Pleasing the Pirate: A Loveswept Historical Romance (28 page)

He laughed and she joined him, but slowly his laughter died and the shadows gathered in those stormy eyes. “And if I say I don’t want you to do this?”

“You’ve already said that. Several times.”

He touched her shoulder and pulled her gently against his chest.

She leaned her head back and felt the steady beat of his heart.

He nuzzled her neck. “I thought about whisking you off to Scotland and marrying you, but if I’m hanged as a traitor you would not want to be known as a traitor’s wife.”

She turned in his embrace and brought him in for a fierce hug. “Don’t say that. I would love to be known as your wife, regardless of what happens.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Things would be bad for you. Just know that in my heart you are my
wife.”

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling and touched his cheek. “I am honored.”

“I fear I’ve completely ruined your reputation.” A wicked gleam entered his eyes. “MacGowan would never want you now.”

“I’m beside myself with grief.” She smiled up at him. “But in all seriousness, I care not for my reputation. There will be no man after you, Phin Lockwood. You have my word on that.”

“I don’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life.”

“I won’t be.” She took his hand and placed it over her heart. “You will always live in here. I love you.”

“Ah, Mairi mine. You are my everything.”

She leaned into him and kissed him. He groaned, cupping her bottom in his hands and drawing her closer to him. She had to believe that this was not the end. That there was more for them. A future. Something other than this bleakness that threatened to pull her under.

She skimmed her fingernails down his torso, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake and causing him to shiver in response. He was so beautiful, so exquisitely sculpted that it took her breath away. Her fingers lingered on his tattoo, tracing the dark lines in curiosity.

“A moment of weakness,” he said as he kissed that sensitive spot between her shoulder and neck.

“It’s intriguing.”

“You’re much more intriguing than a tattoo.”

She smiled as she tilted her head back. “I would like a tattoo.”

“Would you now? Where would you put a tattoo?”

“Mmmm. Somewhere only you could see.”

“Ach now lass, you’re killin’ me.”

“Ah, I’ve brought out the Scottish brogue, eh?”

“Mmmm.” He kissed the tops of her breasts. “I’m interested in this tattoo you claim you want.”

“On my derriere, mayhap? Or the small of my back. Or …” She grinned wickedly. “On my thigh. A place that only you know about so when we’re not alone you can think about it.”

He groaned and kissed the spot between her breasts, then reached behind her and deftly untied her gown. “Tell me more.”

“On my breast? No. The new style for next year is for very low necklines. We wouldn’t want anyone else to see it.”

“I’d have to kill the person who tattooed you.”

“Whatever for?” She ran her fingernails up his thighs. The muscles quivered and he gasped.

“For seeing you in your altogether like that. No man will see my wife naked.”

She shivered at the wife reference. “We couldn’t have that.”

“Definitely not. I may get another tattoo.”

“In an indecent place as well?” The thought excited her far more than it should have. She never believed herself the type of woman to get excited about such things, but apparently she was.

“Mayhap.”

“And what would you get?”

“Mairi mine.”

She stilled and looked up at him. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Not nearly enough. Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

He gently laid her on the bed. At some point her clothes had been removed but she couldn’t precisely say when or how. Their sexy banter and his kisses and touch had made concentrating on anything else difficult.

Gently he nudged her legs apart with his knee and climbed between her. He was well made
every
where, a perfect specimen of man. She opened up to him and he slid right in with a soft groan. His eyes drifted shut and for a long while they stayed just like that. Him above her, inside of her, unmoving.

But her body demanded more, and filled so completely with him, she began to move. His eyes flew open and he moved with her.

Their connection was unmistakable and unbreakable, a connection that reached to her very soul and filled her with such a loving light that it brought tears to her eyes.

Here was her soul mate. The only man that would complete her. The one person in this world who knew her inside and out.

He moved slowly, never increasing his pace even though she could see he had to call
upon his iron control to do so. His neck muscles bulged and sweat beaded his forehead. He kept his pace maddeningly steady, bringing her to the edge so many times she lost count.

“Please,” she begged. “Please hurry.”

“Not tonight, Mairi mine. Tonight is meant for slow and sweet.”

It took every bit of restraint to keep from grabbing his hips and forcing them to pump harder and faster. Each sweet slide of his erection along her wet passage was exquisite torture and exquisitely wonderful.

Her completion built and built and then built some more until she was certain she would burst into flames.

She was panting now with the strain of holding back, of not wanting this to end too soon. Of putting off tomorrow, of forgetting what awaited them on the other side of the door.

Phin was perilously close as well. With each thrust he grunted and blew out a breath, on the fine edge of release. His self-control was astounding and impressive.

“I can’t … hold on,” she panted. She tried. Oh how she tried to hold off the inevitable but her body was in control now.

“Phin!” She screamed his name, half sitting up as her climax seized her in its intense grip. She felt as if her entire body was gunpowder, exploding into a million, highly sensitive pieces. Phin surged forward, holding on until the very last moment. He growled, a possessive sound that held her in its grip until there was nothing left for them to do but float back down to earth, boneless and profoundly changed.

A long time later they were lying on their backs, their heartbeats having gone back to normal and the sheen on their skin cooled.

“I know I can’t change your mind about flushing Grant out,” he said. “But have you truly thought it through? You’ll be betraying your own brother.”

“But I’ll be saving you.”

“What would your father say?”

She drew in a breath and held it for a few beats. This was not what she wanted to talk about after the best lovemaking she’d ever had, but she knew this question was coming and she’d had plenty of time to think about it.

“Our father yearned for a free Scotland that was not under England’s law. However, he was also a wise man. Grant inherited his passion for Scotland but not his wisdom. I truly believe
Da would understand that I need to do this. He would see what I see, that England is not going away, it will always be a presence in Scotland and now our goal should be to work
with
England for the betterment of everyone involved. Grant only sees what was the past and not what the future is. He’s … changed. He’s not the brother I grew up with or the brother my parents raised. Besides, when my choice is your life or my brother’s, I choose you.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, warming her chilled skin. She loved his touch, loved being next to him like this, and she tried not to think that this might be their last night together. “You were the one who inherited your father’s wisdom.”

She loved her da beyond anything and would like to believe that he would understand that she had to do this. Like her he would be disappointed in Grant and saddened that it had come to this, but he would understand.

“I mourn who he once was, but I fear I won’t mourn what he has become.”

“I regret that you have to do this.”

“I regret what Grant has become. What I have to do is what is right.”

“When this is finished, I want us to marry.”

She smiled in the darkness. “I come with a very questionable dowry, I’m afraid.”

Through the darkness his chuckle drifted to her, wrapping her in warmth and love. “Well then I fear I must reconsider.”

She rolled toward him to peer at him through the darkness. “So the pirate becomes a gentleman farmer?”

“My father is probably rolling over in his grave.”

“If you succeed in capturing Grant and stopping this invasion you might receive the title he so desperately wanted.”

“I want no title. Just peace.”

Just peace. It seemed like such a simple concept.

There was a sadness inside of her, a hollowness that wouldn’t go away. She recognized it as grief for she’d felt grief more times than she could count over the last several years. But recognizing the emotion helped little.

It was a double-edged sword she was holding. She wanted to go back in time to when she and Grant ran through the fields, laughed, played, even fought. To when there was love and laughter and light.

Where did it all go wrong?

When he decided to side with France?

Or when their family decided to side with the Stuarts? Was it her da’s fault for not seeing that Scotland’s future lay with England? If her clansmen—her brother—could hear her thoughts they would be furious. They would think
she
was the traitor.

When really all she wanted was peace. Just as Phin had said.

Was that too much to ask?

She was so weary of the fighting. And here she thought this on the eve of battle. She certainly had not imagined herself sailing into battle when she journeyed to England to find Grant. And she certainly never thought she would side with England.

While she still didn’t agree with the way England treated Scotland, she also knew that Grant’s way was not the right way, either.

Maybe someday the two countries could live in harmony. Maybe she would see that day or maybe her children would.

If she ever had children.

For it was not certain that Phin would survive this, either.

Her brother or her lover.

That was her double-edged sword.

Her head spun from the decisions she’d been forced to make and from the repercussions of those decisions. Mairi stood outside the inn in Cherbourg, France, and breathed deep, gathering her courage. From Scotland to England to France, her journey had certainly been
eventful and enlightening.

Behind her, hidden in the shadows of the trees, were Phin and Sebastian. Behind them were their men. She could practically feel Phin’s eyes boring into her back. He still wasn’t happy with these events, but he was wise enough to know there was no changing her mind.

Go in. Bring him out. That’s all she had to do.

Go in. Bring him out.

She could do that.

Gabrielle had given her advice, but in the end Mairi knew she would do what instinct told her to do. Squaring her shoulders she entered the inn and stopped just inside the door. No one pointed at her and announced her as a spy or a traitor. No one even looked at her. She wore a long cloak, the hood pulled over her head, hiding her features. Luck had been on her side when the rain started falling earlier in the day so a hooded cloak wasn’t unusual. Neither, apparently, was a woman in the inn. There were many of them, from serving girls and barmaids to prostitutes. She fit in none of those categories.

The Sword and Thistle was like any other pub in England and Scotland, crowded on this wet, dreary night with men who preferred the company of one another instead of their wives. Most were sailors. All were French. Or at least it seemed that way.

They were loud. Loud laughter. Loud conversations. An occasional argument that was quickly silenced by more laughter. A few card games took place at various tables. A serious game of dice took up a large corner of the room.

She found Grant in the corner, surrounded by men, looking solemn as those around him laughed and talked. His dark gaze roamed the room, his body tight, on edge. She still knew him well enough to know when he was worried, tense. If possible he looked even thinner, his hair unkempt, his eyes sunken. Could it be that his decisions weighed as heavily on him as they did on her?

There was a stab of regret that pierced her low in the heart but only a quick stab. The brother she knew wouldn’t have been in a French pub on a stormy night on the eve of an English invasion.

He was far from the door, as far as one could get. Beside him was a hall that probably led to the kitchens and a back door. She recognized the tactic from the lessons Gabrielle had given her. He had assessed the situation and was near a quick escape route. She would have to weave
her way between all the men and the whores to get to him.

She only had so much time. Phin had given her a deadline and if she wasn’t out of the pub in a quarter of an hour he was coming in after her. Nothing she could say would deter him so she’d better get moving. Another deep breath for courage, and she began making her way through the pub. A few men glanced at her, a few stared, trying to place her among the women, no doubt. She wasn’t a serving girl. She was too old. She wasn’t a barmaid. She was dressed too well. And she wasn’t a prostitute because she had too many clothes on.

The only thing she could be was a furious wife. She bit back a smile when they hurriedly looked away. Was there relief on their faces that she wasn’t
their
wife?

She sidled up to Grant, but he’d spotted her when she was halfway to him. His brows were drawn down, as if he couldn’t place her.

“Hello, Grant.”

She hadn’t lowered her hood but he must have recognized her voice for he jerked and then shot out of his chair.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he whispered harshly. He grabbed her arm in a grip tight enough to make her wince.

“I came to see you.”

“In
France
?” He looked around as if half expecting someone to be following her.

“Yes, in France. You promised me you would return to Scotland if I agreed to help you. I upheld my end of the bargain. You have not. I am here to take you home.” She deliberately made her voice rise until the conversations around them faltered, then stopped. People began to stare.