Pleasing the Pirate: A Loveswept Historical Romance (31 page)

They married a few weeks later in a small ceremony with only Phin’s friends in attendance and Susan and Annabelle as their witnesses. Soon after they sailed to Scotland to Mairi’s home, where the women and children awaited. It would be an understatement to say they were shocked that Mairi didn’t bring Grant home but instead returned with an English ex-pirate as her husband who swore he would save their land.

MacGowan had been especially surprised when Phin paid him a visit to tell him that the McFadden land had been granted to him by King George himself, and that Mairi was now his wife. It was no small relief that she wouldn’t have to see that man again.

And once word got out that the McFadden keep had a new leader, men started trickling back, looking for work. Phin was more than happy to give it to them, too.

And best of all, Susan and Annabelle were expected to arrive any day. It was Mairi who convinced Phin to invite them to live in Scotland. Here Susan could shed her past. No one knew what happened to her and she could finally acknowledge Annabelle as her daughter. Mairi had high hopes that Susan would find a wonderful man to spend the rest of her life with.

Phin pulled her up beside him and put his arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the still biting wind. Spring was coming, but winter was putting up a valiant fight for supremacy.

He leaned over to kiss her temple and she leaned into him. She worried that he would become bored living the life of a gentleman farmer, but he laid her fears to rest. She should have known that Phin would be unlike any other gentleman farmer she’d ever known. He liked to work beside the men, to till the soil and muck the stalls. Like the sailor he was, he felt he was no sort of leader unless he worked as hard as those he led. And the men appreciated that.

Slowly they began to trust him and Mairi knew a sense of satisfaction and pride in her husband.

“Barley will go there,” he said, pointing to the horizon.

“Uh-huh.” She’d heard this so many times she could recite it in her sleep and could probably plant the seeds herself.

“I thought to plant shellfish over there.” He swept his arm to the left.

“Uh-huh.”

He turned to her with twinkling eyes and a soft smile. “Mairi mine, you’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

“Of course I am. Barley and shell—Oh.” She smiled sheepishly, caught.

He chuckled and rubbed her softly rounded belly. “You have enough on your mind as it is.”

By the end of the summer their babe would be born. Another generation of McFaddens. Mairi’s hope was that her child’s generation would find the peace that Grant fought so hard for without the violence he advocated. She still thought of her brother occasionally, but she only thought of the good times now. Someday she hoped to give her babe a sibling so they could run through the fields together and hide in the keep to spy upon their ma and their da just like she and Grant had done.

“Come inside, Mairi mine, before you become chilled.”

Phin turned them around and led her back into the warm keep, where fires burned cheerily. She looked over her shoulder at the setting sun just now dipping below the line of trees and knew in her heart a peace she’d never felt before.

A huge thank-you to my editor, Sue Grimshaw, who one day said, “What do you think about writing a Scottish historical?” And I immediately knew who Phin’s heroine would be.

Another thank-you to my agent, Jessica Alvarez of BookEnds Literary Agency. Not many would answer my emails, which arrive at all times of the day. She’s always there for me.

To all my buddies at InkslingersSuspense who accepted me into their group even though I write historical. You ladies rock!

Photo by Pam Jones
Photography

S
HARON
C
ULLEN
is the author of the historical romance,
The Notorious Lady Anne
,
Loving the Earl
, and
Pleasing the Pirate
. She’s also published romantic suspense, paranormal romance, and contemporary romance.

Her other job descriptions include chauffeur, laundress, cook, and mediator to her three very busy kids, her husband, and two dogs. She lives in southwest Ohio with her brood, although her dream is to someday retire to St. Maarten and live on the beach.

If you’d like to find out more about Sharon Cullen and her books, you can visit her website. She’s addicted to social networking so you can find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr.
Friend her! Like her! Follow her!
She’d love to hang out with you and talk about her passion—
books
.

sharoncullen.net

Welcome to Loveswept!

March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb
, and so do our Loveswept romances, enticing stories ready to seduce you all month long. Take a look at this list!

Just One Night
finishes up Lauren Layne’s Sex, Love & Stiletto series featuring Sam Compton, the hero we’ve all been waiting for. New York’s hottest “sexpert,” Riley McKenna, has been living a lie, and it’s up to one man to keep her honest … all night long.
Rock It
introduces a new hot series by Jennifer Chance with the tale of a smoldering rocker and the fangirl who catches his eye. And
Third Degree
, Julie Cross’s new Flirt release, is one you don’t want to miss in the New Adult coming-of-age scene. Marshall Collins gives Izzy Jenkins all the normalcy she’s looking for while Izzy teaches Marshall a thing or two of her own.

Classic Loveswept romances are back, too, and this month Sandra Chastain’s
Adam’s Outlaw
and
The Runaway Bride
top the list, followed by Fran Baker’s
San Antonio Rose
. And don’t miss Linda Cajio’s delightful
Night Music
, coming on the heels of Karen Leabo’s suspenseful and spirited
Witchy Woman
. Deborah Harmse’s charming and warmly passionate romance,
A Man to Believe In
, will touch your heart, and
New York Times
bestselling author Iris Johansen’s rerelease of
Satin Ice
continues with the Delaney family saga.

Last but not least, always a favorite of ours,
New York Times
bestselling author Connie Brockway sweeps us back to Victorian England with her enchanting stories
Bridal Favors
and
Bridal Season
.

Let Loveswept warm you on those cold winter nights.

~Happy Romance!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

London, England, November 1815

“Get up!”

If not for the fact that the rage-filled voice bellowing in his ear was speaking English, Christian Trent, the Earl of Markham, might have thought he was back in France.

Certainly the press of cold steel at his throat flooded his brain with memories of the war: nightmarish memories, pain-filled memories. Memories he fervently tried, but hopelessly failed, to forget.

Experience had taught him that when one was in such a precarious position, with a sword at one’s windpipe, with the identity and reasoning of the attacker unknown, one was wise to act cautiously.

Without moving a muscle he pried an eye open and tried to focus on the person who was holding the deadly weapon at his neck. The slight movement of his eyeball sent pain stabbing through his head. His mouth tasted like sawdust. Christ, he must have drunk more than he thought last night.

“I repeat,
get up
!”

To emphasize his request, the attacker’s sword point pierced Christian’s skin. A small trail of warmth trickled down his neck.

In a ghostlike voice, so as not to disturb the pounding in his head, Christian answered, “How can I get up with that sword at my neck? I might still be half foxed, but I have enough wits about me not to push myself upon your weapon,” and with his hand he batted away the blade.

The sword immediately swung back into place.

As lethal as the sword itself, the voice uttered, “That would save me the bother of killing you.”

For a split second Christian welcomed the idea of death before he doused it with an exhaled breath.

He ignored the cannonballs rioting in his head as he twisted and turned, desperate to
untangle his limbs from the satin sheets wrapped around his naked body. He did his best to ignore the dizzying weakness his movements evoked. The headache had him willing the contents of his stomach to stay down.

Where was he? The brothel? He recalled he’d paid for a woman. He knew she’d shared his bed. He could smell her lingering scent.

He drew a deep breath and calmed his mind. He had always prided himself on his ability to use his brain more effectively than any weapon to get himself out of predicaments.

“You’re a perverted reprobate,” his attacker sneered.

He tried once more to rise. There was no doubt he’d rather collapse back into a drunken slumber, but through the degrading sickness, his body prickled with stark unease. It was like a second sense, and it had saved his life many a time before.

A movement in the shadows alerted him to a second man’s presence. This silent enemy moved across the floor to throw the curtains wide. Sunlight bounced off mirrors positioned strategically around the room, stabbing at Christian’s eyes like a sharp hunting knife. Christian put his hand up to ward off the sun’s blows.

The presence of the men in his room indicated he didn’t have the luxury of being able to lie down and resume his sleep. So much for drink-inspired oblivion. He’d not endured two years on the battlefields of France to die in a brothel in his own country. Clutching the sheet to his body, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to lever himself up, gritting his teeth against the hammering in his brain.

He clamped down on his rising panic. Panic did not serve anyone. Fear was the enemy. He’d learned that many times on the battlefield.

“You’ll pay for what you have done.” The second man’s voice indicated he liked to smoke—it was thick and gravelly. Like smoke, his anger was barely contained.

Christian’s throat constricted, as if the proverbial noose were tightening around his neck. He didn’t need a sword under his chin to understand that these men were serious.

His mind quickly evaluated the likely avenues of escape. The windows were the closest options. Although the room was on the second story, if he jumped, he could land safely on the hedgerow beneath. Alternatively, the bedchamber door was wide open, so if he could slip past both men, he could make it down the servants’ stairs.

He
was
still at the brothel. The Honey Pot was high-class, and even though he’d been a
frequent customer there since his return from the war, he had never, ever slept here.

He rubbed the back of his neck. What had happened last night?

Anger cleared the fog clinging to his brain, but only for a second. He ruthlessly clamped down on his temper. Anger was a weakness. When consumed by anger, men lost control. As a child he’d watched his father repeatedly lose control. His father’s rages turned him into a man Christian did not recognize, and as a boy he’d suffered from the consequences. Besides, it led men to make impulsive decisions, and he was anything but impulsive. “Other than taking a little pleasure in this miserable world, what exactly do you—” He paused. “—
gentlemen
think I have done?”

“Pleasure? Pleasure?” The sword finally swung away as the man’s anger overcame him, and he gestured wildly. “
Pleasure?
You brought a young, innocent girl here—here!—and defiled her,” he bellowed.

Christian’s fists clenched the sheets. His voice held steady, his tone even. “I beg your pardon. Brought a girl here …? I did no such thing. I’ll call out any man who utters such scandalous allegations.” But because he was not stupid, Christian felt his world slipping out from underneath him.

He’d changed at Waterloo, and not just physically. The puckered, reddened flesh of his neck, upper right arm, and torso was a constant reminder to him, and everyone else, that he was no longer the man he once was. The ugly burns on the right side of his face twisted his mouth and eye, making him a monster. But it was his inner soul that had changed the most. He’d grown sick of the pain, the pity, and the nightmares. At first, the laudanum he took was a necessity due to the agony of his burns. Now he used the drug not only to dull the lingering pain of his wounds but also to soothe his inner torment. The memories of the flames peeling his skin haunted him still.…