Mardon (Pirate Lords Series Book 2)

by Elizabeth Rose

  “I’m here, Cap’n,” said Stitch, taking the helm. The wind was strong today, filling the main sail, moving them swiftly across the waters. The Falcon was a lapstrake, or clinker built ship. The edges of the hull planks overlapped each other. It was a decent-sized ship and held 50 tuns in the hold. While it wasn’t the largest or fastest ship on the sea, it still held its own. They headed south, down toward the channel. “What’s our destination, Cap’n?” asked Stitch.

  “I figure we can stop in Mablethorpe for supplies,” Mardon answered.

  “Mablethorpe?” asked Nairnie, her head popping up like flotsam. “Hrmph.”

  “Why don’t you come right out and say what you mean, Nairnie?” asked Mardon.

  “Oh, it’s nothin’. No’ really.” She looked down and brushed invisible lint from her arm.

  “Nairnie, do you know something?” asked Aaron. “Is it anything to do with the clue to the treasure?”

  “Mayhap.” She gave them no free information. Mardon realized if he wanted to find the bloody treasure he was going to have to work with the old woman since, right now, she was holding all the cards.

  “Nairnie? What do you know?” asked Mardon.

  “Are ye still goin’ to leave me on shore or am I comin’ with ye on the journey?” It was bad enough to have his younger brother making deals with him, but now Mardon was about to negotiate with a little old woman. What was happening here?

  He released a deep breath and once again stared out to sea. “All right, damn it, you can come with us but only if you don’t start any more trouble.”

  “Guid,” she said with satisfaction, as if she approved of his answer, though it wouldn’t have mattered if she didn’t.

  “Good? You mean great! Now, we’ll be having biscuits again,” said Aaron with a big smile. He squeezed Nairnie’s shoulder.

  “Aaron, forget about food, and for God’s sake take your arm from around Nairnie’s shoulders,” said Mardon. “We’re leaders of pirates with a crew watching, so stop acting like a milksop.”

  “Sorry,” said Aaron, removing his arm from Nairnie’s shoulders and clearing his throat.

  “That’s better,” said Mardon. “Now, Nairnie, spill your guts and tell us what you know.”

  “All I ken is this.” She reached into her bodice and pulled out a torn piece of parchment, unfolding it in front of the men.

  “Give it here.” Mardon’s hand shot out, but Nairnie pulled the parchment out of his reach.

  “Ye’re still no’ actin’ very polite,” she snapped.

  “Can I please see it, Grandmother?” Aaron held out his hand and Nairnie graciously gave it to him. Aaron looked over at Mardon and smiled. “Mayhap someday you’ll learn how to deal with women,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Shut up, Aaron. I have women falling at my feet and you don’t, so that should tell you something.”

  “Are ye speakin’ of whores again?” asked Nairnie, causing both Aaron and Stitch to start laughing.

  “Read the parchment, little brother,” warned Mardon, purposely referring to him in a manner that Aaron despised.

  Aaron glared at him but didn’t say a word. “All right,” he finally answered. “Let me see.” Aaron looked down to the parchment in his hand. “There are only half the words here. It looks like it says Sh . . . ad . . . nn . . . eat . . . mouth. Eat mouth? I’m getting hungry reading this.”

  “You’re always hungry. Let me see that.” Mardon snatched the parchment away from him, studying the half-words that made no sense. “Eat mouth. Eat mouth . . . I think this is a bunch of gibberish and doesn’t mean a thing.” He pushed the parchment back into Nairnie’s hands and headed down the stairs.

  “Perhaps it means Great Yarmouth,” came Nairnie’s words from behind Mardon. He suddenly stopped. Turning around, he darted back up the stairs.

  “Let me see that again.” He reached out for it, but Nairnie held the parchment to her chest.

  “Is that how ye speak to yer grandmathair?” she asked him.

  The old woman wasn’t going to make this easy. Her antics were already driving him crazy. He glanced around, seeing Stitch at the helm and Pate down by the burned galley talking to a few of the crew. Coop, his barrel maker, was fixing a hole in a barrel, and Goldtooth was swabbing the deck. They all seemed busy, so he said under his breath, “Please, may I see it, Nairnie?”

  She started to hand it to him, but pulled it back once again. “Aaron calls me Grandmathair. And even Tristan did when I asked him to.”

  “Well, my brothers are damned fools. Now give it to me. Please,” he added, stressing the word.

  “Ye’ve called me Grandmathair before, Mardon. I’ve heard ye.”

  “All right my dear, conniving Grandmother, can I see the clue . . . please?” He felt like a danged fool doing this, and hoped to hell none of his crew heard him. He knew now why Tristan had never wanted to call her Grandmother and only did it at the end to satisfy her. It made men like them look weak in front of the others.

  “I dinna like the connivin’ part, but I suppose I’ll show it to ye anyway.” She handed it to him and Mardon eagerly took it, running his finger down the jagged page. “I think I ken what this means.” He shoved it back at her and turned and headed over to Stitch with Nairnie and Aaron on his heels.

  “What is it?” asked Aaron. “Where does the clue lead?”

  “Stitch, take us to Great Yarmouth,” he told his navigator.

  “We ken that,” spat Nairnie. “But what is the rest of the clue?”

  “It’s leading us to a place I know well,” said Mardon, feeling that they might actually find the king’s treasure and, hopefully, before Nereus could figure out the clue. “We’ll find our treasure at the Fish Head Inn on Great Yarmouth. Tristan will regret leaving us now. With the king’s gold and jewels, we’re going to be rich for the rest of our lives.”

  “I dinna think Tristan will regret stayin’ behind,” Nairnie told him. “After all, he has Gavina, the girl he loves. She’s his wife now. That is the best treasure he could have ever found.”

  “Far from it,” snorted Mardon. “No woman could ever take the place of treasure, and don’t even try to change my mind. I’d die before you ever hear me agree to that!”

  Chapter 2

  Lady Emmaline de la Croix disembarked the fishing ship on the port of Great Yarmouth, thankful to have escaped the convent in Canterbury before she actually had to take any vows. Her true home was England and although she was happy to be back from France, this wasn’t the way she wanted to live her life.

  Looking down at her drab, black robe, she longed for her colorful, fancy gowns she’d left back in France during her quick departure. The one gown she’d still possessed had been confiscated by the nuns. What little she owned now, she had with her – a black gown and wimple, plus a rosary that she wore around her neck.

  Emmaline’s father, Lord Bernard Sutterland, was on his deathbed thinking she was naught but a strumpet right now, but it wasn’t true. Emmaline loved her father and always longed for his approval, so this felt like a knife going through her heart.

  With her stepmother, Lady Aldusa’s persuasion, Emmaline had been married off to an evil Frenchman last year and was sent away from her father’s side. The man she’d been forced to marry was the cur responsible for ruining her reputation. She despised him. Because of what he did, Emmaline had been disowned by her family and told never to return. She was condemned to live the rest of her life in a nunnery, praying for forgiveness for her sins.

  The last year of being married to that evil bastard, Lord Jean Philippe de la Croix, had been a living hell. Her only consolation was that he was now dead. If pirates hadn’t killed him when his ship was raided last month, she swore she would have ended up killing the man herself.

  Emmaline’s hand went to her chest as she thought of the small vial of poison she had hidden in her cleavage beneath her clothes. She had taken the vial from her stepmother’s dressing table, thinking it was perfume.
Emmaline had meant to hide it from the nuns, and to wear it on occasion. But when she’d opened the bottle at the convent, she recognized the scent of belladonna and hemlock. Why would her stepmother even have a bottle of poison?

  Emmaline was all alone now and without an escort. That made her nothing but prey to any lust-filled man who’d want to have his way with her. The poison was her only means of protection if she should get into trouble. That, along with the dagger tied to her thigh that she’d managed to steal from the fishermen who gave her passage here. While the hidden dagger and bottle of poison helped to ease her mind, her real weapon that would assure her safety was being dressed in the robes of a nun.

  “Are you sure this is where pirates often come?” she asked one of the fishermen as the crew hurriedly departed their boat and made a beeline to the tavern. She took a quick look around her. Quite a few ships were docked, mostly smaller ones. Fishing nets were spread out on the shore to dry. Little shacks dotted the area up and down the coast, this being the best place to fish for herring, according to the fishing crew that brought her here.

  “Aye, Sister,” answered the man. “The Fish Head Inn is a favorite place of fishermen, pirates, and even whores.”

  “Have you ever heard of a pirate ship called the Falcon?” she asked him, scanning the water, looking for tall ships.

  “Aye, but I’m surprised ye know of it. I mean, bein’ a nun and all, I thought ye only kent about prayers and holy things.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she mumbled under her breath, feeling hot and wanting to rip off the wimple and let her hair blow free in the breeze. How could the nuns endure this attire day after day? “Can you tell me anything at all about the Falcon or its crew?”

  The man shrugged. “I don’t know much since me and the rest of the crew go out of our way to avoid pirates.” He cocked his head and squinted at her in the bright sun. “Sister, forgive me for sayin’ but ye almost sound like ye’re actually lookin’ for pirates instead of tryin’ to avoid them. Is this true?”

  “Nay, don’t be silly.” She fussed with her wimple and looked in the other direction. “Of course not. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to run into them while I’m here.”

  “Sadly, I can’t guarantee that. I hear the Fish Head Inn is where the crew of the Falcon gets a lot of supplies. They stop here often. Plus, I also hear they like the whores at the tavern and that’s why they keep comin’ back.”

  “Oh,” she said, not sure how to respond to that.

  “Sister, my suggestion to ye is that ye keep on walkin’ further up the beach and don’t go anywhere near the Fish Head Inn. There is a small church within walkin’ distance, up on the hill, where I’m sure ye’d feel more comfortable. Pirates don’t usually raid churches, so ye should be safe there.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” she mumbled under her breath, closing her eyes and raising her face to the sun. She loved the outdoors, fresh air, and sunshine. Too bad being a noblewoman meant her skin was supposed to be pale and that she should never come in contact with the sun. While the sun on her face felt inviting, dressed in her disguise as a nun, she still felt trapped. She’d left one prison for another, and all she longed for was to be free.

  “What did ye say, Sister?” asked the man.

  Her eyes sprang open, and she lowered her head. “I said . . . thank you.” With a nod, Emmaline waved her hand in the air in the sign of a cross like she’d seen the other nuns do. “Bless you.” She hoped to hell she wouldn’t be struck down by lightning for pretending to be a nun when all the men in France considered her as nothing more than a whore.

  It was crucial to keep anyone from knowing who she really was. If that secret got out, it could ruin her chances of succeeding with the mission she was on to clear her name.

  When she’d entered the convent, they’d made her give up all her possessions and, sadly, she didn’t even have a penny to her name right now. Her family had disowned her, and unless she could rid herself of her wretched reputation, she was never going to be any nobleman’s wife again. Right now, Emmaline had nothing to offer.

  Hopefully, this disguise would at least get her a meal for free before she starved to death. Depending on handouts was not to her liking. It was something she’d never had to do in her life. Her father was a wealthy man, and her late husband had more than his share of money. From riches to rags, it didn’t seem like her life could get any worse. However, being a nun, in her opinion, was the worst thing that could ever happen to her. Thankfully, she’d managed to sneak away before she had to take her final vows.

  At least for now, this wimple and gown would keep her safe from being accosted by randy men. It would also guard against her dark secret until she was able to destroy the evidence that she’d been anything but pure and proper.

  Looking out to sea, she shaded her eyes from the sun, searching for other ships – preferably ones with black sails. Pirate ships, that is. All she had to do now was wait for pirates to arrive and hope she’d find the same ones who boarded and raided her husband’s ship.

  Hurrying down the dock, she followed the men into the Fish Head Inn. As soon as she took one step inside the door, she reeled back, covering her nose with her hand. The stench inside was a combination of fish, sweat, alcohol and . . . sex! She knew it well since Jean Philippe had forced her to go to taverns with him, showing her off as some sort of trophy wife. She hated this place already.

  It took a moment for her eyes to get accustomed to the dimly lit room. Two men from behind pushed her inside, impatiently wanting to enter.

  “Hold up,” said the bouncer at the door, holding out his grubby palm. “That’ll be a half-pence for each of ye to enter.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, but I have no money,” she told him, her heart racing, hoping not to be thrown out.

  “She’s a nun, ye fool,” spat one of the men behind her who had been part of the crew of the fishing ship that gave her a ride up the channel.

  “Umph,” snorted the filthy man, eyeing her up and down. “Then it’ll be a whole pence to come inside since we don’t serve the likes of ye, Sister.”

  “I’ll pay for her,” said the fisherman, handing the man the money.

  The man at the door bounced the coins on a piece of wood to make sure they were real. Then with a grunt, he nodded his head. “All right, go on inside and get somethin’ to eat. But don’t tarry if ye know what’s good for ye.”

  “Thank you, and God bless you,” she said, playing up her new role. Her hand went to the rosary hanging around her neck – the only thing considered jewelry that she wore. Pirates had stolen her wedding ring when they’d raided her late husband’s ship. Not that she missed being married to Jean Philippe, but she had liked the beautiful ring.

  “Wait a second, Sister,” growled the man at the door before she could walk away. “Haven’t I seen ye somewhere before?” He bent over, trying to see her face in the darkened room. “Ye look familiar.”

  “I – I do?” Emmaline purposely kept her head low, looking at the crucifix that she rubbed between her fingers in worry. “No, I don’t believe we’ve ever met. I’ve never been to Great Yarmouth before.” She turned away from him.

  “Are ye sure?” asked the man, making her nervous. “Let me see yer face.”

  She shyly looked back over her shoulder, trying not to make eye contact with the man. She thought her disguise would serve her well, but now she realized it was probably a mistake coming here. After all, pirates tended to brag, and she wasn’t sure how many of the men here might have actually seen the evidence of her dark past.

  “Come on, ye’re blockin’ the door,” complained a big man from behind her.

  “Mayhap I’ve met ye overseas,” said the bouncer. “I used to sail on a trade ship that went back and forth to France.”

  “Nay! You’re mistaken. I’ve never been to France,” said Emmaline, barely able to breathe since she was so nervous. Her hand went to her leg as she reassured herself that the dagger was still hi
dden beneath the robe. All it would take was one man to recognize her and they’d be all over her like flies on dung. She needed to be careful.

  “Aw, hell, I don’t know. Mayhap ye’re right.” The burly man waved his hand through the air. “I suppose after a while every woman starts lookin’ like a whore to me. Go on in, but stay in the shadows unless ye want trouble, lady.”

  Emmaline didn’t wait another moment. She hurried into the room and chose a seat at a small table in the corner that sat only two. All the other tables in the establishment were long trestle tables with benches, shared by many drinking men. Some of the men had whores on their laps as they fondled the girls or nibbled at their necks. It was disgusting and appalling and she didn’t even want to look. Sitting down, she wrapped her arms around her, feeling gooseflesh under her clothes now. Being exhausted, her eyes drifted closed. The sounds of the room grew louder and louder, echoing in her head, bringing memories rising to the surface that made her want to scream and run.

  “Do ye want a drink or what?”

  Emmaline jumped in surprise and her eyes popped open. A serving wench stood there, holding out a tankard of ale. The woman clutched the handles of four more tankards in her other hand.

  Emmaline devoured the ale with her eyes, wanting it more than anything. Damn, she wished she had managed to convince some of the sailors to give her coins on the way over here. Or mayhap she should have stolen money from them as well. But they were so kind to her that she felt bad just lifting one of their daggers for her own self-protection. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any coin,” she told the girl.

  “Then why the hell did ye come in here?” spat the woman. “Move on, and save the table for payin’ customers. Go on. Go, now!”

  “Do you perhaps . . . give nuns free food and drink?” she asked, hoping for a miracle.

  “Like hell we do. Ye either pay up or get out. Now make up yer mind before I fetch the proprietor to throw ye out.”

  “I’m . . . I’m waiting for someone,” she blurted out, stalling, trying to think up something to say. “I’m sure they will pay for my food and drink once they get here.”