Macaulay (Hostage Brides #3)

Chapter One

The ship lurched as a large wave caught it broadside, sending Cullen flying against bales of cloth.

He tightened his grip on the overhead beam with one hand, and on Elsa’s hip with the other.

Another wave hit, sending him surging inside her, and his groans of satisfaction matched those of the creaking timbers of the old sloop.

There was something about the rhythmic list and roll of a ship in full sail that made love-making so much sweeter.

That was why he had risked a keelhauling to take what Elsa had been offering ever since they departed Scottish shores.

‘My God, that was a big one,’ she cried.

‘I thank you kindly, lass.’

‘I meant the wave, Cullen.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ he laughed, biting her on the neck. Her skin tasted salty, like the sea. It spurred him to greater efforts to please her, and Elsa’s yelping gasps grew more strident with each surge of the ship.

‘Easy lass. We don’t want your father to hear us,’ panted Cullen.

She tightened her thighs around his waist and sank sharp-nailed fingers into his hair. ‘I don’t care if he does, the miserable old grub.’

‘He’ll hang me from the rigging and feed my entrails to the gulls.’

She looked up at Cullen from under her lashes, and her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. ‘I’m worth it, aren’t I?’ she said.

Cullen wasn’t entirely sure she was, but it had been a while, and he had a fearsome need built up inside him.

Elsa pulled him against her. ‘Make me happy, Cullen. Do it. I know you want you. You’ve been slavering over me for weeks now.’

‘Aye, lass. If you insist,’ he murmured, grasping her waist and pulling her hard against him. He kissed her lips tenderly and nuzzled her neck in search of warmth, comfort, he knew not what, but she just gripped him tighter and hissed, ‘Just do it already.’

Cullen did his best to oblige, stifling Elsa’s rising cries with his kisses, struggling to keep his footing in the dank bowels of the ship.

She wriggled against his groin, sending warmth and pleasure rushing through his belly.

She might not be the bonniest of women, being fleshy and round-faced and with a gap-toothed grin, but she was obligingly loose in her morals and knew her way around a man.

In no time at all, Cullen forgot the seething resentment burning a hole in his heart and headed to the blessed relief of fornication.

He was just about to explode his lust inside Elsa when a huge wave hit the hull with a crack that sent them flying back onto the bales with a violent lurch, and then hurtling forwards onto the floor as the ship righted itself.

‘Ow! I think I broke my arm,’ cried Elsa, rocking and cradling her elbow.

Cullen scrabbled to his feet, fearing they were heading for a watery grave. The sea was sloshing in through the hatch overhead. ‘Get up, lass.’

‘I cannot. Oh, God, my arm!’

‘Tis not so bad. A bruise is all.’

When he held out his hand to her, she slapped it away. ‘It hurts like hot irons,’ she wailed.

‘Elsa, is that you, lass? Are you hurt?’ came a gruff voice from above, followed by the clatter of boots on the stairs. ‘We must trim sail. There’s a fearful squall sprung up, fit to blast us into shore.’

‘Your father’s coming. Go to him before he catches us.’

Elsa stared at Cullen dumbly.

‘Lass, I’ve my braies round my knees, and you are half-naked. He’ll take the skin off your back. Go. Now.’

Cullen hauled Elsa to her feet and pushed her towards the doorway as she frantically tried to cover herself. ‘Coming, father,’ she cried, then she turned and glowered. ‘I’m hurt, and you don’t even care. Damn you to hell, Cullen Macaulay, for the pitiless bastard you are.’

She was right. He was a pitiless bastard, and it was not the first time he’d heard a woman say it.

***

Hours later, the ship limped along the shoreline, a damp, sorely-used thing.

The Alainn was old and barely sea-worthy, every timber groaning like a miserable crone with age-stiffened bones.

The little sloop had narrowly survived the rough crossing to Ireland, and the sudden squall whipped up by the vengeful sea.

Dusk turned the sky a molten red-gold, and a stiff breeze sent clouds scurrying.

It was bitter out in the wind, but the heat of Elsa’s glare seared into Cullen’s back.

He risked a glance and felt a stab of guilt at the red mark on her elbow, which would soon be a purple bruise.

Her arm was far from broken, though, so he shrugged off his guilt.

Elsa was a willing partner in their below-decks tryst, and not for the first time. She took her chances, just like he did.

The black-cliffed shoreline of Ireland edged closer. Now came the dangerous part.

‘We were lucky to come out of that in one piece, and some of the haul went over the side,’ spat Elsa’s father and ship’s captain, Hardy Rabham. ‘There’s ice in my marrow, and I’m too pissing old for this foolishness.’

‘Would you rather be at home, mouldering into your dotage before a fire, while life passes you by?’ said Cullen with a grin.

‘Aye, most likely, I would.’

‘Do not fash, old man. We lost some cargo, but we’ll be right. We’ll just charge more for what we have left.’

‘They’ll not like it.’

‘They don’t have to like it. There’s few other vessels that risk this crossing with the spring storms, so they’ll pay what I want them to pay.’

Elsa sidled up to them. ‘Easy, Cullen. You don’t want to make enemies of Butcher and his muggers. Those villains may refuse your wares if you treat them with contempt.’

He met her eye. ‘Aye, but they are welcome to look elsewhere for their pleasure if they don’t like what I am offering.’

‘They’ll skin you alive if they don’t get satisfaction,’ she replied.

‘I’ll take my chances,’ said Cullen, winking. Elsa got his meaning, for the lass was canny enough. She darted a wary look at her father and stifled a smile, and Cullen’s grin broadened.

‘Well, I think I will get below and take my leisure until night falls and foul deeds beckon,’ said Cullen.

He made his way down to the ship’s hold. A cask had rolled free and broken open in the squall, making the whole place stink of whisky. Cullen could almost taste it as he waited. Soon, he heard her step on the stairs, and she rushed in.

Elsa pouted. ‘My arm hurts like the blazes, you know, Cullen.’

He grabbed hold of her and hoisted up her skirts. ‘Aye, but you are a sturdy lass and used to a bit of rough handling.’

‘You are no gentleman, Cullen Macaulay.’

‘Never said I was. It’s what you like about me, lass.’

‘A stiff cock is what I like about you, and nought else. It stinks in here,’ she wailed as he silenced her with a kiss on her neck.

‘Let me take your mind off it,’ breathed Cullen.

Their coupling was rough and quick, like animals in a barn, and it was curiously unsatisfying, despite the illicit thrill of discovery.

But then he’d always taken any scrap of pleasure where he could find it, no matter how low and grubby.

He was a fool to tempt fate twice in one day by tupping the captain’s daughter under his very nose.

But losing himself in Elsa’s soft flesh was not nearly as dangerous as offloading smuggled cargo on a moonlit night in rough waters to men who would hoist you by your ankles and slit your throat like a hog, if you crossed them.

Aye, the dangerous part of his day was yet to come when he haggled with Butcher. He may as well enjoy himself first.