The Seafaring Rogue
Pirates of Britannia
Sky Purington
Copyright © 2018 Sky Purington
Kindle Edition
This work was made possible by a special license through the Pirates of Britannia Connected
World publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by DragonMedia Publishing, Inc. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Pirates of Britannia connected series by Kathryn Le Veque and Eliza Knight remain exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque and/or Eliza Knight, or their affiliates or licensors. All characters created by the author of this novel remain the copyrighted property of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Cover Design by Kim Killion @ The Killion Group, Inc.
Edited by Cathy McElhaney
The Pirates of Britannia World
Savage of the Sea
by Eliza Knight
Leader of Titans
by Kathryn Le Veque
The Sea Devil
by Eliza Knight
Sea Wolfe
by Kathryn Le Veque
The Sea Lyon
by Hildie McQueen
The Blood Reaver
by Barbara Devlin
Plunder by Knight
by Mia Pride
The Seafaring Rogue
by Sky Purington
Stolen by Starlight
by Avril Borthiry
The Ravishing Rees
by Rosamund Winchester
The Marauder
by Anna Markland
The Pirate’s Temptation
by Tara Kingston
Pearls of Fire
by Meara Platt
The Righteous Side of Wicked
by Jennifer Bray-Weber
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Pirates of Britannia World
About the Book
Legend of the Pirates of Britannia
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
Also by Sky Purington
About the Book
Left for dead on the shores of Scotland, Fraser MacLomain falls in love with the healer who saves him. Yet Elspeth MacLauchlin has deep dark secrets. Hidden truths rooted in a century old family feud. A vendetta that is soon resurrected by vicious enemies who steal her away during a late night pirate attack.
Bent on saving her and reaping revenge, Fraser embraces a life of piracy. Cutthroat, out for blood, he relentlessly pursues his nemesis long after rumor has Elspeth dead. Long after he abandons love for bitterness. But even a hardened heart can be thawed, as he soon discovers when catching his foe begins a high seas adventure ripe with passion, intrigue, and treasure.
Legend of the Pirates of Britannia
In the year of our Lord 854, a wee lad by the name of Arthur MacAlpin set out on an adventure that would turn the tides of his fortune, for what could be more exciting than being feared and showered with gold?
Arthur wanted to be king. A sovereign as great as King Arthur, who came hundreds of years before him. The legendary knight who was able to pull a magical sword from stone, met ladies in lakes and vanquished evil with a vast following who worshipped him. But while that King Arthur brought to mind dreamlike images of a roundtable surrounded by chivalrous knights and the ladies they romanced, MacAlpin wanted to summon night terrors from every babe, woman and man.
Aye, MacAlpin, king of the pirates of Britannia would be a name most feared. A name that crossed children’s lips when the candles were blown out at night. When a shadow passed over a wall, was it the pirate king? When a ship sailed into port in the dark hours of night, was it him?
As the fourth son of the conquering Pictish King Cináed, Arthur wanted to prove himself to his father. He wanted to make his father proud, and show him that he, too, could be a conqueror. King Cináed was praised widely for having run off the Vikings, for saving his people, for amassing a vast and strong army. No one would dare encroach on his conquered lands when they would have to face the end of his blade.
Arthur wanted that, too. He wanted to be feared. Awed. To hold his sword up and have devils come flying from the tip.
So, it was on a fateful summer night in 854 that, at the age of ten and nine, Arthur amassed a crew of young and roguish Picts and stealthily commandeered one of his father’s ships. They blackened the sails to hide them from those on watch and began an adventure that would last a lifetime and beyond.
The lads trolled the seas, boarding ships and sacking small coastal villages. In fact, they even sailed so far north as to raid a Viking village in the name of his father. By the time they returned to Oban, and the seat of King Cináed, all of Scotland was raging about Arthur’s atrocities. Confused, he tried to explain, but his father would not listen and would not allow him back into the castle.
King Cináed banished his youngest son from the land, condemned his acts as evil and told him he never wanted to see him again.
Enraged and experiencing an underlying layer of mortification, Arthur took to the seas, gathering men as he went, and building a family he could trust that would not shun him. They ravaged the sea as well as the land—using his clan’s name as a lasting insult to his father for turning him out.
The legendary Pirate King was rumored to be merciless, the type of vengeful pirate who would drown a babe in his mother’s own milk if she didn’t give him the pearls at her neck. But with most rumors, they were mostly steeped in falsehoods meant to intimidate. In fact, there may have been a wee boy or two he saved from an untimely fate. Whenever they came across a lad or lass in need, as Arthur himself had once been, they took them into the fold.
One ship became two. And then three, four, five, until a score of ships with blackened sails roamed the seas.
These were his warriors. A legion of men who adored him, respected him, followed him, and, together, they wreaked havoc on the blood ties that had sent him away. And generations upon generations, country upon country, they would spread far and wide until people feared them from horizon to horizon. Every pirate king to follow would be named MacAlpin, so his father’s banishment would never be forgotten.
Forever lords of the sea. A daring brotherhood, where honor among thieves reigns supreme, and crushing their enemies is a thrilling pastime.
These are the pirates of Britannia, and here are their stories….
Was not the sea
Made for the Free,
Land for courts and chains alone?
Here we are slaves,
But, on the waves,
Love and Liberty’s all our own.
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us –
Then come o’er the sea,
Maiden, with me,
Mine through sunshine, storms, and snows
Seasons may roll,
But the true soul
Bu
rns the same, where’er it goes.
–Thomas Moore
Prologue
Province of Mearns, Scotland
Stonehaven Bay
1448
He cracked open an eye only to squeeze it shut against the blinding sun. His mouth was bone dry, his tongue swollen and his parched lips caked with salt.
Where was he?
What happened?
He tried to wiggle his fingers and toes but felt nothing.
Was he dead?
Was this hell?
His mind was blank. Empty.
Who was he?
Awareness came and went, and with it sounds. Waves crashed in the distance. Seagulls cried overhead. Brine and seaweed scented the cool wind. He tried to move toward life, toward all he felt around him, but it was impossible.
He was too far gone.
Or so he thought until a wracking cough gripped him and a sharp pain lanced his mid-section.
“Shh,” came a gentle feminine voice from far away. “Dinnae move quite yet.”
When a soft hand touched his forehead, he realized that she was, in fact, right beside him. He attempted to open his eyes again, but it was too painful.
“Where am I?” he tried to say, but instead more coughs overcame him and something warm trickled out of the corner of his mouth. Mayhap blood? From what though? He recalled no battle. No skirmish of any sort.
“I’m going to move ye someplace safe and tend to your wounds.” She still sounded far away. “But first, a wee drink if ye can.”
A drink? Was she mad? While certainly thirsty, he could barely breathe let alone swallow. Nevertheless, moments later he felt her tender touch as she tipped his head forward ever-so-slightly and something bitter slid down his throat.
He flinched and tried to speak again, but it was no use.
Everything drifted further and further away.
He tried to stay with her, wanted to hold on, but he started to slip into a deep dark abyss. He had no choice but to give in and allow Fate to have him. To follow a path that might very well end in death.
Or—as he hoped before he faded altogether—a path that might just lead back to her.
Chapter One
A Fortnight Later
Nightmares came and went. Murky, echoing places full of black shadows and evil warnings. Yet still, there were kinder voices eager to tell him something. Remind him. Memories just out of reach. Truths being hidden. But he never heard them clearly.
He only heard her.
The lass by the shore.
Like an angel, her gentle voice floated in and out of the dark places in his mind, pulling him back from a bottomless chasm. He felt her comforting touch. Her healing hands. Though there were bouts of physical pain, they lessened. Rather, he began to welcome the moments of discomfort because he knew she would be touching him again.
It was during one of those times that he finally broke free from the hazy, otherworldly place he had been in, and opened his eyes. Not much. Just a mere slit so he could watch her.
Not surprisingly, her appearance was as bonny as her voice. She had rich auburn tinted dark brown hair and delicate, even features. Her lips were full and plush and her long, thick lashes, a shade darker than her hair. Lending character to her startling beauty, a light smattering of freckles dusted her cheekbones and nose.
It was her eyes, however, that made it impossible to look away. A sparkling, pale copper, they were undoubtedly the sort of eyes that could hold a lad prisoner and melt his heart.
“Good morn,” she said softly, evidently aware he had awoken as she finished with the wrap on his stomach then lifted a skin of water to his mouth. “Dinnae try to speak but drink some water, aye? Ye need to regain your strength.”
He did as she asked, relishing the cool liquid. More so, the poignant feeling he experienced the moment her eyes finally met his. Did he know her from somewhere? Had they met before? She seemed so familiar. So important.
“Thank ye,” he managed to whisper as she settled his head back.
She nodded and was about to say something when a tall, dark haired man entered and scowled in his direction. “Is he awake then?”
Only then did he take stock of his surroundings.
They were in a relatively small cave with a crackling fire. Based on the whistling wind and the sound of waves, they remained close to the shore. Bushels of fresh herbs hung about so he would say they were close to woodland as well. A young, slender lad mayhap around thirteen winters sat quietly in the corner grinding something in a small wooden bowl.
The man who had just entered was a rough sort with brown hair and a braided beard. He wore black boots, a plaid with faded colors and a brown bandana wrapped around his head. Most notable though were the variety of weapons tucked here and there. He was a fighter. And based on his liquid movements a good one.
“Aye, he’s awake,” she replied to the bearded man before her eyes returned to him. “Have ye a name then?”
“Not that I remember,” he said hoarsely, welcoming more water.
“Aye then,” she murmured. “Ye took a serious hit to the head, but hopefully it will come back to ye.” She gestured in the stranger’s direction. “That’s my brother Douglas MacLauchlin, and my name’s Elspeth.”
“Elspeth MacLauchlin,” he whispered, as something occurred to him. “I knew your lot at one time.”
Though she offered a small smile, the look in her eyes was telling.
“Ye dinnae remember me though, aye?” he murmured, flinching from a twinge of pain as she propped a blanket behind him and helped him sit up against the wall.
“Nay, I’m afraid not.” She shook her head as she made sure he was comfortable then tucked a plaid around him more securely. That’s when he realized he wore no clothing. “Ye arenae familiar to any of us.”
He nodded, disappointed. It was frustrating not knowing who he was. Having no sense of identity.
He eyed Douglas’ unusual clothing, trying to place it. “Where am I then?”
“You’re in a cave near my village.” Her eyes flickered from Douglas back to him as she removed the meat that had been roasting on a spit. “’Tis safer here for now.”
“And where is your village?” he asked.
When she told him, he nodded. “I know of the area.” He met their surprised looks with one of his own as certain things came flooding back. “For that matter, I remember Scotland quite well.” He shook his head. “Though I dinnae think I’m from around here.”
In fact, he was positive he was not.
His eyes fell to the bandage wrapped around his waist then returned to Elspeth. “Thank ye for seeing to me, lass.”
“Aye then,” another man declared as he entered. “Our good Elspeth brought ye back from the brink of death, she did.” He grinned and nodded his way. “The name’s Innis.”
He greeted him in kind, taking note of his size and attire as well. Though not as tall as Douglas, his shoulders were broader and his muscles more substantial. His flaming red hair was long and wild with plenty of small braids interwoven. Like Elspeth’s brother, he wore a bandana around his head but breeches instead of a plaid.
After Douglas caught him up, Innis shook his head. “So ye dinnae recall your name, aye? Ye poor bastard.” He grinned as he tossed him a skin. “Ye’ll be needing that then, I’d say.”
He nodded, grateful as he took a swig of what turned out to be whisky. It was clear Innis was a lighthearted if not boisterous soul.
“Thank ye, lass,” he murmured, his attention no longer on Innis but Elspeth as she handed him a wooden plate with rabbit. “For everything.”
She nodded then urged the others to eat before she turned her attention his way again. “I was not the only one who took care of ye.” She nodded in the direction of the quiet lad. “My apprentice Audric did as well. He helped me get ye here then saw to your more personal needs.”
He arched his brows at that, grateful he supposed all things considered.
> When he nodded at the boy, Audric murmured, “Bonjour.” His eyes flickered nervously to the other men before they returned to the safety of whatever he was grinding.
Speaking French, Elspeth murmured something reassuring to Audric before her eyes returned to his.
“Ye must truly have God on your side.” She watched him curiously. “Ye took verra well to our administrations and healed quickly considering ye fought the fever for so long.” Her eyes fell to his abdomen. “Though ye still feel some pain, your injuries should not give ye issue for much longer. ’Tis a miracle really.”
“Och, aye!” Innis appeared properly mystified as he kept grinning. “I’d say he’s got ancient druid blood in him. ’Tis said they possessed mystical healing qualities.”
“Ye and your stories.” Douglas snorted and perked an exasperated brow at Innis. “This one will be about a druid of centuries past washing up on our shores then, aye?”
“Mayhap.” Innis chuckled. “It doesnae hurt to have a tale to tell the lassies.” He looked away from Douglas and winked in his direction. “’Twill give them a good stir and likely in your favor, friend.”
Elspeth rolled her eyes. “He needs rest before lasses, Innis.”
That was a matter of opinion. Especially with the likes of Elspeth around.
As they ate, he continued listening to the three of them as he discreetly watched her. She had tied the bottom of her dress up in such a fashion that it created breeches of a sort. The edges were wet, and her small feet were dirty so he would guess she had recently walked the shore.
“They’re starting to grow suspicious in the village, Sister,” Douglas murmured. “Ye should make an appearance more often lest they find what you’re hiding in here.”
“Aye,” Innis agreed.
He couldn’t help but notice the interest in Innis’ eyes as they followed Elspeth. Though he might claim to enjoy the lasses, one stood out amongst the rest. She, in turn, didn’t seem to notice that she caught anyone’s eye. But then he got the impression she wasn’t all that concerned with what men thought of her. She was an independent sort if ever there was one.
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