Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3)

by Alex Westmore

  Quinn felt something akin to butterflies fluttering in her belly. “Ya don’t know how much that would mean to me, Evan. To know we both desire a time and place just fer us.”

  Evan grinned as she put her clothes back on. “If we live to tell the story, it’ll be a tale worth listenin’ to.”

  As they dressed, Quinn felt a sense of hope roll over her. “Then let’s promise each other to live.”

  Strapping on her sword belt, Evan nodded. “Well, me sweet one, ya have that promise.”

  * * *

  Once Kwame was buried, the entire group settled in for the evening. While the men drank and shared stories of victorious battles, Quinn gently pulled Maggie away from the group.

  “How is he?”

  “Stubborn, that one, but he listened to reason. Lake was very clear about the dangers to you and the other Celts by carting him around. Smart move, there. Tavish would sooner have both arms removed than cause you any pain. The man loves you to the depths of his soul.”

  Nodding, Quinn sat on the damp ground and waited for Maggie to do the same. “Thank you for loving him, Maggie.”

  She waved off the sentiment. “He is an easy man to love. He is loyal, kind, intelligent, and honest. I knew he was someone special that first night in the dungeon–the gentleness in his voice when he spoke about you, the way he laughed about some of your escapades. Becoming part of your crew gave him purpose, Callaghan, which in turn brought him to me.”

  “And how are you, Maggie?”

  Maggie looked off in the distance. “Battered but not beaten. Used but not empty. That Tavish would still have me after knowing what I’ve been through... ” her voice trailed off. “He is remarkable.” Maggie turned back to Quinn. “What about you, Callaghan? How are you?”

  Quinn felt the burn of tears in her eyes. “I am... tired. I have lost my way, Maggie. I no longer recognize myself. While I have loved the pirate life, I grow weary of the killing, of the politics. Too much death and dying. Too many lies and facades to keep track of. Too much of this and too little of that.”

  “Yes, I can feel your restless nature. At first, I believed it was because you wished to go home. Then I realized it was something else entirely. Now, I know what.”

  “And?”

  Maggie glanced over Quinn’s shoulder at the campfire. “Young Evan. You wish to be loved, to love back, to be who you are and to be cherished for it.”

  The tears collected themselves and then dropped. “Aye.”

  “Life on the sea can’t be an easy one, my dear, but if you truly feel lost and apart from yourself, you must heal that first before you commit to another. No one helps us find ourselves. That is a journey we each must take alone.”

  When Fitz called them back to the fire, only Maggie returned, leaving Quinn alone with her thoughts.

  Kwame and Connor were dead.

  Her old life was dead.

  Her relationship with Fiona was dead.

  So much death was eating away at her. How could they go back after nearly a month away and restart lives everyone else thought were dead?

  By now everyone’s lives would had moved on, the initial sadness now just a dull throb.

  Maybe it was best if she just left it that way. Maybe if Kieran Callaghan was dead, Quinn Gallagher could return to... to what? She would never again be a woman in a gilded cage, but... she could be some other man. She could start her life over as a farmer, as a smithy, as someone living on the land in peace. Maybe she would even be able to find and keep love. Maybe she could settle into a peaceful life where she wasn’t in danger every hour of every day.

  Quinn smiled softly.

  A boring life sounded sublime to her now that two of her dear friends were no longer in her current life.

  Rising from the cold ground, Quinn glanced up at the moon and made her decision.

  * * *

  The galloglaigh got Quinn and her group to the coast without incident. As they all said their goodbyes to the enormous redheaded warriors, Quinn motioned her men to the Irish merchant vessel preparing to pull out of port.

  “Ya sure ya want to leave Sayyida’s ship at port, Callaghan? We can get a pretty bit of gold fer it, ya know,” One Eye muttered to her.

  Quinn nodded. “I know, but it’s not ours as I won’t have us sailin’ around in a heretic ship. Uh-uh. We’ve had enough torture for one life. I will send word to Sayyida where she can find her ship.”

  One Eye, then Fitz, then Maggie walked up the gangway. Only Tavish stayed behind with Quinn.

  “Yer not comin’ with us, are ya?”

  Quinn cocked her head. He knew her so well. “How did you know?”

  “I ken ya pretty well, laddie. Is it Evan?”

  Shaking her head, Quinn moved closer. “No, Tavish. I... I need the four of you to swear you will tell Grace and everyone who asks that I died.”

  Tavish reeled back as if slapped. “Whoa. Wait a minute.”

  “I cannot continue this charade any longer, Tavish. I am one big lie in pirate’s clothing. It is eating away at my spirit. I must find a way to live in this world being who I am.”

  Tavish’s composure quickly recovered. “Aye, lad. That much I understand. But there are folks who... who love ya and will be crushed to think yer dead.”

  “And they’ve already mourned the loss of me, old friend. I need to do this. For me.”

  Tavish nodded, his face downcast. “I’ll agree to it on one condition. Ya send word everra now and again to Galway lettin’ me—us—ken ya are alive and well.”

  “Fine. The message will read thusly: the fruit is growing well, the tree is strong, it looks like a great harvest.”

  Tavish nodded. It was evident by his demeanor that he did not know how to say goodbye.

  “We shall see each other again, dear friend. Go home to Blackrock and watch over Fiona. I do not trust her husband, and once she has moved from the castle, she will be isolated. Take Maggie with you and start a new life.”

  “I’ll not be goin’ back to Ireland, lad. My home is here, now. With Maggie.”

  Quinn threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Then I hope you both make your new home a wonderful one. Now go before we both start bawling.”

  Tavish sniffed, pulled away, and slowly trudged up the gangplank.

  “Yer loved more’n ya realize, Cap,” came Evan’s voice from behind her. “I’m willin’ to bet ya broke his big old Scottish heart just now.”

  Joining Evan and the rest of the galloglaigh, Quinn took another ten steps before she heard someone running heavily down the plank.

  “Not so fast, Callaghan.” It was Fitz.

  “My mind is made up,” she said, facing him.

  “Of that I am certain. I did not come to talk ya outta it. I came to tell ya I’ve never fought next to ennaone as brave as ya. Yer a good captain, a great fighter, and a person I am proud to call a friend. If ever ya need me, Callaghan, ya know where to find me.” Fitz pulled her into a bone-crushing hug before running back up the gangway.

  “Most folks would kill to have one friend like him, my love. Ya? Ya have ten times that. Are ya so sure ya have to leave ’em?”

  “Aye, Evan. They’ll merely confirm what the good ship already knows, and they can go on with their lives.”

  “And ya? Where does yer life take ya, Callaghan? Where do ya go to heal the gapin’ wounds in yer soul?”

  “There’s only been one place and one person who can help me find myself, Evan, and I have no doubt she’s already expectin’ me.”

  * * *

  “Bronwen.”

  The tall, statuesque druid priestess opened her arms and folded Quinn in them. “Quinn.”

  They stood in that embrace a long time before Quinn slowly pulled out of it. Casting a glance over Bronwen’s shoulder, Quinn saw two place settings at an outdoor table. “You knew I’d come.”

  “I knew you were alive and hoped you would, yes. Come. You look exhausted.”

  It had taken Quinn
another week of traveling through Scotland with Evan and Lake before she boarded a small Scottish ship that would take her to the coast of Northern Ireland. Once there, she had said a tearful goodbye to Evan, reminded her of their promise, and had taken a horse into the forest where Bronwen lived.

  “I am more than tired, Bronwen. I am... empty.”

  Bronwen helped Quinn out of her clothes and into a soft, white druid’s robe two sizes too large. Then she sat Quinn at the table and bade her to eat first, talk later.

  Quinn was ravenous and quickly devoured the soup, bread, and meat.

  “Now that you have your strength, why don’t you tell me why you are here.”

  And so Quinn did. Sometimes with laughter, most of the time through tears, she told the whole story of the last six and a half years of her life as a pirate aboard Grace O’Malley’s ship.

  When at last she had finished, Bronwen smiled and lay her hand on top of Quinn’s. “You’ve had quite a journey, my dear friend, but it has been a journey away from yourself, and that has put you well out of balance. Let me ask you this: Do you like Kieran Callaghan?”

  A smile jumped onto Quinn’s face. “Very much so.”

  “What is it you like about him?”

  Speaking of her alter ego in this tense was strange to Quinn, but she had no shortage of replies. “Callaghan is loyal, brave, cunning, smart, strong, independent, wise, thoughtful–”

  Bronwen held up her hand. “Is Quinn Gallagher all of those?”

  Quinn frowned and slowly shook her head. “Actually, no.”

  “I see. So what we must do, my friend, is to find a way for you to accept which one of your personas you are going to be while allowing the other one to die.”

  “I thought Quinn Gallagher was already dead.”

  Bronwen brushed a stray hair from Quinn’s forehead. “Is she?”

  Quinn thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes. Yes, she is. I am no longer that young woman whose life was dictated by social convention.”

  “Then we must first bury her for now and forever–her, her life, her family, her entire world. You must be willing to completely let her go so you can embrace the person you are going to be.”

  Quinn stared down at the table. It had to be done. Quinn Gallagher hadn’t been dead for just one month–she’d been dead since the moment Quinn stepped foot on Grace’s ship.

  “To hang onto that which no longer exists is a waste of both time and energy, Quinn. You are no longer that woman and, I daresay, are incapable of ever going back. The only question that remains is, who do you wish to be?”

  Quinn thought back to her many exotic adventures, her friends, her loves. Although she had loved being Kieran Callaghan, she wasn’t sure she could be pirate Callaghan any longer.

  “I want to be a woman who is loved by another woman, but I see no future in that, Bron. For me to have a woman fall in love with me now, I need to be dishonest in my representation of myself first, and that is how I got so lost in the first place.”

  Bronwen rose and walked to the fire. “And that is where we disagree, my friend. It wasn’t the ruse that made you unbalanced. It was not trusting those who loved you with the truth of who you are. If you do not trust people to accept who you truly are, how can you accept yourself?” Bronwen threw a log on the fire. “Can you see how others would like Kieran Callaghan?”

  “Aye.”

  Bronwen motioned for Quinn to join her. “They do not like him because he wears pants and swings a sword, Quinn. They like him because he is a good person, a loyal crew member, a giving lover, a strong leader. Those traits came from in here.” Bronwen laid her hand on Quinn’s chest. “Do not confuse gender with characteristics.”

  Quinn stared into the fire. Was that what she’d been doing all along?

  “You say this–” Bronwen waved her hand in the air at Quinn “–is a ruse. What if it wasn’t?”

  Tilting her head in question, Quinn waited.

  “What if the only real deceit was your gender—a gender you hid so you could remain with your new family? Is that so wrong?”

  “They would think so.”

  Bronwen raised an eyebrow. “Did your crystal ball show you that?” She smiled softly. “Those men trusted you. They trusted you time and time again with their lives, Quinn. Their lives, and yet you have not trusted them with the truth. This is the imbalance. This is why you are lost. You have an entire cadre of wonderful—and perhaps some not so wonderful—people who have entrusted their lives and their hearts to you, and yet you’ve not had the courage to be as forthcoming with yours. What is it you fear, Quinn?”

  “Rejection.”

  Bronwen shook her head. “That is just the simplest answer. Try again.”

  Quinn frowned. “I fear they... ” She looked up at Bronwen. “I’m afraid they won’t trust me as a woman.”

  A slow smile tickled at the corners of Bronwen’s mouth. “And there you have it. You love the role you have as Callaghan. Their respect and admiration, faith and trust, mean a great deal to you. You don’t trust them enough to give Quinn Gallagher the same chance to earn those emotions from them because you don’t trust Quinn Gallagher. You, my friend, for all of your swashbuckling tales, have lost faith in who you are.”

  Suddenly, Quinn felt very tired. “Did you–”

  “Drug you? No. I didn’t need to. Your spirit is hollow, my friend. Come. Rest by the fire in that tent. Close your eyes and open both mind and heart. We have a great deal of work to do in the morning.”

  Trudging for the tent, Quinn sighed. “I am going to need more than one morning, aren’t I?”

  Bronwen chuckled. “Oh, sweet girl, you’re going to need many, many mornings. Rest up. A new life awaits you in the morning.”

  * * *

  I have been in the woods with Bronwen for nearly half a year now. So much has changed since I came here, an empty shell of a person–not male, not really female. My spirit had fractured–divided–so I could not feel whole until I could reconcile my two very different halves.

  Bronwen continues to amaze me. Her patience is such an incredible virtue, and I see it every day she works with me.

  And we’ve not stopped working for six months. Today was the first day I finally began to understand what had happened to me six years ago when I first sailed on the Malendroke.

  When I stepped on board and into what was to soon become my home and family, I didn’t understand that I would forever leave behind the woman I was.

  Forever.

  I believed I could or would get back to her someday, but with every passing moment of the freedoms I felt as a man, more and more of Quinn Gallagher died.

  Until she was dead.

  Her death was not something I was prepared for or even accepted fully until Bronwen and I performed a cord-cutting ceremony, releasing my past completely.

  Completely.

  I could no longer look over my shoulder to ensure there was a life, or at least a semblance of one, for me to go back to. Like a child, I’d kept it in reserve, just in case.

  Bronwen has helped me release such childish notions.

  “One cannot move forward with one foot rooted in the past,” she kept saying.

  No matter who I was going to be, I was not ever going to be Quinn Gallagher again.

  So I had to come to terms with that and what it meant.

  While I hadn’t fully embraced being Callaghan, I’d not completely walked way from Quinn Gallagher.

  Today, I have. Today, I felt the last remnants of that old life lift from my heart and flutter away, leaving me with the question: Who am I to become?

  Bronwen also taught me that I had to stop seeing Callaghan as someone outside myself. I hadn’t realized how often I’d referred to myself in the third person–as if Kieran Callaghan was not me. In doing so, I left my spirit in an abyss–not really knowing who I was.

  I am Callaghan the pirate, but I am not a man and can no longer pretend to be one. If I am to be loved, it will
be as a female pirate like Sayyida and Grace, not as a woman pretending to be a man.

  “One can wear a mask too long before forgetting what was beneath it,” Bronwen counseled.

  I love life on a pirate ship.

  Life and death.

  Yet I had not accepted that fact. I felt it made me a bad person–that the love of adventure and joy of danger somehow darkened my soul.

  Bronwen explained that not accepting one’s true nature is what darkens our spirit and chains it to that netherworld of blindness.

  One’s true self.

  My true self.

  I am a pirate.

  I am a female pirate who loves all that that role entails. It is my life, and the sea, which I have missed dearly, continues to call for me. I hear her every night when I lay my head down. I smell the salt air. I feel it like a lover’s kiss upon my face.

  And I long to embrace her once more.

  It has been six long months since I landed at Bronwen’s feet a broken, confused mess. Six months away from my mistress, the sea.

  Bronwen says it is time I visit her once more—just for a week, to make certain it is where I wish to be.

  I do not know how I will be able to board any vessel as Quinn Callaghan, female pirate, but I must try.

  I owe it to myself, to the woman in pirate’s attire, to openly be who I am.

  And who I am is a damned fine fighter, a loyal friend, and a woman who now knows not to settle for a face but to remove the mask and be myself.

  I.

  Am.

  A.

  Pirate.

  * * *

  “One week, Quinn, and then you must return here. We are not finished with your lessons. Do not get engulfed by your love of the sea.”

  Those were the last words Bronwen said to Quinn before sending her to the coastal town of Howth, just outside of Dublin.

  Quinn still wore her jerkin, pants, and boots, but she no longer strapped her pert breasts down.

  She was who she was and would have to learn how to deal with the reality of being a woman in men’s clothing.