#montgomery cant catch a break can he | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alydiarackham · 5 years

Photo

(Cover by me)

Blackbeard’s Sword: The Continuing Adventures of Captain Lady Rackham by Alydia Rackham

Prologue

The eerie noises of the jungle surrounded the two runners as they hurried breathlessly through the tangling vines and whispering ferns, and between the smooth, towering trees. A thousand invisible creatures chirped, hummed and cried all around them. The moonlight filtered between the thick leaves, but Shea MacCaulay had long since realized that Alydia Rackham, his twin sister, somehow knew where she was going.

“Are you incapable of moving more quietly?” Alydia hissed back at him.

“We’ve been running all day,” Shea pointed out, swiping sweat off his forehead.

“I realize that,” Alydia muttered. “Trust me.”

That morning, only a few minutes after they had taken leave of the crews of the Lady Triumph and the Fathom Deep—which included their friends Gwendolyn Montgomery, Tom Donnel, and John Young—they had begun to run.

All morning long, they had picked their quick way through the snarl, Alydia always casting glances behind her. Now, darkness had descended, and Shea thought she might call a halt to their mad, mysterious race—for the heat and humidity had not eased—but she kept on.

“Alydia—”

“Sssh!” she snapped, and froze.

Shea instantly went still. He could tell by the silhouette of her knife-like body that she was listening.

“I’m not certain this is safe,” she whispered.

“Safe? What’s—” Shea didn’t finish. Alydia tugged on him and they pushed through a large fern—

To find themselves on a small, moonlit beach. Shea watched Alydia as she let go of him and surveyed their surroundings. Her long, ebony hair hung in disarray, and her tricorn hat sat crooked. Her man’s clothes were disheveled. Her silver earring caught the moonlight, as did the rings on her hand as she fingered the pistol at her belt. Her black eyes burned the edges of the shadows around them.

Stepping onto the sand, Shea joined her. The small waves softly rushed back and forth against the white shore, and starlight glittered against the sea. Not far away stood a small, wooden building and a dock that stretched out into the water. A small junk was tied up at the dock. No lights shone within the building.

“Odd,” Alydia mused. “Saker always leaves a lamp out…”

Shea’s brow furrowed as he gazed at the horizon. A dark shape drifted out by the edge of the land…

“Avast,” he whispered.

“So, it is indeed Lady Rackham.”

Shea whirled around to the ominous clicking of a dozen muskets cocking. He stared at the several red-and-white-clad soldiers, long guns and bayonets pointed at his and Alydia’s chests.

Several other soldiers stood behind, holding torches, which flooded the beach with red light. The soldiers shifted, their booted feet shuffling through the sand, driving the pair back against the sea. The next moment, a tall, hard-looking young commodore with blond hair and grey eyes that glinted in the dim light stepped forward, and smiled.

“Hello, Alydia.”

“James,” Alydia gave him a roguish grin. “I’ve missed you.”

“Is that why you took such pains to attract my attention?” he asked. “The battle the other day…Quite spectacular.”

She tilted her head and winked at him.

“Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

The commodore’s smile faded—and a sudden coldness entered his gaze.

Shea’s stomach lurched. But before he could move—

He felt Alydia’s fingers clasp his upper arm in an iron grip, and the cold nozzle of her pistol press up beneath his jaw.

“Before you do anything stupid, James,” Alydia warned. “You should know that I won’t hesitate to make a mess of this one.”

“Ah.” The Commodore canted his head. “So, our informant was right on two accounts. You do have an hostage with you.”

Shea’s heart pounded in his ears.

“Aye, I do,” she replied. “Quite valuable.”

“Who is he?” the commodore nodded to Shea, but never took his eyes from Alydia.

Alydia grinned.

“The only child of Lord George Montgomery, the owner of the merchant company Sailing Silk.”

Shea tried not to jolt.

The commodore turned to his captain, and they exchanged a look. The commodore, unhurried, sighed and raised his eyebrows.

“What are your conditions, Captain Rackham?”

Shea saw Alydia’s jaw tighten, and she lowered her head as she eyed the other man.

“I will be tried in England, before my king.”

“Hm,” the commodore stood back a little, glanced at the ground, then looked up and cleared his throat. “Indeed. I think I can afford you that, at least.” The commodore leveled his gaze at her. “You have my word. Now drop your weapon.”

Alydia glanced up at Shea.

“I’ve told you that you have my word,” the commodore snapped. “Now drop the weapon.”

Shea met Alydia’s eyes for just an instant.

The next second, the pistol hit the sand.

Chapter One

Lady Gwendolyn Montgomery stood upon an ancient, thick stone wall, gazing out over the rolling, emerald hills of her estate, outside Portsmouth. The morning mist still slept within the gentle valleys between the hedges. The light blue clouds brushed against the distant sea as the sun cut through them, sending dancing patterns over the fields. A low breeze played through Gwen’s light-brown hair, and rustled the skirts of her pearl-colored dress. She took a deep breath of the sweet, April wind and smiled. She loved being back in England, amongst familiar shires and folk. It was also so much cooler here than in the Caribbean, and the sun against the sea never glared.

She turned to look back at her towering manor, with its pale walls, many windows and inviting gardens. She sighed.

On the other hand, sometimes she could not bear being here without her father. Sometimes, walking through the empty halls of the house, she would forget herself for a moment and almost call out for him…

And then the words would catch in her throat, tears would spring to her eyes and she would hurry outside, into the wind and onto the moor, to try and escape it all.

A call issued from over a nearby hill and she faced the sound, then smiled again. A young man with wheat-colored hair, a warm, intelligent face and sparkling eyes like the sea, laughed as he trotted up the hill astride his new grey mare. The young man wore gentleman’s clothes now—a lovely blue coat, silver waistcoat, black trousers and riding boots. Not the rags of a sailor.

“G’mornin’, Gwen!” he cried as he approached. Tom Donnel leaped off the animal and strode up to her, grinning. “You look like th’ sunshine itself.”

“So do you,” Gwen answered, trying to shake off her melancholy—but not succeeding. He reached up his hand to her, and she took it, and he helped her down off the wall. He stood much taller than she, and easily caught her. As her feet touched the ground, tears stung her again, and she did not let go of him, but leaned in and put her head on his chest.

“Oh!” he cried, quickly wrapping her up in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing you have not heard already,” Gwen muttered. Then, she looked up at him and managed to smile at his intent expression, as the wind blew through his gold hair. “But you always manage to help me.”

“I’m glad,” he murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His green eyes searched hers. Gwen felt a pang in her gut, and ducked her head away.

“Did you…Did you have an errand?” she asked, backing away from him and folding her arms. “Or are you just out enjoying the fine morning?”

He smiled lopsidedly at her.

“Both,” he replied. “I couldn’t resist the morning, and I came to ‘elp ye reorganize your library, as I promised.”

“Ah, yes,” Gwen smiled genuinely this time. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he tipped his hat, and winked at her—and she laughed.

“Shall we?” she asked, and together they headed back up the hill toward the house, Tom’s new horse in tow.

“There’s a storm comin,’ Mr. Donnel,” Luellen said as she entered the plush cozy drawing room where Gwen and Tom sat in armchairs by the fire. “I wouldn’t ‘ave ye ridin’ as far away as yer ‘ouse. Not tonight.”

Tom, bathed in the soft glow of firelight—for it had already grown dark outside—stood up and moved to the window, pushing aside the red velvet curtain.

“Dark clouds bearin’ down on us. And the wind ‘as picked up,” he noted, and squinted at the sky.

“Well, then Luellen is right,” Gwen said, standing up and crossing the room to look out the window also. She studied the blackened sky, and the hills that had turned a deep green. The wind whipped through the hedges and the ivy, and howled around the house.

Lightning flashed in the distance, and the next moment, thunder rumbled, shaking the walls of the house. Gwen’s brow furrowed.

“You’ll stay in one of the guest rooms, Tom,” she said quietly. “You and I both know what comes from an unfavorable sky.”

Gwen jerked awake.

Bang, bang, bang!

Disoriented, she gasped and sat up, her heart pounding.

The cabin door has blown open in the storm and the water from the deck is going to spill down here—

Then, she caught sight of the familiar outlines of her windows in her room.

Home. She was at home. Not on a ship.

Groaning, she fumbled for a candle.

“Someone at the door,” she mumbled, lighting a match. The flame only illuminated a small portion of her room, but it was enough that she could slide out of her four-poster bed onto the thick rug, shuffle to the massive wardrobe, open its squeaking door and tug out a thick house coat. After wrapping it around her, she picked up her candle, opened the door and hurried out into the corridor.

Bang, bang, bang, bang!

It grew louder, as if someone meant to break down the door. Almost fully awake, Gwen trotted down the darkened hall, trying not to extinguish her light. She raced down the steps, one hand on the cold railing, and found Luellen, also in a house coat, and Jonathan, Gwen’s father’s old butler, already standing in the entryway. Both of them held candles also.

“We did not want to let anyone in, Madam, without your consent,” Jonathan spoke up.

“It’s all right, thank you,” Gwen panted, reached out, unlocked and opened the door.

Wind and rain instantly gusted in to strike her, and blew out her candle.

Upon the threshold, his arm still raised to continue hammering, stood a slight figure, completely drenched. Behind him, the storm roared and pummeled the fields, and out in the gale waited a small public coach. Startled, Gwen leaned forward to try to glimpse the stranger’s features. He wore expensive clothing all the way down to his buckled shoes. A gentleman, at first glance, wearing a beautiful—if soaked—scarlet overcoat, white shirt, black waistcoat and trousers and plumed hat.

But when a sudden flash of lightning illuminated his features, Gwen

saw a handsome, tanned young face she recognized, framed by long ginger hair, dripping with rain.

Her heart jolted.

“Gwendolyn!” the young man gasped, letting his arm fall down to his side.

“Shea!” she cried, the name tearing through her. She snatched his collar and dragged him inside, dropped her candle on the stones and threw her arms around him. He soaked her nightgown, but she hardly noticed.

“Gwendolyn,” he whispered again, suddenly shaking with exhaustion.

“Shea?” she exclaimed, backing up and taking his wet, cold face in her hands. “What on earth are you doing here in this storm? What is wrong?”

“She’s to hang,” Shea choked. “They’ve captured my sister and she’s to hang.”

Shea, Gwen and Tom sat by the drawing room fire, the latter two still in their nightclothes and dressing gowns. Luellen had hastened Shea into the kitchen—for he was about the size of her eldest son—and she had dressed him in much simpler and drier clothes. Now, he sat directly before the fire, a thick blanket wrapped around him, staring into the flames. Tom sat beside Gwen on the couch, on the edge of the seat. Gwen swallowed, clasping her hands tightly together.

“Captain Rackham…is your sister?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “My twin sister, as a matter of fact.”

“Why…Why did you never tell me you had a sister?” Gwen asked.

Shea didn’t look at her.

“How could I?” he whispered. “I would have had to tell you that I’d changed my name, and left her behind in Ireland…All to escape the truth.”

“Which is?” Tom pressed. Shea shot him a look.

“My parents were pirates. My father’s name was Calico Jack Rackham. And my sister refused to change her name.” He turned back to the fire. “I had no hope of any sort of life if I carried that legacy with me.”

“Yet you stayed behind with her, in the Caribbean,” Gwen pointed out, her face getting hot.

“I did,” Shea admitted. “I wanted to explore that region of the world, and I wanted to be with her. But I had no idea this would happen.”

Outside, the thunder rolled.

“Not a day after you set sail on the Lady Triumph, along with the Fathom Deep,” Shea began. “I followed Alydia. We ran through the jungle all day and part of the night, and she wouldn’t tell me where we were going…or who might be following us.” Shea shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “In the middle of the night, we came to a small bay. I learned later that she expected an old friend of hers to be there, but…” Shea swallowed, and went on. “All of a sudden, we were surrounded by a company of soldiers, and a commodore and his captain. They pushed us back against the water. The commodore told Alydia that she was bound to hang. And she grabbed me, and stuck her pistol against my throat.”

“What?” Gwen gasped. Shea looked at her, and nodded.

“She told the commodore that I was the only child of Lord George Montgomery, the hostage that she had been keeping all along.”

Gwen sat up straight.

“Why would she say that?”

“The commodore didn’t know the identity of her hostage,” Shea answered.

“She did it to protect you,” Tom muttered. Shea nodded and took a deep breath.

“She used that to bargain. She told them she wanted to be tried in England before the king.”

“Oh…” Gwen breathed, gripping her hands hard together.

“She told me that I had to make sure that the soldiers believed the trick. She told me to keep away from her,” Shea’s eyes filled with distant pain. “They locked her in the brig, and gave me a cabin adjacent to the captain’s. They gave me new clothes and food for the entire journey.” Shea took a shaking breath and looked down at his folded hands. “I was afraid to think of the way they were treating her…and I was sick that I was sleeping in a good bed every night while she…” He trailed off.

“So…” Tom frowned at him. “She survived the journey?”

“Yes,” Shea answered. “I did go down and give her what food I could when no one was watching, and I begged the boatswain to let her up onto the deck once a day to let her have fresh air.”

“But how do you know she’s to hang?” Gwen cut in. “Has she already been tried?”

Shea looked at her gravely.

“She is not going to be tried before the king,” he said. “The commodore broke his word after speaking to some lord who watched Alydia come down the gangplank, and instead threw her in a dungeon at the Tower to wait for the gallows.”

“What lord?” Gwen demanded.

“I don’t know,” Shea admitted. “Though…Perhaps the commodore had never planned to keep his promise.”

Silence descended, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

Finally, Gwen spoke.

“What are we to do?” she whispered.

“I came directly here after they found a coach for me,” Shea said, sitting up. “Before Alydia was hauled out of the brig, she managed to hand me this.” Shea reached down into his shirt to get a small leather pouch which hung around his neck. He opened the pouch and pulled out a small roll of parchment, then held it out to Gwen. “What do you make of it?”

Carefully, she unrolled it, then read what was written in hurried, scrawled letters:

Lady Elanore,

Windwood Manor, Surrey

Gwen shot a look at Shea.

“I don’t understand the significance, either,” Shea said.

“Perhaps this Lady Elanore has some influence?” Gwen supposed. “Perhaps she is one of Captain Rackham’s friends!”

“She meant for us to find this lady. We mustn’t waste time,” Tom stood up. So did Gwen.

“Jonathan?” she called.

The old man poked his head into the room immediately, confirming Gwen’s suspicion that he had been eavesdropping.

“Yes, my lady?” he asked, sheepish.

“Have the coach prepared at once.”

Chapter Two

Young Lord Andrew De Lacy sat alone in his armchair within his mahogany-wood study, surrounded by the scent of books and lamp-oil, gazing out his broad window over the spacious, rolling, green grounds of his estate. His eyes narrowed, his churning thoughts clouding his vision.

He had been out riding when he had received the news. One of his servants had galloped out to meet him, and breathlessly told him that a certain ship had come in.

De Lacy’s family had built many of the ships now used by the Royal Navy, and he had one frigate in particular that he followed: the Crane. The commodore aboard the Crane had long been one of De Lacy’s close friends, Commodore James Garreth. The two had grown up together, and De Lacy’s father had paid for Garreth’s commission.

De Lacy recalled a rush of gladness upon hearing the news that his friend had returned home safely—but the next instant…

“He’s captured Rackham, my lord.”

“What?” De Lacy had gasped, going still.

“Commodore Garreth has captured the pirate Lady Rackham, the daughter of Anne Bonny and Calico Jack,” the servant had panted, grinning. “She’s to be tried in England, before the king.”

“Thank you,” De Lacy had managed to whisper, his hands tight on the reins. “You may go.”

De Lacy had not wasted any time.

He had set out for London that very day, and arrived at the docks just as they were unloading the Crane. In fact, he had ridden up to the ship just in time to see Garreth striding down the gangplank, dressed in his crisp, military finest.

“Andrew!” Garreth’s proud, handsome face had broken into a grin and he hurried down to greet his friend. De Lacy had dismounted, met and embraced him, feeling himself tremble as he did. Instantly, Garreth had backed up and taken De Lacy by the shoulders, peering straight into his eyes.

“By Jove, man, what’s the matter?”

De Lacy grabbed his friend’s wrists.

“You have her?” he said through his teeth.

“Rackham? Yes, I do,” Garreth said quietly, his brow furrowing.

“I must see her. I have to make certain,” De Lacy hissed.

“Oh,” Garreth nodded. “Yes, of course. They should be bringing her up momentarily.”

No sooner had he spoken than De Lacy caught sight of movement on the deck of the black-and-gold frigate. He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, trying to compose himself, awful visions flashing through his mind of all he had heard about this dreaded Lady Rackham: her towering height, her ne eye, her toothless grin…

He opened his eyes. He stopped breathing.

At the top of the gangplank stood a young woman between two guards, her hands shackled before her. She looked thin, her clothes ragged, her black hair disheveled and dirty.

However…

She stood with a strength that defied her chains, her head lifted, her black eyes filled with fire. She was beautiful.

De Lacy swallowed hard.

“She is to be tried before the king,” Garreth told him.

“No,” De Lacy managed—then louder. “No.”

“What?” Garreth demanded, drawing De Lacy’s attention back to him.

“I want to talk to her before you turn her over.”

“Right now?” Garreth wondered, frowning.

“No,” De Lacy gasped, shaking his head, unable to look at anything now. “Not now. Hold her. Hold her until I notify you.” He glanced up at Garreth, who watched him.

“Of course,” Garreth nodded, smiling faintly. “I will do that for you, my friend.”

Now, as he sat there, gazing out his window at his vast lands, Lord De Lacy shut his eyes tightly again, until at last he could not stand it anymore. He had restrained himself as long as he could, but now, he had to go. He had to see her.

His eyes snapped open. He stood.

“Binns!” he barked.

His butler entered the study and bowed.

“Yes, my—”

“Prepare my carriage,” De Lacy cut him off. “Pack my things. I make for London immediately.”

It took Shea, Tom and Gwen the rest of the night and all the following day to reach the edge of Surrey—a great deal longer than it should have. During the night, the rain pounded on the roof of the carriage, the wind howled, and the roads flooded. Twice, the wheels lodged in the mud, and Tom and Shea had to plunge into the storm to assist the driver, footmen and horses—battling the slop and storm—to heave the carriage out of the rut. When they’d dived back into the carriage, slamming the door behind them, they were absolutely drenched and covered in mud.

None of them spoke much. Tom sat beside Gwen, and, even in the blackness, she could sense him staring across at Shea with a dark, suppressed fierceness. And she understood why.

After all Gwen had done to save Shea, her betrothed, from being marooned in the Caribbean—dressing like a man, risking life and limb through sea and storm, making alliances with pirates, fighting to the death against Blackbeard’s ruthless crew—Shea had decided to break off their engagement. He hadn’t felt it was right for a woman he would marry to behave as she had done, no matter the circumstances. He had abandoned her to follow his sister, and remained in the Caribbean.

It had shattered Gwen’s heart.

Tom had returned to England with Gwen, along with all the rest of Rackham’s crew. On the journey, Tom had allowed her to grieve, never saying a critical word when she would suddenly burst into tears, wander across the deck by herself, or spend days without speaking. He had remained a constant, steady presence, ready with anything she might need, anticipating her quiet requests before she could get them out. And gradually, as they traveled, he had coaxed her out of the darkness, encouraging her to think of the possibilities in the future, what she might do with her life now. They talked about each other’s lives before they had met, and read all the books in the captain’s possession. And by the time they had returned to England, Gwen had discovered that it no longer hurt to smile.

But now…

Now, Shea had come back. Charged right back into their lives, without word or warning, demanding their help.

Not that they would have refused to aid their wonderful Captain Rackham, no matter who had come knocking. But Shea had not apologized for hurting her. For leaving her.

And three times now, when they had been in the drawing room, or preparing to leave, Shea had turned and looked at her with something in his eyes…

The thought now made Gwen squeeze her blue skirt in her lap, set her teeth, and stare out the window—even though she couldn’t see a thing.

They ate once during the journey. Gwen had managed to remember to bring some cold pork, bread and wine. The weather cleared after noon, and the ride became much smoother and quicker. As twilight fell, the driver shouted down that they were now within a rough mile of Windwood Manor.

At that announcement, Tom, Gwen and Shea peered carefully out the windows. A beautiful wood closed in around the winding, artful road. Tall beech trees and oaks stood on either side of the high stone walls. Then, Gwen caught sight of several ornate, iron lamps. They were lit.

“Hm,” she mused. “She must be expecting someone.”

At last, thought the sky grew dark, the lamplight brightened, and they entered a circular driveway. The passengers inside the mud-splattered carriage sat up. Thirty other splendid coaches and their silk-cloaked drivers sat patiently waiting in a line. Gwen’s carriage slowed to a halt and stood.

“Blimey,” Tom breathed. Shea set his jaw, grabbed the handle, opened the door and climbed down. The step squeaked. Gwen saw Tom watch his movements, before following him out. Tom immediately turned and offered Gwen his hand. Trying to keep her breathing steady, Gwen grasped his hand and stepped out after him. The footman shut the door. And Gwen lifted her eyes to the house.

A magnificent manor—almost a castle. Its towering, pale-stone walls marching away from them to either side into the woods, its face draped in ivy, its tall, clear windows gleaming in the lamplight. Inside, chandeliers lit the entire first floor—and dozens of people milled through the spacious rooms, wearing laces and silks and velvets.

“I don’t think we’re dressed for dinner,” Tom muttered. Gwen glanced at her companions. It was true. They had put on clean, finely-cut clothes suitable enough for making a call on a noblewoman, but now the suits of the men had been ruined by the mud. Gwen was the only one who looked halfway presentable—but she wasn’t wearing evening attire.

“Well, there isn’t anything to be done about that now.” Gwen cleared her throat and picked up the front of her skirt. “Let us see if we can find her.” She stepped up and reached for the silver, lion-faced knocker.

The massive black door swung open before she had grasped the handle. Warmth rushed out to meet them, along with the music of a stringed quartet playing a dance, and the laughter and murmur of a large crowd.

The butler, a very stiff, middle-aged man wearing a pristine wig and a black-and-gold suit, cocked an eyebrow, his gaze running up and down Tom and Shea’s filthy coats and trousers.

“Yes?”

Gwen took a breath and drew herself up.

“Forgive our intrusion—we have no wish to offend by our attire, but we’ve had an incredibly difficult journey through the storm.”

“What is your name?” the butler asked.

“I am Lady Gwendolyn Montgomery, and I need to speak to Lady Elanore on a matter of some urgency,” she answered quickly.

The butler’s face transformed instantly, and he straightened.

“Forgive me, madam, but Lady Elanore is occupied at the moment.”

“She’s got to ‘ear us,” Tom insisted. “Just for a moment. It’s vastly important.”

The butler’s frown returned.

“Nothing is so important that I would wish to interrupt my lady’s engagement party—especially when those wishing to interrupt are complete strangers.”

“Not quite strangers, Mr. Adams.”

Gwen started at the sound of the familiar voice that darted out from behind the butler. She quickly glanced past him to see a handsome young man of seventeen who wore no wig, but whose curly brown hair hung down almost across his sparkling green eyes. He was dressed gorgeously in a brilliant blue-and-silver suit. He met Gwen’s gaze and nodded to her.

“Lady Gwendolyn,” he bowed his head and grinned to her. “The one who taught all of us rascals to dance.”

“Eoin!” Gwen gasped. Then, she laughed out loud, reached out and grasped his hand in both of hers. “Eoin of Wales, who destroyed the long Tom on Blackbeard’s Vengeance!”

“Aye, that’s me,” he chuckled. Then, he tugged her inside. “Come with me—all three of you!”

Still trying to overcome her surprise—and confusion—Gwen followed Eoin closely through the crowded entryway, feeling Tom just behind her. Shea and Tom immediately took off their hats and raked their hands through their hair.

Several of the guests, who sparkled and glittered, glanced at them, muttering to each other and looking them up and down, but Gwen ignored them and focused on Eoin’s back.

Easily, Eoin threaded through the noisy, heated throng and into a large sitting room with a yawing fireplace, a crystal chandelier, a vast oriental rug, French-style furniture, and soft golden walls upon which hung huge, stately portraits of former occupants of the manor. Several chairs encircled the glowing fireplace, and upon the most elegant chair sat a lady.

A beautiful lady.

She had fiery red hair, done up in luxurious curls; pearl white skin, lips like rose petals and eyes like shining emeralds. She wore an ornately-stitched, scarlet evening gown whose skirts tumbled in elegant waterfalls down to the floor. Diamonds sparkled upon her ears and her throat, and a bejeweled comb perched in her curls. She fanned herself lightly with a golden fan as she talked to the people sitting around her, as if not even thinking about it.

Then, the lady caught sight of Eoin and those she was leading—but instead of frowning as some of her guests had, she merely canted her head.

Eoin stopped in front of the lady and bowed. Gwen curtseyed, and Tom and Shea also bowed.

“My lady,” Eoin said. “May I present Lady Gwendolyn Montgomery, Mr. Shea MacCaulay, and Mr. Thomas Donnel.” Eoin turned to the three. “My friends, this is Lady Elanore of the House of Rosing, and her fiancé,” Eoin suddenly grinned. “Mr. John Young.”

Gwen jerked.

The young man who had been standing near Lady Elanore’s chair, and had been engaged in talking with another gentleman, now turned around and stared at them.

He wore deep maroon, with lace at the collar and cuffs, and he held a glass of wine. But the wind and the brilliance off the sea seemed to have left a permanent mark upon him, even with all this finery—for his shoulder-length brown hair carried a hint of unruliness in its curls, his deep brown eyes sparkled with captured sunlight; and his tanned, handsome face—made just lightly-roguish by his short beard and mustache—bore both the ghosts of blade and burn, and the echoes of a thousand smiles.

Read this book: https://www.amazon.com/Blackbeards-Sword-Continuing-Adventures-Captain-ebook/dp/B07Z7B5T4J/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=blackbeard%27s+sword+alydia+rackham&qid=1572899122&sr=8-1

#pirate #pirates #piracy #action adventure #romance #swashbuckling #caribbean #ireland #england #london #sailing ship #love triangle #hanging #king #king george #blackbeard #book #book cover #book cover design #book cover art #cover art #artwork #art #scull and crossbones #pirate flag #smoke #fire #death #poison #adventure

1 note · View note