IN LIKE FLYNN

Pirates of King’s Landing - Book 2

LAUREN SMITH

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Lauren Smith

Cover design by Carpe Librum Book Design

Lauren Smith supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact Lauren@Laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-952063-80-0 (ebook)

ISBN: 978-1-952063-81-7 (print)

PROLOGUE

“Dear God,” Captain Thomas Buck gasped as he wiped rain from his eyes and pushed his wet hair back from his face. He peered through the storm-ravaged sea toward the looming mass of a galleon caught upon the rocks near a reef. It was a beautiful prize, with towering decks and gilded woodwork at the stern of the ship. Lightning cut across the sky, flashing over the ship in distress.

“Cap’n?” A young Scotsman named Joseph McBride joined him at the railing of Thomas’s own ship, the Sea Serpent. At twenty-five he was young for a captain, but his short life had given him plenty of experience on taking command. Every man aboard his ship knew he would sacrifice himself to save them if it came to that.

The Serpent was the fastest sloop in the West Indies, and her crew was proud to plunder under her sails. Even though they were pirates, Captain Buck and his men held themselves to the seaman’s code to aid any ship in distress. They were simply more aggressive as to what cargo they took by way of thanks for their efforts in assisting another ship.

“Drop a boat in the water, Joe, and ask for volunteers. A ship like that is bound to have some riches—and any survivors can be taken on as crewmen or released at the nearest port if they do not wish to serve on board.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Joe called out for a boarding crew, and Thomas checked his belt for his cutlass and pistol before he helped the others lower a boat into the water.

They rowed across the raging sea, and he squinted at the distant tropical island that was half-shrouded in the rain behind the reef. Perhaps whoever was on this doomed vessel had managed to take a boat ashore to safety. If so, they could canvass the island to help any survivors. If not, they could salvage any goods on the ship once the storm died down, assuming it didn’t sink right away from a hull ripped open by a sharp reef. Captain Buck was not like most pirates. He was an Englishman with an Englishman’s honor, and he wouldn’t leave anyone to die on a lonely stretch of forsaken beach.

Thomas gripped an oar and rowed alongside Joe as he and four others fought the waves to reach the other ship. Once they reached it, they could see the hull smashed and hung up on the rocks. The ship was rocking dangerously as the waves battered it. They had only a short time before it sank. Using grappling irons, they lashed their small boat against the galleon.

“Be careful, men! Search for survivors and get back as fast as you can. She’ll be underwater soon.” Thomas grabbed one of the dangling ropes that draped from a broken mast over the side of the ship. He scaled up the side of the listing ship to the deck.

He dropped down onto the quarterdeck and saw loose bits of broken masts rolling back and forth, bumping into a few bodies that lay there. Thomas stopped at the first and rolled the man over. There was a bloody gash across his head, and it looked as though he’d been struck by a beam or washed into something hard enough to kill him. All the masts had snapped off. He could imagine the wave that had swept over the deck and knocked this man into a spar, which had broken his now lifeless body. No doubt many of the crew had been swept overboard.

“Anyone alive?” Joe asked.

“Not here. Check belowdecks.” Thomas stood and crossed to the waist of the ship and took the companion ladder down into the belly of the vessel.

“Anyone down here?” he called out.

A distant shout came from the passageway. “Help!”

He rushed in the direction of the sound. There was a cabin door, locked, at the far end of the ship.

“Hello?” Thomas pounded on the door.

A man’s hoarse voice came from the other side. “Help us! Please!”

Thomas drew back and slammed against the door. The door shattered beneath the impact, and he barreled into a cabin. There was a small bed with a beautiful woman stretched out on her back, her head propped up on pillows. She was deathly pale. The blankets around her were damp and her legs were bent up as she let out a scream of pain.

Beside her, a man clutched one of her hands, watching her face with worry. But as Thomas got a better look, he realized the man was in far worse condition than the woman. He held a hand to his side, and blood was oozing from his fingers around a large and deeply embedded splinter of wood.

Thomas knelt by the man and examined his injury. “What happened?”

“I was aiding the men on deck when a wave hit . . . took out our mainmast. It shattered before our eyes. I took a blow.” He nodded weakly down at his wound. “The others . . . swept overboard. I came back down to help my wife . . . the babe is coming.”

He nodded at the woman on the bed. Thomas turned his face toward the woman, who suddenly convulsed and screamed.

A moment later she collapsed on the bed, and Thomas saw a tiny baby slip from her body into the sheets, covered in blood. He rushed toward the end of the bed and picked up the bloody baby, wiping it with part of the bedclothes. The babe wriggled and then hiccupped before crying shrilly in the cabin.

It was a girl. Her green eyes opened briefly between her cries as he held her, and she stared deeply into him—through him. Her tiny wrinkled fingers curled and uncurled as she fought for her first breaths. What a strong little creature she was, boldly facing the uncertain future that lay before her. It reminded him too much of when he was a lad and how he used to shout into the wind, daring it to hold him back.

“Please,” the woman whimpered. “My baby . . .”

Thomas removed his blade and deftly cut the umbilical cord, the way he had once seen a midwife do in Port Royal a few years ago. He stripped part of the bedsheets from the bed and wrapped the tiny blood-soaked babe in it. He had to give her to her mother—a woman knew best what to do with a babe. He knew little of children and nothing at all about babies. When he moved to hold it out to the woman, her husband spoke.

“Please . . . take our child to safety.” The man’s face had drained of all color, but his green eyes were bright and almost feverish. “I fear we aren’t long for this world.” The man brought his hands together and removed a signet ring from his pinky finger. “Take this. Give it to our child. It’s the truest proof of who we are.”

Thomas took the ring and tucked it into the pocket of his waistcoat. Whoever this man and woman were, the weight of that ring warned him that they were people of consequence. He wouldn’t leave them here.

“I’ll be back for you both,” Thomas promised before he rushed up to the deck. The ship swayed ominously beneath his feet. The babe went eerily silent in his arms, as though she sensed the danger they were in.

“Cap’n. No one else is alive. Many of the crew must have been washed overboard. There isna much to salvage, either.” Joseph came up beside him and gave a jolt at the sight of the precious bundle in his arms.

“Is that a wee bairn?”

“It is. Take it to the boat for me. The parents are still below, both injured. I must help them.” He pushed the bundle into Joseph’s arms before returning to the cabin below.

Thomas halted at the sight of the babe’s father’s sightless gaze upon the doorway where Thomas stood. The woman on the bed drew in a shaky breath, and Thomas moved toward her, intending to scoop her up and carry her to safety. As he leaned over her, the woman raised a frail hand to touch Thomas’s cheek.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked in a whisper.

Taken aback by her question, he had to think about what he’d seen in those few moments before he’d wrapped the child up. “It’s a girl. A strong little lass.”

The woman’s worried expression softened, but the weariness in her warned Thomas she wasn’t going to last long.

“Brianna, then . . . after my mother.” The woman smiled. “A strong name for a strong daughter.”

Thomas slid his arms around her back and under her legs, but she pushed weakly at his chest.

“Let me stay with my husband. Please. I won’t make it . . . too much blood.” She shifted in the blankets, and he saw to his horror the blood still pooling on the bed.

“But, my lady . . .” He didn’t want to leave this woman here to die alone, not when she had an infant to care for. To live for.

“It’s all right,” the woman said gently. “Promise me you’ll love her as your own. Find her uncle. He will take care . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence.

Thomas was lost in her stunning gray-blue eyes and in that moment could deny the beautiful stranger nothing.

“I’ll love her as my own,” he vowed to her.

Why he agreed to that, he’d never know. He wasn’t married, had never even thought of children, but he wouldn’t break his vow to this woman, or the man who’d died protecting her and their child. The moment Thomas had held that child in his arms, invisible threads had wound around his heart, connecting the two of them in a way that could never be broken. He would do anything for the little girl.

The woman closed her eyes and reached for her husband’s hand, holding it, and let out one last slow breath. Then she was still.

Thomas searched the cabin, seeking anything he could find of value that would identify the couple in case the ring wasn’t enough. A pack of letters and a few lovely gowns were all he could find. He wasn’t sure why he grabbed one of the gowns, but he shoved it, along with the other personal items, into a tar-coated bag that would be protected from water before he whispered a prayer for the poor souls of this ship. Then he headed back on deck and tossed the bag down to the small boat waiting on the water below. Joseph assisted him in the climb down, and they rowed back toward the Sea Serpent.

“Where’s the child?” he asked his first mate.

The Scotsman pulled a bundle out for him to see. He had put the baby in a wicker basket he must have found on the ship somewhere.

Thomas examined the baby. “Is she all right?”

“She?” the Scotsman choked. “We’re bringing a lassie on board the Serpent? ’Tis bad luck, that is.”

“She’s an infant, Joe. What harm can she do?” Thomas asked. He’d never held with silly superstitions about women on board ships. The real trouble came not from superstitions but from men hungry for the touch of a woman, and it often led to jealousy and fights among the men. But tempting fate? That was nonsense.

“Wee bairn lassies grow up to be womanly lassies, Cap’n, and those are always trouble.”

“It’s not as though she’s going to be a member of my crew, Joe. We’ll find a nursemaid for her, and she will have a nice life in Saint Kitts. Perhaps even marry a tea planter or some other decent fellow.” But even as he said this, the little babe seemed to protest with a wrinkling of her face in a mightily fierce expression for one so small and new to the world.

“Ah, well, that’s good, then. Give the lassie a nice life and she’ll bring us no trouble,” Joe agreed, seemingly mollified by Thomas’s response.

Thomas gazed down at the child, finding himself smiling at her face. She yawned, her little pink mouth forming an O shape, and she squinted at the storm around them, looking adorably furious. He used a bit of the bedsheet to wipe her face clean of some remnants of blood. The rain misted over her tiny cheeks, and she let out a primal cry that startled the rest of the crew on the boat.

“Keep rowing, lads!” Joe barked. “We need to get away from this storm.”

Behind them, the galleon groaned and slipped off the reef, slowly tilting into the towering waves that soon swallowed her whole. The babe let out another shrill cry, as if she knew she’d lost her parents.

But she wasn’t alone in the world. She had him now. Thomas had vowed he would raise this child as his own. He couldn’t help but fall in love with the dear little girl.

“A female,” Joe muttered again in with Scottish burr of his. “Terrible idea.”

“She’s not just any female. She’s going to be my daughter. I vowed to take care of her.”

His daughter. The daughter of a pirate. And what a bonnie wee thing she was.

It was said that all pirates craved treasure, but in that moment Thomas realized that not all treasure was silver and gold.

CHAPTER 1

Port Royal, Jamaica

1741

“Wishing ye had a different life, lass?” a voice with a deep Scottish burr asked.

Brianna Holland pulled her gaze away from a trio of beautiful women in fine gowns as they paraded through the market of Port Royal on the arms of their gentlemen. The women’s parasols were poised perfectly to keep the sun off their pale skin.

“No.” Yes, she silently amended.

Joseph McBride—or Joe, as he was more often called—was forty-eight to her mere twenty years. He was three years older than her father, Thomas. The two men were like brothers, so Joe had become an uncle to her. And he knew her so well that he often knew when she lied to him.

“It’s all right ta want things in life, lass. Even pretty things. ’Tis yer right, as a pretty lass.” He nudged her arm with his elbow and nodded at the genteel ladies she had been watching.

“But I’m not simply a pretty lass, Joe.”

“Ye are pretty—for a pain in me arse, that is.” He chuckled when she scowled at him.

“I’m more than that.” She’d spent her whole life proving to everyone around her that she wasn’t a silly creature in a skirt. She was a force to be reckoned with. A pirate, and the daughter of a pirate king.

“Aye, lass, ye certainly are more. No man who knows ye would believe ye were anything less. That being said . . . What’s a pretty dress now and then if’n it pleases ye?”

Brianna’s hands adjusted her leather waistcoat and trousers, more aware than she had been in a long time of her masculine disguise. It had become second nature to her to dress and act like a man. When she’d been younger, it had been harder for her. She’d had to do everything twice as well or twice as hard as any man. But over time it had become natural to her, and she’d grown confident in her life and the challenges she faced. Such as now, strolling about a market, playing the part of a young man.

The short brown wig that covered her hair was tightly pinned into her blonde tresses, concealing her feminine appearance. The wig itched, but she put up with the irritation because she couldn’t bring herself to cut her hair to complete her masculine disguise. If she didn’t have to pretend to be Captain Bryan Holland around everyone but her own crew, she could have ditched the wig, but in a public port like this, it was important that she go unnoticed. And a woman in men’s clothing would always be noticed if she didn’t care to hide her figure with wrappings around her breasts and either cut or hide her hair beneath a masculine wig.

She had a few frocks on her ship, but she had rare occasion to wear them, and she owned nothing so fine as what these women were wearing. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to drift through the market while on the arm of a handsome gentleman. She’d feel as elegant and beautiful as a butterfly. She imagined her attractive escort would be wearing a colorful frock coat trimed in gold embroidery, and he would bow to her and offer his arm. She would smile, bat her lashes, and demurely raise her parasol against the bright Caribbean sun. He would gaze at her with admiration and desire, and she would lean in and—

Oh, what nonsense. To be a caged creature whose only purpose in life was to be a man’s shadow who birthed children and eased his physical needs. No, that was no life for her. Brianna loved her freedom as the daughter of a notorious pirate. She could go where she wished and do as she pleased. What did it matter if she never had a fancy gent moon at her with stars in his eyes? She had her pick of pirate lovers, if she ever so chose. They, at least, would understand her and her seafaring life, whereas fancy gents would not.

“There’s a seamstress’s shop, if’n ye want ta pick that pretty frock now, lass. Ye’ve got the gold. Why not treat yerself?” Joe suggested. “I’ll be over there, seeing ta our rations.” Joe nodded in the direction of the warehouses that stored food and barrels of water. The two of them had slipped into Port Royal on a jolly boat before dawn to secure supplies for the Sea Serpent, still the most beautiful eighteen-gun sloop to sail the Spanish Main. Yes, it was more than twenty years old, but her father had taken excellent care of it before passing it on to her, and as far as she was concerned, the old beauty was still the best ship between here and England.

Brianna glanced around the marketplace, taking in the various stalls and the vendors selling fresh fruit and vegetables. Everything on the island was bright and beautifully colored. The scent of spices, salted meats, and the natural perfume from the bouquets of flowers in the stalls made the market Brianna’s favorite place in Port Royal. The stone structures of the houses and shops behind the stalls added to the cozy feel of the market. A seamstress stood in her doorway, waving goodbye to a plump woman in a cream-colored gown that fairly dripped with pearls.

Slipping her hand into her trouser pocket, Brianna cupped her purse, which was fat with Spanish doubloons. It was her share of the spoils from a Spanish merchant ship they’d stopped last week. Their cook, a man named John Estes, had happily claimed the choicest food belonging to the captain and the higher officers for their pirate crew. Then they had left the ship and its crew to find their way to a port. It was the best way to pirate, in Brianna’s view. Take what you want, but leave the crew alive and with the means to get home. It was why her father was considered a gentleman pirate.

“He wouldn’t begrudge me one dress, I suppose,” Brianna muttered. Her father had never insisted she follow in his footsteps as a pirate, but he hadn’t discouraged her either. He’d allowed her to be whoever she wanted to be—woman, pirate, even a womanly pirate.

She crossed the market, dodging the occasional chicken or goat who’d wandered in from a nearby yard. She straightened her shoulders and entered the dress shop. A pair of women were in the back, looking at fine kid leather gloves. The seamstress was watching them with a keen interest, given their expensive looks.

The young woman sighed and rubbed one of the fine gloves against her cheek. “Oh, feel how soft these are, Mama.”

“Kid gloves always are, my dear,” the older woman said. Brianna guessed they must be a mother and daughter. The girl couldn’t have been much older than she was.

She wore a frosty green gown with a stomacher embroidered with brightly colored chrysanthemums and leaves. The bodice of the gown came together with a beautiful gold cording that crisscrossed over the stomacher. It was not an overly elaborate gown, but it spoke of class and wealth. The girl’s mother’s gown was done in much the same style. Their full taffeta skirts were iridescent and created an almost fairy-tale splendor as the women moved about the shop. Brenna had never had a gown like that. Hers had always been slender things, more suited to running about than the stately, graceful drifting these ladies seemed capable of.

“May I help you?” The sharp voice broke in on Brianna’s study of the ladies’ clothes. The seamstress, hands on her hips, one toe tapping impatiently, was staring at her, clearly thinking she didn’t belong here.

“I . . .” She cleared her throat and deepened her voice to that of a man’s. “I should like to buy a gown for my sister.”

“I see.” The seamstress’s sharp gaze focused on Brianna’s tanned hands and the dirt embedded in her nails. Lord, she should have bathed last night, but she hadn’t planned on coming into a shop like this.

Digging out a few gold coins, she opened her palm and almost chuckled when the seamstress gasped. The light caught on the gold galleons, making them gleam. There was not a person on earth who could turn down the glitter of gold.

“Your sister?” The seamstress’s scowl softened to a polite coolness. “I don’t suppose you know her . . . measurements?”

Brianna gestured to herself. “About my size, but a slightly larger bosom. We’re . . . er . . . twins.” She held out her hands in front of her chest to where her breasts would be when corseted. Currently, her breasts were bound flat to her chest, allowing them to be hidden in the loose white shirt and vest she wore. The seamstress made a little huffing sound as she took her measurements. She made quick work of poking, prodding, and circling the tape around Brianna, all the while muttering about the unorthodox act of measuring a young man for a woman’s dress. Brianna knew the woman assumed there was no sister and that she might fancy wearing dresses. She wouldn’t be the first man to do that behind closed doors.

Suddenly feeling eyes on her, she turned to the young woman watching her from behind a set of hats displayed on wire stands. The girl blushed, and her doe-brown eyes widened as she realized she had been caught spying on Brianna. Given her fair looks, she was rather used to ladies believing she was a handsome young man.

This, however, was the first time a young woman had reacted with such innocent desire to her, and it only made Brianna feel more alone. The attention she wanted wasn’t from a genteel young lady, but from a man. The few times she’d found lovers it had been far away from the protective reach of her father and Joe. Those heated nights had been all too brief, but she couldn’t ask for more from any man, not so long as she wanted to remain free.

“Come and view my selection of silks, sir.” The seamstress waved Brianna toward the wall at the back of the shop, which had several bolts of silk fabrics and an array of colors.

“We have a beautiful orange and blue . . .” She unfurled two sets of silks on the counter, and Brianna examined them but didn’t dare touch them with her soiled hands. The seamstress pulled a few sketches out from a leather portfolio. “What would she think of a robe à volante in blue, a stomacher, and underskirts in orange?”

“I believe she’d like that one.” Brianna pointed to the pattern she preferred which was labeled a robe à l’Anglaise.

“Excellent choice, sir. I can have the gown made for your sister in two weeks.”

“Thank you.” Brianna paid extra to have the seamstress hold it for her if she was not back in two weeks to retrieve it.

“My sailing schedule is a tad unpredictable,” Brianna explained.

“Yes, yes, quite understandable.” The seamstress nodded, accepting the explanation readily. She had the gold in her hand and was happy to do whatever Brianna asked of her.

Brianna continued to ignore the moony gazes from the young woman clutching her new kid gloves. The girl began to move toward the door and artfully tossed one of the gloves upon the ground near Brianna’s intended path of departure from the shop.

Having every intention of ignoring the obvious ploy, Brianna had to halt when the girl threw herself in Brianna’s path.

“Oh, thank you for retrieving my glove, sir.” The girl shot a pointed look at the glove resting on the floor between them when Brianna made no move to touch it. It was clear the girl thought she was flirting and wanted to have Brianna play the courtly gentleman.

She let out a long-suffering sigh and bent, retrieving the glove. She tossed it at the girl, who fumbled to catch it, and then Brianna, with the barest politeness, moved the girl out of her way so she could leave.

“Well, I never!” the girl scoffed, and Brianna almost giggled.

She strode through the market, spotting Joe at the far end, but as she passed by a stall with onions and potatoes, she stopped abruptly. A bit of parchment nailed to the wooden post in front of her bore a face she recognized all too well. It was Joe’s face. His likeness had been printed on the notice. It read: “Wanted for Piracy – Apprehend on Sight.”

“Bloody hell,” she hissed.

At that moment, a small patrol of British soldiers in bright red uniforms marched through the market toward the distant naval fortress that rose out of the landscape like a wolf standing proudly in defense of all that lay behind it. They would soon cross paths with Joe, and his picture was likely to be posted in the fortress. Brianna started toward Joe, keeping calm, not wanting to attract attention until the right moment. Joe was coming toward her now, and he would soon be facing the soldiers head-on. She had to act fast.

She passed by a fruit stand and picked up a juicy red tomato, testing its weight in her hands. This was a damned risky move, but she had to do something. The penalty for committing piracy was hanging, and she was not about to let that happen to Joe.

She waited until the soldiers were a dozen feet away from her, then wound back her arm and threw the tomato, aiming for the chest of one of the men in front. Unfortunately, her aim was off, and the tomato smacked the man right in the face.

The response was instantaneous, as the soldiers started shouting in alarm, then in anger as they realized they weren’t being attacked but that the projectile thrown at them was actually a tomato and it had been thrown in the way of an insult rather than as an attack. The man who’d been struck wiped the tomato off his face, only to make it slop down the white lapels of his uniform. He snarled in fury.

Brianna had an instant to meet Joe’s startled gaze before she bolted.

“Catch him!” the officer covered in tomato shouted. She’d unfortunately hit the captain who was leading the patrol.

Brianna was quick on her feet as she wove through the marketplace, leading the men on a merry chase in the opposite direction of Joe. She stumbled right into the young woman from the dress shop and without a thought shoved the girl in front of the soldiers, who rushed to catch her before she could fall and be trampled.

Brianna leapt over a cart full of vegetables and ducked into a nearby tavern. She knew Port Royal well enough to plan out a clever escape route. She dodged around the tables and drunken men to reach the staircase. She took the steps two at a time and ran until she found the first unlocked door.

“Oi!” a rotund man in a shallow bathing tub snapped as she burst into his chamber.

“Pardon me!” She flung the bathroom windows aside and noted the stout rope that hung between the tavern and the next building. It was a clothesline, but no clothes were currently hanging from it.

She could hear the shouts below as the soldiers searched the tavern’s ground floor. Without another thought, she leapt out of the window to catch the rope. She dangled from the rope a dozen feet over the street as she moved across hand over hand, until she could swing her legs up and into the open window of the building opposite the tavern, landing nimbly on her feet.

Brianna raced through the empty chamber and across the hall as she searched for another window to open. The next building in her path was only one story with an open roof. She stepped around the iron railing of the balcony and then hung down over the roof of the next building before she dropped.

Landing in a crouch, she took a second to catch her breath before sprinting across the roof. Someone shouted close behind her. She cast a glance over her shoulder to see the faces of two men in the window she’d just vacated.

“There he is!”

Brianna leapt off the roof onto a cart of hay and immediately burrowed deep. The sound of approaching soldiers had her holding still, trying not to breathe. Her heartbeat slowed, but the thuds were so loud in her ears that she could barely hear what was happening just outside her shelter of hay.

“He moves fast, Captain. He must’ve gone that way.”

Brianna waited a very long time for the voices and the clanking of weaponry to grow distant before she shifted the hay away from her face to see if she was safe. Then she kicked herself free of the hay and hopped off the wagon. She chuckled as she brushed herself off and removed bits of hay from her wig.

Everything around her seemed quiet as she rounded the corner of the building, but she skidded to a stop. Five soldiers had their rifles aimed square at her. They’d been waiting for her to reveal herself.

Damnation.

She stepped back, ready to run again, but another six soldiers ringed around the only exit behind her. One of the men, the captain, still had bits of tomato on his face and chest. He glared at her as he stalked forward.

“All this for a tomato?” she murmured, stunned that they’d spent so much effort on what they should have believed was nothing more than a harmless prank.

“Just who are you?” The captain wiped the last of the tomato off his uniform. He was handsome, but a cruelness lingered around his mouth and eyes that warned Brianna of the sort of man he was. She knew plenty of men like him.

“I’m nobody,” Brianna replied.

“A nobody who throws tomatoes at an British officer? I highly doubt that.” The captain lifted up a piece of parchment. “Someone said you were looking at this just before you attacked us.” It was the wanted sign for Joe.

“Attacked? Tell me, how injured are you by that one silly tomato?” Brianna shot back. “If the mighty English army could be felled by tomatoes, the French and Spanish would be running the West Indies,” Brianna retorted with a smirk.

The captain’s face turned as red as the tomato she’d hit him with, and a vein in his temple pulsed ominously.

“It was just a bit of harmless fun,” she added weakly. “I didn’t mean to hit your face. I figured it would wash out of your uniform easy enough . . .”

“Fun? I think a few days in a cell will be more fun than you can handle, boy.” He nodded at several soldiers, who now closed in on Brianna.

She raised her fists. “Like that, is it? All right.” If there was one thing she was better at than running, it was fighting. She’d learned from the best men in Tortuga.

The nearest man who made a move to grab her caught a blow to his jaw that sent him to the ground hard. The next two weren’t so eager.

“What are you waiting for?” the captain snapped. “He’s just a boy. Grab him.”

The two men shared a look and then lunged for her at the same time. She ducked and dove forward between their arms as they closed in. Their heads collided and then they fell back, both men groaning. Brianna laughed and then kicked the next man who came at her right in the dangly bits. He clutched his groin and doubled over, wheezing in pain.

Brianna whirled around to face the next attacker, but the captain had moved in, and he swung his pistol before Brianna could dodge it. The blow caught her on the temple.

She blinked, her ears ringing as she gave her head a little shake. When the sunlight above her was suddenly blotted out, she looked straight up into the face of the captain. His cold smile sent her stomach plunging to her gut.

“Now you’ll see my idea of fun.”

A second later, his booted foot rushed toward her face, and everything went black.

When Brianna came around, her face and head hurt like hell. She groaned as she sat up and gingerly touched her forehead. The skin was swollen and hot to the touch. All around her she could hear voices in other cells, the clang of bars, and the shouts of soldiers. Dread filled her as she realized that she was trapped in a British Army jail cell.

Her father was going to kill her. She fell back on the straw-filled mattress on the ground and stared at the ceiling of the cell. At least Joe was free. He may not know she’d been captured, though, and he might wait at the jolly boat hiding spot for her. It left him exposed when he needed to get back to the Sea Serpent. Her life wasn’t worth the crew of the Serpent or her father’s.

Blast and damnation!

She sat upright again and got to her feet. There was a small window in her cell, and she casually tested the iron bars to see if there was even the slightest give. There wasn’t. She opened her mouth, making her jaw move a bit, and winced at the pain.

“Ah, you’re finally awake. Good,” a cold voice said.

She turned to see the captain she’d hit with the tomato watching her. He still wore his red-and-white uniform, which bore hints of tomato on the white lapels. His dark hair was pulled back into a queue and tied with a ribbon at the nape of his neck. Except for the stained uniform, he looked the part of a perfect English captain. He fingered a fine British Army blade that was tucked into his belt as though he longed to use it upon her.

She hated him. It was the sort of loathing that was instantaneous, like a mongoose and cobra facing off for the first time. She’d seen a fight between two such creatures once in Cádiz, and she’d never forgotten it. Neither could live while the other was nearby. Such was the fate of natural enemies. She and this man were such enemies.

Brianna stared back, openly defiant. He wasn’t the first man to look at her like that, with the promise of pain in his eyes. She had stared down a pirate once in Tortuga who had been quite literally mad. One English officer could not scare her nearly so much as that crazed pirate wielding a cutlass.

“All this over a bloody tomato?” she snorted. “You must have nothing better to do.”

The officer ignored her jibe and held up the parchment with Joe’s likeness printed on it.

“I think it’s time we talked about your friend. He’s a known associate of the pirate Thomas Buck. That makes you an associate of Buck’s, as far as I’m concerned.”

For a second Brianna couldn’t breathe. Thomas Buck was her father’s pirate name. He’d kept his true name of Holland a secret from all but her and Joe. It was why she’d been christened Brianna Holland rather than Buck, not that anyone but Joe knew her father’s real name was Holland. He’d told his crew it was merely to protect her with a false name. It was ironic that real name was one more way to protect her. She’d have to think fast to get around the captain’s questions about her father.

“Oh? ’Ow do ye figure that, Cap’n?” She purposely slipped into an accent that her father would have chastised her for to antagonize this man.

“I figure it, as you say, because when one finds a rat eating what doesn’t belong to it, there are usually more rats nearby. Pirates are nothing but rats, and anyone in the company of a pirate is most likely a pirate as well.”

Following his logic, she couldn’t help but grin. “And that would make you a pirate . . . since you’re in my company. Or a rat, I should say.”

He’d set himself up so perfectly and hadn’t seen it coming. The only evidence of his rage was the flare of his nostrils.

“You have one chance. One. Tell me about Joseph McBride and Thomas Buck or you will be hanged, drawn, and quartered.”

“And if I talk?” she asked, even though she had no intention of talking.

His lips curled in a sneer. “We’ll give you a merciful quick drop and a sudden stop, but we’ll leave you in one piece.”

She would face a far worse fate if the man learned she was a woman. It was always worse for women.

“I think I’ll keep my mouth shut, thank you very much, Cap’n.” She turned her back on him.

“You’ll change your mind soon enough.” His words echoed as he left her alone.

She stared out the window and recognized with creeping dread what she’d failed to see earlier while she was testing the bars. A gallows had been erected in the middle of the fort’s yard in clear view of all the jail cells. The empty noose swayed in the island breeze. Death and paradise had always been closely entwined in her life, but she’d never wanted them to be this close.

Brianna shuddered. It was time to find a way out of this cell, or she’d need to convince them to hang her before they tortured her. She was not about to let them discover she was a woman. Far better to face that quick drop and sudden stop. Brianna curled her fingers around the bars and inhaled the scents of the island as she closed her eyes.

Lord, she was suddenly homesick for her cabin on the Sea Serpent. She missed her father and her crew and the feeling of the breeze against her skin, unspoiled by the smells of a city or prison yard. She opened her mouth and sang a song her father had taught her when she was but a wee child as she watched the noose swing.

“Come all you young sailormen, listen to me,

I’ll sing you a song of the fish in the sea,

And it’s windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys,

When the wind blows, we’re all together, boys.”

CHAPTER 2

The cell door clanked sharply, pulling Brianna out of her sleep. Before the interruption, she’d been in the midst of the most wonderful dream. She had been back on the quarterdeck of the Sea Serpent as it approached Jamaica. The water was a pure light cerulean, and as the ship coasted through it, she could see down to the ocean floor, spotting colorful fish darting about. Small sharks and rays drifted lazily over the sandy bottom. Ahead of her, Emerald Island was a glittering jewel.

“On your feet, pirate,” came a cool voice that she recognized with dread.

Brianna blinked and slowly sat up on her straw cot. She yawned, stretched her arms back over her head, and then finally stood. She couldn’t let this man know that she was frightened of him. The captain glared at her. So torture day had arrived, it seemed. She’d had little sleep in the last three days, and now she was to face whatever would come next. She could only hope to hide her gender from them. As much as she didn’t want her neck stretched from the gallows, it would be a better fate than being discovered as a woman beforehand.

She took note of the two soldiers on either side of the captain.

“I don’t suppose I could have a bit of food and water to break my fast?” The last time she’d eaten had been moldy bread the night before, and she’d rejected the water offered from a bucket coated with a layer of scum. It hadn’t been safe to drink, and now her lips were parched.

“Thirsty, are you?” The captain’s voice turned almost silky.

Brianna was no fool. That was not a tone she could trust.

“No, no, thank you. I’m fine,” Brianna replied nonchalantly.

“Take him to the yard,” the captain snapped, then began to walk down the corridor ahead of them. So the hanging was to begin already? A flutter of nerves stormed the battlements of her belly, but she went willingly with the soldiers. If there was a chance to escape, she would take it, but she would not waste her energy now.

“Chin up, lad,” a fellow prisoner called as they passed the row of other inmates.

“That’s right! Show them how a real man faces the end,” another shouted. She almost laughed at that.

“Let the Jolly Roger fly!” a third man said before he spit upon the soldiers’ faces as they passed. One of the soldiers slammed his gun against the bars of the man’s cell. The prisoner backed up worriedly.

“Don’t worry about me, lads!” she replied to the prisoners. “I’ll make Captain Morgan proud.” That was code.

Captain Morgan had died a little over fifty years before, but his legend had carried on from ship to ship. Port Royal had been his land before a mighty earthquake had swallowed two-thirds of the city forever beneath the sea. Now the British were in charge. A call to make Morgan proud was a final act of defiance to anyone putting a pirate to death. None cared that Morgan had once enforced antipiracy laws when he’d served as governor of Jamaica. He would always be a hero to their kind.

She had sat on her father’s knee as a tiny child growing up with the legends of the great pirates and privateers. It was years later that she’d realized her father was one of them. Thomas Holland, or Thomas the Buccaneer, was now the Shadow King of the West Indies. Untouchable by any navy, he’d cheated death time and again. She would do him proud now and face whatever came, but she would not betray him.

She blinked against the bright light outside in the fort’s parade ground. The captain stood waiting by a trough of water that was used to quench the thirst of military beasts in the fort. One of the soldiers shoved her forward when she halted, and she fell to her knees at the captain’s feet.

“I believe you said you were thirsty,” the officer sneered, and that was Brianna’s only warning.

He gripped her by the back of her neck and dragged her a few feet toward the trough, then shoved her face into the water. Brianna had only a second to inhale before she was submerged. Panic and natural instinct made her flail at the sides of the trough, but her hands were soon jerked behind her and bound together.

A moment later her head was released, and she gasped for air as she broke the surface.

“Are we having fun yet?” The captain’s laugh was as sharp as a whip.

A split second was all she had before the captain shoved her once more into the cold water.

Flashes of white and black danced behind her closed eyelids. She thrashed against her restraints and the hard hand still in a viselike grip on her neck, but she had no choice but to hold on. This was no different than holding her breath during hurricanes when winds whipped the seas to a fury. In such storms, she had but an instant to breathe before the waves knocked the breath out of her lungs and tried to drown her.

She was hauled up again and she gasped, her lips feeling the sweet, warm Caribbean air. She blinked away the water and stared up into the sneering face of the army captain. Her body trembled with both fear and rage.

“Now . . . Joseph McBride. We searched everywhere. Where would he hide?”

Brianna tried to collect her scattered thoughts. Nearly drowning had a way of tossing her mind about like a storm-battered ship.

“I don’t know what—”

Her head was shoved back under the water. Again, she fought off the waves of panic and tried to stop fighting. She let herself go limp and focused on the last remnants of her dream, the one with the clear blue water and Emerald Island. She finally relaxed, only her lungs felt tight. She saw now what some sailors meant when they imagined death as a quiet dark sea and a flash of pain as they inhaled water. She didn’t want that death. She held her breath, fighting off the need to open her mouth and breathe.

She was jerked out of the water and tossed onto the ground on her side. She was so stunned by the sudden reprieve that she didn’t immediately breathe.

“You killed him,” a new voice growled. “I told you this was not the way, Captain Waverly.”

“Forgive me, Admiral, but he won’t talk,” the captain replied coolly. “Interrogation methods like these are necessary.”

Brianna regained her wits and slowly drew in a breath, relieving her screaming lungs. Neither man, nor the two soldiers, seemed to notice. She kept her eyes closed and her body limp.

“He was our only lead on Buck, and you drowned him. We are in His Majesty’s service. We do not drown boys like rats. We maintain our honor.”

“Forgive me, Admiral Harcourt,” Captain Waverly said far more sarcastically this time. “But pirates do not deserve honorable treatment. They slaughter our men and rape women and enslave children. How could you treat this man with honor when he himself has none?”

His words made Brianna bristle inside, because it had the sting of truth to it. Most pirates were lawless creatures who acted on baser instincts, but not her father and not her father’s crew. They only took lives when they had to, kept no prisoners or slaves, and women were respected. She’d chosen men for her own crew that she could trust and felt would be as honorable as pirates could be.

Other pirates, of course, were not like this. Brianna was anything but naïve. But for this man to throw all pirates in the category of such villainous dogs . . .

“Honey draws far more bees than vinegar,” Admiral Harcourt said. “If you had let me try with the boy . . . But now it’s too late.”

“Take his body and hang it in the iron cage by the docks,” Waverly ordered. “The birds can pick off his flesh. He’ll be a lesson to other pirates who dare to come into Port Royal.”

Brianna almost tensed at the chance for freedom and had to keep herself relaxed. The soldiers cut her wrists free so they could hoist her up by her arms and legs to carry her away.

She kept her eyes closed as they walked, but just before they reached the gates, Captain Waverly called out, “Hold on! I want to be sure he’s dead.” The sound of a blade being drawn out of a scabbard was Brianna’s undoing. She was not going to let this man stab her just to satisfy his curiosity.

She jerked fast, and the two soldiers holding her shouted in alarm and dropped her. She landed with a thud and grunted as the air whooshed out of her lungs.

“Ha!” Waverly snarled as he held the sword tip at her throat, pressing down just enough to draw a drop of blood from her skin.

“Captain!” the admiral shouted with such sharp natural command that the captain flinched. It was so small a reaction that Brianna would have missed it if she hadn’t been looking directly into Waverly’s eyes.

“It is my turn to question the boy,” Harcourt said. “Please take him into my office.”

Waverly stepped back as the soldiers hoisted Brianna back onto her feet. She gave Waverly a smug grin as she was escorted past him to the spacious office of the admiral. The office was full of expensive-looking furniture, a fine oak desk and silk brocade chairs. There was a large globe on a stand, and the sunlight from the windows illuminated the colorful continents and oceans upon its surface. It looked like a room one would find in a tea planter’s estate, not in a naval fortress.

“Please, sit.” The admiral nodded at a leather chair with gilded arms.

She glanced down at her wet body uncertainly. “I’d better not, sir,” she replied respectfully. This man would not be amused or riled by her clever or sarcastic replies. But respect—that he would appreciate. She gestured to her dripping shirtsleeves and to her back where the water from the trough had sluiced down her body.

“It’s only a bit of water, lad.” His tone was calm, almost gentle. Brianna sank into the chair gratefully. It was infinitely softer than the cot in her cell.

“Now, what’s your name, lad?” the admiral asked.

It was smart to play along..

“Bryan Holland, sir,” she said. It was foolish to allow hope in, but she wondered if this man might not hang her if she could give him enough false information to get him to trust her.

“I assume you’re hungry and thirsty?” he asked as he waved at someone behind her.

She nearly leapt to her feet as a man she hadn’t seen walked around from behind her to place a tray of sliced meat, bread and a few bits of fruit on the desk between her and the admiral. He also set down a pitcher of water and a glass. The admiral had guessed she was hungry and thirsty. It didn’t escape her notice that he was a smart man, perhaps even smarter than Waverly, because with food like this, she could see how many a prisoner would loosen their lips and spill secrets they shouldn’t.

“Please, eat what you wish and drink your fill. Captain Waverly may control prisoners in the cells of the garrison, but here I can restore some semblance of fair treatment. This is a naval fortress after all and I have the final say in your fate.”

Brianna’s stomach grumbled loudly, and she knew lying about her hunger would be foolish. She reached for a slice of cold ham, and she barely stopped herself from moaning at the sweet taste. She consumed several more pieces of meat before washing it all down with a glass of water.

“Take your time,” the admiral said. “There’s no rush.”

When she’d eaten and drunk to the point that her belly was bursting, the admiral leaned back in his chair.

“Mr. Holland, unfortunately we find ourselves in a difficult position. You assaulted Captain Waverly in the market—”

“With a deadly tomato,” she cut in. “Didn’t know they hanged people for that.”

The admiral’s lips twitched. “Yes. Harmless as it was, it was still a sign of aggression upon an officer of His Majesty’s forces. When we searched the marketplace for you, several witnesses came forward to say you were seen talking with Joseph McBride. Do you deny that?”

Brianna had to think quickly.

“I met him that morning. He walked into the market and was asking my advice on a few places to purchase supplies. He was a nice bloke, sir, but I’d never seen him before that morning.”

“And you? It is clear you are not a native of Port Royal,” the admiral guessed shrewdly. “You speak well, and you care for yourself properly. Where do you hail from?”

“I come from Cornwall. My father has a merchant ship, the Dutch Lady. She dropped me off that morning.” Brianna remembered spotting the ship leaving the harbor as she and Joe had rowed their jolly boat into the bay.

“That ship is not due to return here for several months.”

“Yes, sir. My father wanted me to stay behind to try to build some connections here. He was hoping to hire men to protect us from pirates. Had I known, sir, that the man I was helping was a pirate, I would’ve turned him in.”

“Then why didn’t you tell Captain Waverly this when he first asked you?”

Brianna feigned a wince. “I’ll be honest with you, sir, since you’ve been treating me so fairly. When I first arrived here, a couple of your soldiers were rough with me inside a tavern down by the docks. Drinking was involved, tempers flared, and I was more than a little sore about the whole affair.” She had seen some soldiers scuffle with a patron of a tavern when she’d arrived, but even if she hadn’t, such events were commonplace.

“So when I saw the captain marching down the street all pretty as can be, I admit I let my temper get the better of me. I know it was wrong, and I’m sorry for it, but once the captain had his sights set on me, he didn’t want to hear nothing other than what he wanted to hear, if you take my meaning, sir. He was already certain of my guilt, and anything I told him would only have been twisted against me as proof of it. There’s no convincing that man that the sky is blue if he has his heart set otherwise.”

“I see.” The admiral’s expression looked troubled. “Well . . . I would like to believe you, Mr. Holland, but it’s not that easy. You struck an officer, albeit with a tomato, but it is still an assault. I will endeavor to determine if what you told me is true, but if I can find no evidence, then we must have another difficult discussion as to your fate.”

Brianna swallowed hard. Her story was sound, but there would be no one to corroborate it.

“I understand, sir.”

“Now . . .”