Excerpt from STOLEN BY STARLIGHT
by Avril Borthiry
Enjoy this except from Avril Borthiry’s Pirates of Britannia world novel…
Chapter One
Dún na Séad Harbor,
Roaring Water Bay
Sunday, 14th July, 1720
The Vagabond Queen stole out of Roaring Water Bay at day’s end. Like a ghost ship, she moved in unlit silence over the waves, slinking past the islands of Sherkin and Cape Clear before slowing to a near halt as she approached open water. Once there, she dawdled a while on her barnacled keel till the north star twinkled in the night sky. Only then were her black sails trimmed to tease her onward.
Not that the ship’s master, Captain Jacob McNamara, sometimes called Dead-Eye Jake by those who told tales of him, needed directional help from a star. It was merely a custom he adhered to on clear nights; a respectful nod to his ancestors, who had relied on the heavens to guide them. Of course, providing the seas were calm enough, the Vagabond Queen prowled the waves on many a cloudy night, too. A necessity, since the skies over the Britannic islands were oft more cloud-ridden than clear.
Jake stood at the helm and filled his lungs with the salt air that never failed to intoxicate his blood. It’s a fine night for marauding, he told himself, and then frowned. A mild sense of trepidation had escorted him on board that evening, and it plagued him yet.
But was it instinct or mere over-indulgence that fermented in his belly? He pondered. Earlier that day, he’d lunched on mutton stew and thrown back a measure or two of Ireland’s best whiskey at the aptly named Smuggler’s Lair Inn. But he’d kept his head clear, never losing sight of what mattered most to a sailor on his last day in port. His eager rudder had twice steered the lovely Kiandra O’Donnell into paradise that afternoon, after which he'd napped a while, a willing captive, shackled by the wench’s supple, naked limbs. All in all, it had been a satisfactory day.
So why this odd taste of foreboding?
The sails snapped as they billowed, and the deck shuddered beneath his feet as the Vagabond Queen lifted her oaken skirts to skip over the starlit waves. Jake adjusted an impromptu arousal brought about by thoughts of Miss O’Donnell and proceeded to survey his nocturnal domain. It had no visible borders or territorial lines, though respect was usually given to the haunts of other allied pirate factions. Guided by a fine French compass that he’d acquired from a fine French ship, he pointed the Queen’s naked figurehead to the east and wondered what kind of plunder, if any, awaited them.
“’Tis a grand night, Cap’n.”
“Aye, that it is.” Jake cast a brief glance at his helmsman. Theodore Stiles’ pock-marked face was lifted to the heavens as if he sought to navigate the stars that had not long since emerged. Or maybe he was praying. He was a clergyman, after all. Unfortunately, following a dose of smallpox, the man had been left with a visage ugly enough to stop the tide. He soon discovered that none but a few good Christians could gaze upon him without showing their revulsion and fear. The aberration had stumped all his efforts to find a permanent situation as a minister of the faith.
Not one to sit on his haunches when a vulnerable soul was in need, the Devil himself had steered the maligned holy man onto a different path. Theodore Stiles, priest, had exchanged his dog-collar for a cutlass, and become Padre Stiles, pirate.
While not an overly religious man, Jake nevertheless found an odd comfort in having a priest—albeit a fallen one—on board.
“She’s all yours, Padre,” Jake said, handing off the helm. “Hold her course east, toward Lundy. See if there’s anything worth having.”
“No prey, no pay,” Padre replied.
“Aye.” Jake grimaced. “Just keep your eyes skinned. Got a feeling about tonight.”
“Good or bad?”
“Not quite sure.”
Padre sniffed. “Bad, then, or ye’d not question it.”
Jake smiled his response and descended to his quarters to mull over his logs and accounts. These were lucrative times for pirates, thanks to Britain’s notable prosperity. The Colonial Empire continued to grow, and with it, opportunities to dip into the endless treasure-chests of ships that navigated the seas.
Jake did not consider himself a thief. He reserved such an epithet for back street dippers and pickpockets who risked dancing the hempen jig for the sake of a few paltry pennies. Jake was a gentleman of fortune, an adventurer who sought out opportunities and seized upon them. Descended from a long line of ships’ captains – some less reputable than others – he had the sea in his blood.
At the apex of night, a knock came to his door.
“Come.”
“Lights ahoy, Cap’n,” Fingal, his first mate, said. “Looks like a brig. Bristol bound is my guess. About a three-quarter mile off starboard.”
Jake felt the familiar tingle on his scalp. “All hands hoay,” he said, pushing back his chair and snuffing out his lantern. “Usual routine. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
On deck, verbal bets were already being placed on the target ship’s registry.
“Dutch, I reckon.”
“Nah. Spanish.”
“A Frenchie,” Fingal muttered, squinting at the distant black shape, pin-pricks of lanternlight betraying her presence. “Without a doubt.”
Jake glanced at him. “How can you be so sure?” The demand brought a reciprocal mumble from the crew.
Fingal tapped the side of his nose. “Garlic.” He grinned. “Can ye not smell it?”
Guffaws of laughter rang across the deck.
“All right, lads, you know what to do,” Jake said, as the noise died down. “We run silent and dark. No banner till we’re within range and she’s identifiable. If she’s British, and especially if she’s Navy, hoist the King’s Colors, and I’ll steer us clear. If she’s a viable target, hoist the black flag and be ready to fire a round of grapeshot into the rigging. If she’s French, we each owe Fingal a shilling.”
More laughter rippled through the crew, followed by absolute silence. Jake took his place at the helm, nodding a silent thanks to Padre.
“How’s the gut, Jake?” Padre whispered. “Still tellin’ ye somethin’s afoot?”
Jake gripped the ship’s wheel a little tighter. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Ye want me to have a word with the person in charge?”
“Why not?” Jake replied, glancing at the stars. “Can’t do any harm.”
Read the rest of STOLEN BY STARLIGHT by Avril Borthiry
The Ravishing Rees (Pirates of Britannia Book 10) Page 13
