Pirates of Britannia Boxed Set Volume One: A Collection of Pirate Romance Tales Read online

  Pirates of Britannia

  Box Set

  Barbara Devlin, Hildie McQueen, Anna Markland, Rosamund Winchester, Mia Pride

  The Blood Reaver Copyright © 2018 Barbara Devlin

  The Sea Lyon Copyright © 2018 Hildie McQueen

  The Marauder Copyright © 2018 Anna Markland

  The Ravishing Rees Copyright © 2018 Rosamund Winchester

  Plunder by Knight Copyright © 2018 Mia Pride

  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

  Savage of the Sea

  by Eliza Knight

  Leader of Titans

  by Kathryn Le Veque

  The Sea Devil

  by Eliza Knight

  Sea Wolfe

  by Kathryn Le Veque

  The Sea Lyon

  by Hildie McQueen

  The Blood Reaver

  by Barbara Devlin

  Plunder by Knight

  by Mia Pride

  The Seafaring Rogue

  by Sky Purington

  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

  The Savage Sabre

  by Rosamund Winchester

  Contents

  The Blood Reaver

  Barbara Devlin

  The Sea Lyon

  Hildie McQueen

  The Marauder

  Anna Markland

  The Ravishing Rees

  Rosamund Winchester

  Plunder by Knight

  Mia Pride

  The Blood Reaver

  Pirates of Britannia

  Barbara Devlin

  Chapter One

  March, 1680

  IT WAS NOT the most ideal introduction, to meet a beautiful young woman at the wrong end of a three-barrel flintlock pistol, which she stole from an unoccupied table, while the owner got his nutmegs sucked. Garbed in a fancy blue dress, with a matching ruffled contraption on her head, she did not belong in one of the most violent brothels in Port Royal. Biting her bottom lip, she adjusted the gun in her grip, belying the fact that she possessed little if any experience with weapons, and crept further into the whorehouse.

  “Hello.” Her hand shook, as she took aim at the crowd, in general. “I do not wish to be rude or cause trouble, but someone stole my trunk, which was sitting in front of this fine establishment, while I asked for directions, and I would like the return of my belongings, please.”

  A fiddler screeched a bawdy tune, as several cup-shots took a flyer with a rough collection of three-penny uprights, in the back. At the bar, Turner Reyson, a pirate known on the high seas as the Blood Reaver, studied the pretty bit o’ fluff, while everyone else ignored her, downed his rum, dragged his sleeve across his mouth, and navigated the tables, to get a closer look at his potential prey, given he had yet to fill his bed. Just as he drew near, she cocked the pistol, pointed toward the ceiling, closed her eyes, scrunched her face, and pulled the trigger.

  The shot echoed, and she started and shrieked, as quiet fell on the bordello.

  Halting in his tracks, he snickered and waited to see what she did for an encore, but if she were half as spirited between the sheets, he would be a happy man.

  “I beg your pardon.” She cleared her throat, as he moved behind her, for close inspection. From beneath her bonnet, he spied sweet little brown curls at the nape of her neck, and his fingertips itched to toy with a thick lock. “I am so sorry to disturb you, but I must have my things.” She stepped forward, and Turner splayed his arms to part his fellow buccaneers. “Now, my mother and my brother wait for me, outside, and I cannot leave without recovering my property.”

  “Watch out, men.” Turner chuckled, given the chit’s moxie. “I would rather set sail on a Friday, with a Jonah, than tangle with an armed, angry woman.” To hoots and hollers, he raised his hands. “Come on, swabs, humor the little lady.”

  In unison, the motely crew of raiders and whores parodied his stance and howled with laughter.

  “But, I am serious.” She peered over her shoulder, and he glimpsed glorious blue eyes and lush red lips he could not wait to sample. “I must recover my trunk.” She waved the pistol in the air. “Whoever took it should be ashamed, because it is wrong to steal.”

  “Can you describe the item in question?” a grey-haired salt asked, in a mocking timbre.

  “Yes.” The pistol fired, and she screamed, when a lantern shattered above the bar, and Red Doyle, the bartender, ducked for cover, along with everyone else. In that moment, she glanced at Turner. “Did I do that?”

  “Aye.” He nodded and bit his tongue against a guffaw, as she struggled with the weight of the weapon, and he did not want her angry with him. “Be careful, before you hurt yourself or someone else.”

  “Oh, dear.” With a lethal pout, which he wagered could bring the most ornery pirate to his knees, she addressed Doyle. “I hope you are all right, but I seek my trunk, which is made of camphor wood, with red painted leather, featuring floral motifs, and the initials RA on the top.”

  “Lady, Skip Peterson has it, and he’s over there.” Doyle pointed to the offending party, and she marched forth, with Turner in her wake. “He’s the one in the floppy black hat.”

  “Aw, come on, Doyle.” Perched atop the trunk in question, Skip pounded his fist on the table. “Finders, keepers.”

  “How dare you take my things.” The fascinating creature stomped a foot. “You could at least display a modicum of contrition, because you stole my trunk, and I insist you give it back, this instant.”

  “Oh?” Skip stood and rotated to face her. “Who is going to make me?” He surveyed her from top to toe, and Turner could almost read the thief’s thoughts. “You?”

  “Peterson, carry the trunk outside, and put it where you found it.” Turner folded his arms. “Now.”

  “I didn’t know she was with you, Reyson.” Peterson scratched his temple and shuffled his feet. Then he smacked another tar. “Here, now. Give me a hand with the lady’s trunk.”

  “You swiped it.” The burley swab chuckled. “So, you may ask my ars
e, because it is not worth the fight.”

  “Oh, all right.” With a grimace, Peterson hefted the fancy coffer. “Where do you want it?”

  “Where I left it.” Despite her frippery, the wench showed courage, as she tapped her foot. “And have care with my property, as the trunk was a gift from my father.”

  “My lady, I am your most humble servant.” Of course, Peterson taunted her, but she appeared oblivious. “What else do you require? Shall I wipe your—”

  “Please, do not be crude, as I would conclude this most irksome business, posthaste.” At the entrance, Peterson continued outside, but she paused, set the weapon on the table, from where she claimed it, faced the crowd, and smiled. “Thank you, so much, for your cooperation. You have been very kind.”

  To Turner’s disgust, a couple of buccaneers actually stood and saluted her. As she stepped into the sunlight, a cheer erupted from the brothel, and he cursed under his breath.

  At the roadside, a portly woman withered beneath a frilly parasol and fanned herself, while a young lad lingered at her side, and both eyed Turner with a healthy dose of scrutiny absent in their fetching relation, to her detriment, because he presented a very real threat to her.

  Without acknowledgement, Peterson dumped the chest and brushed past Turner, and he gave his attention to the skirt.

  “I see you found your things.” The scamp scowled at Turner. “Who is this gentleman?”

  “I am no gentleman.” Turner actually took offense to the mere suggestion, as it left a foul taste in his mouth. “And you should not insult me, when I extended my support to the lady.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot about you.” She blinked. Now that hurt, because he had no trouble filling his bunk. “Clinton, mind your manners, because this gentle—nice man supported my cause, and I owe him a debt of gratitude, which we are honor-bound to discharge.”

  “I have no interest in your gratitude or your honor.” At the end of his tether, Turner folded his arms, planted his feet, and wondered how long it would take him to get between her thighs. “Well, are you going to tell me your name, or am I to guess?”

  “Forgive my impudence, sir, but it has been a rather taxing day, and I am a tad out of sorts.” She squared her shoulders. “I am Rose Armistead, this is my mother, Bettine Armistead, and this is my brother, Clinton Armistead. We are pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “I am not.” Clinton narrowed his stare. “And I shall be hanged before I claim otherwise.”

  “Clinton.” As her cheeks shaded red, Rose compressed her lips and then met Turner’s gaze. “My apologies, as my brother has been unwell and is still recovering. To whom do I owe my thanks, good sir?”

  “I am neither good nor a sir, and you would do well to remember that.” Just as he prepared to inform her of his true occupation, he reconsidered his tack, given his pirate name would inspire more fear than confidence. “I am Captain Turner Reyson.”

  “A captain?” Rose clasped her hands beneath her chin and bounced on her toes. “Can it be possible that fortune smiles upon us, after our difficulties, of late? Are you by chance master of a ship, Captain Reyson?”

  “Aye.” He nodded once, more than a little confused by her expression, as he revisited the niceties and the proper address she would expect from a regular seaman. “I command the Malevolent, Miss Armistead.”

  “Mama, our prayers are answered.” To his surprise, Rose briefly clasped his forearm and then withdrew. “Captain Reyson, might I hire you to take us home, to Charles Town, in His Majesty’s Province of Carolina? I can pay you well.”

  “I am not a transport service, Miss Armistead, though I might be persuaded.” In truth, the idea appealed to him, because a lot could happen in the close confines of his brigantine, and he needed the money, but there was another reason that swayed his position. If he sailed north, he could launch a surprise attack, given most pirates embarked from the south, on a galleon loaded with gold, bearing east from the Spanish Main. “First, I would know how you arrived in Port Royal, because you do not belong here. And if I were to deliver you home, what would you pay me?”

  “Ours is a sad tale, Captain Reyson.” With her hand, she shielded her face, and he admired her flawless skin of pure ivory. “My family journeyed to Alicante, so my father could open new trade relationships for Charles Town. During our stay, he became ill with an infectious fever, which later struck my elder brother, and both perished.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” Given the vast markets exchanged in the Spanish port city, he concluded her family must possess great wealth, which further stimulated his interest. “So, what brought you here?”

  “Although my father arranged return passage, we missed the departure, due to his failing condition, and I was left to secure alternative travel for myself, my mother, and my younger brother, after burying our loved ones, in Spain. On the recommendation of an acquaintance, we hired Captain Donat.” With a trembling chin, and a furrowed brow, she frowned. “After paying full fare, for three passengers, we set sail aboard the Sea Serpent. A sennight into the voyage, we discovered the captain carried human cargo, which we do not support, so he put us off in Port Royal, while he conducted business, and refused to refund any portion of our money. Thus, we are at your mercy, and I beg you to consider my request.”

  “What did Donat charge to deliver you from Alicante to Charles Town?” Turner mulled the possibilities and associated cost. Since he missed his last mark, due to foul weather, he had to find something to satisfy his crew’s thirst for booty. “And what sort of accommodations do you require, because options are limited aboard the Malevolent.”

  “We will take whatever you provide and be glad of it, Captain Reyson.” Rose reached for her mother’s hand. “And we paid five pounds sterling, each, for myself and for my mother, and two pounds and ten shillings for Clinton, as is the usual rate, or so I am told. However, I am unwilling to pay more than half, up front, given Captain Donat took advantage of us, so I shall remit the remainder of our fare upon our arrival in Charles Town.”

  “You are a shrewd negotiator, Miss Armistead.” As much as he hated to admit it, she gained a measure of respect, because she did not cower in the face of adversity. Where most women would cry and yield to hysterics, in similar circumstances, Rose simply sought another course of action, which included the none-too-smart but audacious invasion of a whorehouse rife with cutthroats and pirates. “Allow me to suggest the Port Royal Inn, where you can take rooms for the night and enjoy a decent meal. In the morning, meet me at the docks.”

  “Does that mean you will help us?” Given her smile, there was little he would not do for her, and he promised to weigh anchor in her, no doubt, uncharted territory, before the journey’s end. “You will take us home?”

  Inclining his head, he winked. “Miss Armistead, you got yourself a ship.”

  IT WAS EARLY in the morning, when Rose Armistead eased from the bed she shared with her mother and tiptoed across the room. At the washstand, she filled the basin and completed a hasty but thorough toilette. After brushing the tangles from her hair, she arranged her coiffure; in a style of her own preference, a habit she rather enjoyed, in the absence of a lady’s maid.

  After lifting the lid to her trunk, she sifted through the contents, in search of serviceable attire. Lamenting the lack of mourning garb, given she did not anticipate the deaths of her father and her brother, she selected a brocade mantua of red and gold, with a low waist and elbow-length sleeves gathered in puffs, because she wanted to look her best for the captain.

  Just as quick, she crushed the thought, because Captain Reyson mattered not.

  With one last glimpse in the long mirror, she nodded at no one, turned, and walked to the opposite side of the bed. Sitting at the edge of the mattress, she gave her mother a gentle nudge.

  “Mama, you must wake and prepare yourself, because we cannot afford to miss our departure, as it is doubtful we can secure alternative travel arrangements.” When Rose’s efforts garne
red naught but a brief interruption in the somewhat startling snoring, she tried again. “Mama, please, you need to dress and meet me in Clinton’s room, where I have arranged for a meal to be delivered, that we might break our fast, before we adjourn to the docks and cast off.”

  “I hear you, Rose.” Mama rolled to the side and sat upright. “See to your brother, and I shall take care of myself.”

  “All right.” Rose stood and assisted her mother. “There is water in the pitcher, and I set two clean towels on the table. Now I shall check on Clinton.”

  As Mama groaned and rubbed the small of her back, Rose smiled and made for the door. In the hall, she strolled to the next chamber and knocked on the oak panel.

  “It is open,” Clinton replied.

  Grasping the wrought iron ring, she pushed hard and entered. “Hello.”

  “Good morning, sister.” Sitting at a table, her little brother hefted a pot of tea. “Are you hungry?”

  “Upon my word, but the food arrived early, as I requested a late service to accommodate Mama.” Rose pulled out a chair, sat, and positioned two cups. “Here, let me do that, as you are still weak.”

  “I am fine.” He compressed his lips. “Given I am the man in the family, I can no longer convalesce as an innocent babe, and I am not comfortable with the situation. Despite your claims, I do not believe Captain Reyson is an honorable man, and I would secure alternative passage, home.”

  “Dearest, while I am not happy with our current circumstances, as I miss Papa and Ephraim, we have no choice.” After lifting the lids on various dishes, she paused. “But there is no other way, and we have no option that I can identify. What would you have me do? We could be trapped here, for months, waiting for another ship to dock, only to be confronted with a worse predicament. We have delayed enough, and our money dwindles, even now. For good or ill, we must trust Captain Reyson to deliver us, safe and sound, to Charles Town.” She huffed a breath in frustration, as she surveyed the fare. “What is all this, and should we wait for Mama?”

  “The food will be cold, by the time she appears, so I say we eat.” With a large wood spoon, he dished a healthy portion of a creamy substance into a bowl. “This is what the server called green banana porridge, which he recommended.” Clinton pointed to another plate. “That is ackee, which is a native fruit, and it is often taken with saltfish, which is beneath the other cover, along with fried dumplings.” Then he quieted and scratched his cheek. “As for Captain Reyson, I cannot explain my feelings, but I do not like him. I think you are wrong to place your faith in him, and I pray we survive the journey, but I am not so hopeful as you.”