Beneath Black Sails (Beneath Black Sails, #1)

by Clare Sager

It wasn’t every day you got to maroon the officers of a slave ship.

“Oh, please do”—she drew her fae-worked pistol and aimed at his head—“please give me an excuse to splatter your brains all over your crewmates.”

She didn’t really command it, not any more than a person commanded their arm to rise and fall. Command was what one person did to another. It was for things that were separate. She and the sea were one.

“Who’s here for my sea witch?”

“Vice”—one eyebrow rose—“what have you been up to?” There was a tease in his tone, like someone telling off a wayward lover.

There was something about a man in uniform. Especially one who wore it so well.

She winked, lifted her hand to her lips and blew him a slow kiss. His skin burned. He’d only wanted to catch her for the handsome bounty but now… Barking hoarse orders, he gripped the rail, knuckles aching and white. Now, she’d made it personal.

“Well,” he went on, “add in an absconding fiancée and being forced from our home, and I think it’s fair to say it was a difficult year.” The fiancée had left months before Father’s death, and she hadn’t exactly broken his heart. The betrothal to Lady Avice Ferrers had been arranged by Mother and Father.

Because my ‘help’ is just a way of getting you back to Albion without you realising and escaping.

Away from temptation.

Knigh was Knighton Villiers, the fiancé she’d fled three years ago.

Hells, taking that slave ship, freeing the people, and marooning the surviving crew was more the sort of thing the heroic Pirate Queen of the song would do.

Sparks flew off the fire as his gaze lowered to her palm where the silvery scar shaped like a padlock gleamed—the evidence

“I never claimed the stories were original. Many of the crew can’t read—would you deny them a ripping yarn simply because of that?”

“Not everyone grows up with the privilege of a gentleman’s education, Lord Villiers.”

She’d heard of berserkers before, but she’d thought they were just stories from the far north of Albion and the tribes of Noreg.

“You didn’t dance,” he said softly as Perry struck up a fresh tune. “You always dance. Was it that bad?” He gave her a lopsided smile.

I’m Lady Avice Ferrers, your former betrothed.

“Captain Blackwood…” Somehow formality felt safer, but damn it, did she want to be safe? “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re looking at me like you want to kiss me.” His fingers twitched against her. “I do.”

“I thought the Pirate Queen would appreciate a man kneeling for her.”

“That poem,” he breathed, voice feeling far away. “The pin… But she’s—” “Dead?” She said it too brightly, and her eyebrows rose like it was a joke he was too stupid to fathom. “Do you still not understand? Avice Ferrers is just as dead as Knighton Villiers.”

Someone came for her. He came for her.

“Your career will be over. You’ll be a fugitive from—” “Vee.” His nostrils flared, and a moment’s anguish wrinkled the skin around his eyes. “I know. That’s the decision I’ve made.”

“You’re really here,” she whispered into Barnacle’s fur as the cat nuzzled her way under her chin. “You’re safe. My little love. My little goblin-beast.”

Almost at once, her breaths slowed into the rhythm of sleep, and all tension slid from her.