The MacDougall Legacy continues in the Pirate’s of Britannia: Lords of the Sea series! Read an (unedited) expert of the first book releasing October 26, 2017!

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When Highland pirate prince, Shaw “Savage” MacDougall was invited to a deadly feast, he didn’t know that saving a wee lass would forever change his future.

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Lady Jane Lindsey, widowed at a young age, seeks refuge from her departed husband’s vengeful enemies. For five years, she’s held a secret that could cost her everything, including her life. When her safety is compromised, she reaches out to the only man who’s protected her in the past, and offers him a bounty he cannot refuse.

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Shaw’s life is perfect. Whisky, women and mayhem. He wants for nothing—until Lady Jane presents a treasure he’d never considered possessing. Is he willing to risk his lethal reputation in order to save a lass he barely knows, again? Will she trust a pirate to see their arrangement through to the end? And what happens when perilous battles turn to sinful kisses? Who will save them from each other?

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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 the King Arthur that came hundreds of years before him. The legendary knight who was able to pull a magical sword from stone. The one who met ladies in lakes, 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 would soon summon night terrors from every babe, woman and man.

Aye, MacAlpin, King of the Pirates of Britannia was 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 he?

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.

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 encrouch 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 that fateful summer night in 854, that at the age of ten and nine, Arthur amassed a crew of young and roguish Picts, and then stealthfully comandeered one of his father’s ships. They blackened the sails to hide them from those on watch, and thus 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 the Arthur’s atrocities. Confused, he tried to explain, but his father would not listen, and would not allow him back into the castle.

Pointing at his youngest son, King Cináed banished him from the land. Condemned his acts as evil and told him he never wanted to see him again.

Enraged, with an underlying layer of mortification, Arthur took to the seas, gathering men as he went, and developing 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 lasting insult to his father for turning him out. Whenever they came across a lad or lass in need, as he’d thought himself to have been, they were taken 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 that would adore him, respect him, follow him, and together, they could wreak havoc on the blood ties that sent him away. And generations upon generations, country upon country, they would spread until people feared them from horizon to horizon. Every king to follow would be named MacAlpin, so his father’s banishment would never be forgotten.

Foreve Lords of the Sea. A daring brotherhood, where honor among thieves reigned supreme, and crushing their enemies was a thrilling pasttime.

These are the Pirates of Britannia, and here are their stories...

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Edinburgh Castle, Scotland

November 1440

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Shaw MacDougall stood in the great hall of Edinburgh Castle with a sick feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He was amongst dozens of other armored knights—though he was no knight. A blackmailed pirate, turned mercenary for the day. And though he’d not known the job he was hired to do until he arrived at the castle, and still didn’t. He was told to wait until given an order. And ever since, the leather-studded armor felt suddenly heavy, and sweat dripped in a steady line down his spine.

The wee King of Scotland, just ten summers, sat at the dais, entertaining his guests, who were children themselves. William Douglas, Earl of Douglas was only sixteen and his brother, only a year or two older than the king himself. Beside the lads was a beautiful young lass, with long golden locks that caught the light of the torches. Wide blue eyes that flashed and held the gazes of people in the room long enough that they were left squirming, and a mouth… God, she had a mouth made to—

Ballocks! But it was wrong to look at her in anyway that might be construed as… desire.

There was an air of innocence about her that clashed with the cynical look she sometimes cast the earl, whom Shaw had guessed might be her husband. It wasn’t hard to spot a woman unhappily married. Hell, it was a skill he’d honed while in port, as he loved to dally with a disenchanted wife and leave her quite satisfied.

Unfortunately for him, the lass was perhaps not more than sixteen herself, though already she had a woman’s body—a body he should most certainly not be looking at. And though he was himself only a handful of years over twenty, and he might be convinced she was of an age he might like to dally with, he was almost positive she was far too young for him. He would not be leaving that lass satisfied. Decidedly, he kept his gaze averted from her and eyed the men about the room.

The great hall was lit dimly by torches on the perimeter walls. None of those on the candelabras were lit, leaving many parts of the room cast in shadow—the corners in particular. And this was perhaps the most disturbing point that drew Shaw’s attention.

He was no stranger to battle—but not any type of battle—he was intimately acquainted with guerilla warfare, the pirate way.

And just why the hell would he, the prince of pirates, be hired by a noble lord intimately aquatinted with the king?

Shaw glanced sideways at the man who’d hired him to come to the castle. Sir Andrew Livingstone. Though, Shaw’s payment wasn’t in coin. Nay, he’d taken this mission in exchange for several men of his crew being released without a trial. Aye, they’d likely have been hung as that was the fate for pirates, but Shaw had been more than happy to strike a bargain with Livingstone in exchange for his men’s lives.

Now, he dreaded just what that job might be.

This would be the last time he let his men convince him mooring in Blackness Bay to enjoy a night of debauchery after a job well done was a good idea.

’Twas there two of his drunken fool pirate crew decided to run amuck, and there, that half a dozen others jumped in to save them. They were arrested and brought before Livingstone, who tossed them in a cell.

And now, here he was, feeling out of place in the presence of the wee king and the two men, Livingstone and the Lord Chancellor, who had arranged for this oddly dark feast. They kept giving each other strange looks, as though speaking through gestures. Shaw shifted, cracking his neck and glanced back at the dais table lined with young ones.

Seated beside the young earl the lass was now glancing around the room, her eyes jumpy as a wee rabbit as though she sensed something. She sipped her cup daintily, and picked at the food on her plate, glancing nervously about the room. Every once in awhile she’d give her head a little shake as if trying to convince herself that whatever it was she sensed was all in her head.

The air in the room shifted, growing tenser. There was a subtle nod from the Lord Chancellor to a man near the back of the room, who disappeared and at the same time, a knight approached the lass with a message. She wrinkled her nose, glancing back toward the young lad to her left and shook her head, dismissing the knight. But a second later, she was escorted, rather unwillingly, from the room.

Shaw tensed at the way the knight had gripped her arm. And that he idiotic boy-husband didn’t seem to care at all. What was the meaning of all this?

Perhaps the reason presented itself a moment later. A man dressed in black from head to toe, including a hood covering his face, entered from the rear of the great hall carrying a blackened boar’s head on a platter. He walked slowly, those at the table’s eyes widening. Did Livingstone plan to kill the king? Why did none of the guards pull out their swords and stop the messenger of death?

But the man in black did not stop in front of the king, instead, he stopped in front of the young earl and his wee brother, placing the boars head between them. Shaw knew what it meant before either of the victims it was served to had a chance to register.

“Nay,” he growled under his breath.

The two lads, looked at the blackened head with disgust, and then the earl, seemed to recognize the menacing gesture. Glowering at the servant, he said, “Get that bloody thing out of my sight.”

Shaw was taken aback that the young man spoke with such authority, though he supposed at sixteen, he had already captained on of MacAlpin’s ships a few times.

At this, Livingstone and Crichton stood and took their places, standing before the earl and his brother.

“William Douglas, Sixth Earl of Douglas and Sir David Douglas, ye’re hereby charged with treason against His Majesty King James II.”

The young king worked hard to hide his surprise, sitting up a little taller. “What? Nay!”

The earl glanced at the king with a sneer one gives a child they think deserves punishment. “What charges could ye have against us?” Douglas shouted. “We’ve done nothing wrong. We are loyal to our king.”

“Ye stand before your accusers and deny the charges?” Livingstone said, eyebrow arched, his tone brooking no argument.

“What charges?” Douglas’ face had turned red with rage and he stood, hands fisted at his sides.

Livingstone slammed his hands down on the table in front of Douglas. “Guilty. Ye’re guilty.”

William Douglas jerked to a stand, shoving his brother behind him, and pulled his sword from its scabbard. “Lies!” He lunged forward, and would have been able to do damage to his accusers if not for the seasoned warriors who overpowered him from behind.

“Stop!” King James shouted, his small voice drowned out by the screaming Douglas lads, and the shouts of the warriors.

Quickly overpowered, the noble lads were dragged, screaming, from the great hall, all while wee King James shouted for the spectacle to cease.

About the follow the crowd outside, Linvingstone gripped Shaw’s arm.

“Take care of Lady Douglas.”

Lady Douglas. A sixteen year old countess.

“Take care?” Shaw needed to hear it explicitly.

“Aye. Execute her. I dinna care how. Just see it done.”

Livingstone wanted Shaw to kill her? To do away with the lass, as though it was one thing for himself to execute lads on trumped up charges of treason, but the murder of a lass, that was a pirate’s duty.

Shaw ground his teeth and nodded. Killing innocent lassies wasn’t part of his code. He’d never done so before, and didn’t want to start now. Blast it all! Six pirate lives for one wee lass. One beautiful, enchanting lass. One who’d never done him harm. Hell, he didn’t even know her. Slipping unnoticed past the bloodthirsty crowd, which wasn’t hard given they were too intent on the insanity unfolding around them, he made his way toward the arch where he’d seen the lass dragged not a quarter hour before.

The arch led to a dimly lit rounded, stone staircase and the only way to go was up. Pulling his sgian-dubh from his boot, Shaw hurried silently up the stairs, his soft boots barely a whisper on every stone step. At the first round, he encountered a closed door. An ear pressed gave way to no one inside. Up three more stairs, and another quiet room. He continued to climb, listening at every door until he reached the very top. The door was closed, and it was quiet, but the air was charged making the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Without hesitation, Shaw shouldered open the door to find the knight who’d escorted the lass from the great hall lying on top of her on the floor. They struggled. Her legs parted, skirts up around her hips, tears of rage on her reddened face. The bastard had a hand over her mouth and sneered up at Shaw upon his entry.

Fury boiled inside him. Shaw slammed the door shut so hard it rattled the rafter ceiling.

“Get up,” Shaw demanded, rage pummeling through him at having caught he man in his rape of the lass.

Tears streamed from her eyes which blazed blue as she stared at him. Her face was pale, limbs trembling. Still there was defiance in the set of her jaw. Something inside his chest clenched. He wanted to rip the whoreson limb from limb. And he knew for a fact, he wasn’t going to kill her, either.

“I said, get up.” Shaw advanced a step or two averting his eyes for a moment as the knight removed himself from her person, letting her adjust her skirts down her legs.

Shaw waved his hand at her, indicating she should go from the room, but rather than listen to him she went to the corner of the chamber and cowered.

Saints, but his heart went out to her.

Shaw was a pirate. Had witnessed any number of savage acts, and the one thing he could never abide by was the rape of a woman.

The knight didn’t speak, but instead charged toward Shaw, murder in his eyes.

But that didn’t matter. Shaw had dealt with any number of men like him. He would be easy, used to preying on women, he was about to bear the entire brutal brunt of Shaw’s ire.

Shaw didn’t move, but simply waited, the breath it took for the knight to be on him. He leapt to the left, out of the path of the knight’s blade, and sunk his own blade in quick succession into the man’s, gut, then heart, then neck. Three rapid jabs.

The knight fell to the ground, blood pouring from his wounds, his eyes and mouth wide in surprise. Too easy.

“Please,” the lass was whimpering from the corner. The defiance that had shown on her face before disappeared and now she looked only frightened. “Please, dinna hurt me.”

“I would never. Ye have my word.” Shaw tried to make his words soothing, but they came out so gruff, he was certain they were exactly the opposite.

He wiped the blood from his blade onto the knight’s hose and then stuck the sgian-dubh back into his boot. He approached the lass, hands outstretched, as he might a wild filly. “We must go, lass.”

“Please, go.” She wiped at the blood on her lips. “Leave me here.”

“Lady Jane, is that right?” he asked, ignoring her plea for him to leave her.

She nodded.

“I need to get ye out of here. I was...” Should he tell her? “I was sent by Livingstone to… take your life. But I willna. I swear it. Come now, we must escape.”

“What?” Her tears ceased then in her surprise.

“Ye canna be seen. The lads, your husband...” Shaw ran and hand through his hair. “Livingstone willna let them leave alive. He doesna want ye to leave alive.”

That defiance returned to her striking blue eyes as she stared him down. “I dinna believe ye.”

“Trust me.”

She shook her head, slid slowly up the wall to stand, her hands braced on the stone behind her. “Where is my husband?”

Shaw grimaced. “He’s gone, lass. Come now, or ye’ll be gone soon, too.” This was not the task he was hired for. Not hired to take a shaking lass out of castle and hide her away. But the alternative was much worse. And he’d not be committing the murder of an innocent today.

Indeed, he risked his entire reputation by being here and doing anything at all, but he was pretty certain the two lads she arrived with were dead already, and along with them the rest of their party. Livingstone and Crichton weren’t about to let the lass live to tell the tale or rally the rest of the Douglas clan to come after them. That line was healthy and long and powerful.

“I dinna understand,” she mumbled. “Who are ye?”

“I am Shaw MacDougall.”

She searched his eyes, seeking understanding and not finding it there. “I dinna know ye.”

“Ye need not know me for me to get ye to safety. Come now. They’ll be looking for ye soon.” And him. This was a direct breach of their contract, and Livingstone would not stop until he had Shaw’s head on a spike.

But Shaw didn’t care. He hated the bastard and had been looking for a way of retribution anyhow.

Stopping a few feet in front of the lass, he held out his hand to her and gestured for her to take it. She shook her head.

“Lady Jane, I canna begin to understand what ye’re feeling right now, but I also canna stress enough the urgency of the situation. I’ve a horse, and my ship is not far from here. Come now, else surrender your fate to that of your husband.”

“William.”

“He is dead, lass. Or soon to be.”

“Nay…” Her chin wobbled and she looked ready to collapse.

“Aye. There is no time to argue. Come. I will carry ye if ye need me to.”

Perhaps it would be better if he simply lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Shaw made a move to reach for her when she shook her head and straightened her shoulders.

“Will ye take me to Iona, Sir MacDougall?”

“Aye. Will Livingstone know to look for ye there?”

She shook her head. “My aunt is a nun there. Livingstone may put it together at some point, but I will be safe there for now.”

“Aye.”

“Oh…” She started to tremble uncontrollably. “Oh my… I… I’m going to…” And then she fell into his arms, unconscious.

Shaw let out a sigh and tossed her over his shoulder as he’d thought to do just a few moments before. Hopefully she’d not wake until they were on his ship and had already set sail. He sneaked back down the stairs, and rather than go out the front where he could hear screams of pain and shouts filled with the thirst for blood, he snuck her out the postern gate at the back of the castle. He half ran, half slid down the steep slope, thanking the heavens every second when the lass did not waken.

Though he’d arrived at the castle on a horse, he’d had one of his men ride with another horse, and instructed him to wait at the bottom of the castle hill in case he needed to make an escape. Some might say he had a sixth sense about that sort of thing, but he preferred to say that he simply had a pirate’s sense of preservation.

Livingstone was a blackguard, and one who’d made a deal with a pirate for murder. A powerful lord only made dealings with a pirate when it came to needing muscle at his back when he had a criminal nature, for why would he not be able to simply have his own men guard him? Because he did not trust his own men, and was rather willing to let his life be in the hands of a pirate—a pirate who had just had his own men freed. Which meant he wouldn’t hesitate in killing Shaw and anyone standing in his way.

Well, Livingstone was a fool. And Shaw was not. So, he’d made the arrangements for a horse to be ready in case he needed to flee, and there it was waiting for him at the bottom of the hill just now.

“Just as ye said, Cap’n,” Jack—called so for being a Jack of all trades—said with a wide, toothy grin. “What’s that?”

Shaw raised a brow, glancing at the rounded feminine arse beside his face. “A lass. Let’s go.”

“Oh, taken to kidnapping, aye?”

“Not exactly.” Shaw tossed the lass up onto the horse and climbed up behind her. “Come on, Jack. Back to the ship.”

They took off at a canter, loping through the dirt-packed roads of Edinburgh toward the Water of Leith that led out to the Firth of Forth and the sea beyond. But then on second thought, he veered his horse to the right. When they rowed their skiff up the Leith to get to the castle, they’d had more time. Now, time was of the essence, and riding their horses straight to the docks at the Forth where his ship awaited would be quicker. No doubt as soon as Livingstone noticed that Shaw was gone—and the girl—he’d send a horde of men after him. Probably a few of them, Shaw could even convince to join his crew, but he didn’t have time for that.

A quarter of an hour later, their horses covered in a sheen of sweat, Shaw shouted for his men to lower the gangplank, and he rode the horse right up onto the main deck of the Savage of the Sea, his pride and joy, the ship he’d captained since he was not much older than the lass he carried.

“Avast ye, maties! All hands hoy! Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen. Ignore the wench and get us the hell out of here. To Iona we sail!” With his instructions given, Shaw carried the still unconscious wench up the few stairs to his own quarters, pushing open the door and slamming it shut behind him.

There he paused. If he set her on the bed, what would she think when she woke? What would he think he saw her there? She was much too young for him, but whenever he brought a wench to his quarters and laid her on the bed, it was not for any bit of saving, unless it was from the tension pleasure built.

And yet, the floor did not seem like a good spot either.

He settled for the long wooden bench at the base of his bed.

As soon as he laid her there, her eyes popped open and she leapt to her feet. “What are ye doing? Where have ye taken me?” She looked about her wildly, reaching for nothing and everything at once. Blonde locks flying wildly.

“Calm yourself, lass.” Shaw raised a sardonic brow. “We sail for Iona as ye requested. And from there, we shall part ways.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “And nothing more?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. As the seconds ticked past, her shoulders seemed to sag a little more, and that crazed look evaporated from her gaze. “Nothing save the satisfaction that I have taken ye from a man who would have done ye harm.”

“Livingstone?”

“Aye.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Aye. He will want to kill all who bear the Douglas name.”

Shaw’s eyes lowered to her flat belly. “Might there be another?” he asked.

She shook her head violently. “Ye saved me just before that awful man could…”

“Ye misunderstand me, my lady. I meant your husband’s…” Ballocks, why did he find it hard to say the word seed to the lass? He was a bloody pirate and had said far more vulgar things to any number of wenches.

She lifted her chin, jutting it forward obstinately. “There is nothing.”

Shaw chose to take her word for it rather than discuss the intimate relationship she might have had with her boy-husband and when the last time her courses had come. “Then ye need only worry about your own neck, and no one else’s.”

He expected her to fall into a puddle of tears, but she didn’t.

The lass simply nodded and then said, “I owe ye a debt, Sir MacDougall.”

“Call me Savage, lass. And rest assured, I will collect.”

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