Ransom for Many

Pelican Ventures, LLC

October, 1703 — Beaufort County
Colony of North Carolina

"Yield ta my demands, or walk the plank. Nae one dares defy Captain Lan."

"I dare." The brave, childish answer was accompanied by the lift of a small but defiant chin and the planting of tiny hands on nearly nonexistent hips.

The wind chose that moment to ruffle the little girl's dark blonde curls, and so fascinated was Donlan MacGarrow, he nearly forgot to act the enraged pirate. But when six-year-old Carolene Montross, garbed in pink satin and lace, stomped on his bare foot and stuck out her tongue, he became the fearsome brigand.

"Aye, ye're a brazen lass. I'll hae none o' that talk from a wee one such as yerself. Prepare ta meet the sharks." Lan shoved his treasured spyglass, a gift from Cara's father for his last birthday, into the band of his trousers and removed his sword, the weapon crudely fashioned from an old fence slat with a smaller piece tied on crosswise to serve as the hilt. Waving it menacingly, he anticipated Cara's surrender.

Instead, she lunged with arms outstretched.

Lan stumbled, falling flat on his back. Wrested of his sword, the blunt tip grazed his throat while Cara planted her tiny, slipper-shod foot on his chest.

"Now you'll walk the plank and meet the sharks." Cara's glare rivaled that of the fiercest pirate that ever sailed the seven seas. Then she burst out laughing. She removed her foot and hopped up and down. "I got you. I got you." Sing-songing the words over and over, she danced around and clapped her hands. "I'm the bestest pirate, ever."

"Not for long." Lan sprang to his feet with a growl.

Squealing, Cara lifted her skirt and petticoats high, running with all her energy towards the kitchen and the protection of his grandmother, the Montross cook.

Of course, his duty was to protect the motherless child — a pledge he'd made to Master Montross. But at the moment, his sole aim was to recapture his prisoner and give no quarter. Cara would soon learn how fierce a pirate he really was.

Gaining on his prey, attack was imminent.

As he neared, Cara turned. Giggling and screeching louder than the gulls, she leapt over a broken section of fence, the very same from which Lan had found the perfect pieces for his sword.

He raced after her and jumped, but his bare foot snagged on a slat. Arms flailing, he struggled to keep his balance. Even so, he fell forward. A searing pain radiated from his nose, and with a loud groan, he rolled over. Reaching up, he touched the injured member, his fingers coming into contact with something warm and wet. The warm, wet stuff was blood. What was wrong with his nose?

"Oh, Lan."

Lan looked up through a haze of pain until his eyes focused on Cara, who knelt beside him.

"I'm so sorry. You're hurt." Her tears splashed his face. "I didn't mean for you to be hurted. I just wanted to prove I could be a pirate, too. I'll bring Gran."

Before he could stop her, she was on her feet and flying towards the kitchen, a small structure fashioned of gray stone and chinked with an oyster shell mixture. He groaned again; he was in real trouble.

In no time, his gran, head of silver-red hair, eyes of sky-blue, and a no-nonsense Scottish manner, helped him to his feet, while pressing a cold, wet cloth to his nose. "Ye hae broken it fer sure and certain, Donlan MacGarrow." Her pronouncement was dire. "Ye'll probably hae a crook there e're after. Let's get ye to the kitchen and hae a good look."

Cara, still crying, clu