The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) Read Free Page A

given the edible delicacies the Spanish captain, the Don’s own son, Eduardo Philippe Vasquez, had ordered loaded into the hold. Smuggling was not only a surprisingly profitable business, it often provided delight to those who least expected it.
    Smuggling also incurred the oddest allies.
    Capitán Vasquez had no clue he was about to be outfoxed by an Englishman and his own father. Garrick had taken no chances they’d be discovered before La Mota set sail. His body and mind fought for clemency over one singular fear — failure. There was more at stake this time than his own hide. The lives of his brothers and a very valuable woman, soon to be under his protection, were at risk. He might be the lowest of men, a man haunted by specters from the past, but he would never be able to stomach the willful torture, disfigurement, or death of his comrades.
    Frustration set his nerves on edge. Lives weighted his shoulders. Nothing could be left to chance.
    Moore took Keane’s place at his side. “Cap’n, what be your orders?”
    Garrick didn’t hesitate. “Pick them off one by one. Make no mistakes. I don’t want anyone, especially our enemies, to sound an alarm if we’re to slip out of San Sebastian and maneuver the bay without a confrontation.”
    “And the woman?”
    “Vasquez assured me, El Capitán will lock her in his cabin to keep her safe. Leave her to me.”
    “Aye.” Moore nodded then retreated to an area secluded from view. Moments later, he returned with ten men. “It will be as you say, Cap’n. The crew is ready.”
    Garrick squinted to better gauge the Priory’s darkening silhouette, the sanctuary of her taut lines.
    His brothers quietly waited for him to turn to his right. All but one had sailed with him to San Sebastian. William, younger than Max and Rigby, older than Keane and James, remained at Abbydon Cove to ensure security measures were in place until their return. Once Garrick had the Priory under control, and was under way, his brothers would follow, sailing their ship, the Vesper back to Cornwall.
    He spoke to anyone who would hear. “I intend to get my ship back without bloodshed.”
    Rigby preened. “Clever. No better way to offend a Spaniard, I’m thinking.”
    “Especially,” Max added, “right out from under Castillo de La Mota’s nose.”
    “I don’t care how you do it, just get the Priory back.” Keane’s tone bristled with intensity.
    Moore cackled softly and glanced toward the fortress protecting San Sebastian. “You’ve a cruel heart. All o’ ye. And I couldn’t be prouder.”
    “Cruel?” Garrick tried to purge the hatred infiltrating his thoughts. He smiled ruthlessly. “Let’s humiliate the enemy, shall we?”
    “Aye.” Moore gave him a mock salute. “Say the word, and it will be done.”
    Sentries stood near planks balanced across the pier and the Priory’s rail. A naval whistle shrilled into the night, alerting the Spanish crew it was time to board. One by one, sailors staggered across the bridge onto the Priory’s deck, their actions slowed by the drug Vasquez had fed them.
    Horses harnessed to a carriage nearby perked their noses and whinnied.
    “Max, tell Randall and his men to prepare to board.” Damien Randall was his first mate and a man Garrick had entrusted with his life.
    Max trotted silently to the opposite end of the building. Within moments, Randall responded, hailing Garrick with a wave. Randall and his men then sank to their knees at the edge of the warehouse and waited for the “All clear.”
    Damn those horses! They’re going to give us away.
    Garrick motioned to Rigby. “Control the horses.”
    Rigby snuck up quietly on the vehicle, maneuvering around the rear axle toward the front of the conveyance. Throaty snorts and whinnies drifted intermittently on the air as the team, sensing Rigby’s presence, tilted nervous ears backward and shuffled restless hooves, impatiently blowing air out of their nostrils. Rigby reached the first animal