Leader of Titans_Pirates of Britannia

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Shaw’s standard was suddenly raised on the mainmast, the ruddy MacDougall devil-head and sword-fisted hand flying high in the wind. It snapped and danced, announcing to all who saw it that the ship belonged to MacDougall. Confused, Shaw turned to Constantine.

  “What’s that about?” he asked. “Why do ye fly my banner?”

  Constantine smiled faintly. “Because I am giving you the Leucosia,” he said. Reaching over, he took Gregoria’s hand and pulled her against him. “You went above and beyond the call to save both Gregg and me at Eynon Bay, Shaw. You did not have to come to Lucifer’s summons, yet you did. Then you risked your life and the lives of your crew in a terrible storm to save my miserable hide from an ambush, and I shall always be grateful to you. Valor such as that deserves a reward.”

  Shaw was looking at the man with great surprise, turning to watch the Leucosia as she sailed towards the Savage of the Sea, ready to take her place beside Shaw’s flagship. Realizing that Constantine was giving him this magnificent vessel very nearly brought a tear to his eye.

  “Con…,” he said, then faded off. Clearing his throat, he started again. “I dunna know what tae say, laddie. It is too much.”

  Constantine shook his head. “It is not too much,” he said. “It is worthy of you.”

  Shaw turned to look at him again, seeing that Gregoria was beaming at him. Something about the woman just caught his eye; she was so… happy. Aye, he knew the story behind the ambush at Three Crosses. Constantine had told him in confidence that Gregoria had been forced into helping her brother and a fool named Lord Wembury, that they had threatened her should she not help them lure Constantine into a trap.

  All Constantine’s men knew of the folly was that the cup they’d been taking to Three Crosses had somehow been lost in the flight from the Sassenach army and nothing more. There was no mention of ever going back to Three Crosses, or of betrayal, or of anything else. To them, she was still Miles Tenby’s daughter. Gregoria had confessed her sins before any real damage was done and Constantine didn’t see the need to tell his men the truth. He believed the matter was between him and Gregoria, and it was settled. He was so far gone in love with the woman that he was willing to forgive her everything.

  At first, Shaw wasn’t entirely convinced it was the right thing to do, but three days around the pair had changed his mind. It was clear to see how deeply devoted they were with each other, so much so that even Shaw was willing to forgive Gregoria and believe that she’d made a grave mistake for which she was truly sorry. She doted on Constantine, laughed with him, and even argued with him, something that gave her Shaw’s stamp of approval. A terrible scheme might have brought the two together, but that was quickly forgiven and forgotten.

  Now, all Shaw saw was a couple that was terribly in love.

  Constantine deserved it.

  “Then I accept,” he finally said. “I have never received such a proud and mighty gift. I will take great care of her, Con.”

  Constantine slapped him on the back, joy in the man’s expression. “Excellent,” he said. “And your first duty as captain of the Leucosia will be to marry Gregg and me. Captains can marry a couple at sea, you know. I would be honored if you would do the duty.”

  Shaw was grinning from ear to ear. “It will be my pleasure,” he said. “My good and true pleasure. Now, let me get over to my beautiful new ship and inspect her. I love ye dearly, Con. Ye’ve passed her into capable hands!”

  With that, he climbed over the top rail of the Gaia, down the rope ladder to the skiff waiting below to take him over to his vessels. As Gregoria went over to the rail to wave at him as he and his men rowed away, Constantine went to stand next to Lucifer and Augustin.

  Lucifer had recovered quickly from the stab wound he’d received in Eynon. It had missed everything vital and the man had been back on his feet within a day. Now, he stood stoically as he watched Shaw row over to what was to have been his command. But he didn’t mind. In truth, he understood the gifting completely.

  “Well?” Constantine said. “The ship is Shaw’s now.”

  Lucifer nodded his head. “It is.”

  “Regrets?”

  Lucifer made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Nay,” he said. “He’ll find out soon enough that every pirate in the sea is aiming for that ship. It may as well have an enormous target painted on the broadside. Better him than me.”

  Constantine struggled not to laugh, watching Gregoria as she continued to wave at Shaw. “We should probably warn him,” he said.

  Lucifer looked at him. “Why?” he asked. “Did he warn you when he gave you that beautiful sword last year, the one with the handle that came off when you tried to unsheathe it?”

  Constantine well remembered that particular gift. It had been a stunning Spanish broadsword, but it had been a joke – when one tried to use it, the handle came off, revealing a tiny little blade to fight with. Constantine had been caught in a battle with it and it had been most humiliating. He’d drawn forth what he thought was a magnificent broadsword and ended up with a needle, enough of an embarrassment that the Spanish pirates he was fighting burst out in laughter when they saw it.

  “I remember,” he growled. “I still have not forgiven him for that.”

  Lucifer bit his lip at the memory. “It was rather humorous.”

  “It was humiliating.”

  “So, you are not going to warn him about the Leucosia?”

  Constantine shook his head. “He will find out soon enough.”

  Two weeks after the marriage of Constantine and Gregoria on the deck of the Leucosia, Shaw had to fight off the Dureau and Nicolas Van Rompay, twice, as he made his way to a port in Ireland. It wasn’t until Dureau tried to catch him off guard again and shouted to him, across an inlet with a sandbar in between them, that he wanted his ship back that Shaw began to suspect that his dear and true friend Constantine had saddled him with a cursed ship that the French were wild to reclaim. It would have been just like him to do it.

  Shaw laughed about it until he could laugh no more.

  With friends like that, the enemies of the Pirates of Britannia had better be on their guard.

  Pirates, plunder, and brotherhood… forever.

  Long live the Lords of the Sea.

  THE END

  Enjoy an excerpt from

  Savage of the Sea

  by Eliza Knight

  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 mouth 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.

  The knight fell to the ground, blood pouring from his wounds, his eyes and mouth wide in surprise. Too easy.

  “Please,” the lass whimpered from the corner. The defiance that had shown on her face before disappeared, and now she only looked frightened. “Please, dinna hurt me.”

  “I would never. Ye have my word.” Shaw tried to make his words soothing, but they came out so gruff, he was certain they were exactly the opposite.

  He wiped the blood from his blade onto the knight’s hose and then stuck the sgian-dubh back into his boot. He approached the lass, hands outstretched, as he might a wild filly. “We must go, lass.”

  “Please, go.” She wiped at the blood on her lips. “Leave me here.”

  “Lady Jane, is that right?” he asked, ignoring her plea for him to leave her.