Treasure So Rare (Women of Strength Time Travel Trilogy)

by Grace Brannigan

  Treasure So Rare

  Grace Brannigan

  Women of Strength Time Travel Series

  Once Upon a Remembrance Book 1

  Soulmates Through Time Book 2

  Treasure So Rare Book 3

  Women of Character Contemporary Series

  Echoes From the Past

  Once and Always

  Heartstealer

  Wishing on a Rodeo Moon

  Romantic Short Stories

  Deception (a touch of suspense)

  Two Babies, a Cowboy and Sara

  Cowboy's Baby: Missing (coming in 2013)

  Faerie Lost Series (Coming Soon)

  Find Me Book 1

  Whisper Me Book 2

  Paint Me Book 3

  Read Me Book 4

  Website: http://www.GraceBrannigan.com

  All Characters, places and events are fictitious and are not associated or inspired by any person living or dead. The author was not striving for historical accuracy as all places and events are purely fiction and not intended to be historically accurate and this is a romance with strong elements of fantasy.

  Treasure So Rare

  Grace Brannigan

  Copyright 2013 Elaine Warfield

  ISBN: 978-1-939061-02-7

  Cover design Julie McClen of Oak Grove Graphics

  License Notes

  All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means whatsoever, mechanical, photographic, electronic or in the form of an audio recording or stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or otherwise be copied for public or private use -- other than for brief quotations in articles and reviews without prior written consent from the publisher Questor Books.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Happy reading!

  Questor Books, P.O. Box 100, East Jewett, New York, 12424 USA

  Table of Contents

  Treasure So Rare

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Deception

  Chapter One

  Once Upon a Remembrance Time travel

  Chapter One

  Soulmates Through Time Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Once and Always Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Excerpt Echoes from the Past

  Chapter One

  Heartstealer Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Wishing on a Rodeo Moon Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Prologue

  Date: A. D. 1224, Dutton Keep, England

  Sir William kicked the door in with an enraged bellow, his brown and craggy face contorted out of all recognition. He and his knights had been practicing sword play when they had heard the scream from across the courtyard. Immediately, he had known it was his daughter, Graziela. He and a score of men had raced toward the family's private quarters. As they drew closer, the screams abruptly ceased and it was that very absence of sound that he feared the most.

  Three mail-clad shoulders pushed open the wide heavy oak door. The stout wood hit the wall behind it. The sound resonated throughout the keep. Had not two sons and a steward held him back, Sir William would have charged forward to kill the drunken bastard standing over his daughter. In that first moment of blind rage, he cared not that that man was of the queen's favored circle. All he saw was his Graziela, delicate Graziela lying crumpled, eyes closed, golden hair splayed along the stone floor where a thread of crimson now pooled.

  Sir William knew the man as Weinroof of Camdork, a handsome scoundrel with a reputation for brawling and drunkenness. He was known to be a despoiler of women and children.

  Weinroof's long blond mane stood wildly askew and on end, as if someone had tried to rip the hair from his skull. Incongruously, from one immense hand trailed a flimsy, filmy swathe of cloth, the same material that clothed Sir William’s daughter. As the men at arms entered the room, Weinroof jerked his head back, swollen and bloodshot eyes narrowed upon the intruders. Grunting, the man wrapped the filmy material tightly around his hand in an attempt to stem a flow of blood from his palm.

  "This one shows me no favor," he spat, then fell silent, perhaps sobering somewhat upon being faced with the ferocity of the expressions leveled at him. His voice changed, became more of a disgruntled whine. "All others in this damned drafty place she smiles at and tries to please, but not myself. I would have her hand -- I would wed her."

  "Damn your filthy soul to hell!" Desryn, oldest son of Sir William, shouted. He and his twin Aisyn lunged forward to make short work of the bastard.

  Sir William cared not what fate befell that one as he rushed forward and knelt beside his daughter. Graziela had not moved since their forced entrance. For a moment he feared the worst, that the bastard had killed her. She lay broken, a flower crushed beneath a careless heel. Almost weeping, Sir William lifted her slight frame, gently pulled back the long, curling sweep of golden hair. She lay as still as her mother had on the most sorrowful day of his life. And as he had done with her mother, Sir William enfolded her close in mail-clad arms and placed a kiss upon her pale brow.

  Chapter One

  ~1847 Off the Florida Coast

  Erik Marcus Remington shook the salt-crusted hair from his eyes, its overlong sun-bleached length annoying the hell out of him. Next seaport he vowed to cut it all off.

  The sails overhead billowed and flapped, the sound not unfamiliar to one who had seen the sea in all her majesty and various tempests. The wind blustered around him, and it felt good to have the sun scorching once more on his skin. Better than the damp cell where he’d spent two miserable nights on land. Damnation, when had riding the seas become so dangerous? Never a thief except when his government needed him to be one, he'd been abiding by the laws for many a year now, but some of the old stories still surfaced from time to time and the law had been waiting for him when he put into the last harbor. Someone had been making mischief and wanted him out of the way.

  The laws were becoming a stranglehold to be sure. He sighed, knowing it was a matter of time before he abandoned the sea life. He wished to settle down somewhere, but where...and with whom?

  He put the spy glass up to his eye, sweeping the sea around him. He moved the glass back a fraction, smiled, and then he let out a great booming laugh. "Ah, they are back for more punishment. Men," he called out, "be at the ready. The Silver Siren is headed our way, and I'm thinking it's not for tea."

  His quartermaster Jock hurried to his side, putting his own spyglass up to his eye. "Aye, you're right, Cap'n."

  "Let us make it worth our while," Erik said. Jock handed him his shirt, and his coat. Quickly, Erik donned both, belted his sword and scabbard in place at his left hand, shoved a brace of pistols on either side of his belt. The adrenaline rushed as he stared
at the ship drawing ever closer, riding high on the sea, then disappearing, only to ride up again on a new swell of water.

  "How does he dare to confront us?" Jock wondered aloud. "We beat him soundly only two months ago."

  "Aye," Erik said, "and he limped back to port minus his precious cargo. I heard the ladies in San Francisco appreciated the silk."

  "At least there was no slave running that night," muttered Jock. He shook his head, the sun bright on his balding, already sunburned scalp. "I dinna like this."

  Erik kept his glass trained on the ship as it drew ever closer. He noted the sails had been pulled in, and he could not see any movement on deck. "Very strange."

  He expected some shot over their head and at the deck, but there was nothing. As far as he could see, the ship appeared empty. A ghost ship?

  "Cap'n?"

  "I know, Jock, I don't see anyone. Men, remain at the ready," he called out. "Hook her, then reel her in. Be wary, it could be a trick."

  The grappling hooks were flung toward the boat, catching in the wood mast, the rail and the bulwark. Steadily, they pulled the ship closer and secured her to their side.

  Without a word, Erik motioned his men over the rail and onto the deck of the Silver Siren.

  Heavy cloth had been spread out upon the deck and he could see the shape of bodies laid flat beneath the cloth. He stopped to survey the scene, the unnatural quiet, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

  He heard suddenly a small whimper coming from the bridge and he spun on his heel. A woman, nay, a girl, half hidden as she huddled against the wood.

  A blood curdling scream rent the air, and the cloths covering the bodies were flung aside as gunfire rent the air. Men lay on the deck and fired their pistols. Erik and his crew returned fire. Erik had no time to think; he and his men reacted, and as they exchanged shots, he saw Jock go down. He lunged across the deck toward his quartermaster and friend and pulled him behind some rigging. He shoved him behind him, then pulled his sword free to fight his way back out to the main fight. The deck became slick with blood, the fighting fierce. Erik realized they were outnumbered and only luck and the holy saints would see them prevail. They fought as demons, knowing right was on their side, but the thought crossed his mind that it was too glorious a day to die.

  The wind buffeted the ship hard and the sea rose, the sky of a sudden turning deep purple and black behind them. Several of his crew lay at his feet, and he had but a moment to see them as they lay dying on the sun bleached deck. He fought hard, his eyes narrowing on the one they named as Captain, John Moses Devanesque. The women said he had a face like an angel but a heart and soul, it was rumored, he'd sold to the devil. Erik fought to clear the way, cutting through men as he pursued Devanesque. Slight of build, his long black hair flying wildly about his face, he slipped in and out of Erik's sight until finally he cornered the other man and they squared off. Devanesque with his strange eyes, one brown, one off-white. "LaTour," he said with surprise. "I thought you --"

  "Retired?" Erik grinned. "Dead? Devanesque -- you hid like frightened children, but now be prepared for the worst. I see you have women on board. We have had this discussion before, have we not? No longer will you run your smuggling and slave trade upon these seas."

  Devanesque laughed, shaking the wild hair from his eyes. The world centered around the two of them and all else faded to nothing. "Do you think any mortal man can stop me? You don't have the power to interfere. I have the backing of kings, the wealth of nations behind me." He lifted his hand in the air, the cloth of his coat blue silk shot with gold threads. "There is nothing in this world that can keep me from what I desire." He laughed, waving his sword in Erik's face. "You're a fool filled with pompous anger to think you could ever prevent me from taking what I wish. I shall finish what I began all those years ago." Those light eyes swept across the scar on Eric's neck, and like fire, the scar that almost circumvented his neck began to burn.

  With an enraged bellow, Erik lunged for the man. Devanesque met his lunge, his sword coming down toward Erik's head, while the dagger in his hand made a quick upward motion toward Erik's stomach.

  Erik blocked the weapon in its downward trajectory. He pushed back, sucking in his stomach as he twisted sideways. The knife ripped through his coat and shirt, pulled across his flesh. Erik put out his foot and swung it in an arc, catching Devanesque's feet and pulling them out from under him. He had a moment's satisfaction as the man hit his head resoundingly on the deck but Devanesque shook his head and came back up on all fours.

  "I am putting a stop to all your business dealings," Erik said, lunging forward, "for good."

  Devanesque rolled away at the last moment, but the sword nevertheless found a mark and went deep into his side.

  He looked at Erik and then the deep wound where already the blood soaked through his white shirt and bled onto the deck. He used his arms to pull himself several feet to port side, pulled his body up and over the rail and then, amazingly, flung himself over the side.

  Erik ran after him, reaching the rail as the man disappeared beneath the churning sea.

  He turned back as the men continued to fight. "Devanesque is dead!" he shouted. "Your captain is dead. If you wish to live, cease your fight."

  It took several moments and more lives, but finally the men stopped fighting. "Drop your weapons and move aft." Erik looked for Jock, then motioned to the man closest to him. "Elisha, see to Jock.

  "Men, secure the prisoners." The remaining Silver Siren crew were herded and secured in one area. Hands and feet were bound as they sat on the deck. Erik counted twenty-nine men. "Dispose of the dead," he said. He sighed. "For their souls, we shall say a prayer."

  "Captain," Markin called out by the prisoners. "Do ye want me to cover these scoundrels as we found them?"

  "Aye, that would be fitting." He paused. "But leave them be for now. There will be hell to pay when we dock and they are turned over to the authorities."

  Erik looked down at where Devanesque's knife had ripped through his garments, but luckily he'd only suffered a tiny nick of the skin.

  He motioned for several of his crew to follow him. "Come, let us see what else this ship is hiding." He slowly approached where he had seen the woman hiding earlier. "Madam?" He knelt on one knee and extended his hand under the wooden shelving where he had seen her. "Madam, please come out. It is safe now."

  After several moments, a slim white hand connected with his. Gently, Erik pulled her from the hiding place. "Come, there is no reason to be afraid."

  In actuality, it was no woman, but a young girl of about fifteen. "Sit here, Ma'am." He indicated a knee-high bench to his side. Her ankle-length dress which, he surmised, was once a light gray, was covered with dirt, and her face bore the stain of tears. "We are going to transfer you to my ship," he told her gently. "Are you alone?"

  She shook her head.

  "There are others?"

  She nodded.

  "Markin, Iszel," he turned toward the younger men. "Go below and see what you can find. Proceed carefully, and if there are other women, do not frighten them."

  "There are fifteen of us," the young girl suddenly blurted. She began to cry. "We were promised a new life and work, but he was taking us to work in the streets." She looked up at him, brown eyes awash with tears. "I did not leave Ireland to work in the streets or for a life of slavery. I came for a better life."

  Erik nodded. "And so you shall have. What is your name?" he asked gently, motioning Marten and Iszel back.

  "Frances Connor."

  "I am Erik Remington, captain of the Merry Maiden. Frances Connor, when did you leave Ireland?"

  "The girls and I traveled six months ago from Ireland. We settled in New York, and then we heard about opportunities for work, and we saved our money to sail with Holden Rogers to the islands. He promised many jobs for skilled dressmakers."

  "How did you discover what he planned?"

  "The first night aboard we were locked inside the ship a
nd told to keep quiet. For most of the trip we were kept confined. He wanted the women weak and compliant, so he did not feed them overmuch." She looked up at him. "I managed to sneak them food." She ducked her head. "I did the cooking. That is how I know what they had planned. The men talked of the money they would make when we were sold. Holden Rogers was not even his name."

  Erik sighed, knowing there was much she was not saying. "We shall bring you and your companions to shore. Be assured there will be a trial, though Devanesque, or Holden Rogers as you know him, is now gone. Come with us then, we will go below."

  Mary put a tentative hand on his coat sleeve. "Please stay your men and let me go ahead."

  Erik nodded. "Aye." He followed her down the short steps into the darkened interior of the ship. A small lantern dimly lit a narrow entryway. Frances stopped outside a heavy door reinforced with wide iron straps and reached up to remove a large key from a spike on the wall. She struggled with the key in the lock and Erik moved forward. "May I?" he held out his hand, whereupon she placed the key in his palm and stepped back.

  Erik turned the key and the door swung inward. He pulled the lantern from the wall and cautiously moved into the room, the foul air rushing out to him like putrid breath. As he lifted the lantern higher there was a blur of motion and several figures rushed him. Stepping back he ducked his head, narrowly missed being hit by an iron hook that went sailing past and embedded itself in the timber behind him.

  "Wait," Frances cried, but already Erik found himself backed into a wall, four women on either side of him. He recognized the fear and determination tightening their expressions. He remained relaxed, though his gaze swung warily between the young women armed with pointed pieces of wood.

  "Ladies," he said mildly, "please -- I mean you no harm." Carefully he placed his lantern on a peg on the wall, then expertly and carefully blocked a fist aimed for his temple. "Go gently now," he admonished, pressing the small fist away from his face. "Surely you have no wish to further disfigure my face." He grinned, hands now at his side.