The Seafaring Rogue

by Sky Purington

  The cargo itself held little interest to Fraser, but it did to his enemy. Enough so apparently, that Estienne Du Blanc intended to intercept it. More than that, and this is where Shaw MacDougall came in, rumor had it Estienne’s allied pirate crew would be there to assist, and that proved too tempting to ignore.

  So Shaw had plenty of reasons to fight today including not only a chance to attack his rival but to confiscate extra loot. Not just off the French ships but the Scottish one captained by its womanizing privateer.

  “Shaw was right about that one,” Douglas noted, not bothering to glance at said privateer, knowing full well he was taking a wench against a tree for all to see. The act wasn’t all that uncommon just a rougher, more degrading encounter than most.

  The point of the matter was that Shaw had known full well the privateer would not pass this port without stopping off for a romp. While he did, Fraser’s wench-turned-spy would use her boundless charms to wrangle information out of the captain’s men. Anything new learned could only help Fraser and his comrades.

  Then they would be off, following at a discreet distance until the Scottish brigantine, at long last, led him straight to his enemy. A man whose beating heart he would crush with his bare hands.

  So he sat back and enjoyed his freshly caught flounder until the time finally arrived.

  After the privateer and his crew disembarked, Fraser headed for his ship but not before he spoke with his wench. “Did ye learn anything then, lass?”

  “Aye.” She looked from the sea back to him, troubled. “Whilst I dinnae know any details, whatever its cargo, ’tis not the sort of treasure ye would expect.”

  Intrigued, he cocked his head. “If ye dinnae know any details, what upsets ye so?”

  “’Twas more what they didnae say that makes me suspect there’s foul play afoot.” Her stained lips pouted as her eyes leveled with his. “There isnae a pirate in the whole of Britannia that doesnae know ye intend to kill Estienne Du Blanc for the death of yer love.” She rested her hand on his forearm, concerned. “Has it not occurred to ye that this might be a trap, Cap’n?”

  He had counted on it.

  “Och, nay,” he scoffed, patting her on the shoulder. “I’ve looked into this good, lass. Dinnae worry.” He leaned close, sure to seem as though he enjoyed her perfumed scent. “For your troubles, ye’ll find a little something extra in a pouch behind where I was sitting.” His eyes flickered from a boisterous drunk pirate back to her before he winked. “Compliments of the swine who beat ye last week, aye?”

  A small smile curled her lips. “If ever ye want to make an honest woman of me, Cap’n MacLomain, I’m all yers.”

  He met her smile, kissed her cheek, slapped her arse then headed out.

  If all went as it should, Estienne Du Blanc would be dead by nightfall.

  Chapter Seven

  Within the hour, Fraser stood at the helm of his three-mast thirty-eight gun ship, a grand and intimidating prize he had captured a while back. Named The Sea Rogue for his exaggerated exploits, she had been an able vessel thus far.

  Unlike any boat to date, he bypassed a simple ornamentation on the bow and went one step further. Made to his specifications so it would not overly affect the ship’s performance a head structure was built for the front of the craft then a small waist-up figurehead in Elspeth’s likeness. Wild and free, she sat proudly on his prow cresting the waves, joining him as he sought out adventure.

  She was also a reminder to all who crossed his path that he was out for blood.

  Blood that would very soon stain his blade.

  He had given Shaw the signal that all was going as planned and the Savage of the Sea along with MacDougall’s fleet were far enough behind to remain unseen. A fleet, that is, that had remained out to sea, so the Scottish privateer did not spy them.

  Innis and Douglas sailed alongside Fraser, just as eager. It would be the three of them Estienne saw when he supposedly commandeered the privateer’s brigantine. A ship that was, in all actuality, manned by those who paid their allegiance to Estienne Du Blanc himself.

  “It will be good…eh, what is the word…retribution, yes?”

  His eyes went to Audric. “Aye, lad, ’twill be good.”

  As they eventually discovered, Elspeth’s young apprentice had unknowingly been at the heart of his mistress’s kidnapping. Having been in her inner circle, he had heard things without meaning to. Most specifically, the story of her kin’s past and of the MacLauchlin treasure. Thinking it but a tall tale, he had shared it with his grandmother on one of his rare visits home.

  Regrettably, what he never could have known was that the tale was based on truth and none other than his own kin were on the other end of that story. Worse yet, that some of those very relatives were pirates. A certain pirate to be exact.

  Estienne Du Blanc.

  So that is how the enemy learned of Elspeth and her stones.

  Stones, as it happened, that Estienne never did get his hands on that fateful night. Though it was rumored he sent men back to search, they were never found.

  Convinced that Audric was innocent of any intentional wrongdoing, Fraser tried to send him home, but he refused. Based on his anguish the eve Elspeth was taken and his fierce determination to save her, he would say the boy loved her as much as the rest of them. So Fraser helped him become a man by allowing him to join his crew and seek his vengeance.

  Besides, it didn’t hurt to have a healer along.

  Since then, Audric had filled out, learned English well enough and became Fraser’s third mate. Though his pale blond beard was still sparse and his frame more lanky than muscled, he would someday be formidable. He no longer slumped in a corner but stood tall and gazed with pride at the other ships.

  “This day we be victorious.” Eagerness lit Audric’s eyes as he clenched his dagger. “Un jour pour se souvenir.”

  Fraser clasped his shoulder and nodded, taking his meaning however incorrectly said. “Aye, lad, ’twill most certainly be that.”

  A slow, sinister smile curled Fraser’s lips as they drew closer to the area where Estienne Du Blanc would make his move. Known for dangerous coral reefs depending on the tide, the enemy had timed it just right. It was a smart location to spring a trap because maneuverability became quite tricky.

  Yet Fraser had long planned for a moment such as this and had sailed Scotland’s coasts aplenty. He’d talked at length with pirates who spent their life off the shores of Britannia and learned everything he could. He poured over nautical maps, then sailed the waters they spoke of in all types of weather, putting their knowledge to the test and learning the shores firsthand. He knew when the tides came and went and how they affected the coastline.

  As Innis often said, Fraser was a natural. Born to the sea. Be that as it may, the majority of it came from paying attention, practicing and never allowing himself to get overconfident. If he had learned nothing else, it was that the sea was to be respected as he was but a mere mortal at its whim.

  So he knew precisely how to maneuver his ship in this dangerous location as did his comrades. The key now was timing. If he guessed correctly, Estienne would pretend he and his men were attacking the brigantine. That’s when the enemy likely surmised Fraser would make his move and strike.

  Yet nothing happened quite as expected.

  Instead, the brigantine began reefing its sails and slowed.

  So Estienne would not bother with a masquerade after all? He would finally face off with Fraser like a real man? Not the pathetic, cowardly wretch he was.

  Yet there was no sign of him. Nor was there any sign of Estienne’s allied pirate crew.

  Strange.

  Too strange.

  Much like those agonizing moments right before he learned Elspeth had been taken, everything stilled inside him.

  Something was wrong.

  “Your orders, Cap’n?” his first mate Magnus asked, coming up alongside him, his eyes just as uneasy. He might be gray haired and sea-worn, but he
had more know-how and energy than men half his age.

  Fraser was about to respond when something began happening aboard the brigantine.

  “Ça ne peut pas être,” Audric stuttered before he raced to the bow, white-knuckled the railing and narrowed his eyes. “I cannot see correctly.”

  Eyes narrowed as well, Fraser shook his head in disbelief as a lass was yanked up from below and hauled roughly to the bow. Her hands were tied behind her back, and a burlap sack covered her head. A man held a blade to her neck as his eyes turned and locked with Fraser’s despite the distance.

  That wasn’t what caused Audric’s reaction though.

  No, his angst came from who she appeared to be. Petite with precisely the same sort of body and hair trailing down under the burlap, she looked eerily like Elspeth herself.

  “Cap’n?” Angus repeated. “Your orders?”

  He shook his head and tried to ignore his thundering heart. It couldn’t possibly be her…could it? Not after all this time. He kept shaking his head, as he struggled to think clearly.

  She was long dead.

  This was an illusion.

  “’Tis a trap,” he whispered. “A better laid one than expected.” He frowned, unable to tear his eyes from her. “Begin reefing the sails. Slow us down.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Magnus replied before he began barking orders to the men and they set to task.

  Though Innis’ ship slowed too, Douglas was apparently of the opposite mind as he picked up speed.

  “Nay, Brother!” Fraser roared and gestured at Magnus to pursue rather than slow.

  Innis held back so that he didn’t fall into the thick of what was surely an ambush. He would bide his time and attack from the other side.

  “Bloody hell,” Fraser muttered as he steered carefully and roared more orders to his second and third mates. “Eyes to the water! Watch the reefs.” Then he bellowed over his shoulder. “Ready the cannons!”

  Just as he figured, the French pirates had appeared and were closing in fast. Now they had the advantage with Douglas hell-bent on saving the lass.

  The way in which Estienne had planned this was clever, driving them into the most perilous area while he remained in an easier spot to navigate. More specifically, a better vantage for firing his guns.

  Fraser muttered a slew of curses as he focused on the water. Movement became more and more difficult, some spots leaving less than a fathom between the hull and sharp, damaging coral.

  “Take the helm and get us closer to the brigantine,” he ordered Magnus as he scooped up a bow and arrow. If his man got him close enough, he could shoot an arrow into the enemy’s head and be done with this. Or mayhap at least snap some sense into Douglas so the man could see straight again.

  Yet it seemed the enemy had one more trick up his sleeve.

  Rather than wait any longer, the man holding the lass sliced her throat.

  Though somewhere in the back of his mind, Fraser knew it could not possibly be Elspeth, that same still feeling overcame him. The same crippling deadness he had felt when he heard the news of her death. Not a sense of focus by any means, but a lapse in time when he could not think or see straight.

  Only one thing got through beyond a haze of resurrected grief.

  Estienne Du Blanc had once again outsmarted him by using his vengeance against him. Because within his vengeance was his love for Elspeth. And that was a weakness to be exploited. As he watched the woman’s body sink beneath the water, he realized how vulnerable he had always been. Still was.

  Not so vulnerable however that he didn’t come to attention when a cannon boomed and barely missed his mainmast. That was all it took. That’s what pulled him free.

  Because without that mast, they were dead in the water.

  Everything he had learned snapped into focus as his eyes swept over the sea. In one fell swoop, he gauged the wind speed, their precise location amongst the reefs, the glare of the sun, each and every cloud and when it might block that glare. Most importantly, he took into account the height of the waves.

  Fully aware the cannon had come from one of the enemy ships and that Estienne was closing in fast on his stern, he rejoined Magnus. Not surprisingly, after he discreetly relayed his instructions, his first mate narrowed his eyes. While any in their right mind would question Fraser’s orders, Magnus had seen him pull off great feats at sea. That paid off now because though his first mate eyed him for another moment, Magnus finally clasped him on the shoulder and nodded before he raced below deck.

  Hands on the helm and eyes to the water, Fraser began counting. Three, two, one until the timing was perfect and he roared, “Boom about!” then cranked the wheel hard. His warning gave his lookout in the Crow’s Nest just enough time to strap down and the rest of the crew to brace themselves and duck as the ship turned fast and the boom swung.

  Not expecting Fraser to make such a bold move in dangerous waters, he heard the roaring ruckus of the enemy’s crew as new orders were given. Legs braced, all his weight against the wheel, his gaze narrowed on the man standing at the other helm.

  At long last, he locked eyes with his sworn enemy.

  As rumor had told, Estienne Du Blanc was a slight man with a thin, greasy mustache and a too-square chin. His forehead was broad and his skin overly smooth considering how far back his long black hair was receded. Even so, there was a sharp intelligence in his beady eyes.

  Eyes that were wrought with frustration right now.

  Moments later, Fraser’s cannons fired broadside.

  It was not only a dangerous move on such a tight turn in gusty winds, but some might think a novice one. Mainly because the ship was already heavily lolled. Add the force of the cannons firing off one side and the ship tilted dangerously while at the same time fired inaccurately.

  Yet he knew what his vessel was capable of and had one goal in mind. To make Estienne think him an unworthy adversary so he didn’t see Fraser’s true intentions until it was too late. To that affect, MacDougall and his imposing ships appearing on the horizon just then could not have happened at a more perfect time.

  While Estienne’s allied pirate crew had indeed shown up with several ships, they didn’t have nearly enough to face off with the MacDougall and live. So it came as no surprise when they turned about and hightailed it in the opposite direction.

  Innis and Douglas raised their red flags signaling no quarter would be given and were already attacking Estienne’s ships. That, in turn, left Estienne sitting vulnerable as Fraser came about and headed his way.

  He would never forget the look on his enemy’s face as it dawned on him what Fraser had intended all along. Not to sink him with cannons but fight hand to fist and have his revenge. He would not receive a swift death by drowning but a much slower, more tortuous one at the end of Fraser’s jagged-edged blade.

  First, though, he would cripple his ship.

  Any pirate worth their salt knew better than to attempt to board Fraser’s ship with good reason. He had razor sharp crescent blades attached to the outer most edge of his masts. So Estienne knew precisely what Fraser was up to as he loomed closer and closer. Because The Sea Rogue’s blades were hellishly long and lethal.

  There would be no turning. No getting away.

  Fraser had him trapped.

  Soon enough, his ship came alongside Estienne’s, shredding his sails to bits. Meanwhile, Fraser’s men perched on the fighting platforms halfway up the mainmast and foremast began raining down arrows on the enemy’s vulnerable crew. Seconds later, The Sea Rogue’s gangplank dropped, slamming down on the side of Estienne’s ship before Fraser’s men roared and began attacking.

  Eyes on Estienne, Fraser joined in the fray, slashing down any man that stood in his way. Not truly seeing any he killed he ran his blade across one faceless man’s throat before he impaled the next. He tossed one overboard then snapped the neck of another.

  All the while, he moved ever closer to the stairs leading to the helm.

  All the whil
e, he kept ready the blade that would carve out Estienne’s heart.

  His pulse raced in sweet anticipation. The moment he had waited seven hundred and forty-two days for had finally arrived. There would be no more sleepless nights as rage consumed him. No more waiting and biding his time as he thought up clever ways to disembowel his enemy.

  Unfortunately, he was so bound and determined to at last reap his vengeance that he never saw what hit him when he began bounding up the stairs toward Estienne. Having used the railings on either side to gain momentum, a scrawny boy with a heavy knit cap kicked him hard in the chest.

  He staggered, tried to gain his footing but instead landed flat on his back. Mystified that someone had managed to take him down, he peered up, but the glare of the sun made it difficult to see. Frustrated that this half pint had kept him from his prey, his warrior instincts kicked in, and he paid attention to details.

  The inexperienced grip the boy had on the hilt of his sword.

  How his overly cocky swagger was at odds with the telling furrow of his brow.

  This child was a novice. He had gotten lucky with that kick.

  It would not happen again.

  Prepared to take him down quickly, he lurched onto one knee and swept his leg around. Rather than trip and fall, the boy leapt then did his own swift spin and caught Fraser in his shoulder. A blink later, still taking advantage of the sun behind him, the boy’s blade nearly got by his defenses, but he intercepted it a mere fraction from his face.

  Bloody hell, the lad knew how to fight after all.

  Now that he had a better idea of what he faced, he counterattacked, leaping to his feet and intimidating with his height and strength. As his opponent came at him, he paid close attention to the lad’s every move. His thrusts were well-timed and perfectly executed as he kept the sun in Fraser’s eyes.