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Cover art (c) 2004 Jenny Dixon
ISBN 1-58608-447-x
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It suited half-Cherokee, half-Scot pirate Hal Merritt to abduct and murder the wife of his enemy for her part in her husband’s crimes. But instead of a knowing accomplice, he finds an innocent young countess, not yet awakened to her sensuality.

Elspeth, Countess Greymere, had hoped her arranged marriage would be a comfortable one, but experienced only brutality at her husband’s hands. She finds an unlikely protector in the man sent to kill her.

Aboard his pirate ship, Hal shows Elspeth the adventure of the sea and the greater adventure of love, but they are pursued by Elspeth’s slave-trading husband who will stop at nothing to get her and her fortune back.

Rating: Contains graphic sexual content and violence.

THE LADY’S PIRATE

By

Anne Manning

© copyright June 2004, Betty Kasischke
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright June 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Dedicated To

Patricia Lucas White

An angel of a mentor,
A model of courage,
A true friend.
I love you, doll!

Chapter One

Lancaster, Lancashire

May 1840

The copper-skinned man in sailor's garb raised his pint and hid his guarded examination of the room behind the rim. His hair, long and shiny and black, hung down his back, secured with a leather thong. Even so singular a character did not garner much interest in the shadowy barroom of the dockside tavern.

He waited for a man who had promised a large payment for a small job. Normally, he wouldn't even consider working for someone else. However, flexibility was a necessity in business. So, he waited.

A movement by the door caught his eye. A man in black stood there, obviously looking through the greasy light for someone. When their eyes met, he was certain this was his potential employer.

The man in black threaded his way between tables set haphazardly in the large room and, without asking, took a chair. His face was hidden beneath the brim of a large black hat. The wide collar of his jacket, pulled up as though protecting his neck from the wind, perfected his anonymity. Only shadowy hints of his visage remained.

"You are Captain Garcia?" the man in black asked.

"Yes." Hal Merritt used several aliases. In Lancaster he was known as Garcia.

The man in black glanced around, then leaned forward, crossing his elbows before him on the edge of the grimy table.

"I hear you are short of funds and cannot pay your harbor fees nor provision your vessel. Perhaps I can help. I have a proposition for you." His pause seemed premeditated. His next words confirmed that assumption. "If you have the groats for it."

Hal managed to swallow the ale he'd unfortunately just sipped. If the man could see his amusement, so be it.

"Tell me your proposition, then I'll measure my groats."

"I will pay you handsomely-" The man in black lowered his voice to a whisper. "To abduct and dispose of the Countess Greymere."

Hal shivered as a chill ran through him. What kind of animal plotted the murder of a woman?

"Is she such a danger to the public good that an upstanding individual as yourself would wish the good lady dead?" he asked.

"S-h-h-h-h. Not so loud." The man in black leaned closer.

Hal's nose twitched at the heady lilac scent wafting from the man's person. Casting sidewise glances he tried to peer beyond the shadows to memorize what he could of the man's face. Surely the sheriff would like to know of such dire doings in his shire.

The man continued, "My reasons are not your concern."

Hal understood that explanation. He pretended to consider the offer.

"I find my share of groats inadequate for such an act. Better seek your assassin elsewhere, friend."

"I am not your friend. I know you need money to get your tub provisioned. I know your target is a March Shipping vessel scheduled to depart port seven days hence."

Hal's heart jumped. He hid his surprise behind a sip of ale. How did the man know so much about him?

"Could be," he responded. "How much?" He still had no intention of accepting such a job, but found himself curious. How much was a countess's life worth these days?

"Five thousand pounds."

"So little? For a countess? Is she so near her end the murder will only be a formality?"

"On the contrary. Elspeth is but twenty, quite comely, tall, lithe of figure. Reddish hair, I believe. Skin like country cream."

Hal chuckled. "You'd do better to marry the lady and enjoy all her charms."

"The lady is already married. To Richard March."

Hal’s mouth dropped open. "March?"

The man in black smiled, sending a chill down Hal's back. Did this man know of his personal interest in Richard March?

The man leaned closer. "Yes, Captain, I know. A few pints of ale served well to loosen the tongues of your crew. I know your true name and your mission to destroy Richard March. All I do not know is why you so hate the man."

Hal stifled the foul words on his tongue. "As you say, sir, that is not your concern."

"Ah, yes."

It was too late to worry which member of his crew had betrayed his secret. And it occurred to Hal this might be a trap. Could this man be an agent of Richard March? Only the fact that March used his ships to transport illegal cargo had kept him from reporting the attacks on his ships to the Admiralty. This crow-like bastard probably figured Hal would jump at a chance to kill Richard March's bride, giving March a reason to have him arrested and hanged without risking revelation of the more hellish side of his shipping business.

The question now was, would he? Hal didn't really know, but felt a sick certainty the poor countess was now in the way of his own plans for her dear husband.

"However," Hal said, "I'm not asking you to kill March for me. I think I have some right to know why you desire the Countess dead."

The man shrugged. "It would be convenient for me if the young Countess would not produce an heir.

"You are her heir?"

"It is well known her heir presumptive has no interest in the title."

Not an answer.

"You must hate March as much as I do." Hal realized he'd actually started considering the job.

The man in black shrugged. "Perhaps. Does it matter?"

Hal studied the man for a moment. "Why not do the deed yourself? Better than having hired men around who can't keep a secret."

"I'm too close to the Countess. I would be a suspect immediately."

Hal sat back. Close to the Countess, was he?

"Does he love her?"

The man laughed. "I suspect you already know March is incapable of loving anyone. He loves her gold and the prospect of getting a child off her who would, in time, become Earl Greymere. Besides, does it matter if it breaks his heart or merely his pride?"

"No," Hal replied. "He'll just get another."

"He'll never get another Elspeth. She is the only peeress in her own right under the age of fifty. Without her money, he'll be forced to seek among the merchant class for a wealthy wife."

The man in black let that tantalizing thought hang between them. March was proud of his noble birth, thinking it put him above the consequences of his actions, thinking no action was beyond his power. Marrying beneath him was not the final humiliation Hal had planned, but as a temporary measure, it appealed.

But to murder a woman. He didn't need to think any farther than that.

"I am not interested in committing a murder," Hal said.

The man toyed with the thick lace at his cuff. "Don't be so squeamish, Merritt. You mean to murder March. What I want isn't so different. I want Elspeth eliminated and March's connection severed before he ruins Greymere with his thefts."

"He's stealing from his wife?" Hal could easily believe it.

"Yes, to prop up his shipping business. Removing his source of funds serves your purposes as well as mine."

Hal needed the money badly. Did he need it enough to murder a woman? But if her money was funding March's schemes, how innocent could she be? And it was another coup he could strike on March.

"I'll do it. Half the money now. The remainder when the job is done."

"No. One-tenth now."

The man laid a large burlap sack before Hal. Picking it up, Hal wondered if blood money bore the scent. He opened the sack and poured coins into his hand. Golden sovereigns glittered in the flickering lamplight.

Five hundred pounds would be enough to get his ship to the Azores.

Then what?

"One thousand in advance," he countered, pushing the pile of coins and the sack across.

The man in black pushed the money back at him. "Take it or leave it."

Choices. Unfortunately, he didn't have many and he cursed his impetuosity in setting out from Jamaica in a hurry and under-provisioned. He spared a curse for the fool at the Spanish Town office of March Shipping who'd sold him a hopelessly inaccurate shipping schedule. His target had not appeared and when they'd limped into Lancaster-out of food, the bottoms of their water barrels dry-they learned March's ship had been delayed by a late delivery of finished wool. She sat high in the water, three berths down from Hal's ship, Spring Moon.

Without money, his crew would soon have to turn to more dangerous pursuits to live. And Spring Moon was empty. Turn this down and there were no choices except gambling or theft.

"One-tenth isn't much up front for such a job. What if I'm caught and hung? What will I have to send my children?"

"You have no children, unless they are bastards. According to your crewman, you have been single-minded in your pursuit of revenge on your enemy."

He really had to find out who had such loose lips about his business.

"All right." Hal swept the coins up and dropped them into the bag, which he tucked safe in his inside pocket. "Where might I find March's wife?"

The man in black smiled. Only his mouth was visible in the dim light. Hal studied the mouth, memorizing it for future reference.

"The Countess is at Sandgrove, where Richard is no doubt trying his best to get an heir on her at this very moment."

Pulling a paper from his jacket, the man in black unfolded it on the table and set a gloved finger on a simple drawing of a house.

"Here is her window on the side of the house. Go through the window and take her. You may need to kill her maid to assist your getaway."

Cavalier bastard. Was he so free with the lives of his own loved ones? Did he even have loved ones?

"Get her out of the house and take her-" The man turned the paper over, revealing a scrawled map. "Here. Dispatch her and leave the body. Return to Lancaster with her head to prove the deed done and I will pay you the balance."

Hal shivered. Take the lady's head. And he didn't put it past the man to dispatch Hal himself to better cover his own tracks.

He glanced over at his crew sitting silently at the next table. His first mate shook his head. Hal could almost hear him.

Bad deal, Rabbit.

George had impeccable instinct in such matters.

Hal took the paper and refolded it, placing it with the coins in his jacket pocket. If he had a brain in his head, he'd go straight to the sheriff with this monster in tow and make sure he didn't get himself or his crew involved the sordid business. He must not have a brain.

"When?" he asked him employer.

"Tonight."

Hal nodded. "Where will we meet?"

"I shall find you when you return to Lancaster." The man rose and tossed ten shillings on the table. "For your ale." Then he left.

The pouch in his pocket weighed him down. Yet, what could be better than to repay March in kind?

He tried to wash the haunting memories away with a sip of warm ale.

It didn't work.

"Bad deal, Rabbit," George said as he slipped into an empty chair. "No good can come of this."

Hal handed him the money. "Pay our berthing fee. Split the rest with the crew. When I get back there will be more."

"You're no murderer, Hal. I know you hate March. I understand that. If you were going to snatch him and cut his throat I'd offer to come along. But a woman."

"She's married to him. She's no better than he is." Hal tried to make himself believe that.

"Do women choose their men now?"

"Let it go. I'll be back tomorrow or the next day."

Hal got up, feeling old and tired. Funny for a man of seven and twenty to have such a load of guilt and regret and hatred. It usually took many more decades of living to store up such treasures.

* * * *

Sandgrove, Yorkshire

"He's drunk again, my lady."

Elspeth heard him clunking up the stairs, his damaged foot dragging behind, sounding with the regularity of an executioner's drum.

"Please let him pass by," she prayed.

"Amen," Patsy intoned.

Their prayers were rejected. The doorknob rattled.

"Open the door."

Elspeth heard the growled command, the low voice, and quaked. So, her husband had not yet drunk himself to total intoxication, which might have saved her this night's activities.

"I said, open the door."

"Leave me, Patsy."

"No, my lady. Not tonight I won't. I saw how he was at dinner."

"Do you think to help me by enraging him?"

Elspeth seized Patsy's hand and dragged her to the door of the small maid's chamber adjoining the lady's suite.

"Go!" she whispered, shoving Patsy through and slamming the door shut. "And don't come out, no matter what you hear."

Inhaling a measure of courage, Elspeth took her place beside the bed. Her mother's example for dealing with an abusive husband had always been to present a cool and calm facade. Elspeth took hold of the bedpost as an anchor and schooled her features as she'd seen her mother do so many times.

"The door is not locked, my lord." She could not have said where the strength to speak had come from.

The rattling of the doorknob stopped. The footsteps clunked down the hallway and she hoped he'd decided to go to bed alone.

The double-doors to her suite flew open, dashing her hopes. For a moment, she faced the sole of Richard's boot, the large, ugly artifice he used to hide his physical deformity. As he returned his foot to the floor, she met his eyes.

This will be bad. She knew the look, the rage, the blame, the disappointment.

"So, my Countess craves not her husband's company?"

She dared not make an answer. He needed none.

With heavy steps, her husband of only six months, Richard March, 7th Viscount Sandgrove, crossed the threshold and dropped into the dainty chair at Elspeth's dressing table.

"Come here."

"Certainly, sir."

His eyes ran her up and down as though she were a milkmaid ripe for a tumble. She felt heat rise in her cheeks.

"Ah, so the icy Countess can manage a charming blush," he said. "I wonder what brings such fetching color to your complexion? Could it be eagerness for marital bliss?" He cocked his head, as though actually considering this as a possibility. "No, 'tis more like the lady finds her husband onerous."

"Nay, sir." She could manage no more of a lie. Naturally Richard saw through her. Elspeth steeled herself for his reaction, but he only chuckled, no humor coloring the sound.

"Such a fortunate man I am. Come, my obedient little bitch. Remove my boots."

Elspeth leaned over to do as ordered, only to have her hands stopped by Richard's.

"No, no, my lady. That is not the proper way to remove a boot. Turn around and take my leg between yours."

She obeyed, stepping over his leg and reaching down to grasp the boot heel. She pulled on the boot with every bit of strength she possessed.

"Gads, girl, can you do nothing right?" Before she could even think of a response, Richard placed his huge right boot against her rump and pushed.

Elspeth dropped his boot, putting out her hands to save herself. With a sick snap her left hand bent sideways, most unnaturally, and she slid forward onto her belly.

Strangely, there was no pain.

She stared at her broken wrist, marveling at her mind's ability to ignore an injury that was surely painful, wishing she could always be so insensible.

Her little chair creaked behind her, and even though she couldn't see him she knew he was coming to inflict more retribution upon her. Retribution for his own shortcomings, it was true, but to accuse him would only enrage him more. So Elspeth lay waiting, hoping her lack of resistance would avert the worst of his ire. When the toe of Richard's boot, so very gently, nudged the hem of her dressing gown up over her legs, she breathed in relief. For an instant.

"You are beautiful." He reached down and grabbed the gown and tossed it up over her head, baring her. "Though it is a shame to see such beauty wasted on a cold, icy bitch."

Elspeth was surprised he could still hurt her with words, when he'd taught her many other kinds of pain.

"Perhaps I'll take you like this."

"Finally?"

Had she really said that? What madness had seized her to make such a reckless response?

The silence of the room was both terrifying and somehow comforting. He'd not yet answered her impertinence. She braved a glance at her husband.

Richard's face was purple, a mottled, deadly color. The veins of his neck stood out in stark relief. Elspeth snapped her face away from the sight, her heart pounding in her chest.

He can't get my fortune without me. If I am dead he is penniless.

The thought was not so comforting as she'd hoped and her blood ran cold when a sound unlike anything she'd ever heard exploded from his throat and he leapt at her. Before she could scramble out of the way, he landed on her back, his knee digging into her spine, ignoring her pitiable moans. With one hand he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back. His breath, hot and sour, scalded across her ear. Reflexively, she tried to turn away.

"Don't turn away from me, bitch." With his free hand, he seized her chin and twisted her head around. His lips ground down on hers, his squeezing fingers forcing her mouth open, his teeth gouging the tender flesh. Tearing his mouth from hers, he rasped, "I will have your submission."

"My lord," she gasped, "I have never resisted you."

"No? Every night you resist me. But no more."

He released her hair, allowing her head to drop, then he braced one arm against the back of her neck. Elspeth struggled for air against the musty carpet.

"Please, my lord," she gasped.

"Please? You dare ask for anything when you refuse your duty?"

"No, sir, no. I understand my duty."

"You'll understand duty when you are fat with my heir."

"Richard, to give you an heir is my dearest desire."

"Is it? Well, you'll get your chance, won't you, Countess?"

"Please, do not do this."

Elspeth hated the weakness and misery in her voice. Was she really the Countess Greymere, the richest woman in England? Being ground into the carpet by her own husband? She couldn't stop the plea from escaping her lips again.

"Please, my lord."

But he wasn't listening. She heard buttons snap off his clothing. Surely he wouldn't take her on the floor like this? Like an animal?

"Damn!" He rose and she foolishly believed she was free. She started to rise, only to be pushed back down by his foot on the back of her head. "Get on the bed, my lady, while I have my man come to help me disrobe."

Elspeth struggled to her feet, reaching for the tattered edges of her dressing gown.

"No, don't cover yourself." He took to few steps to the door and yanked it open. "Portnoy! Come here, man."

Elspeth sat on the bed and, in spite of his command, tugged her gown around her.

Richard staggered to the bed and ripped her hands away, then stripped her gown off, leaving her naked. "I said don't cover yourself."

"But, your man..."

"He's seen naked women before. Don't flatter yourself you'll dazzle him."

"My lord, you called me?" The elderly Portnoy peeked around the doorframe.

"Yes, come in, Portnoy. I need assistance with my boots. My Countess is unable to manage them."

Portnoy entered the room, only glancing at the bed, where Elspeth sat. She squeezed her eyes shut at the pity she saw reflected in the old man's eyes. She couldn't bear pity.

While he assisted his master, the old man kept his back to her, affording her what little dignity he could.

"Fine, fine. That's enough. Go." Richard shoved the old man through the door.

If that's the best a faithful servant gets, I can expect little more. It was a bleak thought.

"Now, my pigeon, lie down."

She obeyed, as she did every time.

As he did every time, Richard played with her, squeezing, pinching, fondling. She lay there, wondering how much of this disaster was her fault. Though her own mother would have died of vapors if she'd asked, Elspeth wondered if her success as a wife would have been greater if she'd sought some advice from her nurse on the doings between men and women? Or perhaps this was the way it was supposed to be? Perhaps such was the nature of Eve's curse, to be forever separated from her lord as she was separated from her God?

"Damn!" Richard's explosion snapped her from her reverie.

Elspeth dared a glance at his lower anatomy, hanging flaccid between his legs. Even such an innocent as she could see there would be no procreation tonight. She wondered if a successful mating would change her husband's attitude toward her.

"It's your fault! I have dozens of bastards all over this county and the next. You know it is your fault, don't you?"

"Yes, my lord."

She'd thought acquiescence to be the best course.

"You do it on purpose, don't you, witch?" A waft of air warned her only an instant before his palm met the flesh of her cheek. And again. And again.

"Cry out, damn you! Why won't you cry out? Something, anything to show you are human." He backed away from her. "You are not, though, are you?" A strange light shone in his eyes. "No, you are not. You are a witch, using the Devil's own arts to unman me."

Elspeth dared not speak. She only watched him back toward the door of his own suite, seemingly afraid to turn his back on her.

When the door between their chambers slammed shut, a timid click signaled Patsy's return to the battlefield.

"Oh, my poor lady," she cooed, jumping on the bed with Elspeth. "My lady, you are bleeding."

Elspeth was only barely aware of Patsy's gentle touch sweeping over her, covering her nakedness, seeking any other injury.

"Oh, sweet Jesus. Your arm."

Elspeth looked down at her left wrist. Her hand lay at an odd angle from her forearm. A large blue lump had formed on the outside of her wrist. Patsy gathered her skirts to rise.

"I will send for a surgeon."

"No." She raised her right hand to shut off Patsy's complaint. "No surgeon. Straighten it and bind it as well as you can. That will do for now."

She ignored Patsy's fuss. When she thought about the situation, she came always to the same conclusion. This time she couldn't avoid it, nor turn away from it.

"Patsy, pack us each a small bag, only necessaries."

"We're going somewhere, my lady?

"Yes." Elspeth gave common sense one more chance to stop her. Unfortunately, it failed. "We're going home to Greymere."