by Eliza Knight
Savage of the Sea
Book One: Pirates of Britannia
Eliza Knight
Contents
Savage of the Sea
About the Book
Dear Reader
Legend of the Pirates of Britannia
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Also by Eliza Knight
About the Author
Excerpt of Leader of Titans — Book Two
Savage of the Sea
Book One: Pirates of Britannia
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.
When Highland pirate prince Shaw “Savage” MacDougall is invited to a deadly feast, he doesn’t know that saving a wee lass could forever change his future.
Widowed at a young age, Lady Jane Lindsey seeks refuge from her departed husband’s vengeful enemies. For five years, she’s held a secret that could cost her everything, including her life. When her safety is compromised, she reaches out to the only man who’s protected her in the past and offers him a bounty he cannot refuse.
Shaw’s life is perfect. Whisky, women and mayhem. He wants for nothing—until Lady Jane presents a treasure he’d never considered possessing. He’ll have to risk his lethal reputation in order to save a lass he barely knows, again. And she’ll have to trust a pirate to see their arrangement through to the end. But what happens when perilous battles turn to sinful kisses? Who will save them from each other?
Dear Reader,
The legend of King Arthur MacAlpin is purely fictional and a great jumping off point for this new series. You’ll find that my hero is a MacDougall, and a descendent of my MacDougall heroes, though his father, who I’ve made into a less than stellar specimen, is certainly not one of my previous heroes!
I based the opening chapter of this story on the infamous Black Dinner that took place in 1440. While there is no mention of whether the fifteen/sixteen year old William, Earl of Douglas brought his young countess bride with him to the dinner, for the purposes of this story, I have placed her there, and given her a home and a happily-ever-after in my story. The Black Knight of Lorne is a real character, and he was married to Queen Joan, and the events recalling her death are all true. The Black Knight was even kidnapped by pirates, which was perfect fodder for my story, and which I took creative license in adding to the story.
While the Isle of Scarba is a real place, my fictional Castle Dheomhan was created as in my mind for Savage’s stronghold.
I do hope you enjoyed the first book in this new series!
Happy Reading,
Eliza
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 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…
Chapter One
Edinburgh Castle, Scotland
November 1440
Shaw MacDougall stood in the great hall of Edinburgh Castle with dread in the pit of his stomach. He was amongst dozens of other armored knights—though he was no knight. Nay, he was a blackmailed pirate under the guise of a mercenary for the day. And though he’d not known the job he was hired to do until he arrived at the castle, and still didn’t really. He’d been told to wait until given an order, and ever since, the leather-studded armor weighed heavily on him, and sweat dripped in a steady line down his spine.
The wee King of Scotland, just ten summers, sat at the dais entertaining his guests, who were but children themselves. William Douglas, Earl of Douglas, was only sixteen, and his brother was only a year or two older than the
king himself. Beside the lads was a beautiful young lass, with long golden locks that caught the light of the torches. The lass was perhaps no more than sixteen herself, though she already had a woman’s body—a body he should most certainly not be looking at. And though he was only a handful of years over twenty, and might be convinced she was of age, he was positive she was far too young for him. Wide blue eyes flashed from her face and held the gaze of everyone in the room just long enough that they were left squirming. And her mouth… God, she had a mouth made to—
Ballocks! It was wrong to look at her in any way that might be construed as…desire.
There was an air of innocence about her that clashed with the cynical look she sometimes cast the earl, whom Shaw had guessed might be her husband. It wasn’t hard to spot a woman unhappily married. Hell, it was a skill he’d honed while in port, as he loved to dally with disenchanted wives and leave them quite satisfied.
Unfortunately for him, he was not interested in wee virginal lasses. And so, would not be leaving that lass satisfied. Decidedly, he kept his gaze averted from her and eyed the men about the room.
Torches on the perimeter walls lit the great hall, but only dimly. None of the candelabras were burning, leaving many parts of the room cast in shadow—the corners in particular. And for Shaw, this was quite disturbing.
He was no stranger to battle—and not just any type of battle—he was intimately acquainted with guerilla warfare, the pirate way. But why the hell would he, the prince of pirates, be hired by a noble lord intimately acquainted with the king?
Shaw glanced sideways at the man who’d hired him. Sir Andrew Livingstone. Shaw’s payment wasn’t in coin, nay, he’d taken this mission in exchange for several members of his crew being released from the dungeons without a trial. Had he not, they’d likely have hung. Shaw had been more than happy to strike a bargain with Livingstone in exchange for his men’s lives.
Now, he dreaded the thought of what that job might be.
This would be the last time he let his men convince him mooring in Blackness Bay for a night of debauchery was a good idea. It was there that two of his crew had decided to act like drunken fools, and it was also there, that half a dozen other pirates jumped in to save them. They’d all been arrested and brought before Livingstone, who’d tossed them in a cell.
And now, here he was, feeling out of place in the presence of the king and the two men, Livingstone and the Lord Chancellor, who had arranged for this oddly dark feast. They kept giving each other strange looks, as though speaking through gestures. Shaw shifted, cracking his neck, and glanced back at the dais table lined with youthful nobles.
Seated beside the young earl, the lass glanced furtively around the room, her eyes jumpy as a rabbit as though she sensed something. She sipped her cup daintily and picked at the food on her plate, peeking nervously about the room. Every once in a while, she’d give her head a little shake as if trying to convince herself that whatever it was she sensed was all in her head.
The air in the room shifted, growing tenser. There was a subtle nod from the Lord Chancellor to a man near the back of the room, who then disappeared. At the same time, a knight approached the lass with a message. She wrinkled her nose, glancing back toward the young lad to her left and shaking her head, dismissing the knight. But a second later, she was escorted, rather unwillingly, from the room.
Shaw tensed at the way the knight gripped her arm and that her idiotic boy husband didn’t seem to care at all. What was the meaning of all this?
Perhaps the reason presented itself a moment later. A man dressed in black from head to toe, including a hood covering his face, entered from the rear of the great hall carrying a blackened boar’s head on a platter. He walked slowly, and as those sitting at the table turned their gaze toward him, their eyes widened. In what though? Shock? Curiosity? Or was it fear?
Did Livingstone plan to kill the king?
If so, why did none of the guards pull out their swords to stop this messenger of death?
Shaw was finding it difficult to stand by and let this happen.
But the man in black did not stop in front of the king. Instead, he stopped in front of the young earl and his wee brother, placing the boar’s head between them. Shaw knew what it meant before either of the victims it was served to did.
“Nay,” he growled under his breath.
The two lads looked at the blackened head with disgust, and then the earl seemed to recognize the menacing gesture. Glowering at the servant, he said, “Get that bloody thing out of my sight.”
Shaw was taken aback that the young man spoke with such authority, though he supposed at sixteen, he himself had already captained one of MacAlpin’s ships and posed that same authority.
At this, Livingstone and Crichton stood and took their places before the earl and his brother.
“William Douglas, sixth Earl of Douglas, and Sir David Douglas, ye’re hereby charged with treason against His Majesty King James II.”
The young king worked hard to hide his surprise, sitting up a little taller. “What? Nay!”
The earl glanced at the king with a sneer one gives a child they think deserves punishment. “What charges could ye have against us?” Douglas shouted. “We’ve done nothing wrong. We are loyal to our king.”
“Ye stand before your accusers and deny the charges?” Livingstone said, eyebrow arched, his tone brooking no argument.
“What charges?” Douglas’s face had turned red with rage, and he stood, hands fisted at his sides.
Livingstone slammed his hands down on the table in front of Douglas. “Guilty. Ye’re guilty.”
William Douglas jerked to a stand, shoving his brother behind him, and pulled his sword from its scabbard. “Lies!” He lunged forward and would have been able to do damage to his accusers if not for the seasoned warriors who overpowered him from behind.
“Stop,” King James shouted, his small voice drowned out by the screams of the Douglas lads and the shouts of the warriors.
Quickly overpowered, the noble lads were dragged kicking and screaming from the great hall, all while King James shouted for the spectacle to cease.
Shaw was about to follow the crowd outside when Livingstone gripped his arm.
“Take care of Lady Douglas.”
Lady Douglas. The sixteen-year-old countess.
“Take care?” Shaw needed to hear it explicitly.
“Aye. Execute her. I dinna care how. Just see it done.” The man shrugged. “We were going to let her live, but I’ve changed my mind. Might as well get her out of the way, too.”
Livingstone wanted Shaw to kill her? As though it was acceptable for a lord to execute lads on trumped up charges of treason, but the murder of a lass, that was a pirate’s duty.
Shaw ground his teeth and nodded. Killing innocent lassies wasn’t part of his code. He’d never done so before and didn’t want to start now. Blast it all! Six pirates for one wee lass. One beautiful, enchanting lass who’d never done him harm. Hell, he didn’t even know her. Slipping unnoticed past the bloodthirsty crowd wasn’t hard given they were too intent on the insanity unfolding around them. He made his way toward the arch where he’d seen the lass dragged too not a quarter hour before.
The arch led to a dimly lit rounded staircase and the only way to go was up. Pulling his sgian-dubh from his boot, Shaw hurried up the stairs, his soft boots barely a whisper on every stone step. At the first round, he encountered a closed door. An ear pressed against the wood proved no one inside. He went up three more stairs to another quiet room. He continued to climb, listening at every door until he reached the very top. The door was closed, and it was quiet, but the air was charged making the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
Taking no more time, Shaw shouldered the door open to find the knight who’d escorted the lass from the great hall lying on top of her on the floor. They struggled. Her legs were parted, skirts up around her hips, tears of rage on her reddened face. The bastard had a hand over her m
outh and sneered up at Shaw upon his entry.
Fury boiled inside him. Shaw slammed the door shut so hard it rattled the rafters.
“Get up,” Shaw demanded, rage pummeling through him at having caught the man as he tried to rape the lass.
Tears streamed from her eyes, which blazed blue as she stared at him. Her face was pale, and her limbs were trembling. Still, there was defiance in the set of her jaw. Something inside his chest clenched. He wanted to rip the whoreson limb from limb. And he knew for a fact he wasn’t going to kill Lady Douglas.
“I said get up.” Shaw advanced a step or two, averting his eyes for a moment as the knight removed himself from her person, letting her adjust her skirts down her legs.
Shaw waved his hand at her, indicating she should run from the room, but rather than escape, she went to the corner of the chamber and cowered.
Saints, but his heart went out to her.
Shaw was a pirate, had witnessed a number of savage acts, and the one thing he could never abide by was the rape of a woman.
The knight didn’t speak, instead he charged toward Shaw with murder in his eyes.
But that didn’t matter. Shaw had dealt with a number of men like him who were used to preying on women. He would be easy, and he would bear the entire brutal brunt of Shaw’s ire.
Shaw didn’t move, simply waiting the breath it took for the knight to be on him. He leapt to the left, out of the path of the knight’s blade, and sank his own blade in quick succession into the man’s gut, then heart, then neck. Three rapid jabs.
