Adventurer's Honeymoon

Adventurer's Honeymoon

  Kevin L. O'Brien

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  Text Copyright 2013 by Kevin L. O'Brien

  Cover design and typography copyright 2013 by Kevin L. O'Brien

  Adventure font distributed under a free use license by Neale Davidson and Pixel Sagas

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  License Notes

  Please consider writing a review for this book on the retailer's website.

  If you see any misspellings or typographical errors, please notify Kevin L. O'Brien using one of his online social networks. Thank you.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, including those based on the real world, are either products of the imagination of Kevin L. O'Brien or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Because some ebook platforms do not support special characters, certain words may appear misspelled, but this was done deliberately to avoid the problem of the platforms deleting the characters. Also, the LRF platform used by older models of the Sony Reader does not permit the use of links to external URLs, whereas the PDB platform used by Palm reading devices does not support any form of linking whatsoever. Finally, certain words use British instead of American spelling, to simulate the characters' English accents.

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  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Adventurer's Honeymoon

  About the Author

  Other Books by Kevin L. O'Brien

  Connect with Kevin L. O'Brien

  Sample Excerpts

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  Preface

  When Sir Differel Van Helsing married Victor Plunkett in the Dreamlands, the ceremony took place between crises, so they didn't have a proper honeymoon. In this story they have rectified that oversight, but you can probably guess what happens.

  The title is a play on the phrase "busman's holiday". Back when municipal buses were simply large horse-drawn carriages, the drivers often became very attached to their teams. As such, many of them spent their holidays riding the buses to make sure their temporary replacements treated their horses well. The term came to mean spending one's free time doing whatever one did while working.

  Back to TOC

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  Differel awoke, and found herself draped over Victor's body with her head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest. She looked out the nearest window and saw the sun well up in the azure sky, making it around early mid-morning. She gazed down at her sleeping husband and smiled. That handsome, angular face could make her swoon like a schoolgirl, with its chiseled rugged cinema star features, but the goatee gave him a diabolical caste.

  She rolled backwards and sat up on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake him. She took a moment to scan the tiny room of the deserted fisherman's cottage before she stood up. Rustic did not adequately describe it; it looked too bare-bones for that.

  She retrieved her chemise from the back of the only chair and slipped it on over her head. Then she opened the door and stepped outside. She looked up at the startled cries of the seagulls as they took off from where they rested on the roof. Her gaze followed them out over the wine-dark sea. The cabin sat in the middle of a tiny, rock-bound island, barely above high tide, but for the moment the water had receded to expose the encompassing shingle beach.

  She heard a noise behind her and turned to see Victor out of bed. He stood in the only open space in the hut and stretched his strong svelte naked body, the sight of which never failed to incite her pulse to race and her breath to catch. She stood in the doorway, admiring her Adonis, when he focused his toffee-brown eyes on her.

  "Good morning," she said as she stepped up to him.

  He smiled back and they embraced for a long, deep kiss. She barely came up to his chin, but she helped him stoop by placing a hand on the back of his head, and she ran her fingers through his wavy collar-length walnut-brown hair.

  Presently he raised his head, though they stayed in each other's grasp. "Good morning, My Love." His voice had a smooth, warm baritone that sounded like how fifty-year old single-malt Scotch tasted.

  "Last day." They hadn't had a proper honeymoon when they married, so they had intended that seven-day trip to make up for it.

  "I know. We should do something special, to close it with a bang."

  She smirked. "As opposed to what we have been doing?"

  "Mere foreplay, Love. Now comes the climax."

  "What did you have in mind?"

  "I thought some warm-up exercises to begin with. Then, after lunch, we'd take a stroll down to the beach, have a brief swim to limber up, and initiate the main event."

  "How many heats?"

  He flashed a lecherous leer. "As many as we have the strength for. Personally, I hope to continue well past dark. Think you can keep up?"

  "Hmph. Bloody cheek. I plan to have a photo finish."

  "If you say so, Love." She laughed as he swept her off her feet, turned, and carried her the few steps back to the bed. He laid her down in a gentle manner, draped himself on top of her, and lowered his face to her neck. She closed her eyes and sighed as she felt his lips brush against her shoulder.

  A wave of dread washed through her as her whole body tensed. Victor felt it too, and he looked up at her. "Is something wrong?"

  "I'm not sure. Eleanor is apprehensive."

  "About what?"

  She felt her irritation flare. "I can't read her mind. She just feels anxious about something."

  "Is it dangerous?"

  She closed her eyes and mentally verbalized: Danger, Eleanor? At first she felt uncertainty, but a sudden shock stabbed at her nerves.

  She snapped her eyes open. "Bloody hell!"

  Five armed men surged through the open doorway. Victor rolled off of her backwards as she sat up and swung her legs around, but their assailants reached them in moments. Three went for him as a fourth grabbed her legs and pulled her off the bed. She slammed onto the floor and the fifth planted a foot on her chest and stuck the tip of his cutlass into her neck.

  "Surrender," he said to Victor, "or I'll cut her throat."

  He throttled one of his attackers as the other two tried to grapple him, but he replied by relaxing his grip and raising his hands. The fifth man, who seemed to be in charge, removed his foot as his partner let her legs drop.

  "Get up." He signaled with his weapon. She got to her feet as the other three pushed Victor beside her. He looked them over, but the expression on his face suggested disgust rather than titillation. He grabbed a pair of braies, linen shorts that passed for underwear in the Dreamlands, and tossed them at him.

  "Put them on."

  Victor caught them against his chest and took a moment to comply.

  "Outside." He jerked his head in the direction of the entrance.

  She gave him a baleful stare. "You could at least let us get dressed."

  "Where you're going, you won't need more. Now, get a move on."

  She raised an eyebrow, but complied as Victor followed. However cryptic his statement, she realized they meant to kill them or sell them as slaves. Either way, he was correct.

  The men led them around to the back of the cottage and down to the beach, but she spotted the ship long before they reached the water. It looked like a brig, about eighty to a hundred feet long, with two square-rigged masts, three trysails forward, a gaff rig aft, and a lateen sail between the masts. Though the vessel lay at anchor, it remained fully rigged, as if ready to set sail at a moment's notice.

  Pirates; she figured as much. If the ship was true to type it would have a crew of twelve to fifteen and a dozen guns. It wouldn't be a match for a warship, but it could run rings ar
ound a merchant vessel.

  When they reached the shore she saw two empty oared cutters drawn up on the cobbles; a lone figure stood in front of them. Though it had its back turned, she could tell immediately it had to be a Leng Man. He turned around, and her stomach clenched at the sight of him. He had a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested build, with a round head and a wide, frog-like mouth. He wore a belted tunic and trousers under a long open coat, with a bulbous turban covering his head, a basket-hilted broadsword at his hip, and heavy boots on his feet. She knew, though, that the costume disguised his satyr body, particularly the cloven-hoof feet, backward-pointing knees, and goat horns and ears.

  But the scar across his face disturbed her the most. She had given it to him the first time they met, and he had confronted her five more times since trying to get revenge.

  He spread his mouth into a grin, displaying big, blunt teeth, and he spoke in a high bass. "Good morning, My Lord and Lady Elissa." He