Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3) Page 23

  She thought she was prepared for this, but oh, how wrong she was.

  Her first ugly encounter came long before she arrived at Howth.

  At the small village of Kilteel, where she stopped to rest her horse, two local villagers walked by her.

  “Was that a... a woman?”

  “Nah. Just a boy.”

  “No. I’m certain it was a woman.”

  Quinn stood and waited for them to turn around.

  They did.

  “See? It is!”

  Both men started back toward Quinn. She kept her hand casually on the hilt of her sword.

  “Ya lose yer clothes?” one asked, a hint of a wolfish smile on his face.

  “Nope.”

  “Then why ya dressed like a man?”

  “Actually, I am wearing the attire of a pirate because that is what I am.”

  “A pirate?” Both men commenced to laughing. When the shorter of the two stepped toward Quinn, she pulled her long sword and held it in front of her.

  “Take another step toward me, and it will be your last.”

  The man stopped in his tracks. His friend stopped laughing.

  “Ya’d run an unarmed man through?”

  Sliding her short sword out, she tossed it at his feet. “You have one of two choices: you can turn around and walk away, or you can bend down and pick up that sword so I can show you just how much of a pirate I am.”

  “She’s daft. Let’s go.”

  The shorter man glowered at her now. “Seems to me the little missy don’t know her place.”

  Quinn slowly assumed her fighting stance.

  She had not been idle in her six months away. Bronwen had managed to convince a local to come spar with Quinn, without and without her swords. The man was a decent fighter with his sword but a very adept fighter with his hands. He’d taught Quinn all about the weaker parts of a man’s body and where to hit for maximum effectiveness. He’d taught her a great deal while keeping her skills as sharp as her blades.

  “In less than fifteen seconds, my place will be standing over you with my sword tip at your throat.”

  “Kevin, she sounds... er... serious.”

  “Pshaw. She’s a woman, Cecil.”

  Quinn’s right side of her mouth rose in a sneer. “A woman who is going to embarrass you in front of your friend.” She motioned to the short sword. “Come. Take your best shot, for it will also be your only shot.”

  “Kevin–”

  “Shut up, Cecil. No woman disrespects me and gets away with it. I’ll not kill her. I’ll just remind her of her place.”

  Quinn looked around Kevin at Cecil. “You might want to find a physician for your friend.”

  With that, Kevin lunged at her, the short sword easily swatted to the side by Quinn’s blade.

  With his sword tip no longer a threat, Quinn brought her fist back and punched him in the throat with everything she had.

  His mouth opened, but no words came out as he fell to his back, clutching his throat.

  Standing over him, Quinn placed the tip of her sword at the hollow of his neck. “This missy’s place is right here, right now, Kevin. I could do more than disrespect you. I could kill you right now, and all anyone would ever say is how Kevin the bastard got killed by a woman.”

  “Please... ” he croaked.

  Quinn glanced over at Cecil, who quickly raised his hands in surrender. “I’m going to take my swords and go into that tavern to get a bite to eat. I don’t expect to see either of you again.”

  Reaching down, still keeping the long sword at his throat, Quinn picked up her short sword. “Off with you.” Stepping away, she started toward the tavern.

  She’d known men like Kevin, men who never knew when the fight was truly over. So when she heard his feet pounding after her, she wheeled around and clocked him in the side of the head with her hilt.

  He dropped like a sack of rocks, blood trickling from the gash in his forehead.

  “Next time your friend makes a run at me, Cecil, I’ll kill you both. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir... ma’am. Sir... uh–”

  “Yes will suffice. Now get him somewhere where he can get sewn up.”

  As Quinn walked away, head held high, she smiled inwardly.

  She was now Quinn Callaghan, female pirate.

  * * *

  The Shamrock was a smaller galleon than the Malendroke and not kept up as well, but it was a ship willing to take her because of her tenure on Grace’s ship.

  The captain, one Cyrus O’Dell, was short-handed for a quick jaunt to Scotland, so he took Quinn on. Though she was surprised at his unquestioning willingness to have her on board, she was thrilled to have been accepted.

  The crew, however, wasn’t so thrilled.

  A woman on board a pirate ship was considered a bad omen, and there was no more superstitious a group than pirates.

  Her first encounter came while she was working the ropes of a sail. One of the crew came up behind her and began dry humping her backside.

  Quinn let fly an elbow to his face, his nose crunching beneath it, blood flowing down his lips.

  As he staggered back, Quinn kicked him hard in the chest, sending him staggering backwards.

  Whirling around to a small group who had gasped when she hit him, Quinn held her fists up. “Who is next? Well? Come on, damn it. You think you can abuse me because I’m a woman? Well, who is next?”

  “No one is next,” Cyrus said from the bow. “The next man who threatens Callaghan will be tossed over the side of the ship. Do ya all understand?”

  The men grumbled and muttered to each other as they nodded. Quinn went back to her work until a second man approached her.

  “Touch me and I’ll send you over the railing myself.”

  “Easy there. I’m not here to bother ya.”

  Quinn shook her head and continued working the rope.

  “Ya can fight, that’s fer sure.”

  She said nothing.

  “Only one woman I know of dresses like a man.” The pirate, a stocky fellow with a bright orange beard and a neck as thick as a thigh began working the rope with Quinn. “The Scourge of the Sea. Ever meet her?”

  Quinn nodded. “Served on the Malendroke for six years.”

  His red eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead. “So that’s where ya learned to fight.”

  “Yes.”

  They worked in silence a little while longer.

  “She as bad as they say?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled.

  “She’s as good as they say.”

  “As a fighter.”

  “As a captain.”

  “So what happened?”

  Before Quinn could answer, a call came down from the crow’s nest. “Starboard side, Captain! Aimin’ straight fer us!”

  Quinn squinted into the distance. “Turks? This far north?”

  The man followed her gaze. “How can ya tell that far?”

  “Masts, shape of the flag, ship’s speed. They’re coming to fight.”

  The captain’s first mate rang a bell, and the men leapt into action.

  The Turkish ship was coming full bore, and the crew prepared for a possible fight.

  “Can ya wield those things?” the orange-bearded pirate asked Quinn, nodding to her swords.

  “Better than most–”

  “Henry. But me mates call me Bull.” He pointed to his neck.

  Quinn suppressed a grin. “Well, Bull, I hope you can swing yours, because Turks this far north are usually looking for plunder.”

  “Surely they see we’re high.”

  The captain yelled to the cannoneers to prepare to fire. Everyone was quiet, the tension on the ship tangible.

  These men were not nearly as well trained as the crew on the Malendroke, so Quinn stepped back, away from the starboard side. She was not about to die on a ship named the Shamrock. Suddenly, she dearly missed her own crew.

  As the Turkish ship neared, it
slowed. Its cannons appeared dormant.

  “Permission to send a man aboard,” came the call from a Turk in poorly spoken Gaelic.

  “State yer business!” the captain yelled back.

  “Our captain wishes to parlay.”

  “Parlay? We are obviously empty of goods.”

  Quinn backed away a bit more. These men were not Turks. Their ship was, but they were not.

  The captain agreed to a parlay on the bow, and not long after, two men from the other ship actually swung over to the Shamrock, landing with more grace than they should have.

  The first one was a large man with several scars cutting their way down his bare arms.

  The second man rose, brushed himself off, and–

  The crew immediately began murmuring.

  Quinn thought she might faint then and there.

  Standing on the bow next to Captain O’Dell was none other than Sayyida al Hurra.

  “Fuck me,” Quinn muttered, looking around for any place to hide. She might have made it to a spot behind some empty casks had one of the pirates not said, “Fer cryin’ out loud, how many fuckin’ female pirates are there?”

  Sayyida quickly turned. “Have you one aboard?”

  To Quinn’s surprise and relief, Captain O’Dell shook his head. “Not on this ship, we don’t. Why?”

  Sayyida’s keen eyes began scanning the faces of the Shamrock crew.

  Quinn stood frozen, her heart thumping hard beneath her jerkin.

  “An Irishman of ill repute stole my ship, and I’ve been traveling up and down these waters for six months looking for–” and then her eyes found Quinn.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Callaghan,” Bull said. “She’s starin’ at ya.”

  Quinn considered reaching for her sword, knowing full well that if she did, the rest of the crew would either follow or give her up.

  Sayyida was already coming down the stairs, her glaring, angry eyes never leaving Quinn’s face.

  “Uh... Callaghan?”

  “Step aside, Bull. Please.”

  Bull did as she asked. When Sayyida was directly in front of Quinn, she pulled her fist back and punched her in the face.

  The crew, dumbstruck by watching one woman punch another woman in the mouth, did not move.

  Licking the blood from her lip, Quinn nodded. “I suppose I deserved that.”

  “You stole my ship, you motherfucking asshole.”

  Quinn threw her shoulders back. “Yes, I did.”

  Sayyida’s eyes burned holes into Quinn’s. “I found who I’ve been looking for, Captain. I can pay you to release her to me.”

  The captain was as stunned as his crew but somehow managed to find his voice. “I’m sorry, but I’ll not be partin’ with enna of me men, not fer love nor gold.”

  Sayyida pulled a kerchief from her back pocket and waved it over her head. Her ship immediately aimed eight cannons at the Shamrock. “Then you and your men will die.”

  Captain O’Dell glanced at the cannons, at Sayyida, and back again. “Mine won’t be the only ones who die, then.”

  Quinn sidestepped Sayyida. “No one needs to die today, Captain O’Dell. Captain al Hurra has a legitimate issue with me. There is no need to put your men at risk. I will go willingly.”

  Bull stepped between Sayyida and Quinn. “Issue or no, she isn’t just walkin’ off with one of our crew.”

  “Stand aside, Bull. We’ve no quarrel with these people. If Callaghan has a debt to pay, she’ll not use my ship or my crew to pay it,” Captain O’Dell ordered.

  Quinn put her hand on Bull’s shoulder. “Thank you, Bull.” Then she said more softly, “If you ever want to serve on Captain O’Malley’s ship, just tell her Callaghan sent ya.” With that, she stood next to Sayyida. “I am ready.”

  After Sayyida shared some private words with Captain O’Dell, she and her first mate returned to her ship with Quinn in tow.

  When they landed on the quarterdeck, Sayyida held her hand out.

  Quinn took off her belt and draped it over her palm.

  “Take her to the hold!” Sayyida commanded, walking away from Quinn. “After half a year, we found her!”

  The crew cheered and banged their swords on the wooden deck, yelling something in Berber before two men pushed Quinn down into the hold, where they chained her to a sturdy beam.

  When they were gone, Quinn leaned against the beam and closed her eyes. Her mouth hurt from Sayyida’s fist, but for the time being, she was alive.

  For now.

  Would Sayyida hang her for stealing the ship? Would she sell her off? Ransom her? Toss her to the sharks?

  Quinn had no idea what the punishment was for stealing a ship belonging to a queen.

  What she knew for sure was that she was in for greater trouble than she initially realized.

  The dead man chained to the post next to her was her first clue.

  * * *

  Quinn could feel the movement of the ship as it clipped along. She hoped they were not heading back to Morocco. She’d had enough of that area to last her a lifetime. Her experience on Tenerife still haunted her nightly, with memories Connor’s screams filling the quiet void of the darkness.

  Where was Sayyida taking her? A tribunal? A deserted island? What was the Islamic penalty for the theft of a ship?

  Inhaling deeply, Quinn felt a calm wash over her. Nothing Sayyida would do to her could change the past. She’d stolen her ship—and if she had to do it all over again, she would steal it once more.

  Quinn had learned so much during her time with Bronwen. She’d taught her to make poultices, how to sew up wounds, how to forage for plants, and how to build a fire out of nothing. There seemed no end to the wisdom in that woman, and Quinn had actually considered, albeit briefly, staying with Bronwen for another six months.

  But the sea and her adventures called, and now here she was in the hold of a ship, chained to a post and awaiting her sentence.

  Quinn had never felt more alive.

  When she heard footsteps coming down the stairs, she struggled to rise.

  It was Sayyida.

  And she was alone.

  Standing in front of Quinn, Sayyida jammed her hands on her hips and looked her over. “You’ve stopped pretending.”

  Quinn shrugged. “I am who I am and I’ll not be ashamed any longer.”

  Sayyida stood taller, the anger in her eyes evident. “You stole my ship and left without even a goodbye. You made a fool of me to my men and our people.”

  “Which one is the reason you punched me?”

  Sayyida looked away.

  “We couldn’t stay, Sayyida, and you’d never have let us go.”

  She whipped her head around. “Of course you could have. Could have and should have. Have you any idea how foolish you made me look? What my crew must have thought of me? I lost face that day I learned of your theft. Suddenly, I was a lovestruck female who’d let a lowly Irish pirate into my bed and into my heart.”

  Quinn said nothing.

  Sayyida paced back and forth. “And you know the worst of it? They were right. I had been a foolish female who’d fallen in love, and it nearly cost me everything.”

  Quinn lowered her head. “I’m so sorry, Sayyida–”

  “Sorry?” Sayyida whirled back in front of Quinn. “Sorry? Taking my heart was one thing, Callaghan, but you stole my ship and nearly all of the power that comes with it.” She shook her head. “You’ve no idea what you’ve done.”

  But Quinn did know. What she didn’t know was the consequences of her actions.

  “I’ve spent the last four months looking for you. Grace O’Malley believes you are dead. What kind of a person does that to people they supposedly care about?” Sayyida shook her head sadly. “You broke her heart as well, Callaghan. The woman could barely choke out your name.”

  “Did you... did you tell her I stole your ship?”

  “Of course not! She would only have lost respect for me, and that can never happen. So while yo
u’ve been doing who knows what, your captain, your friend, has been grieving your loss. What manner of evil are you that you would let her believe you are dead?”

  Quinn opened her mouth to reply, but Sayyida waved her answer away before it could find purchase. “I told her I sought you out because I was in love with you. The woman nearly broke into tears.”

  Tears were what came to Quinn’s eyes now. “Then why would you keep looking for me?”

  “I would not have but for the singular fact that all of the men who were with you were on the Malendroke that day.”

  Quinn wiped her eyes. “Tavish? The Scotsm–”

  “He was the one man I couldn’t read, but that other one, F... Fritz?”

  “Fitz.” Quinn swallowed back any more questions about Tavish. Had he truly gone back to sea and not to Scotland as planned?

  Sayyida nodded. “His eyes gave him away, and I knew you were still alive, though I’d no idea why you were no longer aboard her ship nor why you were carrying on this ruse.”

  “I... had to sort things out.”

  “By being dead? By making everyone believe they’d never see you again? That is cruel, Callaghan. Cruel, cruel, cruel.”

  Quinn lowered her eyes. Sayyida would never understand, so why bother? “I don’t believe an explanation will suffice, so let’s not go around and around. Where are we headed?”

  “To Galway.”

  “No! Please, Sayyida, you can’t! I need to remain dead to everyone who believes me to be.”

  Sayyida sucked her teeth. “It is not for you to decide. Your fate is in your own hands. Tomorrow at dawn you must pay for your sins the Moroccan way.”

  “But why Galway?”

  Sayyida turned and started for the stairs. “It is where I will deliver your body. To Ireland. To your crew. But most importantly, to Grace O’Malley. It is the least I can do.”

  As Sayyida started up the stairs, Quinn called out to her. “Sayyida, I truly am sorry. Please don’t do this.”

  “Sorry? For what, Callaghan with the coldest heart I have ever known? For stealing my ship?”

  Quinn shook her head and said softly, “No. For breaking your heart.”

  * * *

  At dawn, two men came down to unlock Quinn. She was stiff and sore but oddly at peace.