Captured by the Pirate Laird by Amy Jarecki Read Free Book Online

fled Wharton
Hall because of enemies hell bent on destroying him. Now they had pillaged the
ship and the only soul not accounted for was his wife?
    A
young man appeared in the doorway, holding his cap. “You wanted to see me, my
lord?”
    Thomas
whipped around. “You delivered the missive?”
    “Yes.”
    “How
was it handed to you?”
    “I
am Captain Fortescue’s First Mate. I watched him pen the letter and seal it.”
    “Did
anyone else read it?”
    “No,
my lord. Fortescue directed me to deliver it with haste.”
    “You
were on the ship when it was attacked?”
    “Yes.”
    “What
happened?”
    “We
sailed into a squall. The night was black and the carrack dark. We didn’t see
her until she was crossing our bow flying the Jolly Roger.”
    “Pirates,”
Thomas said, thinking aloud. “Spaniards? Dutch?”
    “Scots.”
    The
baron’s full belly churned, threatening to heave. With a rolling belch, he swallowed.
The Scots—his fiercest enemies. “I knew it. Those murdering bastards will never
rest. England will not be at peace until every last one of them is dead and
their seed is snuffed out forever.”
    The
boy nodded, his mouth drawn in a frown. Wharton wanted to slam his fist into his
young face. “How could you lose my wife? Where is she, damn you?”
    He
stammered. “My lord?”
    “What
has Fortescue done to…” He clenched his fists and shook them. “Get. Her. Back?”
    “He’s
gone to London, sir—reported it to the Royal Navy. Th-the queen is very upset
indeed.”
    Wharton
paced the parlor. Imbeciles . On his
third trip past the incompetent first mate, he shoved his finger in the man’s
sternum and shouted, “I trusted you and your crew to bring her to me safely.
Now all are accounted for except my baroness?”
    The
young man backed a step. “Yes, my lord.”
    Wharton
glared at him—the young face of ineptitude. “Get out,” he roared. “Be gone, or you’ll
feel the cold steel of my sword.” Wharton grasped the hilt and yanked the
cutlass from his scabbard while the man fled.
    I should have been there. If I had
traveled to Southampton to fetch her, none of this would have happened. I
should have never relied on someone else. Scottish barbarians? Only I know how
to quash the miserable Scots—Fortescue would have been beat before the battle
began.
    The
lean figure of Master Denton appeared in the passageway. His eyes drifted down
to the sword in Wharton’s hand, and he brushed his fingers across his own hilt.
“You sent for me, my lord?”
    Wharton
eyed his henchman and shoved the sword back in its scabbard. Though Master
Denton had always been a most loyal and trusted servant, his appearance gave
Thomas pause. With hair black as coal framing his gaunt face, Denton looked
like an executioner. Wharton half expected him to carry a headsman’s axe. Tall,
lanky, the man’s black eyes appeared to have no capacity for sympathy, and
that’s how Thomas wanted it. Never had he seen Master Denton look at a woman,
or a woman look his way for that matter.
    “Scottish
pirates plundered Lady Anne’s ship. It appears they have taken her prisoner.”
He looked away and lowered his voice. “Or worse.”
    “The
Scots again?” If Denton had felt any remorse for the baroness he didn’t show
it.
    “I
want you to go to Portsmouth. Find out everything you can. Were there Scots
hanging about the pubs before the Flying
Swan sailed? What colors did they wear?”
    Denton
nodded.
    Thomas
lunged in and jutted his face under Denton’s nose. “I want that pirate
captain’s head.”
    “Understood.”
    “And
you can give Fortescue a taste of my dissatisfaction while you’re at it.”
    The
corner of Denton’s mouth twitched. “I’ll see it done.”
    “Good.
Leave now. I want word dispatched within the fortnight.”
    Wharton
stepped to the window and watched Denton trot through the gates on his black
steed. If anyone could drudge up information from the back alleyways of a
dockyard, it was