THE PIRATE’S BOOTY

THE PLUNDERED CHRONICLES, BOOK 1

ALEX WESTMORE

CONTENTS

Copyright

A Free Book for You

Cast of Historical Figures

Map of Renaissance Europe

Dedication

Acknowledgments

The Pirate’s Booty

More from Alex Westmore

About the Author

Bonus Offer

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

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So you’ve just scored your very own copy of The Pirate’s Booty. Awesome! Hey, you know what’s even more awesome? I want to give you a present as my way of saying thanks for checking me out. Yes, indeed, I’ve written a free short story just for my newsletter subscribers. You can grab your free copy at www.AlexWestmore.net/Newsletter. Happy travels!

ALEX

CAST OF HISTORICAL FIGURES

As a historian and writer, I pride myself on getting it right. A great deal of research takes place before and during the writing of any historical novel, and this wild and adventurous ride is no different. While I have stayed true to the historical characterizations of the nonfictional characters, I have manipulated the timelines to be able to push them together in the same geographical area as Quinn. For that, I apologize only for a moment, because once you hop on board the Malendroke with Quinn, you’ll forget you are land-bound in the twenty-first century.

What follows is a scorecard of those amazing individuals, both male and female, who inhabited the land and seas of the tumultuous sixteenth century. It was a time of female monarchs, female pirates, and female power, as you’ll see when each fabulous woman takes the stage.

Grace O'Malley (c. 1530–c. 1603), also known as Gráinne O'Malley as well as by the nickname Granuaile in Irish folklore, is a well-known figure from the sixteenth century. Commonly known as the Sea Queen of Connacht, Grace lived to the remarkable age of seventy and was one of the fiercest and most successful female pirates in European history.

Mary, Queen of Scots (December 8, 1542–February 8, 1587), also known as Mary Stuart, was Queen of Scotland from 14 December 1542 to 24 July 1567. Mary was a Catholic queen ruling Protestant Scotland while her cousin, Elizabeth, was a Protestant queen ruling a Catholic England. Go figure.

Queen Elizabeth I (September 7, 1533–March 24, 1603) reigned over England and Ireland from November 17, 1558, until her death. Elizabeth’s father, the infamous Henry VIII, executed Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn, two and a half years after Elizabeth's birth for treason, incest, witchcraft, and anything else they could think of to throw at her. During the forty years that Elizabeth reigned, she spent twenty of those incarcerating her cousin Mary, whom she never met. Mary was actually a more legitimate monarch than Elizabeth, a bastard, and so it is easy to see why Elizabeth feared Mary.

Sayyida al Hurra (c. 1485–some time after 1542) was a queen of a different sort. She ruled Tétouan, Morocco, from 1515–1542, and—more importantly for the purposes of this book—she ruled the seas as a pirate queen for much of the same time period. The combination of her fascinating and adventurous life on the sea and her reign in Tétouan made Sayyida a hugely influential woman in the history of the Islamic West. “Sayyida al Hurra” was in fact a title meaning “noble lady who is free and independent; the woman sovereign who bows to no superior authority.” Yeah, she was pretty awesome.

Sir Francis Drake (c. 1540–January 27, 1596) was an English sea captain (pirate), navigator (pirate), slaver (pirate), and politician (rat bastard pirate) during Queen Elizabeth’s reign. Drake filled Elizabeth’s coffers with stolen gold, silver, jewels, and slaves, though many historians prefer to believe she knew nothing about the latter. Elizabeth was nothing if not astute, so this writer is fully convinced that she did not much care what Drake did so long as he filled her treasury... and he did.

Dragut (1485–June 23, 1565), also known by his Turkish name of Turgut Reis, brought the power of the Ottoman Empire to the seas during his years as an Ottoman Greek admiral. North African coast had never seen such maritime mastery before Dragut hit the seas and grew his empire’s power to previously unmatched strengths. As pasha—an honorary title for a high-ranking political or military officer in the Ottoman Empire—he dropped major coin to build up the city of Tripoli. Despite the atrocities he committed on the sea, this last venture did succeed in making the North African coast more beautiful and impressive than ever. Still, the guy was a nasty piece of work and makes for a great villain.

MAP OF RENAISSANCE EUROPE

For Skyy

For believing in me even when I didn’t. For laughing with me even when I couldn’t. For loving me, Storm, Mega, and LK with equal enthusiasm. For keeping me afloat when I was sinking. For all that you did…for all that you are…for remembering that every Batman needs one, that swim caps come in 6 fetching hues, and that you don’t have to wait for me to call from Tahiti. This one is for you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This one is for my incredible grandmother, Pauline Jones, who was the beacon I looked for as a kid struggling with being different. My Non was Rosie the Riveter—she took me out on my first union strike—and when I told her I was gay, she hugged me and told me, “It don’t matter none to me, Sugar. I’ll always love you just the way you are.” My Non would have been aboard a pirate ship if she’d lived then. I learned about loyalty and courage from a woman who braved the Oklahoma Dust Bowl before bringing her infant daughter to California all by herself at the age of 17. And when the Vietnam War broke out and a friend of the family was serving in the jungles, she found a pilot to fly out her famous biscuits and gravy to him. It is no wonder I am drawn to writing about women who were warriors in one century or another: I was raised by the bravest one of them all. I love you, Non, and I miss you every single day of my life.

THE PIRATE’S BOOTY

Quinn Gallagher had soft, creamy thighs pressed against her ears, so she didn’t hear the wooden door fracture as it blew open until it was too late.

“Think ya can just waltz in here and bed me woman, ya filthy cur?”

Before Quinn could lift her head from between the woman’s legs, the large, red-bearded man grabbed her by the back of her leather jerkin and flung her like a rag doll against the far wall. Her shoulders and head slammed hard into the wood.

The woman screamed and covered herself up with a sheet. “Sachin! No!”

“No?” the large man growled, ambling over to where a crumpled Quinn was slowly rising to her feet. “Ya let another man touch ya and think I’ll let him live?” Grabbing Quinn by the throat with one hand, he brought his meaty fist back. “And a pitiful excuse of a man he is.” As the giant glared at Quinn, his wife leapt on his back and started beating him about the head.

“Get off me, ya crazy bitch!” Releasing Quinn, he grabbed a handful of his wife’s hair and pulled her over his shoulder. She landed with a thump on the hard floor. As he cocked his fist once more, Quinn dove at him, burying her shoulder into his abdomen.

A “woof” sound escaped from his lungs as they crashed into the far wall, knocking frames down and sending candles crashing to the ground.

The two of them fell to the floor, with Quinn landing on top. In one swift motion, she pulled her boot dagger out and pressed it against his neck. “Twitch and I’ll make yer throat look like it’s smiling.”

Red Beard stopped struggling and glared hard into Quinn’s face. “Ya don’t got the stones.”

“Au contraire, my foul-smelling jackass. Do ya know who Captain Grace O’Malley is?”

“Of course I do. Don’t be daft. Everraone knows who she is.”

“Well ya see, she’s my captain, and if she hears that ya have abused this poor woman in enna way, we will return ta gut ya like a fish while we both stand and watch. Do ya understand what I am saying?”

He cursed, then nodded.

“Good. This is no idle threat.” Quinn nodded toward the woman, who was still cowering on the floor. “Had I known she was a wife, I would not have presumed myself upon her as I have. My apologies fer doing so. It won’t happen again. M’lady,” Quinn asked, not looking up from her adversary, “would ya be so kind as ta place the tip of my sword upon his brow?”

The woman scrambled to retrieve a sword from beside the bed and then placed the tip near Red Beard’s eye. Quinn quickly rose and jumped back, her dagger in front of her. “Now I shall take my leave. Mark my words, ya scurrilous lout: touch a hair on her head, and we will come fer ya. There is no place ya can run or hide that Grace O’Malley’s pirates won’t find ya and... what did I say we would do ta ya?”

“Gut me like a fish.” Every word was said with a slight growl.

“Ya’d do well ta remember that.” With that, Quinn grabbed her seaman’s jacket and bolted from the house, just in time to catch up with the rest of the crew as they made their way back to the ship.

“Callaghan!” one called out. “How are ya doin’, man? Collectin’ more wenches’ hearts?”

Quinn smiled and joined the men, none of whom had no idea she was a woman. “Never been better, Connor. Never been better.”

They headed back to a large galleon that was creaking and groaning as it gently bobbed in the water just off the pier. Some men were on their hands and knees scrubbing blood from the deck while others made various repairs to the masts and sails. There was always a task to be done on a ship of this size. At least two hundred men worked on board, and yet the labor never seemed to end. That’s what had surprised Quinn the most when she first forged her way onto the ship dressed as a man over a month ago. The work was as endless as the sea, and yet she had somehow managed to trade her noblewoman’s uncomfortable dresses for the more casual and relaxed pants and leather jerkin pirates so often wore.

She had never expected to enjoy being a pirate. It wasn’t as if she’d always longed to be one. No, she was here out of sheer desperation.

That first moment she had stood before Captain Grace O’Malley, queen of Connacht and chieftain of the O’Malley clan, Quinn had thought she might wet herself. Never had she met a more intimidating person—male or female—than this woman.

Standing taller than almost any man Quinn had ever met, red hair flowing about her like a lion’s mane, sizing Quinn up with eyes that looked like they were piercing her soul, Grace O’Malley was everything Quinn had heard about and more. She had a commanding presence that made you know that she was royalty, that she was a leader, that she demanded your respect or your head. She was, in a word, self-possessed, and Quinn hadn’t been at all certain if gaining access to the ship was the right thing to do.

She’d nearly fainted that first day when Grace O’Malley tilted her head this way and that before asking Quinn if she’d been weaned yet. She made a remark about Quinn’s soft skin and asked if she’d ever shaved. Grace had eyes like a hawk, and when they locked onto Quinn’s face, she felt as if this woman was seeing right through her.

But Quinn had needed this ship. She had needed the likes of this pirate queen who could get her where she needed to go without fear of being molested or badgered by men.

And the only way to do that was to become one of them.

No man wanted a woman on board a pirate ship––they were considered bad luck. And even though Grace commanded this vessel, the “no women” theory still applied for reasons Quinn was never quite sure of.

In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Grace accepted Quinn Gallagher as Kieran Callaghan and took her on as the lowliest member of the crew... meaning she did all the shite work.

That was a month ago, and so far being on a pirate ship was not at all what Quinn had expected.

She hadn’t anticipated such a familial environment where these men actually embraced each other and enjoyed each other’s somewhat robust company. While she had reveled in sparring with her brother Patrick when they were kids, she’d never really met people who seemed to so love being alive. She had constantly marveled at their ability to find the zest in their surroundings, and it was contagious.

Well, contagious for everyone but Patrick, who appeared ill suited for the ribaldry and revelry of the pirate lifestyle.

She also hadn’t expected to be in awe of Grace O’Malley’s commanding presence and the way she ordered men about. It was exhilarating to watch them scurry around, following her orders. In the elite world where Quinn Gallagher grew up, women were nothing more than chattel to be sealed away and treated with little more dignity than a prized horse. To watch this woman lead was awe-inspiring.

But most of all, Quinn hadn’t expected to fall in love with being a pirate.

That month had been an eye-opening experience for the two siblings who had grown up in manors with servants and privilege. As members of the newly formed noble class of Irish, they had never had to fight for anything, never had to wonder where their next meal was coming from, and never had to worry about someone running them through with a blade. All of this showed on Patrick. In the time they’d been on the ship, Patrick had lost weight, suffered three slash wounds, and wore a sickly green pallor whenever the seas became rough.

Which was almost always.

Still, Quinn wouldn’t have traded this experience for anything, as she had already seen more of the world in one month than she had in twenty-two years of living.

She loved it. Everything about it, from the simplicity of the salt air on her face to the hazards of swinging aboard another ship in order to plunder it—she loved it all. The camaraderie, the freedom, and the comfort of walking about unmolested by men was astounding to her.

She loved it.

And in the quiet nights that she lay in her bunk thinking about the promise she’d made and why she had donned male attire, Quinn never forgot the real reason for her duplicity.

As much as she loved being a pirate, she loved Shea even more. She needed to keep the promise she’d made to Shea long ago when they were children, a promise she was certain Shea would have kept for her.

“Daydreamin’ again, Callaghan?” Grace’s voice boomed from the prow where she oversaw the cleaning crew.

“Yes, ma—er, sir. No, sir. Uh... ” Quinn fought back a grin at her own slip-up. She’d not had the guts to ask anyone why they called Grace “sir,” but they all did it. So did she. After a while, it just seemed natural, but that didn’t mean Quinn still got it right every time.

Grace O’Malley threw her head back and belted out a laugh that carried across the ship. “Fer god’s sake, Callaghan, get yer arse back ta a tavern and enjoy some land time. I sent word we’d not be shoving off til mornin’. Ya have plenty more time ta bed plenty more wenches. Now, off with ya before I find some work fer ya ta do.”

Connor grabbed Quinn’s arm and yanked her toward the plank. “She doesn’t have ta tell me twice. Come on, Callaghan. Let’s go find some more tender, juicy snacks.”

Connor McBride was the first pirate Quinn had approached at the Ox Bow Tavern in Galway. He asked her if she could play cards, and she said she could, though she’d only ever watched Patrick play. At the end of the night, Quinn had won, and when she’d turned to Connor to give him her winnings, he’d offered to bring her to Grace.

They’d been friends ever since. Connor had showed her how to work a sail, how to shoot a bow, and how to avoid the grunt work the others hated doing.

As they left the ship, Quinn glanced over her shoulder and watched Grace shout out orders to the rest of the men.

Captain Grace O’Malley had changed Quinn’s life.

Now she wasn’t so sure she could ever go back to the old one.

Her old life. It felt so very far away and almost like a dream... and nightmare. She had never enjoyed the caging clothing noblewomen were forced to wear or the fact that women had so very little say in their lives. Yes, she was well cared for and wanted for nothing, but that could be said for the chickens or cows.

No, this was the life for her—and at this moment, as she gazed around her at the vibrant life and felt the hum from the pure joy of being alive, Quinn Gallagher was pretty certain she could never go back.

“There’s nothin’ sexier than a long line a’ cleavage on a wench carryin’ me ale,” Connor said to Quinn as a buxom serving maid set down two pints on the old, carved-up wooden table.

The tavern was loud with a cacophony of cheers and laughter from the drunken pirates. Some played dice while others shared their tales of the sea. The smell of stale ale permeated the air of the square room and was second only to the sour stench of male body odor.

“If I died with me face buried in there, lass, I’d die a happy, happy man.” Connor took a huge gulp of the ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Elbowing him sharply, Quinn looked into the woman’s light blue eyes and smiled softly. “I apologize fer Connor’s brutish ways, miss. He failed manners training at pirate school.”

The young serving girl leaned over toward Quinn, her breasts nearly falling out of a bodice laced too tightly. Their eyes locked. “Men like him are weeds in a garden, kind sir, but men like ya are the rarest a’ fruits waitin’ ta be plucked by one who appreciates yer juices.”

Connor stared slack-jawed at Quinn.

“Put yer eyes back in their holes, Connor,” Quinn said, sliding a coin into the woman’s hand. “This is fer his trouble.”

The serving girl leaned over a little more so Quinn could get a better look. Her breasts were enormous. “And this is fer yers.” The woman floated around the table, deposited the coin down her cleavage, and whispered into Quinn’s ear, “Later then?”

Quinn grinned. “Aye. I’d like that verra much.”

As the serving wench walked by Connor, she smacked the back of his head. “Ya could learn a thing or five about bein’ a gentleman from yer verra handsome young friend.”

Connor threw his head back and laughed. “There’s nothing gentle about this man, lass,” he said, pounding his own chest. “I suppose if ya want a soft touch, that boy oughtta be more ta yer likin’, but when yer ready fer a real man––”

“I won’t find him in ya.”

The entire table broke into a chorus of laughter, and Quinn threw her arm around Connor’s shoulders. “Don’t worry none, old man. I’m sure there’s a widow walking around who could take yer weathered cock.”

The table was raucous now.

Quinn shook her head before chugging the ale she’d only recently learned to tolerate. “And ya wonder why sex avoids ya? Ya really need ta work on yer approach ta women, my friend.”

Connor slammed his pint back, gulping loudly as he did, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Oh, lad, I approach just fine.” He watched the wench carry three ales to another table before slapping two coins on the splintered wood. “I’ll wager I get me some sweet pussy before ya.”

“I’ll take that bet, Connor.”

Quinn looked up as her brother Patrick strode through the door and slid into a seat across from her. She nodded to him once before turning to Connor and digging into her worn leather pouch for two coins.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “But taking your money is always just too easy. I can’t remember the last time you beat Kieran,” he said to Connor.

Quinn snorted. Patrick was trying to stand up for her again—no surprise there. When he had discovered Quinn’s plan to pass herself off as a man, he insisted on going with her to “protect” her. Sad thing was, Patrick was cut out for neither the sea nor the killing that came with being a pirate, and he had proven to be a terrible fighter.

This had not surprised Quinn, who had beaten him handily with the wooden swords they played with as children and had never lost to him when wrestling. Although both of them were both children of a nobleman, Patrick’s gentility showed while Quinn rid herself of hers with little effort. She still often caught herself slipping up when trying to mimic the pirates’ more crass way of speaking, but she was certainly doing better than Patrick, who seemed barely to be making an effort.

Still, she had been unsuccessful in talking Patrick into returning home to Galway, where their father and younger sister resided.

“He’s just gonna take more of your purse, Connor,” Patrick warned.

Connor released a deep belly laugh that filled the room, wafting high above the boisterous sounds of the other men. He clapped a hand to Quinn’s shoulder. “Ya know, when ya two first came ta the captain’s ship, I thought, ‘There’s two young boys who’ve never worked a hard day’s wage in their lives.’ Ya proved me wrong, Callaghan. Ya hold yer own everrawhere but with the wine and the wenches. But fear not. I’ll take care a’ that last arena fer ya.”

Quinn knocked back a large gulp of her ale and wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand as she’d seen Connor do so many times. “When ya walk away with a lighter pouch than when ya arrived, I will remind ya of that.”

“Connor, there are times when a man needs a friend to talk some common sense into him. Thus far, my brother has bedded every wench he’s set his eyes toward. Give it up, man. You cannot compete.” Patrick’s green eyes lit up as he spoke; he clearly enjoyed this type of banter.

The twinkle in Quinn’s own eyes matched Patrick’s. As fraternal twins who shared such distinctive assets as a cleft chin, light green eyes, a dimple in the left cheek, and full, kissable lips, Quinn and Patrick were almost identical now that Quinn had forgone her women’s clothing. It had been easy for the two siblings to represent themselves as brothers when they first came aboard the Malendroke. Between their green eyes and auburn hair, their strong twin resemblance grew even stronger once they began to dress the same. Even their height and build was similar, so no one was the wiser when they came aboard as a pair. Quinn’s lack of breast muscle made it fairly easy to strap her breasts down prior to donning the dirty-brown leather jerkin her fellow privateers wore.

That had been the easy part. Cutting off her thick locks was another story... a story that also belonged to the captain of her ship, Captain Grace O’Malley.

Every Irishman alive knew the famous story of how Grace O’Malley had wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps after inheriting his large shipping and trading business. As a young girl, she cut off her hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the many ropes of her vessel. She wanted to prove to her da that she could and would fit in. She kept it short for a few years before growing it out to the long red mane she sported now.

She had taken to the seas early in life, before her twelfth year. Her father allowed her on board because Grace had a very special knack of being able to read the weather before it hit; a very useful skill to have when so many ships dove to the bottom of the seas because of the winds and rains.

As “royalty” of Connacht, Grace and her clan were determined to fight for Irish traditions and the Celtic way of life even as the Catholics and Protestants fought to steal it from them. While some Celtic chieftains’ loyalty had been bought with titles and gold, the O’Malley clan refused to fall victim to greed and the whims of the monarchs sitting on the English throne. So when Black Oak, her father, died, Grace took up the mantle of rebel, doing all she could to repel the English and keep them from destroying their way of life.

Quinn had taken a page from Grace’s book and chopped her hair off prior to boarding their ship as Kieran Callaghan. Grace had needed more men after one particularly nasty ship-to-ship battle with someone named Dragut—or so Quinn heard from other crewmen later—and so she had signed Quinn and Patrick the morning before setting sail a little over a month ago. Grace was that way. She trusted her instincts.

According to the crew, the battle with Dragut had been fierce, with casualties on both sides. The ship Grace had fought had not been Dragut’s lead ship. He would not even show her respect by fighting her with his best, which he’d apparently left docked elsewhere. Instead, he came at her with his second ship and fought hard until it was evident Grace’s crew would win. She lost two handfuls of men but managed to beat Dragut’s men back.

He slunk away like a coward, and she’d been searching for him ever since.

So Grace settled on Quinn and Patrick to replace some of her lost crewmen, and for the past month they had both been sailing the high seas with one of the most famous Irish ship captains in the world: Grace O’Malley, queen of Umhaill, chieftain of the O’Malley clan, and all-around fearsome swordsman and formidable pirate. That month had been filled with eye-opening experiences for the two siblings, who had grown up in manors with servants and privileges.

Gambling with Connor was one of those new experiences... as was always taking his money. Of course, neither Quinn nor Patrick needed his money. It was just too much fun to turn down.

“You ought not to take the poor slob’s money,” Patrick said under his breath to Quinn.

“I can’t help it, Paddy,” Quinn said loudly. “The man seems desperate ta give it all ta me.”

Connor slapped her hard on the back. “Not this time, me friend. That wench and I––”

“Will never share a bed,” Quinn finished. “At least, not this night.”

Patrick chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve not bested my brother yet, Connor. I suggest you find another for your nighttime dalliance.”

“Pshaw, lad. I saw how the wench looked at me. I’ve got this one, laddies. There’ll be no beatin’ me this night.”

Patrick and Quinn exchanged knowing looks. One more ale and Connor would be face down in whatever gruel he’d ordered. That was the way of most pirates on shore leave: drink and either land face first in a plate of food or face first into a woman’s décolletage.

But Quinn Gallagher wasn’t like most pirates.

She wasn’t interested in looting and plundering or drinking until she saw double. No, she was pirating because of a woman––a special woman––one she was very interested in finding.

One woman.

Her oldest and dearest friend.

Quinn, Shea, and Kennedy had made a promise to each other a long, long time ago when they were but wee children playing in the village. Pirates had come to their town and looted everyone and everything, and when one pirate carried a screaming young girl off on his shoulders, Shea stood frozen with fear in the middle of the street.

Quinn had managed to get Shea out of the street and into the back of a tavern. It was there that the three little girls made a pact that if ever one of them was stolen, the other two would try to find them.

It was a silly pact made by frightened little girls, but it was one Quinn now intended on keeping. So she had donned male clothing as well as the rough and bloody life of a pirate in order to fulfill that promise and find the men who had taken Shea over a month ago.

When Connor turned his attention to harassing another young sailor, Patrick scooted closer to Quinn and said as loudly as he dared, “You’re not really thinking about––”

Quinn caught the woman’s eye as she replied, “Actually, I am. She quite fancies me.”

“God damn it, Kieran,” Patrick growled in her ear. “Why must you insist on taking these unnecessary risks?”

Quinn shrugged as she rose to join the woman on the other side of the room. Leaning over, she whispered back, “Lying with a woman is only a risk if she can get my clothes off. Thus far, brother, none has managed that singular feat. For the millionth time, trust me.”

“I suppose you want me to remain?”

“Only if you have an itch to scratch, Paddy. Otherwise, come in a few. This won’t take long.”

When Connor turned his attention back to Quinn, only to find her following the woman up the stairs, he slammed his fist on the table and ordered another ale. “How, lad? How does that smooth-skinned, lily-livered, pretty boy always get me wenches?”

Patrick watched his sister disappear into one of the six rooms upstairs. “Haven’t you realized, old man, that what comes with that smooth skin is a smooth tongue? Kieran is not a better man than you, Connor. He is merely a smoother talker than you.”

Connor held his ale inches from his face before lifting it toward the upstairs landing in a toast. “To smooth tongues, then.”

Patrick grabbed the remnants of Quinn’s ale and did the same. “Aye. To smooth tongues.”

The wench’s milky white breasts were even more stunning once they were free of her confining bustier that had seen better days. Not quite pert but not low-hanging fruit, they were bountiful and magnificent.

“Ya are a gorgeous creature,” Quinn said, lying fully clothed on top of the woman as she had done a dozen times before with other women in other ports. “Beautiful both in and out of yer garments.”

The young redhead smiled and pulled Quinn’s mouth to hers. They kissed, softly at first, until the wench’s passion got the best of her and she both deepened and lengthened the kiss.

Slowly pulling away, Quinn looked into her blue eyes. They had specks of gold around the pupil. “Do ya have a name, lass?”

The wench looked slightly startled, as if no one had ever bothered to ask before. “A name?” Then she grinned. “Of course I have a name. I’m just... I am not used ta a man carin’ a fig about it.”

Quinn kissed her lips softly, then her cheek, her neck, her bare shoulders that tasted of the salt and sweat of a workingwoman. Women, she discovered, tasted different depending on the job they did. It had stunned her to discover that thus far she preferred the taste of working women. They were saltier, thicker, as if the taste of them represented more substance. “I am unlike most men.” Returning her mouth to the woman’s neck, she gently bit it, causing the young woman to inhale a quick breath and then sigh.

“Rebecca.”

Quinn grinned before nibbling some more. “A fine name, that, Rebecca.”

“It sounds fine leavin’ yer lips,” she said, running her hand through Quinn’s hair. “Yer hair is much softer than the other sea dogs I’ve... met here. Yer hair is softer, and yer face is the face of an angel.”

“Sea dog.” Quinn nodded. “I like that far better than angel, as I am certainly not that.” Propping herself up on her elbow, she studied Rebecca’s face in the half-light from the three candles flickering on a rickety table in a room she was certain saw more sex than a brothel.

With her hair down, Rebecca was really quite beautiful, her features muted in the soft light. Her lips were full and beckoning, and her high cheekbones set off a nose that was in perfect proportion to the rest of her face. A slight crease ran across the top of it, no doubt deepened by the scowling that came from serving men like Grace’s.

“You truly are stunning,” Quinn said, forgetting, as she often did, that she needed to sound like a seaman and not like the educated daughter of a nobleman. “You’re not married or betrothen, are you?”

Rebecca backed her face away. “Stunnin’? Why, what sea dog would ever use a word like that? Perhaps yer right when ya say yer like no other.” Pulling Quinn’s face to hers, she kissed her deeply before pulling back. “And ya most assuredly do not kiss like the others, whose tongues are like serpents seekin’ passage down my throat.” Rebecca kissed her softly. “And no, I am not married or otherwise spoken fer.”

Quinn kissed her long and intensely, enjoying the subtle taste of mead.

“How is it ya know so well ta kiss a woman?” Rebecca asked, pulling slightly away. “Has one as young as yerself more experience than at first glance?”

“I am not as young as everraone believes.”

“Ya lack the rough beard and rugged jaw of an older man, that’s why. How old are ya, my sweet young man?”

Before Quinn could reply, Rebecca was kissing her again and again, her hands now working at the buttons on Quinn’s clothing.

Gently taking her wrists, Quinn moved Rebecca’s hands from her shirt. “I believe in the gentlemanly adage of ‘ladies first.’” Pushing the bodice to the side, Quinn kissed Rebecca’s soft cleavage before taking one of her puckered nipples in her mouth. As she ran her tongue around the outside of the hardened nipple, Quinn licked her first two fingers before lightly caressing Rebecca’s clit.

“Holy Mother a’ Brigitta,” Rebecca murmured as Quinn slowly moved her mouth to the other breast.

“Ya are... verra wet.”

“And ya, dear sir, are verra good.”

Quinn kissed her way down Rebecca’s taut stomach until she came to a mound rich in red foliage. “Hold on,” she whispered before licking a single stroke all the way up Rebecca’s warm and juicy slit.

“Bloody hell... ” Rebecca murmured.

“Shh. Enjoy the moment,” Quinn said quietly, returning her mouth to Rebecca’s warm wetness. She was salty and sweet all at the same time, a taste not unfamiliar to Quinn’s now-experienced tongue.

With very little effort, Quinn managed to bring Rebecca to climax, using her tongue, her fingers, even her warm breath. And when Rebecca released, her body arched in the air, her hands gathered the blanket beneath her, and she let out a sound that was equal parts pleasure and pain.

When her hips finally returned to the bed, Rebecca muttered something and inhaled several deep breaths. “I... I have no words.”

Quinn climbed back on top of her. “None needed, sweet girl. It was my pleasure.”

Rebecca rolled her head back over. “And what a’ yer pleasure?”

Quinn kissed her warm mouth, enjoying the plumpness of her lips and the sweet taste of mead on her breath. Kissing a woman was so superior to kissing a man, though truth be told, Quinn had really only kissed one boy before she had realized she was... different.

As Rebecca’s hand slowly reached for Quinn’s groin, Quinn took her hand, turned it over, and kissed the palm.

Where was Patrick? He needed to get his ass to the door and––

Suddenly, there came a loud knock at the door.

“Go away,” Rebecca ordered.

“Kieran, she wants us back.”

Rebecca froze. “She?” She shoved Quinn away from her. “I should have known a man like ya would have many mistresses.”

Quinn slowly rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. “I have two, I’m afraid. I should have told ya.”

“Only two?” Rebecca grabbed her bodice and held it to her chest. “Yer a dog just like the rest.”

“The sea and Captain O’Malley.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows shot up. “Yer a seaman fer Grace O’Malley? The Grace O’Malley? I’ve been servin’ her crew fer some time, but never have I seen ya.”

“I am new ta the ship. My apologies if I’ve––”

Rebecca grabbed Quinn’s face and kissed her over and over. “If they be yer mistresses, then I will gladly join in.”

Quinn smiled. “Grace O’Malley calls, beautiful one, and I must answer.”

“Oh, I’ve seen her in here many a time, but I never had the courage ta speak with her. She is... unlike enna woman I have ever seen. Is she as amazin’ as they say?”

Quinn grinned. “More so. Let me just say she makes the myths about her pale in comparison ta the facts.” Rising, Quinn kissed the back of Rebecca’s hand. “I must be off, sweet girl. As amazing as she is, Captain O’Malley is a harsh taskmaster, and I dare not be late.”

Patrick banged again. “I mean it, Kieran!”

Quinn opened the door and jutted her head out. “Coming. Hold yer horses.”

Peering over her shoulder, Patrick backed away from the door. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Had my own hands full.”

Quinn turned one last time to Rebecca. “I shall take a chit fer the rest of our dance, if ya’d be so inclined.”

Rebecca licked her lips and smiled. “Certainly I would, but on one condition. Call me Becca.”

Bowing low, Quinn nodded. “Becca it is. Until we meet again, Becca.” Quinn got only two steps beyond the door before Becca called her back.

“I believe, good sir, that ya have just ruined me fer other men.”

Quinn shook her head. “No one can ruin ya, beautiful lady. Ya are incorruptible.”

As Patrick pulled her from the door, he groused, “Incorruptible? Are you mad? I swear. All this time and you still don’t sound like this filthy crew.”

Linking her arm through his, Quinn laughed as manly a guffaw as she could muster. “Paddy, I’m the daughter of a noble dressed like a man and sleeping with women before I climb aboard a pirate ship that’s captained by a woman who’s acting like a man. Of course I’m mad! Aren’t we all?”

Together, they tossed their heads back and laughed all the way back down to the tavern.

As Quinn and Patrick carried a very inebriated Connor back to the ship, three men stepped out in front of them, blocking their way.

“Well, looka what we have here, William. If it isn’t Connor McBride bein’ hauled off, as usual, ta his ship. Pissed fool that he is.”

“Whatever issue ya have with Connor does not concern us,” Quinn said, feeling very conscious of the dead weight of their friend as they stood there.

“Yer right, boyo. Then why dontcha drop him where ya stand, and we’ll take over from here?” said the one addressed as William. He had a long red beard with extensive wiry red hair to match.

Patrick dumped Connor to the ground, the unconscious man’s weight nearly taking Quinn with him. “He’s all yours.”

“Smart man.”

Rising up, Quinn calculated their chances. Connor was useless, Paddy was tipsy, and that left Quinn to do the lion’s share of the work.

What else was new?

Turning slightly sideways so that her sword was further away from the men, Quinn cleared her throat.

“Oh no, Kieran,” Patrick whined. “Not for the likes of Connor McBride. Let it go this once.”

And therein lay the greatest problem with her brother. He simply did not understand the pirate code of ethics. An insult to one was an insult to all.

“Do you have any idea what the McBride clan would start if they found out we left their boy to get his arse whipped?” Quinn placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Do you have any idea what they would do to you?”

“Don’t know and don’t care. The man is a cheater.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow at her brother, waiting.

Sighing, Patrick turned as well, his hand hovering about the hilt of his sword. “Fine, but this is the last time we save his arse.”

Quinn smiled. “Agreed.”

“Are ya both daft?” The shorter man roared. “We’re aimin’ ta crush yer pretty-boy faces into the ground, and fer what? The likes a’ this bloody bastard?”

Quinn and Patrick unsheathed their weapons simultaneously. “Ya will have ta best us first,” Quinn said. Since her sword was on her right and Patrick’s was on his left, they both favored the cross draw, reaching for their swords across their bodies. As a left-handed swordsman, Quinn had an advantage over most right-handed men: while she was used to fighting right-handed men, they were not used to fighting a lefty. It had proven to be her advantage time and again.

All three men drew their swords.

“It doesna have ta be like this, laddies. All we want is ta roust up yer boy there. Have a little fun wi’ him.” This came from a string bean of a man with a gap-toothed set of teeth that looked like they belonged in someone else’s mouth.

“He may be a gambler and a cheat, fellas, but he’s our gambler and cheat, and we don’t take kindly ta those who want ta ‘roust’ our own.” Quinn took her fighting stance. Every time she did, she silently thanked her father for using her as a training partner for Patrick for all those years. She couldn’t imagine her father approving of this reversal of roles where it was Quinn diving into fights and pulling Patrick in with her. “So, if ya don’t mind, we’d like ta finish this so we can get back ta our ship.”

The three men paused.

“Yer ship?” String Bean asked.

Quinn nodded. “The Malendroke. Perhaps ya’ve heard of it.”

All three men froze.

“Yer men on Grace O’Malley’s ship?” The shorter one asked.

Quinn pressed her advantage and stepped forward. “That we are, and as such it is our duty––nay, our responsibility ta cut ya down where ya stand like the vermin ya are so others after ya know what it means ta attack Captain O’Malley’s people.” Quinn raised her sword, and Patrick did the same.

No one moved.

“Do ya really want ta be on Grace O’Malley’s bad side? Because if the answer is no, then we can show ya the kind of mercy the O’Malley clan exhibits by letting ya turn around and walk away.”

Two of them slowly started backing away. William maintained his stance. “I’ll not be afraid a’ no female captain from some good-fer-nothin’ pirate ship. O’Malley clan or not, yer friend owes me coin.”

“And ya alley rats think beatin’ him will get ya that coin?” came a strong voice from the shadows behind William, who turned.

“Show yerself!” he called out, none too confidently.

From the darkness stepped none other than Grace O’Malley. Her height made her an imposing figure by anyone’s standards. “Not at all certain which I like least: the comment about a female captain, or yer slander a’ my good-fer-nothin’ pirate ship.” She looked around William and nodded to Quinn. “It appears ya gave these blowhards a chance ta save their skin. This one chose not ta accept yer gift. I find that quite rude.”

“I... ”

“No, no,” Grace said. “Ya are done speakin’. I’ll give ya one chance ta come at this female, and then I’ll give ya somethin’ ta take back home ta tell yer kin, though I am not sure which body part that is gonna be.”

William looked from Quinn to Grace and back. “I... I apologize fer––”

“And why is it men can do all manner a’ horrible things ta people and then believe a sorry apology will erase their sins? Not this time, ya land-lovin’ bastard. Come. Take yer best shot at me before I change me mind about lettin’ ya go home at all.”

Quinn watched in quiet fascination as William struggled with his decision.

“Oh, fer god’s sake,” Grace said, reaching down to one of five small sheaths strapped to her thigh. “I don’t have time fer this.” In one swift motion, she withdrew a throwing knife, flicked her wrist at William, and let the dagger fly end over end until it embedded itself into his left side.

William went down on one knee, his hand on the hilt of the dagger protruding painfully from his shoulder. The other men, who had paused to watch the scene unfold, backed away in silence, disappearing into the shadows.

“Uh-uh. Pull that out and I’ll behead ya where ya kneel.” Grace walked over to him and yanked the dagger out, blood coming with it. “Now then. Be afraid a’ this female captain. Be very afraid a’ her pirate ship, and be extraordinarily scared a’ what her clan will do ta yers if ya ever show yer face around here again. Now run along.”

William rose unsteadily to his feet and shambled down the alley, blood oozing through his fingers.

“Thank ya, sir,” Quinn said, sheathing her sword. “We weren’t trying ta get into trouble.”

“I had no doubt ya and Patrick could handle it, but we’re still a dozen men low, and I won’t have me numbers trimmed by the likes a’ them.” When Grace stepped further out into the moonlight, her untamed red hair moved as if it was still in the wind of the ship. Her broad shoulders and heavy thighs made her appearance intimidating, but it was Grace’s voice that commanded people’s attention. “Go on back ta the ship. I’ll deal with Connor McBride in the mornin’.”

Quinn and Patrick picked Connor up under his arms and continued toward the dock.

“How long do you suppose she was there?” Patrick asked as they made their way to the ship.

“Hard to tell. That woman has feet like a cat. Never have I seen anyone, male or female, sneak up on so many unsuspecting men.”

“We could have bested them, you know?”

Quinn smiled. Spoken like a drunk man who knew not his limitations. It would have been a tough fight. “I know. All the same, I’m glad she was there.”

Patrick stumbled slightly as Connor’s weight shifted. “You like her, don’t you?”

Quinn thought about it a moment. “Like is an interesting word, Patrick. I don’t think anyone likes Grace O’Malley. I believe they respect her. They fear her. Some even loathe her, I would imagine.”

“Which is it for you? I mean, a woman captaining a ship, the scourge of the seas––which best describes how you feel?”

Quinn did not hesitate. “I respect her most of the time, I fear her at others, but the truest emotion I have for her is admiration.”

“Admiration?”

“Aye. Grace O’Malley breaks all the rules of living in a man’s world. She is deserving of my admiration.” Quinn looked over at Patrick. “What about you, Paddy? How do you feel about her?”

Patrick gripped Connor more firmly around the waist. “Honestly? She scares the shite right out of me.”

“Because?”

“Because she’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. I’ll say this much: I’m glad she’s on our side.”

“Amen to that, brother. Amen to that.”

There appears to be a pecking order of some sort that places the most brutish one on top, regardless of the lack of mental acuity, and the smaller, smarter males at the bottom, where they try to become almost invisible to the brute’s eyes. Then there’s the order of class: we pirates are very near the bottom, while Father’s noble class is at the top.

I find it hard to believe that I seldom questioned life outside my class. There was us, and then there were those who served us. Everyone else, it seemed, was just background noise. It hurts my heart to think of all the times I ignored someone beneath my station.

I have learned so much from Grace O’Malley, lessons I would never have learned or even understood as a noblewoman.

For example, as we were on our return route yesterday, we lost a man overboard. Even as we pulled far away, men were shaking their heads at his misfortune. Drowning is a terrible way to go. All alone as the waves slap you in the face, beating you down until you can no longer stay afloat. Most captains just keep going when a man falls overboard.

Not Grace.

No, she ordered the ship to turn about and find that man. When we did eventually pull him from the water, she lined up the crew and strode back and forth across the deck telling us that every Irish life was worth saving, and that she would go back for any man from any clan if they were a member of her crew. And it’s genius, really—no man will ever be more loyal to her than the man she just saved.

When she returned to her quarters, everyone cheered her and, to a man, each pledged never to let Captain Grace O’Malley down. Pirates, I’ve discovered, like their pledges almost as much as they like their ale.

But an interesting thing happened during all of this chest pounding and fist pumping: Patrick backed away from it all, as if to remind himself that he is not one of us, that he does not truly belong. In that moment, I felt keenly sorry for poor Paddy. He never wanted this life, never was comfortable on the sea, never wished to leave the comforts of the manor. And though it is only temporary, though he will be released from watching out over his sister when we finally find Shea, I am certain he will leave and never return.

I do not really blame him.

This is a hard life.

There is a crewmember named Gimp, who has a strangely deformed foot. I guess he was once a good fighter until someone cut his foot nearly off. Grace keeps him because he is still our mate even though he is not the fighter he once was.

As a noblewoman, I have seen what we do when someone or something outlives its usefulness. We kill it. We replace it. We give it away.

Not so in this new life of mine, where we keep the Gimps of the world.

So here we are, returning to Clew Bay in order to unload the ship, replenish supplies, and get a couple dozen more men. It seems the violence on the seas has escalated, especially since Queen Elizabeth decided to finish what her good-for-nothing father started in Ireland. We do not wish to be English citizens... do not wish to follow that woman through the gates of hell.

We. Are. Not. English.

It was a conversation Shea, Kennedy, and I had all the time: What would happen to Ireland if the English ever succeeded in conquering us?

I do so look forward to seeing Kennedy––after being on the water for a month, it will be good to get word of home, to have conversation with someone who knows who I really am. I hope she’s heard some news about that captain who ripped Shea from the streets and carried her to a ship whose figurehead was, of all things, a Medusa head.

I’ve drawn a picture of that figurehead many, many times, I could draw it in my sleep. It is the most bizarre figurehead I’ve ever seen, and yet no one has seen it except the merchants who were up that early in the morning, and me. I saw it. I was about to go after Shea when one of my father’s favorite merchants grabbed me about the waist, preventing me from following.

So, for now, I will head to Kennedy’s home for a visit and to catch up. I do not know how long our shore leave will be, but I have heard the men remark that the captain leaves punctually, so when she says noon, she does not mean two.

I must finish writing now. I am quite tired from too much food and far too much ale. God, how can they like that stuff? It is horrible.

Clew Bay had been chosen by Black Oak, Grace’s father, as the place to erect his castle. It was an ocean bay in County Mayo, overlooked by Croagh Patrick to the south and the Nephin Mountains to the north. Clare Island guarded the entrance of the bay. Black Oak built Clew Bay on Clare Island because a ship the Malendroke’s size could only navigate there during high tide. This meant that to get to the island, ship captains had to know the tide, know how to do an about, and be able to keep excellent track of the weather, which could change hourly. They had to be able to manage their time well lest they got caught in the bay. It was a great place for a naval man to build his home––a home that was inherited by his seafaring daughter.

As they sailed past Clew Bay toward the village of Kilkenny, Quinn stood in the sun with her eyes closed and felt the beauty of it. There was nothing like being on the deck of a ship when the sun was shining, the wind was warm, and the gulls cawed in the distance, letting them know they had landed. She had really grown to love being on this ship.

When she opened her eyes, she was startled to find Murphy, the ship’s gigantic cook, standing next to her.

“Here. I got some a’ these from the Delphine.” Murphy tossed an orange in the air, and Quinn managed to snag it before it fell to the ground. “I know how much ya and yer brother love ’em, so I set a bunch aside fer ya.”

Quinn smiled up at the mountain of a man. Cook, as most referred to him, had taken a liking to her right out of the gate when he asked her to taste a dish, and she had suggested the addition of a combination of spices. The crew had loved it, Murphy loved her, and since then, he’d been plying her with special treats when he could in exchange for tasting his latest meal.

“Thank ya. There’s almost nothing better than a fresh orange.”

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the hustle and bustle of the dock as the ship’s crew finished disembarking, hugging friends and family who had gathered to greet them.

But just then, she felt it before she saw it –– Murphy’s countenance transformed from that of a man sharing oranges to that of a man on high alert. The hackles went up on her neck as she followed his gaze.

“This is why moorin’ off shore is better than dockin’,” he grumbled, his eyes never leaving the dozen or so men making their way toward the ship. “That spells trouble right there.”

“Just about everraone else has left the ship,” Quinn said. “Who are they?”

The dozen men cut a wide berth around those crew members who had not started filtering into the taverns of the port town.

“By the looks a’ them, I’d say O’Donnells, but ya can hardly tell ennamore.” Murphy extracted a long sword that hung from his belt without a sheath. “I’ll meet ’em at the plank. Ya go get the captain.”

Quinn turned in time to see Grace stride around a corner, a short sword in one hand and a long sword in the other. “The O’Donnells? What in bloody hell do they want with us? Early deaths?”

Quinn pulled both of her swords as well. “Most of the crew have gone ta the taverns, sir.” Quinn said. “It’s just us topside.”

“Then it looks like it is the six a’ us against the lot a’ them. I’m thinkin’ that’s a fair fight in enna book.”

Quinn looked for the other three men Grace was referring to. There were none.

Pulling his meat cleaver out, Murphy held it up for Quinn to see. “She means these six.” He smiled, something he rarely did, and Quinn understood why: he was missing his two front teeth.

“Alrighty, Callaghan,” Grace said. “It’s high time ya showed me what ya got.”

Quinn’s eyes pleaded with Murphy. “Tell me she’s kidding.”

“Captain? Uh-uh. We both held off an entire town once until the rest a’ our crew could get here.”

“How would they––”

Suddenly, a loud horn sounded.

Murphy hooked his thumb over in the direction of the sound. “Captain stole it off a Turkish ship because she wanted a warning noise.” Murphy slapped Quinn on the back with a big, meaty paw. “Don’t ya worry, Callaghan. We only gotta hold ’em off until the ones that are still sober can come runnin’.”

Quinn felt her palms get sweatier and sweatier as the midmorning sun beat down on the deck and her shoulders.

“Come on!” Grace commanded, holding her swords up. “Let’s show these bastards what they get fer attackin’ an O’Malley!”

Murphy leapt next to her and readied himself. Quinn joined the two of them. The dozen men became two dozen. She couldn’t imagine how the three of them could fend off twenty-four men bent on killing them and probably destroying the ship.

“Don’t ever let ’em see yer fear,” Grace said. “Be fierce. Always fearless.”

Quinn felt her heart bang inside her chest. The crowd of men stopped at the gangplank, their voices growing louder and more antagonistic the more emboldened they became.

“The dark-haired fellow is their leader,” Grace said. “I’ll take him. Second in command is the tall thin one.”

“How can ya––”

“I’ve been fightin’ hooligans like these fer a long time, Callaghan. Once ya take the wind from their sails––”

Before she could finish, the men yelled and started up the plank, swords flashing in the sunlight. Sure enough, the dark-haired man led the charge, and Grace prepared to meet him.

When the two leaders’ swords clanged loudly against each other, Quinn and Murphy leapt into the fray. His meat cleaver split a man’s face in half, while her short sword severed a neck artery of the second in command.

Three down, many more to go.

The first time she’d slipped in blood on the deck of the ship, Quinn had nearly vomited. The iron smell of it had hit her so hard, it had nearly dropped her to her knees.

She was used to it now, all the blood and gore—and there was plenty of it to go around. A man who was gutted across his abdomen would watch his intestines leap from his body as if propelled by an invisible force.

It was disgusting, but she had somehow gotten used to it.

Quinn took on the next two men and was about to feel the bite of their blades when Grace let two of her daggers fly into the attackers’ chests. Quinn put her boot on the nearest man’s stomach and kicked him back into the oncoming men.

Five down.

Quinn glanced over as Murphy sliced the face of one man while shoving another off the plank. In the back of her mind, she marveled that he was an amazingly good fighter for a cook.

Grace appeared to be enjoying herself as she battled two more attackers with relative ease. Quinn took care of the shorter man coming at her, driving her short sword through his kidney, but to do so, she had to turn her back on the men coming up the plank. As a result, the next man cracked her over the head with the hilt of his blade.

Quinn went down hard, her long sword clattering away from her as she landed chin first on the deck, which was slick with blood. Rolling over on her back, she barely managed to get her short sword up to deflect the blade that hammered down at her. The second blade was on its way toward her head when a large, thick hand grabbed her attacker by the neck and tossed him over the side.

Bending over, Murphy helped her up and, too late, turned to the three men running at them. “Get behind me!” he ordered, pushing Quinn back. The first sword nicked Murphy’s ear, and the second blade would have taken his head completely off if an arrow hadn’t ripped through the attacker’s neck.

Connor.

Letting arrows fly in rapid succession, Connor took out ten men in twelve seconds, preventing the O’Donnell clan from accomplishing whatever it was they’d come for.

When Grace slit the throat of the man she’d been fighting, she waved her men up to the ship.

“What took ya so long?” Grace bellowed when a dozen of her crew ran on board. More than one of them was clearly a little more than tipsy.

“Sorry, sir, but we––”

“It was not a real question, ya dolt.” Grace wiped the blood off her swords before sheathing them. “Still, ya managed ta return just in time. Good thing, too, or I’d have had ta come get ya, and we both know how that would have worked out.”

Connor lowered his head. “Aye.”

Grace turned her full attention to her crew. “Once again, ya’ve done yer captain proud. Now, can someone tell me why the O’Donnells attacked us? Which one a ya did somethin’ ya are going ta regret?” Grace paused like a woman outwaiting her children.

Ever so slowly, a man named Innis raised his hand. “It could’ve been me, sir.”

“Well, go on, man. What did ya do ta turn the O’Donnells into our enemies?”

“Well, now, it may have been a sister... or a––”

“We were attacked because of a woman, ya skirt-chasing arsehole?” Grace stepped forward toward Innis, her face almost distorted from rage. “Ya better have a damn good explanation. As my second, Innis, ya are held above reproach.”

“Above what?”

Grace cursed. “I swear ta god, the rats on the dock are smarter than the lot a’ ya. Why do we have a woman ta blame?”

“She was beautiful?”

Grace paused, glared at him, then broke into a guffaw. “Let it not be said that the O’Malley clan beds ugly women!”

The crew cheered and roared loudly, and Grace ordered the merriment to continue at the tavern after the ship was cleaned and the blood washed away.

Once the dead were pushed into the water, Grace found Quinn and took her by the arm. “That was some verra good fightin’ back there, Callaghan,” Grace said, her eyes intent on Quinn’s face. “Where did ya learn how ta fight like that?”

“My brother and I have fought with wooden swords since we were yea tall.”

“And who usually won?”

Quinn hesitated.

“I can’t abide false modesty, Callaghan. Did ya win?”

“Yes, sir, most of the time.”

“Why?”

Quinn frowned. “Why?”

“Aye. Why did ya win and not yer brother?”

“Oh. Because he lacks focus... conviction. He doesn’t like ta kill.”

“And ya do?” Grace crossed her arms across her chest.

“When it is necessary, I have no quarrel with it.”

Grace threw her head back and snorted. “Now that is a diplomatic reply, Callaghan. Ya got a first name?”

“Kieran.”

“Well, Kieran Callaghan, ya have a place on my ship fer as long as ya choose ta stay. I like men with conviction. Even more when they fight as well as ya do. Yer quick. Quicker than most.”

Quinn smiled. “My father says speed is a better weapon than strength.”

“Yer da is a wise man. Now, go on into town and find yerself a woman. That’s an order.”

As Quinn made her way off the ship, Grace called out to her. “Trust me on this, Callaghan. There’s no better sex than after-fightin’ sex.”

Nodding, Quinn started toward town with the goal of finding out if that were true.

The slender fingers snaked their way over Quinn’s hip and to her stomach, when Quinn gently held them and brought them to her lips.

“Ya fell asleep afore I could take care a’ yer needs, lover.”

Rolling over, Quinn faced a young woman with porcelain white skin, flowing red locks, and lips that looked like two halves of a strawberry.

The night had been long, the one-way sex robust, and the sleep afterward welcome and peaceful.

“I wish I could, but I am expected back at the ship shortly.”

The woman kissed her softly. “Shortly is all it will take, my generous lover. I’ve been loved by my fair share a’ seamen, but what ya did ta me last night... unbelievable.”

“Perhaps when I return.”

“No perhaps about it, dear sir. I intend on showin’ ya part a’ the world ya’ve never seen.”

Grinning, Quinn kissed the woman again before leaping off the bed. She hadn’t intended on spending the night, but Grace was right about sex after battle; she’d given this beauty the time of her life.

“I will hold ya ta that, Moire,” Quinn said, grabbing her swords. “Thank ya fer a deli––fer a grand night.”

Moire threw the covers off to display the curvaceous and buxom body Quinn had spent hours enjoying. “So long as ya hold this ta ya again... ”

Quinn smiled. “Try and stop me.” With that, she left the woman’s room and headed toward the marketplace, where she found Patrick and Connor being entertained by a juggler.

“Finally come up fer air, did ya?” Connor asked, slapping her hard on the back.

That was one of the more irritating male mannerisms Quinn had had to get used to: the huge back slap.

“I have.” Quinn caught Patrick’s look. “What have you all been about?”

“Connor tried hard to find a woman, and I lost my coin playing a dice game.”

“He gave it a good try, though,” Connor said. “Captain plans on takin’ a coupla boats ta Clare Island. Patrick and me are goin’. Ya comin’?”

Quinn shook her head. “How long’s she planning on being?”

“No more’n a few days. Check back in day after tomorrow, and Murphy’ll let ya know if the captain isn’t about.”

“Good. Then go on and enjoy yer time on the island. See if ya can stay out of trouble, will ya?”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “What are your plans?”

Quinn handed Connor a silver piece and told him to buy some fruit at a stall several yards away. When he was gone, she said, “I’m going to see Kennedy. There are a few items I need to get from her before––”

“That’s so risky, Quinn. You could easily run into Father.”

“Not easily, Paddy. Being in the same county doesn’t mean we will be on the same roads. I’ll be fine.”

“What are you getting that you can’t just buy? You brought enough coin for a dozen men.”

“You worry too much.”

“And rightly so! Everyone is talking about how you, Murphy, and the captain took on over a dozen men. Do you have any idea what Father would do to me if something happened to you? He just thinks you’ve gone abroad to school and that I am remaining until you have settled in. What would I tell him if something happened to you? ‘Sorry, Father, but she died fighting pirates on Grace O’Malley’s pirate ship’? You must stop putting yourself in such danger.”

Quinn stared at him. “Brother, we live on the pirate ship of one of the most notorious captains on the sea. We are always in danger.”

Patrick sighed. “I guess... I guess I just never expected you to take to it so well.”

Quinn kept an eye on Connor, who was busy flirting with a woman twice his weight. “Patrick, do you have any idea, any at all, of how dull and static a woman’s life is? Especially one from a wealthy family such as ours? Bloody hell, even serving wenches see more life than I did. I don’t want to be a pretty parrot in a gilded cage. I’d far rather take my chances in a murder of crows than live like that.”

Patrick slapped his forehead. “See? That’s just what I mean. Who here speaks like that? No one. These men can barely distinguish between a fart and a grunt.”

Quinn chuckled. “I am all too aware of the truth in that, brother, but there are things I need from Kennedy. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be, but what about me?”

Quinn lightly held his arm. “Then go home. Tell Father I’ve lost my mind. Tell him I fell in love with the sea and never made it to France. Tell him I decided to––”

“Are you mad? He would turn me around, kick me in the arse, and demand that I go and get you. No, as long as you insist on keeping your childhood promise, I will remain with you.”

Quinn lowered her voice. “Patrick, it’s okay for you to go home. I know you do not like being on the ship with men who would cut off your head as soon as look at you. It is not in your blood to kill a man.”

“I do not like it, but you do. That’s what worries me, Quinn. You do. Then you speak of being bored as a woman... so what do you plan to do after you find Shea? Return her home only to double back to Captain O’Malley’s life of plundering and pillaging? You can’t do that.”

“I do not yet know what I will do once I find Shea, but whatever I decide will be my decision to make.”

“This is about marriage, isn’t it?”

Quinn watched Connor as he made his way back to them. “In a manner of speaking, yes. I’ll not be told when and who I ought to saddle myself with. I’ve tasted freedom, Paddy, and I am unlikely to go back to being a noblewoman locked in fine silver chains.”

“But Quinn––”

“Connor!” Quinn interrupted, calling over Patrick’s shoulder to the approaching man. “Ya chose well, I hope.”

Connor held up the net he always carried with him. In it were various colorful fruits. “Aye. These fruits are juicy, but her fruits were plump. I shall be tastin’ a’ those later this week.”

Quinn took three of the fruits––an apple, a pear, and an orange––and started down the road. “Ya two keep Captain O’Malley safe while yer drinking and carousing. I shall see ya back here in a couple of days.”

A few streets down, Quinn traded her fruits and several pieces of silver for a grey mare that proved to be too headstrong to sell to anyone else. She managed to mount the mare with no effort.

“How did ya––”

“Horses are like women, my friend. They want both a soft touch and a firm hand.” Nudging the horse gently, Quinn turned it around and headed for the outskirts of her family’s village nearly two hours away.

“Quinn!” Kennedy threw her arms around Quinn’s neck and hugged her tightly.

Quinn embraced her childhood friend with equal fervor. “You’re choking me, silly girl!”

Stepping back, Kennedy smacked her on the arm. “I should do more than choke you! Look at you! You’ve lost weight, your face is filthy, and those fingernails? Ugh. Please tell me you’ve found her so you can cease this charade.”

Quinn knew she could not bluff her way past Kennedy. “I haven’t found her. All I have to go on is the figurehead of Medusa.”

“You’ve been gone over a month and all you have is the figurehead of what ship could have taken her?”

“It’s an enormous ocean, Ken. It isn’t as if we sail by a lot of ships every day. I have an idea, and I am going to follow it until I find her.”

“Like... this?” Kennedy waved her hands at Quinn’s filthy ensemble.

“Yes. Just like this. Being a man on a ship is the only way I know how to do this.”

Kennedy leaned in, their faces inches apart. Her eyes were a deep, forest green, and they stood on opposite sides of a button nose and ripe lips. She was a beautiful woman. “Bloody hell. You are enjoying all this manning around.”

“Manning around?” Quinn shook her head. “Keep your voice down. I am not manning around, but if you must know, yes, I am enjoying it. Very much so. Men have it so much easier than we do.” Pulling Kennedy over to a large flat stone they used to sit on as children, Quinn motioned for her to sit. “I need you to listen to me.”

“I’ll only listen if you are honest with me and don’t treat me like some serving wench.”

“I am honest with you. I have always been honest with you.”

Kennedy motioned for Quinn to go on.

“I understand that this is dangerous. That was a fact we knew before we cut my hair. That will never change. Do I like the danger? To be blunt, I do. I like the danger, the freedom, the smell of salt air, and the camaraderie. I like seeing new places and trying new foods. Every day is different, Ken. Every port, unique. I’ve met Turks, Spaniards, French, Tunisians, gypsies––”

“As a man, Quinn. As a bloody man. You’re not yourself. You don’t walk through the same world wearing pretty clothes or––”

“Clothes!” Quinn said, snapping her fingers. “That’s what I came for. I need those clothes I left when I went away.”

“You’re not hearing me.”

“I hear you well, Ken. You are concerned because I am enjoying life at sea. Don’t worry so. It is not forever. You must trust that I know what I am doing.” Taking Kennedy’s hands in hers, Quinn held her gaze. “A lifetime ago, we made a pact. A blood oath.”

“We were children.”

“Aye, but we are also clan members. This is the way of our people. I cannot abandon her when she needs me most just because I am a woman. She’s our friend. Our clan member. And she is in trouble.”

“Father says the clans are dying––that Elizabeth will ensure they die.”

“It’s not true. The woman has only been on the throne two years, and already we have her squashing us? That is an unlikely feat with the likes of Captain O’Malley at the helm.”

“Do you even hear yourself? Grace O’Malley is a pirate! A killer! A thief! You make her sound like a saint. She’s a murderer and a beast, and some say she does unnatural things with women.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “She does not. She is an incredible leader of men... a natural leader. The only one doing unnatural acts is me, and I say I quite like it.”

Kennedy stared slack-jawed. “Who are you?”

Quinn sighed. “You know who I am, Ken. You know I have unnatural wants and desires and how they have plagued me my whole life. I do not wish to die alone because I love other woman.

“Oh, Quinn, you’ve been playing pirate for so long, you actually believe you can continue this life. Is that why you came home? So I can remind you of who you are? Remind you that you are not what you appear to be?”

Quinn felt the sting of tears come to her eyes. “What I appear to be is someone whose dearest friend was taken by pirates, and the only way to get her back, to keep the promise I made her, is to become one of them. The rest is a moot point.”

“And what if you don’t find her? What then? How long will you continue this ruse?”

“I won’t ever stop looking, Ken. You know me. You know what a promise means to me. Shea would never stop if I were taken. Nor shall I.” Quinn started back for the barn. “I need my clothes. One male outfit and one of my dresses.”

Following behind her, Kennedy had to hike up her skirts to keep up. “Why on earth do you need those? One guise isn’t enough?”

Quinn stopped so suddenly that Kennedy ran into her. “Ken, I don’t expect you to understand any of this, but what I feel—for the first time in my life—is freedom. Freedom to be who I really am.”

“That’s just it! You are not being who you really are! You aren’t a man, Quinn Gallagher! You are being a... a... ”

“You can say it.”

“A bloody pirate! That’s not who you are.”

“Kennedy, right now, I am freer than I’ve ever been. That bodice you wear that chokes the life out of you? It might as well be chains that bind you. Heavy chains. I wear no such thing. I can be invisible or visible, as I wish. There is very little I cannot do dressed like this.” Quinn pointed to her leather jerkin and boots. “I do not know if I can ever go back to all... that,” she said, waving her hand in the air toward Kennedy and her layers of petticoats.

Kennedy looked down at her dress and then up at Quinn. “I have always loved you, Quinn, for the odd being that you are. And while I hope this madness brings you home, I cannot, for the life of me, see you chained in dresses you hate, speaking in a manner that has never suited you, or behaving in a way that is the antithesis of your character. That being said, just know my... issues... lie with not wishing to lose my friend in all this.” She mimicked the way Quinn’s hands had flown at her. “Do not lose my Quinn by becoming someone else’s Kieran.”

“Fair enough. I will remember the essence of who I am while slitting some other pirate’s throat.” Quinn took Kennedy’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Now, show me where those outfits are, and tell me everything that’s been happening in the village.”

“Everything?”

Quinn looped her arm through Kennedy’s as they had done thousands of times as little girls. “Everything.”

The whole ride back the next day, Kennedy’s words echoed in Quinn’s ears. She never expected Kennedy or anyone else to understand how she felt in men’s clothing. It was liberating, to say the least, and exhilarating most of the time, but there was something... something so very different about it.

Still, she understood Kennedy’s point. Kennedy didn’t wish to gain a pirate if it meant losing a dear friend. Not that she would ever lose Quinn. The two of them and Shea were bound for life––bound by the old clan ways. Nothing would change that––not time, not distance, and not Elizabeth, though not for lack of trying.

As Quinn rode and the fresh air streamed by her face, she smiled. Riding a horse was much like standing on the bow of their ship and feeling the salt air upon her face. It was as close to flying as a person could come. She loved that feeling––loved the freedom that came with it

So much of her journey had brought unanticipated joy. She discovered a perverse pleasure in the clashing of swords in a fight. The way the metal sang after being struck. She enjoyed the sense of belonging she’d never felt back home where she felt isolated and alone, with only Kennedy and Shea to keep her company. She had nothing but the fondest of memories of her times with her two best friends. They were wonderful women.

But they were not enough.

The life of a noblewoman wasn’t just boring. It was predictable and tedious. Who wanted to spend their days sewing and learning French? Who wanted to sit inside looking out at the sun instead of being out there in it, digging her hands in the dirt? It had been an easy life, yes, but Quinn had felt trapped. Bound in clothes that were too tight in a system that kept her tied to customs she didn’t wish to be in, Quinn had begun hating her life.

Not now. Not on this ship with these rabble-rousers.

On the ship, she was in the mix, working shoulder to shoulder, side by side with the rest of the crew. They, for the most part and with few exceptions, accepted her; they––

Before Quinn could think another thought, her horse slowed down. That’s when she saw them.

Highwaymen.

Quinn pulled back on the reins and slid off, both swords drawn before her feet hit the ground. Fighting, it seemed, came as naturally to her now as breathing. “Ya don’t want ta do this, fellas,” she said as the four men tried to surround her. “Unless ya want ta make widows of yer wives.”

“We just want yer purse, fella. Hand it over and nobody has ta get hurt.”

“Oh, somebody is going ta get hurt, all right.” Quinn took up her fighting stance, both swords at the ready. “Far better men have tasted my blade, lads, so I’ll give ya one chance ta step away ta live fer tomorrow, or ya will all die at the hands of one of Captain O’Malley’s finest today.”

All four men stopped moving.

“Did ya say yer on the crew a’ the Malendroke?”

Quinn nodded. “That I am.”

They looked at each other.

“Well, go on,” a short, stocky man said, sheathing his short sword. “That’d be better than a few silver pieces.”

A thick, dwarfish-looking man with a full black beard and huge head of hair cleared his throat. The man had practically no neck, no waist, and what looked like short tree trunks for legs.

“We’d be inclined ta let ya live if ya could get us an invitation ta join yer crew.”

Quinn lowered her blades slightly. “Wait. Now ya want a job? I’d rather ya try and take my purse.”

The stump of a man looked to his friends and shrugged. “If he’s from the Mal, chances are he’s a good fighter, and he don’t seem ta be unwillin’ ta face the four a’ us.”

“We’re good workers and loyal men,” one of them said, returning his sword to his belt. “We can fight, and we can work hard.”

Quinn stared at them.

Another thing that took some getting used to was how two men could punch the shite out of each other and then go have an ale like nothing happened. Men, like elephants, had very short memories.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Quinn replied. “The four of ya need a leader. And a bath. I shall talk ta my captain tomorrow. Be at the dock at dawn and wait. Do not be drunk.”

All four nodded.

“Ya got a name?” Quinn asked the dwarfish-looking one.

“Me name is Fitz. That’s Simon, Tevin, and Ewan.”

“Well, Fitz, it looks like we are all going ta live ta see the sunrise.” Quinn slowly returned her swords to their sheaths. “At dawn, then. Don’t be late. The captain is a stickler about time.”

Mounting the mare, Quinn rode the rest of the way while thinking about the crew.

Everyone needed a place to belong. It was the reasons for clans and tribes. She had found a home in the unlikeliest of places, and now she’d opened the door to that home to four hooligans.

She could only hope Grace O’Malley would approve.

The next morning at dawn, Quinn made her way to the dock and was surprised to see all four highwaymen waiting for her. They appeared sober and ready for work and had even cleaned up a bit.

“Right on time.”

Fitz nodded deferentially. “Yessir. The Shanahans understand the importance a’ sunup.”

Quinn tilted her head at him. “All four of ya are brothers?”

“Brothers? Hell, no. Cousins.”

“Well then, I’ll speak with the captain and see what she says. Ya ever served under a woman?”

“No sir. We heard Captain O’Malley is hard but fair.”

“That she is. Ya wait here. If she wishes ta interview ya, I’ll return. Until then––”

Suddenly, all four men turned from her. When Quinn followed their gaze, she realized it was to stare after a beautiful woman walking toward them with a basket of fruit.

“What are ya doing down here so early in the morning?” Quinn asked as Moire handed her the basket.

“Word has it ya have quite a taste fer oranges. I wanted ta make sure ya had some fer yer next voyage.”

Quinn turned to the four men. “Stop yer gawking before I pull yer eyes out.”

The four men looked away.

“Ya did not have ta come all the way down here.”

“I know. I wanted ta.” Moire picked up an orange and smelled it. “Think a’ me when yer eatin’ ’em.”

The four men chuckled.

Quinn ignored them. “I will definitely do that, sweet thing. I appreciate it.”

“Any idea when ya will be back?”

“None. Captain O’Malley is quite busy keeping the English at bay, and I have my own business ta tend ta, so I cannot be certain.”

Moire stood on tiptoe to kiss Quinn’s cheek. “Soft as a baby’s bum,” she whispered wonderingly. “Stay safe.”

When Moire was gone, Quinn turned her attention back to the Shanahans. “Speak one word and I’ll kill ya all where ya stand.”

The four men bowed their heads slightly, but she could still hear them chuckling under their breath.

When the Malendroke anchored in the bay, Quinn realized Grace was being more cautious than usual and had stationed guards at the bottom of the ramp as well as at the top. After the O’Donnells had tried boarding, it was safe to say the wise captain was taking no chances until things calmed down a bit.

Quinn watched with not a little admiration as Grace handed a shilling each to the little children that hung around, which they eagerly took before scurrying away. The woman was well loved, and acts of kindness like that were one reason why. Grace O’Malley loved her people, and in return they not only loved her back, they adored her and protected her.

As she strode down the dock, head high, shoulders back, Grace’s keen eyes scanned the morning crowd for any sign of hostile potentials. She was always on alert.

Quinn knew it was force of habit. Had there been any rapscallions on the dock who looked suspicious, the people would have torn them to shreds. The only reason the O’Donnells had gotten through was that they came in numbers and in a manner most threatening.

“Callaghan!” Grace said jubilantly, her face lighting up. “Was that a woman smoochin’ on yer face? Ya been busy catterwallin’ ’round, I see! Good fer ya.” Grace suddenly whirled around at Fitz. “And what have we here? A litter a’ pups?”

“These men wish ta join up with us.”

Grace pulled a face. “And why would I let them do that?” Her head swiveled back to Quinn. “We are not a charity wagon, Callaghan.”

“They’re highwaymen.”

Grace’s face softened with something akin to delight. “Are they now?”

Fitz nodded. He was nearly two hands shorter than she and twice as wide. “Aye, Captain. We are good fighters, we work hard, and––”

“Shanahans, aye?”

Fitz blinked.

Grace grinned. “What? Ya think I only know what happens on the sea? I know everrathin’ that goes on in this county. Now... which a’ ya are Shamus’s kin?”

Fitz raised his hand slowly.

Grace studied him a moment, her presence growing larger with every passing second. “I hope yer a better card player than yer da.” She turned now to Quinn. “Ya vouch fer these men?”

“Hell no. I figured putting them ta work was preferable ta killing them.”

One of the men snorted.

Grace pushed her face into his. “Perhaps ya are not aware a’ how lucky ya are ta still be alive. I fight next ta Callaghan, and I can say with one hundred percent assurance that he would have killed two a’ ya, maimed the third, and wounded the final one as ya were runnin’ away like a little girl. So, the next time any one a’ ya snorts, chuckles, or blows wind in Callaghan’s direction, he has my orders ta run ya through. Understood?”

Four heads bobbed up and down vigorously.

“Good. Callaghan, these men will be under yer supervision.”

“My––”

Grace held her hand up. “Ya brought ’em ta me, ya are responsible fer ’em. They can start off in the galley. Except this one,” she said, motioning to Simon, who had snorted the loudest. “He can start by swabbin’ the deck.”

Quinn pushed Fitz toward the small boat. “Wait on the dock.”

Grace smiled as they hustled by her. “Highwaymen, Callaghan? Whatever were ya doin’ on the highway?”

“I have friends in the country,” Quinn said.

Grace tossed her head back and laughed loudly. “Another woman, I daresay.” Then she took a closer look at the basket. “Ah yes, young Callaghan, it was definitely a woman.”

The Queen of England, Elizabeth the bastard child, will not recognize Grace O’Malley as the queen of Umaill, even though there have been kings of Umaill since the eighth century. Ever since Henry VIII claimed himself as King of Ireland, we’ve known the dangers of the Tudors. Elizabeth is a threat to Ireland and Scotland. She is like a greedy child who, having something in both hands, still wants to reach for the candy on the ground.

And her reach is long.

Already, she has sent governors and ambassadors here to keep a watchful eye on us. Those men she sends have caused us nothing but trouble.

I worry more English ships will be sent from Elizabeth in an attempt to subdue us. Grace has remarked on more than one occasion that she wants a free Ireland for her sons and isn’t afraid of fighting Elizabeth’s men to keep that freedom.

I fear for Grace and the rest of us if we go up against the Virgin Queen. She has spies everywhere and would not hesitate to come after us. She fears the Catholics more than anyone else, and with Spain and Scotland on our side, I believe she fears us as well.

Speaking of fear, my heart goes out to Patrick––he who is far more genteel than I ever could be. He swabs the deck like he is cleaning horse stalls. He is lazy when we spar, and he is subdued when we are at play. The sea threatens to chew him up or swallow him whole––either way, he is, quite frankly, a fish out of water. He’s never had the stomach for cruelty of any kind, and yet here we are in the cruelest profession of them all.

I need to find a way to cut him loose so he may return home to the safety and comfort of country living where he belongs.

I seek no such solace. I have chosen adventure over boredom, excitement over the mundane. Even if I can never show my true gender, it will be worth it––the life I have lived this last month is already worth it.

Is it frightening?

Yes. Exhilaratingly so.

And yet I would not trade it for all the gowns in Galway. Today, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

The Malendroke had been patrolling the eastern coast of Ireland, the coast the English ships liked to frequent, in order to come upon information Grace was in search of. For three days, it had just been them and the sea, which was slapping hard at the sides of the ship and acting up like a petulant child. The sea was like that, Quinn had discovered. It had emotions you could read as easily as those on the face of a woman. It could be at peace, angry, even melancholy. Learning how to read the next emotion was what made Grace such a good captain.

On the fourth day, Grace commanded her men to grab a wooden sword and commence to practicing.

Innis tossed one to Quinn. “What say ya, Callaghan? Want a chance ta best yer better?”

Quinn snatched the sword from the air and glanced around. “But of course, as soon as he arrives.” Quinn had always gotten the distinct impression that Innis despised her—though she couldn’t imagine why. She didn’t believe him choosing her as a sparring partner was coincidence for even a moment.

The group of thirty men roared at the dismissal.

Innis’s face reddened. “We shall see who’s laughin’ when we finish.”

Patrick picked up a sword. “Leave him be, Innis. Take me on instead.”

“Ya can’t keep protectin’ yer little brother, Patrick. It’s high time he learned the peckin’ order around here.”

So that was it. He was sore that Quinn, and not he, was put in charge of the four highwaymen.

Quinn stepped up. “And who better ta teach me than a pecker like ya?”

The men roared once more as Innis’s face turn deep red.

Grace held her hands up. “Enough. I want all a’ ya on deck with a sword. Fight compact. Fight thinkin’ yer brother is right behind ya or on the side a’ ya. I’ll have no blood drawn on our men by my own crew. I will not abide such sloppiness.”

Grace waited for every man to hold up a wooden sword, and then she held her arm in the air. “Compact. Quick. Move on. The dead drop where ya might. No one ever fights on a clean deck.” Dropping her arm, she signaled for the fight to begin.

Quinn barely managed to get her sword up to meet Innis’s, which crashed down on hers with more force than was necessary.

“Jesus, Innis,” Quinn grumbled, sidestepping his next attack.

“He can’t help ya this time, Callaghan.”

Quinn parried, then followed up with a forearm to his throat to get him off her.

“Yer lucky I only fight with one sword today, Innis, or instead of a forearm, it would have been my second blade at yer throat.”

Innis’s face got redder, and he flung himself at Quinn with all his fury.

Quinn parried, parried, parried, and then caught his sword just as it was coming toward her face. The two wooden swords shook as each tried to press for advantage.

Quite suddenly, someone backed into Quinn, causing her to lose balance. Innis’s wooden sword pushed past hers, striking her on the forehead and cutting open her left eyebrow.

Quinn recovered before Innis could land a second blow. She lunged at him.

He deflected her sword easily and punched Quinn right in the chest. Staggering back, she just managed to block an attack that hit her sword so hard, it knocked it out of her hand.

Instead of waiting for her to retrieve it, as were the ship’s practice rules, Innis raised his sword as if to strike the unarmed Quinn.

That bastard, she thought to herself as she scrambled madly for her sword. She’d never reach it in time.

Out of nowhere came a hand that nearly looked like that of an ape––hair all the way down to the last knuckle adorned the thick fingers that wrapped around Innis’s wrist and spun him around.

“Too eager ta finish off yer man is one surefire way a’ makin’ this yer last fight.”

When Innis was completely turned around, the large, hairy fist shot out and crushed his nose flat against his face. Blood went everywhere.

It was Fitz.

Innis’s men, seeing only that Fitz had broken Innis’s nose, dropped their weapons and rushed the Shanahans.

It was over before it started, as the Shanahans and the Callaghans, being far more comfortable with fist fights than with swords, wiped the deck with those left standing after the initial sword play.

“That will be enough!” Grace commanded when the last of Innis’s men landed on the deck. Striding over to the pile of men holding various parts of their faces, Grace turned to Quinn. “What did I tell ya about keepin’ control over yer men?”

Quinn wanted to say, “My men?” But she did not. That would have been a feminine reply. Instead, she looked at Fitz, specks of blood on his face, and said, “Ya told me I was ta keep a firm leash on them, sir, and keep them out of trouble.”

Grace cast a look of disgust at Innis. “And?”

Quinn looked around at twenty pairs of eyes staring at her. She suddenly realized she could not see out of her left eye. “And I suppose we should have defined trouble, sir. The way I see it, they protected me only when the fight became unfair. Is that not what ya’d have us do?”

No one moved.

Few breathed.

“So yer defendin’ the Shanahans?” Grace folded her arms across her chest.

Quinn looked from Grace to Fitz and back again. “No, Captain, I am defending my crew members who saw an unfair advantage and stepped in to level the ground.” Quinn threw her shoulders back, ready for her punishment. “I’ll not reward loyalty with cowardice, no matter what the punishment. They came ta aid me, as they should. Fer that, I am grateful.”

The deck was silent but for the ever-present creaking of wood.

“The only thing keepin’ ya out a’ trouble, Callaghan, is yer quick wit and yer wise words. Yer right. We do not reward loyalty with cowardice on this ship. Now, everraone fight a partner again. Not ya, Gimp. I don’t want ya gettin’ hurt.”

Gimp nodded and limped away to the sidelines.

Grace reached for Quinn’s wooden sword and handed it to her before turning to the waiting crewmembers. “Let that be the lesson a’ the day, lads. We’re family on this here ship. And family protects its kin. Do I hear a huzzah?”

The crew broke into a resounding “Huzzah!”

“Excellent! Now get back ta work.” Grace looked at Quinn’s busted eyebrow and said, “Murph, take Callaghan below and stitch him up.” Grace took two steps before turning back. “Yer fast on yer feet and even faster with yer mouth, Callaghan. I’ll give ya that much. I’m thinkin’ that’ll come in handy one day.”

In the galley kitchen, Murphy used a curved fishhook with fishing line to pull closed the chasm cutting her eyebrow in half. “Ya will have a mighty decent scar, but the good news is ya can make up any story about it ya wish.”

“Make up a story?” Quinn winced as the hook bit into her. “A story?”

“Aye. Yer sittin’ with a beautiful woman and she takes her little finger and runs it along yer brow and asks ya with that sweet little voice what happened. Ya certainly don’t tell her the truth. Ya tell a great tale. Ya weave a story. Yer a hero. She gets all cozy... ya know how the rest plays out.”

Quinn winced again as the fishing line pulled through her eyebrow. “Bloody hell, Murph.”

“Oh, pipe down, lad. It’ll be over in no time.”

Quinn gritted her teeth as the hook bit into her once more.

“Yer four troublemakers were a good find. That dark one, Fitz, moved like an angry snake the second yer face was hit.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, aye. He came through the crew like a shark cuts through water. It was a sight. There wasn’t a damn thing ennabody could’ve done ta stop him, either. Rolled over two men who got in his way.”

“Odd.”

“Odd as hell that he’d take on Innis. Innis is a great swordsman. Yer man should’ve hesitated even a bit, but he did not.”

“And yer telling me this because... ”

“Because loyalty isna somethin’ that can be bullied, bought, or borrowed. I know the four are a pain in yer arse, but give the lads a wee bit of a break.” Murphy tied off the end of the fishing line and then cut off the rest. “They might just be what ya need the next time someone bigger and stronger than ya bears down. Keep that in mind.”

“Thank ya, Murph.”

Murphy stood back and studied her, tilting his head from side to side.

“What?”

“Not many men know those two words.”

“Yeah, well, men can be jackasses. I am not one of those. It can’t be easy cooking fer two hundred ugly men.”

Murphy laughed a lion’s roar. “It’s much easier than ya think, lad. Ya will eat just about ennathin’ I throw in front a’ ya. Feedin’ dogs is harder than feedin’ this crew.”

Quinn rose. Her eyebrow throbbed. “I do not doubt that. I hope my four are a bonus.”

“Captain O’Malley believes the English will be floodin’ onto our lands more and more. The plantation scheme a’ King Henry is still bein’ carried out. His bastard daughter is still transplantin’ her people over here, and we canna seem ta stop it. That’s bad business fer us. That’s why them four’s a good choice. We’re gonna need fightin’ men.”

Quinn adjusted her belt and ran her fingers gingerly over her throbbing eyebrow. “It’s nothing short of a peaceful invasion, Murph.”

“Aye. Captain’s gonna need a translator ta deal with the English and the plantation folk and I suggested ya oughta be the one.”

“Me? Why on earth would ya suggest me?”

“I’ve a keen ear, lad, and somethin’ tells me ya understand that horrible language they speak... among others. I heard yer French the other day, and it was passable. I’m guessin’ ya know yer English as well.”

“I can understand a little.” Which was not altogether untrue. Quinn was fluent in French, English, and Latin, as were most of the noble ladies.

“Good. A little is all she needs.”

Quinn nodded, somewhat surprised by how aware Murphy seemed about the state of affairs. “The fate of our language and our way of livin’ is being cut down by the ever-growing power of the English state here in Ireland,” Quinn acknowledged. “This is what the captain fears most. Elizabethan officials fancy the use of Irish Gaelic unfavorably, as if it were a threat ta all things English in Ireland. It’s a bad omen.”

“Aye. When the day comes and she needs an interpreter, be that man fer her, Callaghan. Don’t let her be outwitted because she doesna know the language.”

Quinn nodded. “I’ll be that man, then.”

Murphy smiled. “Aye. Be that man.”

Quinn scanned the seats of rowers and found Fitz pulling and pushing his oar with a brute strength few of the crew possessed.

“Fitz?”

Fitz glanced over at her. “Aye?”

Quinn knelt down to talk to him. “Ya were a good man today. I just wanted ya ta know I appreciate what ya did.”

Fitz fiddled with his oar. “Innis needed ta bleed a little bit. He needed ta know what happens when an ally a’ the Shanahan clan is attacked fer no good reason. I don't know about yer people, Callaghan, but we take care a’ ours. We appreciate what ya done fer us bringin’ us on and all. Our loyalty is ta ya first, the crew second.”

Quinn grinned. “I like that. I like that verra much.”

As Quinn started to return to her hammock, Captain O’Malley motioned to her. “Inside.”

Quinn hesitated. She had never been called into the captain’s quarters before and assumed she was probably in some sort of trouble over the fight with Innis.

Hustling over, Quinn entered Grace O’Malley’s quarters for the first time.

Closing the door behind her, Grace motioned for Quinn to take a seat at a small wooden table that had seen better days. The room, while not feminine in the least, still seemed cozy somehow with a bed, the table, and a rack of weapons fit for a pirate. Candles adorned the walls in sconces that gave the captain’s quarters the feel of home.

Grace strode across the tiny room in three steps, remaining standing with her hands locked behind her. “Ya fought well against Innis. He fancies himself the best swordsman on the water.”

“He is quite good.”

A slight frown flickered over Grace’s face; then, as quickly as it came, it went. “I can’t put me finger on it, Callaghan, but yer not like the other men on this ship.”

Quinn’s chest tightened. “Is it that obvious?”

Grace tossed her head back and laughed her infectious laugh. “Ennaone who stops ta listen ta ya long enough can see that ya are not born a’ the lowlands.” Grace pulled the chair out, turned it around, and straddled it. “But I am not so much interested in where ya’ve come from, Callaghan, as I am where yer headed. Why are ya livin’ on a pirate ship? Who are ya runnin’ from, and are they gonna be a problem fer me down the line?”

“From? No one, sir. In fact, I am running ta someone.”

“Ah. A’ course. A woman. The men tell me yer quite the ladies’ man.”

Quinn shrugged. “Not just enna woman, Captain. The woman closest ta my heart.”

“Why dontcha humor old Grace and fill me in on what I’m missin’.”

Inhaling deeply, Quinn told her tale. “My friend’s name is Shea O’Brian. She is my oldest and dearest friend. We were in our village early one morning ta get the best bread. A gang of hoodlums snatched her up, took her ta their ship, and cast off before ennaone could stop them.”

“Yer best friend? Are ya in love with the woman?”

Quinn shook her head. “In love with her? No. She’s my best mate. We made a pact when we were children one day when we witnessed some privateers rousting some of the darker villagers. Shea is darker in skin color, and she became verra afraid. So we made a pact. If ennaone ever stole one of us from Ireland, the other two would go after her. I am making good on my promise.”

Grace cocked her head. “Ya continue ta amaze me, Callaghan. Yer on my ship because a’ some childhood pact?”

Quinn looked away. “She’d do as much fer me. If ya don’t––”

Grace raised her hand. “What kind a’ ship?”

Quinn paused. “Sir?”

“What. Kind. Of. Ship?”

“I don’t know. All I can remember, all I could see at the time, was this figurehead.” Quinn pulled out one of her Medusa drawings she kept inside her jerkin.

Grace turned the paper toward her and studied the drawing. “Medusa? Now that is an odd figurehead. I have not seen this before. Are ya certain that was it?”

“Aye. I tried ta get a boat ta take me out ta her, but no one would go. Everraone was afraid.”

“Can’t blame ’em. That figurehead is indeed strange. So ya saw it yerself.”

“Aye. I waited fer the next ship ta dock––”

“And it was mine.”

Quinn nodded. “I made friends with Connor that first night at the tavern. Kept him drinking freely––”

“Because ya have plenty a’ coin. Ya always seem ta have plenty a’ coin.”

Quinn looked into Grace’s eyes and nodded. “How did––”

“Callaghan, I make it my business ta know everra man on my ship. Ya have had a much freer hand with the coin than ennaone else a’ the crew. Verra generous. So, I watched ya and Patrick. At first, I wondered if the brother piece was true, but ya both hold yer swords the same way, yer the same height, it is so clear ya both were trained by the same person, and ya are nearly identical. Then I saw how, even in combat, he has one eye on ya and one on the fight at hand––a verra dangerous position ta be in. Ya oughta tell him that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, my ship came along, Connor spoke fer ya, and here ya are, basically usin’ my ship ta get ya where ya want ta go.”

Quinn lowered her head. Her journey would end at the next port. “Aye.”

“In order ta keep a promise ya made ta a lass ya grew up with.”

“Aye.”

Grace rose quickly. “I should put ya out at the next port, but as long as ya continue ta pull yer weight and fight fer the men aboard my ship, yer welcome ta stay. But ya put yer friend’s safety before my men, and I’ll run ya through before tossin’ ya overboard.”

Quinn’s head shot up. “Thank ya, s––”

“Understand, if ya are a man who doesna need our booty, ya best not let the others know.

Quinn rose. “I won’t.”

“Yer a good fighter, Callaghan. I imagine in that heart a’ yers is a good man as well. I shall keep my eyes and ears open fer signs a’ Medusa.” Grace opened the door. “I’ll keep this conversation between the two a’ us. No one else need know ya are a man a’ means.”

“Thank ya, Captain. I appreciate it.”

Quinn was nearly out the door when Grace said, “One last thing. Is yer friend Shea O’Brian what the English like ta call “Black Irish?’”

Quinn’s mouth opened and hung still for a moment. “Yes, she is. And I cannot abide by that term, Captain. She is an Irish woman. Period.”

Grace nodded. “Good ta know. It will be a few weeks before we head east, but I’m guessin’ they have somethin’ ta do with takin’ yer friend.”

“They, sir?”

“Aye. The corsairs. Some a’ the biggest slavers on the water.”

“Slavers,” Quinn said, realizing for the first time how out of touch the wealthy were. It had never dawned on her that Shea might have been taken as a slave. Suddenly, she felt very afraid for her dear friend.

“Aye, lad. Slavers. And if they have yer friend, ya will most certainly have ta draw blood ta get her back.”

“Blood.”

“And lots a’ it.”

Grace stood firm at the bow of the ship even as the Malendroke dipped and rose in its dance with the fickle and tempestuous seas. Lesser men would have lost the contents of their stomachs as the sea rose, rolled, and closed up once again, but not Grace. She loved the ride, loved to be on deck when the seas were churning. Captain O’Malley could shout orders with a voice as booming and loud as the sound of the crashing waves.

She was gaining on them.

“Pull!” she yelled to the men straining at the oars. She would accept nothing less than their best as she pursued her quarry. “Put yer ever-lovin’ backs into it!”

Quinn had never seen her lose when the wind was to their backs.

This particular English ship had wandered too close to Irish shores, so Grace gave chase into the Celtic Sea. As they neared the ship, Quinn realized how low it sat in the water, meaning it had either recently plundered or was carrying goods Grace might want for her own.

There were two possible outcomes: Had it just sacked an Irish village, ship, or other entity, Grace would kill all on board, take the goods, and sink the ship. If it carried English goods, she would either take it or tax it. That was Grace’s way. Take it or tax it—but no one sailed Clew Bay for free unless it was an Irish ship.

Standing on deck and watching as the ship’s bow rose and fell, rose and fell, Quinn remembered the very first time she’d experienced such movement. Her stomach had leapt into her throat, and she’d spent two days heaving over the side of the ship. It had been a horrific forty-eight hours, and Quinn shuddered at the memory of her sore and empty stomach. Patrick hadn’t fared much better.

“Harder!” Grace commanded.

Water hit the sides as the ship dove deeply into a well before topping over the crest. The sea could, many a time, feel alive and seldom at peace with itself.

Wiping salt water from her eyes, Quinn waited with dozens of other men to see what Grace O’Malley had up her sleeve.

They pressed on for another two hours like this, inching ever closer to a vessel flying the English flag.

When at last the seas began to calm down, Grace strode back and forth across the deck, barking orders and commands to get her closer to the other ship. Her red hair had come out of its tie and whipped around her head like snakes on Medusa.

The resemblance was uncanny and somewhat frightening.

As they neared, the English ship veered to its left. Quinn had learned there was only one reason why a ship would make such a hard turn; they intended on using their cannons.

“Port! Hard port!” Grace cried, sending everyone scuttling around the deck to loosen ropes, tighten sails, swing the jib, and prepare to return fire. But Grace proved to be far more prepared than she seemed. Quinn knew that down below, manning the armory, Mr. Grady, their bad-natured but adept cannoneer, was ordering the first of ten cannons to be fired. When he did, the sound was deafening; the wood of the deck actually shuddered as the cannons recoiled.

Seven of the ten hit their mark.

“Hard port! Hard! Hard! Hard!” Grace yelled.

Quinn smiled at Grace’s maneuver. She hit the English ship and then tried to make the Malendroke perpendicular to it so that they’d be much harder to hit. She had to trust that the men could make it happen... and trust that they understood the consequences of failing to do so.

Grace was successful.

Only two of the English cannons hit their ship, and of the two, the first was a glancing blow.

“Hard port! Harder!”

Pulling hard to the left, the Malendroke sailed once again parallel to the other ship, the cannons of the port side sending the heavy balls into the burning and ruined side of the English vessel, which realized too late that Grace had already beaten them.

“Prepare ta board!” Grace yelled, pulling out her long sword. “Stay tight! Watch yer swingin’ arms. Remember how we fight, lads!”

Four dozen of Grace’s men raised muskets toward the ship, as several others prepared planks to drop over onto the English deck. It was a well-orchestrated maneuver they had done dozens of times.

“Cover yer arses, boys!” Grace cried. “Now!”

The four-dozen men shot their muskets just as Grace and a group known as “the Firsts” leapt on the planks and disappeared onto the deck of the other ship. The Firsts were brutes on board the Malendroke, intimidating in both size and ferocity. They paved the way for the next group of fighters to storm aboard.

Quinn, Patrick, and the other Seconds were right behind them as smoke billowed from various damages to the English ship. Grace’s men proved far superior to the Englishmen, whose captain had been killed by one of the first cannon blasts.

The fighting was short and sweet; the English’s second-in-command surrendered without ever having drawn his sword. The English were as soft as the Irish had heard and, when defeated, easily gave up the cause.

As Grace interrogated the man in command, Quinn and Connor, along with two dozen other men, went below from the aft cargo hold of the deck to see what booty they had just captured.

The men below had more fight left in them, but not enough to fend off Captain O’Malley’s crew. After the first eight Englishmen were run through, the rest set down their weapons and surrendered.

Connor stopped so quickly, Quinn ran into him.

“What is it?”

“I think I’ve died and gone ta heaven.”

Pushing him out of the way, Quinn saw barrels and barrels of whiskey. “For crying out loud, Connor. It’s just whiskey.”

“Not just whiskey, Callaghan, Irish whiskey. Look!” Connor pointed to a group of barrels that had the symbol for Galway on them. “And these bastards stole it from our people.”

“Galway... ” Quinn murmured, stepping closer.

Her home.

“And look! Here are some from Dublin.”

Quinn peered closer, her heart beat picking up slightly. “Connor––”

“Aye, lad, these English pillaged and plundered an Irish ship.”

Connor had more to say, but Quinn had stopped listening. Instead, she began examining all of the crates and barrels tucked away against the side of the hold.

“No.” Quinn murmured softly as, peering around one barrel, she saw the familiar stamp that belonged to Shea’s family. “This can’t be.”

Rising, she stormed over to an Englishmen and punched him in the face. As he stumbled over and fell to the floor, Quinn was on him, a dagger pressed to his neck. “Where did ya get this whiskey?” she demanded in English.

“Bugger off.” He punched her, breaking open her eyebrow once again.

Quinn kept one hand on his neck and pulled the knife away. She promptly sliced off his ear. He howled like an animal, clamping his hand to the side of his head.

“The whiskey. Where the bloody hell did ya get that whiskey?”

The man cursed as blood poured down his jaw and neck. “Ya cut me fuckin’ ear off, ya bloody––”

With another swift movement, Quinn sliced off his other ear as well. The man howled and cursed her, both hands now covering where his ears used to be.

“Callaghan, yer bleedin’.”

Quinn ignored Connor and the blood running from her eyebrow. She placed the tip of her bloody dagger inside the man’s nostril. “I’ll whittle ya into tiny pieces if ya don’t tell me where ya nicked that whiskey from, ya bloody bastard.”

The wounded sailor spat in Quinn’s face. She promptly sliced through his nostril.

Blood flowed like a red fountain from his nose as he struggled to get out from under her. “Yer daft! Help me! Somebody!”

“Pieces, ya good-fer-nothing coward. Bit by fuckin’ bit, I’ll cut ya ta pieces. Where. Did. Ya. Get. The. Whiskey?” Quinn held the tip of her dagger to his eye, ignoring the blood trickling into hers.

“Callaghan, he can’t tell ya ennathin’ if ya kill him!”

“There’s plenty of others, Connor. I’ll whittle through ’em all if I have to, but someone is gonna tell me what I want ta know.”

Connor knelt down next to her. “He’s not gonna give ya ennathin’. Ya’ve maimed him fer life. Let me talk ta him.”

Slowing withdrawing the dagger, Quinn wiped the blood from her face. “I just want ta know the ship they stole this from. If he gives us that, I’ll let him live. Otherwise, he’s a dead man.” Quinn leaned over toward the sailor’s bloody face. “A dead man.” She continued looking at the barrels, but she didn’t know what she was looking for... some sign of Shea? Something? Anything?

Slowly, she rose, her eyes straying across the cargo. Left. Right. Left. Up. Down.

Then she found it.

The date stamp the whiskey had been shipped from the O’Brian estate: the day before Shea had been taken.

“Sons of bitches!” Quinn spun around and took three strides toward the Englishman when she was intercepted by Patrick.

“Calm yourself.”

“Outta my way, Paddy.”

“I will not. You must calm yourself. The captain is handling this, and you are a bloody mess. You face is awash in blood.”

Quinn wiped the blood from her face and looked down at her hand with her one good eye. It was covered with blood—hers as well as the Englishman’s. “Fine. She can handle it up top, but I am handling it down below.”

“No, you are not.”

“Paddy, those barrels––”

“I know what they are, and I know what you want done, but you need to let the captain do her job.”

Before Quinn could reply, Connor knocked the sailor in the head and stood up.

“Well? What did he say?”

“He said they took it from a Turkish ship... a corsair... almost three weeks ago.”

“Where was it headed? This ship? Where was it headed?”

“He believes it was headed ta Portugal.”

Quinn’s blood ran cold. “Slavers?”

Connor nodded. “Corsairs are blood-sucking bastards, Callaghan, who trade in human cargo. If these took this off a corsair, they’ll be doublin’ back fer it, ta be sure. Corsairs never forget an insult. Ever. Sorry I couldna get much more.”

Quinn inhaled deeply. “Actually, my friend, that was exactly what I wanted ta hear. Now I know which direction ta head.”

“Head? Ya don’t wanna mess with slavers, Callaghan, no matter what the reason.”

“Actually, Connor, it’s the other way around. They better not get tangled up with me.”

Grace has turned us around just when I had my hands on a possible recent location of Shea. Her father always wrote the date on the barrels before they were shipped out to prevent anyone from suggesting he sold them uncured whiskey. He even had us do so as children. Those barrels had been brought to the village docks by Shea and her brothers, then that meant Shea was, most likely, grabbed by a corsair, just as Grace had said. After speaking with Connor and Murphy about it, I learned that the corsairs often did business with the Portuguese slavers who were so proficient at their hideous job.

The only problem is that she’s turned us around and is heading back home.

The information Grace procured from the now-deceased crew of the English ship is that the English successfully engaged the corsairs off the coast of Wales and took this load from them. The question on everyone’s mind is: Why were the English hovering off the coast of Wales? Are they spying? Are they planning an attack? It made Grace nervous enough to return home.

She said the English queen was determined to line her pockets with Irish gold at the expense of Irish blood and that she wasn’t going to stand by and watch “that bastard woman take pieces of Ireland.”

So we are heading to the eastern coast to help secure the ports there and to send the English ships to the bottom of the Irish Sea. We will also return the Irish whiskey that was stolen or bought—or who knows what—by those corsairs.

Finding Shea will have to wait.

I am not at all pleased by this turn of events but have no choice in how we proceed or where we go.

All I can do is bide my time.

That night, below deck, Patrick finally convinced Quinn that she needed to do something else besides fret over those barrels. He suggested she play a friendly game of cards to get her mind off of everything.

She and Fitz joined a game of Maw with five other men who still had some coin in their pockets. The cards, though terribly soiled, were still in good enough condition to play, but Quinn made a mental note to buy more next time they hit land.

There was no such thing as friendly card game or a friendly anything on a pirate ship. Men played to win. Always. So Quinn suggested Maw instead of Honors and Ruff, a team card game that had previously sent two men to Murphy to be sewn up when things became a bit heated. The men agreed to Maw, and so far she’d managed to keep them relatively calm.

As the sixth hand was dealt, Quinn said to no one in particular, “What can ya tell me about these corsairs?”

“Thems that took from our people are dead men. I kin tell ya that much, lad,” said a man everyone referred to as One Eye because of the patch he wore. “The captain doesna abide by no pirates comin’ into her seas and takin’ what belongs ta her folks.”

“That be the truth. Captain’ll kill enna man who sides with the bitch Elizabeth.”

Quinn looked over at Fitz, a man of a few words and a stone face. “So why aren’t we going after them?”

Murphy cleared his throat. “They’re sea dogs, Callaghan. They don’t have a quarrel with Ireland... well, they didn’t until they took that whiskey. They’ll steal ennathin’ from ennaone. They don’t single us out.”

“But them English rat bastards,” One Eye added, “Thems are a wee bit too interested in our land. We oughta sneak in at night and start cuttin’ them throats. That she-bitch just keeps sendin’ her people ta live on our land. It isna right.”

Quinn laid a card down, knowing it was the wrong one. If there was one thing she’d learned playing cards with these men, it was that winners chatted more than losers. “She does seem ta despise the English queen.”

“Captain is just as much a queen as Elizabeth,” Murphy said, “so she wants ta send that woman a little message that the Irish aren’t willin’ roll over like the Scots are gettin’ ready ta.”

Quinn watched Fitz rake in the pot without so much as a grin. “The old ways of our people are slowly dying, Murph. I’m not so sure there’s much we can do about it.”

Another man spat on the floor. “Them clansmen who took English titles like ‘earl’ and ‘lord’ should've been drawn and quartered. We are clansmen, plain and simple. No title other than chieftain works fer me and mine. Lord? Pfft. I’ll call no man lord.”

Quinn flinched. Her father had been one of those titled people—but for reasons that had less to do with clanhood than it did with safety.

“It was bad enough when Henry made hisself king a’ Ireland, but now his bastard daughter is changin’ our way a’ life.”

“And Grace will not abide by it.”

Quinn picked up a new hand of cards and looked over the top at her opponents. A sense of pride filled her chest as her eyes moved from face to face. It wasn’t just Grace these men followed, but what she represented: the rebellious nature embedded in the spirit of so many Irishmen who only wished to retain their way of life in the face of a changing world.

“What a’ ya,” One Eye said to Quinn. “Where do ya stand?”

Lowering her cards, Quinn spoke her truth. “To be honest, fellas, I’d follow Grace O’Malley ta meet Satan himself if she asked me, no questions asked.”

“To the captain!” One Eye cheered, holding out his whiskey.

“To the captain!”

The British ships Grace was chasing slipped through the Irish Sea and skirted around the Hebrides, where she lost them. As the Malendroke sat still in the water for the first time in days, Grace paced in front of the dozen or so men she’d called to the deck. Her brusque manner told them all they needed to know about her temperament.

The wind had died down some, so her voice carried even louder than usual as she puzzled out her strategy aloud.

“They’re workin’ with those bloody Scots,” she growled, taking long strides across the deck. “If she gets her hooks into Scotland, she’s gonna be knockin’ on our door even more so than she already is.”

Quinn and Fitz stood still. Innis bowed his head. Connor wobbled slightly, having had far too much of the Irish whiskey claimed from the English ship. One Eye kept looking at the faces of the other men as if trying to ascertain where each stood on the matter.

“Sailing into the Hebrides is bad business,” Fitz muttered. “Especially if them Scots is sidin’ with ’Lizbeth.”

“Think she’ll go?” Quinn whispered out of the side of her mouth.

Innis shook his head. “Live ta fight another day. What we need are Scotsmen on this ship who can help us navigate better. Captain O’Malley knows that, but she won’t risk it.”

Sure enough, Grace ordered an about, but she seemed none too pleased about it. “God damn it ta hell, boys. That is the last time we’ll get thrown off course by these damn islands. What we need are galloglaigh warriors, and that’s exactly what we’re gonna get.” With that, Grace strode to the captain’s quarters, leaving all of the men whispering to each other.

“See? Ya was worried fer nothin’,” Fitz whispered.

Quinn slowly turned her head. “What makes ya think I was worried?”

“Me father raised me ta learn ’bout folks by watchin’ ’em.”

“Ah. And that’s why yer so good at cards.”

Fitz shrugged. “Good some days, not so good others.”

Quinn stared at the dark little man with his full black beard and dark eyes. He surprised her. “Taking on the English navy is a bit much, even fer the likes of Grace O’Malley,” she said.

“Takin’ on isna the right words,” Fitz replied. “Grace O’Malley, like Black Oak before her, knows how ta rush in, attack, and rush out afore ennaone is the wiser, but she needs help up here.”

Quinn had seen that rush-in-and-away maneuver several times. It was signature O’Malley.

“The captain knows the tides, has everra rock outcroppin’ memorized, and don’t even talk about how she unnerstans the weather, but them Hebrides are a tougher go than what we’re used ta.”

“Aye, and the English have a lot of gold backing them.” Quinn ran her hand through her hair, marveling once more at how short it was.

“Pfft. Gold don’t make a man a better fighter.”

“That’s true, but I, fer one, am glad she is going ta stay back this time.”

Innis looked up at Quinn distastefully. He clearly hadn’t forgotten the beating Fitz had given him. “I think ya may have misinterpreted the captain’s actions, boy.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. She’s not stayin’ back. She’s gearin’ up. Captain O’Malley needs more men fer the fight she has in mind, and once she gots ’em, she’ll head north with a vengeance. Trust me. We’ll be back. And when we return, there will be blood drawn.”

After landing in Dublin at daybreak, Quinn borrowed a horse and took off for Galway. Since she rode hard and the dark clouds never followed through with their threat of rain, she arrived in less than three hours, though her forehead ached increasingly with every bounce in the saddle. She rode straight to the barn where she knew she’d find Kennedy, who quickly became flummoxed when she saw Quinn’s battered eyebrow.

“What happened to your face?” Kennedy asked, as she took the reins of Quinn’s horse and lead it to the water trough.

Quinn had forgotten how bad the bruise around her left eye must be, not to mention the stitching that had busted open. She figured she must look a mess. “It is nothing.”

“Nothing? Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been beaten up. My god, Quinn, haven’t you taken this far enough? Shea is gone. You need to come to grips with that fact.” Gently removing the bridle, Kennedy hung it on a hook. “She could be anywhere.

Quinn dipped her hands in the horse’s trough and splashed water on her face to clean it off. “It saddens me that you have so easily given up on her.”

“Quinn, she could be anywhere in the world by now. She is gone, and we’re never getting her back. But look at you... have you even seen what you look like? Half of your face is bruised. And that cut? I don’t even want to know how you cut your eyebrow in half.”

Quinn sighed. “No, you don’t. I live on a pirate ship. Sometimes, things... get out of hand.”

“Out of hand?” Kennedy’s voice rose. “That’s a tad underplayed, don’t you think?” She pulled Quinn close and examined the rupture. “You need Bronwen. Right now. I refuse to have another conversation with you until you have this taken care of.”

“There’s no time.”

“There is always time. You take my horse and go see her. I’m sure she’s already expecting you. Come back only after she’s seen you. I mean it, Quinn. I don’t want to speak with you if you aren’t going to take better care of yourself. It hurts my heart too much to see you like this.”

Quinn knew better than to argue with Kennedy when she got like this, so she mounted Kennedy’s horse, a white mare a hand higher than the horse she’d ridden in on. “Fine, but you’re coming with me.” Quinn reached her hand out for Kennedy, who grabbed her wrist and mounted behind Quinn, her skirt billowing as she did.

“It has been a long time since we rode like this,” she said, settling behind Quinn.

“Well, hang on better than you did last time. If I recall––”

“Hush and ride.” Kennedy threaded her arms around Quinn’s waist as they rode off the path and into the forest.

They had been on the horse less than an hour when Kennedy leaned into Quinn. “Slow down... I think––”

“I see her.” Quinn slowed the frothing horse to a trot as she caught sight of a woman with long white hair and a green robe standing expectantly in the clearing. Pine needles scattered across the forest floor like a thick carpet as a few shafts of sunlight reached for the ground.

“Ho,” Quinn commanded. The horse came to a stop in front of a woman who looked to be in her late twenties but whose white hair made her appear older. Quinn got down from her horse, helped Kennedy down, and they stood facing their old friend.

“I knew you would come today,” Bronwen said, embracing Quinn tightly. “You have been in many of my dreams and visions, and I have worried about you so.” Bronwen held Quinn’s face and studied the cut on her eyebrow. “This is very deep and has reopened. Though, the stitching is passable.”

Quinn nodded.

Bronwen had grown up with the three girls but they’d all always known that Bronwen’s path was one of the goddess and that she would leave them one day to live in the woods with the rest of the Druids. When that day had come, they all cried and hugged, promising never to forget her.

“Does it hurt?” Bronwen’s fingers lightly brushed the wound. “The last time I had to patch a wound like this on you was when that MacNally boy tried to look up Kennedy’s skirt.”

Quinns smiled at the memory. “Aye.”

“It hurt then. It is angry as if it hurts now.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I can take care of that, but it’s this I am worried about.” Bronwen laid her hand on Quinn’s chest. “You are... ” Bronwen shook her head. “The only way I can explain it is to say that you are not yourself.”

“See? I knew Bronwen could tell.”

Bronwen ignored Kennedy. “This attire you are wearing... is it the mask I see in my sleep? Is it the reason I see you but do not see you? Feel you but do not feel you?”

Quinn nodded. Bronwen had always been keenly aware of her three dear friends, even when they were not physically nearby. “Aye. It is a long story. I’m fine, really.”

Bronwen stared deeply into Quinn’s eyes. “No, my friend, you are not. Come with me.” She led Quinn and Kennedy through the woods to a lake with a waterfall trickling into it. Dabbing a small cloth in the water, Bronwen lightly touched it on Quinn’s eyebrow and wiped off the dried blood. “I need to put some unguent on this. That will help with the scarring and... ” She paused and tilted her head. “What is darkening your spirit so much, my friend?”

Quinn’s eyes filled with tears she hadn’t expected. Maybe it was Bronwen’s concern that touched her, or maybe it was her gentleness. Whatever it was, her tears came as a surprise. “I am sure it comes to no surprise to you that I am trying to find Shea, and I’m not sure I will be able to keep my promise to her. I think slavers took her. She’s out there somewhere, Bronwen, and I know she needs me, but she could be anywhere.”

Bronwen crushed some leaves with a round stone and sprinkled some powder on it before adding a few drops of water. The resulting mixture was a light green paste she gently applied to Quinn’s eyebrow. “Aye. I knew her energy was not here, but I was unaware she had been forcibly removed. You should have come to me sooner.”

Quinn closed her eyes, and a tear fell. “I was afraid of what you would tell me.”

Bronwen handed warm tea to Quinn. “Drink this.”

Quinn drank it quickly and handed the mug back. “That tasted awful.”

Blowing on the mixture on Quinn’s eyebrow, Bronwen whispered, “Close your eyes. Rest your spirit, Quinn Gallagher. Breathe deeply. Think about your happiest memories with Shea. You too, Kennedy. Both of you, close your eyes and focus on Shea. Relax. Breathe.” Bronwen’s voice was soft and soothing. “Breathe.”

“Listen to my words. Focus on my voice and breathe. Breathe.”

That was the last word Quinn heard before she succumbed to the darkness.

When she opened her eyes, it was nightfall. Her eyebrow had finally stopped throbbing, and her chest was less constricted. She felt more herself than she had in over a month.

A small fire crackled, and the gurgling of the waterfall sounded behind her. Rising up on one elbow, she looked around the fire for Bronwen and saw her sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, chatting quietly with Kennedy.

“You drugged me.”

Bronwen smiled softly. “Aye, and I’ll not apologize for it. You were exhausted when you arrived. Your energy low, your spirit lower. You needed some rest, some peace. I gave it to you as I always have.”

Quinn cast her gaze toward Kennedy. Ever since they were children, Bronwen had been different. She’d always known she was something special, and when a priestess of the Druids came for her when she was just twelve, she went willingly, promising to always be there if Quinn, Kennedy, and Shea ever needed her.

They had needed her plenty, and she had never failed them, even though Bronwen was now a healer of the highest order, sought by many.

“This was your doing.” Quinn raised her good eyebrow at Kennedy.

“And? Quinn, if you knew what you looked like when you rode in, you’d have asked us to drug you. You just needed a moment to catch your breath, and Bronwen needed some time to tend to your wound and to pray to the goddess.”

Quinn quickly sat up. “Has Kennedy told you about Shea? Do you... have you seen anything?”

“Quinn, you know I am a healer, not a seer, but I can tell you this much––you must take better care of yourself if you are going to continue pretending to be a man.”

Quinn started to respond, but Bronwen stopped her. “You must train your body––stay more physically healthy than you are. I have explained to Kennedy the foods you must eat, the work you must do to strengthen yourself. Life at sea is a harsh, harsh life, as you know. Ale and mead will break you down. It will fatigue you, as will lack of sleep and lack of decent meals.”

“You’re saying I am not taking very good care of myself.”

“I am saying there are things you need to do in order to be stronger, healthier, more balanced––successful. You are not doing those. The men you choose to spend your time with are not doing those. You may try to pass as one of them, but do not adopt their ways. Balance is vital, Quinn, for your spirit to be able to carry on this duplicity. It is very taxing on the spirit to be something you are not.”

Kennedy piped in. “When we were children, how many lessons on spiritual balance did Bronwen share with us?”

“Many.”

“Precisely. Now, more than ever, you need your spiritual balance. Now, more than ever, you need to be as strong as you can.”

Quinn sat between them both. “I understand.” Reaching up, she lightly touched her eyebrow. “My eyebrow feels much better. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome. Now, I believe you can build your physical being like the strongest of barrel lifters. The stronger your body, the safer you will be.”

“And I need you to be safe,” Kennedy said softly. “I know we promised Shea, but I can’t lose both of you.”

Bronwen took Quinn’s hand. “Be wiser than you’ve ever been, my friend. Both of us are counting on you to return to us one day.”

Quinn nodded, but she knew in her heart that she was never coming back to this life. She might not live out her days on the water, but her days of wearing a dress and being told what to do by a man were over.

Over and done with.

“Well, we shall have to see what the world has in store for me. For now, I need to stay until dawn and then return to the ship. I will not give up on Shea.”

Bronwen smiled. “Of course you won’t. Tomorrow you may head back to the adventures of a pirate, but tonight please regale us with stories of your travels.”

Quinn smiled. “Every day on a pirate ship brings with it the potential for a story.”

Bronwen tossed another log on the fire. “Then do share.”

Quinn inhaled deeply and looked into the fire. “Well, one day, Patrick and our shipmate Connor and I were on our way back to the ship when these three hooligans accosted us.”

“Hooligans? Umm, Quinn, aren’t you a hooligan?”

Quinn smiled. “Sometimes, yes, but on this particular occasion... ”

When Quinn returned to the hustle and bustle of the docks a little before nine in the morning, she was surprised to find the Malendroke gone.

“No. Oh, shite. No.”

“Psst.”

Quinn looked around.

“Psst. Callaghan. Over here!”

Quinn slid off the horse and looked around. Behind an outcropping of rocks knelt Connor, Fitz, and One Eye. They were all down on one knee and looked the worse for wear. Connor’s face was bruised, and Fitz had a small cut on his forehead.

“What the bloody hell are ya boys doing out here? And where’s the ship? Where’s Patrick?”

“Get down!” Connor commanded.

Quinn went down on one knee with them. “Where is everraone?” she asked again.

“Captain took the ship out ta Blackrock. She has it on good authority that the English ships released their men at Blackrock Castle before takin’ ta the sea.”

“Did captain give chase without ya, then, or are the English after her?”

Fitz shook his head. “Nay. Captain wants us ta go ta Blackrock Castle. She thinks they have an eye on that as a base a’ operations.”

“And we are ta what? Attack?”

“Aye. Attack, defend, whatever we had ta do ta keep Blackrock from their grimy hands. It’s too close ta Dublin. Her words were clear: ‘Do not let the bastards take the castle.’ So that, Callaghan, is why we be kneelin’ down here in the weeds... waitin’ fer ya so’s we can go after ’em.”

“Me?”

“Aye. Captain wants ya ta take the west side. She said yer the lead fer us. We’ll approach by land and get there faster, and then the rest of the crew will join us by sea. Pinch ’em in.”

“Me?”

One Eye shrugged. “Go figger. She fancies ya a leader a’ men. Who are we ta argue?”

Quinn shook off her surprise. “Then what are we waiting fer? Let’s get moving, ya good-fer-nothing blokes.”

“Captain don’t want us movin’ ’til dark.”

Quinn glanced around at the pier. It was as busy and as ordinary as usual. “So ya want ta wait out here all day, or what?”

The three men looked at each other.

“We needs ta meet yer brother and his bunch at sundown. We don’t want them English rat bastards ta’ know Grace O’Malley’s men are goin’ ta send ’em all ta hell.” One Eye adjusted his pants as he said this.

“Weapons?”

One Eye pulled back a blanket to reveal swords, Connor’s bows and arrows, and assorted daggers.

“No muskets?”

“Not fer us. We needs ta be quiet. She don’t want ennaone ta give themselves away.”

“So as far as we know, they’ve not attacked the castle yet.”

Fitz shook his head. “Nay. We lie low. We wait.”

And so they waited, leaning with their backs up against the rocks, telling stories, napping, and occasionally eating food that One Eye procured for them.

The moment dusk faded into night, the pirates made their way from their hiding place toward the castle with Patrick and his men. All totaled, they made up fourteen of O’Malley’s men.

The road was dark and the terrain rough from the worn grooves of carriages. They’d struck out on foot as it was quieter, but more than once one of them tripped on a groove and fell to the uneven ground below.

Blackrock Castle belonged to the Moynihans, a rich, powerful family that shipped wine and sheep from Scotland to Spain. Their family home, the sprawling Blackrock Castle and Manor, served as a beacon to ships sailing up the coast, as it was easy to see from the sea both day and night, perching like a gargoyle along the rocky cliffs that were Ireland.

“Here’s the plan,” Quinn whispered as they hunkered down in their next secretive location behind a small stone barn on the perimeter of the castle. “We stick together. We cannot afford ta fight like we’re on land, even though we are. We aren’t used ta that way of fighting, and it could be the death of us, understand?”

Connor nodded. “Makes sense. Pirate fightin’ pirate on land is ennabody’s game.”

“Precisely why we must fight the only way we know how. Tight and together.”

Patrick leaned in. “You aren’t planning on leading this ambush are you?”

Quinn thought of a million frustrated replies she could give, but bit her tongue. “The captain put me in charge, Paddy, so yes, I am.” Even in the darkness, she shot him a look he couldn’t miss. “Connor, we’re going ta position ourselves so that ya have a shot at killing the first man who comes our way. The longer we can stay hidden, the better our advantage. We’ll need the silence of yer arrows fer as long as we can.”

He nodded and produced a burnt piece of cork, which he rubbed on his face. “Here,” he said, handing it to Quinn. “Ya want the element a’ surprise, ya can’t lead with yer white face.”

Quinn smudged the burnt cork on her face and handed it back to One Eye. “Good thinking.”

“I try. Ta think, that is.”

Hunkered down at the barn, the men prepared their weapons. With only three archers, they would have to use their arrows sparingly.

“So what do we do now?” One Eye asked.

“We wait. The element of surprise is ta our advantage. They’ll come, and only then will we kill as many as we can.”

They didn’t have to wait long.

The Englishmen who came not long after snuck up to the castle in a much louder manner than they should have, alerting Quinn and her men of their arrival. To her dismay, they numbered far more than Quinn had anticipated, with at least three dozen men. Not only that, but from what she could see, these men were not seamen but infantrymen.

The English had purchased land fighters.

Elizabeth wasn’t just testing the waters. After being on the throne for a little over two years, she was going after one of the eastern coast’s proudest symbols.

And Quinn knew why.

When Henry VIII had named himself king of Ireland, he had instituted a policy of conferring on clan chieftains titles of nobility. The Moynihan chieftain had refused any and all English titles thrown his way. And though that had been a noble act, fewer and fewer chieftains had shown the backbone Geoffrey Moynihan had when replying with a polite “No, thank you” to the king of England.

This had never sat well with King Henry, but he had become too busy in chasing women, and he let it slip from his grasp. Taking Blackrock Castle was Elizabeth’s way of letting the other chieftains know what would happen if you rejected her offer.

She was far more formidable than her father.

“Paddy, you and your men take the flank. Let’s push them toward the cliffs and make them fight with their backs ta the sea.”

Patrick hesitated, then did as he was told.

Connor notched an arrow. “Ready when ya are.”

Quinn felt doubt begin creeping up her spine. She had never led men before... never been in a position to send a man to his death if he did the wrong thing or made a poor choice. Here and now, she would put to use what she had learned in her time on the Malendroke, as well as the lessons she’d read about wars and battles when she tutored Patrick.

She could do this. She knew she could. And suddenly, her confidence pushed that doubt back down her spine.

She was ready.

“Stay tight. Connor, I want the three of ya ta let three fly apiece. On the third, we attack. Our job is ta secure this side of the castle, so we need ta strike as quickly and as silently as we can and then wait.”

“Aye, but inna dark I’ll need ta fire more than three ta hit ennathin’.”

“Do yer best. One Eye and Fitz, ya come with me as soon as Connor starts shooting. We’ll take out the men in back first and as quietly as we can.”

“They outnoomber us, Callaghan, and they be land fighters.”

Quinn nodded. “I’m aware. But we’ve been given a job ta do, men. Let’s make the captain proud.”

Fitz nodded, pulling his sword out. “Okay, fellas. Here we go.”

At the sound of the first arrow releasing from the wooden bow, Quinn and the other two moved stealthily through the bush until they were up on the English soldiers in the back. Connor had managed to successfully kill two of the men, and the others near the dead men had taken off in several directions, sounding the alarm and yelling that they were under attack.

As they scattered, their ranks weakened, allowing the three Celtic archers the chance to strike down a number of men in the back of the formation.

Quinn ran through the first man she came to with her short sword and barely had it pulled from him when she swung her long sword over her head, nearly decapitating the second man coming at her. Blood spurted from his neck, and he went down so hard and fast that the man behind him, unprepared, tripped over him and right onto Quinn’s sword.

The element of surprise worked in their favor; the English were unbalanced and disorganized, confused in the darkness and not knowing which way to run or where the attack was coming from. They were so unused to the Irish fighting back that they were not adequately prepared to be attacked during nighttime.

Under the faint light of the moon, Quinn and Fitz fought and hacked their way through the group of men on their side of the castle. She could not see One Eye or Connor, but she knew by the body count that they, too, wielded blood-soaked swords.

As Quinn fought off one very tall Englishman, she heard a woman cry out.

A woman?

Kneeling down, Quinn cut the man’s legs out from under him before racing off in the direction of the woman’s voice. She knew if a woman had been attacked, some men had to have reached the castle, and that meant they could be in big trouble if they barred the castle with the family inside. If they got into the castle, they could fortify it while waiting for reinforcements, putting Grace’s crew in a very vulnerable position.

That was not going to happen.

The moon rose above the trees now, illuminating her path and enabling her to reach the courtyard entrance much more quickly. As she entered the courtyard, her sword clanged against the sword of a land fighter who was not expecting to be set upon so quickly.

And Quinn was nothing if not quick.

She easily dispatched the first man, who never had the chance to raise his weapon.

The second went down a little easier because he did not have a good grasp on his sword, so she easily knocked it from his hand when she came out of the shadows.

Quinn realized there were other men attempting to pick the woman up, but their victim had struggled and kicked scratched long enough for Quinn to reach her.

Her—and the four brutes surrounding her.

Quinn knew the fate of that woman if she failed to reach her in time. She would be raped and then killed, her body tossed into the sea. It was that very image that pushed Quinn harder to get to the woman before the gates closed.

Quinn readied herself for a fight she knew she could not win. Not alone. She simply wasn’t good enough to take on four land fighters.

“Leave the lady, leave with yer life,” Quinn said in English. “Or suffer yer fate at the hands of an Irishman who calls Grace O’Malley his captain.”

“Well, bust me balls, a Celt who knows the Queen’s English.”

“It sounds ugly comin’ from an Irish mouth. Now, lad, come taste the Queen’s metal.”

“Yer speaking of Queen Grace O’Malley of Connacht, right, old man?” Quinn quipped.

“Fuckin’ Celtic barbarian!” The first threw himself at her, striking from her left. She deflected his blow with her long sword and drove her short sword between his ribs before spinning around and catching the next sword in the “X” of her two crossed weapons.

It would not be enough.

Already, her arms quivered as she held the sword being pressed into the cross she’d made. She saw movement from the corner of her eye and knew she was about to be run through. There were just too many of them.

Suddenly, she kicked her second attacker in the chest, sending him hurtling away, just as the third man ran his sword through her side and the fourth raised his sword to finish her off.

But before he could lower his weapon on Quinn’s head, another sword unexpectedly burst through his belly. He looked down at it in surprise before falling forward and sliding off the sword protruding from his abdomen.

Quinn couldn’t see who had saved her; she was too busy twisting away from the sword that had impaled her, swinging wildly as she cried out in agony. Holding her bleeding side, she shook off the pain in time to parry the third attacker’s next attempt at her. Their swords clanged loudly, but with one hand on her side and the other merely defending, she knew she was done for. It was only a matter of time.

“Ya bloody Celts never know when ta quit,” he said when she went down on one knee.

She knew the remaining two Englishmen were probably engaged with whoever had joined the fight on her side. If her unidentified ally didn’t finish them off, she wasn’t sure either of them would get out of this alive.

“Quit is a word... the English made,” Quinn said, grimacing and rising to her feet.

“And dead is a Celtic word, lad.” The attacker’s sword resounded twice more against Quinn’s before he whirled to defend against the blow by her mysterious ally.

When Quinn swung around to help, she realized that it was Fitz—and that he had just cut the ear off the man who had tried to attack her.

Fitz and the second Englishman began a dance that the third man now joined as he bled heavily from the side of his head where his ear once was. The third attacker was a rather skilled fighter, his heavier sword beating Fitz’s to a pulp and backing him up, even with his injury. Five more feet and Fitz would be pinned.

Reaching for the daggers she always kept in her boots, Quinn let one fly at Englishman Number Two.

It bounced off his chest.

Looking down at her, he laughed before sprinting toward her, sword in both hands, a mixture of rage and excitement on his shadowed face.

Quinn tried a second dagger, remembering how Grace had flicked her wrist and told her to get as much spin on it as she could.

Flicking her wrist, she let it fly. This one almost found its mark, embedding itself in his left shoulder.

He didn’t even slow down.

Struggling to stay on her feet, Quinn stood ready, both hands on her long sword as she held it out in front of her. He kept coming, murderous rage etched across his face.

She wondered now if maybe Bronwen’s fears hadn’t hit the bull’s eye.

Suddenly, she was deafened by the sound of a loud musket shot. The ball ripped through her attacker’s neck, sending him to the ground and to his death.

Quinn barely had time to see where the shot had come from before she heard Fitz swearing.

Following his voice, she leapt in the air, grimacing as she did, and drove her sword into the shoulder of his attacker, falling to the ground on top of him. Quinn growled in pain as more warm blood leaked from her side wound. That last leap had taken every ounce of energy she had left.

Fitz was at her side in an instant. “Callaghan!”

Quinn held her hand to her bloody side. “Go back ta help Connor and One Eye. Secure the castle at all costs.”

“Nay, lad. I’m not leavin’ ya here alone. Them English’ll be back afore ya knows it.”

“He won’t be alone,” came a woman’s voice. “And I’ll let nothing happen to he who risked his life to save mine.”

Quinn and Fitz turned to the woman, who bowed, still holding the musket she’d just shot. “Fiona Moynihan, gentlemen, mistress of Blackrock Castle. You may call me Fiona. Callaghan, is it, is correct. Go help your friends. Help us secure the rest of the castle. I’ll take care of him.”

The tall, slender woman knelt by Quinn’s side. She had a magnificent face that carried a small nose, clear, piercing blue eyes, and high cheekbones. She was stunning in a way Quinn had never seen before, made all the more lovely by her strength as she took in the sight of the gash on Quinn’s side.

“Go,” Quinn growled. “Ya can help nobody from in here.”

“Aye, but we’ll be back fer ya, Callaghan. I swear it.”

When Fitz was gone, Fiona Moynihan helped Quinn to her feet and put Quinn’s arm across her shoulder. “Can you walk?”

Quinn stared at the woman’s soft red lips and nodded. Lady Fiona was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. “Aye.”

“I’m going to remove us back inside the castle. You may lean on me. I’ll not break.”

Quinn balked. “I think I’ll be fine. I... need ta help my men.”

“Your men do not need your protection when you are in this condition. Come along. We’ll be fine as long as they can secure the castle.”

“I suppose if yer shot earlier wasn’t lucky, we will be.”

Fiona shook her head. “Nothing about that shot was lucky.”

“My crewmates––”

“Know you’re in good hands. Quiet now. Be still. Conserve your strength. You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

Quinn allowed Fiona to help her to a chair near the garden house on their way back inside.

“Lift up your shirt, please. I’ll get a lantern from inside.”

Quinn started to, then paused. Suddenly, her fear was not of dying but of being found out. “I... uh... just need a cloth or––”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been stabbed pretty handily. We need to stop the bleeding.”

She had to get out of here. “I... I can’t leave my men, Lady Fiona.”

“Pshaw. And you may cease with the Lady. That might work for my da, but I’ve never been comfortable with the title myself. Wait here. And I do mean wait. If you don’t, I shall come after you and tie you to that chair myself.” Fiona disappeared into the garden shed.

Lifting her shirt, Quinn winced as she touched the wound. A hand’s length from her rib, the gash was still flowing pretty smoothly. She was far more injured than she wanted to admit to herself.

“There now, let’s take a lo––” Fiona lowered the lantern to see Quinn’s side. As she did, she studied it a moment. “I just need two pieces of linen and a belt. I’ve seen many wounds like this before.”

“Truly?”

Fiona sucked in her breath, set the lantern down, and tore off fabric from the bottom of her skirt. “I am a woman of means, but that does mean I’ve not experienced the world.”

“I trust the world ya live in, M’lady, doesn’t typically come with sword wounds and blood.”

Handing the two pieces to Quinn, she undid the scarf she’d tied around her waist. “We can use this.”

When Quinn reached for it, their hands touched for the briefest of moments.

“Good. Now put this piece on the wound back here, the one I can’t see.”

“In?” Quinn was beginning to feel somewhat woozy.

“No, on. Fold it and place it on the wound. Hold it there until I can get this front wound covered.” Fiona’s hands were warm against Quinn’s skin. “Oh.”

“What? What is it?” Quinn struggled to sit up.

“Uh... nothing. It is nothing.”

Quinn turned so she could see her. “Is it bad?”

“No, no. I apologize. I was remarking about... well... about the softness of your skin. I’d always assumed men’s skin was rougher.”

Quinn looked away and nodded. “Hairy men are not smooth. Men like me are.”

Fiona held the cloth in place as she gazed into Quinn’s face. “Men like you are a rarity, I am sure.”

“I’m nothing special, m’lady. Trust me.”

“If you don’t stop with the lady, I will shove this cloth clear through you.” Fiona’s eyes sparkled as she spoke.

“I apologize. Force of habit.”

Fiona cocked her head to one side. “Habit? Have I managed to befriend the only pirate with manners?”

“Pirate? So ya know who we are.”

“Of course I do. Grace O’Malley’s father, Black Oak, did business with my grandfather. We know the family quite well. Or did you think Grace risked her crew for just any family in Ireland?”

“I don’t quite know. I’ve not been around her long. I just know when she says jump, I ask how high on the way up.” Quinn held the cloth in place while Fiona gently tied the scarf around Quinn’s waist. Fiona smelled of lavender and mint.

“I have to tighten it some. I imagine it’s going to hurt.” Pulling the scarf together, Fiona tied it in a knot.

Quinn gritted her teeth and cursed under her breath.

“There. That’s good. It should hold, but you’ll need some stitching to close it up so it will heal properly.”

Quinn nodded, feeling her energy wane. “Aye. Our cook does that job most of the time. I’m certain he is quite tired of seeing my face.”

“Does it hurt much?”

“Only when I breathe.”

Fiona smiled as she wiped the blood off her hands and sat next to Quinn. “Have you got a first name, Callaghan?”

“Aye. It’s Kieran.”

“Well, thank you, Kieran, for saving Blackrock from those greedy English bastards.”

Fiona’s cursing caught Quinn off guard, but she managed to hide her amusement. “It’s what we do now. Clan against clan will play right into Elizabeth’s plan for us. If we disintegrate from within, it will be that much easier for her ta bend us ta her will.”

Fiona cocked her head. “Have I also befriended the only pirate who knows big words?”

Quinn cursed herself for not catching herself. “I only meant if we canna stand together, we will surely die together.”

“That’s easier for you to say, Kieran. Grace O’Malley’s clan is the really the only strong clan still standing on its own two feet and not beholden to England.”

“We need more chieftains like her.”

Fiona sighed. “Indeed. Well, I can see why she remains powerful with the likes of you and your men. You fought very bravely tonight.”

Quinn felt a blush creep up her neck and rest in her cheeks. “My da taught me well.”

Fiona leaned in closer, her breasts lightly rubbing against Quinn’s arm. “And which Callaghans do you hail from?”

“From the north.”

Fiona waited for more.

“A village called Longforth.”

“And it was there you learned sword fighting?”

“I did. Then I left home and learned from being on the captain’s ship.”

“Oh, aye. I hear Grace’s sword skills are second to none.” Fiona still leaned, her breasts gently moving as she breathed. “I’d love to hear more about living on a ship. Life in a castle can be so... lacking... so devoid of adventure.”

Quinn looked down at the cloth. The blood was beginning to seep through. “I would verra much like that, m––”

“Fiona. Please. Just Fiona.”

“If I can stay awake, I would love ta tell ya about life at sea, but I fear I am feeling a tad... ”

“There he is!” came Fitz’s voice from the darkness. “We been lookin’ all over fer ya.” He was at Quinn’s side in an instant. “How’s the side?”

“Still bleeding.” The edges of her vision seemed to get fuzzier with every passing moment.

“Well, Murph is at a tavern sewin’ up everraone else. We managed ta beat the English bastards back ta whatever rock they crawled out from. I can get ya ta Murph where he’ll take care a’ ya. Come on.”

“Mind yer manners, Fitz. Fitz this is... ”

“Fiona. Nice meeting you, Fitz.”

“M’lady. M’apologies. I just wanted ta get Callaghan ta the cook before he bleeds out.”

“Are you sure it is wise to move him?”

Fitz took Quinn under one arm, and Connor took the other. “Aye. Our cook can stop the bleedin’. Thank ya fer watchin’ over the lad. He doesna quite know how ta stay away from the tip of a sword just yet.”

“You fellows be careful with my protector. That’s precious cargo.”

Connor and Fitz gave each other a look. “Aye, m’lady. That we will.”

Fiona walked up to Quinn and bowed her head, her lips a breath away from Quinn’s ear. “I am forever in your debt, Kieran Callaghan. Thank you.” Pulling away, Fiona smiled softly into Quinn’s eyes.

They looked into each other for a protracted moment before the men carried Quinn off.

As they half-carried, half-dragged Quinn into the darkness, Connor asked, “What was that about?”

Quinn smiled. “Ya know, I’m not really sure.”

Quinn waited her turn while the heavily wounded men were patched up and then sent off to drown their pains in ale. Three did not look like they would make it. Two more had lost fingers or other body parts. Still a couple more had cuts, scratches, and a few broken bones.

When Murphy finally got to Quinn, her cloths were soaked through, and Quinn was feeling even more light-headed and dizzy.

“Damn it, Callaghan, ya should’ve shoved yer way through while I was wastin’ time with dead men.”

“I felt fine until a minute ago.”

“Lay down.”

Quinn lay on the table and pulled her shirt up again. When Murphy grabbed his knife to cut the scarf off, Quinn stopped him. “No!”

“Hold yer horses, lad. I need ta get it off ya.”

“Untie it. Please. It belongs ta Fiona Moynihan.”

Murphy paused. “Ya were tended ta by Fiona Moynihan? That woman is the prettiest woman I ever saw.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty beautiful.” Fiona’s lips floated in Quinn’s mind’s eye. She wondered idly if that swooning sensation was infatuation or blood loss. Perhaps both.

Murphy threaded another fish hook. “This one’s gonna hurt a helluva lot more. Ya should’ve had more ale.”

Quinn shrugged. “Patch me up, Murph.”

“Here. Suck on this.” Murphy handed Quinn a piece of bark. “They say somethin’ in that bark helps with the pain.” Sponging off Quinn’s side, Murphy leaned closer to look at the wound. He turned his head this way and that. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Quinn said, her lips around the bark.

“Ya got such girlie skin, Callaghan. Like a baby’s back.”

“Don’t make me hurt ya, Murph.”

Murphy chuckled. “Just an observation. Ya know, I knew this one man once––”

As Murphy told his story, Quinn slowly released her tenuous grasp on consciousness and faded to black.

Quinn opened her eyes to find Bronwen’s face hovering above her. Bronwen? That couldn’t be right. “Am I dreaming?” she asked, looking around.

“No, love, you are not dreaming, though with the restless sleep you had, I am quite sure you had many dreams.”

Quinn tried to sit up, but Bronwen gently pushed her back to the bed. “You are not in any shape to be up and about.”

“Where am I?”

“Nice little cottage a bit a ways from Blackrock Castle. And from what I’ve heard, you fought like a wild man to save... a woman?”

Quinn looked away.

“You think I do not know what truly ails you, my dear friend?”

Quinn turned her head back to Bronwen. “Ails me?”

Bronwen crossed her arms. “We’ve never spoken about it, Quinn, and I have been patient waiting for you to share with me, but you haven’t, so I am going to lay this at your feet.” Bronwen took Quinn’s hand. “You are a lover of women. You always have been, and now... now that you are dressed like a man, acting like a man, and, shall I say, loving like a man, your spirit is calmer... more at ease. Although the life you are living is filled with violence, I have never felt you more balanced.”

“You knew all this time?”

“I am a priestess of the goddess, sweet one. Of course I knew. Though I must say, you hid it very well when we were younger, but anyone who watched you for longer than ten breaths would have seen you staring at the prettiest lass in the room. Always. I felt your pain so often, it nearly broke my heart.” Bronwen laid her palm on Quinn’s cheek. “You risked your life for Lady Fiona. That’s what they are saying about you at that horrid tavern you frequent.”

“Who––” Quinn nodded. “Ah. Patrick. Is he––”

“He rode through the night to reach me. I think he believed you were going to die.” Bronwen handed Quinn a small cup of water. “I expected it to be much worse. You are already healing quite nicely, and the sewing is well done. Your cook has good skills. Very good.”

“He spends more time sewing than cooking, I’m afraid.” Quinn winced.

“Well, perhaps you ought to stay further away from the tip of a sword.”

“That’s what the men said. I have to get back to the ship.” Quinn struggled to sit back up, but the pain in her side was too much.

“And you will. Just not tonight. Grace O’Malley has left men in the village and surrounding the castle to protect against a second attack. No one is leaving without you.”

“Where’s Paddy now?”

“Where else would he be? Standing guard by the front door.”

Quinn grinned and closed her eyes. “But of course. How are the others?”

“I do not know about the others, but I did hear your crew lost at least three men, and there are several others whose bodies shall never be the same.”

Quinn started to get up, and once again Bronwen pushed her down. “You must give my unguents time to work. Please. Relax. The Malendroke is moored offshore. For the time being, you are going to lie on this bed and heal. Do not force me to tie you to it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Bronwen raised her eyebrows. “Oh, but I would. You rise up once more––”

“Fine.” Quinn sighed and closed her eyes. She had no energy left for this fight. Besides, she had never won a battle with Bronwen. Ever. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, my friend. Now, one final question, and then you’re to rest. Did something... happen between you and Fiona Moynihan?”

Quinn’s eyes popped open. “Why would you think that?”

“She sent three of her men to stand watch over you and this place. Three very large men.”

“Nothing happened. I... I protected her. She wanted me to stay with her, but... well... it is obvious why I could not.”

Bronwen held her hand. “There is nothing about any of this that is obvious, Quinn. While I understand blood oaths like the one you, Kennedy, and Shea share, I worry about the duplicitous nature of this life you are leading. How will you ever find real love if you are not really yourself?”

Quinn looked away. “Love is not my concern right now, Bronwen. Once I find Shea, I can worry about the next step in my journey.”

Bronwen gently caressed Quinn’s head. “Oh, my dearest one, you forget how well I know you. This life you are leading has filled your spirit with more joy than I have ever witnessed in you. I feel it even as you sit here trying to heal.”

“But?”

“But it’s only temporary. One cannot hide one’s light beneath a bushel basket, even if that basket is golden. Light needs to shine. Always.”

Quinn grinned slightly. “I did not know you read the Bible.”

“I’ve read a great many wise books, Quinn, but the greatest piece of wisdom I can offer is for you to find love and happiness as Quinn Gallagher, not Kieran Callaghan.”

“I rather like Kieran.”

“Of course you do. What is not to like? He is charming, daring, brave, and wise. He also knows how to talk to women and how to treat them like human beings. The problem is, he is also a liar, a fraud, and a fantasy.” Bronwen rose and gathered her robe around her. “Those three things will eat away at the light. Always. Now, enough talk. Sip this tea. It will relax the muscles around the wound for faster healing.” Tipping the cup toward Quinn’s lips, Bronwen uttered a prayer in ancient Gaelic. “Rest now.” Kissing Quinn’s forehead, Bronwen removed herself from the room.

Quinn finished the tea in a couple of gulps and laid back down, Bronwen’s words floating about her mind. The priestess was right about Quinn hiding her light, but did not yet understand that until she’d gone under the bushel basket, there had been no light.

And that darkness was unacceptable.

As for being a fraud and a liar, she wasn’t so sure that was altogether true. Yes, she was not really a man, but she never said she was, had she? Was it her fault people assumed? She created an alternate persona that was perceived as male.

Was she responsible for the misperceptions of others, or was she deluding herself that she wasn’t, in fact, a liar?

Closing her eyes, Quinn let the medicinal tea take effect and lead her to dreams she’d never want to wake from.

When I awoke, I discovered I’d been asleep two and a half days. The sleep, which I clearly needed, enabled me to heal at a much faster rate thanks to Bronwen’s potions and salves. As a Druid priestess, her healing methods are second to none, and in no time, my body had repaired itself nearly eighty percent.

I’d been afraid the captain had sailed without me.

She had not.

Instead, she had decided to keep her ear to the wind in the event that the English took a second run at Blackrock Castle.

They have not.

Upon seeing us, her face lit up like I had never witnessed, and she expressed how glad she was that I pulled through. Apparently, three others had not been as fortunate as I. Then she explained her enthusiasm:

We will sail, she informed us, after a ball at the castle. The ball is to be a celebration of having beaten the English back. She is worried the English will strike that night in an effort to put the fear of England into the upper class, so she agreed to lend her men to the cause.

Captain O’Malley needs eyes on the inside of the castle during the ball, lest any Englishman manages to make his way in.

Those eyes are to be mine and Patrick's. The captain said we are the only two with enough grace and charm to pull it all together, so she gave us our aliases, told us to get ourselves some noble clothing, and said that Geoffrey Moynihan will make sure we are on the list.

I can’t help but be excited.

Dressed as an upper-class aristocrat, I will be able to see Lady Fiona on her level and perhaps even enjoy a dance or two... that is, as long as I am able to fool her into seeing the nobleman and not the pirate.

Oh.

Yes.

Bronwen appears to be correct, doesn’t she?

I am a fraud.

Quinn stood tall while Connor and Murphy put the finishing touches on her clothes.

“Why, these threads fit ya like ya own ’em.” Murphy said, adjusting Quinn’s collar. “Ya look like ya b’long in ’em.”

Captain O’Malley had given them enough coin to see a tailor. Patrick went, but Quinn did not. She had no need. The clothes she’d picked up from Kennedy the last time she made it home would suffice. Quinn had gathered up one of her own dresses and one of her father’s best suits in the event that she needed them.

It would appear she got them none too soon.

So, with the proper attire and pedigree from a northern clan, Quinn and Patrick made their way toward Blackrock Castle, decked out in their finest.

“Are you certain Lady Moynihan will not recognize you?” Patrick asked.

Quinn shook her head. The sun was at three o’clock. They were early for the ball, but by the time they arrived, there would be enough people to keep the Moynihans busy. “I hope not. My face was blackened from the cork, it was quite dark, and I wore a bandana. Besides, why would she ever expect a lowly pirate to attend her party dressed like a dandy?”

Patrick frowned. “A dandy? You say that with disdain. Don’t forget where we truly belong, Quinn.”

“That’s just it, Paddy. I am unsure you and I belong in the same place.”

Patrick slowed his horse. “Don’t start that again. You cannot stay on Grace’s ship no matter how much you enjoy the life of a dirty seaman.”

“You have no say in the matter.”

Patrick started to argue, then gave up. “We shall see. In the meantime, I am worried the captain knows something about us. Why did she pick us for this responsibility?”

Quinn inhaled deeply. “I told her about Shea.”

Patrick stopped. “What? You didn’t!”

“I did. Patrick, Captain O’Malley is an astute woman who keenly watches everyone around her. To lie to her about why I was on board would have gotten us tossed at the nearest port.”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Not for you, but for Shea, it would be. Grace has me considering that slavers may have mistaken Shea for an African.”

“I seriously doubt they believed that after they grabbed her. I can attest to what a furious little fighter that woman is.”

Quinn smiled softly at the memory of a three-inch-long gash on Patrick’s cheek once from playing too rough with Shea. “Aye. She fairly well beat the bad right out of you that day.”

“I’ve never laid a hand on her since. So I take it we’re allowed to stay on the ship?”

“Aye. As long as we keep fighting, we stay.”

Patrick sighed. “How you can stand it, I’ll never know. All that burping and passing wind is enough to make a donkey sick.”

“Let me put you in a corset and heavy dress, shoes too tight for your feet, and nothing to do but stand around wishing you weren’t wearing the lot of it, and you’d quite easily know how I can stand it.”

“But it’s how things are supposed to be.”

“For other women, yes. Just not for me. Never for me.”

When they reached the gate to the outer wall, four guards stopped them, and they gave their aliases. After being allowed inside the walls, they were stopped twice more before finally entering the castle.

“Lord Moynihan is certainly not taking any risks.”

“No, he is not. The party is a message to anyone else thinking they can just waltz in here and take our land or our castles or our... people, and I, for one, applaud him for it.”

“Of course you do.”

Unlike the utilitarian castles of the Clan O’Malley, this one was much lighter, warmer, and more inviting. The grand hall, with its colorful, flowing tapestries and enormous stone fireplace, beckoned all to enter at once, and guests were already enjoying the music from a four-man orchestra playing off to one side.

The scent of meat cooking wafted in the air, and the numerous herbs and spices fluttered about in a most teasing and tantalizing manner.

“Try to behave yourself,” Patrick growled, moving toward the grand hall. “And if anything goes wrong, use your daggers and get out.”

Nodding, Quinn checked the two daggers she’d concealed up her sleeves. “We meet at the south gate, then.”

Patrick was already entering the hall. “Aye. Have fun.”

When he disappeared from sight, Quinn sighed heavily. She needed to send Patrick home. He seemed so unhappy, so out of place on the Malendroke. He was miserable, and he was making her miserable.

It was definitely worth considering. After all––

“Well now, who do we have here?” came a high-pitched female voice to her left.

Quinn turned and saw a not-unattractive woman with auburn hair draped over the shoulders of a pale yellow dress. The woman practically floated up to her. “Where has Fi been hiding you?”

Quinn bowed from the waist. “I hail from the north. No one has been hiding me... at least none that I know of.”

The woman laughed like a braying donkey in a way that actually startled Quinn. “Aren’t you a clever thing?”

“I’ve been called many a thing, m’lady, but never clever.”

The braying continued. Quinn looked around for an escape route.

“I see you’ve never been here. Allow me to show you into the great hall... ” she hesitated, waiting for Quinn to fill in the blank.

“Killian. Killian Murphy.”

The woman held her hand out for Quinn to kiss, which she did.

“Siobhan Riordan, but then, I am quite sure you know that. My family is well known on this coast.”

“Of course I do. Your father exports potatoes.”

Siobhan smiled. “Well met. Come. Let’s find our way to the festivities.” She threaded her arm through Quinn’s and led her to the grand hall; the lady’s mouth never stopped moving as she spoke, seemingly without the need to inhale.

The hall was only slightly different than those Quinn had visited with her family several times over the course of her life. The stone walls were adorned with tapestries of hunting and green fields. The large fireplace was cavernous and threw out enough heat to warm the entire room. There were well-dressed people milling about, laughing, eating, drinking, and talking politics. In one far corner stood a harpist and flutist playing off to one side while on the other side were two violin players.

“Tell me about yourself... Killian? May I call you Killian?”

“Aye.” Quinn’s eyes scanned the hall, but she could not find Fiona.

“... and then my da sold him a thousand or so sheep... ”

Quinn’s eyes swept the hall once more, this time looking for Patrick. When their eyes met, he cast his gaze in the direction of another room. Her brother knew her so well.

Quinn followed his line of sight and began extricating her arm from Siobhan’s iron grip. “I have to excuse myself, m’lady, as I’ve just seen a man I need to speak with about business.”

“Oh, do not mix business when there is such potential for play.”

Quinn bowed to her. “Upon my return.”

“But––”

With ten brisk strides, Quinn escaped the overly talkative Siobhan and entered a side hallway whose large wooden doors were intricately carved with the Moynihan clan’s coat of arms.

Quinn entered the hall and closed the door quietly behind her. Choosing the door on the left, she quietly opened it and peeked in. There, gazing out the window, stood Fiona Moynihan. She wore the most beautiful pearl-colored dress with stunning opaline beads entwined with lace, and her long tresses hung like a curtain down her back, unmoving in perfection. If she had heard Quinn enter, she did not move. Instead, she simply continued staring out the window.

Quinn watched her from the side as she gazed out over the garden. Her skin was flawless. Her hair shone in an almost unnatural way. Everything about her was peaceful––like serenity washed over her.

Just looking at her made Quinn feel at peace.

“I beg your pardon,” Quinn softly said. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

Fiona slowly turned toward her. “No begging. No pardoning. Just save me from my incredibly boring guests.”

Quinn walked to the window and past Fiona to see what she had been staring at. To her surprise, Quinn could see the harbor from the window, the Malendroke rocking in the distance. “You appear wistful, m’lady,” Quinn said, keeping her back to Fiona. “I wish not to be an interloper in your deep thoughts.”

“Perhaps because I am, and you are not interrupting anything except a silly dream of a sillier woman.”

Quinn still did not look at her, keeping her own gaze riveted to the ship. That ship was like Quinn’s north star that kept her centered and balanced. “I read once that it costs nothing to dream and everything not to. So whatever is your wish, it is better than not having one.”

Fiona tilted her head toward Quinn ad studied the side of her face. “What a lovely sentiment. However, there are dreams that can cost you plenty.”

Quinn turned and caught Fiona’s eye. “Such as?”

A few moments ticked by before Fiona asked, “Have you ever wished to be with one who was beneath your station?”

“I do not believe I have, no. I suspect it would be quite painful.”

“Painful? Yes. I suppose that’s a good way to describe it. It is... a lingering pain that is always present. And if your dream did come true, what would it cost?”

“I suppose one would learn to live with such pain of loss since the alternate choice would be unwise and much too costly.”

“Unwise. Interesting choice of words.” Fiona stood shoulder to shoulder with Quinn, and they both stared out the window. “How so?”

“Unwise because the inevitability of heartbreak. The external pressures put upon such a mismatched relationship would ultimately destroy it.”

Fiona slightly turned her face toward Quinn. “So, what would you do?”

“Do?”

“Aye. If you were in love with a woman beneath your station, would you be able to pay the price for that love? To give up your home, your family, your way of life?”

Quinn stared straight ahead, her heart beating so hard inside her chest she could hear it in her ears. “I imagine I would treasure the mythology of what I believed it could be, knowing full well those unmade memories would be superior to the broken ones that would ensue.”

Fiona returned her gaze out the window. “Unmade memories. If I didn’t know better... and I do not... I would think you are a poet.”

Quinn shook her head. “Not I. I am merely well-read.”

They both suddenly turned and gazed for a split second into each other’s eyes.

Fiona spoke first. “Beware Lady Riordan. She has been in hot pursuit of a husband for well over a year, and I would hate to see you snagged in her verbose web.”

Quinn stepped back and composed herself. “Verbose web? Now who is the poet?”

“Well, it is not as poetic as it is true. She is a real spider, that woman. Every man she marries dies, and she goes immediately in pursuit of another.”

“I see. So is that the sticky feeling I had on the back of my neck?”

Fiona tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh, but you are far too quick and much too charming for the likes of that windbag. She would make you a miserable man.”

“I do believe she made one of my ears bleed with her incessant blathering.”

Fiona covered the laughter coming from her mouth. “Oh dear. Bleeding ears. Much too humorous. I’m afraid you’ve made me laugh like a serving wench.”

“Then perhaps the divide between you and who you wish to be with isn’t so great a chasm after all.” Quinn bowed and started for the door. “I ought to take my leave before tongues start wagging.”

“You never gave me your name.”

Quinn grinned slightly. “No, madam, I did not.” Opening the door, she stepped out, right into the oncoming path of Siobhan Riordan.

“There you are. I thought you might have slipped through my fingers.”

Quinn sighed and walked with Siobhan back into the grand hall. Her mind was never far from the lovely Fiona, a woman who proved to be more than a small distraction from the job at hand.

So far, no English. That was a good thing.

The rest of the evening went without incident, with Quinn gazing at Fiona from afar as she worked her way around the room charming guests.

Quinn knew she was smitten the moment Fiona looked up and caught her gaze. Fiona did not turn away. Instead, she held her look for some time, rewarding Quinn with a slight nod and a brief smile.

When Patrick and Quinn finally headed back to the village, Patrick said, “It hurts my heart to see you long for love, sister. I wish there was something I could do to persuade you to cease this charade.”

“I’ll find love one day, Patrick, but not now. First, we need to keep our eyes open for the English. Once we are out of here, I must find the corsair who snatched Shea and bring her home. Until that happens, love has no place in my life.”

Patrick shook his head. “Love will always have a place in your life, Quinn. It is the nature of who you are. Even when you were a little girl, you loved harder than anyone I’d ever met. It is your love of Shea that pushes you like a madwoman. Are you sure she is not the one you are in love with?”

“She’s my best mate, Paddy, and I love her with all of me, but no, I do not love her in that way.”

“You loved Missy Davis once, didn’t you?”

Quinn smiled softly. “Aye. I think I fell in love with the way she smelled.”

Patrick chuckled. “Oh, aye, she smelled of mint and something sweet, she did. You lusted after her more than any of the boys. That’s when I knew.” He paused. “It’s how I know you have feelings for the lady.” Patrick’s eyes glanced up behind Quinn.

Turning around to look at the castle, Quinn wondered if Fiona was still looking out over the sea and creating those unmade memories.

She could only hope.

“Stand still, ya land-grabbin’, good-fer-nuthin’, ale-sloggin’, whore-screwin’ sea dogs!” Grace yelled as the crew gathered on the top deck of the Malendroke. The men, who appeared to enjoy the epithets, roared and banged their swords on the deck railing. When everyone quieted down, she continued. “We lost five good men the other night, but they went down fightin’ hard and drawin’ blood that should make us all proud.”

“Five?” Connor asked.

“Three ta death, and two will never hold a sword again, so aye. Five.”

The crew all nodded as they settled down a bit more.

“Listen up, ya bloody blokes. Elizabeth has her sights set on us, me boys, and it’s up ta us ta send her trespassers ta the bottom a’ the sea.”

The crew cheered loudly.

“Blackrock Castle was just the beginnin’. They’re feelin’ us out––tryin’ ta see if we are together enough ta withstand her mighty navy and a few middlin’ skirmishes. I say we showed ’em just how together we are!”

Cheers even louder.

“So, what I have ta ask ya is this: I want ya all ta consider yer families, yer loves, yer people, because the queen a’ Connacht is no longer just piratin’ and taxin’ the bloody hell out a’ those English ships––she is declarin’ war on any and all that land aggressively on our shores.”

The men went wild now, and Grace had to wait for them to quiet before continuing. “Word has it, the Shanahans fought well and bravely, so ya are ta treat ’em as one a’ us. Ennaone not doin’ so will be tossed over the side a’ the ship. Secondly, we made it through last evenin’ with no issue, but that doesn’t mean a thing. There are English ships off the coast a’ Wales that need watchin’. As such, I am goin’ ta sail out and see whether or not they are makin’ their way here. But I don’t intend on leavin’ Blackrock unguarded, and Lord Moynihan has offered a generous bit a’ coin if I leave a coupla dozen men ta guard it. Now I know many a’ ya would rather have a parrot shit in yer mouth than ta be landed, so I am askin’ first fer enna volunteers ta stay here while we sail out.”

Patrick caught Quinn’s eye and nodded. “My brother and I will stay behind.”

Grace checked this with Quinn, who nodded. “Aye, Captain, though I prefer staying in my ship’s clothing. That dandy wear scratched somethin’ awful.” Quinn grabbed at her crotch while the crew laughed uproariously.

Grace found twenty-one men willing to remain on land and assigned three more. “I’ll remain moored at sea upon return, and will send fer the rest a’ ya. Innis will give ya yer guard assignments. Stick ta ’em. Ennaone thinkin’ they’re payin’ ya ta eat, drink, and be merry will find yer ass handed ta ya before I boot ya from my ship. If we are bein’ paid ta protect, then protect. Understood?”

Everyone nodded.

Grace O’Malley raised her fist in the air. “Fer Ireland!”

“Fer Ireland!!”

Quinn’s detail was the outer cliffs of Blackrock to the north, which was fine with her. She could easily see the parapets from her vantage point, and anyone coming down the road would be highly visible.

She’d volunteered in part because Patrick seemed to need more land time than she, and she wanted him to have that. He’d been so good about all of this pirating activity, but she could tell it was beginning to wear on him.

But mostly, she just wanted to be closer to Fiona... to maybe have one more chat with her before the sea called her away. Maybe being with Kennedy and Bronwen had shown her how much she was missing female companionship.

Because she really was.

But not just friendship. Patrick had been right about her and love. She was in love with the notion of being in love. It was what she longed for and what she craved. It had been so hard longing for something she had no idea how to get.

No.

Strike that.

What she longed for, what she craved, was in that castle, and her name was Fiona Moynihan.

She had only been at her post a few hours when a couple of riders on horseback came trotting down the road. Swords drawn, she stood in the middle of their path. She could tell by the way they rode the horses that they weren’t pirates. Pirates and horses didn’t mix so well.

“State the nature of yer business,” she commanded the lead rider.

“I’ll not answer to a scurrilous pirate. Sheathe your weapons or prepare to die.”

Quinn grinned. His foppish attire, shiny hilt, and soft hands told her all she needed to know about the legitimacy of his threat.

Empty words––that was all.

“Come down off yer horse, then.”

He hesitated. “There are three of us and but one of you. Stand aside. We’ve no quarrel with the likes of you.”

“Sure ya do. You needed only ta answer my question, but the minute ya did not do so was the moment our quarrel began.” Quinn took her fighting stance. “So I suggest ya slide down off those horses and prepare ta make good yer threat.”

Ever so slowly, all three men dismounted and drew their swords.

“There ya go. Now we have a quarrel.” Quinn centered her weight and gauged the fighting

prowess of the other two. They, too, were foppish and soft. She could defeat them easily.

The problem was that she couldn’t kill them. They were Irish noblemen. Should she appear a highwayman and then kill them, she would be brought up on charges.

The lead rider, wearing a gold jacket with several buttons, held his sword tip against hers. Dropping to the ground, Quinn did a leg sweep that knocked him on his back. In an instant, she was back on her feet, her sword tip now pressed against his neck.

“It would appear we have a problem,” Quinn said to the other two men. “Ya move one hair toward me, and he is a dead man. Ya raise them above yer shoulders, he’s a dead man. Ya so much as twitch the wrong way, and he’s a dead man. So sheathe yer swords, get back on yer horses, and ride back a mile, where ya will wait fer one of the castle’s men ta summon ya.”

“You’ll kill him.”

Quinn shook her head. “If that were true, he would be dead already. So would ya. I am not here ta collect souls of the Irish. I am here ta protect the Moynihan’s interests from the English. Get back on yer horses and wait, or I kill him and the both of ya.”

“What about him?”

“He stays with me.”

The two men exchanged glances before sheathing their swords and mounting their horses.

“Good decision. Should ya return before ya are summoned, ya will all die. Now go.”

The two riders took off, and Quinn helped the man to his feet.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

Quinn shook her head. “No. Nor do I care. I’ll let Moynihan decide if he cares who ya are. Now, grab the reins and start walking.”

“Walking? Where... where are you taking me?”

“Where else? Blackrock Castle.”

Geoffrey Moynihan thanked Quinn for being so fervent in her guard duties, but the dandy, whose name was Archibald O’Neil, did, in fact, have business with Moynihan.

“Would ya like me ta escort ya ta the other two?” Quinn asked after Moynihan explained O’Neil’s presence.

“That won’t be necessary. We’ve received no word that any English have landed, but I do appreciate your concern. Grace O’Malley deserves a hero’s place in history for her care and protection of Eyre and her people”

“Aye, sir, that she does, that she––”

“Father, have you even offered to give our protector something to drink?”

Quinn turned to face Fiona. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Lord Moynihan bowed to his daughter and shook his head. “Your mother, God rest her soul, would have done as much. Forgive my manners.”

“Nothing ta forgive, sir,” Quinn said. “I need to get back ta my position.”

Moynihan mounted the horse that his stablehand brought and waited for O’Neil to do the same. “I’ll not have Grace O’Malley think me a barbarian. Please. Allow my daughter to at least pour you an ale.”

Quinn bowed her head. “Very well. Safe travels.”

When the two men rode off, Fiona stepped next to Quinn and watched as the horses disappeared from sight.

“I never hoped... er... expected ta see ya again so soon,” Quinn said, willing her cheeks not to turn red.

“My father trusts you with me. You. A pirate. A thief.” Fiona chuckled. “The irony of that abounds.”

“Perhaps he knows a man of character when he sees one.”

“Touché.” Fiona faced Quinn. “How is your wound?”

“Much better, thank ya. I wasn’t sure ya would recognize me.”

“Because you wore black on your face? You silly man. You have unforgettable eyes, Callaghan.” She locked eyes with Quinn. “Unforgettable.”

Quinn wasn’t quite sure what to make of the emphasis of that last word, so she let it go.

“Have you time to walk the garden with me?” Fiona’s voice was gentle like a warm breeze.

Quinn knew it was a bad idea––knew that in the harsh light of day, Fiona just might recognize her as the man from the ball, but she could not force herself to say no.

“I believe I have time enough fer that, yes.”

As they walked among the voluminous rose garden, Fiona stopped every so often to smell the various flowers in bloom. “Were you looking for a reason to come to the castle?”

“Did I need one?”

Fiona laughed. “You, sir, are quicker on your feet than the average pirate.”

“Do ya know many average pirates?”

She laughed again. “My, how you make me laugh.”

“Hearing yer laughter fills me with joy, m’lady.”

“You, sir, are too kind.” Fiona continued walking. “But if you call me that one more time, we shall have problems.”

Quinn nodded and held her hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. I shall try. I am neither a sir nor kind, but it pleases me ta have ya think both.”

Approaching a bench that overlooked the hedges of the garden, Fiona took a seat. “A pirate can’t be kind?”

“Not if he expects a long life.”

She patted the bench. “Please. Sit.” A slight breeze blew her hair over her shoulder and rustled the fabric of her light blue dress. Quinn wished for a moment that she could run her fingers over the fabric.

Sitting on the bench, Quinn looked out over the garden instead. There were several colors of roses hanging onto the thorny stems.

“Why do you do it?”

“It?”

Fiona turned her body to face Quinn completely. “Piracy. Why do you do it?”

“For reasons other than what ya might believe.”

Fiona grinned. “I’m listening. I would love to know what it was that made you turn to privateering.”

“A friend of mine, a dear friend, was taken by corsairs. I joined Captain O’Malley’s crew in an effort to find her.”

Several moments ticked by before Fiona spoke again. “Her? Oh. I see. Your lover.”

Quinn shook her head. “A childhood friend. A clan member. And I have gone after her because she would do the same for me if the roles were reversed. We made a pact as young... children.” Oh how close she’d come to saying young girls. She would have to be much more careful than she was being.

Fiona stared into Quinn’s eyes. “Is this true?”

“Aye.”

“What a wonderful friend you are to go to such lengths. I apologize for my earlier impudence. What you are doing is a very sweet, if dangerous, thing to do.”

A slight blush crept up Quinn’s cheeks. “The danger matters not at all. Without our word, we are nothing. Without loyalty to our people, we are nothing. ”

Fiona leaned into her without actually touching her. “Well, you are something. The way you speak reminds me of someone.”

“Oh?” Quinn felt her heart pick up a beat.

Fiona smiled softly, her eyes betraying her. “A poet who wasn’t a poet.”

Quinn realized she had lost the pirate edginess and toughness to her voice and silently cursed herself for that error. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“You should. It was meant to be.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Fiona said, “Let me put it differently. You are not like any pirate I’ve heard about.”

Quinn chose her reply carefully. “Being led by Captain O’Malley is not like being led by a man. Perhaps that is the difference you see.” Quinn rose. “And if I do not return soon, and my captain gets word of my absence, she may not be my captain much longer.”

Fiona rose as well. “Can Grace be such a harsh taskmaster?”

“Aye. She can be, but that isn’t why I leave. I return to my position out of respect for her orders. Her men... we honor and respect Grace O’Malley because she is Eyre. She bleeds for us, she fights for us, and at the end of the day, her courage makes us better men.”

Fiona smiled again. “See? Poet. I seem to be attracting them to me.”

Quinn chuckled. “Nothing poetic about me, m’lady. I am loyal to the sea and the woman who commands it.”

Fiona stepped towards Quinn, so close that they could have kissed.

“Then Grace O’Malley, queen of Connacht, is a very lucky woman. A very lucky woman, indeed.”

The English have not returned to Blackrock Castle, but they have returned to our seas, and Grace O’Malley has spent the last three days hunting down one ship in particular. When she sent it to Davy Jones’s locker, she returned to Blackrock for festivities and merriment in a much better mood than she’d been in lately.

My head still aches from the merriment.

How these men can imbibe in the manner in which they do is beyond me. A couple of our men passed out, woke up, drank and caroused some more before passing out again.

I excused myself after several cups of mead. The tavern had begun to spin a bit, so I stepped out to get some fresh air. I didn’t realize I hadn’t stepped out alone. As I stood outside, looking up at the moon, I felt someone standing next to me.

Trying to focus on her face, I looked at a woman I’d seen someplace before, but my fuzzy mind could not put her face with a place.

She knew I did not remember her.

I did not.

I could barely remember my name at that point, but I knew enough to know she was the kind of woman I was usually attracted to. She was soft, had a kind voice, and her lips were so red I could see the color in the near darkness.

Funny thing was, she wasn’t some woman I’d been intimate with at all. She told me she was a cook at Blackrock Castle and that she’d come bearing a message from Fiona.

That message, which she was wont to put on parchment, was that any time I needed a roof over my head on land, I was always welcome at Blackrock Castle.

I was far too fuzzy to understand the nuances of what the woman said, so she spelled it out.

She said that her mistress has not been the same since the attack. She told me that Lady Fiona stares for hours on end at the sea. She hums. She whistles. She exudes joy. She explained that Fiona is like a different person––full of life, renewed energy. She laughs and smiles like she’s not done since before her mum died.

I did not know what to say, so I remained silent in my near stupor.

She went on to explain that my presence near the castle has changed Fiona.

I could only struggle to focus my thoughts on her words.

In the end, she practically shook me and told me she was afraid Fiona had given her heart to me... me, a dastardly pirate, of all things.

I asked her if she wanted me to give it back.

She laughed and said she thought it was too late.

Too late?

Yes, she said to me.

Too late. Too bad. Too everything, it appears.

I am a sea dog in search of a friend. I am not who I appear to be on any respect. Bronwen was right. I am a fraud. And now a lovely woman has fallen in love with someone who does not exist.

Kennedy was right.

I am in over my head.

And now... now it’s too late.

They returned the next morning to Clew Bay. Just prior to docking at Grace O’Malley’s home pier, Quinn went down to the galley so Murphy could check her wound. Climbing on a table, she lay on her stomach while Murphy examined her stitches.

“Ya healed good, Callaghan. It must be that druid who came ta get ya. Beautiful woman in an odd sorta way. Them druids scare the shite outta me, but their medicines are second ta none.”

“Aye. She put special unguents on it.”

“And what a’ the other woman? What did she add ta the healing process?”

Quinn turned and propped herself up on her elbow. “What other woman?”

“Ya don’t remember?” Murphy shook his head as he pulled out a thin knife and cut the knot to release the stitches. “Of course ya didn’t. Ya were feverish and drugged up. Again, compliments a’ the druid.”

“Who was it? What was her name?”

“I didna ask and she didna offer. She merely pushed her way in. Ya have friends in high places, lad, because she was a woman a’ means, ta be sure.”

“What... what did she say? What did she do?”

Murphy snipped the fishing line. “I don’t know, lad, I wasn’t in the room with ya.”

“How long was she there?”

Murphy frowned as he pulled the fishing line sutures out of her. “Truly? Ya don’t remember at all? She stayed all night by yer bedside. She finally left come mornin’ when the druid got here. Left with just a ‘thank ya’ fer lettin’ her stay.”

“All night?”

“Aye. I pushed in once and she was strokin’ yer head and speakin’ softly ta ya in a kinda motherly voice. Stayed all night she did. I guess I thought ya knew.”

“No. No, I didn’t, but thanks fer telling me.” Quinn slid off the table.

“Kin I give ya some advice, lad? There are many things in this world ya canna mix––sea life with land livin’, ale with wine, and us with people a’ means. Nothin’ good can come a’ that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Besides, dontcha also have a filly at the Galway port?”

Quinn looked at him.

He shrugged. “She’s a pretty little thing, Callaghan. Everraone noticed her, but only ya got ’er. She’s more yer type, that one. What was her name?”

“Becca.”

“Well then, seein’ as we’re resupplyin’, I suggest ya see this Becca, and get that other woman outta yer heart. But be careful a’ yer wound. The scar is still fresh.”

With the seed planted, it wasn’t long before Quinn was sitting in the Oxtail Tavern drinking another ale with Connor, Patrick, and Fitz.

“How do ya do it?” Connor asked. “How does a scrawny thing like ya attract so many beautiful women?”

“First off, I’m not scrawny. Secondly, a woman likes ta be wooed. She likes conversation. Ya all act like an octopus with eight hands grabbing at them. It’s exhausting ta watch and probably worse ta experience.”

“So?”

“So that’s about ya. Not her. Get interested in her. Act like ya give a horse’s arse that she is the one yer with and not just some random piece of tail.”

“Ya want us ta talk ta ’em?”

All of the men exchanged glances as if to assure themselves of the ludicrous nature of the suggestion.

Quinn rolled her eyes. Men were so stupid. “Of course. Trust me on this, fellas: words will get a woman ta bed much faster than yer body”

“What’s wrong wit’ me body?”

Quinn groaned. “Connor, look at that woman over there. She is soft, curvy, warm, and beautiful. Now look at ya. Ya are hard, crusty, have hands like rough wood, a beard made of wire, and yer all edges and hair. There is not one thing smooth about ya. Why on earth would a soft, smooth woman want yer callused hairiness pressed against her?”

The three men looked at each other, dumbfounded.

“There’s no answer, ya twits! She wouldn’t. That’s the answer. She would not. Ya have ta soften yer harshness with words. Once ya learn ta do that, there will be many women coming ta yer beds without ya having ta tug at their skirts or gawk at their bosom.”

“Words, eh? But what do you say?” Patrick asked. “We have nothin’ in common.”

“Ask questions. Be interested in her: her life, her story. How hard is it ta ask a damn question?”

Becca caught Quinn’s eye and flowed over to her. “Don’t be drinkin’ so much ya canna perform tonight, lover. These scalliwags have a way a’ passin’ clean out, and I’ll not have that.” She leaned forward to kiss Quinn, and as she did, her ample bosom fell forward, nearly all the way out of her bodice. “I have plans fer ya this night.” With that, Becca flounced away.

For a moment or so, no one spoke. Finally, when someone did, Fitz said, barely above a whisper, “I want them plans.”

Quinn threw her head back and laughed. “Then start using yer words, gentlemen. Otherwise, order another round and enjoy the drunkenness––but me? I’ve got my own plans, and they don’t include enna of ya.”

Three hours later, those plans were being carried out with Quinn’s head between Becca’s legs once more.

“I... I’ve never been with a man who knew what... what he was doing down there.”

Quinn looked up at Becca’s heaving chest. “I just pay attention, sweet girl.”

Becca gently pushed Quinn’s head back between her legs. “Well then, keep payin’ attention.”

Becca’s orgasm was loud and exquisite as she held Quinn’s face between her legs, arched her back and released a very loud, growling noise.

When she finally let go of Quinn’s head, she pulled her on top of her and kissed her hard and deep. “No excuses this time, lover. Tonight, I am goin’ ta make ya forget all the other wenches in all the other ports.” Becca started with Quinn’s buttons, but Quinn gently took Becca’s hands in hers and kissed them.

“Not tonight, love. I can’t strain myself because I was stabbed clean through and––”

Becca sat up. “What? Where? Are ya all right? Oh my goddess, and here I’ve made ya do all this work.”

Quinn smiled and pulled her back down. “There was no ‘work’ involved, and I am fine. I just had my fishing line removed, so the scar is too fresh fer me ta overly exert myself. I... I apologize fer––”

“Apologize, nothin’! I am the one who is sorry. Are ya all right? Did ya nearly die? Does it still hurt?” Becca gently rolled Quinn onto her back. “Show me. Please.”

Quinn gently lifted her jerkin and her shirt up just enough so Becca could see the red, puckered scar.

“Oh... oh my.” Becca pressed her hand to her chest as tears came to her eyes. “It looks painful.”

“It was. Not enna longer. Just a little tender.” Quinn reached up and lightly caressed Becca’s face. “I’m fine, lass. Truly.”

Becca gently ran her fingers over the scar. For the longest time she said nothing. “I don’t want ta care about ya, Kieran, I truly don’t. Knowin’ what ya do, how dangerous it all is, makes me know that lovin’ a man like ya is a fool’s mission.” Leaning over, she kissed Quinn. “But I have discovered that I am a fool, and I do care, and everra time I hear that Grace’s ship has docked, my heart pounds, and I start lookin’ fer ya.”

Quinn pulled Becca’s face to hers and kissed her deeply, her hands in Becca’s soft hair.

“Ya are right about it being a fool’s mission, Becca. Lovin’ a pirate can only lead ta heartache and tears. It is verra dangerous out there, especially now that Captain O’Malley has decided ta run off the English ships.”

Becca looked away. “I see. Ya do not feel that way fer me.”

Quinn thought of Fiona, of the impossibility of that union. She thought about Patrick’s words, and her own personal mission to bring Shea back. This woman, this sweet, kind woman wanted something from Quinn she couldn’t really give. “Becca, I would if I could, but I am a man in search of a childhood friend who was abducted by a ship with this figurehead.” Quinn pulled her drawing out. “I can think a’ nothing else until I find the ship and the man responsible fer taking her.”

Becca studied the drawing. “Her. So she is... special ta ya.”

“She is my oldest friend, if that is special, and we swore an oath. I must stay true ta that oath until I find her. As much as I want ta love, I cannot until I have done everrathing in my power ta bring her home.”

“And then? When ya find her?”

Quinn traced Becca’s eyebrow with her fingertips. “Then and only then will I allow myself ta feel my true feelings and love someone back.”

Becca stared into Quinn’s eyes a long time before sighing. “Leave it ta old Becca ta fall in love with the only pirate in Eyre who has morals.”

Quinn chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Can I keep this drawin’? Perhaps I can ask around about it.”

“Thank ya, but I wouldn’t want ya ta do that. I understand it was probably corsairs who took her, and they would slit yer throat as soon as look at ya.”

Becca took the drawing anyway. “Trust me. I know my way ’round pirates... corsairs or otherwise. Ya just haven’t given me the chance ta show ya.”

Quinn pulled her closer, and they kissed long and hard for several minutes before Quinn finally pulled away. Her heart yearned for Fiona. Her loins ached for something she could never see happening. But this? This was something real she could do in the meantime. Becca was someone she could spend soft, warm time with. “Someday, I will give ya that chance.”

Becca grinned. “I’ll look forward ta it then.”

After the resupply, everyone returned to the ship. Some had more coin on them, others had less. Some had lascivious smiles on their faces, others were clearly frustrated, but all were happy to be back on board the Malendroke.

There was a definite shelf limit for the amount of time a sea dog could stay on land comfortably. With the salty sea water coursing through their veins, the water was the only place where the crew of the Malendroke truly felt at peace.

Quinn was beginning to understand that. The men returned to the ship less edgy, less tense. They bored quickly on land. Apparently, a man actually could tire of wine, women, and song.

Quinn was happy just to be back in the hunt. She could not move on with her real life as long as Shea was missing. As long as––

Her real life.

Standing at the very tip of the bow as the ship slowly left Clew Bay, Quinn wondered what her real life really was. A female dressed as a male pirate? A noblewoman pretending to be a subordinate? A woman who loved other women and had no idea what to do about it?

Who was she really?

As the salty air caressed her face, she felt like more questions than answers were buffeted across the wind.

Had she truly fallen in love with the sea? Had she become so comfortable in male clothing that she could never go back to wearing a dress again? Or was she just some kind of deviant who felt more like a man on this ship than she ever felt like a woman on land?

And what if that answer was yes? What then?

Feeling someone stand next to her, Quinn opened her eyes, half-expecting Murphy to be standing there with an orange.

Instead, it was Grace.

“I often come here when me mind won’t still,” Grace said in a voice Quinn had never heard before. “The sea is our beloved mistress, and we return ta her bosom ta replenish our spirit, our hearts, our energy. That is what yer feelin’, Callaghan––the mistress’s tender touch upon yer soul. It is life-givin’ and inexplicable.”

Quinn could only nod as she kept her eyes on the horizon.

Who was Grace O’Malley that she could so easily read another person?

“Ya hadna expected ta fall in love with her, had ya?”

Quinn shook her head, uncertain of whom Grace was speaking.

“Some men are born ta it. Others, like myself, are drawn ta it... and when we get here, we are finally home.”

“Home.”

“Then there’s the crew. Crew’s just another name fer family.” Grace stared straight ahead as she spoke, almost as if she wasn’t even aware of Quinn’s presence. “Knowin’ a man’ll gut yer attackers like a fish if they get too close, or twistin’ yer back ta a bloke ya know would take a dagger fer ya. There’s no greater bond than a fightin’ man’s bond. And it creeps up on ya. Before ya know it, ya’d die fer the man fightin’ next ta ya. That’s family.”

Quinn nodded, but she found herself unable to speak. Grace was handing out sage advice, and she didn’t want to miss a word.

“Whether it’s the wind or the water, the men or the mayhem, there truly isn’t a better life than this one we’re livin’ right here, right now. So if yer askin’ yerself what happened––if yer wonderin’ how all a’ this seeped into yer life, Callaghan, just know, the sea calls who the sea calls. Not everraone answers, but those who do are in fer a life unlike enna other.” Grace turned and walked away. “I suggest ya accept it fer the gift it is.”

When Grace was gone, Quinn suddenly felt lighter, less troubled than before. With all of the changes that had happened to her, Grace had managed to clear up any of Quinn’s questions.

The sea had called, and she had answered.

They had relentlessly pursued an English ship for hours, fighting gusting winds and torrential downpours. But the moment Grace O’Malley looked through the spyglass at the horizon, she threw her head back and laughed before commanding everyone, “Heave-ho!”

One thing Quinn had learned in her time with Grace O’Malley was that the captain had an amazing, if not altogether uncanny, way of predicting the weather. It was the greatest singular reason why Grace’s father had allowed her to start sailing with him; she could do what her half-brother could not—and she was doing it now: reading the weather ahead.

“They’re headin’ right into a storm!” she yelled gleefully. “Hard ta port, McAdams! Hard ta port! Bring ’er ta rest in the safety a’ that cove! We’ll wait ’er out.” Grace O’Malley fairly cackled. “That storm’ll blow ’em right back ta us or sink her where she lies!”

Quinn feverishly worked her rope to help turn the Malendroke to the left toward a cove that no one else had seen except Grace.

The rain battered the deck of the ship as the sea roiled beneath them, angrily rising and falling in utter indecision. Every crewmember up top worked zealously to keep the sails billowing without breaking the masts, turning without tearing. And as the huge ship finally negotiated the turn, it slid almost effortlessly into the protected cove, where the wind seemed uninterested in following.

“Hold!” Captain O’Malley ordered, and to a one, they released their tied-off ropes before collapsing on the deck.

“She’s trapped us in ’ere,” Connor whispered as he leaned against the side of the ship next to Quinn. “This is madness.”

“I’m betting she knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Connor looked dubious.

Grace stared up at the sky, looking for something no other man could see. “Don’t rest on yer laurels, lads; there’s a change comin’! We’ll turn her about and take that rat-bastard ship from the aft side. Everraone on deck!”

Quinn had forever been astonished by how quickly the Malendroke’s crew was always ready to fight. It was as if they lived for these moments... as if pirating was more about the fight and less about the rewards of winning one.

“Me arms feel like oak trunks,” Connor said, rubbing his biceps.

“Well, get ready fer more pain, because we’re gonna have ta get her turned.”

Connor rose and looked over the side. “I don’ know, Callaghan... I don’t think she left enough room.”

“Man yer stations, lads! It’s comin’, and it’s comin’ hard and fast!” Grace’s voice held a tautness to it, sprinkled with a bit of glee. It was strange how she rose to these challenges with such fervor. Quinn rightly admired her for it but also found it a bit disconcerting.

Quinn looked at Connor. “What’s coming?”

“Steady,” Grace commanded. “Keep her steady fellas.” She spoke while her eyes never left the sky. “Steady.”

Quinn had her hands around the rope and glanced at all the others who worked the masts, the oars, the wheel, and the rudder. She had to agree with Connor. It did not look like there was enough room to negotiate the tight turn.

“Pull! Harder!” Grace yelled. “Harder, ya soft-skulled dimwits! Pull!” She suddenly turned about and stood as if sniffing the air.

Out of nowhere, as if the wind had come up and over the cliffs and directly into the cove, the sails blossomed and billowed as the Malendroke leaned toward the port side in an attempt to turn.

Grace laughed.

The wind grabbed the sails and the aft side of the ship and pushed them to the point of capsizing before Grace yelled, “Harder! One more time. Give ’er all ya got, boys!”

With every ounce of energy she had left, Quinn pulled on her rope, straining against the wind, against the sail, against the fatigue in her body and, sure enough, the Malendroke made the turn and now faced the opening of the cove. The wind had held precisely as Grace knew it would.

“Hold!”

Once again, they tied her off and waited, chests heaving from the work of it.

“And that would be why she is the captain,” Quinn said softly.

“Aye ta that,” Connor said, wiping the rain from his face. “But what now?”

Now, they waited.

As quickly as it had come, the wind was gone, and Grace ordered fresh men to the oars. “Yer gonna hafta put yer backs into it, boys. When I give the order, ya row like yer verra life depends on it.” Then Grace strode quickly among the remaining soldiers, giving them each their orders.

They said her organization was what made her such a successful pirate. Quinn could not disagree.

Unlike the crews of those ships the Malendroke had taxed or plundered, Captain O’Malley’s men never rushed onto an enemy vessel willy-nilly. Instead, there was always an order, a plan. Captain O’Malley fully believed this order saved lives––both of her men and of those she attacked.

Again, Quinn could not disagree.

There was, however, something different about the manner in which Captain O’Malley spoke this time. There was a sense of urgency––a feeling of animosity she rarely exhibited. “Here she comes, lads!” Grace yelled, her eye to the glass. “Aye, the storm is comin’ upon them too fast. The captain has no choice but ta reverse his tracks.” She laughed again. The cat and mouse game was Grace’s favorite of all.

Quinn looked over the side at the horizon and the tiny ship bobbing on top of the water. Its sails puffed and stretched as they attempted to outrun the gale that was coming. The “she” Captain O’Malley spoke of was a tempest equal to a hurricane, and it was sweeping down so quickly that the English ship had no other option but to try to outrun it and hope for the best.

Quinn doubted their best was good enough.

“My god,” Quinn murmured as the sea rose as if to meet the heavens. Suddenly, the sky was darker and the clouds lower, as if wishing to watch the mayhem of its sister wind. The sea transformed from deep green to black, with only the whitecaps giving it life.

“Hang on, laddies!” Grace yelled above the gale whipping by the very edge of the cliff that protected them. Where they sat, the wind bounced off the wall of the cove and into the middle of the sea, where the English ship, with sails now torn from their masts, bobbed helplessly. The storm had incapacitated the ship completely.

The wind, water, and waves battered the English ship as it carried her torn and lifeless sails and splintering wood closer to the cove and the awaiting crew of the Malendroke.

“Fer shite’s sake,” Connor murmured. “How in Hades did she see that comin’?”

“It’s her gift,” Innis said, withdrawing his sword. Innis and three dozen other Firsts would be the first to board. If the crew resisted, Innis would commence fighting, and Grace would then send in the Seconds and signal for the archers to shoot. She always gave men a chance to surrender first. If they were foolish enough not to, then she allowed hell to break loose.

Quinn hoped they could take the ship with little bloodshed. Killing, while often necessary, damaged the soul when it was not. Her first kill had taken her days to get over. The sensation of a man’s innards upon her sword was an awful feeling. Watching the life ooze from him was a memory she thought she would never recover from.

She’d been wrong.

Watching an enemy die became easier and easier, until she no longer carried any guilt from their deaths.

None.

But that didn’t mean she longed for a bloody battle, for she did not.

As the battered and beaten ship was released from the vise grip of the wind, Grace ordered the oarsmen to “Cut the water, boys!” and the Malendroke lurched from the cove in near-perfect timing to intercept the broken English ship. Quinn could see the name Judith painted across the side in fancy gold letterhead.

“Take ’er, fellas!” Grace yelled, and the Firsts pulled the Malendroke portside right up to the English bow and began to board the ship with loud, raucous yelling and the whooping call of the charge. “Take her hard!”

Captain O’Malley prepared the Seconds without taking her eyes off the enemy ship.

The Judith was a disaster. Masts hung limply, broken and shattered. Parts of the starboard section of the railing were splintered and destroyed. The ship had been pillaged by a wind that knew no kindness and sought no solace.

With her swords drawn, Quinn waited to board.

The Firsts landed on the deck of the ship to find it splintered and beaten. There was a short pause before they started swinging and attacking the battered and bruised crewmen, who were almost too dazed to fight back. By the time the Seconds landed on the now-bloody deck, the English were at a distinct disadvantage; exhausted from fighting the gale, they’d succumbed to the Firsts quickly and almost entirely by the time Quinn arrived.

With her two blades whirling, Quinn struck down the first man she came to before spinning around to take out a man coming far too slowly at Fitz. After several arrow shots and a few musket balls, the English started to retreat to the hold.

The English captain thought otherwise. “Keep at it! My men do not quit!” he yelled indignantly, his own sword flashing as he brought it down on one of Grace’s crewmembers. “For the queen of England!”

Quinn glanced up at the wheel to see a tall, thin man with a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache barking orders to a crew too weary to hear him.

But eventually even he knew it was time to surrender, so after losing more men to the Malendroke’s crew, he finally ordered his remaining men to stop fighting and to surrender.

His men lowered their weapons, and Grace gave the order for her men to cease fighting.

Her crew obeyed but did not lower their weapons.

“Ya are in Irish waters,” Grace said to the captain with a tone of frozen ice, “where ya will not only pay a tax fer trespassin’, but ya shall explain what it is yer doin’ here.”

The young captain stood erect, trying to equal his posture to hers. He was unsuccessful. “I’ll not be answering to a female unless she is queen,” he said in nearly-flawless Irish.

Grace’s men, to a one, muttered under their breaths.

“Oh, truly now? Well, young man, I am Grace O’Malley, queen a’ Connacht, captain a’ the Malendroke, daughter a’ Black Oak, and chieftain a’ the O’Malley clan, and if ya do not answer ta me, I will gut ya like the tiny guppy ya are and toss yer entrails over the side a’ the ship fer yer men ta use as a rope ladder. So... shall we try this again?”

The young captain cast his gaze across the deck of his ship. It was evident to everyone that he needed to concede defeat, but Quinn had seen her fair share of men already who had chosen the wrong course of action. Pride often led men to foolish ends.

“Yer sword, sir. Hand me yer sword or force me ta cut ya down in front a’ yer crew.” Grace’s voice was cold metal.

Reluctantly and with obvious ire, the young captain handed his sword over to Grace, a vein above his eyebrow twitching as he did.

“Now, lad, my men are gonna see what ya have below. If yer carryin’ ennathin’ away from my lands that ya didna buy, it won’t go well fer ya or yer men. If yer goods are from elsewhere, ya need only pay a tax, and I’ll be on me way.”

“Tax? Don’t be––”

“The third option is fer me ta assume ya are flyin’ under the English flag as an enemy ta Ireland, in which case, we will remove ennathin’ a’ value before we scuttle this ship and kill all yer crew. Would ya like ta tell me which scenario is gonna play out here?”

The captain fingered the tiny blonde patch of hair hanging from his chin that he must have believed passed for a beard. “I am neither spy nor thief. My cargo below is not from Ireland.”

Grace waved to Innis, who took a group of men below deck. “Good. Then all ya need do is pay the tax on yer cargo and be on yer way.”

The captain’s jaw quivered. “The queen will not take this kindly––”

“There is but one queen on these Irish waters, lad, and ya are talkin’ ta ’er. Yer queen, the bastard child of a woman killed fer witchcraft and heresy, is not the queen a’ Ireland or her people, no matter how loudly she says it or how many men she sends ta take it.”

“Bastard? You cannot––”

Grace stepped closer. “Oh, but I did. She is not now, nor will she ever be, my queen. If ya are here in her name, then I shall treat ya as a spy, an enemy a’ our lands, and ya and yer crew will be put down quickly and easily. Elizabeth will not gain the foothold grabbed by her greedy father. Yer Protestant plantations will not rest easy on my lands. Not whilst I live and breathe.”

The captain opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it.

“I see far too many English ships runnin’ up our coastline. If ya are in Elizabeth’s employ, ya need ta return ta her and tell her that the Irish wish no quarrel with her, but if she keeps sendin’ ships, we’ll be forced ta sink ’em. We will rob her blind if that’s what it takes.”

The captain slowly shook his head. “You cannot hope to stop the inevitable, Grace O’Malley. When my queen sets her sights on something, she has every means at her disposal to retrieve it.”

Grace stepped right up to him and towered over him. “First, ya shall kindly address me as Captain O’Malley. Grace is what my clan calls me, and ya are not that. Secondly, Ireland is not some dog she can call ta heel. It would be a mistake ta believe such”

“I beg to differ with you, Captain,” he spat contemptuously. “Already, many of your clan chieftains are allies of Her Royal Majesty. The civil war among your people is imminent. If you thought King Henry powerful, he was nothing compared to his daughter. Trust me. She will become a force the likes of which this world has never seen. Surrender to her now, and she will show mercy.”

“Mercy? We need not her mercy nor her leadership. Ireland shall not roll over fer her or enna other bastard Protestant monarch.”

Innis returned to the top deck, strode over to Grace, and whispered something into her ear, nodding his head downward toward the cargo hold. Captain O’Malley turned around, her eyes searching for someone and finally landing on Quinn. “Go below,” she ordered. “Now.”

Nodding, Quinn headed below, swords still drawn, with Fitz and Patrick right behind her. Before their eyes could adjust to the darkness, their noses were assaulted by a rancid odor of a combination of smells Quinn could not put her finger on. It was assaultive and grotesque. “My god... ” she choked.

Pulling bandanas out and holding them to the lower half of their faces, they made their way to the cargo hold, the stench growing ever stronger with each step.

“Mother a’ mercy,” Fitz said. “What is that?”

As Quinn’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she saw what “that” was.

Lying head to foot like a line of timber was the ship’s main cargo.

Slaves.

“That smell... it’s comin’ from those poor people,” Fitz said, keeping his cloth over his mouth and nose.

Quinn turned to him. “Poor people?”

Fitz shrugged. “I don’t believe the slavery a’ humans is what the goddess wishes. I am no believer in it and find it a foul practice, indeed.”

This surprised her, though she wasn’t certain why.

“Good to know.” Turning her attention to the hundreds of slaves packed into the sour-smelling hold, Quinn started down the first row, her heart sinking at the thought that Shea could have been treated like this. Heavy ankle irons on, the slaves lay on the hard, splintered wood in the most deplorable conditions imaginable. The smell of urine hung heavy and stale upon nearly unbreathable air. The tiny shafts of light forced their way through cracks in the sides. “Ya see if ya can find enna other cargo. I... I am looking fer someone in particular.”

“Er... someone dark?” Fitz handed her a torch.

Quinn nodded. “Aye. A friend of mine.” As she walked down into the tight quarters, she was startled by how incredibly dark-skinned these people were. Some were so dark as to be nearly purple. Some tried to talk to her in a tongue that sounded so foreign to her it may as well have been gibberish, but she didn’t need to know the words to hear their pleading.

It broke her heart.

Row after row, she searched for Shea, until she came to the conclusion that these poor creatures had all come from the Dark Continent.

The question was, where were they going?

Making her way through the cargo hold, Quinn met back up with Fitz. “Ennathing?”

Fitz shook his head. “Only cargo a’ worth is them.” He jutted his square jaw at the slaves. “No sign a’ yer friend?”

Shaking her head, Quinn headed back up top and found Grace and the other captain in a heated exchange.

“Ya tell yer queen and ennabody else who tries ta set foot on our island ta take our people that they shall start a war with clansmen who know not how ta lose.”

The English captain nodded and handed something back to her. “If all of Ireland’s chieftains are as passionate as you, Captain O’Malley, my queen should be concerned.”

Grace turned around to Quinn. “Well?”

Quinn shook her head. “African. Slaves.”

Back to the Englishman. “Luckily fer ya, yer not carryin’ enna Black Irish. If ya were, I’d run ya through right now and feed yer men ta the water. As it were, yer gonna pay the tax straightaway and I’ll let ya continue yer voyage as long as ya take me message back ta Elizabeth.”

“You mean Queen Elizabeth.”

“As I have said, she is no queen a’ mine. Elizabeth will do, unless ya prefer I refer ta her as that bastard usurper a’ the English throne.”

The English captain hesitated and wisely chose to bite his tongue. “Paying you tax will be giving you the queen’s money.”

“Not my problem, boy. Someone stands ta make a pretty pence from yer livin’ cargo. The O’Malleys want ta make sure all cargo taken along our shores is properly taxed.” Grace leaned forward. “Or I can take it all and use yer blood fer payment. The choice is up ta ya, boyo, but ya better decide fast. I don’t have patience fer a captain who canna even grow a proper beard.”

The Englishman swore, spat, and nodded to his second, who handed Grace a pouch filled with coins.

She took it and handed it to Innis, who poured some into his hand.

“Verra well then. Ya just saved many a’ yer Englishmen from dyin’ needlessly this day.”

As Grace turned to leave, she stopped and pivoted. “Before I take leave, what’s yer name, ennahow, Captain Youngblood?”

The Englishman threw his shoulders back, stared her in the eyes and replied through gritted teeth, “Francis. Francis Drake.”

“How could ya be so daft?” Grace yelled so loudly from her quarters that everyone on the ship could hear her. “A man gives ya a bag a’ silver and ya didna check the whole bag?”

“I just––”

“Get out! Get fresh oarsmen. I want that fleabag ship rottin’ at the bottom a’ the sea before sundown tomorra! Go!”

Innis came out of the captain’s quarters, cloaked in shame. When he saw everyone looking at him, he began barking orders. “We’re goin’ after that fuckin’ ship, lads! Fresh oarsmen! Everra man prepare ta run ’er down!”

Quinn was starting to her post when Captain O’Malley called to her. “Callaghan! Get in here!”

She quickly made her way to the captain’s quarters.

“Sir?” Quinn’s eyes swept across a table covered in coin.

Grace reached for a coin and flicked it in the air to Quinn. “Is this the same figurehead ya showed me?”

Quinn snagged the coin out of the air and stared at the Medusa head on it. Her heart raced. “Yes sir! This... That’s what it was!” Was this the key to finding Shea at last?

“Calm yerself, lad. The useless coin might be from yer ship, but that English ship wasn’t it. We need ta catch up ta them and find out where they got it... among other things. That Drake is gonna wish he had never met me.”

Quinn could only stare at the coin in her hand.

“Don’t worry, Callaghan. We’re gettin’ closer and closer. I can feel it in me bones, and ya know how good me bones are.”

“I do.” Quinn turned to leave. “Is that all, sir?”

“Whoa, there. Wait one moment.” Grace placed her palm on the door.

Quinn stopped. Her jaw was set, her chest heaved.

Pushing a chair toward Quinn with her foot, Grace commanded, “Sit.”

“But––”

“Wasn’t a request.”

Quinn sat.

“Now, I won’t have personal vendettas gettin’ in the way a’ how I run this ship. I understand this is important ta ya and all, I truly do, but ya go off half-cocked, and ya put everra man on this vessel in danger. I won’t have that. Now, we are gonna do everrathin’ in our power ta catch up ta that bastard’s little slave boat, but until we do, I need clear heads. Do ya catch my meanin’?”

Quinn nodded and tried to draw more even breaths. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I like ya, Callaghan. I really do. I’d hate ta have ta put ya ta ground, but I will if ya can’t stay concentrated on the ship as a whole. I got no patience fer a one-man show.”

Quinn nodded. “I understand. I’ll keep working hard, as I always do.”

“Good. And when we catch that scallawag Drake, I’ll deal with him first and then ya can ask him whatever ya want, but ya go off, and I’ll put ya down as fast as a man can look at ya. Agreed?”

Quinn rose. “Agreed. Thank ya, sir.”

As Quinn turned to leave, Grace said, “Ya know, ya aren’t like the rest a’ my men, Callaghan, and yet they have accepted ya as one a’ ’em... one a’ us. Don’t spoil that. Friend or no friend, promise or no promise, a family such as my clan and my ship are hard ta come by. Think about that while yer workin’.

“Yes, sir. I will.”

When Quinn returned to the deck, her post had already been filled. Such was the way of the tight-knit crew on the Malendroke.

Grace O’Malley was right about this ship as a family. Quinn had bonded with men her father wouldn’t have bothered speaking to, yet these pirates would give their lives for her and she for them. There was something comforting in knowing that. She would, as Grace had ordered, keep her head.

“What did she say?” Patrick asked when Quinn joined him at his rope.

“To keep my head. The Judith had coins on it with the Medusa head on them.”

“What? Are you sure?”

Quinn showed the coin to him. “You know what’s been bothering me? Why on earth would a corsair ship stamp its figurehead on a coin?”

Patrick pulled the rope with all his body weight before answering her. “The better question is, what were the English doing with it?”

Quinn looked into the horizon, hoping to see some sign of the Judith, but it was long gone, and she knew it could be anywhere.

“So where is she going?” Quinn asked, helping Patrick with his rope.

“I have no idea, but wherever it is, someone’s blood is going to wind up on the edge of Captain O’Malley’s sword. Of that, you can be sure.”

The Judith had gotten away.

By the time Grace was willing to concede that fact, the Malendroke was on the southern tip of Scotland. To Quinn’s surprise, Grace pulled into the harbor and moored just outside of the small town of Ardrossan.

Ardrossan was a bustling port town that boasted a sandy beach with beautiful views over the Firth of Clyde, where turquoise and green water joined each other. From the ship, Quinn could see the area around the pier was flatter than flat and greener than green. The port appeared to be well kept and up-to-date, with several streets filled with merchants, many of whom spilled out onto the damp street.

“While we’re here, we might as well pick up some galloglaighs,” Grace said, motioning to Innis to prepare the two smaller boats.

Quinn whispered to Connor, “Galloglaighs?”

“Aye. They’re Scottish mercenaries some clans use ta fight other clans. Rough bastards. Brutal ta everraone, loyal ta none. Go ta the highest bidder, they do.”

One Eye leaned in. “Aye, lad, ya don’t wanna get on the bad side of a galloglaigh. They’d just as soon cut yer tongue out as look at ya.”

Captain O’Malley started barking orders. She wanted only the Seconds to launch to the mainland.

“Why just the Seconds?” Quinn asked Connor.

“We’re faster. Lighter. If we have ta flee, we can do so without havin’ ta lug the Firsts around. They have their place, but land isn’t it.” He stared at her a minute. “Jesus, Callaghan, didja learn ennathin’ about privateerin’ before ya got on our ship?”

Quinn checked her swords and then touched the pocket where she kept the Medusa coin. “Maybe.”

“All right then, listen up!” Captain O’Malley ordered. “We are lookin’ fer two or three dozen galloglaighs fit ta fight and ready ta rip into enna and everra English ship we come across. We may hate the English, but our loathin’ disrespect is nothin’ compared ta the Scottish sentiment. We’ll go into Ardrossan and spread the word that we need good fighters ta beat back the English. They’ll flock ta the harbor when they hear it’s fer the Queen a’ Connacht.”

One Eye spoke up. “Sir? Beggin’ yer pardon, but oughten’ ya stay wi’ the ship in case the Judith is near?”

Grace O’Malley opened her mouth to reply, but she paused for a moment before answering. “I suppose ya make a solid point, One Eye. Innis, ya take the Seconds into town and shake the galloglaighs loose. I’ll give ya till sundown, then ya better be back on the ship with Scots in tow. Do not make me come after ya.”

“Yes, sir.” Innis barked out orders, and in no time two of the smaller boats were launched toward Scotland.

Quinn still couldn’t stifle her curiosity. “So the galloglaighs... they are foreign fighters from where? The Highlands?”

“Aye, but mostly the Hebrides,” Fitz replied. “Ya don’t wanna fight a glass. They hit hard and are verra hard ta bring down.”

“Hard?”

“They know no fear and live fer fightin’. Not necessarily killin’, but fightin’. And they aren’t scared a’ dyin’. Ya don’t wanna fight a man who isn’t afraid a’ dyin.’”

Quinn cocked her head at Fitz. “Ya’ve faced one.”

“Aye. And barely lived ta tell the tale. Could’ve kilt me if he’da wanted, but he said he liked my style.”

“Ya understood him?”

Fitz nodded. “Me mother was Scots.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I survived.”

“The glass should be respected,” One Eye said. “Never, ever turn yer back on one. Never let one live after a fight, and never, ever put yer life in their hands. They will kill ya everra time.”

“Everra time?”

“Everra single time.”

When they got to the pier, it was almost nine in the morning, and the scent of breakfast filled the air.

“Come on, Innis,” one man whined. “A man can’t work on an empty belly.”

Innis hesitated until his stomach growled as well. “Fine then, ya empty wells a’ nothin’ good. Grab a bite. A quick one, mind ya. We need ta roust up some glass and be gone by sundown.”

They’d been inside the Blue Whale Tavern for less than an hour when Fitz suddenly looked up and listened.

“What is it, Fitz?”

“Grab yer shite. Somethin’s goin’ on.”

The crew jumped to their feet, swords out, ready to fight.

“Outside,” Innis commanded. “Quickly.”

When the crew hurried out to the small courtyard, they found themselves staring down at three dozen ten-foot long pikes directed at them from all sides. The pikes had sharpened blades on one end that looked like they had seen their fair share of blood and gore.

“Who’s in charge?” a large, barrel-chested Scotsman demanded in Irish Gaelic.

Innis stepped forward until the pike tip touched his shoulder. “I am. I am second ta Captain Grace O’Malley, Queen a’ Connacht, chief––”

“There’s but one queen in this land, sir, and her name is Mary. Put yer weapons away or we’ll run ya all through where ya stand.”

Fitz bowed his head as he did what they ordered and whispered, “These are not glass. These are royal soldiers a’ Mary, Queen a’ Scotland.”

Innis slowly sheathed his sword. “Ya will not fight us man ta man?”

The big Scot laughed. “The only way ta fight a pirate is from afar. We’re not here ta kill ya. If we were, ya’d be dead already.”

“No? Then why are ya here?”

“Where is Grace O’Malley, scourge of the seas?”

“Ya mean the Queen a’ Connacht?”

“I meant––”

“I’ve no idea.”

The smile remained on the Scot’s face. “We saw her ship. We know yer here fer those bloody galloglaighs... collectin’ those bloody bastards like week-old trash. Now, where is she?”

“She died fightin’ an English ship two days ago,” Quinn offered. “The Judith.”

The Scot did not take his eyes off Innis. “Well, we shall see how dead she is. Ya––” He jabbed his pike at Innis. “Return ta yer ship with these others and tell Grace O’Malley if she does not show herself by noon tomorrow, we will kill everra one a’ ya and mount yer heads fer all ta see what happens when ya land on Scottish soil with ill intent.”

Innis hesitated.

“Reach fer yer weapon, boy, and a dozen a’ ya will be dead afore ya can pull it all the way out.”

Innis looked around at the pikes pointed at them. “And if she is dead?”

“Then so are the rest a’ ya. Ya can join the trash ya keep tryin’ ta pick up.”

Innis looked at Connor. “Keep everraone together. Don’t panic. Don’t fight until––”

“Yer wastin’ time,” Connor said. “Find the captain. Bring her ta––” Connor looked up. “Where are ya takin’ us?”

“Dumbarton Castle. Ya just bring O’Malley ta the tavern. We will take it from there.”

Innis hesitated. “I don’t... I don’t know if the captain will return. Leavin’ the ship––”

“We’ll be fine.” Quinn said. “Just get going. They mean us no harm. They clearly want the captain.”

Innis nodded and growled, “Stay alive, damn ya.”

When he was gone, Connor stepped up to the pikes. “We will come willingly. We’ve got no issue with ya or yer queen.”

“Smart lad. Our orders were ta bring ya ta the castle. If ennaone does ennathin’ foolish, they will die. Are we clear, lads from Ireland?”

“We’ll not be foolish,” Quinn said, as they started walking. Nudging Connor, she muttered, “At least... not yet.”

The dungeon of Dumbarton Castle was musty and smelled of decay and rotting flesh. The stone walls leaked a substance that may or may not have been water, and the light was dim and dirty looking, if light could ever be considered such. If there was air, it was stale and unmoving, chilly and damp, suffocating and disgusting.

The crew was locked in a large cell, but not before their weapons were piled outside of it as they were given a warning to keep the racket down.

“Ya think she will come?” Quinn asked.

“I do,” One Eye replied. “Grace O’Malley would never leave us ta die in here. Have faith in her.”

“It is not her I doubt. She would come after us... unless she... unless she couldn’t.”

“And why couldn’t she?” Connor chimed in. “What do ya mean?”

“If she was under attack. If the ship was attacked. That would be the only reason Captain O’Malley would leave us. Even then, she’d come back the moment it was safe ta do so. Have faith, I say. Have faith,” One Eye said.

Faith ticked by slowly.

One hour turned into five. The dungeon was wet, damp, mildewy, and dank, but what struck Quinn the most was that no one else was in it.

Just them.

Them and the huge black rats making that squealing sound as they skittered across the damp stone floor.

“So this is where Mary Stuart lives?” One Eye asked.

“No, ya dolt. This is one a’ her summer residences. She’s not been queen long enough ta have made her own palace, Connor replied.

“She should be rulin’ England, not her bastard cousin. Mary would let us be, but that Elizabeth? She’s a greedy bitch who didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Keep yer voices down,” Quinn snapped. “They are cousins, after all, and family is family.”

That seemed to quiet the men down. About half of them lay on the filthy ground and tried to sleep even as rats crawled all around them.

Fitz pulled Quinn aside. “How well do ya know the captain?”

She shrugged. “Well enough, why?”

“Think she’ll come? Think she’ll really leave the ship ta come fer us?”

Quinn looked around at the dampness. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“I don’t. Not with English ships makin’ their way around. We need ta find a way outta here. The captain has a responsibility ta the ship. We canna think she can come rescue us.”

“Find a way? Fitz, we’re in a dungeon.”

He shook his head. “No, Callaghan, we are not. We are in a place that is supposed ta be a dungeon. No guards are down here; there’s no one else imprisoned. No marks on the walls. I’m guessing ya might be skinny enough ta slide through that set a’ bars over there.”

Quinn looked at the space between the bars. If she took her jerkin off, she just might get through... but to do so would be to reveal her true nature and lose the love and respect of the men she now cared for.

“I... I suppose I could. Perhaps we should wait fer nightfall, when it would be easier ta get through unseen.”

Fitz grinned. “Yer a smart one, lad. Then ya’ll try it?”

Quinn nodded. “Aye. Then what?”

“Then ya find the keymaster. They’re usually not far from the dungeon.”

“Fitz, we can’t possibly fight our way out of here. Did ya see all those guards when we came in? And there are too many of us ta try ta move quietly through the castle.”

“Let me worry about that. Fer now, we need ta figure a way outta here in case Captain O’Malley canna come ta get us.”

Although Quinn couldn’t imagine any scenario where Grace would leave them to die, she also knew Grace’s hands were tied in terms of bringing more men to a Scottish monarch’s castle. That would mean her coming alone, and that was never a wise move.

Mary Stuart had only been sitting regent for eight months, and not many knew her thoughts about how to handle the Irish, but she seemed amenable to negotiations. She had her hands full staving off her cousin. While it was clear Elizabeth wanted to subsume Ireland like her father before her, Mary had shown no such interest. Perhaps because of their close proximity or her fervent Catholic leanings, Mary, a Catholic ruling a Protestant nation, had a soft spot for Ireland.

Elizabeth carried no such inclination.

As a Protestant ruling a Catholic nation, Elizabeth’s only goal was to reap what she could from the island and keep her father’s Catholic nobles from joining a Scottish rebellion.

Whatever the case, it would be political suicide for a “queen” of Ireland to come to Dumbarton Castle, with or without troops.

As the men began to drop off to sleep, Quinn wondered if she hadn’t put too much faith in Grace O’Malley. Maybe she’d underestimated the situation. Maybe Grace would roll the dice for their lives and hope they managed to free themselves.

Fitz was the last one to nod off, and when the one torch flickered, and then died, Quinn made her move. Slipping out of her jerkin, she inhaled her breath, sucked her body in as much as she could, and painfully squeezed through the bars near the bottom left of the darkened cell. A couple of times, men moved about to get comfortable, but other than that she was, with some effort, able to free herself from the cell.

Grabbing her jerkin, she pulled it on as quickly as she could and made her way through the creepy, narrow passageways of the small, makeshift dungeon.

When she came upon the pile of their swords, Quinn grabbed an armful and returned to the cell, where she carefully pushed them through the bars. She did this three times, never once waking men she knew could sleep through a hurricane.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered to no one in particular before making her way to the dark stairs. She knew there had to be a guard on the other side of the door at the top. She also knew she could not kill him. Killing a Scot now would be the death of them all. Instead, she did the only thing she knew to do, the one thing that would get a man’s complete attention: she removed her shirt and leather band that kept her small breasts even smaller.

Glancing down at her pert breasts, she shook her head. Never in her life had she imagined using her body in such a foul manner, but if it saved the lives of the crew, she would parade about naked if she had to.

When she knocked on the door, the guard opened it with sword drawn. He opened his mouth to say something, saw her chest, lowered his sword, and she knocked him unconscious two seconds later by the flat side of her blade.

The clock started ticking at that moment. Searching him for keys, Quinn found nothing, so she continued ahead, this time with shirt on and leather strap fastened down around her waist. She’d already formulated a plan, but if she pulled this off, if it went the way she envisioned, everything would change for her.

Everything.

But none of that mattered. She sure as shite could not find Shea if she languished in a Scottish dungeon, and she certainly wouldn’t sit around doing nothing while they waited to see if Grace would come.

No, this had to be done—and as quickly as possible.

As Quinn moved through the next level of the castle, she heard girls giggling. She froze and waited for them to go on their way. The castle was waking up, and Quinn knew she had but a small window of opportunity. Once that guard recovered his senses, every one of the men in that cell would be in danger.

As the three young ladies exited their chambers, Quinn snuck into the next room and closed the door.

The atrium was well lit, and there was a seating area in the front of the room that led to two doors she presumed were bedrooms.

Opening one of the doors, she went right to the vanity and started cleaning her face, brushing her hair, and making herself as feminine as she could with the powders and rouge pots sitting on the small vanity. Quinn brushed her clothes off, threw her shoulders back, and exited the room, hoping to grab a dress that might fit her.

As she started out the door, she heard a woman clear her throat.

Quinn froze.

“I could scream, or you could tell me what it is you are doing in my chambers.”

Slowly turning around, Quinn found herself face-to-face with a beautiful young woman with deep-set blue eyes, full lips, and a button nose. “Uh... I’d greatly appreciate it if you chose not to scream.” Her Scottish Gaelic was passable, but the accent was deplorable.

The young woman grinned. “Oh my. You’re Irish. I’ve never met one of you.”

Quinn swallowed loudly. “Aye. That I am, and I mean you no harm, m’lady. I swear.”

The woman cocked her head. “Truly? No harm? You sneak into my room dressed like a... a... ”

“A pirate.”

“Yes! Quite. A pirate. I’ve never met any of those, either. You sneak into my room and you tell me you mean me no harm in your terrible accent. How do I know this is true? If you mean me no harm, then whatever are you doing here?” The woman stepped closer. Quinn could smell roses and mint.

“Your queen’s men brought us here from town. We... ” Quinn considered lying, then thought better of it. She didn’t have the time to invent a story. “My men are in the dungeon.”

“Dungeon? That old rat hole? It’s hardly fit for a dungeon.”

Quinn nodded. “Nevertheless, my crew is being held, and I want them returned unharmed.”

The young girl tilted her head this way and then that. “You’re a woman. Fascinating. A female pirate? I am intrigued. Whatever is a female pirate doing in the chambers of one of the queen’s ladies in waiting?”

Shaking her head, Quinn felt the grains of sand slipping too quickly through the hourglass. “It is a long story I do not have time for. I am here because I want... no, I need a meeting with Mary Stuart.”

The woman let out a polite chuckle. “You, a privateer, wish for an audience with our very busy queen? And how, pray tell, were you planning on doing that?”

Quinn sat down on the tufted couch, defeat beginning to overwhelm her. “To be honest, I have no idea. I figured... if I told her who I was... she might grant me an audience.”

“And who are you that Mary, Queen of Scots, would do such a thing?”

Inhaling deeply, Quinn changed her mind about lying. “Why, I am none other than Grace O’Malley, Queen of Connacht, chieftain of the O’Malley clan, and I am here for the release of my crew and clan members.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Truly? And so you came into my chambers for what possible reason?” Her voice was sultry as she stepped closer. “Were you planning on taking me prisoner, perhaps? Is that it?”

Quinn wanted to back away but did not. The intrigue of this young woman might be the key she was looking for.

Reaching out to lightly touch her hair, Quinn smiled softly. “Would you like me to?”

“I just might like that.”

“Have you ever been seduced by a woman?”

One side of her lip curled up. “Oh, I’ve been seduced by many a thing, but not by a pirate, nor by a queen.” The woman curtsied. “Well, Grace O’Malley, if you are indeed the Queen of Connacht, wherever that is, my name is Mary, and I am at your service. Let me see what I can do to help.”

Young Mary was true to her word.

After explaining to Quinn the oddity of Mary Stuart’s four favorite ladies-in-waiting all being named Mary themselves, Quinn’s Mary sent two of the girls to look after the guard that Quinn had knocked out. They were to tell him that the prisoner escaped but that they would keep it a secret if he would continue to watch over the remaining captives. Then Mary locked her door and offered Quinn some wine to calm her nerves.

“Are my nerves so obvious?” Quinn asked, taking the goblet.

“Everyone is nervous about meeting her for the first time, and well they should be. She is unlike anyone who walks this planet.”

Sipping her wine, Quinn inhaled deeply and then blew out a breath. “You are very kind.”

“Kind? Not really. I am a fool for courageous souls. Besides, you make quite a handsome figure in your pirate’s attire... Oh my, whatever shall I call you? Your Highness? Your Majesty? Your... ”

“Grace.”

“Your Grace. Of course.”

“No, no, just call me Grace.”

A smile slid across Mary’s face. “Grace. Lovely name for a very lovely lady. I have to say, you do not look like much of a scourge to me.”

Quinn glanced up from her goblet. “I can when I need to be.”

“And what about now? Do you need to be one now?”

Quinn shook her head. “I do not believe I do. You have protected me against the one guard who could have had me beheaded within the hour. Why?”

Mary sat on the divan next to Quinn, her hands folded in her lap. “You have no idea how boring these castle jaunts of hers are. While she rides, hunts, and games, we’re forced to sit around here bored out of our minds. We all wish she would just remain at court, where our friends and family members are, but she will not do it. She loves her falcons and the fresh air.”

“Why does she do it?”

“The jaunts? Our queen is desperately trying to get her people to accept a Catholic monarch, and she believes if they see her, they will do just that. But believe me, it is dull, dull, dull traveling to these tiny little outposts filled with Protestant peasants. You are the most exciting thing to come along in quite some time.” She flashed Quinn a smile. “A female pirate queen? Oh, the stories I could tell.”

“I do not wish to put you in danger.”

“I would relish danger at this point, Grace. I am so utterly bored. So,” —she leaned forward— “just why is it you want to see her?”

Quinn shifted over and whispered, “I have information your queen will wish to hear.”

“And yet she imprisoned you, yes? You managed to escape from that bloody awful-smelling place.”

“Her men did not know I was among my crew.”

“Ah. I see. Well, one would have to look very closely to realize you are a woman... a very handsome woman, Grace.” Mary’s voice fairly purred.

“The queen sent some of my men out to the port to retrieve me, but if she knew I was here, I am quite certain she would wish to speak with me.”

Mary rose. “You are fairly fortunate that this is the room you chose to sneak into. I am the favorite of the Marys, and I believe I can get her to listen to your plea. I will ask her if she wishes an audience with the great Grace O’Malley. If she does, I shall send for you.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then I can help you escape the castle, but I’m afraid you will have to leave without your men.”

Quinn reached for her wrist. “I do not wish to cause you any trouble.”

“Trouble? My Mary and I are the best of friends from childhood. She trusts that I would never do anything to place her in danger.” Mary turned, the smile fading from her lips. “And if you do, I’ll have you drawn and quartered in front of your men before doing the same to each of them.”

Quinn nodded, somewhat taken aback by the strength of Mary’s convictions. “You will not have to do that. I am not here to hurt anyone. I came to employ some galloglaighs and to warn your queen.”

Mary hesitated. “Warn her?”

“Aye. We Irish have no quarrel with the Scots, but with Elizabeth, we have plenty, and she is on the move upon the seas. She is raiding galleons and sending a man named Drake out to fatten her coffers... coffers Elizabeth needs if she is going to come after Scotland.”

Mary eyed Quinn with suspicion. “Well, that is something I can take to her that would cause her to grant you an audience. I shall see what I can do.”

Quinn stood. “I would forever be in your debt.”

Mary smiled. “Indeed you would. Come. I cannot have people wondering what you are doing in my chambers.”

“Even though I’m a woman?”

Mary started for the door. “Given my past history, especially because you’re a woman.”

Quinn bowed low to Mary, Queen of Scots, who raised an eyebrow upon her entrance. Mary-in-waiting had indeed managed to secure an audience with the queen by telling her she’d found Grace O’Malley lost in the courtyard garden.

“I expected you to be... taller,” Mary said in Scottish Gaelic before switching languages to Latin. A hint of a smile playing on her lips, Mary rose from her throne as she gazed down at Quinn. “I had heard you were nearly as tall as I.”

Quinn looked up at the woman standing over her. Mary had a long, swan-like neck, bright auburn hair, perfectly arched eyebrows, and flawless skin.

She was also as formidable in height as Grace herself.

“Please, excuse my abode for the moment,” the queen continued. “We’ve only recently arrived and have not had the time to... better manage the estate.”

Quinn glanced around the room. It was not as large or as ostentatious as Quinn would have expected for a queen of her stature, but the fireplace had a lively fire, and above it hung a portrait she assumed was of Mary’s mother.

There were windows on both sides of the room, allowing the morning light to stream into the chamber, which was ringed with a dozen guards. At the queen’s feet were three bulky Scottish dogs, all sleeping. Apparently they, too, were bored here.

Quinn stood erect and greeted the queen in Mary’s native tongue, which seemed to delight the queen, who tossed her head back and laughed. “An Irish pirate fluent in Scottish Gaelic. I am indeed impressed.”

Quinn silently thanked her father for including her in Patrick’s language lessons. Quinn spoke passable Scottish Gaelic, moderately decent French, and flawless Latin. Her English needed improvement, but she spoke it better than any of the men on the ship. After all of his schooling, Paddy could barely speak Irish well.

Maybe men truly were dumb.

“Well met, Grace O’Malley, Queen of Connacht, chieftain of the O’Malley clan and, let’s see... scourge of the high seas, I believe it is.”

Quinn chuckled. “If long titles mean a whit, then I should rule the world.”

The queen threw her head back and laughed heartily again. She was nothing at all like Quinn had expected her to be. Warm, charming, and leaning toward light laugher, Mary of Scotland was an enigma that, when unwrapped, was a finely chiseled jewel. “My, my, they said you were sharp, but they undervalued your speed.”

“Only my blade is sharp, Your Majesty. I’m afraid the rest of me is a bit dull from lack of sleep. I worry for the crew you have in your care.”

“Ah yes, that. Why, you must be like a mother hen at times, having to deal with so many robust men. It must be terribly exhausting.”

“You are too kind with robust. I believe you meant rambunctious, rebellious, and utterly unrefined.”

Mary laughed again and waved Quinn over. “Oh, how I have missed snappy repartee. Come. Sit.” The queen motioned for another chair that rapidly appeared thanks to Mary-in-waiting. “I get so little fresh conversation. Everyone is a yes man. It grates on one’s nerves.”

Quinn sat in it and marveled at Mary’s beauty. Her skin was like porcelain, and her long hair shined, but the most beautiful and mesmerizing thing about her were her eyes. Those eyes took in far more than what one could see.

“You are far more... refined... than most in your seaworthy occupation. I daresay I am somewhat taken aback,” the queen said.

“I am well-traveled, and to do business with so many different countries, it behooves me to know various languages so as to not fall prey to unscrupulous merchants.”

“Ah, I see. Wise. Very wise. I myself speak French, Italian, Latin, Spanish, Greek and, of course, my native Scottish Gaelic, but then, I grew up in privileged society where that was expected. I must say your Scottish Gaelic is impressive.”

Quinn lowered her head. When she raised it, she caught sight of Mary-in-waiting, whose admiration shone from her eyes. “Thank you, kind queen, but it is the most often spoken language of my mother’s people. She bade me to learn it before I could walk. I do her an injustice by not speaking it well. My accent is deplorable.”

“You speak it well enough.” Mary motioned for another wine goblet. “I suppose we ought to discuss why I took your crew. I apologize for their harsh treatment overnight, but, as you may well know, the French have abandoned me after that horrid uprising. The Spaniards would love to enter England through my back door, and your people seem disinclined to care about anyone outside yourselves. I cannot allow just anyone to land on my shores without knowing their intentions.”

“Perhaps our disinclination, Your Grace, is because we do not need the intervention of other countries to mend what ails us.”

“Oh? Your clans are still tearing each other apart. My cousin continues to foist baseless titles upon any man with a coin in his pocket, and you do not believe you require our help?”

“Clanship is our history––our tradition, much like it was Scotland’s many years ago.”

The queen appeared amused. “You know of Scottish history then?”

“Who does not know of Robert the Bruce, Your Majesty? I know enough to know your people fought to keep their ways as well.”

Mary’s eyes fairly sparkled. “Splendid. You are quite a nice surprise. Do you ride? I do not imagine the back of a horse is a familiar place for a pirate.”

Quinn smiled. “I’ve been told I am an excellent horseman.”

To her surprise, Mary clapped. “I do love a good hunt. Perhaps one day I can show you my precious falcons and we can hunt.”

At that moment, Quinn felt like she was speaking not with a queen but rather with a woman who lacked a friend who was her equal. Clearly, Queen Mary loved to do many things that lay outside of a woman’s typical social graces. “I would enjoy that very much. I understand you are a consummate falconer.”

Before Mary could answer, there came a ruckus at the door. A bloodied guard, holding his nose, entered the chamber.

“What is the meaning of such rudeness?” Mary demanded, rising. “There had better be a fine reason for interrupting my visit.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but there is a wild and fierce woman outside claiming to be Captain Grace O’Malley, queen of Connacht, and she demands an audience.”

“Truly? There is another Grace O’Malley without?” Mary waved him on before turning to Quinn. “Well now, isn’t this an interesting turn of events? And here I thought the countryside to be boring and bereft of entertainment.”

Fear washed over Quinn like a cold bath as she immediately began sweating. There was no way out of this now.

“I can explain.”

Mary held up her hand once more. The sparkle in her eyes was not from anger. It appeared she was rather enjoying this. “Oh no. I’d much rather see how this little drama unfolds.” To the guard, she said, “Show her in. Let’s see which is the real Grace O’Malley.”

The door opened again and two guards, each holding one of Grace’s arms, struggled with her as they entered. When Grace looked up and saw Quinn, her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“This wild woman claims to be Captain O’Malley.”

“Is she the reason your nose bleeds so, Carter?”

“Yes, ma’am. She––”

“Go care for it. I’ll not have your blood on the floor.” Mary motioned for Grace to come forward. When she did, Mary studied her a moment before nodding. “The real Grace O’Malley, I presume?”

Grace turned her eyes from Quinn to Mary. Quinn started to rise, but Mary motioned for her to remain. “Stay seated.”

“I am indeed Captain Grace O’Malley,” Grace said in Latin. “Queen of Connacht, chieftain a’ the O’Malley clan––”

“Scourge of the seas? Yes, so I have heard. A rather long title, is it not?” Mary tilted her head one way, then the other as she studied her. “Why yes, I believe you are she.” Turning to Quinn, she said, “She is, is she not? The real Grace O’Malley?”

Quinn nodded, her head slightly bowed. “Aye. If I could explain.”

“Aye,” Grace growled at Quinn. “An explanation ta us all would be a good start.”

“Isn’t it obvious, Captain O’Malley?” Mary asked. “Young––”

“Callaghan.”

“Young Callaghan falsely represented you in an effort to save your imprisoned crew. She escaped from my dungeon, presumed herself upon one of my more easily-tempted young ladies and managed an audience with the Queen of Scotland. Does that sum it up, Callaghan?”

Quinn nodded. “I only wanted to explain why we were here in the hopes that you would show mercy for men who meant you no harm.”

The queen slowly stood. As she approached Grace, who was slightly shorter, Mary actually smiled. “The infamous pirate, Grace O’Malley. So good of you to come. While I must say that I have been enjoying your imposter immensely, I believe there is business at hand that you and I ought to converse about. It appears we have a common enemy and that, perhaps, we might be able to assist one another against said rival.”

Grace barely nodded. “I would verra much appreciate the opportunity ta share with ya what all I have learned this past month on the high seas. I came this mornin’ because ya threatened ta kill my men if I did not. I could more easily negotiate if my men were released and told ta return ta the ship, includin’ Callaghan here, who, fer reasons I can surmise, meant well in his... er... her fraudulent posturin’.”

Quinn glanced over at young Mary and remembered her words. She had really overreached coming out here as Grace, and now she had not one but two queens unhappy with her.

“Captain O’Malley, do you suffer your crew to lie to your face?”

“No ma’am, I most certainly do not.”

“And if they do?”

Grace’s eyes softened as she looked at Quinn. “If that lie were told ta save my men or my ship, it would be a forgivable offense. Remember, Yer Majesty, that we pirates live by a far different set a’ rules. Lyin’, cheatin’, or stealin’ in order ta save the ship are all pardonable transgressions.”

Quinn swallowed hard, her chest swelling with an odd pride to know that Grace would stand up for her even in the face of a bald-faced lie.

“Then you are a far better queen than I. Loyalty is built on truth, not on lies.” Turning to the guards, Mary said, “Release her men. Tell them anyone not returning directly to the ship will be immediately put to death. I am merciful, not stupid.” Then she turned to Quinn. “Not you. You are to remain here until I decide your fate.”

Grace flinched.

“She may be your crew member, Grace, but she has purposefully lied and mislead the Queen of Scotland. I will need time before I decide what should be done about that.”

One of the guards scurried from the room.

Grace opened her mouth to object, but Quinn quickly shook her head. Grace closed her mouth and returned her attention to the queen.

Mary sat back down but left Grace standing. “There. Now, I assume you’ve come to Scotland in search of galloglaighs for one of your many clan issues. My word, I wish those fighters would fight for Scotland and not for the highest bidder. We would own the known world.”

“Yes and no. I did not originally come here fer them, but now that I am here, I see little wrong with linin’ the pockets a’ some a’ Scotland’s best. I do not need them fer clan issues. Elizabeth is sendin’ more and more ships up the sea and ta both our shores. One captain in particular––a Francis Drake––is a troublesome young lad tryin’ desperately ta gain favor with his queen. I want––”

Mary raised her hand. “I have heard of this rogue seaman, Grace O’Malley, and I understand he is a dangerous adversary, indeed.”

“An adversary I am chasin’ fer ill deeds done ta my ship.”

Mary nodded. “I can do better than galloglaighs, Grace. You may have two dozen of my own soldiers, and they shall remain with you until I require their return.”

Grace blinked. “That is incredibly generous, Yer Majesty.”

“I wish no quarrel with a strong Catholic country such as yours. My cousin clearly seeks to subdue you... something I wish not to do. She has Scotland in her sights as well, and you ought not to wish that. Should she succeed in defeating us, Ireland will be the next in her sights. I give you my men on the condition that should I call on you to repel any water advances by Elizabeth, you will answer.”

Grace rubbed her chin. “I can agree ta yer terms on one condition.”

The room seemed to inhale and hold its collective breath. Quinn felt as if her own heart had stopped beating.

Mary appeared unfazed. “And that is?”

“Ya allow me ta bring Callaghan back with me.”

An odd look crossed Mary’s face. “You would bargain with the queen of Scotland for the life of one dishonest woman pretending to be a man?”

Quinn thought she was going to faint. Mary of Scotland had just peeled back the mask Quinn had been wearing to reveal the far greater lie.

Turning in disgrace, Quinn locked her gaze onto Grace, who did not return the look.

Instead, Grace shook her head. “I would bargain with the Queen a’ Scotland fer the life a’ enna Irishman. It matters not her sex nor that she lied ta protect the rest a’ my men. Callaghan risked his... her life in her charade. That means a great deal ta me. So, yes.”

“Fascinating. I’ll have to think upon it.” Mary returned to her seat and waved everyone away. “Leave us. All of you.”

“Your Majesty––” one of the guards said.

“She is not here to harm me. The rest of you be gone. Captain O’Malley can wait outside while I decide how I wish to proceed.”

When the reluctant guards escorted Grace out and the room that now contained only Mary and Quinn, the queen turned to her and stared at Quinn for several heartbeats. “Do you have any idea why you are still alive?”

Quinn shook her head. “I do not.”

“The risk you took to impersonate a pirate captain in order to save your crew is worthy of my respect... my respect and, if I may be so bold as to submit, my admiration as well.” Mary poured them both some more wine.

Quinn could barely stop her hand from shaking as she reached out for the goblet. She wasn’t sure who she was most afraid of at this moment––the Irish queen or the Scottish one.

Mary looked at Quinn’s trembling hand. “It is not easy being a strong female leader in times like these. There are so few we can trust, so few who truly understand the heavy nature of the mantle a female monarch wears. To be a woman with freedom... with choices... I envy you, Callaghan. I truly do. To be unbound by the confines of society must be invigorating. Tell me why. Tell me what would drive a woman to do what you have done.”

“Truth be told... I was a noblewoman in Ireland, Your Majesty, and I was slowly dying of boredom and ennui. My life was stagnate and stale while my brother’s life seemed filled with energy and excitement. I longed for that. I had no way of achieving it. Then a friend of mine, a childhood friend, was abducted by pirates, and so I made good on our pact that should anything ever befall one of us, the other would seek her out. I am dressed thusly as a way to fulfill that promise.”

Mary leaned forward, her eyes drilling into Quinn’s. “You are a fascinating person, Callaghan. To take such risks because of a childhood pledge? You are either the most loyal person in the realm or perhaps the most insane.”

Quinn held her gaze. “Perhaps a little of both?”

Mary smiled. “Grace O’Malley trusts you. She could have left you to me to do as I wish, but she did not do so. She was willing to risk my wrath by bartering with me for your life. Bartering with the Queen of Scotland, no less. You Irish are not at all what I have experienced or read about.”

“Like you, Your Highness, we are merely trying to keep our way of life out of Elizabeth’s hands.”

“True, but there is more to it than that. The very fact that Grace was willing to anger a monarch tells me you are a person of worth, of value, and even the Queen of Scotland needs to surround herself with people such as you and your queen.”

“I do so apologize for––”

Mary waved Quinn’s words away. “Never apologize. Explain, yes, but apologize, never. In order to get an audience with Caesar, Cleopatra stuffed herself into a rolled up rug that was being delivered as a present. Do you think she apologized?” The queen leaned forward. “You risked your life for your people, and that makes you a rare woman, indeed. Grace O’Malley knows your worth, lass, and therefore, so do I. So do I.”

Quinn heaved a loud sigh. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I have to admit, I never thought the pirate life was for me, but I have come to love and respect the men I sail with. I would never stand by if I could find a way to help them.”

“No, Callaghan, thank you. I have so many around me telling me what they think I want to hear. It was very nice having an honest discourse, even if you were dishonestly attired.”

A slight blush crept up Quinn’s cheek. “To pass myself off––”

“As a man, lass,” the queen said. “As a man. Well, I’ll have to just say it––Captain O’Malley seemed quite taken aback when she saw you. She did not know you were a female, did she? That much was obvious. Truth be told, you have more to worry about with her than you do with me, don’t you?” She leaned forward even more. “So tell me... what’s it like, being a man in a man’s world?”

So Quinn told her. She regaled the queen with the best of her stories, with tales of fighting and pirating. She told of the first time she fought and pushed a man overboard because she didn’t have it in her to kill him. She told the queen how much fun it was to play cards, to drink, to walk about without fear of being bothered by men. Quinn had the queen laughing and leaning forward enrapt.

And when, at last, the queen realized the time had gotten away from them, she rang a small bell.

“You, my dear, are a breath of fresh air, and I hope we meet again someday so we can go riding and so I can show you my prize falcons.”

“I’d like that, Your Majesty, very much.”

“Now, my Mary, the one who spoke for you, will take you to her chambers to return you to the man’s world from which you came.”

“But––”

“No one but Grace and I need to know your secret. Rest assured. The soldiers I send with you will not be from Dumbarton, so your identity is as safe as Grace O’Malley’s word is.”

Quinn nodded just as Mary-in-waiting entered the room.

“I need you to help Callaghan here return to her ship as a man, and I require that you never speak of it again. My displeasure would run deeply should I ever hear of it.” She leveled her gaze. “Ever. Understand?”

Mary-in-waiting nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And Callaghan, that English pirate, the one called Drake––is he as dangerous as Grace believes him to be? Has my cousin stooped so low as to allow her dog to sharpen its own teeth?”

Quinn nodded. “If left unchecked, yes, I believe so. He appears to play by his own rules, and he has the backing of the queen of England.

“Then be sure to check him. For me.” The queen stepped closer. “Heed my call, Callaghan. If ever I need you, ever, and I send for you... ”

“I shall drop what I am doing and come.”

Mary flashed Quinn a sincere smile. “Precisely.”

Quinn bowed as she backed away from Mary, Queen of Scotland, and followed Mary-in-waiting into the next room.

“I don’t know what spell you cast on my queen, but I am glad you’re still alive.”

Quinn peeked out the door to see the queen staring out into space. “No spell. Just good conversation. She has a kind heart, that one. What an amazing woman.”

Mary followed her gaze. “Falling in love with a queen is well above your station.”

Turning to her, Quinn took Mary’s hands in hers and kissed the backs of them. “Yes, if that were true, you’d be correct. And what about a lady-in-waiting? Would she be beneath me as well?”

Mary blushed and pulled her hands away. “I’d like to be beneath you,” she said, her neck beet red. “Do those sweet talking lips do more than flatter a girl?”

Quinn smiled a grin that quickly slid off her face.

Fiona.

All she could see in her heart was Fiona. To have a woman love her, truly love her as a woman was a dream Quinn could never let herself think about. Would Fiona turn away from her if she knew? Would this young woman?

“Before I leave, would you like to find out?”

Captain O’Malley was waiting for Quinn at the gate of the castle with four guards who were chatting amiably amongst themselves as the captain gazed out over the rocks. The winds had kicked up a bit, and the typical Scottish climate was grey and misty.

When Quinn walked up to her fiery redheaded captain, she had no idea what to expect, but she didn’t expect it to be good. Her heart was slowly breaking at the thought that this might be the end of the road for her as a pirate.

“Yer full a’ surprises, Callaghan,” Grace said, her booted foot on a pillar as she leaned her elbow on her thigh. “And I pride myself on not experiencin’ many a’ those, so I’m a wee bit peeved that ya pulled one over on me such as ya did fer such a long time.”

Quinn started to apologize, then remembered Mary’s words. “Would you have let me sail if I had come to you as a woman?”

“Of course not. Men do not like sailin’ with women on board. I am not a woman on the Malendroke. I am their captain. I am yer captain, but even though ya are a good fighter, the men would never trust ya again if they knew ya lied ta them.”

Quinn shrugged. “Well then, there you go. And if I can’t be on your ship, I’ll find another, but I won’t stop looking for Shea.”

“Bollocks, ya will. I may not be too happy with yer deception, but what ya did ta save my crew was brilliant, if not altogether crazy. I may not appreciate yer ruse, but I can most assuredly be grateful fer whatever it was ya did ta win over the Scottish queen. She seemed quite taken with ya.”

“She appreciated my conversation.”

“The conversation of a woman?”

Quinn was suddenly very tired of lying to the captain and decided she was done with it. “The conversation of a noblewoman.”

Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “Truly?” Then she waved it off. “Of course. Ya speak so much better than ya ought.”

“Aye. There are moments where I have slipped up.” Quinn realized that she had completely forgone her pirate’s way of speaking for the last few hours, but she was too far-gone at this point. She shrugged it off—at least she wouldn't have to worry any longer about revealing her manner of speech in front of Grace.

“So, what about the women ya––” She stopped once more. “Never mind. I need not know. Ya are certainly free ta do as ya please.”

“A woman trapped by means is not a free woman. I’ve tasted freedom as a man, and I do not intend to go back to the cage of a woman.”

“I can understand why. There is nothin’ worse than being treated like a woman. Nothin’. The day I took over the ship was the first day a’ me life, so I understand what yer feelin’, Callaghan. Truly, I do.”

“Then you’ll allow me back on the ship?”

“Of course. Ya will continue with yer charade. The crew knows nothin’ about what transpired in the castle, and we shall let it remain so. Ya are a valued member a’ the Malendroke, and the men trust ya. So do I. Without trust, a ship and her crew are vulnerable. Even though ya lied ta me, I understand why, and I still trust ya, Callaghan. Yer an excellent fighter, and ya risked yer own life ta save the men. We shall not speak a’ this again. As far as we are both concerned, yer a man on my ship. If it ever comes ta light ya are a woman, I never knew. Understood?”

Quinn nodded, relief flooding her. “Aye. Thank you, Captain. I swear I’ll never lie to you again.”

“Good. Because ya do, and I’ll have ya tossed overboard.”

As they walked down the pier, Grace said over her shoulder, “Whatever did ya say ta Mary ta make her act so kindly ta ya?”

“I speak her language.”

“Scots?”

Quinn smiled. “Sport.”

“Sport?” Grace tossed her head back and laughed. “All I can say is I am glad ya are on our side, regardless a’ what ya call yerself. Yer fine in my book, Callaghan. Man or woman, yer a keeper.”

She is far more beautiful than what the songs and poems say about her. Her beauty isn’t just her physical appearance but in the way she carries herself, her regal bearing, the way she tilts her head––there is so much about her comportment that allows her exquisiteness to brighten a room.

The conversations we had made me yearn for home, for Kennedy, for the heart-to-hearts we used to share. Mary is fascinating, accomplished in many ways. I swore a sort of allegiance to her. I am not sure what that means, but I do know I hold her in high esteem, and if the day comes when she needs me or Grace, we must heed that call.

As for the other Mary, the lady-in-waiting, she was flirtatious with me in a very brazen and open way that gave me hope that I am not just some anomaly.

I am not alone in my strange feelings for other women.

I have to admit I am somewhat surprised to find another woman who feels the same way I do. I would have liked to have spoken more with her, to have engaged more closely with her, but just as we began to enjoy a physical appreciation of each other’s bodies, we were interrupted by one of the other Marys who insisted she was needed elsewhere. Mary helped me back into my leather strap and jerkin, all the while letting her hands linger over my body.

I cannot say I hated it.

Quite the contrary.

Mary-in-waiting is a striking young woman, but in an odd way she belongs to the Queen of Scotland, and it would be bad business to lure her away.

Even if I wanted to.

But we know where my loyalty truly lies, and though I try to push Fiona from my heart, she will not go willingly or easily. The women in my life are as stubborn as they are amazing.

As we stood in her quarters, I also realized something else: Grace O’Malley is lonely. Not lonely in the sense of lacking a lover; no, she is lonely for female friendship... as is the Queen of Scotland. In a strange way, they are both standing at the top of a mountain with no one near them to keep them company. They both long for the kind of connection that Kennedy and I have. The kind Shea and I have.

And I appear to be that one which they both have turned to for said friendship. I am quite stunned by the sheer isolation women of higher standing experience. Even Fiona is alone in the big castle, with no one around to gossip with or share thoughts and ideas. Fiona, Grace, and Mary are all lonely women yearning for something unreachable, whereas Becca is a lowly serving wench who is surrounded by men and women alike with which to communicate.

It is all so very odd.

Grace worries that Elizabeth will continue to come after Ireland, that she will “litter the seas” with sailors like Drake and continue with her transplanting of English lords and nobles upon our land.

Grace hates the man named Drake.

Oh, the venom she spits when she says that man’s name. She said to me, “Callaghan, we all know I have a gift for seeing tempests coming our way, and that rat bastard is one, no doubt about it. Mark my words. He is a dog that needs to be put down before he can bite.”

So, here he is... marked.

I would never bet against the likes of Captain Grace O’Malley.

Not now. Not ever.

She did ask me one curious question, however. She wanted to know if my “sexual conquests,” as she put it, were real or put on for the crew’s sake.

I found that disconcerting. Not the question... but my answer.

Was I as big a pig for women as the men surrounding me because I yearned, as they did, for the softness of their flesh and the tenderness of their kisses?

In truth, I am... though not for the conquest of it. Why wouldn’t one want the gentleness of a woman in bed with them? Why wouldn’t anyone choose to be held in the arms of a woman at night? It would seem that I have as voracious an appetite for women as the men do, and Grace was fascinated by that. She was also fascinated by my consternation at the question.

The odder question is: Why on earth would any woman choose the rough, groping, and calloused hands of a man over the smooth, soft touch of a woman?

So I told her as much.

She cocked her head this way and that, as if trying to figure out whether or not I was telling the truth.

At long last, she laughed heartily, saying she completely understood and was glad I was sincere in my affections toward the women I bedded and not just some quick sexual adventurer.

In the end, she left me with a thought. She said, “Callaghan, at the end of the day, if ya can look at yer face in the mirror without disgust, then it was a good day.”

I certainly hope I have higher aspirations than that. I suppose only time will tell.

Once Queen Mary’s two-dozen Scottish soldiers were on board, Grace briefed the crew about her plans and the manner in which they were to treat the soldiers.

“We’re carryin’ a bit a’ dead weight, lads,” she said, her hawk eyes scanning her crew. “I know at least a half dozen a’ ya who have not drawn as much as a drop a’ blood durin’ our last engagements. I’ll be comin’ round ta each a’ ya ta let ya know ya will be leavin’ us when we reach Clare Island.”

“We’re goin’ home?” Fitz asked.

Grace nodded. “For three days. I want the hull inspected, the ship cleared and cleaned, and those who thought the piratin’ life easy or fun ta leave without disgrace.”

“And after that?”

Captain O’Malley aimed her gaze at Innis. “After that, we get back ta what we do best: we collect taxes and goods as we see fit, and we find that bastard Drake and wring the rest a’ the coin from his neck. We canna do so till the ship is primed and ready fer war, because we’re going ta war against the English ships, and ennaone gettin’ in our way will be sent ta the bottom a’ the sea.”

The men cheered and hollered, and she waited for them to quiet some before continuing.

“The main mast needs complete replacement. That bloody hurricane nearly tore it off the deck. Ya have two days on shore while we ready the ship, but before enna a’ ya return, ya need ta hear this.” Grace ran her hand through her thick mane to get it out of her face. “I have pledged my considerable fightin’ skills ta the Scottish queen in order ta create an alliance against the English. Mary Stuart fears fer her country much like we fear fer ours. From here on out, when we come across an English ship, we will fire on a high-sittin’ ship and plunder a low-sittin’ one before sinkin’ it as well.”

“Yer wantin’ ta attack all English ships, sir?” One Eye asked.

Grace nodded. “Aye. The time has come fer us ta put our clan squabbles aside ta fight the greater enemy. That enemy flies the English flag, and if it flies ennawhere near us, we will burn it down!”

The men rallied and cheered. Grace waited for them to settle once more before continuing. “Tell yer families. Tell yer neighbors. Spread the word that the English are not wanted here. Let ’em fight. Let ’em know our freedom is in jeopardy. Then let ’em know that the Queen a’ Connacht willna stop until the English ships stop comin’.” Turning on her heel, Grace O’Malley left the deck to a crowd roaring for the blood of the Englishmen.

Blood that would very soon spill onto her deck.

Quinn stood on the pier after coming to port in one of the smaller boats and looked left to right, her eyes slowly sweeping the village and beyond. The typical crowd was milling about, chatting, visiting, and buying goods. The Galway port was always busy, always a tale of gossip and woes. Quinn had always loved the energy surrounding this port. It was as if all of Ireland congregated here to swap news of events, haggle over wares, and get drunk.

They’d come to get supplies before heading home to Clare Island for the three days of repairs. If the crew had to be grounded, being grounded at Clare was preferable to anywhere else in the nation. It was home.

“I’m thinkin’ an ale sounds mighty good,” Fitz said, heading toward the Oxtail. “Ya comin’?”

Quinn hesitated.

Fitz slowly turned around. “That pretty young lass will be lookin’ fer ya. Ya can’t be lettin’ her down. She’ll wonder.”

Quinn stared at Fitz. “Wonder?”

“That ya don’t care. I know ya do, but women... they look fer us. They wait. They wonder. Don’t make her wonder if ya care fer her.”

“When did ya learn so much about women?”

Fitz chuckled. “I have six sisters. I had no choice but ta understand or they’d beat me about the head.”

“That’s why he’s touched in the head,” Simon remarked. “I seen his sisters when they were in a mood, and it isn’t pretty. They hit hard. Give me a bruise once, they did.”

Quinn caught up to them. “Yer right. I should at least let her know I am well.”

Quinn, Fitz, Simon, and several others walked to the village center and headed straight for the Oxtail. Quinn wasn’t two steps into the tavern before Becca ran to her, threw her arms around Quinn’s neck, and crushed her in a too-tight-to-breathe hug.

“Yer home! Yer back!” Her lips pecked Quinn’s face over and over. “I missed ya. I missed ya so much.”

Quinn tried to pull away, but Becca held tightly. “I knew ya would come back.”

Finally pulling away, Quinn took Becca’s face in her hands and kissed her softly. This woman who was always here was beginning to mean more to Quinn than she realized. She felt it in the deepest corners of her heart. “Of course I would... I have.”

Becca laid her palm on Quinn’s face. “Ya’ve lost weight... no, that’s not it. Blood, mebbe? Let me fatten ya up a bit before––”

“I cannot stay.”

Becca’s face fell.

“But I’ll be back. I just have some friends I need ta visit... others who need ta see that I am in one piece.”

“Friends? Ya mean her?” Becca’s voice was ice cold.

Quinn frowned. “Her?”

Becca sighed loudly. “I know many, many people here from all walks a’ life. I... I know ya’ve been ta see Fiona. I know she is the one who fills yer heart, the one ya long fer at night at sea.” Becca sighed. “I’m a woman. I just... know.”

Quinn blinked. Her heart hurt at the thought that Becca knew she stood on the edge of the second rung. She deserved so much more that.

“I am well aware a’ yer affection fer Lady Fiona. Men always long fer that which they canna have. Can’t ya be happy with that which is in yer possession?”

When Quinn finally found her tongue, she managed to say, “Do not fall in love with me, Becca. I... I am not at all what I seem.”

Becca laughed a mirthless laugh. “And what is it ya are not? A pirate? A loyal crew member a’ our queen? A kind-hearted and generous lover? What is it ya are not, Kieran Callaghan?”

Quinn stared into Becca’s eyes, the truth lingering on her tongue and wishing to be spoken, but now was not the time. Maybe there would never be a right time. “I am not one who can commit ta ennathin’ other than the sea.”

“I never requested a commitment.”

“No, but ya are worthy of one.”

Becca barely smiled. “Could ya love me if ya did not harbor yer ill-conceived feelins ver a women far above yer station?”

Quinn cocked her head. “Ya wish ta be loved by a pirate who comes and goes with the wind? Who rolls in with the tide and out again? Why ever would ya wish fer that?”

“It is not forever, this life ya lead. Ya... ya are unlike enna man I have ever met. Everrathin’ about ya is different––from the way ya touch me ta the manner in which ya speak ta others. Ya, my sweet love, are a person a’ worth regardless a’ the clothes ya wear or the job ya choose. Ya are worth waitin’ fer.”

Quinn’s eyes stayed locked on Becca’s. She was amazed at the depth of this woman’s feelings—and ashamed that she had treated Becca no differently than any other man would have. At this moment, she was disgusted with herself and was glad she didn’t have a mirror to look into.

“Yer words burn my heart, Becca. Had I known––”

“That I love ya? That I long fer ya and think a’ ya everra day? I was not goin’ ta speak a word a’ it ’til news reached me about Lady Fiona. I must say, ya have a verra refined palate fer a person a’ yer questionable position.”

“I was merely––”

“Guardin’ her? Protectin’ her? Fallin’ in love with her? There is more ta it than that, Kieran. I can see it in yer eyes.”

“And yet, ya still profess ta love me. Why? How?”

“Because I do. There is a shiny apple outta reach and one at yer feet. Like most men, ya set yer gaze upon that which is too high. At some point, ya will recognize that yer’ reachin’ too high fer it. Ya need ta turn yer eyes ta the ground. When ya do, I will be here.”

Just as Quinn started to reply, the door burst open, and several men Quinn recognized as from the Donnell clan surged forward, swords drawn, grabbing all of the men from the Malendroke and taking their weapons.

“What are––”

A fist landed on the left side of Quinn’s face, knocking her to the ground. Becca screamed and leapt upon Quinn’s attacker, her fingers gouging at his eyes. As he slammed Becca into the wall, Quinn reached for her sword, but a second man held the tip of his knife at her throat.

“Draw and die.”

Raising her empty hands, Quinn glanced over at Becca, who had the wind knocked out of her.

“We are Grace O’Malley’s crew,” Quinn said. “Ya’d best step aside or”––

“We know who ya are. We know exactly who ya all are. Get yer arses outside quietly and we may leave yer woman be.”

Slowly rising, Quinn glared hard at the leader. “Touch her and everra one of yer heads will be jammed on a pike before sundown.” Quinn walked outside where the rest of the crew stood weaponless and waiting.

“Yer makin’ a big mis––”

Before Connor could finish, a Donnell punched him in the face.

“Down ta the pier wi’ ya. Someone’s paid a pretty bounty fer everra head a’ the Malendroke we can bring in. It’s nothin’ personal.”

“Nothin’ personal? Arsehole.”

A fist shot out and punched Fitz in the stomach. “I’ll be happy ta hand them yer head.”

When Quinn and twenty-one others walked down to the pier, there were two short boats waiting. Her eyes darted everywhere, trying to discern a way out of their predicament. If she did not work something out, they were all going to die.

“I’m thinkin’ we may wanna stop going ta taverns,” One Eye grumbled. “They don’t seem ta be a verra safe place fer the likes a’ us.”

Quinn looked around and gauged their chances for success. It didn’t look good. There was a boat of...

“Englishmen?” Fitz growled, jerking away from the group. “Yer turnin’ us over ta fuckin’ Englishmen? What is the matter with ya?”

“Fuckin’ traitors,” Connor growled. “Sold yer souls, didja?”

The clansman shoved Fitz between the shoulders. As he staggered forward, Quinn took a swing at another man, connecting with his jaw. Connor went after another, but they were quickly subdued by the sheer numbers.

Quinn took several punches to her face, splitting her eyebrow open again, bruising her cheek, and tearing open her bottom lip. When she fell to her knees, the rest of the men gathered around her to protect her from any more beatings.

Rising slowly, Quinn wiped the blood from her mouth. “Take it easy, fellas.”

“Calm down,” a large, barrel-chested man ordered, pushing his way to the front. “Or ya can arrive at the ship dead men. Doesna matter ta me. I get paid no matter what condition yer in.”

Fitz started toward the man.

Wiping the blood from her face, Quinn held her hand up to Fitz’s chest. “Later,” she growled in his ear. “We can’t win this.”

Fitz comported himself, threw his shoulders back, and nodded. “Yer bleedin’ pretty bad.”

“It’s an old wound. I’ll be fine. Just keep yer head.” Quinn turned to the rest. “All of ya. Keep yer fuckin’ heads. We’ll figure a way out of this.”

The crew remained silent as they rowed out to a ship moored to the north. As they rounded the cliffs, there sat Drake’s ship, the Judith.

“Motherfucker... ”

Quinn nudged Fitz. “Hush.”

“What’s that bastard up ta?” Connor inquired aloud. “Ta come ta our home and pay our people ta turn on us?”

“He could have already had us killed,” Quinn said softly.

“Quiet!”

They remained silent until they reached the deck of the Judith.

“Welcome aboard,” Francis Drake said in barely passable Irish Gaelic as he strutted across the deck like a peacock, hands locked behind his back. “Which among you is the leader of this ragtag bunch of Celtic hooligans?”

Connor stepped forward. “I take offense, sir.”

“Take all you want, pirate, but aboard this ship, you and your thieving crew are little more than a pack of sea dogs who need to be brought to heel. I am the pack master who shall do just that.”

Quinn could practically feel her crewmates bristle.

“Your she-bitch captain has taxed her last English ship, I’m afraid. It is time for her to fall under the one true queen.”

Quinn turned to face the men. “Not a word. Do not let him goad ya. Do not give him a reason ta kill ya.”

“I need no reason,” Drake replied. “You are enemies of England, pure and simple. You are thieves, cutthroats, and ruffians who steal from the Queen of England. You have stolen your last bit of silver from Her Majesty.”

“We are not at war with England,” Quinn said, pulling Connor back and stepping up to Drake.

“Not yet. And as such, no, I cannot kill you... yet––though I do so wish I could, and I will, soon enough. You and your female captain are a thorn in my side, and I shall have you removed once and for all. There will be no more taxing of English ships. Your days on the Malendroke are over. Your days of being on the same waters as I are over. Over. You understand?” He flicked his wrist at them and nodded toward his men. “Take them below.”

The crew was taken to the now-empty holds below. It still reeked from the previous cargo. Quinn felt sick when she thought of what—who—had been there before her. She thought again of Shea, trapped perhaps in the same way at this very moment. She bristled. She would get out.

“Hop on there and secure the leg irons. Fail to do so correctly and we’ll run you through. We don’t have time for horse shit.” This came from one of the English sailors.

Slowly, each Irishman climbed onto the hard wooden platform and locked the leg irons around their ankles. Those with boots had to remove a boot in order for the shackles to fit. Quinn was in that group, and as she fastened the cuff around her ankle, she felt a small sliver of hope.

Once the irons were checked, the English left the hold.

Immediately, everyone starting talking at once, until Connor whistled loudly.

“Listen up! Drake could have kilt us already, but he hasn’t. That means we are either goin’ ta a dungeon or there is another plan afoot. Either way, we’re still alive. Now, can ennaone get free?”

Suddenly, a grinning guard appeared in the darkness. “Stop talking,” he said in English. “I may not know what you’re saying, but I’ll run you through and toss you over the side to the sharks if you don’t shut your traps. Now lie still and keep your mouths shut, you filthy Celts.”

Quinn waited an hour before quietly pulling the cuff to bring her leg into her lap. The guard was snoring so loudly, she could have rattled the chains if she’d wanted. Wiggling her foot, she knew she could easily pull it free. The cuffs were made for larger-boned people.

As she started to pull her foot through, she caught Fitz looking at it. Hairless, smooth, and dainty, Quinn’s foot screamed feminine.

Catching his eye, she waited for him to say something.

He didn’t. Instead, he looked away. “Don’t,” he whispered. “They’ll kill ya.”

“Not if I kill them first,” Quinn whispered, pulling her foot free. “And they will kill no one today.” Quinn scooted around in the semidarkness to the side of a second set of wooden beds.

The oarsman named Gimp had managed to pull his foot free.

“I can go with ya,” Gimp said.

“Good. We wait until dark, and––”

“And then what?” the man next to him asked. “Callaghan and Gimp can’t get the rest a’ us free without a key, and even then––”

“I don’t want ’em ta free us,” Connor whispered. “I want ’em ta get word ta the captain.”

“Get word... how––”

“Can ya swim, Callaghan?”

Quinn blinked. “Aye, but Connor, I cannot swim out ta the shore. It’s well too far away. That’d be suicide.”

“Stop talking!” a different English guard yelled in English. “Or I’ll kill one of you just because I can.”

Suddenly, another group of Grace’s men were deposited in the hold, and Quinn wondered why Patrick wasn’t among them. Where was her brother? But although Patrick wasn’t with this second group, One Eye was.

“I overheard them bastards talkin’,” One Eye said. “The English rat fuckers are leavin’ the ship with only a handful a’ men ta start firin’ at the Malendroke while the others pick us off at the dock.”

“Wait. They’re gonna fire on our ship?”

One Eye nodded.

“Holy shite,” Quinn said. “He’s going ta trick Captain O’Malley into firing on her own crew. That’s why he hasn’t killed us. He’s going ta let her do it.”

The hold became quiet.

“It makes sense as ta why he kept us alive,” Fitz said.

“Aye. If Captain O’Malley kills her own crew, she’ll be ruined. The other clans will destroy her. The clan infighting is just what England wants.”

“If she doesn’t destroy herself.”

“How do we stop them?”

Quinn held up her hand. “We don’t. We don’t stop them. We stop her.”

“How?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

Nightfall.

Whatever dream the dozing guard was having was his last; Gimp ripped his sword from him and ran him through before he could so much as open his eyes.

Gimp climbed the steps to the deck with Quinn close behind.

“The longer ya keep them, the better,” she whispered.

“Ya just do yer bit, Callaghan. Otherwise, we’re all dead, and the captain is ruined.” Gimp cautiously opened the door and looked around. Even in the near darkness it was evident that the ship had but a skeletal crew... men who would probably take a short boat once the firing began.

“Here I go, Callaghan. Don’t let us down.” Gimp took off limping toward the bow, screaming. “Me foot! Me damaged foot!”

Several Englishmen gave chase before Gimp fell to the deck, holding his collapsed leg and howling about a creature on deck that had attacked him and ruined his foot.

Quinn darted to the aft end of the deck where two smaller boats were secured to the side of the ship. Pulling out one of the daggers she kept strapped beneath her chest compression, Quinn worked feverishly to cut the smaller, twenty-man rowboat from the ship.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Glancing up from the rope she was cutting, Quinn saw one of Drake’s men running toward her with a torch in one hand and a sword in the other.

“Jesus.” Quinn finished cutting the rope to release the rowboat.

As it plummeted to the water below, she turned, grabbed the wrist of her attacker, and flung him up to the rail of the ship, where he teetered a moment before falling overboard. He screamed all the way down until his cries were drowned out by the water.

Grabbing the railing, she took one last glance at Gimp, who had a larger crowd around him now, and then she hopped over, feet first, landing in the frigid water next to the boat. Five feet closer, and she’d have had two broken legs.

With every ounce of energy she had, she pulled her soggy clothes and soaking body up into the boat. It tossed and turned in the aggressive Irish Sea as if playing keep-away from her.

Once in, she collapsed in the seat, shivering.

Better cold than dead, she thought. She figured Gimp would suffer the latter. The least she could do was push through some cold for his sake.

Gripping the oars, she pulled hard on the left one until the boat pointed in the right direction. Then she put her back into it and pulled hard on both oars. The swells hit her broadside, spilling over into the boat. It was an angry sea they were in, churning hard and fast and smacking the side of the ship, but her fear and adrenaline were no match for the water.

She began the pattern of movement: forward, tuck, legs, pull, arms, legs. Quinn drove the oars deep into the dark water that slapped furiously at the side of the boat as if reaching for her. The right oar lifted out of the water as the boat tipped. Quinn fought the sea and the boat, using all of her energy to keep it upright. Pulling, pushing, she kept having to turn around to make sure she was headed to the largest light on the coast... the only light that could save her.

“Come on!” Quinn shouted to herself above the roar of the waves as they threatened, once more, to tip her over. “You can do this!” Quinn was soaked as she righted the rowboat’s weight, but she knew.

It was only a matter of time. The sea claimed whomever it wanted, whenever it wanted.

And the next instance, the wave curled at the right moment and tipped the boat hard enough to toss Quinn into the churning waters.

The darkness of the water scared the shite out of her. As Quinn’s head burst to the surface, the waves battered and blinded her, threatening to suffocate her, to blind her with its salt, and to overcome her until it dragged her to the sandy bottom.

“Come on, Callaghan,” she growled to herself. “Don’t be such a pussy.” Grabbing the edge of the boat, she struggled to pull herself back into it.

Once in, Quinn set her sights on the light perched at the edge of the coast and steeled her determination. “You can do this, Callaghan.” That time, she’d heard it. She had referred to herself as Callaghan. Not Quinn. Not Gallagher. Callaghan.

How strange.

Stroke after stroke, she dug into the water, her heavy clothing making her strain against the power of the water, the wind throwing a chilled blanket across her shoulders.

She was freezing. Her numb fingers could barely keep a grip on the slippery, wet oars.

For the first three hundred strokes, the light never seemed to get nearer. Then she saw it moving closer.

And closer.

As she forced her exhausted arms to keep moving, Quinn thought about Francis Drake. He must hate Grace a great deal to go after her in such a manner to destroy her reputation and crush her character while tricking her into killing her own crew. It was deviously cruel, even for an Englishman, not to mention quite costly to sink his ship.

The man was evil.

Quinn had to stop her captain. She needed to get to the Malendroke before Grace began firing on the Judith, but she needed help. She needed a boat. She needed money.

She needed Fiona.

Dragging herself out of the surf, Quinn put one tired leg in front of the other and collapsed on the rocky shore. She was exhausted, chilled to the bone, and her legs were like noodles—but she could not stop to rest. If she didn’t get to her captain in time, Grace O’Malley would do the unthinkable: she would unknowingly kill her own men.

Pushing herself up the side of the rocky cliff, Quinn vowed not to let that happen, but she was unsure she could stop her in time. Only sheer determination kept her putting one foot in front of the other as she painstakingly made her way up the side of the cliff.

When she finally reached the top, she collapsed. Her fingers were raw, her body chilled, and she had several cuts on her knees, but she’d made it.

“Halt or die!” came the voice of a guard.

Quinn held her hands up. “I need... ta see... Lady Fiona.”

The guard laughed. “And I’d like to be king. You’ll go into a hold while we figure out what to––”

With the last of her energy, Quinn’s leg swept him and, as he went down, she rammed her knee into his neck. “Ya go ta her and tell her that one of Grace O’Malley’s men needs ta see her right away. Many men will die if she doesn’t see me. If they die, ya die. Ya understand me? Because I can tell ya this much. If she finds out ya took a friend of hers ta some fucking dungeon, ya will be cleaning chamber pots fer the rest of yer life. Nod if ya understand.”

The guard nodded.

“Good. Now, I’m going ta let ya up. Ya come at me again, and it’ll be the last thing ya do. Yer decision, matey.” Quinn moved off him and waited.

The guard rubbed his throat. “Grace O’Malley’s man, eh?”

Quinn nodded. “I’ll follow ya ta the gate. Ya do ennathing stupid and trust me, Fiona will have yer head.”

The soldier weighed his options and chose to go see if Lady Fiona wished to see the soaked sea-dog.

When he finally returned, he was surprised. “She will see you in the courtyard. Follow me.”

Quinn followed him to the courtyard, where Lady Fiona waited in a hastily thrown-on dress, her nighttime bonnet tied around her head, and a shawl over her shoulders.

“There you are! What a surprise you would show up here. Roger said this sounded urgent.” Fiona held the torch up. “Oh my. Oh dear. Are you all right? You’re soaked through.”

Quinn bowed her head. “I am none the worse for wear, m’lady.”

Fiona dismissed the guard and then threw her arms around Quinn’s neck and kissed her. Suddenly, for a moment, Quinn wasn’t cold at all. With Fiona in her arms, her energy returned. Quinn felt her bucket of hope fill up as they kissed.

Becca was right. Quinn was in love with this woman, and neither time nor distance was going to change that.

“You silly man,” Fiona said, stepping out of the embrace. “As long as you are with me, you will always be far better than that.” She turned to the darkness and barked orders to a woman lurking in the shadows. “Rita, get my guest a robe, please. And be quick about it.” To Quinn, she said, “Your gentleman’s clothing fit you far better than these soaked pirate clothes, but we need to get you out of them before you catch your death.”

Quinn stared at the growing puddle at her feet. She should not have been surprised that Fiona had known, but once again, her duplicitous acts had been discovered, and again, she felt smaller for it. “I can explain. I must apologize for my scurrilous appearance, but––”

Fiona grinned, her fingers lightly sweeping hair from Quinn’s forehead. “And that was another thing that nagged at me after the ball. No pirate’s vocabulary includes words such as scurrilous.”

“Fiona, I did not wish––”

Placing her fingertips on Quinn’s lips, Fiona shushed her. “One look in those eyes, Callaghan, and I knew it was you. You took my breath away all dressed up, with your poetic tongue and your keen wit. I could have stayed in the library forever with you.”

“The ruse... it was not––”

“I care not why you came to me in nobleman’s clothing, silly. I only care that you did.” Fiona leaned over and kissed Quinn softly.

“I truly am sorry.”

“No apologies are necessary, sweet man. You came to protect me and my family. For that, there are no apologies. Come. At least sit by the fire and warm yourself while you tell me what brought you here in the dead of night soaked to the bone. Whatever is going on?” Fiona took Quinn’s hand and led her through the courtyard and into the great room where the fire burned steadily. “Now... warm yourself.”

Quinn backed up to the fire as she shivered. “Thank you. That water is frigid. I am so sorry to disturb you, but the crew––”

Fiona once again placed her fingers lightly over Quinn’s lips. “And I will hear about it once you are dry and have changed your clothes. It won’t do to have you catch your death. You’re shivering.”

“Clothes?”

“I have several brothers who come visit and leave their clothes here. You won’t do anyone any good if you become ill, least of all help whoever it is that has you swimming up the coast to see me.”

The servant returned bearing clothes and linen to wipe off with.

Quinn dried off her hair and stepped behind a tall screen to drop her wet clothes in a pile. Drying off, she peeked out to see Fiona giving directions to two of her men, who exited quickly when she finished. Her servant returned with a goblet of something.

“Toss your clothes out here,” she ordered. “We will put them by the fire so they will be ready by morning. Drink this whiskey to warm you up from the inside.”

Quinn threw her clothes out on the floor. “I cannot thank you enough.”

The servant took Quinn’s wet things before handing her a dry set of nobleman’s clothes and the goblet.

When Quinn was dry and dressed in the offered attire, she came out holding the goblet. She had finally stopped shaking. “You are a godsend, m’lady.”

Fiona grinned warmly. “And you look wonderful.” Holding her hands out, she took Quinn’s in hers. “Absolutely delicious. If we had the time... ”

“Thank you, but I haven’t much of that. My crew is in great peril.”

Fiona walked up to the fire, still holding one of Quinn’s hands. “Do tell me what made you swim to my home.” Fiona sat on the hearth and pulled Quinn next to her. “How can I help?”

Quinn told her about being grabbed by the Donnell clan, their incarceration, and her subsequent escape.

“So this Drake’s plan is to force Grace to shoot at a ship her men are on? That... that’s horrific.”

Quinn nodded. “It will destroy her. If that bastard wishes to crush Grace O’Malley’s spirit, he has found the perfect means for doing so. I need to help stop her before she does.”

“What do you need me to do?”

After Quinn explained what she needed, she waited while Fiona issued orders, vanishing for a moment before returning, nodding her head. “I should be able to secure a boat for you within the hour, certainly before sunrise. I’ll send some of my men with you to row. You are in no condition to do this yourself.”

“Good. Thank you. Captain O’Malley will head out at first light. I need to be on that ship before then or all will be lost.”

“And you will be. The English will not win this day. You will have a boat, men, and hopefully enough time to stop this tragedy from happening.” Fiona sat again. “I have asked Cook to prepare you something to eat.”

“Eat? I don’t have time to––”

“Do not be silly. You need to keep your strength up for this plan of yours. Eat, and then you may head to the docks. I insist.”

“I... I don’t know how to thank you, Fiona.”

Fiona leaned in. “You may not, but I do. When the time is right, I want to know your secrets.”

“My... secrets.”

“Yes, my interesting and beautifully confused man. Your secrets. You are an enigma to me... a wonderful mystery I wish to unwrap like the gift you are. Someday, I wish to know them, all of them, but not now. We do not have time. Right now, you need to eat, to rest, and I have supplies to gather. You cannot crew a ship alone, and you need weapons. I take it you did not have your sword with you.”

“I could never have swam as I did with the weight of it, no.”

“Then I shall make sure you have one. I cannot let my noble pirate leave here unarmed. Just eat. Breathe. Take a moment.” Fiona kissed Quinn’s forehead. “And I’ll send someone to patch your eyebrow. It looks terrible.” She studied Quinn’s face. “So does that lip.” Her index finger lightly touched Quinn’s face. “You did not get this from the sea.”

“No, I did not. It lightens my heart that you care so.”

“Oh, Callaghan. I’m afraid it’s a wee bit more than concern, but that, too, is a conversation for another day. I know this is awfully... forward of me, but I care very much about you. Very much. Now eat.”

When Fiona was gone, a servant brought a tray of fruits, cheeses, and something rolled in a leaf-like thing.

“Thank you.” Quinn took the tray and popped some grapes in her mouth. Sitting there eating, Quinn felt her body’s temperature return to normal. The chills were gone, but the throbbing in her fingers still persisted. The food truly helped, as did the fire, and Quinn ate almost everything on the tray.

When Fiona returned, she was not alone.

“Callaghan, my sweet, This is Tavish McGee. He is one of my most trusted guards, and he will handle the crew we are gathering.”

Quinn rose and nodded. The man before her was a bulldog with red hair, no neck, arms as thick as legs, and legs as thick as tree trunks. He was a rectangle of a man with long, red sideburns that met with a mustache that hung off his face. Shorter than Quinn but twice as wide, the man peered at her through intense eyes.

Quinn extended her hand. “Kieran Callaghan. Everraone calls me Callaghan.”

The ruddy stump of a man shook her hand. “The lady says ya need ta get ta O’Malley’s ship in a hurra. We’ll get yer ship ready ta go afore sunup ta be sure, and wi’ the lads rowin’ their hearts out, we should get ya where ya need ta go.”

Quinn turned to Fiona. “Scottish? Your men are Scottish?”

“Not my men. Just Tavish. It’s a long story, and we do not have the time.”

Quinn nodded. “I look forward to the day when we actually have the time for all of our long stories.”

Fiona smiled. “I would love that as well, Kieran.” Fiona cocked her head. “You don’t seem much like a Kieran. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll call you Callaghan.”

Quinn nodded once. “That will work just as well as the other.” She studied Tavish. “In a nutshell, what’s a Scot doing in an Irish castle?”

Tavish replied, “Came as a galloglaigh, stayed as a guard.”

“Tavish is a good man, Callaghan,” Fiona said. “You can trust him. I do. Implicitly.”

“Thank you, Fiona, and thank you, Tavish.”

“Doona thank me yet, laddie boy. Thank me when we stop a ship like the Malendroke from firin’ on an English vessel. Yer askin’ fer a lot.”

“My crew’s lives are at stake, Tavish. And if Grace O’Malley sinks that ship with her crew on it, she will never recover—and Ireland needs her.”

“Och, aye, it does. Worra not, Callaghan. We will prevent that disaster, and the lady has sent out a number a’ us ta locate them Englishmen who might be on land. Right now, we need ta get ta the docks ta go at first light.”

“Yes, Callaghan, the boat should be ready by the time you arrive. I have sent men ahead of you.” Fiona curtseyed. “I shall await word of your safety, sweet one.”

Quinn handed the tray back to a servant and rose. “I shall do my best, m’lady.” To Tavish she said, “I am ready.”

Tavish exchanged looks with Fiona and nodded before starting for the door. “I’ll meet ya out front where the horses’ll be waitin’, Callaghan. Doona be too long.”

When they were alone, Fiona took Quinn’s hands in hers once more. “I am so glad you came to me, Callaghan. We will save your crew and your ship. Stay safe, my well-spoken pirate, and return to me. I mean... return safely.” Fiona’s eyes softened. “No. I meant return to me. This world needs men like you.”

“Thank you, m’lady. If we manage this, Grace O’Malley will forever be indebted to you.”

“I’d rather you be indebted to me.”

Quinn looked into Fiona’s eyes and knew her heart was taken for sure. She was in love with this woman she could never have... in love with a woman who knew she had secrets and who would probably turn away in disgust if she knew she’d been kissing a woman.

And Quinn Gallagher didn’t care.

It was enough, for now, to feel Fiona in her heart.

The rest... the truth of it all would come out later. For now, Quinn would relish the warm feeling coursing through her.

“I shall return to you, Fiona, because I cannot now imagine my life without you.” With that, Quinn kissed the back of Fiona’s hand and then took off around the side of the castle until she met Tavish with the horses.

“Can ya ride, pirate?”

Quinn leapt upon the horse. “Better than most. Worse than others.”

“Truly? Most seamen I ken doona ken the front from the back a’ the creature.”

Quinn chuckled. Already, she liked this block of a Scotsman. “Well, sir, I ken more than most.”

Riding slowly through the lightening gloom of pre-dawn, Quinn looked back at the castle, knowing full well that Fiona would watch them until they were out of sight.

“She likes ya, laddie. She likes ya verra mooch.”

Quinn turned back around. “It matters not. I am a pirate. She is a lady. There is no place for this to go.”

They rode in silence a while before Tavish replied, “Aye. That’ll only make her life harder, ya ken?”

Quinn knew. “I do.”

A few dozen hoofbeats later, Tavish asked, “And?”

“And I’d never want that for her. Ever. Don’t worry, Tavish. I know my place, and it isn’t standing next to her, no matter how much I want to be.”

“Good. I want the best fer Lady Fiona... and ya are not that.”

“You want it because you’re in love with her?”

Tavish chuckled. “Nah. Because she saved me life when I was all but dead. I’d cut off me arm fer her. If ya wouldn’t, then ya got no business bein’ around her.”

“What if I would?”

Tavish turned. “Then maybe yer more of a man than ya look.”

The medium-sized boat was manned by fourteen of Fiona’s men, who easily cast off before the sun could peek over the horizon. They were not the only ones getting a boat that morning, and Quinn made quick work of finding out what was going on at the docks that was creating such a stir.

“So this Hawkins fella we was talkin’ ta at the docks. He’s with Drake?” Tavish asked.

Quinn nodded. “Procuring a secondary ship fer the rest of their men, aye.”

The Judith was easy to see in the distance, and the boat Quinn was on was heading in the right direction... straight for them.

“Keep yer eyes open fer the Malendroke!” a man named Kemp shouted.

Tavish handed Quinn an eyeglass.

Looking through the glass, Quinn surveyed the horizon, her eyes straining to find the familiar masts of her home.

“Ennathin’?” Tavish asked in his thick Scottish brogue.

“Not yet, but if she’s out there, I’ll find her.”

“And if she’s not?”

“She will be. Grace O’Malley has an uncanny ability ta see tempests that haven’t even formed yet. She will see this one as well.”

“Ya put a lot a’ faith in a woman.”

Quinn tilted her head toward him. “That woman is the best captain on the sea, Tavish, and you’d best remember that.”

The boat became silent as the oars cut through the water. The sun’s forehead poked over the horizon, and Quinn searched and searched as the sun slowly rose. She wasn’t going to give up now. She’d been with Captain O’Malley long enough to know she would never stop until she found her crew.

It was that loyalty in the captain that bred the kind of loyalty Quinn was experiencing now. She would rather die on this boat than fail her friends.

Then she saw it.

The red and black flags fluttering at the top of the mainsail.

“There! There she is!” Quinn said, pointing straight ahead. “She’s coming!”

The captain of the boat ordered a series of different strokes that propelled them through the swells toward the Malendroke, which was bearing down on Drake’s at a pace that told Quinn all she needed to know about Grace’s state of mind. She was coming in hard and fast to attack.

“If the Judith fires on us, we are sittin’ ducks.”

“They won’t waste a shot on us.” Quinn said. “They need ta engage Captain O’Malley right away so while she fights, the English on the ship can get out before she sinks it.”

Quinn climbed up a small rope net, tucked her legs through the netting, and faced the direction of the Malendroke.

As the ship barreled toward them, Quinn started waving her hands over her head. She had waved nine or ten times when a cannon fired from the Judith toward the Malendroke.

The shot went long, tearing through a small mast before landing in the water behind the large ship.

Quinn kept waving, waiting to see if the Judith would fire again. She could see Grace O’Malley in her mind’s eye; she could picture the way Grace always scanned the seas with her scope. Grace would see Quinn’s boat for sure. Or at least Quinn could only hope she did—before engaging Drake.

A second shot fired out from the Judith. It missed as well. Quinn knew that was probably the final shot. They had engaged the Malendroke now, and Grace pulled broadside for her canons.

“Oh god... no... no, Grace. Don’t fire.” Quinn waved her hands and yelled louder as the boat bobbed like a cork on the water.

Instead of another shot from Drake, Quinn watched as a small boat rowed away from the Judith, carrying Drake’s crew to safety.

“There they go!” Quinn yelled to the deck below. “Ya got a song?”

“A what?”

“A song! A fucking song! Start singing. She’ll hear us if ya all sing at the top of yer lungs.”

Tavis nodded. “‘Wenches and Wine,’ laddies! Start singin’ that blasted song ya sing at the tavern!”

The men looked at each other and did nothing, so Tavish started singing. Soon, the others joined him, the cacophony of voices carrying out over the sea.

“Come on, Innis. Hear us! Look over here!” The Malendroke was close enough for Quinn to see both Innis and Grace peering through their scopes. They were looking for that noise.

“She’s slowin’ down!” came a call from one of the men. “Yeah, slowin’ down, fer sure!”

Quinn scrambled off the netting. “Pull alongside her! Get as close as ya can, and don’t stop singing!”

Her boat slid to the side as the Malendroke slowed down, its sails adjusting to the wind, the oars digging in, using the water to slow itself.

Why hadn’t Grace returned fire? That was so unlike her.

The waves crashed hard into both ships, and Quinn had to hold on to the rope ladder as the ship got closer and created a huge wake.

And the men kept singing.

“No other fire from the Judith,” one of the crew said to Quinn. “Ya may be right about there bein’ no English aboard.”

“I am right.”

Then she saw him. Innis was waving back to her and pointing her out to Grace, who was staring back at her now with those hawk-eyes of hers.

“She’s seen us! Ya can stop singing.”

As the singing quickly died down, Quinn looked up as Murphy tossed a rope ladder over the side, where it landed in the water.

Quickly rowing over to the side of the ship, Quinn motioned to Tavish. “Come on, Tavish. The rest of ya, I owe. Thank ya fer putting yer backs into it—and yer voices as well.”

The two ships bobbed side by side in the water as Quinn scrambled to the side.

“Callaghan?” Murphy said through the mist, looking down at her. “That ya?”

“Aye, friend, it’s me! Tell the captain not ta fire! Hold her fire!” Quinn climbed up, unable to see if Tavish was following after her.

Once at the top, she felt Murphy’s hands under her armpits as he ripped her over the side, where she landed with a thud. She was stunned to see Murphy do the same to Tavish, who landed heavily next to her with an “oof.”

Tavish reached for his sword, but Quinn stopped him. “No. This is my crew. We’re fine.”

Murphy growled. “Who’s this Scottish bloke?”

Jumping to her feet, Quinn answered as she touched Murphy’s arm. “He’s an ally, Murph, on loan from Lady Fiona. He is... well... here ta protect me.”

Murphy released his hilt. “Captain’s spittin’ fire, Callaghan. She’s gonna blow Drake’s ship ta tiny bits. She––”

“Is about ta draw blood against that Drake vermin, Callaghan!” Grace yelled as she stormed across the deck, hair flowing wildly behind her, sword waving in the air. “What the bloody hell is goin’ on? Ya better have a damn good reason why yer out here without the rest a’ the crew!”

Quinn threw her shoulders back. “Captain, Drake’s men are not on the Judith,” Quinn said quickly as Grace set upon her. “Our men are.”

Grace lowered her sword. “What?”

“He collected our crew from town last night and put us on the Judith. He wants ya ta fire on the ship. They have already rowed away from the port side.”

“It is a ship now filled with only yer men,” Tavish added for emphasis.

Captain O’Malley blinked. “What? Are ya sayin’ Drake is sacrificin’ his ship so that I kill my own men on it?”

Quinn nodded. “His brother, or cousin––some bloke named John Hawkins—has purchased another ship. They care not at all about the Judith––only about killing our crew and ruining ya, sir.”

Grace paced back and forth as she took this information in. “What kind a’ devil are we dealin’ with here? What kind a’ man would sink his own ship?”

“One who is trying ta destroy ya, Captain. This is personal, sir. He knows if ya kill yer own men, ya will be destroyed, and he wants ta destroy ya fer humiliatin’ him.”

Grace looked at the Judith, at Quinn, and back to the Judith. “My men are truly on that ship?”

“Yes, sir, they are. I was with them, but I escaped and got help. Ya have ta trust me. Firing on that ship will only kill our own men. The English are long gone from it, sir. The only option open ta us is ta go get our men and hope we can get back in time ta sink the new ship Hawkins procured.”

Grace turned to Innis and said through gritted teeth. “Pull us alongside the Judith. Do not fire on that ship unless I tell ya.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grace O’Malley looked over at Tavish as if seeing him for the first time. “Who might ya be?”

He bowed. “Lady Fiona sent me ta insure Callaghan’s protection and success. I have orders ta make sure Callaghan and yer crew are escorted safely outta these waters.”

“She sent a Scotsman?”

“She sent the best she had, ma’am... uh... sir.”

Grace turned to Quinn. “Yer tellin’ me Drake grabbed my crew from shore, took ’em ta his ship and then fired on me so that I then kill my own crew?” She shook her head. “English evil is what that is. Pure and simple.”

“Is there enna other kind a’ English?” Tavish asked.

Grace almost grinned. “Yer certain there are no Englishmen aboard that ship?”

“I am, sir. Our men are in the slave hold. Gimp and I managed ta free ourselves. I took the rowboat ta shore, and Lady Fiona sent her men with us ta the dock ta get this ship, so we could reach ya before ya sunk the damn thing.”

Captain O’Malley barked sailing orders, and everyone stepped up and did as told. When she was done, she turned to Quinn once more. “We’re boardin’ that ship like we would enna other–– ready ta fight and draw first blood.

Quinn nodded. “Aye, sir.”

“Why do ya call her sir?” Tavish whispered.

“She prefers it. It’s easier.”

“I see.” Tavish shook his head. “Well, not really.”

The two ships were nearly side-by-side when Grace ordered the Firsts to board. The crew crawled over the Judith like ants on a piece of candy.

Quinn started, but Innis stopped her. “Captain wants ya and yer Scot ta stay here.”

“My––”

“Scot, laddie. He’s talkin’ aboot yers truly.”

“Captain, I can fight. Tavish can fight. Don’t make us––”

Grace whirled around. “Callaghan, have ya looked at yer clothes? Yer not really fit ta fight dressed like some dandy.”

Quinn looked down at her clothes. It was true––she was wearing the foppish nobleman’s clothing Fiona had given her. Fighting clothes, they were not. “I’ll change straightaway, sir.”

“No. Stay and prepare ta defend. Just in case.” Grace pulled her swords out and waited.

As the newly freed crewmembers crossed the planks and jumped onto the Malendroke’s deck, Quinn heaved a relieved sigh. When she saw Connor, a huge smile spread across her face.

“Good work,” Connor said, hugging Quinn hard and patting her hard on the back. “I was a little worried ya weren’t gonna make it back in time.” He stood back and looked her over. “Didja stop at a ball before ya got here, ya fop?”

Quinn punched him in the arm. “Jackass.”

Captain O’Malley uncharacteristically hugged Connor and then turned back to Quinn. “Ya done good, Callaghan. We’ll talk about all this later, but fer now, is there ennathin’ on this ship we can use?”

Quinn shook her head. “No, sir. Maybe a few weapons, but not much. Not worth our time. It’s a slaver ship, pure and simple.”

“Good.” Captain O’Malley called for the Thirds to go aboard and set fire to the ship. “That bastard will be surprised ta learn he lost his ship fer no good reason. Everra man ta yer stations. We don’t wanna be close when that ship dies.”

“Scuttle it, sir?”

“Aye. Scuttle it, burn it, hail fire and brimstone on it, but make sure it disappears from the face a’ the earth.”

And that was precisely what her men did, with pleasure.

As Quinn and the rest of the crew helped move the Malendroke away while the Judith began glowing, Quinn cut her eyes over at Grace. She stood ramrod straight, her arms akimbo, with a look of pure hatred on her face. “That motherfucker is goin’ ta pay fer this, Callaghan. Maybe not here and not now, but one day, that arrogant Englishman will pay, and when he does, he’s gonna feel it ta the marrow a’ his bones.”

Quinn looked around the deck. “Where’s Gimp?”

One Eye looked down and shook his head. “They musta tossed him overboard, because we looked everrawhere fer him. I don’t think he made it.”

Quinn’s hand went to her mouth. She never thought the crew would kill a man who could barely fight back. “Ya don’t think... ”

“He wasn’t on the ship, Callaghan. We looked everrawhere. More’n likely, they kilt him and chucked him over the side.”

Quinn held her breath as if doing so would keep her emotions in check. “Poor Gimp. Are ya certain?”

“Aye. He’s not on board that ship.”

Quinn wondered briefly if the English took him with them.

But why?

The men all stood at the railing and watched the other ship come apart.

Once the Judith crumbled and sank, Grace ordered the Malendroke back to port. “Kill enna and everra Englishman ya can find, boys. Run ’em through, take their heads off, but make them bleed. Do it fer Gimp. Do it fer us.”

“Yer captain isna someone ya want ta be on the wrong side of,” Tavish said softly to Quinn.

Quinn nodded. “I’m afraid that Francis Drake has just made one of the worst enemies of his life.”

Drake had changed Grace. He had threatened to kill her crew, and that fact made this personal. So when she told the men they were going in for repairs and to cut the deadwood from the crew list, Quinn wasn’t a bit surprised that Patrick was on that list, and a part of her was glad for it. She had assumed Grace might have kept him because of his familial relationship to Quinn.

She’d assumed incorrectly.

As she and Patrick stood together on the dock to say their farewells, Patrick asked, “Any word for Father?”

“Just tell him I am precisely where I need to be and that I will come home when I can. No need to keep up the school pretense any longer, Paddy. Tell him the truth.” Walking over to a fruit merchant, Quinn purchased an orange that was not nearly as healthy-looking as the ones Murphy usually gave to her.

Patrick nodded. “I feel like I’ve let you down.”

Quinn handed the merchant a coin in exchange for the orange. “You have done no such thing. The pirate life is not for you. It never has been. Be fine with that. I am.”

“That’s just it. It isn’t for me, but how on earth could it be for you? Look at yourself. Your face is bruised, you have that tremendous scar on your eyebrow now, your hair looks like a blind woman cut it with a dull blade, and you have hands as rough as any man’s here.”

“And yet I’ve never been more fulfilled nor happier than I am when I am on the water. I don’t expect you to understand, brother. I really don’t.” Tearing into the orange, Quinn held it to her nose, closed her eyes and inhaled the scent.

“Yet, you wish for me to explain your absence to our father... that you have left school and chosen life at sea?”

“Yes. I cannot keep carrying all of these lies and half truths with me, Paddy, nor do I want or need you to shoulder that burden. Tell him that. Do not elaborate, but let him know I have found the life for me. Besides, he will be so happy to have one of us home.”

“He’d far rather––”

“—it be both of us, I know, but it can’t be. Not until I hear word of Shea. And even then, it may never be again.”

“Shea or no Shea, this crew... this ship... hell, even our captain is indebted to you. And though I have not said as much, I am quite proud of you. You have become a force to be reckoned with, Quinn. You have managed to function better than most men in a man’s world. That’s quite a feat.” Patrick hugged her, then pulled back and slapped her on the back. “Come home soon, Kieran Callaghan, and never forget who you really are.”

Quinn forced a grin and wiped her eyes. “You’re the best brother in the world, Paddy. Don’t forget it.” Quinn felt such a range of emotion that she thought she would start bawling, but she knew she could not. She was sad, relieved, slightly afraid, and grateful, all at the same time. In the end, she knew Patrick deserved to live his own life just as she deserved to live hers.

As he walked away, a hand went around Quinn’s shoulders and pulled her into a half embrace.

“That is what I would like ta know, Callaghan,” Captain O’Malley whispered. “Who are ya, really?”

Quinn froze.

Grace laughed that deep, head-back, open-mouthed laugh of hers. “Don’t look so guilty, Callaghan. I am merely teasin’ ya.” Grace waited for Patrick to disappear before motioning for Quinn to join her back at the ship in her quarters.

Once in the captain’s room, Grace poured two shots of her best whiskey and slid one over to Quinn. “Have a seat.”

Quinn sat down and picked up her shot, dreading what was to come.

Grace studied the amber liquid for a moment. “I do not know if I should respect or fear ya, Callaghan. One minute, ya are facin’ the merry queen a’ Scotland pretendin’ ta be me, and the next, ya are jumpin’ off a boat and swimmin’ ta shore, both times in an effort ta rescue my crew.”

“The men needed me, sir. I just did what you would have done to ensure their safety.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Callaghan. What ya did was a hair’s breadth from being batty. Ya could have been kilt at enna stage a’ yer escape.”

“It was take that risk or die in the hold of an English ship. I preferred the former.”

“I understand that. I owe my crew’s life ta ya, Callaghan, and an O’Malley chieftain always pays her debts.” Grace raised the glass and met Quinn’s glass in midair. “To repayin’ debts.”

“Aye.” Quinn clinked her glass to the captain’s before shooting the amber liquid down her throat. It burned like swallowing fire for just a moment before smoothing out.

“So, here’s what we’re gonna do, Kieran Callaghan, or whoever ya are. We’re gonna tear up and down these waters ’til someone tells us where those damn coins came from. Then we’re gonna sail there and put out the word that Grace O’Malley will pay a hefty reward ta ennaone who can lead us ta that boat and that captain who took yer friend.”

Quinn could only blink back her surprise.

“Don’t look so shocked. I wouldna have a ship, a crew, a clan, or a life if ya hadn’t gone ta the lengths ya did ta keep me from sinkin’ that boat with my men on it. That would have ruined me and broken my spirit, and my O’Malley spirit is somethin’ I canna put a price on. So, we’re gonna find yer friend, and while we look, we’ll be cruisin’ the seas lookin’ fer that bastard, Drake. Killin’ two birds, as it were. How does that sound ta ya?”

Quinn thought she would cry. “That sounds mighty fair, sir.”

Grace laughed and poured two more. “Fair? Oh, Callaghan, ya slay me. Ya got stones twice yer own weight. Yer the bravest man on this ship, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.” She pushed the glass back to Quinn and raised her own. “Ta brave loyalty that deserves ta be rewarded.”

Quinn tapped her glass and downed another shot. It burned less this time, as whiskey was wont to do.

Grace poured a third shot. “Ya keep yer wits about ya, Callaghan. I’ll hand it ta ya. The men who were imprisoned on the Judith with ya say yer worth yer weight in gold. Can’t say I disagree. That they love ya tells me I made the right decision in keepin’ yer secret.” Grace tossed her third shot back and waited for Quinn to do the same. “A secret I intend on keepin’ as long as yer on this ship.”

“Thank you, sir. If there were any other way––”

“There isn’t. Ya just keep doin’ what yer doin’ Callaghan. Ta be honest, it’s nice havin’ another thinkin’ person on board. These scalliwags can drive me batty with their simple ways.” Grace shot another shot. “But one thing ya don’t seem ta do verra well is have a good time.” The captain poured a fourth round and pushed both shots to Quinn. “For this night, yer gonna let yer hair down and have a randy good time.”

Quinn stared at the two shot glasses. “I... uh... ”

“It’s not a request,” Grace said deeply before opening the door. Standing at the door was Becca. “This beautiful little lass has agreed ta watch over ya while ya loosen up a little. Ya do know how ta do that, dontcha?”

“Becca?” Quinn rose unsteadily to her feet, the whiskey already taking effect.

“Uh-uh. Drink those first,” the captain commanded. “Nothin’ wrong with loosenin’ up, lad. Ya earned it.”

Quinn took the fourth and burped after the fifth. “What are ya doin’ here?”

“I asked One Eye ta fetch her. She is here a’ her own free will and has sworn ta take good care a’ ya. The ship Drake purchased is long gone, so we might as well let the crew enjoy what they were doin’ before that rat bastard took ’em.”

Becca smiled softly as Quinn inched toward her. “Captain O’Malley just wants ya ta enjoy yerself this evenin’, Callaghan. I would love nothin’ more than ta be that enjoyment.”

Grace laughed heartily once more. “Perfect! Then ya take Callaghan—and this,” Grace handed a bunch of coins to Becca and finished with, “and see ta it Callaghan has a roarin’ good time he can boast about!”

Quinn now stood unsteadily between the two women. “But––”

Becca gently took Quinn’s hand and pulled her from the captain’s quarters. “Ya will be safe with me,” she whispered. “But ya better come before Captain O’Malley changes her mind.”

Quinn searched Grace’s face for a clue. Why on earth had she pushed a woman toward another woman?

“Go on, Callaghan. We’ll be preparin’ the ship ta travel ta the continent just as we planned. We are goin’ ta find yer friend, the ship, and Drake... preferably not in that order. Now off with ya. I have work ta do.”

When Quinn and Becca left the ship and walked straight past the tavern, Quinn balked. “Where are we going?”

“Yer captain told me ta take ya someplace quiet, someplace off the beaten track.”

“Really? That is not like her.”

Becca smiled, her arm threaded through Quinn’s. “Grace O’Malley isn’t known fer her kindness, Callaghan, so ya must be verra special. Even more special than I thought.”

Quinn stopped walking. “Becca––the other day––”

“The other day I thought silly thoughts about ya and Lady Fiona. I realize I was actin’ a jealous fool. Why wouldn’t a man like ya fall in love with her? She is beautiful, gracious, and kind.”

“I wouldn’t go that––”

“But seeing as she announced her engagement this mornin’, I realized I was bein’ such a silly woman. Please forgive me.”

Quinn shook her head and tried to calm her quickened heartbeat and rapid breathing.

Engaged?

It would serve no purpose to hurt Becca’s feelings again by showing her disappointment in the news of the engagement, so Quinn just stuffed it deep down inside her. Why hadn’t Fiona said anything last night? “There is nothing ta forgive. I will make sure I comport myself with a tad more dignity than I have shown.”

Quinn had a million questions about the engagement, but knew she could not risk asking them, so she turned all of her attention to the person who truly wanted her and was still free to love her. “So are we staying in a nice place?”

Becca smiled and nodded. “Actually, ’tis a cottage on the outskirts a’ town. I guess it was owned by a clan member, and Grace has us set up fer the evenin’. Doesn’t that sound heavenly?”

“Verra much so.”

Becca stopped. “Ya sound hesitant.”

Quinn inhaled deeply, knowing what she would have to do and already feeling guilty for it. “Not at all. I look forward ta spending time with ya, getting ta know ya, learning more about who ya are.”

“I would really love that.”

“Is that purse fer mead, whiskey, or wine?” Quinn asked, already setting her next play in motion.

“What’s yer pleasure?”

“This day, I would rather ya buy what ya enjoy.”

That purchase was whiskey.

So, as they made their way to the cottage, Quinn made the plans in her head, knowing full well she would hate herself in the morning for it—but she had no other choice. If she needed answers about Fiona and her engagement, there was only one place to get them.

Riding hard, Quinn tried to ignore the guilt chasing after her and the alcohol threatening to toss her off the horse.

After getting Becca so drunk that she passed out, Quinn had grabbed a horse and taken off for Fiona’s castle. It was tricky riding. She was half drunk when she saddled up, but she rode as hard as she could anyway, knowing that the grains of sand were quickly descending. As much as she loved spending time with Becca, she couldn’t stop thinking about Fiona, and the thought of her being with someone else drove her crazy.

Once there, she leapt off, handed the reins to a stable boy, and headed for the courtyard, never breaking stride. By now, she was completely sober.

“Another step and yer dead,” a guard growled from the darkness.

Quinn held her arms up. “I need ta see Lady Fiona.”

“It’s well past visitin’ time, boy. Run along ta yer mama now.”

Quinn just barely suppressed an irritated sigh. How many times was this going to happen? She did not move.

“Did ya hear what I said?” The guard started sliding his sword from its sheath when a big, thick-fingered hand shot out from nowhere, grabbing his wrist.

“What the––”

The hand squeezed the wrist so hard, the guard dropped to his knee.

“Tavish?” the guard grunted, surprised. “What in the blazes?”

Tavish followed his hand out of the shadows. “The lad gets a pass ta see her ladyship. Now and enna time he comes this way. Understood?”

“A pass? From ya?”

Tavish stepped closer, his beady eyes even smaller as he growled. “Aye, from me. Ya got enna questions, take it up with the lady. She willna be happy if ya turn me boyo away.”

The guard blinked a moment before barely nodding. “Fine. But ya both stay here. I mean it, Tavish. Ya two come up, I’ll run ya through.”

“Not on yer best day, lad. Be off, Jamison. Don’t keep us waitin’ long.”

When Jamison was gone, Quinn turned to Tavish. “What in the bloody hell are you doing? How did you get here? Have you been following me?”

“Not important, laddie. I have me job, and I do it well. Enough said.”

“But how––”

Tavish waved her off. “Ya want ta see the lady? Ya see the lady. It’s as simple as that.”

Quinn stared at him as the guard returned. “She will see ya in the dinin’ hall.”

“Why the dining hall?”

The guard cast a frustrated glance to Tavish. “She says ya might be hungry. There will probably already be food fer ya.” Then he muttered something under his breath about stray curs.

As if on cue, Quinn’s belly growled.

Tavish nudged her. “G’won. I’ll be right out here if ennathin’ goes wrong.”

Quinn took two steps before turning. “What could go wrong?”

Tavish raised a caterpillar-sized eyebrow. “Yer visitin’ a woman in the late afternoon who is betrothed ta another. The better question is what could not go wrong?”

Quinn closed her eyes a moment before nodding and then following the guard into the expansive dining hall where Lady Fiona sat, hands clasped upon the table, waiting. When she saw Quinn, her eyes lit up.

“Callaghan.”

Quinn’s heart quickened. “I had to come.”

Rising, Fiona came around the table to greet her. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I was in dire need to get this information to your captain.” Fiona shot a look to the guard, who slowly backed out of the room, leaving them completely alone.

Quinn felt some of her energy wane. “I came as soon as I heard.”

Fiona nodded. “Come. Sit. Please. I owe you an explanation.”

Sitting at the table to Fiona’s right, Quinn kept her gaze locked on the pouch and letter sitting in front of Fiona.

Taking the letter, Fiona waxed and sealed it shut. “Please take this to Grace O’Malley and tell her we thank her with all our might. She has done much to keep us coast dwellers free from those wretched English pirates. She has enabled my father to continue his business. We wish to thank her for all she has done for us.”

Quinn took the letter, her eyebrows knitted together. “But you were the ones who saved her.”

Fiona lowered her voice. “Hardly. We did what we could to assist the great one of Connacht, but this... this is much different.”

Quinn placed the letter inside her jacket, her eyes never leaving Fiona’s.

“And this.” Fiona slid the pouch on over.

“Oh, I don’t know––”

“Please.”

“But... ” Quinn lowered her voice. “You had no idea I was coming.”

Fiona smiled softly. “I could only hope, so I prepared an excuse to see you ahead of time. I made it look like I had summoned you. I apologize if––”

“Why?”

Fiona glanced away.

“You are engaged. Why? Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

Fiona paused and looked back at Quinn, tears in her eyes. “It is a long and complicated tale that is quite boring and speaks to a state of womanhood you could not possibly understand. I did not tell you last night because it was not important, and I needed you to do what you were going to do with a clear head.”

“Then it’s true. You will wed another.”

“Yes. I must. What I did last night, I did for you.”

Quinn slowly reached for Fiona’s hand, relieved when she did not pull away. “You helped save our crew. The captain––”

“Has already sent her appreciation. That woman is nothing if not generous, but my father believes it is we who owe her for her years of making our coastal waterways safe. Please. Take the letter and the gold to her with our gratitude.”

Quinn stared down at her hands. Knowing that this was the right thing for Fiona to do, given her social status, did not make it go down any easier. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Fiona laid her hand on Quinn’s. “No, you saved those men, because you are as incredible as she is. I do not believe you know that, and were I a woman who could give herself to you, I would spend the rest of my life making sure you knew that. Always.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time before Fiona slowly leaned forward and kissed Quinn’s lips. “I am so happy you came... as I knew you would,” she breathed. “I look out at the sea so often and think of you all the time. I wonder if you are well, if you are happy... if... ”

“If I think of you? Nearly every moment. More than I should, given my station... and now, given your betrothal... ”

Fiona sighed. “Yes. There’s that. And your station. Would that you had the wealth and means––”

“And title?”

Fiona cast her eyes down. “I wish things were different, but they are not. Perhaps the pirate world is different, but here on land, there are certain... expectations a woman of my standing must endure. Marrying well is one such expectation.”

“Is this marriage what you wish? I mean... do you love him?”

This made Fiona chuckle. “You are such a man, seeing the world through a man’s eyes. Women in my position have less to say about our lives than serving wenches do.”

Quinn bristled at the reference to Becca’s caste, but chose not to ask if she meant her. She knew exactly what Fiona meant. She’d lived in that gilded cage long enough to know how stifling it could be. “That must be terribly difficult.”

“To not decide one’s fate? To not have control over one’s life? It is. It is so often heartbreaking for women of means. To promote Father’s estate, to marry without love, to have so few choices... no, it is not easy, nor is it kind. It is hard, and it is inevitable.”

“Is there anything you can wish for? Anything that would make your life easier?”

“I wish for few things now, my rapscallion pirate, but one prayer I say often is for you to remain safe. I do worry so. The seas seem so angry at times––so calm and peaceful at others. It is like a woman who can never make up her mind.”

Quinn fought hard to keep the tears at bay. So far, she had seen not one man shed a single tear since she’d been on the ship. Crying now, as much as she wanted to, would make her appear weak and feminine. “I imagined you watching... looking. I wondered––”

“Wondered?”

“Hoped, actually.”

A slight smile toyed on Fiona’s lips. “You need not hope any longer, my gallant and brave pirate. I gaze out at the sea every day and think of you. I wonder what you are doing, whether you are safe, if you are dry and your belly full. I speculate... ” she paused. “I wonder a great deal, actually.”

Quinn laid her hand on top of Fiona’s. “Just so you can better envision it, more often than not, I am standing on the deck of the Malendroke looking in your direction, wondering what you are doing, if you are well. I remember the taste of your lips on mine, the softness of your touch. I paint your beautiful face over and over again in my mind’s eye. I never expected to come back and find you betrothed.”

“It is the wisest decision I could make under the circumstances.”

“The circumstances? What circumstances are those?”

The silence hung in the air like the laundry. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Finally, Fiona leaned forward, inhaled deeply and breathed the words. “That I am in love with pirate whose name I cherish, whose heart I shall never stop loving, whose body I shall yearn for until the day I die... but mostly, and sadly, for whom social convention says is beneath my station.” She kept her eyes on Quinn’s. “And we both know how that story ends.”

Quinn’s heart raced. “Do we?”

Fiona nodded. “I wish we didn’t, but we both know better. There is no place for this to go that does not destroy my family’s name.”

Unspoken words hung in the air like bubbles, popping silently.

Fiona inhaled, and the moment was gone. “Where are you off to next?”

Quinn shrugged, trying to contain her emotions. “The captain has an itch called Francis Drake that she wishes to scratch. She has also agreed to help me find my childhood friend.”

“The one who was abducted?”

“Aye.”

“I have a slight confession. I made it my business to find out more about you. I must say, of your current position there is little information, but that is still more than I can discern about your past. No one seems to know anything about where your family is from or what your father does. The trail has run cold.”

Quinn gazed into Fiona’s beautiful face, torn between telling her the useless truth or allowing the façade to slowly die like burning embers. In the end, the truth seemed of little importance anyway. If loving a pirate was beneath her, how much would loving another woman destroy her family’s name? “Is it important now? You have clearly already made your choice. There is nothing left to know.”

Fiona blew out a breath. “Touché. I suppose it is not. I did not need to investigate to know you are a wonderful person who is kind and considerate. You are loyal to a fault and willing to risk your life to save those men.”

“I’m a pirate.”

Fiona sighed. “Unlike any I have ever met.”

“Do you meet many?”

“You would be surprised. As I said, my father and Grace’s father were friends, then business partners. Her father shipped my father’s goods in exchange for safe harbor. I’ve known many more pirates than you would imagine. It’s how I know that you are nothing at all like them.”

“Because I have a heart?”

“Because you revealed your heart, and though I cannot be the recipient of your affections, I can hold mine to my chest and know that, in another place and time, we might have been able to create something beautiful.”

Quinn laid her hand on Fiona’s cheek. “As long as you know all you need to do is send for me, and I’ll come as soon as I can.”

Fiona turned her head and kissed Quinn’s palm. “I am quite sure you would. Of that, I have no doubt.”

They sat like that for a long tender moment, and Quinn wished it could go on and on. But she knew she had to go. Swallowing down the deep ache in her chest, Quinn slowly rose. “If I do not leave now, I am afraid one of us will do something we might regret.”

Fiona smiled sadly. “I do not believe I would regret it at all. Until later, then.”

Quinn nodded. “Until much later.”

Fiona also rose. “One last thing. That serving girl? The one who is passionately in love with you?”

Quinn held her breath. Was there nothing this woman hadn’t sought out about her?

“I looked into her as well. She’s a decent woman... a kind woman... a woman who will love you as hard as a woman of her station can love. Let her.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to be happy. Safe and happy. Loved and happy. Not many women can handle the life of a pirate, but I believe she can. She has a good soul, Callaghan.”

“More research?”

“Money greases many wheels, my love, and I have plenty of it.”

Pulling Fiona to her, Quinn kissed her long and hard, her arms wrapped tightly around Fiona’s waist as if she would never let go.

When the kiss ended, Quinn pulled away and gently touched Fiona’s eyebrow with her fingertips. “Thank you for caring. I wish our circumstance was better, and perhaps one day, it will be. Until then, make sure he is good to you, or there will be a very angry pirate after him.”

As Quinn stepped outside, she hesitated and then came back in. “And what would this lucky fellow’s name be?”

“Edmund. Edmund Scott.”

Quinn’s eyebrow rose. “An Englishman?”

Fiona blushed. “My father believes the English queen too powerful for us, so he is... shall we say... planting seeds for the future.”

Quinn stepped back out. “The English queen, eh? Then your father is either crazy or brilliant.”

Fiona nodded. “Only time will tell, my love. Only time will tell.”

Quinn raced back to the dock and returned to Becca’s cottage just as she was waking up. A sliver of guilt protruded from Quinn’s soul, but she ignored it.

“Yer dressed,” Quinn said, kissing her lightly.

Becca pinched the bridge of her nose. “Aye. My head is poundin’.”

“I know. So is mine. We drank too much, but damn, woman, we had a great time together. Ya are an amazing lover, Becca.”

Becca started to nod, then shook her head “I do not remember.”

Quinn stood. “Believe me. It was wonderful. Ya do know how ta please me, ta be sure.”

Becca beamed, then quickly frowned. “Next time, I’ll not drink like that. I don’t remember a thing.”

“Ya may not, but I do, and it was delicious. Now, I must return ta the ship. I wish we had more time but––”

Becca sat up, pulling the covers around her. “But Grace calls. I know.”

Quinn sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots back on. “Ya are a wickedly fun lover, Becca. Kind, loving, and verra generous. Ya are a beautiful, beautiful woman. I hope I wasn’t too vigorous with ya. It was hard fer me ta hold back.” Quinn felt, of all the lies, this was the least harmful.

Becca stared at her. “Sir, ya speak with an eloquence above yer station, and at times I wonder if ya are remotely what ya appear ta be.”

Quinn rose from the bed and adjusted her vest, feeling the weary weight of all the lies she’d been telling lately. Were they chipping away at her soul? Was the guilt she bore worth it? She wondered aloud, “What is it I appear ta be?”

Becca smiled lasciviously. “Ya command attention like a pirate, ya speak like a nobleman, and ya treat people like they matter. I do not know enna more than that.”

“I have learned a great deal since I started working on the Malendroke.”

“’Tis more than that, my love. So much more.”

Quinn kissed her softly. “The love of a pirate isn’t what ya ought ta aspire ta, Becca. Ya are a fabulous woman who deserves so much better.”

This made Becca laugh. “Better? Callaghan, look at me. I am a servant, a commoner. Why on earth would ya think I should wish fer more than the love of a good man?”

And there it was... a woman of low status had the highest aspiration to be loved by a decent man, while a woman of Fiona’s position was to be married to a man who raised the family’s status, love be damned. Neither was acceptable to Quinn, and she wondered how it could be so for either of these women.

“Because ya deserve it,” she told Becca. Kissing her once more, Quinn started for the door. “Ya are a rare gem, Becca. Never forget that. Thank ya fer last night.”

“Yer verra welcome.”

As Quinn opened the door, Becca added, “And I hope it doesna hurt yer feelins ta know that ya make love ta me like a woman.”

Quinn stopped and slowly turned, her heart picking up speed. “I... what?”

“Ya make love like a woman. Ya know when ta be gentle, where ta touch, how ta bring a woman ta the point a’ cryin’ out. Ya know yer way around a woman’s body.”

Quinn held her breath, wanting to release it but not wishing to alarm Becca. “I try.”

“False modesty doesna suit ya verra well. Yer the best lover I have ever had. I’m sure I’m not the first ta say so.”

Quinn smiled softly. “Ya are too kind.”

“And yer too mysterious. I wonder if I will ever truly know who ya are behind that pirate mask.”

“Mask? This is no mask.” How many times had she had to say that recently? And how many times could she keep on saying it?

“Of course it is. After being intimate with ya, I know there is more ta ya than what everraone sees.” Becca got out of bed, naked, and pulled Quinn into an embrace. “And I want ta see what everraone else does not see.”

Backing away, Quinn lightly touched Becca’s cheek. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Yes, we have, and we shall continue ta talk about it until we come ta an agreement.”

“An agreement?”

Becca chuckled. “Aye. Until ya agree that we are somethin’ special.”

“Special? We are special. Ya are special.”

“We will be when there are fewer people in our relationship.”

The pause was long and awkward.

“Relationship.” Quinn said it like it was a foreign concept.

Becca nodded. “Aye. And when that day comes, ya’ll come ta me, wantin’ only me. On that day, we will be special. Not before. I know ya have ta get her outta yer system. When ya do, we will move forward, but not until. Now, go—before I pull ya back into bed.”

Quinn stepped out the door and into the brisk morning air, feeling like they had just had two different conversations.

How much longer could she keep up this charade, she did not know, but––

“That was quick, laddie.”

Quinn was so startled that she reached for her sword until she realized who it was. “Tavish, what the hell are ya doing?”

“Me job, laddie. Stop being all surprised.”

Quinn tilted her head sideways. “Your job? According to whom?”

Tavish walked next to Quinn, bouncing as he did. “Not important, lad. What’s important is that yer safe and that we are settin’ sail this afternoon. It’s about time, if ya ask me. I’m ready ta put the land behind me.”

“The land or a woman?”

Tavish threw his arm across her shoulders. “Sometimes, laddie, they are one and the same.”

Ever since our capture by Drake’s men, Grace has been on a tear. I’ve never seen her so inflamed, so aggressive, and so short-fused. Grace strides across the deck shouting orders, barking at slow movers, and generally commanding with an air of authority I’ve not previously seen. Like the others around me, I just put my head down and do my work. We are even too nervous to ask where we were headed.

One day, after an hour out at sea, she pulled us all together and announced that we are heading to the continent.

To Portugal.

After Drake.

The crew is ecstatic. They seem to prefer pirating to any other activity, including chasing women. They are terribly good fighters, excellent thieves, and consummate pillagers. I feel confident against any other ship, English or otherwise. Grace’s men are well trained, and I am certain they cheered at her announcement because of an imminent fight, any fight, and not because it was Drake’s ship.

He’s gone and christened his latest ship the Judith, probably in memory of the one he sacrificed against Captain O’Malley. Maybe he just did so to spite her.

So we are after the Judith and her captain, a despicable man who has likely returned to Portugal to collect more human cargo. With any luck, we are also heading toward some idea of where Shea could be.

If she’s still alive.

If she’s still well.

If she hasn’t been beaten or her spirit broken, carted around as a slave. I can’t stand to think of it. Truth be told, I can’t stand to think of the many ways the women I love are incarcerated in one form or another. Poor, lovely Becca is trapped in her station. Fiona, a woman on means no less trapped by her station, and Grace, the one everyone looks down on, is the freest of them all. It is as fascinating as it is heartbreaking. All we want is to have options open to us.

All we want is to be free.

That night, the seas were rougher than normal as the weather bore down on them with a vengeance. Quinn and Innis held the rope to the mainsail as it whipped around in the tempest that was on the warpath. The hard rain pelted the deck, and every man worked desperately to save the sails from being torn. It took a couple of hours of feverish work before they finally entered calmer waters, their sails tattered and torn but still attached.

Quinn was dead tired. She headed to one of the few private areas of the ship, where two hammocks hung in a closet-like structure. Collapsing in the hammock, she wondered if any of her muscles were not sore.

She doubted it.

She had stressed and strained for over two hours, and her body hated her for it. This was the work Patrick had hated the most: the shite work, the grunt work. She was glad he would not have to work so hard any longer.

Just as her heavy eyelids shut and her weary bones sank into the hammock ropes, the door was thrust open, revealing a large man standing at it.

“Close the bloody door,” Quinn growled, not bothering to look up to see who was there.

The intruder did as he was told.

“I don’t know why ya vex me so, but I can’t seem ta pull meself away from ya.”

It was Innis, and his breath was foul with ale.

“Go ta sleep, Innis. Yer a jackass is all. No hard feelings.”

Innis knelt next to her hammock. “That’s jus’ it,” he slurred. “I close me eyes, and there ya are. It is unnatural, I know, but I canna stop me thoughts.”

Quinn quickly sat up. Innis hated her—what was he going on about? “Don’t make me kick yer arse, Innis. Get the fuck out.”

Innis leaned in. “I’ve seen how ya look at me, lad, and though I canna stop it, I need ta know if ya... ”

She could not believe this was happening. “Oh, hell no. Bloody hell no, ya bastard. Get away from me. No. Not now, not ever. Get out before I run ya through.”

Innis grabbed her and pulled her face to his, smashing his lips into hers.

Quinn used both hands to shove him away, where he fell back against the wall. For a drunk man, Innis recovered quickly.

“Come on, Callaghan. Ya don’t hafta pretend wi’ me.”

Quinn thought back to Innis wielding that practice sword above his head while she lay on the deck unarmed. She remembered every snide comment, every dirty look he’d cast at her since she walked onto this ship. She was just too tired for this shit.

“Fuck ya, Innis!” Quinn pulled her fist back, but before she could release it, the door was torn off the hinges by Tavish McGee, who reached in, grabbed Innis around the throat, and punched him one time with a big, meaty fist.

Innis was knocked out cold, landing on the deck with a thump.

Unmoving.

“Ya all right, laddie?”

Quinn got up and straightened her clothes, her eyes moving from the missing door to Tavish’s fist and back to the doorway. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Bastard’s just drunk and acting the fool. What are you doing here, anyway?” Quinn stared down at Innis, who had yet to move. She thought he might even be dead.

Tavish shrugged. “Heard the noise and came runnin’. Yer sure yer all right? Filthy bugger.”

Quinn knew better than to believe that Tavish had heard anything, but she let it go. Glancing down at Innis, she shook her head. “You knocked him out with one blow?”

He shrugged again. “It’s what I do. It’s kinda what I’m known fer back home.”

“Knocking someone unconscious with a single punch is what you are known for?”

He held out his meaty fist. “Got ’em from me da. He told me a man who could knock another man out with one punch would have little ta fear from the world. Me da was a smart man.”

Quinn looked at it. It was twice the size of the largest fist she’d ever seen. “Well, nicely done.”

Tavish looked at her.

“I appreciate your interference,” Quinn continued, “but I’ve a feeling you saw it coming. You’ve been following me. I demand to know why.”

Taking Innis under the arms, Tavish started dragging him to the door. “The man hates ya inna way I canna understand, Callaghan. That much is certain. I’m jes’ keepin’ the peace.”

When Tavish and Innis were gone, Quinn got back in the hammock and stared at the open doorway.

If she was going to remain a man, she would have to step it up and be a man... a male pirate of lowbrow origins. She needed to be better at this than she’d ever been. If Innis felt drawn to her, it had to be something feminine in her that had seeped through her mask, and that was not acceptable.

Either that—or Innis was the male version of Quinn Gallagher and loved men more than women. That was possible, wasn’t it?

Either way, she needed to be more manly, lest others raise an eyebrow of suspicion. And she couldn’t have that... not when she was in pursuit of Shea. Not when Captain O’Malley agreed to help. Not when she was this close.

Quinn decided then and there to be even more masculine than she’d been. After all, Shea’s life may very well depend on it.

Quinn stepped up to the railing and looked left. Then right. No one too close. Pulling her pants down, she made a motion as if to be holding a urinating penis.

The urine fell off the side and into the water below just as two men started toward her.

Tucking the funnel back into her pants, Quinn left the area, nodding at the two men as she walked by.

It had been three hours since Tavish had punched Innis in the face, and Quinn had fashioned a device to help her urinate standing up—like a man. She needed them to see her more like them. She needed to start speaking like them and acting like them, even if that meant more burping and farting.

The funnel worked like a charm.

“Callaghan. Captain wants ta see ya,” one of the deck hands yelled to her.

Quinn quickened her step to the captain’s quarters, where Captain O’Malley sat waiting.

“Where ya been?” Grace asked when Quinn entered through the open door

“Bucket closet. I was trying to get a little rest after that last winder.”

Grace kicked the door closed with her boot. Then she leaned over and slammed several gold coins onto the small table. “I wanted ta talk ta ya about that Scotsman, Tavish McGee.” She motioned for Quinn to sit.

“I don’t know anything about him.”

“I know. That’s why I called ya in here. Ya know that letter ya handed me and that pouch a’ gold? Well, it seems Lady Fiona is overly concerned about yer welfare. She sent a message asking me ta keep ya safe and told me there is more where that came from as long as I allow the Scotsman ta remain on board and by yer side.”

Quinn looked at the coins. “Those are from her? I thought––”

“I know what ya thought. Ya thought she was payin’ me back. That isna the case. No, she has paid fer the room and board a’ the Scot if I am willin’ ta let him stay. Her pockets run deep, and the pay is handsome. She seems ta care fer young Callaghan quite a bit. Tell me,” Grace asked as she leaned forward,“Does she know who ya truly are?”

Quinn shook her head. “No, sir, she does not. There is no need. She is engaged, and that is that.”

Grace pushed the coins around. “No, Callaghan, that is not that. Ya might like fer it ta be, but I can tell ya from experience that this isna over.”

“It is from my end, sir. She is sworn to another. End of story. Besides, I need neither a benefactor nor a protector. I handle myself just fine.”

“Yer woman begs ta differ. She sent the Scot ta watch over ya. Paid handsomely fer me ta bring him on board. I don’t normally care fer folks buyin’ or sellin’ my men, but the man is a block a’ wood, and I hear he is a great fighter and does as he’s told. Why shouldn’t I keep him? I understand he used ta be a glass.”

“Yes, he was. Is. You know, sir, I have no idea.”

“Well then, I see no reason ta put him ta land.”

“You’re keeping him, then?” Quinn was slightly surprised.

Grace lowered her voice. “I would have kept him regardless a’ our families’ connection, so aye, he will be allowed ta stay on board. I just wanted ya ta know that the woman yer in love with feels verra protective a’ ya and that means I’ll keep takin’ her coin as long as she is willin’ ta pay.”

“Wait. What? In love? Sir, I––”

Grace held her hand up. “I have eyes everrawhere, Callaghan. I am well aware a’ just about everrathin’ that goes on with my men and my ship, both on the water and on land.” She lowered her hand. “Well, with one exception, but I can hardly be blamed fer that. I never expected a woman ta do what yer doin.’”

“I am truly sor––”

“No more apologies, Callaghan. I just called ya in here ta let ya know why Big Red is staying. I’ll not turn down her coin, not when he looks ta be a good fighter and loyal ta an Irish family.”

Quinn inhaled deeply and nodded. “Did you know he can knock a man out with one punch? One punch. BOOM!” Quinn hit her hand with her fist. “It was incredible.”

Grace’s eyebrows rose. “One punch? Verra interestin’. That could come in handy someday.”

“I still don’t need protection.”

Grace chuckled. “Not yer decision ta be made. I took her coin, and ya will take her man. That is the end a’ it.”

“Anything else, sir?”

Grace leaned back. “I wanted ya ta be the first ta know. We’re heading straight ta Portugal. No stops. No plunder. We’re goin’ after yer friend... ”

“Shea.”

“Aye. Shea. We’re cuttin’ a fine path. I want ya ta be ready, and make sure ya keep Big Red with ya when we land.” Grace held her hand up. “It’s not a request.”

Quinn studied her a moment and then started for the door. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll carry him on my back if that means finding Shea.”

Grace scooped up the coins. “I thought as much. Ya got a good heart, Callaghan. I am only sorry it can’t love the woman it wants.”

“You and me both, sir. You and me both.”

It turned out finding Drake would take longer than Captain O’Malley had originally planned, especially since she was making a beeline for the continent. Still, in the pre-dawn morning, two ships approached from the west. Sitting high on the water, they made a run at the Malendroke hard and fast.

“Fuckers. It’s the Spanish,” Grace said, lowering the telescope and handing it to Innis. “Those sons a’ bitches think the two a’ them can route us? Pfft.”

“Captain?” Innis stared through the scope with his right eye since one half of his face was still swollen and bruised a deep purple. “They are empty.”

Grace looked out at the approaching ships. “I know. We can’t outrun them. We’re going ta have ta fight.”

“Against two galleons, sir?”

Grace paced the deck. “Swing her about!” To Innis, she said, “We’re going after the smaller ship. Dump three-fourths a’ our men on it. Keep enough on the Mal ta make a run fer it.”

“Sir? Ya are gonna outrun an empty Spanish ship?”

Grace turned to him. “I can always replace this ship. Good, loyal men are harder ta come by, so yes. If we can secure the smaller ship, the galleon will have ta choose ta either follow after me or regain their lost ship. Get the men ready.”

“Aye, captain.” Innis took off and rang the bell.

“Callaghan!” Grace yelled.

Quinn was at Grace’s side in an instant. “Sir?”

“I want ya ta lead the men against the smaller ship.”

Quinn stared at her. “Lead. The. Men? Me? Oh sir, I don’t think––”

Grace held her hand up. “Not yer job ta think, man. The men will follow ya. Ya’ve proved yer worth. I need someone these wankers will listen ta. Yer a good decision-maker. And besides, I wasn’t askin’.” Captain O’Malley turned and barked more orders before returning her attention to Quinn. “Take the Firsts and Seconds aboard. Head northeast. No matter what ya see behind ya, do not engage. Do not come back. Do not play hero. Ya are responsible fer the safety a’ my crew. Ta that end, nothin’ else matters. Nothin’. Else.”

“What about you?”

“I’m responsible fer the safety a’ this ship. Enna more questions?”

Quinn swallowed hard. “No, sir.”

“Then why are ya still standin’ here? Go. I’ll meet up with ya at the docks in Oporto.”

“Oporto. Yes, sir.” Collecting herself, Quinn checked her weapons, threw her shoulders back and began issuing orders as the ship swung about and cut through the water toward the smaller Spanish galleon.

The men hesitated only a moment until Captain O’Malley yelled that Quinn was in charge.

Innis blinked. “Sir?”

“I need ya ta run this ship, Innis. Callaghan can save our men, but I need ya ta save our home.”

Innis stood taller. “Aye, captain.”

As Quinn and her men waited for the Malendroke to draw nearer to the smaller ship, she turned to Connor. “Why don’t we use the ship ta attack the galleon?”

Connor sighed. “She doesn’t think we can take ’em, or ya better believe we’d be goin’ after them full bore.”

Quinn frowned at him. “Do ya?”

“Ya can’t get ennawhere second-guessin’ the captain. If she wants us ta run, we run. It’s as simple as––”

The cannons on the larger ship fired but came too late, the balls landing just shy of the port side of the Malendroke.

“Ready ta board, men!” Quinn yelled in her loudest man-voice. “Fight back ta back, short swings, and stay together!”

“Leave no one alive,” Captain O’Malley commanded.

Connor and Quinn turned to her. “Not even oarsmen?”

“Not even.”

When the Malendroke was close enough, Quinn turned to her men. What had she gotten herself into? It was one thing to be a crewmember taking orders from a great captain––it was another thing altogether to be the one responsible for so many lives.

Suddenly, her respect for Captain O’Malley doubled.

“Yer not alone, laddie,” Tavish whispered from behind. “And the moment ya act like ya are is when ya will start makin’ mistakes. Ya can do this. They believe in ya.”

Quinn stared at him. “You’re putting your life on the line for someone you don’t even know.”

Tavish laughed. “Don’t kid yerself, laddie. I’m puttin’ me life on the line fer gold. That’s me mistress. Now, are ya gonna make the call or what?”

Quinn threw her shoulders back, withdrew her sword, and held it high in the air. “Fer Clan O’Malley!”

With that, dozens of crewmembers cried out as they boarded the smaller galleon and embraced their foe in a deadly dance both sides knew they had to win.

Quinn landed on the deck with far more grace than the Firsts, who came out swinging, drawing first blood.

Second blood.

Third blood.

The Spaniards fell to the deck so quickly, Quinn knew something was wrong.

It was too easy. These pirates fought not at all like men who knew how to swing a sword. These men were not, in fact, pirates at all.

At all.

“Hold yer ground!” Quinn ordered. “These are shills! Phonies! Stop fighting!”

The men hesitated.

Connor stepped next to her. “Do as Callaghan says. These men are not fighters.”

Holding their prey at bay, the crew ceased their killing.

“Connor, ya and four others guard the hold opening. Be prepared fer the real ship’s fighters ta come from below. Do not doubt me on this, Connor. We’ll not kill men who cannot fight back.”

“Aye,” Connor nodded, before taking six men with him to the entrance to the hold.

Unfortunately for the men of the small galleon, they continued to fight even though it was evident they had no chance of winning.

As Quinn’s long sword reverberated against the Spanish steel of a man who rushed at her, she drove her short sword into the neck of her adversary before heaving him overboard.

Looking up from the fight, she watched as Grace deftly maneuvered the Malendroke between the two Spanish ships, catching full wind in her sails.

“Callaghan!” Connor yelled.

Too late, Quinn felt the bite of a blade as it cut through her upper arm. As she wheeled around to defend herself, she watched as the short sword of her attacker came down on her. Catching the sword in an “X” made by holding her swords together, Quinn prevented the blade from tasting her blood a second time. With the sword caught, Quinn shoved the Spaniard away, where he landed on Murphy’s sword.

“Murph?”

The behemoth grinned. “No one ta feed if ya are all kilt.” Pulling his sword out, he half-turned and embedded the still dripping metal into another man.

Whatever this ship carried was being defended by the real fighters waiting for them in the hold. Quinn’s assessment was realized when the doors flung open and the surprised attackers looked stunned at Connor and his men waiting like buzzards on a branch.

Caught off guard, the Spaniards in the doorway were cut down quickly and easily, and in no time, Quinn’s men were able to gain control of the ship.

“Go! Go! Go!” yelled Innis to them from the bow of the Malendroke as a cannonball tore through the deck of the other ship.

Without waiting, Connor and the Firsts brought the galleon about and moved swiftly away from the Malendroke and toward the continent and the country of Portugal.

“Die where ya stand!” Connor yelled at the black oarsmen chained to their seats.

“That’s enough, Connor,” Quinn ordered, sheathing her sword before kneeling to the black men chained to the oarsman seats. “Get us ta Oporto without bloodshed and I will set ya free. Otherwise ya will all die here and now. Those are yer only choices.”

Connor sidled up to Quinn. “Callaghan, the captain said––”

“I know what she said, Connor, but these slaves are not our enemy, and we need the manpower ta get this ta Portugal. I will not kill unarmed men.”

Connor opened his mouth, but Fitz stepped next to Quinn and said, “Callaghan’s captain a’ this ship now, mate. If he says they live, they live.”

Tavish stood on the other side and folded his massive arms across his barrel chest. “Enna questions?”

Connor looked from Quinn to Tavish to Fitz and back to Quinn before whirling around and barking orders to the men from the Malendroke. Some began tossing the bodies of the dead Spanish over the sides, while others started collecting weapons and stockpiling them. Still others checked the rigging, while the remainder secured the ship by running the wounded through before adding them to the sea.

The oarsmen did nothing.

Fitz turned to Quinn. “Nice sentiment, Callaghan, but them slavers doona speak our language.”

“One of them must.”

Fitz shook his head. “Highly doubt it.”

Quinn looked at the slaves as they sat looking at each other. “Unlock them.”

Fitz blinked. “What was that?”

“Unlock them.”

“Callaghan––”

“What are they goin’ ta do? Stab us with their fists? Look at them. They appear ta be starving. They are unarmed. I said unlock them.” Then she turned to Murphy. “I want these men fed. See what ya can pull together ta feed them below.”

Murphy nodded once and took off.

Fitz glanced over at Connor, who shrugged before searching for the keys.

Tavish cocked his head at her in question. “Interestin’ move on yer part, laddie. Ya keep surprisin’ me at everra turn.”

“I need them ta know they’ve not traded one master fer another.”

When Fitz returned with the keys, he began unlocking the shackles of the stunned and suspicious slaves. Quinn looked around until she saw the Malendroke’s drummer, a tall man named Will whose primary job was to set the pace for the oarsmen by playing his drum.

“When they are seated and understand what is going on, I need ya ta pick up the pace,” she said to Will. “We need ta get out of cannon range.”

Will nodded.

Quinn stepped down into the galley with the slaves. “The faster we go, the sooner ya are free. Free. Does ennaone understand what I am saying? Ennaone at all? We are not yer enemy.” She waited, scanning their faces for any sign of comprehension.

One thin, lighter-skinned slave met her eyes, as if searching for something. Seeming to like what he found, he finally said something in his native tongue to several others, all of whom sat back down in their seats and grabbed their oars.

One by one, each row of oarsmen gripped their oars and began the faster pace of rowing which, coupled now with the tall billowing sails, pushed them quickly away from Grace O’Malley’s ship.

“I hope ya know what yer doin’,” Fitz whispered, leaning into Quinn.

Quinn watched sadly while the Malendroke’s aft deck absorbed another blow as it fled from the larger galleon.

“Now we wait and see,” Tavish said, turning to face the two ships. “Yer captain better hope she is right, because we canna outrun that ship, no matter how fast these slaves row.”

The crew watched and waited to see what the Spanish ship was going to do. Follow? Or attack Grace and the Malendroke?

One moment.

Two.

Three.

The anticipation was tense and palpable as they waited.

“She’s taken several hits,” Quinn said to no one in particular.

“Yeah, but that’s Captain Grace O’Malley, and that captain knows what she’s doin’.”

Another cannon went off.

“It’s taking chase, just like she hoped.”

As the Malendroke slowly moved away from the galleon, Quinn couldn’t help but wonder if Captain O’Malley had just saved most of her crew in one final, sacrificial act.

Oporto, Portugal, looked lush and beautiful from the deck of the galleon. The slaves had needed no additional prodding to keep their oars slicing through the water, getting Quinn’s crew there much sooner than she’d anticipated. The powerful rowers seemed to listen to the lighter-skinned man, who spoke to them all every now and again in a language more foreign to Quinn than anything she’d ever heard.

The minimal cargo in the galleon consisted of some fruit, wine, olive oil, and several chests of coins, none bearing the Medusa image Quinn kept looking out for. The slaves eagerly devoured the fruit.

“The Spanish must have just begun their plundering. That’s why she’s setting so high,” Quinn noted.

“Captain’ll like the coin,” Connor said softly. “But she’ll be none too happy wi’ ya disobeyin’ her.”

“That’s a chance I have ta take, Connor. We needed the oarsmen if we were gonna get away fast enough, and I won’t kill men who are neither our enemy nor a threat ta us.”

“That wasn’t yer decision ta make. She told ya what ta do. Ya disobeyed her. That, my friend, is never a good idea.”

Quinn turned to him. “I’m afraid it was my decision ta make, and ya’d best keep those opinions ta yerself while I am in charge. I’m sure yer not happy that she chose me, but she did, and that’s that. Ya undermine me in enna way and this won’t go well fer ya.”

“Because ya will sic yer Scotsman on me?”

Quinn butted him with her chest. These were the first harsh words they had ever had with each other, but she was not going to be disloyal to Tavish, not even for Connor. “I don’t need the Scotsman, Connor. If ya want ta challenge me fer this ship, then by all means, give it a go.” Quinn put her shoulders back and steeled herself for his reply.

Connor glared at her a moment before shaking his head and starting back up top. “Ya can fight me, Callaghan, but win or lose, yer gonna have ta deal with the captain.”

Quinn followed him back up to the deck, knowing how true that was.

“Ennathing yet?” she asked Fitz, whom she’d given the telescope to in order to watch for the Malendroke.

“Nothing. Them slaves put their backs into it, that’s fer sure. We made decent enough time.”

“Take a rest, Fitz. Murphy can watch fer a bit.”

Quinn strode across the deck to find Tavish offering water to the slaves. She stood there a moment, watching him as he kindly held the water jug to the full lips of their captives.

Captives.

Quinn suddenly felt like she was well over her head, and she wasn’t at all sure what to do once they entered the port of Oporto. Now she was responsible not only for the crew of the Malendroke but for the lives of the slaves as well, and she had absolutely no idea what that meant.

As he held the bag up to the lips of a slave, Tavish turned to her. “Yer doin’ the right thing, laddie. We’re no slavers. These poor folks deserve ta be set free.”

Quinn knelt down and studied the resting slaves. “What would Captain O’Malley do?”

Tavish shrugged. “Ya ken her better than most, I imagine, but she did tell ya ta kill everraone on board.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Och, aye, and fer that I am glad. Running an attacker clean through is one thing, but killing a man because someone told ya ta? Well now, that leaves a scar on yer soul.”

Quinn exhaled loudly. “Thank you for that, Tavish. I intend on setting them free.”

“But not in Portugal, aye?”

Quinn shook her head. “No. Not there. They will only be rounded up again. The Portuguese are good at two things: fishing for fish and fishing for dark-skinned men. I’ll not give them the chance to do the latter to these men.”

“What, then?”

Quinn looked around. “We can take them ta Morocco. Let them––”

“Whoa. Ya need ta rethink this, laddie. Yer responsibility is ta yer men, not these slaves. Perhaps we release them ta another ship?”

“I can’t do that, Tavish.”

“Stop right there, mate,” Connor demanded from behind, causing Tavish and Quinn to draw their swords as they whirled around.

The light-skinned oarsman had stood up. He wasn’t moving. He was just standing there as if listening to their conversation.

“Easy, Connor. He’s probably just stretching his legs.” Quinn pushed her sword back in. “I’m sure he meant no––”

“Ya can’t trust these folks, Callaghan. They’re unpredictable, like animals.” Connor rubbed his stubbled beard with his free hand.

Slowly, the slave turned toward Connor and growled, showing his teeth before tossing his head back and laughing.

“What the––” Connor started for his sword.

Quinn held her hand up. “Put yer weapon away, Connor. Where’s he going ta go?” She moved closer to the man, who returned her gaze without hostility. “Ya called the man an animal. I’d be a bit angry if I were him as well.”

The slave was shirtless, showing no excess fat on a belly that looked like the skin was stretched tightly over it. His eyes, like his skin, were light brown. Nothing about him was anything like the others. Even the way he held himself was different.

Stepping closer, Quinn locked eyes with the oarsman.

Yes.

He had understood the conversation, of that she was sure. They stared at each other a moment before he slowly sat back down.

Quinn dismissed Connor and Tavish, who were not happy to leave her alone with the slaves.

“I’ll be stayin’ right with ya, Callaghan,” Tavish insisted. Quinn rolled her eyes and did her best to ignore him.

As she knelt before the slave, she asked, “Ya understand me, don’t ya?”

The slave stared straight ahead a moment before nodding almost imperceptibly.

“Do ya... do ya understand English better?” Quinn tried English on him instead of Irish.

He did not need to answer for Quinn to know he did.

She leaned in closer. Stopped. Leaned back and looked over her shoulder to find, as she suspected, Tavish leaning against a mast pole, watching.

“I wouldn’t get so close, laddie. I canna help ya if he should do somethin’ stupid.”

Quinn nodded. “I’ll be fine, Tavish. Please. Step away.”

Tavish folded his arms and shook his head. “Sorry, laddie, but I canna do that. Carry on as if I wasn’t here.”

Quinn exhaled loudly and turned back toward the slave.

“Scotsmen. Bloody stubborn they are.”

A hint of a smile appeared on the slave’s face.

“Fine, but please do not interrupt.” Quinn shot a final glance at Tavish and then returned her attention to the slave. “What’s yer name?”

The slave hesitated. “Kwame,” he answered.

Quinn smiled softly. “Kwame. Very nice. I’m Callaghan. How is it ya know English?”

“My fodder gave me to an English ship when I was a boy. I speak it almost better than my own.”

“An English ship. Then how did ya get here... with them?”

“The Spanish boarded our ship. I was... we... were a prize.”

“I see.” Quinn stared at his amazing physique, unscarred by the taste of a whip. “Ya were not a slave on that English ship.”

Kwame shook his head and glanced down. “I was not. I was in the crow’s nest most the time. My eyes are... ” he wrestled with the word. “Keen. I can see the fly on the rhino from far away.”

“What was the name of yer ship?”

“Victory. The captain is Edward Lynch. He’s a good man. A good captain.”

“But he lost his ship to these Spaniards?”

Kwame shook his head. “They took everything but left the captain and crew alive.”

“Where do ya think they are now?”

He shrugged.

Quinn glanced around her. Tavish hadn’t left his post and the others were tending to the riggings. “We are no slavers, Kwame, but the Portuguese are. If I drop ya off here––”

“We will scatter like leaves in the wind. They cannot get us all. You need not worry for us.”

Quinn rubbed her chin. She had never realized how many decisions a captain had to make in a day, and her day had just begun.

Now a full day from when they’d left Grace O’Malley to fend for herself, here they were, in territory Quinn knew little about, with dozens of slaves who needed to be set free.

It was dawn and they were still moored outside the port off the coast of Portugal.

“Captain––uh––Callaghan, a small boat a’ six men is headin’ our way.” Fitz said.

“Jesus,” Quinn muttered, leaving the wheel to look out over the port side of the ship. She’d barely had any sleep. Yawning, she fretted and paced as she tried to decide whether to pull the ship into Oporto or not, whether to free the slaves here or not, whether to go after Grace or not. The decisions were mounting on her shoulders, and they were heavy indeed.

Sure enough, a small skiff was moving quickly toward them. “Throw down the ladder and bring all six aboard.” Quinn had seen Grace do so on numerous occasions, explaining that she’d “rather know what all the men were up to” on the deck of her ship rather than guess what they were doing in the water below. Those same men responded just as quickly to Quinn’s orders.

When the men were finally on board, Quinn had her largest Firsts greet them with swords in hand.

“O’Leary. I understand ya speak Portuguese,” she called out, scanning her crew.

A red-haired, thin-boned young man stepped forward. “Aye, that and a wee bit a’ Spanish.”

“Ask them fer safe harbor under the flag of Mary of Scotland.” She turned to Tavish. “Stand with O’Leary.”

Everyone turned to her in stunned silence.

“Do as I said.”

O’Leary and the Portuguese emissaries spoke briefly before he turned to her and said, “They say we can moor out here but that it would be unwise fer them ta aid ennaone plundering a Spanish ship.”

Quinn rubbed her chin and looked to Connor for his opinion.

Connor looked from the Portuguese to Quinn and then toward the men before nodding. “Makes sense, Callaghan. Here we can exit quickly.”

Quinn kept her eyes on the six men as she spoke. “Tell them they can have everrathing but the chests in the hold if they guarantee our safety from outgoing ships.”

The crew all murmured.

“Callaghan, Captain O’Malley––”

“Would do the same thing,” Connor interjected. “Secure our safety at all costs. That is what the captain charged Callaghan ta do and the lad is doin’ it.”

Fitz nodded. “So shut yer traps.”

“Thank ya. Fitz, ya take four men down ta the hold and move the chests ta our quarters. That coin goes ta Captain O’Malley, and enna man stupid enough ta reach a hand into one of those chests will lose it.”

“Aye, Callaghan.” He turned to the crew, “Ya, ya, and ya, come with me.”

When Fitz took off. Quinn laid her hand on O’Leary’s shoulder. “Tell them we need safe harbor fer three nights. They can take half now and come get the rest on the fourth morning. We want no trouble.”

O’Leary translated and stopped when the men laughed.

“What? Why are they laughing?”

“They said ya already are in trouble. The ship we’re in belongs ta Diego Gonzalez.”

Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose. “Holy mother of Brigante, will this never end?”

Diego Gonzalez was one of the most brutal and blood-thirsty pirates on the seas. Known for cutting off limbs of crewmen who failed him, he’d become most famous for tying defeated captains to the bows of the ship while still alive and leaving them there until they expired from dehydration or exposure. It was rumored that some died of pure fright.

“Tell them we do not give a shite whose ship we stole; we wish ta be left alone until we leave, and if they cannot guarantee that fer us, we’ll let the Moroccans have our shite.”

The translation went back and forth until O’Leary shook his head slowly and said, “They cannot guarantee our safety from enna Spanish ships, but they give ya their word that no Portuguese vessel will attempt a run at us.” O’Leary hesitated. “Then they said ta go home. Grace O’Malley is more than likely at the bottom a’ the sea with her ship.” He paused to listen more. “And ta say our prayers if Diego returns before we can make away.”

Quinn glanced around the deck at her crew just as Fitz and the others brought out the kegs of wine and oil.

“Tell them we appreciate the unwanted advice and that I’ll have a private chat with their leader in the captain’s quarters.”

O’Leary did as he was told, and when one of them stepped forward, Quinn nodded to Tavish to escort the man to her quarters.

“Give them less than half, Fitz. They can clean us out with their own men. Come with me, O’Leary.”

“Aye, Captain.”

As the last word lingered in her ears, Quinn, O’Leary, and the Portuguese leader followed Tavish to the tiny, messy captain’s quarters.

“Have a seat,” Quinn said, motioning to an empty chair. “We don’t want enna trouble, and I am not accusing ennaone of ennathing, but... ” Quinn pushed the Medusa coin over to the sailor. “Do ya know who carries these coins?”

The sailor cut his eyes down to it before answering.

“He says he does not, but there’s a smithy in town who collects odd coins from all over the world,” O’Leary said.

“Name?”

“Fonseca. Doesn’t know his first name but says he is the only smithy at port.”

“Excellent.” Quinn reached into her pocket and withdrew two silver pieces. “Thank him fer his time.”

O’Leary looked at her, hesitated, then did as she said.

The sailor’s facial response was exactly like O’Leary’s.

“He said ya are the strangest captain he’s ever met.”

“Oh really? And what did ya reply?”

O’Leary’s cheeks were touched with a blush that crawled up his neck. “I said I couldn’t agree more.”

Quinn, O’Leary, Tavish, and One Eye started out for land around noon, leaving Connor and Fitz to keep an eye on the ship. As Tavish and O’Leary rowed, Quinn sat in quiet repose as she considered her options. She knew she had to wait for Grace or else try to make the four- or five-day journey back to Ireland in the hopes of meeting up with her there.

Neither sounded appealing to Quinn, who’d left Connor in charge of their newly taken vessel, La Victoria, or the Victory. If she had time to wait, she would use it wisely and try to see if she could get a bead on either Drake or the ship from which the coin had come.

At best, she would find some answers; at worst, she and her men would be able to bring back the fruits and nuts so loved by her countrymen from this strange place.

As the oars cut through the water, Quinn stared out at the land of the Portuguese. She knew little about these small, dark people, save that they were Catholic slavers and fine seamen. Unlike the Spanish, who seemed filled with doom and gloom, the Portuguese laughed easily, smiled often, and never seemed in a hurry to draw their weapons.

With the singular exception of the slavers, she sort of liked them.

“Can I talk ya outta lettin’ them slaves go?” One Eye asked as he pulled on the oar.

“Ya can try.”

Tavish chuckled.

“Well now, I know Captain O’Malley isn’t one fer slavery, what bein’ a woman and all, but I’m thinki––”

Quinn’s head shot around. “What does that have ta do with ennathing?”

“Womans don’t gotta lot a’ freedoms, ya know? They’re like slaves, only white. She’s not like them udder womans who have ta ask their master husbands fer shite. She... what’s the word... she––”

“Sympathizes?”

“Yeah! That. But even so, Callaghan, they’s worth a bunch a’ coin. We could sells ’em ourselves. Make a little––”

“No. We let them go tonight.”

“Tonight?” Tavish asked.

“If they scatter... if they can move through the countryside quickly, they might be mistaken fer Moors.”

“Moors! Now there’s a bloody group a’ bastards if ever I seen one. Nobody would enslave one a’ them. Oh no siree, they wouldn’t. They got that magic and shite. Uh-uh. If those slaves can pass themselves off as Moors, they might just make it.”

“All we can do is hope. Wherever they wind up is better than where they are.”

One Eye frowned and nodded. “Tonight then. And until tonight?”

“Ya and Tavish take that purse and buy as much fruit and nuts as ya can. Have it back ta the dock an hour before sundown. Don’t be late, and don’t come back ta this boat smelling of whiskey or women, or ya will sleep it off on land. Understood?”

Everyone nodded.

“O’Leary and I have a stop we need ta make at the smith shop. Ya get that fruit quickly and do what ya wish until we meet, but have those goods at the dock before sundown. Ya do not wish ta incur my wrath.”

Their eyes lit up before they took off.

“Ya know they’ll just spend most a’ their time whorin’,” Fitz said.

“I know. It’s not important as long as they get what I asked fer.”

“And just what is it yer askin’ the smithy fer, Callaghan?” O’Leary asked.

Quinn looked askance at him as she double-checked all her daggers. “A map, O’Leary. I’m hoping the smithy can show me a map.”

Fifteen minutes later, as they stood side by side at the blacksmiths, O’Leary got his answer.

“He says he’s seen this coin before but can’t remember when or where. He wants ta know if ya will part with it?”

“Tell him no, but I have a gold coin fer him should he remember ennathing useful. Tell him we’ll be at the third tavern on the east side until sundown.”

Quinn started out of the shop when the blacksmith began chattering to O’Leary. The conversation went on for a few moments before O’Leary joined her.

“What was that about?”

“Interestin’ fellow. He says yer lookin’ fer the wrong thing. He says that the Medusa head isn’t what’s important, but the metal underneath.”

Quinn pulled the coin from her pocket and turned it over and over in her hand. “It’s bronze or something, right?”

O’Leary shook his head. “The smithy said that corsairs from the east move their gold in coins like that because they appear. The coins are melted down when they reach their destination, and whatever regent wants their face ta be on it has it stamped that way. This way, they can move their gold about without ennaone knowin’ where it’s from or where it’s goin’.”

Quinn stopped walking. “He didn’t happen ta be more specific about who uses this method of camouflage?”

O’Leary grinned. “Actually, he did. He said the Turks have been doing it fer years. They find someone willin’ ta exchange goods or services fer the false coinage. That person then takes it ta their regent or monarch, who melts it down and uses it fer their own imprint. It’s brilliant, really.”

Turning the coin over and over in her hand, Quinn could hear the drums rolling in her head as she waited for the final line of conversation she knew was coming.

“And who do ya think has been transportin’ these Medusa heads ta his monarch?” O’Leary asked her.

Her stomach fluttered a moment. “Don’t tell me––”

“None other than that bastard, Francis Drake.”

The wench pushed Quinn up against the wall and shoved her tongue into Quinn’s mouth.

Apparently, the Portuguese women were far friendlier than the men.

O’Leary had gone out to find Tavish and One Eye to see if they needed any help, and while they were gone, Quinn sat and waited, watching the wench flutter around her like a butterfly, unsure of where to land.

It hadn’t taken long for Quinn to catch the eye of the server, who unabashedly flirted with her and eventually beckoned her out a side door, where she practically leapt on Quinn when she followed her.

With quickly roaming hands, an eager mouth, and an exploratory tongue, the wench seemed eager—even desperate—to please.

Quinn was attempting to return her affections, but she could not get Fiona’s face from her mind. She was being ridiculous, she knew, but her body wasn’t willing to remain dormant for a woman who had had no other choice but to move on with her real life with a real man in a forced marriage. If she could only extract the information she needed from this woman before things got any hotter, she’d be good to go.

The wench kissed Quinn’s neck and was just starting to lower to her knees when Tavish came bursting through the door.

“We’ve got a problem, laddie.”

The wench quickly rose.

“What is it?”

“The Victory. She’s gone.”

Quinn frowned as if she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly. “Gone? What do ya mean, gone?”

“One Eye and me were cartin’ the fruit ta the dock when we looked up and saw that the ship was gone. Gone. As in not there.”

Quinn smiled at the woman, shrugged, and hurried for the dock with Tavish in tow. “They left us?”

“Well, laddie, we’re here and they’re not, so... yeah. I’m thinkin’ that’s what they did.”

Quinn started running. “There has to be a reason why. There’s no way Connor would have just left us.”

“He was pretty upset about ya lettin’ them oarsmen live. Pretty miffed that she chose ya ta lead and not him. I hate ta say it, but––”

“Upset enough to leave without––” She stopped so suddenly, Tavish ran into her, knocking her over.

Quinn rolled and was back on her feet in an instant, her eyes cast toward the horizon. “God damn it.”

There, looming larger than life, sat an English ship.

Not just any English ship.

It was Drake’s.

“Shite. They must have seen him comin’ and taken off.”

“We gotta get outta here,” Tavish said as they ran up to O’Leary outside the pub.

“Where’s One Eye?”

“I thought he was with you.”

Quinn quickly surveyed the area around the dock. “Fuck. We have ta find him before they dock. They can’t know we’re here.”

Tavish nodded. “It’s not like we fit in with these folks. I’m thinkin’ my red hair is a dead giveaway, Callaghan.”

Inhaling deeply, Quinn saw them waiting for her to make a decision.

Grace O’Malley made it look so easy. Quinn was beginning to see that wasn’t the case.

“Okay. We need to split up. Find One Eye and lay low until either the Malendroke or the Victory pulls in. Do not say a goddamn word if you get caught. Meet me at the smithy’s at sundown.”

“The captain won’t pull in with Drake here. She’s likely ta fire on him.”

“Doing so while in port is a bad, bad, idea, and she doesn’t really have the manpower fer a full blown fight. Besides that, we don’t know which side of the fence these Portuguese fall on. Our first responsibility is ta ourselves. We need ta separate and find One Eye. Once we find him, meet at the smithy’s. We’ll leave when it’s dark,” Quinn repeated.

“Leave? Leave fer where?”

“The next port. We can’t stay here. If Captain O’Malley gets here before Drake leaves, she doesn’t have the crew ta fight him. She knows that. She’ll head ta the next port south.”

The two men stared at her but said nothing.

“I know. I know. Engaging him with a skeleton crew would be fool’s play, and Captain O’Malley is nobody’s fool. She’ll be looking fer us... just not here. Look, we’re wasting time. I’ll secure us some horses while ya find One Eye. I mean, how hard can it be ta find him among these folks?”

“He’ll be looking fer a den,” O’Leary said.

“A den?”

“Yeah. A hookah den. He always goes straight fer the opium whenever he comes ta the continent. Don’t worry. Where there’s smoke, we’ll find him.”

“Good. Then ya both go in search of smoke and I’ll––” She caught Tavish’s eye. “No, Tavish, I do not need ya ta watch over me. We have ta find him before they land, and we’re wasting time as it is. Find One Eye, meet me at the blacksmith’s, and be ready ta ride.”

O’Leary and Tavish stared sheepishly at each other.

“Well, now what?”

“I never rode a horse,” O’Leary confessed. “Too big and scary fer me blood.”

Tavish nodded. “I have, but I got bucked off. Twice.”

Quinn shook her head in frustration. “Jesus. How have ya lived? Never mind the horses. I’ll try ta rustle up a carriage of some sort. Just find One Eye. Keep yer heads down and watch fer Drake’s men ta land. I don’t want ta have ta fight ta rescue either of ya.”

Both men nodded.

“Ya know how ta ride a horse?” O’Leary asked.

“I do, but that won’t help us now. I’ll see ya at the blacksmith’s.” Quinn turned and sprinted back to the small fishing village in search of a carriage that could take the four of them to safety. She had the money to do so. She just needed––

“Where ya goin’, Irishman?”

A short stump of a man blocked her path, his hands jammed on his hips. “Couldn’t help but notice yer ship left without ya.”

Quinn stopped, her eyes scanning the area for an escape route. “The English don’t care ta share. Know what I mean?”

He was clearly Irish and looked vaguely familiar, standing with his hand now on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “Don’t remember me, do ya?”

Quinn’s gaze moved from his face to his hand, and to his face again. “I do not.”

The man chuckled. “Of course ya don’t. The throwaways never matter.”

“I don’t follow.”

“No, but ya follow that bitch like a flea-ridden puppy dog, dontcha? Just like them others who come when she whistles.”

Quinn laid her hand on her hilt. “Call her that again, donkey boy, and ya shan’t live ta regret it.”

A slow grin curled menacingly at the corners of his lips. “Oh really? And ya think ya can best me? Me? A man deemed unfit to serve on that cunt’s piece o’ shite boat?” Pulling his sword free, he took a fighting position. “But if ya think ya have what it takes in yer belly ta best the likes a’ me, then bring out yer blade, boy.”

Quinn did not pull her weapon. “Captain O’Malley wants a strong crew. That would not include weak men like ya.”

“Weak? Any man who would follow a bitch on a ship is the weakest kind a’ man.”

Quinn slowly withdrew her long sword. “I told ya not ta call her that. Say what ya will about me or the crew, but keep yer fuckin’ mouth shut about Grace O’Malley.”

“Or I won’t live ta regret it?”

Quinn took her stance opposite his and touched her sword to his. “Actually, ya won’t live another five minutes.” Quinn clanged her sword against his, and as his sword fell to the right, she slid one of her throwing daggers from her thigh sheath and rammed it under his breastbone, stabbing him through the heart.

As he slid to his knees, Quinn retracted the dagger and knelt down so they were face-to-face.

“The irony of this, you ignorant bastard, is that you’ve just been killed by a bitch.” Stepping back, she pushed him to his back and continued on her way.

Had she looked back, she would have seen Tavish standing in the shadows directly behind where she’d just been... wearing the strangest expression on his face.

Finding no carriage, Quinn started back to the blacksmith shop, hoping like mad that they’d found One Eye. Without a carriage, they would be forced onto horseback, and she didn’t see that ending very well.

As Quinn walked briskly back to the village, she noted the darkening of the sky. It matched her mood. Drake might be docked by now. Every moment mattered if they were to get out of here alive.

Quinn absentmindedly turned the coin over in her hand. Drake being in Oporto wasn’t a good thing, nor was it serendipitous. Clearly, he had made an arrangement of some sort with the Portuguese sailors regarding shipments of slaves, and it was quite possible he was looking for Grace every bit as much as she was looking for him.

She hoped not.

Everyone on the water knew the Portuguese preferred sailing south along the coast of Africa where the hunting and capture of Africans for the slave market was abundant. They did not like the roughness and unpredictability of the Irish Sea, so trading with Drake on their own soil was a much safer prospect––safer for the Portuguese, safer for Drake, but not so much for the Africans. Or anyone who stumbled onto their path.

Drake was going directly against his queen by consorting with the Portuguese. Since Portugal and Spain had become allies, they had been a thorn in England’s side. Elizabeth disdained the Catholic countries that also allied with Catholic Scotland.

Drake was working on the side and probably keeping a hefty bit of the proceeds for himself.

Quinn shook her head. The English had no sense of loyalty. Look at Elizabeth’s father, she thought. Henry VIII couldn’t stay loyal for a moment to any woman or religion. The English, unlike the rest of the people they shared geography with, lacked the rigid loyalty that their neighbors so valued. They could be bought and sold to the highest bidder.

And that made them very dangerous.

She wondered what Elizabeth would say if she knew what Drake was up to.

As Quinn rounded the corner, she stopped dead. Already, Drake’s men were filing off the ship, their voices loud in their reverie.

“Damn it.” Quinn pressed her back against a wall. She was still a ways away from the smithy and had no idea where her men were.

None.

A soft voice came from behind her, speaking in Portuguese. Quinn turned to find the woman she’d been with earlier standing in a small doorway.

The woman looked left, then right, and motioned for Quinn to come inside, which she did.

“Gracias,” Quinn said softly when the door closed behind them, hoping she was close. Together, they walked down a dark, narrow hallway until they came to a room with three doors on either side. The wench took the last door on the left and pulled Quinn into it just as a loud ruckus could be heard in the small atrium.

The woman placed her finger to her mouth, indicating to Quinn for a silence she had no intention of breaking. When the voices got nearer, she opened a battered wardrobe closet and pushed Quinn into it.

“In,” the young woman said. “Por favor.”

The nearness of a deep voice by the door prodded Quinn into the armoire just as a loud knock came to the door.

“Silencio,” the woman whispered as she closed the door.

Now in utter darkness, Quinn could only hear the activity when the door opened and a man, an Englishman, entered. His Portuguese was rough and interspersed with English, but she couldn’t make anything out for sure.

He was clearly one of Drake’s men and had come to find pleasure in the arms of this serving wench... whore? She didn’t know.

The first sound that chilled her blood sounded like a slap. This was immediately followed by a small whimper that made Quinn lay her hand on the hilt of her short sword.

“All I been thinkin’ ’bout near these last few days has been driving my cock through ya, ya pretty little thing.”

Quinn tried to calm herself as the grunting and whimpering coalesced into an image she could not block out.

“Quit yer whinin’ and spread those legs a’ yers.”

Quinn might have been able to stay her hand had the slapping sound not followed his words.

But it did, and before she could stop herself, before she could reign in her emotions, she leapt from the armoire, withdrew her short sword and plunged it deeply between his shoulder blades.

The sailor, who’d still been standing, dropped to his knees, blood bubbling from his surprised mouth.

“In yer next life, ya bloody bastard, learn how ta treat a woman like a lady.” Quinn put her boot on his back and shoved him away as she withdrew the sword.

“No... ” came the wench’s plea, her eyes filled with fear.

Quinn knew there wasn’t much time. She had to get the body out of here, or the girl would take the blame. Opening the door a crack, Quinn saw several people laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Closing the door, she motioned to the wench to help get him into the armoire. After struggling with his dead weight for a minute, they managed to secure him inside.

“I must go,” Quinn said when she could hear no more laughter from the atrium.

The wench’s eyes were filled with a combination of fear and gratitude.

“I’ll be back,” Quinn said, laying her palms on the young girl’s face. “Do not be afraid.” She hoped her voice was soothing enough to convey her meaning, as she opened the door, looked both ways, and quickly exited without being seen.

As Quinn made her way through the darkening evening, she felt surrounded by the loud voices of the English sailors. They were everywhere but were particularly rowdy down at the dock, where a crowd surrounded two men, chanting at them to fight.

“Fight!”

“Fight!”

“Come on, ya pansy-ass Celt! Hit ’im!”

Quinn felt the blood drain from her face as she sprinted toward the growing crowd.

When she was close enough to see, her fears had come to pass. Standing in the middle of the circle were O’Leary and One Eye.

Thirty steps before she reached the crowd, a thick arm shot out from the darkness of the alley and grabbed her around the waist. She started struggling until she heard his voice.

“Runnin’ into a fire never got ennaone ennathin’ but burnt. Quit yer strugglin’.”

Realizing it was Tavish, Quinn settled down.

“Good. Now calm yerself.”

“They want––”

“I know what they want, Callaghan, but what they really want is ta see one man best another. That man has ta be me.”

“You?”

“Aye. While I best their best, ya gotta get ready ta get us outta here—and fast.”

Quinn nodded. “I can do that.”

“I ken ya can.” Tavish ran his hands through his thick red mane. “By hook or by crook, laddie, we need a plan, or surely Drake’s men will cut us ta pieces. Right now, all they want is a fight. Give ’em another hour, and they’ll want blood.” Tavish stepped into the alley and cracked his knuckles. “Get those horses. We need a fast way out, and these sea dogs willna be sober enough ta chase us through the dark.”

Quinn nodded. “Do what you need to do, then meet me at the smithy’s. I’ll have two horses ready to go.”

“Ya do that. Inna meantime, I’m gonna have me a wee bit of a grand time.” Tavish grinned. “Fookin’ English bastards.”

As Quinn watched Tavish walk toward the crowd, she headed to the blacksmith shop, which was closed for the night. The stall in the back was occupied by three geldings, but Quinn found only two bridles, which she quickly threw on before heaving herself onto the taller of the two animals.

Walking as close as she dared to the crowd on the street below, she held her breath as Tavish, bare-chested, entered the circle, followed by a giant of a man, also shirtless.

The man towered over Tavish by nearly a foot.

“One punch,” the fight organizer admonished. “One punch, and we let yer friends go.”

The crowd roared with delight.

“That’s correct; if an Englishman is capable a’ keepin’ at his word, one punch and we walk away,” Tavish said.

Several of the sailors pulled their swords but the organizer held his hands up. “Easy does it, men. If this Scot truly believes he can knock out Ivan with one punch, the poor arse is soft in the head right fellas?”

The crowd cheered and jeered.

“One punch and yer men go free. More than that, and ya will be nothin’ but a blood stain when it’s all over.”

Quinn could not believe the massive size of the man called Ivan. He had arms like cross beams, chest the width of a table, and a neck that disappeared into his shoulders.

“Oh, Tavish,” she said softly. A man the size of Ivan could be hit by a felled oak and still remain standing.

Glancing around, Quinn knew she needed to formulate a plan to get them to safety, or these Englishmen would kill all three men just for the sport of it.

Three men.

Men.

That was when the idea leapt fully formed into her head. It was the only play she had to distract them from their feeding frenzy.

As she started for the nearest brothel, she couldn’t take her eyes off Tavish, who was circling Ivan with his fists up to his face. Both men were sizing each other up as they maneuvered around one another.

Fast as she could, Quinn ran into the brothel and yelled first in English then in Latin, “Does ennaone here speak English or Latin?”

An older woman, not the madame, tilted her head. “I speak Latin,” she said with a lilt in her voice.

Quinn heaved a sigh and quickly explained what she needed from the woman.

For her part, the woman was at first amused, then smitten, and when Quinn left five minutes and three pieces of silver later, she could only hope Ivan had not killed Tavish.

By the time she reached the crowd again, the dock was preternaturally silent. On the ground, eyes closed, blood flowing from his nose and mouth, was none other than Ivan. The crowd held its collective breath. Ivan did not move.

Neither did Quinn.

The air was thick with anticipation. Ivan looked dead.

Now was her best chance, while the crowd was too stunned that Tavish had, indeed, knocked Ivan out with one punch. She would have to make her move before the crowd turned on Tavish.

She’d seen it before.

Crowds were iffy that way––one moment behind you, the next, they’d turn on you without a moment’s hesitation. She knew the English would not keep their word. Why would they? They were English, after all.

Walking up to the crowd, she found a slight incline, stood upon it and cleared her throat.

“What is the meaning of such barbarism?” Quinn demanded in her most regal English tone.

As if one mind, the crowd turned toward her. What they saw was exactly what she made it appear.

Dressed in a noble woman’s gown, complete with jewelry and a long-haired wig, stood Quinn. “I asked, what is the meaning of this barbarism?” she repeated as she strode through a crowd that parted as she neared.

“Who the hell are ya?” one of the English pirates asked.

Quinn strode right up to the speaker and jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “I. Am. A. Guest. Here,” she enunciated slowly, yet loudly. “We are the lady’s guests, and I am quite certain she will not be pleased by this outlandish and inhospitable treatment of her guests.” Quinn looked over to Tavish, who offered her a bland affect. If he knew it was her, he did not give any indication.

“I... uh... we’re sorry, madam. We... I... meant no harm,” one of the pirates said.

“No? Is that why your... giant... is an unmoving mound of flesh, bleeding from a severely broken face?”

“He just... we––”

Quinn turned on her heel and snapped at the three Celts. “Well? Move along. What are you gawking at? Come along before these barbarians continue with their ridiculous form of entertainment.”

O’Leary’s eyebrows rose, and One Eye’s eye appeared confused. Only Tavish held Quinn’s eyes knowingly, as if he had been in on it from the start.

“Come on,” Tavish grumbled, shoving One Eye forward through the crowd. “It’s now or never, lads.” Once they were through it, Quinn ushered them through the village until they could duck into the brothel. She could not travel in such attire and she certainly could not fight.

“What the bloody hell is goin’ on?” One Eye asked when Quinn went behind the dressing shade with the older woman who helped her out of the wig, dress, and jewelry. One Eye frowned. “Callaghan? That was ya?”

“Aye. Look, no time ta explain. We have ta get going right now.” Turning to the woman, Quinn said in Latin, “I hope the money is sufficient ta cover the loan of yer precious garments.”

The woman nodded, bowed, and said goodbye, after which Quinn hurriedly escorted her men out of the brothel and on the road towards the horses. “Step it up, men.”

“Ya... that was brilliant!” O’Leary said. “But... why a woman?”

Tavish shook his head and muttered something in Scottish under his breath. “Not important. Callaghan is right. We gotta get goin’. Once those drunkards figure it out––”

“Horses?” One Eye said, slowing down. “No, no, no.”

O’Leary prodded him forward. “No choice,” he said. “Get on up.”

When all four were mounted up, Quinn pointed them down the only road leading from town, but before they could leave the dock area, someone blocked their way.

“Which of you killed my first mate?” the angry voice demanded.

Quinn recognized that English voice instantly.

Drake.

The three O’Malley crewmembers looked at each other before withdrawing their swords.

Drake and his handful of men blocked the road. Two of the men held muskets on them. “Off the horses. Draw and you’re dead men.”

Quinn and the others slid off their horses and Drake and his men pressed forward, moving them back to the dock.

“What makes ya think enna of us killed him?” Quinn asked, stepping in front of her men to stop the progress of moving backwards.

“Stabbed clean through the back. The lovely Portuguese people have never harmed us, but since you’ve arrived, one of my men is dead and one is still quite unconscious.”

“Well, it was not us, so step aside before ya end up like yer first mate.”

“No? You also stole those horses, you crushed in the face of a man, and you killed another man from behind, so it appears you lack any moral fiber. Who is your captain?”

No one responded.

“Who. Is. Your. Captain?”

The air on the road stopped moving as if pausing to listen. A bell clanged in the distance. Even the laughter subsided as everyone near the dock waited for an answer.

“I’ll ask but one more time. Who in the bloody blazes is your captain?”

The wind died down. The bell stopped clanging. The air around them smelled of salt and blood. In the moonlit night, the shadows waited.

Drake pulled his sword and placed the tip at the indentation on Quinn’s neck. “You’ll die first, boy, unless you take this last chance to tell me: Who the bloody hell is your captain?”

“I am,” came a voice from the bow of Drake’s ship, speaking clearly in Latin. “I believe I am the one ya’ve been searching fer.”

In synchronicity, all heads looked up at the bow of the Judith. There stood Grace O’Malley and a dozen or more of her crew leaning over the railing with bows drawn.

Quinn shot a look over at Drake, who stood there, slack-jawed like the rest of them.

“It would appear, young and foppish Francis, that we both have somethin’ the other wants.” Grace keened her elbow on her knee. I have yer ship... again... and ya have some a’ my crew... again. It would appear a parlay is in order.”

“You!” Drake snarled, glaring up at her. “You fucking bitch!”

Grace O’Malley tossed her head back and laughed heartily. “Don’t be so surprised, Francis. Did ya think ya could escape me that easily?” She waved her hand in the air. “Of course ya did. Like others before ya, ya’ve underestimated me and my crew. Time and time again, men like ya have disrespected the Queen a’ Connacht, and right now she’s standin’ aboard yer ship wonderin’ whether or not those men ya’ve been playin’ with are worth tradin’ this ship fer. So... what is it goin’ ta be? A parlay, or do I burn another one a’ yer ships ta the ground?”

Drake looked at the crowd before glaring back up at Grace. “You do that and your four men here are dead.” Drake nodded to his men, and those who had sword belts still on withdrew their swords. The two with muskets swung them around toward the ship.

“Ya might kill my men, Francis, but I can guarantee ya’ll lose more than four and yer ship. I can do without those four, but can ya really go back ta Elizabeth and tell her ya’ve lost yet another ship ta Captain Grace O’Malley? Because believe me when I say this, I shall send a dispatch first ta Mary a’ Scotland and then on ta England ta let everraone know how expensive ya’ve become ta yer queen. I imagine she’ll stop fundin’ yer little expeditions once she gets wind a’ how careless ya’ve been... and who ya’ve been tradin’ with. I’m bettin’ she doesn’t know about yer little slave business.”

Drake spat on the ground and raised his sword toward Quinn. “You would trade the lives of your men in order to destroy my ship? What kind of monster are you?”

“The kind who sacrifices fer the greater good—and the greater good is fer ya ta be away from Ireland and off my seas.”

“Your seas? You give yourself far too much credit, lady pirate.”

“And ya give me not nearly enough.”

Suddenly, from the darkness all around the pier came the rest of the Malendroke crew, including the four-dozen slaves. Surrounding the crowd, the nearly three hundred men stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blades, muskets, and bows drawn toward Drake and his men.

A slow smile crept onto Quinn’s face.

“I’m sure a parlay is sounding verra good ta ya right about now, Francis. So what will it be? Do we cut ya down like a stray cur on the streets, or do ya do the wise thing and have a parlay with the lady captain who has bested ya twice now?”

Francis Drake slowly surveyed the crew surrounding his men as he calculated the slim chances of success. Then he motioned for his men to keep their swords up. “Parley it is.”

Grace grinned. “Yer not as dumb as ya look, Francis. Come aboard. Alone.”

His men muttered loudly, and Drake held up his hand. “Fine. I’ll come alone... on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“That you stop calling me Francis.”

While the parlay went on, Quinn gathered the men together, making sure they all stood back to back. “Nobody do ennathing stupid,” she said softly. “Captain O’Malley will get us out of here.”

“What the bloody hell?” O’Leary said. “Where did she come from?”

Quinn could only surmise that Grace had not been very far behind them and that she was the reason the Victory galleon had vanished from sight. How she managed to get the slaves to assist her was beyond Quinn, and it was evident by the way they stepped back that Drake’s men feared them the most.

“We’ll find that out later. In the event the parlay goes poorly, we must attack from within the circle, never breaking our connection.”

“Ya don’t really think Drake has a choice, do ya?”

“Not even remotely. She has him by the ball sack, and if he knows ennathing about Captain O’Malley, it’s that she’s a woman of her word. She’ll set that whole ship ablaze before he can even draw a sword.”

“I just want back on a ship,” One Eye bemoaned. “Me and land don’t like each other.”

No sooner had he spoken than the Malendroke sailed into the bay, the small galleon right behind her.

“Why’d she keep that galleon?” O’Leary wondered aloud.

The crowd silenced a bit at seeing Grace’s ship, and O’Leary got his answer.

Deftly maneuvering the smaller galley directly behind Drake’s, Connor and the few who remained lowered themselves into the water and swam over to the Malendroke, bobbing gently off the starboard side of Drake’s ship.

“She’s blocking his ship,” Tavish said with a grin. “That captain a’ yers is crazy smart.”

“Aye,” One Eye said. “That she is. Sometimes just plain crazy, but ya didn’t hear that from me lips.”

The parlay did not take long, and when Drake finally reappeared, his earlier cocksure demeanor was all but gone. “Let them pass,” he commanded, waving his hand in the air toward Quinn and the others.

The circle opened but no one lowered their weapons.

“Weapons, Drake!” Grace yelled. “Now, or I’ll run ya all through.”

“Put your weapons away,” he ordered, then, under his breath, said, “Fucking bitch.”

When the only weapons remaining out in the circle belonged to Quinn’s and the other three, Quinn strode, head high, through the opening and to the ring of men surrounding them.

Her men.

Their men.

“Be off!” Captain O’Malley shouted down to Drake, who motioned for his crew to head up the road. “And be grateful I did not go on a murderous rampage... ya know... how a woman might act?

“But Captain––” a crew member said from the deck. “Oughtn’t we kill them all now?”

“The next man who utters a word will lose his head. Now, start movin’, Drake.”

When the last of Drake’s men disappeared out of sight down the road leading out of town, Quinn turned and looked up at Grace. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me, Callaghan, just get yer arses over ta our ship, and let’s get the bloody hell outta here.”

Quinn turned back to the slaves. “What about them?”

“They’re coming with us. And before ya ask another question and further irritate me, get movin’ ta our ship before I change my mind and leave the lot a’ ya here.”

An hour later, with everyone, including the slaves, on board, the Malendroke set sail.

“Callaghan!” Innis shouted. “Captain’s quarters. Now!”

Fitz chuckled. “Seems everra time I turn around, yer gettin’ called out ta the captain’s office. Yer nothin’ but a troublemaker, Callaghan.”

Quinn punched him in the arm before scurrying to Grace’s cabin, where two shots of the captain’s best whiskey sat on the small table.

Captain O’Malley surprised Quinn by closing the door and wrapping her up in her arms, hugging her so hard Quinn’s feet lifted off the floor.

“Seems yer makin’ a habit a’ savin’ my men, savin’ my crew. I knew I’d made the right choice when I picked ya fer the task. Well met, Callaghan, well met.”

When Quinn’s feet were back on the ground, she straightened her clothes and blushed. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“Caught a tail wind right after I whipped her ’round that bastard’s ship. He was expectin’ me ta turn tail and run, so he blew right on by us, and we turned her about. By the time he knew what was what, we were outta sight and worked our arses off ta catch up with ya.”

“I can see that.”

Grace handed a whiskey to Quinn and held hers to it. “Ta another day and another way.” Grace downed hers. “Ya made fine time yerself. I was afraid the oarsmen might not row hard enough or fast enough ta get ya outta harm’s way, but apparently ya made fast friends with one a’ those slaves.”

“Kwame,” Quinn said.

“The light one, right? The one in the front?”

Quinn nodded.

“Ya disobeyed my orders, Callaghan. Why in the bloody hell would ya do that?”

“I won’t kill unarmed men who pose no threat to us, sir. Not even for you.”

Grace tilted her head this way and that. “Imagine my surprise when I saw those slaves—and then come ta find out they all remained, everra last one a’ them.” Grace poured two more whiskeys. “And do ya know why? Do ya know why they stayed when they should’ve run? They stayed because a’ ya.”

Quinn paused her drink in midair. “Me, sir?”

Grace tossed hers back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Aye. Connor said that Kwame fellow started speakin’ that African gibberish ta the others, who all listened, nodded, and then stayed. Fer ya.”

“How do you know they stayed for me? Maybe they––”

Grave chuckled. “Kwame told Connor. Walked right up ta him and said... let’s see... how did he put it? Said ya were someone worth fightin’ fer. Imagine that.”

“Their numbers were impressive.”

“The English fear them more than they understand them. The tide shifted in our favor by havin’ so many surround Drake’s men. Spooked ’em mightily.”

“How did you get aboard his ship?”

“Swam.”

Quinn’s eyebrows rose. “Truly?”

“Only way ta get ta it unseen and unheard. We swam ta it, climbed up it, and took it over without havin’ ta fire a shot or slit enna throats. Ya should’ve seen the looks on their faces. I knew that once I had the bastard’s ship, whatever it was he was after would be mine. I had no idea what he wanted was yer blood on his sword. Arsehole.”

“It must’ve taken everything in you not to kill him. He hates you to the bone, sir.”

“And right back at him. Let him. Killin’ one a’ Elizabeth’s prize bulls would not be wise. I let him live because I know his secret.”

“Well, sir, it was definitely checkmate.”

Grace nodded. “I just wanted ta thank ya fer takin’ good care a’ my boys. It was dicey there fer a minute, but ya kept a calm head about ya.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And I take care a’ those who take care a’ mine. During the parlay, I squeezed Drake fer information about that coin a’ yers.”

Quinn perked up and leaned forward.

“And I’ll tell ya everrathin’ I learned as soon as I return from the wheel.” Opening the door, Grace turned, her hand resting on the door. “But tell me... who killed the Englishman? Drake’s mate?”

Quinn exhaled. “I did.”

Grace smiled. “Good fer ya, Callaghan. That’s exactly what I was hopin’ ya’d say.”

Grace has finally told me what information she got out of Drake. From the Portuguese, he secured slaves, which he then sold to other captains. One of those captains was none other than the son of Turgut Reis, the infamous privateer from Turkey––where we are currently headed.

I didn’t know a thing about this pirate, but believe me, the fellows filled me in in no time.

Turgut Reis, known to most of the crew as Dragut, is one of the Ottoman Empire’s most prolific pirates. Two years ago, he took a fleet of sixty ships to attack Cariati, Italy, which he sacked, killing many innocent Italians. He has attacked both Italian and Spanish coastlines, successfully claiming many port cities for the Ottomans. The man is known for his love of the finest things and has been known to sail a week out of his way to purchase or steal an exotic animal, a casket of wine, or a woman.

If what Drake told Captain O’Malley is true, it is Dragut who has Shea—and he will soon be picking up cargo in Morocco.

According to Drake, Dragut landed in Ireland on his way back to Tripoli to repel advances made by the Knights of Malta. Grace surmises that it was then that Dragut took Shea.

Dragut and Drake have found common enemies in the Italians and Spanish, and so Drake agreed to provide him with slaves for his ships in exchange for the Medusa coins he was funneling back to England.

It all made sense, but I was surprised he was so forthcoming with Grace.

Then she laughed and told me he wasn’t. She put the pieces together and bluffed him into oversharing what he knew, thinking that she was already aware of it anyway. Besides, Grace said, Drake relished the idea of sending Grace and her crew to a madman like Dragut. Drake is a coward, and if some other pirate could finish Grace off, he was just fine with that.

If she ever finds him near our coastline again, she will send a missive to Elizabeth about his side dealings and see where that will leave him.

In the end, he gave her more than she needed to know. We were all surprised she let him live, but apparently there is a pirate code for the parlay. Grace could not, under such a code, take his life... even the life of a man she hated.

“Yer captain is mighty proud a’ ya, laddie,” Tavish said softly from behind Quinn’s right shoulder.

She marveled at how such a block of a man could approach so quietly.

“I didn’t do anything she wouldn’t have done, but thank you.”

“I beg ta differ. She wouldna pretend ta be somethin’ she is not. Ever. It isna in her nature.”

Quinn ever so slowly turned to him. Something in his voice told her he was not speaking about her Portugal ruse of being a noblewoman. “Perhaps not, but sometimes, in this harsh world of ours, we must do what we must to forge our own way.”

Tavish nodded once. “Aye. Truth ta that, laddie. We each walk our own path in this life. I just wanted ta thank ya fer all ya did ta save me. That crowd woulda kilt me fer sure.”

As Tavish turned to leave, Quinn’s hand shot out and grabbed his hardened forearm. She leaned forward so her lips were inches from his ear. “You know, don’t you?

Tavish pulled back slightly and locked his eyes with her. A few moments plodded by before he said, “What I know is that ya are loyal, brave, and someone I’d trust ta have me back no matter where we were or what we were doin’. And that, laddie, is all I ever need ta know.”

With that, Tavish disappeared below deck, leaving Quinn alone once more with her thoughts of the conversation she’d had with Captain O’Malley.

“Well, it was confirmed by my mate that it was, indeed Dragut who snagged yer friend, and I don’t have ta tell ya what that means,” Grace had told Quinn.

“How did he know it was Shea?”

“He saw her. Said she was beautiful and exactly the kind a’ woman Dragut is known fer havin’. Lighter skin and by his side like his bedmate more than a slave. He called her by name. Well... he said it started with an sh sound. The good news is that this means he’s probably not sold her off, nor is he likely to. The man likes the finer things.”

“If he has her, Captain, then that is where I must go.”

“Not yet, Callaghan, and not alone. We are heading ta Morocco ta release the slaves there and see if we can’t catch up ta Dragut.”

“But the slaves––”

“Will manage. They are free, and that means somethin’ ta them. We will drop ’em off all along the coast in twos and threes. Yer friend Kwame has been instrumental in communicatin’ their wishes. It appears I am not the only one indebted ta ya, Callaghan. I must say, ya got a way with people.”

And so they were finally preparing to enter the seas of one of the most bloodthirsty pirate captains to sail these waters. Captain Grace O’Malley, as fearless in her approach to life as in her captaining, believed that she and Dragut could strike a bargain for the return of Shea, and she said as much to Quinn.

“And if we can’t?” Quinn had asked. “If he won’t let her go?”

Captain O’Malley had shrugged and grinned. “Then we shall take her by force.”

Quinn could only hope it didn’t come to that.

We are sailing to that strange and foreign land of Morocco, where Dragut is expected to be, and I’ve no idea how Captain O’Malley intends to proceed once we get there.

It has been an interesting trip from Portugal. I suddenly find myself held in higher esteem by the crew. I suppose they are grateful for my actions, but it is an odd feeling to be so well liked by men who kill and plunder for a living. Although I can tell he still resents me quite a bit, even Innis looks upon me now as though we are equals. I quite enjoy that. At least he has stopped mooning over me. I do believe Innis is the man version of me, and my heart goes out to him. I know just how hard a road that is.

For their part, Fitz, O’Leary, and One Eye have regaled the crew over and over about our experience, with the story growing each time it is told as if it has a life of its own. Tavish, however, never speaks of it, but watches quietly as they blather on. He is an interesting bloke. He watches over me as if his life depended on it. I am getting used to it, I suppose. There are certain advantages to having a mate who can knock people out. He has really taken to the sea, and the men now treat him like he is one of us.

On a different note, I cannot stop my thoughts from meandering to Fiona. I miss her so much, I ache. I wonder what she is thinking... what she is feeling. I wonder if, when she looks at the moon, she is thinking about where I am. I wonder so much now, as I near the goal of this whole charade.

I have never felt such a pull as this, and if I hadn’t been keeping my promise to Shea, I might have...

Yes.

Might have what?

Told Fiona all of my truths? Shared with her my secrets? And what then? Would she discard me and cast me out, or would she embrace me, never caring that I am not what I appear to be?

Ah, appearance.

There are two whose eyes take me in as if they know the truth: Kwame and Tavish.

Tavish knows. I am certain of it, but he has made it clear that he cares not, and I do not think he is interested in revealing the truth to anyone. For that, I am grateful. Surprised, but grateful.

Then there is Kwame.

What an interesting young man Kwame has turned out to be. He is bright, articulate, and apparently quite an astute chess player. He is unlike the other slaves, who babble away in a tongue filled with clicks and pops. The crew often stares in amusement as these young men jabber amongst themselves. I rather like them.

Well... those of the same region jabber. I had no idea there were so many languages on the Dark Continent and was quite surprised to learn they do not understand each other’s native tongues. Kwame explained to me many things about Africa I did not know. I find him to be a fascinating person.

Person.

It is strange to see how differently men interact with him. Some men avoid him altogether. Others just stare. Still others, like Tavish, act like they normally would. I think I like Tavish even more after seeing his kindness toward them.

During one meal, Connor leaned over to me and told me what had happened when they moved the galleon from the bay. When the time came for the men to leave the ship, Kwame asked if they could be of service. Connor said he was stunned by the offer until Kwame explained, “The boyish one who does not shave? Callaghan? If he is in trouble, we offer our best selves.”

Best selves.

I liked that.

I liked that, and I like them. As different as they are from us, there is a strength about them that I admire. They walk with their heads held high, even though many have had their backs bent by the whip. They are courageous and inspiring.

And they sing the most beautiful songs at night.

There were plenty of men on board who felt they should just be cut loose. Apparently, there were words, heated words, before Connor said it was his decision and that the slaves had offered and would join them in the surrounding of the English.

Now, we have four and a half dozen African slaves we are freeing in Morocco, even though there are bound to be a good number of galleons in and around the area. Captain O’Malley plans on releasing them, but only after she has started some sort of plan to ensure their safety.

She won’t tell us what that plan is. I just know that she is a great tracker, as it were. If she thinks Dragut is in Rabat, then that’s where he is.

And by this time tomorrow, I will be that much closer to finding Shea.

And then we are going home.

Home.

I am no longer certain where that is any more.

All hands were on deck when the Malendroke sailed along the coast of Morocco. Most of the men had never seen it before. Grace O’Malley seldom left the Celtic or Irish Seas, so Morocco was exotic, full of character, and exciting, with colorful silk flags flying on the dock marketplace, and bright tents lining the coast. There was unfamiliar music wafting out to sea, and

the men stood quietly on deck as they glided by the vibrant coastal villages, soaking it all in.

Quinn was gazing out at the foreign sight when she felt someone standing closer to her. She expected it to be Tavish.

She was surprised to see it was Kwame.

“It is beautiful,” he murmured.

“Aye. Very different. Hotter. It is swelterin’ out here.”

Kwame cocked his head.

“Umm... verra, verra hot.” Quinn made a mental note to work harder at sounding like the rest of the men. Thus far, she had been unsuccessful in maintaining a consistent dialect such as the ones they all used.

He nodded. “You... are not like the others. You seem... smarter.”

Quinn turned back to the view of the coastline. Even a foreigner’s ear had been able to detect the difference. She mentally added Kwame to the ever-growing list of people she apparently could not deceive. “I was raised differently. I only recently became a crewmember here. I’m not quite as... rough as the others, but they have become my family nonetheless.”

“They good family, then. They care about you. I hear men talking. They hold you high up.”

Quinn tilted her head at him. “Your English is better than when we first met.”

Kwame bowed his head. “I was not sure who to trust.”

“Ah. You felt it was safer to act like a slave.”

Kwame nodded. “It is what I have been doing the last six months.” He shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”

“What made you trust us?”

Kwame glanced over his shoulder at the men standing on the bow. “Your people are not like the English... like Drake’s men. I had heard the Irish were barbaric. Stupid. You are not that.”

“No, Kwame, we are not, which is why we are freeing your people here.”

“My people. We are the same skin color, Callaghan, but these men––these slaves––are not my people. Do not make the same mistake as other white men. Just like Drake’s people are not your people, these beautiful people are not mine.”

Quinn nodded. “I understand. So you won’t return to Africa.”

“No. I am English. I have been a long time. It is all I know. Only my skin color says different.”

“So, if you don’t go with them, where will you go?”

Before Kwame could answer, Captain O’Malley called every man on deck to the wheel, where she stood at the top of the stairs looking down on her crew.

“No captain alive is as proud of a crew as I am of this one,” she stated from the top of the stairs. “We escaped Diego Gonzalez’s capture, even while stealing his ship. We cornered that rat bastard Drake, and now we are nearing the port most known fer harboring Dragut, as bloodthirsty a bloke as we’ll ever face. ’Tis an honor ta be yer captain this day and everra day.”

“’Tis an honor ta serve ya!” someone yelled from the back.

Grace O’Malley grinned. “Say that again when we are on our way home, because we are now preparing ta engage a captain who has successfully taken on the Italians as well as the formidable Spaniards without suffering great losses.” Grace let the murmuring subside before continuing. “Dragut is not a terribly young man, but he is a verra shrewd negotiator. We’ve come here fer two reasons: first off, ta allow these poor souls, who have been ripped from their homes, a chance ta return ta them as the free men they are. Second, we’ve come ta find Callaghan’s best mate, who was taken much like these fine men were and held as a slave. This man needs ta know that no Irishman will ever be a slave ta another man as long as we live and breathe. I will understand if there are enna a’ ya who would wish not ta be a part a’ this venture. Ya need only remain with the ship, and upon return home ya are free ta return ta yer families, no harm done. But we will rescue this Irish woman and enna others he might have taken from our lands.”

The men looked around at each other before Connor finally spoke up. “Sir, enna captain would be hard pressed ta find a crew as loyal ta each other as yer own. If Callaghan’s best mate needs our assistance, ’tis the least we can do ta help out.”

The men all cheered, banging their hilts on the side of the ship.

And that was the decisive moment when Quinn Gallagher knew where her home was and who her family would now become. These men, all rough and rugged, were willing to go into a foreign land to face a man who was a ruthless killer—all for a woman they had never met.

That was family.

This ship, her home.

Come what may, she would take Shea back to Ireland, but Quinn would not stay.

She no longer belonged on the land.

Innis raised his hand to quiet the men as Quinn waited warily. “As most a’ ya know, I was not a friend a’ Callaghan’s freshly cut mug when he first got here. I thought him incapable a’ protectin’ hisself or enna a’ us. I am happy ta say I was wrong. We are brothers on this ship, and if our captain asks us ta help one a’ our own, I say we do so without delay, without doubt.” To Quinn, he finished, “Innis McCoy has yer back, Callaghan, on this or enna other adventure.”

Quinn’s mouth opened and closed mutely in surprise.

The crowd roared and stomped until Captain O’Malley silenced them once more. “The Turks are not soft like the English. They are good, quick fighters with swords that can cut ours in half. They are treacherous, they fight like barbarians, and they do not ever give up. Ever. Do not underestimate the damage they are capable a’ inflictin’ or have already wrought. This is why I give ya all a chance ta remain on the Malendroke.”

“Is there booty fer us?” a voice shouted out.

“I won’t lie ta ya, fellas, there is probably none ta be had here, but ya can keep whatever we get on our way back home.”

Then men reveled once more.

“Callaghan has drawn a picture a’ his mate, Shea. Everraone leavin’ the ship will take a look at it before landing. Ya find her, ya do not try ta remove her or bring her back. Return ta the ship and ring the bell fer a count a’ seventy. Once the bell has rung, everra last one a’ ya scurrilous sea dogs better get yer arses back ta the dock. Do not return ta the ship. The dock will suffice. Enna questions?”

Captain O’Malley answered a few questions before telling the crew to prepare for land. Then she pulled Quinn aside on the upper deck. “As a lover a’ beautiful things, Drake wished ta possess yer friend fer himself. Said he offered Dragut plenty ta keep her, but once Dragut saw her, he said no. He wanted her fer his own.” Grace shook her head. “Ownin’ other people is far worse a crime than piratin’. It makes me sick.”

The word possess made Quinn blanch. “And since Drake can’t have her––”

“He wishes Dragut not ta as well. It is the way with men. They believe, sadly enough, that ownership equates ta manhood. Drake knew tellin’ me the truth meant I’d go after Dragut, which is what that English bastard wants. He still underestimates me.”

“And if he was lying?”

“Then the man is a consummate actor. His face turned red, his forehead vein bulged, and his pupils shrunk ta nothing. Drake is not a man used ta hearing the word no. No, I believe Drake was rebuffed and believes he has sent someone ta upset Dragut’s apple cart so that Dragut, in turn, will try ta kill me. That’s how men like Drake operate: they let others do their dirty work. Cocksucker.”

“I am surprised you did not kill him.”

“Not during a parlay. Once men know ya canna be trusted at parlay, they will never have one with ya. Without me word, I am nothin’.”

“Captain, I don’t want any of our men killed over this. Shea is my friend and my issue. Perhaps I ought to go it alone from here.”

Captain O’Malley shook her head. “We shall retrieve yer friend without so much as drawin’ a single sword.” She lowered her voice and her head. “Always parlay somethin’ ya know the other side wishes ta have.” Straightening up, Grace yelled to the men to prepare to go ashore. Then, she turned back to Quinn. “Take yer drawin’ ta the plank and show everra man leavin’ the ship. When all those going ashore are off the boat, ya and I will pay Dragut a little visit.

“Just us?”

“Aye. Just us.”

When half the crew and the Africans left the ship, Quinn waited for the captain to join her. To her surprise, the last man to leave was Kwame.

“My ‘people’ wish to thank you for setting them free.” Opening his large hand, he showed Quinn a bracelet made up of some sort of coarse threads. “It is from the manes of zebra and giraffe. The tooth is from a lion that one of the men killed. They wish for you to have it for your courage and for your help to the African people.”

Quinn looked down into his hand, up at Kwame, and back at the bracelet. “I... ”

“To reject such a gift would be rude, Callaghan. You need not wear it, but––”

“No. No. Of course I shall wear it. I am touched, is all.” Quinn held her wrist out for Kwame, who tied the bracelet on. “It’s love––uh—verra nice.”

Kwame caught her eye, and for a second, she again thought he saw her for who she really was. “They will be pleased to know you wear it.”

“With pride, Kwame.”

“I wish you well, Callaghan.”

When Kwame was walking away, Grace strode up to Quinn. “They respect and admire ya, Callaghan, and in this world, that’s as good a compliment as ya will ever get. Are ya ready?

Quinn nodded. “Aye.” She looked up at Grace. “I’ve been thinking about what you said... about why you let Drake walk away.”

“Killin’ him without provocation would only put Elizabeth on alert, and we don’t need her breathin’ down our necks. I hate that fop more than ya could know, Callaghan, but I have a code I have lived by since I was a little girl. I’ll not break that code fer the likes a’ that dandy.”

“Makes sense. It just surprised me is all. I know how you hate him.”

“Glad ta see I am still unpredictable.” Grace headed toward town. “Accordin’ ta Drake, Dragut’s ship is usually on the other side of town in a secondary harbor. It is easier ta protect, I would imagine.” Grace muttered something Quinn thought sounded like, “Rat bastard finally made it.”

When they turned a corner, Quinn saw the masts of a large English galleon and paused. “Wait. Drake followed us?”

“Of course he did. It is precisely what I would have done were I in his boots. He should be landed shortly. He wants ta be on hand ta see us get slaughtered.”

“The weak act of a weak man.”

“Aye. Those English are a soft breed compared ta the Turks. Not ta worry, Callaghan. Drake has no idea what he is steppin’ into.”

Quinn felt a piece of dread flutter and land in her heart. Turks were not people you wanted for enemies, and their viciousness was well documented by those they’d defeated. Surely Grace wasn’t merely going to stroll over to the ship and ask to speak with Dragut.

Was she?

Quinn walked along side of Grace, struggling to keep up with her long stride.

“Dragut will see us. On that ya can bet gold.”

Quinn could only shake her head at Grace’s courage.

The city of Rabat was, for lack of a better word, beige. Or tan. It seemed as if every building was the exact same color—a far cry from the other colorful coastal towns they’d passed along the way.

When they finally docked, Grace quickly found someone to translate for her on their way to the second harbor. The people they encountered as they walked seemed happier than most and wore colorful scarves and light fabric clothing. They were darker than what Quinn was expecting; she found them to have beautiful skin and deep brown eyes that seemed happier and brighter than the city in which they lived.

“It must be terribly hard,” Grace said as they walked through the tremendous heat of the bustling town.

“What must be hard?”

“Not bein’ yerself. Not bein’ able ta love who ya wish ta love.” Grace’s soft voice surprised Quinn, who was so used to hearing its gruffness.

“Aye. It is far more difficult than I thought it would be. On one hand, I cannot be myself. On the other, I am exactly who I am, if that makes any sense.”

Grace rewarded her with a loud laugh, causing those they passed by to stare. Most were already staring at the tall woman with the flowing mane of red hair wearing men’s clothing, but the bark of laughter made most look twice. “Callaghan, I’m a woman wearing men’s pants and ordering them about in a voice not my own, ta which they reply, ‘Yes, sir.’ It makes perfect sense ta me. As a matter a’ fact, I might be the only one who can truly understand what yer goin’ through.”

Quinn cocked her head. Grace was right. She was, quite possibly, the only person in the world who truly knew how she felt.

“Have ya always loved women?” Grace asked, slowing to look at a beautiful dress hanging in the open market. It billowed in a way that made it look like a rainbow.

“As far back as I can remember, yes.”

“Can’t be an easy thing lovin’ forbidden fruit.”

Quinn sighed. “Actually, it’s easier than you think.”

“I meant because of how people will look down on it bein’ unnatural. How can love be ennathing but natural? I’ll never understand it.”

“It is all I know... all I have felt since I was a little girl. I know of no other way to be.”

“Ouch. Are ya sure yer not in love with this Shea?”

Quinn chuckled. “Yes. I do love her, but not in that way. Of that, I am certain.”

“So what will ya do once ya find her and bring her home?”

That question had been plaguing Quinn for some time. “I suppose I have to consider restarting my life as a woman, though I do not believe I am truly capable of doing so. Not any longer.”

Grace stopped walking. “Just like that? Go back ta petticoats and bustiers? Go back ta bein’ an invisible part of society? Go back ta bein’ told what ta do and not ta do? Ya disappoint me, Callaghan. I would have thought yer time on the Malendroke would have whetted yer thirst fer adventure.”

“It has, Captain, more than I ever thought possible, but I can’t imagine trying to keep up this charade for years on end. It would be exhausting, not to mention unfulfilling and lonely. How long can I go on pretending I belong with these men? You said so yourself, they’ll never trust me once they find out. That... that would break my heart.”

Grace chuffed. “Few would believe one could be lonely on a ship a’ two hundred, eh?” She stopped to smell an odd-looking fruit. Somewhere behind them, two women spoke in French instead of Berber. “But it can be verra lonely.” She turned to Quinn. “Whatever ya decide ta do, Callaghan, I’ll support, but I think ya oughtta know, the crew won’t just roll over and let ya leave. Yer kin ta them now, part a’ the Mal’s clan as it were. They willna let ya just disappear. Neither will I.”

Quinn inhaled deeply. “Thank you for that, Captain. I don’t want to leave. I just don’t know how I can stay.”

“Well, let’s see how ya feel after gettin’ yer friend back.”

They walked a little more before Quinn asked, “The Africans. How are you able to keep them safe here?” Quinn picked up a fruit to smell. It was some sort of citrus.

“They aren’t. I couldn’t. They scattered like leaves in the wind once the ramp was down. It was the best we could do. We couldn’t keep ’em on board, and we couldn’t take ’em ennawhere else. They have a life ta live elsewhere.”

Quinn nodded as they kept walking. “Think they’re all right?”

“One thing I’ve learned about slaves: once freed, they become much better at avoidin’ recapture. Do not worry about yer friend, Kwame. He is a verra smart man.”

Quinn tried unsuccessfully to push her trepidation away. “But he was never a slave. He––”

“Slavers see them as part a’ commerce, Callaghan, and there is little we can do ta change that. It was my father’s hope that one day slavery would be frowned upon, perhaps even illegal, but until then, men like Drake will ship them like enna other commodity. That’s what makes him even more of a rat bastard.”

Quinn and Grace walked quietly with their thoughts until the captain stopped and purchased two bananas, handing one to Quinn. “Ya love a woman ya can’t have regardless a’ the masks ya wear. What I find fascinatin’ is how much she cares fer ya. Ta pay fer Tavish ta keep an eye on ya is quite possibly one a’ the most romantic gestures I have ever borne witness ta.”

“He must be returned to her upon arrival in Ireland. I do not need extra protection.”

Grace peeled her banana and snapped off a piece with her fingers. “No ties that way.”

“Aye. If I am to move on with my life, I cannot constantly be reminded of her. His presence does that. She lingers around the corner of every thought.”

“Besides, ya will no longer be in danger as a woman a’ worth once ya take off the pants and grow yer hair back. If that’s what ya choose, a’ course.”

“It is my belief that women will always be in danger, Captain. It is the way of the world.” Quinn peeled her banana and took a bite.

“Ya make a good man, Callaghan... a decent man. More decent than most men I’ve met.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As the harbor came into view, Grace finished her banana and tossed the peel on the side of the road. Before them bobbed a small fleet of boats belonging, Quinn surmised, to Dragut.

“The Turks are an interestin’ breed,” Grace began. “They are typically good planners, great strategists, and excellent seamen. One area they tend ta be strong in is negotiatin’. If they feel ya are wastin’ their time, they will draw on ya, so be prepared. Do not have yer hand on yer hilt, but make certain ya can readily draw.

“Sir, the likelihood of the two of us being able to fight our way off a Turkish ship is slim.”

Grace tossed her head back and laughed. “Change of plans. We are not going on the Dragut’s ship, Callaghan. We are going, instead, ta the tavern where he takes his meals.”

“But I thought––”

“I sent eyes and ears ahead of us, and I know exactly where he is. They are expectin’ us ta show up at the ship. That will keep many a’ his men there fer protection, but I have other plans.”

Quinn did not think she was capable of admiring Captain O’Malley more than she already did, but she was wrong. “Then we aren’t really going to be alone.”

Grace chuckled. “Of course not. That would be foolish and I am nobody’s fool. No, we will go into the tavern and let them see us fer what we are not: a weaker female captain of a pirate ship and one a’ her first mates. Ya see, Callaghan, one thing we both know is that people’s views are their reality. Ya canna change those views but ya can use them as leverage. Dragut may be an old man, but he is an old man who will not feel threatened by us.”

“Because you’re a female?”

“Because he is a Turk.”

When they neared the tavern, Quinn’s eyes scanned the surrounding area for crewmembers tucked here and there. She found some in Berber outfits and others acting as prospective buyers in the marketplace. A familiar jolt of excitement coursed through her veins. Yes, she loved the danger, loved riding the blade’s edge. These last three months had been the best times of her life, and she would miss it more than she allowed herself to feel once she returned... home.

Home?

How could it be that a pirate ship full of smelly men felt more like home than the beautiful estate she’d grown up in?

Life was strange.

She had changed, and it was time she accepted that.

“Okay, Callaghan, there’s the tavern. We’ll go in, sit down, order two ales and wait.”

“And then?”

“Let the games begin.”

No sooner had their ales arrived than four Turks sat next to them at the long table scarred with knife marks and stained with stains Quinn could only hope were from years of spilled ale.

She seriously doubted it.

The four men chatted among themselves in a language Quinn could not place.

“How’s yer French?” Captain O’Malley asked Quinn.

“Good. I understand and speak it well.” Quinn paused. “But they are not speaking French, Captain.”

“These blokes are Turks, and most sea dogs from Turkey speak some French. So do the Moroccans, but that’s not who these men are. Ya can always tell by their blades. Those are scimitar blades favored by the corsairs. They love them curved blades.”

A thin line of dread ran down Quinn’s spine.

Suddenly, one of the corsairs leaned over to Grace and said in perfect Irish, “You must be the pirate queen we keep hearing about.”

Grace did not appear even remotely surprised at either the language or the assessment.

“That I am.”

Quinn caught the eye of an old man with a salt-and-pepper beard that had seen better days. He was sitting all the way across the tavern, but his eyes keenly took in the entire room of the tavern. His face and neck carried a number of scars clearly made from swords or knives. One eye was cloudy like marble.

Her eyes went immediately to the sword on the table in front of him.

A scimitar.

They were surrounded, and Quinn could only pray that the faith she had put in Grace O’Malley had not been misplaced.

“You are younger than I thought you would be,” one of the four corsairs said through a dark, unkempt beard that matched his shoulder length hair. His deep-set eyes reminded Quinn of snake’s eyes.

“I am pleased ya thought a’ me at all,” Grace said, smiling.

The man paused a moment before chuckling. “You have come to ask Dragut’s permission to remain here overnight?”

Grace looked over at the man with the cloudy eye and waved to him. He gave the barest hint of a nod.

“Not at all,” Grace said softly. “I ask permission from no man to do ennathin’ in this world. I have come ta parlay under the rules a’ seamanship.” Grace slowly removed her sword from its sheath and set it in front of her.

The Turk was taken aback. “Parlay? For what?”

“Well now, that’s between me and yer captain. Please tell him I come with an offer he will most certainly wish ta consider.”

The Turk regained his composure. “He is supping. No one interrupts him when he eats.”

“Then I shall wait.” Grace half turned from the four men so that most of her back was to them. “No sign a’ yer friend?” she asked in Latin.

Quinn stared at Grace, who now ignored the men behind her. She seemed not the least bit worried that there were only two of them versus a tavern full of corsairs. Then she shook her head, her eyes never leaving the scimitar. It looked so much sharper than theirs, the blade four times as wide. “I haven’t seen any woman like her since we got here,” she replied back in Latin.

“He must have left her on the ship. No worries. Leave this ta me, Callaghan.”

The one who had spoken to Grace slowly pushed away from the table, walked over to Dragut, and whispered in his ear.

The old man looked up at her, his eyes filled more with curiosity than animosity. Then he raised a hand and beckoned for her to join them.

“Watch and learn, Callaghan. No matter what, do not reach fer yer sword. Ya do, and we’re dead.” Rising, Grace sat opposite Dragut and the corsair who had spoken to them.

Quinn could not hear above the cacophony of the tavern. She sat uncomfortably as the other three men stared at her.

One of the men pulled on his own beard at her, and it took her a moment to realize that what they were staring at was her beardless face. She responded by making big breast gestures and shaking her head. The three men guffawed at what they perceived as the whipped Irishman.

Quinn kept peering over her mug at Dragut as he listened intently to whatever it was Grace was saying. No one appeared to be in danger. No one had reached for their swords.

Yet.

They went back and forth for a few minutes before Grace rose, shook his hand, and returned to the table, where she gulped down the rest of her ale.

“Come, Callaghan, we are finished here. Keep quiet.”

Quinn slammed down her ale before joining Grace at the tavern door, her heart racing so fast, she could barely hear above the pounding of it in her ears.

Once outside, Grace continued toward the marina where Dragut’s ships sat.

“That’s it, Captain? It’s done?”

“The man knew a good parlay when he saw it.”

Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was following them, Quinn asked, “And what did he get in return?”

Grace smiled. “Free toll through our seas and my word no Irish ship would harass them on their way ta the Hebrides... that and a chest a’ silver and gold pieces. They pose no threat ta us in Ireland. He just wants safe passage ta Scotland, and I offered that ta him.”

“You’re going to allow the Turks free passage for one woman you don’t even know?”

Captain O’Malley tossed her red hair over her shoulder and laughed heartily. “One woman? No, Callaghan. Had I asked fer just her, we would have been negotiatin’ from a position a’ weakness.”

“Then what did you parlay for?”

“Somethin’ a man like that could wholly understand. I asked fer all the dark-skinned women on his ship fer one night with my men. He believes he is loanin’ his slave girls fer a night a’ debauchery.”

“Just like that? He’s letting them come to our ship?”

“Callaghan, when a man is overconfident, he does many a foolish thing. Dragut believes I am a weak woman. He believes that if I try ta leave the port with his slaves, then he can sail after me and crush us. What is important ta remember whenever ya parlay is ta bargain usin’ what the other person believes he can and canna do or can and canna have. This is what I have done.”

“But we don’t even know if she’s there.”

Grace stopped and faced Quinn. “Ya don’t, but I do.”

Quinn swallowed back her trepidation. “How?”

“Someday, Callaghan, I’ll tell ya how. Fer now, just be grateful yer friend’s life is in the hands a’ Captain Grace O’Malley. I have connections all over the globe. I’ve had men lookin’ fer her at everra port since the verra day ya told me. Dragut believes he won the parlay.”

“But Captain, do you really want a man like him as your enemy?”

Grace stopped walking and studied Quinn a moment. “Callaghan, it is time ya took a good look around ya at what is happenin’ in the world. Everrabody is everrabody else’s enemy. There are no allies here. No one is really on ennaone’s side but their own. If Dragut wishes ta come ta my seas ta engage me in battle over the takin’ a’ yer friend, then so be it, but don’t think fer one second that these corsairs won’t plunder enna Irish ship they come across. They will. That is their nature.”

Quinn started to reply, but Grace held her hand up. “No more questions. The women will be comin’ outta the ship enna minute now. Keep yer eyes peeled fer her.”

One by one, the slaves slowly exited the ship and walked down the ramp. They all paused when they left the ship, their eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight.

Two.

Four.

Six.

They came off the ship only to be collected by Captain O’Malley’s men, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere to escort the frightened women onto the Malendroke.

Again, Quinn’s estimation of Captain O’Malley rose. Her crew had been there all along, hanging back, keeping an eye on their every move. It was as impressive as it was thoughtful.

Suddenly, she realized it was time to finally and irrevocably amend her definition of family, for though she loved her father, he would never have allowed her to live out her life as she deserved.

Ever.

She would have to change that.

Grace had been right. She could not go back to being trussed up in those dresses and waiting for some man to make decisions about her life. Those days were long dead.

Long gone.

Glancing around, she saw Grace’s archers lining one roof.

Grace had left nothing to chance.

Even Tavish lurked in the shadows, keeping his eyes out for anything or anyone who might post a threat.

Ten.

Twelve.

Fourteen.

Just how many female slaves had Dragut employed for his men’s pleasure?

Sixteen.

And there she was.

Shea.

Quinn’s eyes brimmed with tears at the sight of her dearest friend. There she was... at long last.

Although Shea was thinner and barely exuded a lifeless energy, Quinn would have known her anywhere. Unlike the first sixteen women to step onto the pier, Shea’s skin was lighter and her hair longer than when she’d left—kinkier and wild, as if she’d not brushed it in weeks. She appeared dazed and defeated. Beaten. Her eyes void of emotion. Whatever she had endured had changed her.

How could it not?

Quinn took a single step and opened her mouth to call out to her when Captain O’Malley grabbed her by the arm.

“Do not say a word,” she growled. “Ya wait until she is past that yellow dog, then ya can go ta her, but do not show her favor. Ya can bet Dragut has eyes everrawhere.”

Quinn did not take her eyes off Shea, who walked with her once-proud head bowed. She wore what looked like a dirty linen bag, and she moved her feet in a sort of shuffle.

It made Quinn’s heart hurt and she impatiently wiped away unfallen tears. “Oh, Shea.”

“Do not go all soft on me, Callaghan. Ya do, and she could fall apart. Now is not the time fer her ta fall apart. Let’s get these people loaded onto the Malendroke and then get the bloody hell outta here. I do not trust Dragut in the slightest. Men like him do not become men like him without a lot a’ blood and body parts.”

“But you said––”

“I said he thinks he can crush us. We are Irish, are we not? We can and we will outrun that man and his ship with his precious human cargo. Ya have me word on that.”

Quinn watched as Shea barely looked up to make sure she was still following the line of slaves walking slowly toward the Malendroke, a single rope around their waists tethering them together.

“Such cruelty––”

“Callaghan.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry. It’s just––”

“I know just what it is, and here is neither the time nor the place. Here she comes. Do not release her from the tether until everraone is safely back at the ship, or the ride home will be yer last.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Shea passed the mangy dog that was prowling back and forth on the dock, Quinn stepped out into the road. Her heart beat hard beneath her chest as she faced her beloved friend. Her tongue felt like a lead weight in her mouth as she searched for the words.

Only one came.

“Shea?”

Shea looked up, her blank stare not recognizing Quinn in the slightest.

“Yes, sir. That is my name, but how did you... ” and then, all at once, her dead eyes came back to life as recognition set in. “Quinn?”

“Do not react, my dear friend. There are eyes watching everything we do. Keep your head bowed until you get into the ship. I shall meet you there. Just know... you are safe, and you are going home.”

Shea bowed her head, and Quinn thought she heard her crying.

“Go. I shall be right behind you.”

When the slaves were all within the Malendroke, Quinn turned to Grace, who nodded once. Flying up the rampart, Quinn swept the small woman into her arms and hugged her tightly, lifting her off her feet. She had never thought such joy possible.

“You found me! You really found me!” Shea sobbed. “I prayed night and day that you would remember.

Setting Shea down, Quinn held Shea’s face in her hands. “Of course I found you. We promised. We made a pact.”

Shea let her filthy fingers caress Quinn’s face. “It’s really you, isn’t it? But... why are you dr––”

“Get a move on, Callaghan!” Grace shouted. “We’ve got ta get this ship outta the docks and into a tailwind as fast as we can!”

Shea cocked her head over at the woman barking out orders. “Oh. My. Is that... is she––?”

“Questions later, my dear friend. Right now, we need to get the hell out of here.”

Shea opened her mouth to reply, but could not immediately form words. Instead, she just nodded. “Of course... um... Callaghan?”

Quinn shrugged. “Long story for later. Right now, I have a job to do, and that is to help get this ship into deeper waters.”

“Don’t leave me, Quinn.”

Quinn squeezed Shea’s hand. “You’re safe now, Shea. I promise. I shall see you later, and then I will explain everything, but right now there is work to be done. We are all in danger from that man who took you.”

Tears came to Shea’s eyes. “I never stopped believing––” The tether yanked, and Shea continued across the deck.

Grace patted Quinn hard on the back. “Well done, Callaghan. I can see why Dragut wanted her in the first place. She is beautiful.”

“That she is.”

“Now, round up our men and get everraone back ta the ship. We sail as soon as the riggin’ is ready and all are on board.”

“Aye, Captain.” Quinn took two steps away before looking at Grace over her shoulder. “Thank you, sir.”

“No need. We O’Malleys always pay our debts. Consider us even.” With that, Captain O’Malley turned to oversee the twenty-two female slaves tied together, leaving Quinn to send word that the Malendroke was shoving off.

It took less than an hour to ready the Malendroke to sail. Just as Quinn was gathering the rest of the men with One Eye in tow, several of Dragut’s men started after them.

“Run fer it!” One Eye yelled, sprinting for the ship.

Quinn was right on his heels. She could feel the breath of hookah odor on her neck as she dodged through the marketplace crowds.

And just as they were ten meters from the gangway, One Eye was literally blindsided and tackled by a Turk on a cross street.

Down One Eye went in a tangle of arms and legs. Quinn pulled out her short sword and smacked the handle against the Turk’s head, knocking him out. Jumping to his feet, One Eye blinked away blood with his good eye. He had a nasty gash in his forehead.

Grabbing him, Quinn tossed him toward the ship. “Get help!” she yelled, turning to face eight armed Turks.

“Quinn! No!” Shea cried. Running down the gangway, no longer encumbered by the rope, Shea was a blur. Even as a little girl, Shea was quick on her feet. Being a slave had not changed that.

“Get back, Shea! I have this.”

One of the Turks cut away from the group and attempted to pull Shea off the plank when a man came from nowhere and hurled himself at the Turk, knocking him so hard to the ground that the Turk did not get back up.

Kwame.

Kwame had shot out of the shadows... and he wasn’t alone.

Eleven other Africans now stood behind Quinn with makeshift weapons of rakes, butcher knives, and smithy tools.

Quinn pulled her long sword out, and the wall of her men between the Turks and the Malendroke stood poised and ready for battle.

“Callaghan?” one of the crew said, looking at her questioningly.

“They’ve reneged on the parlay, fellas. Looks like we’re gonna have ta fight our way back ta the ship.”

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Three arrows landed in between the Turks and Quinn’s men.

Quinn smiled to herself––Connor.

“Are ya here at the behest a’ yer no-good, piece-of-shite, word-breakin’ captain?” Captain O’Malley called out from the top deck. “Yer pasha? Because if ya are, I’m afraid yer gonna be dead men soon enough.”

Kwama repeated the question in Turkish.

The men froze.

“Ya make yer pasha appear ta not be a man a’ his word, so if he did not send ya, I suggest ya go see him at the tavern before he punishes ya fer that misperception.”

The Turks slowly lowered their weapons.

Quinn and the Africans tentatively backed away toward the ramp.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

More of Connor’s arrows landed on the ground between them.

“Like I said. If ya are here on his orders, prepare ta die. If not, save yerselves and back the fuck away.”

The Turks looked at each other before backing away a few steps.

“That’s what I thought. Be gone before I order my men ta kill ya all.”

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Each arrow landed closer to the feet of the Turks, who finally turned and fled.

“Now get yer arses on board!” Grace yelled. “We gotta get this ship outta here!”

Quinn extended her hand to Kwame. “Thank you, my friend.”

Kwame did not take Quinn’s hand. Instead, his eyes locked onto Shea, never moving from her face.

Following his gaze, Quinn patted his shoulder. “Aye. She is a beautiful woman.”

“Is she... does she... ”

“Have someone special? Only one way to find out, but now is not the time.”

Understanding precisely what Quinn’s meaning was, Kwame shielded his eyes from the setting sun as he shouted up to Captain O’Malley, “Need another strong back and able hands, Captain?”

To Quinn’s surprise, Grace O’Malley deferred to her. “If Callaghan believes ya can pull yer weight, then come aboard. He seems ta know how ta collect good men.”

Quinn nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, Captain.”

Kwame lowered his head to Shea before running up the plank. At the top, he turned and motioned to the other eleven. “They wish to come aboard as well. Their families and tribes were killed. They have nowhere left to go. We would be honored to serve you, Captain O’Malley.”

Quinn looked up at Grace, who nodded once. “Verra well. Bring them aboard and tell them they are all welcome aboard the Malendroke as crew, not as slaves. They work and fight like everra other man on here.”

Kwame then spoke in hushed tones to the first three men closest to him. They all nodded and then relayed the information to the others in languages Quinn could tell were different from each other.

“Welcome aboard,” Quinn said, clapping Kwame on the back.

When everyone else had boarded, Quinn stepped up to Shea, emotions bubbling over inside her chest. She knew tears were coming, but she still had a façade to maintain, so she threw her shoulders back and forced a grin. “This must seem so incredibly strange to you, my dear, sweet Shea.”

Shea’s eyebrows shot up. “Strange would be a huge understatement, Qui—” she hesitated. “Callaghan, is it?”

Quinn smiled. Shea was much thinner than the last time they were together, and her cheekbones were more prominent, but the sparkle returning to her eyes was all Shea. “Aye, and I need you to commit it to memory, Shea. I am known as Callaghan. Quinn Gallagher is no longer.” Quinn touched Shea’s cheek. “Come. We have much catching up to do, but not here and not now. Are you... are you well?”

Shea closed her eyes. When she opened them, there were tears. “As well as I’ve been in a very long time.”

“You’re safe now, my friend. I promise.”

Quinn started across the deck when Shea took her arm.

“You have no idea of the hell you saved me from, Qu––Callaghan.”

Quinn gently pulled Shea to her and held her a moment before backing away. “Oh, but I do. I have seen something of the world now, Shea, and I know what things men are capable of. Go on now; I’ve arranged with Murphy the cook for you to work the kitchen. You’ve always been a wonderful cook.”

Shea blinked. “Cook? But I... I... ”

“Not as a slave girl, Shea. Everyone on a ship has a job to do. No one rides the seas for free, not even us. I chose a duty for you I hoped you would enjoy.”

Relief washed over Shea’s face. “Thank you. I... I don’t––”

“Later. We must hurry to get the ship back on the sea and away from this port. We will speak this evening.”

With that, Quinn hustled over to help Captain O’Malley and Innis prepare to sail.

“I tried to tell them I was not African, but none of the corsairs believed me.”

After several hours on the open sea, the crew had worked hard with the wind and the sails in order to put more distance between them and Dragut’s men. For a while it had looked like Dragut’s men were going to be able to keep up, but Grace’s crew were second to none and they had proved it as they pulled further and further away from the Turkish ship.

Having outrun Dragut’s only chasing ship, Quinn and Shea finally sat together on the top deck of the bow, awash with nothing but moonlight. A peace settled in Quinn’s chest as she sat next to her friend, holding her hand almost too tightly. Disbelief still hovered like a mist slowly being blown away by a gentle wind.

She had done it.

She had kept her promise and found her friend... a diamond amongst the coal that was men.

“When they finally interpreted for me, Dragut said he did not care that I wasn’t African. That I was his and... ”

Quinn squeezed Shea’s hand. “And no one ever need know if you were or not.”

“Qu––” she paused. “Sorry. It... all of this is a wee bit more than my mind can take in right now, with you dressed like... like this.” Shea waved her hand in the air. “You look like Patrick, only much more handsome.”

Quinn blushed. “It was the only way to secure a vessel to take me to you.”

Shea reached up and lightly fingered Quinn’s hair, which had grown almost to shoulder length. “You’ve shorn your beautiful locks for me?”

Quinn chuckled.“That is the least of what I have done, my friend. I made a promise all those years ago. Hair grows back. Lifelong friends do not.”

“You seem... ” Shea turned her head from side to side as she examined Quinn, “more... comfortable in this skin. Like you finally found where you belong.”

Quinn sighed. “I am. This is the first time I have felt like myself, odd as that may seem.”

“It is both odd and normal all at the same time. Well, you make a dashing young pirate. I’m quite certain the women clamor all over you.”

This brought a wry grin to Quinn’s face. “You have no idea. Men are pigs, Shea. They are simple creatures who lust for wine, women, and wages... not in that order. I cannot say that I have not had my moments where I have devolved into one.”

Shea laughed. “You have always contended as much, though I am surprised you have fallen into a barrel of ale with these hooligans.” Shea leaned closer, peering into Quinn’s eyes. “You are so different. Confident, bold... and Grace O’Malley seems to have taken a shine to you.”

“She is... I can’t even describe her. But without her and these sea dogs, I’m afraid I would never have found you, Shea.” Quinn gazed out at the moon. “Nor myself.”

“I shall be sure to thank her, as will Father. He must be brokenhearted.”

One of the men yelled something over to Quinn about always getting the woman. Five others laughed as they worked.

“Do you... do you have a girl?” Shea asked.

“A girl? No. But there is a woman who possesses my heart.”

Even in the moonlight, Shea’s face lit up. “Finally! Oh, Quinn, I am so happy to hear that.”

“It’s Callaghan, and alas, she is too high born for a lowly seaman. Besides that, she is now betrothed... as much to relieve herself of me as to bolster her family fortune. You know how that works in noble families.”

“Oh. Then I am so sorry. I never realized... never mind. It is her loss.”

Quinn squeezed Shea’s hand again. “We had so little understanding of the rest of the world when we were girls, Shea. Now we both bear the scars of that world... and though your pain hurts me, I am better for the scars and the wounds I carry. I would rather hurt and feel than live a life with no action or adventure.”

Shea reached up and gently stroked Quinn’s scarred eyebrow. “It would appear some of that action came too close for comfort.”

Quinn took her hand back and held it tightly between both of hers. “I would not trade these scars for anything.”

Shea sighed with contentment. “I don’t believe you should.”

They sat in silence awhile before Shea whispered, “Every night, I prayed someone would sink our boat so I could at least have a chance to be free... and every night, he had me brought to his quarters, where he did unspeakable things to me.”

Quinn closed her eyes and fought back tears.“There are some images I would rather never have, and like I said, no one need know.”

Shea nodded. “I learned very quickly that doing what I was told would prolong my life. So I did.” She shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of practice doing what men tell me.”

Quinn felt her stomach tighten. “He will pay for this one day, and when he does, it will not be a pleasant way to go. I can assure you of that much.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Shea kissed the back of Quinn’s hand. “Such rough hands now. How can I ever repay you for all of the risks you’ve taken for me? You... you gave up your easy life for one filled with... well... one can only imagine what it has entailed. I imagine that eyebrow scar is not the only one you carry.”

Brushing her hair back, Quinn inhaled the salty air through her nose. “In truth, Shea, your captivity freed me to be this... this scurrilous and devilish pirate whose new friend and ally is none other than––”

“The Scourge a’ the Seas?” came Grace’s voice from behind them. “Go ahead, Callaghan, ya can say it.”

“Grace O’Malley!” Shea leapt to her feet and then curtsied. “Ma’am.”

Grace chuckled and waved the curtsy away. “No one bows or curtsies on my ship, little one. Please, resume yer seat.” Grace looked out over the bow. “And it’s ‘sir.’”

Shea sat back down, her hand reaching for Quinn’s.

“Callaghan, I thought ya should know Innis and I have let the crew know she is off limits, but it would be more convincing if she shared my quarters this night.”

“Your qua––”

“As ya well know, a woman on a ship is in peril from those unabated male compulsions. It is best if ya do as I instruct. Enna man actin’ untowardly ta yer little friend will be tossed overboard, but I’d rather not put them in a position where they might do so.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Captain O’Malley knelt in front of Shea. “Yer brave friend here has gone through the gamut fer ya, little one. He must love ya with everra fiber a’ his bein’ ta have taken such risks. Just know... ya are an incredibly lucky woman ta be loved thusly, and I fully expect ya shall spend the rest a’ yer lucky life makin’ sure no harm comes ta my Callaghan. Are we clear?”

Shea nodded, big-eyed.

Grace rose. “Excellent. I’ll be out here, Callaghan, within the hour. I want ya both gone by then.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Grace was gone, Shea turned, but Quinn replied before the question could leave her lips. “She has always been called sir. It removes her gender from the equation.”

Shea nodded, her eyes closing slowly.

“You must be exhausted.”

“Sleeping with one eye open every night for weeks on end will do that to a person. I have never been so tired.”

“Not this night. Tonight, you shall sleep in safety knowing that tomorrow, when you wake, it will be a new day—and you are going home.”

Sighing loudly, Shea rested her head on Quinn’s shoulder. “Home. I sure like the sound of that.”

Unfortunately, home was going to have to wait.

The sea had other plans, as a storm the likes of which Quinn had never experienced battered the Malendroke about like a leaf in the wind. The crew worked for hours, trying to keep the ship upright. The angry winds pushed their vessel around the western tip of northern Spain and into the Bay of Biscay, one of the roughest seas in the area. The shallow waters helped contribute to some of the Atlantic Ocean’s fiercest weather, which was at its strongest now.

It was all the crew could do to keep her upright, and they fought hard to preserve the masts from ripping completely from the decks. The only good news was that the ship chasing after them did not manage to beat back the winds and lost a number of her sails.

By the time the winds and rain had died down, they’d been blown so far off course that they found themselves heading right toward an island off the coast of Portugal. It took the entire crew and a commanding presence, but Captain O’Malley was eventually successful in setting the ship to shore on the small island.

Once the ship pulled into a tiny port town, the crew scrambled to secure it further so that it would not beat against the dock or be tossed against the rocks. It was an exhausting endeavor. When the storm finally abated, the torn sails were dropped down, and the repairs on the ship began.

As Quinn finished taking the rigging down, Shea approached. “Can I help?”

“Almost done. Everything okay below?”

“That was the worst storm I’ve faced, but yes. We’ve cleaned up and are willing to help up here if you could use a hand. To be honest, Callaghan, we’ve been chained for so long that movement and physical labor are a treat. ”

Quinn paused to glance up at her. “You speak as though they are your people.”

“And you speak as though the crew were yours.”

Quinn smiled softly and rose. “Point made. It appears both of us have changed a great deal in not even four months.”

Shea laid her palm on Quinn’s cheek. “More than you could ever imagine, my friend.”

Quinn glanced down at her own attire. “Oh, I believe I can imagine.”

They both laughed, and Shea pulled Quinn to her. “If we can get away, I need to talk with you in private.”

Pulling out of the hug, Quinn nodded. “We’ll be here a couple of days while we make repairs. Don’t leave the ship alone. My friend Tavish will look after you should you need to go ashore.”

“Tavish. The big block of a man with no neck and eyes that burn into your face? He is never far from you, as if he is stalking you.”

Quinn chuckled “That’d be he, yes.”

“He watches you like a mother watches her child. It’s disconcerting.”

“He is here at the request of the woman I love. For protection.”

Shea’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Then she returns your affections?”

“I like to believe she does. Sending Tavish as my protector is her way of showing it. It may be the only way she has of showing it.”

“Does he... know?”

“No. Yes. Well... I’m not entirely sure. He has alluded but not come right out with it, no. But she does not.”

“What?” Shea lowered her voice. “She doesn’t know? How... oh, Qu––Callaghan, that hurts my heart.”

“It is just as well. The woman could be with neither a pirate nor another woman. I would have lost her on either account.”

“Yet she pays for your protection? I think it sounds incredibly sweet.”

Before Quinn could reply, there came a shout from the top of the Forte de Sao Joao Baptista, a fortress perched on an outer slip on the tiny Portuguese island.

“Jesus,” Fitz muttered, leaning over the rail. “Looks like these buggers are a fuckin’ Venus flytrap. The winds blew us here, and now they want a piece a’ us.”

“Kinda like the captain’s toll?” Connor asked.

“What’s he saying?” One Eye asked O’Leary when a man approached the ship and started yelling up at them.

O’Leary stepped on a stair to hear better. “He’s Portuguese. He thinks we’re slave traders, and he wants our Africans. Fer payment. Ta stay here.”

Quinn looked over the railing at nearly fifty men with muskets and two cannons poised right at them.

A land cannon?

That made Quinn uneasy, especially since the height at which they were perched made them point directly at the hull.

Captain O’Malley laughed. “Tell that son of a bitch that I wish ta be goddess a’ the universe. Ya tell those rapscallions if they fire one shot, my men will chop them ta pieces and feed their body parts ta the sharks. I am no mood fer this bloody bullshit.”

O’Leary relayed the information and listened to the reply. “He says three hundred more are on their way.”

Captain O’Malley turned to Innis. “Prepare ta attack that shitty little fortress. We’ll not be harassed by a bunch a’ no-good islanders with a fuckin’ cannon pointed at us.”

Shea raised her hand. “Captain, can I make a suggestion?”

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

Everyone slowly turned to see Captain O’Malley’s reaction.

“Do I look like I need one?” she scowled.

“No, ma—uh, sir, but you might think about giving them what they want until you can decommission those cannons. We are no longer helpless. Give us each a sword, and we can at least strike against the men at the cannons. These people never expect slaves to fight back. Ever. They certainly will never expect a female slave to fight back. They will lower their guard long enough for you to attack without the fear of cannon blast.”

Grace O’Malley’s glare slowly cooled to a look of appreciation. “I like it. Kwame, ya and Shea and three others will need to get to the cannons quickly. Once the cannoneers are kilt, my Firsts will finish this business.” To Innis, she said, “Get these men and women swords.”

Innis took off and quickly returned, bearing weapons of various sizes. “I think daggers are the best choice. Look unarmed. Look afraid. Present the little one as if she was a gift.”

Kwame turned to Shea and said, “It is a wonderful plan, but you’ll not go with us.”

Shea stepped right up to him. He was a good foot taller, if not more. “You try to make a decision for me again, sir, and I shall make you a gelding in your sleep. I did not just leave one master to fall into the hands of another, so step away before you get hurt.”

Quinn burst out laughing.

The look of shock on Kwame’s face was priceless. “Is she always so––”

“Opinionated? Overbearing? Stubborn?”

“Forceful.”

Nodding, Quinn stepped back. “Always. I suggest not trying that again. Shea is not one to take orders from anyone, regardless of how you think you might feel about her.”

Kwame bowed to Shea. “My apologies, Miss. It shall not happen again.”

“See that it does not.”

Quinn plucked a sharp dagger out from the pile and handed it to Shea. “Are you sure you can kill a man, Shea? Because trust me... doing so will change you forever.”

“Oh, Callaghan, my sweet, sweet, friend. I am already changed forever. And yes, I can and will kill any man who tried to keep me... us... from going home.” Taking the dagger, Shea slid it up her sleeve. “Trust me when I say this, Callaghan: I’d rather die than be taken prisoner ever again.”

When the Shea and the Africans disembarked, Quinn and the rest of the crew waited with swords drawn and eyes trained on the Africans as they exited the ship, hands seemingly bound in front of them, short swords and daggers hanging from their belts behind them. Tavish led the front while Fitz walked behind to give the illusion of controlling the “slaves.”

“Brilliant idea,” Innis said softly. “Yer friend is more than just beautiful.”

“Yes, she is.” Quinn’s hand gripped the sword at her waist nervously. “She is also quite pigheaded.”

“Birds of a feather, eh?” Connor quipped.

“She’ll be fine, Callaghan,” Innis reassured Quinn. “Yer boy Kwame is smitten with her. He’ll not let ennathin’ happen ta her.”

With trepidation, Quinn watched as the drama unfolded as if in slow motion.

As Tavish yanked the rope free and it fell to the ground, he punched one man in the face, pivoted, and jammed his short sword through a second man’s ribs. Tavish was clearing the way for Kwame, Shea, and four others, who made a beeline for the cannoneers—one of whom lit his cannon’s fuse before being run through by Kwame’s blade.

While Tavish took two more out, Kwame leapt over the dead men and banged swords with the second cannoneer. As they fought, Shea leapt on top of the lit cannon and forced it to drop slowly until the mouth was pointing at the rocks below and not, as it had been, at the hull of the ship.

The cannon fired, knocking Shea to the ground, but she was up in an instant and making her way over to help out with the second cannon.

No help was needed.

The Africans, Shea, Tavish, and Fitz managed to kill all but five of the Portuguese, who ran away, leaving their unused muskets on the ground.

“I’ll be damned,” Murphy said, clapping Quinn on the back. “I knew she was good with a cleaver, but that little one has some spitfire!”

“That she does.” Quinn smiled to herself as she watched them all return to the ship. She wasn’t the least surprised at Shea’s forbearance. She’d always been a handful. She’d always been brave.

Captain O’Malley barked orders to lay their storm-damaged masts on top of the fort and begin repairs while she surveyed the damage to the hull of the ship.

When the masts were laid out, the Africans went right to work without even waiting for orders.

“What are they doing?” Murphy asked.

Quinn held up her bracelet. “The rowers are master weavers. They’ll have our sails fixed in no time.”

As the men all worked feverishly to make repairs, Grace ordered three dozen others to stand watch to make sure the Portuguese did not, in fact, return with three hundred men.

The fort was in a perfect location for them to make their repairs unmolested by anyone else, and as the midday sun beat down on their backs, only the Africans appeared unfazed.

The Africans and Shea.

Quinn marveled at her tiny friend and how she moved among the African men as if she were their queen. Whatever had happened to her at the hands of Dragut hadn’t seemed to damper the fire in her belly permanently. For that, Quinn was grateful.

“Listing ship off the starboard bow!” came the strong voice of a man known only as Seagull from the crow’s nest.

Captain O’Malley opened her spyglass and looked through it before handing it to Innis. “Shite. Corsairs. They have managed ta stay afloat somehow.”

“Let ’em drown,” Innis said. “We gotta get these sails and masts fixed and get back on the water before them Portageese come back with a mob and torches.”

Grace took the glass back and peered through it for a long, long time. Suddenly, her demeanor changed.

“Captain?”

“It’s too far away ta tell, but I think I’ve seen that ship before.”

“Course ya have. Them corsairs been botherin’ us fer years. Probably someone we plundered once.”

Grace slowly lowered the glass, “Tell Seagull I want reports about that ship. Ennathin’ changes, I want ta know about it.”

“Aye, Captain.”

When Innis was gone, Grace called Quinn over. “Ya have got verra good eyes, Callaghan. I want ya ta take this glass and look at the people on the deck if ya can. Tell me if ya see ennathin’... outta place. Ennathin’ odd.”

“Out of place, sir?”

“Aye. Ya will know it when ya see it.”

Quinn opened the glass and looked through it. The ship was far enough away that she could only make out the clothes of the crew with their usual bright colors. They looked like ants scurrying about trying to keep their ship from sinking.

Without aid, it would, that much she knew.

It had no sails, the oars were busted, and she listed heavily to the port side.

As Quinn continued to survey the deck, she passed someone. Stopped. Passed them again and then squinted to make sure she saw correctly.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What? What do ya see, Callaghan?”

Keeping her eye to the glass until she was certain, Quinn lowered the telescope and handed it to Captain O’Malley. “Something I never thought I’d see again.”

“What? What is it?”

Quinn grinned. “Another female captain, and she isn’t going to be alone for long.” Quinn pointed out to the sea beyond the listing ship.

Captain O’Malley peered through the scope just as Seagull cried out from the crow’s nest. “She’s got company, Capin’ off the starboard side!”

Glancing up to see exactly where Seagull was pointing, Grace swung the eyeglass around to find an English ship bearing down on the listing vessel.

“Innis, can we get this thing moving with but a sail?” she shouted.

“No, sir. There’s not much wind, and the sails we have––”

“Drop the boats in the water!” Grace ordered. “Make it fast!”

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Grace yelled it again. “Did. I. Stutter? Get the bloody boats in the water!”

Unfrozen, the men scurried around the deck dropping one boat in after another, until all eight rowboats bobbed up and down in the sea.

The Malendroke was one of the few ships in her class that stowed smaller boats along the sides. These boats, as Quinn had discovered earlier, were employed for a variety of reasons.

Now, one of those reasons was to serve as as lifeboats.

“Callaghan, One Eye, Fitz, O’Leary, Connor, Flannigan, O’Brien, and O’Toole, head up the boats. Take two rowers each and get as many men off the ship as ya can before the English light her up.

Quinn and the seven other men took off for boats that already had rowers standing by. Over the side went the rope ladders, and with the same ease as climbing a tree, the men were down it in the blink of an eye. It was the precise organization Captain Grace O’Malley was known for.

Before Quinn grabbed hold of the rope ladder, Grace pulled her aside. “Save the captain, Callaghan. Skip everraone else and make sure ya save her. Tell her Grace O’Malley sent the help. She won’t go with ya unless she knows it’s me. Say me name, or she’ll likely run ya through.” Quinn nodded and darted over the side of the ship.

When Quinn landed with a thump in her boat, she was slightly surprised to find Kwame at one of the oars.

“Your assignment?” Quinn asked.

“Aye. Captain wants us ahead of the others.” With that, Kwame grabbed one oar and broad-chested Flannigan took the other. Together, they quickly pulled away from the ship and the other boats.

As the boat cast off, Quinn waved up to Shea. “Be right back!”

“You'd better!”

Sitting down, Quinn braced herself as the waves slapped angrily at the side of the boat. She hated these small boats and the way the water commandeered them. She could barely hold on.

Who was this woman that Captain Grace O’Malley launched eight boats and two dozen crewmembers to help?

Quinn was dying to find out.

“Flannigan, do ya know ennathing about this captain we are charged ta rescue?”

Flannigan pulled once, twice, and on the third pull, answered, “Aye. We dealt with her a few years back. Her name is Sayyida al Hurra, from the kingdom a’ Grenada. She is Moroccan.”

“Was she following us, this Moroccan?”

“I do not know.”

“Why on earth would the captain be even remotely interested in saving her and her crew?”

“Perhaps because, like our captain, al Murra is a queen who chose the sea.”

Quinn mulled this over, her mind racing with the possibilities. “Does she––”

“That is all I know, Callaghan.”

As the boat neared the listing ship, Quinn could hear the shouting and panic of a crew who understood all too well the watery grave that awaited them.

“Okay. Ya heard the captain. I’ll climb aboard the ship while ya do yer best ta get them ta recognize that we are not foe.”

Flannigan chuckled and then spat into the water. “Muslims attack first and ask later, Callaghan. Ya will need ta be prepared ta fight before ya have the chance ta speak.”

Eyeing the English ship bearing down on them, Quinn calculated their arrival at nearly the same time as her own. “I think we had all better be prepared ta fight.”

As the small boat pulled up to the ship, Quinn grabbed the anchor line and started climbing. As she did, she could hear Flannigan yelling out Grace’s name.

When she reached the deck, several swords were stuck near her face, the bearers speaking Berber to her. Quinn raised her arms in surrender. “My cap––my queen––Grace O’Malley, chieftain of Umaill, sent us ta help.” Quinn eyed the English ship not ten ship lengths away. “Ta help,” she repeated. “Grace O’Malley. Please. I need ta see yer captain.”

The men grabbed her, shoving her onto her knees, chattering with each other in their native tongue.

“Grace O’Malley!” Quinn yelled out. “Grace O’Malley!”

One of the men placed the tip of his sword at her neck.

“Grace O’Malley!”

The older of the three men, an aging seaman with a face like a map, yelled something over his shoulder.

Suddenly, the woman appeared, her head wrapped in a tan scarf, her legs covered in pants beneath a green skirt. Around her waist hung a scimitar. A bone-handled dagger with a curved blade protruded from the front of her belt.

“Did you say Grace O’Malley?” the woman asked in Latin.

Quinn nodded and replied in the same language. “Aye. She sent us ta help ya from yer ship, but we must hurry.”

The woman, who Quinn knew must be Sayyida, barked orders to the men, who helped Quinn to her feet. Then she turned back to Quinn. “Where? Where is she?”

Quinn pointed. “Just beyond that cove. The storm pushed us well out of our way. We are at that island making repairs.”

Sayyida was a beautiful woman with a smooth complexion of soft, caramel skin and large, almost haunting brown eyes. “If your captain truly sent you, she knows I will never abandon my ship.”

“With all due respect, Yer Majesty, that English ship has the advantage. Might ya not choose ta live ta fight another day? We can save ya and yer men.”

The woman surprised her with a laugh. “Spoken like a European. The advantage is but a momentary one. As in every battle, the tide ebbs and flows.”

The ship was now five ship lengths away, and Quinn knew she would need to make a decision about whether or not to leave the woman and her crew to the hands of the English.

Could she afford to disobey Grace O’Malley twice?

Quinn understood that Sayyida had no intention of accepting her help. She also knew that disobeying Grace again was a bad idea, especially if this woman was a friend. “Then allow my men on board ta help fight.”

Sayyida stood closer to Quinn, her eyes studying Quinn’s face. “I have a better plan for Grace’s gift... and here is how we shall employ it.”

When the English boarded the Moroccan vessel, they landed on the deck of an empty ship. Thinking the crew was down below, they stormed down the stairs, swords drawn, prepared to destroy every last man.

But the crew was not to be found.

Anywhere.

Or so the English believed.

Instead, they clung to the side of the boats Grace had sent over, and when the English ship pulled alongside the Moroccan vessel, Grace’s and Sayyida’s men swam over to the now half-populated English ship.

In an instant, Sayyida’s crew climbed aboard the English vessel and took the battle to their opponents, kicking down the planks and cutting the ropes, leaving the English pirates stranded on the listing ship.

Quinn and Kwame stood back to back, fighting with as much ferocity as if they were on the Malendroke. Swords clanged together, limbs fell to the bloody deck, and the Moroccans hacked and slashed their way through a tough English crew with swords thicker, sharper, and meaner than any Quinn had ever faced.

When the English on board the Moroccan vessel realized what was happening, they reached for their ropes in an attempt to help their mates who were being slaughtered on their own ship

It was too late.

A long fuse set before the Moroccans had left their ship finally hit its mark, blowing up all of the powder used for the cannons on Sayyida’s ship. The fireball that burst through the upper deck nearly cut the ship in half, sending half the surprised English to their deaths aboard a boat they had believed to be finished.

It hadn’t been, but it sure was now, and it took dozens of Englishmen with it.

Just English.

Those who lived were now under attack on their own ship. Many of the stunned English hesitated, giving Grace’s and Sayyida’s crews a chance to run them through. Quinn parried, slashed, and hacked her way closer to Sayyida, who was fighting off a sailor twice her size. As the man pushed her back against the ship’s railing, he sneered. The giant clearly had the advantage.

Then he did something that surprised everyone.

He tackled Sayyida, his weight carrying them both over the side of the ship and plunging into the frothing water below.

“No!” Quinn yelled, running over to the side.

Sayyida’s head resurfaced among the choppy waves, as did the brutish head of the English pirate who attacked her.

“Callaghan!” Kwame yelled, deflecting a potential blow to the back of the head. “No!”

Whirling around, Quinn jammed her sword tip into the chest of her attacker until it came out the other side. Then she grabbed one of the rigging ropes, tied it around her waist, and cut off the other end.

“Don’t let me down,” she said, handing the end of the rope to Kwame.

“How do you know this is even long enough?”

She grinned. “I don’t. Hang on to me, Kwame. Please.”

And with that, Quinn jumped, feet first, over the side of the ship, falling, falling, falling, until finally plummeting into the cold water below.

When she surfaced, a wave slammed into her face, salt water filling her mouth.

As Quinn sputtered and choked, she was relieved to feel the tautness of the rope, but could barely see anything other than the ceaseless waves pounding her.

When a swell rolled by, Quinn ducked under it, resurfaced, and saw the pirate swimming toward Sayyida.

“Sayyida! Over here! Swim over here!” Quinn yelled. In her rush, she failed to yell in Latin, and had reverted back to her native Gaelic. As a result, Sayyida did not move and did not see the pirate swimming toward her like a shark after a wounded seal.

Quinn put her head down and started digging into the water, arms churning, legs kicking, eyes burning from the salt water.

The Englishman reached Sayyida first and leapt upon her, both arms on her head, pushing her under the water’s rough surface. Using his weight, he held her there.

One.

Three.

Five seconds, and Sayyida had not resurfaced.

Suddenly, the Englishman howled and cursed, but he did not let up.

Seven.

Ten.

Finally, Quinn reached him. The look on his face was worth the jump.

Pulling one of her throwing knives from her sheath, she rammed it, full force, through his Adam’s apple and out the back of his neck. Then she withdrew it and embedded it in his eye socket just to make sure.

He finally released his hold on Sayyida, falling back into the next wave that wrapped its wet arms around him and pulled him to his final resting place.

Quinn dove under the water, grabbed Sayyida’s shirt, and pulled her to the surface, where she inhaled a panicked breath only to consume half air, half water.

As she choked and sputtered, she threw her fists in Quinn’s direction, until Quinn said in a language she could understand, “It’s Callaghan, from Grace O’Malley’s ship! Calm yerself. He is dead.”

Sayyida, still coughing up seawater, blinked away the salt water. “You.”

Quinn released the front of Sayyida’s shirt. “Aye. Me.”

“Where... where is he?”

“Dead. At the bottom of the sea.”

Sayyida shook her head. “No. I only injured him with my dagger. Surely, he is––”

“I finished the job fer ya. Trust me. He is dead. Hold onto me. Yer safe now.”

She shook her head. “We will not be safe until we can get to the ship, and we need––”

Quinn showed her the rope. “No one is drowning this day, Captain Al Hurra. We need only swim over ta one of these boats. Our men will drop a ladder fer us. Can ya climb? Are ya injured?”

Sayyida gazed intently into Quinn’s face. “Thanks to your bravery, I am unharmed.”

“Good. Here, hold on ta the rope around my waist. The waves are merciless, and I would hate ta lose ya now.”

Sayyida surprised Quinn by kissing her on the mouth. “You saved my life, Callaghan of Ireland. For that, you shall never lose me.”

Swimming the ten meters felt more like swimming ten leagues as the waves tried again and again to prevent them from reaching one of Grace’s rowboats.

When, at last, Quinn grabbed the side with her hand, she knew she had precious little energy left to haul herself up to the boat.

With her last bit of strength, Quinn pulled herself out of the water and into the boat, helping Sayyida up and over the side before collapsing on the bottom of the small boat.

Landing on top of Quinn, Sayyida rested her head on Quinn’s shoulder. “We... must get... back to the battle.”

Inhaling deeply, Quinn nodded. “Aye. I need a moment. I do not believe my arms capable of climbing right now. They are still there, right?”

Sayyida raised her face inches from Quinn’s. “You are either a lunatic or a fool for jumping in after me. You do not even know me.”

Quinn stared into her intense dark eyes. “Neither. I am a loyal crew member of Grace O’Malley, and her instructions were clear: protect you at all cost.”

Sayyida did not blink as she gazed into Quinn’s face. The air around them suddenly quieted, the waves somehow dampened against the side of the boat.

Ever so slowly, Sayyida al Hurra lowered her mouth to Quinn’s and kissed her for a long, tender moment, a kiss that Quinn gently returned. Sayyida was a consummate kisser with a softly probing tongue and gentle mouth. It was easy to return her affection of gratitude.

“I... uh... ”

“Shhh, Callaghan of Ireland—kiss me again. Perhaps doing so will revive your limbs enough to get us back to the ship.”

Quinn did so.

“So, lad,” came Fitz’s booming voice, over the railing of the ship. “While we’re fightin’ fer our lives, yer makin’ love with a Muslim pirate? Is that how it goes?”

Quinn pulled away and struggled to sit up. “I take it by yer jaunty disposition that ya won?”

There was a slight pause before Fitz replied, “Don’t know what the bloody hell that means, but if yer askin’ if the fightin’ is over, yeah, it is. Ladder’s comin’.”

Quinn waited for Sayyida to get off of her before informing her that the English had lost the battle. “Taking the English ship was brilliant,” Quinn said, feeling a chill from the cold water as her wet clothes clung to her.

“My plan would not have worked without Grace’s generous gift of her men.” Sayyida squeezed the water from her long black hair. “And you. You are quite an unexpected pleasure.”

“Can I inquire as ta how ya two know each other?”

Sayyida watched as the rope ladder unfurled until it hit the water. “That is not my story to tell. If you wish to know, you must ask Grace.” Carefully rising, Sayyida smiled at Quinn. “She is an astute captain and a brave warrior, but the one thing she is, more than anything else, is a true friend. You are lucky to serve under her, Callaghan of Ireland, and my crew and I are fortunate to call you friend now as well.”

With that, Sayyida grabbed the ladder and started her climb.

The revelry that evening was unlike anything Quinn had ever experienced. Expensive Portuguese wine from the English ship flowed freely as Sayyida produced cask upon cask of the tasty liquid along with dried fish, olives, and a meat Quinn had never tasted before.

The losses, while minimal, still hurt. Three of Grace O’Malley’s men had died in the fight, and one more struggled to survive his wounds. No one had the courage to ask Captain O’Malley how it was that she and Sayyida knew each other well enough to risk her own men. Speculation abounded until Innis put a stop to it––what did it matter?

As Quinn drank her second tankard of the heady wine, Shea continued to feed those who would eat a dinner as opposed to drinking it. She seemed almost at home in the galley kitchen and was already reverting back to her happier self as she fed the men and both captains.

Grace and Sayyida sat together at the bow chatting of something no man was be privy to, clinking their tankards together every now and then in unison and tossing their heads back and laughing at some inside jest. They reminded Quinn of the way Shea and she would laugh when they got together.

Kwame’s eyes never left Shea.

Tavish’s eyes never left Quinn.

And many other sets of eyes became dazed and glassy.

The two crews toasted everything from Allah to Zanzibar, grateful for living through the storm and the impromptu battle. It was a night to be remembered on board the Malendroke as the gala lasted into the wee hours of the morning.

When Quinn had had enough, she went to the bow of the ship—now vacated by Grace and Sayyida—and let the crisp night air wash over her face.

“I understand you leapt overboard to save my captain,” came a tight voice in choppy Latin.

“I did.” Quinn glanced up at a mountain of a man who had only one hand, one eye, one ear, and a scar that crisscrossed his cheek.

She was quite glad they were on the same side.

“Thank you for it,” the mountain rumbled.

Quinn closed her eyes again. “My pleasure.”

The man leaned over and peered at her with his one good eye. “No. I mean it. Thank you. You did what her men should have.”

“Uh... aren’t ya one of her men?”

“No. I am Nodul, her brother. My family will forever be in your debt.” He bowed and started to back away, but Quinn caught his wrist.

“Please. Sit. Drink with me. Tomorrow, we return to work sailing the seas and plundering each other’s booty.” Quinn tipped her tankard against his and then gulped some down, coughing as it went down the wrong pipe.

Nodul laughed. “Young drinkers. I must check my sister. Once again, thank you.”

As Nodul lumbered away, Tavish approached. “Careful, laddie,” Tavish said, clapping Quinn on the back. “Trust her, not her crew. A Moroccan can steal ya blind while laughin’ in yer face. Keep yer wits aboot ya always.”

“Relax, Tavish. Tonight we celebrate. Everything is going to be fine.”

When Tavish rose, Shea took his seat and turned to Quinn. “I can see why you love this life. It’s written all over your face. These men? They adore you. Captain O’Malley? She needs you.” Shea leaned in and whispered. “Is it dangerous? Bloody right it is, but Quinn, you light up on this silly ship. You are so different as a man––happier.”

“I have only three or four more days before that is no longer the case. Once I return you to your family, I seriously doubt Father will relinquish me to the deck of a pirate ship once more.”

“Why does he get a say?”

Quinn frowned. “A say?”

“It’s your life. You and you alone are responsible for the choices you make. You’ll never marry, never be what your family wishes you to be, so live your life on your own terms. Stay a pirate.”

“Stay a––”

“I said a pirate, not a parrot. It isn’t inconceivable, you know. You’ve lasted this long without detection. I just... I hate to see you give up a life that so obviously brings you great joy.”

Quinn stared at her. “Umm... I just nearly drowned during a fight with––”

“Oh pish-posh, Callaghan. You love the risks, the dangers, the whole thing. You wear it on your face. I see it in your eyes. You can’t fool me. You truly enjoy the life of a pirate. There is nothing wrong with admitting it. It doesn’t make you lesser in my eyes.”

Quinn looked out over the men dancing, drinking, and laughing at each other’s shenanigans, and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. She just couldn’t see herself living on land anymore, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t spend her entire life pretending to be a seaman. As much as she enjoyed this life, she couldn’t figure out how to keep it going.

Shea took her hand and squeezed it. “I know we were just little girls that day we swore we would never let a pirate take us, but thank you for keeping your promise to me.”

Quinn smiled slightly, thinking of the irony of it all. “Kennedy thought me a fool.”

“She has never possessed your moral fiber, my dearest friend. You saved me, Quinn. You risked everything to come after me.”

“You would have done the same for me.”

“Would I? I’m not so sure I could have even if I wanted to.”

“You’d have found a way.”

Shea smiled. “Like you did?”

“You are worth it, Shea, and I would do it again without question. I love you, you know? You are like family to me.”

“I am family. I have learned a great deal about what makes a family, and it isn’t blood. It is… much more than that.” She waved her hand toward a group of men who were seeing who could pee the farthest. “For better or worse, these ruffians are your family now.”

Quinn swayed slightly.

“Are you all right? You look unwell.”

Quinn closed her eyes. “I don’t feel so well. It’s probably just from swallowing so much sea water.”

“Or drinking too much Portuguese wine.”

Quinn forced a smile. “Yes. There’s that. Don’t worry about me, Shea. So much has happened in the last few days, I think it’s all catching up to me. I’ll be fine.”

Problem was, she wasn’t.

At all.

And the next thing she knew, voices faded in and out like a beam of moonlight trying to come through branches of a swaying tree.

Where was she?

What had happened?

One minute, she was talking with Shea, and then... darkness.

“... fever... rash... ”

Where was she?

Whose voice was that?

So soothing... so caring... but she could not seem to open her eyes to see the face speaking the words.

“... water...vomiting... ”

No... two voices. The second, she recognized. It was Shea. Shea was speaking in hushed whispers to another woman.

Was it Grace?

“She’s not as hot as she’s been,” came the comforting voice as a hand touched her cheeks and forehead. “That’s good.”

“Perhaps because you have not left her side but to sleep for a moment. She is out of danger now. Please. Rest.”

“I will. I just need to––”

“You need to rest. I’ll stay with... ”

Quinn faded out again, her body sweaty, her muscles aching. Her entire being felt heavy and fatigued, like her arms had when she’d rescued that pirate... what was her name?

Whatever was wrong with her, it was bad. She could not seem to think in a straight line.

“Shea... ”

A hand stroked her head. “I’m here, Quinn. I’m here. You just rest. Sleep. You’re safe now. You’re in good hands. I won’t... ”

Out she went.

When she woke up again, she had no idea if it was day or night.

How long she’d been asleep, she could not tell, but the hand that caressed her head now also traced her bisected eyebrow with tender fingertips.

“Shea... ”

“Shh. She’s sleeping. I’m here, love, and we’re taking good care of you. You are going to be fine, love. Just rest.”

Quinn sighed. Her body was gone. An angel was tending to her... an angel with Fiona’s voice.

“Shh... you need to rest, sweetheart.”

Fiona?

How did she get on the ship? And where was that sexy Moroccan pirate?

Morocco.

Quinn tried to get her eyes to open. She willed her lids to rise, but, like the rest of her body, they refused to cooperate.

“... typhus... infection... ” a warm hand caressed her face.

Fade out.

Fade in.

Fade out.

Fade back in.

The hand lovingly touched her cheeks once more.

“... needs to drink... ”

Quinn had no concept of time, but the dryness of her mouth and the emptiness of her stomach told her it had been quite a few days.

“Drink some water,” the soothing voice said, a goblet of water pressed against her lips. It sounded like Fiona, but how could it be her when Fiona had never been on a ship?

Slowly, Quinn’s eyes cracked open. She immediately regretted it as the light felt like it had reached in and burned her. She closed her eyes before she could see the face of her nurse.

“Stop struggling. You are as safe as you can be, and you are over the worst of it.”

Quinn sipped the water. It felt cool and comforting as it slid down her throat. She took a few more sips before lowering herself back to the bed.

“Rest. I’ll let nothing happen to you. You contracted... ”

Fade back out.

Fade in.

Voices around her.

Quinn carefully opened one eye.

Darkness. A single light source burning on a table. A candle?

A hand on her cheek.

“Her fever’s gone.” Shea. It was Shea. She was sure of it this time.

“Thank god.”

“God did not save her. We did. I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done. She might have died had you not sent someone for Bronwen so quickly.”

“Your captain was wise to bring her here, but I believe it was your voice that kept her grounded to the earth to stay with us.”

Quinn closed her one eye and sighed. “Shea... ” The only voice she recognized.

“I’m here, Quinn.”

“Where... is here?” Her voice did not even sound like her own; her lips moved, but she could barely feel them.

Long pause.

“Shea?”

“Shh. Conserve your strength.”

“What’s... what’s wrong with me?”

“Typhus. But we’ll talk later. Sleep. Rest.”

“How... long?”

“Ten days, but you’re through the the worst part. It moved on to find another victim.”

Quinn nodded and fell back to sleep.

When she woke up again, her body no longer ached and the fever was gone. A hand gently played with her hair.

Slowly opening her eyes, Quinn waited for the face looking at her to come into focus. When it did, her heart seized.

Fiona.

“There you are,” Fiona said softly. “You had us worried, my love. So so worried.” Tears sprang into her eyes.

Quinn started to pull up the covers, but Fiona lightly laid her hand on top of hers.

“I know the truth, my sweet girl.”

“I can... explain––”

“Shh. None needed.”

“Yes, yes there is.” Quinn struggled to get up, but Fiona held her down easily with one hand. “Shea explained everything, and I completely understand. I am not now, nor have I ever been angry with you.”

“No. No, she didn’t. She couldn’t have. She... she doesn’t know the whole... ” she shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Doesn’t know what?”

Quinn turned her face toward the window. It was dusk... or dawn... she couldn’t tell which. “That I’m in love with you. That I have been in love with you since the moment we met.”

Fiona smiled, her hand still stroking Quinn’s head. “Shea might not know, but I do. I have always known.”

“But I’m... ” Quinn swallowed her trepidation. “I’m a––”

“A beautiful woman who’s a loyal friend, a fabulous pirate, and a gentle soul? I know, Callaghan, and I simply do not care.”

Quinn blinked her disbelief. “My real name is––”

“You will always be my Callaghan.” Taking Quinn’s hand, Fiona kissed the back of it. “My Callaghan. My beautiful, beautiful poet, nobleman, pirate, and lover. And though I am betrothed to another, you will always be my Callaghan.” Fiona leaned down to kiss Quinn, who turned away.

“I don’t want to infect you.”

“You cannot infect me, Callaghan, my sweet, and if you could, it would be too late.” Fiona lightly kissed Quinn on the lips and then helped her drink more water. “You managed to beat the illness back, but you will still need to stay here and rest for a few more days.”

“But Captain O’Malley––”

“Has sent messengers several times. She’s made it quite clear that you are expected back to the ship when you are well.”

“Back to the ship... but... but I––”

“It is where you belong. Shea and I have had plenty of time to get to know each other and we both agree, my love, that you are a pirate at heart. The sea is your mistress, adventure your drug. You thrive on it. There is no reason for you to anchor yourself to the land.”

“Sure there is. You. You are––”

“I am, unfortunately, getting married. Nothing can stop that, I’m afraid. Besides, one woman isn’t enough to replace a crew that has become your family, a captain who relies on you, or a ship that has become your home. I will be here for you, Callaghan. Always. And when you come home and need the arms of a woman who loves you, I’ll be here.”

“You... you love me?”

“Oh, Callaghan, I love you very much.” Fiona kissed her again. “Very much, indeed.”

Quinn reached up and gently stroked Fiona’s cheek with her fingertips. “Then I shall stay.”

“No ya won’t, Callaghan.” The harshness of the voice startled Quinn, who looked up at the tall redhead filling the doorway.

“Captain O’Malley––”

“Aye. Yer captain, and I’ve come because Shea sent a message back that ya might be thinking about makin’ the greatest mistake a’ yer life. I am here ta ensure ya do not make it.”

“But––”

Fiona touched her fingers to Quinn’s lips. “Love is not enough, and the love of a woman who cannot publicly love you back is far less than enough.”

Grace O’Malley stepped up to the bed and gazed down at Quinn. “Whether ya want ta admit it or not, Callaghan, yer a pirate aboard one a’ the best ships ever ta sail the seas. Those seas have their hooks in ya now. The seas are where ya belong. Listen ta Fiona, ta Shea. Don’t make the choice ta live life accordin’ ta society’s expectations. Live life by yer own method, by yer own means. Learn from me, Callaghan. Live the life ya want ta live.”

Quinn could see Fiona nodding out of the corner of her eye even as Shea walked through the door.

“But I have to live a lie, Captain. I have to worry day in and day out about being discovered.”

“Ya let me worry about all a’ that.” Grace squatted next to the bed. “I need ya, Callaghan. The men need ya. But more importantly, ya need us.”

Both Shea and Fiona kept nodding.

“Yer a natural, Callaghan. As a man, as a woman, as a pirate, ya are most at home on the deck a’ our ship. Come home after this, Callaghan. Come home where ya belong.”

“Home,” Quinn whispered. “I never expected to feel that way about a ship.”

“Well, start.” As Grace rose, her knees popped and cracked loudly. “Because everraone needs a home, even if it’s on the deck of a bloody ship.” As Grace turned, she whispered something to Fiona before stopping at the door. “Sayyida has left a message fer ya on the ship. Ya want it, ya best get yer arse back ta it.”

It took a couple more days for Quinn to finally find the strength to sit up and eat solid foods. With all of the women clucking around her and forcing her to eat, she managed to recover fairly quickly.

Fiona had tried prying information out of her about “the Moroccan,” but Quinn remained mute about her experience with Sayyida.

Her goodbyes were bittersweet. Shea cried and cried, hugging Quinn so tightly she could barely breathe. The harder goodbye came when Fiona took Quinn’s hands in hers, look deeply into her eyes and told her that she loved her and always would. As much as Quinn understood why Fiona needed to marry, it didn’t make it any easier to turn and walk away from her.

And she did.

Two weeks later, with the salt air caressing her face and her feet planted firmly on the bow deck of the Malendroke, Quinn Gallagher may have been missing lover, family, and friends, but the truth was, she was home.

She was finally home.

And there was no place she’d rather be.

BOOK TWO IN THE PLUNDERED CHRONICLES IS NOW AVAILABLE. CLICK HERE TO PICK UP YOUR COPY OF SHIVER HER TIMBERS!

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MORE FROM ALEX WESTMORE

THE PLUNDERED CHRONICLES

The Pirate’s Booty

Shiver her Timbers

Fire in the Hole

THE TIMELESS LOVE SAGA

Together in Time

The Future of Yesterday

Back to You

THE DELTA STEVENS CRIME LOGS

Miles to Go

Con Game

Not in the Cards

RIDERS OF THE APOCALYPSE

Ride for Tomorrow

Burning Rubber

Eat Asphalt

THE SILVER LEGACY

Darkness Descends

The Demon Within

Blood of the Demon

THE UMBRA MORTIS SAGA

The Death Collector

The Death Committee

The Death Continuum

The Handler

Dead Again

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alex Westmore has lived in a haunted house, has a raging empath for a best friend, and eats up paranormal experiences with a huge supernatural spoon. To get closer to the action, she has spent time with Voodun in New Orleans, medicine men in the Southwest, and a Shaman in the Amazon.

Alex is a five-time award winning author of several series, from zombies to demons to empaths, oh my! When she isn’t writing, she’s thinking about writing and imagining where her next great adventure will take her.

Spice up your life! Join Alex on her next amazing adventure…you will be so glad you did. The journey begins at www.AlexWestmore.net.

- @AlexWestmore10

- AlexWestmore10

www.AlexWestmore.net

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Table of Contents

Copyright

A Free Book for You

Cast of Historical Figures

Map of Renaissance Europe

Dedication

Acknowledgments

The Pirate’s Booty

More from Alex Westmore

About the Author

Bonus Offer