Pirates of Britannia Box Set

by Devlin, Barbara

  Stepping outside, Thomas and Katherine walked through the Bailey and over the lowered portcullis, the smell of the salty sea consuming his senses. His galleon swayed proudly before him and with more determination than ever in his life, Thomas swept Katherine up behind the knees with a flourish and carried her onto the boat. All his men had been busy scrubbing the decks and Thomas looked at his quartermaster, Juan, with a glint in his eye.

  “Enjoy yer time in Scarba?” he asked his trusted companion.

  “Aye, that I did, Capt’n,” Juan tipped his brimmed hat and smiled a devilish smile that told Thomas he had not slept alone the night before.

  “Good,” Thomas winked as he placed Katherine down on the main deck and wrapped his arm around her waist before turning to his crew. “Avast, ye! Weigh anchor and hoist the sails! We have a Sassenach ship to track down! Whatever cargo they carry, we keep!” The men cheered and rushed to do his bidding, finely trained from what he had seen thus far. “To Ulster, we sail!” he added before looking down at his wife.

  Her brow furrowed, and she looked ready to question him, so before she could give him any unnecessary grief or unwanted opinions, he dragged her up the half-dozen stairs to the poop deck and shoved her into his cabin.

  “Nay! Ye will not do this to me again, Thomas! And, who are ye going after? Why did ye not tell me about yer plans? What about the treasure?”

  Taking a deep breath, he clenched his fists. “Yer father. I didn’t want to. Let me worry about that. Any more questions?”

  “Aye! Ye cannae plan to kill my father!”

  “That was not a question. Go sit down, Katherine.” Before she could further argue, he slammed the door in her face, knowing very well he would pay his penance later. He had to stay his course. She said she loved him for his honor, and his honor bade him seek revenge on her father and take whatever goods his ship carried as retribution. And he would be damned if his wee wife tried to stop him. He did this for her… it was all for her. Someday, she would see that, even if that day was not today.

  Chapter Eleven

  Katherine could not stand another moment on this blasted ship! Aside from the surprisingly pleasing meal she had shared at Castle Dheomhan, all she had feasted on for days were salted fish, stale bread, hard cheese, and fortunately, fresh grapes from time to time. But, it was not the ship nor the food itself that drove her mad, for she found she quite liked living on the sea. It was her insufferable, arrogant husband! In the privacy of their bed, he was passionate, open, sharing words of love and hopes for the future. In truth, she quite liked that part. Even when she was furious that he would not speak with her in the daylight hours or hear her pleas to not start a battle with her father, she could not find it in her to turn him away from her bed or resist his calloused touch. He held some spell over her with those green eyes, that short dark beard and strong jaw, and his roguish smile.

  Still, they had been at sea for only two days and she felt like a caged animal. Rarely did she go on deck. Thomas did not forbid it, exactly, but he seemed tense and unfocused when she was around, as if he worried she might jump overboard or catch the eye of one of his crew, though they all seemed to respect his every command. In truth, she was bored out of her mind. At least Grace O’Malley had several books stocked on the built-in shelves within this cabin, but Katherine was itching for more fresh air… and more time with her husband. He was busy commanding his crew, she knew, but even to stand back and watch him while the wind blew through her hair would be better than this isolation.

  Taking a deep breath, she stood from the bed and opened the door to the cabin. The sound of sails snapping in the wind made her look high above her head to see the O’Malley pirate flag whipping wildly above on the mizzen mast. She was aboard a pirate ship… filled with, well… pirates. Outlaws. Men who would be hung by their necks if the British government ever got their hands on them. Would the queen see Thomas as a pirate? In truth, he had yet to steal anything from anyone, or hurt anyone, or even defy his orders. Yet, here he was, captaining an Irish pirate ship, preparing to loot an English galleon and sink it into the sea, killing her father, an officer of the queen, along with his entire crew.

  The thought was more than she could bear and her stomach roiled as the knots that had been tensing her stomach tightened even more. As much as she wanted Thomas to stay here in Ireland, they had never discussed their future beyond finding the treasure and he was a knight of the realm. He had orders to destroy their enemy vessels, and yet he was now on the path to destroy an English ship, with her father aboard.

  Trepidation ate at her as her eyes locked on Thomas, who was conversing on the main deck with Juan, her husband’s extra limb these days. He did not notice her as she slowly approached him, but the nervous looks and sideways glances from his crew made her hold her head high as she walked across the deck, the wind blowing through her blonde waves. She had every right to be out on the deck as the captain’s wife and these superstitious louts could jump overboard if they did not like it.

  “Thomas.” Placing a hand on her husband’s sleeve, she tugged to get his attention. The softening of his gaze as he looked at her gave her hope. He had been so openly loving and affectionate back at Castle Dheomhan, but had shut down emotionally once they departed. Part of her hated him for wanting to hunt down her father, yet most of her feared terribly, deep down, that he would stop loving her because of who her father was. “May we speak?”

  He nodded and walked away from Juan, taking her toward the stern of the boat. “Ye should not be out here overlong, Kat. It makes the crew nervous.”

  “That is rubbish. They are yer grandmother’s men! They know a woman can be aboard a ship and not cause it to end up in Davey Jones’s locker!”

  Thomas cringed and put a hand over her mouth. “Ye need be careful how ye speak, lass. Now, what is it ye need?” He spoke softly and placed his hands on her hips, pulling her so close she could smell the sea salt in his hair.

  “I need ye, Thomas. Once again, ye have withdrawn from me.”

  “Have I not shared yer bed every night?” he whispered, dragging his lips down her throat and causing her mind to grow hazy with desire.

  “That is not what I mean. Ye make love to me every night.”

  “Many times a night,” he corrected before running a finger down her chest and over her breasts. Even through the layers of wool and linen, he caused her entire body to burst into flames.

  “Aye… then ye avoid me for the rest of the day. I am not here just for yer pleasure, Thomas. And ye have not listened to a word I’ve said about my father.”

  His eyes clouded over and he pulled back, a sudden mask of stone on his face. “There is nothing to discuss, Katherine. He marked yer body. He killed my Uncle, imprisoned my grandmother, killed my entire crew, blew up my ship and with it, supplies to clothe and feed many Irish people, and for it all, he shall die.” The cold determination in his voice sent chills up her spine. “I would kill him simply for laying a hand on ye. I do this for ye, though I ken ye do not see it.”

  “And I ken my father deserves it, yet… he is all I ever had. Cannae ye just capture him and deliver him back to the queen? Allow her to decide his punishment? What becomes of ye if ye sink an English galleon, kill the Governor of Connaught commissioned by the queen, and take the cargo for yer own?”

  “It is not for me! It is for my crew and the people of Ireland! Ye ken this! Then we can chase the Treasure of Danu without him on our tail! I willnae discuss this further with ye!” Katherine fumed at his stubbornness to see reason. He would destroy himself, his honor, his knighthood, everything she knew he held dear. She wanted to stomp on his foot and pull his hair, she was so blasted mad at the man.

  “Sail, ho!” A man shouted from above them. Looking up, Katherine saw the man up in the crow’s nest holding a spyglass to his eye. Thomas stormed over to Juan, dragging Katherine by the arm the entire way.

  Using a spyglass of his own, Juan looked out to sea and cursed. “’Tis
the bloody British, Capt’n. I see Bingham on board,” he hissed as he passed the device to Thomas. Looking through the glass, Thomas spotted the vessel and smiled wickedly.

  “All hands on deck! Beat to quarters! A Sassenach ship ahoy!” Thomas yelled and dragged Katherine up to the poop deck.

  “Should we lower our flag, Capt’n?” Juan asked.

  “Nay! Let those bastards know that pirates approach! Ready the cannons!”

  “Aye, Capt’n!” Juan hollered just before turning to shout more commands to the crew. Thomas’s grip tightened on her arm as they approached their cabin and she yanked out of his grasp.

  “Ye are hurting me!” she cried.

  Opening the door, he pushed her inside, following behind her. “Ye stay in here! That is an order!”

  Crossing her arms, she scowled at him. “Ye are not my Captain!” she growled and stomped her foot.

  “Nay. I am yer husband and ye shall obey me on this!” He crushed his mouth to hers fiercely, making her gasp at his sudden onslaught. “I love ye, Kat. I said it before, and I meant it. But, I must do this. Stay here,” his voice gentled and she nodded. She loathed being stuck in here, but mayhap it was best. She trusted Thomas to keep her safe, along with his crew… yet could she stand aside and allow him to kill her father?

  Stomach clenching and heart pounding, she watched as Thomas neared the door, preparing to kill her own father.

  “Be careful, Thomas. I love ye,” she whispered just as he shut the door behind him.

  Arriving back on deck, Thomas could see the English ship in the distance, its flag whipping in the wind. His body buzzed with the need for revenge, hatred clouding his judgment. Aye, Bingham deserved to die, his cargo to be stolen, his ship to sink, but Thomas needed to avoid the bloodshed of the rest of his crew. If he killed them, what truly made him better than Bingham?

  Cursing under his breath, he directed his crew to approach the ship from starboard and lower the skiffs. “Run a shot across the bow! Then, we board!”

  “Aye!” his crew roared and the sounds of cannons rolling into place rattled through the air.

  “Fire in the hole!” One of the gunners shouted from below just before the warning shot blew out of the cannon and sailed intentionally over the bow of the British galleon. It would be the only warning they received to cooperate or die.

  As expected, a white flag began to rise up their mast and Thomas smiled. “Mayhap we need not blow em’ to pieces this day, mates!” Thomas roared. “Board em, but save Bingham for me!” Just before he boarded the skiff with Juan, he turned to his boatswain, a younger man named Charles, and ordered him to stay with Katherine and keep her in the cabin. He knew his wife would balk at having another man guard her, but Thomas could not risk her leaving the cabin or being harmed.

  His gunners stayed at the ready, in case the British attempted an attack, while the rest of the crew climbed the rope ladder, jumped over the taffrails and stepped onto the main deck. Men glared at them as they boarded, some glaring with malice and others turning white as dozens of pirates boarded their vessel.

  “Ye were smart to surrender, lads!” Thomas shouted, addressing the British crew. All I want from ye is your cargo… and the life of yer captain, Richard Bingham!” Thomas’s rapier hung at his side and he clenched the pommel, searching for the bastard who killed his family and beat his wife. “Where is he?”

  “I am here, you thieving bastard! Give my daughter back or I shall run you through!”

  Turning on his heels, Thomas spotted the man and smirked, the need to destroy him taking over all his senses. The man’s blond hair matched the color of his daughter’s, but his dark eyes were shallow, as if nothing more than evil remained of the man. With a harsh laugh, Thomas faced Richard and drew his rapier. “I will never give ye my wife, Bingham! Ye beat her! I stole her to ruin her, aye, but I kept her because I knew ye would kill her. She is safer with me than with ye.”

  Richard turned red and pulled his rapier out. “You married her?” he spat and growled. “Have you tainted her with your foul seed?”

  Thomas waggled his brows and grinned. “If ye mean to ask whether or not I have bedded my wife, or if she may carry my child, that answer is aye. Ye will never touch her again!” His words were working as they were meant to. Thomas had fought enough men in enough battles to know that the verbal spar was just as effective as the physical. It may not leave a mortal wound, but done correctly, it would throw a man off balance.

  “You may as well forfeit your life, Esmonde! The queen has been notified of your treachery! You abandoned Captain William and took up with your Sea-Banshee grandmother! You turned pirate! Then you stole my daughter and defiled her! Now, you attack her ship, her captain and governor, and pirate our cargo! You are done. You will never be allowed back in England again!”

  With a grunt, Thomas lifted his sword and readied himself for battle. “Do ye truly believe Good Queen Bess will trust yer word, Bingham? Why do ye think she sent me here? To watch over ye. Ye sank my ship and crew, given to me by the queen! That cargo was meant to help the Irish aye, but I was to bring some back to her majesty. As far as I can see, this is simply retribution. Eye for an eye, mate. Let’s finish this.”

  “Now, now, Thomas. Are ye not going to greet your Uncle Murrough?”

  “What?” Confusion at Richard’s words caught him off guard just before his heart began to beat in overtime. His traitorous, abusive uncle was on this ship, as well? He should have suspected as much. “Where is the bastard?” he said through clenched teeth. He would gut him first, then move on to Bingham. He had enough crew aboard this ship to watch his back if Bingham tried to fight dirty.

  “Well, if it ain’t me worthless nephew back from England,” he heard a man say from behind him. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with the man he had dreamed of killing since he was a lad of seven. Before he could respond, his uncle swung his right fist hard, connecting with Thomas’s jaw, causing him to stumble back from the unexpected blow.

  “Coward,” Thomas hissed and spat a wad of blood onto the deck. His uncle’s brown eyes narrowed and his stringy red hair appeared to have gone unwashed for a fortnight. Thomas had once thought the man a towering beast, but now he saw him for what he was: an average-sized man who used what little strength he had on those weaker than him or to take shots at unprepared opponents. Thomas smiled. Let him see what his uncle was capable of in a fair fight.

  “Draw yer sword,” Thomas said calmly, locking eyes on the man. He cared not if they were blood. He would kill two men who abused women on this day. They were foul, loathsome creatures.

  “I thought yer bitch of a mother sent ye to England to be a knight, lad! I see ye fell into the family business, even after all she sacrificed for ye,” his uncle chuckled as he slowly drew his sword. Thomas was determined to drown out any words uttered by his uncle. He knew he meant to hit his weak spot, knowing Thomas loathed him for his treatment of his mother. All that mattered was the man was armed. Thomas could kill him with honor now.

  In one hand, he gripped his rapier tightly, prepared to run his uncle through. With his free hand, he silently signaled his uncle to make the first move, internally smiling when he saw Murrough raise his sword to take a swing at him.

  Not fast enough. Thomas sidestepped his uncle’s attack easily and in one fluid motion, drove his weapon into his uncle’s belly, just as he had always meant to do. Not an ounce of remorse or guilt riddled Thomas’s conscience. The man was scum and deserved his death, not only for his treatment of his own sister, but for turning traitor and becoming one of Bingham’s lackeys after the man killed Murrough’s brother and imprisoned his mother.

  “Ye lived a coward and ye die a coward,” Thomas whispered when he pulled his rapier out of the man’s stomach. Murrough slumped and lay dying on the main deck of the English galleon, and Thomas spat as his uncle’s life’s blood flowed from his mortal wound. He had not seen his uncle in over twenty years, yet had killed him within moments of the
ir reunion. Just as it should have been, for Thomas had no time to waste on the bastard. He had another bastard to dispatch.

  Thomas scowled as he turned toward Bingham and narrowed his eyes, looking at the man who destroyed his family and so much of Ireland. He remembered the bruises marring Katherine’s fragile face, and her ribs they had believed broken for a time. The man deserved to die. Here. Now. His lifeless body would join Murrough’s upon his deck. Katherine would hate him when he was finished, but he would seek her forgiveness later.

  “Are ye ready to join my uncle in death, Bingham?” Thomas snapped, eyeing the man he most despised in the world. His blood curdled with hatred.

  Bingham, smug bastard that he was, only shrugged. “The only good O’Malley is a dead O’Malley. You saved me the trouble. Now you will die for ruining my daughter!” the man shouted, all pretense of disinterest gone.

  “Thomas!” he heard Katherine’s bonny voice screaming in his direction and he snapped out of his thoughts, losing his concentration. “Thomas! Dinnae do it!”

  Eyes shifting away from his opponent, he followed the distant sound. There she was, his cursed wife who he had ordered to stay in his cabin, whom Charles was meant to control, leaning over the taffrail of the ship, waving her arms wildly as Charles frantically tried to pull her back. She kicked and flailed, catching the man in the shin, then elbowing him in the face. “Thomas!” she cried.

  A sharp pain sliced through him and he roared, looking down to see blood turning his white tunic sleeve red as blood poured from his arm.

  “Ye bloody coward!” Thomas roared. The man had no honor, attacking an enemy with his backed turned.

  “Give me my daughter back, you filthy Irish bastard!” Richard hissed. “She will hate you if you kill me.”