Rockfleet (The Pirate Queen Book 0)

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  "Come on. Let's go higher." He reached for my hand and we moved along a trickling stream, higher up into the hills. His powerful legs moved us up the steep incline with little effort as I cringed from the burning pain in my thighs. A hillwalker, I was not.

  I slowed, panting, and turned back, buying a moment to catch my breath. Rí let out a laugh that filled the clean, open air around us and I blushed as a chuckle escaped from me.

  "Hey! Don't make fun!" I pushed at his shoulder and he barely budged. "Let's maybe go sideways for a bit."

  I hopped away a few paces, feeling a sense of mischievous fun rising in my veins. As I skipped from stone to stone, avoiding squishy wet patches of mountain bog, my feet suddenly froze on one stone, stopping me in my tracks. My breath sucked in as I gasped in shock.

  Spattered blood shone an unnatural red against the white lichen on the rocks.

  My eyes jumped along the blood trail all the way to the carcass. A headless cow. I turned away from the grizzly scene and smacked into Rí's chest. I planted my face into him as his arms wrapped around me.

  "It's okay, Maeve. There's no one here." He looked all around us, surveying the land. "Come." He loosened his grip on me and turned me away from the dead cow.

  We walked a little further over a ridge and he hopped on a boulder for a better view. His face fell as his shoulders sank. I scurried over to the boulder, looking behind me for any possible sign of an enemy.

  Rí's hand went out to stop me.

  "No. Stay there," he commanded.

  I pushed against his outstretched hand and climbed the boulder in two smooth steps. Sweeping my hair from my face, I gazed out across the open expanse as terror filled my heart like hot oil pouring into my entire being.

  The rolling green hill was spotted with bloody cattle, laying dead across the landscape.

  Eyes wide, I spoke into the wind. "It's happening."

  The battle had begun.

  Rí reached for my hand and closed his around it. We stood side by side, observing the slaughter, acknowledging what it meant. The wind blew at us and we stood taller.

  Stronger.

  Together.

  “Come on!” He pulled my hand along with him as he aimed for Rockfleet.

  Heart pounding, my feet barely touched down as we flew back to the castle to warn the others.

  Chapter 8

  "I need to warn Grania!" I shouted to Rí as shrill panic rose in my voice.

  "Go to the castle. Search for her!" he yelled back. "I'll head down the coast to see if she's still on the water."

  He pointed the direction he wanted me to take, to Rockfleet, as he curved the other way toward the inlet of Clew Bay. His speed and agility on the uneven terrain put space between us in an instant and I watched him fade into the distance.

  My throat constricted as he went out of sight and I struggled to swallow the rising alarm. If the cattle were slaughtered, it would mean certain battle.

  It had begun.

  The chaos of the wind. The assaults of my visions all my life. It was about this. My heart pounded in my ears as I closed in on Rockfleet, praying this wouldn’t turn to bloodshed today.

  The shadow of the strong hold enveloped me as I tore around to the front steps.

  My eyes widened as I smacked right into Grania and Hugh as they stood tall on the top step, ready to confront the intruders.

  Grania's jaw tightened as she saw me and her eyes bore into mine, making me feel like a scolded child.

  She reached for my arm as I approached and grabbed on to it. Her grip was tight when she yanked me closer.

  "Where in hell were ya? Christ." She squeezed my arm again and pulled me behind her. "Don't. Wander. Off." She spoke through clenched teeth.

  Her reprimand shamed me and I shrank behind her. "I didn't know where you went," I explained.

  Without moving her lips, she added, "Stay close, Maeve. We are at war now."

  Her stern tone and protective gestures unnerved me. Grania’s concern for my safety was paramount and left no question of where I stood with her. I was a priority.

  I looked at her and caught her eye. She was my priority as well. And I would do anything to support and protect her.

  "Grania, the cattle..."

  Her grip on my arm loosened and she patted me, keeping me behind her. “I know,” she whispered. “Their call-to-war tactic. And they’ll pay dearly for it.”

  Several MacMahunas had closed in tighter and were now within speaking distance. Three men on horses rode up even closer and then parted to allow the warrior chieftain through.

  "I warned you, woman. And now, now the Brits have come. Sir Bingham will be on your doorstep. By your bed as you sleep."

  He gestured to two men on foot beside him. They struggled with the weight of what they carried and stumbled closer to the steps of Rockfleet. I moved out from behind Grania for a better look at what they presented.

  They reeled back and hurled the load toward us. One of them held back the burlap that covered it, revealing the contents as it hit at the bottom step.

  With a sickening slosh, the cow's head splat down, sending streams of thick blood across the steps and onto my face and leathers.

  I pulled back in shocked horror and gasped as I wiped at the warm blood on my forehead.

  “Kill me, wench… And you will hang. All your clan will hang together. By Bingham’s hand,” he shouted.

  In the exact same instant, a low, wrathful growl rumbled from Grania's throat. It turned to a high pitched screech of shattering glass and clashing metal as her enraged voice filled the air and commanded her army.

  Before I could blink, she sailed off the steps with two swords, one in each hand. Like a vengeful goddess of war, she hurled through the air at her enemies. In an eruption of force and aggression, her clan snapped from a state of yield to that of outright attack.

  Grania went straight for him. Her war cry sent shock and terror across the faces of his men. As she slashed her swords in every direction, the two men who carried the cow's head fell in agony.

  Hugh launched at the men on horses, sword drawn, and drove them back. His twisted expression of rage seethed and shot fear into the hearts of his targets.

  Before thinking, I pulled my sword from its scabbard at my waist and hoisted it into the air. I jumped down from the steps of Rockfleet and pushed toward the enemy clan. I searched for Grania in the chaos, ready to defend her at any cost.

  She was my heart.

  And the heart of Rockfleet.

  My true home.

  I tossed my sword from one hand to the other with adept skill, finding my most comfortable grip. My teeth gnashed as I focused on my target. I thrashed the sword, cutting through the air with master control.

  I paused, staring at my hands. They knew how to handle the sword though I'd never realized I'd had the ability. It had felt clumsy when I first wielded it behind Rockfleet, but now, my confidence and adrenaline led it.

  I thought back to my grandparent's garden, always swinging an axe or chopping at weeds. It was in me. Always had been. It just needed a reason to reveal itself.

  The MacMahunas retreated from our aggressive show of resistance.

  "Off my land, MacMahunas!" Grania wailed. "You will pay for your damage to my herd. Dearly." She slashed at the heels of men as they tried to ride away but were caught in the thick of retreat.

  “Consider yerself warned, pirate!” He spat.

  "Ruddy!" The warrior leader called out again, looking over the skirmish toward a wayward clansman, skirting the outer perimeter of the attack.

  I watched the man drop his head and look away in defiance.

  "Ruddy! Come!" The leader yanked his arm in frustration to get the man to join the clan and move out.

  With reluctance, the man joined them. He kept his gaze down, allowing his hair to fall over his face. In a weakened moment of insecure curiosity, he glanced up and looked directly at me, waiting for my judgment. His eyes fell to the ground again in an
instant as he avoided the shock on my face.

  My eyes grew wide and my jaw fell.

  It was Rí.

  Grania's lips curled as she crossed her swords into the air as the MacMahunas retreated. Her cold, tight eyes pierced each of her own clansman, individually selecting them for an internal council meeting.

  She turned with a jerk and stormed into Rockfleet. Hugh and I followed right behind her as the other chosen clan members moved with determination toward the heavy black door.

  I followed Grania and Hugh up to the third floor armory, where all the battle gear was stored. My hand instinctively reached for my scabbard to be sure my sword was in it.

  Tension was at a shattering peak as the smell of sweat and panic filled the room. There were seven of us in the tight space, all eyes on Grania, waiting for her guiding words.

  "Sir Bingham is upon us. His hold is tight around MacMahuna’s bollocks. The queen has sent him to force our surrender to the crown."

  Agitation grew among the men as they shifted their weight and grumbled their displeasure.

  "The MacMahunas see British pressure as an opportunity for themselves. We won't give in to them. Nor will we give in to Bingham!" Grania's elbows were wide and her chin held high.

  "But how can we fight against the strength of the crown?" an older man challenged her. His face was scarred with a slash that split his eyebrow and ran down his cheek. “They’ll slaughter us like pigs. With documented permission to do so.”

  Grania snapped at him and punched the air. "We will do as we have always done, Ronan. Resist and stand together as Clan Umhaille!"

  Her booming voice filled the tower house with definitive direction, leaving no question or doubt.

  Hugh's steady voice slid in and settled the agitated air. "I've seen such resistance to the crown before. In Wexford. Where I'm from." He paused as attention moved to him.

  He continued, "The Wexford Martyrs. I knew them. Good men."

  He rubbed the back of his neck to likely soothe whatever images haunted his eyes.

  "They refused to declare Elizabeth as the head of the Church. Refused to take the Oath of Supremacy. They resisted, as you are also preparing to do."

  Grania's eyes widened as she took in his words and her head tilted, waiting for more details.

  "As the leaders in our village, they were made examples of. Hung. Drawn and quartered. Their suffering is forever burned onto my heart and those of my people.” Hugh’s eyes dropped to the floor. “We had to look upon the dismembered bodies of our brothers, displayed upon our town square, until the last piece was picked away by birds."

  I grimaced as I pictured the public massacre. Disemboweling fellow humans. Good men. Tears threatened to betray my newfound courage and strength as I envisioned such a thing happening to these good people.

  Grania's shoulders lowered from their tense position around her ears and she stood tall at attention, feet together.

  "Their intimidation tactics mustn't take victory over Gaelic Ireland. We must preserve what is ours. Our culture. Our language. Our history. It's rich with tradition. It is our responsibility to protect her. Whatever the cost." She paused and looked at each of the men.

  Then at me.

  Her eyebrows pulled together with concern and she tore her gaze away from me.

  “It will be dangerous. Some of us may not live. They have the power to take our lives without consequence. But we will never allow them the power to take our souls!” Her voice filled the armory with the sound of thunder from the heavens. The men tightened up the circle and stood strong, nodding.

  "Aye! We must fight for Ireland. For everything we are!" The booming voice of a man with a loose ponytail and worn leathers widened my eyes as he raised his sword into the circle.

  "Aye!" Several powerful voices chimed in and more swords rose to the middle of the group.

  Hugh raised his sword as well and connected it to the others.

  "Allegiance to Grania, Chieftain of the Umhaille Clan. And to Ireland!" A gruff voice called into the circle.

  Every sword rose higher and clinked at the center, including mine.

  The instinctive nature of joining my sword with theirs was as natural as breathing. In my short time here, Rockfleet became my truth. My mother’s love emanated from Grania, making me whole. A feeling I would never allow to leave me again.

  And the clan, they were my brothers and sisters. And Gaelic Ireland. It was home. Defending all of it; Grania, the clan, Ireland… It was my path. And it was clear.

  This was where I belonged. And I intended to stay.

  My eyes moved from my steady sword, which was intertwined with the swords of my clansmen, and gazed at Grania.

  Her lips pressed together as she looked at each member of the group with satisfaction. "For Ireland and Clan Umhaille!" she bellowed as her sword went higher than all of them.

  The other swords stretched to her new height and all voices meshed into one. "For Ireland and Clan Umhaille!" they hailed. “Eiran go Bragh!”

  I stumbled up the spiral stairs, following Grania to her chambers, panting the entire way. My heart rate soared through the roof as the reality of our predicament permeated my rattling bones.

  My mind raced with ideas of how I could help. I considered all my knowledge and skills in an attempt to come up with a solution. I hadn’t had time to do any research when I was pulled back to the garden before, so I had to rely on what I already knew.

  There must be a way.

  My thoughts churned around my history lessons in school, the ones I mostly slept through. Britain was the problem for Ireland. That was clear. The queen held all the power: incredible wealth, an equipped royal army, and autonomous rule.

  I shuddered at the thought of fighting against the queen. It was a death sentence according to my history books. We were the rebels in the queen’s eyes. Even though it was our land. Our home.

  It made no sense.

  Hugh had led the council clansmen out of the castle to coordinate the resistance, leaving me alone with Grania. This was my chance to make a difference. To provide hope to Grania’s movement.

  "Maeve, we are embarking on the final stand for Ireland. It will be dangerous. I need you to stay safe."

  She pulled her chest to the middle of the room. The telescope remained balanced on the top.

  She continued, "There are items here. Relics. Things I must show you and explain."

  I shook my head and backed away. Fear shot through me as I moved my body from the source of danger. I didn’t want to know the secrets within the chest.

  "It's okay. There's nothing in here that can hurt you," she assured me.

  I took a long, deep breath and moved closer to Grania and the crate.

  "Maeve. There's something you must know. In case things don't turn out well... for me."

  I shot my hand out to stop her.

  Why me? Why was Grania so sure her confidante should be me?

  "No, Maeve. We have to be realistic. I am a target. Their greatest enemy." Her flat tone held no emotion, only fact. "You must listen and understand. You might be our only hope to preserving Gaelic Ireland. To holding on to everything we value so deeply."

  The lump in my throat nearly choked me. Her faith in me shocked me to the core. She never wavered in her trust that I would help. That I could help.

  "I have strange dreams, Maeve. Prophecies. They show me things."

  The gasp that flew from my lips couldn't be harnessed. My hand smacked on my mouth to hide it, but it was too late.

  Dreams! She had visions too? My mind spiraled out of control as I struggled to focus on her every word.

  "Prophecies. Of what's to come," she continued. "There's a time of great darkness. All is lost. But then there is light. I believe the light to be you."

  I cringed but then nodded, waiting for more.

  “I see it in your eyes, Maeve. In your soul. Gaelic Ireland is in you. The way it is in me. And you will become her warrior after me. Her savior.
”

  My jaw squeezed tight, to hold it from falling open.

  She felt it too. Something strong between us. Intertwined.

  She picked up the telescope and held it to her eye. "Sometimes, when I return from the dream, I'm left with something new." She looked at the lens and the detailed modern craftsmanship. "Something that's never been seen before. Like from a new land or a new time."

  My back stiffened.

  "The telescope," I said.

  "They called it a spy glass in the dream.” She nodded. “Used to detect the approaching enemy, to determine numbers and artillery before they were upon us.”

  She inspected the spyglass.

  “An Umhaille chieftain carried it. Must’ve been at least one hundred years from now." She paused as her eyes darkened. "In the vision, their numbers had been decimated. By war."

  She reached into the chest and pulled out tattered rags. "And then, later, by famine."

  Her fingers lifted the black and white photograph and she stared at the solemn figures in the picture. They looked like prisoners, trapped under the guardianship of nuns. "And then, later, by misguided laws of the church. And society."

  She looked at me with a heavy sadness that came from deep within her. "The Umhaille Clan fades into ashes in the future, Maeve. You must help me to fight." Her eyes pleaded with me.

  I shifted from one foot to another, absorbing her words.

  "I try, in my dreams…,” Grania spoke into the crate, “…I try to reach out to other Umhaille women for help. But fear stands in the way of every clanswoman I reach for. I'm blocked by it."

  Terror shot through my soul as I pictured the clan erased from all of history. I looked into Grania's eyes and stood tall. “What about the clansmen in your visions? Won’t they help?” I asked.

  “They don’t see me. I need a woman first, a direct connection to me, to open the way,” she explained.

  "Well, I’m here. Right here. Right now. And I will help you fight, Grania. For Gaelic Ireland. For Clan Umhaille." I blinked and looked to the floor, considering my next words with care. "Together, we can change the course of the plans from the crown. We can make a difference to the future of the clan.” I watched her eyes zoom in on mine with keen focus. “I may have some new ideas. That might help," I said, unblinking.