The Sea Lord:
Devils of the Deep
Pirates of Britannia
USA Today Bestselling Author
Hildie McQueen
Copyright © 2019 Hildie McQueen
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.
The Pirates of Britannia World
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Leader of Titans
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The Sea Devil
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Sea Wolfe
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The Sea Lyon
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The Blood Reaver
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Plunder by Knight
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The Seafaring Rogue
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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
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Pirates of Britannia World
About 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
About the Author
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 roundtable 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 that 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 as 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.
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
Near Chatham Harbor, England 1720
“Miss Brighton, we shouldn’t be here,” Maddie, her maid, said with a tremble in her voice. “We’ve been walking for a long time and have yet to find your friend. Perhaps, he changed his mind.”
Gailyn Brighton had to agree. The note from her friend, Harold Cullen, had made little sense to begin with. She should have stopped by his townhouse first to confirm he’d gone off to the docks. Instead, without a thought, she’d written a quick note to her father and barely said a word to the butler before rushing out the door and hiring a carriage to take her to the distasteful, seaside location.
Harold Cullen was prone to melodrama and overreacting over the smallest of things. It was not the first time he’d sent for her, asking for discretion and instructing that she meet him in some out of the way café or bookstore. Therefore, she’d not been surprised at the tone of his note. As a matter of fact, it was exactly what he did on a regular basis. Admittedly, this note held a different tone. Harold had written that he was in trouble with the law and needed her to come to his aid alone.
If, indeed, her dear friend had fallen into some sort of legal misfortune, it was possible he’d been apprehended before she’d arrived.
The thought of poor Harold being arrested made her want to cry. He was much too delicate and pampered to survive such an ordeal.
She lifted to her toes and peered across the street, hoping to spot a pastel outfit amongst the darker colors of the people who meandered about. Gailyn decided it was best to return home by way of Harold’s townhome.
Dark clouds floated in the gray skies overhead. Rain would soon follow and if the wind kept up, it would not be a good time to be outdoors.
One last time, Gailyn scanned the bleak surroundings. Gray buildings blended with the backdrop of mist coming from the sea. Hunching against the cold, people made haste to whatever destination they headed. Other than a couple women in sturdy clothing carrying baskets of whatever wares they sold, mostly men were about. Fishermen, dockworkers, and undesirables seemed to be the types who frequented the place.
“Do you see our hired carriage? I don’t.” Gailyn turned to where the coachman had agreed to wait. “Did he move?”
Her maid’s wide eyes met hers. “I don’t see it either, Miss. Why would he leave?” Maddie gasped. “He’s gone.”
“Don’t get overset, Maddie. You’re making me nervous,” Gailyn chastised. “I’m sure he’s about here somewhere. Hurry now, let’s head back. Surely, he’ll spot us and come fetch us promptly.” She pulled the hood of her cape over her head and hurried back in the direction from which they had come.
The closer Gailyn got to where the coach had dropped them off, the stronger the feeling something was not quite right became. A sense of foreboding fell over her as if the cape she wore were suddenly drenched and hung heavily on her shoulders.
“Perhaps, he accepted another fare and plans to return without haste,” Gailyn said in a light tone. Saying the words out loud helped to somewhat settle her rattled nerves.
Something told her the coachman had left on purpose. For some reason, she was lured to the docks and, in all probability, this had nothing to do with Harold. The note, the departure of the carriage, and now being stranded all had to be connected.
She’d been instructed to come alone. Gailyn was grateful that she’d at least brought her maid. Hopefully, it would be enough of a deterrent from whatever harmful thing was planned.
But who would do such a thing?
Natilda Albright. The wretched beast of a woman had to be behind it all. At the last ball, Gailyn had bragged that the newly arrived, handsome Lord Taylor complimented her and claimed two dances. The only reason she’d boasted was because Natilda never passed up an opportunity to goad her and often made up lies about her.
The vile woman had probably set it up so she’d be left alone at the docks without a way home.
Their constant bickering was childish and not at all becoming of women in society. Gailyn supposed it was a way to alleviate the boredom of society life. However, it had to stop. Especially as she and Natilda were both past the age of courtship. At twenty-eight, both of them were considered spinsters, a stupid moniker in her opinion.
She’d been the one against marrying in the first place. It wasn’t that she lacked suitors. What she lacked were suitable ones.
Most men did not court her longer than a few times because of her unwillingness to be meek and obedient. Her suitors made a hasty leave after being either repelled by her intelligence or her bad habit of speaking her mind.
As far as Gailyn was concerned, living at home with her parents and the relative freedom from marriage was about as perfect a life as one could hope for.
“Miss?” Her maid tapped her arm. “I think those vile-looking men approaching mean us harm.”
Gailyn’s heart thudded. But she took a deep breath, remembering the lesson her father taught when speaking of finding herself in a dire situation. His first lesson was never show fear.
She eyed the rather revolting-looking trio.
“Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to assist me in finding my carriage, I will ensure my father pays you for your trouble. You see, I carry no coinage or any sort of money on my person.”
The men looked to one another, scowls on their dirty faces. One of them chose to be spokesperson. He was a sad choice in Gailyn’s opinion since he was missing both front teeth.
“We have other than coinage in mind,” he said with a sneer. “Private time with ye would be more than enough payment.”
The other two laughed at whatever it was the idiot speaker meant. Gailyn was not about to entertain their sort by joining in the mirth.
“If you have tea in mind, I suggest bathing and better clothing,” she replied and lifted her nose. It was a mistake as their body odor wafted in the air and assailed her. Gailyn was forced to lift a hand to cover both her nose and mouth.
Maddie shuffled closer until she leaned against Gailyn and trembled. “They mean to take advantage of you, Milady. We should call for help.”
The small dirk she kept in the pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt would do little to fight off three full-grown men. Gailyn pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering. The last thing she wanted to do was to cry in front of them.
With a loud growl, one of the dirty trio rushed forward. Gailyn screamed as loud as she could, turned on her heel and ran.
Dragging a whimpering maid slowed her down, but Gailyn managed to get a good head start on the assailants. The trio hadn’t seemed to expect her to run so fast. So they were slow about giving chase.
She huffed. They’d probably thought she’d swoon and sink to the ground like some sort of ninny.
“Hide here.” Gailyn shoved Maddie into a shallow alcove. “Wait until they run past and then knock and ask for help. I’m going to run to where I saw a constable earlier.”
Without the maid, she ran faster. Skirts lifted just enough, Gailyn rushed around a corner only to stop at spotting the three idiots who’d stopped to catch their breaths. They didn’t see her, so she ducked into a doorway and pressed herself against the wall. If she ran back to the street, they would catch a glimpse of her. The best she could hope for, in that instant, was that they’d run past where she hid and not notice her.
Moments later, they did just that and Gailyn let out a sigh of relief.
“If we let her get away, we won’t get paid. Hurry,” one said while the other two grunted replies she couldn’t hear.
Paid? It made little sense. Had Natilda gone so far as to pay men to do her bodily harm? Somehow she doubted it. The dirty trio must have mistaken her for someone else. Then again, it did all happen after she’d received a strange note from her friend, Harold, asking for her help by meeting him at the docks. The note had also instructed that she not tell anyone and come alone.
Damn Harold for always exaggerating situations. She would definitely inform him of how his melodrama caused her an unfortunate episode.
For a few moments, the street remained quiet. But she decided to wait a bit longer before leaving the safety of her hiding place.
Gailyn pulled the note from her reticule and studied it. Upon closer inspection, it was definitely not Harold’s penmanship. There weren’t enough flourishes and the seal was not exactly the same as his familiar one.
How had she not seen it before? It mattered little at the moment. Once she got home, she’d investigate further.
After a quick prayer, Gailyn took a deep breath and stepped from the hiding place. Immediately, a white handkerchief was placed over her mouth and nose while strong arms dragged her backwards. A strong odor crept into her nose and she gagged. Opening her mouth, she attempted to get fresh air only to gulp in more of the foul-smelling substance.
Gailyn struggled, kicking her assailant as hard as she could, but her limbs soon grew heavy and her eyes drooped. Was she about to die? Absently, she wondered about her maid and prayed the men had not caught Maddie.
Just as thick fog fell, she noticed the entryway of a building that was dark gray with two iron torch holders on either side. It looked to be a church, or at least had been at one time.
Unable to keep
her eyes open, she fought to remain conscious. No. She screamed into the cloth still held firmly over her face as darkness took over.
The thudding at her temples was the first thing Gailyn noticed. The second was the fact that she was curled up on a dirty blanket in some sort of crate. Her hands were bound, as were her feet at the ankles. It was very dark, so she guessed it to be late evening or very early morning. There was no way to gauge how long she’d been unconscious.
She grimaced and attempted to swallow at the dryness in her mouth. But a gag had been shoved into her mouth, held securely in place with a cloth tied around her head.
Uncomfortable tingles ran through her protesting limbs and she tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The move proved painful, as her right arm had become numb. Somehow, she had to get the dirk out of her pocket and cut the bonds free.
It was not good to cry when gagged, Gailyn soon found out. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stop, but fear assailed her with too much force and she could barely catch her breath. Crying made her nose stuffy and she could barely catch a breath through the gag binding. The strange, scarcely audible noises she made sounded more like some sort of injured animal than a human.
If she were to be thrown into the sea, she prayed for a quick ending. Her parents would be distraught not knowing her fate. It was also probable her father would spend a fortune in an attempt to locate her and bring her home.
Gailyn prayed her father’s influence meant she was held for ransom and would be returned upon payment.
Moments later, she guessed she was on the back of a wagon as the crate shifted from side to side. She heard the unmistakable sound of horses’ hooves clip-clapped over the cobblestoned road.
Sea air wafted through the thin cracks of the crate, not enough to cool her overheated face, but enough to allow her to finally catch a breath.
Voices sounded. Men began to argue, their gruff voices lifting and lowering as if they caught themselves and didn’t want to be overheard.
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