Pirates of Britannia Boxed Set Volume One: A Collection of Pirate Romance Tales by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
Tags: Romance, Medieval, Fiction
Publisher: DragonMedia Publishing Inc.
Published: 2019-04-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter One

The Cantankerous Cock

Dockside in Cobh, Ireland

1443 A.D.

“That bastard Berks better not have been lying,” Bruce “the Braw” Bolton grumbled into his fifth mug of ale.

Robbie tapped his finger against the rim of his first mug, the amber brew still more than half way up the glass. He didn’t like letting the drink dull his senses, especially not when there was business to complete. And cutthroats eying his purse.

“I trust Mortimer and Scofield,” Robbie intoned, his gaze pinned to the door across the crowded dockside pub. It was filled to the brim with smelly sailors, buxom wenches, and men who looked like they’d rather kill you than share the air with you. But that didn’t bother Robbie. He was right at home among them. “If they say I can trust Berks, I will trust him. Besides,” he said, rolling his shoulders, “I can think of no one else who can get their hands on the information we need.”

Bruce snorted, then gulped the last of his ale, before wiping the froth from his face with the back of an already soiled sleeve. “What’s this letter you said you found? And what’s it got to do with Ireland? Couldn’t we have asked around in Liverpool?” Bruce’s voice was edging on the whiny, but Robbie knew better than to assume Bruce was complaining. The man would sit through a hail of musket balls without flinching. No…this wasn’t him complaining, this was him forgetting he’d already asked all those questions; at their hideout in Leeds, at the dock in Liverpool, on their ship crossing the Irish Sea, and not more than thirty minutes ago when they’d first set foot in the teeming pub.

“I have already answered all those questions, Bruce. And if you call that wench over one more time, I will slit your throat so you can’t swallow another drop.” His voice was hard, without inflection. It was the voice he used when robbing the well-appointed carriages of nobles. Nobles with more money than purpose; men and women who cared more for their baubles than their people. And so, he relieved them of their baubles and purses so they could better recognize the plight of the less fortunate.

At least that’s what he told himself when he was lying in a bed of gold coins, tupping a comely maid.

Bruce belched, making Robbie cringe. “Oh, aye, you said the letter mentioned someone of interest—and do not think I wouldn’t kill you before you had the chance to ruin my throat.” Bruce’s sneer was about as menacing as a puppy with a twig.

Choosing to ignore Bruce’s pathetic threat, Robbie drawled, “And that someone is why we took the ship from Liverpool and are now sitting in this hell-hole by the sea—I really wish you’d stop licking your mug, Bruce.” Suddenly, the image of Bruce as that same puppy with a mug in his maw surfaced in Robbie’s mind. He swallowed the chuckle that emerged.

“Are you going to finish yours?” Bruce asked, his unfocused eyes gleaming at the mug in Robbie’s grip.

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