The Pirate (The Legacy Series Book 5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  The Pirate

  Sheritta Bitikofer

  Copyright © 2018 Sheritta Bitikofer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover by Inked Phoenix

  ISBN: 978-1-946821-22-5

  Created with Vellum

  Dedicated to my mom who let me watch Pirates of the Caribbean thousands of times at home, and to my dad for buying me a dozen books about pirates every time we went to the bookstore. My knowledge of pirates would not have been as extensive without your patience and indulgence.

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Terms to Know

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by Sheritta Bitikofer

  Foreword

  As my readers will know, I do my very best to research the snot out of my historical settings and I usually include a “terms to know” section at the beginning of these novellas. Because of the sheer length of terms that needed explaining, I have included this glossary at the end of the novella instead of at the beginning. Now that’s out of the way, let’s set sail!

  - Sheritta

  Chapter 1

  Windward Passage, Caribbean - 1717

  “Well, Captain,” Patrick said in his Irish cadence, “you were right. Three masts, twenty guns, and English.” The Irishman collapsed the spyglass and turned to his captain beside him. “You never cease to impress me the way you can tell the cut of her jib that way.”

  James, whose keen ears and nose were focused upon their prey, paid no mind to his quartermaster’s compliment. Patrick should have known he could foretell such things as the crew’s country of port and how heavily armed they were before the first flicker of canvas appeared over the watery horizon. All he needed was the wind to carry the voices and distinct scents of iron and gunpowder to him. It wasn’t a merchant vessel, nor was it part of the English Navy. The galleon, by far, was larger but not nearly as equipped as James’ ship. Its hulls were bursting with provisions and gold, things his crew needed. And for that, he wouldn’t ignore the prize that awaited them.

  The ship had endured a long journey from England and the food in their stores weren’t quite fresh, but his crew was itching for a fight. And a fight, they would have.

  “Steer her closer, Pat,” James commanded.

  “Aye, sir.”

  The quartermaster hurried to relay the instructions to their navigator, a French sailor they had filched off a merchant vessel they attacked a few weeks ago. Luckily, Louis Noir was so fed up with the lack of respect on his former ship that James had to impart little convincing.

  James turned to see the rest of his crew, a ragtag lot of pirates if there ever was one, looking to him with expectant stares. Men, whose faces were marked by the arduous life on the seas and whose clothes were tattered and patched together, relied completely upon his leadership. Nearly a week of stagnant boredom with no money and only hardtack to eat, had left them eager for a new conquest. James couldn’t blame them. He had been rationing himself on the dried jerky the cook made especially for him, just so he wouldn’t starve either. After they took this prize, they could return to port with their pockets full and replenish the supplies they desperately needed.

  He let a slow smile curl across his lips, a wordless signal that they should prepare to board. Men from all nations and walks of life, gave shouts of delight and scrambled to their stations. Guns were prepped, cutlasses and muskets retrieved from the holds below, and the deck cleared of ropes and everything else that would get in their way.

  The Burning Rose eased on a course to intercept the English vessel, her two masts of canvas full with the wind to carry them across the expanse of sea. James hopped up onto the railing, steadying himself with the starboard ratlines as the salty breeze caressed his tanned face and played in his dark hair like a devoted lover. His affair with the sea had been long and intimate, but James never grew tired of her company or the many blessings and curses she hurled his way. It was the only place he was welcome, the only place he could call a home.

  His hazel eyes fixed upon the vessel as he listened closely to the conversations, not only on his own deck, but upon theirs.

  He could hear the commotion as they soon discovered that they were not alone. The captain and some dandy of an Englishman were discussing the ship they had spotted. James’ ship. The captain was wary, but his noble guest was less inclined to think there was any trouble ahead. Neither of them knew the danger that was headed their way.

  On the quarterdeck, Patrick began to shout his orders to the rigging crew, those agile men who scurried up and down the ropes, tightening the lines that held the sails taut in place. The crew of The Burning Rose had been specially hand picked by the captain himself. No coward was conscripted, no man who couldn’t prove his salt before the mast would be allowed to step foot on his deck. Only the bravest, the strongest, the toughest of sailors and pirates were tolerated. James would have it no other way. He expected no less from them than what he could do himself. Of course, not all men were like him.

  As the English ship came closer, he could make out the name painted on its stern and see the disconcerted faces of the sailors staring over the railing. The captain, standing tall on his own quarterdeck, pulled out his cone and shouted, “Who are you and where do you port?”

  James did not reply, though every man on his ship could have heard the inquiry over the creaking of the rigs and crashing of waves at the bow as they cut through the water. Instead, he turned to his crew and ordered, “Raise the colors, lads!”

  With big grins, two of his crew yanked up their flag. A red, snarling wolf against the black fabric should tell the mariners exactly who he was. No captain alive didn’t know the flag of The Devil Dog.

  As soon as the galleon crew laid eyes upon the flag, a frenzy broke out and all hands made ready to surrender. Even the captain’s shoulders seemed to drop at the sight of who was about to intercept him. The dandy beside him, with his long dark, curly wig and wide-brimmed hat, was not so deterred.

  James laughed at the scene that unfolded as the captain and the man he was escorting, began to argue over the decision to turn their rudder to the pirates or stand and defend their right to pass through safely. Whoever this nobleman was, he didn’t have a clue who he was up against.

  When the ship didn’t raise the white flag of surrender, Patrick came to James’ side for orders.

  “Should we fire a warnin’ shot, captain?” he asked.

  James only shook his head. “It’d be a waste. I’ll give them one more chance.”

  And with that, the captain threw back his head and let out his signature howl,
the kind that echoed across the Caribbean for miles around. It was a warning and a promise that whoever lay in the path of this wolf, would not escape so easily. Even the bravest of seafarers shivered in their boots at the sound of The Devil Dog’s howl. Only his crew, confident that their captain would ensure them an easy victory, shouted with pride at its haunting tune.

  Pandemonium exploded across the English vessel and the captain finally gave the orders to run up the white flag of surrender. The nobleman protested, but James could hear the slight quiver in his voice when he did so. He’d soon see why the rest of the crew were stricken with fear.

  The English vessel came to a full stop and it didn’t take long for The Burning Rose to come alongside her. James’ crew - his pack - screamed out threats and jeers as they tossed their grappling hooks across the railings to pull the ships together.

  James was the first to hop over, brandishing his cutlass and pistol as he charged straight for the captain. The rest of his crew swarmed across the deck, disarming the sailors and hurrying into the open hatches that led to the stores below. He could smell their terror, a potent aroma better than any exotic spice the Caribbean could offer.

  The captain pulled out his sword and dropped it as James and Patrick came upon them on the quarterdeck by the helm. The man beside him did not surrender his pistol, but stood like a fool before his attackers with his chin high and coat unsullied by the toils of labor – unlike the captain and crew around him.

  James raised his cutlass and pointed the tip to the dandy’s throat. “You’d be wise to follow your captain’s lead, mate.”

  Patrick busied himself with apprehending the captain and interrogating him on what supplies they could plunder from the holds.

  The dandy snorted and spat at the ground between him and the pirate captain. James gave a wicked grin at the man’s audacity, but he would not let such an insult go unpunished. With a quick flick of his sword, James sliced into the man’s neck just above his ruff. Not enough to make him bleed out, but enough to leave a scar so he’d never forget the day he spit at The Devil Dog.

  The man cried out like a ninny and stumbled back to press his hand over the cut.

  “I’ll give you one more chance,” James bellowed. “Drop your weapon or I’ll drop it for you.”

  “Damn it, Edward,” the captain shouted from the helm where Patrick detained him, “don’t be an idiot. Drop your sword.”

  With wide eyes, Edward looked from James to his captain who had kept him safe on this journey so far. He placed his pistol to the deck and raised his free hand to admit defeat.

  James did not lower his own weapon, but kept a close ear out as his crew began to transfer the goods to The Burning Rose. Rum, gold, and salted meat were just some of the precious bounty they acquired without having to fire a single shot. Just how he preferred it. “You were headed to Kingston,” he stated. “Why? You can’t be going for trade, so are you some important person I should know?”

  He never failed to see an opportunity when it was presented. Holding an official for ransom was another easy way to get the kind of money they needed. With a reputation like his, any governor would give his right arm just so The Devil Dog would leave him be.

  Edward and his escort exchanged befuddled looks, wondering how the pirate could have possibly known where they were going. The captain was more ready to answer, knowing that The Devil Dog had his own unique way of loosening tongues.

  “The governor’s daughter is holding a ball for her birthday,” he said. “This man intends to propose.”

  James scoffed at the idea. He had heard of Governor Norrie’s spirited daughter and this poor excuse for a man would find his name added to the long list of refusals. From what talk he heard in the taverns all across the Caribbean, she was certainly a prize to win, but a tough one at that.

  “I’ll save you the embarrassment,” James said before turning to Patrick. “Disable their ship, cut their sails, and send a shot through their waterline. Make sure they don’t make it to land for a good while.”

  Patrick laughed and shouted the orders to some of the men on the deck. They, in turn, did as their captain ordered and made sure that ship wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  James lifted his sword and snagged the tip on the rim of Edward’s hat. It flew off of the dandy’s head, exposing his pale face to the harsh Caribbean sun. “Is the governor expecting you?” the pirate asked as he took the hat for himself and fastened it over his brow, casting a shadow across his face.

  Edward, still brazen even after the cut on his neck continued to bleed. “Yes,” he replied, his voice hard and challenging. “If I don’t arrive, they’ll come searching for me.”

  James grinned. “I doubt it, mate. In any case, you will arrive to the ball. It just won’t be you.”

  Even Patrick shot him a questioning look.

  A wicked game began to take shape in the pirate’s scheming mind. If this lass was such a prize to be won, then why not make a run for it himself?

  “What’s your surname?”

  Whether nonplussed by the pirate’s confusing speech, or finally coming to the realization that this was not a pirate to trifle with, Edward answered, “Corbet.”

  In a grand gesture, James swept the hat from his head and bowed low. “Then, my name will be Edward Corbet. For the evening at least.”

  Patrick, catching on to his captain’s plan, let out a great belly laugh that James echoed. When he straightened from his bow, he let the inhuman coldness wash over his eyes. One last memento of their first encounter.

  Edward’s mouth gaped open at the sight of the golden, wolfish glare that fixed upon him. There was a reason James was known as The Devil Dog and this powder-wetting, bigwig landlubber wouldn’t soon forget it.

  Governor’s Mansion, Kingston Jamaica

  Grace lost track of how many men she had danced with. Five, six perhaps? They all blurred together in a mass of boldly colored coats and dark wigs, covered in a thick smog of cologne and bad breath. Through the mass of moving bodies as they danced another slow, boring reel, she only knew one thing. She wanted to be anywhere else but there.

  The party was for her, but no matter how much she begged her father and mother to leave her be, they insisted that she needed to celebrate her birthday in the proper fashion. What they didn’t know, was that she knew all along this had nothing to do with her birthday.

  Grace was of marrying age and she couldn’t stay under her father’s roof for much longer. The governor’s mansion in Kingston served as a finer home than the crowded streets of London, but it was her father’s hope that her future husband would take even better care of her.

  The greater question was if she could even find a man whom she could tolerate – and who would tolerate her. So far, all of the potential suitors her father had thrown her way proved to be nothing but useless dandies with no sense of humor and their noses had taken permanent residence high in the air. None of them were appealing in the least.

  This ball was just another ploy to get her to pick a man and Grace wouldn’t waste her precious time hoping for much. The elegant dresses, the powdered wigs, polished shoes, and feathered hats served as reminders of everything she hated about being the governor’s daughter and part of the upper-class society of Kingston.

  Things were so much easier when they weren’t so wealthy and important. She could run around and beat up the boys who called her names, all without fear of breaking some cardinal socialite sin. Grace rued the day when her father found favor in the king’s court and he was appointed the governor of the new port city in Jamaica. The only enjoyable part of the transition might have been the long journey across the Atlantic. As soon as she stepped foot onto the docks, her entire life changed for the worse. Now, she could only gaze out over an endless sea of corsets, lace, satin, and dainty things that she thought were silly.

  The reel ended. She curtsied to the man, whose name she had already forgotten, and turned to walk back toward the wall where men an
d women congregated in their segregated groups to gossip and talk politics. Grace didn’t belong here and for the millionth time, she tugged at the rigid bodice, willing it to settle comfortably over her frame.

  “Well?” a faint voice asked from behind her. “What do you think of Monsieur Chastain?”

  Grace turned to meet her only friend, a petite girl a year or so younger than her. The daughter of a noted cobbler in Kingston, Lydia was the first person Grace invited to her party. She made this gathering bearable.

  Grace let out a sigh. “Was that his name?” she questioned with a roll of her eyes. “He’s no different than the man I first danced with.”

  Lydia’s blonde brows furrowed. “You mean Mr. Rochester? Surely Monsieur Chastain was more handsome and agreeable than Mr. Rochester. That man looks as if he has a hot iron up his – “

  “They are all disagreeable to my eyes,” Grace interrupted, though she would have loved to see the faces of her father’s wealthy merchant friends in reaction to Lydia’s colorful metaphor.

  Lydia’s gaze flickered upward for a moment before she reached up to pinch a bit of Grace’s bright red hair that must have slipped out of place. She quickly swatted her friend’s hand away. “Oh, leave it,” she whined. “I’ve been waiting for this tower to fall down all evening. Mother’s servants were fussing with it for hours.”

  Lydia shot her a look. “If I were you, I wouldn’t complain so much. You are incredibly lucky to have such opportunities. I’d do anything short of piracy to have what you have.”