Little does Jasabel Buchanan realize the rakish Bermuda sloop she sights on the horizon is about to plunge her into a passionate voyage of intrigue and adventure. An indentured lady's maid to the rich Governor's daughter, Jasabel is taken prisoner when the ship on which they sail is seized by pirates. Soon she finds herself the personal captive of the pirates' dark, enigmatic captain.Sent into bondage on the plantations because of his Jacobite loyalties, Captain Neil Devlin escaped to become the terror of the English colonies. When the chance to abduct his former owner's daughter presents itself, he takes it. What he doesn't expect is her spirited, and captivating, lady's maid.
But amongst old injustices an evil lurks, and before she can be free, Jasabel must decide if she dares to love a pirate.
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Chapter One
June 1692
Jasabel Buchanan had yet to scream.
She had not screamed when she heard the thundering feet charging toward her bolted cabin door, nor when the simple wooden panels had splintered and pirates had surged into her cramped quarters. Nor did she yell when a particularly fearsome--and malodorous--pair of those men had dragged her up on deck, despite her desperate struggle to scratch and kick them. Screaming would have done no earthly good. And Miss Felicity was screaming enough for both of them.
Miss Felicity looked like a heap of clothes on wash-day as she lay sobbing and pounding her palms against the planks. Her blonde ringlets, whose curled perfection Jasabel had labored long to create this morning, were now a tangled shambles. With gratuitous force, her captors hurled Jasabel forward, then shoved her to her knees at Miss Felicity’s side.
Jasabel crouched low, protecting her head, expecting a blow from somewhere. But none came. In fact, the men’s shouting and raucous laughter seemed to be farther away. She glanced up. The pirates had moved off to appropriate more plunder. Miss Felicity raised her reddened, tear-stained face to the sky and wailed. Internally, Jasabel wailed right along with her.
When she had first seen the sloop on the horizon, she had thought it such a jaunty ship. Its triangular, gray sails were rakishly slanted back, almost like fins, as if the clean-lined ship were a denizen of the seas, sprung fully-formed from the waves themselves. It came up on them swiftly. Never had she imagined it would raise the red flag. Never had she thought such a beautiful craft could be possessed by pirates.
Trying to assuage her aching knees, Jasabel rolled onto her hip and, jaw clenched, surveyed the defeated crew. None of the Rebecca’s sailors seemed injured, which tallied with the fact that from her cabin she had heard a distinct lack of cannon fire. After Captain Walters had ordered Miss Felicity and herself to seek shelter behind their rooms’ locked doors, he had apparently surrendered the Rebecca to the pirate vessel without resistance. How did Captain Walters think mere locks would keep them safe when an entire ship could not?
Murmuring soothing words to Miss Felicity, Jasabel attempted to huddle close and was coldly rebuffed for her troubles. No matter how horrendous the circumstances, Miss Felicity apparently found familiarity from her servants intolerable. After almost a year in her service, she shouldn’t have been surprised. That was typical of Miss Felicity.
The pirates finished rounding up the men of the Rebecca. Bright sun bore down on them as they stood in a long, tense row, from her captain to the lowliest member of the crew. Most were staring up at the quarterdeck, from whence the captain would normally command.
Jasabel swiveled, following their gaze, as one of the sailors gasped, “It’s the Devil himself.” Her breath caught in her throat. She would not have argued the point.
The raven-haired man standing on the quarterdeck, imperially surveying them all, certainly seemed capable of striking fear into the doughtiest of hearts. He was tall, lean, with broad shoulders, and dressed entirely in black from his boots to his plumed, three-cornered hat. Silver lace at his throat, silver buttons down the length of his coat and ringing its wide cuffs, and silver embellishments along the leather baldric from which his sword hung provided the perfect foil for his dark aspect.
“I am Captain Neil Devlin, and well pleased I am you’ve heard of me.”
Even his voice was dark, like smooth port wine, but it was also surprisingly cultured and possessed a lilting cadence. He strode a few paces along the quarterdeck. Sunlight glinted off his silver as he moved. He wore no fashionable wig, nor the surfeit of ribbons gentlemen generally sported, yet he struck her as more well-bred than the average male of her acquaintance, let alone amongst pirates.
“You may also have heard that afore I depart I offer to those who want it a chance to turn pirate.”
“Do not listen to that Irish rogue,” Captain Walters bravely interjected. “The wages of piracy is Hell.”
The pirates froze in a terrible hush, as if they expected their leader to take ruthless offence at the words, but he simply chuckled.
“Damnation may well await us, but those who join us shall be our equals, with a vote in our doings and a share of our spoils. I make this offer to slave and free man alike.” His words boomed across the expanse. “Step forward now and hazard your life for your own gain rather than your masters’.”
Two black men and one white slowly separated from the line of crewmen. Since slavery in the islands encompassed all colors, each of them might be a slave. Having been waylaid so soon out of St. George’s Town, Jasabel was not yet acquainted with the crew’s situations but she hoped for their sakes they were going to a better life. One of the pirates beckoned the men to follow and they headed for the sloop. Then another of the dark captain’s minions called out the successful transfer of the best of the Rebecca’s cargo to the pirate ship’s hold.
Jasabel’s heartbeat quickened. Their ordeal was almost over. Perhaps they were mere moments away from being allowed to return to the shelter of their cabins. She swiped at the perspiration trickling down her temple. The air felt close and thick. This was decidedly not a day for loitering in the harsh sun. Gathering her torn, cotton skirts together--blue dress, white petticoat, and white shift, she wished there was a way to fan her stockinged legs without attracting male attention.
“Move them across, as well.” It was Captain Devlin’s voice. The words sent a jolt of fear through Jasabel’s frame and her eyes darted to the dark pirate in time to see him pointing in her and Miss Felicity’s direction.
“You cannot mean to seize the women,” Captain Walters exclaimed. His face had reddened with anger, although his vehemence was undermined by his powdered wig slipping slightly askew.
“Regretful I am to be telling you this, but they are part of the cargo, and as such we’ll be taking them with us.” The pirate did not sound regretful in the least.
“If you have a shred of decency, man….”
Captain Devlin grinned. “I’ll not be knowing that word, sir. I’m a damned pirate, am I not?”
Rough hands snatched Jasabel’s arms. She could hear Captain Walters sputtering in indignation as she was dragged across the deck. Miss Felicity was screaming again. But nothing could stop their forcible departure from the Rebecca. The pirates were in control, and they were far stronger than either woman. Conserving her energy for whatever the dark captain had in mind for them, Jasabel mounted the shrouds. As she carefully climbed around to the outside, the tar-stiffened ropes chafed her palms. The menacing creak and bump of the hulls as they collided together with the rhythm of the waves, warned her she would be crushed between the two lashed ships if she fell now. She tried not to look down.
Then again, perhaps it would be better for her to fail in her leap? Being ravished by a pirate was supposed to be a fate worse than death. He would most likely murder them when he was finished. She sucked the salt air deep into her lungs. There was an outside chance she could survive this. It would be a sin to give up now.
Jasabel gathered her strength and jumped.
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