Pirates of Britannia Box Set

by Devlin, Barbara

  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.”

  Eyes growing wide, Tomás looked from his mama to the imposing large man and back. “Devil’s bollocks!” Tomás shouted in shock. “You said my father was dead!”

  “Do not speak that way, Tomás!” his mother admonished and shook her head. “I see your grandmother’s foul mouth has rubbed off on you. A young gentleman, especially a good Catholic lad, should never speak this way.”

  “Sorry, Mama.” He was sorry. He did not mean to speak foully, but his mama had sworn his papa was dead. How was this large man his father, why had she said he was dead, and why were they meeting him now, after seven years… in front of a British galley, no less?

  “I have tried to be a good mother to you. From the moment you were born, all I ever did was try to protect you. Your father is a powerful man… and he is loyal to England… and a… Protestant,” she cringed; she whispered the word as if it were fouler than his previous curse. “When we met, he had been sent here by Queen Elizabeth to help govern the people of Ireland. We fell in love and married. I truly did love your papa, Tomás. Och, I always will. He was a Catholic, but with the influence of his queen, once I was pregnant with you he informed me that he had converted to the new faith and insisted I do so as well. I had no choice…” She shook her head and frowned. “I had to leave him, lad. Our family has been Catholic since St. Patrick himself converted our land. ’Tis in our veins. The new faith is heresy! I feared for your soul, so I fled with you back to Connaught to live with my mother. I told you he died, because well… he may as well have. He dissolved our marriage and remarried.”

  Tomás listened to his mama, but all she said was much too complicated for his young mind. Confusion blurred the lines of right and wrong in his mind. “I grew up without a papa because you did not like his beliefs?” he questioned, feeling both hurt and angry.

  “Aye… ’tis the way of it. I had to! But now… Och! Now all has changed. The British are coming for our family, wee Tomás. They have already tried to imprison grandmama more than once. I have tried to shield you from the family business, but surely you know that your grandmama Grace is seen as a criminal? And in truth, she is. I thought you were safer here, but now I see… I would rather you go away to England with your Protestant father than remain here in Ireland where our family is constantly under attack.”

  Tomás shook his head and swallowed hard, clinging to his mama’s faded green woolen skirt. “Go away? Mama! I cannot go away! I do not wish to leave you or grandmama! I did not say goodbye to her! I do not know that man!” His voice rose as he pointed at his supposed father. He did not care what faith his father believed in. All he knew was that his mama was passing him over to a strange man and sending him to the enemy. “Nay! I shall not go! I won’t!” he shouted, and stomped his foot before turning on his heel to run.

  Before he could take another step, he crashed into the legs of the large man, who squatted down to his level and placed his huge hands on Tomás’s shoulders. The man’s rapier hung from a belt around his waist and Tomás swallowed when large blue eyes took him in with wonder.

  “Tomás. You should never fear me,” the man’s deep voice resounded. “I am your papa. I have missed you so these many years. I did not wish to lose you… or your mama, but I am here now and you shall be safe.”

  Tomás shook his head and tried to jerk out of the man’s grasp. “Mama! Please!” He heard her sob behind him just before she came around to sit beside him and his father. He saw his father’s gaze flicker toward his mama and swore he saw affection in his blue eyes just before they focused once more on Tomás.

  “My wee lad,” she cried, wiping her tears away. “I love ye more than anything. Ye are my whole world and someday ye shall find yer way back to us. But for now, I must send ye to safety. Your father is a nobleman. He has the ear of the queen, owns lands, and can set ye up to foster with a noble family. Ye may become a knight.”

  “A knight?” Tomás stopped struggling in the arms of his new, strange father and froze. He wanted to be a pirate. Yet, at the thought of being a knight, shiny armor, swords, and adventure filled his mind.

  “Aye, a knight, my son. Would you like that?” Tomás looked at his father suspiciously, not sure he believed the man or his promises. By the looks of him, with his well-groomed dark hair and beard, and his well-fitting garments, the man had money and power. Most men he knew traveled in old breeches and loose tunics. This man traveled in clothes nicer than any he had ever seen, which meant they mustn’t even be his best garments.

  Another man with graying hair and a longer beard stepped away from the skiff and stood beside his papa. “Tomás, meet Sir Henry Sidney. He is a knight of the realm, as well as the Lord Protector of Ireland.” Tomás’s eyes grew wide at the man’s name. Everyone knew of Lord Protector Sidney. “He has agreed to travel back to England with us. You shall foster with his son, who is five years your senior. His son has been a page for several years and will soon be moving up to squire. His foster father has agreed to take you on as a page, as well. In seven years, you can be a squire, and in seven more years, you may become a knight.”

  “I… I can?” He was so confused and overwhelmed, yet all he heard made leaving not so very bad. Mayhap he could become a knight and a pirate… was it possible to be both? Could he be chivalrous like a knight and chase the famous Treasure of Danu, like a pirate? He had grown up hearing tales of this treasure, supposedly buried by his ancestors fifteen centuries ago, and never found. All he ever wanted was to seek the treasure that haunted his dreams on most nights. He would use the money to help the poor people of his land. And would not becoming a knight gain him the power to one day gain a crew, a ship, and follow his dreams? He was not certain, but it was better than staying here for years and watching the British attack his family. Mayhap he could use his knighthood to protect his family someday. Then, a thought crossed his mind that made him think twice about his dreams.

  “But, Papa, I am the grandson of the Pirate Queen. Will not the Queen of England hate me? Does not England hate the Irish? Will I be hated, as well?”

  “Nay.” His father ta
pped his nose gently and smiled. “You are half Irish. But you are half English, as well. ’Tis not your fault your mama stole you away to live with pirates,” his father said with a scowl to his mama that put Tomás on edge.

  “My family takes care of me!” he protested. He wanted to protect his family from everyone’s malice.

  “Your Uncle Murrough hurts your mama. That is not how I wish you to be raised, around men who hurt women.”

  “Lawrence!” his mother shouted at his father, but he only ignored her burst of anger.

  “Uncle hurts you, Mama?” Tomás fisted his hands, ready to defend his mother. She did not answer, but she looked away silently, and suddenly Tomás remembered all the bruises on her face and cuts on her lip. How had he never wondered where they came from? “I will go to England to become a great knight. And when I am grown, I will avenge you, Mama.”

  His father, apparently named Lawrence, chuckled at his words and patted his shoulder. “That is the sort of bravery we look for in a knight. I knocked your Uncle around a few times myself, but once your mama left me, I could no longer protect her…” His words sounded hurt once more and Tomás felt that more emotion lay between his parents than he may ever know. His mother’s continued silence spoke louder than any words.

  “Are you ready to go lad?” Henry Sidney cuffed him hard on the back, causing him to take a step forward. Was he ready? How could he be ready to leave his mama and grandmama? Yet, he would never achieve his new dream of becoming a pirate-knight and defending his mama and finding the ancient Treasure of Danu if he refused to go.

  “Aye, I shall go, but only so I can become a knight. One day, I will return, Mama.”

  His mother sobbed loudly and wrapped him against her most painfully, but he did not struggle. He would memorize the soft feel of her body and her familiar sweet scent.

  “All right. ’Tis quite enough doting on the lad, Maeve. Your softness does not serve him well. Come.” His father nudged him toward the skiff, giving him no time to speak to his mama or hug her one last time.

  Tossing him into the skiff, the third man silently nodded at him, giving him a toothless smile. This man wore ragged dark breeches and a loose tunic. This was a true seaman. His father sat next to him and grabbed the other oar. “Your true surname is Esmonde, lad. You are not Tomás O’Malley. You are Thomas Esmonde and will do well to remember that when we arrive in England, for nobody will be friendly to an O’Malley. And when we arrive on the ship, you shall change into a new pair of hose, a clean tunic, and a new leather jerkin with fresh leather boots. No son of mine shall wear rags. ’Tis a shame you have lived this way for so long. Had I known, I would have sought you out much sooner.”

  His father’s voice sounded sad and Tomás wanted to argue with him and defend his mother, but he decided to stay silent as the skiff rowed them slowly toward the galley ready to take him away to his new life in a new country. The only reason he did not burst into tears and scream for his mama was because he knew knights were brave and pirates, even braver. And if he meant to be both one day, he needed to toughen up now and learn that emotions would only make him appear weak. He was, and always would be Tomás O’Malley, grandson of a Pirate Queen and descendent of the legendary Sisters of Danu… future knight, future pirate, and future owner of the Treasure of Danu. Weakness was not in his blood.

  Chapter One

  England – March 1596

  “Devil’s bollocks!” The sun blasted Thomas in his face as he slowly opened his eyes. The sun streaming through the long window in his lover’s husband’s chamber made him sit up abruptly, taking the wool cover with him. “I have slept in,” he groused, hopping out of the bed and searching the small chamber for his strewn garments.

  “Do not worry about my husband,” Frances yawned, her naked body gleaming in the morning sunlight. “No doubt Robert is well ensconced in his mistress’s arms at this very moment,” she said without concern. “It has been almost seven years since the man shared my bed, as you well know. He prefers the company of his mistress and their son, which is all well and good with me.”

  Pulling his breeches over his legs, he grabbed his shirt, stockings, and doublet off the floor before running a flustered hand through his dark, disheveled hair. It was not her husband he was concerned about. It was the fact that he was late for training. All his men would be gathered on the field by now, swords clashing and sweat dripping, while he lay about like a fool in a married woman’s bed.

  Looking over his shoulder, he took in Frances’s naked form from head to toe. She had once been the wife of his foster-brother, Sir Philip Sidney, before he had been killed in battle a decade before. That tragedy was only a few months after the death of his father, Thomas’s foster-father, Henry. The memory still burned, all these years later. Frances and Philip had been quite the love match and his death tore them both apart, while somehow, at the same time, pushing Frances and Thomas together physically.

  Aye, and though she remarried as noble women must, she and Thomas continued their coupling, fueled only by a mutual need to slake their lust. She had children now with her current husband, though he rarely returned to this chamber, making it easy enough for Thomas to take his place. In truth, her bed was far more comfortable than sharing the floor of the great hall with all his fellow knights. As a lady in waiting to the queen, Frances was meant to spend many of her nights on a straw pallet on the floor of the queen’s bedchamber. However, being married to one of the queen’s favorites had allowed Frances some flexibility in sleeping arrangements, and her husband had a solid wood four-poster bedframe with a feather mattress and bolsters. Aye, sneaking into her bed served him well. His lust was slaked and he slept like a babe… mayhap too well.

  Still, it was risky to be lying with a married woman. He suddenly could not remember why, aside from their mutual grief, they had continued to risk their reputations and perhaps even their lives when there were many more willing unwed courtiers to bed. He cared very much for Frances as an old friend and had, therefore, been putting off the conversation he knew he must have with her, but he also knew this had to be their last dalliance.

  “Frances,” he sighed as he searched for his leather shoe amongst her strewn petticoats, corset, chemise, sleeves, hose… and God knew what else a woman needed to tuck herself in tight these days. Whatever happened to basic linen gowns such as his mama used to wear back in Ireland? “I care for ye very much—”

  “But you cannot do this anymore,” she cut him off with a sigh. “Robert never calls on me and I am miserable in my marriage. But we have been careless all these years, have we not?”

  “Careless? Nay. I think we have been quite careful, to tell the truth. Nobody yet suspects us and we never created a bastard. But it is a risk we should no longer take.” Thomas paused and thought about his situation, feeling his ire rise as he considered his impossible position here at court. “I have had to work hard for the Queen’s favor. Being an Irish-born English knight has not been ideal. Being an O’Malley by birth has not made it any easier, what with the wars in Ireland, and the arrests and deaths of my family at the hands of the English! After all these years, I still have a cursed Irish accent that makes people glower at me, wondering if I’m the enemy! One wrong step and I am done for!” He groused.

  “I fought beside Drake during the invasion of the Spanish Armada! My foster-father was the brother-in-law to her favorite courtier, Robert Dudley! I was raised in her graces, but she knows who I truly am. She is suspicious of all around her and I cannot lose that favor.” He shook his head again. Bedding an Earl’s wife was not a smart decision, but he had been young and brash when the affair began. Now, at the age of thirty, he knew better. He was a knight who was supposed to follow a code of honor and chivalry. Yet, his dark side, the side influenced by pirate lore and the need for adventure, often pulled his interests in another direction. Wenching came easily enough to him. Though now that he was a grown man, he understood who his family truly was and why he had to remain in hi
s queen’s good graces. He needed to prove he was not just one more problem in her way.

  “I understand, Thomas.” Frances stood from the bed, her large, beautiful breasts and curvy hips filling his view. She had borne five children and her woman’s body called to him in a way that no virginal young lassies ever could. She had lines on her hips and stomach, evidence of bearing children, yet he only found them more beautiful. She was truly a lovely and loving woman, and they had shared a wonderful bond, but he did not love her and could not be with her any longer. She deserved more from life than he could offer.

  Frances stepped up to him and his gaze moved from her pink nipples to her red lips… lips that had been wrapped around his cock just the night before. Aye, he would miss those lips. Her dark brown eyes, surprisingly, seemed to smile at him and she put a hand on his shoulder. “Go. You are late for training. Your squire must be half out of his mind searching for you by now.”

  Thomas chuckled as he imagined Charles, his fifteen-year-old squire, carrying his armor around the palace in desperation, trying to find him. “Aye, I must go. You are all right, Frances?” He put his hand on her hip, resisting his body’s pull to hers.

  “I will be. Promise me something, Thomas. Take care of yourself. Find happiness with a woman if ever you can. Married lovers and dalliances with widows can only last so long.”

  Her sincerity was moving. He would miss her company. They had known each other too long to ever truly part as less than friends. He wanted to tell her that he would never marry, could never marry. He was a landless knight and held no title. He traveled for the queen and was almost never in one place for long. He fought battles and preferred life on the water to a life on land. The scars on his body gave evidence to the scars on his soul, a testament to the deaths he had wrought and the enemies who tried to bring about his demise. He was not the sort of man who made a good marriage prospect. Giving her a soft kiss on the forehead, he smiled and lied. “I will consider your words, Frances. Now, I really must go.”