Chapter One #2
Samantha had to agree. Christian Thompson had recently arrived in Savannah with the lofty ambition of wiping out the pirate trade.
And damn him if he wasn’t doing a good job at it.
In less than three months, the young lieutenant had captured four ships.
Every vessel that sailed in and out of the harbor now passed by the crow-picked skeletons hanging on Cockspur Island.
A clear—if not crude—warning by the lieutenant himself. Go pirating and meet the noose.
“Captain?”
Griff shifted his position to stand between her and the fast-approaching ship. The protective moment was not lost on her. Just as she’d inspected their visitors, the lieutenant would have his own spyglass trained on them. Her uncle’s number one rule at sea? Do not be recognized.
Ever.
Thompson had been a constant irritation the last few months.
Late-night runs had to be cancelled, cargos better hidden—which took time and money, and one of their best partners had pulled out of Savannah because of the added risk.
Not to mention the men who had been hanged.
None of their own men, of course, but comrades in the trade nonetheless.
Samantha squared her shoulders. Griff and his crew were among her uncle’s finest. Today, Thompson was merely an annoyance.
One that could be dealt with. If she returned to shore with a win over Thompson, Uncle Henry couldn’t say she wasn’t fit to captain.
After all, how could one top besting a US Navy ship?
She faced her crew. “I think it’s time Lieutenant Thompson got a taste of his own medicine.”
A gleam flashed through Griff’s eyes even as he pressed his lips together in a disapproving line. “Aye, Captain.” He lowered his voice and leaned close. “Your uncle would not approve. Are you sure you want to do this?”
Samantha gave a curt nod while a burst of adrenaline coursed through her veins.
Her first fight as a pirate.
“I hope you understand I’ll be stepping back to my position.”
Her shoulders dropped. Not her fight after all. Her uncle had made it clear, if there were trouble, Griff would be back in charge. Though a retort formed on her lips, the Falcon had gotten close enough for Samantha to hear the wind whistling through her sails. No time to argue.
She bit her tongue and dipped her head. “Of course, Captain.”
With those words, the leadership seamlessly transferred over.
Griff turned. “Alright, men. Shall we show the lieutenant what happens when he stirs up a hornet’s nest—or should I say, pirate’s nest?”
A soft cheer rose from the crew.
“You know the drill.”
A flurry of activity followed and Samantha’s heart filled with pride.
Under the scrutiny of the approaching ship, the preparations would seem benign.
Ropes were fastened and coiled while conveniently placed crates of weapons were unlocked.
The men who would fight pulled out leather half masks.
They turned their backs to the Falcon and secured the masks tightly.
Griff always said there was something about being locked in battle with another man that had a way of etching an opponent’s face into one’s mind.
Inconvenient for a pirate wanting to stay anonymous.
Every crew member was issued a mask the day he signed into her uncle’s service and risked punishment if he were ever found without it on his person.
The thin leather didn’t impede vision or movement while disguising the upper facial features enough to escape identity.
Griff was the only one who kept his face clear. A risk. But one he would need to take the lieutenant by surprise. It just meant he’d have to lay low and avoid town for a while. He coughed and gave Samantha a pointed look. “Best get below. And stay down there until it’s over.”
No.
She opened her mouth to say so and he shook his head. “That’s an order, Miss Warstein.”
With a scowl, Samantha jumped down to the deck. Before she approached the door to her cabin, she caught a glimpse of the lieutenant—and the frown on his face as he steered his ship close.
She dashed inside and locked the door behind her before heading to a window. With a flick of her fingers, she unlatched it and pushed it open a crack. The lieutenant’s baritone voice floated over her.
“Ho there. State your business.”
“Just passing through after picking up cargo,” Griff answered without missing a beat.
“And why have you ventured so far off the trade route?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
Silence fell save for the slap of waves trapped between the two ships. Samantha bit back a laugh as she imagined the look on the lieutenant’s face.
“We patrol these waters on behalf of the governor.”
“Yet you fly the Georgian seal. Curious, as last I checked, we are off the coast of Florida.” A mocking tone had entered Griff’s voice.
“I assure you, we have every right to be here. You, on the other hand . . .” The lieutenant’s voice trailed off. “I trust you understand we will need to board your ship and conduct an inspection. If all is in order, you’ll be free to go.”
More silence. And then Griff’s voice. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
Lieutenant Thompson cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”
Samantha held her breath, waiting for the command.
“Now!”
The men above her exploded into action, and shouts came from both decks. Muffled thumps confirmed her crew had begun to swing to the offending ship. The clank of steel followed and Samantha craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the action.
A view of wood planks covered with a fine mist of sea spray greeted her. She couldn’t see a damn thing.
“Drat.”
Her gaze flitted between the window and her closed door while her fists clenched at her side.
To hell with Griff’s orders. If she stayed below, she would miss the whole thing.
She grabbed her mask from the corner of her desk and ran her fingertips over the supple black leather.
She’d never had to use it before. Never thought she’d have the chance to.
It would cover her from forehead to nose, enough to shield her identity.
The shouts outside intensified and her pulse quickened. Just a quick peek. No one would know.
She tied the mask on and scooped up a handful of hairpins.
With practiced fingers, she twisted her hair atop her head and stabbed the pins in.
On her way out, she snatched her rapier—the one thing she never misplaced—from its rack on the wall.
Once on deck, she pressed her hat low and edged around the mainmast.
Her heart caught.
Even with the element of surprise on their side, her crew struggled. A flash of blue caught her eye as the lieutenant sent one of her men careening to the deck. Her stomach clenched into a hard knot when the man didn’t move. Griff turned with a snarl and rushed forward.
As the two men fought, Samantha’s throat seized. Though Griff was one of her uncle’s most talented fighters, the young lieutenant possessed more stamina and strength. When the fight turned in Thompson’s favor, she dragged her eyes away.
Panic clawed at her gut. If the lieutenant overtook Griff, the battle would be lost. And they would all face the noose.
Her hand tightened on the hilt of her rapier. Not if she could help it. Her uncle hadn’t hired the best swordsmen in America to teach her for nothing.
She dashed from her hiding place and grabbed a rope hanging from the main yard. Twisting the oiled cords in her hands, she leaped from the railing and the thrill of weightlessness grabbed at her stomach.
Her boots hit the Falcon’s deck with a thump and she dropped the rope, yanking her rapier free.
The battle raged around her with groups of men locked in combat.
Samantha twisted around the fighting pairs and launched over a prone body.
She found the lieutenant’s blue coat near the helm and sprinted that way. Please don’t be too late.
She took the stairs two at a time and burst onto the quarterdeck where Lieutenant Thompson’s sword gleamed in the sunlight.
Griff stood doubled over, clutching his blood-soaked side, sword hanging to the ground.
With no time to prepare herself, Samantha flew between the men with her own blade raised.
Clang!
The blow reverberated up her arm in a thousand shards of hot pain, and she jumped out of reach before the lieutenant could strike again.
His eyes narrowed on her and he barked out a laugh. “Sent in a boy to do a man’s work did they?”
She held her stance. Sweat dripped down the Lieutenant’s forehead and his broad shoulders heaved with each breath.
Good.
He lunged and she darted to the side. When he cut, she parried. Their feet began to glide across the deck in a deadly dance.
Keep him moving.
Don’t let him regain his breath.
Her instructor’s words rang loud and clear in her ears.
She pressed forward and met his blade in a bold thrust. Dark green eyes widened a fraction before he swung back at her. Though exhausted, he still made a formidable opponent. But what Samantha lacked in strength, she made up for in speed.
The lieutenant grunted when she advanced, deflecting her cuts as they came.
Right. Left. Back.
She read his eyes to determine his next move, given away by a quick glance before his blade followed.
And he scowled.
He wasn’t used to losing.
“Too ugly to show your face, boy?”
She ignored the taunt and sidestepped the heavy blow that came with it.
Don’t engage.
The clanging and shouting around her faded while she focused on her opponent. Perspiration dampened her brow as she fought to maintain her position. Good God, he was good. His footwork rivaled her own as they circled each other.
“Enough,” he growled. He moved to place the setting sun in her eyes and rained several blows on her in quick succession. Each step she took back brought her closer to the stairs—and her defeat. The blows came so fast, she had no choice but to maintain defense.
He stopped a cut mid-air and somehow turned it into a vicious thrust at her belly.
She leaped back as the blade whistled a hair’s breadth from her torso.
The wild movement sent her hat flying and her hair tumbled free, pins scattering on the deck.
The lieutenant’s eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath.
React!
She dove forward in his moment of confusion and met his blade. As her steel slid toward his body, he recovered and twisted his sword to stop her advance.
So close.
Before she could pull away, he used his height to his advantage and bore down on her. Samantha gritted her teeth and pushed back. Her arm began to shake. No . . . focus!
“So, wench, you’ve chosen to align yourself with filth?” He murmured the words from above her while a dark glint flashed through his eyes.
Do. Not. Engage.
Heat spread through her veins and her vision wavered. Use your anger.
With a guttural cry, she used up her wildcard.
A move her instructor had aptly named “Last Chance.” She grabbed her hilt with her free hand and threw all her strength into twisting the blade in a sharp motion.
Before he could compensate, she jerked the lieutenant’s sword free from his compromised grasp.
It clattered to the deck and she whipped the tip of her rapier to his neck.
“That’s Captain to you.” She pressed the sharp steel into the space below his Adam’s apple. “Now call off your men.”