The Pirate Lord by Sabrina Jeffries Read Free Book Online Page A

up to the royal yard as often as he could, thinking to punish him. Petey was a logical choice, of course, because of his small frame, but furling the sky sail wasn’t a happy taskfor most sailors, seeing as how it was so dangerous.
    What the first mate didn’t know was that Petey liked being up in the rigging, where he could feel the fine salt wind dust his ears and see the grand ocean spilling out around him on a fair day like a fortune in sparkling diamonds. Now that they’d left the cold drear of England far behind, he was more than happy to sweat beneath the tropical sun. Besides, he’d rather do dangerous tasks than dirty ones like tarring the lines.
    Looking down, he spotted the small group of women scrubbing the decks. The convict women had been put to work in shifts, and they didn’t seem to mind, since it meant being allowed above decks. He watched a moment. They were really putting their backs into it. At least it was them and not him.
    He glanced around at the other men, who watched the women with only a bit of interest. After spending last night in port at Praia, the men were still sated enough from whoring not to feel an urgent need come upon them when they looked at the convict women.
    But it wouldn’t last. Petey knew that only too well. And strangely enough, two weeks of protecting the convicts had made him regret that soon they would have to suffer the sailors’ advances again.
    “Hey, matey,” called the sailor who was posted as lookout in the crow’s nest. “I gotta take a piss. Will you relieve me for a minute?”
    Nodding his agreement, Petey clambered along the rigging to the mast. He took the spyglass from the sailor and replaced him in the crow’s nest. He scanned the horizon, then surveyed Santiago as the Chastity cleared the last outcropping of rock. It was a perfect day for sailing. Though the Chastity would reach the deadly calm of the Equator in a day or two, today a playful wind filled her sails, pressing her south along the coast of Africa.
    He settled back against the wood curve of the crow’s nest, his thoughts returning to little Ann. Welsh, shewas, judging by her speech. And a pretty Welsh woman, too, with creamy skin and teeth white as ivory. He wondered what she could’ve done to end up with that crowd of criminals. It didn’t seem right.
    Maybe it was because of lasses like Ann that the earl’s sister risked so much to help the convicts. She tormented the captain something sore to improve their conditions, and she spent every waking moment down in the orlop deck, learning them their letters. Only two weeks out of London and the women already talked about Miss Willis as if she were a bloody saint. He sighed. Maybe she was.
    Picking up the spyglass, he searched their surroundings again, taking in the sweep of water and benign clouds with a practiced eye. He’d just made a complete span of the ocean and was scanning the islands they were leaving behind when something arrested his gaze. Focusing the spyglass in closer, he drew a sharp breath.
    A ship had emerged from the windward side of Santiago. She’d come out of nowhere, and the sight of her gave him an uneasy pang. It was as if she’d been lying in wait for them. To be sure, it looked as if she were approaching the Chastity . His heart beat faster. A sailor knew to be wary of meeting another ship at sea, especially one that slid out from behind an island.
    “Ship to starboard!” he called down to the first mate.
    The first mate sauntered beneath the mast. “What sort of ship?”
    Petey trained the spyglass on the ship. He watched until the distant blur of sail and timber separated itself into a right good schooner, bristling with guns. The sight of so many guns alarmed him. This was no merchantman, to be sure. He scanned the outline for a flag but could see none.
    “Well, Petey?” the mate called up impatiently. “What do y’ see?”
    “I’m tryin’ to make it out. ’Tis a fast schooner. Two masts. Lots of