The Pirate's Lady

by Tricia Schneider

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Tricia Schneider

  The Pirate’s Lady

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Other Books You Might Enjoy

  Also Available

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “I no longer travel your path. You sail without me, my friend.”

  She pushed her bare toes into the grainy sand and stood, brushing the remaining sand that clung to her petticoats. In the silence of the crashing waves, she turned and walked away.

  Inside, her heart bled. Yet, she deserved no better. Her life led to this heartache. That she walked away from this man now, after all this time only confirmed it.

  “Arianne, you’re coming with me.”

  His serious tone warned her of his intentions. She spun to face him, unsheathing her sword in time to block his attack. The sound of metal striking metal pierced the moonlit darkness. Her ears rang with the sound.

  They stood, neither moving. She stared into his eyes. “You would take me by force?”

  “Never by force,” his voice lowered to a growl. “You will come willingly.” And he smiled, that knowing one she hated.

  She let out a howl of outrage and swung her sword. He easily blocked. They stepped a deadly dance of striking blades, until again they were trapped by heated gazes.

  Her breathing was heavy, labored, filled with excitement. She looked at his lips, wanting to taste them but knowing she dared not. Her will was never strong around him. With one touch she might lose herself and want him again for forever. But that dream would never be achievable with Marco.

  With him, she’d always be alone.

  Praise for Tricia Schneider

  “Tricia Schneider has earned a new fan in this reviewer! Her writing [in THE WITCH AND THE WOLF] flowed with poetic mastery, keeping me glued to the pages from the beginning until ‘the end.’”

  ~LynnMarie, Happily Ever After Reviews

  ~*~

  “With its well-written storyline, and delightfully gothic mood throughout, [THE WITCH AND THE VAMPIRE] is an absolutely pleasurable reading experience.”

  ~Laurie, Coffee Time Romance & More

  ~*~

  “Tricia Schneider’s writing makes you feel like you are right there living the story.”

  ~Stacey Krug, Siren Book Reviews

  ~*~

  “A true storyteller, Tricia Schneider kept me tied to my seat in anticipation of what’s to happen next [in THE WITCH’S KISS].”

  ~Kay Quintin, Fresh Fiction

  The Pirate’s Lady

  by

  Tricia Schneider

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Pirate’s Lady

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Tricia Schneider

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by RJ Morris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Tea Rose Edition, 2016

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1065-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedications

  To my best friends, Jamie and Larissa…

  ~*~

  Jamie, no matter how much distance is between us,

  our friendship always keeps us together.

  Thank you for dragging me out of the house when we were kids and giving me memories we can always share.

  I admire your bravery, strength,

  and laughter in the face of adversity.

  You smile to hide your pain,

  making you the bravest woman I know.

  I’m honored that you call me friend.

  ~*~

  Larissa, thank you for listening to me rant about

  my woes and encouraging me to pursue my dreams.

  Our talks are therapeutic and necessary for my sanity.

  I admire your determination and tenacity

  for making your dreams a reality.

  I’m very grateful that you chose this place

  (of all places in the world!) to move to

  so that we could meet and become such good friends.

  ~*~

  Also, a special thank you to Ash Krafton, for her friendship, wisdom and advice. I enjoy our writerly discussions and our shared book signings.

  May there be many more in our future!

  Chapter One

  Barbados 1720

  “I’ve come for what’s mine.”

  The voice came from behind. She hadn’t heard footsteps approach. The rolling waves crashing on the shore and the stars twinkling in a black velvet sky had lulled Arianne into a dreamy trance.

  Her back stiffened at the sound of the voice. She tried to estimate how far away he stood from her position kneeling in the sand without turning to see. Only a few steps she reckoned. Her hand crept to the sword on her belt. She gripped the handle, comforted by the leather covering the sturdy carved wood. The blade was sharp and deadly.

  “What makes you think to find it here?”

  Now she heard it, what she should have been on guard for earlier; the crunch of sand under boot. He walked with slow, measured steps. She refused to leap to her feet to face him. He had caught her unawares. She’d not let it happen again.

  “Because, Love, you are here.”

  She inhaled sharply and held her breath for several long seconds.

  Marco.

  She’d thought to never see him again. Indeed, she’d heard he’d been caught by the British and sentenced to hang. What was he doing here?

  With the help of a moonlit sky, his black boots stepped into view. Her gaze traveled upward, from the muscled limbs covered by breeches to a waistcoat and long brown coat with a loosely-laced plain linen shirt peeking from beneath. His sword was strapped to his belt and along his wrists dangled bracelets of gold and silver. There were other weapons upon his person as well: two flintlocks maybe more, at least a half dozen daggers of various shapes and sizes, some hidden and some in plain view.

  The jewelry on his hand sparkled in the moonlight. She spied the ring she had given him. A treasure obtained from her dearly departed father.

  At last, she pulled her gaze to his face. Her heart pounded. Warm shivers danced along her skin.

  Black hair hung to his shoulders, undone from a short queue. His strong chin still held the scar she remembered. His cheeks were clean shaven, a rarity since most often he was weeks at sea and keen to let his beard grow free.

  And then she focused on his eyes. Blue eyes the color of the ocean on a clear summer day met hers. The bluest she’d ever seen on a man. Her knees grew weak.

  “Are you a ghost, Marco?”

  “Nay, Love. Death has laid no claim to me yet.”

  “You were to hang.”

  “A few inmates sympathized with my dire circumstances and unfair treatment.” He smirked. “They rectified the matter by seeing fit to free me of that rat-infested horror
of an English prison. I gave thanks by claiming them as my crew. We found a poor ship—without a captain the thing was—and set sail for Barbados.”

  “Why here?”

  “Because my heart called me here.”

  It wasn’t the cool night breeze that sent a prickling along her skin, but the sound of his voice calling to her. Always calling to her.

  Her body betrayed her.

  As much as she wanted to imagine his heart was hers for the taking, she knew better. It was not she he came back for. “Marco, I don’t have it.”

  “Of course, you do.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

  “It is hidden. Lost. Once you were captured, I dared not keep it any longer. I had to get rid of it.”

  “Where did you take it?”

  Arianne brushed back a lock of hair that waved in front of her face from the ocean breeze and tucked it behind her ear. “I entrusted it to a friend. A very dear friend. He promised to lose it for me so even I would never know where to find it.”

  He sighed, his shoulders sagging for a moment before rallying again. He was not one to give up without a fight. She sighed too, knowing in her heart that she would help him in any battle, even if it meant her death.

  At least, before…

  “Where do we begin?” Without a word of question, he assumed she would help. Defiance sparked within her, a piece of her soul well hidden. She gazed up at him, daring to defy him.

  “I cannot go with you.”

  “Arianne…”

  “You’ve been dead to me for two years, Marco.”

  “Then you must be ecstatic to learn of your error.” The charming smile he used to get his own way would not work this time.

  “I have a life here now.”

  “There’s nothing for you here. Your place is by my side. In your heart, you know ’tis true.”

  She looked away, turning her gaze to the ocean’s waves pounding the beach with hypnotic rhythm. A few moments ago, she sat here, mulling over her life’s misfortunes and attempting to reach a decision about her future.

  Her fate.

  Arianne shook her head. “I no longer travel your path. You sail without me, my friend.”

  She pushed her bare toes into the grainy sand and stood, brushing the remaining sand that clung to her petticoats. In the silence of the crashing waves, she turned and walked away.

  Inside, her heart bled. Yet, she deserved no better. Her life led to this heartache. That she walked away from this man now, after all this time only confirmed it.

  “Arianne, you’re coming with me.”

  His serious tone warned her of his intentions. She spun to face him, unsheathing her sword in time to block his attack. The sound of metal striking metal pierced the moonlit darkness. Her ears rang with the sound.

  They stood, neither moving. She stared into his eyes. “You would take me by force?”

  “Never by force,” his voice lowered to a growl. “You will come willingly.” And he smiled, that knowing one she hated.

  She let out a howl of outrage and swung her sword. He easily blocked. They stepped a deadly dance of striking blades, until again they were trapped by heated gazes.

  Her breathing was heavy, labored, filled with excitement. She looked at his lips, wanting to taste them but knowing she dared not. Her will was never strong around him. With one touch she might lose herself and want him again for forever. But that dream would never be achievable with Marco.

  With him, she’d always be alone.

  “Come with me, Arianne.”

  “No.”

  She pushed away and again they danced. Her feet moved lightly as she sprang, her petticoats swirling with each movement though she hoped they would not entangle her legs. Her arm swung with lithe movements as she fought. She equaled him with skill and grace. Each time their swords clashed, the noise pierced her soul. That she fought him was a testament to her determination to escape his tyranny over her heart. She could not succumb to him again.

  As they battled, a sheen of sweat appeared upon his brow. The exposed skin of his chest glistened in the moonlight. His arms flexed as he swung his sword. His grace, his power, his energy seduced her.

  Her heart pounded. Her skin ached to touch his. The heat in her lower regions grew to a fiery inferno. She trembled.

  Again, they locked blades.

  They stood a moment, staring. His gaze burned into her soul. She licked the salty sweat from her upper lip, and his eyes followed the movement with utter fascination.

  He pushed their swords away. With his free hand, he grabbed her shoulder, pulling her tight against his chest. Arianne tilted her head to look into his eyes. The blue depths called to her, like the ocean’s waves licking at her feet. The yearning to go to him was too great. She hadn’t the will to fight.

  “Arianne,” he whispered, his calloused finger caressed her cheek, her chin, worshipping her face. “I’ve missed you, Love.”

  His voice tugged her over the precipice. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him. Their lips touched and all was lost. She dropped her sword into the sand so both hands could touch him, to feel that he was here with her now. She could not believe it.

  She kissed the scar on his chin, his cheek. Tears crept from the corners of her eyes. “You’re alive!”

  He groaned. She took the vibration of his groan into her mouth. His hands curved along her back, pressing her closer as if he wished to absorb her into his skin, to never let her go.

  Her tongue crept out to caress his ear. She felt him shiver and a surge of feminine power overwhelmed her. It awed her to have such control over this dangerous, deadly man.

  She reached for the laces of his shirt. She fumbled with them, the need to touch his skin making her fingers numb. Her impatience boiled over, and she ripped the shirt open.

  He chuckled.

  Her fingers found hot skin. She trailed her fingertips over the solid muscles of his stomach, along his ribs and onto his back. The smoothness of his skin ended there. She found ridges unfamiliar to her. She tried to speak, but he stopped her, pulling her hands away to capture them against his chest. He silenced her with his mouth, his tongue plunging to taste her, caress her.

  The throbbing between her legs grew, and she lifted her petticoats to rub her leg against him, searching for relief. His breathing was heavy, labored. His hands were in her hair, on her cheeks, down her arms, grasping her behind, lifting her against the erection she felt straining against the fabric of his breeches.

  “Dear God…” he groaned. “I’ve missed you.”

  She whimpered and kissed him again.

  “Cap’n?”

  Between the kissing and touching, her lust-fogged brain barely registered another voice coming from the darkness.

  Again, she was caught unawares.

  Startled by the voice, she broke apart from Marco and lifted her sword from the sand. She aimed it into the dark, narrowing her eyes to try to make out a figure among the leaves of the jungle. “Show yourself!” He appeared, stepping from the trees into the moonlight. A tall man, broad muscled chest barely contained in a ripped shirt and legs encased in torn breeches.

  Marco’s hand still gripped her shoulder. She heard him take several deep breaths and knew he was as slow to respond to this new danger as she had been. Another reason for her to never see this man again. Whenever they were together disaster seemed to follow.

  The man gave Arianne and her threatening sword a cursory glance then looked beyond her at Marco. “Cap’n, ’tis time to depart. Our presence has been noted.”

  Marco drew a breath. “In a moment, Fitz.”

  “There’s no time, sir. The attack has begun.”

  “Attack? What attack?” Arianne took several steps from both men, backing away and holding her sword up in warning. She moved closer to the ocean, the rushing water swirling around her bare feet, the hem of her petticoats soaking it in.

  From the edge of the beach, she had a better view beyond the trees
and foliage that hid her private spot from the harbor. It was after midnight, but the sky above the harbor was lit like morning. Arianne looked closer and saw flames in town reaching like starving fingers for the stars. The crackling of distant gunfire reached her ears, previously hidden by the sound of the ocean and the insects that made the jungle behind her home.

  “You’re attacking?” She was too far away to see anything more than the masts of ships and the taller buildings that were now aflame.

  “Not I,” he said. “This is my unfortunate welcome.”

  “I must go,” she said, sheathing her sword and turning toward the path leading back to town.

  He caught her arm.

  “Come with me, Love.”

  “No.” But her mind was already running down the dirt path. She must get back. She’d been away far too long.

  Oh, please God, let Maria wake and get the others out of the house in time. Let them be far enough away from the gunfire. Let the fighting end quickly.

  She never should have left them. If she had stayed abed instead of wandering the beach in restless abandon she would have been there to ensure their safety.

  “Come with me. Please,” Marco said. “I need you.”

  His words penetrated her panicked mind, but she only shook her head in response. She was needed in town. More than he. She yanked her arm from his grip and ran.

  “I’m sorry, Arianne.”

  A moment of pain preceded the warm darkness, blacker than the night sky.

  Chapter Two

  Arianne woke to blinding pain throbbing in her skull. She didn’t blink open her eyes for fear of the hurt worsening. She touched her head, moving her hand slowly to the back. Her startled fingers found linen and fumbled to pull it away. Perhaps if she freed her head from this binding it wouldn’t hurt.

  A large hand wrapped around her fingers, gently tugging her hand away from the bandages.

  “Leave it,” a deep voice rumbled.

  She must be dreaming. Surely the soft mattress beneath her was a cloud on which she slumbered and the voice an angel from Heaven.

  Perhaps she was dead.

  No.

  The thought sent emotional turmoil through her gut. She couldn’t die. Not yet. She had to get back to Maria and Bess. What would they do without her?