Free My Lady Pirate by Danelle Harmon

By God, I shall see that your admiral’s name suffers no tarnish, and that he will be remembered for his achievements, his duty to his country, and, of course, his bravery under my command during the Battle of the Nile! Furthermore—”
    He paused, the color high in his face, his fist poised above the table.
    “Milord?”
    Nelson was frowning, cocking his head and listening intently. “Did you hear something,
    Captain?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Age. It must be age, then, what else could it be? I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, and now I’m hearing things that go bump in the night! By God, I sometimes think I am losing my mind, as indeed I shall if I do not find that damned Veal-noove and bring him to battle! How I long for peace! How I long for battle! How I long for my dear Lady Hamil—oh, never mind! Instead, let us discuss you, Colin, and the convoy you shall be escorting home to England—”
    He never finished.
    At that moment, a window imploded in a shatter of glass, a figure fell sprawling to the deck, and the admiral—darling of the British Navy, Victor of the Nile, and nemesis of the dreaded Napoleon—shot to his feet.
    “Great God! ”
    The intruder picked herself up, brushed off the bits of glass, and dripping seawater, flung a long tail of wet auburn hair off her shoulder. In her hand was a dagger, and this she touched to her brow in a jaunty salute.
    “Allow me to introduce myself,” she said brightly, as another, smaller figure crawled
    through the window after her. “I am Captain Maeve Merrick, and this, my quartermaster, Orla O’Shaughnessy.”
    Nelson stared, his mouth falling open.
    “I’m sorry,” the woman said with a mischievous grin. “Perhaps you’ve not heard of me? I
    am the Pirate Queen of the Caribbean.” She swept a jaunty, ludicrous bow. “Welcome to the Indies, milord!”

Chapter 6
    “Sentry!” Nelson roared, recovering. “Sentry!”
    Captain Colin Lord dived protectively in front of the admiral as the door crashed open and a surprised Royal Marine charged in.
    Maeve’s sudden shout pierced the air.
    “No, milord! I bring you news of Villeneuve /”
    Stepping impatiently around Colin, Nelson raised his hand to stay the marine. He stared at Maeve with an expression of fury and disbelief.
    “What did you say?”
    “I said, I bring you news of Villeneuve!”
    Tense silence. The sigh of wind around the stern. The stamp of feet as more marines came
    running, an outcry of voices, shouts . . . and the slow, stealthy movement of Captain Lord’s hand toward his sword before Orla’s dagger impaled the carpet two inches from his foot.
    The admiral gave an agitated jerk of his head. “Leave us,” he snapped. “I am sure that
    Captain Lord and I can handle this situation!”
    One by one, the marines filed out, leaving the two to assess each other; the stiff little admiral and the savage pirate queen, each taking the other’s measure like two fleets squaring off before a battle.
    Nelson saw a wild, wet, untamed beauty with gold earrings tangled in hair the color of fire; a face tanned to bronze, glittering gold eyes of sunlight and sin, a graceful neck ringed by a choker of sharks’ teeth; he saw elegant hands, long coltish legs, bare feet, frayed and soaked trousers cut off at the knee, and a purple blouse tucked into a leather belt.
    And Maeve, looking at this schoolboy-sized admiral whose height rivaled that of her chin, saw the total antithesis of what she had expected—and the smile faded from her lips as raw disappointment swept in to take its place.
    So much for heroes, she thought, feeling somewhat cheated. These days they must’ve gone the way of gallant knights. This one stood fiercely erect which did nothing to accentuate his height, and had a pale, sickly little face unremarkable in aspect, save for the bold nose and penetrating eye, out of which glowed a fire that even approaching blindness could not dim. The admiral’s features were open, honest, earnest, energetic,