Christina Skytte: The Sea Wolf of the Baltic: Pirate Women, #10

By Hilmarj Torgrim

Book 10 in the Pirate Women Series

Born into the privilege of Swedish aristocracy, Christina Skytte's life was meant to be one of refinement and duty. But beneath the silk gowns and gilded halls, a storm brewed within her—a fire that no societal expectation could extinguish. Forced into a loveless marriage and betrayed by her husband's vices, Christina's world crumbled into financial ruin and despair. When tragedy struck and left her alone, she found her salvation not on land but on the unforgiving waves of the Baltic Sea.

In this gripping stand-alone adventure, follow Christina's transformation from noblewoman to feared pirate commander. With a blade in hand and vengeance in her heart, she carved her legend across the frigid waters, commanding a ruthless fleet that struck terror into merchant and navy ships alike. From cunning raids under winter's icy veil to her dramatic capture and exile, Christina's life was a tempest of triumphs and tragedies.

Christina Skytte: The Sea Wolf of the Baltic continues the acclaimed Pirate Women series, celebrating bold women whose lives defied the currents of history. Complete with a meticulously researched timeline to separate fact from fiction, this installment invites you to dive deep into the legend—and reality—of Christina Skytte.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mandolin Books
• Release date: Mar 15, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230156802

Hilmarj Torgrim

Hilmarj Torgrim is an American author with deep roots in Viking and Scottish lore. She's spent a lifetime studying the myths and stories of her ancestors so that she might make them more accessible to all ages. Hilmarj writes primarily fiction, with historical roots in fact. 

Book preview

​Chapter 1

A Storm in the Making

The sky was pregnant with storms the night Christina Skytte’s mother cried out in labor.

Long before Christina ever opened her eyes to the world, it had already begun whispering its secrets to her. The sprawling Skytte estate, perched on the edge of a forest in Uppsala, buzzed with activity that late autumn evening. Fires crackled in every hearth, maids scurried to and fro, and the scent of rain mingled with pine needles as a sharp wind pressed against the windowpanes.

Christina’s mother, Anna, sat by one such window, her hand resting on her swollen belly, as her husband, Jacob Skytte, read aloud from a tome of state papers. Anna was no ordinary noblewoman; her sharp mind and quiet determination had always marked her as a force within their aristocratic circles. Yet, in these final days of pregnancy, even she succumbed to the weariness of waiting.

Jacob’s voice droned on about tariffs and shipping routes, his enthusiasm more for his own benefit than hers. Anna let her thoughts drift.

Do you feel it, Jacob? she interrupted.

He paused, lowering his spectacles. Feel what, my dear?

The storm, she said, gazing out at the restless night. The wind’s changed.

Jacob chuckled softly. You’ve always had a keen sense for weather, Anna. The skies are merely blustering.

No, she replied, her tone sharper. This isn’t bluster. It’s... foreboding.

Jacob, who prided himself on logic, offered a dismissive smile. Foreboding is for sailors and poets. For a man of governance, it’s simply a good excuse to keep ships at harbor.

The estate, a grand testament to the Skytte family’s wealth, was a world unto itself. High-ceilinged halls lined with portraits of stoic ancestors loomed over polished wooden floors. Heavy draperies muffled the sounds of the outside world, but tonight, even the thickness of luxury couldn’t block the low growl of thunder in the distance.

In the kitchens, Anna’s concerns about the storm were echoed by the servants.

First frost came early this year, muttered one maid, kneading dough with a furrowed brow.

Aye, agreed the cook. It’s a bad omen, I say. When frost steals the fields too soon, something dark always follows.

In the parlor, Anna shifted in her chair, the weight of the child inside her pressing against her ribs. Her mind wandered to the household’s routines, the careful orchestration of labor that had long been her pride. She thought of the fine linens she had chosen for the nursery, the carved cradle that sat waiting, and the stories she would one day tell this child—stories of strength, of survival, and of the winds that carried ships to the farthest shores.

What if it’s a girl? she asked suddenly.

Jacob looked up from his papers, his face unreadable. Then she shall be raised as a Skytte, with all the privilege and responsibility that name entails.

But would you let her fly, Jacob? Anna pressed, her voice tinged with something deeper. Or would you cage her?

Jacob frowned. What an odd thing to say. Why would a girl need wings?

Anna didn’t answer. The storm answered for her. A loud crack of thunder rolled across the sky, making the windows shudder. She winced, her hand flying to her belly.

I told you it was coming, she whispered.

Jacob rose quickly, his concern replacing his dismissal. What is it? Is it the child?

Yes, Anna gasped, clutching the arm of her chair. It’s time.

The servants’ hurried footsteps echoed through the halls as the household prepared for the arrival of its newest member. Outside, the winds howled, bending the trees as the storm finally broke, sheets of rain cascading against the estate.

And in the midst of it all, a Skytte daughter prepared to enter the world—unaware of the storms she would one day create in her wake.

​Chapter 2

Winds of Defiance

The world Christina Skytte was born into was one of rules and expectations. As the youngest child of Jacob and Anna Skytte, she entered a household defined by the weight of noble privilege. Jacob was a man of politics and diplomacy, his career woven tightly into the fabric of Sweden’s empire-building ambitions. Anna, while more reserved, wielded her own form of influence, managing the estate and its sprawling affairs with a precision that kept everything in order.

But beneath the polished veneer of the Skytte family, Christina found a world of contradictions. It was a household that prized discipline yet allowed moments of whimsy, a place where duty reigned but whispers of rebellion lingered in the air.

From the time she could walk, Christina was a curious child. She was often found exploring the estate, her tiny hands brushing over the richly embroidered tapestries or reaching for the gleaming swords hung on the walls of the armory. Her mother tried to instill a sense of decorum, but Anna often found herself smiling at Christina’s antics.

Christina, a lady doesn’t climb trees, Anna would say, watching her daughter’s mud-streaked skirts with exasperation.

But what if the best apples are at the top, Mama? Christina would reply, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

By the age of six, Christina’s days followed the strict rhythms of noble life, punctuated by lessons in etiquette, languages, and history. Tutors were brought in to ensure she would one day be a proper lady of society. Yet, Christina found herself drawn to subjects outside the usual purview of a young noblewoman.

One afternoon, she stumbled into her father’s study, where Jacob was poring over a map of the Baltic Sea. She stood on tiptoe, her small fingers tracing the crisscrossing lines of trade routes.

What are these lines, Papa? she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

Jacob looked up, surprised but amused. Those, my dear, are the lifelines of our kingdom. They show where ships carry goods, where fortunes are made, and where dangers lurk.

Dangers? Christina’s eyes widened.

Pirates, storms, rival fleets, Jacob replied, ruffling her hair. But you need not worry about such things. They are matters for men to deal with.

Christina frowned, even at that young age bristling at the idea of limitations based on her gender. But what if I want to sail the lines someday?

Jacob laughed, dismissing the idea as childish fancy. Then you’d be the first Skytte to do so. But don’t forget, you were born to command from the shore, not the sea.

His words stuck with her, though not in the way he intended.

As Christina grew older, her bond with her siblings deepened. Her older brother Gustav, already a young man with aspirations in the navy, became her greatest influence. He would return from his training sessions with stories of life aboard ships, of the camaraderie and dangers of the sea.

One summer evening, as the family dined on the veranda overlooking the estate’s gardens, Christina peppered Gustav with questions about his latest voyage.

Were there storms? Did you see any pirates? How far did you go? she asked, her enthusiasm breaking the usual formality of dinner.

Christina, let your brother eat, Anna admonished gently, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone.

Gustav, for his part, indulged his sister’s curiosity. There were storms, yes. Fierce ones. And as for pirates... He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. I heard tales of them, but none dared approach our fleet.

Christina’s eyes lit up. You’re not afraid of them, are you?

Of course not, Gustav replied with a grin. But they’re clever, Christina. They know when to strike and when to vanish. It’s said that some of them even have noble blood.

Gustav! Anna’s voice was sharp, her expression a mix of disapproval and worry.

What? It’s true, he said, shrugging.

Christina looked at her mother, her curiosity undeterred. Is it possible, Mama? Could a noble become a pirate?

Anna hesitated, choosing her words carefully. Anyone can stray from the path they were born to. But remember, Christina, it’s easier to fall into trouble than to climb back out.

Christina nodded solemnly, though her young mind spun with possibilities.

The winters on the Skytte estate were long and harsh, the landscape blanketed in snow that turned the forests into a stark, silent world. Christina often spent these months confined indoors, where the crackling fires and warm furs did little to soothe her restless energy.

It was during one such winter, at the age of eight, that she first discovered her father’s collection of forbidden books. Hidden in a chest in the library, they told tales of adventure, rebellion, and the open sea. Christina devoured them, her imagination fired by stories of women who defied the roles expected of them.

One night, Gustav caught her reading by candlelight.

You’ll ruin your eyes, he said, though his tone was more teasing than scolding.

I don’t care, Christina replied, holding up the book. Listen to this—‘She took the helm and steered the ship into the storm, her eyes fixed on the horizon.’ Why can’t I do that someday?

Gustav sighed, sitting beside her. Because the world isn’t kind to women who want such things. It’s a hard life, Christina, and it comes at a price.

But it’s free, she whispered, her gaze distant.

He said nothing, but in that moment, Gustav saw something in his sister—a determination that even the strongest storms couldn’t break.

By the time Christina reached her teens, she had become a force within the household. She was beautiful, with fiery curls and a piercing gaze, but it was her intellect and wit that set her apart. Suitors began to appear, but Christina dismissed them all, finding their ambitions shallow and their minds dull.

Her father, growing increasingly frustrated, often chastised her. You cannot spend your life in books and daydreams, Christina. You have a duty to this family.

But Christina had begun to sense a different calling. She spent more time with Gustav, who had returned from the navy with tales of smugglers and secret ports. The siblings shared a bond forged in curiosity and rebellion, and Gustav soon found himself confiding in Christina about his illicit dealings.

Promise me you won’t breathe a word of this, he said one night, showing her a crate of contraband hidden in the stables.

Christina’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. You know I’m better at keeping secrets than you are.

And so, the seeds of her future were planted—not in the grandeur of her family’s estate, but in the shadows where rebellion brewed.

​Chapter 3

A Name to Keep

The glow of candlelight reflected off polished wood as Christina bent over the worn table in her father’s study, the faint scent of ink and parchment surrounding her. At eighteen, she had mastered the disciplines expected of a woman of her station—Latin, French, the art of conversation, music, history, and geography. Her tutors often left her lessons amazed, praising her