An Excerpt From: SEA CAPTAIN’S GHOST

Copyright © FRANCES STOCKTON, 2009

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

21 May 1715—El Leon De Mar—Atlantic Ocean

In lion form, Adriano stared down at the twin pools of blood dripping from his front paws. Retracting his long, dagger sharp claws caused the wetness to seep between his toes, revealing the extent of his desperation. He had hunted, stalked and ultimately killed to save the life of his son. Though he’d been too late to save his mother, guilt ripped his heart, making him want to roar at the choices he’d made in his life.

The lion blinked, caught on the realization of who lay beneath his hulking body, reminding him of his humanity and his cruelty. Lifting his head, he roared, warning away any and all who intended to venture too close. His father carried his injured, bloodied son, withdrawing into the shadows as Adriano hung his head in shame. Closing his eyes against his actions, he welcomed the temporary blindness that kept him from seeing Jacinta’s face as he changed back into his human half.

When he was able, he forced himself to look at the woman who’d been his wife.

“I failed you. I failed you by being unable to see what my arrogance and absences have driven you to, Jacinta,” he confessed to her in Spanish. Her face was unscathed, almost peaceful in death, yet he knew the wrongness of this night would follow him for the rest of his life. “Never again will I use the lion to kill another. I vow it just as I will search for the man who turned you against our son and my mother. Perhaps then I will earn your forgiveness.”

Adriano stared at the beautiful, lifeless woman who’d been his wife and mother to his son. Still ashamed, he sought to pray, fearing God would not hear him. Perhaps an angel would hear him instead.

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name... An angel’s silken voice eased the worst of Adriano’s nightmares, bringing him awake. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done...on earth as it is in heaven, she continued, reverently answering his need for contrition. Somewhere, somewhere close enough for him to hear in his mind, a woman prayed in English.

Amen, she whispered, weeping more to herself than to God. Adriano sensed the tears weren’t for her. They were meant for him.

Confused by her unselfishness, he buried a growl when the voice in his head changed, this time pleading, fearful. I beg of you, do not make me do this. You’ve taken the Emerald. It’s yours. Do not force me to fight you. We both know I cannot win.

Worried that he was still dreaming, Adriano listened, feeling hesitant to admit what hearing her meant yet afraid that he’d never hear her again. But the voices of his crew reached his empty, quiet cabin.

He could feel the galleon move through the churning waters of the Atlantic with an ease that belied the intent of its mission. The minor rain storm that had begun during the night was dissipating, yet rain drops plopped softly onto the ship’s deck, promising that clouds would still hover long enough to conceal his purpose. His plans and patience would soon come to fruition. But Captain Don Adriano de Montoya of el Leon De Mar was still plagued by the voice that had sung in his head.

Had he dreamt her? Nightmares about his part in his wife’s death had plagued him for ninety-three years. There had never been a time when his prayers had been answered by an angel.

Beyond his cabin, more commotion stirred. His pilot, Sebastian Blakemore, was growling orders from the quarterdeck and none would think to disobey him. All onboard knew the pilot was at his most serious and deadly when he spoke quietly. Ryder Sanborn, his quartermaster, gave commands to the Dutchman, Jan van Brakel and the ship began a subtle turn and gained speed.

Convinced the voice he’d heard had been a figment of his dreams, Adriano sat up and moved to the edge of his bed. Having tumbled into bed barely two hours before, he’d managed to sleep but was unable to truly rest. Feeling every bit of his three hundred and eight-two years of age, he scrubbed his left hand through the neat beard that covered his chin, set his mind to the task at hand and began to rise.

Halfway to his full height, a woman’s agonized moan crept up his spine, sending weakness to his left arm as sharp pain slammed deep in his abdomen. It felt as though he’d been kicked square in the gut while defending himself against the bash of a sword. The pain worsened, akin to being kicked in the groin.

Expecting the pain to ease, he was surprised when it narrowed to the place where a woman’s womb resided. The pain Adriano felt was internal, constant. His lower back ached with the weariness of supporting such pain for many years.

Confused by what was happening, he shook his head, forcing himself to brace his feet and stand tall. Cramps would not hinder his mission but concern for his mysterious angel became very real. Whatever she was going through that caused the weakness in her arms was completely different from the persistent ache in her womb.

“Captain, you’re needed on the quarterdeck,” Ryder implored from his post. “You were right. The Sea Otter has spied the Emerald, with Skelton Reed at command.”

Blinking to clear away the feel of the woman blocking the downward blow of a sword with one of her own, Adriano lifted his head and inhaled, willing his strength into her.

“I’ll be there shortly,” he said in English.

Ryder walked away, delivering commands as he went. Fully aware that he had a mission to accomplish, Adriano could not ignore the plight of the woman whose fear and pain he’d felt, whose voice he had heard while he’d slept.

Marching across the cabin, he knew he couldn’t abandon her. If he spoke to her and she acknowledged hearing him it would mean he’d found his mate. He wasn’t certain claiming her would be right. To a full-blooded panthera Abcynian, claiming her in such a way was as binding as marriage.

He didn’t want to be married, not when he was close to enacting the first stage of his revenge against the Marquess of Meldon, the man who’d been responsible for Jacinta’s betrayal. When Adriano caught Skelton Reed, he’d end one prominent source of Meldon’s riches and the English lord would be exposed for supporting piracy.

While Adriano dressed and plotted his next move, his arms trembled with weakness. As much as he wanted differently, he was feeling her again. I’ve plead mercy, Red, she gasped and confirmed his suspicion that the woman was onboard the Emerald.

Adriano’s hackles rose. His instinct was to strip and change form. He’d not given into the lion since the night his mother and his wife were killed. He couldn’t reveal his, Ryder’s and Sebastian’s secret to the men onboard the Sea Otter, the ship that acted in concert with the Sea Lion.

Fight me, Jocelyn. If you hold me at bay, I shall grant you the right to warm my bed until I am bored with you. If you cannot I will feed you to the sharks. Adriano felt a man’s sword batter Jocelyn’s, hearing the pirate’s words through the strength of her mind. Having learned her name, he finished buttoning his black shirt and was about to fasten his breeches when something sharp lanced his chest, close to his right nipple.

His hand flattened against the muscle and he felt blood dampen his palm. Certain he’d see the crimson stain he pulled his hand away and growled when all he saw was dried, callused skin. But he’d felt it. Her pain was as real to him as her fear.

Won’t someone help me? She prayed again, needing rescue.

Regardless of what might happen if he spoke to her and she acknowledged it, Adriano drew a deep breath, continuing to will strength into her. Fight him, woman. Hear me and do what I say, he implored in English. I will be there, I vow it. I will reach you in time. Be brave, querida, I will heal you.

He’d given his word. He could not ignore the sting of a sword tip piercing Jocelyn’s neck, causing more blood to rain down her already weakened body. She could not afford to lose more blood. Internally, her body was battling an illness that had been with her for years. She couldn’t sustain a pirate’s method of torture for much longer.

In his mind, he heard her reply. Now I know I’ve failed, I’m hearing voices in my head. The moment Jocelyn acknowledged his voice in her mind something intangible squeezed his chest and tugged on his groin, solidifying a bond she’d no idea existed yet.

Captain Don Adriano de Montoya gave into the panthera’s need to claim by lifting his head to roar only in his mind. He’d had his suspicion confirmed and he would save Jocelyn. That didn’t mean he had to act on the reason he could speak to her mind-to-mind. Mating was the last thing he wanted. The woman’s wellbeing needed to come first.

He would save her, heal her as he’d promised and then he’d figure out what the hell he was going to with her.

* * * * *

Fight him, woman! Hear me, and do what you must! I will be there, I vow it. I will reach you in time. Be brave, querida, I will heal you. A man’s cultured, accented voice reached through the pain and weakness that was consuming Jocelyn’s ability to fight Skelton Reed for her life, giving her the strength needed to fend off a deadly thrust. But a quick, shallow slice of his blade into her neck revealed her vulnerability.

Now I know I’ve failed, I’m hearing angels.

A heartbeat later an angry roar echoed painfully in her ears, making her entire body shiver as she deflected another blow and braced herself. Strangely, the roar reminded her of a lion, giving her strength regardless of being wet and terrified as blood spilled down the front of her shirt and neck.

Sweat gathered beneath her arms, running down her back and forehead, dripping into her eyes. Seeing took priority and she wiped it away, for she feared Red would soon tire of this game and either kill her or rape her.

Fighting again, she gathered courage from another roar, its powerful, animalistic ferocity comforting in the face of death. She didn’t understand why no one else heard it but it didn’t matter. Using the tide of aggression, she thrust once and managed to knick Red’s forearm.

Red sneered, withdrawing a step or two to wipe away the blood. “You’ve made a fool of me, wench. No woman will ever best me, certainly not one who dresses like a man.”

Needing a reprieve, she breathed in and out. She was tired and aching with fear as her abdomen cramped with unrelenting pain. Her courses had begun at dawn. Discomfort would worsen as the day progressed. She needed to find a way to end a pirate’s torture.

“I never intended to make you feel like a fool, Red,” she huffed. “I was captain of this ship when you captured it. I couldn’t very well turn my back on the crew you’d allowed to stay.”

“Had you told me the truth then I’d have had some mercy on you.”

She wondered if Red’s anger stemmed from the fact that he’d thought himself mad for wanting a man. Many in his crew had commented on how pretty she was for a man and suggested it might help them with the tavern and dock wenches whenever they were in port.

Red hoisted his sword higher when she remained quiet and waved for her to attack. “Fight, you’ve rested too long!”

With little choice, she did so. The persistent drizzle left the Emerald’s deck wet and slick. Though she had more purchase with bare feet then she would if she wore shoes, she still slipped and had to catch herself. Another sharp sting split the skin on the back of her left hand, causing blood to drip onto the pummel.

“Have you nothing to say, Jocelyn? Your deception calls for remediation.”

Slapping Red’s sword away, she scurried backward, thankful that she at least knew every square foot of this ship. With Red granting her momentary retreat, she continued to dance out of his reach. She knew his crew loitered about watching and waiting for her downfall. She would not grant it easily. She would not let Red rape or kill her, not without a fight.

As she retreated, she heard the man who’d spoken to her moments before. Now he was delivering orders in a language she didn’t know. If she were fated to die this day, at least she knew that he was with her, that she wasn’t alone.

Believing in him, she sought to do whatever it took to follow his lead. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the same man whose soul cried for contrition shortly after she’d been dragged from her cot. She’d been frightened, thinking of the wrongs she’d committed over the last month, feeling worried that she deserved such a punishment.

When she’d been certain Red would cut her in half with his sword, she’d lowered her head to pray and connected with a stranger’s soul, a soul who needed prayer far more than she did. Answering, she offered the first prayer that had come to mind, hoping the Lord’s Prayer would give him solace as she silently wept.

“Avast, speak to me. Why have you deceived me?” Red demanded, recapturing her attention as he stormed across the deck and wielded his sword in earnest. Flat gray skies clashed with the splatters of her blood staining the length of his polished sword.

Jocelyn gasped and retreated, but someone shoved her from behind and sent her careening to the deck. Exhausted and afraid Red’s sword would drive into her back, she ducked her head, confessing her error as she rolled. “I meant to be the captain of this ship from Boston to the Chesapeake Bay, not to deceive you.”

NO! Do not be afraid, Jocelyn. I’ll be there soon. Following the stranger’s command, she sensed Red lifting his arms and moved to the side as he plunged the blade downward, catching her rib cage as it sank into the deck.

“I’m finished toying with you. Tyler, help her to her feet,” Red decided. His first mate tore the borrowed sword from her limp hand and hoisted her from the deck. “Hold her still. I want her to know she’s going to die!”

It was odd to watch such a thin, gangly man wield such command over fifty men, especially his first mate. He was twice the captain’s size. Red’s narrow, ruddy face revealed the years he’d spent at sea with letters of marquee giving him the right to prey upon Spanish ships. His long, scraggly red hair and sparse beard made him look like a macabre skeleton. To Jocelyn’s everlasting shame, she’d been forced to hide her identity by aiding in the pillage of two English merchant ships.

Rather than fight the big hulk behind her, Jocelyn lifted her chin and met Red’s pale blue eyes. “If you are going to kill me, Red, ask yourself if you do so because I assumed my brother’s identity or because I’m a better pilot than you are?”

Red trembled with rage, his already reddened complexion becoming crimson. “Had you held your tongue I might have spared you,” he growled and slapped the left side of her face, then the right, the sting adding to her sense of failure.

She hadn’t done it. She hadn’t held Red at bay long enough. She’d sensed that she needed to, not for herself, but for the man who’d spoken to her. Something in his voice made her hope Fate would be kind and hand her over to him.

Closing her eyes against the sight of Red tearing the blood-drenched shirt from her body, she braced her shoulders. Red Skeleton might kill her. But he’d make her suffer first and enjoy doing it.

“My skill with a sword proves effective, even on your worthless hide,” Red hissed. “My blade pierced you just where I wanted it to. Your blood flows. Shall I kill you quick? Or should I sever your nipples from your body? Perhaps I shall carve my dagger deep into your belly until your intestines spill to the deck. What do you think, Matt? Should I be merciful and kill her quick?”

“I think we should keep her for a little while longer,” Matt answered. His hold on her arms was merciless as he bound them behind her back with his massive hands at her wrists. “She may not be a real English beauty but she’s pretty enough to enjoy with my eyes open.”

“Careful there, Matt, she’s probably a virgin,” another man said. “She needs a gentleman the first time. Then again…ain’t she bleedin’?” Spittle hit the deck and sprayed Jocelyn’s feet, repulsing her.

“That she is, Jasper,” Red answered, his face close to her ear. “Open your eyes,” he commanded when he noticed she’d not bothered to look at any of them.

“No,” she refused. “Kill me or let go.”

“Very well,” he agreed and the remainder of her shirt was torn from her body. The cloth strips she’d used to bind and flatten her full breasts were torn away, breaking open any clots that might have formed behind the makeshift bandaging. Fresh blood scorched her bare abdomen. To her horror, she was naked from the waist up.

“You’ll have your wish,” Red promised. Snickers and sneers followed. She feared her rescuer had abandoned her.

I have not abandoned you, Jocelyn. Look starboard, know I speak the truth. Her savior’s cultured voice eased her fear of torture and she dared to peek.

Red loomed above her, fierce and ugly. Her arms ached from Matt Tyler’s wrenching. Red’s crew had circled the deck, ignoring anything beyond where she stood. Thankful that they’d grown careless, she subtly cast her eyes starboard and saw a sleek schooner at full sail cutting through the white caps with an ease that belied its speed. The gray, drizzly skies had covered its approach until now.

“You’re too calm,” Matt said.

“Maybe I know something that you do not,” she grimaced. “I may well die but you could too.”

“What do you mean?”

Red’s question was overridden by the lookout posted in the crow’s nest. “Cap’n…schooner…starboard side!”

“Bloody hell,” Red fumed. Venting his wrath on Jocelyn, his balled fist slammed into her gut, worsening the constant pain that crippled her womb during her monthly courses. “Is it Montoya?” he called to the lookout, curling his fingers upward to grasp her wounded breast.

“It’s the Sea Otter, cap’n. But you can bet the Ghost is onboard,” was the response.

“Man the riggin’, prepare to sail.” Red’s voice grew stronger, causing all but Matt Tyler to scatter to their posts.

Silently, Jocelyn was grateful that the Emerald had not been outfitted to support piracy. A few defensive cannons were on the ship but that wouldn’t hold off an attack from the schooner. In thinking himself immortal, Red tended to capture ships with intimidation and bluster rather than trying to gain more ammunition. His arrogance would be his downfall.

“I guess your torture will have to come from someone else.” Red’s calm was more frightening than his wrath. “Matt was right. You’re pretty enough to have warmed my bed when your bleeding stopped. Alas, I’m done with you.”

“Grant me mercy, Red,” she cried, hoping to distract him long enough for the schooner to reach the Emerald. She was scared and numb knowing she bled from various wounds and from her womb, becoming aware she could die. She could only hope that the rapidly approaching schooner would overtake the Emerald soon.

“Matt, I’ll have your dagger.” Red reached around her to take one of the four knives fastened to Matt’s vest.

Taking advantage of their distraction, she dropped to the deck on her knees, knocking Red to his back and bringing Matt down on top of her, hard. Scrambling for purchase on the blood and rain soaked deck, she tried to crawl away.

Something long and hard drilled into her shoulder, slicing through skin and muscle to nail her to the spot. Burning, wrenching pain had her screaming as a guttural, beastly roar ripped through her temples.

Certain she was to die she swallowed and gave her thoughts to the man who’d roared. I tried, my friend, whoever you are. Avenge me if you can but I hope you find redemption first.

He spoke not a word yet she felt his concern that he’d failed to reach her. She’d have told him it was all right if she could move. Unexpectedly the knife keeping her immobile was jerked from her shoulder. Helpless screams tore at her scorched throat, the pain white-hot.

“Oh God, have mercy, please no more, no more,” she cried out.

“Throw her to the bloody sharks,” Red ordered. “Let her drown in Davey Jones’ Locker as the sharks rip her limb from bloody limb.”

Matt heaved her upward while commands for surrender were being trumpeted from the approaching schooner. She tried to fight him. Her left arm now hung uselessly at her side, moving just the slightest bit caused agony too difficult to bear much longer.

“Once she’s overboard, take the helm.”

“Aye, captain.” Matt grasped her left arm and dragged her port side.

Because she had nothing to lose, she stumbled and tripped. Each time, Matt snatched her to her feet, using her incapacitated arm to wrench cries from her parched throat.

“If you do this, you’re a coward,” she whimpered.

“If I don’t put you in the drink my arse will be fed to the sharks.” Matt continued to drag her with him, ignoring her constant sobs. “It’s a damn shame. I sort of liked you when I believed you were a man.”

Wrapped in pain and misery, she fell silent. Matt was bent on casting her overboard. Blood oozed from her wounds. Her shoulder muscles were severed, the joint dislocated. She wouldn’t be able to swim. The blood would attract sharks. If she went into the Atlantic, it would likely become her grave.

Querida, don’t fear the water. It will not be your grave. It will be your salvation.

Thunder boomed starboard side, the Emerald listing sideways as Red’s crew scrambled about the rigging to bring the ship to full sail. A heartbeat later, a cannonball plowed into the ship’s hull. The reverberations caused both Jocelyn and Matt to slam into the rail as the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, sending some men into the Atlantic.

Drop into the ocean when I tell you, her savior said, calming her fear regardless of hearing the terrified shrieks of the men who’d gone overboard. Her entire body hurt like hell. She wouldn’t be able to swim. I know you’re hurting. But you must go now. He roared as two stronger blasts echoed from the schooner.

Still held by Matt, Jocelyn leaned forward as two cannonballs connected with the mast, sending the Emerald dangerously sideways. Using the momentum of the list, she tumbled over the rail, taking Matt into the sea with her.

Frigid saltwater stung with a force so brutal she swallowed bitter water as she screamed. By miracle, the dive wrenched Matt away and she tried to swim. With one arm useless, she frantically kicked for the surface.

Muffled cannon fire from the Emerald vibrated through the water, sending waves and Matt against her. Panicked, he grasped her tattered arm. Sucking in saltwater, she swallowed her screams as he pulled her further beneath the water.

Suddenly, she was free. Uncertain how or why, she kicked upward, finally breaking the surface and breathing in much needed air. Her first breath was filled with water and then she smelled gunpowder, burning wood and scorched sails. Salt made her eyes burn but she could see fire engulfed the Emerald’s mizzenmast, licking her sails, the ship listing dangerously port side.

As she watched, she wanted to weep. She knew the ship was lost forever. She’d tried to salvage her father’s reputation and failed.

A few men had already jumped into the ocean, shouting for aid from those onboard the schooner. Looking about for Matt Tyler, she shuddered when his lifeless body floated to the surface.

She tried to remain calm. She couldn’t. No matter what she did, salt scorched her injuries and stung her eyes. Through a haze of tears, she spied something large and shadowy moving in the water toward her.

“No!” she screeched, certain sharks had already found her. The shadow dove downward, kicking hard. From beneath her, something hard and unyielding came about her waist and deliberately pulled her under.

Blinded by the cold rush of fear, she kicked and cried, swallowing mouthfuls of saltwater that burned her already sore throat. Trust him. He will not harm you, I promise, querida. Let him bring you to me, her angel promised.

Him…a man held her? Realizing she couldn’t break free of the arm that bound her against a massive chest, Jocelyn gave into the large man and let him take her wherever he wanted. Water rushed against them as he held her and swam fast, the power in his free arm and legs seeming to be that of a merman.

Too much had happened, her pain was too great and she’d begun to think madness was the reason a man could speak in her mind. Giving up her last breath, she succumbed to the sea, the giant merman and blessed oblivion.

 

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