Shiver Her Timbers (The Plundered Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Richard Bourke looked around him. “Inside it is.”

  “Good decision. Open up!” Quinn yelled. “The captain’s man has surrendered.”

  The castle door opened to half a dozen armed men glaring at Bourke.

  Once the remainder of Bourke’s men saw him enter the castle, they immediately fled. The battle was over.

  Quinn’s men, on her orders, did not shoot or kill the fleeing men but ran after them, hollering and yelling epithets at them until they were run off completely.

  “Who are you?” Bourke asked once he and Quinn entered the castle, Connor and One Eye following closely. “One of her younger lovers? She always did have a thing for beardless man-children.”

  Connor smacked him upside the head with a gloved hand. “Shut yer filthy mouth, cur or ya will lose yer tongue from yer head.”

  Quinn stood silently as Connor removed Bourke’s weapons and tied him to a chair.

  “You said you would not kill me.”

  Quinn shrugged. “And I haven’t. I am like the rest of these brave pirates under Captain O’Malley’s employ. Our job is to protect her and all that is hers. Ya are lucky enough to fall into that category and unlucky enough to not be wanted in it.”

  Bourke glanced around the cold stone room. “I am not the enemy of your captain. I came for what is mine.”

  “Was yers Richard Bourke. Ya came for what was yers and is now hers. She dismissed ya, and under Breton Law ya no longer own this castle. Yer desire to take it cost dozens of good Irish lives. Dozens. What kind of a man risks the lives of his men for personal gain? Our captain will not be verra pleased to hear that. She values everra Irish life, or ya would be a dead man.”

  Connor stood back and nodded. “Ya still might be if ya act up. Ya answer the questions Callaghan asks or I’ll take ya apart, bit by ugly bit, and get pleasure doin’ so. He may not want to anger the captain, but I have no such issue destroyin’ enna man who would talk poorly about her.”

  “And where is my wife, your captain? I’d heard she was foolishly sailing to Scotland.” He spat on the ground. “What is it with her and that Scottish queen?”

  One Eye placed a thin knife against Bourke’s neck. “Careful how ya talk ’bout our cap’n, Richard Bourke. Callaghan might let ya live, but Connor and I’ve no such notion to do so.”

  Bourke nodded. “I understand. I meant no disrespect. I am merely curious as to why an Irish pirate gives two shites about what happens to a Scottish queen.”

  “Sure ya did,” Quinn said, pulling up a wooden stool to sit opposite him. “Yer here, aren’t ya? Ya attacked us, didn’t ya? Like I said, we are not here to judge ya. We will merely hold ya until Captain O’Malley gives us different directions.”

  “But that... that could be weeks!”

  “Aye. So ya better hope Captain O’Malley returns sooner rather than later.” Rising, Quinn motioned for One Eye and Connor to join her outside.

  “I’d just as soon slit his throat,” One Eye groused. “He’s trouble, that one.”

  “Me, too,” Connor seconded. “He is such an arse.”

  “As would I,” Quinn said, “but that would be a terrible mistake. I don’t think Grace would appreciate it. Keep him here until she returns. Ya may hurt him, but he is not to be killed.”

  “Aye.”

  “I want three guards on him at all times. Secure the perimeter. Feed the men who are stayin’ from the food stores. Keep them as sober as ya can. His men might return.”

  “I doubt it,” Connor said. “They saw Bourke just give up. No one will follow a man who so easily surrenders. We’ll be fine. Go on back to yer home and family, Callaghan. He’ll not escape my clutches.”

  “Are ya certain?”

  One Eye nodded. “Absolutely. Connor and me’ll keep that rat bastard tied up ’til Cap’n comes back.”

  “Good. Then I shall remain here tonight before returnin’ in the mornin’.”

  With that, One Eye re-entered the castle, leaving Quinn and Connor to survey the damage.

  “Too many Irishmen,” she uttered under her breath as she glanced around at the mangled and dead bodies. If Ireland was to survive Elizabeth and the Tudors, the infighting among clans had to cease. These arbitrary deaths and silly attacks had to end.

  But how?

  “We cannot keep killin’ each other, Callaghan. It is exactly what that bitch queen in England wants.”

  “Ya have to admit the English strategy is brilliant. Pittin’ clan against clan at a time when we should be comin’ together to fight against a common evil—King Henry started it, and Elizabeth is just continuin’ the tradition.” Quinn stared out over the seas of dead bodies. “These men died unnecessarily. Their deaths are a tragic example of Ireland’s inability to withstand English pressure of titles and gold.”

  Connor nodded. “It’ll be the death of us if we don’t stop killin’ each other.”

  Quinn sighed. She and Fiona had had many discussions about it in the past. “Ireland has too much to offer for Elizabeth to allow us to go untaxed or untouched. It is only a matter of time before she comes after Scotland, and once that happens Ireland will have to either fight or fall under the heel of the Terrible Tudors. We cannot allow this, Connor. Everrathin’ we know and love will die.”.

  Quinn’s mind drifted to Fiona. She would hurry back first thing in the morning, barring any unforeseen complications. As much as she wanted to remain at the castle to help clear the dead and aid the wounded, Quinn knew Fiona needed her.

  She just wondered how much longer that would be true.

  * * *

  The men, as was their way, were drinking and celebrating, but not the victory over Bourke––the men were all too familiar with the fickle nature of the goddesses. No, they were celebrating surviving to see the next battle, the next booty, the next adventure, and they did so by tapping into the wine stores Bourke had brought to the castle over a year ago.

  Quinn sat at the splintered wooden table opposite Richard Bourke—who remained tied to the chair—a goblet of dark red wine before her. “Go on out with the men, One Eye. I’ll keep a keen eye out on him.”

  “Are ya certain? He’s a cagey bastard.”

  “I’m certain. Bring us a bottle, though, when ya can. This goblet will not sate my thirst.”

  “Aye that, Callaghan, but Connor is stayin’ wi’ ya. I don’t trust that bastard.”

  When One Eye left, Quinn folded her hands on the table and stared at Richard Bourke. He had the eyes of a rat on either side of a long nose. “Life’s fulla twists and turns, eh?” she said. Earlier, Quinn had lapsed back into more formal talk earlier when she addressed him, so she now made the adjustment to her language to sound more like the other men. Even after six years, she still had to remind herself of who they saw her as.

  Bourke looked away and said nothing.

  “Do ya know why yer still alive?” Quinn waited. “No? Yer still alive because we respect Grace O’Malley’s wishes. The key word in that sentence is respect. Ya disrespect her by sneakin’ in when she is gone to take back that which, were ya a better man, ya would still possess.”

  Richard Bourke spat upon the floor once more.

  “See? That right there is what I am talkin’ about.” Quinn rose and stood over him. “Now, have the common decency to apologize.”

  “Go to bloody hell.”

  In a swift motion, Quinn pulled one of her throwing knives from her thigh sheath and slammed it deeply into his thigh.

  Bourke let out a loud cry, followed by much swearing. “Bloody hell, you cocksucking piece of shite.”

  Connor, who had been watching warily from his seat, jumped to his feet, grabbed Bourke by the hair, and held his head back. “Speak to Callaghan like that again, and yer good fer nothin’ tongue is comin’ outta yer head.”

  Quinn kept her hand on the handle of the knife in Bourke's thigh. “All right. Perhaps ya did not hear me, so I shall give ya a second chance at doin’ the respectful thing.”

>   Pulling her dagger out, Quinn leaned on his wound with her boot.

  Bourke cursed more. “Son of a bitch! It’s mine!” he said, grimacing. “The... castle is... mine.”

  Quinn held the knife above his other thigh. “Ya know where the third knife is goin’, Richard Bourke, so do yerself a favor––”

  “I’m sorry! I shouldna spat. There.”

  Quinn wiped the knife off on his thigh and removed her boot from his wound. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

  Before he could answer, One Eye returned with a couple of pints of ale and set them on the table.

  “Sounds like a party up there,” Quinn said, gulping one of the pints. She had never been a big ale drinker but had learned how to gulp the stuff without making a face.

  “Aye, Callaghan. The men’ll be merry tonight!”

  “Then both of ya go enjoy yerselves. I will deal with this bastard.”

  Connor and One Eye looked at each other.

  “It wasn’t a request, fellas. Bourke can’t harm me from this chair. Go on now, and enjoy yerselves. Ya’ve earned it.”

  When they were gone, Quinn walked over to Bourke with a pint and held it to his mouth. “Only seems fair ya can drink yer own.”

  Bourke’s eyes narrowed.

  “Go on, man. If I’da wanted ya dead, I’da killed ya already. Drink.”

  Bourke did, guzzling the ale so quickly it ran down his chin.

  Quinn sat on the stool and pretended to take turns drinking the ale with him. It didn’t take long before Richard Bourke was sodden.

  “No reason not to be civilized, eh?” Quinn said, finishing the last sip of ale before setting the empty pint next to the other empty one.

  “Grace was civilished once,” Bourke said, slurring his words. “She loved me.”

  “What happened?”

  Richard Bourke blinked slowly. “I tried to force her to choose. Our family or the lotta you blokes. Not right a woman wanna be on the deck of a ship. You know? Unnatural.”

  Quinn shook her head. “That was yer first mistake. She’s yer mate, Bourke, not yer property.”

  “She’s a woman, goddamn it. I want a wife not a pirate queen. Not some pantsh wearing warrior.”

  “Ah. I see. Ya wanted her to be somethin’ she isn’t.”

  This seemed to befuddle him. “She’s a woman.” He enunciated the last work as if Quinn was hard of hearing.

  “That she is, but that is not what makes her who she is. Those men upstairs do not follow her because she is a woman. They are not willin’ to die fer her ’cause she is a woman. They do so because she is a great leader of men. Ya could learn a lot from her.”

  “Like how to rob a man’s castle?”

  A slight grin crept onto Quinn’s face. “Among other things.”

  “You don’t even know what it’s like, loving a woman who only loves the shee.” His head lolled back. “She could never really love a man like she lovesh the shee.”

  “No, but I do know what it’s like to love a woman who cannot love ya back first. There is always a dull pain... right here.” Quinn rose and touched his chest. “That never goes away.”

  Bourke drunkenly looked down at his chest. “Yesh! Then you know the frushtration of it all. Goddamned women. Goddamn motherfuckin’ women.”

  “I certainly do know.”

  “How... how do you manage it? How do you not want to tear into the world with a rage?”

  Quinn leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and answered a question she’d asked herself a hundred times. “I love her in whatever way she allows me to love. If, at this moment, she cannot give back what I give her, I will settle fer what she can give. And ya know why? Because I love her that much.”

  To her surprise, tears sprang to Bourke’s eyes. “I love Grace that much.”

  “Well then, ya have a couple of choices, but attackin’ her is not one of them. Killin’ other Irishmen is surely not the right angle. Of all the decisions ya could have made to get back together with Grace, comin’ at her people was the worst one.”

  Richard’s head began to loll once more. “I am not a man who shettles.”

  “And she is not a woman who takes orders. Which of ya must give in, then?”

  He raised his head and closed one eye as he stared at Quinn. “Me, I shupposh. She won’t ever bend. Ever.”

  “Exactly. Some women must be loved on their terms, Richard Bourke. Grace O’Malley is one such woman.”

  His chin hit his chest and, for a moment, Quinn thought he had passed out. Ever so slowly, Richard Bourke raised his head. “Then how do you get through the nightsh? How do you comfort your shkin cravins?” His head slumped down once again on his chest.

  Before Quinn could answer, someone came down the stairs. Her eyes still on Bourke, Quinn suspected it was One Eye or Connor.

  It was not.

  “They told me ya were down here. Whatever are ya doin’?”

  Whirling around, Quinn came face to face with Rebecca, the local tavern’s server and part-time lover of Kieran Callaghan.

  “Becca! What are ya doin’ here?” Quinn wrapped her arms around the busty wench and crushed her to her chest.

  “I heard Fiona was nearin’ childbirth and knew ya’d not miss it this time. When word spread men were gatherin’ to defend Rockfleet, I knew ya’d be among them.” Becca smiled into Quinn’s green eyes and kissed her lightly. “I had to come see ya with my own eyes to make sure ya were unharmed.”

  “Ya know me so verra well.”

  Becca leaned in and whispered to Quinn, “Yer friend, Shea came to see me. She wants ya to know she believes she has an idea where the other half of yer four packages are.”

  Quinn quickly leaned away from her. “My four... ” She stopped. The bodies. How on earth had Shea heard about the heads? And how was it the headless bodies had found their way to Galway? “Are ya certain? She said that?”

  “Aye. I don’t know what it is she speaks of, but she says she knows ya would want to be made aware if ya weren’t.” Becca leaned back and looked in Quinn’s face. “But ya were, weren’t ya?”

  Quinn nodded. “There is trouble afoot. How Shea knows this, I do not know.”

  Becca nodded and pulled Quinn’s ear to her. “She said to come as soon as ya can. She thinks they are to be moved. Whatever is she talkin’ about, lover?”

  Suddenly, One Eye joined them, a stein of beer sloshing on his hand. “The upstairs is free, Callaghan. Take yer girl and enjoy the resta yer evenin’. I’ll watch this backwater whelp.”

  “Are ya sure?”

  “Aye. Rockfleet is Captain O’Malley’s because of ya. Go on. I’ll watch this––” One Eye grabbed Bourke’s hair and pulled his head back. “Didya kill him?”

  “Nah. He’s one over the eight.”

  “Truly? How come?”

  Quinn walked over and released One Eye’s hand from Bourke’s hair. “He and I needed a little man-to-man talk.”

  One Eye tossed his head back and barked out a laugh. “Ya slay me, Callaghan! Ya really slay me.”

  Bending over, Quinn whispered in Bourke’s ear. “I sate my hunger, Richard Bourke, by lovin’ the one I’m with. I’d advise ya to do the same.”

  With that, Quinn mounted the stairs holding Becca’s hand in one hand and Fiona’s heart in the other.

  * * *

  They were certainly two very different lovers, Fiona and Becca. Fiona liked to be taken, to tease and withhold. She preferred to be taken most of the time, since her husband loved her as if she might break.

  Becca, on the other hand, preferred equality––to give or receive first, to call the shots or take direction. She was a gentle lover who could also leave nail marks on Quinn’s back. Quinn was never quite certain which Becca would show up in the bedroom, and that not knowing made it all the more exciting.

  This evening, it was gentle Becca––the lover who took her time to kiss every inch of Quinn’s soft skin. They had been through a lot in the six years they
’d been lovers. When Becca had inadvertently discovered that Quinn was a woman, she did not stop loving her. As a matter of fact, it seemed to make her love Quinn more. Maybe it was the honesty, maybe it was just the fact that Becca preferred sex with a woman, Quinn did not know. What she did know was that Becca cared not in the least that her lover was a woman dressed as a pirate.

  Becca was the lover who lightly teased before bringing Quinn to the highest of highs. The woman who, after the pulsing slowly subsided, turned Quinn on her belly to massage her shoulders.

  Straddling Quinn, Becca began kneading her shoulders and rubbing down her spine.

  “You are an angel,” Quinn mumbled into the rug.

  While not comfortable making love on Grace O’Malley’s bed, Quinn had no such issues on the floor in front of the only fireplace in the castle.

  “I’ve been called worse,” Becca said, leaning over to kiss Quinn’s bare shoulders. “I can feel yer worra in everra muscle I touch, sweetheart. What has ya so tight in yer muscles? Is it the pregnancy or the news that Shea has information yer keen to know?”

  Quinn exhaled loudly. She always enjoyed the feel of Becca astride her. “Perhaps both. But right now, my sweet girl, all I can think about is yer warm hands on my skin.”

  Six years ago, when all of this pirate business started, she’d had sex with Becca nearly every time the ship came to port, which was often until Quinn realized her own deep love for Fiona. Becca, not a stupid woman by any means, figured out that Quinn was a woman in love with a woman soon to be married, so she bided her time, loving Quinn even though she knew about Fiona.

  So Becca remained, hoping that Fiona’s marriage might extinguish the fire in Quinn’s heart. When it did not, she surprised Quinn by acknowledging Quinn’s connection to Fiona and telling her it mattered not. Becca loved Quinn enough to keep all of her secrets and still share her bed––both of which she did with equal aplomb.

  Not long after the illness that caused the women in Quinn’s life to discover that she was a woman, Fiona sat with Quinn and explained her feelings as well. She said she could not very well ask something of Quinn that she herself was in no position to do, so she gave Quinn her blessing to go and do as she pleased so long as, when they came together, there were no secrets between them.