Pirates of Britannia Box Set

by Devlin, Barbara

  Santiago put away his telescope, irritated he seemed unable to get Valentina out of his head. What’s more, his first mate was annoyingly aware of it.

  He took out the telescope again and scanned the coastline to San Agustín.

  Nothing.

  “Shall we dispense with these HBC flags and hoist the Spanish colors?” Christian asked.

  Santiago clenched his jaw. As captain he should have been the one to consider the dangers of flying the British flags when the Spanish flotilla arrived from Cuba. “Sí, and change the nameplate, of course.” As his first mate hurried off, he shouted, “And get yourself another beaver hat.”

  Christian paused and saluted, grinning broadly, before disappearing below.

  Santiago took off his own hat, mopped his brow, and put the tricorn back on. He almost hoped Valentina had been evacuated to Cuba. He couldn’t bear the thought of her trekking through the exposed wastelands to the south in weather that was hotter than Hades.

  He cursed himself for a fool. She’d probably forgotten all about him—if she’d even noticed him in the first place. Sometimes, he was so full of his own…

  “Sheeps,” Xiang yelled, “Flendly.”

  Ignoring the pulse beating in his ears, Santiago focused his telescope. At least a dozen smaller ships, all flying Spanish colors, were approaching from the south, escorted by two British warships. “Get those flags changed,” he shouted to Christian who’d just emerged back on deck.

  The resulting flurry of activity only increased his agitation. The rescue ships had arrived, but where were the evacuees?

  The somber mood lifted a little when the marchers became aware of the flotilla of ships sailing up the coast. They’d trudged in silence for a long while, but suddenly excited chatter filled the air as the unlikely promise of escape now seemed a reality. The rescue vessels flew Spanish colors and the British ships were apparently acting as escort and not in pursuit.

  For Valentina, the flags of her homeland brought bittersweet memories. Little had she known that her rigidly controlled life in Madrid would be thrown into such turmoil.

  Her father’s appointment as Governor of La Florida had seemed like an enormous honor, though her mother hadn’t thought so. Perhaps he had been selected for the prestigious office because the government had known he was the right man to salvage what he could if Spain lost the war. A strong man. King Carlos must have foreseen Britain would lay claim to La Florida. Her father must have known it too.

  The tumultuous events of the past days had thrown her off balance. How else to explain the constant preoccupation with a man she’d met only once and who was totally unsuitable for her. A pirate!

  Thirst and sunstroke had addled her wits.

  But sorrow made it difficult to breathe when she thought of never seeing Santiago Velázquez again.

  Faint shouts barely penetrated the fog of despair.

  Mosé! Mosé!

  The stockade loomed not far away. They had made it. The ships had come to take them to Cuba.

  She straightened her shoulders. A new life awaited. A proud Spaniard of noble birth, she resolved to fulfill Alessandro’s admonition. She would bloom where she was planted.

  “Peepoh,” Xiang shouted. “Many peepoh.”

  Santiago swiveled the telescope to the land, filled with an urge to laugh out loud when he clearly made out Melchor riding at the head of the refugees. He scanned the crowd around the governor, his hope dwindling when he failed to find Valentina. “As I suspected, she’s already fled to Cuba,” he told Christian.

  His first mate grabbed the telescope. “I was sure she’d be among them,” he declared, tilting back the top hat. “Let me see.”

  His friend had obviously been as anxious as Santiago. It would be amusing if it weren’t so disappointing. He’d been certain, but perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.

  “There she is,” Christian declared, handing back the telescope. “Towards the rear.”

  Heart racing, Santiago refocused, his eyes eventually coming to rest on the woman he sought. She looked hot and tired, but she rode with dignity, her spine straight, shoulders squared. “I knew she would refuse to abandon her father,” he shouted, thumping the ship’s rail with his fist. “Into the skiff.”

  “Take care,” Christian advised as they climbed over the side. “We don’t want to get on the wrong side of Jacobs.”

  Santiago was in too much of a hurry to worry about Jacobs and didn’t have the patience to wait for Xiang to climb down from the topmast. He took up the oars and began rowing like a man possessed.

  “You might at least have donned your captain’s jacket to greet the lady,” Christian scolded.

  Santiago paused in his rowing and looked down at his sweaty body. “Madre de Dios,” he exclaimed. “I cannot let her see me like this.”

  His first mate shrugged. “It will be an interesting test of whether she’s as besotted with you as you are with her. My guess is she’ll be overjoyed to see a friendly face after the trek from San Agustín.”

  Santiago resumed rowing, recognizing the merit in his crewman’s words. He refrained from mentioning that his face wasn’t the only part of his body eager to offer Valentina a warm welcome.

  Alchemy

  Valentina’s father and Montserrat dismounted, then hurried into the stockade with a tall, black man. Excited people milled around her: blacks, whites, mulattos, men, women and children. Some she recognized, others she’d never seen before. Some lugged huge bundles of belongings on their backs. Most carried nothing. Like a slow-moving tide, all drifted towards the sea and the ships docking in the bay.

  The noise and confusion added to her dizziness. She gripped the reins, reluctant to dismount.

  She became aware of someone speaking her name.

  “Valentina, Valentina.”

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to concentrate. A smiling man held the bridle, his free hand extended. He’d come to help her dismount, but he was stripped to the waist and sweaty. It was tempting to allow those strong arms to lift her…except Manuela would be appalled.

  Swallowing hard, she peered through the blurry fog of exhaustion. Dragging her gaze from his broad chest to his face, she noticed something intriguing about his brown eyes. And the tricorn. It reminded her of…

  Elation surged. “Santi,” she exclaimed, sliding off the horse into the warmth of his welcoming arms.

  Santiago prided himself on his sang-froid, never allowing his emotions to be on display. It had helped him survive.

  Valentina’s reaction took him completely by surprise, and was more than he could have hoped for.

  He had never allowed anyone but close family to address him in such an informal manner, now the nickname was music to his ears. He wanted to hear her growl Santi, Santi, over and over when he claimed her.

  He held her tightly as she sobbed, her tears cool on his overheated skin. Stroking her hair, he cooed words of endearment he’d never spoken to a woman before. “Hush, Cariña. You’re safe now, my darling girl. I have you.”

  It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d had a woman in his embrace. Usually, though, he’d been impeccably dressed—or completely naked. In either circumstance, cleanliness had been the watchword. Now he was sweating and not very sweet-smelling.

  Valentina didn’t seem to mind, any more than he cared about her disheveled, dusty state. Indeed, their obvious need for each other was spontaneous and exhilarating. Dress, appearance, dignified behavior—all things of utmost importance to the Spanish nobility—were as nothing compared to the comfort and support they found in each other’s arms.

  She poured out her loss, barely able to speak for the sobs that racked her. The prospect of exile he understood, though he wouldn’t speak of his own unjust banishment…yet. He knew all about leaving behind everything he’d ever known to face a new life in foreign climes. He didn’t know who Alessandro was, but it grieved him the man’s death had affected her so deeply.

  She arched her back, pressing h
er breasts to his chest, but he doubted she fully appreciated her body’s natural instinct to join with his. His cock understood all too well and responded fiercely. He risked pulling her to his arousal, elated when she ground her hips against him. His little Valentina was a woman of hidden passion.

  When the sobbing ceased, she inhaled deeply and lifted her chin. “I had abandoned hope.”

  The fragile sincerity in her tear-filled amethyst eyes humbled him. This beautiful, sophisticated woman had pined for him, exiled criminal that he was. He had an urge to strut like a rooster, but at this moment she didn’t need the arrogant Santiago Velázquez. She needed a man who could give her tenderness, compassion…love.

  He’d been fond of many of the women he’d known. Love had never kicked him in the gut before and he’d be a fool to deny the incredible gift. “I was afraid I would never see you again,” he rasped.

  Valentina was beginning to fear Santiago must think her a childish nitwit, throwing herself at a grown man, causing a spectacle of them both, but his words sent tiny winged creatures fluttering in her belly. Had he meant them? “You thought of me?”

  He tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I have thought of little else since we met, mi amor. You’re in my blood.”

  She’d occasionally caught a glimpse of sailors in the harbor stripped to the waist, but had never been so close to a man in such a state of undress. The sincerity in his gaze gave her courage. She flared her nostrils and flattened her palms on his bare chest, shocking even herself. She felt the strength of chiseled muscles, the dampness of dark hair. “You’re a work of art,” she whispered, wishing she was brazen enough to brush her thumbs over his male nipples, touch her tongue to his glistening skin.

  None of her imaginings about her first kiss came close to the overwhelming sensations that assailed her body when Santi put his mouth on hers. It seemed natural to open her lips and allow his tongue entry. She sucked on him like a hungry child, letting him breathe for her.

  She snaked her arms around his neck when he cupped her bottom and pressed her mons to his hard body. Lost in the desire blossoming deep within, her heart lurched when, without warning, they were wrenched apart.

  “Leave him,” she screeched, filled with alarm as Santiago struggled to be free of two burly black men clamped on to his arms.

  Spewing curses, Montserrat grabbed her wrist.

  Another black man came to Santiago’s aid, quickly losing the curious top hat he wore.

  “Take your hands off her,” Santi shouted.

  “Stinking pirate! You’ll be shot for defiling Lady Valentina,” Montserrat hissed. “Take him away.”

  “No,” she screamed, her heart pounding wildly as she tried unsuccessfully to free her wrist from Montserrat’s manic grip.

  “What’s going on here?”

  She swayed with relief at the sound of her father’s voice, coming close to toppling over when Montserrat abruptly released her.

  She ran to Santi, pulling frantically at one of the men holding him.

  “Cease!” her father yelled. “All of you.”

  The moment Santi was released, he put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Valentina, what is happening here?” her father demanded to know.

  “This pirate has defiled your daughter, sir,” Montserrat asserted.

  Her father clenched his jaw, glaring at Santiago.

  “He did not defile me, Papa,” she countered, cuddling closer to Santi. “I was so overwhelmingly happy that he was here, I threw myself at him.”

  “Now he hides behind a woman’s skirts,” Montserrat exclaimed.

  She felt the outrage coursing through Santiago.

  “May I explain?” he asked with more calmness than he was obviously feeling. “I am a man of honor, a member of an old Spanish family, as you yourself are aware. I am not a defiler of women.”

  “He’s a pirate,” Montserrat shouted, his voice loaded with exasperation.

  Santiago ignored him, continuing to address her father. “We are in a precarious position here. All in the same boat, one might say. It is not in our interests to squabble. I have a large ship at my disposal and I offer it as the safest means of transportation to Cuba for you and your daughter. I intend to do my upmost to make sure she arrives there safely so we can be married…with your blessing of course, Your Honor.”

  “Married to a pirate,” Montserrat mumbled, throwing his hands in the air.

  Her father arched a brow, but he seemed to be ignoring his vice-governor. “What say you to all this, niña?”

  Floating on a cloud of happiness, she looked into beloved brown eyes. “I beg you to grant my dearest wish, Papa,” she replied.

  Eve of Departure

  As the shadows lengthened, the refugees cheered and applauded when the Cuban vessels dropped anchor.

  Santiago would have preferred to continue the discussion with Melchor, but this wasn’t the time or place. Reluctantly, he took Valentina’s hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “Go with your papa, Cariña. I must attend to the safety of my ship and prepare for tomorrow’s voyage. You are in my heart.”

  He hoped she understood he wanted to whisk her off to his cabin, but such behavior would only jeopardise their cause.

  To his relief, she nodded and walked to her father’s side.

  Feeling the chill of the night air on his clammy skin, and at a definite disadvantage without his shirt, he bowed to Melchor. “Excellency, I will return at dawn to discuss these matters further.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Montserrat sneered.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Melchor retorted. “Take my daughter to the room Jacobs has assigned her in the stockade.” He kissed Valentina’s cheek. “It’s not what you’re used to.”

  She hugged him. “Thank you, Papa.”

  Santiago felt uneasy allowing the scowling vice-governor to take Valentina by the arm, but at least she’d be safe in the stockade.

  “This is highly irregular,” Melchor muttered as he strode off to supervise the loading of the Cuban ships.

  Christian picked up his hat and dusted it off. “As if any of this is regular! Come on, otherwise the Santa María will be overrun with refugees.”

  “Do you think I have a chance?” Santiago asked him as they made their way back to the ship.

  “You’ve succeeded in getting what you wanted in the past,” his friend replied. “The question is, do you really want her, or is it just revenge you’re seeking?”

  Valentina paced the narrow confines of the room she’d been allotted which was actually a half-emptied cupboard. She was bone-tired, but the cot smelled peculiar, and she was desperate to stay awake long enough to speak to her father when he returned.

  She pulled her shawl tighter and rubbed her upper arms, listening to the cicadas chirping outside. She would miss the familiar sound if there were no cicadas in Cuba.

  “But it won’t matter,” she told herself. “I can bloom there, if I’m with Santi.”

  She covered her ears against the loud arguments going on outside and prayed all would go well with the evacuation. Tempers were evidently fraying, but then people were exhausted and afraid. She prayed God would give her father the strength he needed.

  As the hours dragged by, she searched her heart, trying to understand the sudden rush of love she felt for a man she should avoid like the plague. Manuela would faint dead away at the very notion, and if Valentina revealed the carnal thoughts running through her head…

  But her dueña was a widow. Surely she and her husband…

  She conjured an image of Manuela naked that brought on a fit of unkind giggles.

  She rehearsed over and over what she would say to her father to convince him when he came to her. He likely deemed her a silly girl with even sillier fantasies. Perhaps, he was right. Santiago was a man of the world, a beautiful man. He’d probably bedded many women, whereas she had no inkling of how to please a husband.

  “Husband,” she
whispered into the hard pillow when she finally pulled the rough blanket over her exhausted body.

  With growing dismay, Santiago and Christian watched as a potential disaster unfolded. Refugees pushed and shoved each other as they clambered aboard the launches lowered from the Cuban vessels. Arguments broke out and neither Jacobs nor the Governor seemed able to control the situation which occasionally erupted into fisticuffs. Montserrat was nowhere in evidence.

  “Melchor’s exhausted,” Santiago remarked. “Looks like he’s lost his wig somewhere along the line.”

  “If this is a sign of things to come, the ships will sink before they even get halfway,” his first mate said.

  “Let’s do what we can,” Santiago suggested, “otherwise they’ll turn their attention to the Santa María. Maybe that hat of yours will carry weight.”

  Christian grinned, tapping the top of the somewhat battered headwear. “We’ll see.”

  They ensured every access to their ship was well guarded before leaving.

  Xiang rowed them to shore.

  The Chinaman stayed with the skiff as they strode towards the launches.

  Christian pulled his pistol from his belt and fired into the air.

  The uproar ceased abruptly as everyone crouched down, gazing about frantically.

  “More effective than a hat, wouldn’t you say?” Christian asked.

  Santiago took advantage of the lull. “Do you want to drown in the cold Atlantic?” he shouted. “I know everyone is afraid, but panic will lead to many deaths.”

  Valentina’s father emerged from the crowd and strode to his side. “Capitán Velázquez is right,” he announced. “I have been assured the Spanish ships will be allowed to ply back and forth to Cuba until everyone is safe. If you overload them they will sink, and no one will escape.”

  There was some disgruntled mumbling, but the crowd generally seemed calmer.

  “The ships cannot sail until daybreak,” Santiago pointed out. “I suggest you find a place to sleep until then. If you’ve caused a boat to be overloaded, then get out of it. Now! We are Spaniards and we will not behave like frightened animals under the sneering gaze of English seamen.”