Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  The second and third guards confirmed what the first had said–both ending their days in similar fashion to the first man.

  “There will be more around that door, don’t ya think?”

  Quinn nodded. “I do. Which is why we are gonna do somethin’ they’ll never expect.” Taking out her dagger, Quinn slit the already dead guard’s throat and dipped her hands into the warm blood.

  “Uh... Callaghan?”

  Wiping the blood all over her face so it looked like a mask of death, Quinn turned to Fitz. “These Catholics are a superstitious lot with their fears of demons, spirits, and ghosts. I am gonna come runnin’ at them, wildly wavin’ my arms as if I were a demon. This oughtta catch them off guard enough fer ya to immediately come in behind me and lop off a few arms.”

  “I don’t know if that is daft or brilliant.”

  “Well, we’re about to find out. And Fitz?”

  “I know, Callaghan. We live together, we die together, but we do not get taken prisoner.”

  “Exactly.” When Quinn’s face was nothing but red, Fitz stepped back slightly. “Ya know yer a daft son of a bitch. Ya know that, right?”

  Quinn bridged the gap between them and thrust her face into his. “Ya remember that if ever ya think about treatin’ me enna differently because ya know my secret. It will not go well fer ya.”

  A slow grin broke out on Fitz’s face. “Aye to that, Callaghan. Now g’won and act the lunatic. I’ll be right behind ya.”

  Quinn sheathed her short sword as well. She figured if she carried no sword, these cretins might actually believe she was a demon or a devil.

  “Come out swingin’, Fitz.” With that, Quinn took off around the corner, screaming and screeching in Latin about hell and damnation.

  The three guards instantly backed away while a fourth rose from a sitting position on the ground and tripped over his feet.

  Quinn leapt over him and pinned the remaining three against the wall.

  Three were dead before they even saw Fitz’s sword. The fourth, a young guard who didn’t even need to shave yet, held his hands in surrender, his eyes never leaving Quinn’s face.

  “Hombre con pelo rojo?” Quinn asked.

  The young kid stammered before pointing to the steps leading up.

  “Stay with him, Fitz. I’m goin’ up alone. If Tavish’s not there, kill him.”

  “Callaghan? Ya might wanna wash yer face off first.”

  She shook her head. “Ya saw how they reacted. They believed me to be some kind of demon. That fear gives us a slight advantage.” Stepping up to the boy, she grabbed him around the neck and growled, “Está solo?”

  The boy nodded. “Si. Si. Completamente solo.”

  Quinn withdrew her short sword. “He says Tavish is alone.”

  “Callaghan, ya didn’t ask if he is–”

  “No, I... I can’t. I don’t... I just can’t.” Slowly walking up steps carved from stone, Quinn smelled the prisoners before she saw them—but this was more than the odor of fear and death. This stench was of feces and sweat, urine and blood. It hovered in the air like a dense fog, attacking her senses and making her eyes water.

  In the room, lined with five cages on every side, lay the broken and battered bodies of other “heretics.” Each cage had an enormous iron lock on it, and inside each prison lay someone who had once been a healthy human being.

  When one woman saw her, she started to scream, but nothing came out. Quinn placed her finger to her lips. “Soy bueno. Shh. Todo está bien.”

  Looking in cell after cell, she finally found Tavish lying in a bloody heap on the floor. If he was alive, she couldn’t tell.

  Running back to the stairs, she demanded to know who had the keys.

  In Spanish, the young guard told her the keys were in the hands of Esteban and a guard named Mano de la Muertes de Dios, which Quinn mentally translated to mean “God’s Hand of Death.”

  “Describe him.”

  The young Spaniard said he was the largest man out there and that he had the keys at night while Esteban had them during the day.

  Quinn thanked him and then said in Gaelic over her shoulder as she went back up the stairs, “Don’t kill him yet. We might need him.”

  Carefully making her way to Tavish’s cell, Quinn peered in. Her heart broke in a million pieces when she saw what they had done to his left hand. Every finger was broken and jutted in a different direction. She could not see his face and could barely tell where his legs began and ended. The fact that he wore a bloody shirt gave her hope that they hadn’t put him on the rack.

  “Tavish? Tavish, wake up!”

  Nothing.

  “Tavish, it’s me, Callaghan. Wake up!”

  “I don’t think that one is going to wake up. Though I am unsure, I believe the angels came for him last night,” a woman said in Gaelic.

  Quinn tilted her head toward the woman. “How do ya know?”

  “Last breath I heard was around midnight. If he is dead, at least he’s not in any more pain.”

  There were no tears left in Quinn. Just anger and hatred like she had never felt before.

  The woman, not an unhandsome one, had a black eye and several cuts on her face but no serious injuries. “They’re ignorant, those Catholics. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

  Quinn pulled both swords out. “If I get ya the keys, will ya free the others?”

  “The keys are on the waistband of a man large enough to be a giant, and there are six more with him around the grounds.”

  Quinn stepped over to her cell. “That didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes. I will, but most are too broken to walk, let alone run.”

  Quinn nodded. “I know, but it’s the best I can do.”

  “Callaghan?” the woman said before Quinn could get to the door.

  “What?”

  The woman pointed to the back of her foot at her Achilles tendon. “If you can cut this muscle right here, he will be unable to stand. It will at least give you a fighting chance.”

  Quinn squinted through the semidarkness. “Slice right through it?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Both would make him unable to stand forever.”

  “Thank ya–”

  “Maggie. And I’m the one who should be thanking you. At least now if I die, it will be quick and painless.”

  “Indeed.” Quinn inhaled a deep breath, regripped her sword in her left hand, and ripped open the door.

  Maggie had not overestimated the man’s size. He was enormous.

  When he turned toward the open door, his hand reached for the sword in his scabbard.

  Quinn took off running right for him.

  The sword slid halfway out.

  Quinn picked up speed.

  The sword tip was almost clear of the scabbard. Quinn thrust her feet out in front of her and slid hard toward him, feet first.

  The sword sliced through the empty space Quinn would have filled had she not slid at the exact time she had.

  Sliding just to the side of him, Quinn flew past him, rose up beside him on her knees, and swung her sword with all her might.

  She had one shot at this.

  Just one.

  And she had to be exact with her stroke because she wasn’t getting another chance.

  As her sword sliced through the air, she saw him begin to turn and pull his sword back for a second swing at her.

  She didn’t give him the chance.

  Quinn’s short sword cut through his left tendon completely and partially severed the right. The giant guard howled as he took a step and crumpled to his knees, sword still in hand.

  Still on her knees, Quinn brought her sword backhand across the back of his neck, nearly decapitating him. He fell face first to the dirt, dead on arrival.

  Grabbing the keys, she slid them across the floor to Maggie, who reached out and grabbed them before they slid past her cell.

  Rising to her feet, Quinn whipped around to face two guards who must have heard the gia
nt’s howl.

  Without a word, Quinn attacked the first man on the left. He parried; she recoiled, stooped down, and sliced the second guard’s thighs, cutting them open to the muscle.

  The first guard stabbed at her, showing a complete lack of understanding of a real sword fight. She killed him with her second blow and finished off the other guard.

  Three more appeared in their place, and Quinn flipped her short sword so she held the tip, then let it fly as if it were merely a larger throwing dagger. It skewered the middle guard in the stomach. As he collapsed, the other two rushed her.

  By now, she understood that these “guards” were not soldiers. They were not well trained and probably had never been in a real sword fight. Just the fact that they were running toward her with the tips of their swords leading the charge told her as much. A sword fight was fought best by swinging, not stabbing. Their swords should have been pulled back, ready to swing.

  Both men were dead before they could draw back even one strike. As Quinn began backing up toward the cells, six more started for her.

  Six.

  Even if they were untrained, she knew she would not survive this attack. There were too many coming at her all at once.

  Holding her long sword in front of her in both hands, she scanned the men’s faces looking for the strongest one.

  He would be the first to go.

  As their swords met, the metallic clang reverberated through the air. He was strong, she gave him that much, but his sword skills were not as good as hers.

  A second sword bit her arm while a third clipped her ear.

  Killing the first guard with a slice across his neck, Quinn barely got her sword up in time to block the next blow.

  Everything slowed down for her at this pre-death moment. She saw Fiona holding Gallagher and looking out over the sea, wondering how Quinn had lost her life. She saw Becca shedding tears for a love that wasn’t enough. She saw Evan wondering if they’d ever meet again. She saw Grace angrily jabbing her finger in the air saying, “Enough, Callaghan. That’s enough.”

  Then she heard it.

  THWUP.

  THWUP.

  THWUP.

  THWUP.

  Four arrows, four guards hitting the ground. The last two turned to run, but they too were cut down by arrows fired from behind Quinn.

  “I said enough, Callaghan! We have your Scotsman, and we need to go!”

  It was Sayyida and her men.

  Running to join her, Quinn glanced at Tavish’s now-empty cell.

  “We have him. My men are bringing him to the ship.”

  “Is he–”

  “Barely alive, but alive nonetheless.”

  Quinn felt her knees go weak, and Sayyida caught her in her arms. “How did ya–”

  “Later. Right now, we must escape this place. We have killed the councilmen–”

  “Esteban?”

  Sayyida grinned. “Not him. Trussed up like the pig he is and awaiting your judgment. Come.”

  Quinn looked at all of the open doors to the cells. Only Tavish’s and Maggie’s were empty. “The woman who was in here?”

  “Asked to join us.” Sayyida pulled Quinn through the chamber. “She is a physician.”

  Quinn frowned. “They’ve been torturin’ a physician?”

  “They see her not as what she is but as they wish her to be.”

  “Which is what?”

  Sayyida shoved Quinn ahead of her. “A witch, of course.”

  They had to fight their way back to the boats that would take them to Sayyida’s ship, but the Spaniards were ill prepared to fight and easily overcome. When Quinn reached the boat that Tavish was in, she sat next to him and brushed the hair from his face.

  “Oh, Tavish... I am so sorry they did this to you. You will be avenged, my dear friend, if it the last act of my life on this world.” Glancing around, Quinn searched for Esteban with the cold eyes of a hawk looking for prey.

  “The one you seek is in another boat,” Maggie said from behind her. “I thought it unwise to put him in the same boat as your friend.”

  “Thank ya.” Leaning over Tavish, Quinn examined his face. His eyebrow was bloody, and his nose appeared broken, but other than that they’d left his face alone.

  “His injuries are on his extremities,” Maggie said softly as she held up his broken hand. “They tried to rack him, but the pulley or lever broke, and so they went to another form of torture referred to as the cat’s paw. It is a three-pronged device those bastards use to shred the skin. It–”

  Quinn held her hand up and replied in English so Sayyida could understand as well. “Stop. Please. I cannot hear that right now. I am told... I am told ya can save him.”

  Maggie placed her hand gently on Tavish’s chest. “I will know that answer once we have him on board the ship where the light will allow me to see better his wounds.” Maggie leaned closer, her silver hair catching the moonlight. “Your friend lasted longer than any I’ve seen in here.”

  Sayyida put her arms around Quinn’s shoulders. “He was hanging by his wrists when he saw me peer through an open door. I am almost certain he grinned.”

  Maggie nodded. “They open the doors so everyone can hear the screams of the tortured. So he saw your friend here and cried out her name. That act of defiance cost him a great deal of skin, but I believe he knew what he was doing.”

  Fitz laid his hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “The old guy didn’t turn on us after all.”

  Quinn shook her head. “No. Of course he didn’t. He needed to get us outside so Sayyida could reach us. It... ” She paused as her eyes welled up. “He saved us, Fitz.” She held Maggie’s hand. “Please save him.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but I make no promises.”

  As they rowed back to the ship, Quinn felt exhaustion roll over her. Setting her head on Sayyida’s shoulder, she closed her eyes and melted into Sayyida’s warm embrace.

  “You are safe now, Callaghan,” Sayyida murmured, kissing Quinn’s head. “Safe and well, and–Allah willing–so too will your Scot be.”

  They rowed in silence a little longer before Fitz said to One Eye, “So ya went fer a swim, didja? What did ya do when ya got to the island?”

  One Eye answered, “I searched high ’n low fer someone who could help me get a boat to ya. The only ones I found were two in her crew.”

  “So it was ya who sent Sayyida to the dungeons?”

  “Aye. I watched those bastards bring ya in, and so I waited at the shore where I’d first seen her men anchor. I had to wait fer them to come back.” His voice lowered softly. “And by then, it was too late to save Connor. By the time she got wind that Callaghan was here, they’d taken Big Red.”

  “The next hundred drinks fer ya, old man, are on me.”

  “Nah. It’s what we do, aye? We’re brothers. Ya’d have done the same fer me.”

  Quinn listened to the two men talk and tried to open her eyes as well as her mouth to thank One Eye, but she didn’t have the strength for even that.

  “I don’t know how to repay ya, Sayyida, fer riskin’ yer lives to save a crew not yer own.”

  Sayyida lightly kissed Quinn’s head and replied softly. “Some things are especially worth the risk.”

  Fitz nodded. “Aye, Captain, that they are.”

  Quinn was not prepared for the gruesome sight that was Tavish’s backside. His skin hung in tattered pieces from his shoulders to his waist; in places his back muscles were visible. One of Quinn’s hands went to her mouth as she steadied herself with the other.

  “If I can’t get this cleaned, he’ll die of putrefaction,” Maggie said to Quinn. “The fact that he is still alive is quite a testimony to his courage and strength.”

  “What do ya need?” Quinn inhaled a shaky breath as Fitz moved closer to her. “Tell me and I’ll get it even if I have to pull it from my own body.”

  “Nothing this ship has. There are plants on the island, however, that I can use to keep the putrefaction at bay, bu
t I must have them before the captain turns the ship about and leaves. Once that sets in, I do not know if he will survive it.”

  Quinn was up the stairs two at a time and onto the moonlit deck where she landed in front of Sayyida. “We cannot leave the island just yet.”

  Sayyida stared ahead for a moment before slowly turning toward Quinn. The sails were already underway. “We are in enemy waters, my sweet one. We must away as quickly as possible.”

  Tears sprang in Quinn’s eyes. “He’ll die, Sayyida, if we don’t get Maggie the plants she needs to heal him.”

  Sayyida gazed into Quinn’s eyes a long time before whispering, “You love hard, don’t you, Callaghan? Hard and with a ferocity women dream of being loved with. He is not your brother, nor your lover, and yet you will stop at nothing to save him. That is an admirable quality.”

  “He is... my friend and greatest mate, Sayyida, and if I have to swim ashore carryin’ him on my back, I’ll do so.”

  Lightly caressing Quinn’s cheek, Sayyida tilted her head as she looked deeper into Quinn’s eyes. “I’ll not have that, Callaghan. Where do you wish to go? If we can go ashore quickly, we will do so.”

  “Still to the northernmost point of the island. We will take Maggie ashore, collect what she needs, and deal with Esteban all at once. If there is honey on board, I would like some of that as well.”

  “Of course, but you need to rest. You are barely able to stand, my love.”

  “I need to finish this so we can be on our way. I’ll rest then.”

  Nodding, Sayyida leaned over and kissed Quinn softly. “As you wish. Grace O’Malley is a very lucky woman to have one as loyal as you.” She pulled away and smiled softly. “Actually, she is very lucky just to have you.”

  Quinn pulled back slightly. “Grace is my captain, and that is all.”

  “Truly? Then she is not the one who causes you pain?”

  Shaking her head, Quinn pursed her lips. “Pain?”

  “In your heart. It radiates through your eyes. Someone has wounded you deeply. It is not her, then?”

  “Not at all. She is... just my captain and friend.”

  Sayyida threw her head back and laughed. “And all this time I thought–oh, never mind. Whoever this woman is, she is no match for Sayyida al Hurra. We will launch a boat with you and your men, along with the physician before dawn. You will have three hours, Callaghan, and then we must be on our way. Staying in Spanish waters too long after what we’ve done is a dangerous and risky proposition, even to save one as brave as your Scot.”