PROLOGUE
The wind whipped wildly, tearing at the sails, as the waves beat against the sides of the Fighting Spur, rocking the ship violently. Great waves rose up over the prow of the ship and crashed down, sending tides of white foam across the deck, causing the crew to slip and fall repeatedly as they fought to keep the ship under control. The squall had lasted an hour already, and the men were getting tired. Heavy squalls could blow up fast at sea, could last what seemed hours, and then end as abruptly as they came. When this vicious squall finally blew itself out, leaving an open night sky, the sailors were relieved. The sea slowly calmed, allowing the ship to sail smoothly and safely into port. As soon as the Fighting Spur anchored, the captain released the crew, allowing them to go ashore and enjoy the pleasures of the sinful Island of Tortuga. The lights of the town enticed them, energized them, and they eagerly filled the longboats. Tortuga never slept. The men would find food, drink, and women aplenty.
But the captain did not join his crew in their licentiousness. He had other concerns and another destination drawing him as surely as the needle of his compass sought north.
The sky sparkled with millions of stars, like jewels in a pirate’s chest, as the captain and his first mate lowered the last longboat. As Davy, the first mate, started pulling on the oars, the quarter moon began to rise, its two horns punctuating the calm seas. But the sight of the moon gave little comfort to the man staring at its glowing horns hoping—no, praying—for considerable fortune.
Captain Stratton Mayne was a man built for adventure. He was tall, thick, and muscular. His sun-bronzed skin was framed by long blond hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. His blue eyes were as bright as the ocean on a sunny day and were always expressive, always cunning.
Davy pulled on the oars heading away from Tortuga for a quiet part of the island far from the recklessness of the port town. Davy was a man in his late twenties. Younger than Stratton by only a few years, his hair was as black as night and cut short to his ears. He was tall, about six feet, and his shoulders were enormous and wide, making the pull on the oars seem almost effortless. His size alone intimidated most men.
As the oars dipped again and again into the dark sea, Stratton’s mind filled with thoughts of his wife, Miranda, and her beauty. She had bronze skin like his that often glowed against her soft brown eyes. Her chestnut hair looked like spun gold with its sun-struck highlights. Miranda was a pirate, just like him, and had stood at his side on many adventures. When Miranda married Stratton, he promised a life of adventure and freedom. That’s what she wanted, and that’s exactly what she got. For months on end, she sailed with her husband, traveling to various islands for exotic birds and valuables to sell to civilized ports. She loved the sea. Captain Mayne treasured memories of her standing at the rail, the wind in her luscious hair, her eyes reaching far out to sea. Together they had taken merchant ships and stripped them of the valuables aboard. Silks and spices they stole for markets in the New World. Exotic birds taken from ships leaving the New World were sold on the black markets of Europe and England. Heavily armed military vessels were plundered for their gun powder and weapons, making the pirates formidable opponents on sea or land, and food stores were taken to keep themselves at sea longer. Rum and sugar from the Caribbean found ready markets in any port, and cloth, combs, buttons, and other metal goods had easy sales in any New World city. Rarely would they come upon a ship with chests of gold or jewels, but even when they did, the wealth would never satisfy them or their crew for long. Lust of every sort was part of pirate life, and none in that profession were known for their frugality.
Miranda was a well-kept secret in that there were few women who chose the pirate life. On the rare occasion when an enemy would board the Fighting Spur, she would play the part of the innocent captive. Standing at the rail had saved their ship from being destroyed more than once. She would be handed over to the enemy and protected by them, but a true pirate she was. She would infiltrate the crew from the inside and turn the tables on the would-be conqueror. Miranda was a skilled swordswoman. On her own she could take on several men. Her beauty and sex would give her the advantage against disbelieving men; her abilities would give her the win. She was revered by the crew and, though sailors usually felt a female aboard was bad luck, she had proven herself and was accepted. She always wore breeches and linen shirts, like they did. She kept her long, brown hair braided down her back or tucked under a cap. She fit in perfectly and always treated each one of them with respect. She was as good at swearing as they were, was not loathe to climb the rigging, and could hold the wheel in storm if need be, being lashed by wind and waves. The crew loved her.
Then Miranda found that she was with child, and everything changed. Stratton forced her to stay at Eleuthera Island. They had built a house there, long ago, on a hill surrounded by jungle. With no settlement on the island or anywhere nearby and only one protected bay to hide the ship, no one knew of this hideaway, except for Stratton’s trusted crew, and not a one of them would divulge the location. They respected and feared Stratton too much. Stratton also made sure that he always arrived at the island at night. His men only saw the rugged cliffs where the surf pounced mercilessly and not the protected bay or the caves that were underneath his home. No outsider had ever set foot on the island; no one had ever thought to land on the island. The caves’ rocky passageways served their purpose as deterrents to all, and only Stratton and Miranda knew its secret winding way in.
Stratton knew that his wife and unborn child would be well protected there. However, a few months into the pregnancy, Miranda’s pirate restlessness showed, and she begged to be aboard the Fighting Spur again. She missed Stratton and her life at sea. So deeply in love was he that he could deny her nothing, Stratton allowed her one more sail. He planned only a short voyage because he feared their rugged life might be too hard on her in her condition, and yet he wanted to satisfy her love of the sea. At the time, she did not seem troubled by her pregnancy and walked and acted the same as she did before. Thinking that it would cause her no harm, they sailed to Tortuga. While his men partook of the pleasures of the town, Stratton and Miranda traveled inland to see the wildlife on the other side of the island. That was what Miranda had wanted to do, and so they did it, but something happened that they did not expect.
Miranda started getting pains. These got so severe so quickly that both she and Stratton agreed she could not return to Eleuthera to have the baby as she would have liked. She was forced to stay on Tortuga until the birth of their child. Instead of begging for Stratton to stay by her side, she insisted he leave and return in a few months’ time. Though she loved her husband dearly, she knew that he could do nothing for her. His time was better spent elsewhere while she dealt with the birth and its complications. Stratton left her in the capable care of a priest who was in their debt for the funding and building of his church that saw to the needs of the natives of the island.
Miranda was a believer of God, and Stratton gave to the priest when she asked. Miranda felt it was good for them to help others. She had a good and generous heart and soul, but she was also very clever. She knew that sharing some of their fortune with the priest and the natives would allow them safe access to the island of Tortuga, at least the wild parts outside the town. Their generosity gave them a place to hide, should they need it, and, on occasion, they had. Now it provided Miranda safety during her time of confinement.
Stratton and Davy beached on a quiet beach up the coast, and they pulled the longboat as high up on the sand as they could. As Stratton’s eyes filled at the sight of the priest’s house, located on the side of a hill facing them, he cursed himself for leaving Miranda. He cursed her a little as well, for being stubborn and keeping him at a distance when all he wanted to do was be at her side. Without a word, he began to run along the jungle path that led to the priest’s house. Instead of knocking on the door, Stratton ran at it full bore and broke it down. As he and Davy entered into the room, they saw Miranda upon a cot. The priest was between her thighs, and his hands were bloody.
An instant protective anger filled Stratton as he stepped forward aggressively, but before he reached the cot, he saw the birth of his child. The priest was speaking encouragingly to Miranda