Rockfleet (The Pirate Queen Book 0)

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  I leaned in for closer inspection.

  "What are they?" My eyes swirled along the script at the bottom that read 'Elizabeth', with the z looping back and forth underlining her name many times.

  "Treaties. Deeds to the land. Permission to continue ruling my trade routes." She gazed at the documents like they were her savior. "She understood, Maeve. Allowing me to continue my rule is in everyone's best interest." She grinned a sinister smirk. "Except for Bingham a’course. And the MacMahunas. They'll wish they never set..."

  Her words jolted to a halt at a loud clanging bell.

  "Fire!" voices shouted between each bang of the warning bell.

  We bolted to the window and followed the line of black smoke behind the stables. Grania scooped the documents into the leather wrapping and threw them into her treasure chest and ran. I followed after her, nearly missing every rung on the ladders, sliding down with hands only. She was already out the door by the time I hit the floor.

  Everyone ran in the direction of the smoke. Fire was feared more than swords or arrows. It was lethal in every way. It would decimate the winter stores, kill the animals, and destroy the housing for the families. The sharp focus on every face sent urgency through my veins as I searched for a bucket and the closest water source.

  As I moved to the corner of the castle, staring at the black pluming column of smoke, someone yanked my shoulder back. I was pulled to the side, out of view.

  "Shhh. It's just me." His words halted the visceral scream that generated in my throat, milliseconds away from escaping.

  Rí held my shoulders and looked into my face with hopeful, welcoming eyes. "The fire’s under control. Just a hay bale and a bit of pork fat from home, to keep it going for a bit." He chuckled.

  My eyebrows pressed together and I tipped my head.

  "It was the only way to get to you. To cause a distraction," he explained with rising angst in his voice.

  My eyebrows relaxed, along with my shoulders. "You can't be seen here!" My head shook while my eyes remained fixed, lost, in his. "Your clan will call you a traitor.”

  “I needed to see you again, Maeve.” His eyes moved over me like silk, erupting an insatiable desire in me. I bit my bottom lip as I stared at his.

  His eyes fell as his brow pulled in. “And I need to warn ya…”

  He hesitated, pressing his lips together. "M’ father's planning an outright attack. With Sir Bingham behind him. They plan to end the Umhaille's reign of the land and sea. Entirely. They intend to take it all." His tone hit a high pitch of panic as his eyes searched me.

  My air left me as the inevitable got closer. "When?" My fingers went to my mouth and I bit my nails, acknowledging the time was upon us.

  "They intend to attack by sea. As the Spanish Armada passes through, in a week’s time. Destroy her fleet. Drown her men." He exhaled through his nose and stared at his boots. "See, they know she’ll be on the sea at that time, doing ‘business’ with the Spaniards.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “I just had to warn ya. Stay off her galley, will ya? Stay far away from sea."

  His hands gripped my arms. "I can keep ya safe, Maeve. I'll figure out a way. I'll come back for you."

  My mind spun in every direction. Rí's hands on me. Grania's fleet in danger. The warrior chieftain of the MacMahunas attacking my clan. Rí's fathomless eyes soaking me in with insatiable thirst.

  My hands moved up to his arms and held him with equal need. I tilted my face up to his as my lip trembled, struggling for words. Before my fears had a chance to form into a sentence, he inched closer. He pulled me into the safety of his hold and moved his hand through my hair, pushing it away from my face.

  My eyes closed as he lifted my chin, his breath tempting me as he whispered. "Maeve. Grá mo chroí."

  And he kissed me.

  He kissed me like only a dream could do. Filling me with warm light and a thrill of sensations that tingled every nerve. His full lips took from mine a desperation of being torn apart but in the same time, gave to me all he was.

  My hands moved into his hair and around his neck, holding on to every piece of him, and I knew, somewhere deep in that moment of joy and bliss, this would bring only pain.

  Chapter 12

  The temptation to follow him into the hills tore at my guts. My desire to be near him mangled my thoughts to incoherent gibberish. Just a small amount of time. To feel his breath on my face again. To have his hands on me.

  A shudder ran through me that tweaked a guilty smile onto my face as I imagined our next encounter.

  "Maeve!" Grania's voice slapped be back to reality. "A mere diversion of sorts. A subtle attack. A test maybe..." Her words led her stream of thoughts toward a possible conclusion. I followed her into Rockfleet as she rambled.

  "We're under attack, Maeve. War is coming." She looked back at me with regret in her eyes. "You must stay safe. If anything happens to me, you are the one who will take my place."

  I stopped short in my tracks as she continued climbing the ladder.

  She hesitated and looked down at me. "What? Don't act so surprised. Sure, you’ve known your rightful place in our clan. Next in line." Her head tipped in confusion.

  I rubbed the back of my shoulder and looked off to the side. It wasn't possible. There was no way I could take her place. Ever. The thought terrified me. She was Braveheart. A lion. A fighter. A leader. She faced a world dominator like an equal.

  Tears stung the back of my eyes and I pushed the rising lump in my throat down.

  "Come now, Maeve. We must plan. Strategically."

  She left no room for my self-doubt. Her tone proved she saw my hesitation as a simple annoyance. Adolescent angst. I’d known it in my heart… but now it was clearer. Was she my mother here? Is that what placed me next in line as chieftain?

  I climbed the ladder without feeling the rungs. Before I became aware of my time and space again, I was in her chambers. She pulled the queen’s deeds and treaties from the chest.

  "Grania." Her name stuck in my throat and squeaked out like a mouse.

  She stopped what she was doing and turned to me. The tone in my voice forced her attention. "Spit it out. We haven't all day." Her clenched jaw prepared her for the punch I was about to throw.

  "I know their plan."

  "Ready the ships!" Grania commanded her clansmen.

  My prior warning of the MacMahuna’s plan had only fueled her further.

  "The Spanish Armada is due to pass through these waters in two days’ time." She chewed her bottom lip and squinted at me. "Ya still won't disclose the source of your information, no? Yer loyalty is somethin' fierce." She shook her head.

  The only reason she could tolerate my silence was because the information was priceless. And she trusted me.

  "Sure, you'll tell me when it's over, ya?" Her eyebrows lifted.

  "Fair enough." I nodded in agreement, knowing at that point she would discover my secret about Rí anyway. It was my other secret, about my true origin, that bothered me more though. Grania and the rest of the clan didn’t seem to realize that I hadn’t been there all along.

  Or maybe I had been?

  The line between my two worlds blurred.

  No one would believe the truth. It was too much for me to believe, let alone others. They’d lose faith in me or think I was crazy. I just had to keep going as if I was meant to be here.

  Because I was.

  Grania's cloak billowed behind her as she wasted no time in attending to her final tasks before heading out to sea again. Her enthusiasm radiated off her like sunlight. The sea called to her. It was her home.

  As I stared after her, daydreaming of her life at sea, the air changed and a bolt of alarm shot through it. Everyone froze at attention and dropped what they were doing.

  The flags came into view first, bobbing over the hills and flapping in the wind.

  The spike of a helmet cut the landscape next, followed by a group of five riders with a decorated royal at the center of the guards.
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  Grania barreled through the black door of Rockfleet and rushed out again with her sword and shield. She hoisted the shield up to her chest and took a wide stance of power and resistance. She gave no orders. No commands to anyone else, including me. She was prepared to face this alone.

  My body liquefied as I melted into a puddle of fear. What now?

  Thoughts of my clan filled me back up with strength and solid bones as I made the choice to protect them.

  I ran into Rockfleet and grabbed my sword and shield and joined Grania. Hugh was already there, sword drawn, his strength having returned tenfold.

  Her subtle nod acknowledged her approval of my presence next to her and I stood taller.

  As the band approached within hearing distance, they stopped. The intimidating royal in the middle appeared choked by the white ruffled collar that went as high as his jawline. A metal cuff sat at the bottom of the ruffles and ran out to his shoulders atop a tight red vest. Fear shot through my heart from the sight of the bright red hue. Color like that didn’t exist in our territory and it widened our eyes to full attention.

  A billowing skirt of golden-yellow fabric hung over his trousers, highlighting his formal attire, but the scowl on his face left no question - he was here to make trouble.

  He reached to his waist, passing under a long chain holding a crucifix, and pulled out a scroll. Time stood still as he untied the cord and rolled open the parchment at a painful, heart-stopping pace.

  "Enough of yer shenanigans, Bingham!" Grania shouted with impatience. "Off my land! You're not welcome here!"

  Sir Bingham blinked and tipped his head. "Mind yerself, Grania Umhaille. Pirate. Or ya'll be charged with treason against the crown." He spat each word in disgust.

  "There's no treason here, Bingham. The queen has granted my rights to the land and sea of Achill." She stood taller.

  "I've no record of such." He waved his hand, dismissing her words. "And I'll burn any proof you may have of it. Pirate wench." He pulled the scroll open and read from it. "A proclamation from the Queen of England..."

  Grania interrupted with a roar. "Yer document was written before my meeting with the queen. It’s void. Obsolete!"

  "Silence! Or I'll have you whipped," he barked.

  Hugh tensed and the tip of his sword shook with rage.

  Grania marched closer as her fellow clansmen moved in, tightening their ranks behind her. "Don’t you threaten me. I know what yer proclamation says. The queen herself, told me of it. And deemed it void, on the spot."

  Bingham spoke over her words. "Take the oath and pledge loyalty to..." He stumbled as Grania spoke at the same time.

  "Take the oath and pledge loyalty to Her Majesty, the queen of England, and be spared from exile..." Her tone became playful as she mocked the document she already knew. "Sure, she told me of the contents herself. You’re just second in line to receive word of my exoneration from British rule."

  "Lying witch." His face turned from bright red to purple. His humiliation permeated the air and sent warning to my core. He fidgeted on his horse.

  "Seize her!" he commanded to his guards.

  Shit! My heart plummeted into my feet and I nearly lost continence as terror turned me to jelly.

  In a clash of charging horses, drawn swords, and shouting voices, the Umhailles created a wall around Grania and me as they fought against Sir Bingham's guards.

  Hugh led the resistance, keeping us behind him, as his face twisted into the likeness of a wild boar. His sword flew over us like a force field as it blocked enemy strikes with stealth.

  Grunts of pain and screams of horror filled the air as the guards followed their orders and attacked, far outnumbered by our men.

  Grania pushed to break through the wall of protectors and I followed, as my hand squeezed the hilt of my sword with white knuckles.

  "Let me bloody through!" she shrieked as she pierced her gaze into Sir Bingham's eyes, targeting him for her assault.

  His purple face turned white in an instant and he backed his horse far behind the guards. He watched without expression as his men fought the Umhailles, set up to be maimed or killed.

  They slashed in every direction from horseback, striking at our clansmen who showed no fear. The Umhailles fought with swords, daggers, stones, and their bare hands. The bloodied guards weakened under the attack as the ferocious Umhailles bore down on them.

  Grania screamed again to her men. "Don't kill them." She kept her eyes on Bingham, while protecting her clansmen from the noose. "Let this be a warning to not fook with Umhailles, Bingham. Off my land, scut!" She spat on the ground in his direction and then plowed forward with her sword drawn.

  I ran behind her, past the back of a guard’s horse as he fought to keep our men away. I reached my sword high in defense and as my arm stretched in front of me, leading the way, a splash of red splattered onto my face and into my eyes. My sword fell.

  The entire scene morphed to slow-motion as everything turned red with blood. I wiped frantically at my eyes to clear them, desperate to recover before being struck.

  Again.

  A cold, numbing pain shot up my arm as wetness streamed down it. Stinging tears poured from my eyes, cleansing them. I'd been hit by a guard’s sword.

  The inside of my forearm was open with a long gash that spilled blood down my leathers.

  I pulled my arm into my waist to put pressure on the wound, and to hide it from Grania, who continued to pounce toward Bingham.

  My heart rate dropped to near nothing and everything around me spun in a whir. Vomit threatened to overtake me.

  I'm okay. I'm okay.

  The reality of my situation was cut into my arm. It was life or death here, defending what was ours.

  The temptation to run filled my mind with its toxins. I took the temptation and shattered it to bits as I swore my allegiance to Grania deep within my soul. I'd never wanted to fight for anything in my life, except for saving my own mother. But that was out of my hands then. Nothing else ever mattered enough after that.

  Until now.

  This was my second chance.

  Sir Bingham reeled back with his horse to keep a safe distance from Grania. "This isn't the end of it, Umhaille. You'll regret resisting the crown." He gave a final attempt at showing his power but the shake in his voice revealed differently. She had rattled him.

  The purple that rose in his face again proved his ferocity, doubled by his humiliation. "You will suffer, Umhaille!" His final words were lost to the wind as he and his guards retreated over the hills, flags flying high.

  Chapter 13

  “Bite down on this.” The nurse pushed a leather strap between my teeth and pressed my chin up to clamp it. I sucked air through my clenched teeth as she poured hot water across my wound to cleanse and inspect it.

  A sharp bolt of intense pain and burning shot up my arm and through my body. My legs went rigid and pressed into the ground for stability.

  “I’ll spare ya the sewin’ if ya can keep it protected.”

  My head nodded in panicked agreement.

  “But I’ll be givin’ it a right cleanin’, lassie. Ta save ya from the rot. Here. Take this.”

  She handed me a vial as the blood ran from my head.

  “What is it?” I asked as I brought it my nose and sniffed.

  “Henbane and hemlock, sure. Just a few sips or ya’ll sleep for centuries.” She tipped her hand at me to encourage me to drink.

  The slightest swallow tightened in my throat as my body attempted to reject it and I coughed from its bitter sting.

  “Get it in ya.” She waited while tapping her foot.

  As she gathered her cloths, my eyes became heavy and clouded. The narcotic effect made me woozy. I looked down at my gash and for the first time didn’t experience a wave of nausea.

  Blood oozed from the deepest parts of the cut but the arteries were intact. I could see right into the flesh of my arm — bright red with small black spots. There was no doubt it would require
something to hold it together.

  She came back with a bowl of steaming liquid and a variety of mismatched rags. Without warning, she worked on the injury like it was a lifeless carcass.

  The shock of blazing pain burst out of my mouth with a scream. “Aaack! Stop! Please!” I begged.

  “Bite down. Do it!” she demanded while nodding to her assistant. He lumbered over and held my shoulders with a vice grip, pressing me into my chair.

  “Bite hard!” she repeated as she dug into my screaming gash with rags, herbs and hot liquid.

  My heels clawed into the floor searching for grip to launch me out of my chair while the assistant’s hold turned into his full body weight pinning me to the spot.

  “Rrrrrr…” My clenched teeth blocked any other sound as my head fell back in agony.

  “There now. That should do it,” she said as if repairing a rip in a cloak.

  The nurse wrapped her hand under my arm and reached around with her fingers, pressing the open gash together. She packed a poultice onto it and wound cordage all along my forearm to hold everything in place. As the healing agents of the poultice seeped in, my jaw relaxed.

  I was wounded. But I was okay.

  The line between an injury like mine and one that could end my life was centimeters. Millimeters. And I shook with the thought of how close I came to being permanently maimed. Or worse.

  Our enemy held no rules. No ethics. It was a lawless time. All was fair. And I was as much a target as any of my fellow clansmen.

  And I would pay the consequence of my choices.

  Blind with rage, Grania tore through her chambers, pacing from one end to the other, mumbling ideas and plans. The morning after Sir Bingham's visit offered no relief to her agitated warpath. The queen's documents laid on Grania's bed as she kept her eyes on them, no matter her position in the great room.

  "Grab me the scroll case from me chest," she murmured to me, deep in thought.

  I pushed open the heavy chest’s lid and peered inside, eyes half shut. It felt like I was violating Grania, or history, in some way when I looked at the mythical contents of the chest.