Sail ho! There’s
another ship on the horizon and another incredible pirate tale to go with it! A
big congrats to USA Today bestselling author, Barbara Devlin on the release of The Blood Reaver (Pirates of Britannia Book 6)!
Ready your sea legs
because adventure and passion await!
About the book…
After
her father and her older brother die of an infectious fever, and an
unscrupulous sea captain abandons Rose Armistead in Port Royal, Jamaica, she
must find safe passage home. When she meets a handsome mariner with his own
ship, in an establishment of ill repute, she pays him to carry her, her mother,
and her younger brother to Charles Town. But the man she considers her savior
hides a dark secret, and it may destroy her. Can Rose accept her man’s true
identity and find love?
When
a beautiful woman walks into the most notorious brothel in Port Royal, Turner
Reyson, a cunning pirate known as the Blood Reaver, offers his assistance,
because he wants her in his bunk, but he conceals the nature of his business,
as he casts off. At sea, Rose displays a peculiar ability to spot prize and
booty, and his suspicious crew declares her the Lady of Fortune, which places
her in a perilous position, when they insist on keeping her aboard ship.
Playing two sides of the same coin, Turner must win his woman or risk mutiny,
which would endanger her and her family. Can the Blood Reaver save Rose?
A guaranteed great adventure in this
Pirates of Britannia novel!
Scoop up your copy at Amazon,
Barnes
& Noble, and Kobo.
Also available at iTunes
Chapter One
March, 1680
It
was not the most ideal introduction, to meet a beautiful young woman at the
wrong end of a three-barrel flintlock pistol, which she stole from an
unoccupied table, while the owner got his nutmegs sucked. Garbed in a fancy blue dress, with a matching
ruffled contraption on her head, she did not belong in one of the most violent
brothels in Port Royal. Biting her
bottom lip, she adjusted the gun in her grip, belying the fact that she possessed
little if any experience with weapons, and crept further into the whorehouse.
“Hello.” Her hand shook, as she took aim at the crowd,
in general. “I do not wish to be rude or
cause trouble, but someone stole my trunk, which was sitting in front of this
fine establishment, while I asked for directions, and I would like the return
of my belongings, please.”
A
fiddler screeched a bawdy tune, as several cup-shots took a flyer with a rough
collection of three-penny uprights, in the back. At the bar, Turner Reyson, a pirate known on
the high seas as the Blood Reaver, studied the pretty bit o’ fluff, while
everyone else ignored her, downed his rum, dragged his sleeve across his mouth,
and navigated the tables, to get a closer look at his potential prey, given he
had yet to fill his bed. Just as he drew
near, she cocked the pistol, pointed toward the ceiling, closed her eyes,
scrunched her face, and pulled the trigger.
The
shot echoed, and she started and shrieked, as quiet fell on the bordello.
Halting
in his tracks, he snickered and waited to see what she did for an encore, but
if she were half as spirited between the sheets, he would be a happy man.
“I
beg your pardon.” She cleared her
throat, as he moved behind her, for close inspection. From beneath her bonnet, he spied sweet
little brown curls at the nape of her neck, and his fingertips itched to toy
with a thick lock. “I am so sorry to
disturb you, but I must have my things.”
She stepped forward, and Turner splayed his arms to part his fellow
buccaneers. “Now, my mother and my
brother wait for me, outside, and I cannot leave without recovering my
property.”
“Watch
out, men.” Turner chuckled, given the
chit’s moxie. “I would rather set sail
on a Friday, with a Jonah, than tangle with an armed, angry woman.” To hoots and hollers, he raised his
hands. “Come on, swabs, humor the little
lady.”
In
unison, the motely crew of raiders and whores parodied his stance and howled
with laughter.
“But,
I am serious.” She peered over her
shoulder, and he glimpsed glorious blue eyes and lush red lips he could not
wait to sample. “I must recover my
trunk.” She waved the pistol in the
air. “Whoever took it should be ashamed,
because it is wrong to steal.”
“Can
you describe the item in question?” a grey-haired salt asked, in a mocking
timbre.
“Yes.” The pistol fired, and she screamed, when a
lantern shattered above the bar, and Red Doyle, the bartender, ducked for
cover, along with everyone else. In that
moment, she glanced at Turner. “Did I do
that?”
“Aye.” He nodded and bit his tongue against a
guffaw, as she struggled with the weight of the weapon, and he did not want her
angry with him. “Be careful, before you
hurt yourself or someone else.”
“Oh,
dear.” With a lethal pout, which he
wagered could bring the most ornery pirate to his knees, she addressed
Doyle. “I hope you are all right, but I
seek my trunk, which is made of camphor wood, with red painted leather,
featuring floral motifs, and the initials RA on the top.”
“Lady,
Skip Peterson has it, and he’s over there.”
Doyle pointed to the offending party, and she marched forth, with Turner
in her wake. “He’s the one in the floppy
black hat.”
“Aw,
come on, Doyle.” Perched atop the trunk
in question, Skip pounded his fist on the table. “Finders, keepers.”
“How
dare you take my things.” The
fascinating creature stomped a foot.
“You could at least display a modicum of contrition, because you stole
my trunk, and I insist you give it back, this instant.”
“Oh?” Skip stood and rotated to face her. “Who is going to make me?” He surveyed her from top to toe, and Turner
could almost read the thief’s thoughts.
“You?”
“Peterson,
carry the trunk outside, and put it where you found it.” Turner folded his arms. “Now.”
“I
didn’t know she was with you, Reyson.”
Peterson scratched his temple and shuffled his feet. Then he smacked another tar. “Here, now.
Give me a hand with the lady’s trunk.”
“You
swiped it.” The burley swab
chuckled. “So, you may ask my arse,
because it is not worth the fight.”
“Oh,
all right.” With a grimace, Peterson
hefted the fancy coffer. “Where do you
want it?”
“Where
I left it.” Despite her frippery, the
wench showed courage, as she tapped her foot.
“And have care with my property, as the trunk was a gift from my
father.”
“My
lady, I am your most humble servant.” Of
course, Peterson taunted her, but she appeared oblivious. “What else do you require? Shall I wipe your—”
“Please,
do not be crude, as I would conclude this most irksome business,
posthaste.” At the entrance, Peterson
continued outside, but she paused, set the weapon on the table, from where she
claimed it, faced the crowd, and smiled.
“Thank you, so much, for your cooperation. You have been very kind.”
To
Turner’s disgust, a couple of buccaneers actually stood and saluted her. As she stepped into the sunlight, a cheer
erupted from the brothel, and he cursed under his breath.
At
the roadside, a portly woman withered beneath a frilly parasol and fanned
herself, while a young lad lingered at her side, and both eyed Turner with a
healthy dose of scrutiny absent in their fetching relation, to her detriment,
because he presented a very real threat to her.
Without
acknowledgement, Peterson dumped the chest and brushed past Turner, and he gave
his attention to the skirt.
“I
see you found your things.” The scamp
scowled at Turner. “Who is this
gentleman?”
“I
am no gentleman.” Turner actually took
offense to the mere suggestion, as it left a foul taste in his mouth. “And you should not insult me, when I
extended my support to the lady.”
“Oh,
I almost forgot about you.” She
blinked. Now that hurt, because he had
no trouble filling his bunk. “Clinton,
mind your manners, because this gentle—nice man supported my cause, and I owe
him a debt of gratitude, which we are honor-bound to discharge.”
“I
have no interest in your gratitude or your honor.” At the end of his tether, Turner folded his
arms, planted his feet, and wondered how long it would take him to get between
her thighs. “Well, are you going to tell
me your name, or am I to guess?”
“Forgive
my impudence, sir, but it has been a rather taxing day, and I am a tad out of
sorts.” She squared her shoulders. “I am Rose Armistead, this is my mother,
Bettine Armistead, and this is my brother, Clinton Armistead. We are pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I
am not.” Clinton narrowed his
stare. “And I shall be hanged before I
claim otherwise.”
“Clinton.” As her cheeks shaded red, Rose compressed her
lips and then met Turner’s gaze. “My
apologies, as my brother has been unwell and is still recovering. To whom do I owe my thanks, good sir?”
“I
am neither good nor a sir, and you would do well to remember that.” Just as he prepared to inform her of his true
occupation, he reconsidered his tack, given his pirate name would inspire more
fear than confidence. “I am Captain
Turner Reyson.”
“A
captain?” Rose clasped her hands beneath
her chin and bounced on her toes. “Can
it be possible that fortune smiles upon us, after our difficulties, of late? Are you by chance master of a ship, Captain
Reyson?”
“Aye.” He nodded once, more than a little confused
by her expression, as he revisited the niceties and the proper address she
would expect from a regular seaman. “I
command the Malevolent, Miss
Armistead.”
“Mama,
our prayers are answered.” To his
surprise, Rose briefly clasped his forearm and then withdrew. “Captain Reyson, might I hire you to take us
home, to Charles Town, in His Majesty’s Province of Carolina? I can pay you well.”
“I
am not a transport service, Miss Armistead, though I might be persuaded.” In truth, the idea appealed to him, because a
lot could happen in the close confines of his brigantine, and he needed the
money, but there was another reason that swayed his position. If he sailed north, he could launch a
surprise attack, given most pirates embarked from the south, on a galleon
loaded with gold, bearing east from the Spanish Main. “First, I would know how you arrived in Port
Royal, because you do not belong here.
And if I were to deliver you home, what would you pay me?”
“Ours
is a sad tale, Captain Reyson.” With her
hand, she shielded her face, and he admired her flawless skin of pure
ivory. “My family journeyed to Alicante,
so my father could open new trade relationships for Charles Town. During our stay, he became ill with an
infectious fever, which later struck my elder brother, and both perished.”
“I
am sorry to hear that.” Given the vast
markets exchanged in the Spanish port city, he concluded her family must
possess great wealth, which further stimulated his interest. “So, what brought you here?”
“Although
my father arranged return passage, we missed the departure, due to his failing
condition, and I was left to secure alternative travel for myself, my mother,
and my younger brother, after burying our loved ones, in Spain. On the recommendation of an acquaintance, we
hired Captain Donat.” With a trembling
chin, and a furrowed brow, she frowned.
“After paying full fare, for three passengers, we set sail aboard the Sea Serpent. A sennight into the voyage, we discovered the
captain carried human cargo, which we do not support, so he put us off in Port
Royal, while he conducted business, and refused to refund any portion of our
money. Thus, we are at your mercy, and I
beg you to consider my request.”
“What
did Donat charge to deliver you from Alicante to Charles Town?” Turner mulled the possibilities and
associated cost. Since he missed his
last mark, due to foul weather, he had to find something to satisfy his crew’s
thirst for booty. “And what sort of
accommodations do you require, because options are limited aboard the Malevolent.”
“We
will take whatever you provide and be glad of it, Captain Reyson.” Rose reached for her mother’s hand. “And we paid five pounds sterling, each, for
myself and for my mother, and two pounds and ten shillings for Clinton, as is
the usual rate, or so I am told.
However, I am unwilling to pay more than half, up front, given Captain
Donat took advantage of us, so I shall remit the remainder of our fare upon our
arrival in Charles Town.”
“You
are a shrewd negotiator, Miss Armistead.”
As much as he hated to admit it, she gained a measure of respect,
because she did not cower in the face of adversity. Where most women would cry and yield to
hysterics, in similar circumstances, Rose simply sought another course of
action, which included the none-too-smart but audacious invasion of a
whorehouse rife with cutthroats and pirates.
“Allow me to suggest the Port Royal Inn, where you can take rooms for
the night and enjoy a decent meal. In
the morning, meet me at the docks.”
“Does
that mean you will help us?” Given her
smile, there was little he would not do for her, and he promised to weigh
anchor in her, no doubt, uncharted territory, before the journey’s end. “You will take us home?”
Inclining
his head, he winked. “Miss Armistead,
you got yourself a ship.”
Scoop up your copy at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.
Also available at iTunes
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