X Marks The Spot (The Plundered Chronicles Book 6) Page 21

  Quinn forced the rag from her mouth. “You’re all going to burn in Hell with me.”

  The guard who’d brought the flame knelt down once more.

  The flame upon the skin made Quinn cry out in pained anguish. “Son of a bitch!”

  The room began smelling of burnt flesh.

  Her flesh.

  She cried out as he moved the flame across the back of her exposed thigh.

  “Stuff that rag back in her mouth!”

  Gregory balled it up and tried to grab her jaw, but not before Quinn chomped down and bit her finger off.

  Gregory howled and cursed, dropping the rag and holding his bloody hand to his chest. “You fucking bitch! She… she bit off my finger!”

  Quinn spit it out onto the dusty floor. “Is that all you’ve got, you fucking pieces of rat shit?” If she was going to die, she was at least going out fighting. “Three grown men who can’t—”

  The flame seared her skin and she screamed again.

  Gregory tried for the rag again.

  “Fucking mental deficient,” Quinn growled. “What’s the matter with you? You lost a finger. Get over it.”

  Gregory dropped the rag and pulled out his knife. “I’m gonna cut that tongue right out of your mouth.”

  And there it was, the instrument of her death: choking on her own blood. She could handle that. “Give it your best shot you fucking mother fucking bastard piece of shit.”

  “Grab her goddamned mouth!” Gregory ordered to no one in particular.

  The guard holding the flame rose. The burn ceased immediately.

  This was it.

  Once they pried her jaw open, they would cut her tongue out. She’d need to get her mouth closed and keep it closed so the blood went in and not out.

  She would need to put up a fight long enough that keeping her mouth open was more difficult.

  When the second guard tried to grab her jaw, she took a chunk out of the flesh between the thumb and forefinger.

  He cried out and punched her in the face, splitting her eyebrow open.

  With blood blinding one eye, she kept the other on Gregory and his knife.

  “Grab her fucking head, Weaver. Hold her still.”

  The third guard, Weaver, came around the back of the rack and held her head steady.

  Her last thought was of Gallagher… whom she hoped would one day join those women who wished to change the world.

  Her own world slowed down now, as her mind tried to disengage from the horror that was about to happen.

  Gregory leaned forward, his face inches from hers. “You are gonna rue the day you ever laid eyes on us, you fucking witch. We’re gonna—” Gregory’s eyes grew side and he dropped the knife on Quinn’s chest before staring at the blade protruding from his own. He collapsed on the rack, rolling off of Quinn to reveal the person holding the blade that had killed him.

  It was none other than Grace O’Malley.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  “Go fer yer weapons, laddies, and it’ll be the last thing ya ever do.”

  Fitz, One-Eye, Tavish, Murphy, and at least a dozen others behind them filed into the room.

  Quinn tried to blink the blood out of her eye as tears filled the other.

  Was she dreaming this?

  “Yer all right, Callaghan,” Grace said softly, motioning to Tavish, who strode over and punched Weaver in the face.

  Weaver flew against the wall, unconscious.

  “Get her out of that fucking contraption,” Grace ordered.

  Fitz and One-Eye had her out of her restraints in seconds.

  “Doona move the lad,” Tavish ordered. “Ya could damage her even more than she is.”

  Grace sheathed her bloody sword, barked out more orders, and then leaned back over Quinn’s face. “We don’t have a lot of time, Callaghan. Murphy’ll carry ya outta here, but it’s gonna hurt like hell.”

  Quinn nodded as she slowly lowered her arms and rested her hands on her chest.

  Murphy, the largest and strongest of them all eased his meaty arms under her and lifted her off the rack as easy as he would a screaming child. “I got ya, Callaghan.”

  As he turned for the door, Quinn whispered, “Stop, please.”

  Murphy did.

  “Rack him.”

  Murphy turned to Grace. “She said—”

  “I heard her. Tavish?”

  Tavish, Fitz, and One-Eye had him on the rack in no time. Tavish found a small bucket of dirty water and dumped it on his face.

  The look he wore the moment he realized what was about to happen gave Quinn no great thrill.

  Tavish grabbed the lever and started stretching him, all the while, he kept his gaze on Quinn.

  “You know when to stop,” Quinn said over the guard’s screams.

  Tavish nodded grimly, ignoring the howling of a man whose arms and legs were being pulled out of their sockets.

  When, at last, there came three loud popping sounds, Tavish stopped and nodded to Quinn, who nodded back.

  “We must be out of here know, Callaghan, before we are discovered.”

  “Last thing.”

  Grace stepped up to her. “We have to go, Callaghan.”

  “There’s a woman in that cell across from mine. She comes with us.”

  Grace nodded and motioned for Fitz to get the keys and the woman.

  If they freed her or had to fight their way out of the Tower, Quinn did not know.

  Laying her head against Murphy’s wide chest, she passed out.

  Opening her eyes, Quinn realized she was back in the darkness of the cell. “No! No, no no!”

  A hand on her back kept her from trying to rise. “Easy, lad. Yer home. Yer in yer quarters on the Edge. Yer alive.”

  Tavish.

  The lantern he lit showered light on her captain’s quarters. She was safe in her own bed.

  Safe.

  Alive.

  “How—”

  Tavish knelt in front of her so she could see him. “Let me get Grace. She should be here to tell the tale.”

  “The woman?”

  Tavish chuckled. “Is here as well. Can I get ya enna thing?”

  “Water, please.”

  Tavish rose and quickly returned with a goblet of water. “Go easy, lad. Ya’ve not had much to eat or drink.”

  Quinn sipped the first sip of water that was so clean it was ambrosia to her tongue, that the pain in her arms was barely noticeable.

  “Yer on yer belly ’cause Murphy said those burns might get infected. Already, they look better.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Two days. We’re almost to Ireland. You go easy on that water. I’ll be right back.”

  Quinn continued drinking the water until it was gone. Wiggling her toes and her fingers, she was pretty certain she was on the mend, but her thighs still throbbed from time the burns.

  “Layin’ around while the rest of us do all the hard work, eh, Callaghan?”

  Quinn saw Grace’s boots and then felt Grace’s hand on her head.

  “Always the slacker,” Quinn said as Tavish took the goblet from her.

  “Tavish, would roll me over on my side, please?”

  Tavish did so with a gentleness she did know he was capable of.

  When she looked at Grace, she noticed a yellowing bruise on her cheek. “Evera one all right?”

  “Bah! They’re English guards. Softer than a lamb’s ass. We took a few hits, but no one was gonna stop us from gettin’ ya outta there alive. We left a whole lotta them dead or dyin’.”

  “But… how…”

  “Ya really think ya can sail up the Thames without me gettin’ word? The boys and me set course fer yer backside the hour we found out where ya were.”

  “I… I don’t understand. Why would you come up the Thames for us?”

  “’Cause rumor has it the English are preparin’ to attack Ireland and I wanted ya outta England before that happens.”

  Attack Irelan
d?

  Quinn closed her eyes. Before she became the nuntius, she’d have thought Elizabeth had used her somehow or maybe she’d been a pawn of a different sort.

  But not now.

  Now, Quinn was beginning to understand the global game. This wasn’t about politics as much as it was about religion – the great war starter. For the very first time, Quinn understood why Henry and then Elizabeth sent plantations to live in Ireland. They both had tried to convert the Irish Catholics to the Protestant religion. Elizabeth’s martial law and her men’s brutal methods of subduing the clan chieftains were just two reasons why the Irish despised the English.

  Elizabeth understood that as long as Ireland remained Catholic, she would always have to watch her back door since Ireland’s allies, the other powerful Catholic countries, would come to their aide.

  “Callaghan, why were you thrown in the Tower?”

  Blowing out another break, Quinn said, “I was sent bearing a message from France. They thought me a spy and threw me in the Tower until they could sort things out.”

  “They were sortin’ things out all right. How are you feelin’?”

  “Whatever poultice Murphy put on my linens has really helped. The rest of me aches all over but I’m alive. Thanks to you all, and not a moment too soon.”

  Fitz arrived at the door, along with One-Eye and Murphy. “Thank you, Fitz, for disobeying orders. Again.”

  Fitz chuckled. “Yer daft if you think we’d let ya just roam the English countryside.”

  “Well, thank you, old friend. Now, what’s this about a war?”

  “Hugh O’Neil has been having Scottish mercenaries—”

  “The Galloglaighs?”

  “Them, too, but he’s been buyin’ muskets and having English veterans to train our people how to use them. He’s changing the swords, spears, and small bows to be more efficient.”

  “And the two clans? Have they settled on an alliance?”

  Grace nodded. “Hugh and Hugh Rae now fight as one. Our people are preparin’ for the battle of our lives. We need ya, Callaghan.”

  “Thank you for coming to my aid.”

  “Again.”

  Quinn grinned. “Aye. Again.”

  “Fitz was the one who insisted you were in trouble. I had no idea just how much trouble.”

  “Elizabeth didn’t know.”

  “Of course she knew, Callaghan. Don’t be daft.”

  Quinn was too tired to argue, so she merely nodded.

  “Will ya stay and help, Callaghan? Will ya help Ireland remain free?”

  Quinn cast her gaze at Tavish. “Tavish?”

  “Lad, the world has become a bloody, war-torn place. If ya want to stay here and fight with Grace and the rest of the Irish, we’re with ya.”

  Quinn felt a little weak now and the room wobbled on her.

  Grace rose. “Out, ya filthy mongrels. I need a moment with Callaghan.”

  When the room was empty, Grace returned to the floor next to Quinn’s bed. “How are ya feelin’, really, Callaghan? I can’t imagine how horrid that was or how afraid you must have been.”

  Quinn nodded. “I was certain I would die there.”

  “Ya verra nearly did.”

  “I was ready to.”

  Grace shook her head. “Tell that to the finger ya left on the ground.”

  Quinn frowned, then remembered biting it off. “Ah. That. Yes. Well, he doesn’t need it enna more, does he?”

  “Now, ya gonna tell me why ya was there?”

  “I truly was delivering a message, but I was also there to get cannons places on The Crow.”

  “Aye. Do tell me about your little Moroccan entourage.”

  “I did a favor for a king and they are my reward.”

  “A ship with two hundred men was a … reward?”

  “Yes, sir. A ship of thieves and murderers.”

  Grace laughed. “And they stayed?”

  “We trained them and treated them well.”

  “Of course you did. Well, they are right behind us. They would not leave.”

  “They’re good men.”

  “Yer a good captain. I hope ya choose to stay.” Grace ran her hand over Quinn’s hair. “I have to admit, I was scared to death what we’d find in the Tower.”

  Quinn perked up, remembering that she had not been alone. “My Scottish friend. Did she…did we get her out?”

  “Of course we did. She is more than grateful. What a lovely, lovely woman.”

  “She kept me alive, Grace. When I was at my darkest moments, she kept my head above water and hope in my heart.”

  “I believe it. She is a very special woman. Has eaten her weight in food, poor thing. She and Tavish have been prattling on in Scottish. I do not know what they said to each other, but he has been acting strangely since she came on board.”

  “You know those Scots. They are an odd lot.”

  Grace rose. “Then you’ll stay in Ireland and fight?”

  Quinn closed her eyes. She was too tired to think about fighting anyone yet, but the idea of staying home for a while sounded like heaven. “Perhaps.”

  “I’ll have Murphy come look at your legs. They’re burned pretty badly, but you’ll be fine. You just need rest. Rest and your druid healer. I’ll send our best rider to bring her and Evan back to Galway for proper healin’.”

  “You don’t ne—”

  “Yes, I do. I didn’t save you to have you die.”

  “Thank you, Grace.” When Grace got to the door, Quinn said, “I may never have said anything before, but I appreciate the life you gave me…the adventure…the family, all of it, Grace. Thank you.”

  “Callaghan, you belong on the deck of a ship. Period. I didn’t give anythin’ to you – you came here and took it. Get some rest.”

  When Grace opened the door, Tavish was waiting.

  “Not long, Tavish. She’s tiring.”

  “Aye.”

  When the door closed, Tavish pulled up a stool. “It’s good to have ya back, lad. Did ya do what ya went to do?”

  “I did. Elizabeth got what she needed. Now, I think we need to stay in Ireland and fight. It’s the least I can do for Grace.”

  “The crew will back that play, lad. So will I. When you can travel, we’ll head to the Castle and spend some time with Kaylish and the kids. You can heal there. We can rest and let the men see their families. After that, it’s anybody’s guess where we go or what we do.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Tavish. Thank you.”

  “We’re family, lad. End of story.” Tavish walked to the door and then stopped and turned around. “Speaking of which, do you have any idea of who the woman was in the next cell?”

  “No. She rarely shared information about herself, but she was worth saving.”

  “Was she? How do you know?”

  “She gave me hope. She kept me from being alone. She…” Quinn shook her head. “She reminded me of someone but for the life of me, I don’t know who.”

  Tavish turned and smiled. “If she reminds ya of someone, it’s because of who she is.”

  “And who is she?”

  Tavish’s smile grew wider. “Your little Scottish friend is none other than the illegitimate daughter of one Mary, Queen of Scotland, and boy does she have a tale to tell.”

  Epilogue

  One month later

  Quinn and Gallagher stood on the bow of the Edge as the wind caressed their hair and the sun shined on their backs. The water was calm, the ship steady, and Quinn felt peaceful for the first time since returning from England and her torture at the hands of the English gaolers.

  “I miss her,” Gallagher said softly.

  Quinn’s chest tightened. “I know, Bog. So do I.”

  The ship skimmed along the top of the water for many minutes before Gallagher blew out a loud breath. “Are you sad?”

  Quinn nodded. “Aye.”

  “You loved her.”

  “Verra much.”

  “Mags said love isn
’t enough. Is that true?”

  Quinn looked down at Gallagher. “It is when you love a pirate.”

  “’Cause we’re always on the water?”

  “Because we are always in danger. It was too much for Kaylish to see me burned and wounded as I was. I think it broke her heart.”

  Gallagher slipped her hand into Quinn’s. “Don’t be sad.”

  “I’m not sad, Bog. Are you?’

  Gallagher nodded. “A little. Kaylish was very sweet and nice to me. I liked her a lot, but she cried all the time. I think she’ll be happier without us.”

  Ouch.

  Quinn knelt down on one knee. “Bog, I’m sorry I left you guys. I won’t do so again.”

  Gallagher smiled. “I’m glad. Jacob and Arracht will be, too. We’re pirates, right?”

  Quinn grinned. “Right.”

  “Are we going to war?”

  Quinn rose and pulled out her telescope to look out over the horizon. “Yes, Bog, we are.”

  “With Captain Grace?”

  “Aye.”

  Gallagher nodded pensively. “Good.”

  “You like Grace?”

  “Of course. She saved you.”

  Quinn closed the telescope and tucked it back in her pocket. “She always does.”

  About the Author

  Linda Kay Silva (aka Alex Westmore) is a 5 time award-winning author of 35 novels in 6 series. She’s a professor at a military university where she teaches American, World, and British Literature.

  When not writing, Alex is traveling around the world living a wild life being an adventurer and a collector of stories.

  And boy has she collected some whoppers!

  Alex has lived in a haunted house, been charged by an elephant, jumped from an airplane, rode rapids in several countries, and taken many Harley trips. She has spent time with the Vodoun in New Orleans, medicine men in the Southwest, and a Shaman in the Amazon. She’s been a cop, a sportswriter, an ostrich rider, and a partridge in a pear tree.

  Okay, maybe that last one isn’t true…

  Alex is a series writers and her series include time travel, supernatural, police adventure, post-apocalypse, demon hunting, and historical romance.