The Sea Hellion Read online

  The Sea Hellion

  Sequel to The Seafaring Rogue

  A Pirates of Britannia World Novel

  Sky Purington

  Copyright © 2019 Sky Purington

  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

  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

  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

  About the Book

  The Legend of the Pirates of Britannia

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Previous Releases

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Determined to reap revenge and save crewmates taken by ruthless pirate Antoine Basille, Sorcha has no choice but to seek help from the scoundrel who broke her heart, Cap’n Douglas “Hellion” MacLauchlin. When Douglas agrees, it’s on his terms, done his way. She will become his meek captive so they can gain access to Hebrides Cove where Antoine awaits.

  Will they be able to fool their cunning nemesis and get back not just stolen treasure but the imprisoned crew? Or will their depraved foe see through their charade? Find out as Cap’n Douglas, and his feisty pirate lass navigate a turbulent but passionate adventure that reignites long denied love.

  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 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…

  Come with a man

  on your shoulders,

  come with a hundred men in your hair,

  come with a thousand men between your breasts and your feet,

  come like a river

  full of drowned men

  which flows down to the wild sea,

  to the eternal surf, to Time!

  Bring them all

  to where I am waiting for you;

  we shall always be alone,

  we shall always be you and I

  alone on earth

  to start our life!

  -Pablo Naruda

  Prologue

  Province of Mearns, Scotland

  Stonehaven Bay

  1436

  “At arms ye wee scoundrel,” Sorcha declared, her curly, flaming-red hair wild and windblown as she held her wooden sword at the ready. “’Tis time to make yer final stance!”

  “Wee?” Douglas frowned as he held his wooden blade as well, and they circled one another on the shore. “Ye barely reach my shoulders, lass.”

  “For now.” Her eyes matched the turbulent sea behind her, more grayish blue than green at the moment. “But I will grow as ye did, seemingly overnight, then ye’ll be wee again.”

  In truth, he had always been taller than her and said so as they engaged their swords. Unlike the other lassies of the village, Sorcha was passionate for things that would likely someday get her into trouble. She wanted to act, talk, and battle like men, but worse yet, adventure forth like a pirate. Nobody knew why she and her now deceased sister Muireall had always craved such when theirs was a peaceable place and God-fearing village.

  “Och, mayhap he’ll let ye best him this time, lassie,” Innis called down from the grassy knoll behind them.

  “He only best
s me because I let him, Brother,” she called back. “Surely ye see that.”

  “Aye, keep telling yerself that, Sister.” Innis chuckled before a lass caught his attention and he wandered off.

  Incited by Innis’s doubt, Sorcha came at Douglas harder only to do what she had done often of late, falter. Where before she would have lasted longer, she was quick to mistakes like right now, when she lunged too close and put herself in a vulnerable position. Taking advantage, he knocked the blade from her hand, pulled her back against him, and held his sword to her neck.

  “Surrender,” he warned.

  She stilled for a moment as if waiting to see if he would say more which, of course, he did not because the battle was won. He had her.

  “’Tis clear I have no choice but to surrender,” she finally huffed before she yanked away and scowled at him, her face as red as her hair. True to form, her eyes churned a darker grayish blue with her rising temper.

  “What is it, lassie?” He shook his head. “Every time we battle lately, ye get in a snit.”

  “Do ye truly not know why then, Douglas?” She planted her fists on her hips and cocked her head as she tapped an impatient foot. “Have ye not figured it out?”

  “Nay,” he said slowly, unsure where she was going with this. Because one never truly knew with Sorcha and her changeable moods. Something many considered a personality flaw, but he had always quite enjoyed.

  Her pointed gaze whipped to the lasses Innis shamelessly flirted with before returning to Douglas with accusation. “Ye’ve a mind to the lassies just like my brother, aye?”

  “Aye, I suppose.” He shrugged, still not sure what she was getting at. “There’s a wee bonny one or two in the lot.”

  “But not me, aye?” she challenged.

  “Ye?” he said, incredulous. “Ye are a bairn, Sorcha.” Baffled, he tilted his head in question. “So why would I think ye’re bonny like the village lasses?”

  “I am twelve winters old.” Her brow furrowed and her chin notched. “Old enough to marry ye and take ye as my crewmate.”

  “Marry me?” He chuckled and shook his head. “Och, nay, lassie.”

  “Well, why not?” Her brows pinched together even tighter. “I am old enough to—”

  “Nay.” He cut her off before she could utter another word. “Ye arenae old enough to do any of what ye were getting ready to say.” He scowled at her. “Even if ye were, ye are like a sister to me, Sorcha, and one of my closest friends!”

  “Sister,” she balked. “I am Innis’s sister, not yers.” Her skin flamed such a bright red, he swore fire crackled beneath it. “Never yers.” She pointed her forefinger at him and narrowed an eye. “And ye’re only a winter or so older than me.”

  “Three winters,” he corrected.

  “Two,” she reminded. “Ye’re not fifteen quite yet.” She nodded once, assuming she had gotten things squared away merely by clarifying their ages. “So, we’ll marry then.”

  “Nay!” He shook his head and started away from the shore. “I dinnae look at ye that way, Sorcha.”

  “Why?”

  “Because ye’re a bairn,” he reminded, then tossed over his shoulder to make sure she truly understood, “And even if ye werenae a bairn, and I didnae see ye as a sister, ye wouldnae draw my eye.”

  “Why?” she persisted, pursuing him.

  “Because…” What to say so she would let go of this ridiculous idea? The truth, he supposed. “Because ye’re not fully grown, lass. Ye dinnae have the comely shape lads desire.” Then for good measure… “Not only that, but yer hair’s too red and yer freckles too pronounced.”

  When silence fell, he assumed she finally understood and things were as they should be, so he turned back. He should have known better, though. No sooner did he turn, then her fist landed square in his face. In fact, she punched him so hard he teetered back and fell, hitting his head hard enough for the world to waver and her last words to sound fuzzy.

  “Ye’ll regret saying that Douglas MacLauchlin.” She peered down, her hair a fiery halo against the blue sky. “Mark my words, ye bloody hellion, ye’ll regret it!”

  Unfortunately, as it happened, she was absolutely right.

  Chapter One

  Coastal Argyll, Scotland

  The Sea Hellions’ Stronghold

  Fifteen Years Later

  “Och, ye could only be thinking about my long-lost sister,” Innis commented as he plunked down next to Douglas, winked at a passing wench, and patted his lap that she join him by the fire. “Sorcha haunts ye of late, aye, old friend?”

  “Do ye even need to ask?” Osla said as she accepted Innis’s invitation and sat on his lap. “Everyone knows when Cap’n Douglas stares at his ship like that and rubs the back of his head as if ’tis sore from a fall, he’s got the hellion on his mind.”

  “Aye.” Innis caressed Osla’s thigh as she fiddled with one of the small braids woven into his red hair and whispered seductively in his ear. “Though by all accounts, Sorcha said hallion, not hellion after she punched Douglas.” He chuckled and shook his head as he retold the tired tale. “But Douglas, in his dopey state, heard hellion, a word that didnae even exist, and has since nicknamed Sorcha such.” As always, The Sea Hellion, anchored just offshore, earned a bemused glance from his closest friend. “He even named his bloody ship after her.”

  “’Tis a daunting enough name, though,” Osla defended, sure to look properly impressed as she licked her stained lips and eyed Douglas, no doubt hoping to ride more than one lad this eve. “And now, ’tis not just a ship but the whole crew’s name, aye?”

  “The ship wasnae named for Sorcha,” Douglas lied, waving to a lad that he bring more whisky. “’Twas just all I could think of during a trying time.”

  That trying time was years ago when pirates attacked his village. Afterward, he took to pirating to better protect and provide for his people in the future.

  “Then why not name her The Sea Hallion?” Innis snorted before he took a swig of whisky, insinuating that Douglas was—as the word often meant—a scoundrel. “’Twould make more sense with yer scampin’ ways.” He shook his head and aimed an all-too-knowing look at Douglas. “As ye have said on more than one drunken occasion, MacLauchlin, Sorcha had the devil in her eyes when hellion rolled off her lips.” A twinkle lit his green eyes as he placed a hand over his heart and issued a sloppy attempt at a swoon. “And now, thanks to yer own talk in many a port, ’tis known far and wide that ye’re smitten soul hasnae been the same since.”

  “As ye well know, it doesnae matter what my whisky tongue has or hasnae said,” Douglas reminded. “Most folks in these parts consider the ship to be named after me, and as such, the name Hellion has come to strike fear into the hearts of many.”

  “Aye, ’tis true ye’ve made a name for yerself.” Innis winked. “But I will always know as will ye, the true story behind The Sea Hellion.”

  Tired of the topic, Douglas offered no response as he rubbed his stubbly chin absently and wished he still had his beard.

  “’Tis a wonder ye have any hair left on yer head at all,” Innis commented, following his thoughts easily enough. “Making a wager like that.”

  Douglas stopped rubbing his chin and scowled at Audric who sat across the flames from him. “The lad just got lucky.”

  Though Innis had been around more or less Douglas’s entire life, young French-born Audric had only come on the scene as Elspeth’s apprentice five winters ago in their abandoned village on the North Sea. Since then, he had taken to pirating like the rest of them. And he was bloody good at it. So said his recent wager with Douglas that he could get into a rival crew’s stronghold undetected and steal away the leader’s daughter with cunning words alone.

  Now said leader’s daughter sat doe-eyed in a nearby cottage hoping against hope Audric might stop by. It mattered little the lad was only seventeen winters. With his pale blonde hair, dark eyes, thickening beard, and strong enough build, he turned the lassies’ heads just fine.

  Something Douglas should have taken into account when he claimed boisterously one eve that the day Audric did something that bold would be the day he shaved off his hair and beard. Thankfully, a buxom wench convinced Douglas rather quickly he had best only wager his beard or she would deny him a night betwixt her talented thighs.