She could only hope.
* * *
That night, Grace called Quinn to her quarters. As usual, two goblets of whiskey sat on the splintered wooden table in the middle of her small quarters. A lantern hung crookedly off one wall, illuminating the quarters with an eerie glow even during the day.
“Have a seat, Callaghan,” Grace said, pushing the chair to her with her booted foot. “Close the door.”
The quarters were tiny, with just enough room for a rickety table, two beat-up chairs, and a bunk. Grace had done little to fix it up or feminize it in any way. It had always felt like the cave of a small bear to Quinn.
Taking the wooden chair, Quinn sat down and wrapped her hand around her goblet. The scent of the strong Irish whiskey hung in the air between them.
“How was yer visit?”
“Excellent, sir. Time with Becca is always the best way to unwind. Thank you.”
Grace considered this, nodding slowly. “Good. Good. I’ve heard the crew mutterin’ about the damnable Inquisition, and I wanted yer position on it. I value yer sense of calm and attention to world affairs. What say ya?”
Quinn stared down at the amber fluid a moment, Murphy’s words etched in her mind’s eye. “I believe we are in very frightening times, sir. With Elizabeth hounding Mary, the Portuguese stepping up their slave trade, France vacillating back and forth, and Spain torturing non-Catholics, I’m not sure any place is safe any more.” Some time ago, Quinn had stopped speaking to Grace in the broken Gaelic the pirates so often spoke in, instead speaking to her like the noblewoman she’d been raised as. It just felt more authentic to talk to Grace as Quinn truly was.
“Always the diplomat, Callaghan. Though I do not disagree with that assessment, I am speakin’ strictly about the Spanish king.”
“Only a fool would not fear a man with as long a reach as Philip. He is single-minded in his desire for conversion. I fear he is a very dangerous king whose conversion techniques should be frowned upon by the very church that supports them. The Church looks away from his depravity, Captain. That alone ought to make us tread lightly.”
Grace sniffed and stared over her goblet. “I take it yer not one, then.”
“One what? Catholic? No sir, I am not.”
“Not that I give a rat’s arse. I do not. As long as a man is loyal to me, that is all that matters to us, eh?”
“Aye.”
“So, do ya fear King Philip more than a Catholic might?”
Quinn shook her head. “I do not. My beliefs should not come into question, Captain. Ever. It matters not what my spiritual inclination is. My heart belongs here on this ship with these men.”
“Precisely what I need ya to tell the crew. I need ya to calm ’em down and remind ’em that this ship is our home and that we’ll not be divided by a book or a religion.”
“Aye. I can sure try. They are afraid, sir, and rightfully so. No man can stomach the idea of torture.”
Grace peered into her goblet before glancing back up at Quinn. “When we get to Spain, leave the ship out in the bay. Send smaller boats to the dock. The men will at least feel safer knowin’ we have an escape strategy. More than one, actually.”
“And what about you, sir? Where will you be?”
Grace rubbed her chin. “I’ll be takin’ but one boat out. Ya will captain one of the boats, Innis the second, and I the third. We’ll take just enough crew to deliver Mary’s message. I want the Malendroke left with a fully functionin’ crew in case she has to defend herself.”
Quinn sipped the whiskey she’d learned to stomach, feeling it burn as it went down. “I think that’s wise, Captain, but if you don’t mind me asking, will this be the last errand we do on behalf of the Queen of Scotland?”
Grace tilted her head at the question. “Errand? Callaghan, this is no errand. We are part of the political goins on involvin’ enna and all monarchs close enough to do us harm. We cannot stick our head between our legs and hope to see sunrise.”
Sighing, Quinn nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
Grace tossed her whiskey back and poured herself more. “Did ya manage to see Tibbott? I’ve been missin’ that lad somethin’ fierce.”
Quinn nodded.
Years before Quinn had joined the crew, Innis had helped deliver Grace’s baby boy, Tibbott. The tale of the delivery had spanned the seas, as she had been nursing him below deck when the Malendroke was attacked. The fight was bloody and deadly, and the tide had turned for the English, who had received help from a second ship bearing down toward the Irish coast.
According to the tale, Connor had run below, against Grace’s order to leave her and the baby alone so she could nurse him in private. A breathless Connor had told her that they were losing the battle and that the men needed motivation.
Angered and irritated, Grace had grabbed her swords, gone up top, and in a flurry of clanging swords and hacked off limbs, led her crew to yet another victory in the face of what appeared to be certain defeat.
The tale had spread like leaves on the wind, garnering Grace even more respect and awe than she’d previously had. It had been a story that reached even the nobleman’s house Quinn grew up in and was the singular reason why Quinn sought Grace and the Malendroke out when she needed to hunt down her friend’s abductors.
Grace had realized she could no longer keep him safe, so she had left Tibbott on land, as was the custom, to be fostered by another family. In order to protect him, Grace told only a handful of people where he was.
Quinn was now one of them.
“He is thriving, sir. What a very happy young man he is turning out to be.” Quinn smiled, remembering her short visit with Grace’s son. “He reads all the time and is eager to share what he has learned, but I’m afraid he has his mother’s passions.”
Grace’s left eyebrow rose in question. “What passions are those?”
“He is passionate about his love of Ireland and his hatred of England, and he lets everyone know it.”
Grace’s face lit up. “I am so happy to hear that, Callaghan. I was hopin’ one of my boys had the same fire in his belly.” Grace tossed back more whiskey. “Thank ya fer checkin’ in on him fer me. No matter where his passion lies, he is a sweet, sweet boy.”
“You’re most welcome. It must be... difficult to be apart.”
“It is, but as long as those bloody English governors keep houndin’ my family, he is best left where he is. I don’t need ennaone causin’ me enna problems. Did ya... ya know... ”
“Go as a woman? Yes, sir. I have discovered the painful truth of the invisibility of women. No one sees me come or go. I go as a noblewoman offering the gold you give me as donation for his education. Your secret remains safe, as does mine.”
Grace released a small sigh. “Thank ya. Fer all that ya do fer me and mine. Callaghan.”
“We keep each other’s secrets, sir. Seems only fair.”
Grace poured more whiskey for Quinn. “Speakin’ of which, I need ya to finish the job if ennathin’ should happen to me.”
“Sir?”
Grace leaned forward. “The job at hand. We must help Mary stay on the throne at all costs. Ireland needs her almost as much as Scotland does. Promise me ya will not stop keepin’ Ireland outta Elizabeth’s hands even if I’m... gone.”
Quinn was taken aback. “Gone?”
“Aye. Gone. Dead. Breathe no more. I was afraid they’d kill me in that damnable prison, and them boys out there need a leader. They need someone to keep ’em from goin’ off half-cocked. That would be ya, Callaghan.”
“Sir, I am no captain. I don’t think I–”
“I need to know ya will keep them boys safe and on the path of keepin’ our homeland ours.”
“Nothing is going to hap–”
“We’re pirates, Callaghan. We have no idea when we wake up in the mornin’ if we’ll still be alive when the sun goes down. I need to know–”
“Of course I’ll carry on, Captain. I understand why we are b
raving the waters and galleons to reach Spain. While most of the crew does not, they will, of course, follow you anywhere you take us.”
Grace shocked Quinn by slamming the goblet on the table. “By the gods, they better follow ya as well, Callaghan. I am not puttin’ my crew in harm’s way fer nothin’ less than the soul and heart of our beloved Ireland. Ireland and family are all that really matter at the end of the day. Ya must make them understand that.”
Quinn finally understood the purpose of this chat: Grace was nervous about the rumblings of a crew that had seldom, if ever, questioned her decisions. Grace knew they were scared. She knew they had heard the stories of torture at the hands of the Spanish Inquisitors.
“I’ll see what I can do, Captain.”
Grace leaned back and sighed. “Good. Good.”
Quinn stared into Grace’s eyes. “Sir, what is really bothering you?”
Grace looked away a moment before returning cold, hard eyes to Quinn. “I’ve had word that Elizabeth’s council wishes to imprison Mary fer Darnley’s death.”
Quinn suddenly sat up. Mary had played no part in the death of her husband. They had killed Darnley for Mary over a month ago and made it look like an accident. As an Englishman, Darnley had his own designs on Mary and her throne, so Grace, as a favor to her childhood friend, took care of it for her by ending his life.
“Oh. But I thought... ”
Grace nodded. “It matters not what the truth is, Callaghan. Elizabeth’s advisors wish Mary locked up and will stop at no lie to ensure that happens. And should they succeed, there’s no tellin’ what will come out about our role in that miserable affair. It is one thing fer that accursed governor to hound me and my family as he does, but I cannot stand the thought of my crew sufferin’ fer a decision I made to help with the killin’ of that son of a bitch.”
“That would be... ” Quinn shook her head. “That could cause us no end of issues, sir. Elizabeth would certainly take issue with Irishmen killing her royal subjects.”
“Aye. I cannot say it either, Callaghan. That is the real reason I’ve agreed to sail to Spain and to deliver the message to Philip. We may verra well need his help should Elizabeth’s advisors convince her of Mary’s guilt in the sordid affair.”
Quinn gazed into her goblet, thinking back to that fateful night when they’d set fire to Darnley’s home and then killed him when he tried to escape. “You don’t think Mary would implicate us, do you?”
Grace poured herself more whiskey and drank it in one shot. “What I know, Callaghan, is that a good ruler must do whatever she can to continue rulin’ her people. It is what must be done. Mary’s responsibility is to Scotland–not to a bunch of Irish pirates. I’m afraid I have placed us smack in the middle of their fight without findin’ a way out first.”
“And you think King Philip might be that way?”
Grace shrugged. “I am hopin’ so. It is the only card I have to play at the moment, which is why I need ya to swear ya will continue on even if somethin’ happens to me.”
Quinn shot her whiskey back without making a face. “Elizabeth has allowed Mary to remain on the throne this long. Why remove her now?”
“Because the bloody queen of England, like her father before her, wants it all. England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland–hell, she’d go after France if she thought she could. So far, she has been verra successful in bribin’ our chieftains to become nobles and lords with all those mucky-muck titles. Slowly, she is buyin’ up chunks of Ireland. We need to stop her before we no longer look like ourselves.”
Quinn was only slightly convinced that it wasn't already too late. “I understand, Captain. We will deliver Mary’s plea and then get our arses back to Ireland.”
Grace rose, signaling an end to the meeting. “Inform the crew, Callaghan. I need them to understand. I need them to be stronger than they’ve ever been and to keep believin’ in me and our goal.”
“I’ll do my best, Captain.” As Quinn started out the door, she slowly turned back. “Captain, it’s not at all like you to be so unsure of the crew. Do... is everything all right?”
“It’s just a feelin’ I cannot name, Callaghan. Ya know how I trust my gut... and somethin’ tells me this journey may be windier than most.”
“Windy, Captain? You expect trouble?”
Grace finished her whiskey and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I always expect trouble, Callaghan. Always.”
* * *
I must admit to being slightly shaken at Grace’s demeanor. After all, this is a woman who can look out on the horizon and tell what kind of storm is approaching and when. For her to feel insecure about the crew’s understanding or acceptance worries me.
Grace is not a weak woman.
I can’t help but wonder if she has had a vision or dream of some sort. I’ve heard she often puts stock in those, but in seven years I can’t say that I’ve seen it directed at anything but the weather. She has an uncanny knack at seeing the weather before it happens, so I can only hope that fact is true for other dangers coming toward us.
Whatever the case, I did as she bade and made certain all knew the dangers of landing on Spanish soil.
The Catholics among us felt no such fears or inhibitions, but the rest of us murmured amongst ourselves. Those of us who still worship the Goddess know we are the first to get dragged off to some torture device. I made sure Murphy kept quiet about the specific torturous activities the Spanish were so fond of. No need for the men to feel that fear unnecessarily. We are, after all, coming as allies to the Pope and King Philip, not as adversaries. We have nothing to fear on that score.
Or so I believe.
Lately, my thoughts drift back to Fiona and Becca and how difficult it was to say goodbye to Fiona once and for all. I still hurt from missing her. I ache from longing for her. But it is, at it must be, completely over now.
Since Robert is moving Fiona from Blackrock Castle to his manor, it makes it even harder for me to see her, which is just as well.
To be in love with a woman I could not have has slowly cut away pieces of my soul. Every time I saw Gallagher, I was reminded that I will always be an outsider looking in on the family I wish I could have. And my heart slowly breaks because of it.
It broke even more when I gazed into Becca’s eyes and saw a woman who loves me in spite of my inability to let Fiona go. She looks at me, I imagine, as I do Fiona, and yet I could not make even the slightest commitment to her.
Then there is Evan: a woman who, like me, dresses as a man and who is bound to Lake, her Scottish warrior. She has touched my soul in ways I never thought possible, but in the end we had to let go of each other as well because she is, after all, a Scottish land warrior and I am an Irish pirate. Where could we even go with a relationship made up of those two things?
Still, try as I may, I cannot get her out of my mind at all. She is there with me all the time. Her lips on mine were the sweetest things I have ever tasted, and I long for more. I long for her, but alas, that isn’t meant to be, either.
Even as Tavish raced back with the gold for the bribe, Evan and Lake came to us with two sacks of gold in an effort to aid us in buying Grace’s freedom. I could not have loved her any more than at that moment. There they were, two proud Scottish warriors, offering up gold to help an Irish pirate.
It was enough to make me cry, but not enough to make me love her so badly that I could leave the sea. That I cannot do. So when Evan and I parted ways, we both understood it was not for lack of love. It was, quite sadly, life circumstances.
So it would seem I have failed every woman in my life except Grace.
I am no better than any other man on this ship. I woo women. I bed them. I allow them to fall in love with someone they cannot have and will never know the truth about... except for Becca, Fiona, and Evan. They know. They love me in spite of that knowledge—in spite of the way I come and go in their lives.
What do any of them get from me?
Not long ago, Grace
told me that if at the end of every day I could look into the mirror and respect the face that looked back, then it mattered not whether that face was a man’s or a woman’s.
I used to believe that.
I am not so certain I can these days.
I am a user of women.
I am a killer.
I am a thief.
And at the end of every day, I am still a woman dressed as a man, lying to people who would risk life and limb to save the person they think I am. I no longer look in the mirror at the end of the day.
I am afraid of what will be glaring back at me.
* * *
They hadn’t been on the water but a day when they came upon an English vessel laying low in the water. Very low. That meant it was carrying goods worth having, and Quinn knew that meant boarding her.
“Goin’ after her, Captain?” One Eye asked.
Grace peered through the telescope for a long moment before slowly lowering it and looking at him. “She’s sittin’ awfully low, fellas.”
At that moment, Quinn knew what Grace was considering. She would attack the English ship for plunder that she’d then let the crew split amongst them. It would keep them sated as they sailed into dangerous waters against an unpredictable foe on a mission no one but Grace wished to be on.
And King Philip was just that unpredictable.
He had proposed to Elizabeth in a political move designed to get a Catholic closer to the English throne. When she had waited too long to reply, he had turned his attention elsewhere.
It was the way of monarchs, Quinn supposed.
And now, watching the ship laden with goods before them, Quinn understood precisely what Grace would do in order to appease her crew.
It was exactly what Grace did the moment they approached the ship.
The Firsts were so called because they were the biggest warriors who could cut a man in half as easily as punching him, so they boarded the vessel first. Because there were fewer of them, they could swing away at will, cutting down the enemy and clearing the deck.
Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3) Page 2
