Once Upon a Pirate: Sixteen Swashbuckling Historical Romances

by Merry Farmer

  Her heavy swallow and wide eyes told him she was indeed chaste. Something that appealed to him far more than he expected. He was relieved she had not been touched by another man when she should have always been his.

  Might still be.

  Would she give herself over to him? Spread her sweet thighs as he had long imagined? Cry out his name in the heat of passion?

  He scowled and tied his hair back, trying to push aside the unwelcome thoughts. He did not want to care about her again. Should not. But from the moment he’d heard she was in trouble, his bloody heart had taken the reins. Now here he was counting down the seconds until she was in his bed, not because he intended to lie with her but simply because she would be close.

  When he stood, she stood, wringing her hands nervously. Shockingly enough, she glanced from the bed to him and did the absolute last thing he saw coming. She turned and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Sleeping in this dress would be very uncomfortable. Would you untie me?”

  How had she gone from thinking he would sleep on the floor to this?

  While the man he once was would have asked her if she were sure, the man he was now was far less foolish. He did as she asked, taking his time unlacing her dress and stays when he could have done it far faster. He wished she had not moved aside her hair. That he might have done it for her if only to touch it again and feel its silkiness. How often had he thought of touching it again over the years?

  Too many times to count.

  She tensed when he stood a little closer than necessary, but did not move away. He inhaled deeply, pulling in her flowery scent, amazed she still smelled so good considering the day she’d had. As always, everything about her drew him. From her slight figure to her soft skin. From the way she held her shoulders, one a mere smidge more forward than the other as though she were half in this world and half curled over a book lost in one of her stories again.

  He guaranteed no one but him noticed either. But then no one knew how often her imagination truly got away with her. To the point on one occasion, that she lost all good sense.

  Or, as he reflected years later, might have made more sense than he realized.

  “We could do it,” she had argued, determination in her eyes that summer morning when they were fourteen. “There are plenty of opportunities in other colonies.” She nodded. “Plymouth is prospering. We could go there and start anew in the Massachusetts Bay Colony.” Her eyes met his, hopeful. “You and I, Hannah, and even Luke could do well there. We could start a new life.”

  He knew her overly strict uncle thought nothing of bringing a switch to her and Hannah so understood her desire to flee. Regardless, she needed to understand how foolish her proposal was. “This is not a story in one of your books, Rose.” He shook his head. “Life in the north is not easy. Winters are hard, summers are fleeting.”

  “But there is plenty of work,” she countered. “Commerce is flourishing. You could boat-build, or take to fishing or whaling. Or perhaps try your hand at timber and fur trading.” She fanned her face in the oppressive August heat. “And a fleeting summer would not be such a bad thing.” Fresh hope lit her eyes. “The four of us could marry, just pretend, of course, sail to Plymouth and start a new life.”

  “Pretend to marry?” he had replied, amused. “Me and you then?”

  “Yes.” She blushed and didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Why not?”

  “I do not know.” He shrugged. “It seems so…”

  “So what?” She looked at him curiously. “Do you not want to marry me? For pretend…of course.”

  “Of course,” he murmured, peering at her out of the corner of his eye. “I suppose.”

  Her brows flew up. “You suppose?”

  “I just mean,” he began feeling all turned around, mostly because he realized the idea very much appealed to him. Not a fake marriage though and certainly not so they could better establish themselves elsewhere.

  “What I mean,” he continued, setting things straight, “is that you are letting your imagination get away with you, Rose.”

  Now, standing here on this ship, looking back on the years, he wondered where they might have been had he allowed her imagination to flourish. Because he knew full well, their marriage would not have been a sham. Would they have made it safely to Plymouth and started a new life? But then what would have happened to her when he went off to fight? Because he would have whether drafted or not.

  So in the end, things went as they went.

  How he often wished they had gone differently though.

  “Come, let’s rest.” He stepped away before he gave into temptation and pulled her close.

  He tried to keep his eyes off her, but it was damn near impossible when she removed her dress and petticoat. He was no stranger to women, and typically able to control himself, but then they weren’t this woman.

  They weren’t Rose.

  The outline of her slender body through her shift was clear enough in the candlelight, her curves slight but very much there. Her breasts were on the small side but perky and tempting. How often had he imagined testing their weight in his palm? Spreading her soft thighs and exploring all that had been lost to him for so long?

  He nearly groaned, his cock hard and ready for her.

  Blast it, her bloody shift was too thin.

  He frowned and considered the garment. It was clear her uncle had been neglecting his nieces because her shift was near threadbare, the material far too worn for a woman of her station. When was the last time new clothing was made for her? He glanced at the faded dress she had removed. He had thought it a dress meant for traveling so of little consequence but now wondered.

  Not for the first time, he wished he could strangle her uncle. But it seemed fate had taken care of that for him. Oh, but to have run his blade through the man, though. Her parents had died young, and the girls became more of an obligation to their uncle than anything. He was convinced the man only took them in for the sake of appearances. Sadly, it had been a horrid fate. They became as much a whipping board for him as his slaves.

  Something Thomas and Luke could do little about.

  Not only were they mere lads at the time but sons of the governor, an overly strict man who considered the sisters’ uncle an ally. Between the two, they held considerable power at the time, and scandal would not do. Moreover, how they treated their wards was very much their own business. So except for Thomas and Luke, a blind eye had been turned and the girls got the switch far too often.

  Hannah more than Rose, protecting her little sister when she could.

  Leaving the girls to go to war had been particularly difficult because he and Luke knew what they were leaving them with. Yet their country needed them, and their father would have it no other way. They would fight the bloody French come hell or high water.

  Thomas continued mulling their uncle over after he blew out the candle, opened the curtains, and settled under the blankets. Because he had despised the man so, he’d given little thought to him over the years. More specifically, what he might be capable of. Which, in retrospect, was foolish. Their uncle was very much the sort who would have felt the girls owed him something for room and board.

  Which meant he was the sort who would have seen opportunity in their beauty.

  He was about to ask Rose just how much opportunity, but her steady breathing stopped him. Remarkably enough, she had already dozed off. But then that wasn't so surprising considering the rum she had drunk and the ordeal she’d been through. A more traumatic experience by far then crawling into bed with him in nothing more than a shift.

  Painfully aroused not to mention concerned about who might be following, he slept very little and woke early. As it happened, Rose had moved closer as the night progressed until she cuddled against him. While he knew it was an instinctual need to be safe, he liked to think it was more.

  That she craved his closeness as much as he did hers.

  His gaze lingered on her for a stretch before he dragged his
eyes away. She was too beautiful, lying there with her golden locks splayed across his pillow. Far too tempting for a man who had finally managed to get his erection under control mere hours before.

  So he dressed and made his way on deck, joining Charles at the helm. “Any sign of trouble?”

  “Not yet.” His quartermaster squinted south. “But as ye said, best to assume Big Devil is following.”

  “Yes, it is.” They had no choice but to fight on land next time, though. “No changes of heart with the crew?”

  “No,” Charles confirmed. “We’re with ye to the end, Cap’n.”

  He nodded, glad to hear it. “Why not get some rest?”

  Charles shook his head. “I got a wink or two overnight.” He offered a cheeky grin. “Lookin’ forward to more fightin’ ahead.”

  “Could be a ways off,” he reminded.

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Charles said. “Either way, I’ll sleep when I need to.”

  That was their way of life, so he knew his quartermaster would be fine.

  As it turned out, Rose slept the whole day, night and most of the next day, not stirring until they were nearly two days out. When she did finally rouse, it was not quietly but with a bloodcurdling scream. He barely drew a breath, fearful for what he would discover when he flung open his cabin door but ultimately saddened by what he found.

  Chapter 6

  Terrifying faces swarmed in front of her, their voices taunting and lewd. Each and every one undressed her with their eyes. Made her feel filthy. There was no getting away. She had to face this, Hannah would have said.

  Just act the part, she preached to herself. Play dumb.

  “’Tis a high price for a wench who cannot speak or even see straight,” one hollered.

  Just keep playing dumb.

  “Who needs her to talk?” another called out. “Just her pretty little mouth around my cock is worth the price!”

  God save her.

  She could do this.

  She had to do this.

  “And no need to see straight.” Another chortled. “I’ll steer her along just fine.” He grabbed his crotch. “Right onto my main mast!”

  She kept her head down and willed cowardly tears away, but it did no good. They started falling before Big Devil grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her knees. Unable to hold back, she screamed.

  And screamed.

  Over and over until Thomas’s voice grew louder than the roars of the crowd.

  Louder than her own screams.

  “Wake up, Rose.” Big Devil’s painful grasp became Thomas’s tender touch. “It is just a nightmare.” He shook her gently. “Wake up.”

  Torn from pure hell, she opened her eyes to daylight and Thomas’s cabin. She was wrapped in his strong arms. He stroked her hair, trying to soothe her, murmuring again and again that it was just a nightmare.

  She was safe.

  Rose blinked away tears and remained where she was at first, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She was not about to be used roughly by Big Devil but wrapped up in Thomas’s warm arms.

  “Are you well,” he eventually murmured.

  “I am,” she whispered, finally finding her voice. She tilted her head back and looked at him. “Thank you.”

  His eyes were the color of sunlit moss in the current lighting, and his voice husky as his gaze lingered on hers. “How are you feeling? Rested?”

  “Very,” she murmured.

  Her gaze dropped to his lips. She remembered how they felt against hers like it was yesterday. How tender, coaxing, then arousing. With a heavy swallow, she, at last, pulled away because she didn’t trust herself to stay where she was.

  How quickly she went from the terror of being used to the need to be taken.

  She stretched and yawned before she realized her nightmare might very well be pursuing them. “What did I miss? Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine for now.” He gestured at a plate with apples and dried meat then a chamber pot in the corner. “Dress and see to your needs. We sail into port soon.”

  “Are we safe then?”

  “Safe enough for now,” he said. “Safer still once we get off this ship.”

  As she discovered a short time later when she went on deck, they were not quite as safe as he’d led her to believe. There were pirates about on land.

  They were also no longer in the Caribbean.

  She took in the salt marshes, windswept sand dunes, and tall, hardy grasses. Herring gulls cried overhead.

  “This looks familiar.” Her eyes shot to Thomas. “Why does this look familiar?” She shook her head. “How long did I sleep for?”

  “Nigh on two days,” he revealed. “As to the location, you likely passed it going south. What's more, you likely passed safely because your captain struck a deal with Blackbeard.” His eyes met hers. “We are off the Carolina coast. An island once called Woccocon but more recently referred to as Ococcock or Ocracoke.”

  “I have heard of it.” She frowned. “It is a pirate stronghold, is it not?”

  “Not to the extent of Port Royal or Nassau but it has its fair share of my sort.”

  “I am not so sure they are truly your sort, Thomas,” she said softly.

  Their sort would have taken advantage of a woman in their bed.

  “You will need to make a decision and swiftly,” he said, seemingly ignoring her comment.

  “What is that?”

  “What role you would like to play this time.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You cannot go into this port a genteel lady,” he explained. “Either you go as our prisoner,” he shrugged, “or something else.”

  “Something else?”

  “There are really only two other choices.” A twinkle lit his eyes. “A wench or a pirate.” He shot her a sly look. “I believe you once said you wanted to adventure like a pirate.”

  “I did,” she conceded softly, considering his suggestions. “But I was only dreaming then, trying to escape the nightmare that was my uncle.”

  “Though I could put this delicately, I think you can handle the truth,” he replied. “There is a good chance Big Devil, and his rats will arrive here at any moment, so you are, undoubtedly, still trying to escape a nightmare.”

  While he could have been a little less direct, she was grateful he was not. That he remained honest with her. So what would she be? A prisoner yet again, a wench or a pirate? Though it would be the easiest, becoming a prisoner once more did not sound appealing in the least. That left a wench or pirate. Could she truly portray a woman of the night, though? She had little to no experience to draw on.

  Then again, what did she know about being a pirate?

  “How did you do it so well in Nassau?” he said, seemingly following her thoughts. “How did you become the character in one of your books?”

  “I am not entirely sure,” she murmured. “I played on how I felt at the time. I was speechless. Terrified. Unable to utter a word. So I embraced the persona, and it blossomed into deaf, dumb, and mute. Truthfully, it was but a means to an end. All I allowed myself to focus on rather than the terror that lay ahead.” She shrugged, not sure if that made sense. “I became what I needed to become.”

  If she were to be honest with herself, she had been doing such for a long time. Going somewhere else in her mind when her uncle took his switch to her. Pretending she was someone else. Not stuck in a helpless body at the mercy of cruelty. In fact, she had spent countless hours reading to her uncle's slaves, hoping they realized they could do the same.

  That there was an escape, no matter how brief.

  “Land ahoy,” Charles called out. “All hands on deck!”

  “You must choose,” Thomas urged. “We will dock soon.”

  She glanced from the shore to him, already knowing her choice. “I will become a pirate.”

  “You are a pirate,” he corrected. “You must believe it to be convincing.”

  “Very true.” Rose nodded fi
rmly. “I am a pirate.” Then she considered it. “What does that mean precisely for a woman? I have only read about men.”

  “For starters, your outfit needs adjusting.” He pulled her back into his cabin and rummaged through his trunk before tossing trousers and a shirt on the bed. “Better in those.”

  “These cannot possibly be yours.” She fingered the clothing and cocked her head at him. “They are far too small.”

  “They belonged to the son of a friend of mine,” he replied. “They should fit.”

  It turned out they did though a bit snugly.

  “Are they not indecent?” she muttered. One could nearly see the shape of her breasts through the material.

  “You can be as indecent as you want.” The corner of his mouth curled up, and he eyed her over. “You are a pirate now, Rose.”

  “Yes,” she repeated firmly. “I am a pirate.” She wiggled her hips a little, trying the trousers out. “I quite like it too.”

  “As do I,” he said so softly she almost didn’t catch it.

  He braided back her hair with admirable speed then wrapped a kerchief around her head.

  “Do I look the part then?” She held out her arms and turned. “Will they believe such?”

  “I imagine they will not be overly concerned with your attire,” he murmured. “But other things.”

  When she glanced at him, it was to find his eyes locked on her backside in admiration.

  “Oh, dear.” She peered over her shoulder the best she could. Her skirt typically hid what he was staring at. “I suppose things are quite obvious.” She tugged at the pants. “Though I see no hope for it.”

  “Things are quite obvious.” He grinned. “And yet another means to distract others from paying attention to your behavior in general. Not to say I don’t think you will do just fine.”

  “Yet another means?” She arched a brow, flirting despite herself. Flirting because she had so missed doing so with him. “What else would be distracting them?”

  Where the pirate he was might have commented on the fit of her shirt, he instead ran his fingers gently down her cheek sending gooseflesh racing everywhere.