by Ashe Barker
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
A Totally Bound Publication
Right of Salvage
ISBN # 978-1-78430-072-2
©Copyright Ashe Barker 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright June 2014
Edited by Sarah Smeaton
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.
Jolly Rogered
RIGHT OF SALVAGE
Ashe Barker
He pulled her from the sea, breathed life back into her, and now she belongs to him. By right of salvage.
A passenger on a merchant ship carrying her husband’s cargo between the New World and Portsmouth, Jane Browne is unprepared for the devastating attraction she feels towards the fierce pirate who decides to relieve her husband of his goods. And his wife. Hurled into the sea by her violent husband in an act of spiteful, jealous revenge, Jane is rescued by the handsome pirate captain, who declares that she is now his property.
Jane has no choice but to accompany Captain Rob Hawke. With Jane installed on his ship and in his bed, he demands her total obedience and her willing submission. Frightened and alone, Jane nevertheless responds quickly to her pirate rescuer’s delicate seduction, as he draws her effortlessly into his world of pleasure tinged with pain. Having sampled what he can provide, Rob offers Jane a choice. Will she opt to accept her freedom, or remain with Rob as his willing submissive?
When Rob’s past and Jane’s jealous husband catch up with them again, can they find a new future…together?
Dedication
As ever, this story is dedicated to my daughter, still a work in progress but showing promise. And to John, for his patience with us both.
Chapter One
The deck lurches under me, hurling me violently against my husband as I try to right myself. A sharp elbow applied to my already sore ribs is my reward, my reminder not to draw any unnecessary attention from that quarter. I hug my arms tight around my middle, hunching slightly. The hood of my cloak, pulled close around me despite the searing Caribbean heat, falls forward, shielding me from the gaze of our own crew and the invaders alike.
Angry shouts, the occasional but half-hearted clash of blades, the thud of feet pounding on the planks of the polished deck are the only clues I now have of the progress of this raid. Not that the outcome is in any real doubt. The pirates outnumber us two to one—their ship is swifter, more nimble and outran ours with ease. Now, the grappling hooks snaking from the huge three master secure us firmly alongside while their crew swarms aboard. My hope is that perhaps they might be satisfied with the contents of our hold and leave the ship, and its occupants, intact.
My husband is less inclined than I would be to leave that matter to chance. Despite the fervent protests and strenuously administered advice of Captain Carside, the master of this vessel, that we should leave any talking to him, the fool is spoiling for a confrontation. I caught a fleeting glimpse of the captain of the other vessel, if indeed that was he at the prow of the pirate ship as it bore down upon us. I have to confess there is no one I can call to mind who I’d be less willing to confront in this life or the next. Tall, broad-shouldered, his long legs encased in tight trousers and knee-length leather boots, his dark hair rippling to his shoulders in the breeze, shirt open to the waist, sword in one hand and dagger glinting in the other, he looked perfectly terrifying.
He caught my gaze in that moment, and he grinned. He actually grinned at me. I saw his teeth, white and straight, gleaming. I couldn’t miss the flash of his eyes, a deep blue, reminiscent of the ocean we may so quickly find ourselves sinking into if my idiot of a spouse cannot be prevailed upon to hold his peace. It seems he cannot.
“Hey, you! You there. I demand to speak with you. Now!” He stamps forward, intent on his mission, only to stagger backwards as a beefy fist collides with the center of his chest.
“You was told to stay there. If yer need further ’elp, I’ll be glad of the exercise.”
Incensed, my husband turns on the ruffian issuing orders. “How dare you. Do you know who I am?”
“Don’t give a fuck, guv. Shut up and stay where yer was told to stay.”
Unabashed, my less than wise spouse blunders on, “I am Mr Giles Conrad Browne, I’ll have you know. I’m a respected merchant and personal friend of the Earl of Mountford. I’ll have your heads for this, all of you—”
His tirade is brought to an untimely end by the application of that same beefy fist, this time to the side of Giles’ flapping jaw.
“I said, shut up.” The additional advice offered by the pirate crewman seems superfluous, as his actions have certainly done the trick.
No stranger himself to flying fists, though in fairness he’s normally the one throwing the punches, most often at me, Giles crumples like a snapped rope, landing in a heap on the deck at our feet. Acting on instinct both myself and Captain Carside stoop to retrieve him, each of us grabbing a hand to help him back to his feet.
He’s not even slightly grateful, shoving both of us aside as soon as he’s perpendicular once more. I grunt, the stabbing pain in my ribs not helped at all by this continued rough handling. Even this small sound causes Giles to round on me again.
“What’s that noise for, you stupid cow? Anyone’d think it was you who’d just been attacked aboard their own ship by some murderous, filthy pirate.”
“Whose ship?” This from Captain Carside, sounding more than a little disenchanted with his irate passenger.
I’m grateful for the intervention, at least he’s distracted Giles’ wrath from me. My husband’s face is turning a deep shade of puce as he rounds on the ship’s master.
“I hired this vessel. The cargo is mine. A cargo you were hired to deliver safely into Portsmouth.”
Giles is screaming his words at the captain who seems remarkably sanguine regarding the whole affair, merely shrugging as he observes the contents of the hold emerging onto the deck, in readiness for transfer to the other vessel. The fact that the pirates are unloading the cargo would indicate that they are not intending to take the ship as well, so it would seem that Captain Carside’s relief
is not misplaced. As that realization settles itself in my husband’s head, it gives rise to yet more displays of temper. I might seriously fear for his life if I were still harboring any dregs of finer feeling toward him.
“You! You there, return those goods to the hold at once. How dare you? Do you know who you’re crossing? Do you? Do you?”
I’m already backing away from my husband, coward that I am. I prefer not to share the consequences if—when—these raiders become tired of his ranting. Or, more likely, I don’t relish the prospect of becoming the object for his pent up frustrations once this is all over. Assuming any of us are left alive.
The deck lurches again, and this time the hem of my cloak slips under my shoe. I miss my footing, staggering backwards toward the rail. I tense for the impact, my ribs already exploding in a burst of fresh agony as I twist to try to save myself. Suddenly, my tumble is halted. I’m caught in strong arms, quickly righted.
“Whoah, steady there.”
I gasp as powerful hands encircle my waist, pressing against my bruised ribs. I glance up over my right shoulder, into the same laughing blue eyes that I saw as the pirate ship came alongside us. I glance away quickly, mumbling my thanks. My husband’s attention is dangerous enough—how much more lethal would be the notice of the pirate captain?
“My apologies, madam. Did I hurt you?”
Madam? Apologies?
“Keep your filthy hands off my wife.”
I’m convinced Giles’ response to my predicament owes less to a husbandly concern for my welfare than it does his own over-developed sense of ownership.
In any case, my pirate rescuer is no more impressed by his bluster that the crewman with the beefy fist. He ignores my husband, though he has clearly registered his words.
“Wife? That would make you Mrs…Browne?”
I have no option but to meet his gaze once more as he lounges in front of me, one hip resting on the rail of the ship behind him. “Yes, sir. Mrs Browne. Jane.”
He smiles at me, and the expression lights up his entire face and my entire world. He bows his head, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Browne. Jane.”
He might have said more, but Giles has heard enough. He lurches for me, grabs my arm to drag me across the deck and away from the pirate captain. I scream, my tormented ribs just can’t abide this treatment, and my legs buckle. As I drop to my knees I’m aware of the swift movement behind me. I’m scooped up and once more gently set back on my feet, moments before Giles finds himself yet again on the wrong end of a sharp upper cut. This time it’s the pirate captain delivering the blow. No one moves to help Giles up.
“I’ve no objection to manhandling women, but there’s a right way to do it.” Standing over the prone figure of my husband, the pirate continues to offer his own advice. “And a proper time and place. This is neither. Lay a hand on Mrs Browne again, or make another sound, and you’ll be laid out cold. Is that clear?”
My husband chooses that moment to learn the wisdom of remaining silent, so the pirate helps his thinking along by means of a sharp nudge in the ribs with his booted foot. “Is that quite clear, Mr Giles Conrad Browne, merchant and friend to earls?”
Giles staggers unaided back to his feet and manages a surly nod, his jaw flexing awkwardly. I entertain the fond notion that it might just be broken. His glare at me leaves me with no doubts about what’s coming, though, as soon as my protector is out of sight. Which could be very soon indeed, as the captain of the brigands is already striding away across the deck, his attention back on the pressing matter of relieving my husband of his property.
Propelled by pure instinct now, I give a small whimper of terror and make to go after him. I have no idea what I’m thinking, no plan of any description, but it seems to me that my only hope of safety lies in the immediate proximity of the pirate captain. He hears me, turns, just as Giles grabs me again. I see the expression of steely intent on the pirate’s face as he heads for us, and I fully expect him to make good on his threat to knock Giles senseless.
Giles may be greedy, and stupid, but his instinct for self-preservation is second to none. He drags me in front of him, clearly intending to use me as a shield. Contempt is etched on the pirate’s face, his eyes now narrowed and fixed on Giles as he edges around us. Giles moves round too, backing toward the rail, keeping me between himself and the silent privateer.
“I’ll do it. You come one step closer, and she goes over.” Giles is babbling, almost incoherent.
The pirate’s head tilts, an almost imperceptible signal to someone close by, behind us. Giles, his animal instinct for escape now finely tuned, sees the gesture. As he senses the trap closing around him, desperation takes over. He grabs me around the waist and hauls me off my feet, at the same time lunging toward the rail.
I hear a shout from the pirate captain, sense movement on several sides, but everything seems to be happening in slow motion. I’m kicking wildly, struggling to escape, but Giles’ arms are an unmovable vice clamped around me. One moment we’re grappling on the rocking deck, the next I’m pressed briefly against the rail before being bodily lifted and launched into thin air. The last voice I hear is that of the pirate. His “Holy fuck, you bastard,” is echoing in my ears an instant before I hit the water and sink like a stone.
Chapter Two
In common with the men of both crews, Rob Hawke was momentarily frozen in disbelief. The vile little shit had actually bloody done it. One moment the vicious bastard had been flinging the small, slender woman, who had the extreme misfortune to be married to him, around the deck of the captured ship, and the next he’d picked her up and had casually tossed her into the sea. It seemed, from what he’d picked up in the few seconds the incident had taken to unfold before his eyes, to have been some deluded, misguided attempt at self-defense on the part of Giles Conrad Browne. As the cowardly little maggot would soon find out, this final act of brutality was going to cost him dear.
The sound of the splash, then nothing, spurred Rob into action. Leaping onto the rail, he scanned the azure depths below. The calm, glassy surface of the Caribbean Sea showed barely a ripple where the woman had gone in, but he could just make out the billowing swirl of her dark gray cloak trailing above her now as she sank into the clear blue water.
Rob turned to snarl just two words over his shoulder at the pair of pirate crewmen now holding the hapless Conrad Browne in a cruel grip.
“He’s mine.”
Immediate concerns satisfied, he slipped his sword belt off and flung it to another of his crew then leaning into a straight dive, he arced over the side and into the water. He entered with barely more of a splash than Jane Browne had, but unhindered by cloak or any other such trappings, his descent through the cool, clear water was much more rapid. It took him just a few seconds to reach her still form as she continued to sink toward the bottom. Her face was upturned, her eyes open. If she were not already drowned, she would surely see him. Her arm was raised, as if reaching for him. With one last strong kick of his legs, he surged the final few feet separating them then grasped her small hand in his.
He halted her descent instantly, and turning himself to face upright again, he pulled her to him. Grasping her around the waist with one arm, he drew his dagger from his belt to slice through the ribbons holding her cloak around her throat. He pushed the encumbering garment aside, letting it continue its journey to the seabed alone. No longer dragged back by the heavy woolen cloak, he struck out hard for the sunlight above, Mrs Browne’s body hanging limp in his arms. Seconds later he broke the surface, gasping for air, and rolled onto his back, the small, still figure draped across him. He reached the side of the captive ship in moments, and from there passed the lifeless body to willing hands from both crews who were united in their mission of hauling her back aboard. He followed quickly, to find Captain Carside desperately patting at Mrs Browne’s cold, unresponsive cheeks, a worried audience of pirates and crew clustered aw
kwardly around the prone woman.
Rob shouldered his way through, dropping to his knees beside the motionless body. One glance was enough to tell him she was not breathing, nor ever likely to again without decisive and immediate intervention. He slipped one hand under her shoulders and lifted her. As her head tilted back he sealed his mouth across hers and issued four short, sharp puffs of air, direct from his lungs and into hers. He glanced down at her chest, idly noting the trim but perfect curves now apparent under her soaked cotton dress. He couldn’t help but remark on her erect, swollen nipples, no doubt a product of the sudden chill, but maybe a good sign. A sign of life? He sincerely hoped to become much more intimately acquainted with those pretty little buds before very much longer, but first things first. He laid his fingers on her neck and detected a pulse, faint but there. Just. Rob suspected it would not beat for long if he did not get her breathing again. He preferred his women alive, and ideally conscious. Without some further effort on his part, neither of those happy states of affairs seemed likely.
He covered her mouth with his again and repeated the breaths, this time longer and deeper. He checked again, and thought he detected a slight shudder. As he watched, her chest heaved, then she coughed, started to choke. Rob rolled her onto her side and thumped her between the shoulder blades. Nothing. With a grimace, he repeated the slap, harder now, and was rewarded by a short but decisive stream of sea water as it was expelled from her lungs. Regaining some level of consciousness now, Mrs Browne was fighting to gulp in great gasps of life-giving air. Rob continued to stroke her back, his words of encouragement backed up by whoops from the crewmen gathered about them. Within a few seconds her breathing steadied, though she still lay on the deck, her eyes closed.
