Rockfleet (The Pirate Queen Book 0)

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  The telescope. The famine rags. The photograph.

  A shiver ran up my spine and tingled the injury on my arm. A strange pulsating sensation came from the wound and I took a deep breath, relieved that it was wrapped with a fresh poultice of antiseptic plantain, shielded from my view.

  I pushed through the trinkets and treasures until I found the magnificent metal tube, masterfully crafted with Celtic designs and swirls.

  "I must hide these documents from Bingham. They're our most valued treasure. He shall never get his ugly hands on these." She stacked the parchments and rolled them tight, then pushed the rolled papers into the scroll case and pressed the cover over the opening. Holding the scroll out and turning it, she dripped hot wax from a candle over the lid to seal it from the elements.

  "In there." She pointed to the grand fireplace with the Umhaille family crest set above the keystone at the top. "Get in. To the back. Mind the hot coals."

  "What?" My tone rose three octaves.

  "Inside the chimney. You'll see a small secret hatch," she explained. "Press to the back in there and look out at me. Then look up."

  I pushed my back into the fireplace, avoiding the glowing embers of the past evening's fire. Heat filled the immense space and the smoke tickled my lungs as I searched the inner structure of the chimney.

  There, just above the fireplace opening, was a metal hinged door with a simple latch.

  "I see it." I tugged the small door open with a creak.

  Grania passed the scroll in to me and I placed it at the back of the dark alcove. I pushed the door shut and closed the latch tight.

  Sealed against Bingham. Against time.

  "Good. You're to speak of it to no one. It must remain secret or could be lost to us forever."

  I nodded my head, brushing black soot from my hands.

  Grania grabbed the telescope from the chest and slammed the cover down.

  "Let's go," she commanded.

  I followed her to the docks, where Hugh led the crew in final preparation of the galley. Crates of supplies were hoisted on board with pulling ropes and winch pulleys.

  The absence of life rafts shot my last nerve as I had second thoughts about our expedition. Battling at sea had a whole new set of rules and possible disasters. But Grania was certain I’d be safer at sea with her, rather than left at Rockfleet without the protection of the strongest clan members. She was convinced I would be a target, if left alone.

  I was sure she was right.

  My eyes darted around, wondering why no one else felt the impending doom. They moved with confidence and determination. But these were seafarers. The Umhailles ruled the seas.

  Terra Marique Potens. Strong by Land and Sea was their clan motto. They had no fear of it.

  I drew in a long breath, connecting my clan to my soul, and exhaled, ready to board.

  Bingham's threats were clear and Rí's warnings matched them to the finest detail. Word of the Spanish Armada’s passage came by horsemen who spotted the lone military ship off the coast of Galway. The MacMahunas were also spotted by our scouts, out at sea far beyond Clare Island. Their intention to end us played out in the cruel unraveling of predicted events.

  The coastline of Clew Bay faded into the mist and I turned toward the open sea. My hair blew back in the salty breeze as my senses awakened to the smell of focused resistance and the chill of deep fear. My nerves quivered throughout my body, preparing for whatever danger lay ahead.

  Hugh carried out Grania's orders of readying the men — rowers, drummers, look-outs. My eyes darted to the rowers. There were at least fifteen massive oars on each side, with four rowers on each. The steady beat of the traditional bodhrán drum recalibrated the beat of my own heart. The synchronized rhythm of resistance saturated the salty air.

  Grania checked her compass and peered through her spyglass every quarter hour. The ruffles of her sailing blouse covered her hands and flopped around the telescope at every flinch. The clomp of her heavy black boots hit the deck repeatedly, sending strong thumps through my chest.

  As if distracted by a new thought, she spun around and headed down to the lower deck with a stern scowl on her face. Her focus was still sharp, but her tension radiated the stress of waiting. Wondering.

  My eyes scanned the deck, the crew, Hugh. And then my focus pulled out to sea. Terror rose in my throat as I zoomed in on a ship at the horizon. Several flags flew from the mast and its steady course headed directly for us.

  My knees buckled and trembled beneath me. I wasn't cut out for this. It was too real. There were no police to keep the peace. No cell phones to record wrongdoings. It was raw. And people were going to die.

  I turned to the door leading below deck and it flew open as Grania burst out of it. Her eyes were wide open, searching me for an explanation, as she held her hand out to me. A delicate chain hung from her fingers as she opened her palm. “Me vision. It returned.”

  She looked into her hand, drawing my eyes to the locket she held. My hand instinctively reached for the locket around my own neck, to be sure it was still there. I squeezed it for safe keeping.

  “Where did you get that?” I moved in for a closer look.

  “It was around the Umhaille woman’s neck.” Grania whispered, her voice breaking within her throat. She moved her thumb across the locket, opening it to expose the contents. Her eyes lifted to mine as she stared at me.

  My brow furrowed as I focused in on the tiny photograph within the locket. Like a bolt of lightning, I pulled away and stood up straight, eyes wide.

  “It’s me.” I stepped back at first, like it was cursed, but then moved closer again for a second look. Like the rush of a waterfall overhead, memories of my mother poured over me. Pounding me.

  It was her locket. The one she lost when I was twelve. The photo inside was my seventh grade portrait. She bought me one of my own after that and I placed her photo into it. My hand tightened on my locket again.

  I pressed my fingernail into the latch and pulled it open. I held it up to Grania. “Her?”

  Grania stepped back as if seeing a ghost. She reached for me and pulled me close, holding me as if for dear life.

  “I don’t understand it, Maeve.” Her voice cracked. “How can this be?”

  My heart slowed as my mind focused in on a sudden clarity. Grania’s vision visited my mother. And she took her locket. One more trinket for her mystical items in her treasure chest.

  I thought back to Mom’s visions. She was tormented by them. Afraid of them. Just as Grania described all the Umhaille women, for centuries.

  I looked back to Grania and watched her face contort in wild confusion. We were connected.

  In every way.

  I didn’t understand it either, but it was true. And my mother was a part of the circle too.

  Great commotion exploded around us as we jolted back to the moment: men rushing, dutifully carrying out orders and preparing for defense.

  My boots sank into the wooden deck, freezing me to my spot.

  I looked around at the rough, weathered men scurrying about, attending to their duties, and a sense of purpose and responsibility grew in me. I was prepared to defend my clan. To protect their lives and their mission.

  As Grania filled the deck with her power and prowess, all on deck stopped to acknowledge her. She stood tall with her jet black hair flying in the gusts. Her militant clothing and black leather tunic clung to her strong, lean body, creating an intimidating vision. One of beauty. And one of wrath.

  Her voice filled every space as she called out orders. Her hand gripped her sword as if it were a live extension of her arm. Her commanding tone shot fear through me but my eyes remained fixed on her every move and every order.

  A nagging pain of panic hit the pit of my stomach, over and over, until I finally paid attention to it. A sickness was rising in me. My hand moved from my open mouth to my stomach to try to ease the churning.

  Sharp focus filled Grania’s eyes with the look of a lion ready
to pounce. But I recognized something else in her too, something she had been hiding - vulnerability.

  "They intend to board us!” she shouted for all to hear. "Prepare t' defend our ship. Our clan. Our honor!" Her face turned close to mine as she whispered, "Stay near me, Maeve. Iníon. I need ya to keep me strong." She squeezed the locket in her hand and dropped it into her bosom.

  Iníon?

  The sound of ‘daughter’ rang in the ancient word and I paused on it. Did she call me daughter?

  Looking out across the length of the galley, she yelled, "They intend ta challenge me power and me fleet, but we won't let them stop us! This is our sea! Our home!"

  She pulled me close again.

  “Below deck, in me cabin. Beneath the washbasin. There’s a secret door at the side. Once this begins, I want you to hide in it. Not a sound until I come for you. You hear me?”

  She held her eyes directly at mine as my eyebrows scrunched in defiance. “Hear me!” she repeated.

  My lips pressed together. I wouldn’t leave her. It was my duty to protect her. My vision faltered and Grania appeared grainy. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. Better.

  “Yes.” I nodded in agreement. “I’ll hide.”

  Once I’m sure of her safety, I thought to myself.

  And her safety was in jeopardy. Not only because the MacMahuna ship sailed right for us, but also my faltering dream. It always shifted and blurred when she was in harm’s way. I prayed the danger of the situation wouldn’t jar me out of the vision entirely.

  The smell of brine and tar mixed with sweat and rising alarm caused my stomach to sour further as dread surged through my veins.

  Grania called out across the galley again. “You’ve all heard my names. Pirate Queen. Wench. Tyrant of the sea. Plunderer.”

  A powerful voice rose from the deck. “You’re our queen, Grania.”

  “Aye. I’m all they say. Pirate. Wench.” She paused.

  “Yes. I’m your queen. But aside from any of the titles. Before you I stand. For clan Umhaille! For Freedom! For Gaelic Ireland! As your chieftain!” Her voice rang loud across the ship. “Will you stand with me?” she called out.

  “Aye!!!” Every voice rose in unison.

  “Will you fight beside me?”

  “Aye!!!”

  She gazed out across her crew. Her clan. And gave one final shout. “For freedom!”

  The galley erupted in a chorus of brave, united voices. “Eiran Go Bragh!” echoed across the deck.

  Ireland forever.

  The energy of her words gave focus to the crew. And power. Courage.

  From behind, Hugh approached and took Grania by the waist, pulling her close into him. Strong and sea-worn, his handsome youthful spark sent a smile across her face. His ornate metal wrist cuffs covered his muscular forearms like armor and the clawing lion-beasts masterfully carved into them seemed ready for a fight.

  He held her tight against his body and said, "Fear not, me queen. You are strong. Continue yer quest, no matter the cost."

  He looked out across the galley and into the oncoming assault. He begged her body close to his as if it were his final lifeline and kissed her with a passion I never knew existed.

  "I will protect ya with all I have. I'll never leave ya. You are me heart, Grania. Always will be."

  He lifted her hand, rubbed her majestic captain’s ring with his thumb and kissed her fingers. He whispered to her slowly, "Grá mo chroí".

  Breaking from her, he hurried toward the commotion and blended in with the blur of rushing devotees.

  She followed his form with her eyes until he was out of view, time frozen, then looked down at her ring as if to feel him there again. The ring, ornate and regal, seemed now to be her direct connection to him.

  Hurrying footsteps grew louder. Shrill voices shouted from every direction.

  I covered my ears to shelter from the piercing smash of metal, like cymbals crashing all around me. The distress of ringing alarm surrounded us. I saw it in her brazen eyes - battle was inevitable. She couldn't predict how the next minutes would play out, but she was ready to defend her ship and her crew with all she had.

  I remained at her side as the MacMahuna boarded with a few of his henchmen to deliver his final warning. His crew held steady behind them on their own galley, with wild, hungry eyes, frothing for the command to attack.

  In the middle of the MacMahuna's clansmen on their deck, my eyes darted to a mop of amber hair, bobbing amidst the agitated crew. My eyes locked on him in desperation as my mind cried out his name.

  Rí!

  My heart sank to the deepest fathoms of the sea—until his head lifted and his eyes met mine. He shot me with anger first. Defying his orders to stay off Grania's galley. But then, I saw worry in his wide pupils, pulling me in. Forever.

  Our line of vision was cut off by the wall my clansmen formed, full of weapons and shields, valiantly blocking the MacMahuna's pursuit any further onto our deck.

  The warrior MacMahuna chieftain stepped forward, displaying his bronze helmet with protruding spike at the top and cheek plates down the sides, likely a gift from Bingham. He blasted accusations of stolen land, illegal hunting, pirating - a price to be paid.

  With a venomous glare, he pointed at Grania. "I will not yield to yer tribe and watch ya control land and sea. No woman will grow mightier than I. You are no chieftain." He sneered and spat on the deck. "You will bow t' me."

  He motioned with his hefty sword to a few of his men, instructing them to go to my captain, to capture her. "Hand her over and we will spare yer filthy lives," he barked.

  As the invaders attempted to move toward her position, our wall of defense tightened, preparing for full-scale attack. Then, one of Grania's devoted followers bravely burst out from the barricade to confront them.

  To defend his captain.

  His queen.

  "No!" Grania lurched forward in alarm and flew down the platform to stop him and surrender herself. "Stop!"

  But her words remained unheard, or unheeded. The MacMahuna chieftain ordered his men to seize her loyal supporter. Our crew froze at the unexpected situation, knowing any false move could end his life. He was swarmed by the enemy, with a dagger to his throat before he could make a strike.

  Grania's crew, ready to pounce with the collective force of an army, was stifled by her scream to halt. She rushed forward, pushing through her crew to come between them — her courageous lover, Hugh, and the attacking MacMahunas.

  She screeched to offer herself instead but they already knew their course.

  And it involved bloodshed and battle.

  "Wait! Stop! 'Tis me yeh want!" The power of her voice cut through the churning sounds of fury and assault.

  The sea grew angry as swells heaved, tossing the vessel with insatiable aggression. The vicious MacMahuna commander drew strength from the rising ocean as his chest swelled in arrogance.

  Orders were given and my sight wobbled and blurred. I rubbed my eyes again for clarity. I heard no words but understood the sinister intent of the MacMahuna by the combative gesturing.

  Grania tore toward him with every ounce of her being. My vision faltered again, like static or poor reception. I shook my head and pressed through the disturbance to see what was happening.

  Grania's voice pierced through my skull with a shattering wail that could wake the dead.

  My eyes burst open to the point where I was sure they'd pop out of my head and I was pulled back, away from the attack. Away from danger.

  I yanked my shoulder from the crewman who thought I should be sheltered from the terror, and I was pulled back again.

  "Maeve." The voice echoed in my head, like I was trapped underwater.

  "Maeve. You're hurt."

  My chin pulled in and I turned to the confused clansmen. I wasn’t hurt. I was ready to fight. To defend our ship. Our lives. Everything Grania stood for...

  Ireland.

  "Jazus, Maeve. What have you done?"

  I ign
ored the judging tone of the distractor and turned toward the resistance. The attack on my clan. My eyes searched in every direction for Grania, for Hugh.

  The blurred haze made it impossible to see and I swatted my arm at the mist to clear my line of vision. Everything dulled further into a sickening mix of haunting black, clanging metal, sickening green, spilled blood, and the primal smell of iron.

  My stomach turned and I wretched.

  "Maeve?" The sound of the shrill voice sliced through my consciousness.

  I turned in a shocking jolt and faced Gram.

  The images of the galley faltered again as memories of Gram and Joey crashed in on me. My mother's death. Being lost and alone.

  Vile sickness brewed, threatening to take away everything I fought for. Everything I wanted.

  Her eyes widened with fear as she stared at me, shivering in the damp chill of the evening garden.

  I gazed up at her with a hollow feeling that carved out my core, and then I proceeded to vomit all over her favorite pink slippers.

  Chapter 14

  Gram's face blurred and I saw only Grania. Grief stricken. Broken.

  I needed to help her.

  I pulled from Gram's hold and turned away, searching for the galley. For Grania. Hugh. Rí. Everyone who needed me. Who counted on me.

  Everyone who knew me.

  Gram pulled on me again. "Joseph!" Her voice shattered my skull. "Help me! Jesus!"

  "Gram, stop.” I pulled from her iron vice-grip. “I'm fine."

  My words passed through clenched teeth as I resented her for ripping me from Grania. Vile resentment dissipated, brutally replaced by the buckling pain of my breaking heart. I hunched over with a piercing ache of wanting to go back to the galley.

  Something huge was happening. Something I was meant to be a part of.

  "What have you done, Maeve?" she cried.

  "Nothing. What are you talking about?" My annoyed tone made me angrier.

  I followed her horror stricken eyes to my arm. My wound was wide open. Either from her tugging or from the skirmish on deck.

  On deck? Was I losing my mind?