Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  When Charlotte had come to him with a far-fetched plan, her brother had chuckled, but had been polite enough to listen.

  And when he heard why she wanted to take the Queen’s ship, he’d agreed.

  Well, first, she’d had to talk him out of attacking the MacDonalds directly. If any of the MacLeods were to be found responsible for John MacDonald’s death, no matter what his sins may be, it would mean a clan war they couldn’t afford. So she’d convinced Tav it was better to make John pay through proper means…which is why she’d been to Scone twice in the last year, trying to convince someone to listen to her.

  It hadn’t worked, but it explained why the Black Banner had started to target MacDonald ships exclusively. Tavish wanted to make John MacDonald pay for what he’d done, and that was why he supported her scheme.

  And why, today, he’d handed control of his ship and his men—and his legend—to her.

  No one on that birlinn would recognize her, all dressed in black as she was and her face hidden…but no one would mistake her for a man either, not with her build. Still, she would fight, if necessary, for what she needed Queen Elizabeth to know. And once she had the Queen on her brother’s ship, she’d reveal her face and her plea to the woman, and pray it would be enough.

  As she wrapped first her hair, then the crown of her head in the black material, she considered what Tosh’s informant had told them. The old sailor relayed the Queen traveled with only five bodyguards. The rest of the men on her birlinn were sailors, who also presumably knew how to fight.

  She supposed the Queen had been counting on that fact, were they attacked.

  What Her Majesty likely hadn’t counted on, was the fact that most of those sailors were MacLeods.

  MacLeod sailors were legends among the Western Isles. Father had never shared Tavish and Uncles Rory’s interest in the sea, despite Lewes being an island and the MacLeods’ domination of the trading channels. Still, when the Bruce had requested a ship and men for a secret mission, Father had sent them.

  And Charlotte had figured out why they were needed.

  “Are ye ready?” Tav asked as he returned to the place of honor at the bow.

  Charlotte nodded and finished wrapping the scarf about her red hair, leaving the tail dangling below her chin, to be pulled up across her face. “I never thought I’d be the Black Banner.”

  Tav’s easy grin flashed as he winked. “I’ll no’ let ye take my place, wee sister. But for today, the ship—and all of us—are yers.”

  Taking a deep breath, Charlotte turned to survey the men. Their eyes were as bright as their blades as they sat easy on their rower benches, looking for all the world like their Norse great-grandfathers must have.

  “Ye ken the plan, lads?”

  Most nodded, more than a few looking unsure about taking orders from their captain’s little sister. But Charlotte was sure of them. They’d do what needed to be done, hopefully without too much bloodshed.

  She needed to neutralize the Queen’s bodyguards without killing them. Her Majesty would be far more amenable to Charlotte’s request if she wasn’t holding a grudge.

  “Char…”

  At her brother’s prompt, she glanced over her shoulder. They were coming up fast on Queen’s birlinn.

  “Are ye ready, Banner?” Tav asked with a teasing smirk.

  Aye.

  She straightened her shoulders, took in a deep breath, and pulled her blade.

  “Ship those oars! Wee Robbie, drop the banner!”

  Atop the yard, the lad cut a line, and the Black Banner’s signature black sail—painstakingly sewn from smaller pieces of wool—dropped in front of the white one. It wouldn’t catch as much wind, but it was impressive as hell.

  Seeing it luffing before it caught the wind and snapped filled Charlotte with a sense of certainty.

  This would work. John MacDonald would not be her husband.

  She whirled her short blade above her head. “Beware the Black!”

  “Beware the black!” the lads screamed in return, as they pulled for all they were worth.

  She thrust her sword forward, as if urging the birlinn toward their approaching prize, and grinned in excitement. Her brother matched it, even as he fastened the tail of his scarf across the lower half of his face. She mimicked him, then stood at his side at the bow rail, one booted foot planted and prepared to leap over to the other boat.

  He lifted his blade and bellowed, “MacLeod!”

  Behind them, the men took up the cry, and Charlotte joined in.

  “MacLeod! Beware the Black!”

  Chapter 2

  Liam Bruce’s grip on the stern rail was tight enough to make the wood crack. It was utterly galling to be stuck standing there, unable to do a damn thing except watch, as the enemy inched closer in their lighter and faster ship. More than once, he’d considered pushing aside one of the rowers and taking his place on the benches—his shoulders were twice as wide as some of the sailors’—but the captain had glared him away when he’d offered.

  “ ’Tis likely nothing, cousin.”

  The quiet murmur startled him enough to throw an irritated glance at the beautiful woman beside him.

  “Do ye really believe that, Yer Majesty?”

  Queen Elizabeth, his cousin Robert’s wife, smiled a little sadly. “Nay.” She joined him at the rail, and he noticed her gloved hands were trembling as she gripped the wood as well. “I will not go back to England.”

  He resisted the urge to pat her hand. “I’ll no’ let them take ye back.”

  She drew in a shuddering breath, then nodded. In the month he’d spent with this woman, he’d come to admire her courage and strength…and her mind. She’d been little more than a pretty face and an advantageous alliance when Robert had married her so many years ago, but Liam saw her differently now.

  She was still beautiful, aye, but four years after her marriage, and three months after Robert declared himself King of Scotland, she’d been taken prisoner by Scotland’s enemies. And had spent eight long years in captivity, where she learned strength and bravery and cunning.

  Liam was impressed by the woman, and if his heart didn’t reside on Lewes, he would be half in love with his Queen already.

  They stood in silence, watching the approaching birlinn. The large white sail seemed to sparkle in the sunlight.

  “Do you think it’s from King Edward?” Elizabeth finally asked.

  Liam frowned, watching the way the smaller boat moved. “Nay,” he finally said, and realized he sounded as if he were lying to make her feel better, so he elaborated. “I donae ken what they’re doing way out here, but England’s King would have to ken taking ye back would be a mistake, no’ when he gained so many earls and barons in return. Besides, that ship’s smaller than ours and coming from the west.”

  “Fishermen?” she asked hopefully.

  “Mayhap,” he murmured, although doubtfully.

  Stepping away from the rail, he raked his gaze over his men once more. The captain, a burly MacLeod man, was calling all sorts of nautical commands—gibberish to Liam, although the sailors seemed to understand. If an attack did come, either from the other ship or while they were anchored each evening, Liam counted on the sailors to fight to protect their Queen.

  Under the awning set up for Her Majesty’s use, Murtaugh and Tearlach were playing Nine Man Morris. The easy-going brothers didn’t seem to take anything seriously—including possible oncoming danger—and didn’t mind taking advantage of the shade.

  At the bow, Ross Fraser stood with his arms crossed. The loyal warrior was peering at the distant ship, and as Liam watched, he dropped his arms to adjust his sword. The last of their guard, Finn, was sleeping against the main mast. Because of course he would be.

  With a sigh, Liam crossed to the lazy man, wondering yet again why Robert had saddled the mission with him. He nudged Finn in the side with his toe, not bothering to be gentle.

  “Awake, ye slug. Danger approaches.”

  C
redit where it was due, the lad sprung to his feet in a blink, his twin blades already in his palms, and an eager look in his eyes.

  Acknowledging mayhap his cousin had chosen wisely, Liam sent the lad to the bow to watch with Ross. As he was turning back to the threat, he heard the Queen gasp.

  And a moment later, understood the cause.

  The other birlinn was close enough to see individual figures now, and what he saw wasn’t encouraging. Two on the bow were dressed all in black, and the one atop the mainmast had just lowered a new sail.

  A black sail.

  “The Black Banner!” came the cry from a sailor mid-ships, uttered with far more terror than the English would’ve provoked.

  When Elizabeth turned, her face was pale. Liam reached for her, prepared to catch her if she fainted, but she lifted her chin at the last moment.

  “I thought he was but a legend, a myth to keep children in line.”

  As gently as he could, Liam took her elbow and hustled her toward her awning. “Ye’ve heard of him, then?”

  “Aye,” she said in a shaky voice. “Ulster is not so remote we have not heard of pirates. Gallowglass mercenaries would often speak of him.”

  She was speaking of her childhood, and Liam wasn’t surprised. He’d heard of the Black Banner—who hadn’t?—even near Linlithgow where his father had grown up. Liam’s mother had been a Cameron from Inverlocky, and in the years he’d spent with his grandda on the water, he’d heard all the Black Banner legends the old man knew.

  Legends or not, it was clear the pirate not only existed, but was a threat here and now

  By the time they reached her sanctuary, Murtaugh and Tearlach had stowed the game and were standing alert. Liam nodded approvingly, even as he led the Queen to a padded chair at the rear of the tent.

  “Stay here.” He pushed her down. “If they have arrows, I want ye behind here—the chair back will protect ye somewhat.” He pulled a dagger from his boot and flicked it around in his palm, holding it out to her hilt first. “And take this.”

  Elizabeth folded her hands on her lap and offered him a serene smile. Someone who didn’t know her as well as he did would’ve missed the tightness around her eyes, which belied her smooth expression.

  “No need,” she said lightly. Then she pulled a thin dirk from one sleeve and tucked it under her arm, concealing it once more.

  Liam grinned, even as battle-lust pumped within his veins. She was smart and brave, and he was proud to call her his Queen.

  He nodded to his men, who’d all drawn their weapons now, and positioned himself with his back to Elizabeth.

  If the pirates boarded this vessel, they’d find a fight waiting for them.

  He was so focused on the coming battle, it wasn’t until the damn black birlinn was almost upon them when he realized the sailors were still pulling strong. They hadn’t armed themselves, and quite a few of them didn’t appear to be one bit nervous.

  Liam had just a moment to wonder at that, when the cry rose from the other ship.

  “MacLeod! MacLeod!”

  He didn’t understand, until—as one—the men on the rowing benches lifted their oars from the water. Moments later, the other birlinn slammed into their side, cracking the rail where Liam and the Queen had so recently stood. Ross and Finn were already rushing back along the raised center ridge, but Liam knew they’d be too late.

  Men dressed all in black—what kind of flashy gimmick was that?—swarmed across the space between the two birlinns. Had the MacLeod sailors not boated their oars, more than a few would’ve been broken by the impact. And the reason they’d done that, Liam realized, was because they knew their attackers.

  So the Black Banner must be a MacLeod.

  Mayhap Liam would’ve had time to ponder over this information, but their attackers came armed. Murtaugh and Tearlach threw themselves into the fray, their quick blades flashing. More than a few of the black-clad men fell back from the brothers’ attack, but no one appeared to be mortally wounded.

  Finn and Ross were doing their best to hack through the pirates from the rear, and Liam had to fight down the instinct to throw himself into the battle.

  Nay. My place is here. Standing between my Queen and death.

  The pirates left the sailors alone, focusing on Liam’s men. The MacLeod sailors seemed confused by the attack, but many of them sat on their benches and merely watched. The captain was bellowing something, but Liam couldn’t hear it over the shouts of “MacLeod!” and the clash of steel on steel.

  Two figures broke away from the fight, and moving in perfect tandem, twisted and ducked as they rushed toward the Queen’s sanctuary. Liam adjusted his grip on his sword, planted his feet, and prepared to meet this new threat head-on.

  Unlike the other attackers, these wore masks—scarves wrapped around the lower half of their faces. They could’ve been twins, except one was much smaller.

  Father and son? Brothers?

  Stepping into the attack, Liam thrust his sword toward the smaller one’s belly, but the man leapt aside with a surprised grunt. Unexpectedly, the larger of the two didn’t counter, but twisted to one side with his blade up, as if keeping an eye on both battles at once.

  He was watching?

  Liam dismissed him for now, and raised his sword to block an attack which never came. The smaller pirate—was this the Black Banner then?—stood with his blade up and his shoulders back, but he didn’t push the advantage. Instead, he simply stood, as if unsure.

  Liam needed this over, sooner rather than later.

  “Come, ye coward!” he taunted, certain the insult would goad the lad into attacking. “I have nae time for fools who hide behind masks!”

  When the lad still hesitated, Liam grunted and threw himself forward, ready to lop the black-clad head from his black-clad shoulders. The lad got his blade up in time and blocked the next two blows as well, before shaking his head slightly and going on the offensive.

  And to Liam’s surprise, he actually fell back under the lad’s attack.

  His gaze flicked forward in time to see Tearlach go down under a black-clad attack. His brother was already on the deck, and Ross was nowhere to be seen. Finn’s whirling twin blades were keeping the pirates back, but their sheer numbers would overwhelm the warrior soon enough.

  Damn these pirates! Damn the MacLeods for not fighting!

  “What do ye want?” he growled, slamming his sword into the lad’s. “Why are ye here?”

  The figure didn’t answer, but jerked to one side. “Banner!” he called. “The Queen!”

  The other man—the Black Banner himself?—still stood to one side, and Liam could hear the laughter in his voice when he called back, “Nay, lass, this is yer fight.”

  Lass?

  Her blade rose again, but Liam stepped inside her defenses. Instead of taking advantage of his longer reach to pierce her torso with his sword, he slammed his larger hilt down across her forearm and wrist, causing her to hiss in pain as he reached for her mask.

  While she was distracted, he yanked down the black scarf covering all but her eyes…and froze.

  “Charlotte?” he whispered incredulously.

  That’s when her dark eyes flashed with rage, and she head-butted him.

  Chapter 3

  If Charlotte hadn’t grown up with older brothers, hadn’t seen men train and fight and be wounded since the earliest she could remember, well then, mayhap she wouldn’t have landed the blow. Mayhap she would’ve come up with some way to distract him, to use the mind she was so proud of for something other than percussive force.

  But she’d needed a reprieve from the battle, a reprieve from the turmoil choking her gut and making it hard to breath…so she head-butted him.

  “Damnation!” he growled as he stumbled backward, his palm cupping his nose as red began to leak through his fingers.

  But he hadn’t lost his grip on the sword, even if she wasn’t an active threat. No, of course not. He was a warrior.

  It was one
of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him.

  Liam Bruce.

  She’d hesitated, there at the beginning, when she’d realized who it was protecting the Queen. Even Tav had noticed her pause, and she’d shaken off the indecision with a signal that she was fine once more.

  Liam Bruce.

  He’d gone running back to the King, forgotten all about her, and now she found him standing between her and her prize.

  She tightened her grip on her short sword and stepped forward without raising it. He was shaking his head—trying to clear the fogginess caused by her blow?—while blood still dripped from between his fingers and across his lips.

  His lips…

  Oh God.

  This wasn’t the time to be remembering the way they’d felt on her bare skin, or the way they had pulled up in a teasing smirk when their eyes had met across the supper table. This wasn’t the time to think about the way he’d used them to pleasure her—

  “Char?”

  Liam’s voice jarred her back to the present day, the pain of his betrayal still as fresh as it had been months ago.

  He’d left her, run back to his betrothed, and now she found him here? Standing between her and the one person she wanted?

  The one person she needed?

  “Ye lost the right to call me that,” she growled, raising the sword and allowing her anger to show as she advanced toward him. “Ye may no’ use that name!”

  To give him credit, Liam still knew how to meet her ire head-on. He dropped his hand, wiping the blood from his palm along the Bruce tartan covering his thighs, and raised a brow at her.

  It’d been the same expression he’d had when she’d challenged him to a chess game or a horse race. It meant he knew he had an even chance of winning this competition.

  Because they were well-matched, damn him.

  “Why are ye here, Char?” he asked in that same low tone, hints of warning in his voice as he ignored her bold claim. “And with him?” His gaze flicked to Tav and back, before she could take advantage of it. “Ye’re a pirate now?”