Pirates of Britannia Box Set

by Devlin, Barbara

  Smoke filled his lungs and he coughed violently, trying to see through the haze. Shouts rang out and he heard his grandmother commanding her men in the distance. Had she opened fire on the docks after a parley? Would she have so risked his life? Large hands grabbed his shoulders and dragged him backwards roughly. He fought back and roared in pain as one of the hands touched his wounded arm.

  Looking over his shoulder, he saw two of his grandmother’s men, her quartermaster Matthew and some other man he recognized but could not place. “What is happening?” he coughed as he felt himself being thrown into a skiff.

  “The bastard blew yer ship to bits, he did!” Matthew roared over the sound. “Must have had explosives in the cargo!” They rowed back to the ship and Thomas used all his might to climb back up the ladder, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm. Reaching the main deck, he heard Grace shouting, “Fire! Destroy these filthy Sassenach ships!” And the entire ship shook as a series of cannons went off, spraying bits of water and wood into the air as they obliterated the Ulster dock, sending Bingham’s men scattering in a stream of shouts and cries.

  Slowly, he watched as the remains of his ship sank into the sea, splintered wood and all, while several others were blown to bits as well. His entire body thrummed with the need for revenge. The bloody evil bastard had loaded his entire crew onto that ship and they all went down with it. “Filthy, whoreson… bastard!” he roared, while clenching his fists and saying a prayer for his mistreated crew. He had planned to give them a better life, to free them from their binds of slavery, and offer them a fair split of all cargo and gold they ever found. He would have never forced a man to work for him. But now, those men were dead… except… looking into the violently turning water, he saw one man blustering for air, struggling to stay afloat.

  “Man overboard!” he yelled and dove into the water without hesitation. More debris flew past his body and water sprayed in towering waves above them, but he would be damned if he watched this man drown before his eyes.

  “Throw them a rope and raise the anchor!” he heard Grace shout over the din of cracking wood. Something flew over his head and he tried to catch it but missed. Having now reached the man, Thomas held him upright while trying to latch on to the swinging rope. His arm stung with pain, but he would handle any amount of pain if he could save this one life.

  As the rope dragged past him in the water, he wrapped it quickly around him and the other man, holding the end tightly with his free hand as they were slowly and painfully dragged back onto the deck. He and the man coughed up water as they landed with a painful thud, and Thomas was certain he would have rope burn around his chest for a week.

  “Ye really are a knight, ain’t ye, grandson?” his grandmother said with a smirk. “Ye have honor beyond anything I have ever seen on these waters. Ye are dumb as I’ve ever seen, too.” She lightly kicked his side with her boot as he continued to sputter. It didn’t take long before he realized they were sailing full speed away from the destruction, but in the distance, he saw that coward Bingham riding with all haste back to his beloved manor home while Thomas’s crew, ship, and all the cargo meant to help the starving people of Ireland sank to the bottom of the sea.

  It was hard to see through the red haze of his fury, but as he narrowed his eyes and watched Katherine’s long blonde hair whip behind her in the wind as she rode in front of her father, he vowed to have his vengeance… and he would strike the man where it hurt the most. The last bit of honor he owned had been used to save that dying slave from the water. Death was too good for Bingham. Aye, he would gut the lout in due time, but he had plans to destroy the man first.

  Chapter Six

  The explosions behind her made Katherine yelp and turn as her father’s horse galloped away from the harbor with all haste, carrying them both far from the mayhem. “Nay!” she wailed as she saw Thomas’s ship shatter into thousands of pieces with its entire crew aboard. Thomas was on the dock and crouched low, covering his head as cannon blasts began to fly from Grace’s ship. “Why did you do that?” she cried. He had made a deal with the pirates: her life, for the ship, cargo and crew for Thomas. Had the sparing of her life not been enough? For she was fairly certain Grace would have killed her just to seek her revenge had not her father given her a more than fair deal. Still, the booms, shakes, and shouts coming from behind them told her that her papa had betrayed them.

  “I had to!” her father shouted. “I could not allow all that cargo to be used against us by the enemy! I could not allow another pirate ship to roam the waters!”

  As the harbor was now over a mile away, the horse slowed to a more manageable trot, also allowing for her to converse better with her papa. She was so confused about so many things. The image of Thomas ducking for cover amidst the explosions battered at her heart. There was no way he could have survived that, was there? He was a large, powerful man, but he was flesh and bone as any other human and with all the blasts and debris in the air, how could he come out unscathed? Her heart lurched at the thought and she bit back a cry. She would have a good wail when she got home, thinking of the man she had known only for a short time. He hated her, and she could not blame him if all he said was true. But, it could not be. Her papa was a man of honor… only, had he not just ordered a ship full of innocent men to be destroyed without hesitation? She knew this was war, but she was sure that could have been avoided.

  “Thomas is not a pirate, Papa. He was given that ship and crew by Drake. He earned it. He is a knight sent here by the queen!”

  She heard her father bluster at her words. “He is a pirate! His entire family are pirates! They all deserve to be wiped from the earth, scourge that they are!”

  His words sank deep into her bones like a cold chill. So, was it true that he killed Thomas’s uncle in cold blood? “How did he steal you away, Katherine? Did he harm you?” her father whispered as he ran a hand through her hair from behind her.

  She chewed her bottom lip, hesitating to answer, but deep down she knew it was time to come clean, to tell her father all she had been up to these past several moons. With a sigh, she explained everything. She shared how she had been spying on the pirates, following their every move, and tracking their cargo. When that part was done, she would inform her papa of its whereabouts. If he was close enough to receive the message in time and send a man, they would gather the goods. If not, the enemy… or so she had believed, received the goods. Was it true that Grace had been leaving it for local clans to use? If so, Katherine had made a grave error, and now all those goods had sunk with Thomas’s ship and his poor crew. It was all her fault. None of this would have happened if not for her foolishness.

  Behind her, her father tensed as she continued to fill him in but he never made a sound. His silence was unnerving, and she wished for him to speak, but she had nothing left to say and he was unwilling to reply. Within several hours of their ride back toward their home in Connaught, the horse became weary and dusk began to fall. Knowing the land well, her father found a small village with a remote inn they could stay in for the night. She watched as he tossed a gold coin to the innkeeper. The man’s blue eyes widened at the amount of gold thrown to him as if it was nothing. Katherine could not help but agree. It was a shame to have so much money while those around her starved. She was more determined than ever, after having seen how people lived in these small towns firsthand, to use the small amount of treasure she had gathered over the years to really help the Irish… and she knew exactly whom she could trust now. If only that person was not a Pirate Queen who would likely slice her to bits before she could ever explain herself!

  Ordering a room for them both and the horse fed and watered, her father roughly grabbed her by the arm and dragged her up a set of rickety wooden stairs that led to a second-floor hallway with only three small rooms. They were likely the only patrons in the inn, but they shared one room on the right. The moment the door closed behind her, she felt her father’s firm grip as he grabbed her shoulders, shaki
ng her until her teeth clattered. “Are you mad? You have been spying on pirates? Following them? Sending me private missives? You were captured by that whoreson Thomas O’Malley—”

  “His name is Esmonde,” she corrected, trying to force the point that he was a knight of honor, not a pirate of plunder, but her father must not have appreciated her correction. Without warning, he growled and cracked her across the cheek with the back of his hand. Katherine’s head spun with the impact and she fell to the floor, her back knocking into a table and sending the porcelain washbasin crashing with her. With a cry of pain, she covered her face to protect herself from another blow. Her father had never hit her before.

  “Did he touch you? Did he? If he did, you are soiled, tainted! News of this will get back to the queen! He abandoned Captain William to the fate of the pirates, reuniting with his grandmother! Then he stole my cargo from that ship, hid it away… where he found you hiding in a blasted cave! And he stole you away! The man is a pirate and he will hang for this!”

  Standing up on shaky legs, Katherine swallowed hard. “He is likely dead, along with the rest of the crew, after what you did.” Her voice cracked and she fought the quiver of her lip. So many lives lost. She would never kiss Thomas again. He was the pirate-knight of her dreams: the man who stole from the enemy to feed his people. He had honor, yet he fought for his beliefs despite the consequences. And she would never see him again. He had said awful things to her before he gave her back to her papa. He had meant them, but she would never get the chance to make things right with him.

  “He deserves to be dead!” her father spat! “As did his Uncle Owen, fool that he was! As if I would ever make peace with an O’Malley, pirate or not!”

  “So it’s true? You murdered his uncle.” Her face blanched, yet her cheek still throbbed from the pain of his blow. “Is it also true that you steal the cargo meant to aid the Irish… the people you swore to govern, not misuse… and keep the gold for yourself?”

  He struck her again, eyes ablaze with a fury she never knew he owned. “You ungrateful bitch! I keep you safe with that gold! You have a fine home, gowns of silk, plenty of food… yet now you have an issue with how I supply them?”

  Through her pain, she propped her body against the wall, refusing to fall at his feet.

  “I never asked for any of those things!” she balled her fists into her worn woolen dress. “Look at me! I only wear those things when you are home to please you! I would sell it all to feed the mouths of the hungry Irish!”

  “And I would sell you to the devil before I allowed you to mix with those filthy peasants! You are a noble lady! It is your place in the world to be above them, to command them!”

  She shook her head. “You are wrong.” Then, she stopped and looked him in the eyes. “Tell me about your wife and my sister in England. Is this true, as well? It seems the O’Malleys have shared more truths with me in the past two days than you have in my entire life. How can you have another family in another country that you never told me of, Papa? How?” she pleaded for answers. Could he not open up to her now?

  Slowly, calmly, he walked over to the old wooden stool in the corner and she turned to face him, expecting him to sit. Instead, her heart beat wildly and she let out a cry of distress when he cracked the stool against the wall, sending shards of wood into the air, and stalked slowly toward her. Face distorted in rage, she thought for certain her dear papa was possessed by a demon as he slapped the stool’s thin, round leg against his palm over and over as he approached her.

  “What has happened to my darling daughter? It is as if you have been entranced by those dirty pirates.”

  “Nay… I have not, Papa,” she shook her head and backed away toward the bed.

  “You have over-stepped your bounds, speaking to me as you have. Your tongue grows bold. I was planning to tell you about your sister Emily in due time. She is a few years younger than you. I thought she was my English rose, but if what Thomas says is true, she deserves a thrashing as well. No daughter of mine shall mix with pirates.”

  Her legs hit the edge of the bed. “I am sorry, Papa,” she whispered, putting her hands up in a plea. Her father was a monster. She knew that now. How had she not seen it before?

  “I am sorry, as well, Katherine. I love you more than my own life, but it is my place to teach you yours.” The solid wooden leg in his hand swung out fast, smacking against her thigh. She cried out at the pain and fell back onto the bed. He made contact with her left arm as she rolled and pain burst through her body, explosions of anguish behind her eyes. One more forceful blow to the belly made her gasp and pull into herself as it glanced off her lower ribs. Tears leaked down her cheek and over her nose as she buried her face into the sour-smelling sheets on the bed. Sharp pains flooded her abdomen and she thought she might be dying.

  “That last one was necessary, in case you carried the bastard’s child.”

  She gasped at his awful words, spoken in a calm voice. He would beat her simply for having been in the man’s presence?

  “Now get some rest, my sweet. I know you think I have been harsh, but it was way past due. You have grown wild and over-bold, much like the scum of this land. When we arrive back home in two days’ time, you will pack your things. You are going to England to stay with Emily and your stepmother, Caroline.”

  Silent tears ran down her face while throbbing pain wracked every part of her body. How would she endure the pain of the journey on the morrow? Her father removed his jerkin slowly, blew out the candle, and climbed into the bed, as if he had not just beaten her with a rod of wood, before rolling over and snoring soundly.

  “I am so sorry, Thomas,” she whispered into the dark room, in case his spirit lingered nearby and he could hear her sorrow. How she hoped to join him in the Otherworld, where the pain could all be forgotten.

  It had only taken Thomas three days on the ship to rest his arm and come up with his plan for revenge, but it had felt like an eternity as he sat and stewed on all that had been lost at the hands of Bingham. His arm had been stitched up rather cleanly by the ship’s more than capable surgeon, which quite shocked him. The pirate crew’s surgeon was better than the one at court, but he should not have been so surprised. His grandmother was probably almost as rich as the queen herself, and could afford the best ships and crew, even though she chose to give much of her wealth to her people… until Katherine helped Richard steal from them. Now it all lay on the bottom of the sea along with his crew. Every night since, he had said several prayers for their souls.

  He was not an overly pious man, having grown up torn between the Catholic and Protestant struggle. He decided long ago that it was safer to keep his opinions about deities to himself, especially since the goddess Danu still haunted his dreams, showing him glimpses of her treasure that had sat buried for over fifteen hundred years. It was a treasure so rare and valuable, he was certain it could feed the people of Ireland for years. Considering the frequency of his dreams, he was also certain Danu was calling to him and offering her beloved ancient treasure to him, if only to save the people.

  The man Thomas had saved from drowning three day’s past happened to be a slave from Spain named Juan, captured some years before by Drake and forced to work on the ships, living with only enough food to survive. At one point, he had belonged to the Spanish Navy and had even been his Captain’s quartermaster. Never had Thomas met a man more thankful in all his life. Thomas tried to send Juan on his way, to allow him to go wherever he pleased, even giving the man a small bag of gold to buy his way on a ship, but the man refused to leave Thomas’s side, claiming he owed him a debt and would serve him for life.

  After much arguing that he had not saved the man only to force him into bondage once more, Thomas decided he could more than use the man’s aid right now, as he once again had no ship or crew, and now had an injured arm. However, it was agreed upon that Juan was free to go as he chose and would be given his share of any booty they found in their travels… assuming Thomas
found a way to earn another ship. That had given him the inspiration he needed to finally sit down with his grandmother and make her a deal.

  Sitting in her chair, the hearth fire blazing behind her as she sipped on a mug of hot whiskey, Grace listened with interest, though a scowl seemed to be firmly stuck to her face. Even in her later years, she was a beautiful woman, but the stress of the war, imprisonment by the English, and the constant threat of Bingham had aged her more in a few days than he thought she had in the twenty-three years he had been gone.

  Juan sat stiffly beside Thomas, a blank look on his face as he listened intently to all that transpired. The fire popped behind Grace and she shifted in her seat, propping her left ankle atop her right knee and shaking her booted foot. Though she had been silent for a moment after he described his plan, he knew she was considering the details carefully.

  “Ye never did stop thinkin’ about that treasure,” she finally spoke with a chuckle. “Aye, our ancestors hid it well… too well, after one of the major battles of their time, trying to keep the Treasure of Danu safe from the enemy. Before they obtained it, with the help of the fay, they say, it had been lost for a thousand years before. It seems to hide itself, rather than the other way around. With as many who have tried to claim it, what makes ye think ye can?” she asked with another slow sip of whiskey.

  “I dinnae know. It’s only that I have had very vivid dreams of it since I was a lad. My first dream came even before ye told me of it. Since I arrived back here in Ireland, the dreams come nightly, and with more intensity. I can see it. ’Tis in a cave. I just dinnae know which caves or upon which land. My ancestors traveled between Ireland and Scotland often.”