Pirates, Passion and Plunder

by Victoria Vale

  “Cap’n, come and see. You need to come now, sir.”

  “What the fuck…?” Raven unwrapped himself from around Paulette’s slim form, taking care not to disturb her if he could help it. The wench needed her sleep after what he had done to her last night. And the night before that, and the one before that even.

  She had been in his care for just over a month now, and he had lost count of the many and various ways he had fucked her. She had met him with equal vigour at every stage, responding to his sensual brutality with a level of submission he had only dreamed of. He meant to use her in similar fashion again today, and every day to come, for as long as she remained with him. He suspected she would relish his plans for her as much as he would. Paulette Vêrtine was a lusty and demanding bedfellow. Raven did not intend to let her leave his care in any way less than fully sated.

  “What is going on?” He strode to the door and threw it open. “Why all the bloody din?”

  “A sail, sir. Spanish, Velvet thinks, an’ headed for Havana.”

  “A merchant ship?” His interest soared. A Spanish vessel laden with gold and supplies intended for the colonies in the Caribbean always promised rich pickings.

  “Velvet thinks so, Cap’n. Should we give chase?”

  “Have they seen us?” Raven dragged on his breeches and rammed his feet into his boots. He grabbed his discarded shirt and sprinted bare-chested from the cabin.

  The lad outside jumped smartly to the side to avoid being sent flying.

  “Not yet. But if we are to o’ertake ’em we need to change course now. Velvet sent me to fetch ye.”

  “Good lad.” Raven emerged into the muggy, misty dawn.

  Velvet stood at the prow of the ship, his telescope to his eye. Raven was beside him in moments.

  “Can you make out what she is?”

  “Flying the flag of Spain. A sixty gunner, by the looks of her.”

  “Merchant or navy?”

  “I would say merchant, but we need to be closer to be certain.”

  “I’ll take the wheel. You keep an eye on her and let me know the moment you have more details.” He sprinted for the wheel deck. “Charlie, Albert, get up there and raise the sails. I want all sheets into the wind.”

  The lads scurried to obey, and Raven hauled the huge, oak ship’s wheel around to turn the vessel into the wind. It was a feat of strength, but he managed it with ease, setting a course to intercept the Spanish vessel. Above his head the sails billowed, then filled in the stiffening breeze. The Raven’s Claw leapt forward, soaring swiftly across the undulating waves in pursuit of their quarry.

  “Definitely a merchant,” came the word from Velvet as they closed the gap, “and fully laden, too, going by the depth at which she is sitting in the water.”

  Raven angled his own vessel to better harness the wind and gained a little more speed. They would be upon the other ship within hours.

  By now the target was in plain view, and Raven could tell the precise moment the Spanish sailors spotted the pirate craft bearing down upon them. They attempted to change course, so Raven adjusted accordingly. He had the speed, the agility, and his vessel was lighter and more manoeuvrable. This was an unequal contest so far, but the real test would be one of firepower. He had but thirty-six guns, the Spaniard had sixty. The Claw offered a moving target, much harder to hit. They were smaller, swifter. Velvet had to deliver but one decent broadside, and this might all be over.

  “Holy fuck, we are not alone.” Raven squinted into the rising sun and could just make out the silhouette of another ship approaching from the east. Was it another Spanish vessel, an escort, perhaps, to help ensure the cargo reached its destination? “Velvet, who is that?” he yelled to his first mate who still had his telescope to hand.

  “Not Spanish, mon capitaine. I think…yes, it is le Faucon. The Falcon. She is one of us, sir.”

  “Which of us will reach the Spaniard first?”

  “They will, mon capitaine.”

  The Falcon was a vessel he knew well enough. He and the captain had shared many a jug of ale in the drinking dens of Kingston or Havana. Raven liked the man but was not especially minded to share his booty with him. He realised, though, that he may have no choice. The Falcon was bigger than the Claw, a fifty gunner, and she would have the element of surprise since the crew of the Spanish merchant ship was concentrating on Raven and had not yet spotted the other buccaneer also in pursuit.

  “Fuck,” Raven muttered. “That bastard is not going to steal my prize from under me.” He yelled for more sail and willed the wind to rise yet further.

  His prayers were answered. A sudden swell of brisk wind hurled the Raven’s Claw towards the Spaniard, bringing him within shooting range at more or less the same time as the Falcon.

  “Signal them to surrender,” Raven commanded. “They cannot outgun both of us. Velvet, prepare to open fire.”

  His first mate disappeared below to supervise the loading and firing of their cannons, while other crewmen raised the commonly recognised skull and crossbones to warn the Spaniards of their intent. Raven saw the same colours flutter up the Falcon’s mast also. His rival took up position on the merchant ship’s port side, and both waited to see if the Spanish captain would see sense.

  He did not. The roar of cannon erupted from both sets of gun portals. One of the balls took out Raven’s third mast, but the rest landed in the water to sink harmlessly to the bottom. Men scurried to slice the sail free and shove the debris overboard, and the decks shook as Velvet retaliated.

  The Raven’s Claw managed a truer aim. Their eighteen guns on the port side succeeded in blasting a hole in the Spaniard’s hull, as well as snapping their main mast. Crippled and listing, the vessel was at once rendered helpless in the water.

  The smoke cleared and Raven could see that the Falcon had fared worse than he had. They, too, had been holed, though above waterline so they were still upright and not taking on water. They had but one mast still standing but were closer to the stricken merchant ship than he was. He watched the other crew fling grappling hooks over the side to capture the ship and haul it in for boarding.

  He recognised his drinking comrade, known for his golden locks and swift, merciless skill with the sword, lead his men across the ropes which now joined the ships. He was the first to land on the Spaniard’s deck, followed by a swarm of cutthroat pirates who had scented gold.

  My bloody gold.

  Raven angled his own vessel in order to also latch on, at the starboard side. His own grappling hooks and ladders bridged the gap, and he led his men to join the skirmish. With the second pirate crew also engaged, the fight was swift and decisive. The Spanish sailors surrendered, those who still lived content to huddle in the middle of their deck and await their fate. Their captain, a furious and belligerent little man, uttered a string of what Raven had to consider expletives at the other pirate captain, who held him at the point of his sword.

  “Do you speak Spanish?” enquired the blond-haired pirate when Raven drew near.

  “I cannot say that I do,” Raven replied. “I think we may assume he is displeased.” He shrugged. “No matter. We shall relieve him of his cargo and leave him and his crew to repair their ship as best they can, or more likely abandon it before it sinks.”

  “You know of the cargo?” The other man eyed him sharply.

  “Not specifically. Gold, silks, supplies for their colonies.”

  “Aye, there is some of that, I daresay. But also, slaves.”

  “Slaves,” Raven breathed. “How do you know?”

  “I have been trailing this vessel all the way from Louisiana. Over sixty poor devils crammed into the hold. We need to get them out and safe, before this bloody rot-bucket goes down with everyone on board. Look.”

  Raven squinted in the direction indicated. A trap door in the deck had been hauled open, and one by one the captives, now released from their shackles which had secured them below, staggered out, blinking in the light. Black slaves, all
of them male, dressed in tattered tunics, threadbare shorts, all barefoot and emaciated, milled helplessly in the bright sunshine.

  “They’ve been down there for weeks. Do you have spare food and water?”

  Raven nodded. “Enough, yes.” He was no philanthropist but would not see men starving to death if he could help it.

  “This ship is going down fast. Take as many as you can on board the Claw, I will take the rest. We will make for Santa Laura and land them there. At least they will be free.”

  Raven nodded. No better solution presented itself. Slavery was widespread, a way of life in the southern American states, on the plantations for the main part, but less so on the islands in the Caribbean. His own moral compass might be somewhat questionable, but he had no fondness for the barbaric practice and did not greatly object to helping in this manner. But if there was gold to be had, he would not leave that behind.

  “Velvet, see to getting half of these poor devils over onto the Claw. Tell Merrick that they need to be fed and watered. Paulette can help him.” Satisfied that his orders would be carried out, Raven fashioned a torch from a piece of broken rail and some torn fabric from the sails. He called for several of his crew to follow him and clambered down into the now almost empty hold. The stench of unwashed bodies, urine, and worse, was near unbearable, but he managed to endure it. His makeshift torch held aloft, Raven made his way to the far end, where another door separated the forward compartment from the slave quarters. The rest of the cargo would be there.

  “Smash it,” he ordered.

  Two of his men set to with axes. It was the work of a few moments. Raven stepped through the debris and held up the torch.

  Yes!

  The space was piled high with flat-topped chests. He used his dagger to prise open the one closest to him and flung back the lid. Gold coins glittered back at him. He opened another, to discover ornate plates fashioned from gold and silver. The next contained expensive spices. Raven did not need to see more.

  “We need men down here, from both crews. We have to unload this as quickly as we can, get it onto the Falcon and the Claw before this ship goes down and it all ends up with the fishes. That would be a pity. A great pity…”

  There was not a pirate on either ship who did not concur with his assessment. Raven commanded the swift removal of the valuable cargo, sending chests alternately to his own vessel and to the Falcon. By the time they had emptied the front hold, the rear of the ship was already under the waves. There were but a few minutes left to abandon the sinking vessel. Her defeated crew were already bobbing in small boats, hopeful of rowing the rest of the way to Havana.

  “A good day’s work,” Raven observed as he and the other captain, the last two to leave, sprinted for the ropes that would carry them back to their own ships. “Join me later, for dinner. On my vessel.”

  “I will. I have a companion on board. She would, I am sure, like to join us. If you do not object.”

  Raven grinned. “I, too, do not travel alone. By all means bring your companion.” He offered a final, triumphant salute, and grasped one of the few remaining ropes to swing back onto his own ship. “Until later.”

  Chapter 7

  Paulette awoke to the sensation of rocking waves beneath her feet. The Claw was gliding across the waters of the Gulf of Mexico at full speed, and a quick glance through the glass at the front of the cabin told her why. They were chasing another ship.

  Raven meant to attack it, that much was obvious. Paulette shuddered. Even she could see that the other vessel was bigger and had more guns than she could easily count from this distance. Without doubt, more than the Claw.

  She dressed as quickly as she could. Raven had provided her with suitable attire, no doubt purloined from previously conquered ships, but beautiful anyway and much finer than any she had owned before. A pretty gown made of yellow muslin was her favourite, but today she pulled on the red velvet. It was warmer than she preferred in this climate, but she could fasten it unaided. She did not bother with shoes.

  For the last three weeks or more she had enjoyed the freedom to move about the Claw as she wished. The men seemed to accept her presence, and no one had complained when she decided to assist Merrick, their cook. Under her influence, the food was more palatable. Fresh fish dominated, supplemented by vegetables. She had determined that, the very next time they came within sight of land, she would somehow convince Raven to let her go ashore and purchase chickens. They could be kept in crates and would ensure a supply of fresh eggs. Maybe she could even persuade him that a cow or a goat would not be unreasonable.

  She spotted the captain as soon as she emerged onto the deck. Raven was at the wheel, his attention on the fleeing ship. They were gaining on it rapidly; she estimated no more than a couple of hours until they would be within range of its guns.

  Oddly, whilst she did not wish to die, the prospect of losing her life in a sea battle, Raven at her side, was not as awful as it might have been. She had known more pleasure, more excitement, more sheer joy in living these last few weeks than she could ever recall.

  Raven was magnificent. He hurt her, and pleasured her, and taught her to feel things she had barely imagined before.

  He was, quite simply, everything she had ever wanted and more.

  Did she love him? No, that was too pale a word for what she felt. She adored him. Her body and soul were his. She could not imagine life without him and had no wish to do so. With every day that passed, as Santa Laura grew closer, she became more miserable at the prospect of being set ashore, left behind when he sailed off into the bright sunset without her.

  Will he even look back? Will he think of me from time to time?

  She shielded her eyes from the sun to peer up at him. Certainly, he was not thinking of her now. His focus was on the ship a couple of miles ahead of them. Paulette sighed and went back below. The spare cabin which doubled on occasions as an infirmary would require preparation. Men would likely be hurt today. There was no ship’s physician, but she would do what she could. The least she might offer would be clean bandages and pallets for the injured. She set to work.

  She had known it would be coming, but the boom of guns almost sent her to her knees. She felt sick, and not for the first time that week. She grabbed a table, mercifully fixed to the floor, and hung on when the impact hit. The Claw rocked; there was the terrifying sound of wood splintering overhead, men shouting, screaming, the pounding of feet above her as they ran to battle stations. Paulette clung to the table and tried not to sob. A weeping female would be of no use to the Claw or her captain.

  The answering roar from within the bowels of the Claw was not long in coming.

  Thank the dear Lord we are able to fight back.

  The sound of their own cannons had barely been carried off on the wind before she heard another round. She braced for the impact, but this time there was nothing, not even the splash of cannon balls dropping into the water. Bewildered, she ran back to the cabin she shared with Raven and rushed to the window to peer outside. At first, she was unable to see anything through the smoke, but when that cleared, she could just discern the outline of another ship. It was obvious that the hapless merchant ship had come to the attention of not one but two pirate vessels, who now vied for the prize.

  Poor devils.

  Still, she was relieved. At least this meant Raven and his crew were likely to live to see another day. The merchant ship might fight off one attacker, but not both.

  Then a thought struck her. Surely, after all of that, the pirates would not resort to fighting each other, scrapping like dogs over a bone. She made her way across the cabin and back up on deck. She had to find Raven, convince him to join forces, make allies, not enemies.

  She arrived in time to see him swing easily across the feet of swirling water which divided the Claw from her quarry. Raven landed nimbly on the other deck and strode to where another tall man held a smaller individual at the point of his sword. She blinked. For a moment there, she had
thought…

  Dear Lord!

  She staggered, blundered into a crew man who swore, then seeing who it was, reached out to steady her.

  “Miss, are ye all right? Ye’re no’ injured, are ye?”

  “No, thank you. I… I am fine.” She stared at the blond pirate, now engaged in conversation with Raven. The pair appeared amiable enough. “Do you… Do you know who that is? The other man speaking to the captain?”

  The crew man looked past her to the other ship. “Oh, that be the cap’n o’ the Falcon, miss. That’s his privateer over yonder. They’ll be talkin’ terms, I daresay, seein’ as ’ow we’ll be sharin’ the prize.”

  “The Falcon? Are you quite sure?”

  “Aye, miss. Ye can see the figurehead from ’ere, a huge hawk painted gold, wings outstretched, like.”

  “Yes, I see it.” She sank to perch on an upturned barrel. “That is my brother’s ship,” she murmured.

  “Oh, right. Then no doubt ye’ll be seein’ ’im soon enough then.” The man scuttled away in response to a bellowed command from Velvet

  I am seeing him now.

  She was going to be sick again. Her stomach churned. She barely had time to turn and lean over the rail before the retching started, but her stomach was empty. Paulette wiped her mouth and sat back down.

  She had not so much as heard from Will since she was fourteen, but there was no mistaking the tall, blond man who she had last seen in jail in New Orleans. And now, he was here, so close she could almost reach out and touch him.

  Will had come. She had no idea why or how, but he was here, and he would take her with him. She knew it. He would help her because he was her brother and he cared for her. And because she had been there for him when he needed her. But if she went with Will, when she went with Will, she would never see Raven again.