The Blond Devil of the Sea: The Highland Ladies Book Three Read online

  The Blond Devil of the Sea

  The Highland Ladies Book Three

  Celeste Barclay

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  The Blond Devil of the Sea Copyright © 2020 by Celeste Barclay. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Lisa Messegee, The Write Designer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Celeste Barclay

  Visit my website at www.celestebarclay.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: April 2020

  Celeste Barclay

  Kindle Digital Edition

  When life hands you a lemon, make lemonade.

  Happy reading, y'all,

  Celeste

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading The Blond Devil of the Sea

  Chat with the hunky heroes from Celeste Barclay’s steamy romances

  The Highland Ladies

  The Clan Sinclair

  Viking Glory

  Chapter One

  Caragh lifted her torch into the air as she made her way down the precarious Cornish cliffside. She made out the hulking shape of a ship, but the dead of night made it impossible to see who was there. She and the fishermen of Bedruthan Steps weren’t expecting any shipments that night. But her younger brother Eddie, who stood watch at the entrance to their hiding place, had spotted the ship and signaled up to the village watchman, who alerted Caragh.

  As her boot slid along the dirt and sand, she cursed having to carry the torch and wished she could have sunlight to guide her. She knew these cliffs well, and it was for that reason it was better that she moved slowly than stop moving once and for all. Caragh feared the light from her torch would carry out to the boat. Despite her efforts to keep the flame small, the solitary light would be a beacon.

  When Caragh came to the final twist in the path before the sand, she snuffed out her torch and started to run to the cave where the main source of the village’s income lay in hiding. She heard movement along the trail above her head and knew the local fishermen would soon join her on the beach. These men, both young and old, were strong from days spent pulling in the full trawling nets and hoisting the larger catches onto their boats. However, these men weren’t well-trained swordsmen, and the fear of pirate raids was ever-present. Caragh feared that was who the villagers would face that night.

  She arrived at the mouth of the cave, which could only be accessed on foot during low tide. She slowed down and looked around, but neither saw nor heard anything from within the cave. The tide was shifting, so there were only a few minutes when she and the others could make their way inside. If they waited too long, the tide would rise too high for them to use the path while making it possible for whoever was on the ship to send rowers and dinghies into the cave. She met Eddie at the mouth, and they moved inside to the spot where the villagers always met to relight their torches, which were kept where the light wasn’t visible from the outside. She prayed the others all extinguished their lights; otherwise, they would lead whoever lurked in the distance directly to their hiding place.

  At the sound of footsteps, Caragh froze until she heard the mimicked owl hoot to know it was friend, rather than foe, who entered. She returned the call and felt around for the box that held the torches and flints. She struck one of the stones and lit the first torch. She placed it into a sconce that had been fitted into the rock wall. She’d lit the third torch as the men arrived at their meeting spot. She handed off torches, and they hurried to the back of the cave.

  “Who do you think they are?” Derrell, the youngest of the fishermen, asked once they were among the crates and barrels they kept stashed away.

  “I don’t know, but the boat is obviously too large for fishermen, and we aren’t expecting any shipments. It can’t be good.” Caragh responded.

  “They must have seen us coming down the cliff, even if there weren’t that many torches. I pray they sail past the eddy that leads to the mouth of this cave.” Eddie whispered. At seventeen, he was tall and filled out, but had little experience dealing with smugglers and privateers. The older by three years, Caragh had only recently allowed him to stand watch, and then only after the older men pressured her. They argued that Eddie was a man now, but to Caragh, he would forever be her little brother whose nose she used to wipe.

  “We’ll know soon enough since the tide is rising quickly,” mused one of the older men.

  “Help me pull the newest load into the back of the cave,” Caragh pointed. “It’s our most valuable bounty yet, and I don’t want it to be the first thing anyone finds.”

  They all worked without saying a word, hand gestures sufficing to help them move barrels of Spanish and French wine, along with crates of spices and Dutch silk, into a natural alcove in the rear of the cave. Caragh was carrying a small chest of Spanish gold when they all froze at the sound of oars splashing through water. She scurried to hide the chest, but the sound of steel on steel told her whoever joined them was prepared for a fight.

  She pulled the woolen cap low over her eyebrows and ensured she tucked all her strawberry-blonde hair under it. The night was cool, so it made sense that she wore a thick woolen surcoat. The added layer kept her warm while also disguising her feminine shape. She looked more like a lad than a woman of twenty. She counted on that boyish appearance until she got to know the privateers with whom she did business. It was only after she observed them interact with the older men that she made it known that she ran the village operation. Now she pulled a wickedly sharp dagger from her belt and inched forward. She came out of the alcove and brandished her knife at the man who rushed toward her.

  The pirate was a giant who stood nearly a foot taller than Caragh, and his snarl revealed several missing teeth. He swung his sword at her, and the metal from both the sword and the hoop in his ear flashed. Caragh waited as long as she dared before she slashed her knife across the forearm of his sword arm. She drew back quickly when he reared back,
but she lunged forward, striking when he was unprepared. Her knife entered just below his sternum, and she twisted as she pushed the blade up. Blood squirted toward her, but years of gutting fish left her unaffected as the warm liquid splattered her surcoat. The man staggered to his knees, but his eyes were unseeing. Caragh dashed to the man who fought her brother, leaping onto a nearby crate to give her the height needed to run her blade along the man’s throat.

  “You hale?” she asked her brother as she cast a quick glance over him.

  “Yes. You?”

  “For now.”

  Little time was left to talk as the battle waged on. The fishermen weren’t adept enough to hold off the attacking pirates. She watched as the men she’d known her entire life dropped one after another, felled like saplings rather than the solid tree trunks she’d thought them to be. Caragh’s eyes swept the cave until she noticed the man who was clearly the captain of the raiders. His sun-bleached blond hair was pulled back at his nape, and his white shirt billowed as his sword cut through the air while he fought Derrell. If he hadn’t been attacking men she considered family, she would have admired the grace with which he moved. The fluidity of his motions looked more like a well-rehearsed dance than a fight to the death. His hair, nearly white, reminded her of the stories of the raiding Norsemen her Scottish mother regaled her with when she was a child. Snapping back to the present, Caragh made a decision that she prayed would save the men who were still standing.

  “Enough!” she barked. “We surrender. Take your plunder but leave the men. They are nothingmore than fishermen and villagers.”

  She did her best to deepen her voice, but the blond man turned toward her with an eyebrow cocked. She was certain he’d figured out she was a woman. She held her breath as he shoved Derrell to the ground and pointed the tip of his sword at the young man’s throat.

  “Do not move from this spot or it shall be your final act,” the pirate captain growled. He spun to look at Caragh. “And who are you to be giving orders, lad?”

  Caragh almost sighed when the man acknowledged her as a male, but she took note of the burr in his accent. It sounded like a deeper version of her mother’s Scottish brogue.

  “I’m nothing but the voice of reason. If you’re an experienced marauder, then you know villagers and fishermen do little more than guard what’s brought ashore. We have nothing to do with how it gets here.”

  “But you have everything to do with how it’s distributed once it lands upon your shores.”

  “And if it’s gone because you’ve taken it, then we have nothing left of value to you.”

  “I would think your lives are of value,” the pirate pointed out.

  “Then you can be generous and leave us with them.”

  “I’m not known for my generosity.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  The captain barked a laugh that had several of his men chuckling. He stepped toward Caragh, and she once again prayed, this time that the dim light of the cave wouldn’t give away her smooth cheeks.

  “You have quite a mouth on you. Perhaps losing your tongue would keep you quiet.”

  “Not bloody likely,” grumbled Eddie, who had inched closer.

  Caragh shot him a quelling look, but not before the captain noticed their resemblance.

  “Your younger brother doles out the orders, does he? And why would that be? Why isn’t it one of the older men, or even you, in charge?”

  “I never said I was in charge. I said I was the voice of reason.”

  “I suspect they are one and the same in this case.” He stepped toe-to-toe with Caragh but did nothing more for a long moment. Then he called over his shoulder, “Load everything the boats can hold.”

  Caragh shifted as though to stop them before a manacle captured her upper arm. When she looked down, it was the man’s hand, not iron.

  “Where did that reason go? I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you make another move.”

  Chapter Two

  Rowan McNeil watched. Eyes the color of Highland grass after a storm turned into emerald shards that shot daggers toward him. The transformation would have been astonishing if it weren’t so menacing. Even though he stood head and shoulders over the small figure in front of him, he was almost tempted to take a step back. After a puzzling moment of doubt, Rowan remembered who was in control of the situation. The green eyes bored into his as anger seethed from the youth, who didn’t flinch as their gazes met.

  “A bit of temper there,” he spoke softly.

  “Unlike any you could imagine.”

  This time his laugh held no humor. Rowan bent down to peer more closely at the slim body, with narrow shoulders and cheeks without the hint of bristles. While the boy’s physique struck him as odd, he was more intrigued by the spirit the lad was showing. He lacked a cabin boy since his last one caught a fever and died. Rowan liked his spunk, even if he would have to train the lad to curb it.

  “You shall get your wish that no more of your villagers are harmed, but we shall take what I want, including you.”

  “I think not,” Caragh had another knife poking into Rowan’s ribs before he saw her hand move. With one of his hands still clasping her arm in a punishing grip, the other wrapped around the fine bones of her wrist and squeezed, but she refused to drop the knife no matter how much pain he inflicted.

  “Stubborn to boot,” Rowan quipped. It took little force on his part to push the arm away, but he noted the wrist seemed almost feminine. Without much more thought, he wrapped his arm around the lad’s waist and hoisted him over his shoulder.

  Caragh felt the wind whoosh from her as her belly landed against what she was sure was granite and not a shoulder. She kicked out, but an arm clapped around her legs after a firm swat landed on her backside. She growled and snagged her fingers into his hair and yanked down as hard as she could. Rowan’s neck snapped back with the unexpected force, and Caragh found herself falling to the ground. The height from which she fell created an impact that knocked the wind from her.

  “You had best learn now, before we board my ship, that I don’t tolerate insubordination,” Rowan growled.

  “Then you should learn now that taking me will be a mistake that you rue,” Caragh responded.

  “We shall see.” He yanked her back onto her feet but thought twice before letting her near any part of him again. He pushed her in front of him toward the mouth of the cave.

  Caragh heard the running feet and knew who they belonged to before she could see him. She tried to turn and step around the beastly man, but he shoved her forward.

  “Stop! Take me instead,” came the voice of her younger brother, and she cringed.

  “No.” The flat statement from the pirate was both an annoyance and a relief to Caragh.

  “Stop!” Eddie tried once again.

  “Let it go, Eddie. Stay and care for Mama and Da.”

  Rowan’s brow crinkled at the familiar term for father. He didn’t know too many Englishmen who would use the word. He had no more time to muse over it as he shoved the boy into the dinghy and stepped in behind him. It was loaded down with the treasures his men had hauled, but there was just enough room for the oarsman, his large frame, and his unexpected guest.

  The dinghy had just entered the open water beyond the eddy when a voice reverberated against the cliffs.

  “Caragh!”

  Rowan looked back at the shore to see a line of men as the young man who tried to stop him continued to scream a woman’s name. Movement caught the corner of his eye as a surcoat flew toward him and a boot thumped against his oarsman. Then a splash. He watched in shocked silence as toes sunk into the depths. He didn’t stop to think before he pulled his sword belt from his waist and his shirt over his head as he toed off his boots. He was in the water only moments later. His hands swept along as he tried to find his captive’s body. He was sure the lad would sink. He resurfaced when his screaming lungs could bear no more. He looked around and saw a figure on the ot
her side of the dinghy swimming toward the headland, which was now closer than the beach where they launched.

  Caragh kept her head down and kicked as hard as her wool leggings would allow. While all the extra layers kept her warm while she was on land, they were like an anchor on her now. She wind milled her arms as she made progress toward land. She prayed the pirate captain was unable to swim, like so many other sailors. Hearing a splash entirely too nearby, she kicked harder and pushed herself as her arms and legs began to feel like lead in the frigid water. She refused to let the sea swallow her, and she had no intention of being a pirate’s captive. She made it to the outcropping of rocks and began to scramble, but a hand wrapped around her ankle and tugged. She wanted to kick out with the other foot, but that would only cause her to fall face first. She struggled to grasp rocks above her head and tried dragging herself up, but it was no use. The hand around her ankle let go just long enough for an arm to replace it around her waist. She flailed and kicked, but her struggle was futile. The oarsman brought the small boat around, and the man hauled her over the side. He clamped her onto the seat next to him, and his glare told Caragh she would gain nothing at this point if she rebelled.