Seduced by the Pirate
A Pirates of Britannia World Novel
Maggi Andersen
Copyright © 2019 Maggi Andersen
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
Seduced by the Pirate
by Maggi Andersen
God of the Seas
by Alex Aston
Lord Corsair
by Sydney Jane Baily
Stolen by Starlight
by Avril Borthiry
The Righteous Side of Wicked
by Jennifer Bray-Weber
The de Wolfe of Wharf Street
by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
The Pirate’s Jewel
by Ruth A. Casie
The Blood Reaver
by Barbara Devlin
The Pirate’s Temptation
by Tara Kingston
Savage of the Sea
The Sea Devil
by Eliza Knight
Leader of Titans
Sea Wolfe
by Kathryn Le Veque
The Marauder
by Anna Markland
The Sea Lyon
The Sea Lord: Devils of the Deep
by Hildie McQueen
Pearls of Fire
by Meara Platt
Plunder by Knight
by Mia Pride
The Seafaring Rogue
The Sea Hellion
by Sky Purington
Laird of the Deep
by B.J. Scott
Raider of the Deep
by Jennae Vale
The Ravishing Rees
The Savage Sabre
The Beast of Blades
by Rosamund Winchester
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Pirates of Britannia World
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
Epilogue
About the Author
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, who had 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. 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 generation upon generation, 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
Off the west African coast, 1738
Spyglass to his eye, Jack “Shadow” Stirling, searched the horizon. So named by his men because of his ability to sneak up on and outmaneuver unsuspecting ships with his fast brigantine. In the distance, a whale breeched the waves and gulls soared overhead. A storm-petrel flew by on the way to feed in calmer waters as the temperature plummeted.
Peter Johns, his first mate and quartermaster, joined him at the helm. “No sign of land, Jack?”
“No. No sign of that seadog, Cordova, either, thank God.” Jack collapsed the spyglass and handed it over. “There’s a storm coming.” He rubbed the rough skin on the scar marring
his temple and narrowed his eyes against the glare. Above them, the main topsail began to flap violently. “How are the men?”
“Davy’s bad,” Pete said grimly. “We might lose him.”
Jack uttered a string of curses and banged his fist on the wheel. His men were dying after catching typhus, picked up at their last port of call a week ago. “With luck, if we can reach an English or Portuguese trading post and get fresh food and water, the men will have a fighting chance. Then we’ll head home to Puerto de los Dioses.”
“I’ve had another look at the charts. We are several days away from the English post at Senegambia. Less, if the wind favors us.”
“Let’s pray it does.”
On their way back to their home base living on rations of bone soup and biscuits, the livestock eaten, they’d been drawn off course after Jack’s enemy, Captain Delmar Cordova, at the helm of his big Spanish schooner, Santa Maria, fired on the Golden Orion, their cannon shredding the fore topsail. Jack had taken evasive action, while the schooner, under full sail with the wind behind it, had forged ahead. Jack, riled by the captain’s attack, followed in pursuit. They were deep in the Atlantic Ocean, far from home when his men began to drop like flies. Without the manpower to defend themselves, they’d become easy prey. With the change of the wind, the Spaniard’s vessel fell behind and was soon lost, leaving Jack with no recourse but to make for land.
During the night, the wind picked up. Exhausted after only an hour or so of sleep, his eyes gritty, Jack took the helm as the wild seas drove the ship toward an outcrop of rocks.
“Is there anything more God has in mind for us?” Pete yelled.
Jack brushed the rain and sea spray out of his tired eyes. “More like the devil. Best we pray, hard.”
Standing on the tilting, rain-washed bridge, Jack stared with grim concentration, his knuckles white as he fought to hold onto the wheel to guide his ship away from land until the storm blew out. Ahead, jagged rocks erupted, lashed by a swirling sea of foam, the ship drawn irresistibly toward them.
The helm swung wildly as the bosun shouted an order to reef their sails.
The ship lurched on, but a grinding sound rent the air as the keel struck submerged rocks.
“Sounds like the hull’s been breached,” Pete shouted.
“When the storm’s abated, send Benjamin down to check.”
Sometime later, the early morning was sparkling and clear. The storm, while savage in intensity, had suddenly blown out to sea during the night.
The able-bodied of his crew scurried around the ship.
Benjamin emerged from the hold. “Looks bad, Cap’n. I’ll mend it as best I can with sailcloth and tar.”
Jack ordered them to head for land.
“Boom about!” cried his sail master.
Five hours later, leaden with fatigue, Jack scanned the waters as they limped along. They were hundreds of nautical miles off course. He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Was it possible they’d come out of this? His thoughts went to his sick men below. He left the poop deck and made for his cabin to consult the charts again. He was hunched over them at his table when the cry came from Jimmy in the lookout. “Land ahoy!”
Jack climbed quickly to the poop deck and took out his spyglass.
As they sailed closer to the African coast, a small bay appeared in Jack’s spyglass, and within it, a long arc of golden sand rimmed by dense jungle. A few miles into the interior, an escarpment rose above the trees, a waterfall tumbling down in a shower of spray. Not far from it, smoke spiraled into the air.
“I know of no settlement here,” Pete observed when he looked through the glass. “That’s miles farther up the coast.”
“Best we don’t chance our luck by trying to reach it,” Jack said.
Ahead, waves broke in a froth of foam over a reef. Pete looked doubtful. “Can we get the ship safely through?”
Jack eyed a narrow channel of deep water. They had to. And his shallow-hulled brigantine was perfect for the task. “We’ll drop anchor and undertake repairs in that sheltered bay. There’ll be food and fresh water. Let’s hope the natives are friendly.”
Pete gave a gloomy shake of his head. “This is known to be Voudon country.”
“Muskets beat a Voudon spell every time.”
Holding his breath, Jack took the wheel and guided his ship through the channel. Pete nodded approvingly as they reached the quiet bay and dropped anchor. A rivulet disappeared into the lush foliage at the far end of the beach.
The ship rocked gently. The sunlit, crystal-clear water lapped gently at the hull. A school of fish darted beneath the surface.
“Get Benjamin to check whether the repair is holding. He might need to shore it up again. Let’s hope that holds until we get back to base.” If they did.
They were undermanned, and with Cordova in the vicinity, their problems seemed insurmountable.
“We’re out of salted beef. I’m sending the men to catch fish and hunt up some fresh meat,” Pete said.
Jack leaned over the rail beside his lieutenant. “We’ll make for that waterfall. It’s possible we can travel a fair distance by canoe along that stream, before we have to hack our way through. Leave someone to guard the sick. Send Aden back in the boat with the water.”
“Aden fell sick last night.”
Jack groaned. Not the cabin boy, too, barely thirteen. “Poor lad. Send one of the others, then.”
Water casks were lugged ashore, while others set out to fish and hunt.
Half an hour later, Jack, Peter, Sam, a spirited, towheaded youth of twenty, and Will, a dark-haired, quiet Irishman of some twenty-eight years, pulled the canoe across the narrow strip of sand to the mouth of the stream. Although not yet noon, the sun beat down mercilessly as they lowered the canoe into the water. Climbing in, they took up the oars.
They rowed beneath a canopy of shiny green foliage, blocking out the sky, their labored breaths inhaling the warm air. Moss grew on the trunks of the trees and vines climbed everywhere, filling the air with pungent smells. Their presence brought on an ear-splitting cacophony from brilliantly colored parrots and monkeys swinging away through the branches.
The men, sweating profusely, were forced to rest their oars when the stream narrowed and became impassable.
“It might widen farther up,” Pete said, wiping the sweat from his neck.
Jack took stock. By his calculations, they were as near to that smoke as the water would take them. “We’ll continue on foot. Let’s see where that trail goes.”
Gathering up their muskets and shot, they dragged the canoe onto the bank and set out. Jack ducked to avoid a green snake coiled around a branch. Somewhere to the left of them came the unmistakable yowl of a leopard.
“I’d rather take my chances on the sea,” Sam muttered, his red-gold hair bright against the foliage.
Jack wasn’t about to disagree with him. The air was suffocating, and who knew what lay ahead.
After tramping another mile or so, their clothes wet and sticking uncomfortably to their bodies, they emerged into a clearing to find a hut with a thatched roof. Half a dozen men and women from the local tribe gathered outside it with a gaggle of naked children playing in the dirt at their feet. They all screamed and scattered like seals facing a shark.
“What the hell?” Pete murmured, staring at the hut.
Jack had not expected to find white men this deep in the jungle, let alone a woman standing at the door of the hut. Tall and slim and in a high-collared, white dress devoid of panniers or embellishment, her heavy coil of dark hair was drawn into a bun at her neck.
She emerged from the dim doorway and into the light. Her fine brown eyes narrowed, and she raised a pistol in both hands, aiming it somewhere in the region of his heart.
Pirates. And Alex had been gone since daybreak. Distracted by the amused expression on their leader’s face, Lydia tightened her grasp on the pistol to prevent her hands from shaking. The brute wasn’t afraid of her.
“I think you men should return to where you came from. There’s nothing here for you.”
Her pulse thundered in her ears. There was no mistaking who they were. Three of the men wore loose, short coats with large buttons, fitted striped breeches, and kerchiefs beneath their caps, a brace of pistols slung from silk around at their necks. Two carried muskets.
Their captain cast her a lazy glance, unnerving her further. “I’m afraid I can’t obey that request, madam.”
Short of breath, she backed into the room as he stepped through the door. A handsome devil. His white shirt lay open to the waist, displaying a tanned, well-muscled chest. His breeches clung to powerful thighs, and he wore black boots. His hair, long and straight against his neck, was a deep black. She took in his brace of pistols and a blade tucked into his breeches.
A long silence stretched between them as they eyed each other. His dark brows lifted as he took her in from head to foot. Affronted, she did the same. With a quick, indrawn breath, she took note of the fierce-looking cutlass hanging at his side. She firmed her grip on the pistol, despairing of her trembling fingers. Was there a hint of lust in his gaze? Aware of how vulnerable she truly was, she hated to feel so completely at his mercy.
“I do hope you don’t intend to shoot me with that, madam.” His firm lips smiled, revealing white teeth and transforming his face. He ran his fingers over his upper lip and sharp jaw sporting a small goatee. “That muff pistol is unlikely to kill me, but it will annoy me.”
He pulled off his broad-brimmed hat which sported a curling ostrich feather. “Jack Stirling, captain of the Golden Orion, at your service.”
Showing how unconcerned he was, he ambled closer. Her nervous gaze took in his lean, olive-toned face and cut-glass cheekbones. There was a half-circle scar on his temple like some kind of brand and a gold ring in his ear. Despite his courteous manner, there was an unmistakable air of danger about him.
She took a long, deep breath. “Miss Bromley, Captain. Why are you here?”
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