The Pirate's Revenge

By Sarita Leone

Still grieving the loss of her father, Mary Sweet finds solace strolling the seashore at Quinn Beach. There she meets a handsome stranger who seems to share her sadness. He is utterly alone in the world, and praying to assuage his grief with this change of scenery. Revenge is a strong motivator, especially for a man who's been mistreated his whole life. The promise of pirate's gold colors Henry Titchell’s view--yet not so much that he can't see the beauty in Miss Mary Sweet. But while Henry is a stranger to Lobster Cove, he has not “stumbled” upon the place as he would have Mary believe. Instead he seeks retribution rather than rest When Mary realizes the newcomer is not who he seems, will her heart be willing to forgive his sins?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jun 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781509208012

Book preview

Inc.

It is beautiful.

She ran a slow fingertip over the ridges on the shell. You have a good eye. And, you’re right; these don’t usually get to the shoreline. They are too breakable by far to survive. Pointing, she added, Too many ships have been lost to those rocks. They run beneath the water in a long, dangerous line. Getting past them is not for the faint of heart.

His own heart clutched in his chest. Taking a deep breath, Henry asked, You say a lot of ships are dashed upon the rocks?

Yes, they are. It has always been that way. Why, I have heard stories of so many men being lost to the sea right beyond our own beach that I have become nearly immune to them. I’m not saying that I don’t grieve for those who are lost. I do…but I cannot say I am surprised they meet with unfortunate ends. It is a miracle for any vessel to get around those rocks. Only one who has been raised in the cove would be aware of them, and able to steer around them and to shore.

I don’t imagine most who journey this way are from the village. Aside from local fishermen, that is.

She left off gazing at the ocean and turned to face him. Her head angled to the side, and she squinted slightly. A thoughtful pose, one which pulled a curl loose from its pin beside her cheek. Enchanting, he thought.

You are wise beyond your years. She smiled. An old soul, perhaps?

The Pirate’s Revenge

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 Revenge

COPYRIGHT © 2016 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, 2016

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0801-2

The Lobster Cove Series

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For the one who holds my heart.

Chapter 1

1790

Mary could not be surprised when her father passed. Ned Sweet had lived a long, cheerful life. His was a quiet, peaceful transition. They had all known it was coming. He was, after all, an old man—and old men were destined to reap their rewards eventually.

Still, she grieved. But compared with Molly and her brothers, Mary was the sensitive one. The daughter who put the needs of those she loved above her own, the one who rose early, worked hard, and made certain she did more than her share of whatever needed doing. She cared less for herself than she did for those around her.

So, when her father went, her concern was for her mother. But Leah, perhaps more than anyone else, accepted Ned’s demise. She was close to meeting him in whatever lay after a mortal life, and did not cry herself into a heap.

Mary would have rather taken the heartache the way her mother did, but her heart seemed determined to pain her. No matter how many bushels of beans she pickled, how much laundry she washed and hung, or how often she volunteered to do some of Molly’s chores, her broken heart would not leave off reminding her of their loss.

Lobster Cove was the kind of village where a young woman could walk safely on her own. Everyone knew everyone. Neighbors helped each other. And when someone needed to recover from a tragedy, walking on the stony beach was the best thing to do.

Every day since her father’s passing, Mary had walked on Quinn Beach. Morning and evening, without fail. Infrequently she met a neighbor, exchanged a few polite words, and went on her way. No one interrupted her grief, and she began to heal.

Sunset bloomed on the horizon. It was later than was her habit to stay on the rocky outcropping at the far end of the sand, but the evening breeze was warm and the soft slap of water on shore soothed her. And, the sky…shades of brilliant teal kissed streaks of coral.

Occasionally someone moved away from the cove, but she could not envision doing so. The place was the blood in her veins and the air in her lungs. She loved the village and prayed she would live the way her father had. Born in the cove. Died in the cove. Buried beneath the spreading branches of the old tree in the back garden, beside her grandmother Lizzie and grandfather Sam.

Sam was not her blood relation, but she had known no other, so blood did not matter to her. He’d shown up one stormy evening, the victim of a pirate’s nefarious scheme. He had lost his only living relative, his beloved ship and all that mattered, but had found her grandmother, and that, it seemed, more than made up for what was gone from his life.

He never mentioned the losses, focusing on the things he had rather than what—and who—he didn’t. Mary reminded herself of the fact, every time she missed Ned. It was a small comfort. Still, she would have given anything to speak with him one more time. Just to hear his voice, see him smile, listen to his laughter. Yes, she would have gladly given anything for another chance at any of those moments.

She stared at the point where water met sky, wondering how it would feel to reach that spot—then go beyond. Her view of the world was sorely limited. She knew nothing more than their immediate surroundings. Loving where she lived and never wanting to leave didn’t keep her from considering what the world beyond Lobster Cove looked like.

Beautiful sky, isn’t it?

A startled gasp escaped her lips as she whirled toward the unfamiliar voice.

The man looked ordinary enough. Breeches a nondescript shade of brown. A broadcloth shirt, somewhat wrinkled but fairly clean. Boots, dust-covered. A jacket, its sleeves mended near the cuffs. He looked as if he were no stranger to work. A quick glance at his hands reinforced the notion that the man labored hard—and recently.

Not unfamiliar to work, perhaps, but a definite stranger to the cove.

Polite behavior had been ingrained since birth. Mary nodded as she pulled her bonnet back onto her hair and tied the ribbons beneath her chin.

It is quite lovely. She straightened her skirt and gave her bonnet a final pat. Every night, it seems, we are granted a show. And, each night it is different from the last.

A true miracle. He smiled, a tight-lipped movement that did not reach his eyes. No one can fault a miracle, can they?

Her gaze swept the beach. They were alone. And, the sun was going down. It would be dark soon. The stranger stood between her and the path leading home.

Slowly, she made her way down the rocks. When she reached the last one above the sand, the man held out a hand. What could she do? Declining would be an insult, so she placed her right hand in his open palm. His fingers closed around hers, a warm, gentle touch. When she leaped to the sand, he waited until she straightened before releasing her.

Thank you. One large step to the side, and she was around him.

He turned, gave a fast nod. My pleasure. A hesitant look, then, Tell me, is there any place to stay in town? Just a clean spot for a man to lay his head.

The Iron Pub. It’s been there for ages, run by a family named Abbingdon. Mary took two steps toward the path. Right near the stables. You can’t miss it.

With matching steps, he accompanied her across the sand. She did not move quickly. Now that she was on her way, curiosity overcame her.

Thank you. I will see if they have room for a lodger for the night.

Now was the chance she’d been hoping to find.

Have you travelled a long distance? Near the edge of the beach, where sand met the path, a canvas duffel bag. It looked only half-filled.

Yes, rather. He paused. Swallowed hard. His eyes took a shine and