Shiver Her Timbers (The Plundered Chronicles Book 2) Page 11

  “We’re not here fer yer fine whiskey or pretty women. We’ve come at the behest of a queen who doesn’t trust many of her kinsmen. There is no need to be rude unless ya wish to later see what the fightin’ Irish look like. Ya might not like what ya see. Do ya ken what I mean?”

  The guard locked eyes with Quinn as every man standing laid their hands on their swords.

  “That will be quite enough,” came the voice of reason from a tall man with a greying goatee.

  “Excuse my overexuberant men,” he said, bowing. “It is a very dangerous world for my queen, and few outsiders can be trusted.”

  “Seems to me,” Innis interjected, “that even fewer insiders can be trusted, or we wouldn’t be here.”

  Quinn reached out and set her hand on Innis’s shoulder to stay him. She and Innis had not always seen eye to eye, but they had become close mates over the years, which was why he allowed her to physically restrain her now.

  “It is good the queen has loyal men such as yerself,” she said. “I believe we will take yer advice and make use of those taverns. Our captain will be up shortly.”

  The secretary cocked his head at Quinn. “Odd she didna come wi’ ya.”

  “Not really. Ya see, she trusts us.” With that, Quinn took the men back down the hill for whiskey, women, and food.

  * * *

  “I think about you almost every day,” Young Mary said when Quinn was finally alone with her. “You asked me all those years ago if I had ever been seduced by a woman. I had, of course, but never by one with such a soft and experienced mouth as yours. I have since been seduced by a few others, but none as astute a lover as you.”

  Quinn smiled gently, her hand lightly caressing Young Mary’s hair. “It is easy to be loving and caring when the woman receiving your affection is so soft and sweet.”

  After their first meeting six years ago, Quinn and Mary had met again three years later when Grace delivered some goods as well as some important news to the queen. Quinn and Young Mary had enjoyed another three days in bed together. It had been a wonderful time, full of gentle loving and ribald fucking.

  What Quinn had discovered in her travels was that all women wanted—what they truly desired—was passion, intimacy, and affection. Lots of affection. It appeared to Quinn that the man’s genitals, ugly as they were, were only a priority to men. Women needed them not at all and, if she were to be frank, climaxed best with the use of a tongue.

  She had been instrumental in teaching many of her mates this singular fact, and to a one they reported back with amazement how much they had pleased whatever wench they had bedded. Quite suddenly, Quinn had become the love guru of the crew, often fielding questions about sex, love, and marriage.

  Quinn had taught Fiona how to use her tongue to please Quinn, but Becca needed no such tutelage. Becca was a consummate lover, open and wild while Fiona, true to her station, was more reserved, more precise.

  Young Mary had been somewhere in between. Now older and more experienced at twenty-four, the lady-in-waiting was eager to begin where they had left off three years ago, when she had been eager to show Quinn what all she had learned in their time apart.

  “Three years is a long time, Callaghan. You still talk with such sweet words, but I am afraid I am in love with another.”

  “A woman?”

  Young Mary shook her head. “Actually, no. He is a young page who has caught my fancy.”

  Pulling Mary into her embrace, Quinn felt slightly disloyal to the two women she loved, even more so than she had been during her brief affair with Sayyida, the Moroccan pirate to whom she had been attracted and with whom she had even shared a kiss. Maybe it was because this whole event was yet another ruse. Maybe she just wasn’t who she had been six, five, four years ago when she bedded any woman she wanted. Maybe at the end of the day Quinn was tiring of all of the duplicity and shell games. It was exhausting constantly remembering why she was really here, who she truly was, and which woman loved her for whom she really was. This was not a social visit. It was calculating and manipulative.

  She only hoped Young Mary didn’t feel it. At least, not now. It was imperative to get her to believe that there was a potential wedding plan, even though Young Mary knew Quinn was a woman. That fact had remained a secret in the Scottish court, much to Quinn’s surprise, but then, even a handmaiden of the queen had certain boundaries she was expected to adhere to.

  “You get more beautiful every time I see you,” Quinn said, lightly touching Mary’s face.

  Mary pulled away, blushing. “There you go with that sweet Irish brogue of yours, trying to seduce me into yet another romp with you, you silver-tongued devil.”

  Quinn looked left, then right. “Speaking of which––”

  “No, silly thing. She is just outside the door in meetings. Your arrival has put her both at ease and on the pins. Tonight. I must see you this eve. There is much to tell you, but not here. The walls have eyes and ears.”

  Taking Young Mary’s face in her hands, Quinn gazed deeply into those innocent blue eyes staring back at her.

  Her heart sank.

  Young Mary did not deserve to be used like a pawn in this game of monarchy madness. Nobody did. She was a sweet, kind woman who, though loyal servant to her queen, still deserved a life outside of the queen’s chambers –– a life that was now being played like the lowest piece on the board.

  It hurt Quinn’s soul.

  “What is it?” Mary asked, stepping away. “Your eyes seem so sad.”

  “Who is this young Scotsman you fancy, sweet Mary? Some young pup you have eyes for?”

  A slow blush crept over Mary’s cheeks. “He is just a page, but he comes from a noble family who... why on earth are you inquiring?”

  Quinn sat down on a wooden bench and patted it for Mary to join her. “Because you are a beautiful woman, a passionate woman, and though I do not doubt you think of me, I am quite certain that someone sits in the seat of your heart. I wish to know of all of the players on the board.”

  Mary bowed her head as she grinned softly. “No one speaks to me as you, Callaghan. I can barely understand half of what you say most of the time.”

  “And does he know? Does he fancy you as well?”

  “Aye. That he does. But his first duty, as is mine, is to our queen. Now is not the time for dalliances at court. Now is not the time for me to want anything or anyone for myself.”

  Taking Mary’s hand, Quinn turned it over and kissed her palm. “Actually, sweet Mary, now is precisely the time for a dalliance, and though I believe you might find what I am about to propose as mad, I need you to hear me out.”

  * * *

  The queen of Scotland was a beautiful young woman with eyes like a hawk and a bearing like no other. If possible, being pregnant made her even more captivating. Her blue-grey eyes pierced the small cadre of Irishmen Grace had assembled for a meeting with the Scottish queen.

  “Yer Majesty looks healthy,” Grace said, bowing.

  Mary smiled the smile of a young girl. “You are too kind, Grace O’Malley. I look fat. This bairn must be a healthy boy as he doubles in size daily. I think he demands that I force food down my gullet.” Mary laid her hand on her large belly. “I try not to fear for his safety, but I do.” Mary glanced around her great room in Holyrood Palace, her home at one end of the great expanse that was Edinburgh Castle. It was a much cozier home than the chambers in the castle, and though it was built in the twelfth century, Mary had added her own flourishes and made it as quaint as she could.

  She had archery butts erected so she could practice shooting. The world over knew of Mary’s penchant for riding, hunting, and gamesmanship. She had made the monster of a palace her own and treated all within its walls as company or family—including the Irish pirates, who had come at least once a year bearing gifts from foreign lands. Quinn had only been able to partake in one of these excursions, but she had heard tales from the men about the hospitality they received at Mary's hands.

&nb
sp; “The queen requests your men to be present outside the chambers when she is having the bairn. Under no circumstances are you to allow anyone entrance.” A short, ugly, hunchbacked man delivered his direction as a husband might.

  Quinn blinked as the man left, lowered her voice, and whispered, “Where is her husband?”

  Innis lowered his voice as well. “Her husband, Lord Darnley, disagrees with us bein’ here. He feels we could be aidin’ Elizabeth. As ya can well imagine, he and David Rizzio, her paramour, do not get along because there is some... uh...tension between the two men in regards to Mary’s attention.”

  Quinn finally turned to him. “I have heard the rumors bantered about since we arrived. Is Rizzio really the babe’s father?” It seemed ill conceived of Mary to have bedded her private secretary only to become pregnant by him, but who was Quinn to second-guess the decisions of royalty? They appeared to make their way in a world governed by a completely different set of rules.

  “Kieran Callaghan, is that you?” Mary leaned her nearly six-foot-tall frame over and squinted.

  Quinn stood up straight as if caught stealing. “Aye, Your Majesty. It is I.”

  Mary smiled. “How long has it been?”

  “Three years, Your Majesty.”

  “And do we look any older?”

  “Not even a moment’s breath, Your Majesty. You are, even as you carry the heir, as beautiful as ever.”

  Mary stepped closer to Quinn. “I understand that you were in charge of the ship that found my men’s heads in the chests.”

  Quinn nodded.

  “My heart is heavy that my people were so abused. I cannot believe my cousin would ever sanction such a horrific act.”

  Quinn said nothing.

  “I trust your people are doing all they can to uncover the people who perpetrated such an act.”

  “We are, Your Majesty. It was imperative we reach you before you received erroneous news about what has happened.”

  “Oh piffle, Callaghan. You ken as well as I that I would never have believed such poppycock. Still, I am very pleased that they have been returned. Semi-returned.”

  “We have an issue, Your Majesty. In order to help you contain these issues, the captain has decided to send a rumor to the masses to explain why we are here.”

  Mary threw her head back and laughed. “Your captain has explained to me about your impending nuptials with my Mary. Already word is spreading like wildfire though the court. That should keep the curious at bay. I won’t, of course, give anything away, and as far as anyone else might ken, you and your crew have come here to ask my permission. Suffice to say, you and I shall have a private chat later about what needs to be done to keep the people focused on the wedding and not on the rest of what is going on around us.”

  Quinn bowed. “As you wish.”

  Queen Mary returned her sharp eyes to the small crowd of Irish pirates standing before her. “I cannot thank you all enough for returning to Scotland to protect me and mine during this indelicate time. The Irish have proven themselves over and over to be friends and allies of this monarchy. Soon, there will be another of our family joining us, and it is our hope that Ireland is still our friend and ally when he takes the throne. Thank you all for coming. Our gratitude will show itself in many different forms, the first of which is to open a casket of our best Scottish whiskey.”

  The crowd cheered, and Mary ordered escorts to take the men back to the castle for food and some of her best whiskey.

  “Not you, Callaghan,” the queen said as Quinn turned to leave. “You must remain for that chat I mentioned.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  Mary motioned for Quinn to stand before her. “As you well ken, my young Mary is... well, often unwise. She would truly marry you if it meant my safety. She would remove to Ireland with you if I but asked. She would continue this ruse until I asked her not to. That is the kind of woman my young Mary is.”

  Quinn stood with her hands behind her back and said nothing.

  “But she is a Scotswoman. A loyal subject. She is a dear friend of mine who deserves to be happy. She kens who and what you are, as do I. I have seen you in action and ken you are of keen wit, quick thinking, and very brave. You coming here six years ago pretending to be your captain in order to save your crew was both brilliant and dangerous. I like that in a person. I like you, Callaghan, and there are not many who enjoy our respect.”

  A blanket of guilt fell across Quinn’s shoulders. While she enjoyed Mary’s respect, she worried about the ramifications of a faux wedding on Young Mary as well as yet another ruse perpetrated by her on someone she cared for.

  Would it never end?

  * * *

  That night, as Quinn stood guard with the other land fighters, she suddenly heard the sound of popping followed by the sound of swords clanging together. Then there came a scream in the cold night air that roused everyone to their feet.

  “The queen!” Tavish yelled, knocking over a soldier who tried barring them from her apartment. “All hands! All hands! We’ve been attacked!”

  Another soldier stepped in. Then another.

  Quinn looked to Kwame, who nodded and joined the fray, his short sword sparking as it clashed with another.

  “What is bloody hell is going on?” Quinn yelled to Tavish as she withdrew her short sword.

  “There must be a plot afoot to kill Rizzio, the queen’s lover! The queen’s guards, her cabinet, even her closest friends are tryin' to rid him from her life!”

  “With murderers?”

  Tavish did not have time to reply as he barely managed to avoid being punched in the face.

  With no room for swinging swords in the small hallway, Quinn, Kwame, and Tavish punched, kicked, and fought their way through the hallway in an effort to reach her door. Quinn had her hands full with a barrel-chested guard who landed a punch on her cheek before pulling out a dagger. She barely managed to turn her head in time. The dagger cut through her cheek, which was far better than her neck.

  A fist shot out of the darkness, hitting the Scot in the temple. He crumpled like a bag of dirt dropped from a wagon.

  Tavish.

  One of the first things Quinn had learned about the broad-shouldered Scotsman all those years ago was that he could knock a man out with a single punch. A single punch.

  The man went down upon contact, as all men did when their faces met his fist, spraying blood.

  “Yer bleedin’,” Tavish said, handing Quinn a dirty handkerchief.

  Quinn wiped her face off. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

  And so it went.

  They fought their way to the queen’s private dining room, where Rizzio, the queen’s secretary, lover, and probable father of her unborn infant lay at the foot of the stairs, dead from many, many stab wounds.

  “Jesus, lad, this does not bode well,” Tavish muttered. “Rizzio was detested by most, but none hated him more than the queen’s husband, Lord Darnley. This is goin’ to muddy the waters fer sure.”

  The Irishmen leapt over him and ran up the stairs to find the queen standing at the window, pale, shaking, and held still at knifepoint by two men Quinn had not seen before. She had no idea how they had gotten in.

  “Come any closer, and she’ll wind up like her filthy lover.”

  “Lord Ruthven,” Tavish began. Quinn raised an eyebrow—Tavish clearly knew more about Scottish noblemen than she had anticipated. “While a bold move, it is foolish to harm the queen while O’Malley’s men are nearby.” Tavish continued to move away from Quinn. “No one can help Rizzio now, but we can help the queen’s men find his killer.”

  Quinn widened her eyes, feigning shock. “Tavish, they... they killed him. Why?”

  “Not they, lad. No doubt the queen’s husband is behind this. He is probably tryin’ to bring Mary to heel.”

  Outside the window, Quinn heard a growing crowd who must have also heard the queen’s earlier screams, loud that they were.

  Movement from the corn
er made Kwame draw a second short sword while Quinn pressed the cloth to her cheek with one hand while withdrawing a throwing dagger from her thigh sheath with the other.

  The room was terribly crowded with friend and foe alike. The acrid smell of death hovered in the air like a specter.

  The man who was moving from the darkness of the corner was none other than Lord Darnley, the queen’s husband. What his role was in this mess Quinn had no idea, though she knew they would discover soon enough. But at this moment, all they could do was save the queen from Lord Ruthven, who held a bloody knife upon her person.

  “Take another step and I’ll gut her like a fish and kill both her and the bastard she carries within her unfaithful belly.”

  When Tavish was far enough away from Quinn to split Ruthven’s attention, she knew she had but one chance to strike and strike well.

  In one smooth motion, Quinn threw her throwing knife underhanded as hard as she could toward Ruthven. It was the most calculated and riskiest attack she had ever perpetrated, but she knew he was not bluffing. He had what Grace called dead man’s eyes, and that meant he was just as big a risk to Mary as he said he was.

  End over end it flew toward him, narrowly missing two others who stood fighting knife to knife.

  Her dagger found purchase in Ruthven’s shoulder and rocked him back just enough for Tavish to leap upon him, push the throwing blade aside, and crush his face in with that massively meaty fist of his. Bones crunched beneath the strength of that fist.

  Yanking the queen away from the dying grasp of Ruthven, Quinn ushered her out and down the stairs, where Grace and the rest of their men were busy fighting friend and foe alike.

  “Bloody hell, Callaghan, it’s about time. I was gettin’ worried.” Grace parried a blow before driving her sword into a man’s chest.

  Blood splattered the walls while the clanging of metal against metal reverberated through the long hallway. It was too difficult to tell who was on what side, so Quinn hurriedly escorted Lord Darnley and Mary out of the palace and headed, at the queen’s bequest, to the infamous Dunbar Castle in East Lothian.