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A curse that’s lasted centuries and a legacy restored.

Precious Cargo . . .
After a childhood spent orphaned on the streets of revolutionary Paris, Merryn de Marais took to a life of plunder on the high seas to aid the Jacobin cause. But now there’s a new mission firing her spirit. Her ship is heading for the island of Lundy off southwest England, once owned by her ancestor, Sir William de Marisco. If Merryn can break the curse that has vexed sea rovers for centuries and find the treasure trove William buried there, she can save her beloved grand-père from being executed by Napoleon’s brutal secret police.

Sleeping with the enemy . . .
Captain Christopher—Kit—Lambrick, once of the British Royal Navy, leads the guarding of Lundy against piracy and foreign invaders. When a ship founders off the island’s coast, he discovers amongst the wreckage the most intriguing cargo he’s ever encountered—a half-drowned, beautiful young Frenchwoman. As Kit watches over this mysterious mermaid while she thrashes with fever, he’s drawn to her.

Yet, his duty lies with the defence of the realm, and no matter how much his heart yearns, he must resist her. For she could be a pirate or a spy.

excerpt from the book

“What is the sea rover’s curse, Grand-père?” Merryn de Marais asked.

“Thirsty, child,” Ramen de Marais scolded. He glanced at his granddaughter’s mother and father sitting nearby. Slyly, they pretended not to hear. Grinning to himself, he yielded. “Very well.”

Merryn had an insatiable curiosity. Knowing this, Ramen gazed into his granddaughter’s eyes, purposefully prolonging the expectancy simmering inside her as he stoked the fire into a round of crackling and hissing sparks, creating an aura of mystery about them. Truth be told, he treasured Merryn’s inquisitiveness. It was his fondest desire to have her memorize the tales of their ancestors, in particular Sir William de Marisco’s story. And, to his delight, she grew curious and cleverer than any child he’d seen in all his days, pleasing him more than words could say.

Youth gave her strength and courage, characteristics he prayed would never leave her as she aged. Tales of adventure and hardship were nothing if a man didn’t have a life to live. Ah, but life always found a way.

And yet, inside his granddaughter’s chest beat a faithful warrior’s heart. A heart that would carry the legendary tales of Sir William de Marisco, tales their forefathers had handed down, one generation to the next. Storytellers searched for voices, but only a great wordsmith recognized a true bard.

“Kings are greedy beasts,” Ramen confessed. “Whether by selfish gain or in defense of the realms they rule. No king, except our selfless Lord, rules without blemish. And so, as you requested, our story begins with—”

“King Henry III!” She squealed, inching closer, her expressionistic eyes probing.

By the saints, he would indulge her anything, in fact the grandest retelling of all, if it pleased her. He nodded, flicking the edge of the shawl wrapped and tied around her shoulders. “King Henry III’s treasury was low, and he wanted to start a war.”

“Wars cannot be won without coin.”

So wise. Grinning, he said, “Wealth and land provide access to foreign spoils. What Henry needed, mon petit, was access to and from enemy ships without wasting time and effort. Only one place provided all Henry required, a stronghold near the mouth of the Bristol Channel—”

“Lundy Island!”  

“Clever girl.” Ramen laughed and tweaked one of her curls. “One man stood in Henry’s way, however. And being in a king’s way never ends well. So exactly how does a king rid himself of an unwanted loyal subject?”

Merryn slid a finger across her neck. “Beware kings,” she glanced to the right, thinking, “and lords . . . and armies . . . and uprisings.”

“Never forget it,” he reminded her. “Sir William de Marisco, Lundy’s titled owner, deserved better. He was a powerful knight, well-respected, and would have to be dealt with in a skillful manner. He had connections, high friends. He was a Plantagenet with a claim to the throne, the only descendant of the royal male line. Further maddening the king, Sir William spent a questionable amount of time with his Irish and Scottish brethren, while King Henry and the Scots were at each other’s throats.” Ramen paused as a breeze roused the fire to sizzle and pop, the flames leaping and illuminating the distance between himself, his daughter and her husband, and his eagerly enthralled granddaughter. “The king’s judgment scattered, and his anger toward the de Mariscos increased.”

Her eyes rounded, dark pools reflecting firelight and a spark of something inaccessible in her soul. “Blood lust.”

Wary of the wildness inside her, he shook his head. “Control.”

If any lesson could be imparted to Merryn, she needed to learn all the vices at play. Power wielded by the wrong hands led to misery and death, and Sir William’s tale provided the education she required.

“You see, mon petit, no one and nothing deposed a loyal knight, especially one related by royal blood, except—”

“Meurtre!”

“Of the worst kind,” he added for her. “And so, Henry schemed and planned and eventually, his patience was rewarded. The stars aligned. A crazed subject sought to murder Henry in his bed—though the king was not in his bedchamber at the time. The foolish culprit was captured and tortured. And ultimately, confessed who had masterminded the plot. Whose name do you suppose he offered for leniency?”

She frowned, crinkling her nose with distaste. “Sir William de Marisco’s.”

The black moment settled over them and he allowed the darkness to sink in. “Thus began the beginning of the end.”

“Do not speak so.”

“I must. It is our legacy and burden to carry.” He cleared his throat, choking back generations of frustration. “Where was I? Ah. With Sir William implicated in the assassination attempt, Lundy Island was within Henry’s grasp. His resolve hardened, and, slowly toppling into mania, the king offered no clemency. He had the de Mariscos arrested, their lands and titles confiscated. William was accused of proditor regis—”

“Pro-di-tor—” she tripped over the phrase.

“Treason.” He allowed her to ponder the word for several seconds. “Treason is dark and scandalous. It is the only method of discrediting a loyal and worthy knight. And so, in good time, the king placed a price on Sir William’s head. However, apprehending the knight and his band of merry men would not be easy. They persevered on Lundy, practically starved and secluded and safeguarded for nigh onto four years.”

She grinned. “If only they could have remained so.”

Ramen stared at the flames, careful to guard the vehemence in his voice. “Henry was persistent. He sent his best knights across the Bristol Channel to Lundy, the infamous cutthroat rock and Sir William’s stronghold. Its granite cliffs were formidable, however. They’d concealed ne’er-do-wells for centuries: Romans, Vikings, and pirates alike, famously shielding men who lived like kings. But Henry’s strategic knights knew Sir William’s tactics, and they had maps of the island. More harrowing, they’d earned a traitor’s loyalty—Ivor.” Ramen spat on the fire and received his daughter-in-law’s ire. “Yes. Yes. Hardly believable, but true. One of Sir William’s own guards helped Henry’s knights climb the island’s only scalable clifftop in the dead of night.”

“I hate Ivor!” Merryn shrieked.

“No one wants to be betrayed, mon petit. But as you can see” —he pointed to the fires of homeless families kindling across the field, a testament to the state of France— “a man is seldom safe in his own country.” He imagined the betrayal William and his sixteen men faced as they were seized in the night while feasting on fish and fowl inside their remote fortress. “Not one of Sir William’s knights expected treachery, least of all, Sir William.”

“Cursed Ivor!” she shouted. “They should have let him drown!”

“Allowing a man clinging to a mast to die would have belayed Sir William’s torment, I agree, but it would not have been the actions of a good and loyal knight. If we can find succor in any of this, Ivor’s ghost walks the Earth forever seeking penance for his sins. Never underestimate a sea rover’s curse.” He made the sign of the cross then winked.

“Tell me again how Sir William fought.” Merryn already knew the answer and her interest worried him. A young girl should not be fascinated by war and acts of revenge.

“Allow me to finish.” He tweaked her nose, teasing her to right his thoughts. “Fighting men do not willingly yield, mon petit. Real men never give in. A man trained in combat stands his ground, hands at the ready, determined, and disciplined, willing to fight until his last breath. A cornered animal will scrape and scour, dig and dodge to free itself. And so, it was with Sir William and his most trusted allies. A valiant fight ensued. Two men died in the melee and several others were wounded.” Before she could question him, he raised his finger to ward her off. “Nevertheless, Henry’s men prevailed, and Sir William and his men were captured, beaten, nearly drowned, and spirited back to Devonshire, where the first of many excruciating horrors awaited those who dared defy a king.”

“Henry wasn’t the true king,” she snapped.

“Sage words coming from a child.”

“I am not a child,” she insisted, her face reddening.

“No?” Ramen acknowledged her eight years with a shrug. They had molded her into a resourceful creature. What would she become? He sat back and studied her at his leisure. Few righteous men comprehended justice. Those who didn’t were doomed to repeat the deadly offenses of the past. “Perhaps tales of murder and intrigue are too much for a young girl.” She shook her head violently, but he wouldn’t be thwarted. It was a game they played. Tit for tat until she begged for him to continue, promising to be quiet. “I know how much you despise the end of this story, mon petit.”

“Forgive me, Grand-père. Please!” She shifted closer to stroke his hand. “I must hear the end. I cannot rest until I do.”

“Very well.” He leaned forward, offering her a smile. “I am not convinced, but if you insist.”

Her softer than normal voice met his ears. “I do.”

Broken-hearted and knowing exactly how Sir William died, Merryn waited to memorize each facet of the story, just as he hoped she would continue to do until the tale lived on inside her. It was the de Marisco way, one of tenacity that would lead to riches. With no male heirs to walk in her stead, it was his job to prepare her for their legacy.

“Wrongly accused,” he began, giving her a start, “and dispossessed of lands, titles, and prestige, Sir William and his men continued to proclaim their innocence. But the effort was for naught. Pardon wasn’t aligned in the stars. King Henry III never meant to relent. Why would he? He had what he wanted—Lundy Island, more titles and wealth than he could possibly need—and a chance to make an example of trusted vassals. Ruthlessly, Henry plotted the vilest of executions, the spectacle and fear meant to deter future insurrection. ‘No one will rebel against the crown again.’”

“What happened next?” she asked, wiping away a tear. “Do de Mariscos always die good deaths?”

He had not told her of their destitute ancestors plunged into desolation and never would. “You are still too young to understand what the de Mariscos have endured, ma petite.”

“I am eight years old!” she exclaimed. “Old enough to visit your crew, to tie ropes, to swab the deck with holystones—”

She had a point. Mariners weren’t the best examples. “Very well.” He chuckled, relenting. “Sir William and his followers suffered like no one had ever seen before. By royal decree, Sir William was forced to watch his men being dragged behind horses from Westminster to the Tower of London, one after the other. Afterward, he was hung, drawn, and quartered, the four sections of his body dispersed throughout England as a warning to any who contemplated sedition—the very first proclamation of its kind.”

“I will avenge—”

“Be wary,” Ramen spat, “of words spoken in anger. Blood lust is wrong. Throughout his schemes and gruesome invention, Henry committed one crucial error. He underestimated a good man’s audacity and cunning, and by executing good and loyal men, he destroyed the only ones capable of revealing the location of a treasure horde exceeding all that funding a war required—a treasure cursing men to this day. A treasure lost to time.”

“I don’t believe in this curse,” she boasted.

“Why not?”

“You said it before, Grand-père. We make our own luck.” She notched her chin, making him well with pride. “Whatever is lost can always be found.”

His stared at the mystifying creature before him. “Is that all you have taken away from my tale?”

“I will prove it.” She shook her head, her youthful red curls dancing like a topsail. “One day, I will break this sea rover’s curse.”

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