Romancing the Pirate 01 - Blood and Treasure

BLOOD and TREASURE

A
Romancing the Pirate
Novel

Jennifer Bray-Weber

Copyright 2011 Jennifer BrayWeber

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or used in whole or in part by any means without written permission from the author at
[email protected]
.

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, with or without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

My deepest gratitude goes to so many who have made this book possible.

The TreeHouse – Marie-Claude Bourque, John Roundtree, and Candi Wall. You have been with me from the beginning, offering insightful critiques and incredible friendship. Who says long distance relationships don’t work?

The Usual Suspects – Stacey Purcell, Melissa Ohnoutka, and William Simon. Without your honesty, horn-toots, belly-laughs, and Drew’s Crew chats, I’d be lost. Your undying friendship means the world to me.

Northwest Houston chapter of Romance Writers of America. Thank you for the amazing and continuous support, especially to Rhonda, Cheri, Christie, Tess and Sarah for their wise advice and keen eyes.

The Ruby-Slippered Sisterhood, RWA’s 2009 Golden Heart finalists. Your support and sisterhood is beyond priceless.

To my parents for giving me just enough rope to experience the world while keeping me grounded. Thank you for never doubting I could do anything I put my stubborn mind to.

A shout out to the makers of Sugar Free Rock Star for keeping me juiced.

And to my husband and beautiful daughters, thank you for your patience and understanding. It is your belief in me that means the most. See girls, with hard work and wings spread, dreams can come true.

Legend has it, each time the pirate ship
Rissa
sets a course, someone on board dies. To her crew, ’tis a fair risk for the promise of adventure and fortune.

CHAPTER 1

Nassau, 1725

Stepping into the back alleyway, Lianna took a deep invigorating breath and closed her eyes. How she loved these warm moonlit nights stirred by the cool sea breeze. Even behind the Black Dog Tavern, in this dank corner of the wretched port with its nauseous smells and filthy streets, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of serenity.

A strident noise splintered through her tranquility. Grunts carried down the narrow passageway. A stack of crates overturned. She peered into the murky darkness where the moonlight did not quite reach. The morose, damp walls of the surrounding dreary buildings offered little more than sooty shadows. She waited, watching the gloom. Nothing.

She shook her head and mumbled. “Worthless drunks.”

Lianna emptied the grimy bucket of dishwater into the cobblestone street and looked up. High wispy clouds raced across the crescent moon. As a child, she’d oft spent many lazy hours marveling at the moon’s mysterious beauty. She found comfort in the moonlight, watching the mottled orb tiptoe across the star-studded sky. She envisioned the moon as her protector. Like being cradled in her mother’s arms, the moonbeams soothed her from her troubles. Not even the slobbering repugnant drunks or the plump grizzled rats scurrying at her feet could shatter her on a night like this. She sighed and walked back inside the empty tavern kitchen.

Setting the bucket down, she kicked the door closed behind her, but the door didn’t catch. Before she could turn around to latch it shut, a strong arm encircled her chest and a razor-sharp knife pressed tightly against her throat.

“Don’t make a squeak, lassie.”

Alarm skittered up her spine and Lianna forced herself to remain calm. She knew this to be no drunkard. He didn’t smell at all of liquor, but of sour sweat and desperation. For too many years Lianna lived amid the brutal filth of humanity, serving under the heavy hand of her heartless uncle. She’d grown accustomed to callous men. With no other choices, she learned to protect herself around ruffians and inebriated cutthroats, lest she was beaten and raped. Not again.

Swallowing hard, she bristled with anger for letting this man surprise her.

His heavy breath landed sticky upon her neck. “I must insist on your cooperation.” He moved his arm from her chest and, keeping the knife securely in place, reached into his pocket.

Lianna considered trying to free herself but thought better of it. He may well slice her throat in a struggle. Nay, that would be no good. She was rather partial to the idea of staying alive. He flashed a medallion in front of her face. Then placing it on her chest, he slowly slid it deep down between her breasts. Disgusted by the touch of his greasy fingers on her skin, a shudder crawled across her flesh.

“I can’t think of a more heavenly place to hide this. But be warned. They’ll be coming for it, lassie. Don’t let it fall into their hands for we’ll all be damned. The Devil will see to it.”

Letting her go, he burst into the smoke-filled alehouse. No one inside paid him any mind as he headed out the front entry and into the street. The kitchen door closed soundlessly.

She placed her hand to her breastbone over the round metal pendant tucked in her bodice. “What was that all about?” She didn’t have time to think on it as a soldier came crashing through the back door.

“Commodore!” he called over his shoulder out into the alley. “He came through here!”

A tall, lean man stepped inside from behind the soldier. His sharp gray eyes darted around the room as he pursed his lips and motioned for three more soldiers to enter. He wore his dark brown hair pulled tightly to the nape of his neck. His air, not his decorations, emphasized his high rank and status. Striking as he was, Lianna was not impressed. Even less so when he spoke.

“Stew wench,” he addressed her. “A dangerous thief has passed this way. Have you seen him?”

Stew wench? How dare him!
Alas, wench may be the truth of it but she was not a cheap strumpet. Even the crook had more respect. In defiance, Lianna shook her head.

The commodore sneered down his aquiline nose at her. He had her pegged as a liar; she saw it in the twitch of his eyelids. She met his harsh gaze and held it. Without taking his eyes off her, he ordered his men forward. “Spare no measure,” he called after them. “Extra ration to the man who kills the craven dog.”

After the last of them filed out into the tavern, the commodore turned on his heel and left as well. Relieved, she exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. Something about the commander made her ill-at-ease, like standing in an undercurrent of malice. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was in the way he barreled past her without courtesy. Or his passing remark of wasting his time on a useless whore. Intuition hinted he probably wasn’t loyal to his countrymen or to his king. A man like that was more perilous than any thief wielding a knife.

The back door swung open again. Lianna caught her breath at the newest man to intrude.

Tawny skin, dark golden hair flipping past his shoulders, and bright green eyes made her knees go weak.

My, but he is a handsome one
.

His foreboding nature and his confident countenance gave her chills. Unwittingly, she pointed in the direction the others had gone. She licked her lips. He gave her a crooked smile and bowed before taking his leave.

Blushing, she cursed again. “Get a hold of yourself, Lianna. He’s just another dog of a man.” She reproached herself with a chiding click of her tongue.

That cup of ale she helped herself to earlier must have gone to her head. A little more than annoyed now, she normally didn’t have such errant thoughts. She had no use for lazy, rude, malodorous men. Even more, she disliked having this revolving door of manipulating arrogant men.
And just what is going on here?

Her thoughts abruptly cut short when the door crashed open yet again.

“Oh, good God,” she exclaimed. “Doesn’t anyone ever knock?” She whirled around to see who barged in this time.

Right away, Lianna knew the man filling her doorway now could be far more dangerous than anyone who crossed the rear tavern threshold thus far. His mere presence made her fearful. And ’twasn’t just his cutlass and two pistols he wore beneath his open waistcoat. A predatory look in his ice-cold blue eyes tore through her and made her tremble. She had been frightened, really frightened, only once before. But this armed man had her chest constricting in terror.

Still, she would not let it be known. Fear was the greater enemy here. She glowered and drew up her stance, ready to trounce him should he come too close.

“They went that way.” Her irritable tone masked her fear. She pointed in the direction the others had gone. When the chiseled man made no movement, she propped her hands on her hips. “Well? Did you not hear me? Or are you just vacant?” She pointed again. “That way.”

Clearly amused by her audacity to speak to him in such a manner, the man raised an eyebrow. “Nay, sweet lady.”

His deep voice momentarily immobilized her with its rich timbre.

“There is no need to follow chase,” he said. “You have what I seek.” He flaunted a devilish grin.

Lianna widened her eyes. “I beg your pardon, sir, but that is something I’m not willing to give up so easily.” May a bolt of lightning strike her dead first. In a swift move, she reached for a frying skillet that lay on the nearby counter. “You’ll have to kill me before I’ll let you lay a hand on me.” She swung at the intruder.

He hopped back dodging the skillet. “Careful. Your vanity may cost you dearly. ’Tis not your body I want.” He paused, musing to himself. “Well, that’s not entirely true. A woman’s vanity never stopped me before.”

“Of course.” Her words were laden with sarcasm.

His smile disappeared. “Hand over the medallion.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Lianna remembered what the thief told her minutes before, to give the medallion to no one.

“Aye, I think you do. It’s only fitting that Basile would find a woman to hide it upon. Now do yourself a favor, lass, and hand it over.” He took a step forward.

“Stay away from me!” She readied her skillet for another swing.

Someone charged into the kitchen, this time from the tavern.

“Zane!”

Startled, Lianna looked over her shoulder. In a beat, the armed man grabbed the skillet from her grip. She cursed once more. This time aloud.

Zane cocked his eyebrow again.

The blond man who had passed through the kitchen moments ago said, “They caught Basile down the street in the alley. He didn’t have it.”

“And what of Basile?” Zane asked, tossing the skillet to the corner.

“Dead.”

The desperate man, dead? Uh-oh. That cannot be good.
Lianna tried to appear indifferent.

Zane turned toward her. “It won’t take them long to realize you have it.”

“This lass has the medallion?” The blond smirked and nodded, understanding something which obviously she did not.

“Aye, this leaves us no choice.”

The blond opened the rear door and peered out. “I’d be willing to wager we’re going to regret this.”

“A fool’s bet.” Zane scooped Lianna up and threw her over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” She pounded on his back. Outrage tarnished by desperation spiked her fighting instinct.

“Quiet, lass. There’s no time to argue your position. They will not think twice on taking your life, whether they believe you have the medallion or not. As I see it, I could just take what I need and leave you to defend yourself. But as I’m quite certain the soldiers are heading back now, we’re running short on time. And I, for one, wish to keep my head firmly attached to my neck. I think it best you save your breath, lest they hear you and hasten them here.”

“Blade.” Facing his cohort, he commanded, “Shadow.”

Lianna craned her neck around the brute’s back to catch the hesitation of the golden-haired man he called Blade as he looked from him, to her kicking wildly, and back to him again. Blade opened his mouth to protest until he seemed to think better of it and nodded.

“And don’t go get yourself skewered,” her captor added.

Blade snorted. “Not bloody likely.”

“Need I remind you of our last visit to Cartagena?”

Blade gave a nervous chuckle. “No, I suppose not.”

A commotion erupted in the tavern, glass breaking, men scuffling and the profanity-laced shouts of her uncle, as Zane carried her out the back door. Blade turned left, and the abductor, with Lianna, turned right, toward the harbor.

Still demanding he let her go, she continued to pummel her captor’s back. She did herself more harm than she inflicted on him. Solid as stone was his back, and with no effort at all, he carried her through the dark alleyways. How absurd to think she could manage an escape from this brawny man. Still, she couldn’t just let him cart her off. She had to try to free herself.

All too soon, they arrived at the quay. A musty balm of dead fish and rotting wood seeped from the wet pilings of the dock. Creaking ropes, a bell, shouts and calls of dock workers loading cargo on a merchant ship, the cacophony of sounds drowned out her protests. Zane strode unaffected by the busyness with a steady gait to the end of the pier. A fisherman mending his net paused to look up but ignored her pleas for help and instead returned to his task.

Zane set her feet to the ground and as soon as she caught her balance, she swung at him. He caught her fist inches from his face. “This is a very disagreeable way for a lass to act.”

“What way will you have me act?” she snapped. “You’ve just nabbed me, you rake!”