Free My Lady Pirate by Danelle Harmon Page A

vulnerable, anxious, and melancholy all at once. She saw suffering in his eyes, in the lines of his cheeks, in the rough scar that cleaved his right brow. The armless sleeve was pinned carefully over a chest bedecked with enough medals, stars, and orders to make the heavens look dim and deprived in comparison.
    Surely, this small fellow could not be the hero proclaimed in broadside and ballad? Surely, this little gamecock was not the sailor who was the subject of newspaper jibes and huzzahs alike, paintings, poems, and sculpture, with everything from flowers to plants to streets named after him? Surely, this slight man could not be the dread of the French, the pride of the British Navy?
    Another fairy tale, blown to hell.
    “Captain Lord! Do you know this woman?!”
    Maeve’s attention swept to the handsome, fair-haired officer held at bay by Orla’s sword.
    His face was carefully schooled into calmness, but his color was pale and she guessed he had indeed heard of her. “Aye, sir,” he answered, staring at her as though she was something out of his darkest nightmares. “Or shall I say, I know of her . . . She’s a pirate operating out of the Windwards—”
    Nelson roared, “Ever prey upon an English ship?”
    “Not to my knowledge, sir—”
    “Ever plague English shipping? Annoy English convoys?”
    “No, sir—”
    “Ever irritate His Majesty’s vessels, officers, or seamen in and around the Indies?”
    “No, sir, but—”
    The admiral swung fiercely on Maeve. “Sit down!”
    “Thank you,” she said archly, “but I prefer to—”
    “ I said, sit down!” roared the little lion, and Maeve, her belief in heroes happily restored, did so with a huge smile curving her lips.
    He came right up to her, the stump of his arm jerking beneath his sleeve in agitation, his eyes fierce and angry. “You,” he said sharply, slamming his hand on the table and leaning down to glare into her face, “have just damaged Crown property and your reason for doing so had better be a damned good one, so help me God!”
    She laughed, her heart singing. This was the Nelson of song and legend, this was the hero she’d long dreamed of meeting, this was— '
    “Answer me!”
    Still smiling, Maeve leaned over the table, plucked an apple from the silver bowl there, and bit into it with a loud crunch that shattered the strained silence of the cabin. The admiral bristled.
    The handsome officer went a shade whiter and found a sudden interest in a small cut on his knuckle.
    Another man, wearing a captain’s uniform, stormed into the cabin, pistol primed and ready and pointed directly at Maeve’s heart.
    “For God’s sake,” Nelson said curtly, “I do believe I have the situation under control. Pray, sit down, Hardy, this beauteous female is about to reveal to us the whereabouts of Veal-noove.”
    She took another bite of her apple and looked up. “Ah, Nelson’s famous flag-captain.”
    Maeve munched, swallowed, and grinned. “Don’t doubt me, milord. I have the Sight.”
    “The wha t?”
    “The Sight.” She took another bite and, with the point of her knife, pried a sliver of apple out from between her front teeth. Nelson narrowed his eyes. Hardy, now seated, looked shocked.
    The fair-haired Captain Lord—still staring intently, unnervingly, at her— flushed with
    embarrassment, his cheeks pinkening in a way that was almost endearing. “It’s the Irish gift of being able to see the future,” she said casually. “Predict events. Interpret meaning in signs and symbols. You see, I was born with the caul over my head and I am all-knowing.”
    “Balderdash!” Hardy exclaimed. “You don’t even sound Irish!”
    “I’m American.”
    “You’re mad. “ Hardy stood and pivoted on his heel. “I shall call the guards!”
    “No, Hardy, I wish to hear what she has to say about Veal-noove. “
    “Surely, sir, you would not believe the word of this—this pirate?”
    “My mind is an open one, Hardy. I shall hear her