Pirates of Britannia Box Set

by Devlin, Barbara

  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

  Aboard The Mawdelyn, off the coast of the Hebrides Isles, 1718

  Captain Dorian Lyon MacAlpin never tired of the long days at sea. The farther from humanity and the need to constantly look over his shoulder the better, as far as he was concerned.

  On his ship, The Mawdelyn, in the center of endless water, never once did he have to keep his face turned. Nor did his heart quicken in dread of being recognized. At sea, his memories of life in Scotland were the only acknowledgment of the life he’d left many years ago.

  Dorian commanded a fearsome crew collected from various ports. Every man on the ship, like him, had his own reason for being there and living the life of a nomad at sea. Rarely did they share. And it was even more rare for anyone to ask about another man’s past.

  As captain of The Mawdelyn, he was known as the Sea Lyon. It was a moniker Dorian wasn’t particularly fond of, but it was set and his reputation ensured it remained.

  The youthful pirate neared his thirtieth birthday. With shoulder-length auburn waves and startling green eyes, he gained many a lady’s attention with his attractiveness. He stood just over six feet tall and had a muscular build from the weighty ship work. Dorian fit the role of sea captain and leader of his crew of fifty by not only his appearance, but also due to his reputation as one of the most ruthless pirates in the North Sea.

  Tales were told of how the Sea Lyon did not hesitate to take what he wanted, without care or who would perish because of his actions. So hardened was the pirate, that even a crying mother holding a child would be tossed into the ocean without hesitation.

  Dorian ignored what was said since, for the most part, it suited him. To be feared meant goods were often surrendered without much of a fight when they overtook a ship. Just the sight of his blackened sails and Devils of the Deep flag terrified people.

  Regardless of his reputation for ruthlessness, Dorian had yet to toss any innocents into the ocean. If anything, he’d ordered the opposite and rescued many an unfortunate soul bound for slavery. Of course, those stories were rarely shared.

  The sun fell past the horizon casting a golden glow across the surface of water. On this day, the sea was flat and reflective like glass, which sent his crew to suggest it was the foretelling of something ominous on the horizon.

  Rarely did the men see anything as a good sign, which Dorian found humorous. He’d never suggest to them that they were overly irrational about most things. However, in private, he often laughed at some of their mad ideas. His shipmates would no doubt see his lack of superstition as some other sort of bad omen.

  The planks under his feet barely made a sound when he leaped down from one of the masts to land solidly on both feet. Graceful as a cat and just as silent, Dorian made his way up steps to where his friend, Kevin, manned the ship’s wheel.

  “Tis too still out there,” Kevin called out. “What do ye think it means?”

  “That there is little wind,” Dorian replied solemnly.

  Kevin grunted and scanned the ocean with a scowl. “Still water brings battle. We must be wary. It could mean war comes our way.”

  “War?” Dorian pressed his lips together and followed Kevin’s line of sight. “Who do ye supposed will come to war with us?”

  “I know ye don’t take this serious.” Kevin gave him a flat stare and changed the subject. “There is much to do on the morn. We arrive on the shores of Uist. Tis sure yer family will be glad to know ye’re alive and well.”

  His chest expanded until it was almost painful. His home and returning to Uist brought good memories. At the same time, a lightness of heart at seeing his family made his lips curve.

  “In a way, aye, I will be glad for the morn to come. It has been almost a year since I’ve had contact with them.”

  The central Isle of the Hebrides was where he called home. The place where he’d grown up and become a man. With a caring family and clan, he’d had a good childhood in the rather peaceful place. However, Uist was also where he’d made some of the worst decisions of his life.

  Because of those choices, the small but vibrant community, although far from Scotland, remained a dangerous place for him to visit. And yet, the Isle of Uist was like a beacon calling to him daily. For months now, he had resisted the temptation to visit home. However, it was news of his mother’s impending death that finally pushed him to take a chance and return.

  The decision, however, was not made without consideration to the fact he was putting himself and his crew in danger. They were pirates, after all. And most of his crew were wanted men, either guilty or accused of a variety of crimes.

  Dorian himself had a price on his head. He was accused of murdering a prison guard and had additional charges much too long to list. Those facts guaranteed him a hanging if he were to be caught.

  And although he did not fear death, at the same time he hated the idea of dying. Few were the men who relished it he supposed.

  Something like birdcalls sounded in the distance and Dorian pulled out his looking glass. It was much too dark to see and yet he attempted it only to hear Kevin snort.

  Dorian turned to his friend. “Promise me ye and the men will remain on the ship.” He pressed a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “The ship will be yers should I not return. Ye must do as I say. At the first sign of trouble, leave without a backward glance.”

  Kevin frowned. “Aye, Captain. It will be done as ye ask. However, it will not come to be, that I know. How many are ye taking with ye?”

  “Just five of us will go. Young Ian goes with me as well,” Dorian told his friend, referring to the young man of ten and six who he planned on leaving behind. Hopefully, no one had yet to make the connection that his nephew, Ian, had been with him all this time.

  “Makes sense to leave the boy behind. He has a bright future. Much too intelligent to be at sea and not use his gifts. Young Ian has a chance for a better life away from us. However, I predict he will not agree with yer decision.”

  A falling star crossed the broad, darkened sky and Dorian followed its path until it disappeared. “Aye, Ian will want to return to the ship. I will find a way to leave him behind. I am sure my brother will help in this matter.”

  Once again, Dorian stared into the distance. “I do not know what to expect. Perhaps, it’s too late and I do all this for naught. My mother is probably gone.”

  A heavy hand pressed down on his shoulder. “I think ye will see yer mother before she dies, Dorian. Ye must trust in that. However, I do think ye are taking a dangerous chance at being caught. What will be done about the sentries yer family has in place at the keep?”

  “I’ve sent word to my brother. He will be telling them a secret emissary is arriving from Britain. Only a few would recognize me. Even then, my brother will have me enter through the back entrance where new guards are posted. And let me remind ye, I will be disguised and wearing British attire.”

  By Kevin’s slow shrug, he was not convinced. “I will be here, keeping watch. Ye have three days, Dorian. Not one more. Do not take heroic chances. Remember, it is not only just yer life in peril.”

  Dorian swung around with a growl. “There is no need to remind me of that. My own country turned against me. I owe them little, much less my neck. If I could remain longer, I would. Just to watch Fergus MacTavish die by my sword. That would almost be worth hanging for.”

  “Is he still married to her?” Kevin looked up to the low-hanging sails.

  It was stupid of Dorian to bring up the subject that always put him in a sour mood. He made a practice of telling his men to put the past behind them and never look back. And yet years later, he could barely go a day without thinking of losing the love of his life.

  “As far as I know, aye. MacTavish and Ileana are still together. My si
ster last wrote me to say they have a son.”

  Not wanting to allow the thought to put his stomach in knots, Dorian leaped down to the lower deck. One of his pastimes was practicing jumps and other acrobatic maneuvers to stay in shape and pass the time. It never hurt to be light on one’s feet and being stable when having to jump from level to level during a fight.

  The mists lifted just enough to allow visibility of barely more than a few feet. Other than the sound of the water lapping along the sides of the slender vessel, the surroundings were quiet as things could only be at so early an hour.

  There, they pulled the birlinn to shore where men would remain. There was a tiny fishing village nearby where the men would purchase goods and supplies for the ship. They’d camp near the water prepared for a hasty retreat if needed.

  Dorian, along with Ian and crewmate Reginald, walked toward to the village.

  Dressed in stiff finery, Dorian hoped to come across as a British sophisticate. He schooled his face to remain without expression, his eyes narrowed and his chin jutted up.

  Once at the village, he waited by as Ian, who pretended to be his servant, rushed to the small stables. His nephew informed the stable owner his party, including their lord, had been robbed of their mounts. Reginald, who remained at Dorian’s side, grumbled at appearing weak by the story.

  “Tis not true. Why are ye bothered so?” Dorian whispered. “Tis best to go by the story. Ye should look dejected or at least beaten upon.”

  The other man gave him an incredulous look. Reginald lowered his shoulders and grunted. “How does one go about looking like that “Lord”?” He emphasized the last word with a sneer.

  Dorian had no idea how old Reginald was. He ventured to guess at least ten years older than him. Life at sea aged a man. Therefore, many looked much older than they actually were.

  Before Dorian could reply, Ian left the stable pulling three docile horses behind. With a wide smile on his face, he tossed Dorian a coin sack. “It wasn’t as much as ye thought. I told the man we planned to return the horses since we were visiting a noble family and they would provide a carriage.”

  “Ye did well,” Dorian said, mounting a horse. When he gave the signal, they galloped toward his family’s land.

  The ride would not be long, four hours at the most.

  As they rode, the sun rose higher in the sky until it shone fully, allowing Dorian to admire what he’d been away from for so long. Hours later, the trees grew dense and the air smelled of moss and the richness of earth as they entered the forest surrounding the Lyon lands.

  The familiarity of the surroundings brought Dorian to push the horse to go faster. It seemed as if time stood still. No matter how fast the horse ran, it took longer and longer to reach his ancestral home. The place where he’d find his ailing mother.

  His breathing labored, both he and the horse at once made the decision to ease back. Dorian searched through the trees, his eyes widening at seeing his home just a short distance away.

  He’d been foolish to ride so swiftly for this long. He’d ridden close enough to be spotted.

  Tall, gray, stone walls surrounded the fortified keep. Atop every corner, sentries were stationed to keep an eye out for anyone approaching. Yes, the Lyon keep was well protected, which proved bothersome at the moment.

  Seeming just as excited, Ian pulled up next to him, his face beaming. “Tis good to be here, is it not, Uncle?”

  “Aye. But we must be of care. Someone could spot us.” With his head, he motioned to Reginald. “Let us circle to the back, then I will find a way to get word to my brother we have arrived.”

  He looked to Ian next. “No one must know ye have returned with me. Go to the village and find Ealasaid. Stay with your mother until I send word,” he told the boy referring to his sister.

  It looked as if Ian were about to grumble, but he lifted a hand. “The guard will recognize ye. Think about it.”

  “It will be hard to get away from her again,” Ian said. Dorian counted on that.

  “Go, I will send for ye.”

  Brows lowered, the young man turned his horse in the direction of the village and galloped away. If the sentries spotted him, they’d think him a traveler heading to the village and would not bother with him.

  It took almost another hour to ride around to the back side of the keep. The ocean air and the sound of waves against rocks brought back memories of playing there with his brother and sister. However, on this day, there wasn’t any time for musings. If the guard had been trained well by his older brother, none of this mattered. He and Reginald would be discovered before reaching any doorway.

  Dorian hoped to reach the rear entry near the kitchens. It was a farfetched plan. However, it was the only one he and his brother could come up with.

  “I don’t like this,” Reginald said, looking through the trees. “Someone may have seen us. Why aren’t they rushing to head us off?”

  Dorian followed his line of sight. “Because the closer we come, the easier targets we become. Besides, it will be easier to know how many in number we are.”

  They made it to a low fence surrounding a well-tended garden. Dorian let out a breath and looked to Reginald. “We dismount here.”

  “Ye’re lucky I don’t put an arrow through yer heads right now.” A deep voice sounded just as men on horseback, wearing the Lyon colors of green, blue and black, surrounded them.

  “Who are ye?” A large man, obviously the head of the guard, demanded.

  “We come in peace,” Dorian replied holding his hands up.

  The guard’s hard gaze moved from him to Reginald. “I find it very hard to believe ye.”

  Chapter Two

  Southern Uist

  There were soft murmurs and sounds of scuffling of boots across the floor of the adjoining great room. Something felt wrong, the air seemed to still.

  Ileana leaned forward in the chair, her embroidery forgotten on her lap. While remaining as still as possible, she took shallow breaths and listened for what happened in the other rooms. The walls of the sitting room where she spent many an hour either sewing or with her young son closed in.

  Although the space normally gave her peace, today it did nothing against the restlessness she felt.

  The tapestry fell to the floor when a woman’s scream sounded and Ileana rushed to the great room.

  A young maid was on the floor sobbing, her hands covering the left side of her face. Standing over her, one of the guards glowered down at the crying girl.

  “What happens?” Ileana rushed to the girl. “Why did ye strike her?”

  The guard barely spared her a glance. “Slow as ever and spilled my ale.”

  Two other guards sat at a nearby table watching with bored expressions.

  “Come, dear. Let us see about yer face,” Ileana said, helping the girl up. It wouldn’t do any good to say anything to the guard. Fergus MacTavish, her husband, rarely stood up for her. He’d actually chastised Ileana when she tried to correct their barbaric behavior.

  “It’s not a woman’s place to correct men,” he’d say to her when she complained about their abhorrent treatment of the maids and other servants. Although it helped some when she was present, still, the men would barely contain their insults and barbs.

  The guard blocked their path. “What about my ale?”

  “Ye’ll get it,” Ileana replied with clenched teeth. “I’ll send someone out momentarily.”

  She and the servant girl hurried toward the kitchen. In truth, she had no plans to send anything to the hateful man. Although Fergus didn’t back her, neither did he tolerate the men mistreating her or in any way or raising their voice at Ileana. It was not much, but something in her estimation.

  Mary, the cook, met them with a reddened face. “Mistress, why are ye here? Is there something wrong?”

  “Nay, Mary. One of the guards hit this girl. She is in great pain.” The shaky girl gave her a wobbly head bob as she was guided away by two other maids. They sat he
r near the hearth and began inspecting her face. Along with a swollen, bloodied lip and bruised jaw, she would also gain fear of the guards.

  It became harder and harder to get the servants to bring the meals and not spill half the food in fright.

  Although her husband and his guardsmen found their distress amusing, Ileana hated every minute of it.

  “Mistress?” Mary studied her face. “Do ye require anything?”

  “Nay.” It was then she noted most of the servants in the kitchen watched her with unabashed wariness. It was rare that she appeared in the kitchen and, in truth, there was no reason why she couldn’t have sent the servant girl there unaided. However, the need to get away from the sounds of the rowdy men made her venture there.

  The space was large. The thick, whitewashed walls seemed to have been recently scrubbed. Down the center of the room was a long, thick, rustic table, which was used for both food preparation and eating.

  Along the wall to the left was an enormous fireplace. A fire raged in the hearth, over which several large, black-bottomed pots hung from iron hooks.

  The scents of meat and root vegetables cooking mingled in the air with the aromatic spices.

  Overhead, strands of drying herbs hung from thin reeds that stretched across from one side of the room to the other.

  To the right was a doorway to the garden and against that wall were waist-high tables laden with bowls, spoons and other cooking utensils to be washed.

  The silence made a dog lift its head and stare at her from its makeshift bedding in the corner of the room. Mary moved to stand between her and where the dog lay. Ileana pretended not to notice the hound. However she did sidestep when a cat rubbed against her right leg.

  “For the mice, Milady,” Mary said hastily. “She’s a good mouser.”