Plunder by Knight: A Pirates of Britannia World Novel

by Pride, Mia

  Women wearing wool dresses, their colors faded, carried weathered baskets in their hands and children ran laughing in all directions. Dogs barked in the distance, running wild as they chased birds trying to land on the shore for a scrap of food. A dark-haired lad in torn brown breeches ran past him, smiling as his mother called him inside for a meal, and he was reminded of his own mother.

  “How does Mama fare? She is living with her husband’s clan?”

  Grace nodded. “Aye. She is a Burke now, just as my previous husband was. We share an important alliance with them. Your stepfather has saved me arse more times than I care to admit,” she chuckled. “Come,” she said, pointing to the largest building in the makeshift village. It was three stories high with long rectangular stone and wood walls. “This is where we unwind, ye ken. Though, these days I much prefer me quiet home and a warm hearth. I save me energy for the sea. Still, I have much to discuss with ye, as does Niall, I presume.”

  Thomas could certainly use a mug of ale, or five. Or mayhap some whiskey. He had already lost his cursed ship and he wanted it back, but without the help of his pirate family, he was stranded and unarmed, as he had left all his weapons behind. Being an unarmed Englishman without a ship in a pirate stronghold made him feel rather like a sitting duck, but he was determined to change that.

  Entering what he realized was a tavern and an inn, candles flickered from every table and sconces from every wall. A large iron chandelier, much more simplistic than anything at court, hung from the ceiling by a chain while short candles flickered above, casting shadows all around. Men shouted with laughter and banged mugs against tables, a few doing what Thomas thought a rather good jig, despite the lack of music. Thomas cracked a smile and popped his knuckles. This was his kind of establishment, not at all stuffy and pretentious like court life.

  Serving lassies walked around the smoke-filled room carrying jugs of mead, their breasts spilling out the tops of their low-cut dresses. “Ye can take a wench later,” Grace said with a wave of her hand. “For now, we have much to discuss. Ah, there is Niall,” she pointed to the dark-haired man who already looked occupied by the lass on his lap. Thomas thought he would not mind a wench or two that night, but first he was unsure exactly what his grandmother wished to discuss aside from his lost ship. Perhaps she wanted to catch up on what they had missed, though she did not seem like the chatty type. She had always been an affectionate grandmother when he was a lad, but now she was more a stranger.

  “Why are ye in Ireland?” Grace asked as she plopped down at a table, swiping her brimmed hat off her head and dropping it on the bench beside her.

  “Drake died and left me a ship and a crew. The queen did not trust me to captain it—”

  “Because ye are an O’Malley,” Grace interjected.

  “Mayhap. I have been a knight for her for nearly a decade and fought in many battles, never showing any signs of disloyalty, but because of my birth and blood, I was always an outcast. She gave me a privateer’s commission, told me to track down and plunder any Spanish ships, and I could earn my ship and crew.”

  Grace made a snorting sound that almost had ale flying out of her nose. “Lemme get this straight. Ye need to pirate for her, in order to be given the inheritance that was rightly left ye? And she sends Bingham over here to cut us pirates down, yet sends her own, aye?”

  Anger simmered below the surface. His grandmother had the right of it. He had been thinking the very same thing, yet his loyalty to the queen had run so deep that he dared not allow those treasonous thoughts to fester in his brain. Hearing Grace voice those concerns now made him scowl at how hard he had worked and how little regard he had been given.

  “And now her precious trustworthy captain has turned tail and taken off with yer prize. The question is, what are ye goin’ to do about it?” Her brow lifted and Niall, as if sensing the conversation turning toward deeper business, pushed the wench off his lap, smacking her arse hard enough for the lass to squeal as she ran off.

  “I have nay ship, crew, or weapons. Aside from my relation to ye, I am nobody here but the enemy.”

  Grace took a long swig of ale before belching, slamming the mug on the table and wiping her mouth. “Ye are no enemy. I see it in yer eyes, love. Ye have finally come back to where ye know ye belong.” Before he could respond, Grace whistled at a passing man, and he came over obediently, awaiting the word of his queen. She whispered something in the man’s ear and without hesitation, he nodded, saluted her, and left the tavern.

  Though her words made something inside Thomas’s chest clench with the opportunity for freedom and a life on the seas, he shook his head. “Nay. I am a knight of the realm. I was sent away to be just that, and my loyalties remain to the queen.” He knew his words sounded hollow, but he fought against his indecision. “I want to get my ship back and do my service.”

  “That puts ye in a precarious position,” Niall chimed in, cracking his knuckles. “Ye cannot gain back yer ship without our help, and our help will require payment. And since ye have nothin’ to yer name, as ye say, ye will need to pay it off.”

  “In the form of piracy, I expect ye mean,” Thomas growled. He had heard that most pirates did not choose to become pirates. They did so out of necessity. He understood that now more than ever.

  “If ye want the aid of the Devils of the Deep, then aye.”

  “I never said I wanted yer aid,” Thomas growled back before swigging his ale. Who was this man to him? “Tell me about Shaw MacDougall. Ye say I am his great-great-grandson? And ye are, as well? How so and what does that make us?”

  “Shaw the Savage MacDougall was the adopted son of the Pirate King Arthur MacAlpin. He married a woman named Jane and together they had several children. Ye are the descendant of one of them children. So am I.”

  Thomas scrunched his brow and looked at Niall and Grace, wondering how they could be so sure. “How do ye know this for certain?”

  “Aside from the fact that ye look exactly like the portrait of the man hanging on the walls of Castle Dheomhan? Yer father is his great-grandson,” Grace said with a wink. “His mother was Shaw’s granddaughter, but she married an Englishman named Esmonde. They had one son named Lawrence and he had ye with me daughter Maeve. So ye see, ye are born of the sea, lad. ‘Tis in yer blood and ye cannae escape it.”

  He thought on all the legends his grandmother had told him growing up about their ancient ancestors and the Treasure of Danu, but he dared not mention it in front of Niall. Family or nay, the man was a pirate, and a Scottish one at that. The treasure belonged to Ireland and he would keep it that way. Suddenly, he felt the desire to seek his treasure even more strongly. It was awaiting him, he knew it. It called to him. He was closer than ever, and yet, he had no way to find it, not without this Scotsman, ironically.

  Thomas thought on all he had learned about his father’s heritage just now. He had grown up never knowing that side of his family, and though he never missed it, looking at this fearsome man before him and knowing they were distant cousins, connected him even more to this land and these people.

  “Ye are a fortunate man, Tomás. Ye have protection on every side of ye… but only if ye stay here,” his grandmother warned.

  “And if I choose to take my ship and sail back to England?” he queried. “I told ye, I have duties to the queen.” His heart lurched at the word. His heart longed to stay here and seek adventure, but what was a knight without his honor? Nothing.

  “Dinnae worry about yer ship, love. I will take care of that. Ye can start to repay me now. I have need of ye. The supplies on the Spanish ship Niall’s men commandeered need to be moved come nightfall. We have a place set up for the transfer, a nearby cavern. Niall will show ye. I am off to Rockfleet castle where my hearth awaits. Ye have an hour before nightfall and not a moment before, ye understand? Eyes be watching everywhere. Bingham has a spy, I ken. Our goods have been disappearing before the local chieftains can come to claim them.”

  “I was tasked with
bringing Spanish coin back to my queen. Already ye ask me to betray her openly and help ye transport them.”

  “Way I see it, grandson, ye have nay option. Besides, the cargo we transport are all basic goods to help the people. We keep the coins, ye ken.” She smacked him on the back and stood. “One hour,” she reminded him and Niall before she turned to leave the tavern.

  Niall chuckled and smacked Thomas on the shoulder. “The Pirate Queen plays her cards well. Ye will never get back to England, so get it out of yer head. By the time ye may be able to try, there will be a bounty on yer head.” Niall laughed and finished his ale. “I need me a wench,” the man groaned as he grabbed his groin. “Have fun transferring the goods by yerself,” Niall grunted. “Consider it more payment. The cavern be over that hill,” he pointed. With a belch, the man walked away, leaving Thomas to wonder how the devil he ended up in this position and how he was going to get out… Then a small smile slid across his face. Mayhap he did not want to get out at all.

  Chapter Four

  After hours of watching the pirate port for any sign of excitement, Katherine stood from the damp grass and stretched her legs. Grace O’Malley’s ships had left some time ago, but her stomach growled, demanding to be fed and soon she gave up hope of any distant pirate adventures for the day. Just before she turned to leave, Grace’s ship returned with three others in tow.

  Recognizing the flags of the Scottish pirate faction, a jolt of energy shot through Katherine, her hunger and fatigue forgotten. The Scottish pirates were her favorite to watch. They took any lass they wished and between their kilts and her spyglass, she had seen many of their… male parts, before they lifted the skirts of the serving wenches. The best part was that many of them took the wenches behind the pub, which put them directly in her sights. Aye, she knew she was not behaving at all like a lady, but what else had she to do all alone on this island? She ached with loneliness and for some human connection, even if only from a distance.

  However, her persistent need to watch over the port had much more to do with her need to help her papa, and the people of Ireland. She knew that when the pirates came to port, many of them had goods they needed to store away. During her time on this island, she had learned that the transport locations changed frequently, making it nearly impossible for anyone else to find them. Though her father would bend her over his knee if he knew how she spent her time, she sniggered at her little secret: she was her father’s secret informant. Despite what her papa and everyone else seemed to believe, she had found a way to make herself useful to the Irish cause. One day, she could tell her papa that she had been his informant and he would be proud of her.

  Her father had many resources and she was one of them, whether he knew it or not. She would send him a missive indicating where a treasure had been placed and he would send a man to collect it before the pirates did. After all, her father was using the gold and supplies, be it fine cloths, grains, spices or jewels to further help the people he governed and unlike her, he likely knew precisely how to use those goods. She was doing right by the people, though in a way, did it not make her a pirate herself? That thought enthralled her to no end. Aye, mayhap she was a thief of sorts, but surely thieving from thieves only made her more of a Robin Hood than a Prince John. Indeed, it made her long days of sitting upon one hill after another, exploring the many places she discovered, and the riskiest part, following the pirates in the dark, worth it in the end.

  As the ships dropped anchor and the skiffs started transporting the crew back to shore, she spotted Grace’s shock of red hair and focused on her through the spyglass. Then, her heart picked up its pace as she focused on the man exiting the skiff beside the Pirate Queen. Even from this distance, the man radiated power. He wore a plain white shirt with the ties open at the front and breeches so tight she could see every strong muscle. The bulge between his legs looked mighty large as well, and she blushed at her own lewdness. She was truly rotten, but at this moment, her mind wandered to all sorts of thoughts. Who was this man? She had never seen him before. His beard was trimmed close to his obviously strong jaw and his hair was rather well kept, not at all like the other men that usually graced these shores. He had an air of nobility and power to him, and though he was dressed like no nobleman, his clothes were cleaner and less worn than most pirates.

  Katherine sighed in disappointment as the man entered the inn with Grace. Once men entered at this hour, they seldom left before morning. Cargo was usually unloaded after sundown, but she had lingered long enough and there seemed to be no activity. It was possible the Pirate Queen and her fellow thieves had not found any merchants to steal from on this day, especially since merchants had learned to avoid these waters, making supplies even more scarce for the Irish people. That coupled with the loss of the Spanish fleet’s cargo, and the pirates who absorbed all the riches, left her people with nothing… until she began trailing Grace’s men and sharing the locations of goods anonymously with her father.

  Her fascination with the pirates could not outweigh her disgust. They were vile people, but she was proud that her papa worked hard to fight them. Deciding it was time to head home, she stuffed her spyglass in her cloak and turned on her heels, descending the hill slowly. With the waxing moon hanging in the sky casting very little light, the stars seemed to shine even brighter, as a thin layer of clouds shifted above. It was nearly pitch black, but just light enough for her to find her way to the entrance of the cavern below the hill, its gaping mouth calling to her as it always did. How she loved to spend her days inside the cave with a candle and a good book, listening to the water run off the ledge and drip rhythmically onto the stone floor. It connected her to the land somehow and made her feel a little less trapped in her otherwise worthless existence.

  Still, she knew it was time to return home for the evening. She vowed to spend some time within the cave’s comfort tomorrow. Then, she froze. What was that sound? She thought she heard footsteps shuffling up the side of the hill and her heart beat in overtime. She gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Someone was nearby. Her eyes darted back and forth, but in the dark, she could not spot any movement. A grunt and a curse came next, stilling her steps and freezing her breath. As the shuffling came closer and grew louder, her mind reeled in panic. It sounded like a man with a very deep voice and foul mouth, based on the curses she heard.

  Without any other options, she decided she needed to hide, and fast! Though it was dark, she was standing directly in his path and he would surely see her if her cursed feet did not move. Why did it feel like tree roots had grown across her boots, holding her in place?

  Another grunt came from the hill just below her and instinctively her legs moved in the opposite direction, toward the entrance of the cavern. Aye, she knew that space well. There were many places for her to hide inside the pitch black cavern, and with most locals being too afraid to enter the caves, she knew it would be her best chance. She would wait until she was certain the man had passed and was done doing… whatever it was he was doing, and then she would leave.

  What if he was injured? Why else would a man grunt and curse while climbing up a hill? She was not sure, but she decided to stick with her plan. If she discovered him later and he required her aid, she would help him then.

  Fisting her blue dress in her palms, she lifted her skirts and ran as quietly as possible to the furthest and darkest corner of the cavern. A chill ran up her spine. Though she spent much time here, she usually had a candle to light her way and an extra blanket for warmth. Now, without light, the chill of the stone wall pressing up against her back felt more like a block of ice. The pitter-patter of water running off the ledge and splashing into a puddle below no longer soothed. It seemed to mock her and her terrible habit of wandering off alone. She had to remind herself that she did it for a greater purpose and if she startled every time one man approached, she would never survive if captured by a debauched group of pirates.

  Holding her breath and pressi
ng her back further against the cave’s wall, she silently slid into a sitting position, her knees tucked up with her hands wrapped around her calves. Something wet and cold soaked through her dress where her rear touched the ground and she had to stifle a curse. She’d sat in a puddle! A loud sound echoed at the entrance of the cave, and she bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from screeching like a scared lass, though in truth she was scared out of her mind. What if it was a pirate? Watching them from a distance was so much different than being face to face with one.

  Her body shook, but she stiffened herself against any movement; whoever he was, had entered the cave.

  “Son of a bitch could have helped hold the lantern, at least,” the man mumbled, stepping in. Holding her breath, Katherine saw a small light. Quickly, the man set it down on the cave’s floor before bending over to pick up what looked like a large crate. He was a pirate. They had chosen this cavern for their transfer of goods and she had gotten herself stuck right in the middle. Blast! Double blast! How had she missed his approach? He appeared to be alone, which was strange, but a good sign. All she had to do was remain silent and mayhap he would go away.

  Even in the dim light, Katherine could see his huge muscles bulge against his white shirt as he carried the crate deeper into the cave… closer to where she sat semi-protected behind a boulder. His face was rugged with a trimmed beard and what appeared to be hard features, but with the shadows flickering across his face, he could have been a demon from the Underworld.