Rockfleet (The Pirate Queen Book 0)

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  I was done.

  I wanted more.

  I wanted purpose.

  And she needed me. On the beach. I saw it in her eyes. My thoughts raced a million miles an hour. If I could generate another vision, maybe I’d be able to figure out how to stay longer. To try to help her.

  The force in her gaze pulled me back. I wanted to go to her. But was it even possible?

  I couldn't imagine worrying my grandparents though, if it worked. They’d probably find me in the garden again, maybe in a trance of some kind. They'd be terrified that I’d lost my mind or something.

  I chewed on my bottom lip.

  But the thought of staying on this hamster wheel, made me want to scream and pull my hair out.

  They would want me to be happy. To live the life I was meant to live. A life with purpose. And somehow, these awake dreams… they held a purpose deep within me. I had to explore them further.

  I stood up straighter as my shoulders squared. My grip on the garden shears tightened as my lips pressed together in determination.

  I would try to go back.

  Back to the beach. To the woman who held command with a power in her gaze that could move an army to fight for her.

  My grandfather would want this. He would be proud.

  My head turned toward the breeze on instinct and my eyes closed. I tilted my chin up as my loose hairs tickled my face. Then a burst of powerful wind hit me full force, blasting me off my feet as a surge of whirling mist, all grays and greens, filled my vision.

  I scrambled backward, caught in the zucchini vines, as I tried to protect myself from the swirling chaos. I turned back toward the shed to find the safety of my grandfather but saw only darkness and debris whipping through the agitated air.

  Fear stuck in my throat as I struggled to breathe. My heart rate accelerated to out-of-control as I gasped for air. Regret burned my lungs as I fought to return to the warm comfort of home.

  My eyes searched wildly through the torrents as I pushed myself onto my knees. Part of me searched for the garden, for the security of the familiar, while the other part of me, the one growing at an accelerated rate, searched for the beach.

  A cold wetness soaked into the rough fabric of my pants. I looked down at the brown burlap, just like the fabric that held imported coffee or rice in the international markets, but it was my clothing. My yoga pants were gone - replaced by this itchy, thick material.

  My eyes darted all around me and just as my vision came into full focus, her voice rattled my core. Her commands shot me upright and sent my legs sprinting.

  My fingers tightened around my dagger as I tore across the beach toward her.

  Voices shot from every direction, each one trying to win the attention of the others. Men ran about the beach searching through the scattered items from the shipwreck. Kicking open crates and patting down the bodies of drowned sailors, they scavenged for anything of value.

  My wide eyes darted in every direction, taking in as many details of the hectic scene as possible, as I closed the distance between me and her.

  Kicking up sand behind me from my determined pace, I reached her and dropped to my knees panting. She hovered over the still body of a sailor, shaking his shoulders, desperate to get him to wake.

  Her frantic eyes searched mine and she spoke to me.

  At first, her words of distress were a garbled mash of ancient sounds from a long dead language. It filled my ears with sorrow and longing. But as I focused in on her mouth, the words began to take form and I understood them.

  "Maibh..." The sound of my name swirled around me. "Buíochas le Dia. Cabhair liom."

  "Maeve, you're here. Thanks be to God. Help me."

  In anguish, she looked down at the sailor and onto his still face. She gazed on him with soft fondness and stroked his cheek, as if she knew him. Or more. Like he was her lover.

  My heart rate took another leap and I scrambled close to him, bringing my knees right up to his ribs. I put my fingers to his neck and pressed. I felt nothing. No pulse.

  Panic shot through me, awakening every nerve in my body. This was more than a dream. This was real.

  I was here. Feeling for his pulse. Watching despair pour from her eyes.

  And I was in control. I had to act.

  Dread rose in me, widening my eyes like an electrical current, as I inched closer and placed my hands over his chest on the wet leather vest that covered him.

  How many compressions to breaths? I squinted my eyes, trying to remember the CPR lessons from health class. I had no clue, but started pumping anyway.

  She pushed at me. "Stop! What are you doing? You’ll kill him!"

  "No. This will help." I pushed my shoulder against her resistance. "Give him breaths!"

  She stared at me like I’d spoken another language.

  "Breaths! Blow into his mouth. Fill his lungs!" I pumped more on his chest.

  Terrified apprehension filled her watering eyes as if I'd asked her to perform open heart surgery.

  "Do it!" I shouted. We were losing time.

  She positioned herself over him and hovered above his face. She reached for his chin and moved close as if she were about to kiss him.

  "Blow hard!" I commanded.

  Adrenaline coursed through my veins and pushed strength out of me in my compressions and in my orders. My stern tone sent her into action and she pressed her mouth onto his and blew.

  His chest rose slightly as I continued to pump on it.

  "Again! More!" I shouted.

  She blew again. And then again.

  "Good. Keep going..."

  I jumped back as his body jolted.

  "Okay, wait. Stop."

  We sat back on our heels in the sand and watched the sailor choke life-saving breaths back into his body. His gasps pulled air deeply into his lungs and all the way down to his toes.

  She stared at him in horror as if he'd just come back from the dead. Then her wild eyes shot up to mine. Her harrowing glare sent icy chills through me, like I'd performed some sort of black magic.

  I looked back down at him as a shudder ran through me.

  Oh my god.

  We'd just saved this man's life.

  I quaked with nervous energy as shock surged through me. Who could he be? And what had I done?

  I’d changed the course of events…

  Coughing his way back to awareness, he looked all around with a frantic stare - searching for other survivors, for the fate of his crew and his ship. His face fell in desperation as the horrific scene filled his mind with devastating loss and ruin.

  He pushed himself up to his knees and coughed into the sand. His shoulders slumped as his head hung down, eyes closed.

  My gaze moved across his deeply handsome face and down the line of his body. His tanned, weathered skin was that of a seasoned sailor and the scruff on his jaw proved he'd been at sea for some time.

  My eyes squinted as I examined him further, trying to understand where I was, or when I was.

  String wove through the top of his shirt in place of buttons and the light, billowing fabric was held snug at his torso with a thick leather vest. His powerful legs were wrapped in worn brown leather as well, leading down to his heavy black boots.

  Medieval? Before high tech manufacturing and modern clothing production?

  Flutters in my stomach sent guilt to my face as I pulled my eyes away from his attractive, muscular form. I’d been staring at more than the details of his clothing.

  My eyes met hers and watched them sparkle like deep pools, making it clear her thoughts had strayed in the same direction as mine.

  I sat back into the sand and stared at the two of them.

  Powerful. Passionate in their own rights. Driven.

  Somehow, clear as day, they were a perfect match.

  Her hair sailed on the wind and framed her in dark beauty as her cloak fell off one shoulder, exposing her ruffled blouse. I envisioned them embracing in a heated moment of love at first sight and r
eeled back as her voice shattered my thoughts into oblivion.

  "What's your purpose? What was yer destination? Who do you sail fer?" Her demands of him grew louder with her impatience for answers. She reached into her regal blue cloak and pulled out a dagger. An exact replica of mine.

  Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she held it to his throat.

  His hands shot up in surrender as every muscle in his body tensed. His tight lips and squinted eyes showed he hadn’t expected such an attack from a woman. And she used that complacency to her full advantage.

  “Speak!” She pressed the tip of the dagger against his skin.

  "Easy. We're merchants. From Wexford. Storm threw us off course to Galway Bay." His eyes watched her every flinch as his face remained forward, motionless.

  "You've lost ever'thin'." Her curt tone held no sympathy. "Claimed to the sea. ‘Tis ours now, what’s left." She nodded her head to make it final and moved her dagger away from his neck.

  He looked around him, seeing only wreckage and death, knowing she spoke the truth. He had nothing.

  "I was meant to die with me crew. What have you done to me?" He spat like a venomous viper. "You've interfered with me fate, woman!"

  "Sure we saved yer miserable arse. Ya ungrateful louse." She swatted at his head and stood up.

  I rose with her and watched the man stare with blank eyes out into the sea. His crew. His livelihood. All taken away.

  A darkness crushed down on him as his shoulders sank from its weight.

  My fist rose to my mouth as I cleared my throat to remove the tightness that pinched it. I fought the natural response of feeling bad for him.

  "Have ya any idea who I am, man?” Her sharp voice jolted my head. “You've found yer'self in my sea now, on my land. Yer ta have some respect." She snarled.

  He turned to her with one squinted eye and a foul grimace like there was a bad taste in his mouth.

  "I know who ye are." He stated without any effect to his tone. "Sure, you're the Umhaille. The She King. Yer reputation precedes ya." His eyes tightened in defiance.

  "Right you are. And you'll be believin’ every word of it, if ya have any sense at all." Her shoulders broadened as she took a wide stance, hovering over him.

  She motioned for me to join her.

  I scrambled to her side with no clue of how she knew me or how I fit in here. But her confident gaze and unquestioning expectation proved to me a loyalty between us. A kinship of trust. With each passing second, a deep connection between us grew more apparent to me, like we had a history together, and supporting her became my primary focus.

  "Up, man," she commanded the sailor. "I'll be needin' yer assistance. Yer knowledge of the seas. Of the British. Follow."

  He pushed himself up from his knees and with his first attempted step, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell flat on his face in the sand.

  "He’s weak. Needs rest." I raced to him and rolled him over. He needed more time to recover from nearly drowning. "He's oxygen deprived and probably dehydrated."

  She tilted her head and scrunched her eyebrows at me.

  "Said he was from Wexford. An Irishman, sure." She stated, having no idea what my previous words meant.

  "Right. No. He's just sick, is all. He needs time to rest and recover."

  She nodded in agreement and whistled through her teeth. The high trill shot through the air and numerous heads perked up. Several men from her group came running in response to her call.

  Within seconds, a pack of men surrounded us, scurrying to help their leader. Similarities pulled them together like a family; many bearded, hair tied back with torn strips of fabric, all wearing variations of the same clothing; white billowing blouses and dark gray or brown vests, dark trousers and high black boots.

  The strapping men rolled the ailing sailor onto a wooden plank, tossing various pilfered items on top of him without care, and followed her lead across the sandy inlet beach. A dark, towering castle loomed far off in the distance and the band moved in steady rhythm toward the stronghold.

  As I looked back behind me, the line of men moved in procession after us, all carrying boxes and bags and various ship parts - masts and sails. The entire beach had been scavenged, leaving nothing but the picked bones of the lost ship and lifeless bodies of the poor souls who perished.

  I stopped and stared at the tragic loss of life littered across the beach, as a green wave of sickness leached through me.

  I'd only seen things like that on TV before, in movies. Never real life. The harrowing feeling it gave me revived a part of me that had been stagnant. It churned a living force in me and augured my feet deep into the ground. The profound loss of life awakened me from deep within, making me more alive.

  "Ach, sure, the tide will be in to claim them to its inky depths.” She caught a glimpse of the shock in my eyes. “'Twill draw them home to whenst they came.” She spoke to the wind. “'Tis meant to be."

  Her words consoled me with their certainty and I picked my head up. One more glance behind me at the death-strewn beach and I turned ahead, setting my sight forward.

  Off in the distance the dark, brooding castle beckoned me closer, whispering its mystery and secrets on the wind. Its ominous, foreboding shadow drew my curiosity in and pulled me along.

  I stared ahead at the dark, steadfast stronghold, wondering about what it held and protected within its stony walls. Then my eyes trailed along the tribe of men I travelled with — all focused on the challenge of their task and the labored journey to their destination.

  And then the pirate queen. She led the men without effort. Her natural calling.

  Did they have any knowledge of my mother? It didn’t seem likely, or even possible. But somehow, there seemed to be a connection to her and I couldn’t ignore it. I had always assumed it was the dream that killed Mom. But somehow, here, she felt more alive than ever.

  Her love was here. It filled my heart with the safety of home and gave me the strength and courage to keep walking.

  However surreal all of this was, there was something true here. Something meant for me.

  “Maeve! Come here ta me,” the captain called out.

  I snapped my full attention to her.

  “I need ya here.” She swung her head to pull me along faster.

  "Maeve! Come on now. Have a look.” Her curt tone carried her annoyance at my slacking distance. I'd fallen behind in the rugged trek to the castle. It was much farther than it had appeared and I lacked the level of endurance of the other... clansmen.

  I glanced at the men around me, aged maybe 15 to 40, though they appeared even older from their tanned, weathered skin and organized tribal ways. They worked together as a unit, with few words, and each one held his own position within the group, never questioning the rank of the elders.

  Though a few were likely younger than me, judging by size and facial hair, they were still older and wiser by miles. Aged from bloody battles, long stints at sea and the suffering of frequent, painful loss. I’d trust any of them with my safety in a heartbeat.

  "Check on him, will ya?" she asked me while gesturing for her men to place the makeshift gurney down.

  She closed in tight to me as I leaned over the sailor. I placed my palm across his forehead, as Gram always did to me when checking my condition.

  He was burning up. And his breathing was shallow.

  "He's fevering. We need to bring his temperature down. Cold water!" I looked in alarm to the man holding a large container.

  He dropped the bags from his shoulders and spilled the contents of his urn onto the sacks. Dry oats created a snow-like heap and he darted to the sea with the emptied container.

  Moments later, he arrived back with cooling water. I soaked the sailor’s chest with the refreshing splashes and drizzled the crisp sea across his forehead.

  He grumbled and moaned in uncomfortable agitation.

  Without modern medicine, I had no idea what his fate would be. But death by fever was common back when�
� well, now.

  I shook my head in confusion at my predicament while gulping down the frightening reality of the current situation.

  He could die.

  I closed my eyes and scrunched my face as disorientation took hold. The magnitude of the moment bore down on me, attempting to crush me.

  I could just leave and never come back. Get away from this mess and this darkness.

  But no. Something deep within me held me firm to my place here. They needed me. She needed me. And for however long this lasted, I would do what I could to help them.

  "Let's go," I said to my captain, gesturing in the direction of the castle.

  I carried the half-empty jug, preserving every vital drop from sloshing or spilling. At each rest, I spilled more water across his chest and forehead.

  We walked for hours before arriving at the ancient stronghold. In that time, I had memorized every face in the tribe, each rank or role, and became more comfortable with the eerie sense that no one noticed me as out-of-place or cared that I was even there.

  The clan accepted me without question. As one of their own.

  I looked down at myself, not recognizing my clothes but seeing the curled ends of my long brown hair and my favorite locket around my neck. Familiarity calmed my nerves. I was still me.

  My hand reached up and held the locket hanging from its strong chain. Mom's picture was inside. I hadn't opened it to look for over one thousand three hundred and forty-two days.

  But who was counting.

  The pain I felt when I thought of Mom still made me buckle over, heaving empty belches.

  But when I looked at my captain, at her power and strength, that sick feeling went away. And I was whole again.

  My eyes widened at the realization.

  In this place, this vision, whatever it was, I wasn’t broken anymore. I was the complete version of myself. Strong and alive. This woman, the captain, somehow made me whole again.

  I blinked to convince myself it was real. To allow hope. But the more I blinked, the more clouded it became.

  My eyes darted around me as I gasped.

  I locked onto each clansman’s face as they blurred out of focus. I watched the gurney lumbering along the sandy hills into the haze. I stared at my captain as she faded.