to explain it. With a grunt, Dermot snatched the device from Kyle and slid it onto his rod before stroking himself. Kyle watched with satisfaction as a moment of arousal made his enemy’s cock grow and pleasure entered his eyes. But as quickly as it came, it disappeared as Dermot squirmed in pain. He knew that Dermot wouldn’t know how to wear it properly. Kyle grinned maliciously and didn’t instruct Dermot on what to do. Kyle stood with his arms crossed as Dermot stroked over and over. When he slowed to ease his discomfort, Kyle drove his fist into the cut on Dermot’s belly.
“In agony yet?” Kyle asked.
“You know I am,” Dermot whimpered.
“Not able to climax?” Kyle asked casually.
“You know it feels like my cock will explode. You did this on purpose.”
Kyle shrugged. “They say it’s an erotic pleasure in the Orient. Maybe it doesn’t fit. All my others would be far too large though.” Tomas and Snake Eye chortled. “Not enjoying yourself? Maybe you can imagine how Moira would have despised you if you’d forced her to make your tiny cock try to work.”
“You made your point,” Dermot whined. “Enough. I’ll talk.”
“Then speak,” Kyle said with another shrug.
“Take it off,” Dermot begged.
“I didn’t say slow down,” Kyle corrected. “Let me hear what you have to say. Then I’ll decide whether it’s worth my mercy.”
Sweat poured off Dermot’s brow as his hand continued to move back and forth. His entire body trembled as he wheezed with each stroke. When Kyle raised his dirk again, Dermot coughed and nodded.
“She was in the cave I searched, but I didn’t find her. The woman is a selkie. She swam through a narrow tunnel that connects the cave to the cove. I don’t know anyone who could do that. But the bitch did.” He reared back as Kyle’s blade slashed his belly again. “I watched her come out of the water and climb the path. She smacked right into me. I let her run, thinking my men weren’t so worthless. She made it into Arklow and hid with a farmer’s family. That bastard Dónal promised me a demure wife who would cause me no trouble. She’s been no end of trouble.”
Kyle waited as Dermot gasped for air between groans of pain. Kyle thought how the right size ring, coupled with Moira’s touch, would have Kyle groaning in ecstasy for hours. But he wouldn’t be able to enjoy anything with Moira if he didn’t find her. His patience growing short, he brandished his knife before Dermot’s face once again. He’d never had respect for Dermot O’Malley, but his disgust grew as Dermot conceded to his demands without trying to fight back. Kyle saw the coward he’d always known Dermot to be.
“She escaped. Ran from the farmer’s cottage and stole my horse. Couldn’t follow her since we don’t—didn’t—have any besides mine.”
“Where’d she go?”
“Farmer said she wanted to go to Wicklow. Something about finding her twin brothers. Brothers,” Dermot cackled, then coughed. He cast Kyle a smarmy grin. “Fucking her own brother.”
“And now you’re not useful anymore,” Kyle said with a nod toward his men. Tomas cut down Dermot’s other arm. He and Snake Eye pulled up Dermot’s doublet. “I shall need my toys back.”
Before Dermot understood what was about to happen, Kyle sliced his blade downward, dismembering Dermot. The O’Malley’s knees crumpled, but Snake Eye and Tomas kept him on his feet. Blood gushed from his groin. With a lip curled in disgust, Kyle picked up the severed appendage and removed the ring. “Open wide.”
Dermot’s eyes bulged, but he complied. Kyle removed the plug, dropping it and the ring into a pouch, before his men dragged Dermot onto the deck. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head, but the plank a sailor gave Kyle brought him round when it slammed into his arse. Wrists bound, the plank tucked under his arms, Snake Eye and Tomas hefted him onto the rail. Kyle gave him a shove.
The crew of the Lady Charity watched as Dermot crashed into the water. A whistle from Kyle signaled the crew of the Lady Grace to watch the inevitable spectacle. Dermot’s head popped out of the water, blood coloring the water before him. Kyle counted down from ten, and as if on his cue, Dermot was pulled beneath the surface. Shark fins circled and dipped beneath the surface until both ships’ crew were certain there was nothing left to watch.
The Lady Charity and the Lady Grace had been underway since the crews returned to the ships. Kyle looked to the eastern horizon where the sun was already rising. He would be in Wicklow in four hours, and he intended to have Moira in his arms in less than five.
Twenty-Four
Moira rubbed her eyes, trying to focus her blurry vision. Between the saltwater and being overly fatigued, she struggled to see. Trying to maneuver a galloping, then cantering, horse without her full sight was proving dangerous. The horse had enough sense to avoid tree trunks, but she nearly decapitated herself with a low-hanging branch. After what Moira approximated to be two hours of riding, there was no hint of dawn over the eastern horizon. She and the horse were winded, and the route grew more and more precarious. She feared getting lost in a forest as much as catapulting over a cliff. Praying that she hadn’t underestimated Dermot, she drew the horse to a halt after turning off the narrow path she’d followed out a village she never learned the name of. She suspected they were near Arklow, but she wasn’t certain. She only knew she was somewhere in County Wicklow, and she was a long way from her home in County Antrim.
Never fully recovered from the bone jarring cold that morning, Moira huddled out of the wind. She urged the horse to lie down and used the steed’s enormous body to buffer her. She thought about being warm again and wrapped in Kyle’s plaid, or better yet, his arms. It took little time for the physically and mentally exhausted Moira to fall into a deep sleep. When her eyes fluttered open, she realized she’d slept until close to midday. In a panic that Dermot might search for her on foot or find horses, she urged her mount to rise. She prayed to the Virgin Mary in thanksgiving that no one stumbled upon her while she slumbered and that her horse hadn’t run away. Guiding the horse, Moira returned to the country lane she’d been following. As she sheltered her eyes from the bright sun, she realized the path had drawn her away from the coast. She saw nothing to the east but an open expanse of grassland. She had no idea how far from the sea she’d strayed.
The Red Drifter of the Sea: A Steamy Opposites Attract Pirate Romance (Pirates of the Isles Book 3) Page 18
