COPYRIGHT
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
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Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Captain Merric Copyright © 2011 by Rebecca Cohen
Ghost of Jupiter Copyright © 2011 by Jana Denardo
Officer and a Gentleman Pirate Copyright © 2011 by E.S. Douglas
The Golden Galleon Copyright © 2011 by K.R. Foster
Worth the Price © 2011 by Cornelia Grey
Touched by the West Wind Copyright © 2011 by Ellen Holiday
Objectivity Copyright © 2011 by K.J. Johnson
Peter and the Lost Boys Copyright © 2011 by Juan Kenobi
The Winds of Change Copyright © 2011 by Maggie Lee
My Hand in Yours Copyright © 2011 by Emily Moreton
Irish Red Copyright © 2011 by M.J. O’Shea
On the Wings of Lir Copyright © 2011 by Riley Shane
From a Simmer to a Burn Copyright © 2011 by B. Snow
Black John Copyright © 2011 by Piper Vaughn
Rough Trade Copyright © 2011 by Cooper West
Edited by Anne Regan
Cover Art by Catt Ford
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 382 NE 191st Street #88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
ISBN: 978-1-61372-124-7
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
August 2011
eBook edition available
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-125-4
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Captain Merric
Touched by the West Wind
The Golden Galleon
My Hand in Yours
Ghost of Jupiter
Officer and a Gentleman Pirate
Objectivity
Worth the Price
Peter and the Lost Boys
Irish Red
Black John
Rough Trade
From a Simmer to a Burn
On the Wings of Lir
The Winds of Change
CAPTAIN MERRIC
REBECCA COHEN
THE dead water held the ship in limbo. With no wind to fill her sails, HMS Expedience rocked gently, listing heavily to starboard, her belly significantly emptier from engaging the French days before. The rigging creaked wearily with each passing roll, and dark mutterings from the deckhands accompanied the rhythmic scrub of brush bristles against wood.
Captain Daniel Horton squinted into the bright sunlight. Keeping one eye on the horizon, he watched uneasily as his second in command, Gilman, and two of the other senior officers gathered together on the port side of the main deck.
Gilman, weathered by his years at sea, was gesticulating toward the rigging, his three-fingered hand pointing fiercely at a gaping hole in the crisscross of ropes. Jones, the tallest of the men, shook his head, a sneer crossing his smooth face that had yet to be damaged by combat. The third man, Nichols, stood still and silent.
Daniel unthinkingly let his hand fall to the hilt of his sword. Nichols was a cold man, a man hardened by a series of campaigns, whose love was for the spoils of war—not for His Majesty’s victory against the French.
Daniel saw the moment Gilman realized he was being observed. The look of guilt—–no, self-preservation—gave him away.
“Captain,” he called. “You’ve seen the rigging?”
Daniel descended the steps from the upper deck. He was taller and more imposing than his subordinates, and his presence caused Gilman and Jones to shuffle nervously. Only Nichols didn’t move.
“I am many things, Gilman, but blind isn’t one of them. I know the state of my own ship.”
“Of course, sir,” said Gilman, his eyes flicking to where Daniel’s hand rested on his sword. “I’ll have a couple of the younger lads help with repairs.”
Gilman barked out a string of orders, and three of the men currently engaged in scrubbing the deck stood up and began their ascent of the main mast.
“I’ll be in my quarters compiling the report for the Admiralty if you need me,” said Daniel. “I’d rather not be disturbed.”
“Understood, Captain,” said Gilman.
Daniel turned away, but not before he saw the exchange of looks between his three senior officers. The sooner they returned to England the better. He jogged down the stairs that led below deck and into the darker recesses of his ship, passing Thomas the barber-surgeon, still wearing his blood-soaked leather apron. Daniel had long since lost the feeling of claustrophobia that had plagued him during his first few nights spent in the cramped belly of a ship; the smell of hundreds of men trapped together had once turned his stomach, the stale sweat and piss mingling to make an aroma unique to the way of life he’d turned to. But that was mere background now—there were worse things to worry about than a little discomfort.
Entering his cabin, he unbuckled his belt, throwing it and his sword onto the small bunk in the corner of the room; his service pistol joined them. Natural light from the small windows was enough for his current needs, although a few candles would be required later. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it next to his sword before taking a seat at the rickety table that served as a desk to the right of his bed. He selected the sharpest of his quills and a sheet of parchment, staring down at its blank surface for a moment before dipping the nib into a bottle of ink and scratching out the beginnings of his report. His words flew rapidly, line after line filling the page with descriptions of engaging the Royal Louis: the number of men dead or injured, the level of supplies, and the state of the ship. He chewed at the feather, wondering if now was the time to voice his concern about Gilman, Nichols, and Jones.
Daniel froze as he heard movement in the corridor outside his door. There was a rattle of crockery, and he chastised himself for overreacting to the general comings and goings of life on board. He returned to his report, deciding it would be better to record his concerns in general terms: how uneasy the crew had become, that there was the smell of insubordination in the ranks, but not to specify those he suspected to be the ringleaders. They’d be back in port in a matter of days; despite her damaged state, Expedience would get them to St. Kitts, and there he could speak freely to his superiors.
Engrossed in his writing, Daniel didn’t notice the door’s latch slowly rise or the door silently open. It was only when a floorboard creaked behind him that he became aware of the intruder. He jumped to his feet, spinning around to stare at the barrel of a cocked pistol held in the steady hand of Nichols; Gilman and Jones stood behind him, also armed. His eyes darted to his own weapon, tossed so carelessly away, out of reach.
“On your knees, Captain. Nice and slow, and you won’t get hurt.”
He slid carefully to his knees, not taking his eyes off Nichols, the malevolence radiating from him in waves.
“Very good. Seems you can take orders as well as you give them. Hands behind your back.”
Daniel did as he was told. Gilman moved behind him and tied his wrists together with rope.
“I’ll see you all hang for this.”
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“Trust me, Captain, I’ll be telling the Admiralty a very different story. They don’t like deserters in Portsmouth,” said Nichols, his grin vicious. “Even if they do find you, your word will count for nothing.”
“You’ll have to kill me to stop me speaking,” Daniel said, defiant.
“Where would the fun be in that?”
The loud crack from the butt of Gilman’s pistol connecting with his skull was the last thing Daniel heard as he slumped forward, unconscious.
DANIEL blinked, staring up at the cloudless blue sky and the relentless sun. He sat up gingerly, the small boat rocking as he did so. The action made his head swim and his vision blur, and looking out across the ocean, the empty miles of sea stretching out before him, he doubted that he would have much hope of rescue. But this was what Nichols wanted, his slow death at the hands of the elements. Abandoned out at sea, his ship no more than a speck on the horizon, and left with nothing, not even a skin of water.
His head pounded angrily from the thirst that was already beginning to assert itself and from the pain where the butt of the pistol had connected; his stomach lurched with every wave, the boat far too small to offer any protection from being buffeted. He lay back down. There was nothing he could do but wait for the temperature to drop and his aches to fade. Unable to maintain his focus, his eyes drifted closed.
DANIEL spluttered, regaining consciousness as water hit his face. He tried to sit, but the foot on his chest kept him firmly in place, flat on his back, hands tied. He was surrounded by six men, but the glare of the overhead sun prevented him from getting a better look at their faces. However, one thing was for certain: they weren’t wearing the uniforms of the British Navy. Bewildered, he at least realized he was onboard a ship, the gentle roll of the world and the sound of flapping sails unmistakable. Peering upward, he could see the mizzen wasn’t the right configuration to be a frigate, and there were no flags proclaiming she sailed under the command of the French government. But, hanging high on the mast, there was the unmistakable emblem of a skull and crossed bones.
Daniel let his head smack heavily back down on the deck, wondering what he’d done wrong in his life to find himself in such a situation. With the French he might at least have been a potential prisoner of war, held somewhere he could attempt an escape from, but pirates…. He was a dead man.
“British pig,” he heard one say, his accent clearly Spanish.
“We should throw him overboard. There may be ships after him,” said another, and if Daniel was not mistaken, he could hear a trace of County Cork about him.
“Take him down to Merric. The captain’s always been fond of a pretty Brit, and this one should entertain him nicely until he decides the bastard’s fate,” said a third. He was more commanding, and Daniel thought he might be the first mate by the way he spoke.
He was dragged across the deck by two of the pirates. His parched brain and body were too confused to put up a fight, but he knew the name the men had mentioned. He’d heard of Captain Merric. Every member of the fleet had a story to tell of the pirate who had swiped the jewels of Ambassador Swin’s wife and fled with his son. Daniel had pursued Merric once or twice himself, but he’d never caught him. Merric’s ship was too fast, and despite the large bounty on his head, no one had information to sell. Even Swin’s son had been curiously tight-lipped when he was returned, unharmed.
Hauled below deck, the loss of the bright sunlight temporarily blinded him, but his eyes adjusted as he was manhandled down dark corridors that smelled of gunpowder and expensive spices. They stopped outside a closed door, and one of his captors banged his fist heavily against it.
“Come,” was the reply.
The door opened, and Daniel was thrown to the floor, landing so the first thing he saw of the infamous Captain Merric was the worn leather of his unpolished boots.
Daniel struggled to his knees, looking up to get a view of the pirate. For a moment he thought the sun must have affected him more than he had realized, but the figure that stood before him was no illusion. The face was older but unmistakably that of the man he’d thought had died over fifteen years ago. His frame had always been tall and broad, but the years at sea had made him stronger, and the sun had bleached his hair so it was much blonder than Daniel remembered, making his blue eyes even more striking.
“You’re meant to be dead.”
Daniel saw Merric’s eyes widen in shock as he recognized his prisoner. “You’re not the first one to have said that, and certainly won’t be the last to wish it.”
“We found him set adrift,” said one of Merric’s men, the Irish one. “What you want doing with him?”
“Leave him with me for now, Harris.”
The other men left, Daniel hearing Harris say “See, told you he liked ’em pretty and British” as the door shut.
Even before the door had fully closed, Daniel felt Merric kneel behind him and untie his wrists before pulling him to his feet, gripping him tightly by his upper arms. “How the hell have you ended up on my ship?”
Daniel shoved him away. “I don’t answer to dead men.”
“Dead? You actually thought I was dead?” Merric looked momentarily taken aback, but he turned to the table behind him, pouring a flagon of water and handing it to Daniel.
Daniel took the water and drank it down in three greedy swallows, his thirst greater than his anger. Merric refilled the mug, and Daniel drained it again.
“You did not receive my message?”
“I received nothing from you apart from empty promises and betrayal. James Merriston is dead—and will stay dead to me.”
Merric shook his head. “I will have some food brought up from the galley; then we will talk.”
“I have no wish to converse with a dead man.”
“Always so stubborn.” A rough hand pushed Daniel backward, and he stumbled, landing on a sturdy bed. “For once you will do as you are told.”
“I am a captain in the British Navy; I will not be spoken—”
“You are my prisoner, Captain Horton, and you will do as I say.”
Merric was already opening the door and sending orders before Daniel could deliver his dismissive reply.
“After the ship I was on was wrecked, I sent word back to England—to you—to have you join me,” Merric said, sitting next to Daniel.
“How convenient that no such message was received. How did you send it, James, in a bottle and hoped it would reach me on the current?”
“But I received your response. You made it very clear that my affections were not returned.”
“I….”
Another knock, and the door opened. A young cabin boy peered hesitantly into the room. “You decent, Captain?”
“Put the tray on the side, Blot, and then get out before I let my boot leather loose on your insolent hide.”
The boy barely managed to keep the smirk off his face as he placed the tray on the desk and left. Faced with food for the first time in days, Daniel accepted the dried beef and ship biscuits along with beer to wash it down.
“You really thought I’d died?”
“The last time I heard from you was the night you sailed,” said Daniel. “A few days later your father wrote to tell me of your death, and sent me a number of your books as a keepsake, since I’d been such a good friend to you.”
“I swear to you that I sent word.” James was on his feet. With his height and build, he looked overly large in the small cabin. “I let my pride get the better of me. I should have known you would not have dismissed me so easily.”
Daniel shook his head. He’d locked his emotions away years ago. The hardened exterior he’d built had allowed him to climb the ranks with ease. With no compunction for the enemy and nothing to lose, he’d fought his way through life, not caring for personal relationships or offers of friendship that wouldn’t help advance his career. His reputation of being a bastard was well earned. But now the ghosts that drove him away to sea were no longer specters rememb
ered in the gray hours of morning but standing before him, very much alive.
“I believe you,” he said eventually, surprising himself with the honesty of his answer. “And it does not take a great mind to figure out what happened. My father suspected something; he’d made enough comments about your poor influence on me, and it would not have been difficult for him to intercept a letter.”
“I should not have given up,” said James, returning to sit next to Daniel on the bed.
James leaned closer, his eyes glinting with expectation.
Daniel put a hand to his chest and pushed him away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was going to kiss you.”
“I don’t think so. From what your cabin boy said, you’re in the habit of defiling your prisoners.”
“It’s not like you’re a virgin—I can attest to that myself.”
“This is not going to happen.” Daniel snorted at the look of disbelief on James’s face. “I’ve heard about your reputation, Captain Merric, and I have no wish to be on your long list of conquests. You are going to return me to land, preferably somewhere close to a British port, and I’m going to arrange to have my mutinous crew hanged.”
“But….”
“I’m sorry, but while I’m happy to see you’re alive, I need to report to the Admiralty before I’m the one who is accused of desertion.”
James didn’t appear to be deterred by Daniel’s refusal; he smiled and slid a hand over Daniel’s thigh. “Forget about the navy. Join me here.”
“No.” Daniel very deliberately took James’s hand and placed it on the bed.
“We have been granted a second chance,” said James, and Daniel had to admire his perseverance. “We should accept it as the gift it is.”
“I have my duty, and even if I didn’t, we’re not the same boys as back then. The James Merriston I knew—the one I loved—was not a pirate.”
James appeared to accept defeat, but he grinned as he stood. “I will take you to shore, but we’re not heading to any British port for now. Once we’re done at our next destination, I will deliver you safely to St. Kitts. Until then you can enjoy the hospitality of the Opal.”
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