Off the Coast of Cuba, 1718

Grappling hooks clunked onto the main deck, slid across the floor, and hooked over the side of the ship’s rail. The night sky was black as an inkwell. Moonless. No twinkly stars on the horizon, just pirates. Fanny ducked down and huddled behind the bulkhead. Lucas had roused her from a dead sleep, pulled her across the forecastle and main deck, and all but dropped her down the hatch. He commanded that she remain quiet as a mouse and stay out of sight.

“Hide, Fanny,” he’d said. “Do not make a peep.”

Hide. But she could help them! Sure, she was out of practice and could use a good lesson or two, but she could load muskets and pistols. She had tied her corset too tight, and she hadn’t the time to even slip into a peignoir. Pirates wouldn't care about her lack of proper dress, but they would come to the wrong conclusions with her in nothing but drawers and a corset. God, she resembled a used tavern wench after a rough toss.

For now, she listened to her new husband.

Heavy, booted footsteps thundered overhead. Musket shots whistled and crackled through the air. She listened to the splinter and crack of wood as holes were blown into the sloop. Fanny wasn't going to stay there; if the ship went down, she would drown for sure. She pushed out from behind the bulkhead and moved through the hold. Slowly climbing the ladder, she made her way up to the hatch and cracked it open so she could peek out.

They had been married only days ago on Lucas’ mother’s estate in Santiago, and two days ago, she had been relieved beyond belief. With her dowry and his inheritance, they were set for a comfortable, quiet life. They could settle anywhere they chose. Lucas chose Spanish Town, Jamaica. As a tradesman, living in the port could only increase his wealth. That was the material point, so she agreed. They’d spent the wedding night plus one day with his family and then set sail for Jamaica. Lucas had been warned that pirates were still a threat, but he didn't listen. He figured the short trip wouldn't cause a fuss; it was a hop across the sea, and they’d be in port before any pirates even spotted their sloop.

The rapid firing and explosions had stopped, but the trudging boots had not. Fanny pushed the hatch up an inch higher. By the light of the ship’s torches she saw men, their crewman, had been lined up on the deck on their knees. From what she could see, four men held them at sword or gunpoint—one with a machete primed at the back of their sailing master’s neck. One pirate plundered through their belongings. Her eyes were drawn to the boots pacing in front of the captured men… the pirate captain.

“Listen here, ye dogs, we be in need of good men,” he said. “Any of you wish to come aboard crew for the Revenge, there be more wealth in it than ye ever dreamed, all the wenches ye can stand, and the rum is best to be found in the Caribbean.”

Her gaze scaled up his weathered, knee-high black boots. Stiff black trousers covered his calves and thighs, laced tight over the bulge. A thick, sturdy slab of leather, belted around his waist, held his cutlass. The black shirt he wore billowed in the wind, unbuttoned almost to his navel, exposing a v-shaped thatch of dark hair on his chest. He wore a completely unbuttoned doublet. A distinctive gold-corded jacket covered his broad shoulders and muscled arms. He held a flintlock pistol in one hand and a bloody hatchet in the other. The man was a giant.

Captain Ewan Wells.

She assumed the brute with the machete was his first mate, Handsome Jackson Adams. She recognized both likenesses from the crude placards posted around town. Fanny didn't remember many of the details but recalled that, before turning pirate, the captain had been an aristocrat. An English gentleman and an officer of the Royal Navy, he’d come to the Caribbean by order of King George. Circumstance had led him to this deviant path.

Streaks of blood and dirt and sweat marred his face, but oh, what a face! Deep-set dark eyes peered out from shapely eyebrows and were framed by long, spiky black lashes. His nose and jaw held strong, angular shapes. Coarse dark hair covered his jaw and upper lip, but not a thick beard like the others had. It almost looked as though someone had tossed a handful of whiskers at him and they’d stuck to his face. The same dark hair blew around his head, as unruly and untamable as he was.

She could see only the backside of his first mate—not a bad view either… Amid her inspection of the pirates, the hatch abruptly snapped shut on her. The sudden movement surprised Fanny; she let go of the ladder and landed with a hard, loud thud on the floor of the ship.

* * * * *

“I will never join with you!” the short little man howled. “Do you hear me? I would rather die now than become a dirty pirate.”

“That can be arranged.” Jack aimed his machete beneath Shorty’s jaw, ready to lop his head off as simply as a coconut from a palm frond.

Fear laced through the man’s dark eyes. “Perhaps we can barter? A trade? All my worldly possessions. My duffel—”

“In exchange for your life?” specified Ewan. He stopped pacing. Jack cocked his head; bloodlust grew in those deep blue eyes. He wanted to dispatch the runt and be done with him. Usually, Ewan would have let Jack do just that without a second thought, but there was something this man wasn't telling him, and he would discover it.

“Yes! It’s yours! Take it all!” Shorty answered. “I’m rich. I can give you all the wealth and riches you desire. Gold! A chest full of pieces of eight!”

“I have wealth and the means to get more, with or without you. You will have to do better than that, wee one.”

“Trade is my business. I can have anything you wish imported. Just name your price! Rich fabrics from Paris, trinkets and items from India, tea from China—” He stomped his foot down on the hatch.

Ewan shook his head. A thud rattled the planks of wood beneath his feet. A crack and a clank. Jack grazed the razor-edge blade of his machete into the fleshy part of the man’s neck.

Ewan snarled, “What was that?”

“Nothing!”

“Aye, it was. Go and see.”

“Nothing!” the man chirped. “It was nothing. Barrels shift with the waves. Goods being transported.”

Jack dropped the blade from his neck, leaving a crimson trail gliding down Shorty’s skin. He pushed him out of the way of the hatch and kicked the door up, disappearing down the hatch.

Ewan whirled around, grabbing Shorty by his shirt collar and pulling him closer to his face. Threats leapt from his tongue. “If you are trying to cheat me, I’ll gut ye like the swine ye are from your gullet to throat without a second thought. Who be down there?”

Tears of fear rimmed Shorty’s eyes. He quietly muttered, “My… my new bride.”

“Is that so…”

Emotions passed across the runt’s face, and Ewan played on them. “Here be the deal. I will take your duffel, and all your worldly goods, which, of course, includes her. We have an accord. I accept your offer.”

“What? No!” he shouted. “I didn't mean her.”

“Pays to be specific.”

“No, I’d rather die in her place.”

“Who said anything of dying? I wouldn't kill a wee lass… until I was finished with her, that is.” Ewan laughed at him and taunted him for fun. He had no intention of harming the girl, but Shorty didn't need to know that. “Oh, and I will have my way with that sweet young thing. And you can spend the rest of your life picturing me rutting your woman. You mark my words.”

“Fiend!”

“It’s your choice, wee one. She can die with you now, or you can both live. You wanted a trade, you made the offer of your duffel—this be it. Take it or leave it. What’ll it be, ye dog?”

* * * * *

“Oye,” he growled. Jack knew immediately the creature was a woman. Men did not smell so sweet. A shock of platinum hair disappeared behind a crate. Slowly, he rounded the stack and stopped in front of her, dodging the tiny fist shooting out at him from a crouched position. “And who might you be, beauty?”

“Is that necessary?” She stared at the large blade in her face. “Please.”

“You seem an agile little thing, so I’m sure it is.” Regardless, he lowered the machete slightly. “Come now, on deck with the rest. I shall not hurt ye as long as ye come like a good little lass.”

She swallowed hard. Nervous.

“What’s your name?”

“Fanny.” She cleared her throat. “Miss Francine Bradley—uh, Mistress Howard now.”

Jack extended his free hand to her, half expecting her to spit at him rather than take it, but she slid her little fingers into his. When she stood from the crouched position, he understood her hesitance to come out of her hiding spot. “Where are your clothes, Mistress Howard?”

“In the cabin.”

“Your new husband had ye scurrying shipboard like this?” His brow knit together. “With other scallywags aboard?”

“Do not get the wrong idea.” She squared her shoulders. “Your attack was sudden, and I had been asleep in my quarters. I was not running about the ship like this.” She crossed her arms over her ample chest. “He rushed me out of the room too quickly. I could not even grab my chemise or peignoir.”

Never would he have let a woman of his scamper through a ship of men in her underpinnings, especially a woman looking like this one! Lovely white-blonde hair spilled in a wave down her back. Her sultry blue eyes pierced him to shreds; if they had been daggers, he would be dead. The delicate heart-shaped face was fitting, as though she were made for love, and her features were capped off with a succulent little pink mouth. Jack had no doubt Ewan would take this one and enjoy her. “Be that as it may, we shall have to find something for you to wear. This attire won’t do for life on the Revenge.”

“What?” she screeched.

* * * * *

Ewan grinned. “A truly loving hubby you’ve managed, my sweet. The rover has already traded ye to pirates to save his own skin.”

“Lucas!” the nearly naked blonde in Jack’s grasp hissed. “You scoundrel! You sold me! Sold me!” she yelled. “To a pirate!”

“Unhand my wife!”

She continued, “Lucas Howard, you bloody blaggard!”

“She is not your wife. Not any longer,” Ewan said. “Consider this a—” He mused. “—divorce by purchase.”

“No!” Lucas said. “No. I-I cannot go through with this trade.”

“Too late. This barter was your idea.” Blondie whipped her head back toward her husband. Irate. “If ye like, I’d be happy to widow her instead?”

“No!” she and Lucas yelled at the same time.

“You little weasel!” she seethed. “Do not think my father will not hear of this. If it’s the last thing I do, I shall make sure every port in the Caribbean knows what kind of lousy, weak, bamboozling barnacle you are!”

Oh yes, he was going to love breaking this wild filly. Ewan glanced at Jack with a smile. “Take her back to the ship.”

“You hornswoggling dungbie! I pray you end up in a hempen halter!” She shook her tiny fist at Lucas. She yanked the little gold band from her ring finger. “I suppose I won’t be needing this any longer!” she shouted and flung the token at him. “Curse you!”

“Fanny!” Lucas attempted to catch the ring but failed. The band hit the plank floor and rolled off the deck into the ocean.

“I think I like this one.” Jack chuckled. He leaned over, lifting the waif of a girl, and flung her over his shoulder.

“You brute!” She pounded on his back. “I can walk!”

“Aye,” answered Jack. “Trouble is we shan’t be walking.” He grabbed a rope and secured the line around his wrist and hand. His other arms locked around her thighs.

She squealed, “What?”

Jack shoved off the edge and swung toward the Revenge.

A deep rumble of amusement burst from the back of Ewan’s throat as Fanny hollered and screamed while they swung between ships. She went from hitting to clutching the back of Jack’s jacket. Once they dropped safely aboard his ship, Ewan turned back to the runt and the rest of his crewmen. “Take it all,” he shouted, watching his crew hustle around the deck. “Leave nothin’ behind. Take anything that isn’t bolted down!”

They took food from the galley, weaponry and all ammunition, and cleared out the sloop’s haul. Four of the seven men agreed to crew for the Revenge. Ewan left his men to do what they willed with the two while he dealt with Mr. Howard himself.

“Seems you’re in the thick of it, eh?”

Lucas scowled but made no answer. His face was beet red with anger. But having his wife humiliate him in front of the whole pirate crew seemed to have removed the yellow streak from his back, if only momentarily.

“Tell me, Mr. Howard, a good swimmer are ye?”

“Fair,” he spat. “I can manage.”

Ewan drew his cutlass and pointed the blade at him.

“Hey!” Fear flickered across his face. “Hey, we made a deal! You said you would leave me with my life if I made the trade!”

“And I shall.” He said, “I’m commandeering your ship as part of your duffel, and I cannot keep you aboard.” Ewan stepped forward, and Lucas stepped back. “So, the way I see it, all I have to do to keep our accord is leave you alive while I remove you from the ship. Savvy?”

“No!” Lucas squealed. “No, no, no, that is not how this works!”

“’Tis.” Ewan shrugged. “And I am holding my end of the deal by doing so. I am leaving you alive. What happens afterward is of no concern to me.”

“Y-you,” Lucas sputtered, “bastard!”

“No need for compliments.” He backed Lucas up to the plank; the runt stumbled onto the board, almost taking a header into the ocean on his own. “Being as you are a fair swimmer, it shan’t take you more than a few strokes to make it back to the island of Cuba.”

Ewan struck him on the ass with the flat part of his cutlass, and Lucas startled and jumped into the ocean.

He flailed. “You scurvy dog! You’ll hang for this.” Lucas kicked in the water, splashing his arms and shaking his fist. “I shall watch it if it’s the last thing I do!”

Captain Wells grabbed the lead rope and grappling hook and wrapped his fingers around it. He shoved off the rail and swung back to his own ship. He had no intention of actually taking the small sloop with him; he just wanted an excuse to shove the runt overboard. “Where’s the woman?”

“In your cabin,” Jack answered, hoisting the mainsail. “Happy as a clam in deep sand.”

“One that snaps and bites to be sure.” Ewan grinned and yelled, “Oye. Master Hawk?”

“Aye, Cap’n?” came the disembodied answer from his sailing master. “What it be?”

“Plot a course for New Providence,” he demanded. “Double back, make sail, and take us up Windward Passage.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“I thought you wanted to go to Jamaica,” questioned Jack.

Ewan nodded. “But we’ll find better crew in Nassau.”

Instead of a safe haven, the Jamaican shores had become a place of execution. The sea was quickly becoming the only real safe place for them. But he had business there; eventually they would have to return. Mr. John Garrett was still on his tail; he would not walk into that pirate hunter’s trap without some kind of plan. He needed more able-bodied men, and the ship needed her stocks replenished. The Bahamas would supply them both.

He spun on his heel. “Weigh anchor!”