Dawn Lady now rested in Esta’s secret harbor, awaiting her next voyage, and Esta couldn’t wait to share her plans with Sam. With the booty, she had paid her staff what she owed them plus another month ahead and invested a goodly chunk in the gold market with Reid’s assistance.
Yes, her life was full of promise when a mere three months ago it seemed nothing could go right. She smiled thinking of all she had to look forward to.
A knock on the chamber door startled Esta out of her musing and she flew to her feet and flung open the door. Sam waited in the hall, his hair longer and wind tossed, a huge bouquet of roses in his arms.
Esta threw herself at him and he lifted her in one arm as he stepped through the door, nudging it shut with his foot. The flowers were discarded as he kissed her senseless. She forgot all that she wished to tell him in the delight of having him back in her arms again. They hadn’t even said a word to each other, just allowed their bodies to make up for the time spent apart. When Esta came up for air, her head spun but Sam allowed her no respite. He backed her toward the bedroom, his hands all over her, making her needy and breathless.
“I have news, beloved,” Esta said, finally coming to her senses enough to speak.
“We have two weeks to catch up on the news, Esta,” he growled, kissing her again.
He picked her up without losing contact with her lips and deposited her on the bed. His eyes devoured her as he stripped from his naval uniform and kneeled over her. “I have missed you every day, so much I never thought I’d survive.” He placed kisses over her neck and the slopes of her breasts. “You are so delicious. I forgot how beautiful you are.” He captured her mouth again and Esta arched against him, begging for the release she could only know in his arms.
His body shone with sweat in the candlelight and Esta thrilled to know she had him so off balance. Her hips bucked as his hand slid under her skirt and up the outside of her thigh. Before she could do more than moan, Sam had raised her skirts, parted her legs and had surged up into her, his rod immediately triggering her climax. He must have felt her clench around him for he pounded into her, reaching his completion only moments after her.
Esta became aware of his lips on her neck again as she returned form the stars. “I missed that, my love,” she said. “To be one with you is a joy I could never have imagined before.”
“The next will be slower,” he said, his breathing ragged. “I just had to have you, had to reassure myself that I hadn’t imagined it.”
“I know exactly how you feel,” she said, running her fingers across his chest.
His eyes were hot as they slid over her, taking inventory. His hands completed their own exploration, and her breathing hitched as his palm stopped over her belly. “Am I imagining it or have you filled out a little just here?” he asked as he ran his hand in soft circles over her abdomen.
“You’re not imagining it, Sam.” She placed her hand over his.
His eyes met hers. “You’re with child?”
Esta nodded, marveling that he knew her body so well he could tell a child grew within. Her heart beat so fast she could barely catch her breath. “Are you happy?”
“Oh, Esta, you’ll never understand how happy you’ve made me. I know things aren’t perfect but to come home from nearly three months at sea, desperate to spend time with you and then to be told I’m to be a father…” There were tears in his emerald eyes. “I won’t let you down and I’ll try to be a good father to all of our children.”
She ran her fingers through his hair. “I know you will, Sam. I can’t wait to show you our son or daughter.”
“Does Merielle know?”
“I wanted you to be the first, beloved.”
He smiled. “Uncle Niko will be excited.”
Esta’s stomach churned. The one thing she had been dreading about Sam’s return was the advent of Nikolas. “I hardly think my pregnancy will be a cause for celebration for the admiral.”
Sam kissed her fingers and smiled. “Months at sea have forged a bond between us, love. He has come to see me as a friend, even confide in me at times. We have a long way to go but it’s no chore being his lackey. He has relaxed a lot and I wouldn’t be surprised to see his anger toward you diminished.”
“We shall see.”
It would be a long time before she could relax in Nik’s presence. He had made no secret of resenting her interference when she forced him to acknowledge Sam.
“Yes, we shall.” He kissed her again, his hand over her stomach, and there was a stirring, a fluttering in her lower abdomen.
Esta gasped.
“What is it?”
“Movement,” she said, “in my belly.”
“The babe?”
“I think he knows his papa is here.” Esta threaded her fingers through his and brought his hand to her lips.
A smile lit up Sam’s face. “I like the sound of that…papa.”
Esta pulled his face down and kissed him with all the love and devotion she felt for this man. He was in the process of remaking himself for her and he would be a marvelous partner. “Stop daydreaming about your child and make love to me,” she whispered.
Samael Delacost, once the most feared pirate on the ocean, did just that.
Thank you for reading The Lady and the Pirate. If you enjoyed it could you please leave a review at your favourite ebook retailer? Thanks so much!
Regards
Bernadette Rowley
Appendix 1- Elven words and their meanings
Lenweri- the elven people, they have dark skin, pointed ears and are tall and elegant
Sis Lenweri- the faction of dark elves that wishes to take over the kingdom of Thorius
Acknowledgements
To Louise Cusack for her inspiration and advice over the last ten years.
To Annie Seaton for her assistance during the most recent edits of The Lady and the Pirate.
To my husband, Michael, and my sons for their unending love and support and for sharing in the disappointments and triumphs of a writing life.
About the Author
Bernadette Rowley is an author of fantasy romance who grew up on rural properties on the Sunshine Coast, Queensland, Australia. Her teenage years were spent training her beloved horses, reading the fantasy stories of Tolkien, Brooks and Eddings and dreaming of becoming a vet.
She graduated as a vet in 1987 and now works part time, allowing her four days a week for her passion- writing. Bernadette lives in Brisbane with her husband of 29 years, their sons and Slippers the cat. Her other interests are reading (fantasy and romance), singing (a capella), cricket and music.
Check out my Smashwords Interview here: https://www.smashwords.com/interview/BernadetteR
Discover other Titles by Bernadette Rowley- Reading Order
Princess Avenger
The Lady’s Choice
Princess in Exile
The Lord and the Mermaid
The Elf King’s Lady
The Lady and the Pirate
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Princess Avenger
(Book 1 of the Brightcastle Saga)
Chapter 1
Pain dragged Alecia Zialni of Brightcastle back to awareness. Her face throbbed and hard stones gouged her shoulders. Cobblestones? And my bow is digging into my spine! Gentle fingers grazed her left cheek and she froze, willing her body to remain still but unable to slow her racing heart. The sharp metallic odour of blood swamped her senses as her mind sought to explain her situation. The fingers moved from her head to her arms and legs, brisk and practiced, deftly exploring her body for hurts.
She gathered her nerve and opened her eyes. Pain shot through her left temple and she blinked tears away. A m
an in a charcoal-gray soldier’s tunic and black breeches leaned over her, his dark curls falling forward to frame a face all hard planes and straight lines. Gold flecks sparkled in sea-green eyes that reminded her of the stormy ocean at Wildecoast.
“You should be more careful with whom you pick a fight.” His deep voice caused a thrill of unease within her. He rose and strode down the cobbled street, his dark cloak swirling against the taut muscles of calves in fitted black leather boots.
Alecia released her trapped breath, mesmerized by the grace with which the soldier moved: more like a stalking wolf than a man. Where is he going? And then she saw the body of the burly redhead, the handle of a knife sprouting from his chest, the crude tattoo of a serpent and dagger on his forearm. Alecia’s insides clenched at the sound of steel against bone as the dark stranger pulled the blade free, cleaned it on the victim’s shirt and slid it into his boot. She glimpsed a ridged scar on the back of her rescuer’s left hand as he returned to her side.
Alecia raised tentative fingers to her cheek and pain throbbed through her skull in response. What has happened? Jumbled images crowded her mind but she sorted through them and remembered the inn and the mercenary. I attacked that man in the street and now he is dead! She peered at the hand the soldier offered her and followed his arm up to eyes that now held more than a trace of impatience. Her heart lurched. The man had likely noted her every feature! She touched her head and sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Goddess. At least her hood still hid her long blonde hair. If only he didn’t look too closely at the clothes she wore, perhaps her secret was safe.
“You —” Alecia struggled to speak around the lump in her throat. She swallowed and tried again. “You have my gratitude,” she said, her voice husky. She clutched his hand and he pulled her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a child.
The sudden movement sent shooting agony through her skull and she wavered, dizzy, her palms on the silver buttons of his broad chest. The soldier caught her wrists and the hairs on Alecia’s arms rose at the contact. Her gaze locked onto the curious amber stone that hung at his throat. It emitted a faint ochre light that flared and then died as she pulled away. Her eyes must be playing tricks.
When the world stopped spinning, she pulled free and straightened the longbow across her shoulders, then stooped to retrieve her quiver and arrows. Her movements caused the soldier to arch one strong dark brow. Alecia’s face grew hot. He didn’t seem impressed by her armoury.
“You’ve the look of trouble about you, lad.” The soldier, a captain by the insignias on his tunic, stepped closer.
Alecia’s heart raced. So far her disguise held, but for how long?
“I’m not looking to cause trouble,” she said. “I’ll be on my way, if you don’t mind.” Damn, why did I ask him for permission?
“I do mind.” The captain’s words were low and gruff. “I’d like to know why you picked a fight with a man twice your size.”
More like three times, Alecia thought. His closeness made her skin tingle. What was wrong with her? He was just a man – and a soldier at that!
“If you can’t explain yourself you must come with me to the prison.”
He seized her arm and her body stiffened, heart thudding against her ribs. Any one of her father’s soldiers might recognize her.
Alecia pretended to go along with the captain as he walked past the inn towards his horse. As they neared the mouth of Firedrake Alley, the weak midday sun struck the quartz walls of the hilltop castle that gave the town its name. The captain threw up his arm to shield his eyes from the glare and Alecia seized her opportunity. She wrenched her arm from his grasp and bolted between the buildings. The odour of rotten garbage and human waste assailed her nostrils but she barely noticed. This was her world.
Captain Vard Anton swore. Damn, the lad was fast, but he wouldn’t get far. Even though Vard wasn’t familiar with this part of Brightcastle Town, he did have a nose for a trail, and that nose still twitched with the lad’s scent. Was it lavender? He shook his head and started towards the lane. The youth was already halfway to the first crossroads.
“Blast!” The stiff leather of his new military boots pinched his toes. It was typical of Prince Zialni, heir to the throne of Thorius, to supply boots for show rather than comfort. The air was thick with the foul stink of the slop that caked the alley. Each step brought new and hideous smells to his nose but he grasped the amber talisman at his throat, mentally sorted through the jumble of odours and locked onto the faint hint of perfume. Despite the slippery surface, he picked up his pace and was gratified to see that the young man hadn’t pulled any further ahead.
If Vard could just stay within sight, the lad would tire soon. He recalled those startling lilac eyes as they stared up at him out of that battered face. Why not just turn around and get back to his horse before some scoundrel rode off on it? But he knew he wouldn’t. The sharp prick of instinct told him he needed to discover why the young man had attacked an armed mercenary on a public street in broad daylight.
He slid to a halt in the dirt of the alley and strode forward to the next laneway. His quarry had disappeared. A scrawny dog rifling its way through a pile of refuse sniffed at Vard, whined and ran the other way. Vard smiled. He could still put the canines in their place.
He sent his senses out into the surrounding alleys, searching for a trace of the lad. The faint echoes of a racing human heart drifted back, several alleys towards the town centre. No need to give up yet. That lad needed help and, if Vard’s instincts were right, it might well have something to do with the tyrant, Prince Zialni. The groan of a swollen timber window being forced open sounded and he glanced up. The contents of a chamber pot cascaded over his head and down his shoulders, the stench overwhelming. He spat the fetid concoction out of his mouth and wiped his eyes clear in time to see his quarry’s amused lilac gaze as the window slammed shut.
Alecia gasped, hands on knees, her face throbbing in time with her thumping heart. Her left eye had swollen shut. The one person who could help her now was Hetty, her childhood nurse and a gifted healer, who lived on Firedrake Alley. Alecia had circled around and was now only two alleys from where the captain had found her, close to Hetty’s.
His gold-flecked eyes burned in her memory. She thought she knew all her father’s soldiers, but her dark rescuer was a stranger. Something about him put her on edge, suggested he was neither tame nor civilized. She settled her bow and arrows over her back, feeling for the knives in her belt and right boot. The hard knot of fear in her gut softened at the touch of the weapons.
The hide of her boots made not a sound as she crept to the end of the lane and peered around the corner of a two-storeyed brothel. From here she could see the rear of Hetty’s small double-level shack and had a clear view back to the main street. Foot traffic had returned to the market precinct in the short time since she had fled from the captain, but the narrow street that ran behind Hetty’s was deserted except for a whiskered drunk snoring against a wall several doors up.
Alecia crossed the street to Hetty’s and climbed onto the edge of the rain barrel, reaching for the handholds below the second-storey window. Once she was high enough to peer over the sill, she removed one hand to give the window a shove. It opened a crack. Alecia grasped the sill, pushed the glass all the way open and pulled herself through. She landed with a soft thump on the wooden floorboards of Hetty’s bedchamber and crossed to the window that overlooked Firedrake Alley. Nothing moved down there.
A shoe scuffed against the floorboards and she spun, knife in hand. Hetty stood near the door, wiping her hands on a stained apron, bushy gray eyebrows bristling above eyes so dark they were almost black. Deep wrinkles framed those eyes and wild silver hair spiked unrestrained from her scalp.
“Did your mother never tell you it was bad manners to enter the house of another without permission?” Hetty’s low voice rasped past a throat horribly burnt some years ago when Prince Zialni had sentenced her to burning at the stake.
The old woman had been one of Alecia’s first rescues.
Alecia pulled the cap and hood back to bare her head, flinching as she brushed her injured face. “My mother is dead,” she snapped, then instantly regretted her tone. “How did you know it was me?” she said, pointing to her outfit.
Hetty frowned. “You call that a disguise? You were lucky this time, though by the look of that eye, your fortune almost ran out.”
Alecia fingered the puffy flesh around her left eye and a wave of nausea struck her. How would she explain the injury to her father? “Please do not lecture me, I feel bad enough already.” Her belief in her fighting skills had been misplaced. Twenty-four summers of sheltered royal existence had been no match for the violence of that mercenary.
Hetty dropped her apron and folded her arms beneath her scrawny bosom. “Come down to the kitchen.”
She followed Hetty down the stairs and left her bow and quiver in the hall. A small pot bubbled over the fire in the kitchen hearth and the odour of rotten eggs, stinkweed and garlic hung in the room. Hetty shuffled across to the window, drew the heavy curtain and turned up the lamp.
Alecia wandered over to the shelves on the opposite wall. No matter how often she visited Hetty she always had a reluctant fascination for the brains, spiders, eyes and teeth in the glass containers.
Hetty clutched Alecia’s arm and pulled her to a seat at the small wooden table in the centre of the room. Her gaze softened as she examined the injuries at close quarters. “I can help you, Princess, but it’ll take all my skill.” She soaked a snowy cloth with water from a wooden bowl and bathed the crusted blood from the damaged eye.
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