Paul tipped his head. “So, you’re a pro. Where’d you learn to wield a sword like that?”
I looked down at my adept sword-slinger stance and said, “Actually, I have no idea.”
I considered the idea of Grace training her daughter in stealth swordsmanship. The lost daughter. Maybe the skill had been passed down somehow.
I shook my head to set the thought aside. But I’d be sure to practice my form to perfection. I knew that much.
“Looks a little strange to the unsuspecting eye, Taoiseach.” Rory’s voice came up from behind me. “You realize you’re in public, right?” He pressed his lips together and tipped his head.
Paul stood up straight and lost his playfulness. His primal response to Rory hadn’t changed a bit, even after all we’d been through together.
Rory nodded at Paul and walked up to me.
“Now that the official business is taken care of,” he started, “I aim to find out your plans on returnin’ stolen lands to the MacMahons.” His original pleasant tone dropped a few octaves to something more serious.
My eyebrows shot up in curiosity as I watched the look in his eyes change from jovial to sinister. My eyes narrowed trying to recognize him through his unfamiliar stare.
“I don’t mean to rush you,” he added, “but sure, you and I both know there’s unfinished business to all this. Castles and land, taken by force.” He stepped closer and leaned in to me, glaring into my eyes. “I aim ta get back what’s mine.”
Paul stepped forward with an arm out, creating space between Rory and me.
I held Rory’s stare, feeling his aggressive posturing as a direct threat. Grace’s ring sizzled on my finger as it awoke with the sensation of molten lava.
“Back off, Rory.” I held my palm up at his chest to stop his pressuring. “Negotiations are still to come. But now that I’ve been appointed O’Malley Chieftain by my kinsmen, it’s my lineage-based duty to act as custodian to my clan.”
“Ya think yer royalty now or somethin’?” His eyebrows pressed together and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
His classic insecurity seeped through his nervous fidgeting.
He knew my clan held more power over his. Through war and politics of medieval times, the status of the O’Malley clan grew powerful. It was time now for me to restore it.
“I’m Chieftain of the O’Malley Clan, Rory. It’s who I am.”
“So it is.” He pressed his lips together in a tight line.
He reached for the hilt of my sword and I swatted his hand away with a solid chop of my wrist.
Rory pulled his arm back and held it to his ribs protectively.
“Well, ya’d be needin’ ta watch your back then.” He looked from me to Paul, then back at me.
“Seems our friend from Clare Island, you know, the freaky warrior… He’s none too pleased with the proceedings. I thought ya should know. In case you get a visit from ’im.”
He looked at Paul with raised eyebrows, as if passing responsibility of my well-being to him.
My eyes shot wide open. “What do you mean?”
Rory pulled his sleeve up and exposed his inner forearm. A festering burn covered the majority of the area. It was fresh and raw, nearly still smoking.
“Oh my god, Rory!” I bent in and looked closer at the burn.
As the image took form in my mind, I shot upright and stepped back.
The same tribal marking had been tattooed on Fergal’s arm. It was an exact match.
Paul turned pale and stared at Rory in surprise and then looked back at the mark.
“He branded you,” Paul stated.
Rory lifted his chin once, in a subtle nod and covered his arm.
“Keep your sword by ya at all times, Maeve,” Rory directed me. “He may be holdin’ ya accountable for Fergal’s death. Don’t want to take any chances.”
He shook his head at the unfortunate possibilities.
I swallowed hard and looked around at the clouds and searched for any sign of a breeze or red haze. I stole a glimpse of Rory from the corner of my eye and searched him for clues.
I wondered if the warrior had turned him against me. Were we truly destined to be enemies?
And who else might be against me?
Patricia flashed in my mind in the same moment and I turned to Paul instinctively. He’d dismissed her involvement so easily. Yet she’d had direct contact with Fergal and his rogue tribe. She’d put Paul in harm’s way.
All of us, really.
My eyes narrowed as my fear of her turned from jealousy to that of a true foe.
Rory squinted his eyes and shot me a sideways glance.
“On the brighter side,” he interjected, “I heard from some inner council members—there was more than just maps and deeds in the scrolls, ya know.”
He looked straight into my eyes waiting for me to take the bait.
“What do you mean?”
What else could there be, besides maps and deeds?
My mind raced.
Rory pressed his lips together and smiled.
“Love letters.” He lifted his eyebrows at me.
My eyes darted to Paul’s.
We never actually saw the full contents. The scrolls were taken to a museum for proper opening and preservation, then stored there in the name of the O’Malley Clan.
“Love letters?” I looked back to Rory.
“Yup. Loads of ’em.” He smirked a half smile. “In Hugh’s handwritin’, and the written word of Gráinne Ní Mháille, herself. Controversial, too, I hear.” He winked and he walked away with familiar arrogance in his stride.
I followed his confident gait as he sauntered toward the city center as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His black boots dragged at the back with each step. I pictured the high laces that hid under his jeans. My eyes moved higher and I forced myself to look away.
I turned with a guilty smile and fell right into Paul’s watchful gaze. His tilted head and pinched eyebrows slapped the smile off my face and I laughed.
“Warriors and love letters. Sheesh,” I huffed. And my eyes glued themselves to the sidewalk as we headed to McSwiggan’s for pints.
“Told ya he couldn’t be trusted,” Paul said through clenched teeth.
***
My fingers clung to the envelope in my lap as we pulled up to St. Mary’s House of Tears. They were expecting us but didn’t know the extent of the news we had for them or the value of the investment funds in the envelope.
It didn’t take me a split second to know what I would do with the trust fund. The deeds led to a fortune of land, castles, and valuable historical documents beyond measure. All granted to the O’Malley Clan and placed in my guardianship.
Aside from securing professional restoration and preservation of the Clare Island Abbey and the castle ruin, as well as Rockfleet, I had a bigger plan, and the O’Malley Clan Tribal Council members—the ‘Original Three’ from Ballynahinch—supported it unanimously, with agreement from the entire Clan Council of Elders.
I still had to wonder though, what the true intentions of the ‘Original Three’ were. I had broken the wax seal on their letter and read it the night before Clan Council. I kept the contents secret because they made no sense to me.
Why would they send me details of a marriage to O’Flaherty? As if it had anything to do with me.
But the nag it created in the back of my mind wouldn’t stop. They called me “the lost daughter” and seemed hell-bent on making more out of it. And they had said the ring held the secret.
What secret?
I looked down at the ring on my hand and examined the bulky design and mythical details. It held a million secrets, across the centuries and through Grace and Hugh’s love story.
I rubbed the top gemstone and ran my finger along the far side of the setting. It moved across a straight line of metal, like a thick wire, and I rubbed back and forth on it, feeling minute bumps and ridges that I hadn’t noticed before.
<
br /> I turned my hand to see the far side of the ring and stared at the small seam of metal, camouflaged among the intricate Celtic artwork. My eyes widened as I gasped and covered my mouth with my other hand.
I was staring at a hinge. The ring was a locket of some kind.
The door flew open and Mary welcomed us in with warm embrace.
“Brigid is inside awaitin’ yer arrival. Come in out of the chill.”
She ushered us in to the kitchen where the kettle was set to boil and my mind quickly moved back to the visit.
“How’s Brigid been these days? Is she okay?” I remembered her crazed state last time I visited and worried she was still frenzied to that level.
“She’s well. The letter you sent was helpful. It explained everything to her in a way she could grasp. On her own time.” Mary nodded with pleasure. “She read it over and over, for days, until she came to believe every word.”
Mary poured the tea.
“She’s more grounded since. Like a reckonin’ or a comin’ home,” she added.
“Can I see her?” My knees bounced out my jitters.
“Go on.” She swooshed at me with her tea towel. “She’s in the sittin’ room. I’ll entertain Paul here. No worries.”
She passed him the milk for his tea and gave him an encouraging tap on the shoulder to drink up.
Brigid sat facing the fire with her head tipped to the side. She stared into the flickering light as if in a trance. I swallowed and moved closer, feeling my optimism wane.
“Hello, Brigid.”
She flinched, like being woken from a dream, and turned to me with a bright smile.
“Hello, Maeve.” She bounced up and came to me. “Thanks for comin’.”
Her arms reached out to embrace me. My inner micro-muscles flexed in preparation for the flight response, but I concealed the natural reaction with my returned hug.
She smiled as sincerity shone from her eyes.
“Won’t ya sit down?” She gestured to the upholstered chair next to hers.
We sat in silence for a moment and my spine stiffened as I searched for words. I had no idea what to say at a time like this.
“So, you got my letter…?” I mumbled.
“Maeve. Everything’s different now.” She leaned closer and gazed directly into my eyes. “I have a clarity I haven’t felt since I was a teen. I know meself again.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m no longer lost.”
She reached for my hand and squeezed it.
“You saved m’ life, Maeve.”
My eyes widened and I gulped on the tightening tickle in my throat. Her words were unexpected and my response to them even more so. My eyes filled with heavy tears and they poured over my lids in thick wet streams while I kept my gaze fixed on hers, never blinking, certain to not miss a word.
She continued.
“Grace had been comin’ to me for years. I thought to kill me. Or at least to drive me mad. But she needed me. She needed me to do what you have done. I just didn’t know.” She shook her head. “I was too frightened.”
Her face fell as she stared at her wringing hands in her lap.
“You just needed someone to believe you.” I leaned forward. “To understand.”
“Yes. That has made all the difference.” Her lips curled up in a gentle smile and her eyes twinkled as she took a slow, deep inhale and let it flow out of her like years of isolation and fear draining from every pore.
Mary bounced into the room with a clanging tray of tea.
“How’re me ladies?” she sang and brightened the room. “Brid?”
Brigid held eye contact with me, as if fighting to keep the dream going.
“Good, Mary. T’anks.”
Mary’s eyebrows scrunched as her head pulled back in surprise. She blinked at Brigid as if she didn’t recognize her.
“Well, okay then. Shan’t keep Mr. McGratt waitin’ in the kitchen.”
She left the tray for us and headed back toward the door, keeping a curious watchful eye over her shoulder on Brigid.
Brigid passed me a tea cup and pushed the milk jug closer.
“So now what?” She shook her head in bewilderment. “I feel like I have a new life to live.”
I bit my lip to suppress the huge smile that pushed its way out.
“I have an idea for you, Brigid. And for Mary.” My eyebrows shot up in anticipation of her response.
Brigid’s eyes widened and her back straightened.
I continued, “And for St. Mary’s.”
“What is it?” she whispered, moving in closer to me with twinkling eyes.
***
“Mary! Mary! Mary! Mary!” Brigid’s voice filled the house and burst into the kitchen.
I followed her racing form, feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl.
Paul’s chair screeched against the floor as he stood in alarm.
The last time he heard Brigid yelling Mary’s name that way was a complete disaster and he jumped to defensive attention.
“Mary!” Brigid embraced her in a powerful hold that nearly lifted Mary off her feet. “It’s all going to be okay. We can stay!”
“What?” Mary’s face fell in disbelief. “Whatcha mean, Brid? Are ya jokin’ me, now?”
“No, there’s money, Mary. A trust fund to keep St. Mary’s. To turn her into a learning institute. For archaeology. And Celtic history. Like a retreat for students to come do research and, and….” Brigid’s feet danced as she spoke.
Mary’s hands flew to her mouth with a gasp. Her drawn look of fear and apprehension pulled up and brightened into a look of belief and hope.
“Really...?” Mary turned to me for assurance.
I nodded and smiled as Brigid went on.
“We can run it, Mary. Like fine Irish hospitality. And I’ll be the one to tell everyone about Grace O’Malley. Sure, I’m an expert.” She burst out laughing as the words flew out of her.
Mary looked at me again with eyebrows raised.
I nodded at her.
“We’ll call it, ‘The Gráinne Ní Mháille Historical Institute of Higher Learning,’” I confirmed.
Mary’s hands flew to her mouth again.
“NUIG has already agreed to back it,” Paul added, with a hint of pride in his tone.
NUIG’s offer to Paul went beyond his wildest dreams and his path to tenure unfolded in front of him with every step closer to the GMH Institute.
He continued, “And they want to create a national memorial. To the mothers and babies whose souls passed through here.”
His lips pressed together as we all held a moment of silence.
Mary picked her head up, eyes misted.
She moved to the table and flopped onto a chair.
“Well, I’ll be.”
THE END
Thank you for reading! Don’t miss the Pirate Queen novels with book 3, BALLYCROY, available now. And keep reading for the included excerpt next! For more from Jennifer Rose McMahon, check out www.jenniferrosemcmahon.com and join her mailing list HERE.
When your dreams become reality, the legends become truth.
Pursued by Ireland’s notorious pirate queen, Maeve O’Malley is on a quest to Ireland’s medieval past to save the future of her clan and break her ancient family curse. Learning to use her haunting visions to travel to medieval Ireland leads Maeve on the adventure of a lifetime, or centuries of lifetimes.
Torn between the legends of ancient Ireland and the truths of modern life, her loved ones pressure her to end the visions and leave history undisturbed. But her unexpected loyalty to a familiar medieval boy from the loathed rival clan complicates matters.
Time is running out as threats of clan battles clash with the burden to make things right when Maeve realizes the danger of becoming trapped in the past forever and is forced to make the boldest decision of her life.
BUY NOW!
Ballycroy
Chapter One
I was crazy to have come back here. Alone.
But
it was in this one place of somber silence and final resting that I was sure I could face my demons. The visions lurked behind every blink causing a nervous tick in my eye. Finding a new way to battle them drove me back here. Every time.
I sat cross-legged in front of the still burial mound while the time-worn Celtic crosses of generations of my family leaned in around me with spying curiosity. There wasn’t much protection, though, from family members who had passed centuries ago, and I had to wonder how safe I actually was here.
Heavy mist blanketed the medieval graveyard, adding an unnatural layer of anxiety to my already chilled, twitching body. I’d been hunted here before, so it was no surprise my natural instinct was to run. An Irish family curse was never my first choice of afflictions, but I’d come to accept it as part of my soul at this point in my life. But now, at my wits end, it was time I confronted it.
My eyes fell shut listening to the rhythmic sound of my breath moving in and out of me. I'd come to the cemetery for answers. Guidance. But the eerie silence deafened me.
Only about an hour had passed since battling my rival, Rory, in the solicitor’s office back in Galway. It had been a modern-day clan feud, now referred to as a legal battle, between two chieftains determining territorial rights and the actual power a clan could wield—particularly when its numbers had dwindled to near extinction. Like mine. If I could have pulled a sword out instead of a pen, it would have gone much better for me, I was sure. At least I would have felt more confident that way.
I smirked to myself at the image of me wielding a sword against Rory. It seemed almost more natural. And effective.
But my smile faded as the crushing weight of being named leader of my clan, with no clue on how to do it, tore at my soul. I didn't want it. And, by a long shot, I wasn't worthy. I was barely twenty years old.
How would I be able to restore balance to my clan after five hundred years of decimation, clan feuds, famine, emigration? The notion triggered my flight response every time I considered it. And my flight response had already piqued to its highest setting.
My eyes darted around me by instinct as my heart rate accelerated. My anxiety had become a routine part of my day, constantly looking over my shoulder for my assailant.
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