Privateer's Princess

By Gail MacMillan

Captain Caleb Cameron and First Mate Duncan MacDougal need money to set themselves up as legitimate privateers during the war between the British and the new United States of America. With the prizes they’ll conquer, they will be rich, so they risk the noose and accept a large sum to shanghai a princess and her lady's maid. What they get is a pair of brazen, notorious women who will stop at nothing to get what they desire. Annie Puddin, lady’s maid, has had adventures, riding as highwayman’s assistant by night, learning how to be a lady by day. So when she and her friend Ginny, a housemaid, spend an evening dressing up in the absence of their new mistress and dreaming of being rich, the champagne and caviar are nothing unusual—but being snatched and tossed out the window is a new experience, and there are more to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Apr 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781509206544

Gail MacMillan

Award winning author of 26 published books.

Book preview

day.

Chapter One

You realize this will be a hanging offense if I’m caught? Captain Caleb Cameron narrowed keen blue eyes as he looked across the table through the smoky haze of the London waterfront tavern at the dandified man sitting opposite him.

I’m not asking you to do murder. His Grace, William Millbank, Duke of Haverbrook, drew himself up indignantly. Simply take her off my hands and deposit her at any convent in British North America. She was raised in such a facility. She’ll be right at home in another. Dear God, I can’t imagine what the Prime Minister and the Prince Regent could have been thinking when they decided I should be the one to espouse that horse-faced, ill-natured bitch. Be sure you take her blasted lady’s maid, as well. She’s a brazen wench. My household will do well without her.

"This woman you’re asking me to abduct is a princess. Caleb leaned back in his chair and fingered the handle of his tankard. You don’t think all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, not to mention most of his ships, will be sent out to find her?"

I have confidence in your ability to elude any pursuers. Tales of your blockade-running have become legend. At any rate, I doubt the king has any vessels or men to spare for such a pursuit, with our country at war with more countries than I can count. 1812 has been a hellish year for England, and now with the blasted Americans threatening to attack our colonies to their north…

Your father knew what he was about when he sent me up to Cambridge with you. The captain slanted him a derisive smirk. I rescued you from more than one scrape. Ten years later you’re still running to me when you find yourself in an untenable situation. He took a long drink.

You were only the son of our head groom. His Grace’s round face reddened. You received an education such as no other in your position would ever receive. Now back to the situation at hand. The Prime Minister and the Prince Regent may have set up this marriage contract for diplomatic reasons, but by God there’ll be nothing they can do about it once I’m legally married to Elizabeth Harrison. I plan to head to London to accomplish my desire as soon as you rid me of this encumbrance.

Elizabeth Harrison…not the Lizzie Harrison, an inmate at the Vienna Music Academy? Caleb choked on his ale. Damn it, Willie, that place is a brothel. Granted, it provides recreation for some of England’s richest and most powerful men, but it’s still just a glorified whorehouse. And while Lizzie Harrison might be the most beautiful and sought after of all its exquisite ladies, she’s nevertheless a doxy. You can’t be serious about making her the next Duchess of Haverbrook.

She’s a lady who fell on unfortunate circumstances and was forced to make her way as best…

So she gave you that old line, did she? Caleb was all-out grinning as he drew a hand across his mouth. Bloody hell, Willie, the woman was born in Whitechapel. She fought her way out of its squalor by being sly as a vixen and twice as predatory. Otherwise, good looks be damned, she’d have ended up just another street-corner whore.

Shut your lying mouth! His Grace was on his feet, glaring down at his companion. Her mother was a celebrated Paris opera singer…

Of course. Seeing there was no arguing with a man as besotted as His Grace, Caleb gave off trying to warn him. Let the silly sod find out for himself. There is a less costly solution than hiring me, you realize. You could show some backbone and refuse to be coerced into espousing a foul-tempered witch.

The duke shuddered. I might stand up to Prime Minister Perceval and the Prince of Wales, but never my mother! You know the dowager duchess.

Ah, yes, she is one formidable lady.

Just so. Now, are we agreed? You’ll do the task?

Very well, Willie. Captain Caleb Cameron quirked a corner of his mouth into a mocking grin as he looked up at the man. For the sum agreed upon and no less, mind you. It is a hazardous undertaking. She is royalty, even if her country somewhere at the far end of the Mediterranean is nothing larger than one of our more illustrious English estates.

But a strategic location in the eyes of our military experts, given the present hostilities. Nevertheless, I’m not about to forfeit my lifelong happiness to secure an alliance with some hole-in-the wall nation.

Carnal satisfaction must come before King and Country. Shaking his head, the captain chuckled. Lizzie Harrison, the Duchess of Haverbrook. I recognized that she was a clever wench the first time I met her, but snaring a duke, even if he is you, Willie—quite an accomplishment for a high-class whore.

Mind your tongue!

She’ll give you one hell of a good time on your wedding night, Willie…if she hasn’t already. He canted his companion a sly glance. Believe me, I know. Now… He continued as he saw the duke’s hands knotting into fists. He’d taunted His Grace far enough. He wasn’t about to let teasing cost him a highly lucrative venture. To business. I assume you’ve brought payment.

An ungodly sum. Muttering, the duke pulled a plump drawstring purse from inside his waistcoat and plunked it on the table in front of his companion.

"Aha! Enough to outfit the Jenny Jones as a privateer. Captain Caleb Cameron reached out and drew it toward him. 1812 will go down in history as the year that began a war that made men such as myself rich. He hefted the pouch. Seems a fair measure. And you know better than to cheat me, Willie. You tried that once when we were at university together, and you’ll recall how that ended." He narrowed his eyes as he looked over at the Duke of Haverbrook.

Yes, yes, of course. The duke adjusted his silk neckcloth and picked up his hat. Now I’m off to London. Elizabeth is waiting.

Tread carefully, my friend. Lizzie Harrison is one clever piece of baggage. He favored his companion with a sly wink as he thrust the purse into an inside pocket of his coat.

By God, sir, if you weren’t my friend, if… His Grace bristled.

More to the point, if I weren’t in a position to do you a service that will allow you to go to your beloved Elizabeth, you’d what? Call me out? Willie, don’t talk like a fool. You know you wouldn’t stand a chance. Calm down and go in peace, secure in the knowledge that the impediment to your future romantic endeavors will be removed this night. He thrust the pouch inside his coat, a self-satisfied smile curling his lips.

Understand me, Cal. I don’t want any harm to come to her. His Grace drew out a snowy handkerchief to mop his perspiring forehead. It’s not her fault her father arranged this ridiculous marriage. It’s not her fault she’s a horse-faced nag who can’t speak a word of English, or that I’m in love with someone else. He paused, his expression becoming pensive. Or that she does have only one redeeming feature. Her hair is a glorious tangle of golden curls…the color of a field of ripe wheat…

Perhaps those pretty tresses should be enough to satisfy you. Caleb couldn’t resist the taunt. She is a prime candidate for producing the next Duke of Haverbrook. Think of it. Your progeny with a princess as a mother. Now, Lizzie Harrison…I doubt she’ll go spoiling her lovely figure with a pregnancy. Her profession dictates she’s had to become adept at avoiding such a consequence.

Damn you, Caleb Cameron. His Grace drew himself up angrily. I know exactly what I’m doing. Now get on with it. And, I repeat, make blessed certain you take her lady’s maid also. I can’t abide that sly bit of baggage. Thinks she’s too clever by half. The duke paused before continuing. Now, take note of this. The princess’s apartments are on the second floor on the right side of the manor. I’ve put a chalk mark on the ledge outside the window I’ll leave unlatched for your entry.

Shoving his handkerchief back into his pocket, he turned and strode out of the tavern.

For all his bravado in front of His Grace, Captain Caleb Cameron was left with not only his purse of gold but an unsettled feeling in his gut that he had just thrust himself into the shadow of the noose. He heaved a deep breath.

Cal! Duncan MacDougal, first mate on Caleb’s vessel the Jenny Jones, strode into the tavern and across the room to drop into a chair opposite him. This is where you got to. The ship is loaded. We’re ready to sail on the midnight tide. I’m surprised to find you here and not pacing the deck, impatient to be off.

I’ve been making a business deal. Caleb signaled to the tavern girl to bring ale. One of which you should be apprised.

Oh, aye? And that would be?

Let us wait until we’ve ale in our hands with which to toast my clever dealings.

I’m not sure I like the sound of this. Is it perhaps that I’ll need a good quaff to swallow with whatever infamy you’re planning this time?

Such skepticism. When have I ever led you astray?

Well, let me count. Duncan held up one hand. No, no. He lowered it. That won’t do. I’d have to take off my boots and use my toes to come anywhere near the correct number.

Ah, Molly! Caleb ignored his mate’s sarcasm and cast one of his captivating smiles up at the scowling barmaid as she plunked two tankards before them. Thank you, my love. He reached into a pocket of his vest, drew out a coin, dusted it against his chest, and tossed it to her. For your excellent service.

As she caught the coin and examined it, her bellicose expression vanished.

Thank ye, Captain. Stuffing the largess down the front of her low-cut gown, she bobbed him a curtsy. If you’re needin’ anything else, sir… The smile was sly, coquettish.

I’m flattered, lass, but not just now. I’ve business to transact with Mr. MacDougal.

As you wish. Again the bobbed curtsy before she turned and swaggered back to her place behind the bar.

Bloody hell, Cal, that was generous. Duncan stared at him. And for nothing more than a couple of mugs of ale. Unless you’re planning something for later, a quick moment with Miss Molly upstairs before we sail? He quirked his mouth at one corner into something between a grin and a smirk.

No, no. Caleb leaned back in his chair to stretch long legs out in front of him. I’ve just brought us into some money—quite a lot of money, as a matter of fact—in payment for a venture we’re about to undertake.

Oh, aye. His mate lowered his tankard after taking a swallow. Suspicion tinged his tone. What is it this time? Running another blockade? We near got blown out of the water that last time.

Nothing nearly so hazardous. Willie has asked us to take a couple of ladies along on our voyage, that’s all.

Willie? Your old friend the Duke of Haverbook wants us to take a couple of ladies to New Brunswick? The wariness in the other man’s tone deepened. Why?

Let me say that at the moment they stand in the way of Willie and his desires.

And they’ll come along willingly? On a merchantman full of sailors, with no accommodations for females—or any passengers, for that matter? Duncan narrowed his eyes as he stared over at his friend and captain.

Not exactly.

Good God, Cal, you’re not telling me we’re to kidnap them? The mate dropped his tankard on the table with a thump, his features tightening into a mask of incredulous shock as he leaned across the table toward his captain and hissed out the words. That’s a hanging offense! What could finesse you into such a mad scheme?

This. Glancing around to make certain no one else was watching, Caleb drew the heavy purse from inside his coat. "Gold. More than enough to outfit the Jenny Jones as a privateer. More than enough to set us well on the road to becoming wealthy men."

Sweet Jesus! Duncan snatched the bag away from his captain and hefted it. There must be a king’s ransom in here. Who are these women, Cal? Why is it so important to His Grace that they are disposed of?

Disposed makes it sound like murder. He reached out, retrieved the purse, and thrust it back inside his coat. Nothing nearly so cruel or drastic. We’re simply to take them to a convent on the New Brunswick coast and leave them in the care of nuns.

Oh, aye? And why do I have a sinking feeling in my gut? Why is it so almighty important to His Grace that these ladies be removed to a place thousands of miles away? Never tell me they’re both with child from him.

No. Caleb returned his attention to his tankard and took a long drink.

Don’t go avoiding my questions, man! If I’m to be drawn into this venture, I’ll be needing the truth.

Very well. Willie wants his way free and clear to marry Elizabeth Harrison. These ladies might…act as impediments to that desire.

Marry Elizabeth…Lizzie Harrison? Duncan belted out the words.

Keep your voice down, man. Caleb hissed. Aye, Lizzie Harrison.

But why does His Grace…Willie…have to get rid of these two women before he can espouse London’s most notorious whore?

It seems no one at the manor knows of Lizzie’s past except these two serving girls who came from the London streets. Caleb avoided his friend’s penetrating stare as he perpetrated the lie. They’ve threatened to expose her for what she is if he doesn’t pay them a sum even bigger than that in the purse I’ve shown you.

But surely he can’t keep his lady’s past a secret forever. Any number of the male visitors to the duke’s manor might recognize her.

Aye, but by then she’ll be the Duchess of Haverbrook. No one will dare rake up her colorful past. Willie is, after all, a royal duke, and like the old fable in which no one dares acknowledge that the king is naked, none of the men will have the nerve to mention Her Grace has a notorious past. As for the ladies, they won’t know her history, and Lizzie can act the aristocrat so well they’ll never guess what she once was. I’ve seen her do it.

So we’re to cart off two poor little serving lasses for no better reason than the knowledge they possess? Caleb didn’t like the suspicion in his friend’s eyes.

We’re hardly selling them into slavery, Dunc. He was finding it difficult to continue the lie in the face of the other man’s expression of disbelief. In fact, we’re giving them a chance at a better life. They may find husbands in New Brunswick, or they might decide to take the veil. At any rate, they’ll be better off than slaving in those great dungeons that pass as kitchens in Willie’s manor. I’ve seen them. I know.

And where are we to house this pair? We can’t put them in the crew’s quarters, or let them sleep on deck while we’re crossing the North Atlantic.

Your cabin will have to suffice.

My cabin? Where do you expect me to sleep?

With the crew…just for this crossing. Caleb hastened to add the qualifier. You and I both slung our hammocks under the bow for a number of years before we became officers.

Good God, man! Don’t you recall the smells, the snores, the breaking wind…?

You should be willing to put up with a bit of discomfort for the rewarding future it portends.

All right, all right. Duncan lowered his head, shaking it. "I can see nothing will deter you from this madness. Furthermore, you hold double the shares I do in the Jenny Jones, so I can’t veto your decision."

Think, Dunc! Caleb indicated the pocket into which he’d deposited the gold. With this we can outfit our vessel as a first-class fighting ship. As privateers in the war between the Americans and British, we can make ourselves wealthy men.

A war that has yet to be declared. Differences may be patched up. Then what?

Incoming vessels have brought news that convinces me war will be declared no later than the middle of next month. President Madison, aside from being fed up with British ships harassing American vessels, sees the British colonies to the north as easy conquests. He and his cabinet are spoiling to annex them. Those colonies, with no navy and the English fleet involved in conflicts scattered around the globe, have neither ships nor men to protect them. Privateers willing to fight for British interests will be welcomed with open arms.

Being captain of a prosperous merchant ship isn’t enough for you? Duncan leaned across the table toward his friend. We’re doing well, Cal. We don’t need to risk life and limb in a war that doesn’t concern us.

Well isn’t good enough. The captain drew himself up and squared his shoulders. I spent too many years bowing and scraping to Willie and his like. I plan to be rich—rich enough to retire to a manor house with a lady wife by my side. I’d expected you to have similar goals.

Have you thought what might happen when we return to this country? The mate’s Highland accent broke through as it did whenever he felt forced into a situation not to his liking. Do you not think that weasel of a duke will have turned on us and have the law waiting, just to get us and what we’ve done for him out of his way once and forever?

We won’t be returning. Caleb narrowed his eyes. We’ll be fighting in the war off the coast of America. When it’s over, we’ll be wealthy men and we’ll build manor houses over there. We’ll be the aristocracy of the New World. Men in the province of New Brunswick, lumber barons, have made fortunes in the timber trade. What we’ll make privateering during the war will far outstrip even them.

Never come back? Never is a long time. Duncan stared at him.

What have either of us to return to? I sure as hell don’t want my father’s job on Willie’s estate, managing his stable and getting my neck broke like he did trying to settle a half-mad stallion for the hunting field. And you? Would you be wanting to return to the Highlands, with your family dead and your lands confiscated for sheep?

No, no, there’s nothing for me there. The big Highlander lowered his head and shook it sadly. But hell and damnation, Cal! He pulled himself back to the moment. You’d better have a right excellent plan to carry out this operation. I’m not ready to die, not just yet.

I do. He stood. "Now, we’ve got work ahead of us. We have to sign on the best fighting crew this town has to offer. We want to be ready for battle the moment the Jenny Jones is outfitted with cannon and boarding pikes."

Chapter Two

Ginny! The name was a hiss as lady’s maid Annie Pudden eased open the kitchen door and let herself into the huge, cavernous room lighted only by the embers of the fire dying on the hearth.

From where she’d been dozing in a chair in front of the massive stone fireplace, the young woman in a shabby gray garment jerked upright.

I’ve not let the fire die, Mrs. Pots. She scrambled to her feet, all but falling in her haste. It’ll be going something fierce if her ladyship requires tea on her return. Tripping and staggering, she made a lunge for the woodbox.

Ginny, it’s me, Annie. In the shadowy scullery, the new arrival caught at the other young woman’s arm. There’s nothing to fear.

Bloody hell, Annie. Coming fully awake, Ginny Tart turned to face her friend, who was garbed in the neat black dress of a lady’s maid. You fair scared the daylights out of me.

What are you doing here anyway? Annie looked about at the dingy kitchen. "When I crept to the servants’ quarters to find you, that nasty piece of