X Marks The Spot (The Plundered Chronicles Book 6) Read online

  “Nothin’ but excitement, Captain. They’ve been itchin’ to do somethin’ big fer a while now. You spoilt ’em by givin’ ’em one good adventure after another right outta the gate. They thirst for it now.”

  “Well, I hope they are ready for it. We’ve not fought the Turks on land before. We’re a bit out of shape in terms of fighting and plundering.”

  “Aye. Fightin’ on land isn’t our best foot.”

  “No it isn’t, and we will not do so now.”

  One-Eye tilted his head. “No?”

  Quinn shook her head. “Not if I can help it. Once we pick up Tavish, we will make our way to Vieste to make plans with Sayyida. Those plans will include getting those two young women without drawing our swords or shooting our cannons.”

  “Ya sure old Red’ll come?”

  “I find that I am no longer certain of enna thing, old friend.”

  “Sure ya are.” This came from Fitz, who had snuck up behind them. “Ya know yer men. Ya knew we’d jump at the chance for someplace new and somethin’ excitin’. Ya made the right decision, Callaghan, and when we pull Big Red’s fat arse on board, he’ll be sure to reassure ya of that.”

  It turned out Fitz was right.

  When they brought the older Scot up to the deck, the first words he spoke were, “It’s about time, lad. I was beginnin’ to worry.”

  Quinn felt all the air squeezed out of her as the tree trunk of a man crushed her in a hug.

  “Damn good to see ya, lad. I’ve sorely missed ya. Six months and you couldn’t come see us once?”

  Quinn pulled away and held him by his massive shoulders. He’d gained some weight, trimmed his beard, but his eyes looked clear and bright. “Grouchy as ever, eh, you old toad?”

  Tavish laughed heartily. “Aye, yet ya still missed me, eh?”

  “Of course I did. And your wife, too. Where’s she?” Quinn looked over his shoulder.

  “Right here,” Maggie said, as she was helped off the gangplank. “Oh, Callaghan, it’s so good to see you.” Maggie hugged Quinn with less vigor. “You look beautiful, my dear.”

  “As do you, Maggie.”

  Maggie glanced around the deck. “Kaylish below?”

  Quinn shook her head. “She and the kids aren’t coming.”

  “Oh. Dear. I hope everything is all right.”

  “As usual, you see right through everything. It’s as right as it can be, I’m afraid. I hate to ask this of you, Maggie, but I have a huge favor…one I will understand you not complying with if you do not wish to.”

  Half an hour later. Maggie and two new members were dropped back off at the Scottish dock with two crewmen who had managed to father children while they were away. Both men were more than happy to be given a pass back to Ireland in order to escort Maggie to Castle Blackrock.

  The Edge then resumed trailing behind Sayyida’s ship, masts in full bloom.

  On the Captain’s deck, Tavish stood next to Quinn at the bow. “Ya made a good decision, lad. Maggie’ll take good care of those kids.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry about Kaylish, lad. I know how much she means to ya.”

  “I suppose if she meant that much, I’d have stayed with her.”

  “Don’t be daft. Ya make the hard decisions all the time, Callaghan. It’s what you do. Leavin’ yer woman and those kids, as hard as it was, was the right decision. The Turks are not enna one we’re used to fighin’. They take people fer slaves. My guess is, there is a pretty coin to be had by givin’ the Sultan his granddaughters back and routin’ them Turks.”

  “We won’t be fighting them, Tavish. As a matter of fact, I seriously doubt they’ll ever touch land.”

  Tavish scratched his red beard dotted with grey flecks. “I ken that tone in yer voice, Lad. Yer not going to Vieste alone.”

  “Oh, I know that, but we’re not putting the crew at risk. We’re going to get it and get out.”

  Tavish heaved a sigh of relief. “Good to hear. Then what? Cruise along the Barbary Coast?”

  “That’s the plan. We’ll go back for Maggie and the kids and spend some time on the water while Sayyida gets us set up to belong on the Barbary Coast. Will she be okay with that?”

  “Are ya kiddin’? She loves the water even more than I do. She’ll be happy as a lark.”

  “Good. Here’s what we’ve got.” Quinn explained the plan to him, why Sayyida had come to see her, and what they intended to do.

  When she finished, Tavish cracked his knuckles and for the first time, Quinn realized his crippled hand was much better. “Your hand. It looks so much better.”

  Tavish splayed his fingers for her. “Maggie is a miracle worker. Took me to a physician friend of hers who rebroke a couple of the fingers and… how did he put it… he reset them. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but they healed much better this time.”

  Quinn turned his hand over and ran her fingers across his knuckles. He had suffered so at the hands of the Spaniards during the Inquisition. It was a miracle he had survived at all. “Amazing. You can hardly tell they were crushed.”

  “Still can’t hold a sword right, but I’m getting’ closer.”

  “Good.”

  Tavish gazed into Quinn’s eyes. “You alright lad? Ya see…unsettled.”

  She knew better than to lie to him. He’d always been able to read her well. “How is it you can bring Maggie to the sea? Aren’t you afraid something will happen to her?”

  “Evera single day, whether we’re on land or at sea. Ya seem to ferget, lad, where we were when we met. Torture changes a person. Maggie made it plain from day one, I am not her master. She goes where she wants when she wants. That’s part of our agreement. She’d rather be in danger with me than safe without me.”

  Quinn liked that saying. “What about you? Don’t you ever feel… I don’t know… guilty for putting her in harm’s way?”

  Tavish rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I’d feel guiltier if somethin’ happened to her and I wasn’t there. Like I said, it was an agreement we made. She can take care a herself and made it clear I was not her master. Why? Ya feelin’ guilty for leavin’ Kaylish?”

  “I don’t quite know if guilt is the right word.”

  “Did ya give her the choice?”

  The choice?

  Quinn shook her head, realizing, too late, her mistake. “No.”

  “Ah. Well then, that would verra well be yer problem. Women doona want to be dictated to. They want choices. They want a… how did my wife put it… a voice.” He turned to her. “Isn’t that why yer wearin’ men’s clothes, lad? ’Cause ya wanted a voice ya doona get as woman?”

  “Goddess, I am so stupid. How can I be a woman and yet know so little about them?”

  Tavish laughed out loud. “Lad, what are ya in this world?”

  “What am I?”

  “Aye. List fer me the things ya are to folks.”

  Quinn furrowed her brows. “Well… I’m a captain, a pirate, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a lover, a—”

  “Stop there. Dooncha see? Ya see yerself as a captain and a pirate first off. That’s where yer heart lies. No amounta thinking is gonna change that. Yer heart belongs on the water. Period. Amen.”

  “That’s what Sayyida said. Not in so few words.”

  “And she would ken, aye? Maggie taught me, we canna be evera thin’ to evera body. If ya do, you’ll fail at half of ’em. Mags asked me the same question. My answers were a wee bit like yours. Husband came in around five.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh, aye. She said that was when she kenned that my first loyalty was to ya and this crew. So we made our agreement. If this is where my heart is, she gets to choose when and if she wishes to be a part of that.” He shrugged. “Seems fair.”

  “She’s an amazing woman, that girl.”

  Someone called out to Tavish, so he turned to leave. “Ya ken, lad, there will come a day when you will want to be done with all this… when you’ll have had yer sha
re of fussin’ and fightin’. Maybe then ya can give yerself to a woman, but fer now, take advice from two other women who wear captain’s clothes: Doona get so involved that evera goodbye takes a bit a yer soul.” With that, he bounded down the stairs.

  He was right, of course. So was Sayyida. No wonder Grace had had only one lover since Quinn had known her. She understood her role. She knew her own heart while Quinn tried to be everything to everyone.

  “And you can’t,” Quinn muttered to herself. “At least…I can’t.”

  “Three Spanish galleons off the port side!” Came Hawkeye’s voice from the crow’s nest.

  Quinn pulled out the telescope given to her by Grace and peered through it. Sure enough, there they were and they were coming in hard and fast.

  “Sayyida’s making a turn,” Fitz said. “Looks like she’s takin’ a run fer ’em.”

  “God damn it,” Quinn cursed. “We don’t need this right now.”

  “Captain, she’s gonna split the difference.”

  Quinn looked at the formation and realized Sayyida was planning on splitting the two on the life. That meant Quinn should take out the third as quickly as possible before helping her with the middle ship.

  “We have more firepower than they do, Captain. We go between two and three, take her down and then fire on two.”

  “Do it,” Quinn ordered.

  The men ordered about by Tavish and Fitz, jumped to life, the energy of the ship transforming from boredom to excitement.

  This is what they lived for.

  Watching her crew step it up made Quinn swell with pride. They were some of the best sailors she’d ever met, and in no time had the Edge prepared for battle. The cannons on either side were armed and ready, the Firsts eager to board.

  The Firsts were the brutes of the ship – the larger, stronger, less mobile fighters. They boarded just to make way for the Seconds – the more nimble fighters. Then there were the archers and bowmen, who fired what seemed like an endless supply of arrows from atop the masts and railings.

  The deck of the Spanish Galleon was slick with blood moments after the Firsts boarded, screaming like banshees and swinging their swords like the wild men they were. It was as efficient as it was brutal, and the Spaniards died quickly beneath the metal and wood of the Irishmen.

  “Light her up, fellas!” Tavish ordered.

  Fitz stood next to Quinn. “You sure ya don’t wanna check her belly?”

  Quinn shook her head. “She’s ridin’ too high. That’s why they were comin’ so hard at us.”

  “But we’re not riding low.”

  “They don’t want what’s in us. They want to use us for their next booty, but not this day.”

  Multiple cannon fire resounded from Sayyida’s ship, and the Galleon on the right splintered and caught fire. Then the masts caught fire and Sayyida pulled away from the middle ship which landed a number of shots on her main deck.

  “Fire!” Tavish yelled.

  The cannons on the starboard side lit up as they sent eight cannonballs at the middle ship, which now found itself between two enemies and two flaming coffins.

  “She’s fucked,” Fitz murmured, watching the ship take a pounding from both sides.

  It sank faster than the other two, and when the mast of the final ship slipped below the water, both ships’ crew cheered.

  “Well done, men!” Quinn yelled, holding up her sword. “No Spaniard can defeat an Irishman’s passion!”

  The men roared and banged their swords on the railing of the ship.

  “Captain? Looks like Sayyida wants us next to her,” Hawkeye yelled.

  Quinn nodded and told Fitz to pull up to her. “How many did we lose?” She asked Tavish.

  “Two dead, five wounded. Pretty clean overall.”

  “Not clean enough. I’ll tell Sayyida we are fast enough to sail by these bastards from now on.”

  “Ya goin’ over with Tavish?”

  Quinn shook her head. “It’s Sayyida, Fitz. She would never harm me. I’ll go alone.”

  Fitz spat on the deck. “Beg yer pardon sir, but last time I looked, she almost had ya kilt.”

  “Almost, but not quite. I’ll be fine. I need ya to make the repairs. We took a few shots, aye?”

  “Three. The bloody assholes can’t fire for shit. Ya gwon and meet up with her, but I think we oughtta keep our eyes open where she’s concerned.”

  “You don’t trust her?”

  “Do you?”

  Quinn grinned. “At times, aye. Others, I’m not so sure about.”

  “Exactly. It’s them times I worry about.”

  “Well, my friend, don’t worry too much. I’ll be back in no time.”

  “See that ya are, Callaghan.”

  Ten minutes later, Quinn was on board Sayyida’s newer, slimmer ship, one that was faster than the corsair Quinn had once stolen from her.

  “Well done, my sweet. Your men—”

  “Are wondering why we engaged them, Sayyida. We are fast enough to have just skirted around them.”

  “Yes we are, but then we would have given them the upper hand. Catholic nations, Catholic countries stick together against a common enemy, Callaghan. We are that enemy. Muslims and Christians will never have peace.” Sayyida turned and spoke in rabid Berber to a couple of her men before showing Quinn to her captain’s quarters.

  Hers was far more elaborate and decorative than any Quinn had ever seen. Silk of reds and golds hung in gathered bunches from two of the walls. Her bedding was the finest linens Quinn had ever seen and were fluffy and comfortable looking. In the middle of the room was a square table with four chairs perched atop a small Persian rug. Three torches hung on the walls, and Sayyida lit them all, illuminating a room that had one small window that allowed little light to peek through.

  “Beautiful.”

  “I try. It is never easy making a feminine space in a very masculine world, is it?”

  “I don’t really know. Apparently, femininity isn’t my strength.”

  Sayyida chucked as she poured two ornate goblets with wine. “You are attracted to it but cannot manifest it for yourself,” she said, pushing one of the goblets toward Quinn.

  “Not cannot. Will not. My men do not see me as a woman. Whether that is a gift or a curse, I know not.”

  “That must be why they call you and Grace sir. I have always found that to be both bizarre and intriguing.”

  “Aye. It took some getting used to, to be sure.”

  Sayyida sipped her wine. “I have always thought that strange when Grace did it, but you? I find it sexy and seductive, my little sir,” Sayyida motioned for Quinn to sit down. “But then, there is as much about your culture I find odd, and so much about you I find exhilarating.”

  Quinn sat down and sipped the wine. It was better than any wine she’d had in Ireland. “Speaking of odd, we are preparing to land on one of the strangest coasts in the whole of Europe. You and your men will be perceived as enemies and dangerous to the Pope.”

  Sayyida sipped her wine and then gazed at Quinn over the rim. “The Pope has no power over me or any other Muslim. He is a vain and overly proud man who forces other men to their knees to kiss his ring and suck his dick. How can you be afraid of a man who dresses as a woman and tortures those who choose not to follow his religion?”

  “I am not afraid. Just wary. If Dragut Reis has, in fact, landed in Vieste, the Pope will be sending out his very powerful forces.”

  “Perhaps he already has. Regardless of that, we still need to find the Sultan’s granddaughters. If we cannot bring them back, there will be bloodshed the likes you and I have never seen.”

  Quinn took a long swig of wine. It was definitely Finnish. “Then we must make certain we find them.”

  “We’ll be there by morning, my friend. Now, it is time we make our own plan.”

  Vieste was a beautiful city on the East Coast of Italy that had probably been filled with light and hope at one time.

  Now, it was a smol
dering, bloodfest run by Dragut Reis and his bloodthirsty men who were wantonly killing innocents and dragging the others off to his slave ships.

  “If my men would have known you and I would be landing on the coast without them, they would never have agreed to come here,” Quinn said, eyeing the coast for an signs of aggression.

  “Your men, as I have surmised, speak very little Latin. Their loud and obnoxious Gaelic tongues would surely give us all away. As two women with a command of Latin, you and I can move more freely about.”

  For the first time since she’d known her, Quinn realized Sayyida had overestimated their safety and underestimated Dragut’s reign of terror. As they approached the city of Vieste, dozens upon dozens of sightless eyes stared out at them from heads rammed upon stakes. Several of the heads had crows sitting on top of them trying to pluck eyeballs from their sockets.

  The message was clear: enter this city at your peril.

  Which they did.

  After stealing dresses off two older, quite dead women, they helped each other conceal their swords beneath a layer of skirts. Quinn wore her throwing daggers on her left leg and Sayyida dropped a knife into her boot that remained largely concealed by the length of the dress.

  “I do so hate female attire,” Sayyida groused as Quinn cinched her up. “It is more confining than shackles. I can barely breath.”

  Quinn could not disagree. “Where to first?”

  “The Sultan has men living near the cathedral on the point. They might be able to help us locate where the granddaughters might be hiding. The problem is going to be trusting the right men.”

  As they neared the city, Quinn could smell the smoke and hear the screams of the Italians who had not managed to escape Dragut’s reach. Sayyida had explained to her on their boat trip over that Dragut made most of his money now in the slave trade, which was why a dozen of his ships were docked in and around the bay.

  They were awaiting their living cargo.

  “As I mentioned when I came to see you, he’s killing women and children, too.” Sayyida whispered as they walked past a dozen heads on poles. “But only those too old or too young to sell. The man is a miscreant.”