The Pirate Hunter Read online

  A FORBIDDEN ATTRACTION IN PARADISE!

  Shipwrecked off the coast of Barbados, pirate hunter William Greenacre is ready to surrender to the seductive pull of the sea when an angelic figure dives to his rescue. Except this angel is none other than Mia Del Torres—and she’s a wanted woman!

  To escape imprisonment, Mia must set sail with Will on his mission of revenge and help track down her brother, the formidable Captain Jorge Del Torres. By rights, she should hate Will, yet below deck their passion ignites. But when the hunters become the hunted, will their newly forged connection be enough to save them both?

  Arm in arm they staggered along the sand.

  Mia could feel the warmth of his body as it brushed against hers and couldn’t help but remember the feel of his chest underneath her hands.

  “Stop it,” she muttered to herself.

  Will stopped suddenly, causing her to careen into him. She suspected normally he would be able to withstand the force of a small woman traveling at such a slow speed, but in his weakened state his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Mia tried to pull her arm from his, but was too slow. She felt her feet stumble, followed by the inevitable fall toward the ground.

  She landed squarely on top of him, her nose touching his.

  “Oof,” he said quietly.

  Stunned, Mia couldn’t move for an instant. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest pushing against her breasts, their legs tangled together and lips so close that with just a small twitch they would be kissing. She tried not to notice how his hips were pushed up against hers, but couldn’t deny the heat that rose through her body in response to his closeness.

  “Mia,” he murmured. “My angel.”

  * * *

  The Pirate Hunter

  Harlequin® Historical #388—September 2014

  Author Note

  The Caribbean: over seven thousand islands with lush interiors, golden sandy beaches and clear blue seas inhabited by people with an eclectic mix of cultures and backgrounds. When I visited the Caribbean for the first time on my honeymoon in 2013, I, like so many others before me, fell in love immediately. Each and every island I explored had its own unique ambience, traditions and history, but one thing united them all—piracy.

  Between the mid-sixteenth and early nineteenth centuries the Caribbean was not a safe place to live, especially if you earned your living at sea. Pirate attacks on merchant ships were common, and devastating town raids were also a constant threat for those living on the Caribbean islands. As the eighteenth century dawned, the issue of piracy did not go unnoticed by the European political and military leaders, and there was a push to clean up the Caribbean. The number of Spanish and English naval ships posted to the area dramatically increased, and slowly many of the pirates were hunted down. By the mid-eighteenth century there were only a few pirates left capable of evading the British Navy. This time of change seemed the perfect backdrop for The Pirate Hunter.

  In the process of my research, I became fascinated by the people who lived in the Caribbean; on the one hand they were surrounded by such natural beauty, but on the other they were constantly under threat from piracy. Therefore, I think it is important to say that although the characters and events portrayed in The Pirate Hunter are completely fictional, I have endeavored to depict the setting and atmosphere as accurately as possible to give a true sense of the Caribbean at the time.

  Laura

  Martin

  The Pirate Hunter

  LAURA MARTIN

  was born and bred on the south coast of England in a family of two loving parents and a spirited older sister. Books were a feature of her life from early on. One of her earliest memories involves sitting with the family on a rainy Sunday afternoon listening to the exploits of a clumsy but lovable stuffed bear and his assorted cuddly friends.

  Laura’s first ambition was to be a doctor, and in 2006 she went off to Guy’s, King’s and St Thomas’ Medical School in London to study medicine. It was while she was earning her degree she discovered her love of writing. In between ward rounds and lectures Laura would scribble down ideas to work on later that evening and dream of being an author.

  In 2012, Laura married her high school sweetheart, and together they settled down in Cambridgeshire. It was around this time Laura started focusing on the romance genre and found what she had always suspected to be true: she was a romantic at heart. Laura now spends her time writing historical romances when not working as a doctor.

  In her spare moments, Laura loves to lose herself in a book and has been known to read from cover to cover in a day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel with her husband, especially enjoying visiting historical sites and far-flung shores.

  This is Laura Martin’s fabulous, swashbuckling debut novel for Harlequin® Historical!

  For Luke, my spider catching, dinner making, crocodile fighting, modern day hero

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  ‘Secure the rigging.’ The Captain’s voice was half carried away by the wind, his orders sounding like an exaggerated whisper.

  Will slipped across the treacherous deck as the ship rolled from side to side, trying desperately to keep his feet, knowing one mistake would be all it took to plunge him into the stormy sea.

  ‘More hands to the wheel,’ the First Mate shouted.

  Will was close by. He struggled up the few steps and grabbed hold of an empty spoke, immediately feeling the power of the sea beneath them.

  ‘Hard to starboard.’

  He responded immediately, throwing his body weight against the wheel with the two other men. The wheel barely budged. He dug his heels in and pushed against the sturdy spokes until he thought the muscles in his arms would burst.

  ‘Merciful Lord,’ the First Mate whispered.

  Will looked up and knew he was about to die. They were heading into the biggest wave he’d ever seen and they were side on. There was no way a single man was going to survive this.

  ‘Brace yourselves men,’ the Captain shouted. ‘Brace for impact.’

  Will gripped the wheel tightly and watched as the wave began its descent. Thousands of tons of water against one insignificant little ship.

  When the water hit, the force knocked all the breath out of him. His hands slipped from the wheel and he was tossed into the blackness as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. His lungs burned as his body screamed for air, but Will knew one single inhalation would be the death of him. Instea
d he tried to orientate himself, allowing his body’s natural compass to turn him the right way up before swimming for the surface. He broke through and immediately sucked the vital oxygen his body so sorely needed into his lungs before being buffeted by another wave and disappearing once again under the water.

  He struggled back to the surface and started kicking off his shoes, knowing the extra weight could be the difference between survival and a watery grave. A good distance away he could see the boat, resting at an unnatural angle and sinking lower into the water every second. Nearby men were screaming in fear and shouting for help—most of the sailors could not swim despite a lifetime spent in such close proximity to the water. One man was only a few feet from him, panicking and thrashing around. Will knew if he got too close the man could take him down with him, but he couldn’t leave a fellow human being in such fear. He grabbed a piece of driftwood and swam the few strokes over to the drowning man.

  ‘Take this,’ he shouted, thrusting the plank at the sailor.

  The sailor grabbed hold of it gratefully and stopped shouting for a few seconds.

  ‘We should strike out for land,’ Will said when his new companion was a little calmer.

  ‘It’s miles away. We’ll never make it.’

  ‘We have to try.’

  ‘The Navy will send a boat. They’ll come to rescue us.’

  They probably would send a boat, but it would be far too late. Everyone who had survived the initial storm would be dead from exposure by then. The Caribbean waters might be balmy during the day, but at night with stormy skies they didn’t make for comfortable swimming.

  ‘Land’s only a couple of miles away. We’ll make it, I promise. It could be hours before the Navy even knows the ship has sunk.’

  ‘I’m staying here. If you’re mad enough to try and swim for it, then good luck to you.’

  Will recognised the obstinate look in the sailor’s eyes and decided to try to persuade the other men. He swam slowly back towards the boat, carefully dodging the bobbing debris washed from the deck when the wave had hit. He thought there were maybe a few more than a dozen men visible in the water and silently hoped the rest of the crew hadn’t suffered before they had died.

  ‘We need to swim for shore,’ Will called as he approached a group of four men. They were all clutching on to buoyant pieces of wood, the colour drained from their faces. At first he got no response and wondered if his suggestion had been carried away by the wind.

  ‘We can’t stay here.’ He tried again, ‘We’ll die.’

  The men all looked at him as though he were mad.

  ‘Shore’s miles away,’ one sailor said, ‘We’ll never make it.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ another shouted, ‘We wouldn’t be able to cover even half the distance.’

  ‘We can’t stay here, I honestly think we can make it. If we don’t start moving, the cold will get to us and we’ll die of exposure before anyone comes to rescue us.’

  Will could see his pleas were not getting through to the group of men, but he didn’t want to give up, knowing if he left them behind the sailors would all be dead in a couple of hours.

  He swam closer to one of the sailors, a man he’d shared a few conversations with on the voyage, hoping to reason with him individually.

  ‘Jim,’ Will said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  He wasn’t expecting the reaction he got. Jim lashed out, his hand catching Will on the forehead. Luckily it was a glancing blow, but he felt stunned all the same.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Jim yelled, pushing Will even further from him. ‘Go off and die if that’s what you want, but don’t insist on bringing us along to drown with you.’

  Making sure he was out of arm’s reach from all the men, Will raised his voice and called out, ‘I’m going to try to swim for shore, I’m sure we can make it. If anyone would like to come with me, I promise I will do my best to get us to safety.’

  There was no response. He could see everyone had heard him, their faces were turned towards him as he spoke, but no one moved.

  He was torn. Deep down Will knew if he stayed there with the rest of the survivors they would all die. Soon the cold would seep in and slowly their bodies would start to shut down. One by one they would slip unconscious, then slide under the water. He knew he had a chance of survival if he swam for the shore. Telling himself he’d given the crew the option of joining him, he reluctantly turned away.

  Mentally Will steeled himself, trying to put the other survivors from his mind. He pulled his shirt off over his head and started to swim. The island was just visible in the distance, a black shape just a shade darker than the night sky. It was probably four miles, maybe five at the most, further than he had ever swum, but possible. Just.

  He set off at a slow pace, all too aware his energy levels were going to dip as he started to cover the distance. With his eyes focused on a spot on the horizon so he didn’t go off course, he gradually progressed.

  He’d grown up with the sea as his playground so he was used to the sting of the salty water and the chill bite of the wind against his face. His brother had always challenged him to swimming races, never this sort of distance, of course, but he could happily swim a mile in the inhospitable English Channel. He’d never swum during a storm before, though.

  * * *

  After what seemed like hours later he stopped for a break, slowly treading water with just enough effort to keep afloat. For the first time a small sliver of doubt crept into his mind. What if he couldn’t make it? He pushed away the negativity and gave himself a mental slap. That kind of defeatist attitude was what got you killed.

  Will ploughed on. Hour after hour, mile after mile. His body went numb and soon after, his mind followed. He swam out of instinct, striving to get to shore, but no other thoughts entered his mind. After a while his legs stopped working, they just refused to kick, and his arms complained under the extra strain.

  * * *

  As the sun started to rise above the horizon Will glanced once again at the shore. He was so close now, close enough to make out the individual trees on the cliffs that towered above the water. For a second his mind didn’t register what he had just seen, then it hit him. Cliffs. Not a white sandy beach or a natural harbour, cliffs. He felt like shouting and cursing, but just didn’t have the energy. He’d made it all this way only to be defeated by some cliffs, and he would be defeated; he barely had the strength to pull himself on to some sand, let alone climb a jagged rock.

  Will wasn’t a quitter. He had never left anything unfinished in his life, but he knew this was the end. He didn’t have the strength to climb the cliffs and he didn’t have the energy to swim the shoreline until he found an easier route to dry land.

  He did a few more strokes towards the cliffs just in case there was a handy set of steps carved into the rock face. Nothing. Not even an easy handhold. He didn’t dare get any closer, knowing the sea would dash him against the rock without a moment’s hesitation.

  Will closed his eyes and allowed his body to float, knowing sooner or later the pull of the sea would submerge him and take him to his watery grave.

  ‘That’s no place to sleep.’ The voice was carried to him on the wind and had a kind of ethereal quality to it. He opened his eyes and with a tremendous effort looked around him.

  Finally he glanced at the clifftop and in that instant he knew he was dead. A beautiful woman dressed all in white was standing looking down at him. She must be an angel, Will thought, a beautiful, heavenly angel.

  Finally accepting his fate, Will closed his eyes one last time and let the sea envelop him.

  * * *

  He was actually going to sleep. Mia stood frozen for a second, unsure what to do, then instinct took over and she tugged at the laces securing her dress. She threw the billowing white garment over her head and, c
lad only in her underwear, dived head first into the sea. It only took her a few strokes to reach the bedraggled man and she looped her arms under his to help him keep afloat.

  ‘Heaven,’ he murmured, his eyes flickering open for a few seconds.

  ‘No, Barbados,’ Mia said, struggling to keep both their heads above the water. ‘You’re going to have to swim.’

  ‘No more swimming.’

  ‘Well, it’s either you swim or I let you sink to the bottom of the sea. Don’t think I’m carrying you to the beach.’

  ‘Beach?’ He perked up slightly.

  ‘Yes, beach; sand, palm trees, lapping waves.’

  ‘What are we waiting for?’

  Mia cautiously let go of her new companion and watched to see if he was going to sink. His kicks were weak and his eyes barely open, but he put enough effort in to just about stay afloat.

  She grabbed his hand and they awkwardly started to swim, making slow progress around the bottom of the cliff. After about ten minutes she allowed him to stop and pointed to the distance.

  ‘Can you see the beach?’ she asked.

  His eyes scanned the horizon and as they settled on the thin strip of sand he grinned.

  ‘Dry land. Race you?’

  Mia stared at him—he was beyond exhausted. His face was completely drained of colour and his lips were starting to turn an unhealthy blue.

  ‘Maybe another day,’ she said.

  They set off again, fighting against the tide for each inch. It seemed like an eternity to Mia and she had to keep glancing behind her to check her companion was still afloat and breathing.

  Her foot hit sand and she gave a whoop of delight.

  ‘You can stand,’ she shouted over her shoulder, ‘we’re in the shallows.’

  She saw him put his feet on the seabed and his knees buckle. In an instant she was beside him again, supporting him under his arms and half dragging him to shore.

  They collapsed on the beach, arms and legs entangled, both too exhausted to move. For a minute Mia lay with her eyes closed, allowing her breathing to become steady and regular and her heart to stop pounding. When she felt a little recovered she propped herself up and looked down at the man lying beside her.