by Julia Knight
The Pirate’s Lady
By Julia Knight
There’s a price on privateer Van Gast’s head. So high that Van is tempted to turn himself in for the reward, then escape with it. Escaping with full pockets is what he does best. He managed to steal a ship, a bride, a dowry, a diamond the size of a fist—and then disappear without a trace.
But this time, he can’t go very far. The woman of his dreams, his Josie, has stolen his ship and is leading him on a merry chase dangerously close to Estovan, the one place Van Gast should steer clear of…
89,000 words
Dear Reader,
June is a good month for us here at Carina Press. Why? Because it’s the month we first started publishing books! This June marks our two-year anniversary of publishing books, and to celebrate, we’re featuring only return Carina Press authors throughout the month. Each author with a June release is one who has published with us previously, and who we’re thrilled to have return with another book!
In addition to featuring only return authors, we’re offering two volumes of Editor’s Choice collections. Volume I contains novellas from three of our rising stars in their respective romance subgenres: Shannon Stacey with contemporary romance novella Slow Summer Kisses, Cindy Spencer Pape with steampunk romance Kilts & Kraken, and Adrienne Giordano with romantic suspense novella Negotiating Point.
From the non-romance genres comes Editor’s Choice Volume II, and four fantastic novellas: paranormal mystery Dance of Flames by Janni Nell, science-fiction Pyro Canyon by Robert Appleton, humorous action-adventure No Money Down by Julie Moffett, and Dead Calm, a mystery novella from Shirley Wells.
Later in June, those collections are joined by a selection of genres designed to highlight the diversity of Carina Press books. Janis Susan May returns with another horror suspense novel, Timeless Innocents, following up her fantastic horror debut, Lure of the Mummy. Mystery author Jean Harrington offers up The Monet Murders, the next installment in her Murders By Design series. And the wait is over for fans of Shawn Kupfer’s debut science-fiction thriller, 47 Echo, with the release of the sequel, Supercritical. Rounding out the offerings for mystery fans, W. Soliman offers up Risky Business, the next novel in The Hunter Files.
Romance fans need not dismay, we have plenty more to offer you as well, starting with The Pirate’s Lady, a captivating fantasy romance from author Julia Knight. Coleen Kwan pens a captivating steampunk romance in Asher’s Invention, and fans of m/m will be invested in Alex Beecroft’s emotional historical novella His Heart’s Obsession.
If it’s a little naughty time you’re longing for, be sure to check out Lilly Cain’s Undercover Alliance, a sizzling science-fiction erotic romance.
We’re proud to showcase these returning authors, and the amazing books they’ve written. We hope you’ll join us as we move into our third year of publishing, and continue to bring you stories, characters and authors you can love!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
To Nicola and her white-blond dreads.
Acknowledgments
All the usual suspects—Absolute Write for first class publishing/writing information; the T Party writers’ group for in-person encouragement, LOLs and curry; Deb Nemeth for patiently explaining where I’ve gone wrong; and my family for putting up with me.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
Van Gast eyed the man’s ring—emerald and diamonds. Very nice. He might have to steal it. No, not might, he would have to steal it. He glanced over at Holden, who was looking stern and disapproving, and suppressed a grin. Holden would have a whole litter of kittens, but it might be worth it just for that.
Van Gast’s swift brown hands juggled the cups over the makeshift table, swooping and swirling. He didn’t watch the cups, he didn’t need to, but kept his gaze on the mark. “Roll up, roll up, find the lady, win a prize.”
The mark with the emerald ring watched with sharp eyes. A merchanter by his clothes, all ruffles and brocade and pig fat slicking back his hair. The smart breeches were tight enough that Van Gast could tell the shape of his kneecaps. More importantly, he was a rich merchanter, if the ring was anything to go by. An opportunity not to miss. Van Gast made sure to fumble the cups a little—not too obvious, but enough that a sharp-eyed man would find the lady, win a prize. Enough to hook him like a fish.
The mark didn’t hesitate but pointed straight to the right-hand cup. Van Gast lifted it and feigned disappointment. A mermaid perched on a rock on the top of the bone die. “Well done, sir. Well done.”
Van Gast handed over the prize, two golden sharks to the silver seal the mark had laid down. No ordinary coins though. Holden’s face grew ever sterner as he watched the mark laugh it up with his colleagues and continue down the shabby street.
It took moments before the table was once again odd bits of planking. If only Van Gast could change from these drab gray clothes he’d been stuck with. One reason they’d stopped at Bilsen, to try to restock.
Only Bilsen was a cruddy little fishing village with not much to boast about except a stench that could make a grown man weep and a passable ale whose main attribute was it dulled the sense of smell. Van Gast had poked about and discovered that the town also had no guards, and currently most of the men were away to sea. More interestingly, some rich traders were wandering the muddy street who looked as out of place here as Van Gast would look in a temple. So, no nice new clothes for Van Gast, but an opportunity—and he never passed those up if he could help it.
He hadn’t a hope of scamming them on his own—Holden wasn’t yet a racketeer, not in his head, though Van Gast was intent on teaching him if it killed him, or both of them. He grinned at the thought of what Holden’s face would look like when he let him in on the plan—it’d look like a slapped arse, if he was any judge. About time he let himself have a little fun.
Fun had been thin on the ground just lately, and Van Gast was bored. Today looked like livening things up.
* * *
Three hours and several ales later, Van Gast and Holden stood outside a house that sat against a hill above the rest of the village.
“Tell me again,” Holden said, disapproval in the set of his mouth.
“We’re going to steal that ring, plus whatever else crops up. Look, like it or not, you’re a rack now, you’ve got to start thinking like one. You can sail, I’ll give you that, but you’re pretty shit at Find the Lady, either playing the cups or playing the shill. You can’t lie to save your life, so a good twisting con is out. Looks like theft is all you have left. Three rich merchanters, in this little village? No guards, no one really around, and at the least a very nice emerald ring. Maybe you cou
ld give it to Ilsa.”
Holden scowled at the mention of his wife. “She wouldn’t want a stolen ring.”
“You don’t tell her it’s stolen. Besides, I don’t think its current owner is being very legal. Why else would they be here in this backwater? Something secret or illegal, I’m betting. Or both. Look, here they come. Too late to back out now.”
Van Gast melted back into the shadows, pulling Holden with him. Four men, not three, came down the street. Excellent. All the more things to steal. The man they’d seen earlier wasn’t with them, but Van Gast knew he, and the ring, were in the house. The golden sharks he’d handed over had been specially treated for just this sort of thing and his ship’s mage had traced them here.
His little-magics were an itch behind his ribs, just a tickle as yet. A honed instinct that some mainlanders had, and Van Gast’s ran one way—they told him of trouble. But the itch was no more than usual, the anticipation of a little smash and grab, the warning it could go tits up. Not enough to worry him unduly, and anyway, being stupid for the excitement was what he lived for. If his little-magics weren’t tickling just a little, he wasn’t living, and they’d not tickled for weeks. Now it was time for some fun, and to show Holden just what being a rack was all about.
The merchanters glanced around before they entered the house, but not too closely, not so they saw Holden and Van Gast lurking in the shadows. Fools, to be so complacent, but maybe that was what made Bilsen so perfect. So small and out of the way, they expected no trouble.
“All right, lesson number one,” Van Gast said. “If it all goes tits-up, run like fuck.”
“You’re not inspiring me with confidence. We should go back to the ship, back to—”
“Lesson number two,” Van Gast interrupted. He wasn’t about to let the staid Holden ruin his fun. “Be quiet and quick. You wait for me to get in the back. As soon as you hear anything, you go in the front. Those men are doing a trade deal or I’m an elephant, and where there’s trade there’s cash. Grab what you can, don’t get caught and we meet back at the ship.”
It’d be a hard slog—at his insistence they’d left the Glass Dagger a safe distance away from the tiny harbor here, over a rocky ridge and hiding in a cove fringed with thick jungle.
“Van, I’m not—”
Van Gast didn’t give him time to finish but ghosted round the side of the house, relishing a return to what he knew—thieving, scamming, maybe some light skullduggery. Stupid but thrilling, what he lived for.
For cruddy little Bilsen, it was a fair house. For anywhere else it was one step up from a slum, which at least meant it’d be easier to break into. For all his talk, it had been a while since burglary had been on Van Gast’s agenda and he took his time checking the lay of the land.
The back of the house tumbled into a small hill which formed part of the back wall, with an outhouse propped against it as an afterthought. The all-over stink of Bilsen had numbed his nose so the extra smell barely registered. He got himself on the hill level with the second floor window, where the lights were brightest through sacking curtains. His heart stuttered—this wasn’t just stupid-but-exciting. With only him and Holden, it was past stupid and into idiotic. He didn’t care anymore. All he cared about was trying to recapture who he was, get back the fun in being a racketeer, in not caring about rules, not even knowing what the rules were. He wanted to feel the fear/joy thud his heart till it burst, he wanted to run, to chase and be chased and laugh at it, to feel alive.
Fuck it, he had to do this, had to get back to who he was. He pasted a grin on and slid his knife along the lock. He was rewarded with the softest of clicks and pushed the window open as slow as he could. Gently, gently.
“—so we thought we’d best contact you,” a voice was saying. “We hear you’re collecting them.”
The lamp was just by the curtain. If he took that out, he had a chance. Van Gast, against four men, maybe more? No problem. He was Van Gast, scourge of the western coast, the rack to beware of, the one they all wanted to beat. He shut his eyes to prepare them for the darkness he intended to make.
“Only a hundred golden sharks,” the voice said. “That’s all we’re asking.”
Excellent—maybe a bonus was in the offing.
With his eyes shut, sound became sharper, clearer. The muted slap of the sea along the shingle beach. A hum of activity down by the inn. The lonely call of a night bird. Someone else outside with him, an indrawn breath quick and sharp, surprised perhaps.
He kept his eyes shut but listened again. No sounds close except the men in the room. The man with the ring was on the right, from his voice. Aim for him first. No one outside with Van Gast, no extra breath he could hear. Good.
He thrust open the window as far as it would go, knocking the lamp to the floor and sending its flame to darkness. On the instant he leaped over the sill and into a room full of shouting men. With eyes open now, and with the advantage of his night vision kept intact, Van Gast made straight for the mark with the ring. A swift blow from the butt of his pistol and the man went down like a felled ox.
Shouts swirled around him as he knelt, pulled the ring off and made a quick search of the man’s pockets. A door banged open, and Van Gast hoped it was Holden come to back him up—he could see well enough to steal, but faces were indistinct, blurry in the faint light leaking through the window. He got up and checked around, his back to a wall just in case, ready to leg it out of the window as soon as it started looking too risky.
Holden was here—the pent-up way he moved gave him away. He’d let two men out through the door, running as though their backsides were on fire, and got another man to the floor but instead of robbing him, stood as though bewildered. “Van, I—”
“Van Gast?”
They both whirled to the whispering voice. It was too dark to see the face other than to note the dim glint of eyes. Not so dark Van Gast couldn’t see the gun pointing at him, the gleam of light along the oiled barrel. He didn’t need the little-magics flaring into life in his chest to know trouble when he saw it.
“Van Gast, I arrest you in the name of the Yelen.”
The Yelen? Oh, shit on a stick. He was in enough trouble with them as it was—the small matter of a large diamond. Now he’d just compounded his trouble, and trouble with the Yelen often meant trouble finding your own head after they’d chopped it off.
Van Gast shoved at Holden to go, but there was no room for him as the barrel raised. Holden stumbled as someone caught him on the back of the head, and then he was a pile of lifeless limbs on the floor.
No time for that, for anything. The gun was coming for him and his little-magics weren’t just shouting, they were screaming out, get the fuck out! He agreed with them completely.
There was no way out. Holden and the man who’d taken him down blocked the door and another dark figure lurked at the window. No way out, and no time.
The figure at the window leaped a fraction of a heartbeat before Van Gast did, knocked the gun from the man’s hand just as it went off, sending the bullet skipping over the ceiling. The flash blinded Van Gast, but it didn’t matter—what mattered was the joy/fear, the thud of his heart telling him he was still alive, still alive. For now.
The figure from the window and the gunman struggled, but only briefly. A thwack of sword-hilt on skull and the gunman slumped to the floor. No telling who the other figure was, friend or foe, though his little-magics were still telling him to get out. He listened to them, backed away and reached down to grab Holden, having forgotten the other man at his back in the excitement.
“Van, can’t you go anywhere without getting into trouble?” A low, smoky voice, one he knew and had feared he might never hear again.
Joshing Josie grinned in the dark, the grin that was a world of trouble for someone, pulled out a second pistol and shot the man behind Van Gast. Another gun, primed and ready to shoot Van Gast in the back, fell with a clatter.
Van Gast didn’t move, couldn’t move. He stayed sti
ll as death while Josie took her time locking the door and lighting the lamp.
The guttering tallow lit her face in all kinds of tempting ways, flickered over the hood that hid her far-too-obvious white-blond hair, slid tauntingly over the close-fitting leather breeches that showed off her litheness, the way she was built like a dancer, full of fluid grace. Joshing Josie, supposedly his bitterest rival, his dearest enemy, and instead the one who got away. The one he’d never stopped chasing, never stopped loving. The stupid-but-exciting thing, the never-quite-in-his-grasp thing, and that was never truer than now.
The hood obscured her eyes, but he thought he saw a tremor on her lips, a hint of uncertainty, of vulnerability, quickly hidden by the lopsided grin that always made his stomach flip, the one that meant one of three things.
Van Gast took a deep breath and his life in his hands. “So, you killed one, meant to rob another. Does that mean I get the delight?”
The sharp grin dissolved into a laugh and he ploughed on before she could say anything.
“I’ve been looking for you.” And he had—had thought of little else. Only her, her laugh, her look, her love that he’d thrown away. Everything else had been nothing but a distraction from the thought of her.
She turned away and knelt to rifle the pockets of one of the men. Her voice was studied nonchalance, but the undercurrent was plain. “Really? I’m not hard to find, not for a rack of your caliber. The rack, aren’t you, the one they all want to beat? Yet you couldn’t find me, except by accident, despite me leaving a trail a blind man could follow. Anyone would think you were avoiding me. That’s not good for your reputation. They’ll all think you’re scared of me.”
He dared not move, because any word of his might be the wrong word, any movement might be the thing that would make her leave. Yet all he wanted was to hold her, kiss her till she forgot what he’d done, what they’d both done.
“Now here you are, interrupting a good twist.” She turned over the man who’d wanted to arrest Van Gast. “Gods damn, it’s Arden. A Yelen man. How am I supposed to twist him if he’s dead?”
