Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3) Page 14

  “Thank ya. I owe ya so much fer–”

  “Yes, you do. But for now our debts are paid. Prepare your men and come back safely.” Sayyida kissed Quinn’s lips once more. “Be careful. My world is better with you in it.”

  Quinn bolted down the stairs to find Maggie working over Tavish’s shredded back.

  “Enna change?”

  Fitz and One Eye shook their heads.

  “We’re goin’ ashore, Maggie, but ya must accompany us. Will he be all right alone?”

  “Yes. I am trying to piece his remaining skin back in place before we put the unguent on that could keep the heat and crud at bay. Retrieve me last.”

  Quinn started to turn away when she stopped and slowly turned back. “Maggie, if ya save his life, ya have my word that we will take ya wherever ya wish to go once we are back on the Malendroke.”

  “No promises, Callaghan. I’ll do my best–not just because I owe you for saving my life but because it is what I do.”

  “Well, what ya do is much appreciated. Save his life, Maggie–no matter the cost, no matter the means.”

  Maggie smiled and bowed her head. “Why Callaghan, it sounds as if you believe me to be a witch.”

  Quinn shrugged. “One of my dearest friends is a druid priestess, Maggie, so I know that ennathin’ is possible in this world... includin’ savin’ my friend.”

  “I’ll do all I can.”

  With that, Quinn, One Eye, Fitz, Maggie, and a bound and gagged Esteban left to row to shore on the northernmost point of the island. Esteban’s eyes blazed with an anger not surprising to Quinn. He would go out of this life a fighter.

  “What if Kwame isn’t here?” Fitz asked. “It is a long shot, ya know?”

  “I am aware, but I need to try. I need to know that we did everrathin’ we could to bring everrabody home.”

  Esteban tried to speak through his gag, but Fitz punched him in the cheek. “Keep yer trap shut, ya piece of shite.”

  Quinn looked up at the lightening sky. “It will be light when we land. Fitz, ya and One Eye will go with Maggie to collect whatever she needs. I’ll take care of old Esteban here and watch the boat. Keep yer eyes open fer Kwame.”

  As Quinn had guessed, they landed just as the sun’s forehead peeked over the horizon. This side of the island was rife with flora Quinn had never seen before, and the emerald green of their color looked like something only the goddesses could have created.

  She knew how risky it was to still be on the island, but she’d seen Tavish’s back and knew he would not survive the inevitable putrefaction that was probably already setting in.

  Maggie had set his fingers so his hand did not look as bad as it had when the fingers were pointing in different directions. She doubted he would ever be able to hold a sword in that hand again, though Maggie said that with the right motions she could probably help him regain some movement to be able to use it once more.

  Quinn did not care if Tavish’s days on the ship were over. She just hoped she could save his life.

  Once off the boat, Quinn shoved Esteban ahead and picked up two half-filled sacks while the other three grabbed sacks and headed for the foliage.

  “Ya understand why I’m doin’ this. Ya tortured and killed one of my best mates. He was a good man. A dear friend. And ya destroyed his body. Not his spirit, mind ya, just his body. Well, be verra clear, ya sack of shite... I intend to break both in ya.”

  Walking up to a large tree, Quinn threw a rope over a low branch and tied it to his wrists. “Sayyida burned yer village to the ground, we’ve killed yer fuckin’ council, and yer prisoners have been set free. Ya are gonna be my message to ennaone—ennaone—who thinks yer religion has the right to question ours.” Pulling on the rope, Quinn tugged it until Esteban was on his tiptoes with his hands high over his head. “An easy death is not what ya gave Connor.” She ripped off the gag. “Connor was a great man. When ya say his name, it will be the last words comin’ off yer filthy tongue. Say his name.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Quinn pulled out her short sword and cut his ear off. He howled. “Let’s try that again. Say his name, ya fuckin’ cocksucker.”

  Blood streamed down Esteban’s neck from his ear, and he cursed in Spanish.

  Quinn held the sword to his dick. “Say. His. Name.”

  Esteban swallowed hard and said in English, “I have money. I am a very wealthy man.”

  “No, what ya are is a verra dead man. Ya just don’t know it yet.” Quinn cut his belt off and tore his pants down to his ankles. “Connor. His name.”

  “Fuck. You.”

  Quinn stared at him. “Ya are not verra smart.” Then she cut his shirt and tore it off, leaving just his shoes on and his pants dangling from his ankles. “Connor was a great person, and ya tortured him—fer what? Yer beliefs? Then ya broke the fingers of my best friend. Fer that, the pain ya are gonna feel will equal all of that... only ya will endure it alone.”

  Opening one of the two sacks she’d brought with her, Quinn pulled out two pots of honey. “When ya say his name, I’ll end yer sufferin’, but not until then.” Then she walked around the tree, her eyes scanning the ground. When she found what she was looking for, she dropped small droplets of on honey on the ground as she walked towards the suspended Esteban. “This isn’t gonna go well fer ya, ya fuckin’ bastard.” Dipping her fingers into the thick liquid, she smeared it on his nose, forehead, cheeks, and neck. Then she dipped her fingers in again and grabbed his dick.

  Esteban’s eyes grew wide as understanding took root.

  “Did ya think I would stain my spirit by torturin’ ya myself? No, no, no. I don’t need to do that. I won’t do that. I’ll let nature take its course. Ya see, ya fuckin’ bastard, I am a heretic who despises yer god and his shitbag followers who would do such horrific things to kind people who have done nothin’ to ya or yers. And this heretic is gonna enjoy watchin’ ya cry out to a god who will not hear ya, who will not care about ya, who will not save ya.”

  Quinn upended the rest of the honey jar on Esteban’s head and watched as it ran down his face, neck, shoulders, and chest. “They are gonna eat ya alive, pendejo, startin’ with yer eyes, lips, and tongue. So ya might want to say his name before they fill yer mouth.”

  “My God will save me and give me everlasting life in the kingdom of heaven.”

  “Maybe so, but fer the next few hours, ya are gonna experience hell on earth.” Quinn walked a twenty-foot perimeter around the tree, kicking over ant hills and waving the honey pot in the air. When she was satisfied she’d done all she could, she searched for the tallest tree she could find and climbed it.

  Esteban was still in view, but she needed to see if she could somehow locate Kwame. “You said the northernmost point,” Quinn muttered to herself. “Where are you?”

  Her only answer was the wind whistling through the branches.

  She’d only been roosting for half an hour when she heard Esteban scream in Spanish. He screamed and screamed until finally he yelled out Connor’s name.

  “Connor! Connor! Por favor, Connor!”

  Quinn slowly made her way down the tree and back to him.

  What she found was worse than she’d imagined.

  Ants formed a thick rope of a line on the ground and up Esteban’s legs and sides. They were crawling all over his face, in his ears and nose. His eyes were closed, and he was frantically trying to keep them out of his mouth by using his tongue.

  Ants weren’t the only visitors, either. Bugs she’d never seen before were stuck in the honey. Whether they were eating it or not, she did not know. She could only see dark patches on his face and neck as the ants began their busy work of eating the honey.

  Quinn stood back and examined the scene. “I cannot imagine the terror ya are feelin’ of bein’ slowly eaten alive by bugs. And trust me, pendejo, they will eat ya alive.”

  “You... said... ” He gagged and sputtered, the ants filling his ears, nose and mouth.

  Quinn’s stom
ach turned, but she ignored it. Every time she felt the tiniest sliver of guilt, she thought of Connor’s broken body and Tavish’s shredded back.

  Then this became much easier.

  “I’ll bet most people ya’ve tortured begged at some point fer ya to stop, but ya didn’t, did ya? No, ya kept hurtin’ them, all the while promisin’ them somethin’ they were never gonna get. Well, guess what?” Quinn leaned in and realized Esteban’s left eyelid was half eaten. “A pox on ya and yer miserable Inquisition. Ya are gonna die here ya dickless motherfucker.”

  As Quinn started to head back to the boat, she heard rumbling behind her. Whirling around while pulling out her swords, Quinn saw someone cresting the small hill, running for his life from a group of men.

  Kwame.

  “Callaghan! Help me!”

  Quinn took off in a spring toward Kwame, who held his right hand up.

  Without breaking stride, Quinn tossed him her short sword, which he caught in the hilt. Kwame reached Quinn and turned to fight. “Only six,” he panted.

  Quinn nodded. “They’ll soon be six dead men.”

  Quinn and Kwame took out the first three. Fitz ran up and joined, and the second three went down without inflicting a single injury.

  “You made it,” Kwame said, bending over to catch his breath. “When I saw the village burning, I could only hope–”

  “Sayyida al Hurra.”

  Kwama smiled. “Ah. And Tavish? He is not... ”

  “Still lives.” Quinn explained to Kwame what had happened as they walked back to Esteban. “And what of you?”

  “They had me on a boat to take to the Americas for selling, but I managed to get free. Unlike the rest of the slaves on that ship, I can swim. I’ve just been trying to stay alive until I could get back to you, Callaghan. It is all I could think to do.”

  Quinn smiled. “You’re a good man, Kwame. It is good to see you alive.”

  “Holy mother,” Fitz said when he saw Esteban, whose entire head was now covered with ants. “Is he still alive?”

  “Verra much so, and fer a little while longer.”

  Fitz shuddered. “Remind me never to make ya mad, Callaghan.”

  Quinn dug into her shirt and pulled out Fitz’s necklace. “Don’t torture my friends, and ya will be fine.” Handing him the necklace, Quinn put an arm around his shoulders. “We’re family, Fitz. We take care of our own. Speakin’ of which–”

  “They are on their way to the boat. Maggie wants to drop the plants off and have a word with ya.”

  “Kwame, would ya and Fitz prepare the boat? We’ll be shovin’ off shortly.”

  When they were gone, Quinn watched as the ants spread to Esteban’s neck and shoulders. She felt no remorse. No regret. She felt nothing.

  Here was a man who had done heinous things to other human beings in the name of a god that was supposed to be about love.

  He deserved this fate.

  “May I speak with you a moment, Callaghan?”

  Quinn turned to find Maggie. “Of course.” Quinn bent her ear to Maggie, who stood on tiptoe to whisper in her ear.

  After listening carefully, Quinn nodded to Maggie, who produced a sharpened dagger and approached Esteban.

  Quinn watched in quiet fascination as Maggie laid the dagger on top of his ant-covered penis.

  “What you did to me and what you allowed others to do to me makes a mockery of your religion and a fool out of your god. What you took from me, I can never replace. And so, according to the universal law of nature, what I take from you now, you too cannot replace.” Taking Esteban’s penis in her hand, Maggie quickly and efficiently cut it off.

  Esteban howled, forcing some of the ants from his mouth. Then Maggie took some powder from her waist pouch and poured it on the nub.

  “Can’t have you bleeding to death. Your pain and anguish must last.” The bleeding slowed as soon as she covered his dickless stump. “I believe your Bible says you shall reap what you sow. This is your just reward.” With that, Maggie dropped his dick at his feet and strode back towards the boat.

  “Kill... me... por favor... beg... uh.”

  Quinn shook her head. “Not a chance. I do think ya should know, though, that ya were bested by a woman, and I’m not speakin’ of Maggie, though she did just make a eunuch outta ya. No, I mean me. Ya see... I am a woman. So when ya stand before yer god, a dickless, moral-less bastard, ya be sure to remind him ya were reduced to ant food by the weaker sex. I’m sure he’ll get a chuckle outta that.”

  When Quinn returned to the boat, Kwame was regaling the others with stories of his escape.

  Quinn sat back and half listened, her bones weary and her eyelids closing slower and slower.

  Quinn Gallagher would never have strung Esteban up and tortured him so. She would have let the law deal with him as it saw fit. But Kieran Callaghan... he was a different story. Callaghan was a member of a pirate family who kept each other safe at any cost.

  Any cost. Even if it meant the darkening of her own soul.

  And her soul had a lot of blood on it now.

  The odd thing was, Quinn no longer cared that she was a ruthless and heartless killer. She’d done what had to be done. Could she have just ended Esteban’s life swiftly and mercifully?

  Of course.

  But who in their right mind would have?

  Esteban had ordered the torture and imminent death of two people she cared about.

  Not just cared about.

  Loved.

  There. She’d acknowledged that truth once before, but this time she felt it to the marrow of her bones. She loved these men, these pirates, as surely as she loved Fiona, Becca, Shea, and Evan. Esteban had had it coming to him.

  So, with no regrets, Quinn closed her eyes and accepted the fact that there was no more turning back.

  She was, for now and forever, Kieran Callaghan: pirate, thief, sailor, and killer.

  * * *

  “Come, Callaghan, you must rest. Watching over the Scot, while admirable, is not doing you any good.” Sayyida put her arms around Quinn and held her from behind in almost a motherly fashion.

  “I’ve been telling him that for the last two hours,” Maggie said as she continued mixing the poultice she’d applied to Tavish’s back.

  “I won’t leave him alone.”

  “He won’t be alone, dear-heart. Maggie will stay with him, won’t you Mags?”

  Maggie glanced up quickly at the nickname. “My husband used to call me that.”

  “My apologies. I meant no disrespect.”

  “I rather like it.” Maggie returned her attention to the mixture.

  “Come, sweet one, and rest with me,” Sayyida said, turning her attention fully to Quinn. “We are well out of danger now and will soon arrive at my country.”

  Quinn turned in her arms. “Are we goin’ to Rabat?”

  Sayyida shook her head. “Later, of course, but further north to Tétouan, my home, where you will be welcome to stay until your Scot is well enough to travel.”

  “My men. I’ll need to speak with them ab–”

  “Shh. Your men know of the beautiful women of Tangier and of the delectable dishes of my people. They will agree. You’ll see. But for now I insist you come with me and lay your head for a few hours. Do not make me act as captain.”

  Slowly nodding, Quinn rose. “Maggie–”

  “I’ll do everything I can, Callaghan. If he gets worse, I shall send for you straight away.”

  “Thank ya.”

  When they entered Sayyida’s captain’s quarters, Quinn stopped dead. Unlike Grace’s spartan room with its rickety chairs and dim lighting, Sayyida’s quarters were lavish, light, and colorful. The bed was three times the size of Grace’s and had colorful silk linens draped across it. There was a beautiful table made of dark wood Quinn had never seen, and incense made the room smell of old spices and something citrusy.

  “Oh.”

  Sayyida chuckled. “Your Queen of Connacht does not choose to live l
ike one, but I, Callaghan, I am the Queen of Tétouan. Please enter and let me care for you as if you were one of my own.” Sayyida gently nudged Quinn further into the room, where she sat Quinn on the bed and took off her boots.

  “I can do–”

  “I am aware of what you can do, sweet one, but this is my ship, and at the moment you are under my command. So just allow me the pleasure of making you comfortable. You have suffered great losses, and your spirit needs to heal. The spirit cannot heal if the body is too weak.”

  Quinn felt more tears come to her eyes. “Thank ya, Sayyida. I–”

  Placing one finger on Quinn’s lips, Sayyida looked into her eyes. “Shh. Close your eyes.”

  Quinn did, but all she could see was Tavish’s torn skin.

  Opening her eyes quickly, she watched Sayyida pour wine into a goblet much fancier than any Grace had.

  “Here. Drink a little. It will help you relax.”

  Quinn took the wine and sipped it. It was the tastiest wine she’d ever had, and she said as much.

  “Grace O’Malley is a formidable woman, a fearless pirate, and an astute captain,” Sayyida replied with a smile, “but she does not have my appreciation for the finer things in life.”

  Quinn could not disagree as she sipped more wine, enjoying the coolness of it on her throat. She was so tired. She had never been as afraid as she’d been in that dungeon, and she knew all too well how fear drained the body. She certainly felt drained. Empty, even. She had killed one of her best friends, watched another fight for his life, and had a noose around her own neck. How she was even sitting up, she did not know.

  When Sayyida started for Quinn’s buttons, Quinn gently pushed her hand aside. “I... I’d rather–”

  “You’re not getting into my bed with those filthy clothes on.”

  Quinn stood and took two steps for the door. “I need to check on Tavish.”

  Sayyida wrapped her arms around Quinn’s waist and tucked her chin on Quinn’s shoulder and said in a husky voice, “That kiss... ” Sayyida sighed wistfully. “That first kiss was like a kiss I experienced as a young girl when I took my first lover. Oh, how I loved that girl.”