Plunder by Knight

by Mia Pride

  Plunder by Knight

  A Pirates of Britannia World Novel

  Mia Pride

  To all my readers who encourage me every day to get up and keep doing this crazy thing over and over again! I couldn’t do it without your support and encouragement. Thank you!

  About the Book

  Torn between duty and dreams...

  Born of Irish pirates but raised to be an English Knight, Thomas Esmonde is a man stuck between two opposing worlds. His lingering Irish accent never afforded him many friends at the English court, nor has he ever wished to conform to their overbearing rules and stuffy societal expectations. Reoccurring dreams of ancient treasure and a yearning for life on the high sea are at odds with his hard-earned honor and knightly duties.

  But when he is sent to Ireland to aid the English cause, he is immediately thrust into his previous life as his ship is captured by the infamous Pirate Queen of Ireland, his grandmother. Faced with the temptations of gold, adventure, women, and plunder, his loyalties are split between his family and his queen... then split further when he captures his enemy’s beautiful, yet mischievous daughter.

  Longing for freedom and adventure...

  With her mother dead and her father fighting the Irish rebels, Katherine Bingham is often left lonely and unattended, spending her days watching the pirates of Clew Bay from afar and dreaming of adventure.

  Born an English lady but raised on Irish soil, she wishes to aid the people she considers her own, even daring to steal from the pirates to do so...until the night she is caught by the most handsome, yet frightening pirate she has ever seen.

  Born to be enemies, Katherine and Thomas cannot deny the attraction and deeper connection pulling them together as they discover their shared goal: Freedom for Ireland. But, to keep Katherine for himself, Thomas will have to defy his queen, his family, and his country. One act of revenge led him to the love of his life, but can he keep her without losing his honor, or his head?

  Copyright

  Text copyright by the Author.

  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.

  PLUNDER BY KNIGHT © 2018 Mia Pride. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended reader) in ANY form (now known or hereafter invented) without prior written permission by the author. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and punishable by law.

  PLUNDER BY KNIGHT is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and or are used fictitiously and solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Kim Killion @ The Killion Group, Inc.

  Published by DragonMedia, Inc.

  PO Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  Contents

  Legend of the Pirates of Britannia

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Mia Pride

  Excerpt from THE SEA DEVIL

  Excerpt from SEA WOLFE

  Excerpt from THE BLOOD REAVER

  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 st
ories….

  Prologue

  Ireland 1574

  He stumbled over a rather large boulder as his mama dragged him by the wrist, the cold air whipping her wild red hair behind her, the yellow and red plaid cloak around her neck billowing out to the side with a violent gust of wind. A proud member of the O’Malley clan, he had been taught at a very young age what the red and yellow of their colors represented. The yellow stood for generosity and the red for military fortitude. Aye, he came from a long line of seamen… and pirates, though his mama never allowed him to say so aloud. He was proud to be the grandson of the Irish Pirate Queen, Grace O’Malley. However, his mama never seemed to share in that pride, always looking over her shoulder for the next English attack on her family.

  “Mama! Ye are hurting my wrist!”

  “I am sorry, my wee lad,” his mama shouted over her shoulder. “We must arrive at the dock on time!”

  On time? On time for what? His mama usually avoided the docks and all things involved in their family’s seafaring business. Why now, in the early dawn with the sun only barely creeping past the endless horizon before him, was his mama so anxious to arrive at the docks? Yanking him from his deep sleep filled with dreams of sea battles, an ancient buried treasure, and exposed caves up on a mountain, his mama had forced him into a pair of beige breeches that went to his knees, tossed his blue tunic at him, then his cloak, and forced his boots on his feet before dragging him quietly out of the castle.

  “Why do we go to the docks, Mama?” he asked, not sure if she could hear him over the howling wind. He stumbled on another rock and landed on his knees.

  “Och, my wee lad. I am sorry!” His mama finally stopped and released his wrist, turning to face him for the first time since she had woken him. “I never meant to hurt ye. I am trying to save ye…” Her voice trembled as did her hands, and he saw her lower lip quiver. Was she simply cold? ‘Twas most freezing outside. Had she said she was trying to save him?

  Catching his breath and wiping his hands on his breeches, he winced at the small pebbles embedded in his palms from his fall. “Save me from what?” he questioned with a frown.

  His mother’s green eyes darted toward the sea, and his eyes, the same shade of emerald that many of his O’Malley clan owned, followed her gaze. As the sun rose over the sea sending streaks of orange, pink and purple across the sky, he saw a large galley ship silhouetted in the early dawn light. This was nothing new to him. His grandmama Grace owned an entire fleet of galley ships, yet… the flag whipping violently in the wind was not the Pirate Queen’s notorious black flag containing the red O’Malley boar with the bones of its enemy crushed within its mouth. It was not easy to see what the flag was… but it looked British.

  His curious gaze snapped back to his mama. The British were the enemy of his family, always sending new men to govern their land, steal their cattle, and burn their ships. More than once his grandmama Grace had had to protect their home, Rockfleet castle, from a British attack. His eyes widened, and his wee heart sped up frantically as he tugged his mama’s cloak. “Mama! Our enemy is here! We must go and tell Grandmama!”

  Tears glittered in his mother’s eyes as a look of regret transformed her face. With a long, deep sigh that forced a puff of breath from her lips, she knelt down to his level and placed her hands on his shoulders. “My sweet, wee Tomás.” She shook her head and her red hair moved away from her face, her nose nipped pink from the cold. “There is so much I have kept from ye in your seven years of life. I wished to protect ye, but now I see there is only one way to further do so…”

  With a furrowed brow, Tomás looked at his mama and frowned. What had she needed to protect him from? Aye, people tried to take his family down, but none had succeeded. Who could touch the Pirate Queen of Ireland? He was not certain what a pirate did aside from finding hidden treasure, but for some reason, the British hated them, which made him hate the British for always tormenting his family.

  Surprisingly, his mama grabbed his wrist once more and began to walk toward the looming British ship anchored off shore, not away from it. “What are you doing, Mama? They will attack us!” The closer they walked to the shoreline, the more details came into focus. He saw three large men standing in front of a skiff, huddled close together while discussing something. They all wore fine clothes, certainly not the type of clothes any Irishman would wear. The man in the middle wore a dark blue velvet Jerkin and a fine matching cloak. His collar came up high on his neck, with many ruffles. Hose covered his legs and Tomás’s eyes grew wide at how large the man’s muscles were. He dressed finely but was clearly a powerful and important man. “Mama…” Tomás tugged on his mother’s cloak again, but she kept walking toward the men, this time with her head held high.

  Just as they approached, the large man in the middle stopped his whispered conversation and glared menacingly at his mama, before settling a hesitant smile on Tomás. His mother kneeled to his level and sighed again. “Tomás… that man with the dark hair and fancy clothing is your true father.”

  Eyes growing wide, Tomás looked from his mama to the imposing large man and back. “Devil’s bollocks!” Tomás shouted in shock. “You said my father was dead!”

  “Do not speak that way, Tomás!” his mother admonished and shook her head. “I see your grandmother’s foul mouth has rubbed off on you. A young gentleman, especially a good Catholic lad, should never speak this way.”

  “Sorry, Mama.” He was sorry. He did not mean to speak foully, but his mama had sworn his papa was dead. How was this large man his father, why had she said he was dead, and why were they meeting him now, after seven years… in front of a British galley, no less?

  “I have tried to be a good mother to you. From the moment you were born, all I ever did was try to protect you. Your father is a powerful man… and he is loyal to England… and a… Protestant,” she cringed; she whispered the word as if it were fouler than his previous curse. “When we met, he had been sent here by Queen Elizabeth to help govern the people of Ireland. We fell in love and married. I truly did love your papa, Tomás. Och, I always will. He was a Catholic, but with the influence of his queen, once I was pregnant with you he informed me that he had converted to the new faith and insisted I do so as well. I had no choice…” She shook her head and frowned. “I had to leave him, lad. Our family has been Catholic since St. Patrick himself converted our land. ‘Tis in our veins. The new faith is heresy! I feared for your soul, so I fled with you back to Connaught to live with my mother. I told you he died, because well… he may as well have. He dissolved our marriage and remarried.”

  Tomás listened to his mama, but all she said was much too complicated for his young mind. Confusion blurred the lines of right and wrong in his mind. “I grew up without a papa because you did not like his beliefs?” he questioned, feeling both hurt and angry.

  “Aye… ‘tis the way of it. I had to! But now… Och! Now all has changed. The British are coming for our family, wee Tomás. They have already tried to imprison grandmama more than once. I have tried to shield you from the family business, but surely you know that your grandmama Grace is seen as a criminal? And in truth, she is. I thought you were safer here, but now I see… I would rather you go away to England with your Protestant father than remain here in Ireland where our family is constantly under attack.”

  Tomás shook his head and swallowed hard, clinging to his mama’s faded green woolen skirt. “Go away? Mama! I cannot go away! I do not wish to leave you or grandmama! I did not say goodbye to her! I do not know that man!” His voice rose as he pointed at his supposed father. He did not care what faith his father believed in. All he knew was that his mama was passing him over to a strange man and sending him to the enemy. “Nay! I shall not go! I won’t!” he shouted, and stomped his foot before turning on his heel to run.

  Before he could take another step, he crashed into the legs of the large man, who squatted down to his level and placed his huge hands on Tomás’s shoulders. The man’s rapie
r hung from a belt around his waist and Tomás swallowed when large blue eyes took him in with wonder.

  “Tomás. You should never fear me,” the man’s deep voice resounded. “I am your papa. I have missed you so these many years. I did not wish to lose you… or your mama, but I am here now and you shall be safe.”

  Tomás shook his head and tried to jerk out of the man’s grasp. “Mama! Please!” He heard her sob behind him just before she came around to sit beside him and his father. He saw his father’s gaze flicker toward his mama and swore he saw affection in his blue eyes just before they focused once more on Tomás.

  “My wee lad,” she cried, wiping her tears away. “I love ye more than anything. Ye are my whole world and someday ye shall find yer way back to us. But for now, I must send ye to safety. Your father is a nobleman. He has the ear of the queen, owns lands, and can set ye up to foster with a noble family. Ye may become a knight.”

  “A knight?” Tomás stopped struggling in the arms of his new, strange father and froze. He wanted to be a pirate. Yet, at the thought of being a knight, shiny armor, swords, and adventure filled his mind.

  “Aye, a knight, my son. Would you like that?” Tomás looked at his father suspiciously, not sure he believed the man or his promises. By the looks of him, with his well-groomed dark hair and beard, and his well-fitting garments, the man had money and power. Most men he knew traveled in old breeches and loose tunics. This man traveled in clothes nicer than any he had ever seen, which meant they mustn’t even be his best garments.