by Mia Pride
Would he see his family? The war was in the north and his family resided at Rockfleet castle to the west. His grandmother oversaw the notorious pirate port of Clew Bay where few English ships dared to travel, lest they be set upon by her family. He almost chuckled at that, though he was sure he should have felt shame.
“There is more. I am giving you a Privateer’s commission and a letter of marque. The Spanish had meant to send gold, weapons, and supplies to the Irish to aid them in the war. However, once again, Philip’s ships have seen disaster. It is another failed armada, which pleases me greatly. It is said that some ships found their way back to Spanish ports, but many were destroyed at sea, off the coast of Ireland. If you so happen to come across these ships, it would be a waste to allow their goods to end up at the bottom of the sea, and we cannot allow the Irish to obtain them either. I am sorry Thomas, but while I wish to see the good people of Ireland treated well, I cannot allow those who oppose me to receive foreign aid. If you find supplies, you are to collect them and bring them back to England. With your letter of marque and my seal, you will be allowed to enter port. Do these things for me, Sir Thomas, and you will be rewarded most handsomely with your ship and crew.”
Thomas resisted the urge to shift his feet with anticipation. She was essentially giving him license to be a pirate, though of course she would consider it privateering and expect him to be discreet. He would accept being the first mate of one of Drake’s ships if it meant he spent his days on the sea or in Ireland. He would have the power to plunder their enemies and take their riches. Why did that thought make his blood flow freely through his veins with excitement? What was it about following in the steps of his ancestors that called to him so? He was never meant to live a life on English soil, and apparently his queen was desperate to be rid of him, yet keep him under her thumb. And though she had found a clever way to do just that, he could not balk at it, for it gave him all he had been hoping for.
“Your offer is most gracious, and I humbly accept your terms, my Queen.” He bowed low, anxious to leave her privy chamber and be gone from this stifling court filled with blinding fabrics and body odor. He had nobody here, and though he would miss Frances’s company, she was better off without him, even if she did not yet see it.
“Good, good. I would see you leave on the morrow. Your crew and ship already await you in port.” His eyes grew wide and he nodded slowly, trying desperately to hide his excitement. It would not do to seem overly anxious to leave.
“Very well, my Queen.” With one last obsequious bow, he left her chamber before she could see the mischief in his green eyes. He felt the fire in his blood and already smelled the salt of the sea air as the wind blew through his hair. By the morrow, he would be gone from his prison known as Court.
* * *
Katherine, my dear,
Once more, I shall be away for quite a while. I had hoped to come home for at least a short time to see your lovely face, but alas I find myself quite tied down here on the Northern Coast. With the destruction of the Spanish fleet, there is much I need to oversee. It is a sign from God that he is on the side of the English. The Irish rebels have been causing more trouble, if you can believe it. I must remain here for as long as I am needed, but I trust you will be safe at home. With the staff and your maid, you shall be well cared for. I do love you very much, my sweet Dove, and hope to be home again as soon as I am able.
Yours,
Your loving Papa
Post Script: Stay away from the coast, Katherine. With all the Spanish ships that have been destroyed by the storm, the pirates are frothing at the mouth, swarming the waters in search of lost bounty. I need you to stay indoors.
Katherine sighed at the hastily scrawled note that had been delivered to her late last night, reading it for a third time, especially the word “indoors” which had been underlined three times for good measure. After seventeen years on the isle of Ireland with only her papa and their meager staff, she had grown more than accustomed to caring for herself. Though she wished to see more of her father, she knew he had an important job to do as the Governor of Connaught. He had to leave for several sennights at a time to deal with the rebels in Northern Ireland and the pirates that terrorized their very shores, especially Grace O’Malley and her problematic family.
When the queen bade the Bingham family to depart for Ireland all those years ago, she and her mother had accompanied her papa across the sea. Apparently, it had been a very short journey, but with her mother’s weakened disposition, she had become gravely ill in the lungs and perished soon after arriving in Ireland. Katherine had been five years old when her mother died and the only memories she had were of her long waves of blonde hair and soft bluish-gray eyes, the very features Katherine saw when she looked in her mirror. Her mama had been a true English rose, according to her papa who had loved her dearly. But here in the wilds of Ireland, Katherine’s fair features, though similar to those of some of the locals, were not valued as highly as the wild red hair and freckles of many lassies.
Having grown up on this island, any hint of her former British accent had faded away. She spoke with the bur of the locals, which helped her blend in a bit more, even if she knew her father was displeased by it. He hated almost everything about the Irish, and though she had heard whispers from the staff about his cruel behavior, in her twenty-two years of life he had only been kind and loving to her. Never had she seen any cruelty with her own eyes. She knew the servants, though English, had taken a liking to the natives, as had she, though she would never tell her papa. Perhaps they repeated nasty rumors meant to turn the people against her father. After all, the Governor of Connaught reported directly to the very queen who meant to rule these fiercely independent people.
With her papa gone much of the time and with very little supervision, Katherine had grown quite independent, spending her days wandering and exploring the land. Being so close to the coast meant she had located several caverns that she found fascinating. The Irish people believed that caves were entrances to the faery world and she could not help but agree. But where they were mostly afraid to step foot within the majestic stone creations, Katherine had never been able to resist the allure. Though she was always saddened when her papa left, she could not help but enjoy her freedom to roam. After all, what else was there for an English lass who grew up on Irish soil to do with her days? She had at one time had a governess, but her education had ceased a few years before. The locals were wary of her, though she wished them not to be. There were no lads banging on her father’s door wishing to court her and she most certainly had no friends, being that she was a “proper lady” according to everyone else. She tried to blend in by wearing more basic woolen dresses and even plaids when her father was away, though it was to no avail.
She was a lass torn between two worlds with nothing to keep her company aside from her secret caverns and the occasional wonders she found within. Her father’s words of warning to stay away from the coast repeated in her mind.
She did hate to disobey, but she could not stay indoors for days on end and she certainly could not tell him why she must leave. Besides, she quite liked to watch the pirate ships from the shore. She watched from a distance, far up on a hill, but she found the activity adventurous, far more so than her daily life of monotony. Clew Bay, the notorious pirate stronghold belonging to Grace O’Malley, happened to be located in Connaught and from a particularly favorite hill of hers, she could see all that transpired there… some things so shocking, they made her blush just to think of them, though they should not. She was, after all, a grown woman. Most ladies of her age had been married for years by now and perhaps have birthed several children, not that she longed for such things. Still, the happenings between the pirates and the wenches wandering Clew Bay were most intriguing, as were their brazen public displays of affection. Some of the wenches quite literally roamed the bay with their breasts almost completely exposed. Though she found it scandalous, she also found it far too entertai
ning to dismiss.
Her father’s spyglass certainly helped her to see all. He would call her debauched and probably pray for her soul, but she was bored out of her wits and couldn’t help but dream about being swept away by a dastardly pirate… oh, but a chivalrous and honorable one, of course. One who only hurt or stole from the enemy, and one who would share his wealth with those in need. One who never forced himself upon an unwilling woman… and one who bathed of course… and had all his teeth. She was certain a pirate of that description must exist, though she had yet to hear of one.
The need for more adventures called to her, and she ran down the stairs of their three-story manor, her leather slippers clacking rather loudly with every step. Good thing not a single member of their staff gave a fig if she came or went.
Reaching the first floor, she saw her favorite servant, Shelly, on her hands and knees scrubbing what looked like blood out of their usually spotless rush mat. “What in heavens is that, Shelly?” Her eyes widened as she looked up at Katherine.
“Oh, it’s nuthin’ at all. Lady Bingham,” the maid said nervously. “Only some mead I spilled just now.” Katherine swore it was much too red and thick to be mead, but she only shrugged and walked to the hook where her cloak hung by the door.
Their house was by far the largest for miles and she felt a twinge of guilt for her many rooms, fine furnishings and servants while some people lived in little more than hovels, wearing threadbare clothing. Some looked so thin Katherine wondered if they starved. She had a plan to help them and had been storing away small valuable objects she found in her explorations; for now, she stored them safely under a loose floorboard in her bedchamber. Some believed that taking objects of value from a cave was an insult to the fay, but she believed they were a gift from them, to her, for they knew she planned to use them to help the people. Only, she as yet had not learned exactly how. She could not very well walk up to a stranger and hand him a raw sapphire or a Spanish coin. What would he do with it? He would likely be robbed by pirates or a neighbor. Nay, she needed to find a way to exchange them for goods the people could actually use.
Wrapping her plaid cloak around her shoulders and tying it at her neck, she yanked the large hood over her head, hiding her golden waves. Feeling inside the hidden pockets she had sewn into the lining, she felt her father’s spyglass and the dagger she carried at all times. She may have been taking a risk wandering a wild land unattended, but she was not foolish enough to do so unarmed. Fortunately, the places she preferred were the very places the overly superstitious natives avoided.
The moment she stepped foot outside, her plaid cloak billowed out wildly as the wind blew around her. It was cold almost all year on this island, especially so close to the sea. She did not mind it; in fact, she quite enjoyed the fresh air tinged with salt and seaweed as it wrapped around her. Taking a deep breath, she walked the familiar path she preferred. After all these years virtually left to her own devices, she had taken many paths: some pre-existing and some she created on her own over time. She had discovered many coves, caves, and other fascinating natural wonders that she was certain the fay had led her to, offering her places to seek solace. Nature was all she had, in addition to the random artifacts that slowly collected into one fine pot of treasure beneath her floorboards.
With an exhausted breath, she finally reached the top of her favorite hill, which happened to be above her very favorite cave. The grass was slick from the recent rains, making her feet slip a few times as she trudged up its steep slope. The water ran off the ledge and into the entrance of the cavern. Breathing heavily, she held her side and took in the magnificent sight. From here, she felt like a guardian of the land, watching over all, while remaining unseen.
In the distance, she could look down on Clew Bay, the pirate ships in port, people milling about the docks, as well as men entering the tavern. They seemed to enter far more frequently than they left and she wondered about the happenings inside. Curiosity about that life always tugged at her. Was it the forbidden unknown? The fact that her papa never let her near the port? The appeal of a life of freedom on the high seas? She could not know, but as she did on most days, she sighed deeply before pulling out her father’s old spyglass. He had never even noticed its disappearance, not that he was home enough to notice. It was just as well. Without it, she would lose much of her will to wander.
Extending it as far as she could, she put the glass up to her right eye, closing her left. “What happens upon your shores today, Clew Bay?”
Chapter Three
The sea was eerily calm, which unsettled Thomas more than it should have. He felt a tightness in his stomach. They were off the coast of Ireland and though land was not yet in sight, they were close. There was a certain sense men got, almost a different scent in the air when land was nearby. They would drop anchor soon and once they did, he would be one skiff ride away from his homeland. He had expected to feel more excitement and less apprehension. Aye, he was here, but he was here to serve the queen who threatened Ireland’s independence.
Would he see his family? Not likely. His ship sailed off the northern coast and his family was in Connaught, to the west. Being so close yet so far, left him more tense than he had anticipated. The fact that the ship’s rowers were slaves did not help his uneasiness. As first mate, he had no control over it but forcing men into labor was not sitting well with him.
“Sail ho!” Captain William shouted and pointed into the distance. “Pass me the glass!” The second mate stepped forward and passed the spyglass to the captain.
“Aye, as I suspected. ‘Tis the Spanish.” Thomas stepped up beside the captain and could barely make out the red and yellow striped flag in the distance.
“I thought all their ships returned to port or were scattered by the wind, Capt’n,” Christopher, the second mate said.
“Aye, well, things are not always as they seem, are they? Cursed Spanish!” Captain William spat. He had fought directly alongside Drake and had a hate for the bastards as strong as Thomas did. Spanish near Irish waters could only mean trouble for the British.
“Ready the cannons! Be prepared! I want to know what she’s got aboard!”
Blood running with excitement through his veins, Thomas squinted at the ship growing closer on the horizon, hearing cannons being rolled into place by the crew, preparing to attack if necessary.
“Disable them, lads. Then, ready the skiffs! We board, take their bounty, and let Davy Jones have what’s left of them!”
“Aye!” the men shouted excitedly at their captain’s command.
The hackles on Thomas’s neck rose in what he could only explain as instinct. Something was not right. He knew it even before they spotted the galleon. Why would one lone Spanish ship risk sailing into Irish waters just to supply them? Once their armada had been scattered to the wind or destroyed, all able ships would have returned to their own ports. These waters were littered with both pirates and English ships, such as theirs. It was suicide for one Spanish galleon to approach these waters.
“Captain, this is a trap. ‘Tis not right,” Thomas warned William. Before he could speak further, Captain William scowled and shoved Thomas aside.
“You dare to second guess my instincts, do you, Irish? Why are you even here? Aye, I know this is your ship and crew, given to you by Drake.” The man spat on the wooden boards of the deck. “The queen did not see you fit enough to captain this ship! I was Drake’s Second Mate! I know this ship! I fought against the Armada, as well, in case you have forgotten! I know a Spanish galleon when I see one! You think that because you are the Sea-Banshee’s grandson, that you know more than I do, aye? I never did like you... never trusted you…”
As the captain continued his outpouring of disdain for him, Thomas kept his eyes on the ship, decidedly ignoring the man’s temper tantrum. If he acknowledged the foul name the man had used against his grandmother, he would likely slice his throat and be accused of mutiny. As another flag started to rise in the distance, Th
omas yanked the spyglass from Captain William’s clenched fist and cursed. Rising higher and higher was the flag of the Scottish Pirates: The Devils of the Deep.
The crimson flag whipped wildly in the wind like a flash of warning to all. Though it was hard to make out all the details as the flag continued to snap and billow, he clearly saw the image of a devil’s head and fist bearing a sword. “Bloody Scottish Pirates!” Thomas roared, shoving the spyglass back at his sputtering captain.
“What?” William bellowed as he looked for himself just before his face turned pale. “It changes nothing! Only that they deserve the same fate! Prepare to fire!” William shouted. “Hold no quarter!”
“They meant to lure us, Captain! Why else would they fly the Spanish flag, if not to attract the British? That is a true Spanish Galleon. They captured it at sea! More than likely, they have a well-armed crew and are prepared to fight back. ‘Tis not what the queen sent us here for! If we are sunk before we reach the coast, we serve our Majesty nay purpose!” Thomas stressed. He was not afraid of a fight, but his instincts told him there was more to this situation than Captain William’s blustering temper was allowing him to see. They would likely see many pirates on this journey and would fight if the fight was brought to them, but with their enslaved crew who had no loyalty or promise of profit, how prepared were they to fight? How loyal could they be? Fight for their own survival, aye, but nothing more.
The entire situation stank of defeat… their defeat, and mutiny or nay, he would not allow their crew to perish, nor lose the ship Drake had meant to be his. He had earned this ship, even though his queen deemed him only worthy to be its first mate. Drake had thought differently. Drake had known what Thomas was capable of on the sea, and that he had been on more ships by the time he was seven years of age than most men had in a lifetime.
