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  No Rest for the Wicked

  A Pirates of Britannia World Novel

  Lauren Smith

  Copyright © 2019 Lauren Smith

  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

  Captured by the Mercenary

  by Brenna Ash

  God of the Seas

  by Alex Aston

  Lord Corsair

  by Sydney Jane Baily

  Stolen by Starlight

  by Avril Borthiry

  The Pirate’s Bluestocking

  by Chasity Bowlin

  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

  Beast of the Bay

  by Mia Pride

  The Seafaring Rogue

  The Sea Hellion

  by Sky Purington

  Laird of the Deep

  by B.J. Scott

  No Rest for the Wicked

  by Lauren Smith

  Raider of the Deep

  by Jennae Vale

  The Ravishing Rees

  The Savage Sabre

  The Beast of Blades

  The Rebellious Red

  by Rosamund Winchester

  Dedication

  For Amanda Pereira, my writing/editing goddess of a friend, for Aimee Harvey and her lovely ideas and support, for Deborah Camden who named the dashing quartermaster Reese and Kym Young who named the sweet-hearted cabin boy Griffin.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Pirates of Britannia World

  Dedication

  The Legend of the Pirates of Britannia

  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

  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 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 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 like 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….

  Prologue

  1727

  Cornwall, England

  “Hit ’em harder!”

  Fourteen-year-old Dominic Greyville swung a fist at the large lout of a boy and snarled like a badger as he bared his teeth. There was nothing more exciting than fighting on a dirt road with a bastard who deserved a good punch or two.

  “Look out, Dom!” Another warning sent Dominic diving out of the way. The lad he was fighting struggled and staggered back after his looming fist just missed Dominic’s face.

  Dominic kept his eyes on the boy but listened for his best friend, Nicholas Flynn, to warn him of another tricky move.

  “You bastard!” His opponent lunged for Dominic, and the pair of them hit the dirt with a heavy thud. His ribs ached beneath the weight of the bigger boy. Dominic swung wildly, catching the other boy’s jaw, and he grunted as pain shot up his hand and into his arm.

  The boy slumped over onto his side, and Dominic rolled up onto the balls of his feet. His ears rang from the blows he’d already taken, and blood coated his split lip, but Dominic laughed in delight. Perhaps it was his mother’s wild Spanish blood, but he couldn’t resist a good fight, especially when a boy like this had been slapping a pretty young tavern girl around. Dominic had taken one look at her tear-stained face and launched himself at the wrongdoer. The lad had to be sixteen or seventeen, and his meaty fists were capable of great damage, but it was worth the risk to do what was right.

  “Oi!” A deep bellow sent the small crowd of boys who had been watching the fight scattering away. Only his friend Nicholas dared to remain behind.

  A burly man with gray-black hair marched up the lane toward them. “What’d I tell you about fighting, eh?” Judging by the looks of his apron and the overpowering stench of mead rolling off him, he had come from the tavern down the road.

  Domin
ic’s opponent got to his feet, one hand clamped over his gushing nose.

  “Little shitter hit me, Pa!” The lad pointed at Dominic with a bloody hand.

  The lad’s father slapped a paw of a fist on his chest. “I said, if you fight, you better finish it. Go on! Kill the little rat.” The man pointed to Dominic, urging his son to kill him. For a second Dominic was shocked that a man would urge his son to kill another boy, but the hateful look in the man’s eyes warned him that he meant it. There was no way around it—Dominic would have to win the fight because the stakes were suddenly higher.

  The lad eyed Dominic with open hatred that mirrored his father’s. He lunged for him. Dominic danced sideways and swept one foot out, tripping the boy. He fell face first so hard into the ground that he groaned and went limp.

  “Bloody useless fool.” The rotund man spat on the boy’s prone body and glowered at Dominic and Nicholas. “Off with ye, brats!”

  Dominic didn’t need any further urging. He and Nicholas took off running down the road and only stopped when their lungs were burning for air. Pressing his palms to his thighs, he bent over double and let loose a surprising laugh, and Nicholas did the same. In that moment he felt invincible, as though he could conquer the world.

  His eyes caught his friend’s, and Nick grinned through his panting, as though he too sensed the magic of the moment. There was something about this time of day when the sun was not quite set and the world glowed a soft burnished gold. It was Dominic’s favorite time of day, when he felt anything was possible, and yet a hint of the evening’s melancholy floated in the air, making the moment almost bittersweet.

  “That was a close one,” Nicholas said once they caught their breath. “I thought he had you for a minute there. I was about to jump in and help.”

  “I was doing just fine,” Dominic replied.

  Nicholas snorted in clear disagreement.

  Nicholas was the better behaved of the two and rarely fought, unless it was clear Dominic was about to have his arse beaten. As the son of the Earl of Camden, Dominic’s behavior ought to be above reproach, but he had a knack for getting him into scrapes. Those scrapes had the tendency to drag his best friend into the problem. Nick was a squire’s son and legitimately tried his best to be properly behaved, but Dominic often lured him into temptation.

  “You and your pretty skirts, Dom. Always ready to throw a punch for a dainty ankle or a sparkling smile.” Nicholas shook his head, his sandy-blond hair tousled by the wind as he climbed the short stone wall near where they stood.

  Dominic joined him, and they studied the fields and distant woods. The roof of a manor house, built when Henry Tudor ruled England, was barely visible above the tops of the trees. Camden House. Home. He adored it and yet wanted to escape it at all costs. Whenever he was home, his father constantly reminded him of his duties as the future earl.

  Home was a short distance away, beckoning him, but Dominic couldn’t help but cast his gaze back toward the tavern and beyond, toward the dockyards and the sea. The clouds towered above the distant water, promising storms, but it didn’t scare Dominic. His hands itched to curl around the rigging of a vast frigate or a sleek sloop. For as long as he could remember, he’d listened to stories of pirates braving the wild seas. It was even rumored that back in the fifteenth century, the Earl of Wolverhampton, whose estate was not too far from Camden House, had been a great and fierce pirate.

  “Nick, you ever think of going to sea? Buying a commission, I mean?” The thought of going to sea had always intrigued Dominic, and on more than one occasion he’d threatened to run away and board a ship whenever he and his father fought.

  Nicholas’s gaze moved toward the ocean behind them. “Out there? Not unless you went. I’d go anywhere with you. Even the farthest horizon.”

  Nicholas’s words made Dominic flush. They’d grown up side by side, getting into mischief all their lives. They’d become blood brothers long ago, having spit upon their cut palms and clasped them together, swearing undying loyalty to each other under the harvest moon. He couldn’t imagine going anywhere without Nicholas either.

  “You’d truly go to sea with me?” he asked, watching Nicholas’s face closely.

  “Of course. Someone would have to keep you out of trouble, or else you might become a pirate. Your father wouldn’t like that one bit.”

  “Well, there’s pirates and there’s pirates. Some pirates have a letter of marque giving them permission to harass the enemies of England, you know.” Dominic had always liked the idea of being a noble pirate like Sir Francis Drake.

  “Those are called privateers.”

  “Still, a privateer is just a pirate with a license,” Dominic replied with a wicked grin.

  “And that still wouldn’t sit well with your father. God help us if we ever have to go to sea.”

  They both laughed and then fell into a pleasant silence. The wind whistled through the trees ahead of them, and Dominic dropped down into the meadow with a heavy sigh.

  “Time to go home?” Nicholas asked, and Dominic answered with a sad nod.

  He shoved his hands into his trousers, trying to tuck his shirt back in. He knew he looked a fright. His mother would be furious at his ripped pants and bloodied shirt as well as his dirt-covered waistcoat.

  “See you tomorrow?” Nicholas asked.

  “Definitely.” Dominic watched his friend head down the road before he crossed the field into the woods. He took his time getting to the house, knowing full well he would pay for getting into a fight.

  When he reached the front gates, one of the servants saw him and rushed over to speak to the tall dark-haired woman in a gold sack-back gown as she examined a row of English rosebushes. His mother lived for her gardens, especially the roses.

  “Dom!” His mother called his name, and he quickened his pace until he stood before her. Lucia Greyville was still every bit the Spanish beauty she’d been as a girl of eighteen when she married his father. Now, at two and thirty years, she’d become an excellent countess and a fiercely protective mother.

  “Come. Let me see you,” Lucia demanded as she cupped his face, examining his bruises and split lip. “What happened to you?”

  “Just a tussle, that’s all, I swear,” he promised.

  His mother’s cinnamon-brown eyes narrowed. “A tussle? That’s the third one in a week. Your papa will—”

  “Please don’t tell him, Mother.” He grasped one of her hands. They were of an equal height now, both five foot seven inches, and it made him feel more protective of his mother than ever. Soon he would be taller than her if his father’s height of six foot four was any indication.

  “Even if I keep my silence, dear boy, he will see the bruises himself.”

  “Please, Mother. It will be our secret.”

  Lucia sighed, though her lips twitched as she fought off a smile. “Run along. Wash up and change for dinner.” She kissed his cheek and nudged him toward the door.

  Dominic raced up the steps and into the house. He caught the lingering scent of cigar smoke, which meant his father must still be in his study. There might yet be time to hide the worst of the damage. Dashing up the grand staircase, he reached his room without being discovered. He washed and changed, pausing only a moment to examine the purpling bruises on his cheek and jaw. His father would notice those, but what could he do? He’d tried clever lies in the past, and his father never believed them. He could always read Dominic’s face too easily.

  By the time he came down for dinner, his mother was kissing the twins good night. Josephine and Adrian, his little sister and little brother, were only two years old and spent much of the day in or near the nursery. Adrian favored their father in looks, with lighter brown hair and gray eyes, unlike Dominic, who looked more like his mother. Josephine—or Josie, as Dominic liked to call her—favored their mother, but everyone could see their father in her eyes.

  Dominic smoothed a hand over his dark hair as he watched his mother give each child a tiny hug before the nurse carried them upstairs. A moment later, his father strode into the hall. Aaron Greyville went straight to Lucia, embracing her with a passionate kiss that made Dominic blush and turn away in embarrassment. His parents were forever kissing and whispering in alcoves when they thought they were alone. It was unsettling. People like his parents should never be kissing. He turned away, but his single step to leave caused a floorboard to creak, which caught his father’s attention.