The Red Drifter of the Sea (Pirates of the Isles #3) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,23

anything about running a farm or livestock. At least, I don’t think she does. But how the hell would I know? Maybe she was going to a town where she could hire herself out to be a seamstress or a servant. Can she cook? I’m certain she sews. What lady doesn’t? She’s better suited for giving orders than taking them.

That’s not true. She’s already told me that Dónal treats her like a servant. Did that bastard give her the cut on her chin? Maybe she could be a servant. I would wager she’s a hard worker and asks for very little. Her defiance is based in fear. She fears me, and why wouldn’t she? She’d be daft not to fear the man who threatened to set her adrift.

Kyle looked inside the sack and considered whether he wanted to return the clothing to Moira. He pictured her as she’d been when she walked on deck. Her trim legs emerging from the bottom of the leine. He’d truly believed taking her leggings and boots would be enough to keep her inside. He even thought to test her by leaving the door unlocked, giving her just enough freedom to feel trapped. He’d meant to control her, and instead she’d taken control. Kyle felt equal parts annoyance and intrigue. The Moira who boarded his ship was not the woman he’d spied at Dunluce, not the woman he’d heard about in passing.

Scowling, Kyle closed the bag and dropped it back where he found it. He would indulge himself in having a half-naked woman in his cabin, and he would ensure Moira understood who captained this ship. If she refused, then he would put her ashore somewhere. He’d give her enough coin to find her way back to Dunluce or to start fresh somewhere. What she did once she was out of sight wasn’t his problem.

Do you really believe that?

The same mix of conscience and desire that forced him to bring her onboard the Lady Charity rather than have her thrown overboard reared its head. He admitted to himself that he wanted Moira to be his problem. He wanted to see if she was the woman he sensed: a woman who wanted to submit to him. A woman who needed a teacher, a mentor of sorts, to show her what lay dormant within her. A man who would shoulder the burden of the outside world while freeing her inhibitions.

Kyle’s cock hardened as he pictured several scenes that he longed to enact. Some were ones he’d held for years and never been able to fulfill while others were specific to Moira herself. The sounds she’d made while his fingers worked her core had nearly pushed him over the edge. As he remembered them, his cock ached so badly that he adjusted himself to ease the discomfort. His eyes swept the hold, and he was tempted to stroke himself until the need to dominate eased, until he could be inside her.

Kyle scowled at the sky as the gale hurled icy drops of rain against his face. He’d emerged from the hold to discover the sky had turned gray, and heavy clouds threatened to release their torrent. An hour later, Kyle was soaked and freezing. He longed for nothing more than to slip into his cabin and rub himself dry before donning fresh clothes and wrapping himself in his plaid. He considered where his plaid had been last: wrapped around Moira.

Wrapping myself around Moira would be a more pleasurable way to get warm. I should check on her. The seas have been rough, and she’s unaccustomed to the jarring feel. She might be ill and suffering. She’s been kneeling for more than an hour. That punishment should suffice.

But Kyle had no choice. He had to remain on deck while the storm battered the ship and crew. He prayed Moira had enough sense to give up kneeling and at least sit on the floor, if not a chair or the bed. As the ship rocked and the wood creaked, Kyle wondered if this was the storm that would rip the Lady Charity apart. He’d survived worse, but he wasn’t sure if the ship would. He wiped the water from his eyes as he craned his neck to see the crew of the Lady Grace, which bobbed in the water alongside him but a safe distance to prevent the waves from crashing them together. He could make out the matching waves of red hair standing at the helm. As though he