Heir To The Sea

by Danelle Harmon

  “Which didn’t erase your training,” Liam said wryly.

  “No, and while my brother gets to hold the title of ‘captain’ for each vessel he masters, I am quietly relegated to the position of first mate because ladies, you know, are not supposed to command ships.” Her eyes flashed. “Such is the way of things, isn’t it, Mr. Doherty?”

  “Aye, lass. Nobody ever said the world was fair.” His smile was suddenly a bit sad. “So what happened to put you out here in the Caribbean, all alone? Where’s yer crew? Yer captain, whom I presume was yer brother?”

  “I wish I knew.” Her gaze lifted to the horizon, studying it. “You see, Mr. Doherty, we were on our way home from my uncle’s plantation in Montserrat with our cargo—he’s Scottish and wily as they come so has no qualms about trading with the American side of the family, even though the island is, of course, owned by the British—when we were attacked by pirates. They had a brigantine, big and well-armed. We didn’t have a chance, and they were threatening to slay us all if we didn’t immediately surrender.” She looked at him, frowning. “Didn’t piracy die out in the last century? I’d thought it did, but there was no denying what happened to us, and this was one of the times that my gender became a liability.” Her mouth tightened. “Stephen—my brother, who was in command—didn’t want these murderous blackguards to know a young woman was aboard, so he locked me in the main cabin, thinking to keep me safe until he could fend off or even negotiate with them…and that’s the last I saw of him or any of our crew. I heard fighting, heard Stephen begging for mercy, and then they took him and our men off in their ship and left a small crew aboard ours that didn’t even have the chance—thank God—to settle in before an English privateer came upon us and took the ship from them, or at least, that’s all I could glean from being locked in the cabin and listening to what was going on outside and above. And now my brother is missing and your captain refuses to search for him which makes him an insensitive cad, and me, desperately afraid for Stephen’s life—and his safety.”

  “And where are the pirates who were left in command of your ship when the English privateer happened upon ye?”

  “I don’t know. Either dead or locked somewhere in Penelope’s hold, I’d imagine.”

  Liam rubbed at a spot on the varnished rail. “You said these pirates had a brigantine, eh?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “Did she have some recent repair work done around her stern?”

  The girl drew her brows together. “Yes, actually…patched up windows and what looked like a new rudder, now that you ask.”

  Liam shut his eyes. He was no longer seeing the spot in the rail. He was remembering all over again a certain brigantine, a terrible fight between it and Kestrel, an unspeakable, unforgivable loss from which he, Kieran, and anyone whose lives had ever been touched by Brendan and Mira Merrick would never recover. Could the brigantine that had sent Kestrel and his best friends to the bottom be the same one that had taken Penelope?

  How many damned brigantines crewed by pirates do you think there actually are in these waters? And how many would have the same kind of repairs that Brendan’s last orders would’ve made necessary?

  He swallowed hard and looked out over the sea so that the young woman wouldn’t see the sudden emotion in his eyes, the anguish that the memory of that brigantine, and that fateful, terrible day, brought.

  “’Tis lucky you are, lass, that you escaped with yer life. If they’re who I think they are, that’s a particularly nasty group, those pirates.”

  Her eyes darkened with fear. “Oh, my poor Stephen… Do you think they’ll have harmed him and our crew?”

  Liam could not meet her stare. “Let’s hope not, Miss McCormack. But I’d better go tell Captain Merrick about those pirates. There’s a score to be settled.”

  For you as well as us.

  “Then I beg you, Mr. Doherty, to have a word with your captain about finding a way to rescue my brother and our men. He despises me, but surely he’ll listen to you….”

  Liam looked at her and smiled, forcing aside the tragic memories that would haunt him until the day he died. “I’ll have a word with him,” he said kindly. And to himself: And if I have any say in it, he won’t be despising ye for long.

  * * *

  Kieran Merrick had wasted no time in returning to Penelope and seeking out the inebriated British seamen who lay sprawled and snoring on her hot, sun-baked deck.

  He went up to the prizemaster and bending down, shook his shoulder.

  The man mumbled and opened one sleepy eye. “Aye?”

  “Can you wake up for five minutes? I have questions.”

  “Too drunk to answer ’em, Oi am. Come back later after Oi’ve slept this off.”

  The tar shut his eyes. Kieran sighed, picked up the tankard near the man’s elbow, filled it with rum from the barrel and dumped it over his head.

  The man shot up, sputtering and wiping at his eyes.

  “Bloody hell!”

  “Do I have your attention now?”

  “Aye, sir, aye, Oi’m all ears.”

  Kieran squatted down so that he was on a level with the man, set the tankard down and looked firmly into his eyes. “These pirates that were in possession of this ship when you came upon her. Tell me about them and what happened.”

  “Well, now, a pack of maggots, they were.” He picked up the tankard, filled it, and offered it to Kieran, who shook his head in refusal. “Dirty, thieving, murderous bandits operating out of uninhabited islands, took a big merchantman a while back and fitted her out with guns a’plenty. Heard Sir Graham Falconer, our admiral in Barbados, has had ’em in his sights for a while now, but they move around a lot and he’s had bigger fish to fry, he has.”

  Kieran said nothing. He had an intimate acquaintanceship with the British admiral. Sir Graham Falconer was, after all, his brother-in-law. In fact, he’d just left his and Maeve’s elegant plantation home on Barbados just days before.

  “What did these pirates do with the original crew? The Americans?”

  “Don’t know. Weren’t nobody aboard when we took her, ’cept the men the pirates left.”

  “Did you search the ship to confirm this?”

  “Best we could.”

  “And yet the fact that there was a woman aboard escaped you.”

  “There’s a woman aboard?”

  Kieran bent his head to his hand. He didn’t drink, but that rum barrel was starting to look very tempting.

  “Didn’t know there was a woman aboard,” the sailor was saying. “No wonder we had the bad luck to be captured by you.”

  “Your capture had nothing to do with bad luck, only your own inability to leave the ship’s cargo in its barrels instead of in your tankards.” Kieran rubbed at his aching temples. “Where are the pirates that had charge of the ship when you took her?”

  “Locked ’em in the for’ard hold. Weren’t many of ’em. And they didn’t offer much resistance.”

  “Let me guess,” Kieran said wryly. “They got into the cargo before you did, yes?”

  The man grinned and reached for his tankard, lamenting its emptiness before stretching to reach the barrel for a refill. “Aye, that they did. And now maybe it’s your turn, eh?”

  Kieran shook his head. “I don’t imbibe,” he said, and leaving the man to his cups, headed for the hatch.

  He was not about to head off on a wild goose chase in search of Miss McCormack’s brother and crew.

  At least, not without talking to the scoundrels who would know exactly where they’d been taken. Pulling his pistol from his belt, he cocked the weapon and wondered how this day had grown more and more complicated, more and more frustrating, and more and more a claimant for his time.

  And all because of a woman.

  Chapter 4

  Journal of Captain Kieran Merrick, 17 May, 1814

  Should have stayed abed this morning. Wish I’d never left Barbados….

  Rosalie followed the big Irishman do
wn into the sloop’s aft cabin.

  “Make yourself comfortable, lass. I’ll be topside if ye need me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Doherty.”

  He smiled, bowed and left. Such a nice man. Gentlemanly, kind-hearted, and amiable. Not like his insufferable captain. The cabin door closed behind him.

  Now that there was no pretense to uphold, Rosalie’s knees finally went to jelly and her shot-to-pieces nerves began to tremble. She lowered herself to the bunk and wiped her hands down her face. The capture by the pirates, the capture by the British, the capture by this Kieran Merrick fellow, all of them occurring while she’d been helplessly locked in the cabin armed with a pistol, a small knife, and a fervent prayer that the men fighting over the ship, her ship and its contents, would not find her and decide that she was part of the spoils of war—it was all catching up with her.

  She took several deep breaths, steadying herself, willing strength into her body and soul.

  You’re safe now. Safe.

  And then there was Liam Doherty with his broad, lined face and merry blue eyes, his curly gray hair and a quiet reassurance about him that did much to ease what had been hours of terror.

  God was looking out for her.

  Safe.

  Yes, she’d been lucky. She didn’t even want to think of what might have happened to her had these privateers from Massachusetts not happened upon Penelope. She hadn’t had to fight to protect herself from those who’d taken turns capturing the ship, though she’d have done so to the death if it had come to that. And now she doubted she would have to. Both Liam Doherty and Kieran Merrick seemed to be the type who would do it for her.

  But her relief was short-lived. She got up and went to the open stern windows and gazed out at the sea beyond. She might be safe, but dear Stephen…what had become of him, and Penelope’s crew?

  * * *

  At the moment, Kieran Merrick was determined to find out.

  He found Joel just coming out of the big merchantman’s aft cabin, sweating and swearing as he tried to drag one of Miss McCormack’s trunks across the decking. The bosun’s arms were strapped with muscle, but the trunk was getting the better of him.

  “Belay that, Joel. Grab that lantern behind you and come with me. I’m told there are prisoners in the forward hold, and better there are two of us facing them than one.”

  “Aye, Captain.” The Jamaican drew a dagger from his belt and plucked the swinging lantern from its peg. “Original American crew?”

  “No, pirates. The ones that took this ship from her American master.”

  Joel nodded and checked his pistol as well.

  A large, broad figure suddenly filled the door. It was Liam, who must have just come across from Sandpiper. His face was grave. “Not just any pirates, Kieran. I spoke with Miss McCormack. She said they had a brigantine.” His gaze held Kieran’s. “A brigantine with recent repairs to her stern.”

  Kieran stared at him. For a moment he forgot how to breathe. For a moment, he could not find his voice, his thoughts, the decking on which he stood. It felt as if someone had taken a club and punched it straight through his gut. Hit him in the head with a belaying pin. Sucked every bit of air from his suddenly starved lungs.

  “A brigantine?” he heard himself say.

  Liam’s steady gaze spoke volumes. “Aye. A brigantine.”

  Kieran said nothing. Instead, he moved past Liam and, followed by his lieutenant and the bosun, strode purposefully through the belowdecks gloom until the trio finally reached the hold. There, he stood back, pistol aimed, as Joel yanked the hatch cover off. A brigantine. He refused to feel. Refused to allow himself to react. A damned brigantine. He looked down. Beneath them, faces gleamed in the dim light. There were ten of them, sullen, hollow-cheeked and feral, their eyes glittering with malice and cunning.

  “You speak English?” Kieran asked.

  “English, Dutch, Spanish, French and Portuguese.” One of them moved forward from out of the darkness and looked up at them. “Who’s asking?”

  “I am. What is your name?”

  “Diego. Diego Escobar.”

  The pirate stressed his surname, as though that was supposed to either impress or scare his interrogator. It did neither.

  “What did you do with the original crew of this ship?”

  The man smirked. “What’ll you give me if I tell you, Yankee?”

  “Another day on this earth, to start with.”

  The pirate only laughed.

  “Of course,” Kieran said tersely, “you can choose not to tell me, in which case I’ll choose to leave you down here to rot. I’m Kieran Merrick, an American privateer, and I just took this ship from the English crew that took it from you, and I can tell you right now that I have personal reasons for not liking pirates very much. Especially ones from a certain brigantine.” He felt his gaze hardening. “Ever hear of the schooner, Kestrel?”

  At this, the pirate’s eyes grew crafty. “What of her?”

  “Did you get in a sea fight with her a few months back?”

  “Might’ve.” The man hocked from the back of his throat and spit into the darkness. “What did she look like?”

  “Square topsail schooner. Black with raked masts, and a sparrowhawk as her figurehead.”

  Something changed in the pirate’s face, and his black eyes gleamed like marbles in the light of the lantern. He was smiling, damn him. Smiling.

  “Did you or did you not engage her in a sea fight?”

  “Might’ve.”

  “And did she best you in that fight?”

  “Si, but it was a lucky shot that took out our rudder.”

  “My father was commanding her in her final moments, and while ‘luck’ certainly constituted a large part of his life, it had nothing to do with his ability to defeat you. Having said that, his luck ran out later that day and as you might imagine, there’s a part of me that’s itching to avenge his and my mother’s deaths by disposing of you all right now in the fastest and most painful way imaginable. You didn’t even stick around long enough to see what happened after Kestrel crippled your brigantine, did you?”

  “No, and why should we have? We were taking a beating. But we did go back after we got the rudder fixed. She was a pretty ship, built for fighting. Would’ve made a nice pirate vessel.”

  Kieran stared at him, and his mouth went suddenly dry. His eyes narrowed. “You went back?” he asked sharply.

  “Would’ve been foolish not to.”

  What was there? What did you see? Was there anything left of Kestrel? And oh, God…any survivors?

  “What did you find?”

  “Things.”

  Kieran felt his fingers tightening around the pistol, now shaking in his hand. “What did you find?”

  “Let us go and maybe I’ll tell you.”

  Liam’s hand was on his shoulder, steadying him, but Kieran felt and heard nothing but his pulse hammering in his ears. He had remained in Barbados with his sister and her family after Kestrel, with his brother Connor in command, had sailed for home. He had not been there when it had happened—a regret that ate at him more and more with each passing day, with each mile they put behind them on a course set for home, not only for the details he would never know, but for wondering what he could have done, might have done, to change the outcome had he only been there. But Liam had been there, as had Connor, his wife Rhiannon, and Kieran’s cousins Nathan and Toby. They had told him what had happened. It had been early evening when Kestrel, mortally wounded after her fight with the brigantine, had begun to founder. With his mother sick below, his beloved father had sent everyone off in the schooner’s remaining boat, including the gravely injured Connor—whose reckless actions as captain had led to the pirate attack on Kestrel in the first place. Reckless actions from which their wise and clever father had saved them all, only to pay for his eldest son’s mistake with his life. Darkness had come, and when the sun had risen over the sea, Kestrel was gone.

  For months now, Kieran
had been coming to terms with their loss. Or trying to, just as he’d been trying to believe he’d actually forgiven Connor for his recklessness. And now, this. Had Mother and Da somehow survived? Had the pirates gone back to the site where Kestrel had gone down, found his parents clinging to debris and taken them prisoner? Dear God—his hands were shaking—could they still be alive?

  “You have something we want,” said the pirate, interrupting his thoughts. “And we have something you want. You bring us to our island and when we get there, my brother Pedro here and I will tell you what we found when we went back to where that schooner foundered. And then you’ll grant us our freedom in exchange.”

  “And the original crew of this merchantman?”

  The pirate’s eyes gleamed. “Odds are good they’ll be on that island, too.”

  * * *

  The three, lugging Rosalie’s trunks, scrambled back aboard Sandpiper, still hove to in the gentle, sparkling swells. Kieran sent Joel to round up a small crew to take Penelope into the nearest friendly port, ordered a few barrels of her cargo brought aboard for his own men’s enjoyment and reward, and headed for the helm, his stride purposeful.

  Liam was right beside him. “I know what ye’re thinking. It’s a bad idea, laddie.”

  “What’s a bad idea?”

  “Going to that island.”

  “If we don’t go, Liam, we’ll never know the truth, will we?”

  “I’m not saying we shouldn’t go, especially if there’s a chance Miss Rosalie’s brother and crew are there. But getting yer hopes up for yer mother and da? Don’t do it, Kieran. It’ll only break your heart a second time.”