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  The Savage Sabre

  The Ravishing Rees Book #2

  A Pirates of Britannia World Novel

  Rosamund Winchester

  Copyright © 2019 Rosamund Winchester

  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

  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

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Pirates of Britannia World

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Foreword

  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

  About the Author

  Also by Rosamund Winchester

  About the Book

  As fierce and deadly as a sword, Saban “the Sabre” Rees runs his family smuggling business with a strong hand and an unmatched loyalty. He is determined to turn the name Rees into a legacy that will endure for generations.

  But he had not planned on her.

  Esperanza “Essa” Fernandez is the loyal sister to a pirate lord. Determined to show her brother she can be an asset to the Demonios de Mar, she disguises herself and joins a raid. But instead of proving herself, she is captured by the most devilishly handsome man she’s ever met.

  Trapped and unarmed—but never helpless, Essa cannot allow herself to fall under the devil’s spell. But the more time she spends with him, the more she wonders if she is fighting for the wrong side.

  Saban cannot believe that the creature he captured is a stunning woman, one he cannot seem to exorcise from his blood. But exorcise her he must, because once he realizes she is the sister to one of his most hateful enemies, he must decide what he wants more…Esperanza or revenge.

  Dedication

  This is for me.

  Acknowledgements

  Where would I be without Kathryn Le Veque and Eliza Knight who invited me to create sexy, dashing, ravishing pirates in their amazing fictional world? Where would I be without my husband, Jeremy, who has been my most amazing supporter? Where would I be without my faithful readers—I write these books because you keep reading them. Period. Where would I be without my friends and family, the ones who bolster me and encourage me and love me?

  I would be nowhere. I would be nothing.

  I love you all.

  Foreword

  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, who had a vast following that 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 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. As 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, he and his crew 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 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…

  Chapter One

  The Smuggling Sloop, Seren Mor

  Port Eynon Bay, Wales

  1443 A.D.

  Saban Rees took a deep breath of salty air, allowing the scents of the bay to fill his chest. The breeze kissed his face, like a lover, silently beckoning to him. The furled sails thudded and slapped against the twin masts, the gusts off the bay playing rough with the canvas and the ropes, reminding each man standing there that he was at the mercy of the sea. The sloop beneath them heaved as the tide rolled in, making the rough-hewn boards groan and creak.

  It was the sound of home, the sound of a ship at home on the water, his home. With his mates. With his family.

  His growing family. He had a new cousin.

  He peered through the spyglass to catch sight of the man standing against the railing of a sloop in the distance, his body stiff and tense. The landlubber wasn’t used to the movements of the waves beneath a ship, and it showed.

  From highwayman to smuggler…he grinned despite the tension around him.

  His newly-found cousin, Ravishing Robbie, a highwayman of some renown, had come to them, searching for the man who he said had ruined his life. Well, the cur had discovered more than he thought possible; a long-lost family. And Saban still couldn’t fathom it, a cousin he didn’t think he’d ever meet, the grandson of a woman who was more specter than reality: his grandfather, Ioan’s, first wife, Ilone.

  “I smell a stink in the air,” his cousin, Lucian, co-captain of the sloop, murmured, catching Saban’s eye with a decisive movement of his arm. It was the signal. It was nearly time.

  Lucian’s words were a summoning spell. The first shouts of alarm sounded from the Torriwr across the bay. The battle had begun.

  The rush of excitement pouring through him, Saban chuckled. Though he didn’t hold to the notions of the Church like his dear mother had, one thing about the whole damnable system did pique his interest. “Tis time to exorcise some Demonios!”

  Shouts from the men rose into the air, the clamoring like the best music.

  “Raise anchor,” he commanded.

  Since he was a lad, Saban had sailed, swam, and smuggled in these waters. He knew every tide, every current, and every subsurface danger. With his intricate knowledge of the bay, he knew exactly where to anchor the Seren Mor to remain out of sight but also have the fastest route to the Torriwr once the ambush was sprung.

  The anchor hauled up, the sloop immediately began moving forward, its bow turning to catch the underwater current. With their sails tied up, Saban had to rely on that strong current to move the ship the half a mile to the Torriwr.

  During their planning, he, Lucian, and their cousin, Brendan, had detailed where everyone would be, how long it would take to arrive at the fray, and how long it would take to kill every living Demonios that set foot on board a Welsh ship that night.

  They’d set the trap; leaving their largest sloop anchored in the bay, supposedly laden with goods they’d been procuring over the last two months. It was a juicy piece of bait that Saban knew the regional faction of the Demonios couldn’t pass up.

  They only needed to wait. The evening before, one of their men had been ambushed on shore. His mate had escaped to where Saban and his cousins were holed up in their sea cave. Saban immediately understood what it meant: the Demonios were preparing to strike.

  Sharp cries of pain rent the air and Saban’s lips curled in pleasure.

  “Ah, the sounds of dying Spaniards. Far better than the heady moans of a well-pleasured wench.”

  The men around him, though tense from anticipation, murmured their agreement. Some of them laughed. It was a way to lessen the tension, to allow his men a moment of lightness before the heaviness of taking lives settled over them.

  As the Seren Mor closed in, Saban signaled to Lucian at the helm, and Lucian swung the sloop right, bringing the port side right up against the Torriwr.

  The moonshine illuminated the scene on the other deck; swords flashing, figures in black moving about, grunting, some mewling in pain. He would put them out of their misery soon enough.

  “To battle!” He raised his sabre and brought it down in a slash, signaling the eight men of the Seren Mor to action. Two men laid ladders across the gap between the sloops, tying the one end off on the railing.

  With that, their way was set.

  Single file, the Seren Mor crew clambered aboard the Torriwr, their swords hacking away at the enemy—the bastards who thought they would attack the Ganwyd o’r Mor without consequences.

  Following the men across the gap to the other sloop, Saban set to work cutting down each Spaniard. A skilled swordsman—though not as skilled or brutal as Brendan, the Beast of Blades—he easily bested three men on his own. He felled one with a rapid down stroke, slicing through the man’s chest. With a deft twist of his wrist and a flashing thrust, he cleaved one man’s head from his body. But more kept coming. They must’ve rowed their longboats from the shore in the shadows of the sloop and, once there, they climbed the haul using the footholds already there.

  If he were a man given to mercy, he would appreciate the deviousness of their plan. But he wasn’t.

  The battle was over quickly. Their sixteen men to the thirty of the Demonios. Aye, there were more of them, but they were nowhere near as skilled as the Ganwyd o’r Mor. Before the battle, he and Brendan had agreed to not leave a man standing. If any of the ambushers got word back to their commander that they had been ambushed during their ambush, their commander would call for all-out war. As it was, their occasional disagreement over quarry and territory had brought them to the brink more times than he cared to count. He would lose a few men, the Demonios would lose a few men, but nothing ever came of it except wailing widows and fatherless sons. The Ganwyd o’r Mor kept their territory, their goods, and their reputation as the fiercest bastards on the sea. Rees was a name feared among the Irish, French, and British factions…but the Spaniards were stubborn fools. Their pride and hunger for power was unmatched. And it would be their downfall.

  The blade hilts slick with blood, he sheathed them. He would clean them later, once he’d dealt with the refuse littering the deck of his ship. Saban dragged in a breath, the air now tainted with the scents of blood and shite—the spineless Demonios couldn’t hold their piss once the fear got hold of them.

  Saban sneered, kicking at a body with the tip of his boot.

  Damn Spanish squids—all arms, snatching at other people’s goods, but spineless fish when it came time to defend themselves.

  “Oy! We got a runner!” Callet, the bowsman, yelled, pointing toward a small, dark figure as he crawled from the water at the shore and staggered to his feet.

  If that survivor got word of the ambush to Santiago Fernandez, they would have an all-out war on their hands. And war would come…eventually. On his terms. When he and the other Ganwyd o’r Mor were ready for it.

  Shucking his leather boots and his sword belt—lest his favorite weapons drag him into the depths of the bay, Saban ran to the railing, jumping overboard with agility and swiftness, two things every smuggler needed. He broke the surface of the water and cut through the waves until his feet touched the underwater ledge of the beach. He m
oved quickly, his sights on the figure as the man raced toward the path in the rocks that led to the maze of cliffs, ledges, and shallow caves. If the escapee took the straight path, he would more than likely make it to freedom in the long grasses above the ridge. But if he turned left or right, he would be trapped.

  The sand made running difficult, but he kept up the pace, easily reaching the path the man had taken. Now, to figure out which way he went. Holding his breath, he listened, over the crash of the waves against the beach, over the far away shouts and murmurings of his crew, and over the pounding of his own heart…there! The crunching of gravel and the echo of small rocks clattering against the rock walls.

  A sneer lifted his lip. The fool had taken the left pathway, the one that led to a sheer cliff face on three sides. He would catch the man, trap him, and make him tell him all the secrets of the Demonios de Mar. A surge of excitement flooded him as he realized this was an unforeseen windfall.

  Slowing his pace, he remained alert, watching through the gloom of the sea-made corridor for any signs of his prey. Then, he heard it, the scrabbling of someone trying to scale a sheer wall. The fool.

  “You are trapped. There is no way out,” he called, his voice menacing, taunting.

  A grumble came in answer. He fought the urge to chuckle. He would laugh later when the heart of Santiago Fernandez, the leader of the Demonios de Mar, was cradled in his grasp.

  “I suggest you give up now…”

  More grumbling. He knew no Spanish, but he could assume the man was cursing him and his present circumstances.

  “If you do, I will show you mercy.” As he spoke, he continued moving forward, sticking to the walls to remain in the darkest part of the path. With any luck, the man would be too busy looking for a way out to notice that death was creeping closer, breathing damnation down his neck.