Stolen by Starlight: A Pirates of Britannia World Novel

by Borthiry, Avril

  He had no idea, of course, how she felt.

  He’d received a message one morning, winged to him on the leg of a slate-colored pigeon with pink eyes. The contents of the message had not been shared with her, but he’d left soon after, his expression sober, his demeanor decidedly chillier. He’d argued with Imogen before leaving, too. Amy had heard their raised voices in the kitchen but hadn’t understood any of what had been said. Somehow, though, she knew it was about her.

  For sure, she knew the summons had to do with her. Had her mother actually agreed to pay the ransom? Or was Amy now facing one of the other ‘options’ that Jake had mentioned?

  The door to the parlor creaked open.

  “Jacob is on his way, mo stór,” Imogen said, stepping into the room. “I just received a message. He’ll be here by midday to collect you.”

  Amy’s heart skipped a beat. “Collect me?”

  Imogen nodded. “You’ll need to pack your things.”

  “Right.” Her attempt at a smile failed. The thought of seeing Jake again tied her stomach in knots. The thought of the reason for his return forced a lump to her throat. “It won’t take me long to prepare, Imogen. I don’t have much. Did the message give any details?”

  “No, but they never do, for obvious reasons.” Imogen perched on the edge of the settee and gave Amy a grim smile. “Don’t worry, Amy. Everything will be fine.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried. I was just curious, that’s all.” Amy returned the smile. “I trust your grandson. He… he promised he’d never put me in harm’s way.”

  The old lady’s smile didn’t falter, but Amy thought she saw a brief shadow flicker in her green eyes. “Well, then,” Imogen said, “there you go.”

  Amy nodded. “I really must thank you for all you’ve done. I must be the most over-indulged hostage ever!”

  “It has been a pleasure,” Imogen replied. “It would have been preferable, of course, to have met under different circumstances.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Amy stood and brushed the creases from her skirt. “Well, I’ll, um, go and sort my things.”

  In truth, she had plenty of time to do so, but felt a need for solitude and all but ran for the stairs.

  * * *

  Jake had purposely stayed away from Dún Caorthann, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. The arrangements had been made. Everything was in place. In two days, unbeknownst to her, Amy would be handed back to her father.

  Jake, to quote one of Fingal’s metaphors, felt lower than whale shite as he climbed the path to the house. His birthplace looked bleak under the grey skies. Or maybe that was simply his mood.

  Time and again, he told himself this was how it had to be. He was a pirate, not a philanthropist. He sought profits, not accolades for heroism. Amy had no place in his life. Feeling as though he was being observed, he glanced up at her bedroom window in time to see her pale face turning away. It reminded him of the first night he’d met her, when he’d seen her reflection in the stern window.

  He entered the house without knocking, certain that Imogen had received the message about his arrival. Sure enough, she poked her head out of the kitchen door and peered down the hallway.

  “Thought I heard someone.” She approached him. “Are you staying for lunch, mo stór?”

  “No,” Jake said, bending to kiss her cheek. “I’ve left Fingal down at the shore. Is Amy ready?”

  Imogen gave him a disapproving look, one he hadn’t seen in years. A look intended to invoke shame.

  “Don’t, Móraí,” he said. “Please.”

  She folded her arms and glared at him. “I told you so.”

  Jake frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. I told you so. I’m saying it now, so I won’t have to say it later when you realize you’ve made a huge mistake.”

  Before he could respond, a noise behind him drew his attention. He turned to see Amy coming down the stairs with a cloth bag.

  “Let me get that,” he said, taking two stairs at a time to reach her.

  “Thank you.” She handed him the bag and followed him down the stairs. “I’m ready.”

  “Right. Fingal’s waiting down at the beach, so we’ll not delay.” He kissed Imogen’s cheek again. Of course, she had no idea what he had in mind. That the plans had changed. “I’ll be in touch, Móraí.”

  The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she went to Amy and cupped her face. “Be brave, mo stór,” she murmured, “and just know that you’ll always have a cabin at Dún Caorthann if you need one.”

  Amy nodded. “Thank you, Imogen.”

  Jake gave his grandmother a humorless smile and guided Amy out of the door.

  Chapter Eight

  Jake could have given Amy a guest cabin on the Vagabond Queen, but he decided to give her his quarters again. If someone had asked him why, he wouldn’t have been able to give a definitive answer. ‘That’s where she belongs’ would seem absurd, given what was about to take place, although that’s what had come to mind when he’d made his decision.

  When informed about their destination, she had questioned the rationale of it. “Bristol? Would a channel port not have been more favorable? Portsmouth, say, or Southampton?”

  Jake had shrugged. “Risky territory for pirates,” he’d said. Not a lie. The sea in its entirety was risky territory. Still, the deception, which Amy had accepted in good faith, had tasted bitter on his tongue.

  They had spent the night at anchor and left at dawn the next day. Now, with the English coastline visible on the horizon, Jake stood at the helm, breathing in the air he loved. A brisk southwesterly had stirred the waves into white-crested peaks, and sea spray misted the rails and decks.

  He indulged his senses, and in doing so, eased his nerves.

  Somewhat.

  Quinn had sent him all the details. Upon arrival at the designated spot, Jake, one of his crewmen, and Amy, would take the awaiting carriage to the Cock and Dolphin. Pendleton’s man, who went by the name of Burgess, would be waiting for them in the bar, seated beneath the portrait of a whaler and wearing a red cravat.

  A room on the upper floor had been reserved for Jake and Amy. On arrival, they were to proceed to the room and wait as Burgess gave the ransom to the innkeeper for ‘safe keeping’.

  Once notified that the ransom had been handed over, Jake would leave Amy in the room, collect the ransom… and make his exit. He knew a trap had likely been laid for him, but Quinn had made allowances for that. The Cock and Dolphin had a couple of secrets known only to the pirates and smugglers who frequented the place. Jake wasn’t concerned for himself.

  Soon, they entered the Bristol channel. Jake handed the helm off to Padre and headed to his cabin. He knocked and entered to see Amy standing, as she so often did, at the stern window. She turned and gave him a sad smile but said nothing.

  “We’ll be dropping anchor shortly,” he said, frowning at the telltale redness around her eyes. She’d been crying, it seemed. “Once ashore, a carriage will be waiting to take us to the rendezvous, where the exchange will take place. About an hour’s ride. Then I must assume your journey will continue from there.”

  Amy gave a single nod. “Understood.”

  Jake hesitated, wanting to tell her not to worry. That everything would be all right. Instead, he held out a hand. “Come and get some fresh air, mo chroí,” he said, “and say hello to England.”

  * * *

  So far so good, Jake thought, as their plain black carriage pulled up outside the Cock and Dolphin. He’d chosen to take Fez with him, a young crewman who fit the criteria of a part he’d been chosen to play that evening.

  Amy continued to be subdued. Only her hands, fidgeting in her lap, suggested her angst.

  “Take care of the carriage, Fez,” Jake said, giving the lad a knowing wink. “And then find a corner in the bar. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  Jake helped Amy down, his stomach souring at the thought of what was about to hap
pen.

  “Are you all right, mo chroí?” he asked.

  She blinked. “What does that mean?”

  “Mo chroí?” Jake tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “It means ‘my heart’.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened a little. “How lovely. And yes, I’m fine, Jake.” The tremor in her voice belied the statement.

  They entered the inn and Jake took stock, estimating there were about twenty or so patrons in the bar. Several of the faces he recognized, all of them Pirates of Britannia – a few from the Welsh ‘Ganwyd o’r Mor’ faction and a half-dozen or so from Poseidon’s Legion, the English faction.

  They were, to say the least, a forbidding bunch. Some wore eye patches, a couple had scarred, pock-marked faces, while others had beads and bones braided into their hair and beards. And all looked to be armed to their rotten teeth. Bilge rats, the lot of them.

  Amy gripped Jake’s arm a little tighter, and he smiled inwardly. He knew she had no cause to fear. The pirates were not there by chance, nor did they pose a threat. At least, not to Jake or Amy. This had Quinn’s crafty paw prints all over it – a united show of support for a fellow pirate in case things took a turn for the worse.

  A few of the men whistled and made lewd comments as Jake and Amy approached the bar. All quite normal behavior. Happy Harry, who always looked as though he’d lost a guinea and found sixpence, gave Jake a cursory glance and tossed two keys at him.

  “You know the lay of the land,” he murmured. “Yer friend is in yon corner. A right posh pillock. Scared witless at the moment, methinks. Didn’t expect to see all these marauders here.”

  Jake picked up the keys and nodded. “I noticed him. Thanks, Harry. Good to see you again.”

  “Piss off,” Harry said, and winked.

  “Nice friends you have,” Amy muttered.

  “Indeed,” Jake replied, chuckling. “I’m very fortunate.”

  He steered Amy up the stairs and along a narrow hallway to the last door on the left. He unlocked the door and entered. Now that Burgess had witnessed Amy’s arrival, the ransom would supposedly be handed over as arranged. There wasn’t much time to spare.

  “I can’t linger, I’m afraid,” Jake said, swallowing a thrust of emotion. “You must wait here. Your escort is in the bar. He’ll be told when it’s time to come for you. His name is Burgess, and he’ll knock thrice and thrice again.”

  “I understand.” Amy took a breath and brushed a strand of hair off her face. “I can’t, in good conscience, condone what you’ve done, Jake, but I do realize I’ve been fortunate under the circumstances. Another pirate might not have been so merciful or treated me so well. In any case, I shall never think badly of you, nor shall I ever forget you.”

  Jake clenched and unclenched his fists. The lass had no idea what was to come. How he’d deceived her. How he was gambling with her safety, not quite certain of the odds.

  If his plan failed…

  But it wouldn’t fail. Quinn had taken care of every detail. Those he trusted would not let him down. Amy would be furious, but she’d be safe.

  “If you proceed with this, you’ll lose her. Think hard about what you are doing.”

  How many times had his grandmother’s words played over in his mind? Jake’s throat went dry. He cursed inwardly, and at that moment, almost reneged on his plans.

  It wasn’t too late. He could make up some excuse and send Pendleton’s crony away. But then, he’d have to explain himself to Amy. And to his crew. And to Quinn.

  He would not be a popular man.

  Nay, to Hades with that. The plans were solid. Everything would be fine.

  “Have faith, lass,” he murmured and, with a fingertip, traced the graceful arch of her brows, stroked the fine contours of her cheek, and caressed the graceful, yet stubborn, edge of her jaw. Throughout his gentle exploration, she remained still and silent, watching him. Her eyes, a deep dark blue, would always remind him of the sea at night. As for her mouth – it was slightly parted as if inviting him... daring him.

  God help him, how could he resist?

  Cupping her face, he lowered his lips to hers, and a heartbeat later knew that he should not have done so, for sanity’s sake alone. The feel of her mouth against his sent his mind into a dizzying spin.

  A small sound came from Amy’s throat, an arousing exclamation of surprise and pleasure. In an instant, Jake hardened, the sudden rush of blood to his groin causing him to groan. Consumed by a wave of passion, he pulled her tight against him, and deepened the kiss. Amy clutched at his jacket and whimpered as her belly pressed against his cock. The sensation nearly tipped Jake over the edge. Hell’s teeth, he wanted her. Craved her. But he regretted kissing her.

  It was, after all, the kiss of a betrayer.

  Judas.

  Chest heaving, he drew back. Like him, Amy breathed as one in dire need of air. Jake imagined he saw himself in her eyes—eyes that shone with something he refused to acknowledge. It was, he suspected, the same powerful force that threatened to take hold of his heart. No woman had ever made him feel this way. He dared, at least, to admit that much.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I should not have done that.”

  “I’m… I’m glad you did.” She gazed up at him and drew a shaky breath. “Will I ever see you again?”

  If she only knew. “Maybe.”

  “I hope so. I… I pray so.” She raised up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Please take care of yourself.”

  He gave a single nod and left, closing the door behind him, and stood still for a moment to collect his thoughts. Then, ignoring the damnable ache in his heart, he unlocked the adjacent door and slipped inside, locking the door again. The room looked identical to the one he’d just left, except that this one held a wee secret.

  Jake pulled the bed from the wall and revealed the trapdoor hidden beneath. He lifted it and descended the wooden steps that went down into darkness.

  Had the ransom been paid? As his sight adjusted to the gloom, he made out the shape of a gentleman’s valise on the floor. Beside it, having been pushed through a hidden hinged flap at the back of the bar, sat a small wooden chest.

  Jake crouched and opened it, digging his fingers into the gold. Everything appeared to be in order. He heaved a relieved sigh as he rose to peer through a spy-hole in the wall. It gave him a good view of the bar, and he smiled at the sight of Fez feigning sleep in the chair by the door. The lad had drool oozing from his mouth and a hand resting atop his cock.

  Burgess, meanwhile, had his hawkish gaze fixed on the stairs, obviously awaiting Jake’s return. The man fidgeted, apparently restless. As Jake continued to watch, Burgess glanced at the door, then at the group of pirates, and then back at the stairs again.

  No doubt a trap had been laid. There’d be men outside, back and front, waiting for him, Jake McNamara, a one-eyed pirate captain. And they’d be disappointed, because the one-eyed pirate captain was about to disappear.

  He shoved the box of gold into the valise and hauled it back up the stairs. Then he closed the trapdoor, pushed the bed against the wall, and set the valise atop the mattress.

  Next, he stripped down to his underclothes, opened the valise and temporarily removed the chest, which sat atop his change of wardrobe. “Thanks, Quinn,” he muttered, cringing at the sight of his disguise. “I’ll castrate you for this, you scurvy bastard.”

  Black wool breeches were replaced by dark blue damask, threadbare red velvet by sky-blue silk. White silk socks and black buckled shoes came next. Then Jake pulled out a sleek, black peruke and smoothed his hair, ready to tug the wig into place.

  Before he could do that, however, he had to make the most startling adjustment of all. It was also the easiest. All it took was a simple flick of his fingers, which removed the patch from his eye. A totally functional eye, as it happened, the exact same shamrock-green as his other one.

  Since meeting Amy, he’d lived up to his masquerade and worn the patch more often than usual
. Usually, he donned it only when marauding, and since most of that was done at night, it made no difference to the tanned coloration of his flesh. Lately, he’d been wearing it during the day as well. Hopefully, any tell-tale mark was not too obvious.

  Jake settled the wig over his scalp, tucked in some stray hairs, and tugged down on his jacket

  He regarded himself in the mottled mirror with something akin to horror. The word ridiculous came to mind. A fop with a beard? A pirate dressed in heels and silk? He’d never live it down. “And after I’ve castrated you, Quinn,” he growled, “I’ll shove your feckin’ balls down your throat.”

  In fairness, Quinn had given Jake a few hints about what to expect. “For a disguise to work, you have to play the part,” he’d said. “The swagger, the voice. It’s all part of the illusion. There’ll be a lace kerchief in the pocket, Jake. Use it.”

  Hurriedly, he exited the room, locked the door, and headed down the stairs. At the bottom he paused for a moment, breathed in, pulled his shoulders back, and strutted out into the bar. The conversation from the pirate factions faded a little, followed by a series of whistles, lewd comments, and guffaws of laughter.

  Jake silently cursed Quinn to an eternity in hell, pulled the lace kerchief from his breast pocket, and fanned his face.

  “Pip,” he called, raising his voice an octave or two, “wake up, you little sluggard.”

  Hand on hip and lace kerchief flapping, he swanned over to where the lad sat and poked him in the shoulder. “Pay attention, boy. I’m ready to leave now. Fetch my luggage down and put it in the carriage. And be careful with it.”

  Fez opened one eye and then the other. Then they widened in obvious surprise, and his mouth fell open. “Bloody ‘ell,” he muttered, sitting up.