The Red Drifter of the Sea (Pirates of the Isles #3) - Celeste Barclay

One

Moira MacDonnell peered around the narrow staircase leading from the family chambers into the Great Hall. Her gritted teeth felt as if they would surely crack, and she suspected deep grooves were forming around her lips from pursing them in disgust so often. She observed her brother Dónal, the MacDonnell chieftain, dribbling grease onto his sleeve before taking a healthy draught of Scottish whisky. Her gaze shifted to her sister Lizzie.

“Shameless trollop,” Moira muttered as Lizzie slid her hand between her body and Aidan O’Flaherty’s to cup his groin. In turn, Aidan pinched Lizzie’s nipple, eliciting a deep moan from the willowy blonde. Moira swept her gaze across the diners in the Great Hall, but as usual, no one paid attention to the antics of those seated on the dais. Moira’s nephew Sean darted across the hall, followed by his friends and his ever-loyal Irish wolfhound. She snapped her gaze back to Lizzie and Aidan, Sean’s parents, but they were oblivious to their son as he ran wild. Aidan was in port for a few days and spent more time dropping anchor in Lizzie than being a father to Sean. Lizzie was little better as a parent, having ignored Sean for most of his life, except for when Ruairí MacNeil had visited.

A smug smile pulled at Moira’s lips as she recalled the last time the Dark Heart appeared at Dunluce. Despite being a year ago, the memory of his visit burned bright in Moira’s mind. Ruairí arrived with his wife Senga on his arm, and Lizzie made the dreadful mistake of trying to—as before—pass Sean off as Ruairí’s son. She compounded her error by trying to seduce him in front of Senga. The pirate queen nearly gutted Lizzie before the entire clan, yet not one person flinched. Manipulative as the serpent in the Garden of Eden, Lizzie had sworn since before Sean was born that Ruairí was the boy’s father. Everyone who could count to nine knew it wasn’t possible, since Ruairí had been nowhere near Ireland, let alone Dunluce, when Lizzie conceived Sean.

She must think we’re a right daft lot. As though none of us knew the moment the lad was born that he’s Aidan’s. The lad has his father’s black hair, not Ruairí’s blond.

It was Senga who forced Lizzie to finally admit that Aidan was the then-five-year-old Sean’s father. Since then, neither Lizzie nor Aidan—who had never been discreet—made any attempt to hide their liaison. But neither did they intend to wed. With no heirs of his own, it forced Dónal to acknowledge Sean as the next MacDonnell chieftain, despite the boy’s bastardry.

I will bear no man a bastard. I’d have to be coupling to do that, and since that isn’t in my future, I suppose I have nothing to worry about. Selfish pile of shite. Pay a bluidy decent dowry if you want me off your hands, Dónal. But then who would run this pile of cracked bricks and rotting mortar? Sure as bluidy hell won’t be Lizzie.

“Moira!” Dónal bellowed before belching. “Where the devil are you, you worthless wench?” Dónal may have muttered the last words, but Moira knew plenty of people heard. She doubted any of them cared. They were far too used to Dónal’s domineering attitude toward her. Dónal didn’t care what Lizzie did, as long as the men she bedded brought more trade to clan MacDonnell. That had been the entire point of trying to lay a trap for Ruairí.

Moira slipped from behind the staircase and entered the Great Hall. She wasn’t certain if Dónal’s grimace was from indigestion or disgust at seeing her. She assumed it was both. They had never gotten along, even as young children. Lizzie and Dónal were cut from the same jib: their father’s. Moira didn’t resemble either of her siblings; she was the spitting image of their mother. She was diminutive in stature and looked years younger than twenty-two. Her light brown hair felt dull and dreary when she looked at her siblings’ thick flaxen locks. Despite being unwed, she wore her hair up since she spent most of her days toiling alongside the servants.

Preparing herself for her brother, she blew a puff of air before plastering a shy smile she didn’t feel at all. She clasped her hands before her as she came to stand in front of the dais.

“Where is the rest of the meal?” Dónal demanded as he belched again.

I think you’ve eaten most of the meal already. I’m surprised no one’s lost a finger