The Pirate's Prize

By Sarita Leone

Things go from bad to worse when Captain Sam Fisher's beloved Henrietta is lost at sea after being commandeered by a band of ruthless pirates. He regains consciousness under the gentle care of the Widow Sweet--a woman with the prettiest eyes and kindest heart he's ever known. Lizzie Sweet has already lost a husband to the sea, but raising a young boy in Lobster Cove on her own is a challenge. Will she find solace in the arms of a stranger--even after the man is accused of being a pirate? Will the pirate keep--or lose--the prize?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Nov 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781509203796

Book preview

Inc.

For the last several hours, chaos reigned.

Men shouted orders. Yelled every time the ship took another hit, swore when she tilted. Cheered—heartily—when the deck righted on the thrashing water. Slid, a mix of ocean and vomit making for treacherous footing.

We are not so desperate that we would go to Davy Jones so willingly. The roar of the wind made screaming a necessity. His throat strained with the effort, stung by the salty spray accompanying every swallow. Mark my words, these men have been through worse. They are not the King’s sailors, but they are not children. Their aptitude far exceeds their moral turpitude, I am certain. Our fates are in their hands, and we shall remain steadfast in our determination to survive.

A loud crack cut the air. A hard, shuddering jolt that could mean only one thing. The ship, his beloved Henrietta, had been breached. And, with her sudden tilt starboard, the breach felt deadly.

Say your prayers, Sam. I believe our time has come.

The Pirate’s Prize

by

Sarita Leone

The Lobster Cove Series

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

The Pirate’s Prize

COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Sarita Leone

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Tea Rose Edition, 2015

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0379-6

The Lobster Cove Series

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For the pirates—and the women who love them!

Chapter 1

1745

It is nigh impossible to see a foot in front of the bow in this wretchedness. ’Tis only a matter of time before we run aground. You know it. I know it. It’s them that don’t know it.

Zeke shook so hard his teeth chattered, yet he managed to get the words out. He had been fit and hale when they’d sailed from Portsmouth, so many weeks ago. Now, he looked as if a breeze could blow him overboard.

Which, if the storm got much worse, was very possible.

Samuel Fisher had never been fearful of the sea a day in his life. But now, with the heavens pouring their bone-chilling brew and Poseidon reaching his insistent hands toward the frigate with every crashing wave, there was less bravado than he ordinarily showed for his men.

His men. They were no longer his men, were they?

But Zeke was more than one of the crew. They were brothers, so he clapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulders, feeling bone where there should have been muscle. The drenched broadcloth coat clung like a second skin, providing neither warmth nor concealment of the truth of his condition. If the storm wasn’t the end of his mother’s youngest son, surely another week of meager, worm-ridden rations would be.

He was called upon to force optimism to his demeanor that he did not feel, and Zeke would not believe. It was a far better cry than caterwauling like a frightened female, something one of the others had fallen into a scant hour before. That shouting had finally been silenced with a fist to the chin, rendering the screamer unconscious.

Listen, these men have seen worse. They’ve sailed the rough waters near Tortuga. Hoisted sail during Caribbean wind storms so fierce they tear a hole in a man’s hide. There are more perils on these seas than stars in the sky—and these bastards have lived to tell the tales. So let’s just keep our wits, shan’t we? Leave it to those who belong in hell to keep us from it.

The green tinge around Zeke’s mouth made Sam wonder if his brother might visit the rail yet again. He hoped not; the last round of retching had brought naught but bile from the empty, tortured gut. Any more heaving and he just might heave the gut itself.

Aye, they’re accustomed to sailing warm waters, but these seas—they’re frigid. Good God, Sam, whatever are we to do if the ship goes over? Neither man nor beast could survive that cold—and where are we? We should be halfway home by now, but I wager we’re nowhere near.

Better to be closer to land than in the middle of the ocean, no?

Land? We haven’t seen any in days—

But that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Remember, we hugged the shoreline after we set sail. They headed north so we could be somewhere further up the continent. I’ve never been this far before, but I suspect we haven’t set an easterly course yet. Not before this storm hit, and it would be foolish to move further out in this weather. No, I wager we haven’t moved far from land.

Which land, though? The ship pitched, and Zeke slammed against the railing. Sam grabbed him just before he toppled overboard. With a single leg iron securing each of them to the deck, going over meant hanging by one foot above the roiling sea. Not a pleasant position to find oneself in even on a sunny day. In this? Sheer hell.

Does it matter? Land is land—even if it belongs to wild creatures and savages! He held his brother’s shoulders a minute longer than necessary. It was his fault Zeke’s life was in jeopardy. He should have refused his brother’s request to join the crew. He should have left him back in England, safe and dry and not in danger of imminent death.

As if he read his mind, Zeke shook his head. It is not your doing. I wanted to come—no, I made you bring me along. I am a man, brother, and whatever happens to us, know that I am here willingly.

We shall laugh about this when we get back to London. It sounded hollow, but where there was life, there was hope. Always. And damn, but they were still alive. Barely.

We shall at that. I just pray we laugh in a pub and not from the bottom of the sea.

For the last several hours, chaos reigned. Men shouted orders. Yelled every time the ship took another hit, swore when she tilted. Cheered—heartily—when the deck righted on the thrashing water. Slid, a mix of ocean and vomit making for treacherous footing.

We are not so desperate that we would go to Davy Jones so willingly. The roar of the wind made screaming a necessity. His throat strained with the effort, stung by the salty spray accompanying every swallow. Mark my words, these men have been through worse. They are not the King’s sailors, but they are not children. Their aptitude far exceeds their moral turpitude, I am certain. Our fates are in their hands, and we shall remain steadfast in our determination to survive.

A loud crack cut the air. A hard, shuddering jolt that