Above painting: Louis Jean Francois - Mars and Venus an Allegory of Peace
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Showing posts with label Pirates of the Caribbean. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pirates of the Caribbean. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum - What Pirates Drank


As with any rogue worth his salt, pirates loved to drink, especially rum. Why is that? Well, besides the fact that it warms the belly, boosts courage, instills camaraderie when sharing with mates, and tastes yummy, there was a practical reason, too. Rum and other alcoholic beverages had a long shelf life, essential for long voyages at sea.

Being at sea for long stretches of time was problematic for seamen diets, both in what they ate and drank. Health problems and sometimes death were common due to improper nutrition, contaminated food, and spoiled drink.

A man needs water to survive. Freshwater, also known as sweet water, was a precious commodity because stagnant water soured in their casks. The hotter the temperature, the faster the water soured. Think slime in the ice machine. Gross! Rainwater would be collected, but it could be weeks or months before a ship saw a raincloud. So to make the water more palatable, alcohol like rum was added. The mixture was called grog and was rationed out to crewmen daily.

Other common drinks pirates had in their mugs included ale, wine, brandy, and sometimes tea, though tea, along with chocolate and coffee, was often used as a commodity to sell or trade in port.

Pirates were quite creative in their spirit concoctions.

Bumboo was an alcoholic beverage of rum, sugar, lemon and lime juices, and nutmeg. Drink this, mate, and you may stave off a bout of scurvy.

Arrack was made from fermented fruits, grain, and sugar cane.

Toke was liquor made from fermented honey. I’m not entirely convinced that these drinks were sweet to taste.

Black strap consisted of rum, lots of molasses and chowder beer, which is a fermented brew of water, molasses, and black spruce tree pitch. My stomach hurts just thinking about this drink.

Punch was anything goes. It was a medley of liquors, rum, wine, fruit juice, that was sweetened with honey or sugar and often spiced with nutmeg. I’d give it a shot.

Kill-Devil rum included booze, beer, and raw eggs. Eww!

Hangman’s Blood, a potent medley of various strong liquors, could knock even the most hardened fellow on his arse. It was probably best not to smoke while drinking this mixture for fear of igniting. Whoosh!

Pine drink was a sweet alcoholic drink of fermented pineapple juice.

A steamy escape! Get your copy HERE.
Tobacco rum had, you guessed it, rum mixed with tobacco. The tobacco gave the rum a smoky, earthy flavor. If the tobacco was stale, the rum would also be a bit bitter.

Another odd liquor blend had nabbed my inspiration. Indulge me for a moment. In The Siren’s Song,  the 3rd full-length novel in my Romancing the Pirate series, pirate Captain Thayer Drake’s rum drinking is one battle he can’t seem to win. Perhaps Gilly, the beautiful songstress he saved from drowning, will help him kick the habit. But not after one particularly exasperating evening with her. Instead, he hits the bottle harder than usual, stirring gunpowder into his rum. Gunpowder rum? Yes, pirates did do this. Gunpowder contains saltpeter which was believed to deaden sexual desires. It was also thought to inspire courage and aggression before heading off into battle.

Oh yes, pirates loved their sauce. Perhaps it was pirate Richard Hains who said it best with this sentiment. “A life without liberty is not worth living. But a life with liberty and no beer mug ain’t much better.” Hear! Hear!

About the Author                                                
Jennifer is the award-winning author of the Romancing the Pirate series. Visit her at www.jbrayweber.com or join her mailing list for sneak peeks, excerpts, and giveaways.





Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Dead Men Tell No Tales

It’s no secret Hollywood romanticizes and takes creative license when making movies. This is best witnessed in action or sci-fi movies but can be seen in everything from romantic comedies to horror to dramatic biopics. It’s all about evoking audience response—laughter, tears, heartbreak, wanting, fear, ire—and it’s entertainment. Of course, pirate movies are no different.

As an author of pirate romance and someone who has researched in depth the pirate life, I can’t help but be critical when a television series or movie is based on pirate lore or has Caribbean pirate elements. Unless way off base, I don’t usually let fallacies get in the way of enjoying the feature. But when they get it right, the experience is more fulfilling.

Take the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise for example. It is fantastical and chock full of mythical creatures and nautical lore—the Kraken, fish people, Davy Jones, giant goddesses, man-eating sirens, Fountain of Youth, ghost sharks and skeletal undead pirates, to name a few. The plights of Captain Jack Sparrow and gang are always epic and the odds insurmountable. Each movie is an adventure with well-rounded endings. As a moviegoer, I am always blown away.

To be fair, I am a bit biased. I love the franchise, love Johnny Depp, sleep with a pillowcase of Will Turner, listen to the soundtracks while writing my own pirate tales, and even own an autographed copy of The Art of Pirates of the Caribbean—a collection of working drawings and conceptual art for the first three movies. I have waited with baited breath for the next movie Dead Men Tell No Tales to hit the silver screen. And I wasn’t disappointed. I laughed, cried, and thoroughly enjoyed being whisked away for more than 2 hours in a world that had captured my heart more than 13 years ago.

But how accurate is POTC? Some aspects are close, other aren’t. Okay, so that was an ambiguous answer. In part because it would depend on how much hair-splitting is involved. Think weapons, clothing, politics, tactics, superstitions, terminology and (most) settings*. The details are there, but they may not necessarily be right for the time period.

Pirate flavoring was added, and loads of it comes from what we already believe about pirates from Robert Louis Stevenson’s embellished adventure novel Treasure Island. In reality, there was no walking the plank or burying treasure. Eye-patches were not used to cover disfigurements, but rather to keep one eye adjusted to the darkness. Pirate codes were not universal; the articles varied from ship to ship. And there was no parlay nor swinging by ropes from ship to ship.

What about those ships? The visual depictions of the variety of vessels are amazing and for the most part true. I say for the most part because I personally have not noticed anything erroneous. The makers even got the sails right. Unlike many seafaring movies which showcase vessels with tight square sails, POTC ships are closer to the truth with their billowing sails capturing the wind and fluttering to keep it. However, what is not quite right is the speed of the ships and size of ship to crew ratio. The Black Pearl, a ship that could even outrun the legendary Flying Dutchman, was a galleon. That size ship is too large to sail fast and maneuver with ease, assuming it isn’t resurrected by Davy Jones as the Black Pearl was. Add to that, it would require a sizeable crew numbering in the hundreds to man her, more depending also on how many guns she carried. Same holds true for the other ships in the films.

Are Jack, Barbossa, Gibbs, and the rest true representations of pirates themselves? Not really. These are fictional characters with fictional quests. But some of their actions, motivations, goals, and methods were spot on. While sailors on both sides of the law often lacked education, pirates acted democratically, weighing risks, costs, and benefits, which determined which targets to pursue and what tactics were used. And though they might’ve been drunks, womanizers, and all-around rabble-rousers, they weren’t as bumbling as depicted in the movies. Sure makes for a great time, though, doesn’t it?

Like with most movies (and fiction in general), suspension of disbelief is a given to enhance the enjoyment. The runaway water wheel ending with the three-way swordfight in Dead Man’s Chest is definitely one of my favorites scenes. Some of those outlandish scenes in  POTC even seemed plausible though they weren’t, like using a rowboat as a makeshift submarine or a dagger upon a sail to slow a fall. Others aren’t so far-fetched. The green flash seen when “a soul comes back to this world from the dead” is a real occurrence. Not the soul coming back. The green flash. It is an “optical phenomena” that occurs just has the sun sets or rises upon the horizon. And there is more science behind several scenes in Dead Men Tell No Tales, one being the bootleg turn young Jack makes to escape Captain Salazar. See the bootleg turn at 0:27 in the trailer below. For more science at play, you'll just have to go see the movie.

Fact or fiction, Dead Men Tell No Tales is swashbuckling fun. Two thumbs up from this pirate wench.



(*Port Royal situated on a cliff in Curse of the Black Pearl was for the sake of cinema. Port Royal was actually built on a sandspit.)


About the Author                                                
Jennifer is the award-winning author of the Romancing the Pirate series. Visit her at www.jbrayweber.com or join her mailing list for sneak peeks, excerpts, and giveaways.



Thursday, May 11, 2017

The Laird's Reckoning

Just in time for the release of the fifth Pirates of the Caribbean movie Dead Men Tell No Tales, I bring you my latest Romancing the Pirate novel. This tale veers slightly into uncharted waters for me. I’ve mixed pirates with Scottish Highlanders. A great deal of research went into making The Laird’s Reckoning, including watching the entire two seasons of Outlander. Nope, no hardship there. I enjoyed writing this story so much, I’m considering writing more Scottish pirate books.

The Laird’s Reckoning goes on sale May 30th at Amazon, but you can pre-order your copy today!

The Blurb:


Pirate or Laird...?

Birk Bane was born the second son, the unwanted son, the unneeded son. Crossed by family and falsely accused of a crime, he flees Scotland to the sea where he’s recruited by a pirate. Five years later, he’s captain of his own ship and embraces his new life, though an ache for the woman he left behind remains. When he receives word of his father’s death and his clan is floundering, Birk begrudgingly returns home. Little does he know there’s more he left behind than a title…much more.

Sheena MacRae helped Birk escape to safety years ago, always expecting he’d return. Time passes and she believes him to be dead. With her clan being terrorized and slaughtered, she accepts she is the only one who can stop the suffering by agreeing to marry Laird Gordon, the man behind the assaults. The man who is also poised to rule Birk’s clan. Despite the crushing need to hold Birk in her arms once more, his reappearance changes nothing. Sheena has too much to lose if she reneges the betrothal to Gordon. And while Birk’s intentions are to return to the sea after reclaiming his clan, she didn’t count on her pirate lover’s plan for revenge…

The longer he’s home, the more betrayal Birk uncovers. There will be a fiery battle ahead for Birk and his brethren. If he survives, how will he choose between the life he loves and the love of his life?

Enjoy this excerpt:


“They’re coming!”
The panic in Sheena’s eyes matched Birk’s racing heart. Their breaths stirred the dust they had kicked up crouching behind the crates. Shouts carried down the alleys, drawing closer.
Sheena gripped his arms. “Go!” Her pleading command rushed out in a hoarse whisper. “Run, before they catch you.”
“Come with me.” It was a desperate attempt to keep Sheena by his side, a selfish one. But he was no fool. If the magistrate found out she helped him escape, his bonny lass would be imprisoned. He couldn’t protect her if he left her behind.
She shook her head, mahogany tresses slipping free from the knot at her crown. “I canna leave my father and Mallabroch Manor.” Gruff voices neared. Her eyes widened, begged. “Please, Birk. If ye are hanged, I’ll kill myself, I swear I will.”
He believed it. By the heavens, he loved his lass. Loved her more than anything this world had to offer. He’d give his life for her. But never would he allow her to give hers for him. Never. “I canna leave you.” He could hardly swallow, the lump of fear wedged tight in his throat. She was his air, the beat of his heart. He was terrified to be without her. Terrified and angry. Angry for the pain marring her beautiful effervescent smile. He swore whoever set him up, accused him of being a false coiner, would pay and pay dearly.
“Ye must go.” She grabbed his face with both hands. “Ye must. For me.”
The tears cresting in those moss green eyes, the tremble in her bottom lip, tore at his soul. What choice did he have? Sheena would not leave her father, her home. This he knew. Her love and loyalty for her da was fierce. Could he really expect her to leave Ramsay, the laird of Mallabroch, alone, as ill as he was? Would he be able to protect her any better on the lam? No. He had no choice. She was a mighty one. She’d be fine, if only he’d let her go. Let her go and run. Damn it, he never ran from anything. He tucked a wayward lock behind her ear. “For you,” he repeated.
A shaky smile accompanied her gusty breath of relief. “I love you, Birk.”
“And I you. More than the moon and stars.” He pressed a kiss to her mouth. “I will clear my name,” he vowed against her lips. “I will come back for you.”
Birk gripped the back of her neck and she deepened the kiss. For a moment, he lost himself with her. The accusations, the magistrate’s guard closing in, his damaged, jaded world faded into the light, musky, floral scent of heather and urgent caress of her lips.
“This way!” The strident shout broke the haze, yanking him back to the present.
“Promise me.” She choked on the words.
Footfalls pounded against the packed dirt.
He could take no more of her agony. Aye. He would see the man who framed him dead. “I promise, mo teine, my fire. I will return for you.”
“Back here! This way!”
Tears streamed down her creamy, flushed cheeks. She nodded once. Without a word, she spun to stand, ready to face the men chasing after him.
Birk took off at a run, dodging barrels and crates, cutting around the buildings on the leading edge the rest of the way through the town to the docks. Behind him, he heard her shrill scream. He pushed hard against the urge to hasten back to her. He had to believe she would be all right. She was a hellcat when provoked. Sheena would be fine. She had to be.
He jumped over a pile of ropes and looped through stacks of lumber. The stench of timber and pitch mixed with brine. Off to the left, a carpenter hammered, the thudding so familiar. Ahead, several stevedores unloaded cargo from a ship. Birk hadn’t thought beyond fleeing the cell which Sheena unlocked. He hadn’t thought to where he’d go. But Sheena had. He was to flee to the only place he’d known—his father’s shipyard. Now as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the yard, realization struck. He had trapped himself between the town and the men coming for him and the sea. Bloody hell. Aye, there was a boat waiting for him somewhere, but would he reach it in time?
Sheena’s plan. Take a skiff across the Sound of Sleat to the mainland. Find a horse in Mallabroch and disappear. It was his only option, though he would rather have her by his side. Running from all the injustices their young lives had suffered, together.
Birk slunk through the maze of planks, boxes, casks, and tools, weaving through the scaffolding beneath the hull of a brigantine. He set his sights to the end of the docks where fishermen cast out in their skiffs. Just as he cleared the last support beam, he came face to face with his father.
Bewilderment flashed across his haggard face but was soon replaced with a flare of venom.
Birk slid his gaze past his father to his cousin rounding the other side of the scaffolding and coming up short. Cam slowly took a step back, as if he hoped not to become entangled in a confrontation.
“Birk.” A sneer crooked his father’s mouth. “Let ye out, did they?” His tone belied he knew the better.
Shouts traveled through the shipyard. His pursuers were nearly upon him.
“Hmph.” The old man lifted his chin and sneered down his nose. “Suppose not.”
“I didna do it, Father.” Speaking truths, hell, speaking at all was lost on the man.
Since birth, Hugh Bane, laird of Creaganbroch Manor, the village of Tradale, and the surrounding lands, had shunned his youngest son—the weak, sickly child who wasn’t expected to live. But his mother refused to accept her little bairn could not grow happy and healthy. Through her love and nurturing, never leaving his side, Birk survived the infant months to become the favorite of her three sons. That didn’t change as he grew a few years older. Hugh had become resentful, claiming his wife mollycoddled Birk. He’d force Birk into harsh labor around the yard, harsher than he should have for a boy his age. This but angered his mother and many fights were waged over Birk. Until his mother fell ill with fever. Upon her final breaths, it wasn’t Hugh she called for, but Birk. And Birk had suffered for it ever since.
Except that he didn’t. He hadn’t let the old man get the better of him. Not after the last time he took a backhand across his face at the age of fifteen.
“Didna do it?” Hugh spat. “’Tis your fault I’ve buried James. Ye and your goddamned defiance.”
And there it was. The blame he’d been burdened with and the guilt that his father was right this time. But that was his cross to bear and he’d be damned to let the old man lay one more thing at his feet. He’d be damned to give him any such satisfaction.
A wicked grin crooked one side of Cam’s mouth. One day, Birk would bloody up that idiot’s face, the toady.
“I didna kill James.”
“Ye did, and ye sullied the Bane name with your thievery.” Hugh, quick as a viper, snatched Birk’s arm. “Cam.”
“Yes, uncle?”
His father’s expression hardened. “Alert the authorities in the yard,” he leaned within an inch of Birk’s face, his eyes darkened with hate, “we have the bastard here.”
Birk had never gotten along with his cousin, but something about the toothy grin splitting Cam’s face didn’t set right with him. ’Twas more than Birk facing certain death at the end of a rope. ’Twas something…triumphant. Cam spun on his heel toward the approaching men.
“May ye rot in hell,” Hugh spewed.
Birk wrenched his arm free and leaned in even further, a hair’s breadth from the man. “Ye first.”
If ye haven't signed up FOR MY NEWSLETTER for sneak peeks, excerpts, and giveaways, what are you waiting for? All new subscribers will have a chance to win a signed print copy of The Laird's Reckoning!

Don’t forget to pre-order your copy today!

Fair winds and following seas, mates!

About the Author

                                                                             
Jennifer is the award-winning author of the Romancing the Pirate series. Visit her at www.jbrayweber.com or join her mailing list for sneak peeks, excerpts, and giveaways.





Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Seven Wenches and their Booty


What do you get when seven award-winning, best-selling swashbuckling wenches who write pirate romances join forces? Mayhem! More accurately, seven tales of adventure, danger, sea battles, retribution, and pillaging of the heart all in one place—Romance on the High Seas. This unique box set weighs anchor May 18th, just ahead of the final Pirates of the Caribbean movie sails into theaters. Ah, brings a tear to me eye.

Today, I’m sharing some booty. Seven excerpts sure to tempt your scavenging curiosity.

And like any good pirate worth her salt, I’ve got a more. Join the wenches on Facebook. In the following weeks leading up to the release of Romance on the High Seas, we will be hosting awesome treasure hunts. Loads of fun and HUGE spoils can be had. Just sign the Articles, er, I mean join the wenches on Facebook for your orders, um, details.


PREPARE TO BE BOARDED


If you love historical romance, pirates, adventure, and thrills, you'll love this 7-book set by these award winning and best selling pirate romance authors!


THE PIRATE'S DEBT by National Best-selling Author Katherine Bone:
An earl-turned pirate is ordered by his benefactor to find an adventurous young runaway and return her home. To do so, he must retrieve her without being discovered by the most ruthless pirate hunter on the seas: her brother.

DEAD MAN'S KISS by Award Winning Author Jennifer Bray-Weber:
Eight weeks. That’s all pirate captain Valeryn Barone has to escort a tempting naturalist untouched across the Caribbean or face the gallows. Can he resist the beauty who’s fallen for him? Does a dead man walking even have a chance?

THE BLACK MORASS by USA Today Bestselling Author Barbara Devlin:
In exchange for a chance at redemption and pardons for his crew, Jean Marc Cavalier accepts a pact that could result in liberty or death, if only he can survive the terms, but at least he will be free.

PIRATE HEIRESS by Award Winning Author Chloe Flowers:
Captain Conal O’Brien has already lost control of his ship to the most unlikely band of pirates sailing the seas. If he’s not careful, he’s going to lose his heart as well as his ship to a headstrong lady pirate determined to destroy both.

MY LADY PIRATE by N.Y. Times Bestselling Author Danelle Harmon:
He holds the fate of nations in his hands. She's the Pirate Queen of the Caribbean, savage, beautiful and untamed. When danger, secrets, and deceit threaten both their love and England herself, can even an admiral named Nelson bring together this man who longs for a lady pirate and a woman who dreams of a gallant knight? 

CAPTIVATED BY THE CAPTAIN by USA Today  Bestselling Author Amanda Mariel:
What happens when an American shipping company heiress crosses paths with a pirate? Can two people whose life paths are at odds find common ground?

CARRIED AWAY by Kamery Solomon:
After falling through time and being forced to join a pirate crew, Mark Bell falls in love with his fellow time traveler, Samantha. She's a woman he can't have, though. Will their presence in the past alter the future they know and love?

FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE, the excerpts from each book.


THE PIRATE'S DEBT

Markwick stiffened. Blackmoor’s reasons for enlisting Markwick’s help were triggered by love for his wife. Markwick’s sense of responsibility went deeper, to a place he’d never allowed himself to go out of respect for Walsingham. While it was true that Chloe had exceeded many levels of Markwick’s patience when she was younger, since his engagement to Prudence, she’d shown herself to be intelligent, talented, loyal, and a most beloved sister and friend. She was also enamored by the Black Regent, which put his identity at even greater risk.
What could he do? How far was he willing to go to bring Chloe home safe and sound?
“For the duchess’s sake,” he began, “I will do my best to find Chloe. You have my word.”
“Remember, her willful head is in the clouds. That, dear friend, makes her dangerous. If she spies her brother, she will most likely flee to avoid facing his ire. But if you find her . . . well, that is a trap well laid.”
“Surely you place too much—”
“I’ve promised my wife that you will find her before Walsingham does.”
Markwick bowed. “I shall strive to earn your confidence.”
He gazed at the missive in Blackmoor’s hand once more, suspecting something else was responsible for the duke’s persistence that Markwick should be the one to locate Chloe. “What’s in the letter?”
Blackmoor handed him the missive, then strode to the door. “Have a care for your soul, Markwick. While the Fury demands forte, females rein a tempest of emotions sure to drown better men.”
Markwick straightened. “Aye, sir,” he said, gazing down at the note.
The screen door slammed. When he looked up again, Blackmoor was gone.
Markwick opened the note, then leaned back on the desk. His jaw slackened at the words on the page. 
My dearest friend,
I ask you one question: is a body unhappy about another unless she is in love? I fear we both know the answer to that now, and a gentle violence thrills my soul as I share with you that I intend to sail with the tide. I cannot face the snares and wiles of this world without love to recommend me. Therefore, I beseech you to keep my secret, for you are the only one I trust.
Markwick has disappeared. As you are no longer betrothed, I am finally at liberty to confess to you that I love him. I have always loved him, and I cannot bear for him to suffer alone. Sources close to my brother inform me that a man fitting Markwick’s description has been seen in Torquay. Therefore, I’ve attained passage for myself and my maid aboard the Valerian.
Do not be alarmed for my person or harden your heart against me. Dry your earnest tears. My virtuous intentions steer me toward a higher destiny.
Resourcefully yours,
Chloe Walsingham
Markwick shut his gaping mouth, then crumpled the letter in his hand.
It couldn’t be true. Blackmoor was right? Chloe loved him? How was that possible? Why? Until now, he had always perceived her attention as infatuation because he’d been the only man her brother allowed around her.
He dropped the foolscap and swiped his fingers through his hair. If he failed to rescue Chloe from another one of her outlandish adventures, Prudence would blame him. Which meant Blackmoor would blame him. Not to mention Chloe’s brother. If Walsingham found out Markwick had known where Chloe was bound and hadn’t alerted him, the bond between friends would be severed for good, making his stint as the Black Regent even more perilous. If anything happened to her, Walsingham would not rest until Markwick was hunted down. That endangered the Regent’s whole design. And a dead Regent could not help the people of Cornwall and Devon.
Markwick hopped forward and yanked open the cabin’s screen door.
Pye stood there, just outside the door, waiting. “What be your orders, Cap’n?”
Had Blackmoor ordered the one-legged pirate to stand there? “Notify the crew that we have a target in our sights. We make way with the tide.”
“Aye, sir.” The salty pirate grinned. “As soon as I’d seen the ol’ cap’n, I knew we’d have us an adventure ahead.”
“Spare me your excitement,” Markwick grumbled. “This adventure may very well lead to my bloody end.”
 DEAD MAN'S KISS
“Thank you, Capit├ín,” she said.
“Don’t thank me, lass. Another moment more whilst he had his weapon raised, I would have blown a hole into your cousin’s skull. And if we survived the British onslaught, you can be certain I’d have used you to save myself and my crew.”
Catalina dropped her gaze to her hands and sighed. “I understand more than you’d give me credit for.” She impaled him with a grim look. “We are all pawns to someone else’s ambitions. As sure as the sun rises and sets, I would do the same to you.”
“Would you? A scared mouse such as you?” What an interesting creature.
“You don’t seem like a man given to underestimating others.”
Catalina shed her earlier fear, recouping her tart attitude rather quickly in spite of nearly becoming British property. She was quick to stand her ground, he’d give her that. No matter. He could break her of her illusions of prevailing upon him like she did her uncle.
“Then we have an understanding.”
“Oh, I understand. The question is, who is the pawn and who is the queen?”
“You mean king.”
She smiled. “No, queen.”
“I do love a good challenge.” He circled the lass. “Pray tell, Miss Montoya,” he whispered low into her ear. “What would the queen do with her pawn—should he be in her service?”
“She would have him kneel before her.” She paused, turning her head slightly to him.
Valeryn’s tongue danced behind his lips with the urge to run it along the curve of her ear. What would it be like to feel her shiver if he were to lap at her lobe? “And?”
She nibbled her bottom lip, avoiding eye contact. “And drink from her fount.”
Christ! The double entendre damn near caused his knees to buckle. “The pawn’s a thirsty man. He might drink her dry.”
Her stare remained fixed straight ahead. “To protect her place, a queen must ensure my pawn is sated.”
My pawn? Burn and sink it! ’Twas a slip of the tongue, and she was killing him. “Will I be sated?” He couldn’t stop himself. He could ravage her in a kiss if it weren’t for Nalda sulking nearby and the crew watching their every move.
She turned her head in closer and peered up. Her lips parted, her breath shallow, the pupils of her eyes wide, eclipsing the color. “Will I?”
Holy Mother of— “You tread a dangerous path.”
“We both do.”
“Then ’tis best we err on the side of caution.”
Valeryn stepped away from her heat, to a safe distance. There was work to be done, work that would be made difficult with a stiff cock. “My lady,” he said by way of parting.
He spun on his heel and gathered the men on the quarterdeck for further orders. He waited at the top of the ladder for Henri to make the climb. Below, Nalda wagged a bony finger at Catalina, scolding her with words he couldn’t hear and probably wouldn’t understand. The lass ignored her maid and strode for the hatch leading to the cabins. She paused at the door and looked up. She smiled at Valeryn and quickly ducked inside.
Trouble. She was all trouble.
THE BLACK MORASS
The sun sat below the yardarm, as Jean Marc leaned against the stern rail and admired his new cabin mate.  No, they had not discussed her quarters, as he saved that particular joy for later, and he sincerely looked forward to what he anticipated would be a heated but restrained exchange.
A compelling mix of innocence, polite decorum, and fire, Lady Madalene conversed with members
of the crew at the waist, without care, given she had no idea what naughty games he planned for her, but she would learn soon enough with whom she tangled.  Rubbing the back of her neck, she shifted and peered over her shoulder.  When she met his gaze, he smiled, and she dipped her chin.
“The lady is a kind soul, Cap’n.”  Tyne scratched his cheek and frowned.  “She treats the men with respect.”
“And your point would be—what?”  Ah, the curve of her jaw presented a tempting confection he would trace with his tongue, and he would suckle and nibble her sweet flesh that night.  “Have the tars completed the task?”
“Aye, but I do not like it, as she is young.”  The bosun shuffled his feet.  “We could empty one of the storerooms, and create a private lodging for her.  Say the word, and I will see to it.”
“If I heeded your advice, how long do you think it would take before I had to kill a horny sea dog bent on sampling her honey?”  Jean Marc snickered and descended the companion ladder, with Tyne bringing up the rear.  “Now I will approve of the arrangements, ensure everything is as I commanded, and then you will send my guest to my cabin.”
“We could post a guard—”
“No.”
“Jean Marc, I know you are unhappy with the bargain you struck with the British, but she is a guileless babe.”  Tyne grabbed Jean Marc’s arm.  “Do not use her as a foil for your frustration, as you will never forgive yourself.”
“I will do with her as I choose, which is none of your affair, and I have no conscience.”  Wrenching free, he turned on a heel and stomped into his domain.  In the corner hung a small hammock, which had been strung unusually high and taut, to discourage Lady Madalene from using it.  As he tugged on the stiff rope, he laughed.  “Perfect.  Now, bring her to me.
PIRATE HEIRESS
“Where are you taking us?”
Drago looked up into the red-rimmed, grey eyes of the eight-year old girl standing a few feet away. It was a good thing she wasn’t armed or he would have been in trouble. He’d not heard a sound or caught a single movement during her transition from his bed to the area in front of his desk. Perhaps she wasn’t as docile as she’d appeared.
“South,” he answered.
She pressed her lips into a thin line. Her nostrils flared. “South to where?”
“A place called Lamb’s Tail Island,” he answered, studying his chart.
“And where, exactly, is Lamb’s Tail Island?”
He inhaled and let his breath out slowly. “Off the eastern coat of Jamaica.” He turned his attention back to his charts without waiting for her answer.
She leaned forward and mimicked the tone almost exactly. “Why did you make my family steal the Seeker?”
He sat back in his chair. “If I told you, would you stop asking questions and let me get back to my charts?”
She shrugged, which he took as a ‘no.’
“What’s your name, little petticoat?”
“Jacqueline Louisa Sauvage. What’s yours?”
“Drago Vitieri Gamponetti. You may call me Gampo.”
“Well, Mister Gampo—”
“No. Captain Gampo.”
“Fine. Well, Captain Gampo, why do you want the Seeker?”
Drago took a deep breath to prevent himself from shouting in frustration, which he was absolutely sure would give the little chit a great deal of satisfaction.
“I’m doing my duty to my employer, the king of France, for one. And for two, the Seeker is one of three ships in a certain merchant fleet.” She opened her mouth, and he held up an index finger. “And before you ask, the captain is my sworn enemy.” He switched from an index finger to the palm of his hand, causing her once again to close her mouth. “He knows where my sister can be found.”
The silence following his statement was disturbing.
And distracting.
And annoying.
He looked up.
“How long have you been looking for your sister?”
So family was important to her. Good.
“A long time.” He stared out the window at the wake following the vessel. “She might be dead by now.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
She cocked her head to the side and drew her brows together in consternation. “Why don’t you simply ask your sworn enemy?”
He rubbed his forehead with the heels of his palms. He’d once fancied having children of his own, but this little chit was quickly curing him of that affliction.
“Why do you have my family doing your duty?” Again, her arms crossed her chest and she presented him the same type of look his mother would have given him.
Drago put his palms on his desk to prevent himself from putting them around her little neck. He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice to what his crew would know was a dangerous level. “If you want to see your family again, you’d better mind your mouth, little lamb, otherwise I’ll have you strung up from the yardarm. It’s much harder to talk with a rope around your neck.”
She lifted her chin and threw her shoulders back. “You can’t do that. If you break your end of the bargain, my family won’t give you that ship you want.”
“Aye, I promised they can have you and your brother back, but I didn’t tell them they’d get you back alive.”
MY LADY PIRATE
Maeve drew her dagger and flung it at his head, satisfied to see him jerk away so that the vicious blade impaled the wall just above and behind him. “You are disgusting, despicable, and totally without pride!”
“On the contrary, madam.” He reached up, pulled the dagger from the wall, and plucking an orange from the nightstand, began to use it to peel the fruit. “I am quite proud of it, thank you.” Still holding her gaze, he popped a section of the orange into his mouth, eating it with slow, suggestive motions that shortened the breath in Maeve’s lungs and made her realize that he was not the only one who was hot. Her temper rose. Had she had her pistol, she probably would have shot him. Probably. Maybe.
Maybe ... not.
Her gaze darted from him to the window. From the window to him. From him to the window ... and each time she looked at him, she saw that he was watching her, fully enjoying her discomfort.
He grinned, and suggestively licked at the juices trailing from the sweet fruit, letting his tongue wrap around each section and making sure she saw him doing it. His eyes were dark, laughing, and half-veiled by heavy, thick lashes that did nothing to conceal the wicked expression that lit them.
The suckling noises increased.
Stop it!” she hissed.
He dropped the orange section into his mouth, licked his lips with a slow, languorous motion, and slowly peeled off another.
The heat rose in Maeve’s blood.
“Would you like ... a taste, madam?”
She raised her cutlass. “I’ll give you a taste—”
“No decisive battle was ever fought from afar,” he interrupted on a low murmur, still grinning. “Nay, two vessels must lie alongside of each other in order to best bring their guns to bear.” He bit into the orange, making lewd, evocative noises as the juice trailed from the succulent flesh and dribbled down his chin. There was a dimple in that chin, and Maeve felt her heart skipping, staggering, faltering. “We have a signal for such an engagement in the navy. ’Tis called close action.”
 “You are no longer in the navy, and I am not a ship!”
“Nay, you are not ...” His voice grew low, dangerously seductive. “But I like the cut of your jib, the trim of your sails”—the dark gaze slid over her breasts, the gentle flare of her hips—“the shape of your hull.”
Get out of my bed.
“Why? I really am most comfortable. Not as comfortable, of course, as I would be if you were to drop anchor beside me....”
Her skin tingled and flushed crimson. “I said, Get out of my bed!
He suckled the juice from his fingers. “What, would you prefer to do it on the floor?”
“I’d prefer that you shut your mouth before I shut it for you!”
“Now that,” he said wickedly, “could be interesting....”
CAPTIVATED BY THE CAPTAIN
She stilled before the ladderway. A large man with dark blond hair and crisp blue eyes filled the exit, casting a tall shadow down on her. Bright sun filtered in around him, making him appear like a dark angel. She studied the crescent shaped scar on his cheek for a moment before meeting his gaze.

Heart racing, she held the knife out in front of her. “I will kill you before I allow you to touch me.”

“I mean you no harm, Miss.” He started down the ladder toward her.

“Stop where you are,” she demanded, thrusting the blade in his direction.

The man smiled. “I am Captain Blackmore of the Marion.”

She swallowed back the urge to trust his friendly smile. He could be tricking her into a false security. She tightened her hold on the knife and took a step backwards. Something in his tone told her she should care about his declaration. Still, none of what he said made sense to her. She only wanted off this bloody ship before she lost the ability to breathe. This man did not wear a navel uniform. All the same, he called himself a captain… “Are you here to rescue me?”

“Yes. If you care to be rescued.” He descended another step.

She backed away. “Then you are with the navy?”

He chuckled. “Gads, no. I’m a pirate.”

Her blood went cold, panic over taking her. Pirates had caused all of her troubles. They murdered the people she loved and took their ship. At this very moment she was a pirate’s captive seeking to save herself from whatever horrible fate he had in mind for her. She could not allow another pirate to take her. Would not allow it. She stiffened her stance, drawing a deep breath. “Then you can scurry back above deck. I will not be going anywhere with a pirate.” She tightened her grip on the blade.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as his gaze perused her bloody feet before traveling slowly up to meet hers.

He jumped from the ladder and snatched her wrist before she could move. “You will not be gutting me today. As for pirates, it appears you are already with one.”

“Not by choice.” Prudence struggled, jerking her arm and kicking at him. “Unhand me, you brute.”

He leaned in until his breath fanned her cheek. “I intend to sink this ship. You can either come with me, or go down to the ocean floor.”

“I will do neither.” She jerked her arm with all the strength she could muster. Nothing would please her more than to witness her captors down fall. Despite her vengeful wish, she’d not be attending the pirate before her. He could plunder, kill, and sink all he wanted, but she’d not be staying with him.

He released her and she toppled to the floor, the knife slipping from her hands and skidding down the passageway. She scrambled to retrieve her weapon, but he caught her, pulling her off the floor to hold her against him. Her breath caught at the feel of his hard body against hers.

“Do not be foolish, chit. What do you intend to do? Swim to the closest shore? You will never make it. I am the only chance you have at seeing another sunrise.” He pulled his head back and stared into her eyes. “Trust me.”

How infuriating! Did he think her a fool? “Trust is not something I give easily.” She peered at him.

He did not speak, only continued to gaze at her.

She bit her lower lip in an attempt to gather her thoughts. Sincerity shone in the cool blue depths of his eyes. As much as she longed to, she could not argue his point. “Very well, but I will require my blade.”

“So you can slit my throat? I think not.” He gave her a devilish grin.

“Trust is a two way path.”

“Let us start without weapons.” He looked away from her, toward the ladder way.

The last thing she desired was to find herself helpless in the clutches of another blood thirsty pirate. She had to try and sway him. To maintain some sort of control over her life. “I require my knife for protection,” she protested.

He nudged her toward the exit. “I am all the protection you will need. Now hurry.”

Trust indeed. She would show him.

CARRIED AWAY
Chuckling, she waved her hand in front of her face, smiling at me in a way that made my heart stop. “Really, though. You’ve saved my life more than once, and even in our own time when you kept me from going into the Pit when it collapsed. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“Don’t,” I said immediately, sitting and staring at her. “Don’t act like you owe me anything. You lived—that’s all I wanted. I don’t need anything more than to know you’re in the world and okay.”

If there had been no Tristan, no pirate hostage situation, no anything but us, it would’ve been easy to kiss her then. Her face was so sweet and soft, her eyes wide as she watched me, only a few inches away. My hands ached to hold her, to cuddle her against my chest and run my fingers through her hair. Drying quickly at the thought, like I was a man dying of thirst, my lips tingled with the image of her mouth on mine. Heart racing, I felt myself leaning in, slowly, as if every millimeter was killing me.

Jerking back into the present, I blinked, and then looking away, I stood so quickly she jumped.

“What is it?” she asked in alarm.

Glancing at her, I tried to focus on the things that would help me remember what our situation was. Her black shirt was dirty and torn on one shoulder from getting caught on a branch as we rode out of the mountains. The pants she was wearing belonged to Flanagan, who had been more than happy to tell everyone I’d let her get in his breeches. The shoes I’d bought for her in Veracruz were muddied from our trek as well, tied to her feet with little care for whether or not they stayed on.

She was a prisoner, a captive among this crew.

Married.

Not mine.  

~~~~~~~ 

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About the Author  

                                              
Jennifer is the award-winning author of the Romancing the Pirate series. Visit her at www.jbrayweber.com or join her mailing list for sneak peeks, excerpts, and giveaways.