Brides of Ireland

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Kirk smirked. “They get that particular trait from their mother.”

  Mara didn’t see his humor. “We are going to have to do something about putting shutters over their windows,” she said. “I am terrified that they are going to fall out of the windows.”

  He looked down at the dark-haired babies at his feet. “I will see what I can do,” he said. “But they really should be dressed by now. We must depart.”

  “Then it would be very helpful if you could lend a hand.”

  Kirk gave his wife a smile as he grasped the toddlers by the hands and led them gently back into the keep.

  “You tend the baby, love,” he told her. “I will take the poppets in-hand.”

  Mara reached down and scooped Bridget up. “Bridgie still needs her hose and shoes, and Regan needs nearly everything else,” she said as she watched Kirk pick up Regan. “I think she has a splinter in her toe; see?”

  Kirk looked at the foot his wife was holding up into his face, kissing the dirty little foot as Regan squirmed and whined.

  “I will get it out,” he said softly. “I’ll not let my baby suffer.”

  Mara called out to her son, who rushed past his mother up the stairs, still holding the puppy. Mara called to him again but he ignored her, instead taking the puppy into his chamber and trying to hide him behind his bed.

  As Kirk took care of Regan’s splinter, Mara went into the bed chamber occupied by her sons and wanted to know why Ryan had the puppy stuffed under his bed, but the little lad, being rather persuasive, was able to convince his mother that the puppy was a necessary fixture in his room. Mara didn’t have the patience to argue with him mostly because her ten month old son, Brendan, was screaming his lungs out in his pen on the opposite side of the chamber. She picked the baby up, comforting him.

  With the baby in her arms, Mara went into the girls’ chamber to hurry her husband along but found herself watching him interact with his daughters instead. Over the past five years, Kirk, the big Irish knight with the big voice, had turned into an incredibly soft and attentive father.

  In a world where most men didn’t participate in child rearing, Kirk had gone out of his way to be a part of his children’s world. Ryan was his shadow, Regan and Bridget were his loves, and baby Brendan, with dark hair and his father’s gray eyes, was usually a fixture in his arms. While Mara had little patience sometimes, Kirk’s patience was infinite, and it made her love him all the more.

  She watched him as he plucked the splinter out, kissing and hugging the little girl as he proceeded to pull her little hose on and tie on her little leather shoes. Regan was the oldest at three and a half years, and she was very much her father’s daughter, but Bridget, at nearly two and a half, was the image of her mother in both looks and manner. As Kirk tried to tie up the last of Regan’s shoe, Bridget wormed her way onto his lap and plopped down. Kirk simply worked around her.

  “The boys are dressed and ready,” Mara said, entering the room with Brendan on her hip. “Do you need any help?”

  Finished with the shoe, he managed to pull a light linen tunic over Regan’s head and set her on her feet.

  “I do not,” he said, taking a similar linen tunic off the bed beside him and pulling that one over Bridget’s dark head. “I believe we are finished.”

  He stood up and Mara handed him the baby as she collected soft-knit caps from the bed and pulled them over her daughter’s heads. With the children finally dressed and ready, she surveyed the room to make sure she didn’t forget anything.

  “Did you pack the parcels for Micheline?” she asked Kirk. “The ones with the baby clothes in them?”

  Kirk nodded patiently, going out into the corridor to make sure Ryan was removing the puppy from his chamber. “They were loaded,” he replied. “Drew put the packages on himself.”

  “Are your brothers going with us?”

  “They are not. I need someone here to manage Wicklow while we are away.”

  Mara nodded in understanding, still thinking on their baggage. “I do not want to forget those packages,” she said as she took her daughters by the hand. “I spent a good deal of time making all of those items for the new baby. If we forget them, I shall be heart-sick.”

  Kirk was instructing his eldest son to remove the dog to the yard below, making sure the boy was heading down the stairs with the puppy before turning to his wife.

  “The new baby has plenty of clothes, I am sure,” he said. “In fact, the last missive I had from Spencer said that the baby had more clothes than he did before he was even born.”

  Mara was undeterred. “It is their first son,” she said. “Remember how you felt when Ryan was born? You wanted him to have the very best of everything.”

  Kirk took the stairs with the baby in his arms, making sure to help his wife and daughters down behind him.

  “He did have the best of everything,” he said flatly. “In fact, Ryan had more clothes than I did before he was even a month old. Why does a baby need so many clothes?”

  Mara cocked a dark eyebrow. “This is not just any baby,” she said. “He is Michael Lionel Edward de Shera, heir to Anchorsholme Castle and the Bowland barony. You know that Micheline’s pregnancy was difficult. There is much to celebrate with my nephew’s arrival.”

  Kirk eased up somewhat; he knew that Spencer and Micheline had suffered some disappointment prior to little Michael’s birth. A daughter, Amelia, was born not quite a year after they were married but Micheline had suffered two miscarriages before Michael was finally born. Aye, there was much to celebrate, even if his wife had gone overboard with all of the little garments she had made the child.

  His wife. Kirk watched Mara as she came off the stairs, shepherding the children towards the entry of Wicklow’s mighty keep with her firm, confident manner. Even though he was lord of Wicklow Castle now, maintaining the Irish lands for Micheline and her husband, the best part of it was Mara. He could lose everything but as long as he still had her and their children, he was a rich man indeed. He adored her more than words could express.

  Life over the past few years had been rich and eventful. The wickedness that had once been the Darkland was now transformed into something strong and respectable, and the dark whispers that used to follow them around no longer existed. Micheline and Spencer had seen to that, and a new generation was being born, a generation that would carry on the new tradition of Anchorsholme Castle and her benevolent lords.

  When Kirk had first spied that dark-haired lass hanging from the battlements of Haslingden those years ago, never could he have imagined what that hellion of a woman would come to mean to him. The trials, tribulations, and fears that they had gone through in order to achieve their paradise had been difficult but worth the struggle. Kirk couldn’t even remember those chaotic days any longer. They seemed like a nightmare, long past.

  The baby cooed and he looked down into that handsome little face, seeing his strong Irish heritage mixed with Mara’s warm English blood. He saw his father in that little face, his mother, and ancestors long passed. He saw the future. He saw his life. He saw every dream he had ever possessed in a living, breathing form.

  Mara called to him and he took his gaze off the baby, once again focused on his lovely wife. With a smile and a return wave, he headed off in her direction. He was looking forward to this visit to reconnect with his sister in law and her husband, and of the good people that now populated Anchorsholme. Wanda, Valdine, Corwin, and even the former servant children Robert, Fiona, Gilly and George… they would all be there. Perhaps even Lily and her husband would visit from Quernmore. Kirk was looking forward to seeing them all again.

  Life was good and the Darkland, for all concerned, was no longer dark.

  It had become home.

  * THE END *

  SEA WOLFE

  A Medieval Romance

  Pirates of Britannia Series, Book 4

  Poseidon’s Legion, Book 2

  By

  Kathryn Le Veque

&nb
sp; Author’s Note

  A de Wolfe at sea!

  What a fun concept this has been. Pirates of Britannia has been such great fun writing – a little out of my wheelhouse, but that’s been a great challenge.

  The heroine in our tale is Genevieve Efford, a young woman that was introduced as a spoil of war in LEADER OF TITANS. She and her sister (and her sister’s puppies) were taken from a merchant ship that was subsequently sunk, and Genevieve proved to be quite a fighter. That streak continues in this novel as she and Lucifer come to know one another, because any woman worthy of a de Wolfe must be a strong woman, indeed. It’s safe to say that Lucifer has met his match.

  Something to clarify in this novel – Lucifer’s father is Wyndham de Wolfe, a descendant of Robert de Wolfe, who was William de Wolfe’s eldest brother (remember that lineage from THE WOLFE). William’s line are the Earls of Warenton, a title that was granted to him much later in life by Edward I, so Lucifer is related to William, but only distantly. Still, he’s a de Wolfe, and they’re all pretty much the same in composition – noble, strong, driven, and passionate.

  Lucifer is, however, a direct descendant of Gaetan de Wolfe from WARWOLFE – since Gaetan was the first Earl of Wolverhampton, and Lucifer is the eldest son of the seated earl, there is a direct line from Gaetan to Lucifer. That’s not something even William de Wolfe can claim.

  So, enjoy this sea-faring adventure about a de Wolfe who really discovers himself, and gets in touch with all of those de Wolfe emotions, thanks to an unruly young woman.

  Love,

  Kathryn

  The Pirate factions:

  The English faction: Poseidon’s Legion

  The Scottish faction: Devils of the Deep

  The Spanish faction: Los Demonios de Mar (Demons of the Sea)

  The French faction: Les Porteurs d’eau (The Water Bearers)

  The Irish faction: Na Madrai Mara (The Sea Dogs)

  Pirate towns/home bases:

  Puerto de los Dioses off the Azores Islands (Spanish)

  Trésor Cove (North of Calais, a series of connected caves where pirates can dock their boats hidden inside) – (French)

  Clew Bay (Ireland – used by the English and Scottish)

  Carantec, Brittany (French)

  Scarba Island (Scottish Stronghold)

  Perran Castle/Holywell Castle/Mithian Castle in Cornwall (English Strongholds)

  Port Eynon Bay, Wales (English/Scottish controlled, also a smuggler’s cove)

  Cobh, Ireland (Irish Pirates)

  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 who 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 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, they 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…

  Book Four: Sea Wolfe

  PROLOGUE

  Near St. Ives, Cornwall

  He knew they were out here.

  It was early morning and the sun was barely up, turning the fog that had rolled in overnight into shades of gray. Everything was still and quiet. Even the sea was quiet. So very quiet.

  But he knew it was a ruse.

  The pirate commander known as Lucifer stood on the deck of The Madness of Melinoe, or simply the Melinoe, a small but fast and heavily-armed vessel that was known to fight battles against ships twice her size and win. This lady was fiery, and she was commanded by a man that no sane man would tangle with. Any pirate named Lucifer was surely a man to be feared and avoided.

  “What is wrong?” came a soft question. “What do you hear?”

  The query came from a younger pirate, but a man who had proven himself indispensable on sea or on land. Felix d’Vant, tall and sinewy and blond, stood next to Lucifer, trying to figure out what had the man so fixated. He was simply staring out into the fog as if beholding a hidden enemy. But only tense, brittle silence filled the air. Lucifer simply shook his head.

  “Hear?” he repeated. “I hear nothing. It is more a… feeling.”

  Felix didn’t like that at all. Lucifer’s feelings were often truer than most men’s facts. Without a decisive command given by his leader, Felix took matters into his own hands. He turned to the men on deck, men who were on edge because Lucifer was seemingly on edge, and began to give them silent commands. His gestures were firm, bordering on panicky, and the men began to move. Something was in the air and they needed to be prepared. But before they could get to their posts, Lucifer suddenly bellowed.

  “Hit the deck!”

  Men began to fall, for a command of that nature wasn’t mean to be ignored. As t
hey began dropping to the damp deck, a faint whistling could be heard that very quickly grew deafening, and the masts and wooden portions of the ship around them began to explode around them as nine-pound cannonballs hurled over the decks.

  And just that quickly, they were in battle.

  “Gun crews!” Lucifer roared. “Roll out the port side battery!”

  Since the Melinoe was a smaller vessel, her gun deck was quite cramped and directly below the main deck. Lucifer found himself screaming commands to the gun deck officer, who in turn rolled out the five four-pounder cannons they had on the port side. The gun crews began to work furiously to load the long, iron cylinders.

  They were very swift in their tasks. As the Melinoe continued north on her original course, the gun crews rolled out a strategic barrage of cannon fire in the direction of their enemy, hoping it would do enough damage to them before they could turn around and level off their other battery. The concussion was staggering, and the great blasts of smoke floated up onto the main deck, making the air toxic. As Lucifer rushed to the port rail with his spyglass to get a look through the fog, one of his men shouted to him.

  “Lucifer!” Remy de Moray was a close friend and an excellent warrior. He was pointing up to the mainmast. “Look!”

  Lucifer peered up through the damp, rolling mist to see a nine-pound cannonball wedged into the mainmast, not enough to collapse it, but enough to create an interesting situation. He shook his head.

  “Damnation,” he muttered. “It is supporting the entire mainmast from the way it is sitting. We are bloody fortunate it stopped when it did and did not rip off the entire structure.”

  Remy nodded, grinning. Young and handsome, with dark hair and jet-black eyes, Remy came alongside Lucifer.