Lucifer, Remy, Felix, and Curtiz moved to the stern of the ship, listening to the cannonballs sail off into the mist. Quickly, the sound began to fade and they knew they were safely out of the Spanish range. There was a palpable sense of relief, but there was also a sense of triumph that the Spanish and their surprise attack hadn’t worked.
“They have no idea where we are now,” Remy said confidently. “They must be using depth readings to figure out where they are in relation to Perran and to the coast. The sooner we return to Perran Castle, the better.”
Beside him, Curtiz grunted. “The better question is how they knew we were here in the first place,” he said, turning to the others. “These are our waters, so why are they here?”
Lucifer shrugged, glancing at the big, blond seaman who faintly resembled Constantine. “It is no secret that our presence is heavy in these waters,” he said. “It is quite possible they are looking for us, or it is equally likely they are simply looking for other victims. Our sails were not unfurled so, in this fog, it is quite possible they do not even know it was us. They have merely seen a shape.”
Curtiz turned his attention back to the fog, which seemed to be lifting ever so slightly. “Or they are looking for Constantine and his new wife,” he muttered. “Word that Con has gone on a wedding trip has spread, and I have little doubt that our enemies have heard. Mayhap, they are even testing out these waters with the Sea-God away. Mayhap, they will challenge our supremacy.”
That was a good point and one that had crossed Lucifer’s mind. He glanced up at the sky, seeing flashes of blue through the white mist. Soon enough, the fog would clear and it would be a beautiful day with soft sea breezes and the gulls crying overhead. But for Lucifer, there was much more to the day than simply the sky or the sea. He grunted.
“Then they will be sorely disappointed if they test me,” he said. “While Con is in France with Lady le Brecque enjoying his wedding trip, I am in command of his Legion and anyone who challenges that command will be met with a firm and deadly hand. They would be foolish to try.”
He said it in a tone that left no room for doubt, and Remy grinned as he listened to the boast. But it wasn’t so much of a boast as it was the truth. As Constantine’s First Mate, Lucifer had always been one to follow his leader without question, commanding when it was necessary, and conveying the impression that one did not contest his ways and live to tell the tale. But with the event of Constantine putting him in command of Poseidon’s Legion, and his empire, while he was away, Lucifer’s stoic and ominous manner had taken on dimension. Now, he had the full feel of a captain behind him, which made the man that much more terrifying.
Remy had no intention of crossing him.
“Aye, my lord,” he said. “Now that we are heading back to Perran Castle with the Spanish at our backs, what will your first order of business be?”
Lucifer glanced at him. “It will be the same as it was when we left Eynon Bay,” he said. “We are heading home with a hold full of fine goods that we took from the merchant vessel foolish enough to drop anchor where they should not have. Once there, we will offload it, pay the men what they are due for the haul, and then I must deal with a few issues that have been left to my care in the wake of Con’s departure.”
“Like what?”
“Several, but the first ones that comes to mind are those two heiresses that we have imprisoned at Perran. I told Con that I would deal with them.”
Remy knew who he was speaking of. Last month, they’d intercepted a heavily-laden merchant vessel crossing from Ireland to the port of Plymouth. It has been a very rich vessel and they’d taken a huge haul from it, including the two daughters of the merchant who owned the ship. The women had been taken back to Perran and imprisoned, at Constantine’s orders, until it was decided what to do with them.
Ransoming them back to their father was one thing, or they could very well be auctioned off to pirates willing to pay their price. Constantine had been busy with his marriage, so the duty of deciding their fate had fallen to Lucifer, and Lucifer had been putting it off for weeks. They didn’t normally take female prisoners for any length of time, so Lucifer didn’t want to put it off too much longer. He needed to make a decision and get on with it. He had more important things to worry about than two disruptive females.
“I’d nearly forgotten about them,” Remy said. “As I recall, they were both rather pretty. What do you intend to do with them?”
Lucifer watched a gull fly overhead, disappearing into the fog. “Something,” he muttered, turning away from the railing. “Anything. With Con away, I have enough to worry over without having to deal with a pair of she-cats. Mayhap, I shall auction them off and keep the money for myself.”
“Oh?” Remy was interested. He had an eye for pretty women, and they for him. “How much will you ask for the pair?”
Lucifer pushed himself off the rail and began to head towards the bow. “I have not yet decided,” he said as he walked away. “But for you, the price is doubled, whatever it is.”
Remy smirked. “As I recall, the elder one was quite the spitfire,” he called after Lucifer. “You may have to pay me to take her off your hands if no one else wants her.”
Lucifer simply waved him off, knowing that would never be the case. The elder daughter – he’d forgotten her name – was, indeed, a spitfire. But she was also quite fine, as he recalled. She would bring a fine price should he decide to sell her, and perhaps an even finer price should he ransom her back to her father. Either way, she was his responsibility and he was going to make it worth his while.
As Lucifer departed for the bow, and Remy and Felix went about their business, Curtiz remained at the stern. He had been listening to the conversation quite carefully. He knew of the female captives because he’d been at Perran Castle when the ship bearing the women had come ashore. And he had been the one to settle the women in their new prison home.
Curtiz had been their jailor for the most part, at least in those first few early days. And as their jailor, he’d observed much. Mostly, he’d observed that no one seemed to be paying much attention to the women in the wake of Constantine’s marriage. Being that the women were being ignored, and that they were a valuable commodity, Curtiz did what pirates do – made the most of an opportunity, even if it was under the nose of his leader.
And that was why the Spanish were here.
Only, he wasn’t going to tell Lucifer any of that. He would pretend he had no idea why the Spanish had come. But the truth was that the Spanish had come to Perran Castle on his invitation to take on the daughters of a wealthy merchant so they could negotiate with the women’s father. Even if the Spanish pirates didn’t return the women to their desperate father, the women were both quite beautiful and would make fine concubines for the Spanish pirates.
But it was all for a price… and Curtiz was demanding a high price, one that the Spanish were willing to pay. After the loss of the Leucosia, they saw it as a great opportunity to take something from Constantine le Brecque, something of value, and Curtiz was more than willing to be the intermediary for the transfer.
The truth was that he didn’t have any real loyalty to Constantine or Poseidon’s Legion. He’d been bouncing around since his service to de Nerra and his only purpose in life was to make money, so the opportunity with the two female captives had been too good to pass up. They would be gone before Lucifer or Constantine realized they had been taken and, God willing, so would Curtiz. He planned to take the money from the Spanish and run.
But meanwhile, he would play the loyal pirate, at least for as long as it suited him. He was a good warrior, an even better sailor, and those skills had been impressed upon Constantine and his crew. He pretended to think as they did and, so far, the ruse had worked.
But he was in this only for himself, as he would soon prove.
Unfortunately, Lucifer was ignorant of the thoughts of a man he was slowly learning to trust. At the moment, he was more concerned with the Melinoe
making port before the Spanish figured out they had escaped. The fog had begun to lift and the ship was making excellent time, drawing closer to Perran Castle along the western coast of Cornwall. In fact, the fogbank remained to the south as they passed out of it, leaving the Spanish buried in the mist and still out to sea.
With fair skies ahead and the wind at their back, the Melinoe glided gently into Perranporth Cove beneath the enormous citadel of Perran Castle, and the anchor was thrown into the soft, white sand bottom. Then, and only then, did Lucifer breathe a sigh of relief, for his ship had come home safely and the booty they’d collected from an ill-placed merchant vessel near the coast of Ireland was quickly offloaded and taken up to the great vaults of the castle.
Lucifer was the last man to leave the ship, heading up to the castle as carpenters began to comb over the Melinoe to repair what damage there was from the Spanish cannonballs. It was barely mid-morning, but Lucifer was already thinking about a good meal and a soft bed. He’d been at sea with his men for nearly eight days, so he was anxious to see what had gone on in his absence and administer Constantine’s empire as best he could. But he was seriously thinking that all of that could wait until he’d been fed and rested.
Except for the women captives. His conversation with Remy had brought them to light again, something he’d put aside for so long that thinking of them again brought instant distaste. Damnation, he’d already put them off long enough, and something was nagging at him to see to the women before he took care of his own needs. Given that there was some guilt with the way the women had been caged up for so long, he didn’t want to put it off any longer. He needed to get it over with, and the women had to know they hadn’t been forgotten and that their fates would soon be determined.
In hindsight, his choice to visit the captives that day would be a decision that changed his life.
Chapter One
Perran Castle
She could hear him coming.
Or, at least, she could hear someone coming.
In the lavish bower at the pirate stronghold of Perran Castle that had become her prison, Genevieve Efford stood next to her door, ear pressed to the seam between the door and the jamb, trying to listen to the noise beyond.
She’d become quite adept at deciphering the sounds of Perran Castle in the month that she and her sister, Vivienne, had been prisoners here. But, oh! What a strange situation they were in, held captive in chambers that were more lavish that what the princes of Arabia would demand. There were two adjoining chambers, not particularly large, but each had a sumptuous bed and a wardrobe full of clothing and shawls and the like. Then they shared an alcove between them that had a big copper tub in it and other things for a lady’s toilette, like exotic oils and mother-of-pearl hair combs.
In truth, it was beautiful and comfortable. But it was a prison, and they were prisoners. And like any good prisoners, Genevieve and her sister were determined to escape their silken confines. It was their right. Yet, the men of Poseidon’s Legion were clever – knowing they had wily captives, they’d put them in chambers that were virtually escape-proof. There was no way to crawl from a window with a plunging drop to the sea below, and the doors were massive oak panels reinforced with iron. And they were constantly bolted. Genevieve knew the sound of that bolt when it was thrown, and it was a sound that made her sick to her stomach. Somehow, she vowed, I shall get out of here! That was what she told herself.
But she wondered if she really ever would.
Vivienne, her younger sister, seemed far more apt to accept her fate. In fact, she frequently begged her sister not to become irate or combative, but it wasn’t in Genevieve’s nature. A petite woman with a fiery nature, she had often been called a banshee by family members, a less than kind term for a woman with a bold personality. Her father had lands in Ireland and that was where her mother had been born, making Genevieve half-Irish. Every ounce of that bold and wild country came through in her soul.
But she wasn’t foolish even if she was unruly at times. Genevieve was very bright, which was why she had been plotting to escape since the day she and Vivienne had been brought to the pirate stronghold of Perran Castle. She had a plan that had taken her these weeks to perfect, and now she was waiting to execute it.
But she needed a hostage.
Beyond the door, she could hear movement and voices, although she couldn’t quite make out the words. A ship had come into the cove. Genevieve knew that because she had heard the yelling of the men down on the sandy beach well below the castle. From the angle of the chamber windows, she couldn’t see the cove, but she’d come to learn the routine when the ships entered. She hadn’t seen the big, blond pirate leader in quite some time, nor had she seen the men she believed were his commanders. She thought there were four or five of them, but she couldn’t be sure.
All she knew was that usually, when a ship returned to the cove, they would bring something to her, some kind of booty they’d managed to steal from other ships. Once, she’d been brought a lovely brown cloak with dark rabbit-fur lining, and another time, she’d been brought a big tame bird. Even now, the bird sat on a perch in her chamber, squawking at the puppies she’d brought with her from Ireland.
Big Irish wolfhound puppies that the pirates somehow hadn’t managed to steal when they’d overcome her father’s vessel. They were Vivienne’s puppies, really, and the younger sister was thrilled to have had her precious possessions returned. But now, it was Genevieve, Vivienne, four puppies, and a big, noisy bird in the two small chambers.
Genevieve wanted out.
The first week of her captivity, she’d broken one leg from a small table next to her bed, bracing the table up against the wall so no one would notice that it only had three legs. Every morning and every evening, she was brought a fine meal and a spoon and dull knife to use. They were always left alone for her meal, her and Vivienne, and since the day she’d broken off the leg, she’d been using the dull knife at mealtime to carve away a sharp point on the table leg. She needed that sharp weapon as part of her escape plan and as of this morning, it was sharp enough.
Now, all she had to do was wait for her victim to come to her.
“Genni?”
It was Vivienne, sitting over by the window with the sea breeze lifting tendrils of her dark hair about. Tiny, frail Vivienne. Genevieve was standing by the entry door, sharpened table leg in hand.
“Aye?”
Vivienne sighed heavily as she petted one of her puppies, its head on her lap. “Are you really going to attack one of those men?”
Genevieve could hear the fear in her sister’s voice. “I am not going to attack them,” she said calmly. “I am going to subdue one of them and force him to help us escape.”
Vivienne shook her head. She didn’t think it was such a sound idea. “Escape where?” she asked. “Where can we run that they will not catch us?”
“Would you rather remain here for the rest of your life?”
Vivienne frowned and turned to her puppies for comfort, all of which were laying around her on what was essentially a long, slender couch near the window. It was a fancy piece of furniture, stolen by the pirates on one of their many raids of ships that did business in the Holy Land and beyond. This particular couch, called a mahila sophe, was from the strange and mysterious land of India, far beyond the Holy Land. The fabric was beautiful and intricate, with strange animals embroidered upon it.
“I would rather you not get yourself killed,” Vivienne said quietly. “We are two women against an entire castle full of pirates. Do you really think to fight them all, Genni?”
Genevieve was resolute; it was the Irish in her. “I will not go quietly,” she hissed. “We have been here almost an entire month, Vivi. I have marked the days on the wall next to my bed. Almost thirty days! I will not stay here another blessed day longer!”
“And go where?” Vivienne demanded. “Back to Father? Back to Ireland? Where would you go that Father would not find you and force you to return to Engl
and?”
Genevieve’s cheeks pinkened with anger, perhaps with embarrassment. She averted her gaze, unable to look her sister in the eye. “I will find a boat back to Ireland,” she said. “It is there I will remain.”
Vivienne shook her head. “How?” she asked. She wasn’t unsympathetic to her sister’s plight. But, in her opinion, Genevieve was being very stubborn and foolish. “There is no place you can go where Father will not find you. He will come and he will force you to return to Plymouth to marry Francis.”
A flash of distaste crossed Genevieve’s features. “Francis,” she muttered. Then, she spoke the name mockingly. “Francis de Noble, Lord Ermington. A very old man that our father owes a debt to and is using my marriage to pay for it. Does he truly think I will stand for this – this disgrace? I will not let him marry me to a man more than twice my age!”
Vivienne shrugged. “That was where we were heading a month ago,” she reminded her sister quietly. “You were going to go through with it then.”
Genevieve stiffened. “I was forced onto that ship and well you know it,” she said. “Father sent his men to hold a sword at my back to force me onto the ship. I am glad the pirates overtook it!”
Vivienne started to open her mouth but there were voices on the other side of the door, louder than before. There were men just on the other side now and the bolt rattled. Genevieve hissed at her sister, putting her finger to her lips in a silencing gesture, as she pressed herself back against the wall. Once the door opened, she wanted the element of surprise. So she pressed herself back as far as she could go, trying to make herself invisible to anyone who might come through the door with their focus on the room beyond.
She needed that split second of advantage.
It wasn’t long in coming. The heavy oak panel lurched open, creaking back on its iron hinges, and a big body walked into the chamber. There was no hesitation; the man simply walked in, telling the guard at the door to lock the door behind him. As he strolled in and the door was shut and bolted, Genevieve came up behind him, raising her chiseled table leg like a club. With all her might, she brained the man right on the back of the skull.
Poseidon’s Legion Page 20