Quinn inhaled deeply. “Thank you for that, Captain. I don’t want to leave. I just don’t know how I can stay.”
“Well, let’s see how ya feel after gettin’ yer friend back.”
They walked a little more before Quinn asked, “The Africans. How are you able to keep them safe here?” Quinn picked up a fruit to smell. It was some sort of citrus.
“They aren’t. I couldn’t. They scattered like leaves in the wind once the ramp was down. It was the best we could do. We couldn’t keep ’em on board, and we couldn’t take ’em ennawhere else. They have a life ta live elsewhere.”
Quinn nodded as they kept walking. “Think they’re all right?”
“One thing I’ve learned about slaves: once freed, they become much better at avoidin’ recapture. Do not worry about yer friend, Kwame. He is a verra smart man.”
Quinn tried unsuccessfully to push her trepidation away. “But he was never a slave. He––”
“Slavers see them as part a’ commerce, Callaghan, and there is little we can do ta change that. It was my father’s hope that one day slavery would be frowned upon, perhaps even illegal, but until then, men like Drake will ship them like enna other commodity. That’s what makes him even more of a rat bastard.”
Quinn and Grace walked quietly with their thoughts until the captain stopped and purchased two bananas, handing one to Quinn. “Ya love a woman ya can’t have regardless a’ the masks ya wear. What I find fascinatin’ is how much she cares fer ya. Ta pay fer Tavish ta keep an eye on ya is quite possibly one a’ the most romantic gestures I have ever borne witness ta.”
“He must be returned to her upon arrival in Ireland. I do not need extra protection.”
Grace peeled her banana and snapped off a piece with her fingers. “No ties that way.”
“Aye. If I am to move on with my life, I cannot constantly be reminded of her. His presence does that. She lingers around the corner of every thought.”
“Besides, ya will no longer be in danger as a woman a’ worth once ya take off the pants and grow yer hair back. If that’s what ya choose, a’ course.”
“It is my belief that women will always be in danger, Captain. It is the way of the world.” Quinn peeled her banana and took a bite.
“Ya make a good man, Callaghan... a decent man. More decent than most men I’ve met.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As the harbor came into view, Grace finished her banana and tossed the peel on the side of the road. Before them bobbed a small fleet of boats belonging, Quinn surmised, to Dragut.
“The Turks are an interestin’ breed,” Grace began. “They are typically good planners, great strategists, and excellent seamen. One area they tend ta be strong in is negotiatin’. If they feel ya are wastin’ their time, they will draw on ya, so be prepared. Do not have yer hand on yer hilt, but make certain ya can readily draw.
“Sir, the likelihood of the two of us being able to fight our way off a Turkish ship is slim.”
Grace tossed her head back and laughed. “Change of plans. We are not going on the Dragut’s ship, Callaghan. We are going, instead, ta the tavern where he takes his meals.”
“But I thought––”
“I sent eyes and ears ahead of us, and I know exactly where he is. They are expectin’ us ta show up at the ship. That will keep many a’ his men there fer protection, but I have other plans.”
Quinn did not think she was capable of admiring Captain O’Malley more than she already did, but she was wrong. “Then we aren’t really going to be alone.”
Grace chuckled. “Of course not. That would be foolish and I am nobody’s fool. No, we will go into the tavern and let them see us fer what we are not: a weaker female captain of a pirate ship and one a’ her first mates. Ya see, Callaghan, one thing we both know is that people’s views are their reality. Ya canna change those views but ya can use them as leverage. Dragut may be an old man, but he is an old man who will not feel threatened by us.”
“Because you’re a female?”
“Because he is a Turk.”
When they neared the tavern, Quinn’s eyes scanned the surrounding area for crewmembers tucked here and there. She found some in Berber outfits and others acting as prospective buyers in the marketplace. A familiar jolt of excitement coursed through her veins. Yes, she loved the danger, loved riding the blade’s edge. These last three months had been the best times of her life, and she would miss it more than she allowed herself to feel once she returned... home.
Home?
How could it be that a pirate ship full of smelly men felt more like home than the beautiful estate she’d grown up in?
Life was strange.
She had changed, and it was time she accepted that.
“Okay, Callaghan, there’s the tavern. We’ll go in, sit down, order two ales and wait.”
“And then?”
“Let the games begin.”
***
No sooner had their ales arrived than four Turks sat next to them at the long table scarred with knife marks and stained with stains Quinn could only hope were from years of spilled ale.
She seriously doubted it.
The four men chatted among themselves in a language Quinn could not place.
“How’s yer French?” Captain O’Malley asked Quinn.
“Good. I understand and speak it well.” Quinn paused. “But they are not speaking French, Captain.”
“These blokes are Turks, and most sea dogs from Turkey speak some French. So do the Moroccans, but that’s not who these men are. Ya can always tell by their blades. Those are scimitar blades favored by the corsairs. They love them curved blades.”
A thin line of dread ran down Quinn’s spine.
Suddenly, one of the corsairs leaned over to Grace and said in perfect Irish, “You must be the pirate queen we keep hearing about.”
Grace did not appear even remotely surprised at either the language or the assessment.
“That I am.”
Quinn caught the eye of an old man with a salt-and-pepper beard that had seen better days. He was sitting all the way across the tavern, but his eyes keenly took in the entire room of the tavern. His face and neck carried a number of scars clearly made from swords or knives. One eye was cloudy like marble.
Her eyes went immediately to the sword on the table in front of him.
A scimitar.
They were surrounded, and Quinn could only pray that the faith she had put in Grace O’Malley had not been misplaced.
“You are younger than I thought you would be,” one of the four corsairs said through a dark, unkempt beard that matched his shoulder length hair. His deep-set eyes reminded Quinn of snake’s eyes.
“I am pleased ya thought a’ me at all,” Grace said, smiling.
The man paused a moment before chuckling. “You have come to ask Dragut’s permission to remain here overnight?”
Grace looked over at the man with the cloudy eye and waved to him. He gave the barest hint of a nod.
“Not at all,” Grace said softly. “I ask permission from no man to do ennathin’ in this world. I have come ta parlay under the rules a’ seamanship.” Grace slowly removed her sword from its sheath and set it in front of her.
The Turk was taken aback. “Parlay? For what?”
“Well now, that’s between me and yer captain. Please tell him I come with an offer he will most certainly wish ta consider.”
The Turk regained his composure. “He is supping. No one interrupts him when he eats.”
“Then I shall wait.” Grace half turned from the four men so that most of her back was to them. “No sign a’ yer friend?” she asked in Latin.
Quinn stared at Grace, who now ignored the men behind her. She seemed not the least bit worried that there were only two of them versus a tavern full of corsairs. Then she shook her head, her eyes never leaving the scimitar. It looked so much sharper than theirs, the blade four times as wide. “I haven’t seen any woman like her since we g
ot here,” she replied back in Latin.
“He must have left her on the ship. No worries. Leave this ta me, Callaghan.”
The one who had spoken to Grace slowly pushed away from the table, walked over to Dragut, and whispered in his ear.
The old man looked up at her, his eyes filled more with curiosity than animosity. Then he raised a hand and beckoned for her to join them.
“Watch and learn, Callaghan. No matter what, do not reach fer yer sword. Ya do, and we’re dead.” Rising, Grace sat opposite Dragut and the corsair who had spoken to them.
Quinn could not hear above the cacophony of the tavern. She sat uncomfortably as the other three men stared at her.
One of the men pulled on his own beard at her, and it took her a moment to realize that what they were staring at was her beardless face. She responded by making big breast gestures and shaking her head. The three men guffawed at what they perceived as the whipped Irishman.
Quinn kept peering over her mug at Dragut as he listened intently to whatever it was Grace was saying. No one appeared to be in danger. No one had reached for their swords.
Yet.
They went back and forth for a few minutes before Grace rose, shook his hand, and returned to the table, where she gulped down the rest of her ale.
“Come, Callaghan, we are finished here. Keep quiet.”
Quinn slammed down her ale before joining Grace at the tavern door, her heart racing so fast, she could barely hear above the pounding of it in her ears.
Once outside, Grace continued toward the marina where Dragut’s ships sat.
“That’s it, Captain? It’s done?”
“The man knew a good parlay when he saw it.”
Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was following them, Quinn asked, “And what did he get in return?”
Grace smiled. “Free toll through our seas and my word no Irish ship would harass them on their way ta the Hebrides... that and a chest a’ silver and gold pieces. They pose no threat ta us in Ireland. He just wants safe passage ta Scotland, and I offered that ta him.”
“You’re going to allow the Turks free passage for one woman you don’t even know?”
Captain O’Malley tossed her red hair over her shoulder and laughed heartily. “One woman? No, Callaghan. Had I asked fer just her, we would have been negotiatin’ from a position a’ weakness.”
“Then what did you parlay for?”
“Somethin’ a man like that could wholly understand. I asked fer all the dark-skinned women on his ship fer one night with my men. He believes he is loanin’ his slave girls fer a night a’ debauchery.”
“Just like that? He’s letting them come to our ship?”
“Callaghan, when a man is overconfident, he does many a foolish thing. Dragut believes I am a weak woman. He believes that if I try ta leave the port with his slaves, then he can sail after me and crush us. What is important ta remember whenever ya parlay is ta bargain usin’ what the other person believes he can and canna do or can and canna have. This is what I have done.”
“But we don’t even know if she’s there.”
Grace stopped and faced Quinn. “Ya don’t, but I do.”
Quinn swallowed back her trepidation. “How?”
“Someday, Callaghan, I’ll tell ya how. Fer now, just be grateful yer friend’s life is in the hands a’ Captain Grace O’Malley. I have connections all over the globe. I’ve had men lookin’ fer her at everra port since the verra day ya told me. Dragut believes he won the parlay.”
“But Captain, do you really want a man like him as your enemy?”
Grace stopped walking and studied Quinn a moment. “Callaghan, it is time ya took a good look around ya at what is happenin’ in the world. Everrabody is everrabody else’s enemy. There are no allies here. No one is really on ennaone’s side but their own. If Dragut wishes ta come ta my seas ta engage me in battle over the takin’ a’ yer friend, then so be it, but don’t think fer one second that these corsairs won’t plunder enna Irish ship they come across. They will. That is their nature.”
Quinn started to reply, but Grace held her hand up. “No more questions. The women will be comin’ outta the ship enna minute now. Keep yer eyes peeled fer her.”
One by one, the slaves slowly exited the ship and walked down the ramp. They all paused when they left the ship, their eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight.
Two.
Four.
Six.
They came off the ship only to be collected by Captain O’Malley’s men, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere to escort the frightened women onto the Malendroke.
Again, Quinn’s estimation of Captain O’Malley rose. Her crew had been there all along, hanging back, keeping an eye on their every move. It was as impressive as it was thoughtful.
Suddenly, she realized it was time to finally and irrevocably amend her definition of family, for though she loved her father, he would never have allowed her to live out her life as she deserved.
Ever.
She would have to change that.
Grace had been right. She could not go back to being trussed up in those dresses and waiting for some man to make decisions about her life. Those days were long dead.
Long gone.
Glancing around, she saw Grace’s archers lining one roof.
Grace had left nothing to chance.
Even Tavish lurked in the shadows, keeping his eyes out for anything or anyone who might post a threat.
Ten.
Twelve.
Fourteen.
Just how many female slaves had Dragut employed for his men’s pleasure?
Sixteen.
And there she was.
Shea.
Quinn’s eyes brimmed with tears at the sight of her dearest friend. There she was... at long last.
Although Shea was thinner and barely exuded a lifeless energy, Quinn would have known her anywhere. Unlike the first sixteen women to step onto the pier, Shea’s skin was lighter and her hair longer than when she’d left—kinkier and wild, as if she’d not brushed it in weeks. She appeared dazed and defeated. Beaten. Her eyes void of emotion. Whatever she had endured had changed her.
How could it not?
Quinn took a single step and opened her mouth to call out to her when Captain O’Malley grabbed her by the arm.
“Do not say a word,” she growled. “Ya wait until she is past that yellow dog, then ya can go ta her, but do not show her favor. Ya can bet Dragut has eyes everrawhere.”
Quinn did not take her eyes off Shea, who walked with her once-proud head bowed. She wore what looked like a dirty linen bag, and she moved her feet in a sort of shuffle.
It made Quinn’s heart hurt and she impatiently wiped away unfallen tears. “Oh, Shea.”
“Do not go all soft on me, Callaghan. Ya do, and she could fall apart. Now is not the time fer her ta fall apart. Let’s get these people loaded onto the Malendroke and then get the bloody hell outta here. I do not trust Dragut in the slightest. Men like him do not become men like him without a lot a’ blood and body parts.”
“But you said––”
“I said he thinks he can crush us. We are Irish, are we not? We can and we will outrun that man and his ship with his precious human cargo. Ya have me word on that.”
Quinn watched as Shea barely looked up to make sure she was still following the line of slaves walking slowly toward the Malendroke, a single rope around their waists tethering them together.
“Such cruelty––”
“Callaghan.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry. It’s just––”
“I know just what it is, and here is neither the time nor the place. Here she comes. Do not release her from the tether until everraone is safely back at the ship, or the ride home will be yer last.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Shea passed the mangy dog that was prowling back and forth on the dock, Quinn stepped out into the road. Her heart beat hard beneath her chest as she faced her be
loved friend. Her tongue felt like a lead weight in her mouth as she searched for the words.
Only one came.
“Shea?”
Shea looked up, her blank stare not recognizing Quinn in the slightest.
“Yes, sir. That is my name, but how did you... ” and then, all at once, her dead eyes came back to life as recognition set in. “Quinn?”
“Do not react, my dear friend. There are eyes watching everything we do. Keep your head bowed until you get into the ship. I shall meet you there. Just know... you are safe, and you are going home.”
Shea bowed her head, and Quinn thought she heard her crying.
“Go. I shall be right behind you.”
When the slaves were all within the Malendroke, Quinn turned to Grace, who nodded once. Flying up the rampart, Quinn swept the small woman into her arms and hugged her tightly, lifting her off her feet. She had never thought such joy possible.
“You found me! You really found me!” Shea sobbed. “I prayed night and day that you would remember.
Setting Shea down, Quinn held Shea’s face in her hands. “Of course I found you. We promised. We made a pact.”
Shea let her filthy fingers caress Quinn’s face. “It’s really you, isn’t it? But... why are you dr––”
“Get a move on, Callaghan!” Grace shouted. “We’ve got ta get this ship outta the docks and into a tailwind as fast as we can!”
Shea cocked her head over at the woman barking out orders. “Oh. My. Is that... is she––?”
“Questions later, my dear friend. Right now, we need to get the hell out of here.”
Shea opened her mouth to reply, but could not immediately form words. Instead, she just nodded. “Of course... um... Callaghan?”
Quinn shrugged. “Long story for later. Right now, I have a job to do, and that is to help get this ship into deeper waters.”
“Don’t leave me, Quinn.”
The Pirate's Booty (The Plundered Chronicles Book 1) Page 27
