Shiver Her Timbers: The Plundered Chronicles Read online

  “Of course I am right. Callaghan, look at what happened to my lover! He got caught up in a battle that wasn’t even his to fight. It is the way of the world. All we can really trust are those men out on the decka this ship. Ya trust ennaone else and ya might as well hand over yer sword.”

  “That sounds so dismal, sir.”

  Grace strode around, muttering to herself. Finally, she said, “But enough of this. I think I have a plan that will help us across the board.”

  Quinn shook her head. “I don’t know about yours, but mine does not include the killing of innocent people, sir. I have a plan wherein you can exact your revenge without unnecessary deaths.”

  “All of their deaths are necessary, Callaghan. It will send a verra clear message to everraone else what happens when ya attack an ally of the O’Malley’s.”

  “To do so will make the people who once loved you hate you, Captain. Is that what you want? I do not believe it is. Will you at least hear me out?”

  Grace leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “This I have to hear. Go on, Callaghan. Tell me this plan of yers.”

  * * *

  Four days later, on a nearby holy island of Caher, the MacMahon clan made their annual pilgrimage––a fact Quinn had shared with Grace that night in her cabin when she outlined her plan. High up on the ramparts of the castle on Clare Island, Grace and her men watched and waited.

  “I have to hand it to ya, Callaghan. I thought ya were just tryin’ to calm me down—ya know, lettin’ time cool me off. I would have cut ya loose if ya were wrong.” Grace kept the telescope to her eye. “Maybe I did cool off some, maybe I didn’t, but this plan of yers is a good one. Ya were right about the good people hatin’ me fer spillin’ Irish blood. I almost let my emotions get the best of me and go against everrathin’ I stand fer.”

  “And that would have destroyed ya, captain. We can’t have that.” Quinn looked through her own scope. “I understand yer duty to avenge Hugh’s death, sir, but nobody will understand the deaths of innocent Irishmen. Nobody.”

  Grace lowered her scope. “Ya better know what yer doin’ Callaghan, and ya better hope this planna yers works. I cannot allow others to think they can come after my people and live to tell about it.” Grace looked over her shoulder. “Innis?”

  “Aye, sir?”

  “Load the small boats. We shove off at a moment’s notice.”

  “Aye.”

  When Innis and the others left for the boats, Grace looked at Quinn. “Ya have done well, Callaghan. I may verra well owe ya my life.”

  “I couldn’t let you be predictable, sir. They were expecting you to attack. You might have led us into an ambush that could have killed us all.”

  Grace lifted an eyebrow. “I must admit. I almost let my grief get the better of me. A good captain can’t let that happen. Ever. But Callaghan, ya best learn a bit of humility when yer dealin’ with me.” She grinned. “And now it is time, Callaghan, to exact revenge on those monsters who took Hugh from me.”

  Not long after, Grace led her men in several boats to the island where the MacMahons landed, cutting off their escape route.

  “We go after the MacMahons, but no one kills the Donal but me. Ya are to hold him until I say otherwise. Are we clear on that point?”

  “Of course,” Innis said. “No women or children. No other innocent Irishmen unless they attack us.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Callaghan convinced me that would be unwise. I agree. We only want the men who hunted Hugh down. They need not have killed him. If they hunted him, they die. Enna questions?”

  No one had any.

  “Good. Happy huntin’, gentlemen.”

  After blocking the MacMahon’s escape, the crew hit the ground hard, weapons at the ready.

  “You sure this is such a good idea?” Kwame asked as he and Quinn split off from the group.

  “If we did not isolate the MacMahons, many innocent people would have been killed, and we can’t have that. Irishmen killin’ Irishmen is exactly what Elizabeth wants.”

  “Yes, but these folks are on a pilgrimage. The captain can’t really want us to kill people on a pilgrimage.”

  Quinn nodded. “She’s the queen of Connacht. A pirate. If she does not avenge his death, she will be seen as weak. Vulnerable. She can’t let that happen. We can’t let that happen.”

  “I do not see how anyone could ever think that captain weak.”

  “After today, they never will.”

  Truer words were never spoken. Grace O’Malley and her crew hunted, captured, and then killed every MacMahon who had anything to do with Hugh’s death.

  Quinn, Connor, and Tavish fought in a triangular stance that enabled them to protect each other’s backs. As the metal clanged on metal, Quinn took down several men coming at them with long pikes.

  “We get more’n one of them at a time, lad, and fightin’s gonna be tough.”

  Instead of whirling and fighting like some woman possessed, Grace was cold, methodical, and precise in dealing out death blows. One by one, she cut down the MacMahon men she knew to be responsible for going after her lover. She killed all but two of the MacMahons herself—those two had been put down by Innis and Fitz—and saved the man who drove the sword into Hugh for last.

  Quinn and the other pirates killed the rest of the clan. For her part, Quinn felt a small part of her die with every death. Killing her kinsmen was a soul-destroying experience.

  When she finally laid her hands on the Donal MacMahon who had killed Hugh, Grace held the tip of her sword to his chest as he stood glaring at her. “I understand ya were the one who killed my man.”

  The heavyset Irishman spat on the ground. “Aye, I killed him. He squealed like a girl when he knew he was a dead man. Begged fer his life, he did. Begged like the dandy man he was.”

  Quinn watched Grace carefully. The captain seemed very controlled under the circumstances, but Quinn knew better.

  “Tell me,” Grace started. “Will ya beg fer yers?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Grace pulled her sword back and with a deft and unerring swing, cut off his left arm.

  He went down on one leg screaming and staring at his bleeding stump.

  “Did Hugh sound like that, ya piece of Mac shite? Did he cry like yer cryin’ now, ya pussy?”

  “Fuckin’ bitch!”

  Just like that, Grace cut off his other arm.

  He screamed once more as his arm landed on the ground beside him.

  “Or maybe he sounded like that.” Walking up to him, Grace pulled him to his feet by the front of his jerkin. “Ya killed my man, ya arsehole, and fer that, I am goin’ to take ya piece by piece. When I am done with ya, yer people will rue the day they ever thought of crossin’ me or comin’ after mine.” With another swipe of her sword, she took off his lower leg. “And before ya die, ya filthy cur, I want ya to know I am goin’ to tear out yer heart, cook it, and force yer family to eat it.”

  She whittled him down a few more pieces before carving his heart from his chest and placing it into a leather bag.

  Quinn and the rest of the crew watched in silent horror as she walked away from the bits and pieces of the man who had killed her lover.

  “Callaghan, fetch me his wife and children.”

  Quinn’s eye bulged in revulsion. “Sir? I... I don’t think that is a wise idea.”

  “I didn’t ask ya to think, man, I told ya to get his goddamned family!”

  Quinn looked to Innis and Connor, who looked like she felt. “Help me.”

  They stared at her.

  “Get a move on, Callaghan!”

  It took Quinn under an hour to get the wife and her two daughters. She felt sick to her stomach as she led them to the small clearing where Grace waited. When all was said and done, Grace O’Malley had killed nearly two dozen men that day, leaving just the women and children alive—and the terror of those women and children was palpable.

  “Ya,” she said, pointing t
o the wife. “Yer alive so ya can tell everraone what happens when someone attacks the loved ones of the pirate queen. If enna Irishman wants to do England’s biddin’ by comin’ after me or those like me, they shall die by the bite of a true Irishman’s blade. Do ya understand?”

  The wife nodded.

  “Yer people took somethin’ from me that I loved. I intend on doin’ the same.”

  “B-but ya have already kilt most our men.”

  Grace stepped closer. “The killin’ was retribution fer takin’ my lover’s life. What comes next is me takin’ what yer people love.”

  The wife cried and wiped her eyes. “Ya took our men. Ya kilt them all. What... more is there fer ya to take?”

  The answer to that question, to her crew’s surprise, was the garrison and the MacMahon castle at Doona, which they took with ease.

  Grace’s men fought valiantly and in unison as they cut a wide swath through the men defending the garrison, losing only two pirates to wounds that could be healed within the week.

  When word reached the garrison a few hours later that the pirate queen and her men had killed the Macs, few stayed to defend a castle that wasn’t theirs to begin with. It was easy pickings for Grace O’Malley and her men.

  Grace O’Malley wasn’t content with just cutting down to size those who participated in Hugh’s death. No, she intended on complete and utter destruction of everything they held dear, and by taking Doona Castle as her own, she essentially forced them out of the county.

  It was as bold as it was calculated, and the entire county of Mayo was abuzz the next day about the bloody and unstoppable wrath of the pirate queen, who, if rumors were to be believed, cooked a MacMahon’s heart and ate it while sitting at his table. It was just a rumor, of course, but it was enough to make tongues wag.

  “Looks like the title ‘Pirate Queen’ is going to stick,” Kwame said as they all hunched over the meat and potatoes found in the kitchen pantry.

  “Aye,” Innis said, tearing into a piece of meat barely cooked. “If ennaone did not receive her message, they are deaf as well as blind.”

  Quinn picked at her food, her heart still heavy over her words to Fiona and the destruction of the MacMahons.

  “Laddie, if yer done pushin’ yer food ’round yer plate like a wee lass, I’d like a few words with ya outside.”

  Pushing away from the table, Quinn followed Tavish out the door.

  The castle, situated on a cliff off the Fahy Strand, was an inelegant stone structure, unimpressive and dull. The cold winds whipped upwards from the rocks, causing Quinn to wrap her jacket more tightly around her.

  “I mean to say goodbye to ya here, lad.”

  Quinn stared at him. “But I thought––”

  “I ken what ya wanted to happen, but I’m afraid yer captain has her hands full and I canna be a party to whatever else she has goin’ on in her head. I have done all I can do here and now I must return to my queen and see what I can do to help there. She needs me more than Grace.”

  “You’re afraid for her.”

  Tavish nodded. “Aye. Verra much I am. The killin’ of her lover is everra bit as dire as the captain losin’ hers, only countries may verra well go to war over Rizzio’s death. I worra fer them all.”

  “As well ya should be.” The deep voice was that of Grace O’Malley. “Mary is in grave danger. How much longer Elizabeth will allow her to sit upon the Scottish throne is ennaone’s guess. I do not know if Elizabeth has it in her to kill her own cousin, but I do know the men surroundin’ her do. If we do not help yer queen, it is only a matter of time before our old ways are absorbed by the English. If Hugh’s death has shown me ennathin’ it is the lengths the English will go to bend us to her will.”

  “Ya think the Macs kilt him because of Elizabeth?”

  Grace shook her head. “They kilt him because of that arsehole deputy. Whether or not Elizabeth ordered it makes no difference to me. This was an English manhunt, and they succeeded in baggin’ their man. Callaghan, ya were right all along. Hugh was exactly what they needed to try to get under my skin and have me act like a grievin’ and angry widow.”

  “Then ya understand why I must leave as soon as possible. Elizabeth has resorted to the lowest of tactics, and I have loved ones still in the Highlands.”

  “What I understand, Tavish, is that ya have been a steadfast member of my crew these six years and therefore are deservin’ of much more than a send-off in the darkness Ya need galloglaighs, yes? I mean, we need galloglaighs, yes?”

  He nodded.

  “Then let me help ya. We will take two of the smaller ships ’round the coast, collectin’ the glaighs fer our return to trip to Scotland.”

  “Our?”

  Grace smiled, and suddenly she seemed her old self once more. “Mary is the only thing standin’ between us and Elizabeth. Of course we’re goin’ to her aid, but we need men to fight the moment we land. I want two ships full of Scots fer our initial landin’ party. They may have to fight their kinsmen, they may not, but we’re goin’ to need the best fighters we can find and, to be honest, ya Scots know how to tear a man apart better’n ennaone.”

  “For a price,” Quinn added.

  “That’s where Tavish comes in. Collect only those galloglaighs who want a free ride back home to help their queen. Tell them Mary will pay once we arrive. All others can go to hell fer all I care. When ya have two ships full, bring them to Clew Bay, and we will leave straightaway fer Scotland.”

  Tavish bowed his head, inhaled deeply, and then raised up to look Grace in the eyes. “Thank ya, Captain.”

  “No, Tavish, thank ya. Long ago, ya were tasked with keepin’ Callaghan alive and well. To that end, ya did so. Now it is time fer ya to be repaid. I just have one question. How would ya feel about callin’ Callaghan captain?”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m givin’ the helm of those two ships to Callaghan and Innis. I trust them more than I trust my own kin. If ennaone can fill those ships with lively Scottish warriors, it’s the three of ya scalliwags. What say ya?”

  Tavish turned to Quinn, a huge grin cutting his face in half. “I say aye, Captain Callaghan. When do we set sail?”

  Quinn stood, stunned.

  She, a captain? She’d just gotten used to being a male pirate, but a captain? It was more than she had ever thought possible for a noblewoman.

  What on earth was Grace up to?

  “Callaghan? Cat got yer tongue?”

  “No sir. No. I... um... are you certain?”

  Throwing her arm around Quinn’s shoulders, Grace steered them back to the castle.

  “Never been more certain in my life. Trust me, Callaghan. I always know what I am doin’. I always have a plan.”

  * * *

  Standing at the helm as the ship made its way out of Clew Bay, Quinn felt oddly excited.

  Not in a million lifetimes would the Quinn Gallagher of seven years ago have foreseen this: her moment of captaining a ship––and not just any ship. No, a ship belonging to the pirate queen, Grace O’Malley. It was almost too thrilling for words.

  Grace had given her first choice of first mates. She chose Tavish and Kwame, while Innis took Fitz, Connor, and One Eye. Quinn also took Murphy, the cook, even though there was no real galley or kitchen on these ships. Murphy was a huge block of a man who could fight as well as he could cook and was loyal to the cause.

  The rest of the crew was skeletal, just enough men to sail the ship. They would need the space for the galloglaighs.

  The galloglaighs.

  Now there was something you didn’t see often.

  They were the potent result of interbreeding of the Scottish Gaels with the Norse settlers who settled the Hebrides; the word meant foreign warrior... but they were so much more than that.

  Their favorite weapon was a six-foot-long, razor-sharp, double-sided battle ax called a sparth, which they would use in fights to the death. Galloglaighs seldom retreated, quit, or withdrew from any battle, even if it w
as clear their opponents had superior members or strength. This was what made them so fierce. They simply did not surrender.

  In return for their mercenary services, they were often granted large tracts of land, which they neither farmed nor cared for because they lived for battle.

  According to Tavish, who had briefed both ships prior to sailing, the galloglaighs were also fond of the claiomh mor, or “big sword,” along with long spears, small bows, and lethal throwing darts much like the knives Quinn wore. They were, for all intents and purposes, highly skilled killing machines who served the highest bidder and fought until death.

  With merely one and a half chests of gold, Quinn wondered just how many of the warriors they would be successful in procuring.

  “Captain, have ya gone deaf?”

  Quinn looked around for Grace before she realized Tavish was talking to her.

  “Sorry, Tavish. I was... never mind. What is it?”

  “Bonnie Doon is the first place we ought to dock. There are at least two dozen of them around the village at enna given time lookin’ fer work.”

  Quinn nodded. “Very well. Kwame, set our sails and make way to Bonnie Doon. How do you wish to proceed, Tavish?”

  Tavish stroked his chin. “Verra carefully, Captain. They’ll see us comin’, to be sure. Some will come right away to the dock lookin’ fer work. If it is all right with ya, I suggest lettin’ me do the talkin’.”

  Quinn nodded. “Very well. My Scottish is weak at best. Then let’s make our way and secure ourselves some of your finest warriors.”

  An hour later, Quinn stood next to Tavish in the village center of Bonnie Doon, a trade post known for its fine wool. The village center was bustling with merchants selling wool coats, leather boots, wine, and many other products made from Scotland. The air was crisp and damp, as was the climate of Scotland most of the time, and the people were dressed in layers for the cold.

  Quinn didn’t think she could ever get used to the weather in Scotland. Its cold had an edge to it that Ireland’s did not, so she pulled her jacket up around her neck.

  Just as Tavish had predicted, half a dozen warriors stood shoulder to shoulder, sparths in hand. Only one large fellow carried the claiomh mor, and he appeared like some behemoth from a race of giants with long red hair woven into a plait down his back.