Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3) Page 21

  “What was she like? Elizabeth of England?”

  “Eyes like daggers cuttin’ to the marrow of yer bones. It’s as if she can read yer verra soul. Trust me, that woman is intelligent, bold, independent, and will rule a verra long time.”

  “Holy shite on a pike, Callaghan, ya like her!”

  “I didn’t want to, but she is smart, Fitz–ohh boy, is she bright. Mary doesn’t stand a chance against her.”

  “But I thought Mary said–”

  “Elizabeth wants her back on the throne. Her advisors and counselors will advise against it. Mary is never gonna rule Scotland as long as Elizabeth is alive.”

  Fitz dourly turned, the shadow of the moon hiding half of his face. “That’s why Big Red puts us in danger so, aye?”

  “Oh, aye. Elizabeth speaks from Olympus about how to treat the other Olympians, but in the end it’s the lesser gods who take their power.”

  “Gaelic, please.”

  Quinn laughed. “Elizabeth sees Mary as a sovereign. Up here.” Quinn held her hand up. “But the people who advise her live down here, and trust me–they see Mary as a threat.”

  “Well, is she?”

  Quinn tapped her horse’s flanks to speed up. “Absolutely. In more ways than one.”

  * * *

  After leaving Rookhope the next night, Tavish sat up to ride. “I’m proud of ya, Callaghan. Once again, ya followed through with me queen. I canna thank ya enough.”

  “Our debt is paid, Tavish. I wish your queen well, but that business is bad business, and we are staying out of it from now on.”

  “Good luck tellin’ Grace that.”

  “If she chooses to stay mixed up with Mary, I’ll stay at Clew Bay until it’s over.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly. Those two women are kindling just waiting to be lit. I’ll have no more part in it.” Quinn tilted her head at him. “What about you, Tavish? When Fitz, One Eye and Kwame head for home, what will you do? Do you stay in Scotland, an ally to an abdicated queen?”

  The horse clopped along another dozen steps before Tavish answered. “If a war is comin’, laddie, I have to stay and fight.”

  “You have other... responsibilities now, old man. You can’t just make decisions for Maggie, you have to talk to her. Ask her what she wants, because if you don’t, she won’t be here in the morning.”

  Tavish’s craggy eyebrows knitted together. “Ask her what?”

  “Her opinion. Her thoughts. Ask her what she wants to do.”

  Tavish looked like he was puzzling out a different language.

  “Damn it, Tavish All these years with me and Grace and you have no idea how women work? Ask her where she wants to live. Can you remember that?”

  Tavish’s expression changed to one of understanding. “Well, why didn’t ya say so?”

  As they were watering the horses, One Eye lifted his head up and listened. “Shhh. Hear that?”

  The next sound was five swords leaving their sheaths.

  No one moved after that.

  They waited.

  They didn’t have to wait long, as the English soldiers bearing down on them were loud and overconfident, crashing through the bushes like they were being chased.

  Instinctively, the pirates stood in a circle with Maggie in the center. Keeping their backs to her, they moved to the exact distance to stand apart so they could swing freely.

  The English stopped immediately. There were two, maybe three dozen.

  “We’re not goin’ to enna fookin’ dungeon,” Tavish said under his breath. “So if enna of ya lads doona wanna fight to the death, then stand aside. No hard feelins.”

  “We’re with ya on that score, Red,” Fitz spat. “We win or we die.”

  Quinn looked over at the English as they started to fan out. They seriously outnumbered the pirates, and Quinn knew they weren’t walking away from this fight.

  “We’re just tryin’ to get our friend back to Scotland,” Quinn said in English.

  “Callaghan,” Maggie whispered behind her. “I can tell them–”

  “No.” Strangely enough, this came from Kwame, who held his longsword in front of him with both hands. “They’d never believe her. Not with the company she keeps.”

  “Kwame’s right,” Quinn said softly.

  “Give us the Scot, and the rest of you can leave in one piece.”

  “That’s not gonna happen. Ya see, we’re fuckin’ crazy Celts, and we’re prepared to fight to yer death. So look around ya. Many of ya will not live to see London again.”

  “Callaghan,” Fitz said. “On my go?”

  Quinn said yes. She knew that few Englishmen knew any Gaelic at all. “Strike low first,” she said in her native tongue. “Make the others deal with the fallen bodies.”

  “We just want the Scot. The rest of you can walk away from this.”

  Quinn waited for Fitz’s command.

  “Now,” Fitz said evenly.

  The Irish drew first blood with relative ease as the overconfident English appeared stunned by such a well-tuned attack.

  The first six men went down with severed feet and legs. Not all were dead, but they would soon be.

  The plan worked, but Quinn knew it only bought them some time. They were going to die out here. The only question was, who had it in them to kill Maggie before these men could get their hands on her?

  As the English pressed forward, the clanging of swords filled the air, followed by cries of anguish from those who felt the bite of the whirling pirate blade.

  But the Irish swords weren’t the only blades hitting their mark. Kwame was one of those whose flesh was carved by a swinging sword.

  Grabbing his side, he went down on one knee and would have lost his head had One Eye not turned from his adversary to block it. Their swords clanged as they hit and echoed through the air.

  One Eye paid a small price for his choice; an English sword tip grazed his shoulder, but he remained standing. Quinn knew it would take more than a flesh wound to stop any of her men.

  They’d taken out at least nine men, but Quinn knew that with Kwame out, they were living their lives second by second.

  Tavish knew it was well, as he moved closer to Maggie. “Callaghan? I... I canna do it, lad.”

  It, Quinn knew, was taking Maggie’s life, and she was not surprised. He loved her. She could see that so clearly. “I know.”

  “I’ll do it,” Fitz said, running another soldier through.

  Tavish bowed his head. “And I’ll never look at ya the same.”

  Fitz pulled his sword from the dead man. “Not doin’ it fer ya, ya ugly-ass Scot. I’m doin’ it fer yer lady.”

  Raising his sword in his healthy hand, Tavish turned to their enemy. “Well, laddies, it’s been and interstin’ ride.”

  Just as Quinn saw three Englishmen barreling toward her swords raised and hatred on their faces, a loud screeching and caterwauling filled the air, followed closely by a small army of large, redheaded men wearing traditional Scottish clan tartans with pikes and swords leading the way.

  Quinn shook her head to Fitz, who turned from Tavish and started cutting down the English not smart enough to realize there were far more Scots than English now.

  The Scots, who very clearly outnumbered the English, made quick work of it. Using axes, huge hammers, pikes, and swords, the Scots decimated the English troops as if they were children.

  As Quinn finished off her opponent, she glanced over at a familiar enormous Scotsman who easily beheaded one of the soldiers before crushing in the face of another.

  It was Lake—a friend from the pirates’ recent adventures on land. Lake and his people chased after the English left standing and ran them through with ease.

  At the sight of Lake, Quinn knew they’d been saved. Lake and his clan were galloglaigh of the highest order–mercenaries who went to the highest bidder. When they weren’t being paid to win someone else’s battles, they loved fighting for fighting’s sake, and they were really goo
d at it.

  Really good.

  The English never knew what hit them. They were all dead in under three minutes, and those the pirates had managed to wound would never see tomorrow.

  “Holy. Fuckin’. Shite,” Fitz muttered.

  “Who... what just happened?” Maggie asked, kneeling over Kwame and holding a torn rag against his side.

  Quinn and her crew sheathed their weapons and took a knee next to him.

  Maggie lifted the rag and then held her hand to Kwame’s wound, blood seeping through her fingers. The look on her face told the story Quinn did not wish to hear.

  Quinn stared into Maggie’s eyes.

  Maggie slowly shook her head.

  “I’m here, Kwame,” Quinn said, holding his bloody hand. Her heart felt like it was about to break again.

  “Callaghan... ”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Don’t go.”

  “An honorable death, aye?”

  “Aye, my friend. You fought well. Very well.”

  Kwame grinned. “You’re a great leader, Callaghan... not... your fault.” He coughed, and a trickle of blood oozed down the corner of his mouth. “One last thing... trust yourself. We all do.”

  “Kwame... ”

  “Live hard. Love harder, Callaghan. You... deserve it.” And then, slowly, quietly, Kwame left them.

  Quinn bowed her head as tears slipped from her eyes. “I’m so sorry. So so sorry.”

  “Callaghan,” Fitz said softly, tapping her shoulder.

  Quinn wiped her eyes as she turned around.

  There, facing them in a half circle around them, stood Lake and the galloglaigh.

  And the one Quinn thought she might never she’d see again.

  Evan.

  Slowly rising, Quinn wiped her bloody hands on her pants, not realizing she now wore Kwame’s blood on her face. “Evan?” Standing fifteen feet away from Evan, Quinn just stared at her.

  They’d met what seemed like a lifetime ago. They had loved each other hard and fast until the reality of their very different stations in life had forced them to go their separate ways.

  It was a theme in Quinn’s life she was quickly tiring of.

  “Seems ya couldna stay outta trouble, Cap. But I already knew this.”

  Quinn wanted to run to her, to wrap her arms around her and hold her tightly.

  But she couldn’t.

  Like Quinn, Evan was a woman passing through life as a man. As such, neither could afford to act unmanly, even though everything in Quinn urged her to scoop Evan up in her arms and kiss her all over.

  Those previous kisses had haunted Quinn for months after.

  Months.

  So soft. So tender. So passionate was their lovemaking, not a day had gone by that Quinn hadn’t reflected back to the what-ifs of her life. “So it would seem. What are ya doin’ here?”

  Evan spoke perfect Irish to Quinn. “Clearin’ the border areas. Too many English soldiers bleedin’ into Scotland. We came home and were hired to help protect our people from Elizabeth’s attacks on the border.”

  Quinn cocked her head. “Mary?”

  “Aye. And her supporters. The’re payin’ us to clear the border area as much as we can. Our enemy are the Border Reivers who are land pirates. We attack, bury the dead, lay low, and come back fer more.”

  “Ya bury the dead?” One Eye asked.

  “Aye. Hidin’ our tracks. That bitch queen Elizabeth will just wonder where her men vanished.” Evan looked around them. “Yer friend–”

  “Is in a better place, but thanks to ya, he is the only casualty.”

  No sooner had Quinn spoken, then Tavish fell face first to the ground.

  Maggie and Quinn were at his side in an instant, pulling his shirt off. Already, it was soaked with blood from his various wounds breaking open.

  Maggie knelt over him and smeared on the green unguent Beatrice had given her. “He’s all right. My guess is the pain was too much for him. Just let him lie there. I have him, Callaghan. Continue conducting your business.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. He has merely fainted.”

  Rising, Quinn returned to Evan. “Thank ya doesn’t seem enough.”

  “It isn’t.” Evan grinned. “Come back to camp with us. Ya can tend to yer Scot there. Rest. Eat. Push on into Scotland in the mornin’.”

  A wave of relief flooded over Quinn. Her remaining men were safe, and they could eat and rest up before continuing their journey. “That would be wonderful. We could use a bit of a break.”

  “Ya headin’ home?”

  Home.

  Where was that, exactly?

  She’d been gone so long from the Malendroke, even that didn’t feel like home anymore.

  So... where was her home?

  At that moment, Quinn realized it was time to find out.

  * * *

  Once Tavish was resting on blankets at the galloglaigh camp, Quinn sent her dwindling team to the fire pit to get some food and to just rest.

  When, at last, they were settled in, Evan told Lake they were going a little ways away. He knew better than to argue with her. He’d already lost every argument around her earlier involvement with Quinn.

  When they were a good distance from camp, Evan threw herself at Quinn and kissed her over and over. She kissed her face, her lips, her forehead, everywhere she could. Wrapping her arms around Quinn’s neck, Evan ended her small kisses with one long, deep kiss that seemed to last an eternity.

  When she finished, they tore each other’s clothes off as fast as they could and used them as bedding upon the ground.

  Lowering Quinn to the clothes, Evan lay naked on top of her and kissed her with a fire no other woman ever had. The energy between them was magnetic as they intertwined their fingers, legs, and tongues, pressing against each other to get as much flesh on flesh as they possibly could.

  They fit like hand in glove, and Quinn realized how much she had missed being with Evan. Her touch, her fire, her passion, her zeal stoked Quinn’s flames, and the heat rising from them was a testimony to that.

  Evan kissed all the way down Quinn’s neck to her shoulders, her cleavage until her warm mouth latched onto a nipple and caressed it gently with her lips.

  Quinn’s response was to arch her back and cover her own mouth with her hand.

  She had longed for this more than she realized... longed to be touched, to be caressed, to be so aroused that nothing else mattered.

  And right now, nothing else mattered.

  Evan was a consummate lover. Her mouth never left Quinn’s skin as she slowly entered her with two fingers.

  Quinn arched even more, biting the side of her hand as Evan pushed and pulled teasingly.

  It was if they had been lovers a lifetime.

  With her mouth and tongue doing magic tricks to Quinn’s nipples and her fingers curling, reaching, pushing, pulling, Evan took her time in bringing Quinn to a climax that brought every muscle to attention, every part of her skin on fire.

  When at last the waves of heat and motion subsided, Quinn lowered herself to the earth once more, her body spent, her limbs heavy.

  Evan crawled back up to her and lay half on, half off of her, her fingertips lightly touching the scars on Quinn’s side. “I’ve not stopped thinkin’ aboot ya–though in my memories ya didna have this many scars.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “So I’ve heard. News of Grace’s exploits travels far and wide. So... want to tell me what a motley crew of pirates is doing travelin’ over land from England to Scotland?”

  Quinn stared into Evan’s eyes. They always looked so full of love when they looked at her. Thoughts of Fiona drifted through her mind’s eye. Fiona, a married woman with a politically active husband who would just as soon kill Quinn—and all pirates—as to look at them. Fiona would never be Quinn’s. Ever. She’d been safe to love because there would be no expectation of commitment.

  None.

  Then there was sweet Be
cca, who loved her dearly—along with a couple of other potential suitors. Quinn never asked about Becca’s other lovers. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know–it just didn’t matter. Of course Becca had other lovers. Why wouldn’t she? It was the nature of port workers.

  So here she was.

  In the arms of the only other woman she’d met who was like her...

  Something akin to love gently caressed Quinn’s heart.

  “I’ve missed ya,” Quinn said softly.

  “Of course ya have. I’m a fabulous lover.” Evan’s eyes danced as she spoke. “Or so I’m told.”

  “Aye. I would have to concur. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

  The grin slid from Evan’s face. “Oh, aye. Too much, I’m afraid.”

  Running her fingers through Evan’s hair, Quinn pulled her into a soft, sensual kiss. “To answer yer question, we are travelin’ to the lands of Clan Scott, where we hope to get help to procure a ship to go home.”

  “What happened to my countryman?”

  Quinn told her about their time on Tenerife.

  When she finished, Evan had tears in her eyes. “Those rat bastards. Look, Clan Scott is in a land battle with another clan. Goin’ through there now, especially with a wounded Scot in the hands of Irish pirates, could prove to be quite a problem.”

  Quinn waited.

  “We can get ya to the coast, love of me life. Safe. Sound. Without fear of attack. Me country is goin’ to hell in a basket now that Mary is gone. Gone is what we need to make ya. This isna yer fight enna longer.”

  And there it was.

  Her solution.

  Her knight, hero, lover, friend, all rolled into one.

  “What will Lake say?”

  “He’s probably already spoken to yer folks about it. Ya have to trust me, love. Ya go into Scotland enna further, and ya will have greater problems on yer hands than a wounded Scot. Let me—us—help.” Evan leaned down and kissed her before jumping to her feet. “Up ya go, lover. If we doona get back soon, someone’ll come lookin’.”

  Helping Quinn up, Evan lightly caressed her cheek. “Not a day goes by, Callaghan the Celt, that I doona think of yer soft skin on me own. There are days I dream of a life where we go to bed at night in each other’s arms and wake up in the mornin’ to make sweet love. One day all this fussin’ and fightin’ will be too much fer us, and when that day comes, I’ll be comin’ fer ya.”