Rockfleet (The Pirate Queen Book 0)

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

His pupils went from huge black holes to tiny pin pricks as he focused in on my captain. As he gazed on her, his entire body awakened. Strength returned to his muscles as they clenched onto his bones. He gripped the bed and lifted his head, staring at her without blinking.

  His lower lip trembled and he swallowed hard. I looked at her, and saw her with his eyes.

  She was magnificent.

  Long flowing black hair, framing her round, deep sea-blue eyes and full lips. Her windblown complexion required no assistance in looking fresh and alive and she filled her tightly bound leather vest to perfection.

  I considered his perspective and chuckled to myself. I couldn’t help staring either.

  He licked his lips, preparing to speak. My heart stopped as I leaned in. My captain tipped her head at full attention.

  "Ya fookin' shoulda let me die on the beach, woman! Ya've tampered with me fate!" He choked on his scratching words, then coughed. "Now what's to become of me?" His voice trailed off along with his lost gaze that grew more distant.

  I reeled back in shock at his verbal assault and nearly bolted out of the chamber to escape it.

  "Ya bollox!” She swatted at him with a wet rag and shot up to standing. “Have ya no appreciation for one who's saved yer filthy existence," she blasted at him.

  He pulled back, surprised by her gumption.

  "Yer the feckin' pirate queen of Mayo. I've heard of ya. Sure, yer a thief. A tyrant," he spat the words at her.

  She stood taller at the bed, hovering over him. "Damn right, ya scut. I'm the pirate queen ya've heard of. Chieftain of the Umhaille Clan. Fine reception I get after savin' yer hide from the hungry depths of the sea." She egged him on.

  He blinked his eyes again to clear them, as if he couldn't believe their original signals. He stared at her again as his gaze softened.

  "What do ya want from me?" He asked as he looked around the room, gathering information on his surroundings.

  She moved her eyes over his body and back to his square jaw and his endless pools for eyes.

  "Navigation information. Of the seas. Our enemies. Allies. You Wexford sailors know the east." She watched him for subtle feedback.

  He flinched and pressed his lips together. Then looked off to the side in thought.

  "It's the crown ya need to fear now," he mumbled. "It's no longer east coast versus west coast Ireland. It's Britain. The queen." He nodded his head as he spoke.

  She sat back and rubbed her chin.

  "I know. The British army’s made its way to the west. They're infiltratin' the clans. Turnin’ the chieftains to British allies." She shook her head in disgust.

  "Ay. The east is losin' the battle. Our martyr's are bein' drawn and quartered in our town squares. Bloody shameful carry on." He rubbed his lips.

  She reached for the cup by the bed and held the back of his head while he drank with abandon.

  "You need food to regain yer strength. I'll put you on a ship to Wexford. But until then, will ya help us? Tell us what we need to know to fight the British. To preserve our Gaelic Ireland and our ways." Her words hung on him like she'd just begged him to spare her life.

  "Aye," he agreed. "The bastards won't know what hit 'em when they try to fook wit' the west." He chuckled and pushed himself up higher and looked at her in a new way. "What do they call ya, here?"

  She pulled back at first, then her shoulders relaxed.

  "I'm Grania. They call me Granuaile."

  "I'm Hugh of the Lacy's. The DeLacy Clan of Wexford. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Grania."

  Chapter 5

  My eyes darted back and forth as the energized conversation between Grania and Hugh went in so many directions it made me dizzy. From battles won and lost, sailing the modern galleys, and the royal commanders who led British armies along the Irish coast. Their enthusiasm for each other's stories sped up their words and caused them to sit up tall with hand gestures flying, like they were starved for information.

  I gathered dirty cloths and the wash basin and backed out of the room. The suppressed romantic in me allowed a hopeful smile to cross my lips.

  Winding down the spiral staircase, I stopped on the third floor storage level and stared at the museum-quality battle armor, weapons, and various storage chests. My spine straightened as the sight of the battle equipment led me further into my mission here. Maybe I could help defend Grania’s territory from the British.

  Somehow.

  I pushed my way through the congested storage hold and searched for something of interest, or maybe something my size.

  Piles of leather beckoned me over and I flipped through layers of tanned hide, all cut and sewn into pants and vests and even something that looked like football shoulder pads. I pulled out the smallest bits I could find and shook out the stiffness.

  Hiding myself behind a make-shift mannequin donning armor plates, iron mesh, and a helmet, I removed my scratchy burlap trousers and tugged on dark brown leather pants. They were snug at first, but once the heat of my body and my movement worked through them, they became suppler, like a second skin.

  I reached for a vest and pulled it on over my baggy white blouse and tied the cord up the front. Likely cut for a young man, it covered most of my chest, but snugged me around the waist.

  I pulled my big clompy boots back on and fell into the mannequin as I struggled with getting the second one all the way on. I bumped against it, knocking some of its parts to the floor with a loud rattling clang.

  A sword fell at my feet and I jumped back as if it would cut me. It symbolized violence and death to me, with one purpose only.

  Then a smile spread across my face as I reached for it. I would need it if I was going to truly become a part of this clan.

  For defense.

  Protection.

  After finding its sheath, I wedged the sword in my armpit, climbed down the ladders to the ground level, and snuck out through the heavy black door. My back absorbed the blaze from the eyes of the kitchen women boring into it, but no one spoke or tried to stop me.

  I moved along the side of the castle and went all the way to the back where I wouldn't be seen. A cart full of hay offered shelter from view and I practiced a power stance with my sword. One foot in front of the other, hand on hip and outstretched arm.

  My arm fell from the weight of the sword and planted the sharp tip into the mud. My weak, untrained wrist failed me but it was only a matter of time until I would strengthen it and wield the sword like a pro.

  And I would. I was determined to. I would stay here and be a soldier. And serve the Pirate Queen. Where I belonged. It was in my soul.

  "Fine form ya have there, miss."

  I whirled around on my heels, whipping my hair across my back and around my shoulder. The stranger leaned against the back wall of the castle, with one foot lifted onto it. His copper hair fell around his face in messy waves, framing his strong jaw and deep green eyes.

  My breath sucked in. "Oh! I didn't see you there."

  I pulled on my sword to get it out of the mud. It proved more difficult than I’d thought, causing me to struggle.

  "Yeh hidin' from something? Someone?" He nudged his chin at me.

  "No. I just..." I pulled on the sword again. "I just came out to practi..." And the sword sucked out of the mud, throwing me back from the force of my own weight.

  I stumbled a couple steps but held firm to the hilt, proud of regaining control of the situation, just as a splat of flying mud hit across my face.

  My eyes closed in horror as I wiped at the smear, wishing I could melt into the mud pit and disappear.

  As I pried open one eye to look at the copper haired boy, both eyes burst open at the sight of him, wiping mud off his face and from across his shirt.

  "Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" I moved to him in an instant. I gathered the ruffly cuff of my blouse into my palm and wiped it across his shirt to remove the dirt.

  "Whoa, no need to ruin your pretty frock, or whatever you have there. And certainly
no need ta be takin' the Lord's name in vain, begorrah." He chuckled as he wiped the spots of mud from his cheek.

  My face burned with embarrassment. I had to be more careful with my word choice for starters, and of course, with my sword wielding. Somebody could get hurt.

  His eyes moved over me like warm liquid.

  I rubbed my face again and then my vest, wondering what he was looking at.

  "What?" I looked down at myself. "What are you staring at?"

  He huffed. "It's just... I never seen a girleen wearin' battle leathers quite like that before." He rubbed his chin and smiled. “Yer not one for the heavy skirts, no?”

  I straightened my spine and stood taller, feeling my confidence return from somewhere within me.

  "I wear what’s best for defending the clan." My eyebrows scrunched as I glared at him.

  His hands went up in defense. "Didn't mean any offense, miss. And would never mean ta interfere with your defensive swordsmanship." He laughed.

  This time, I wasn't having any more of it. "Well, I... I..." My tongue tied in its typical fashion when speaking with a cute boy and I wanted to hide my face in my hands. His eyes were so distracting, and a gorgeous smirk dimpled his cheeks.

  "So, what's your name? Umhaille, I reckon." He lifted one eyebrow.

  I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering who this young man was. The light in his eyes shone youth with a brightness that couldn't be missed, but his muscles and tanned skin were that of a grown man.

  "Maeve. And you are?" I pressed my lips to the side, watching him move away from the wall and closer to me.

  "Rígh Dearg.” His hands laced behind his back. “They call me Rí." He shook his hair away from his face with a flip of his head.

  "Ree?" My eyebrows pulled together, having never heard the name before.

  His chin pulled in. "Ya, sure, kinda puts a bit o' pressure on me shoulders, but I can take it." He smirked.

  "Hmm?" I was lost.

  "You know. Rí. For king... next in line, basically." His eyebrows rose, like he was wondering if I was daft or something.

  My eyes widened in shock. How could he be king? He was just a young man.

  "Ah, Maeve." He reached for his chest. "Ya crush me pride. Ya don't think I'm a fit king?" He laughed. "Sure, true enough. Just the son of one." He kicked the dirt. "They give the name to be sure I don't forget the path that's been laid before me." He pressed his lips together to hide his sarcastic tone.

  Speechless, I dropped my gaze from his eyes and it landed on his massive thighs, bursting from his leathers.

  God!

  I moved my eyes to the ground and planted them there.

  Voices grew louder around the side of the castle and raised to levels of shouting.

  I squeezed the hilt of my sword and moved to the corner to peer around it. Rí moved at the same time and looked over my head past the side of the castle.

  Visitors on horseback shouted threats to the men of my clan. Orders to back down on the seas, to allow free passage and retreat from any land movement.

  Their horses tapped their hooves nervously as if anticipating a skirmish. Additional men on foot surrounded the horsemen and raised their weapons as a show of power and pressure.

  The one in charge yelled his final message. "Pull back. Retreat from the seas. Or face a bloody battle that will end in decimation of your clan."

  The Umhaille Clansmen, as well as some visiting O'Flaherty's, tightened their ranks and one moved forward, shouting, "Back off, MacMahuna. You're not welcome at Rockfleet. Take yer men and go." Their swords were held high as a show of resistance to the threat.

  My knees trembled beneath me and I turned to Rí with questions written all over my face. My eyes widened as I searched for him.

  He was gone.

  I turned back to the confrontation only to see the MacMahuna's strengthening their pressure. They pulled together, creating a wall of horses, swords and armor. The skittish horses proved they knew something unsettling was about to unfold.

  I swallowed hard, knowing my sword would be of little help, when a crash came from the heavy black door of the castle. It burst open in a jarring smash that made everyone jump to attention.

  Grania filled the doorway with her imposing form, sword held high above her head, ready to strike down any man who dared step closer.

  My eyes widened in surprise at her courage and fortitude. And my loyalty to her grew deeper with each passing second.

  "You tread on dangerous ground, Taisech. The Umhailles hold the power in this land. Take your men away from here. No MacMahuna will dictate our livelihood."

  She stepped away from the shelter of the door and moved toward the wall of threatening men.

  My vision of her faltered as I panicked for her safety. I blinked to clear my sight and watched her approach the danger. Fog blew in around her as she got closer to the enemy. Her blue cloak billowed behind her in the mist, exposing her battle regalia beneath: leathers, scabbard, and daggers hanging from her vest's waistband, at the ready.

  A large, decorated brooch clipped at the top of her cloak emanated royalty, but not nearly as much as her regal power stance. She stood brighter and taller than any around her.

  "Our ruling of the land and sea is not for your dictating. The power is in our hands, MacMahuna. Retreat from here! And don't return until you've learned some manners." Her curt tone was like a slap in his face.

  She aimed her sword out straight and moved it across the line of men, pointing to each individual clansmen as if to tell them she'd marked them.

  "You're wrong, woman!" The MacMahuna chieftain shouted back. "We've got the power of the crown behind us."

  She didn't flinch at his words but I noticed a subtle straightening of her spine.

  "And we'll return with her backing." He spat his threat at the ground. "We'll get our share of it. I promise you that, wench."

  Grania moved closer to the chieftain, ignoring the numerous swords of his men that tensed and pointed at her throat. My vision faltered again as she got closer to danger.

  I needed her to stay safe.

  It was like she was the life line keeping me here, in this land.

  "You cowardly pig!" she spat at him. "You'd take help from the crown? Against your own Gaelic Ireland. For greed? Gluttony?" Her face grimaced as if a foul taste churned from her sickened stomach. "You're a traitor in my eyes. A defector."

  She turned from him like he was smaller than a filthy roach and moved back toward the entrance of Rockfleet.

  The fog cleared and my vision became steady again.

  "Out of my sight, swine!" she bellowed with a dismissive wave of her sword.

  She launched at a few of his men and made them jump. Like deer in headlights, they had no idea how to respond to a female chieftain, laying down orders and threats with the force of an army within her soul.

  It had never been seen before.

  But likely, her reputation preceded her, known as an angel of death and destruction who would decimate an entire castle and everything within if provoked.

  The men scattered, avoiding her eye contact, and pretended to busy themselves with preparing the horses for their retreat.

  The MacMahuna chieftain turned his horse back and hollered a final warning.

  "Be ready, Taisech. Judgment day is coming. Sir Bingham is less forgiving than I." He paused and gazed at the black door of Rockfleet.

  Standing in the doorway with shoulders squared and a sword in each hand, Hugh stared down the MacMahuna chieftain. The murderous scowl on his face made my blood curdle. I didn't know if it was the mention of Britain’s queen or a new loyalty brewing for the clan who’d saved him, but he was ready to defend Rockfleet against this new enemy.

  MacMahuna's eyes narrowed, like he was homing in on a target. He took in every detail of Hugh, as if memorizing him for a later confrontation. His war-hungry eyes moved over the other man like he was a threat—but then his eyes widened, as if recognizing the possibility that
Hugh could actually be a weakness.

  My heart froze, stopping my breathing altogether. Then Grania followed MacMahuna's icy gaze and locked on Hugh. Her rigid expression of aggression and defense fell as her jaw unclenched and her eyes turned to worry. A flash of terror pushed her eyes back to MacMahuna's calculating stare and he saw it.

  It was a split second but it wasn't hard to recognize. Her vulnerability was exposed.

  And it was Hugh.

  MacMahuna smirked and moved away with his clansmen, wearing a smug expression that left me with an ominous feeling of a darkness coming.

  As the MacMahuna clan moved out of sight, the Umhailles and loyal men from neighboring clans lowered their weapons as well as their tense shoulders and gathered at the front of Rockfleet by Grania.

  They waited in silence with eyes fixed on her, proving their trust in her command.

  "Increase our stores tenfold. Split the herd to neighboring clans to avoid their slaughter and complete decimation. We must ready ourselves for an attack on Rockfleet. An attack on the Umhailles and Gaelic Ireland herself."

  Grania's words left no room for question or uncertainty.

  Men scattered in every direction, each knowing exactly what his next moves would be. Like the finest trained military, each clansman understood the mission, the goal and the necessary steps to defend what they honored and loved.

  Grania spun around and faced Hugh in the doorway. Her eyes met mine for an instant, but shot back to his like a missile. In long, determined strides, she moved toward him like a freight train.

  "What in hell do you think you are doing?" Her words assaulted him like a punch to the face.

  He blinked in surprise and the edges of his mouth turned up in a slight smile.

  "My apologies, m'lady. Thought I heard a bit of a skirmish and ya might be needin' my help." His light tone played with her.

  "I don't be needin' anyone's help in protectin' me clan. Especially from the likes of an ailin' sailor such as yerself." Grania's voice took a subtle turn at the end, from sharp anger to a lighter, lilted accent. Her eyes softened too.

  "Who you callin' ailing?" Hugh's posture filled the doorway with a new strength I hadn't seen before.