Pirates of Britannia Box Set

by Devlin, Barbara

  They rowed around the point and pulled into the neighboring cove. Santiago surveyed the cliffs beyond the beach for several minutes, but couldn’t pick out what he sought. “No. We’ll carry on,” he declared finally.

  “What are we looking for?” Melchor asked, sounding impatient.

  “A cave.”

  Valentina’s father shook his head. “The cliffs are riddled with them.”

  “But only one holds what we seek.”

  Loco

  “How many more coves are there in this bay?” Melchor asked, clearly exasperated after Santiago eliminated the fourth one they’d searched.

  “Three, or maybe four,” he replied, scratching the increasingly irritating stubble. Perhaps it was a sign they were getting closer, though he too was becoming frustrated. He should have paid more attention when he and Christian rowed away from the cave, congratulating themselves on their cleverness.

  “No wonder the Spanish navy couldn’t find your treasure,” Melchor muttered.

  They rounded the point.

  Izar opened his mouth and his pipe fell under the rowing bench.

  Melchor cursed and tried to kick it. “You’ll set us alight.”

  Seated with his back to the shore, Santiago wondered what had caused his navigator to drop the precious pipe. Izar scrambled to retrieve it from under Melchor’s feet.

  “Shipleck,” Xiang announced.

  Santiago twisted around, his belly churning at the sight of a blackened wreck half-buried in the sand. He made the sign of his Savior. Such could easily have been the fate of the Santa María.

  “Big sheep,” Xiang declared. “Blitish.”

  Santiago shaded his eyes to peer at the doomed ship. The number of damaged cannon certainly indicated it had been a navy vessel. Xiang’s ability to identify ships had always impressed him, but how the fellow could tell this was a British ship was beyond him.

  A movement caught his eye. “Pull in closer. Looks like there might be survivors on the beach.”

  They rowed into the shallows and waded to the beach. Only Xiang remained in the skiff.

  Santiago pulled out his pistol as he raked his gaze over the destruction. “I’m sure I saw someone, but it looks like they’ve taken cover. We’ll proceed with caution. If they are British…”

  Melchor also drew a pistol and pointed to a rocky overhang. “Is that a boy, in the shadows?”

  Valentina was frantic for the cabin boy. He’d refused to leave his stricken captain when Christian spotted the skiff entering the cove and urged them all into hiding in the dense brush.

  She moved a branch aside and took a quick look, alarmed to see the newcomers striding toward the lad who still knelt by Maitland.

  “Stay hidden,” Christian hissed. “These coves abound with pirates. Do you know what they do with women they capture?”

  Heart beating wildly, she ducked down, bothered by something about the men that seemed familiar.

  She crawled forward and risked another glimpse. One of the newcomers hunkered down beside Collins. She gasped when he took off his hat. There was only one man with hair so dark, so lustrous, so…

  Her gaze darted to his companion. He looked more like a pirate than a Spanish nobleman, and the wig was missing, but there was no mistaking the stance. She surged to her feet. “Papa!”

  Christian grabbed for her skirts. “Stay down.”

  The already torn fabric ripped when she pulled away. “It’s Santiago and my father,” she shouted, running as fast as she could in the sand.

  The man she loved came to his feet and turned. Then he was sprinting towards her, calling her name.

  She collapsed into his embrace. “Santi,” she breathed with her last ounce of strength.

  “Valentina,” he rasped, lifting her to his hard body. “I feared you were lost to me.”

  “I had lost hope until I met Christian,” she confessed. “He gave me courage and saved my life.”

  He looked along the beach. Christian was hurrying toward them, arms outstretched. Santiago’s grin of elation warmed her heart. “Forgive me, Cariña, I must…”

  “Go,” she urged, though the shivering had begun again without the reassuring warmth of his strong body.

  The two men came together in a jubilant embrace, slapping each other on the back, their loud laughter filling her with joy.

  She felt sobs shake her father when he put trembling hands on her shoulders. “Papa. Don’t cry. We are safe now,” she murmured, turning into his embrace.

  “Mi pequeña,” he whispered over and over. “My little one.”

  She vaguely heard someone shout a warning from the direction of the water.

  Suddenly, her father’s arms stiffened. She looked up, gasping at the sight of Maximilian Montserrat’s sneering face. He grinned as he cocked the pistol pressed against her father’s temple.

  Santiago cursed that Xiang’s warning had come too late. Montserrat appeared silently and suddenly from the shadow of the rock overhanging the beach. They had failed to secure the area. Now the former vice-governor held Melchor at gunpoint, Valentina still locked in her father’s embrace.

  Santiago took a step forward. “Put the pistol down,” he shouted.

  “Stay back.”

  “He’s gone mad,” Christian warned. “He’s the one who abducted us from Mosé, and he’s also responsible for this wreck. He forced the British captain into the fury of the hurricane.”

  Santiago swallowed hard, trying to silence the deafening pulse throbbing in his ears. The Raccoon seemed intent on killing Melchor, but he could just as easily turn the gun on Valentina. “What do you want?” he asked. “Your pistol has only one ball.”

  “That’s all I need,” came the reply. “I’ve long wished to get rid of this miserable excuse for a governor, and now’s my chance. It’s my duty to Cataluña.”

  “You’re right,” Santiago muttered to Christian. “He’s off his head. Loco.”

  “But we can’t let him kill Melchor.”

  Santiago stared hard at Valentina, willing her to step away, but she stood firm, her back ramrod straight. “Let her go,” he yelled, risking another step forward.

  Montserrat sneered. “Maybe I’ll kill two birds…”

  Without warning, Valentina shrieked a stream of curses and lunged at Montserrat. Gunfire erupted as he staggered sideways.

  Melchor fell to the ground, taking his daughter with him.

  Deafened by the explosion of gunpowder, Valentina fought for breath under her father’s weight. She struggled in vain against the shifting sand, intent on tearing Montserrat limb from limb for murdering her beloved papa.

  She froze when he murmured, “Stay still, Niña. I am not injured.”

  In her frenzy, she supposed that meant the murderer had missed his mark, but could yet…

  Suddenly, the weight was lifted and she was scooped up in Santiago’s arms. “Amada,” he panted breathlessly, “Cariña. Are you hurt?”

  “No, but papa…”

  “I am fine,” came the reassurance. “Montserrat is dead.”

  She squinted into the sun. Her father stood beside Santiago, unharmed. The Raccoon lay face down on the sand, a bloody hole in his back.

  Christian retrieved the weapon from his death grip, then walked over to Collins. The lad stood with legs braced, a smoking pistol gripped firmly in both hands.

  Valentina had a vague recollection of seeing him out of the corner of her eye just before she shoved Montserrat. “What happened?” she asked as Santiago set her down.

  “He had to die,” the boy explained in English. “He killed my captain and wrecked my ship.”

  She was beginning to understand as Christian translated. “We thought Maitland wanted the gun to…”

  The lad swiped a sleeve across his nose. “He died a while ago. I just couldn’t leave him. I wanted to shoot Montserrat, but I was afraid of hitting you. When you shoved him, I had a clear shot.”

  “I remember seeing the boy,” she tol
d Santiago, “but it didn’t register in my mind that he had a pistol.”

  “Yet something told you to push the Raccoon,” he replied.

  “I was just so angry,” she admitted. “He caused too much heartache and loss.”

  “I must say,” he teased, “I was surprised to hear such profanity coming out of the mouth of a well-bred Spanish noblewoman.”

  She felt the heat rise in her face. “I know. Manuela would be mortified.”

  Collins surrendered the pistol to Christian without a fuss. “I’ve lost my ship and my future,” he said. “Captain Maitland took me under his wing. Promised to make me a midshipman. Said I’d make a fine captain one day.”

  Santiago offered his hand. “I thank you for saving the lives of people I love. We will see you safely returned to British soil.”

  Collins shrugged, seemingly not caring.

  She understood the lad’s apparent reluctance. He’d lost the man who’d given him refuge, and hope. The powers that be in the Royal Navy would likely send him back to England, if they bothered with him at all.

  “Will you help me bury my captain?” he asked.

  Santiago nodded. “Of course. But a high-ranking commander should be buried at sea.”

  For the first time, Collins smiled.

  Sunken Treasure

  Under the watchful eye of Collins, Santiago and Christian wrapped Maitland’s body in a length of torn sail discovered in the wreck and carried it above the tide line.

  Seemingly satisfied, the boy sat cross-legged on the sand next to his captain.

  Christian pulled Santiago aside. “Now’s our chance to retrieve the treasure. The others will be busy for a while combing over the wreck. We can be back before they know we’re gone.”

  Santiago nodded. “You perceive my thoughts correctly. Only trouble is I didn’t recognise any of the coves we passed.”

  His friend chuckled. “Probably because it’s the next one.”

  Santiago slapped his forehead. “Dios mío, I was preoccupied.”

  Christian glanced to the rocky overhang where Valentina sat in the shade with her father. “I understand. We should take them with us.”

  “Why not Xiang?”

  “In case we decide to leave part of it for a future time. Someone else should know. And who better than a wife?”

  “About that,” Santiago began.

  “Say no more. I’m happy for you. Perhaps one day I’ll find the right woman. Now, the tide’s coming in and we must seize the day. The Melchors will have to move soon.”

  It was important to explain to his friend that he didn’t intend to abandon his loyal crew, but time was of the essence. He strode over to help Valentina to her feet, glad to see color had returned to her cheeks. “Ready for an excursion in the skiff?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Back to the Santa María?”

  He glanced at Melchor. “No. Another errand.”

  Her father brushed sand from his bedraggled trousers. “Come along, daughter. This is going to be interesting.”

  Valentina clutched the side of the skiff with one hand, glad of her father’s arm around her shoulders.

  Santiago and Christian plied the oars, pulling against the inrushing tide that brought with it debris and seaweed.

  She closed her eyes, fervently hoping they wouldn’t encounter bodies as they ventured into deeper water. She filled her lungs, tamping down the memory of the terrifying ordeal of the hurricane. The fear of drowning had to be overcome if she was to marry a seafaring man.

  The temptation to watch the muscles of Santiago’s arms tense and relax as he rowed was too great. She opened her eyes and flared her nostrils, filled with a lunatic urge to lick the chiseled chest revealed by his open shirt.

  Her gaze flitted momentarily to Christian. He was a fine looking man, strong and beautifully made. She grieved for the obscene brand on his bicep. What was it that dictated one man enjoy freedom and the other be treated as a chattel? Christian was living proof the color of a man’s skin had no bearing on his character or worth.

  She looked again at Santiago. Heat rushed through her veins when she realized he was watching her, a hint of a lustful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Another of life’s mysteries struck her. Santiago never failed to arouse feelings of desire. It was alchemy that drew them to each other.

  Trapped in his gaze, she barely noticed they had stopped rowing. The tide was carrying them into a small cove. “There’s no beach,” she remarked as they came closer and closer to the cliffs. “How will you land the skiff?”

  Her father’s arm tightened around her shoulders as the mouth of a cave suddenly loomed. “Hold on.”

  “Keep your heads down,” Santiago shouted as they maneuvered the small boat into the cave.

  Her throat tightened. The roof seemed to be pressing down on them, the splash of oars echoing off the rock. Had she survived a hurricane to drown here?

  Then they drifted into a cavern, the only sound the lap, lap of gentle waves. The water was clear, yet she couldn’t see the bottom.

  She startled when the side of the skiff scraped against rock, her heart racing even faster as Santiago and Christian began peeling off their shirts. “What are you doing?”

  Santiago removed his boots, leaned forward and handed her his shirt. “Stay here. We won’t be long.”

  Stay? Where could they go? He was leaving them? To drown? The boat rocked when she struggled to stand, but her father held her fast. “Trust him,” he murmured.

  She clutched the shirt to her breast, scarcely able to breathe when Santiago and Christian slipped silently into the clear waters and disappeared below the surface.

  Santiago had spent most of his life on the sea, but had never been a strong swimmer. Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go before reaching a rocky shelf that jutted out of the water. They heaved themselves onto it, gulping air.

  He raked back wet hair, then fisted his hands on his hips, steadying his breathing as he stared up into the cavernous gallery that loomed above them. The ceiling and walls twinkled with pinpoints of the light creeping in from a crevice too high to see.

  “Seems like only yesterday,” he whispered with a smile, remembering the first time they’d happened upon the natural grotto by chance. “Little did we know when we embarked on that adventure that such a wondrous thing could even exist.”

  Christian nodded. “To be honest, there were times I despaired of ever returning here. Hopefully, we can find the handholds.”

  They felt their way slowly up a column of rock, finally reaching a narrow plateau.

  “They’re still here,” Santiago exclaimed breathlessly, giddy with elation that the two small chests of treasure they’d tucked beneath the overhang years before were safe.

  He scarcely noticed the roughness of the rock as they crept to pull one of the chests from its hiding place. “The hinges and hasp are rusting, but other than that…”

  “Looks pretty good.” The large padlock disappeared in Christian’s big hand as he yanked it back and forth. “Good as new.”

  “We’ll break it open once we get back to the ship,” Santiago said. “Shall we leave the other one here?” he asked.

  His first mate nodded.

  Having both tacitly decided that would be the best course of action, they hoisted the chest onto Christian’s broad shoulders and Santiago led the way as they began the tricky climb down.

  “They’ve drowned,” Valentina sobbed. “It’s been too long.”

  Her father stroked her hair. “Have faith,” he replied for what seemed like the tenth time, but she heard the doubt creeping into his voice.

  She couldn’t bring herself to look into the deep water, afraid Santiago’s lifeless body might float up. “I don’t understand why he would leave me,” she whimpered.

  “He hasn’t left you,” her father replied impatiently.

  Despair took hold. “Perhaps this is where I am destined to die,” she wailed, uttering a startled,
“Oh,” when Santiago and Christian broke the surface together.

  Perhaps she was dreaming. The skiff rocked alarmingly when she reached out to touch him.

  “Keep still, Cariña,” he urged breathlessly, gripping the side with one hand. “We’re going to lift something heavy into the boat.”

  Her father scrambled to help settle what looked like a chest into the bottom of the skiff.

  She gripped the bench as Santiago and Christian heaved themselves back aboard, both grinning like idiots. “What were you thinking?” she cried. “I thought you were dead. Why would you take such a risk for a rusty old chest?”

  Santiago laughed, and she suddenly felt very silly. “What is it?” she asked sheepishly.

  “Your future,” her father replied.

  Piglet

  The tide was high when they made it back to the wreck of the Lively. Waves lapped at the broken hull of the stricken ship.

  Collins had come to his feet and was nervously watching the water’s progress as it surged closer to his dead captain’s body.

  Xiang, Izar and the surviving slaves had retreated to the same area.

  Everybody except the cabin boy gathered round, chattering excitedly when Santiago and Christian pulled the skiff up onto the tiny strip of beach and hefted the chest onto the sand.

  Santiago stepped back into the boat, scooped up Valentina and carried her to the beach, amused that she still sulked at him for not explaining what he was up to. “Don’t be angry,” he pleaded, though his cock seemed to find her pout arousing. “I simply wanted to surprise you, and it wasn’t guaranteed the chests would still be there.”

  She frowned, but didn’t pull away though he was soaking wet. “Chests? There’s more than one?”

  He put a finger to his lips. “Our secret,” he whispered with a grin.

  “I told you to trust him,” her father said, climbing out of the skiff. “Now, what’s the plan for getting back to the Santa María?”