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- Herausgeber: Lauren Smith
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Set sail for a passionate pirate adventure with three dangerously delicious heroes: a dark-hearted pirate with a soft spot for his female cabin boy, a loyal undercover naval officer, and a charming scoundrel pirate with a penchant for trouble.
No Rest for the Wicked
Kidnapped at fourteen and forced onto a pirate crew, Dominic Greyville has grown into a hardened man with a black heart…until he discovers that his latest attack on a British vessel leaves him with a young woman posing as a cabin boy. What’s a pirate to do when he is tempted by the fiery but innocent woman he’s now sworn to protect?
In Like Flynn
Having lost his best friend to pirates at fourteen, Nicholas Flynn has never stopped searching for Dominic. After joining the British Navy, he finds himself tasked with locating a notorious pirate and the only way to find him is to seduce…and betray his daughter, a pirate princess.
Devil of the High Seas
After his younger twin brother wins the heart of the woman he loved and planned to marry, Gavin Castleton flees Cornwall and turns to a life of piracy. He just never imagined that years later he’d kidnap the little sister of a dangerous pirate and friend, Dominic Greyville and fall in love with her.
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Seitenzahl: 1239
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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THE PIRATES OF KING’S LANDING
BOOKS 1-3
LAUREN SMITH
CONTENTS
No Rest for the Wicked
Prologue
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
Epilogue
In Like Flynn
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Devil of the High Seas
Prologue
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
Epilogue
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by Lauren Smith
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-962760-94-2 (e-book edition)
For Amanda Pereira, my writing/editing goddess of a friend, for Aimee Harvey and her lovely ideas and support, for Deborah Camden who named the dashing quartermaster Reese and Kym Young who named the sweet-hearted cabin boy Griffin.
PROLOGUE
1727 - CORNWALL, ENGLAND
“Hit ’em harder!”
Fourteen-year-old Dominic Greyville swung a fist at the large lout of a boy and snarled like a badger as he bared his teeth. There was nothing more exciting than fighting on a dirt road with a bastard who deserved a good punch or two.
“Look out, Dom!” Another warning sent Dominic diving out of the way. The lad he was fighting struggled and staggered back after his looming fist just missed Dominic’s face.
Dominic kept his eyes on the boy but listened for his best friend, Nicholas Flynn, to warn him of another tricky move.
“You bastard!” His opponent lunged for Dominic, and the pair of them hit the dirt with a heavy thud. His ribs ached beneath the weight of the bigger boy. Dominic swung wildly, catching the other boy’s jaw, and he grunted as pain shot up his hand and into his arm.
The boy slumped over onto his side, and Dominic rolled up onto the balls of his feet. His ears rang from the blows he’d already taken, and blood coated his split lip, but Dominic laughed in delight. Perhaps it was his mother’s wild Spanish blood, but he couldn’t resist a good fight, especially when a boy like this had been slapping a pretty young tavern girl around. Dominic had taken one look at her tear-stained face and launched himself at the wrongdoer. The lad had to be sixteen or seventeen, and his meaty fists were capable of great damage, but it was worth the risk to do what was right.
“Oi!” A deep bellow sent the small crowd of boys who had been watching the fight scattering away. Only his friend Nicholas dared to remain behind.
A burly man with gray-black hair marched up the lane toward them. “What’d I tell you about fighting, eh?” Judging by the looks of his apron and the overpowering stench of mead rolling off him, he had come from the tavern down the road.
Dominic’s opponent got to his feet, one hand clamped over his gushing nose.
“Little shitter hit me, Pa!” The lad pointed at Dominic with a bloody hand.
The lad’s father slapped a paw of a fist on his chest. “I said, if you fight, you better finish it. Go on! Kill the little rat.” The man pointed to Dominic, urging his son to kill him. For a second Dominic was shocked that a man would urge his son to kill another boy, but the hateful look in the man’s eyes warned him that he meant it. There was no way around it—Dominic would have to win the fight because the stakes were suddenly higher.
The lad eyed Dominic with open hatred that mirrored his father’s. He lunged for him. Dominic danced sideways and swept one foot out, tripping the boy. He fell face first so hard into the ground that he groaned and went limp.
“Bloody useless fool.” The rotund man spat on the boy’s prone body and glowered at Dominic and Nicholas. “Off with ye, brats!”
Dominic didn’t need any further urging. He and Nicholas took off running down the road and only stopped when their lungs were burning for air. Pressing his palms to his thighs, he bent over double and let loose a surprising laugh, and Nicholas did the same. In that moment he felt invincible, as though he could conquer the world.
His eyes caught his friend’s, and Nick grinned through his panting, as though he too sensed the magic of the moment. There was something about this time of day when the sun was not quite set and the world glowed a soft burnished gold. It was Dominic’s favorite time of day, when he felt anything was possible, and yet a hint of the evening’s melancholy floated in the air, making the moment almost bittersweet.
“That was a close one,” Nicholas said once they caught their breath. “I thought he had you for a minute there. I was about to jump in and help.”
“I was doing just fine,” Dominic replied.
Nicholas snorted in clear disagreement.
Nicholas was the better behaved of the two and rarely fought, unless it was clear Dominic was about to have his arse beaten. As the son of the Earl of Camden, Dominic’s behavior ought to be above reproach, but he had a knack for getting him into scrapes. Those scrapes had the tendency to drag his best friend into the problem. Nick was a squire’s son and legitimately tried his best to be properly behaved, but Dominic often lured him into temptation.
“You and your pretty skirts, Dom. Always ready to throw a punch for a dainty ankle or a sparkling smile.” Nicholas shook his head, his sandy-blond hair tousled by the wind as he climbed the short stone wall near where they stood.
Dominic joined him, and they studied the fields and distant woods. The roof of a manor house, built when Henry Tudor ruled England, was barely visible above the tops of the trees. Camden House. Home. He adored it and yet wanted to escape it at all costs. Whenever he was home, his father constantly reminded him of his duties as the future earl.
Home was a short distance away, beckoning him, but Dominic couldn’t help but cast his gaze back toward the tavern and beyond, toward the dockyards and the sea. The clouds towered above the distant water, promising storms, but it didn’t scare Dominic. His hands itched to curl around the rigging of a vast frigate or a sleek sloop. For as long as he could remember, he’d listened to stories of pirates braving the wild seas. It was even rumored that back in the fifteenth century, the Earl of Wolverhampton, whose estate was not too far from Camden House, had been a great and fierce pirate.
“Nick, you ever think of going to sea? Buying a commission, I mean?” The thought of going to sea had always intrigued Dominic, and on more than one occasion he’d threatened to run away and board a ship whenever he and his father fought.
Nicholas’s gaze moved toward the ocean behind them. “Out there? Not unless you went. I’d go anywhere with you. Even the farthest horizon.”
Nicholas’s words made Dominic flush. They’d grown up side by side, getting into mischief all their lives. They’d become blood brothers long ago, having spit upon their cut palms and clasped them together, swearing undying loyalty to each other under the harvest moon. He couldn’t imagine going anywhere without Nicholas either.
“You’d truly go to sea with me?” he asked, watching Nicholas’s face closely.
“Of course. Someone would have to keep you out of trouble, or else you might become a pirate. Your father wouldn’t like that one bit.”
“Well, there’s pirates and there’s pirates. Some pirates have a letter of marque giving them permission to harass the enemies of England, you know.” Dominic had always liked the idea of being a noble pirate like Sir Francis Drake.
“Those are called privateers.”
“Still, a privateer is just a pirate with a license,” Dominic replied with a wicked grin.
“And that still wouldn’t sit well with your father. God help us if we ever have to go to sea.”
They both laughed and then fell into a pleasant silence. The wind whistled through the trees ahead of them, and Dominic dropped down into the meadow with a heavy sigh.
“Time to go home?” Nicholas asked, and Dominic answered with a sad nod.
He shoved his hands into his trousers, trying to tuck his shirt back in. He knew he looked a fright. His mother would be furious at his ripped pants and bloodied shirt as well as his dirt-covered waistcoat.
“See you tomorrow?” Nicholas asked.
“Definitely.” Dominic watched his friend head down the road before he crossed the field into the woods. He took his time getting to the house, knowing full well he would pay for getting into a fight.
When he reached the front gates, one of the servants saw him and rushed over to speak to the tall dark-haired woman in a gold sack-back gown as she examined a row of English rosebushes. His mother lived for her gardens, especially the roses.
“Dom!” His mother called his name, and he quickened his pace until he stood before her. Lucia Greyville was still every bit the Spanish beauty she’d been as a girl of eighteen when she married his father. Now, at two and thirty years, she’d become an excellent countess and a fiercely protective mother.
“Come. Let me see you,” Lucia demanded as she cupped his face, examining his bruises and split lip. “What happened to you?”
“Just a tussle, that’s all, I swear,” he promised.
His mother’s cinnamon-brown eyes narrowed. “A tussle? That’s the third one in a week. Your papa will”
“Please don’t tell him, Mother.” He grasped one of her hands. They were of an equal height now, both five foot seven inches, and it made him feel more protective of his mother than ever. Soon he would be taller than her if his father’s height of six foot four was any indication.
“Even if I keep my silence, dear boy, he will see the bruises himself.”
“Please, Mother. It will be our secret.”
Lucia sighed, though her lips twitched as she fought off a smile. “Run along. Wash up and change for dinner.” She kissed his cheek and nudged him toward the door.
Dominic raced up the steps and into the house. He caught the lingering scent of cigar smoke, which meant his father must still be in his study. There might yet be time to hide the worst of the damage. Dashing up the grand staircase, he reached his room without being discovered. He washed and changed, pausing only a moment to examine the purpling bruises on his cheek and jaw. His father would notice those, but what could he do? He’d tried clever lies in the past, and his father never believed them. He could always read Dominic’s face too easily.
By the time he came down for dinner, his mother was kissing the twins good night. Josephine and Adrian, his little sister and little brother, were only two years old and spent much of the day in or near the nursery. Adrian favored their father in looks, with lighter brown hair and gray eyes, unlike Dominic, who looked more like his mother. Josephine—or Josie, as Dominic liked to call her—favored their mother, but everyone could see their father in her eyes.
Dominic smoothed a hand over his dark hair as he watched his mother give each child a tiny hug before the nurse carried them upstairs. A moment later, his father strode into the hall. Aaron Greyville went straight to Lucia, embracing her with a passionate kiss that made Dominic blush and turn away in embarrassment. His parents were forever kissing and whispering in alcoves when they thought they were alone. It was unsettling. People like his parents should never be kissing. He turned away, but his single step to leave caused a floorboard to creak, which caught his father’s attention.
“Dominic.” The tone made it clear he was in trouble.
“Yes, Father?”
“Come here, please.”
Dominic reluctantly trudged over, keeping his head down. Aaron frowned, his mustache wilting as he studied his son.
“Fighting again?”
“Yes, but”
“Dominic, you know how I feel about that. Good men need not resolve disputes with their fists. It isn’t civilized to beat another man like that.”
“But this bloody oaf was hitting a sweet little wench, and”
“Wench?” his mother cut in sharply.
“A young lady,” he corrected quickly. “She was crying, Father. You taught me never to strike a woman.”
“I did,” Aaron agreed. “But I also expect you to act with honor. Striking some foolish boy from the dockyards is cowardly. I won’t have a coward for a son. Do you understand?” His father’s eyes were hard. “I think a night without supper will give you a chance to think upon your actions. Off to bed with you.” His father’s order made him grit his teeth. He hadn’t been there—he hadn’t seen the girl crying. Any honorable man would have fought the other lad.
“Perhaps you are the coward,” he snapped.
Aaron stared at him with a heavy sigh of frustration that hit Dominic deep in the chest.
“Someday you will understand that choosing not to fight in certain circumstances is the right course. A noble-hearted man cannot face difficult situations by raising his fists at every turn.”
“Not fighting still makes you a coward,” Dominic retorted.
His father’s scowl deepened. “If you truly think that, you haven’t grown up like I thought you had. I never once said don’t fight—I merely said you don’t always have to fight with physical violence.”
His black look only infuriated Dominic, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he rushed upstairs, desperate to get away from his father and the disappointment in his eyes.
Dominic passed by the nursery and froze as he heard the nursemaid, Mary, singing a soft lullaby to the twins. Bitter tears stung his eyes, which only brought more shame upon him. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, trying to rid himself of the evidence of his crying.
No one understood him, except his mother. She used to whisper tales of her life aboard a ship on the Spanish Main. Her father had been a Spanish naval captain and had spent many years fighting off pirates. Dominic loved to hear his mother spin yarns of her carefree childhood on the high seas. It had often been his only escape from his boring life in Cornwall. Far too often, he was locked up here in this stuffy manor house, studying tedious lessons on history, mathematics, and sciences under the guidance of a tutor. It was no fun at all.
As he stepped into his room, anger and shame still warred inside him, making his stomach knot and his head pound. The thought of spending time in his bedchamber alone and hungry sounded dreadful. He kicked the heavy trunk at the foot of his bed and threw himself down in the chair beside it.
He grinned as an idea flashed across his mind. He went to his armoire and retrieved a rope ladder that he had made a few months ago. He carried it to the wide bay windows of his bedchamber, secured the rope at the base of his bed, and opened the window. Then he carefully scaled down the makeshift ladder and dropped into the flowerbeds.
Dusk stretched along the ground from the topiaries in the gardens, casting unsettling shadows on the usually cheery shrubbery. Dominic ducked between the shadows until he reached the woods. As he ran in the direction of the small dockyards at the end of Boscastle’s main port, he hummed a colorful tune. His pockets jingled with a few coins, and he knew that lovely girl from the tavern would see his hunger and take care of him with a meat pie, a pint of ale, and perhaps even a kiss for protecting her honor. Dominic was still smiling as he reached the street that led to the tavern.
A few streetlamps offered no real light against the now heavy gloom. The hairs on the back of Dominic’s neck rose as he had the eerie sense of being watched. Perhaps this hadn’t been the best idea after all…
He spun to face the darkness behind him but saw nothing. The shadows seemed to thicken as the fog rolled in from the sea. Dominic shivered and straightened his shoulders. He wasn’t a child. He shouldn’t be afraid of a little fog. He took a step toward the tavern, and just then a hand clamped over his mouth. He was hauled back into the alley, his screams muffled by his captor. He kicked his legs and rammed an elbow back into whoever held him.
“Little bastard!” a man snarled.
Something hard struck his temple, and he knew no more.
* * *
A long while later, Dominic awoke to the rocking of a ship. He blinked, trying to focus in the dim light. A lantern swayed above him, casting a flickering light on the room. The sensation of the ship pitching and rolling made his stomach churn. He tried to move, but pain cut into his wrists and ankles. He stared down in horror at the iron manacles that restrained him. A dozen other boys his age or close to it were shackled beside him. Many had faces the shade of puce. Some had recently vomited. Several wept for their mothers.
A bitter taste filled Dominic’s mouth as he too wanted to cry out for his mother. But she wasn’t here and wouldn’t be able to save him.
Dominic looked to one of the boys sitting close to him. “Where are we?”
The boy had a distant, almost dead look in his eyes. After a moment, he responded. “We’re being taken to the West Indies…to work as servants.”
“What? But they can’t do that. We’re not slaves. We…” Dominic looked around, seeing that he was indeed bound next to several healthy-looking dark-skinned men. They gave him a pitying look as he seemed to realize he was in the same helpless position as them.
“We won’t survive. Most likely we’ll die during the voyage,” the first boy said. “And from what I hear, that will be a blessing. The captain of this ship…they say he has unnatural tastes.” The boy nodded toward the other young boys beside them. “Before you were here, another boy died, and before he did, he told me to pray for death.”
Fear filled Dominic’s mouth with a strange taste, almost like blood, and his ears started to ring. In that moment, he realized that he would never see home again. He would never see the little twins or his mother and father ever again.
All because he was a hotheaded fool, just like his father had said.
CHAPTER1
1741 - PORT OF CÁDIZ, SPAIN
Captain Dominic Greyville was in a most compromising position.
This particular position involved a buxom Spanish lady sitting astride him, her skirts hiked up past her hips, moaning his name as she rocked her body against his. The wide windows of the woman’s bedchamber were open, the filmy white curtains blowing gently with the evening breeze as he placed deep kisses to the swells of her breasts.
“Oh, Dominic, mi amor,” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shirt. He was still fully clothed, but soon enough he would use her passion to get the answers he needed. He kissed up her throat to her lips, chuckling as she released a feminine growl of frustration.
“Why must you tease me so?” she huffed, her husky tone making his body ache with arousal. “Diego will be back any minute!” She tugged on Dominic’s hair, trying to get his attention away from her neck.
“Patience,” he murmured as he slipped one hand up her red silk skirts and beneath the petticoats. She hissed as he eased a finger inside her, and he chuckled as he played with her, delaying her pleasure. He kept one ear cocked toward the bedroom door, making sure her husband didn’t surprise them.
Dominic didn’t mind if he was discovered with this woman. The man would try to kill him, which was half the fun—the thrill of discovery and a quick escape. He pulled her face to his, tasting her plump lips.
“When must you return to your ship?” The woman’s words were layered heavily with her seductive Spanish accent.
“Soon.” He moaned as she ground her hips against his.
“Will you be gone long?” she asked, her hands running through his long dark hair. He usually kept it tied back with a leather thong, but she’d pulled it loose when he’d first arrived.
“One never knows. I’m at the mercy of the winds and tides.” Dominic’s lips lowered to the woman’s breasts again as he nibbled her olive skin.
She arched her back in pleasure. “Don’t make it too long.”
“What have you heard from the ports, my love?” he asked as he played with her beneath her skirts.
“The ports?” she whimpered.
“Yes, what has your husband been telling you?”
She moved back to look down at him. “If I tell you, mi amor, what will you do for me?”
“Anything you wish, my love. Anything at all.” He ran his gaze over her voluptuous body, knowing it wouldn’t be a hardship to take her to bed. She was very lovely, but a bit too unimaginative for his tastes. He liked his women to have wits as sharp as his cutlass. There was no fun in bedding a woman when he couldn’t spar with her with words—it kept things interesting.
“Diego said he heard the English are sending a merchant ship, the Fortune, to the Caribbean. It left port yesterday on its way to Port Royal. Apparently, the merchant ship is carrying precious cargo.”
“Precious cargo?”
“Precious enough that they’re sending an admiral with it.”
Dominic’s blood heated in excitement as he considered what precious cargo might mean. Money? Jewels? Whatever it was, he and his crew could intercept the Fortune and relieve the ship of its precious cargo.
“You’re quite sure you heard the cargo was valuable?” he pressed again. It was unusual for an admiral to be accompanying cargo which meant the value must be great.
“Sí, very precious. Diego was most curious, but he didn’t know what it was. I think it is jewels.” The woman’s eyes gleamed. “Don’t you think I would look beautiful covered in jewels, mi amor? Jewels and nothing else?” She slid her hands down his chest as she spoke, but Dominic’s thoughts were leagues away from her.
Dominic used his hands to give her the pleasure she sought, and once she had come, he slid her off his lap. She reached for him, still wanting more, but he slipped free. He didn’t care to finish with her—she’d lost her allure, like all the other women he’d ever had. Whenever a woman started to show signs of missing him, he cut ties and sailed his ship permanently out of that amorous port. It created too many complications if they were to ever cross paths again out in the streets.
“Where are you going?” the woman snapped.
“My dear, it’s been lovely, but I must go. Until then, Francesca…”
“Maria!” she corrected sharply. She rose from the bed and slapped him hard across the face. When she made to slap him again, he caught her wrist, squeezing just hard enough not to hurt her but enough to remind her who was in control.
“Fine then, go, you heartless pig!” she spat at him.
He released her and gathered his coat, cutlass, and pistol, and without a second glance at the scowling Spanish lady, he ducked out of the open window and eased along the building’s second-story ledge.
Dominic at age twenty-eight was captain of a named called the Emerald Dragon. Maria had found him enticing because he was a rogue. There was nothing more enchanting for a married woman who was tired of a neglectful husband who drank too much than to sleep with a man like him. Bringing a seafaring rogue to one’s bed—one whose skin was darkened by years in the sun, his palms rough from climbing seawater-hardened ropes was something ladies in Spain liked to boast about. He was exotic to such women, and he didn’t mind at all that it gained him entry into some of the finest beds in Spain, France, and the Caribbean. The one place he would not make berth was England.
He’d turned his back on his old life. He’d had no choice at first, a surviving heartless indentured servitude in the West Indies after he’d been kidnapped from Cornwall. By the time he was eighteen he’d won his freedom by killing the man who’d enslaved him. He’d been pirating along the American coasts and the West Indies for four years now.
His father’s harsh words and disappointment still cut deep in Dominic’s memory. He’d comforted himself with the thought that his little brother, Adrian, would be his father’s heir to the earldom, and he would no doubt be better at it than Dominic ever would have been. So he’d embraced his new life and remained a pirate, on his own terms, with his own ship, his own crew, and a code of honor.
Pirate was such a harsh word, though. He much preferred to be called an enterprising man, like the privateers a hundred years before. But the truth was, he was simply too fond of breaking the rules to pass up the opportunity to strike at the Spanish, French, and English alike. They were all equal prey in a pirate’s conquest. When Dominic and his crew weren’t chasing merchant ships, they often targeted slave ships, freeing the men and women at the first opportunity. After his own years in slavery, he swore never to let a slave ship get past him.
Dominic slid down the wall of the hacienda, catching his hands and feet against the rough stones to slow his way before he dropped onto the street below. Dawn was a few hours off, and he would be back on his ship soon. He’d gotten what he needed from Maria. She’d happily breathed word of a British merchant ship, the Fortune, on its way to Port Royal, bearing precious cargo. Dominic planned to be there first, before any pirate ships prowling the Caribbean might try to intercept it. It had been a while since he’d chased something of great value, and his mind buzzed with a dozen ideas of what the cargo might be.
When Dominic strode up the Dragon’s gangplank, he was met by his bosun, Jon Chibbs, a stout Englishman in his late forties.
“Cap’n.” Jon tipped an invisible cap at Dominic.
“Chibbs. Are we ready to make sail?” Dominic asked.
“Just waitin’ on you, Cap’n. Reese is in your cabin, ready to set the course,” Chibbs added.
“Any problems while I was gone?”
Jon chuckled and shook his head. “Not a one, Cap’n, not a one, except maybe Mr. Lee. He’s fussing quite a bit since he had to take over for Mr. Bolton.”
Lee was the new cook, after Bolton had been shot and killed in Tortuga a few weeks prior when he’d cheated another man at cards.
“Lee’s not happy?”
“Not so much, Cap’n. He says he ain’t no proper cook, an’ my stomach agrees. My pa used to say, a crew is only as good as its cook.”
“Tell him to be patient awhile longer. I’ll find a cook soon.” He was tempted to stop in Port Royal and acquire someone there. It was possible, after all, to land his ship at a private bit of beach in Jamaica.
Lee, like Chibbs and Reese, was a loyal man, loyal to the death for Dominic. Most of his crew were. Pirates tended to lack loyalty to all but the codes to which they agreed when entering the secretive brethren. Dominic had asked each and every man on his ship to be loyal to him, and if that loyalty waned, they had the freedom to walk away, no hard feelings betwixt Dominic or the crew member choosing to leave. He kept his men well fed and well compensated for injuries, and their share of profits was always fair, even among the officers like himself and Reese.
“I’ll be in my cabin if you need me, Chibbs.” Dominic left his bosun to handle the deck.
Dominic descended to the quarterdeck, greeting some of his crew in the hall as he passed them on the way to his cabin. The musical mix of French, English, Jamaican, and Spanish always made Dominic smile. He took men on his ship no matter their station in life. If they worked hard and didn’t mind the dangers of life aboard his vessel, they were welcome.
Inside Dominic’s cabin, his quartermaster, Reese Belishaw, leaned over the ornate desk. Maps spilled over the surface, weighed down at the corners with books. A compass sat open, the arrow pointing north along the coast where Reese was mapping a route with a sextant. Reese was eight years younger than him with hazel eyes that lit up when he was planning a course route as he was doing now. His blond hair wasn’t as dark as Dominic’s but it fell into his eyes and he brushed it away in frustration before focusing on the charts again.
“How was Francesca?” Reese asked without looking up.
“Maria, apparently,” Dominic said with a chuckle, which made his friend look up in confusion. “Francesca must be some other wench here in port.”
“Which means we’ll be avoiding this place for some time, I assume.”
“Most definitely.” Dominic strode over to the desk and threw himself into the chair behind it, propping his feet up on the desk’s edge.
Reese shifted the maps away from Dominic’s boots before studying the coastline again. “Good God, man, we’ll run out of places to resupply if you keep up with your women this way.” Reese’s hazel eyes glinted with mischief as he laughed. He too was a favorite among the ladies like Dominic but he kept his liaisons strictly limited to the brothels and taverns in the ports.
“That’s because you’re still wet behind the ears,” Dominic teased, knowing that Reese being only twenty left him defensive as to his tender age compared to Dominic.
Reese’s hazel eyes flashed. “So…what did Maria have to report, then?”
“Precious cargo…headed to the West Indies by way of a British merchant ship, the Fortune.”
“Coin, do you think? Or perhaps goods? The lads love it when we land a prize with goods.”
Dominic remembered the last prize his ship had taken, a merchant ship packed to the gills with tea, coffee, tobacco, and silks. They’d sold off all the cargo within a few hours of docking in Kingston, knowing more than one buyer who wouldn’t ask too many questions. The coin that had lined their pockets had allowed them all to fill the taverns and brothels for an entire week.
“Maria didn’t say what kind of cargo, only that it was to be guarded by a small naval guard on board the merchant ship. An admiral will be on board the ship, or so she heard.”
“An admiral?” Reese puzzled over that.
Dominic was less concerned with the nature of the cargo, given that he wasn’t dependent on it for his livelihood. He’d earned a place in Jamaica long ago, carving out a small bit of land for himself. Anything he did now was merely to keep his crew satisfied and to entertain himself.
“Lord knows what a stuffy old goat like that would be doing out on the high seas. They prefer to stay on dry land and give orders to their subordinates,” Dominic chuckled.
Reese set the sextant down and rolled up the maps, binding them with a bit of blue silk ribbon and setting them in the map chest.
“Rather interesting. Sounds like one of the rare merchant ships that belongs to His Majesty.”
Dominic shrugged. It was rare but not unheard of for a merchant vessel to be commanded by a set of naval officers if the goods on board were related to the crown.
“Whatever is on board will likely be worth the trouble then,” Dominic replied.
“When do we leave?” Reese adjusted the gun tucked into his belt as he headed for the door of the cabin.
“Straightaway. Go and ready the ship.”
“Aye, Captain.” Reese left the chamber.
Dominic picked up the compass, flipping open the lid. He watched the arrow spin slowly and stop, pointing north. It was an old, battered bit of brass, but it had never failed him in ten years. He’d earned the compass fighting another boy for it while under his old captain’s orders. A compass, a pistol, and a loaf of weevil-infested bread. Only the strongest survived. He’d proven his strength that day by shooting his captain through the heart with the very same pistol.
He stared at the compass a moment longer, and his thoughts drifted deeper into the past, beyond the days of hunger, pain, and misery.
He gave his head a shake. The past was just that—the past. A man could not beat against the tides, no matter how much he might wish to. There was only the next horizon, the next golden dawn to chase in search of treasure and glory. Dominic clamped the compass shut, and a grinned as he hummed a little tune and listened to the sounds of the men making ready to sail.
CHAPTER2
Roberta Harcourt leaned on the railing of the royal navy merchant ship, the Fortune, scowling at the rolling blue sea before her. She loved the ocean, but she did not love the reason she was crossing it.
Her father, Rear Admiral Charles Harcourt, was moving to Port Royal to run a naval office from the port, and she was being dragged along with him. It wasn’t that she disliked Port Royal—she’d always longed to visit the West Indies. But she was quite certain her father had dubious intentions upon his mind when he’d decided she was to come with him rather than remain in London.
She’d spent the last two weeks listening to him describe the eligible, titled men whom they would likely meet upon reaching Port Royal. The list of gentlemen and their estate holdings had nearly put Roberta to sleep the previous evening. She’d caught herself just before her face landed in a bowl of soup. The cabin boy attending them had snickered, and she’d almost joined in laughing at herself, but her father’s stern glare had killed any amusement from the moment. The truth of the matter was, she was being put on the market like a prized cow.
“Roberta, my dear,” her father greeted as he joined her at the ship’s railing. “I should like to speak to you.”
“Papa,” she answered quietly. “If it’s about last night, I was tired. The crossing has been more than I’m used to, with the tossing waves.” That part was most certainly a lie. She’d slept quite soundly; the rocking of the sea was something she’d grown used to. Her mother had died when she was five, and her father, unsure what to do with his dearly loved child yet couldn’t abandon her to a governess’s care, had simply taken her and the governess along with him on every voyage. She had better sea legs than half his crew.
“Oh no, it isn’t that, my dear. But there is something important that I must speak to you about. I’ve just spoken to Captain Huntington, and he’s requested a private audience with you. I believe the captain has finally worked up the courage to ask for your hand in marriage. I’ve assured him that you will be most receptive, and I have given him my blessing.” Her father’s chest puffed out with pride. At fifty-nine he was still a handsome man, even if out of his prime, but there was a weariness to his face that showed his time at sea and his years as a single father were weighing heavily upon him.
“I…Papa, I really don’t…”
“Please, Roberta, think of it. A captain for a son-in-law. I would be most proud of you. You would travel the world with him as you’ve done with me. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
She wished she could agree, but she knew what her father did not—that most men loathed to take their wives or daughters upon voyages or move them to foreign lands. No, they kept their wives in pretty cages at home in London whilst they conducted affairs far away. That was not a fate she wished to resign herself to.
Her father’s scrutiny fell upon her, and he sighed heavily. “You truly don’t like him?”
“I don’t dislike him, Papa. But he’s like all the other gentlemen I’ve met—pompous and arrogant in their belief that a woman is incapable of anything besides twittering about gowns and producing children. I don’t believe he would even let me stay with him aboard ship.”
Her father suddenly chuckled. “I saw you only yesterday twittering about the very gown you’re wearing now. You love a pretty dress as any other lady does, and you’ve told me often that you wish for children.”
“But that isn’t all that I am, Papa. I’ve helped fix the navigational charts when your navigator was ill. I know more about loading guns on a ship than most cabin boys learn in their first few years. I can tie any knot just as well as your men. I can name all of His Majesty’s ships of the line—”
“I yield, my dear, I yield.” Charles laughed softly. “I cannot help but fear I’ve put you at a great disadvantage by letting you live as freely as you have, if the idea of marrying Captain Huntington has frightened you so.”
Roberta wanted to disagree, to argue that she wasn’t afraid of Captain Huntington or his marriage proposal, but she was frightened. It would mean the end of everything that mattered in her life.
“Very well, then. Hear the man out and then let him down gently.” Her father patted her cheek, his eyes twinkling. “I believe we may yet find a husband for you in Port Royal. A good tea planter, perhaps? Or a successful merchantman who does business in England? Those sort of men might be more open to a wife involved in their affairs. I shan’t give up hope to see you happily wed.”
She gripped his hand and gave it a tender squeeze. “I’d rather you see me simply happy, in whatever way that may be.”
“I do, my dear, I do. But when I’m gone, you will need a force to stand between you and the wolves of this world. I owe your mother that much, God rest her.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead before walking back down the deck and vanishing inside a doorway.
And what if I am the force between myself and the world, Papa? She asked the question silently, allowing the sea to catch her thoughts as the winds buffeted her pale-blue silk skirts around her ankles. A smile escaped her lips as she thought back to how she had indeed twittered in excitement over the gown she now wore. The blue silk was gathered at the waist and flowed down over the large side pannier hoops she wore beneath her petticoats, and the bodice was a rich gold embroidered with tiny seahorses. She’d asked the seamstress to make it for the voyage. The poor woman had stared at the sketches of the marine animal and then muttered something about mad young ladies and their fancies.
Roberta glanced over her shoulder, watching men scale the riggings as they worked the ropes. So often she felt torn between the glittering world of balls and this world, the one where the winds and tides drove a person’s destiny. The crew called out orders to one another, all corresponding to the orders from the officers who stood at the back of the ship near the helm. Two men stood out more clearly, their white breeches and blue frock coats adorned with gold trim and shiny gold buttons marking them as officers.
Captain Huntington and his second in command, Lieutenant Flynn. It was uncommon for navy officers to be in charge of a ship like the Fortune, but in this case, her father had wanted a light sloop that could outrun most pirates if they encountered any. Bigger ships from the royal navy would be able to fight, but their maneuverability was slow and her father never trusted a slow ship. Thus they’d ended up with Huntington and Flynn on board a merchant ship rather than a civilian captain and his crew.
Huntington was a nice man, a polite man, handsome even. But he was forty years old, while she was barely even twenty, and those two decades between them felt more like a hundred years. She was ready to discover life, not end it, and marriage to him would be just that. She’d be pregnant within the year and never free to see the world again. Her passion for knowledge and adventure would be crushed the moment she spoke her vows.
If any man on this ship caught her interest, it was the quiet, intense Lieutenant Nicholas Flynn. He’d seen her eyeing the set of sea charts one evening after dinner and sat with her for more than an hour, showing her their course from southern England down the coast of Spain before they would set out across the Atlantic. Flynn had become a friend to her during the voyage. They’d spent many an evening talking over a glass of sherry about life at sea, the various ports they’d both visited, and the latest updates on the maps provided to the Royal Navy.
His stormy blue eyes and dark-blond hair, accompanied by his classically handsome features, were accented by his patient manner and his quiet, unspoken interest in her. Yet there was a sorrow in his eyes that seemed to create a chasm between them, as though he was afraid to let anyone get close to him, even her. But they had become friends during the long voyage, much to Captain Huntington displeasure.
She turned her focus back to the sea, a mistress she loved, respected, and feared at the appropriate times. The water was that spectacular shade of blue that prevented her from seeing deeper than a few feet, yet she could sense its endless depths as the ship cut through it on their voyage. The afternoon light flashed across the water’s edge where the whitecaps formed, sending a diamond-like spray into the air, enchanting her. She had spent hours watching the water, and she never tired of the sight.
A smudge of gray beneath the water caught her eye, and a moment later a dolphin broke through the surface. Roberta lifted the hem of her gown to climb up on the first wooden ledge to get a closer look. Her gown was in the style of a robe à la française with its sack back split into two pale-blue pleats flowing away from her shoulders in the ocean breeze. She knew if she closed her eyes, it would feel as though she could take flight upon the winds themselves.
“You look lovely today, Miss Harcourt,” Huntington said from behind her.
Her eyes shot open, and she clutched the railing securely as she stepped back down onto the deck. She continued to watch the dolphin as it broke through the surface for air and then disappeared again.
“Thank you, Captain,” she said softly.
“I had hoped you might call me Thomas now. We’ve spent much time together on the voyage. Port Royal is only a few days away.” Huntington moved to stand next to her.
“If the wind stays at our backs,” Roberta agreed.
His brown eyes gazed upon her with the slightest hint of possessive hope. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see a petite but fiery red-haired beauty? Did he mind the faint smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks because she refused to wear hats in the sun? Or perhaps he was lost in her jade-green eyes framed by smoky dark lashes that batted slowly as she gazed at the sea. She knew she was considered a beauty by some, yet she didn’t think she was half so lovely as the fair-skinned blonde-haired women who were favored in the assembly halls of London.
Roberta was more spry than dainty, in her opinion, and the gowns she wore concealed the smooth muscles and curves of her body. She lacked that delicate, frail appearance that men seemed to desire. Her slightly tanned face had created gossip among the ton, and she knew well enough that she was called ugly names behind her back. But she supposed she was pretty enough to attract men like Huntington, with her heart-shaped face with its upturned nose and sweeping brows that made her look as if she was always up to mischief. Her father used to call her his little water sprite because she often created trouble aboard any ship she was on, usually to the amusement of the crew, proving that women weren’t all unlucky upon the sea.
“Do you like the sea?” Huntington asked. His right hand fell very lightly on her own, which rested on the smooth wooden railing.
She felt no warmth, no spark, no life; what she was looking for was simply not there. Shouldn’t there be fire or explosions of heat? She’d heard the men belowdecks talk of the passion a lady could inspire in a man’s heart and his loins—though they always phrased such things in far cruder terms. Surely it could be the same for a woman, to feel that passion at the touch of the right man? If that was so, then the captain was not the right man for her.
“I love the sea,” she replied, her gaze still plunging into the sapphire depths. How she longed to join the dolphin, to have no concerns above the water’s surface. She’d often wished that the old legends of mermaids were true and that she could trade places with a princess of the sea and never again worry about what lay on land.
“Once we marry, I can bring you with me,” he suggested.
Roberta could not hide the enthusiasm that was triggered by this idea. If she had misjudged him, she would own up to it and give him a chance to catch her interest again.
“You would let me join you?” Her face brightened in the wake of this small hope. Huntington seemed surprised that this, of all things he was willing to offer, seemed to be what excited her.
“Some captains are allowed to bring their wives…on short voyages, in safe waters,” he clarified. “A trip around the bay or up and down the coast for a day.”
Roberta deflated. “Is that all?”
Huntington straightened as he gazed upon the sea, as if remembering his duty. “It would be against protocol. It’s simply too dangerous for a delicate young lady. Surely you are more comfortable in a drawing room enjoying tea with other ladies.”
Had the captain read that from some book entitled How to Infuriate Free and Independent Women? Perhaps he had written it.
A small sigh escaped her lips. It was better to be at sea—however boring the voyage—than not at all, she supposed. For once in her life, she wished she could see a sea battle. Even the distant crack and thunder of cannons and the haze of gun smoke on the horizon would be enough for her. She’d witnessed such things up close only in military maneuvers and gunnery drills. A real battle would be something entirely different and far more thrilling. She just wanted to live, to feel her heart racing wildly as she joined the men upon the ropes and prepared for a boarding party.
But she wasn’t a fool. A sea battle meant danger and death, and she knew just how dangerous life upon the water was. Women didn’t fare well. Pirates were notorious for raping women before tossing their bodies overboard. There was no glory in that violence, but her heart still hammered at the thought of chasing down a pirate sloop and bringing its black-hearted crew to justice.
“I have spoken to your father, of course, and he has given his blessing. He was most excited for our marriage.”
“Captain, please, trouble yourself no further. I have decided not to marry, though I am most honored by your offer.” Better to cut him off before he can start naming our future children, she thought.
“What?” Huntington’s mouth opened in shock as he sputtered. “But…your father said…”
“My father was mistaken. He forgets how much I love the sea. If he mistook my excitement for hopes of an intended proposal from you, I’m most apologetic. But you see, I do not wish to marry.”
“Whyever not?” the captain demanded, his tone frosty now.
“Because…” She struggled for an excuse and realized there was no better one than the truth. “Because I’m simply far too much trouble, Captain Huntington. One month of marriage to me would drive you utterly mad.”
“Well…I don’t see how a pretty young lady like you could—”
“Allow me to be plain for a moment, Captain. I would insist on accompanying you on all voyages, no matter the duration. I would rather not be stuck in a parlor with other ladies. In fact, I’d rather face the gallows alongside the vilest of pirates than spend one minute listening to women gossip over tea.”
Huntington’s face began to turn a concerning shade of red. “But that’s your place. As a woman, you should—”
She cut him off again. “And that’s exactly why you and I would quarrel endlessly. I don’t believe in where you think I belong. There are plenty of young ladies who would be happy to marry you but I am not one of them.”
For a long second he stared at her, shock widening his eyes. No doubt he’d never encountered a woman who spoke her mind like that, and it would take him a minute, or possibly several, to catch up with her in order to respond.
“I hope that you don’t take offense or mistake my rejection of your offer of marriage as an attempt to play coy. I simply desire to be honest. You would not be happy with me, Captain, and I would not be with you, so we need not trouble ourselves further.”
Huntington opened his mouth to say something more, but the sharp, piercing whistle of the ship’s bosun cut him off.
“Sail to the south!” a man in the crow’s nest cried out. Suddenly the deck was swarming with men. Roberta stayed by the rail, keeping out of the way. She knew better than to disrupt the flow of the men to their stations.
“What colors does she fly?” Huntington yelled up to the man in the nest. His voice was surprisingly loud—she’d never heard him speak above a conversational tone before. The sea captain in him had taken over.
“No colors, Captain, but there is a flag,” the man shouted back down. “White with some sort of black shape on it.”
Huntington’s face paled. He glanced at Roberta before he turned his gaze southward and pulled out a brass spyglass from his breast pocket. Roberta followed the direction his spyglass was pointing. Her eyesight was good, but she could only just make out a vague rippling insignia. If she’d been closer, she might have sworn it looked like…
“The Emerald Dragon. Damn him!” Huntington hissed and crushed the spyglass back into his breast pocket. Roberta’s face was afire with excitement.
“The Emerald Dragon? The ship captained by the infamous Captain Grey?” Her heart skittered inside her chest in a mixture of excitement and fear. Huntington’s face darkened with displeasure.
“You’ve heard of him?”
“I am the daughter of a rear admiral. I hear things, even during those dreadful hours spent in parlors over tea.” She found it insulting that he assumed she didn’t know the latest naval scandals. The Dragon’s captain was the talk of Spain. He never ventured close to England—his hunting grounds were the West Indies and the coasts of Spain and Portugal. It was rumored that he was part Spanish and part English. Some said he was handsome enough that the devil himself was jealous of the pirate’s good looks. That sort of gossip had been the only thing worth listening to when she’d been trapped in the Spanish parlors before they’d left port.
“He’s no man you should put your mind to. He’s a bloody pirate.” Huntington looked as mad as a spitting cat. “Get below deck with your lady’s maid, now! And stay there. The deck is no place for a woman, especially during a battle,” Huntington snapped.
Roberta’s gaze bored into his enraged face, but at last she turned on her heel and descended below deck. Her heart was pounding so hard against her chest that it hurt to breathe. She had to find her maid and, more importantly, her pistols and her dagger. If they were boarded, she would need to defend herself and her servant.
The Emerald Dragon…it was as if by simply dreaming of pirates, she had summoned one of the fiercest since Captain Morgan.
She only hoped she would not live to regret it.
CHAPTER3
“We’re coming up on ’em, Cap’n!” Chibbs bellowed from the quarterdeck of the Emerald Dragon.
“Keep the sails open. I want to come up on her starboard side. Ready the round shots in the swivel cannons!” Dominic ordered from where he stood on the forecastle deck. Reese stood one deck below and repeated the order.
“Man the cannons!” Reese raised his cutlass, and the cannon crew rushed to their stations.
Dominic leaned against the railing on the bow, grinning wickedly as he watched the Fortune try to outrun him. The Dragon was three hundred yards away from her prey, and the royal merchant ship had almost reached Port Royal unscathed.
The Dragon had followed it for the last few weeks, keeping the Fortune’s masts just visible above the horizon. If there was one thing his crew and the ship itself were good at, it was vanishing from view, like a wolf edging behind trees as it watched a rabbit nibbling on grass in an open meadow. The ship could go unseen until it was ready and then catch up with little warning. That was one of the many benefits of using a sloop. The Dragon had outrun every ship that had ever chased it.
Dominic’s men were armed and ready for the battle ahead, but they needed to cripple the Fortune. Reese, at the helm, had managed to pull the Dragon up so her hull avoided direct fire from the Fortune’s cannons. Then Reese rushed to the deck below to see to their own cannons. Dominic kept his gaze on the other ship, raising his spyglass, watching the crew of the Fortune rush to ready themselves. Their captain was shouting, his face red as he ordered his men to load.
“Reese! Chain shot to the mainmast!” Dominic shouted over his shoulder.
“Aye aye, Captain!” Reese changed his orders for the middle gun crew. “We’re going to cripple her, men!”
Dominic collapsed his scope and tucked it into his leather waistcoat as he rushed down to the waist of the ship.
“Cast loose your gun!” Reese barked. “Level and prime your gun!”
The first explosion of sound came from the Fortune as their cannons unleashed half a dozen shots simultaneously. The round shots whizzed overhead, ripping through one mainsail.
“Run out your guns! Aim at the mainmast!” Reese cried out. While they were reloading their guns, the Dragon would try to bring down their mainmast.
“Point and fire!” Dominic and Reese shouted together.
The thunderous boom accompanied by the blast of shot from three of the Dragon’s cannons wreaked devastation on the mast. Each cannon fired two cannonballs, chained together, that flew between the ships and struck the Fortune’s mainmast with such force that the mast snapped in half. Men on the Fortune screamed and dove out of the way as the mast crashed down onto the deck, its white canvas sail fluttering like the wings of a dying seabird.
The Dragon’s crew broke into cheers that were abruptly cut off as the Fortune unleashed a fresh volley, one ripping through his crew on the quarterdeck. Dominic’s vision blurred as the ship’s doctor rush to the injured. Dominic held his breath, the sounds of his injured men crying out in pain drilling into his head. He waited for the pronouncement from the doctor.
“Two dead!” Abel confirmed over the screams.
Dominic’s body went cold, his mind whiplashing as he trained his gaze on the Fortune.
“Aim for the decks!” Dominic ordered. “Grapeshot on all cannons!”
The Dragon waged war on the Fortune for another fifteen minutes, but their prey refused to give up easily.
Chibbs rushed to Dominic on the quarterdeck. “They won’t surrender!”
“Then we board and make them reconsider. I’ll wager we’ve taken the fight out of them. I want the officers restrained and the crew detained belowdecks until we see what cargo they’re carrying.”
The boarding party lined the port side of the Dragon, their weapons ready as the ships drifted close enough for the men to swing across on ropes. Smoke billowed up from the guns of both ships, and the cries of battle-ready men echoed across the open water. The Dragon nudged her prey, creaking in wooden groans as the ships collided. Dominic put a dagger between his teeth, tucked his cutlass into his waistband, and leapt from his vessel to the merchant ship.
He landed with a thud midway on the Fortune
