Shiver Her Timbers: The Plundered Chronicles

by Alex Westmore

  Shiver Her Timbers

  The Plundered Chronicles, Book 2

  Alex Westmore

  Contents

  Copyright

  A Free Book for You

  Cast of Historical Figures

  Map of Renaissance Europe

  Dedication

  Shiver Her Timbers

  More from Alex Westmore

  About the Author

  Bonus Offer

  © 2016, Broad Winged Books

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

  Editor: Rachel Porter

  Cover & Graphics Designer: Mallory Rock

  Proofreader: Falcon Storm

  Broad Winged Books

  PO Box 721

  Union Lake, MI 48387

  So you’ve just scored your very own copy of Shiver Her Timbers. Awesome! Hey, you know what’s even more awesome? I want to give you a present as my way of saying thanks for checking me out. Yes, indeed, I’ve written a free short story just for my newsletter subscribers. You can grab your free copy at www.AlexWestmore.net/Newsletter. Happy travels!

  Alex

  Cast of Historical Figures

  As a historian and writer, I pride myself on getting it right. A great deal of research takes place before and during the writing of any historical novel, and this wild and adventurous ride is no different. While I have stayed true to the historical characterizations of the nonfictional characters, I have manipulated the timelines to be able to push them together in the same geographical area as Quinn. For that, I apologize only for a moment, because once you hop on board the Malendroke with Quinn, you’ll forget you are land-bound in the twenty-first century.

  What follows is a scorecard of those amazing individuals, both male and female, who inhabited the land and seas of the tumultuous sixteenth century. It was a time of female monarchs, female pirates, and female power, as you’ll see when each fabulous woman takes the stage.

  Grace O'Malley (c. 1530–c. 1603), also known as Gráinne O'Malley as well as by the nickname Granuaile in Irish folklore, is a well-known figure from the sixteenth century. Commonly known as the Sea Queen of Connacht, Grace lived to the remarkable age of seventy and was one of the fiercest and most successful female pirates in European history.

  Mary, Queen of Scots (December 8, 1542–February 8, 1587), also known as Mary Stuart, was Queen of Scotland from 14 December 1542 to 24 July 1567. Mary was a Catholic queen ruling Protestant Scotland while her cousin, Elizabeth, was a Protestant queen ruling a Catholic England. Go figure.

  Queen Elizabeth I (September 7, 1533–March 24, 1603) reigned over England and Ireland from November 17, 1558, until her death. Elizabeth’s father, the infamous Henry VIII, executed Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn, two and a half years after Elizabeth's birth for treason, incest, witchcraft, and anything else they could think of to throw at her. During the forty years that Elizabeth reigned, she spent twenty of those incarcerating her cousin Mary, whom she never met. Mary was actually a more legitimate monarch than Elizabeth, a bastard, and so it is easy to see why Elizabeth feared Mary.

  Sayyida al Hurra (c. 1485–some time after 1542) was a queen of a different sort. She ruled Tétouan, Morocco, from 1515–1542, and—more importantly for the purposes of this book—she ruled the seas as a pirate queen for much of the same time period. The combination of her fascinating and adventurous life on the sea and her reign in Tétouan made Sayyida a hugely influential woman in the history of the Islamic West. “Sayyida al Hurra” was in fact a title meaning “noble lady who is free and independent; the woman sovereign who bows to no superior authority.” Yeah, she was pretty awesome.

  Sir Francis Drake (c. 1540–January 27, 1596) was an English sea captain (pirate), navigator (pirate), slaver (pirate), and politician (rat bastard pirate) during Queen Elizabeth’s reign. Drake filled Elizabeth’s coffers with stolen gold, silver, jewels, and slaves, though many historians prefer to believe she knew nothing about the latter. Elizabeth was nothing if not astute, so this writer is fully convinced that she did not much care what Drake did so long as he filled her treasury... and he did.

  Dragut (1485–June 23, 1565), also known by his Turkish name of Turgut Reis, brought the power of the Ottoman Empire to the seas during his years as an Ottoman Greek admiral. North African coast had never seen such maritime mastery before Dragut hit the seas and grew his empire’s power to previously unmatched strengths. As pasha—an honorary title for a high-ranking political or military officer in the Ottoman Empire—he dropped major coin to build up the city of Tripoli. Despite the atrocities he committed on the sea, this last venture did succeed in making the North African coast more beautiful and impressive than ever. Still, the guy was a nasty piece of work and makes for a great villain.

  Map of Renaissance Europe

  This one is for Kari, who shivers MY timbers and has shown me a different way of being in the world. Not many people can handle Storm, Mega, LK, Lin, and Alex, but you have done so with great aplomb. Welcome to our crazy world. I hope you stay.

  Shiver Her Timbers

  Quinn Gallagher expertly drove her short sword through the Englishman’s neck, then used her foot against his belly to push him off it. He was dead before he hit the ground, the third such pirate to feel the bite from her sword.

  “Callaghan!”

  Hearing her pirate nom de plume, Quinn whirled around in time to prevent her head from being cleaved in two by a long sword already soiled with the blood of another. An ugly-ass man with a pockmarked face and eyes like a shark came at her, sword raised, hatred in his black eyes.

  Their swords made a loud clang as they careened off each other. Her foe, a man nearly twice her size yet doubly slow, did not recover in time.

  Knocking him off his feet with a leg sweep, Quinn rose, looked him in the eye, and then plunged her sword through his heart, killing him instantly. He dropped to his knees as she yanked it back out.

  Glancing around the bloody deck of the English ship they’d boarded, Quinn saw an easy victory for her Irish. These English were too soft... too weak. They, like their landed brethren, did not understand nor did they appreciate the tenacity and determination of the Irish clans. They did not fully respect the grit and guts of Grace O’Malley and her crew. As a result, they were at this moment paying the highest price for underestimating the crew of the Malendroke.

  Grace O’Malley, Scourge of the Seas, Queen of Connacht, Captain of Men, the list of titles went on. Grace O’Malley, captain of the Irish ship known as the Malendroke, was busy fighting off—not one, but two—English adversaries. She needed no help from her men to finish them both off. Few who met her ever forgot her or the manner in which she and her men fought.

  Some called her Grainne, others Granuaile, and still others just called her dangerous because of all she had accomplished as a woman commanding a ship of two hundred men during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Grace had been captaining the Malendroke for years and had garnered a fiercely loyal group of pirates who fought better than any on the high seas.

  It was these men who w
ere fighting now for more than just a toll for passing ships. No, these were men of the O’Faherty and O’Neill clans who had begun fighting for their way of life once Elizabeth had taken the throne in England eight years ago. Since her coronation, Elizabeth had started replacing the clans’ chieftains with English nobles and lords in what was called plantation.

  That fact had never sat well with the Irish, so Grace and her pirates were fighting for more than booty and plunder. They were fighting now for tradition, for their families, for their way of life.

  When the last Englishman was run through and tossed overboard, Quinn and the first mate, Innis, stood shoulder to shoulder surveying their prize.

  The English ship had run aground near Grace’s home on Clare Island. Grace had declared war on any English ship that came into her sight ever since she’d had a run-in with young Francis Drake six years ago. He had done more than ruffle her feathers––he’d exposed talons she would use to tear the British ships apart piece by piece.

  “Well now, lad, it would appear we have captured yet another one of Her Majesty’s royal piece-of-jackarse ships,” Innis said. “Either we’re gettin’ tougher, or they’re gettin’ softer.”

  “Maybe a little of both. It’s almost become too easy.” Quinn motioned for the men to go below.

  “Careful, Callaghan. When ya get overconfident is the moment a lesser man runs ya through.” Innis patted her shoulder and joined the men below to make sure whatever bounty sat in the hold didn’t make its way into a pocket or twelve.

  As Quinn watched him descend the stairs, another man took his place by Quinn’s side. “Ya two work well together, laddie. Considerin’ the past between ya, I’m a wee bit surprised.”

  Turning, Quinn nodded to Tavish McGee, a block of a Scot with shoulder-length flaming red hair and a full beard to match. In the sunlight, the gold strands looked silver as his beard, a tad lighter than his hair, revealed some aging.

  “Took long enough, but the arse sorta grew on me.”

  Tavish chuckled. “Tis hard fer a man to be replaced in the peckin’ order of things. I’m glad to see he finally came around even if he is an arsehole most of the time.”

  “He’s a good sailor––faithful to Captain O’Malley. In the end, I suppose that’s all that matters.”

  “Yer a better man than I, Callaghan. I’da tossed his arse overboard at night if he’d treated me the way he done ya.”

  “We got past it.”

  “He wasna none too nice to yer brother, either. How’s old Paddy these days?”

  Patrick Callaghan, Quinn’s brother, had tried to join her as a pirate on this great ship, but the sea life hadn’t been for him. Quinn smiled, thinking of him. “Last time I went home, he was doing much better. The sea life was not for him. He finally got some color besides green back in his cheeks.”

  Tavish laughed. “Och, aye. He was a fish outta water, that boy. Best thing that happened to him was to get offa the ship. I’m glad he’s doin’ better.”

  “Much.”

  They stood in silence as the men started bringing up chest after chest from the hold.

  “Bloody hell... ” Tavish murmured as one chest led to ten and then to fourteen. “Did ya ken, Callaghan?”

  They were joined by Connor, another of Quinn’s best friends on the ship. “This is quite a shipment, Callaghan. That bitch queen in England is gonna pitch a fit when she hears that we nicked this from her.”

  “So,” Tavish butted in again, “the squatty Scot asked if ya knew there was this much on board. Didja?”

  Quinn did not move, but stood with her hands behind her back as the last chest was hauled from the belly of the beast. It was far more than she had expected. “Not even remotely, Tavish. I knew she was sittin’ low, but I had no idea she was carryin’ this much coin.”

  The men gathered around, as was their custom on the Malendroke, and waited to see if the wounds were worth the booty.

  Oftentimes, they weren’t.

  This was not one of those times.

  “Callaghan, would ya like to do the honor?” Innis asked, placing his booted foot on top of one of the wooden chests. His worn boot had both fresh and dried blood on it.

  “Absolutely!” Quinn raised her sword and the rest of the men followed suit. They had grown to love her in their six years together. The fact that the young Callaghan still didn’t grow a beard seemed to bother them not at all; they had stopped questioning it long ago. As long as she continued to drink, fight, and fuck like a man, that was really all that mattered.

  “For Ireland!” Quinn shouted.

  “For Ireland!” the men replied.

  “For Captain O’Malley!” Quinn shouted louder.

  “For Captain O’Malley!” came their echo.

  “Be my guest, Innis. Let’s see what else these scalawags were transportin’ over our sea.”

  The men quieted while Innis broke the lock and knelt down in front of the wooden chest. “For Eyre,” he whispered, opening the chest.

  Nobody moved.

  Nobody made a sound.

  Inside the chest was a man’s head lying on top of gold and silver coins. The man’s hair was red. His face looked as if it had been beaten prior to being cut off.

  Innis rose slowly. “It would appear,” he said, turning to the men, “that someone lost his head over a pile of gold.”

  The men erupted in laughter and banged their swords on the deck.

  Tavish was the only man on deck not celebrating as he ambled over to gaze down at the head in the chest.

  Quinn joined him and looked alternately from the chest to Tavish and back again. Sensing his tenseness and ire, she held her sword up for silence.

  The men slowly quieted down as Grace descended the steps. “Well, Callaghan? Are we richer than we were yesterday?”

  Gently closing the lid, Tavish stepped away from the chest and muttered under his breath.

  “Tavish?” Grace asked, stepping up to gaze down at the chest. “Mother of god. Do not be celebratin’ this, fellas.”

  The crew silenced immediately.

  Running his hand through his beard, Tavish stared out at the coastline. “Captain’s right. This is nothin’ to celebrate, laddies. We’ve got a Scottish head and English gold, and that can only mean one thing. Elizabeth is comin’ after us all.”

  * * *

  All told, there were four heads in those chests filled with Elizabeth’s silver and gold. While the booty was substantial, the message it wrought did not fill them with the usual joy such bounty provoked.

  Tavish stroked his beard as he stared down at the heads. “I canna be certain, lad, that enna one a these blokes is from my queen’s cabinet, but I’d bet an arm they are.”

  Grace retied her hair. “Whoever they were, it is clear Elizabeth is gearin’ up fer a war of some sort, and she is sendin’ a message to supporters of Mary to show what will happen to those who chose the wrong side.”

  Quinn sighed as she looked down at the heads. So far, Elizabeth had been unable to bring the headstrong Scottish queen to heel. “Even though they’re cousins, it is evident that Elizabeth will always feel threatened by Mary and wish her off the throne.”

  “But this? This is a bloody message that could start a war,” Connor said, towering over Quinn from behind. “This is a warnin’.”

  Grace knelt down and studied one of the heads. “This does not bode well fer our people. Should Elizabeth succeed in pullin’ Scotland into her bosom, how much soon after will she launch attacks on Ireland? As long as Scotland remains a buffer between our two nations, Ireland stands a chance at maintainin’ our traditions and customs––of remainin’ free from Elizabeth’s shadow.”

  Quinn pursed her lips. She worried about this constantly, especially since her beloved Fiona was with child for the second time. She also fretted because both her pirate friends and her noble family were more than willing to spill blood in order to prevent the English queen from rolling over them as well. That meant deaths of
many of her clansmen, and that was unacceptable.

  “Well, fellas, I’m thinkin’ there is trouble afoot here. It is our duty to return these heads to Scotland and warn Mary that Elizabeth or her men have sent a bloody message.” Rising, Grace turned to Quinn. “Once we get everrathin’ situated here, Callaghan, ya might need to leave us fer yer woman. It’s not a good time to be so far from her.”

  Quinn nodded. “Aye, Captain.” It vexed her that she was not with Fiona during this crucial time in the pregnancy, but what was she to do? She must rely on Fiona’s husband to care for her, which he had always done to Quinn’s standards. Quinn wished she could disdain the man who was Fiona’s husband, but he was a good man, a fair man, and he did take exceedingly good care of Fiona.

  Still, Quinn sometimes couldn’t help but wonder why she kept hanging on to a woman who was married and with child.

  With child. It was a dangerous predicament for a woman.

  Grace pulled Quinn away from the men and draped her arm over Quinn’s shoulder. “I know yer worried sick, Callaghan. I can see it in yer face.”

  “Sir, I seldom pray to the goddesses, but lately, it is all I can do to ease my worries over this pregnancy. The loss of Fiona’s first child nearly crushed her spirit.” Had Quinn not been there those weeks after, she was sure the tragedy would have destroyed Fiona. Like so many women who survived the death of an infant, Quinn’s lover was sad and morose for weeks. This pregnancy worried Quinn for that reason. Childbirth was such a risky event that Quinn felt she must leave Fiona in the hands of the goddesses who watched over her.

  She also prayed for Grace. The captain had been tempestuous since she’d remarried a year ago, and Quinn was certain she had a plan for dislodging her husband from her life soon enough. It was Grace’s way. She wasn’t one to sit around letting life take a crap on her boots. Grace O’Malley always had a plan and a backup plan. If her marriage was still as sour as it originally appeared, she was waiting for the exact right time to disengage.