Shannoran

By Barbara Bretana

I was five years old when I accidently stowed away on the ship bound for the Americas. I jumped ship in the harbor of the town called San Francisco and swam to shore. Was found by Indians and raised by a gentle tribe called the Miwok until the Blackfoot raided and stole me as a slave. I tried to escape but after ten years, I was more Indian than white. Until the white men came in search of gold.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Bretana
• Release date: Apr 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310207792

Barbara Bretana

I've been writing and reading since the age of three. Anyone who knows me knows I'm nuts about horses, reading, dogs and painting. Went to school in Vermont, Castleton State and Pratt/Phoenix School of Design and found out college wasn't for me. Worked with Developmentally Disabled and loved it. Went back to school for my CNA license and decided to try writing for a career as I keep breaking things like my rotator cuff, discs and whatnot. Getting bucked off your horse, well, I don't bounce like I used to. I'm the one in the brown coat.

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Shannoran

Barbara Bretana

Copyright 2015 by Barbara Bretana

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication:

For my Dad, the most wonderful man I have ever known and I always knew I was your ‘favorite stay at home daughter’. I will love you always and one day, we will all be together again. I wrote this one for you. To Jodie Cisco George for all the invaluable work you do and for so little recognition from your clients. To Carine, one of the smartest people I know and with the biggest heart. For Peg because she’s always there. I can’t thank you all enough or more deeply felt. Thank you, thank you, thank you, all my Angels.

Chapter 1

Raise your blade higher, Kiery, my father ordered. Elbows in. That’s correct. Now, en garde!

My father stamped his Hessians on the parquet floor which produced a sharp snap that startled me. I dropped my sword and he lightly tapped me on the chest twice with the button. His face creased in a grin, his blue green-eyes crinkled beneath black brows. And you’re dead, Kiery, he told me. Never lose your focus but be aware of everything around you.

He came forward, a tall, elegant man in nankeen trousers, silk shirt with flowing sleeves and embroidered weskit. He took the blade from me and handed both over to Adams, his valet. He tousled my hair. Tired? You did excellent.

I sat on the floor, my five-year-old legs were tired from the twenty minutes practice in the Grande Salon, which we shared with suits of armor, giant candelabras and all the other bric-a-brac my mother had relegated to the out of the way corner of our manor house. I kicked off my shoes and wiggled my toes in the silk hose under my short trousers. I dearly wanted a pair of Hessians like my august father, shined to perfection with champagne and blacking by his oh so proper valet but I was still too young for such niceties.

Lord Shannoran, His Grace the Duke of Killen reached down and picked me up by my collar of my torn and not so clean blouse, setting me on my feet. He wrinkled his brow. How do you get so dirty in so short a time, Kiery? Go on, find your nanny and help her clean you up. Later, we might go to the shipyards, see how the sloop is coming along.

I was beside myself with excitement. A trip to the docks and the shipwrights was a rare treat and one I would not often miss. I sketched a quick bow to my father, His Grace and raced to my room.

The hallway was long and gloomy, huge portraits on the walls. The floors were slabs of polished granite and cold on one’s feet in the winter months I turned the corner into the newer part of the mansion although only newer by a mere century. Still, that part of the main house was built mostly of wood and wood works, the doors were double and waxed to a glossy shine. The second hallway was lined by a runner carpet of Persian design. Automatically, I counted until I reached the seventh door which was my room. I dived into the room to be caught up by a young housemaid in gray bombazine, white apron and flowered mobcap. Whoa there, young Lord! she laughed, grabbing me. What are you up to?

Annie, Poppa might take me to see the ship, I said excitedly. I have to clean up. Will you help?

You need a bath, too, she said, pulled off my shirt. Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of my father for his approval, dressed in satin knee breeches of dark green with matching jacket; my shoes were black leather with silver buckles. She had tied my cravat for me and pulled my hair back in a queue securing it with a black velvet ribbon.

You look very fine, she told me and curtsied as she brought me to the tall doors of my father’s study. Here he is, Your Grace, she called and my father himself had swung the doors open to allow us entry.

Very nice, Kieran. Thank you, Annie. he took my hand in his and we walked out to the foyer of Italian tiles, oak wainscoting and mullioned windows where Grayson stood guard at the massive front doors. He swung them wide and gave me a broad wink as we descended the ornate steps on to the graveled drive where a brand-new Phaeton was waiting, both horses held by the coachman in my father’s livery.

My father let me sit up front with him and cautioned me not to startle the horses and to hang on. He took up the slack in the reins, the coachman let go of their heads and we were off at a spanking pace down the long drive to the toll pike.

His Grace spoke not to me, his attention was entirely devoted to the matched pair of high stepping thoroughbreds as they were high spirited and mettlesome. After a mile of near disasters as he guided them around wagons, stonewalls and narrows lanes, they settled in to the traces and smoothed out their gaits.

I let go of my death grip on the cushions and watched as the scenery flew by. We passed fields laid out for planting in neat rows and meadows of grass for haying and grazing. Cattle and sheep grazed in quiet herds and there were villagers gathered in small groups under the many oak trees. Off in the distance towards the gently rolling hills were the magnificent and centuries old oak and lindens for which the Duchy of Killen was known.

When my father pulled into the town and onto the cobblestones of the main street, he turned the high perch Phaeton neatly onto a side street that paralleled the harbor and led to the boatyards. He gently eased the sweating dark bays to a halt and the tiger jumped down from the boot and went to their heads. He lifted me out next and took my hand, tucking his cape back on his shoulders. He had worn no hat and his hair was wind-tossed and curly.

Stay near me, Kiery. Don’t leave my side. There are many distractions and dangers about.

I danced on one foot, whipping my head about trying to see everything from the hundreds of workers scurrying back and forth to the massive hulls lying in their lifts, in stages from bare skeletons to nearly finished yachts.

Piles of hemp were everywhere. I smelled new lumber and resin, turpentine and pitch. The smell of salt was heavy on the air and sea birds wheeled overhead to dive-bomb for fish and scraps. Cats meowed as they slunk underfoot. I looked up beseechingly at my father.

All right, Kieran. Go. But stay in the yard. He greeted the shipwright as he gently pushed me away. I wasted not a minute more but took off at a run for the nearest sloop being constructed. I wandered for hours, looking up occasionally to spot the location of my father and to note that he was always aware of my position.

I was relatively clean when I rounded a corner into an alley between two hulls in states of repair. They were so huge that they blocked the sunlight and caused the temperature to drop. I shivered and headed for the patch of sunlight I could see at the end of the row.

I was on the wharf about to step foot on a gang plank to a merchant ship busily loading all manner of items. I backed up, looked both ways down the dock and hesitated. I did not recognize the area and back-tracked. In fifteen minutes, I was hopelessly lost and had attracted the attention of two sailors.

Lost, little Lordship? They asked as they cornered me up against the wall of a public house. I set my lips and refused to give in to the fear that coursed through me.

Who are you?

Look at his skins, Torkleson. He’s some nabob’s boy. Probably the local lordship. What’s your name?

Kieran. Touch me and my father will have your hide, I threatened. This only angered them.

Bloody cheek! Spoiled brat, already lording it over the common folk, the uglier one spat. He had pockmarks on his cheeks and a high forehead with his scant hair. He smelled, too, of rotten cheese and sour mash. Grabbing my arm, he pulled me from the wall and I twisted to break free, stamped my heels down on his arch. He yelped and swung. I saw his meat sized fists coming towards my face, felt it hit my chin, remembering flying backward and hitting the wall to slide down and lay in the filthy street.

Bloody Hell! I heard him say. I think you killed him! Black spots hovered around me; their voices came from far away. I barely felt them touching me.

He’s still alive. We’ve got to do something with him. Dump him in that barrel. We’ll shove it into the cargo. He’ll go with the next load and we’ll be quit of him.

I felt them lifting me and then everything began a slow spiral into darkness too deep to see.

Chapter 2

I woke up in a dark place with a blinding headache, sick to my stomach and terrified. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. I knew I was sick, I’d vomited all over myself and the smell made me even sicker. I pushed with my hands, felt rounded wood, smelled tar and pitch, creosote, salt and mold. I heard the creaking of wooden timbers, the sloshing of water and the squealing of rats. I panicked. Banged my hands against the lathes of a barrel, rocked it until it fell over, and dumped me out onto the hold of a ship’s cargo. I screamed. Rats crawled over me; I was lying in filthy water in the dark of the bilge with shadowy crates and things all around me. I spent hours searching my way through the warren of aisles and cubbies holes looking for the hatch and the way out. Finally, exhausted, sick, soaked and frozen, I huddled against a bulkhead and cried myself to sleep.

A bobbing lantern fell on my sleeping face and a push from a rough hand woke me. I looked up into the grizzled face of gray whiskers, slashed cheek and faded blue eyes from under a watch cap.

Bloody ‘ell! Wot the bloody ’ell are you doing down here?

I blinked in the lantern’s glow, let him pull me to my feet and realized I was wearing only my small clothes. I did not even have my shoes left. Pulling me out, he dragged me to a ladder and pushed me up onto the galley way to a cabin in the fore of the ship where the Captain resided. I was pushed into the room to stand before a coal fire and an iron stove where a man remained seated at a desk.

He wore a dark blue uniform; his hat was at his right hand. He was older than my father was but not as fine featured, with a large nose, dark eyes and hair.

What is it, Corey?

Found a stowaway, Sir. In the bilge.

Who are you, boy? How’d you get on my ship?

Kieran Grayson Neville Robin Linville Shannoran, Viscount Killen, I said in one breath. Two men hit me, threw me in a barrel and loaded me on board. Will you take me home?

Can’t. We’re halfway to the Americas. Even if you are who you say you are, we can’t turn this vessel around for one measly boy. He studied me, looked over my silk underthings I wore that were in rags. Do you have any valuables on you?

I looked down at my bare feet. No, I whispered.

You want to eat, you work. Corey, put him to some useful task, perhaps in the galley, cooking. Get him something to wear and something for his feet. Put him in with the boson.

The mate’s in there, Cap’n, he said uneasily.

The Captain snorted. This isn’t a pleasure cruise. He’ll learn to deal with it.

I spent the evening peeling potatoes and my hands were cut from an activity I had never done before. The cook was free with his cuffs and that was something I had never known either. The ship’s surgeon took me after that, explored my swollen jaw, and checked me over for other hurts. He told me his name was Doctor Robin Patterson and we were on the merchant trawler, the Gypsy Dancer bound for San Francisco.

He found me a tunic and shorts of white broadcloth that fastened with a rope through the waist band and had to cut them down to fit. The only shoes that would fit my narrow feet were sandals made of sisal and tied at the ankles.

I was no longer cold in the heavy warmth of the kitchen and when I had called it that, the cook cuffed me on the back of the head, told me it was the galley. By the time I was finished peeling and cutting a hundred weight of taters, I was exhausted and my hands were a bloody mess.

The boson’s mate came to get me; he was a tall, sticklike man dressed in a makeshift uniform of blue trousers and white shirt with an open jacket. He had red hair and freckles but had tanned a deep brown. His eyes were brown and heavily lashed, his gaze on me was long and uncomfortable, made my skin crawl. There were three of us in the boson’s cabin, three hammocks slung from overhead.

I scooted underneath the bottom one against the wall and out of the way. I spent the night in terror of what was now my new life. As long as the boson was around, the mate kept his distance. Those times he was not, I made sure I wasn’t alone with him.

I learned to cook, to climb the rigging, to scramble up to the crow’s-nest like a squirrel up a tree. Up there, I was safe from the attentions of the boson’s mate. I had no fear of heights but dark places left me frozen in terror, dry-mouthed and shaking. No amount of threatening or whipping could force me back into the hold without a lamp. I saw the Captain rarely and when I did, his questions were about my usefulness to the crew.

The sail itself was uneventful. We ran into no bad weather, no mutinies, and no pirates. The worst thing that we encountered were maggoty biscuits and the unwelcome attentions of the mate. I managed to avoid him, knowing that what he wanted from me was something that would damage me forever but not knowing what it was or what it could be. One of the crew gave me a wicked knife with a curved blade and the lessons in how to wield it. I slept with it in my hand, it was never far from my side and the boson’s mate knew it.

Two months later, the ship was a day’s sail out of San Francisco and I overheard the Captain and the Surgeon talking about me. I was lying on the roof over his sky light and soaking up some sun in a rare moment of idle time away from any chores.

You believe the boy about his name, Cap’n? What are you going to do with him? There’s a Consular General in town. Will you contact him?

The Captain snorted. ‘What lord, let alone a great Duke would let his son wander the docks alone? The mate’s tried to bugger him but he’s managed to keep himself away from sodomy. I know a few places where a comely youngster like him would bring as much as our entire cargo."

‘What if his story is true? And this Duke finds out?

The captain snorted again and spat. He’s here in the Americas. How would an English nobleman find out where the lad is? We’ll be making port in the early morn on the tide. See to it that he’s locked in the powder room before then. Clean him up and dress him in something presentable.

I slowly slid off the roof and found myself a hiding spot so that when dawn came, I was high in the crow’s-nest and was the first to spot land. Breakers foamed against the rock of the beach yet I saw no sign of a harbor or a city. This was a forested headland with enormous trees rising from a rocky shoreline with only small sandy areas.

I climbed down and stood on the rail before I dove off into the clear blue water that stung my cuts and scrapes as I swam arm over arm for the shore. It was very cold, and nearly as cold as the waters off my father’s Cornwall estate. It was rare that anyone aboard a ship knew how to swim; my father had made sure that I had knowledge of it. He had lost a younger brother to drowning and had vowed it would not happen again.

I was relieved when my feet touched the sandy beach and I did not linger but kept climbing up the rocky slope and disappeared into the trees. The quiet was what astonished me. Never had I been in a forest so solemnly hushed. The trees themselves were the biggest I had ever seen, rising some hundreds of feet into the air, the boles were as big around as twenty men. I couldn’t imagine the size of the saw that could take down one of those giants.

The carpet underfoot was red needles and spongy, like a park setting with very little undergrowth. Where the sun came through were beams of golden light that touched the woods like a stained glass church nave. Slow stately elk with enormous racks paraded past me with barely a glance and showed no alarm at my presence. They reminded me that supper had been lean and far behind.

I followed their trail, hoping that it would at least lead me to water and it was several hours before I wandered out onto a grassy meadow on the slope of a hill. It led down to a small lake. I hesitated, gathered round it were strange huts built of thin tree poles wrapped around with deerskins and smoke drifted lazily from