“DROP ANCHOR AND lower the sails, lads!” Grace’s eyes glittered with mischief as she looked upon Clew Bay. Even in her advanced years, she moved swiftly, easily keeping up with her men and leading them effortlessly. She had made quite a name for herself, and as Thomas looked around the Irish port and pirate paradise, excitement flooded him. It was very similar to how it was when he was just a lad. Hundreds of smaller islands littered the bay, making it nearly impossible for enemy ships to navigate the waters. The terrain was as flat as could be in some places, then covered in hills and tall trees in others. Even the air smelled the same and when Thomas inhaled deeply, the scent of salt, seaweed, and something unique to these waters drifted in the cold breeze. Clouds gathered ominously overhead and he knew they were weighing anchor just in time to beat a brewing storm.
His grandmother’s fleet had grown extensively through the years. He had heard his grandmother had amassed a score of ships, each of their captains solely answering to her, though only half of them seemed to be in port. Because the inlets were so narrow, anchoring further out was the only option, leaving the crew to take turns exiting using the skiffs, rowing until they reached the shore.
The crunch of fine grains of sand beneath his boots sent a spark of memory through Thomas’s mind of that fateful day when his mama had sent him off to England. He could never be mad at his mother for her decision, but he could not help but dwell on all he had missed here at home, how he would never see his Uncle Owen again because of that bastard Bingham… and he would not forget the vengeance owed his Uncle Murrough for harming his mother all those years ago. He may have been in Ireland on the queen’s orders, to keep an eye on Bingham’s activities and seek out Spanish treasure, which he was almost certain his resourceful grandmother had already claimed, but he would make it a personal mission to see those two men brought to their knees.
In the deepest part of his soul, he wished to gut Richard Bingham like a pig, watch the man squirm as he slowly sliced his blade through his stomach, ripping out his entrails just before slicing his throat. Yet, murdering the queen’s man would only get him branded as a traitor. How he would be near the man and not kill him, Thomas could not know.
“Do ye remember home?” his grandmother asked when she jumped off the skiff next to him, her boots also crunching on the wet sand.
“Och, how could I ever forget?” Instinctively, he craned his neck to the west, seeing Rockfleet castle, his grandmother’s fortress and his former home, towering in the distance. Though Grace had always preferred to dock her ships and keep her crews a good distance down Clew Bay from her private home, Rockfleet Castle was a notoriously functional stronghold, with windows on its fourth floor allowing his grandmother to oversee all that transpired in her bay.
It was said that several years ago, the English had attempted an attack on Clew Bay and his grandmother had defended her home all by herself simply from her own castle. He did not put it past her and grunted at the thought.
It was solid stone on the outside, but the two middle levels were built with wood. Only the bottom and top layers were full rock. Being back here now, Thomas was overwhelmed by a sense of belonging he had not felt in over twenty years. Being a knight for the queen had been fulfilling to a point, but it had always felt forced, as if he was simply living by rote rules and requirements, doing what was expected of him day in and day out, serving those who oppressed his people. And while stories of mayhem continued to reach his ears from Ireland, the English nobles continued to live their lavish lifestyles in their fine fabrics and ridiculous styles. He had not even the option to choose his own bloody attire, being tied down by even those societal laws.
“Ye are quiet.”
Looking over to his grandmother, he only shrugged. “I am simply taking it all in. I had hoped to find ye eventually. I just had not thought to do so in such a way.” He chuckled and Grace laughed, slapping him on the back as they began to leave the shore and head toward the main bustle of the villiage. Clew Bay seemed to be home to many. Small timber homes were scattered in what was clearly an unplanned pattern, settlers choosing whatever scrap of land they deemed fit to build on. Most of these families were likely O’Malleys or those seeking safe refuge from the English.
Women wearing wool dresses, their colors faded, carried weathered baskets in their hands and children ran laughing in all directions. Dogs barked in the distance, running wild as they chased birds trying to land on the shore for a scrap of food. A dark-haired lad in torn brown breeches ran past him, smiling as his mother called him inside for a meal, and he was reminded of his own mother.
“How does Mama fare? She is living with her husband’s clan?”
Grace nodded. “Aye. She is a Burke now, just as my previous husband was. We share an important alliance with them. Your stepfather has saved me arse more times than I care to admit,” she chuckled. “Come,” she said, pointing to the largest building in the makeshift village. It was three stories high with long rectangular stone and wood walls. “This is where we unwind, ye ken. Though, these days I much prefer me quiet home and a warm hearth. I save me energy for the sea. Still, I have much to discuss with ye, as does Niall, I presume.”
Thomas could certainly use a mug of ale, or five. Or mayhap some whiskey. He had already lost his cursed ship and he wanted it back, but without the help of his pirate family, he was stranded and unarmed, as he had left all his weapons behind. Being an unarmed Englishman without a ship in a pirate stronghold made him feel rather like a sitting duck, but he was determined to change that.
Entering what he realized was a tavern and an inn, candles flickered from every table and sconces from every wall. A large iron chandelier, much more simplistic than anything at court, hung from the ceiling by a chain while short candles flickered above, casting shadows all around. Men shouted with laughter and banged mugs against tables, a few doing what Thomas thought a rather good jig, despite the lack of music. Thomas cracked a smile and popped his knuckles. This was his kind of establishment, not at all stuffy and pretentious like court life.
Serving lassies walked around the smoke-filled room carrying jugs of mead, their breasts spilling out the tops of their low-cut dresses. “Ye can take a wench later,” Grace said with a wave of her hand. “For now, we have much to discuss. Ah, there is Niall,” she pointed to the dark-haired man who already looked occupied by the lass on his lap. Thomas thought he would not mind a wench or two that night, but first he was unsure exactly what his grandmother wished to discuss aside from his lost ship. Perhaps she wanted to catch up on what they had missed, though she did not seem like the chatty type. She had always been an affectionate grandmother when he was a lad, but now she was more a stranger.
“Why are ye in Ireland?” Grace asked as she plopped down at a table, swiping her brimmed hat off her head and dropping it on the bench beside her.
“Drake died and left me a ship and a crew. The queen did not trust me to captain it—”
“Because ye are an O’Malley,” Grace interjected.
“Mayhap. I have been a knight for her for nearly a decade and fought in many battles, never showing any signs of disloyalty, but because of my birth and blood, I was always an outcast. She gave me a privateer’s commission, told me to track down and plunder any Spanish ships, and I could earn my ship and crew.”
Grace made a snorting sound that almost had ale flying out of her nose. “Lemme get this straight. Ye need to pirate for her, in order to be given the inheritance that was rightly left ye? And she sends Bingham over here to cut us pirates down, yet sends her own, aye?”
Anger simmered below the surface. His grandmother had the right of it. He had been thinking the very same thing, yet his loyalty to the queen had run so deep that he dared not allow those treasonous thoughts to fester in his brain. Hearing Grace voice those concerns now made him scowl at how hard he had worked and how little regard he had been given.
“And now her precious trustworthy captain has turned tail and taken off with y
er prize. The question is, what are ye goin’ to do about it?” Her brow lifted and Niall, as if sensing the conversation turning toward deeper business, pushed the wench off his lap, smacking her arse hard enough for the lass to squeal as she ran off.
“I have nay ship, crew, or weapons. Aside from my relation to ye, I am nobody here but the enemy.”
Grace took a long swig of ale before belching, slamming the mug on the table and wiping her mouth. “Ye are no enemy. I see it in yer eyes, love. Ye have finally come back to where ye know ye belong.” Before he could respond, Grace whistled at a passing man, and he came over obediently, awaiting the word of his queen. She whispered something in the man’s ear and without hesitation, he nodded, saluted her, and left the tavern.
Though her words made something inside Thomas’s chest clench with the opportunity for freedom and a life on the seas, he shook his head. “Nay. I am a knight of the realm. I was sent away to be just that, and my loyalties remain to the queen.” He knew his words sounded hollow, but he fought against his indecision. “I want to get my ship back and do my service.”
“That puts ye in a precarious position,” Niall chimed in, cracking his knuckles. “Ye cannot gain back yer ship without our help, and our help will require payment. And since ye have nothin’ to yer name, as ye say, ye will need to pay it off.”
“In the form of piracy, I expect ye mean,” Thomas growled. He had heard that most pirates did not choose to become pirates. They did so out of necessity. He understood that now more than ever.
“If ye want the aid of the Devils of the Deep, then aye.”
“I never said I wanted yer aid,” Thomas growled back before swigging his ale. Who was this man to him? “Tell me about Shaw MacDougall. Ye say I am his great-great-grandson? And ye are, as well? How so and what does that make us?”
“Shaw the Savage MacDougall was the adopted son of the Pirate King Arthur MacAlpin. He married a woman named Jane and together they had several children. Ye are the descendant of one of them children. So am I.”
Thomas scrunched his brow and looked at Niall and Grace, wondering how they could be so sure. “How do ye know this for certain?”
“Aside from the fact that ye look exactly like the portrait of the man hanging on the walls of Castle Dheomhan? Yer father is his great-grandson,” Grace said with a wink. “His mother was Shaw’s granddaughter, but she married an Englishman named Esmonde. They had one son named Lawrence and he had ye with me daughter Maeve. So ye see, ye are born of the sea, lad. ’Tis in yer blood and ye cannae escape it.”
He thought on all the legends his grandmother had told him growing up about their ancient ancestors and the Treasure of Danu, but he dared not mention it in front of Niall. Family or nay, the man was a pirate, and a Scottish one at that. The treasure belonged to Ireland and he would keep it that way. Suddenly, he felt the desire to seek his treasure even more strongly. It was awaiting him, he knew it. It called to him. He was closer than ever, and yet, he had no way to find it, not without this Scotsman, ironically.
Thomas thought on all he had learned about his father’s heritage just now. He had grown up never knowing that side of his family, and though he never missed it, looking at this fearsome man before him and knowing they were distant cousins, connected him even more to this land and these people.
“Ye are a fortunate man, Tomás. Ye have protection on every side of ye… but only if ye stay here,” his grandmother warned.
“And if I choose to take my ship and sail back to England?” he queried. “I told ye, I have duties to the queen.” His heart lurched at the word. His heart longed to stay here and seek adventure, but what was a knight without his honor? Nothing.
“Dinnae worry about yer ship, love. I will take care of that. Ye can start to repay me now. I have need of ye. The supplies on the Spanish ship Niall’s men commandeered need to be moved come nightfall. We have a place set up for the transfer, a nearby cavern. Niall will show ye. I am off to Rockfleet castle where my hearth awaits. Ye have an hour before nightfall and not a moment before, ye understand? Eyes be watching everywhere. Bingham has a spy, I ken. Our goods have been disappearing before the local chieftains can come to claim them.”
“I was tasked with bringing Spanish coin back to my queen. Already ye ask me to betray her openly and help ye transport them.”
“Way I see it, grandson, ye have nay option. Besides, the cargo we transport are all basic goods to help the people. We keep the coins, ye ken.” She smacked him on the back and stood. “One hour,” she reminded him and Niall before she turned to leave the tavern.
Niall chuckled and smacked Thomas on the shoulder. “The Pirate Queen plays her cards well. Ye will never get back to England, so get it out of yer head. By the time ye may be able to try, there will be a bounty on yer head.” Niall laughed and finished his ale. “I need me a wench,” the man groaned as he grabbed his groin. “Have fun transferring the goods by yerself,” Niall grunted. “Consider it more payment. The cavern be over that hill,” he pointed. With a belch, the man walked away, leaving Thomas to wonder how the devil he ended up in this position and how he was going to get out… Then a small smile slid across his face. Mayhap he did not want to get out at all.
Chapter Four
AFTER HOURS OF watching the pirate port for any sign of excitement, Katherine stood from the damp grass and stretched her legs. Grace O’Malley’s ships had left some time ago, but her stomach growled, demanding to be fed and soon she gave up hope of any distant pirate adventures for the day. Just before she turned to leave, Grace’s ship returned with three others in tow.
Recognizing the flags of the Scottish pirate faction, a jolt of energy shot through Katherine, her hunger and fatigue forgotten. The Scottish pirates were her favorite to watch. They took any lass they wished and between their kilts and her spyglass, she had seen many of their… male parts, before they lifted the skirts of the serving wenches. The best part was that many of them took the wenches behind the pub, which put them directly in her sights. Aye, she knew she was not behaving at all like a lady, but what else had she to do all alone on this island? She ached with loneliness and for some human connection, even if only from a distance.
However, her persistent need to watch over the port had much more to do with her need to help her papa, and the people of Ireland. She knew that when the pirates came to port, many of them had goods they needed to store away. During her time on this island, she had learned that the transport locations changed frequently, making it nearly impossible for anyone else to find them. Though her father would bend her over his knee if he knew how she spent her time, she sniggered at her little secret: she was her father’s secret informant. Despite what her papa and everyone else seemed to believe, she had found a way to make herself useful to the Irish cause. One day, she could tell her papa that she had been his informant and he would be proud of her.
Her father had many resources and she was one of them, whether he knew it or not. She would send him a missive indicating where a treasure had been placed and he would send a man to collect it before the pirates did. After all, her father was using the gold and supplies, be it fine cloths, grains, spices or jewels to further help the people he governed and unlike her, he likely knew precisely how to use those goods. She was doing right by the people, though in a way, did it not make her a pirate herself? That thought enthralled her to no end. Aye, mayhap she was a thief of sorts, but surely thieving from thieves only made her more of a Robin Hood than a Prince John. Indeed, it made her long days of sitting upon one hill after another, exploring the many places she discovered, and the riskiest part, following the pirates in the dark, worth it in the end.
As the ships dropped anchor and the skiffs started transporting the crew back to shore, she spotted Grace’s shock of red hair and focused on her through the spyglass. Then, her heart picked up its pace as she focused on the man exiting the skiff beside the Pirate Queen. Even from this distance, the man radiated power. He wore a plain white shir
t with the ties open at the front and breeches so tight she could see every strong muscle. The bulge between his legs looked mighty large as well, and she blushed at her own lewdness. She was truly rotten, but at this moment, her mind wandered to all sorts of thoughts. Who was this man? She had never seen him before. His beard was trimmed close to his obviously strong jaw and his hair was rather well kept, not at all like the other men that usually graced these shores. He had an air of nobility and power to him, and though he was dressed like no nobleman, his clothes were cleaner and less worn than most pirates.
Katherine sighed in disappointment as the man entered the inn with Grace. Once men entered at this hour, they seldom left before morning. Cargo was usually unloaded after sundown, but she had lingered long enough and there seemed to be no activity. It was possible the Pirate Queen and her fellow thieves had not found any merchants to steal from on this day, especially since merchants had learned to avoid these waters, making supplies even more scarce for the Irish people. That coupled with the loss of the Spanish fleet’s cargo, and the pirates who absorbed all the riches, left her people with nothing… until she began trailing Grace’s men and sharing the locations of goods anonymously with her father.
Her fascination with the pirates could not outweigh her disgust. They were vile people, but she was proud that her papa worked hard to fight them. Deciding it was time to head home, she stuffed her spyglass in her cloak and turned on her heels, descending the hill slowly. With the waxing moon hanging in the sky casting very little light, the stars seemed to shine even brighter, as a thin layer of clouds shifted above. It was nearly pitch black, but just light enough for her to find her way to the entrance of the cavern below the hill, its gaping mouth calling to her as it always did. How she loved to spend her days inside the cave with a candle and a good book, listening to the water run off the ledge and drip rhythmically onto the stone floor. It connected her to the land somehow and made her feel a little less trapped in her otherwise worthless existence.
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