He bent his head and brushed a much too gentle kiss over his lips.
“I mean that I love you and I want to make you mine…for always.” He couldn’t pinpoint when he’d fallen for her—it was more than likely when she’d said her father was a seahorse—but he did know that on the ship, once all the smoke had cleared and the plan had been a success, the only person he wanted to see was Glynnis. She had become his everything.
“Oh…Robbie, you damn well better love me, because I love you, and I nearly died with worry for you.” She threw her arms around his neck and pulled his head down into a deeper, hungry kiss.
It was some time later, after they’d stumbled their way to their cabin and made passionate, hasty love against the wall, that they lay in the bed, tangled in each other’s arms.
“What happened? Where did you get all those crates from?” Glynnis asked as she twirled a finger along Robbie’s taut belly.
He groaned, more than happy to let her finger wander a little further south.
“Those crates are goods we brought in from a storage house in Port Eynon. Saban had the men stash the goods there over the last month as a way to draw in the enemy. It helped that we also loaded the Torriwr and then left it—like a plump grouse—in the harbor.”
“So, the plan was to draw them out…and then what?” Glynnis propped herself up on an elbow which gave Robbie a tantalizing view of her glorious breasts. “Had Saban planned for the direct attack on the Torriwr?”
“Aye. He and Lucian were waiting on the Seren Mor, which they’d anchored out of sight on the other side of the harbor. When the attack began, Jaimie, Brendan’s first mate, signaled them with a torch. It was no more than thirty minutes before the deck was swarming with Spaniards and Ganwyd o’r Mor fighting for their lives. By the time the Demonios sounded their retreat, there were more than twenty of them dead on the deck. Saban took one of the more feisty ones captive.”
Glynnis trembled against him, and he pulled her down until her cheek was against his chest…against his heartbeat.
“And you were hurt.”
“Tis nothing I have not felt before, and it will not be the last, I assure you,” he said, teasingly, hoping to allay some of his woman’s fears. “But…when it the time comes to make my own mark as a Rees, I have three other men at my back, and two frighteningly clever women—do not tell Lucia and Rose I said any of this—at my side to help me survive long enough to make you mine.”
If only Father could see me now… His father, the great knight of the Homme du Sang, had died heartbroken and head sick, but Robbie…he now knew the truth that had been denied his father. And it was a truth he would share with his own sons, if only to save them the pain of a broken life.
Glynnis rubbed a hand over him, stroking him and purring.
The thought of planting his seed inside his woman sent a surge of nearly unbearable need through him.
“Mine,” Robbie drawled, reaching over to cup a globe of Glynnis’s breast.
Glynnis snorted. “Who said I would have you?”
He growled, twisting to pin Glynnis beneath him. He kissed her, stealing her breath and swallowing her moans. When he came up for air, he grinned down at her.
“I am the Ravishing Robbie Rees; how can you resist?”
Epilogue
GLYNNIS WIPED HER sweaty hands on the fabric of the long dress she was wearing—one given to her by Lucia who said she’d borrowed it from a captain who had one too many wives. Glynnis had long known to not ask detailed questions about where any of the Rees “borrowed” goods came from. She was happy enough to don the beautiful, high-waisted, low-bodiced, burnished copper-colored dress for her wedding.
A wedding that—just three months ago—she’d never imagined having. She’d been a sack of sorrow, living on the scraps of life and hoping her damn pig would feed her for a few measly months. A wedding she could hardly believe to the man she’d pulled from the wreckage of a ship. A wedding to a man who loved her beyond human reckoning. And whom she loved just as deeply.
A wedding that was there and done in the blink of an eye. Ioan had come out of seclusion to attend, his once glowering face shone with true joy as he walked Glynnis from her cavern cottage to the makeshift dais were the parish priest stood, a little uneasy about his abduction. Once Ioan had given her hand to Robbie, he’d disappeared…and she’d hoped it wasn’t the last time she’d see him. Over the last two months, she’d gotten to know the old hermit better; visits with him were often short but enjoyable. He’d share about his life, she’d tell him of her life before meeting William—all the sadness and stark hopelessness of being a plague orphan left to molder on the Church steps—and Robbie would…well, Robbie would tell the most outlandish stories of highway robbery and some brute named Braw Bruce who could fell a man with a single glare.
Robbie and Ioan were so much alike—and not just in looks. They were two men broken by circumstance who found healing in forgiveness, understanding, and copious amounts of wine.
In such a short time, both men had become like home to her; Ioan the father she’d wished she’d had, and Robbie…the man she was truly meant to be with. Forever.
Her heart pounding in her chest—from glee and not fear—she gazed out over the crowd of people who were laughing, dancing to music provided by a few crew members of the Seren Mor and eating and drinking until they fell flat from the richness of it all.
Beside her, leaning against one of the large boulders left uncut by the intrusion of the sea, Rose was laughing, loudly, and staring at Glynnis.
“What are you sniggering on about, Rose?” Glynnis asked even as her smile grew.
Rose snickered again, tossing her rope of red hair over her shoulder and winking at Glynnis.
“I did not think I’d live to see the day that you married another Rees,” she answered, her voice light with humor—something they all needed.
Glynnis waited for the bitterness to rise, but when it didn’t, she just continued smiling. William was long dead, and it was way past time for her to learn to live without the anger—toward the Rees family…and herself.
“Well, how could I not?” she teased. “He is the Ravishing Robbie Rees!” Her voice carried across the short distance to where her husband was standing, his glorious green eyes on her, dancing with mirth. And simmering with desire.
She shuddered.
Robbie came to stand beside her, drawing a line of hot need across her cheek with his lips. “I like the sound of that name on your lips, love,” he murmured into her ear, filling her blood with licking hunger.
“Later,” she snapped, slapping him on the forearm, her face warming from the glances and none too innocent grins from the people around them.
“Bugger that!” Brendan interjected, raising a golden goblet into the air. “I am a Rees, too, goddammit! And I am nothing if not ravishing.” He threw back the wine in the goblet and struck a wide-legged pose, with his shoulders back and his chin thrust into the air.
“Aye! Aye!” shouts rang out, echoing through the gathering.
“We are all Rees!” Saban joined in, raising his own goblet, his knowing gaze landing on Robbie. A glimmer of something Glynnis couldn’t catch flashed between the two men. Saban cast his gaze over the group gathered in Dwyn Twll for the ceremony binding Glynnis to Robbie. There were more than one hundred people there—crew and their wives and children—and Glynnis had never known such fulfillment. “We are all of us Rees…blood or no.” Saban’s rich, deep voice filled the sea cave, drowning out the crashing of the waves just outside.
“The Ravishing Rees!” Rose yelled, raising her own flagon of whatever she’d wrestled from the man beside her.
“Here! Here!” they all cheered.
Robbie’s hearty chuckle vibrated through her and she laughed along with him, her heart light. Oh, a group of ravishing Rees, indeed.
THE END
About the Author
Rosamund Winchester is a determined and overwhelmed mother of f
our children. If she didn’t have writing to focus on, she’d spend all day staring into space and pondering the mysteries of the universe.
Rosamund writes emotional, thrilling, heart-pounding historical romance that draws the reader into the adventure, the passion, and the happily ever after. Rosamund also writes sweet historical romance as Lynn Winchester, so she offers books for all romance lovers.
When Rosamund isn’t writing sexy historical romance, or sweet historical romance as Lynn Winchester, she is reading whatever she is in the mood for, or watching crime shows on Discovery ID.
Visit Rosamund at her website or her social media pages.
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Also by Rosamund Winchester
The Blood and the Bloom
From Rosamund’s Alter-Ego, Lynn Winchester
The Dry Bayou Brides Series
The Brides of Blessings Series
The Dry Bayou Legacy Series
Bethel’s Garden Series
Plunder by Knight
Pirates of Britannia
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!
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…
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.”
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