Pirates of Britannia Box Set

by Devlin, Barbara

  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 pressing 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.

  That thought almost made her gasp. Mayhap he was. The locals avoided this cave for that very reason. She had thought it all to be naught more than their mythology, but she did believe in the fay and knew they had sent her trinkets in the past to help aid the Irish. Yet this one was not here to give her a trinket… at least not one she would willingly accept.

  With a roar of strength, the man… or demon… dropped the crate onto the ground only a few paces past her, where the ground was quite dry. It was usually the place she chose to read, in fact…

  The demon looked down at the crate, bending, it seemed, to pick something up beside it. It was hard to see much with him being so far away from the lantern that now sent shadows over his large back and rather muscular backside. He was most intriguing, however incredibly frightening. When he stood back up and turned around to face the light, she saw what he held in his hand and once more had to stifle a gasp. Oh, nay! If the man saw what was within the leather-bound book he held, goodness knows what he would think of her. She enjoyed literature of all sorts, especially Chaucer and Shakespeare, but this book, the one the demon now held in his hand as he walked back toward the light, was a special find and one she kept hidden from prying eyes… until now.

  She could hear the man mumbling under his breath and hoped he would not look at the contents of the book until he was well and gone. Tucking the book into the back of his breeches, he leaned over to pick up his lantern and headed back toward the cave’s entrance. Relief flooded her. He was on his way out, and she could run home to the safety and warmth of her four-poster bed.

  Then, Katherine did the worst thing possible. With the chill of the cave and the dry dust now floating in the air from the crate he had dropped so violently to the ground, Katherine sneezed. It was high pitched and feminine, but quite loud, and she winced. Her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest when the demon growled and turned in her direction, holding the lantern up before him
.

  His features were now cast in eerie relief, his eyes looking like sunken sockets in his head, and his lips… well, those looked rather nice actually. Yet, his clenched jaw beneath his beard made her eyes widen as he scanned the cavern. “Who’s there?” he barked, stepping forward menacingly. “I will find ye, lass…” his words sent chills up her spine and made the hackles on her neck stand on end. There was no way out of this.

  As he turned in a circle with the lantern, his gaze finally landed on her, and he sent her a menacing scowl. “Who are ye? Spying on me, are ye?” He stepped forward and all she could think to do was launch herself at him. With a piercing scream, she clawed his cheek with her right hand and kicked his shin, before trying to move around him.

  He was quick, too quick, and dropped the lantern just before wrapping a steely arm around her waist. The cavern went pitch black just as the sound of the shattering lantern echoed around them. She screamed again, twisting violently against his grasp, but his other arm came around her as well, pinning her against him.

  “Let me… go!” she roared, heaving for breath. It felt as if all the air had left her lungs and she was not sure if it was from fear or his vise-like grip. “Ye are hurting me!” she wailed.

  “Then stop yer screaming and kicking!” the demon shouted in her ear, making her flinch at his nearness. Was he going to take her down to the Underworld? She suddenly thought of the tales from Greek Myth lore she so loved. She was Persephone, cleverly hiding away in a cave, and the god of the Underworld, Hades, had come to steal her away. Her heart rate sped up, while some sense of adventure yet lingered. This man was made of steel, about as godlike as a man could be. She was terrified and enthralled all at once. This was the most adventure she had had in her entire boring life.

  Finally, she stopped struggling, both worn out and weary, and true to his promise, the man put her down and loosened his grip, but just enough to turn her in his arms. She could not see a single blasted thing in the pitch dark of the cave, but she imagined his menacing eyes would be glowering.

  “Are ye a god? A fay? Or, a pirate?” she breathed, trying to ignore his painful grip still around her waist, even if it had loosened up.

  “None of the above, love,” his deep voice rumbled, and she actually felt his chest move against hers. “I am a knight of the realm, but I dinna like wee lassies who spy on me.”

  Struggling to get away once more, hoping he would be caught off guard in the dark, she was most distressed to feel his hands tighten around her once more. “I was not spying!” she huffed. “I was here before ye were! I couldnae leave once ye were already inside, dropping off whatever goods needed transport—” She gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth, realizing she had just said too much.

  Taking her by the flesh of her upper arm, he dragged her toward the entrance, but she bucked against him, dragging her feet and doing her best to make his task as difficult as possible. “Walk!” he roared.

  “What do ye know about goods and transport, lass?” he whispered in her ear just before exiting the cave and dragging her to a nearby tree. The moon’s light, though dim, felt like a blinding relief to the blackness of the cave. “Ye are but a wee…” his gaze locked on hers and she saw his eyes grow wide as he took her in. “Lass,” he finished. His eyes narrowed as he perused her and she bristled. How dare he manhandle her so, then take liberties to look at her as if she were his next meal. “Ye are no lass. Ye are a woman full grown, aye? Just wee.”

  “Just let me go!” Surprising even herself, she pushed hard against his chest, but the man moved as much as she supposed a stone wall would.

  “Nay.”

  “Nay?” she asked, stepped back slightly and feeling herself inconveniently pinned between this man and the tree. Then, realization dawned on her as she recognized the man, now that he was pressed up against her. He was the man who had been accompanying the Pirate Queen earlier. He was mighty handsome, for certain, but his height and muscle were much too frightening up close. She had to keep her mouth shut. If she made mention that she had seen him with Grace O’Malley, he would wonder how and her spying game would be up. She had to break away and alert her father of the location of the goods. She had not seen what was inside, but surely the good people of Ireland could use it more than whoever this beast was leaving it for. Mayhap another awful man who received a share of the supplies in exchange for other dastardly deeds?

  “Who are ye?” he asked, with a touch of warning in his voice. Pursing her lips, she looked away and folded her arms over her chest as best she could with his body so close. All that did was direct the man’s lecherous gaze downward as her breasts pushed up higher.

  “Who are ye?” she asked in return, raising a blonde brow. She was being bold, she knew. In truth she was so frightened she worried she may wet herself, but cowering was not something she would easily do.

  “My name is Sir Thomas Esmonde,” the man answered easily, and she was quite shocked he would do so. Sir? He claimed to be a knight, yet all the queen’s men were in the north fighting her people… not her people, she reminded herself. She was meant to be English, yet she truly thought of the Irish as her people. “So… who are ye, lass?”

  The truth was on the tip of her tongue. If he was truly an English knight, he was not her enemy. He would not dare hurt an English woman. And yet, how could she believe such a thing? She had seen him down in Clew Bay just hours before. Not only that, he had been calmly conversing with the Pirate Queen. The man was a bloody liar. He was a pirate and would snap her neck if he knew she was the only daughter of the man whose life was spent trying to destroy pirates. Only one name continued to float through her mind. The one she obsessed with daily. One so feared that mayhap he would be much too afraid to harm her.

  “My name is Katherine. Katherine O’Malley,” she said, holding her nose up to him.

  He snorted and scowled at her. “Not bloody likely, love.”

  “’Tis the truth!” she stomped her foot on top of his, hoping to make the man at least flinch but apparently, he was immune to any pain she inflicted, though even in the dark the claw marks across his left cheek did look angry.

  “Lie to me again and I will silence yer tongue… with my own.” His brows waggled, and her heart stuttered in her chest. He was a fine-looking man. She had never kissed a man and had always dreamed of kissing a pirate… but it had to be the pirate of her dreams. It had to be the one who stole from the rich to give to the poor, like her favorite Robin Hood. She did not know who this man stole for, but it was most definitely not for the needy people scattered across the land. And she certainly was not prepared to kiss him.

  “I am not lyin—”

  His mouth came down on hers, hard. She gasped and pushed back against the tree yet did not try to push him off as hard as she could. Instead, her hands went up to his chest in a feigned attempt to rebuke him. His breath tasted quite sweet, and she reveled in the hard warmth of his muscular chest and the thumping of his heart against her palm. What sort of brute kissed a lass he did not even know? A Pirate, of course.

  She was being plundered by a pirate! Suddenly, her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt and he groaned into her mouth, sweeping his hot tongue against her lips. She sighed, and he delved deeper, creating a wave of warmth that spread through her stomach. It was the same tingling sensation filled with a forbidden need that she felt when she watched a pirate take a wench from a distance, or when she looked at the many erotic drawings in her book… the book still tucked into the back of this man… Sir Thomas Esmonde’s, as he called himself, breeches.

  Och, she was a wanton lass. Her father would send her on the next boat back to England if he knew what she was doing with a pirate beneath a tree.

  Pulling away from her slowly, he leaned his forehead against hers and she felt herself panting for breath. She had never kissed a man, aye, but she was fairly certain she had just experienced the best kiss she would ever receive.

  “Tell me yer name, lass,” he mur
mured, his lips almost grazing hers as his hands circled her waist, much more gently than before, she noticed.

  “My name is Katherine O’Malley.” It felt wrong to continue her lie, yet she could not very well tell her real name and she could think of no other realistic name to give. Many of the residents in Clew Bay were, in fact, O’Malleys.

  “Oh, aye?” he said, licking her lips gently with his tongue, before nipping at them with his teeth. She felt the hardness, the same bulge she had admired from a distance earlier, pressing against her stomach and she found it near impossible to breath. By the rood! She was going to collapse if he kept doing that to her. “Who are yer parents, then, love?” His eyes narrowed, and she knew he was testing her, but he could not possibly know every person in the O’Malley family, especially if he truly was a knight from England.

  She decided that in order to keep her lies straight, she should at least add some truths to her tale. “My mother is Margaret and my father is Richard.”

  The man’s eyes widened, and he pulled away from her so swiftly, she could not help but look over her shoulder quickly, wondering if someone approached. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. Spitting on the grass of the hill, he swiped his hand across his mouth and cursed in more languages than she thought any pirate must know. “Devil’s bollocks!” he roared and spit again.

  “Ye are the daughter of Margaret O’Malley and her husband Richard?” he blustered, beginning to pace in circles with a scowl. Why was this man so angry? Had she inadvertently named a woman that was perhaps his mistress and now he thought he had kissed his lover’s daughter? The thought made her laugh. They truly were like Persephone and Hades, after all. Only, he had nothing to worry about, not truly. Though watching him squirm, big man that he was, only made her laugh harder.

  Stopping in mid-step, he scowled at her. “Ye think this is bloody funny, do ye? Do ye ken ye just kissed yer brother? Och! Bloody bollocks!” He spat again and her faced blanched, smile forgotten. Brother?