Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
The narrow crescent of beach formed an inlet some sixty paces across. On the north side, waves broke in a spray of foam against the base of a cliff. Gulls circled overhead and perched on the rock face. Farther out, past the pounding surf, lay endless swells of water.
There were no ships, no signs of human life, but I felt him. He called to me in the crash of breakers upon the beach and hugged me in the clingy damp wind that whisked across the Great Western Ocean.
He was the sea. Rough. Dangerous. Dependable. No matter how far he traveled or how long he stayed away, he always returned to me.
I scanned the coastline to the south, where it curved out of view. The hounds had vanished in that direction, beyond an outcrop of trees.
Gathering my skirts, I dug my toes into the sand and took off after them. But a few steps in, something stirred in my periphery.
I spun toward the movement and shielded my eyes, squinting at the trees.
Shadows shifted in the woods near the horse. Someone was there, right where I’d been standing.
My lungs compacted as a man stepped onto the beach. A huge mast of a man, dressed head to toe in black.
His hair was red, long around the ears, and wild like the wind. He wore a flowing shirt of silk, knee-high jackboots, and a cutlass that glinted in the sun.
Despite his ignoble attire, he radiated a lord-like bearing. Commanding in stance and purpose, he stalked toward me.
My knees wobbled beneath the storm of his surly eyes.
“A lovely young lass like you should pay better attention to her surroundings.” His long-legged strides devoured the distance between us. “You never know what might be lying in wait.”
My throat closed, too constricted to squeeze out a sound.
When I’d dismounted the horse, I hadn’t examined the perimeter or used my senses to probe for threats. In my excitement, I’d let my guard down.
The curve of his mouth descended, his face carved in stone, deeply tanned and infamously elusive.
The notorious Edric Sharp.
His visage was rendered on newspapers, edicts, and proclamations all over Charleston. They called him a pirate and offered a substantial reward for his capture.
I’d read every account of his description. Some said he was tall and mean. Others claimed he was scarred, bearded, and wore a peruke. Every word and sketched reproduction was created from the imaginations of artists who had never encountered him.
He was more handsome in person, more menacing. But I wasn’t afraid.
I was awestruck.
Sand crunched beneath his boots as he paused within arm’s reach. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
A muscle bounced in his stony jaw. Then it spread to his lips, twitching at the corners. I waited for a break in his expression, and when a smile finally lit his eyes, I pounced on the seaman’s massive chest.
“Father!” I embraced his wide shoulders, squeezing with all my might.
“Aw, Bennett. I missed you.” He swung me up into the safety of his arms and buried his scratchy cheeks in my neck. “You must be more vigilant. Anyone could have sneaked up on you. Have I taught you nothing?”
“Forgive me. I was overcome with excitement. That’s no excuse, but Father, it’s been eight months. Please, don’t be upset with me.”
“Never, deary. Never that.”
I leaned back to reacquaint myself with his hardened features. My hands went to his jutting jaw, my fingers curling around the squared edges. All blunt angles and sun-darkened skin, his face still held its youth. And it’s smile.
That infectious smile widened, tickling wiry whiskers against my palms as I traced new crinkles around his wise eyes and touched the familiar gold ring in his ear.
His arms hugged me tighter, thick and muscular, and his boots spread wide beneath me as if bracing against the roll of the sea even now.
He was every inch the seafaring knave. An unrivaled buccaneer. Ruthless. And rich, if the lore could be believed.
I knew the truth about his conquests and could recall every prize he’d won and lost. His treasure was greater than anyone could imagine.
“Have you brought me more tales from the high seas?” I tugged at the collar of his shirt, searching in fear of finding fresh scars.
“Indeed. I have much to tell you, my beautiful girl.”
I lowered my feet toward the ground, wriggling in his arms. Before my toes touched the sand, I spotted a dark presence over his shoulder, approaching from the beach.
The man appeared out of nowhere, sneaking toward us on silent feet. With a bandoleer of guns slung across his chest, he stared at me with eyes too jaded for a face that was nigh twenty years.
My hackles went up, and my stomach bottomed out.
But Edric Sharp hadn’t taught me to tremble in the face of danger. No, he’d taught me how to fight with my fists and wit, a flintlock and blunderbuss, and my personal favorite, his cutlass. I could feel it now—the grip of the hilt in my palm, the clang of metal against metal in heated clicks, and its reliability in battle. A blade never misfired.