Contents
THE PIRATE’S WITCH
Free Short Story
Author's Note
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
Epilogue
Next Book
More Books
Join My Mailing List
Did You Find a Typo?
Ahoy, Ebook Pirates!
About the Author
Copyright
THE PIRATE’S WITCH
BLOOD PRINCE SERIES BOOK 1
JENNIFER BLACKSTREAM
USA Today bestselling author of the Blood Prince series
Free Short Story
http://eepurl.com/zwqkz
Author’s Note:
The Pirate's Witch started life as a short story entitled "The Pirate and the Earth Witch." I received so many emails demanding the "whole story," that I lengthened it into a full, glorious novel. For those of you who read the short story and are wondering what's different about the novel-length version, here's the gist. The quirky firebird has more...personality (and more lines), there are two cameos featuring someone from earlier in the Blood Prince series AND someone from the Blood Realm series, the ogre king has enlisted some questionable and more-than-a-little-creepy help, and the passion between Tyr and Ingrid finally hits the bed furs in the explosive way we knew it would...
Chapter One
“Captain, are you absolutely certain that that’s the beautiful maiden we’ve come to find?”
Tyr spared his first mate a glance before returning his attention to the cottage across the road—or more specifically, the woman wandering about the orchard beside the cottage. Smalls had a point. The maid would be an affront even to the blind god Hoder’s eyes, with her scraggly hair exploding from her head like some tentacled beast from the briny deep, skin that looked as though it had only half-survived a vicious pox, and proportions that had him tilting his head as though he were somehow viewing her wrong.
It’s a wonder that the fruit she’s gathering doesn’t shrivel under her touch.
“Confidence, Smalls,” he chastised, despite his own misgivings. “I’ve not led you wrong yet. Your doubt offends me.” He dropped his hand to the satchel at his side so he could open the flap and retrieve the wreath of holly he’d brought from his ship. His shift in position gave the beech tree’s smooth silver bark the opportunity to stab him with a collective of rough points surrounding an unfortunately placed knothole. Tyr gritted his teeth. Bad enough the unforgiving trunk wasn’t doing his aching back any favors, the sudden stabbing at the base of his spine just seemed spiteful.
“My doubt has nothing to do with you, Captain,” Smalls protested. “Baba Yaga said that the firebird can only be caught by the maiden who makes the earth sigh with her beauty.” He scowled. “That maid there could scare a mouse down the throat of a snake.”
“With all that Baba Yaga went on about this maid’s stubborn refusal to allow any man to court her, it’s a distinct possibility that her glamour is no more than an attempt to ward off lustful suitors.” He scratched at his chin, the bristles of an impending beard rasping against his nails. He didn’t have the same shaggy thickness that Smalls championed, his jaw covered with no more than a light coating of short silver-tinged blond hair. While his first mate was content to slowly turn into a bear, Tyr preferred to keep his face smoother. Less wind resistance, or so he told himself.
He raised the wreath he’d retrieved from his satchel and held it a fair distance from his face, not wanting the mess of his wind-tossed hair to get caught in the sharp sticks stabbing out from the circle.
“Oh, ho,” he breathed.
Just as Baba Yaga had assured him, the enchanted wreath of evergreen leaves and red berries revealed the maid’s true form. Red hair that burned like the setting sun kissed her shoulders and fell in heavy waves down her back. Fair skin with the opalescent beauty of the moon was bared by the short sleeves of her sea green blouse. The emerald of her long skirt reminded Tyr of deep sea plants blooming just under the water, unfaded by the sun. The modest cut of her clothing did nothing to hide the plump curves of her breasts and hips, and warmth flowed from the top of his head down his body, heating his blood until he had to shift at the sudden and uncomfortable tightness of his trousers.
There’s certainly nothing wrong with her proportions now.
The entire mess with the firebird feather and the ogre had occupied too much of his time, he’d neglected other…needs. Wouldn’t it be convenient if that lovely maiden could help him in more ways than one? Before his brain could adjust to the drop in blood flow, his feet hurled him forward, out of his shady hiding place amidst the cliff side border of trees that hid the sea from view and into the blinding light of day.
“Captain, wait!”
The brittle twigs of the wreath caught at the edges of his satchel as he put it away and he twisted as he jogged, trying to get it properly settled. Smalls grumbled as he scurried along behind him, but Tyr paid him no mind. His attention remained on the maiden who had just disappeared inside her house, his haste driven by the ridiculous urge he had to get to her while her fair skin still held the warmth of the sun.
A group of women half his age tittered at him as he passed, coyly batting their eyelashes before ducking their heads. Happy to oblige, Tyr offered them a wolfish grin and a wink, leaving an eruption of fresh giggles behind him.
The men of the small village didn’t appear to appreciate their women’s reactions. Those who were traveling the road around Tyr frowned and shifted at the last minute, shouldering him with more force than was necessary as he tried to carve a path through the meager flow of traffic to the smooth wooden gate in front of his quarry’s house.
On his ship, Tyr would have answered their disrespect with his blade—reputation was everything for a pirate captain. However, here on land, with only his trusted first mate as a witness, he couldn’t care less. He was too old to waste his time on fights that had no purpose, spilling the blood of men he couldn’t even put a name to. That was a folly for younger men, and he had neither the time nor the mind for it now.
Especially when the beautiful maiden he planned to take away with him on his ship was tucked into her cottage a mere few meters away. No doubt still smelling of apples and sunshine…
“Excuse me, pardon me.” He offered the niceties to the men glowering at him, pivoting and weaving between them like a ship navigating a particularly rocky inlet. Of more concern than the men’s distinct lack of welcome was the thick cloud of dirt hanging in perpetuity above the road. Tyr waved his hand in front of his face, trying to disperse it before it entered his nose and mouth on his next breath. The reddish brown dust was doing its best to imitate a thick fog, seeming to hold perfectly still in mid-air.
For the love of Odin, I’ve probably inhaled a small island already. Tyr wrinkled his nose and battled back a sneeze. A dusty road was bad enough for a man used to the kiss of saltwater on his face, but this dirt-cloud was ridiculous.
Coughing to clear his lungs, Tyr vaulted over the small wooden gate and trotted up to the door, barely remembering to remove his tri-cornered hat before knocking. As the saying went, a man only got one chance at a first impression, and he’d need all the good will from the maiden that he could muster before he sprang his request on her.
Smalls arrived a moment later to stand behind his captain, his hat
already clutched in his hands. The shorter man glanced meaningfully down at Tyr’s arm, clearing his throat as the sound of footsteps approached the door. Tyr just managed to shift his hat to cover the stub that used to be his left hand when the door swung open.
“Merry met, gentleman.” The maid offered them both a bright smile. “What can I do for you on this fine day?”
Tyr was pleasantly surprised to find that since viewing her through the wreath, her glamour no longer held for him. She was as stunning now as she’d been when viewed through the circle of green and red. The scent of apples floated from her skin, sweet with an edge of tartness. Images leapt to Tyr’s mind of the gravenstein apples he’d loved so much in his youth, taunting him with memories of the yellow fruit dappled with splashes of red. He leaned forward to inhale deeply, chasing the memories inspired by that scent. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was back in his father’s orchard…
“Captain?”
Smalls nudged him and Tyr startled, his eyes flying open. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. The maiden watched him with a kind, almost knowing expression. Her green eyes matched her gown perfectly, and Tyr blinked before he could fall into the twin pools of emerald brilliance.
“Been on the sea a bit too long?” she asked. “Missing the scents of the land?”
Tyr inclined his head slightly, relieved at her easy acceptance of his odd behavior. “Too true. Forgive me, miss, but the scent of your orchard lingers on your skin. It’s the most blessed scent my nose has encountered since leaving my ship for your beautiful, if dusty, land.”
He choked a bit on the last word, turning his face as he put on a show of coughing up the road dust. The maid’s eyes shone with concern and she laid a hand on his arm.
“I daresay this must be a sight different than the air you find out at sea,” she agreed. “Won’t you come inside and rest a bit? I’ll get you something to drink to wash down the grime of the road.” She stepped back and gestured for both men to follow her inside.
Tyr toyed with the brim of his hat as he swept across the threshold. “Thank you. I’m pleased that what I’ve heard of your kindness is so obviously true—Ingrid, is it not?”
The witch smiled at him and Tyr returned it with a grin of his own, his eyes flicking over her again, appreciating the sight she made. Too late, he remembered she was wearing glamour—glamour that was supposed to make him see a hag. A faint twitch of disapproval tugged at the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t comment.
“Yes, I am Ingrid,” she said finally. “But I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know who you are?”
“Captain Tyr Singlehand,” Tyr said with a bow. He straightened, but had to bite back a groan as a sharp ache stabbed at his back. Cursing time and what it had done to his body, he tried to keep his face a pleasant mask and focus on social niceties. “And this fine gentleman is my first mate, Smalls.”
Ingrid nodded to them each in turn. “A pleasure to meet you both. Please have a seat.” She gestured to a small table in the kitchen. “I’ll have some tea for you momentarily. It will help wash the dust from your mouth.”
If he hadn’t already known she was an earth witch, her cottage would have told him. From his vantage point in the kitchen, his line of sight was limited to the small living room, but that was enough. Trees grew up through the floor, branches spreading to create a chair and a small couch. Pillows had been placed on them for comfort, but there was no mistaking them for healthy, living trees. The branches curled up into leaf-laden boughs, each limb tilted toward the large windows that nearly covered the opposite wall.
The glass offered a heart-wrenching glimpse of the orchard, much more detailed than he’d managed from across the road where Ingrid’s fence had blocked most of his view. Now he could see every limb, make out the lines in the bark, appreciate the swelling fruit that weighed down every bough. His mouth watered and his very bones sighed in happy memory of the joy such an orchard could bring. What a home it could make.
The feel of someone’s stare on him made him turn in time to see Ingrid giving him a considering look. Before he could decide what expression to mold his features into, she gave him a small smile and turned to prepare the tea.
Focus, blast it, now is no time for daydreaming. Forcing his mind back to the matter at hand, Tyr glanced at Smalls, holding his eyes for a moment before glancing at the tea cups. Smalls darted a quick look at Ingrid still facing her stove then nodded.
Tyr moved to stand behind Ingrid, so close their bodies were nearly touching. Tension hummed in the air between them as she registered his presence, but she didn’t pause in her preparation of the tea.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Tyr kept his voice low and suggestive as he took a moment to appreciate the waves of red hair brushing against the curve of her bottom.
“No thank you, I’ve got everything just about ready. Why don’t you have a seat at the table?”
Her attempt to get rid of him was somewhat weakened by the breathy tone in her voice, proof that she was very aware of his closeness and not unaffected by it. Confidence swelled inside him, giving him hope that perhaps he might be successful in enlisting her aid without undue force.
She arranged the cups and teapot on a tray and cleared her throat, obviously indicating he needed to step back so she could approach the table. Tyr put his hat back on his head and kept his left arm at his side as he used his right hand to take the tray from her.
“Please, allow me,” he said smoothly.
Ingrid didn’t meet his eyes, but she let him take the tray. They arrived at the table together and Tyr set the tray down and took his seat. His hostess’ shoulders relaxed with the added space between them and she breathed a little easier as she busied herself pouring three cups of tea.
“Mr. Smalls, won’t you sit down?” she asked.
“Oh, no, miss, I’ll stand if that’s all right. These old sea legs aren’t as limber as they used to be and the less I bend them about, the better.”
Ingrid looked from Tyr to Smalls. “Is that why you’ve come to see me? I would be only too happy to help. I treat quite a few of the sailors that come through this village and I have a brew that would have you dancing a jig all the way back to your ship.”
A hint to be on our way? “Actually,” Tyr cut in, “I’m afraid our request is much more of an imposition than a simple healing brew. You see, a mutual acquaintance of ours believes that you may be the solution to a rather large problem we have.”
“A large problem?” Ingrid gently placed the teapot back on the tray and lifted the sugar bowl.
“Ogre-sized, you might say,” Tyr muttered. He cleared his throat. “Would you entertain the idea of a little trip with me on my ship to visit a liten bird I know? I swear you would travel in the finest accommodations. It would be a grand experience or I’ll toss my hat to the wargs.”
“A bird?” Ingrid wrinkled her forehead, but didn’t raise her attention from the preparation of tea. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She held the sugar out toward Tyr. “In any case, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter. I do not sail—under any conditions.” When Tyr didn’t take the sugar bowl, she set it in front of him, leaving him to serve himself. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”
Tyr bit back his disappointment. It seemed the easy way was closed to him. A pity since the hard way would almost certainly end whatever thoughts he might have entertained about how he and the witch might spend the voyage.
“Oh, miss, please reconsider,” Smalls insisted. He took her hand in his, turning her away from the table, a plea bright in his eyes.
Tyr took advantage of the distraction and slipped his hand under the table to withdraw a small vial from his waistcoat pocket. It was small enough that he could cradle it in his palm and work the tiny cork free with his fingers, keeping it hidden behind his hand as he emptied its contents into Ingrid’s teacup. The fine white powder drifted into the brew and di
ssolved instantly.
“It would be such a short trip,” Smalls went on pathetically. “You see, my captain here found a glowing feather, and—”
“Please know that I truly am very sorry,” Ingrid interrupted. “But I’m afraid I cannot bend on this. I do not sail. Ever.” She patted Smalls’ hand, true regret creasing the skin around her eyes. “Won’t you let me make you that brew for your legs at least, and enjoy your cup of tea before you go?”
Tyr smothered a groan at the overly dramatic wince Smalls gave her. Ingrid gently, but firmly pulled her hand free of his grip, giving his fingers one last reassuring pat before backing away. The short first mate sullenly accepted his cup of tea as Ingrid sank into her seat and picked up her own cup.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for cutting you off so rudely.” She sipped the hot liquid as she settled back in her chair. “I just don’t feel it would do either of us any good to let you finish the story when I know I can’t help.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Tyr settled back in his seat, feigning casual relaxation even as he held himself ready to leap forward. “No sense in wasting time arguing when your mind is made up.”
Ingrid leaned back in her chair. “I do hope you find another answer to your problem.”
Tyr took a sip of the sweet cinnamon tea, peering at her over the rim of his cup. “I always have a plan B.”
Ingrid nodded, a relieved smile on her lips as she took another, deeper drink of her tea. Tyr slowly set his cup down. Perhaps she really did feel bad for not being willing to help him.
It almost made him feel guilty when her eyelids fluttered and the teacup fell from her limp hand. He leapt up just in time to catch her in his arms before she hit the floor.
Chapter Two
Why is the earth moving?
Ingrid groaned and pressed her fingers against her temples as if she could somehow reach inside her head to soothe the throbbing. Pain stretched out in tendrils to poke at her skull, threatening to stab right through the bone. Squeezing her eyes closed against the threat of light, she sent her power outward, down into the earth. Like a mother laying her palm on her child’s forehead to check for a fever, she groped with a metaphysical hand, feeling for the earth to discover the source of the rolling motions beneath her.
The Pirate's Witch (Blood Prince) Page 1
