The Sea Devil
Pirates of Britannia: Lords of the Sea
Eliza Knight
Contents
About the Book
Legend of the Pirates of Britannia
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Also by Eliza Knight
About the Author
Thornley “Thor” MacLeod, captain of The Sea Devil and prominent member of the Devils of the Deep is out for one thing and one thing only—revenge against Santiago Fernandez, leader of Los Demonios de Mar. Tormented by the demons of his past, he knows the only relief to his pain will be spilling the blood of his enemy. When he learns that Santiago seeks to find a child he abandoned nearly two decades before, Thor is determined to find the precious treasure first. Which means, Thor may have to sacrifice his honor in order to exact the perfect vengeance.
Orphaned at a young age, Alesia Baird has grown up along the harsh coasts of Scotland, bearing witness to many a nightmare. With the hangman’s noose dangling ever closer to her neck, she has to find a way to escape the only life she’s ever known. When she overhears a pirate mention he seeks the child of Santiago Fernandez, Alesia takes the leap, knowing this could be her only way out.
Alesia must keep up the ruse long enough to escape with her life, and perhaps a sack full of jewels. But when it comes time to jump ship, she finds her destiny may have led her in a different path. Will the hardened Highlander allow a lass into his heart—or is she destined to be alone forever?
Copyright 2018 © Eliza Knight
THE SEA DEVIL © 2018 Eliza Knight. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended reader) in ANY form (now known or hereafter invented) without prior written permission by the author. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and punishable by law.
THE SEA DEVIL is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and or are used fictitiously and solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Kim Killion @ The Killion Group, Inc.
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 round table surrounded by chivalrous knights and the ladies they romanced, MacAlpin wanted to cause 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. 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 generation upon generation, country upon country, they spread far and wide, until people feared them from horizon to horizon. Every pirate king to follow was named MacAlpin, so his father’s banishment would never be forgotten.
They were lords of the sea, a daring brotherhood where honor among thieves reigned supreme and crushing their enemies was a thrilling pastime.
These are the pirates of Britannia, and here are their stories…
Chapter One
Edinburgh, Scotland
1445
Though he wasn’t drunk, he was perfectly willing to let every other buffoon in the tavern believe it were so.
Thor, Captain of The Sea Devil, and longtime second-in-command to the Prince of the Devils of the Deep brethren, often played this game.
The thing was, when a dunce believed Thor to be deep in his cups, he often joined him, and when a man was liquored up, his tongue became loose as a tavern wench in need of coin. And that was how Thor often found out about treasure that needed saving, or heads that needed bashing. Verily, the usual squealers were the swain with enough ale or whisky in their bellies to widen their jaws and wag their tongues.
As it happened, right now, a very intriguing conversation was taking place a few tables away. Talk of pirates and gold—two things that were liable to interest anyone in the tavern, not just Thor.
Letting out a belch loud enough to shake the rafters, Thor tapped his mug on the table rather obnoxiously and shouted, “Another! And shome for my”—he waved his hands in the air and pretended to tip back on his chair, balancing mid-air before righting himself with a snort of fake laughter—“all my friendsh.”
The men in the tavern let out a loud round of whoops and hollers, clicking their mugs as the w
enches scurried to fill them with ale up to the rims and collect the coin from Thor before he changed his mind. On the far side of the tavern, men broke out in song, boot heels tapping against the sagging wood of the floor. The torches danced precariously in place where they hung on the walls. One of the drunkards picked up a set of bagpipes and began to play a rather dismal and shameful rendition of a Highland ballad.
Well, that wouldn’t do. Thor charged across the tavern, making certain to bounce against a few backs, spilling his ale and appearing unstable as he made his way there.
“That ish not how ’tish done,” he slurred. “Let me show ye.”
“Ye?” the buffoon laughed. “Another round says ye fall on your arse when ye blow.”
Thor grinned. “And if I do, I’ll shtill keep on playing.” Lord, help him, but he hoped the men discussing gold and pirates fell for his act.
Thor grabbed the pipes, settled them against his shoulder, left hand holding the chanter, right hand on the bag. He blew into them, and the squealing sound that issued was enough to have the men falling over laughing. But once he had a handle on the pipes, he played a haunting melody he’d penned on the high seas. The men of the tavern couldn’t hear the words he’d created to go with the song. No one would ever hear them twice, for he changed them in his mind each time.
When he finished the song, he dutifully fell to his arse with a laugh, tossing the pipes back to their owner.
“Impressive, ye drunk bastard,” said the man as he caught the pipes.
“No matter how drunk, a man always knows how to play his pipes,” Thor said, bringing out a round of laughter from the men. “Drinks on my friend here!”
As the wenches moved to refill the cups, Thor climbed to his feet, glancing out the side of his eye toward the men he’d been spying on earlier. They were still there, still talking in hushed tones. They’d stopped while he played, mesmerized as everyone else was by Thor’s sea song.
He wagered the time to be nearing midnight, and most of the rapscallions in the place had been splashing ale and whisky down their throats for the better part of several hours.
Thor staggered around the tavern, pretending to drink his empty cup of ale and slapping random men on their backs. To keep his ruse going, he shared a juicy tidbit about a wench he’d bedded the day before—a total lie—but it drew him closer to the table huddled in the corner, which was what he wanted. Thor didn’t bed women simply to brag about it, but for some reason, bawdy jests and innuendo always seemed to open men up, and so he’d use that to his full advantage.
“Aye, he’ll be paying a hefty sum in gold,” said the man farthest at the table from Thor.
Thor listened to their conversation as he continued being rowdy with the men at the table beside them.
“How much?” one whispered.
“I heard tell it was an entire chest of gold. A king’s ransom.”
“For a wee bairn?”
A wee bairn… What in the bloody hell kind of treasure was that? What pirate wanted to deal with a child? Thor could barely stand the adolescent lad he’d helped his pirate prince Shaw “Savage” MacLeod rescue just a few months ago. The lad followed Thor around like a puppy. Well, until Thor snarled.
“Well, ’tis not a bairn no more,” they continued, and Thor let out a loud belch to his newfound friends, which inspired a round of who could belch the loudest.
“How old?” The men looked about, none of them seeing Thor’s side-eyed glance.
“He said twenty or so.”
What in Hades were they talking about? Thor resisted the urge to knock their heads together and insist they spit the information out faster.
“Lad or lass?”
“He’s not sure.”
“Ye mean to tell me, Santiago Fernandez put out the word that he’d pay a king’s ransom for a bastard he got on a Scots lass two decades ago, but he’s not certain if it be a lad or lass?”
Whoa now… Thor almost choked on his empty mug. Santiago… Had he heard that correctly?
“Aye. A Scots whore. Santiago’s got a bastard running around if ’tis still alive.”
An icy chill rushed through his veins at the mention of Santiago Fernandez.
Thor growled, letting out a low curse, which startled his new friends.
“I need more ale!” he shouted, pretending that was the reason for his outburst.
A wench was by his side in less than a second, filling his mug as she rubbed her ample bosom against the front of his shirt. He winked at her, made to reach for one of her breasts, but she playfully batted his hand away. The men at his table laughed, but Thor felt no humor. Rather, he was seething inside at what he was hearing.
Captain Santiago Fernandez was his mortal enemy. Hate didn’t even begin to explain how Thor felt about him. He loathed the man. And for good reason. The first time Thor ever laid eyes on him was when the Spanish pirate stood over the body of Thor’s mother, laughing. The bastard had killed her. Murdered her in cold blood and left her bloodied and battered body on display for everyone to see, including Thor when he was just a lad. Santiago was the reason Thor had become a pirate two decades before. Five years ago, he’d thought the day of reckoning was at hand, but the bastard leader of Los Demonios de Mar had outmaneuvered him, then captured and tortured him. But that didn’t mean Thor was going to give up. Their parting words all those years ago had been Thor’s vow to see Santiago dead.
“Where’d ye hear it?” one of the scheming swain asked.
“From one of his crew. They were bragging about how they’d be the first to find Santiago’s offspring.” He leaned closer. “So I shanked him.”
A plan started to formulate in Thor’s mind. A crazy idea.
If these men were willing to kill for the information, the promise of a king’s ransom had to be accurate. Why else would they gut each other for it? Aye, they were all a bunch of scoundrels, but they didn’t kill just to kill, not without cause.
How many years had Thor waited to exact his revenge on the bastard? Was it just coincidence that the perfect opportunity had just presented itself? Or was it fate?
Thor didn’t believe in fate. Nor did he believe in coincidences. But he did believe in luck, and today was turning out to be his lucky day.
A slow grin covered his face, and he pretended to throw back another swig from his empty cup—the contents of which he’d surreptitiously poured into each man’s cup as he clinked mugs with them. He tossed the barkeep a sack full of coins, which he always did to maintain the secrecy of his identity, then waited outside the tavern until the three men who’d been whispering about Santiago’s bairn stepped through the door.
Thor wasn’t a small man. Even as child of ten, he’d been taller than most men in his mother’s clan. She was a MacLeod, and after his bastard Viking father left his mother to the care of her family, Thor had repudiated any connection to the whoreson—but he couldn’t deny it when he glanced at his reflection. For a long time, he’d shaved the wheat-colored hair from his head, only recently growing it out because he realized how much more savage it made him appear. Being a pirate was all about appearances. The only physical trait he’d inherited from his mother was her blue eyes. Thank God for that, because it meant when he did peer at his likeness, he could still make eye contact with himself, for he saw her instead of his traitorous father.
He was well over six and a half feet tall, and weighed as much as an ox. Even still, he was quiet, and the three men didn’t hear him approach. He bashed one on the head, knocking him out cold, then he grabbed the other two by the scruffs of their necks and jerked them into the alleyway behind the tavern.
One of the men pissed himself before passing out. The other stared at Thor as though he were God or the devil, it made no difference.
“Tell me where I can find the bairn?” Thor demanded.
The scab’s eyes widened, knowing instantly to whom Thor referred.
“I…I dinna know.”
“Then how were ye planning to
find him?”
“Might be a her.”
Thor tightened his grip on the back of the imbecile’s neck and leaned in closer. He spoke slowly, pronouncing each word in a clipped tone. “What was your plan?”
“We were going to put the word out. Offer a small reward for information.”
“And then take the larger reward.”
“Aye.”
Thor nodded. “Sounds like a solid plan. And what makes ye think that the child survived?”
“No telling.” The man was shaking so hard he vibrated Thor’s arm.
“Here’s your new plan—go home and pretend ye never heard of the bairn, or risk me finding ye and tearing your arms off and shoving them up your arse.”
“Aye, sir.” He nodded emphatically. “Aye, never heard of whatever it is ye speak of.”
Pressing his lips together in thought, Thor head-butted the scab and dropped him to the ground beside his friends.
Sounded like as good a plan as any.
Thor grunted and nodded to himself again. This was truly happening. Revenge for his mother, for himself, for every man, woman and child Santiago had ever harmed, was within reach. Retribution would be his. And he refused to think of the bairn as being one of those victims, though guilt did prick his gut for it was likely true.
He stepped over the sleeping shites and made his way down to the wharf. The sun would soon be rising, and he needed to make certain his crew was on board with this newest mission, and that the reward of a chest full of gold and the satisfaction of revenge was well received.
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