Plunder by Knight

by Mia Pride

  Lucifer, Remy, Felix, and Curtiz moved to the stern of the ship, listening to the cannonballs sail off into the mist. Quickly, the sound began to fade and they knew they were safely out of the Spanish range. There was a palpable sense of relief, but there was also a sense of triumph that the Spanish and their surprise attack hadn’t worked.

  “They have no idea where we are now,” Remy said confidently. “They must be using depth readings to figure out where they are in relation to Perran and to the coast. The sooner we return to Perran Castle, the better.”

  Beside him, Curtiz grunted. “The better question is how they knew we were here in the first place,” he said, turning to the others. “These are our waters, so why are they here?”

  Lucifer shrugged, glancing at the big, blond seaman who faintly resembled Constantine. “It is no secret that our presence is heavy in these waters,” he said. “It is quite possible they are looking for us, or it is equally likely they are simply looking for other victims. Our sails were not unfurled so, in this fog, it is quite possible they do not even know it was us. They have merely seen a shape.”

  Curtiz turned his attention back to the fog, which seemed to be lifting ever so slightly. “Or they are looking for Constantine and his new wife,” he muttered. “Word that Con has gone on a wedding trip has spread, and I have little doubt that our enemies have heard. Mayhap, they are even testing out these waters with the Sea-God away. Mayhap, they will challenge our supremacy.”

  That was a good point and one that had crossed Lucifer’s mind. He glanced up at the sky, seeing flashes of blue through the white mist. Soon enough, the fog would clear and it would be a beautiful day with soft sea breezes and the gulls crying overhead. But for Lucifer, there was much more to the day than simply the sky or the sea. He grunted.

  “Then they will be sorely disappointed if they test me,” he said. “While Con is in France with Lady le Brecque enjoying his wedding trip, I am in command of his Legion and anyone who challenges that command will be met with a firm and deadly hand. They would be foolish to try.”

  He said it in a tone that left no room for doubt, and Remy grinned as he listened to the boast. But it wasn’t so much of a boast as it was the truth. As Constantine’s First Mate, Lucifer had always been one to follow his leader without question, commanding when it was necessary, and conveying the impression that one did not contest his ways and live to tell the tale. But with the event of Constantine putting him in command of Poseidon’s Legion, and his empire, while he was away, Lucifer’s stoic and ominous manner had taken on dimension. Now, he had the full feel of a captain behind him, which made the man that much more terrifying.

  Remy had no intention of crossing him.

  “Aye, my lord,” he said. “Now that we are heading back to Perran Castle with the Spanish at our backs, what will your first order of business be?”

  Lucifer glanced at him. “It will be the same as it was when we left Eynon Bay,” he said. “We are heading home with a hold full of fine goods that we took from the merchant vessel foolish enough to drop anchor where they should not have. Once there, we will offload it, pay the men what they are due for the haul, and then I must deal with a few issues that have been left to my care in the wake of Con’s departure.”

  “Like what?”

  “Several, but the first ones that comes to mind are those two heiresses that we have imprisoned at Perran. I told Con that I would deal with them.”

  Remy knew who he was speaking of. Last month, they’d intercepted a heavily-laden merchant vessel crossing from Ireland to the port of Plymouth. It has been a very rich vessel and they’d taken a huge haul from it, including the two daughters of the merchant who owned the ship. The women had been taken back to Perran and imprisoned, at Constantine’s orders, until it was decided what to do with them.

  Ransoming them back to their father was one thing, or they could very well be auctioned off to pirates willing to pay their price. Constantine had been busy with his marriage, so the duty of deciding their fate had fallen to Lucifer, and Lucifer had been putting it off for weeks. They didn’t normally take female prisoners for any length of time, so Lucifer didn’t want to put it off too much longer. He needed to make a decision and get on with it. He had more important things to worry about than two disruptive females.

  “I’d nearly forgotten about them,” Remy said. “As I recall, they were both rather pretty. What do you intend to do with them?”

  Lucifer watched a gull fly overhead, disappearing into the fog. “Something,” he muttered, turning away from the railing. “Anything. With Con away, I have enough to worry over without having to deal with a pair of she-cats. Mayhap, I shall auction them off and keep the money for myself.”

  “Oh?” Remy was interested. He had an eye for pretty women, and they for him. “How much will you ask for the pair?”

  Lucifer pushed himself off the rail and began to head towards the bow. “I have not yet decided,” he said as he walked away. “But for you, the price is doubled, whatever it is.”

  Remy smirked. “As I recall, the elder one was quite the spitfire,” he called after Lucifer. “You may have to pay me to take her off your hands if no one else wants her.”

  Lucifer simply waved him off, knowing that would never be the case. The elder daughter – he’d forgotten her name – was, indeed, a spitfire. But she was also quite fine, as he recalled. She would bring a fine price should he decide to sell her, and perhaps an even finer price should he ransom her back to her father. Either way, she was his responsibility and he was going to make it worth his while.

  As Lucifer departed for the bow, and Remy and Felix went about their business, Curtiz remained at the stern. He had been listening to the conversation quite carefully. He knew of the female captives because he’d been at Perran Castle when the ship bearing the women had come ashore. And he had been the one to settle the women in their new prison home.

  Curtiz had been their jailor for the most part, at least in those first few early days. And as their jailor, he’d observed much. Mostly, he’d observed that no one seemed to be paying much attention to the women in the wake of Constantine’s marriage. Being that the women were being ignored, and that they were a valuable commodity, Curtiz did what pirates do – made the most of an opportunity, even if it was under the nose of his leader.

  And that was why the Spanish were here.

  Only, he wasn’t going to tell Lucifer any of that. He would pretend he had no idea why the Spanish had come. But the truth was that the Spanish had come to Perran Castle on his invitation to take on the daughters of a wealthy merchant so they could negotiate with the women’s father. Even if the Spanish pirates didn’t return the women to their desperate father, the women were both quite beautiful and would make fine concubines for the Spanish pirates.

  But it was all for a price… and Curtiz was demanding a high price, one that the Spanish were willing to pay. After the loss of the Leucosia, they saw it as a great opportunity to take something from Constantine le Brecque, something of value, and Curtiz was more than willing to be the intermediary for the transfer.

  The truth was that he didn’t have any real loyalty to Constantine or Poseidon’s Legion. He’d been bouncing around since his service to de Nerra and his only purpose in life was to make money, so the opportunity with the two female captives had been too good to pass up. They would be gone before Lucifer or Constantine realized they had been taken and, God willing, so would Curtiz. He planned to take the money from the Spanish and run.

  But meanwhile, he would play the loyal pirate, at least for as long as it suited him. He was a good warrior, an even better sailor, and those skills had been impressed upon Constantine and his crew. He pretended to think as they did and, so far, the ruse had worked.

  But he was in this only for himself, as he would soon prove.

  Unfortunately, Lucifer was ignorant of the thoughts of a man he was slowly learning to trust. At the moment, he was more concerned with the Melinoe
making port before the Spanish figured out they had escaped. The fog had begun to lift and the ship was making excellent time, drawing closer to Perran Castle along the western coast of Cornwall. In fact, the fogbank remained to the south as they passed out of it, leaving the Spanish buried in the mist and still out to sea.

  With fair skies ahead and the wind at their back, the Melinoe glided gently into Perranporth Cove beneath the enormous citadel of Perran Castle, and the anchor was thrown into the soft, white sand bottom. Then, and only then, did Lucifer breathe a sigh of relief, for his ship had come home safely and the booty they’d collected from an ill-placed merchant vessel near the coast of Ireland was quickly offloaded and taken up to the great vaults of the castle.

  Lucifer was the last man to leave the ship, heading up to the castle as carpenters began to comb over the Melinoe to repair what damage there was from the Spanish cannonballs. It was barely mid-morning, but Lucifer was already thinking about a good meal and a soft bed. He’d been at sea with his men for nearly eight days, so he was anxious to see what had gone on in his absence and administer Constantine’s empire as best he could. But he was seriously thinking that all of that could wait until he’d been fed and rested.

  Except for the women captives. His conversation with Remy had brought them to light again, something he’d put aside for so long that thinking of them again brought instant distaste. Damnation, he’d already put them off long enough, and something was nagging at him to see to the women before he took care of his own needs. Given that there was some guilt with the way the women had been caged up for so long, he didn’t want to put it off any longer. He needed to get it over with, and the women had to know they hadn’t been forgotten and that their fates would soon be determined.

  In hindsight, his choice to visit the captives that day would be a decision that changed his life.

  * * *

  Read the rest of SEA WOLFE by Kathryn Le Veque

  Excerpt from THE BLOOD REAVER

  Enjoy this except from Barbara Devlin’s Pirates of Britannia World Novel

  CHAPTER ONE

  March, 1680

  It was not the most ideal introduction, to meet a beautiful young woman at the wrong end of a three-barrel flintlock pistol, which she stole from an unoccupied table, while the owner got his nutmegs sucked. Garbed in a fancy blue dress, with a matching ruffled contraption on her head, she did not belong in one of the most violent brothels in Port Royal. Biting her bottom lip, she adjusted the gun in her grip, belying the fact that she possessed little if any experience with weapons, and crept further into the whorehouse.

  “Hello.” Her hand shook, as she took aim at the crowd, in general. “I do not wish to be rude or cause trouble, but someone stole my trunk, which was sitting in front of this fine establishment, while I asked for directions, and I would like the return of my belongings, please.”

  A fiddler screeched a bawdy tune, as several cup-shots took a flyer with a rough collection of three-penny uprights, in the back. At the bar, Turner Reyson, a pirate known on the high seas as the Blood Reaver, studied the pretty bit o’ fluff, while everyone else ignored her, downed his rum, dragged his sleeve across his mouth, and navigated the tables, to get a closer look at his potential prey, given he had yet to fill his bed. Just as he drew near, she cocked the pistol, pointed toward the ceiling, closed her eyes, scrunched her face, and pulled the trigger.

  The shot echoed, and she started and shrieked, as quiet fell on the bordello.

  Halting in his tracks, he snickered and waited to see what she did for an encore, but if she were half as spirited between the sheets, he would be a happy man.

  “I beg your pardon.” She cleared her throat, as he moved behind her, for close inspection. From beneath her bonnet, he spied sweet little brown curls at the nape of her neck, and his fingertips itched to toy with a thick lock. “I am so sorry to disturb you, but I must have my things.” She stepped forward, and Turner splayed his arms to part his fellow buccaneers. “Now, my mother and my brother wait for me, outside, and I cannot leave without recovering my property.”

  “Watch out, men.” Turner chuckled, given the chit’s moxie. “I would rather set sail on a Friday, with a Jonah, than tangle with an armed, angry woman.” To hoots and hollers, he raised his hands. “Come on, swabs, humor the little lady.”

  In unison, the motely crew of raiders and whores parodied his stance and howled with laughter.

  “But, I am serious.” She peered over her shoulder, and he glimpsed glorious blue eyes and lush red lips he could not wait to sample. “I must recover my trunk.” She waved the pistol in the air. “Whoever took it should be ashamed, because it is wrong to steal.”

  “Can you describe the item in question?” a grey-haired salt asked, in a mocking timbre.

  “Yes.” The pistol fired, and she screamed, when a lantern shattered above the bar, and Red Doyle, the bartender, ducked for cover, along with everyone else. In that moment, she glanced at Turner. “Did I do that?”

  “Aye.” He nodded and bit his tongue against a guffaw, as she struggled with the weight of the weapon, and he did not want her angry with him. “Be careful, before you hurt yourself or someone else.”

  “Oh, dear.” With a lethal pout, which he wagered could bring the most ornery pirate to his knees, she addressed Doyle. “I hope you are all right, but I seek my trunk, which is made of camphor wood, with red painted leather, featuring floral motifs, and the initials RA on the top.”

  “Lady, Skip Peterson has it, and he’s over there.” Doyle pointed to the offending party, and she marched forth, with Turner in her wake. “He’s the one in the floppy black hat.”

  “Aw, come on, Doyle.” Perched atop the trunk in question, Skip pounded his fist on the table. “Finders, keepers.”

  “How dare you take my things.” The fascinating creature stomped a foot. “You could at least display a modicum of contrition, because you stole my trunk, and I insist you give it back, this instant.”

  “Oh?” Skip stood and rotated to face her. “Who is going to make me?” He surveyed her from top to toe, and Turner could almost read the thief’s thoughts. “You?”

  “Peterson, carry the trunk outside, and put it where you found it.” Turner folded his arms. “Now.”

  “I didn’t know she was with you, Reyson.” Peterson scratched his temple and shuffled his feet. Then he smacked another tar. “Here, now. Give me a hand with the lady’s trunk.”

  “You swiped it.” The burley swab chuckled. “So, you may ask my arse, because it is not worth the fight.”

  “Oh, all right.” With a grimace, Peterson hefted the fancy coffer. “Where do you want it?”

  “Where I left it.” Despite her frippery, the wench showed courage, as she tapped her foot. “And have care with my property, as the trunk was a gift from my father.”

  “My lady, I am your most humble servant.” Of course, Peterson taunted her, but she appeared oblivious. “What else do you require? Shall I wipe your—”

  “Please, do not be crude, as I would conclude this most irksome business, posthaste.” At the entrance, Peterson continued outside, but she paused, set the weapon on the table, from where she claimed it, faced the crowd, and smiled. “Thank you, so much, for your cooperation. You have been very kind.”

  To Turner’s disgust, a couple of buccaneers actually stood and saluted her. As she stepped into the sunlight, a cheer erupted from the brothel, and he cursed under his breath.

  At the roadside, a portly woman withered beneath a frilly parasol and fanned herself, while a young lad lingered at her side, and both eyed Turner with a healthy dose of scrutiny absent in their fetching relation, to her detriment, because he presented a very real threat to her.

  Without acknowledgement, Peterson dumped the chest and brushed past Turner, and he gave his attention to the skirt.

  “I see you found your things.” The scamp scowled at Turner. “Who is this gentleman?”

  “I am no gentleman.” Turner ac
tually took offense to the mere suggestion, as it left a foul taste in his mouth. “And you should not insult me, when I extended my support to the lady.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot about you.” She blinked. Now that hurt, because he had no trouble filling his bunk. “Clinton, mind your manners, because this gentle—nice man supported my cause, and I owe him a debt of gratitude, which we are honor-bound to discharge.”

  “I have no interest in your gratitude or your honor.” At the end of his tether, Turner folded his arms, planted his feet, and wondered how long it would take him to get between her thighs. “Well, are you going to tell me your name, or am I to guess?”

  “Forgive my impudence, sir, but it has been a rather taxing day, and I am a tad out of sorts.” She squared her shoulders. “I am Rose Armistead, this is my mother, Bettine Armistead, and this is my brother, Clinton Armistead. We are pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “I am not.” Clinton narrowed his stare. “And I shall be hanged before I claim otherwise.”

  “Clinton.” As her cheeks shaded red, Rose compressed her lips and then met Turner’s gaze. “My apologies, as my brother has been unwell and is still recovering. To whom do I owe my thanks, good sir?”

  “I am neither good nor a sir, and you would do well to remember that.” Just as he prepared to inform her of his true occupation, he reconsidered his tack, given his pirate name would inspire more fear than confidence. “I am Captain Turner Reyson.”

  “A captain?” Rose clasped her hands beneath her chin and bounced on her toes. “Can it be possible that fortune smiles upon us, after our difficulties, of late? Are you by chance master of a ship, Captain Reyson?”

  “Aye.” He nodded once, more than a little confused by her expression, as he revisited the niceties and the proper address she would expect from a regular seaman. “I command the Malevolent, Miss Armistead.”