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In a Pirate's Debt

By Elva Cobb Martin

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Praise for In A Pirate’s Debt
Looking for adventure, romance, pirates? Go no further. In a Pirate’s Debt is one of the most adventurous books I’ve read in quite some time. It starts off with a bang and then continues to explode with one exciting scene after another. From the Caribbean to Charleston to the Atlantic and then back again, there are storms, battles, intrigue, and plenty of romance. Throw in some great characters and a nasty villain, and this is a book that will keep you entertained until the end. In addition, In a Pirate’s Debt is a refreshingly clean read with a strong Christian message that will remain with you long after you turn the last page.
~ MaryLu Tyndall Author of She Walks in Power

Elva Cobb Martin has written a real page turner in her novel, In a Pirate’s Debt. From the opening line, paragraph, page, and chapter she captures your imagination and carries you into her story. Most of the time, you would not find yourself pulling for a pirate, but in this case, her main character, Lucas, the infamous Captain Bloodstone, evolves into a hero in every sense of the word. You’ll be glad you read this story.
~ Mark L. Hopkins Syndicated columnist, author of Journey to Gettysburg

This action-packed story is set in a time when pirates ruled the sea and money ruled the land, a time when the brutal seemed to easily bypass the laws of God and man. In Elva Cobb Martin’s tale, the schemes of one wicked man who preys on the weak and defenseless is eventually overthrown by the power of love.
~ Martha Jacks Batten, PhD


CHAPTER 1
Jamaica, 1720

Marry Sir Roger Poole? Never! Travay Allston rushed up the staircase and into her bedroom. She eased the door shut and sank against it, hoping the men downstairs had not heard her flight. She wrapped her arms around her middle to prevent loud sobs from escaping. Tears ran down her cheeks onto her dinner gown. How could her stepfather, Karston Reed, gamble away the plantation and her hand in marriage in a game of cards? Lighting a small candle, she sprang into action. How much time did she have?
Travay snatched the men’s clothing she’d stashed under a floorboard after her mother’s untimely death. Somehow she had known the day would come when she would have to leave secretly. She quickly donned breeches, shirt, and knee boots. The over-sized top required a belt, and she contrived one from a scrap of cloth. She flattened her curls tighter to her head with extra pins and struggled to stuff the mass under a cap. Her fingers brushed against her mother’s locket. Oh, Mama, I miss you!
From the back of a drawer, she retrieved a leather coin purse filled with her savings from seventeen birthdays and stuffed it into her pocket.
Swallowing the huge lump in her throat, Travay swung her mother’s dark cloak over her shoulders. Her reflection in the candlelit mirror caught her attention. A slender young man stared back at her with troubled blue eyes and a stray auburn ringlet springing from under a sailor’s cap.
Travay tucked in the curl and lifted her chin. Somehow she would make it to Kingston. She would secure passage on a ship to Charles Town to her aunt, her only living relative. She pushed a small knife into the top of her boot like she’d seen her stepfather’s overseer do, and darted from the room.
Could she make it to Kingston parish and to her mother’s old
minister friend before her stepfather and Sir Roger discovered she
was missing?
A gusty wind with the threat of rain whipped across her hot
face as she hastened down the servants’ steps at the back of the
house. The moon sailed in and out of clouds like a ghostly galleon,
and she sought the shadows while running across the lawn to the
barn. The slaves would be in their cabins at this late hour, including
Ruby Grace, her personal maid. A sob escaped Travay’s lips. The
young African girl, Travay’s only friend, might bear the brunt of
this night’s decision. Her stepfather would assume the slave knew
of her mistress’s plan to run away, and he would order the girl
beaten.
A horse’s soft nicker met Travay as she entered the shadowy
stable. She slipped the bridle over Arundel’s head, tossed the
saddle onto the silky black back, and tightened the cinch. Opening
the stable door, she led the filly out and mounted. At the touch of
Travay’s knee and the sound of her whisper, the horse paced across
the stable yard toward the main entrance.
A high-pitched neigh trumpeted across the front lawn as they
neared the house. Travay stiffened. The two men inside could
not miss hearing Sir Roger’s stallion, which was tied at the steps.
Arundel tossed her head, and Travay urged her to a gallop.
Twisting in the saddle as they passed the front of the plantation
house, Travay saw a lantern move across the front window toward
the staircase. Her stepfather and Sir Roger would be calling up to
her. How long would it take them to realize she had run away?
She leaned forward and urged the surefooted Arundel down the
ribbon of road and onward, past wind-blown acres of sugarcane
that weaved and stretched toward her like sentinels guarding her
escape. A crack of lightning split the sky, followed by a deafening
boom of thunder. Travay trembled but did not slacken the pace.
Before they reached the crossroads, hoof beats pounded behind
them. Travay bit the side of her lip and tasted blood. It could only
be Roger Poole on the mount he’d ridden to Allston Hall, reputedly
the fastest horse on the island.
She turned Arundel left at the crossroads, hoping she could
make it past the field worker huts and onto the open road toward
Kingston before Sir Roger caught up with her. Surely the minister
and his wife would shelter her until she could secure passage to
Charles Town. The moon disappeared behind turbulent clouds,
enveloping her and Arundel in the safety of darkness. “Thank you,
God—if you’re up there,” she whispered.
Half a mile down the road, the salty scent of the wind jerked
Travay’s head up. She clenched her teeth. How could she have taken
the fork to the ocean instead of the road to Kingston? Confusion
fogged her brain as her pursuer grew closer.
Arundel came to a bone-jolting halt at the edge of the cliff
overlooking the Caribbean. The filly snorted and reared. Travay
gripped the reins and moved the horse as far back as possible into
a shadowy grove. What should she do? Sir Roger would soon be
upon them. Gripped with indecision, she leaned across Arundel’s
hot neck and patted her, trying to calm the animal, while a cold
sweat dotted her own brow.
Roger Poole reined in and headed for the thicket. The moon
sailed from behind a cloud and revealed his sickening smirk. “I
know you’re in there, Travay. Come out, my dear.”
His lustful laugh, the odor of stale tobacco, and his heavy
perfume carried on the wind. Shivers of revulsion drew Travay’s
stomach into a knot, as had all the man’s advances since her
mother’s death. Arundel pawed the soft earth.
“I’ll never marry you, Sir Roger. I don’t care what my stepfather
promised. Why don’t you leave me alone?” She ground the words
out between her teeth.
“You want to have a little rendezvous now, right here at Lovers’
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In A Pirate’s Debt
Leap? Then you’d marry me for sure, dear girl. Yes?” His voice was
hoarse with rum and anticipation.
Travay froze and clutched the reins tighter. Would he dare? And
in this deserted area of the coast, who would hear even her loudest
scream? The saliva dried in her mouth. Then a memory, an old
story, swept across her chaotic mind. Was the legend true about the
girl who jumped from the cliff into the bay below and lived to tell
about it?
Sir Roger dismounted and tied the stallion’s reins to a small
tree. Now his threatening form blocked her escape up the road. He
stood with his fists propped on his hips. “Why do you think I came
to Jamaica? I watched you growing up in Charles Town and knew
one day I’d make you mine, whether I won your hand gambling or
by some other method.”
The moon cast an evil glow on his handsome, falcon-sharp
features. Approaching his mid-thirties, he was still as strong and
wiry as younger men—and attractive to most women, if the
servants’ tales were true. Tonight his silk cloak swirled around him
in the wind like the ebony wings of a bird of prey. His arrogant
voice did not move her, but the way he accented the words by some
other method chilled her.
Travay tried to swallow, but her throat was bone dry. Taking a
deep breath that ended with a sob, she turned Arundel and coaxed
her out of the copse. She leaned close to the horse’s wet neck and
whispered, “Forgive me, my sweet friend. Jump high and wide. If
we die tonight, we die together.” Please God, don’t let us get caught
on the rocks.
Arundel blew air through her nose, arched her neck, and
sidestepped toward the figure blocking their way up the road.
“That’s my girl.” Sir Roger sauntered closer and reached for
the bridle.
With a gut-wrenching cry, Travay wheeled her mount around
toward the sea and swung her riding crop down on the powerful
rump. Arundel reared with a high-pitched squeal and shot forward.
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Elva Cobb Martin
Behind her, curses exploded from Sir Roger’s mouth.
Travay screamed as she and Arundel hurtled over the cliff ’s
edge. The mare’s body slammed into the water. Travay’s forehead
collided with the horse’s neck as the sea sucked them both into its
shadowy depths, shutting out sight, sound, and breath.

Captain Lucas “Bloodstone” Barrett rowed up the bay at
twilight with Sydney, his cabin boy, to fish for sea trout. When they
reached the cove close to a cliff ’s rock wall, Lucas brought up his
oar and set the anchor. He removed his leather baldric, which held
his rapier and pistols, and launched a hook into the deep water.
The boy cast his line on the other side of the boat.
For several days, Barrett had kept his brigantine hidden in an
inlet on the backside of the island until the careening of the ship’s
hull could be completed. His raucous, sweating, and bare-chested
crew had labored in the southern sun all day. Scraping the barnacles
that had attached to the underside of the ship and patching places
that had begun to rot had taken three days. Tonight, in celebration
that the difficult, dangerous job was done, he knew his men would
drink themselves into a rum stupor. They would pick quarrels
and fight amidst the cursing and vulgarities Bloodstone no longer
enjoyed.
As pirates went, they were as tough as any. And he had to
command their respect at all times, or he’d find a mutiny on his
hands. Fishing, when he got a chance, provided a little diversion
from their offensive behaviors.
“Sydney, you be sure and watch that line. These waters used to
be full of sea trout. I am expecting to take a catch back to the ship.”
“Sure, Cap’n. I got me eyeballs peeled for the lit’lest quiver in
this here string.” The thirteen-year-old leaned over the side of the
yawl.
Lucas’s line jerked and grew taut, then slackened as the fish
slipped away. He bit back a word he’d been trying to eliminate
from his vocabulary since meeting Reverend Wentworth.
A terrible scream from the rock cliff above riveted his attention
upward. A horse and rider flew over the longboat and plunged into
the bay a stone’s throw away from Lucas’ boat. Waves rocked and
scraped their small craft against the rock wall.
“Blimey!” Sydney dropped his short pole. “Cap’n, you see
that?”
Lucas dropped his fishing line and searched the churning water
where the two had disappeared. Iron bands tightened across his
chest. “Yes. May God have mercy on them.”
“I trove it was just a boy in that saddle! What we gonna do?”
Pebbles slid down the rock embankment above them. Lucas
motioned for Sydney to be quiet. A man’s angry voice above them
loaded the evening air with curses. Next, the sound of galloping
hooves confirmed someone leaving the top of the cliff.
The captain peeled off his shirt, stuck a knife between his teeth,
and dove into the bay. The moon sailed from behind a cloud and
revealed the dark forms of the horse and rider plunging about in
the deep water below the surface. Lucas swam down toward them,
praying he would be in time. He reached the limp form of the rider,
whose long hair floated up into his face. He brushed the strands
from his vision and loosened the boot caught in a stirrup. The
horse, struggling to rise, had its reins caught between two rocks.
Lucas hacked them loose, then pulled the rider to the surface. The
horse surfaced beyond them and swam toward the opposite shore,
emerged, shook, and trotted away.
Lucas swam back to the boat with the rider in tow. He pushed
the cold body with its deathly pale face into the boat and then
climbed in himself. He slung the person and his dripping mane of
hair over his lap and pounded on the undersized back. As the soft
curve of a bosom pressed onto his knees, Lucas’ hand stopped in
midair.
The person coughed and spewed vomit on Lucas’ boots. “Stop
it, you’re killing me.” The irate, feminine voice left no doubt about
gender.
The captain glanced at Sydney.
The boy’s mouth dropped open. “Swounds! Cap’n Bloodstone,
it’s a milady.”
The girl issued another sharp command. “Let me up!” She
kicked and squirmed.
“Yes, ma’am.” Lucas placed his hands about the small waist,
hidden among layers of a soaked shirt, and lifted her from his lap.
He set her on the rower’s bench and held her steady a moment.
She pushed his hands away, bent forward, and retched again. He
moved his feet just in time.

Travay wiped her mouth and clawed dripping strands of hair
from her face. She peered through the mist at her rescuers, a man
and a boy. Both wore bandannas tied around their heads and bright
sashes around their waists. The man’s wet, bare chest and muscular
arms glistened in the moonlight. Something about his untamed
look and scent of sea and spice caused her heart to hammer against
her ribs. Captain Bloodstone—that was what the boy had called
him.
Above them, a rock dislodged and tumbled down the cliff.
Travay looked up. Fear struck her heart. She jumped back into the
captain’s lap.
“If you are worried about your pursuer, ma’am, he is gone.”
His deep, confident voice sounded like that of a gentleman, and
the strong arms he placed around Travay comforted her but did
nothing to clear the confusion in her mind. What pursuer?
The captain’s heart beat against Travay’s shoulder, and the
welcome warmth from his body enveloped her, reminding her of
when she sat on her father’s lap as a child. She twisted to glance at
his face. He smiled, and she could not help admiring his square jaw,
slim mustache, and white teeth. His breath feathered her cheek,
but a mischievous glint emanated from bright eyes. Who was he
really? And fie! What was she doing jumping onto his lap?
Travay pushed away from him and crawled back onto the
rower’s bench. Shivers shook her whole body, and dizziness flowed
over her in waves. She touched a bump on her forehead and clasped
her arms. She tried to focus on her rescuers and to recall what
had happened to bring her into their longboat. The young man’s
gold hoop earrings twinkled as the boat rocked with the tide. A
gleaming silver sword and a carved leather baldric lay on the floor
of the boat. She glanced across the bay. The moon sailed from
behind a cloud and illuminated a sleek brigantine bobbing with the
tide. A black flag waved from its masthead.
Pirates. Murdering, thieving pirates.
Darkness crept over Travay, and she slumped forward.

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