by Merry Farmer
It gave me so much joy to see the eyes of my men as they received their shares of the treasure. Now those who wanted to retire could afford to do so, whereas others could continue their adventures or even buy their own ships. Or just live like kings until they spent it all on rum and women. Finally making my crew rich healed something in me and brought a feeling of satisfaction.
While we walk along the shore that borders the last buildings of Nassau, I think I see a raven-haired woman between the houses. Samantha! my heart shouts. But that is impossible.
I turn away and continue towards the harbor.
Men are throwing provisions into a rowboat, and my companion informs me this is our crew and I am to join them. I throw my bag in there and join the men who are hefting casks with water, biscuits, and dried fish. My leg hurts, but it will be healed soon enough.
I need to build a rapport with the men I am going to spend months in the same ship with.
When I hand a cask to a sailor, I hear quick steps of someone running. Instinctively, I shove the cask to him and spin around, my hand on my cutlass. A woman with raven hair flying in the wind runs towards me in a ruby red dress that looks so expensive it is fit for a queen. She is too far off, and I am blinded by the sun. The woman reminds me painfully of Samantha, but I do not dare believe it is her.
“Excuse me,” she says as she reaches the first sailor on the jetty. “Have you seen James Barrow?”
When he shakes his head, she goes to the next one. “James Barrow?”
Shock covers me, blinds me, makes my throat convulse. I want to believe what I think I am seeing, but that cannot be. I have sent her away. I have seen her disappear.
Then I finally understand what unravels before me. The voice is hers. The hair. The build and height. I put the cutlass back in its sheath and walk towards her, my gait stiff, limping when I use my injured leg.
By some miracle, she is here.
“Samantha,” I say when I get close enough, and she turns her head to me.
Her eyes widen. “James,” she mouths and flies into my arms.
I take her and kiss her and engulf her, pressing her to me so hard I might crush her. Her mouth is hot and soft and velvety. Her taste makes me hard. It really is her.
“My jewel,” I say when I lean back to look at her. “Why are you here?”
“I had to make sure you were all right.” Her big dark eyes shine but cloud with worry when she looks me over. “What happened to your eye?”
I chuckle. “Nothing. I must disguise myself here.”
She looks at the boat that is still being loaded. “You were leaving?”
“To the East Indies.”
“So I’m not too late.” She smiles, then a frown creases her brow. She slaps me on my chest. “How could you do that? Put the necklace on me like that?”
“You know why I did it. You needed to go. So I made you go.”
“But I wanted to get you to safety first.”
“I am safe.”
“How did you escape the eruption?”
“I found a stick and used it for support. I hurried down as best I could. And when I could not go any further, my crew came to find me.”
She sighs with relief. “Thank God. You had no idea how much you frightened me. When I went back, your date of death was unknown. You changed me, James. I know it’s crazy because we only met yesterday, but you showed me what I can be when I’m not afraid to be hurt. I was a coward, hiding behind the facade of a woman who does not care about intimacy. But when I felt what I felt with you, I couldn’t imagine living without it for a moment. So I came back. I don’t know what the future holds, James. But I know I want to find out with you. So I came to stay. For now. Maybe forever. I know my adventure with you is not over, and as long as I love you, I want it to continue.”
“You love me?” I whisper. My heart is twisting and opening, and it is sweet and aches as if a magical balm has begun to heal a bad wound.
“I do.”
“Did you not say you never wanted to love anyone?”
“I did.”
“And yet?”
“And yet I love you.”
“My heart has been full of you since I saw you. I just did not want to allow myself to believe that you would not betray me. But you did not. And you showed me that I can love like I have never loved before.”
She kisses me again. Tenderly, slowly, as if we have nowhere to go.
And we do not.
“Hey, Mr. Bennet!” a man says from the boat, and I break the kiss and look at him. “Are you coming or are you staying with your molly? We are leaving.”
I look at Samantha. “I’m staying,” I say to him without breaking eye contact with her. “And this is no molly. She’s a lady the likes of which you will never see again.”
I am rewarded with the brightest smile of my life.
“Waste of time,” I hear the man mumble and the jetty shudders as my bag lands by my feet. The boat sets off.
“I need to get off this island,” I say. “There is a price on my head.”
“Right. I might have an idea of what we could do.”
“What?”
“We could find Cole. My friend Lisa must be with him.”
“But he is in the East Indies, is he not?”
“No. I know for a fact he’s somewhere around New Providence Island. And I got a clue on how to find him.”
I smile, my chest fills with light, warm air. “An adventure then?”
She smiles back. “An adventure.”
Samantha kisses me. And as our lips meet and meld together, the feel of her pressed to me sets my blood on fire. But even though she thinks it will be an adventure finding Cole, she has no idea that the real adventure will be spending every day with her, no matter what.
Curious about Cole and Lisa’?
Discover their story in the twinned boxed set for ‘Once Upon a Pirate’ …
‘Pirates, Passion and Plunder’.
About Mariah Stone
When time travel romance writer Mariah Stone isn't busy writing strong modern women falling back through time into the arms of hot Vikings, Highlanders, and pirates, she chases after her toddler and spends romantic nights on North Sea with her husband. Mariah speaks six languages, loves sushi and Thai food, and runs a local writer's group.
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Shieldmaiden
by Simone Leigh
Chapter 1
INVASION
Northumbria
9th Century
MERCIA
The sky is a pure blue dome and I wipe my forehead against the trickling sweat that stings my eyes.
Sheep slice at the turf, already close-clipped, which clothes the hillside, stretching down and around craggy outcrops and then on to the pebbled shore. Far below the surf rolls; a million bubbles foaming, popping and reforming as it sweeps in. And beyond, a swell of blue-green glints under a bright sun.
Here, high above the water, the bare whisper of a breeze strokes my cheeks. In air that hisses with bees and heat, I move from one low shrub to another, squatting low to gather the berries.
It’s hot, hard work, picking the tiny fruits, but it is better than being trapped indoors with the spinning and the weaving, and my mother’s despairing Tuts as she examines my work.
“You’ll have to do better than this, Mercia, or your family will be walking in their skins when you’re older.”
“But I hate spinning.”
One of the old aunties plucks at my thread; uneven and lumpy, too thin in some places, bulky in others. “And what am I supposed to do with this when it’s time to weave the winter cloaks?”
Eventually, I am ejected from the hut, escaping into glorious
freedom. My mother thrusts a basket into my hand. “And take Jeffrey with you…”
So small as they are, the whinberries, purple and plump with juice, fill my basket slowly. But it’s a task I enjoy, and the berries are my favourites; a late summer treat. And perhaps my mother will let me have a little cream with the berries if I bring home a good haul, enough for everyone to enjoy.
I regard my ‘assistant’. “You’re supposed to be helping.”
Jeffrey looks up at me, his freckled face purple-stained around the mouth. “It's so hot.” He kicks at a bush. “All the other boys went hunting with the men. This is girl’s work.”
“Being girl’s work hasn't stopped you eating the fruit. Have you collected any at all?” I head-point the leather bag flapping loose from his shoulders. “Or have you eaten everything you’ve picked?”
He grins, displaying gappy teeth. “They’re so good but so little. How can you pick enough for other people too?”
“That’s what we’re here for. And if you can’t do girl’s work, how do you think they’ll trust you to go with the older boys?”
His lower lip pushes out and he traces a pattern in the turf with a finger-end. “You could give me some of yours. Then I could show them my bag when we get back.”
“Ha! Forget it.” I wave a hand towards him, maybe a bit over-dramatically. “I didn’t go to all this effort so you could get the glory…” Then my eyes follow the line of my hand… and arm… out over the sea, glittering far below.
My eye caught something. But my head didn’t make sense of it.
What was it?
There is something… Out by the headland.
The sun is so bright, and the reflection from the water dazzling. Heat and light bathe my face in equal measure. As I turn, now looking squarely out to sea, the bare breeze flutters over my face, cooling my overheated forehead and neck; a mild relief only.
What…?
A hand raised against the sun, I squint out over blue and white dazzle, out beyond the grey shadow of the promontory
A flicker of colour…
It darts and dances against sparkling water, difficult to make out. A flash of red. I struggle to focus.
Then I see it.
The sail; red and white striped… The sail they always warned about.
My breath tightens. I can’t find enough air. Swallowing hard, I suck at my cheeks, trying to draw moisture into a mouth suddenly dry.
“Jeffrey…” Panic wars with my thoughts, fighting to control my voice…
Stay calm…
“… Jeffrey, get your things. We’re going home.”
That pout again. “Mama said we could stay all afternoon.”
“Jeffrey! Get your things. Right now.”
He screws his face to protest, but then his gaze follows mine out to sea. He whimpers. “It’s them.” His eyes are round; his mouth too.
“Yes, it’s them. We have to get back home. They won’t be able to see the ship from there…”
Can the Sea Wolves see the village?
I try to map it in my head, drawing the line between the ship and the cluster of buildings which is most of what I have known in my life.
The vessel is still far away. And the spit of land which makes a natural shelter and harbour for my home, right now, hides it from the invaders.
No, not yet. They can’t see them…
My mother…
My father…
My family…
The villagers…
The village, with its hall and huts, sheds and barns, its scatter of fields for grazing the stock or growing the crops, is out of sight for now…
But as I look across the hill, thin spirals of white smoke rise, tall and straight, signalling to any who look that we are here…
“Run, Jeffrey. We have to run. We have to warn them.”
He’s ahead of me, panic stark on his boy’s features, racing back to our home. Picking up the hem of my skirt, I tug it free of snarling furze. Then, as I dash after him, the basket impedes my movement, snagging on my clothes and knocking me off-balance. Without a thought, I toss it to one side, sprinting freely now.
Running. Running hard. Running until my lungs burn and black spots dance behind my vision. My feet skitter and slide over dry slippery turf as I race down the hillside, Jeffrey just a little ahead of me.
I risk a look over my shoulder. The red sail is drawing closer. I can see the men in the ship now; black specks, some standing upright, looking forward. Some seated.
Oars pull, water spilling over the blades as the men heave. And the breeze, so sparse here over the land, fills the sail, propelling the ship over glittering waters and towards my people.
Occasionally, the sunlight glints on something; metallic, flashing bright.
Helmets?
Swords?
How many men?
Can I outrun them? Give the warning?
Jeffrey is too young, his legs too short to carry him quickly. He’s well ahead of me but overtaking him, I scoop him up, carrying him with me.
Slower now under my burden, cresting the hilltop, I look down on our settlement, with its homes and barns and sties, and the great hall, with its traitorous smoke coiling skyward from the exit-hole tucked into the thatch.
Chickens scratch in the earth. Pigs work through dirt, food-leavings and fallen leaves, snouts down. Geese graze, flapping wings at any foolish enough to approach their almost-grown offspring. It has been a good summer…
… until now…
… Our stock, well fed, are fat from succulent eating; it would have been a fine Yuletide come the dark months…
Would have been?
A group of the smaller children play some game with one of those inflated pig’s bladders, watched over by an old uncle. And Cedric, who was a great warrior in his day so they say, before a boar stole his right leg below the knee, is teaching archery to a group of the older boys.
The protecting stockade encloses the huddle of buildings; stout timbers, well-sharpened, facing outward.
Will that be enough?
And my sinking heart says it will not. The stockade will keep out wolves and bears, boars and foxes; but seasoned fighting men? Able to think. Able to plan. To use fire.
How many?
A score of men?
A score and ten?
More?
A shape stoops over the well, drawing water, Acca, my father’s brother. I'm screaming and waving.
Look at me…
So is Jeffrey, cradled in my arms, in his shrill boy’s voice.
Look at me… Look at me…
Acca glances towards us, then straightens up as we pelt down, yelling and pointing out and back across the bay.
And now, clearing the headland, the red sail hoves into view of the village.
Acca stiffens, raising a hand over his eyes as he stares seaward then, shouting and calling, he dashes into the hall. Moments later, chaos erupts; men and women spilling out, running this way and that.
Aealdwine, my grandmother’s brother, races for the gate, opening it wide, gesturing madly as we race down and past the woodland edge, over the open grass.
Others are snatching up the livestock, urging them indoors. Cedric, leaning on his crutch, is lining up the boys with their bows.
A few of the men have real swords and shields. Others are snatching up boar spears or axes. But most are arming themselves with whatever is to hand; hunting knives… staffs... One boy-almost-man carries the switch he uses to drive the oxen in their ploughs.
Farmers…
Not warriors…
Some of the women are screaming and, the bairns picking up their fear, they start wailing too. Even the geese are picking up the mood, hissing at the yapping, dancing village curs.
The breath hot in my lungs, spots behind my eyes, I run, racing for the gate.
BJORN
It's as fine a day as could be asked for our venture. Brilliant sunshine plays over the water and a fresh breeze fi
lls the sail, supporting the steady heave and pull of the rowers.
A score of men make up the crew. Most are veterans, but a few are young, myself included, all in search of the wealth and the prestige that will give them a place in life and the dreams they chase. Returning home with silver, slaves and gold, will enable them to buy homes, land and loyalty. And in a couple of cases, I know they seek the permission of fathers to take a daughter to wife. After all, what loving father will wish his daughter to an unproved man? Or to poverty?
But a man, however young, returning battle-seasoned, with wealth, status and of proven courage… He can name his terms.
Which of course, is why I am here, on my first raid.
And with a leader such as Magni, so experienced a navigator, how can we fail?
Erling looks out, resting his hands on the side of the ship. “Look at this place,” he says. “Green, fertile, running with game and fish and the sheep fat as butter. I'll wager we make enough from this that I'll be able to get myself a wife at last.”
He waves towards the thin column of smoke pale against the vivid blue of the sky. “Just around the headland, I’d say.”
MERCIA
The ship beaches and men, a score of them at least, jump out, wading for the shore. They would be marvellous to see were they not so terrifying. Most are tall and well-built, wearing good woollen cloaks, polished metal helmets that partly cover their faces, and carrying round shields, red and white like their sail, slung over their backs.
Many are bearing axes, but some have swords which gleam in the sunshine. And on some, the light glitters over something under the cloaks. I have heard tell of chain mail; wonderful stuff that protects its wearer against the heaviest of blows, but never did I think to see it…
Or hope to…
One of the invaders leads a horse from the ship. You would think the animal would panic at finding itself on the rocking deck of a boat, but it seems calm and alert, its ears pricking forward as the man passes the reins to another…
