The de Wolfe of Wharf Street
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The de Wolfe of Wharf Street
by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Copyright © 2019 Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Kindle Edition
This work was made possible by a special license through the Pirates of Britannia Connected
World publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by DragonMedia Publishing, Inc. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Pirates of Britannia connected series by Kathryn Le Veque and Eliza Knight remain exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque and/or Eliza Knight, or their affiliates or licensors. All characters created by the author of this novel remain the copyrighted property of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Published by DragonMedia, Inc.
The Pirates of Britannia World
Savage of the Sea
by Eliza Knight
Leader of Titans
by Kathryn Le Veque
The Sea Devil
by Eliza Knight
Sea Wolfe
by Kathryn Le Veque
The Sea Lyon
by Hildie McQueen
The Blood Reaver
by Barbara Devlin
Plunder by Knight
by Mia Pride
The Seafaring Rogue
by Sky Purington
Stolen by Starlight
by Avril Borthiry
The Ravishing Rees
by Rosamund Winchester
The Marauder
by Anna Markland
The Pirate’s Temptation
by Tara Kingston
Pearls of Fire
by Meara Platt
The Righteous Side of Wicked
by Jennifer Bray-Weber
God of the Seas
by Alex Aston
The Pirate’s Jewel
by Ruth A. Casie
The Sea Lord: Devils of the Deep
by Hildie McQueen
The Savage Sabre
by Rosamund Winchester
Laird of the Deep
by B.J. Scott
Lord Corsair
by Sydney Jane Baily
The de Wolfe of Wharf Street
by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Valor is stability, not of legs and arms, but of courage and the soul
– Michael de Montaigne
To my wonderful husband on our 25th wedding anniversary. You are my romantic hero, even if you don’t parkour…
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Pirates of Britannia World
Epigraph
Dedication
Author’s Note
Thanks
The Legend of the Pirates of Britannia
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Author’s Note
I’d like to thank Kathryn Le Veque and Eliza Knight for a chance to play in their Pirates of Britannia series. I had so much fun.
I’ve chosen a different era of history – the reign of Charles I and of a threat to England that was closer to home than Spain.
While many historical romance readers know about the relentless plundering of the Vikings, few know that centuries later the Barbary Coast pirates posed a similar threat to England and Ireland right up until the end of the 18th century.
In researching the topic for the Heart of the Corsairs series, I learned that the North African pirates occupied an island in the Bristol Channel where they conducted slave raids on the English and Irish coasts and as far north as Iceland.
Between 1650 and 1800, an estimated one million Europeans were sold in Ottoman slave markets.
The de Wolfe of Wharf Street is a blend of fact and fiction – the Penrose Almshouses is real as is the pirate Jan Janszoon and satirist Joseph Hall, the Bishop of Exeter. Marisco Castle is real but I’ve taken tremendous liberties with its size.
What is also real is the love of a man who would move heaven and earth for the woman he loves, and the loyalty of brothers.
The rest is delicious fiction.
Elizabeth
Thanks
And thanks to my amazing publisher Kathryn Le Veque, the best editor in the world Scott Moreland. To Lis Ellis for the fabulous name Perspicacity, and to Shad M Brooks from Shadiversity for introducing me to a cool Renaissance weapon, the swordbreaker.
The Legend of the Pirates of Britannia
In the Year of our Lord 854, a wee lad by the name of Arthur MacAlpin set out on an adventure that would turn the tides of his fortune – for what could be more exciting than being feared and showered with gold?
Arthur wanted to be king. A sovereign as great as King Arthur, who came hundreds of years before him. The legendary knight who was able to pull a magical sword from stone, met ladies in lakes and vanquished evil with a vast following that worshipped him. But while that King Arthur brought to mind dreamlike images of a round table surrounded by chivalrous knights and the ladies they romanced, MacAlpin wanted to summon night terrors from every babe, woman and man.
Aye, MacAlpin, King of the Pirates of Britannia, would be a name most feared. A name that crossed children’s lips when the candles were blown out at night. When a shadow passed over a wall, was it the Pirate King? When a ship sailed into port in the dark hours of night, was it him?
As the fourth son of the conquering Pictish King, Cináed, Arthur wanted to prove himself to his father. He wanted to make his father proud, and show him that he, too, could be a conqueror. King Cináed was praised widely for having run off the Vikings, for saving his people, for amassing a vast and strong army. No one would dare encroach on his conquered lands when they would have to face the end of his blade.
Arthur wanted that, too. He wanted to be feared. Awed. To hold his sword up and have devils come flying from the tip.
So, it was on a fateful summer night in 854 that, at the age of ten and nine, Arthur amassed a crew of young and roguish Picts and stealthily commandeered one of his father’s ships.
They blackened the sails to hide them from those on watch and began an adventure that would last a lifetime and beyond.
The lads trolled the seas, boarding ships and sacking small coastal villages. In fact, they even sailed so far north as to raid a Viking village in the name of his father. By the time they returned to Oban and the seat of King Cináed, all of Scotland was raging about Arthur’s atrocities. Confused, he tried to explain, but his father would not listen and would not allow him back into the castle.
King Cináed banished his youngest son from the land, condemned his acts as evil, and told him he never wanted to see him again
.
Enraged and experiencing an underlying layer of mortification, Arthur took to the seas, gathering men as he went, and building a family he could trust would not shun him. They ravaged the sea as well as the land—using his clan’s name as a lasting insult to his father for turning him out.
The legendary Pirate King was rumored to be merciless, the type of vengeful pirate who would drown a babe in his mother’s own milk if she didn’t give him the pearls at her neck.
But with most rumors, they were mostly steeped in falsehoods meant to intimidate. In fact, there may have been a wee boy or two he saved from an untimely fate. Whenever they came across a lad or lass in need, as Arthur himself had once been, he and his crew took them into the fold.
One ship became two. And then three, four, five, until a score of ships with blackened sails roamed the seas.
These were his warriors. A legion of men who adored him, respected him, followed him, and together they wreaked havoc on the blood ties that had sent him away. And generations upon generations, country upon country, they would spread far and wide until people feared them from horizon to horizon. Every Pirate King to follow would be named MacAlpin, so his father’s banishment would never be forgotten.
And the pirate brotherhood grew. English factions joined the ranks as allies and friends.
More pirate lords joined the brethren from Britannia, factions and legions of men who ruled the waves. Different countries, different cultures, and even from different times, but they all had the same goal in mind. They were 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
Barnstaple, Devon
January 1627
Gabriel took a deep breath. In the night-darkened alley, his back against a wall, he looked his brother directly in the eye.
He’d had reservations about this from the start, but he’d made a pact and he would keep it.
He held his arms out, palms up, crossed at the forearms, and nodded. Raphael ran toward him hard and, at the last moment outstretched hands locked in his. Raphael sprang upwards. Both from the power of his leap and the upward, twisting thrust of Gabriel’s arms, Raphael was propelled up and landed catlike on his brother’s shoulders.
Gabriel steadied himself and supported his brother’s weight as he looked now at Michael, the youngest of the trio preparing his own run down the alley. Gabriel held Raphael by the calves and slowly lowered to a squat. He felt the man above him shift, ready to propel Michael up and onto his shoulders.
It was a move they’d practiced many times and to great success. In fact, they were nearly earning enough to get by performing their acrobatic and tumbling feats.
And that was the problem. What they earned wasn’t nearly enough, which was why they were here in the alley behind a wool merchant’s house with Michael about to slip through an upper window.
As performers, they were already looked upon with suspicion – and not without cause. When things had been truly desperate, those who watched and put money in their caps were sometimes more generous than they’d intended, thanks to the brothers’ light fingers.
But a break-in was another thing altogether and Gabriel didn’t want to do it. But he’d been outvoted and was honor-bound to play his part.
With one further press on his shoulders, Gabriel knew Michael had made the final ascent to the windowsill and into the house.
Raphael dismounted, fell forward into a shoulder roll and tumbled to his feet. Gabriel swept a hand through his long blond hair. He stepped away from the wall and looked up. He counted the moments with the beat of his heart. He got to seventy before he saw Michael’s face in the window. He tossed a sack down into Raphael’s waiting arms.
Whatever was in it rattled loudly, the sound echoing up between the buildings.
“Who goes there?” a voice demanded.
Nightwatchmen!
At the sound of approaching bootsteps, Raphael took off at a run with the goods. Michael jumped onto the sill, stepped out, and turned to drop into a dead hang from the sill, fifteen feet off the ground.
“Come on!” Gabriel hissed through gritted teeth, stepping several paces away from the wall. Michael took one glance back, hauled his legs up to his chest and pushed himself clear of the brickwork, launching into a back flip. Gabriel watched his progress in the air, stepping forward a pace as his brother emerged from the roll. Feet met shoulders in a long-practiced routine. Gabriel took a couple of steps forward to steady the weight of his younger brother.
Michael descended to the ground in a forward somersault.
“There they are!”
“Hey, you!”
The brothers turned to see a group of men, brandishing flickering torches, advancing upon them. Gabriel recognized the livery of the men as belonging to one of the merchant guilds.
What kind of hell are you going to bring down on us, Raphael?
Gabriel and Michael shared a glance and ran toward the four men at a sprint.
The expectation that thieves would run away from, and not toward the law, caught the nightwatchmen flat-footed.
Michael reached the group first. He executed a forward tumble under their waiting hands and between two men’s legs. Gabriel reached them a split second later. As the men bent down in a futile attempt to catch Michael, Gabriel jumped and vaulted, performing a twist to pull his body up and over the watchmen. The flames of their torches brushed his body as he passed over them, like the tongues of the fires of hell to which he’d surely be damned.
He landed at a crouch, paused a scant moment, then took off running. The nightwatchmen, now recovered from their surprise, ran just as quickly after him.
At least Michael was nowhere in sight. Nor Raphael, but then he’d had a greater head start.
Alleys and backstreets that were familiar during the day were different at night, illuminated only by moonlight and the chasing torches. Gabriel dodged into a narrow passageway.
“We’ve got him trapped now,” one of his pursuers yelled, “it’s a dead-end!”
Gabriel saw it. Moreover, he knew what was on the other side of the wall at the end. He could hear the dog barking – whether in play or aggression, he was not keen to find out.
The passageway was barely four feet wide. Perfect.
He screwed up his nose and put on an extra spurt of speed. Nearing the end, he leapt to one side, launching himself a few feet up the brickwork, then pushed off hard to the other side, and back again, zig-zag, a foot or two higher with each push until he was level with the top of the end wall.
He used his body’s momentum for one last push that let him scramble atop the wall.
He glanced down long enough see the snarling hound on the other side. Aggression, not play…
The wall that enclosed the yard beyond was twelve inches thick; wide enough to run along. And he did, building up enough speed on the run to propel himself in an arcing leap across an eight-foot wide alley to the matching wall on the other side.
Over the pounding of his heart, Gabriel heard the frustrated nightwatchmen cursing.
He dropped down into another yard and dashed across a fallow vegetable patch before rolling over a chest-high fence into another alley which let directly onto one of Barnstaple’s larger thoroughfares.
Confident that he’d lost his pursuers, Gabriel slowed to a walk. He lifted the collar of his coat then shoved his hands inside to warm them against the late evening chill that rapidly cooled his sweat-soaked body.
He made his way down to Wharf Street and home, ready to have it out with his brothers.
Presuming they had made it back safe.
There was no light to be seen in the high transom windows of the old warehouse the three of them called home. Gabriel cautiously worked the warped timbers of the side door and slipped inside. The only light came from a woodfire stove Raphael wa
s now just setting.
Michael had already unpacked the haul, a couple of candlesticks and a platter. Whether they were silver or simply pewter, Gabriel couldn’t tell. Nor did he care to.
“Gabriel! I was worried the nightwatchmen had gotten you,” said Michael.
Raphael glanced back and gave him a grin. “You must be getting slow, old man.”
At three and twenty, Gabriel knew he was not that, but, as the eldest of the brothers, he knew he bore responsibility for them.
“We are not thieves,” he growled, finally giving vent to his anger. “We’re better than that! If you two want to travel down that road, then you do it alone. I’ve had enough.”
Raphael shook his head and scoffed.
“What does it matter? Come spring we’ll be on the road again and no one will know it was us.”
Raphael didn’t see Gabriel’s change of expression. If he had, and shown contrition, it might have been the end of the matter.
Instead, Gabriel swung hard and landed a punch on Raphael’s right cheek. Pain radiated through his fist, but he sucked it back down to add fuel to his anger and disappointment with his brothers, especially Raphael. Hell’s bells, Gabriel wanted to be angry with him.
He shook his hand and stretched his fingers, hoping they were only bruised and not broken.
His brother, younger by two years, had fallen to the floor. Blood bloomed from his lips. Gabriel noted with satisfaction that the little bastard had the sense to look frightened of him. Gabriel decided that he’d not yet finished making his point. He reached down to pull Raphael to his feet by his shirt.
Michael put a light hand on his shoulder. “Gabriel, don’t.”
Raphael stood on his own two feet. He spat a stream of saliva and blood sideways onto the hot stove where it hissed.
“Look, I know you don’t have the stomach for this–” Raphael began, his voice thickened by his swelling cheek.