8 A TWISTED GAME
LIZA WATCHED RANKIN reappear, two cups and a clay bottle in hand. Setting them down on the low table next to the bed, he wordlessly poured the wine before passing her a cup.
Liza took it.
Frankly, after his revelation, she needed something to settle her stomach. Right now, she was confused. She still wasn’t sure whether to weep with relief or throw the wine in the pirate’s face.
After all, he’d let her believe he was going to plow her—and his crew were no doubt all gathered outside with their ears to the door.
Her skin prickled in humiliation.
And yet, Rankin had just admitted he wasn’t the brute she took him for. He wasn’t a ravisher, after all. She wasn’t sure whether to believe him. It occurred to her then that the pirate could be toying with her. This could all be part of a twisted game.
Her fingers tightened around her cup at the thought, her pulse quickening.
Suddenly, the night ahead seemed interminable.
She watched warily as he heeled off his boots and climbed onto the bed. The straw mattress dipped under his weight, although he moved away from her and sat with his back against the wooden paneling lining the cabin. Still perched on the edge, Liza shifted slightly so that she could keep her eye on him. Any sudden moves and she’d vault from the bed. She didn’t know what she’d do after that though—she was trapped on this cog and surrounded by water.
“All is well, Liza,” he said, his lips lifting at the corners. “I’m just settling in for the evening.”
Still watching him warily, she took a sip of wine. It was the same rich red he’d served her earlier. She couldn’t help but savor it. “Such fine wine is wasted on pirates,” she murmured under her breath.
“Ye think we can’t appreciate the finer things, lass?” he asked, raising a tawny brow.
She gave an indelicate snort in response. Then swirling the wine in her cup, she gave it a sniff. “Plum and cherry … with a hint of pepper,” she said, wistfulness rising in her breast. “It reminds me of my family home. My parents always had Iberian wine on the table at mealtimes.”
“Ye miss yer kin, don’t ye?”
She managed a small smile. “Aye.” An odd melancholy stole over her then, as longing tugged at her. How she wished her father were here. Bruce MacGregor would have extricated her from this mess and dealt with both this pirate and her husband.
“Are they both still alive?”
“Aye, and after over thirty-five years together … and five daughters … they are still a formidable match.” Liza took another sip of wine, welcoming its warmth in her belly. She glanced away then, the years rolling back as she recalled how her parents had always looked at each other. “As a bairn, I remember feeling jealous at times … for no one, not me nor any of my sisters, could pierce the cocoon they wrapped themselves in. Their love was everything, like the roots of a mighty oak … deep enough to withstand the years.”
The pirate made an incredulous noise in the back of his throat.
Liza cut him a scowl. She couldn’t believe she’d told this rogue about her family. The wine had loosened her tongue, and it emboldened her now. “And what of yer parents, Rankin?”
He pulled a face. “My mother was a serving lass at an alehouse on the docks in Oban, and my father a sailor. He gave up the seafaring life to be with her, although he wasn’t much of a husband or a father. He was fonder of ale and brawling than of his family. My mother died when I was around five … and my father drank himself to death three summers later.”
Liza observed him, looking for a flicker of emotion on his handsome face—she found none. “What became of ye after that?”
He took a gulp of wine before answering, “There was just me and my elder sister … and she did her best to look out for me.”
Liza stilled. “Where did ye live?”
“On the streets. We survived by begging, scavenging, and stealing.”
Liza fought a grimace. Well, that explained a lot. Nonetheless, a hard childhood didn’t excuse this man’s choices. He could have taken a different path at any point. “And yer sister?”
“Dead.”
She caught a flicker of something then, a shadow in his eyes. It was fleeting, but she saw it all the same.
“So, ye are alone in the world, Alec Rankin?” she said, intrigued despite herself.
He flashed her a careless smile. “Aye, except for my mutinous crew.”
Liza pulled a face, letting him know what she thought of the men that sailed The Blood Reiver . Their lewd looks made her skin crawl, and it was a relief to be shut away from them for the night.
“I find it surprising,” she said after a pause, “that ye are averse to rape. How is it that a pirate captain has lines he won’t cross?”
Rankin’s features tightened, and Liza's heart jolted. She’d pushed him too far. Holding her tongue now, she waited for his eyes to darken with anger, as Leod’s did when her tongue got her into trouble.
But they didn’t.
Instead, his gaze developed an unfocused look, as if he was suddenly lost in the past. “Years ago, when my sister and I were living rough in Oban, a sailor raped her … hurt her … badly. I was only young, yet I found the man, drunk and boasting about what he’d done … and I killed him with a boning knife.”
Liza stilled at this admission. She wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Fi was never the same afterward,” he went on, his expression shuttering. “She became weak and listless, hardly bothering to eat or drink. I became her caretaker, but it wasn’t enough … and when she took ill with a fever a few months later, it bested her.”
A strained silence followed, and Liza considered his words. It was a plausible explanation, she supposed; his tone had seemed sincere enough. All the same, his openness disarmed her, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m sorry about what happened to her,” she said awkwardly.
Rankin glanced her way before lifting his cup and taking another gulp. “So am I.”
Another pause followed, one that put Liza increasingly on edge. Without meaning to, she drained her wine.
“Would ye like some more?” Rankin asked.
Liza nodded, holding the cup out to him. He topped up both their drinks before resuming his place on the opposite side of the bed. He crossed his long legs at the ankle, leaning his head back against the paneling. His eyes closed then, his expression impossible to fathom.
Did he regret being so candid with her?
“Thank ye for agreeing to help me,” she said eventually.
Rankin’s eyes flickered open, his sea-blue gaze settling upon her. “The only thanks I need is a handsome payment after we take Moy Castle for ye.”
“And ye shall get it,” she assured him. “I’m a woman of my word.”
Her belly twisted then—a reminder that she’d never actually seen inside Leod’s strongroom. All the same, he’d surely have enough coin to pay the pirates.
His mouth quirked as their gazes held. “I can tell ye are … and strong too. Ye have put up with much of late, haven’t ye?”
“Aye,” she murmured, breaking their stare. “The past years haven’t been easy.”
“Ye don’t think much of men.”
Her chin kicked up, and she frowned. “Is it so evident?”
“If ye are paying attention, aye.”
Her pulse quickened. She didn’t like the turn this conversation had taken, and yet she couldn’t help but respond, “And what else have ye observed, Rankin?”
His gaze roamed her face. “I’d say Leod Maclean was rough with ye.”
She snorted. “That’s easy enough to guess … the bastard tried to kill me.”
“I’d also wager that he’s never made any attempt to know ye over the years,” Rankin continued, undaunted by her response.
Liza’s chest constricted. “No,” she whispered. Indeed, she’d cried herself to sleep in the early days of their marriage after returning to Moy Castle, when it became clear that Leod was set upon ignoring her. “He was married before me, ye know?”
He nodded. “I’d heard.”
“Aye, well … he adored his first wife, but she died giving birth. He lost the bairn too … a son.”
Rankin observed her over the rim of his cup. “It turned him bitter?”
She nodded.
“And yet he chose ye.”
“He did … reluctantly.” Liza took a deep draft of wine before continuing. She wasn’t sure why she was being so open, only that speaking of these things was oddly liberating. She had no real confidant, or friend, at Moy, and life had gotten lonely. She’d held so much pain and frustration inside for so long. “My father is a man who likes to collect debts from others … and Leod had one to pay.” She sighed then, rubbing a hand over her face. “On the day we met, I could tell he was a man who liked his women meek, yet I wanted to please Da, and so I agreed to the match.”
“And lived to regret it.”
“We both did.” A lump rose in Liza’s throat. “But he gave me my son,” she whispered, looking away. “I don’t regret everything .”
“I think ye will make a good laird,” Rankin said after a weighty pause.
She couldn’t help but let her lip curl at this. “Earlier, ye and yer crewmates said the opposite. Women don’t have the stomach to rule, remember?”
He shrugged. “Most don’t … but then, ye’re uncommon.” He leaned forward, his fingers wrapping around the cup he still held. “Leod Maclean made a grave mistake the day he decided to kill his wife.”
Heat prickled her skin. His words flustered her, and she wished he wouldn’t speak so boldly. All the same, she couldn’t help but respond to the challenge in his voice. “He did,” she answered firmly.