Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  Over the years, he had shown her just how capable and wise he was.

  “We, Callaghan, doona wait fer death. We seek it out, challenge it, fight it, and if we win, we live to see another day. That’s not bein’ lost, laddie. That’s havin’ a life worth livin’.”

  “Even though we take lives in the process?”

  Tavish took her ale and finished that off, too. “Oh, laddie, we doona take lives. We merely face others who, like us, choose to face death. Sometime, lad, we are that death. Sometimes we are on the other end.” He shrugged. “But that’s not what’s on yer mind, is it?”

  Inhaling deeply, Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Och, aye, I ken ya will be fine, but fine isna enough. Yer aboot to invade a castle on foreign soil to rescue a foreign monarch. Ya need to be clearheaded and on point. I ken I’m not Captain O’Malley, but–”

  “You’re right, Tavish. I need to be thinking more clearly. I... I... ” Quinn shook her head. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.”

  Tavish leaned forward. “Oh, laddie, ya’d be surprised at how much I ken. Tavish keeps his eyes on everrathin’, ya in particular, lad, and I can tell ya this much–it doona matter to me one way or the other. Yer Kieran Callaghan, plain and simple. Yer not lost, yer not confused, and yer not alone. fer whatever reason, ya came aboard Captain O’Malley’s ship all those years ago and became a pirate. A pirate is what a pirate does, and yer an excellent one, lad. Be proud of that. I am.”

  Quinn blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “Tavish, I–”

  Tavish stood. “We need ya, Callaghan. Grace needs ya. Now Mary of Scotland needs ya. As long as yer needed, ya doona have the luxury of bein’ lost.”

  Quinn grabbed his wrist. “I think those are the most words you’ve ever shared.”

  Tavish smiled with one side of his mouth. “Well, we doona need words mosta the time in order to understand each other, laddie. And let me be really clear here: I do understand ya.”

  Quinn watched as Tavish lumbered back to his table.

  He had saved her life more times than she could remember and had truly been the very best friend to her. She knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. She watched him as he laughed and backslapped the other Scotsmen.

  Tavish’s words shouldn’t have thrown her off so much, but they did. Normally, he was reticent and seldom shared his feelings with her. There was so much more to that man than his ability to knock a man out with a single punch. She silently chastised herself for not spending more time just talking with him.

  Men didn’t seem very interested in the ideas or feelings of other men, so she’d just followed suit and kept her distance.

  She wasn’t going to keep it anymore.

  * * *

  The three packed boats rowed swiftly and silently across the still lake water. The castle loomed like a monolith in front of a healthy moon, and Quinn wondered where within that gargoyle Mary rested.

  Elizabeth would never sanction the death of her cousin. Quinn had to believe that. She had to believe Mary still lived.

  Grace was convinced Mary was still alive somewhere in the ruins of that once-majestic castle, but she had been silent since arriving in the village with her men.

  Unnaturally silent, really.

  “Captain’s awfully quiet,” Tavish said as he pulled his oars back. “Like she’s thinkin’ too hard or somethin’.”

  “Or somethin’.” Quinn had been surprised by how quickly Grace and the others had arrived at Kirkcaldy. Sailors moving across land was painful event witness, and Quinn had heard Grace liken it, on more than one occasion, to herding cats into water.

  But she had pushed them through without incident, and when they arrived at the church, Grace had seemed almost preoccupied.

  Quinn knew better than to bother Grace O’Malley when she was in one of these moods. Perhaps this rescue attempt was far more dangerous than Grace had let on. Maybe Grace truly did question whether or not the Queen of Scotland was alive.

  Whatever the case, Grace had boarded one of the smaller boats and shoved off from the dock with very little fanfare.

  “Stay together. Stay silent. Stay alive.”

  These were her only words as she stepped onto the boat.

  Nearly three dozen of her men were putting their lives on the line for a woman who wasn’t their queen, wasn’t their kin, and whom Grace wasn’t even certain was alive.

  Quinn shuddered as a cold breeze swept over her.

  Mary not being alive was inconceivable to Quinn. When they’d first met, Quinn had pretended to be Grace. Their discourse had been lively and fun, with Mary talking on about riding, hunting, and her falcons. She was a different kind of monarch—of that, Quinn was certain. Mary laughed easily, had a sharp wit, and was as charming and as charismatic a woman as Quinn had ever met.

  Had the Scottish people not been torn asunder by a religious rift, they would all be following a queen every bit Elizabeth’s equal, but perhaps, lacking her zeal and zest for life.

  But religion is the kindling for war, and the great divide between Catholic and Protestant would destroy them all... or at the very least weaken Scotland’s independence. An independent Scotland meant an independent Ireland as well.

  “All right, fellas,” Connor said as they neared the castle. “Not a word. Not a peep, grunt or fart. Unless Captain O’Malley tells ya to, don’t even breathe.”

  The distinctive sound of oars cutting through water continued until, with one last effort, Tavish and James pulled the oars from the water and let the boat skim quickly across the still water toward the island.

  No one uttered a word. Not one word.

  When they had secured the boats, Grace pulled everyone into a tight circle. Only the moon’s light could penetrate that tightly knit group of pirates as Grace went down on one knee and unfurled a scroll.

  It was a map.

  “This castle may not be in top shape,” Grace started, “but it’s plenty big enough. We can enter here and here, but once we’re in it’s a guess as to where she is. That puts us in a bit of a bind.”

  “What’s that buildin’ there?” Quinn asked, pointing at the map.

  “That’s the jailer’s house.”

  Quinn and Tavish exchanged glances.

  “Seems to me, sir, that if ennaone knows where she’s kept, it’ll be him,” Quinn said.

  Grace stared at the map. “Relyin’ on the jailer puts us at a disadvantage.”

  “So does attackin’ a castle full of soldiers with only three dozen men. If he can lead us to her, we just might get outta here alive.”

  Grace studied Quinn’s face in the moonlight. “It’s not a half-bad idea, Callaghan: Ya take Tavish. Let him do the talkin’. The rest of us will start takin’ guards out on our way into the castle. We’re gonna need them outta the way one way or the other. If ya can’t use the jailer, get his keys and kill him. Then make yer way to the gate.”

  Quinn adjusted her belt and turned to leave.

  “And Callaghan?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Don’t get caught. They’ll kill ya on sight, and I’ve grown accustomed to yer face. Ya, too, Tavish.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Tavish said. “But this Scot isna ready to meet his maker just yet. Ya make way fer us, Grace O’Malley. We’ll be right back.”

  When Quinn and Tavish were far enough away, Tavish pulled her to a stop. “Ya think the jailer is just gonna hand her over, lad?”

  “No.”

  “Then what in the devil’s name was ya thinkin’?”

  Quinn pulled out a pouch and held it up to Tavish. “I was thinking that every man has a price.”

  Tavish stared at the full pouch, a slow grin spreading on his face. “Like I said, yer full of surprises, Callaghan. Just when I think I got ya figgered out, ya do somethin’ that surprises me.”

  “Come on, then, Tavish. Let’s find your queen and get the bloody hell out of here.”
r />   * * *

  They made it through the gauntlet of guards, leaving four men dead, two wounded and three unconscious. Quinn gritted her teeth at the casualties. The deaths were unavoidable, necessary in order for them to get through the castle unmolested, but that didn’t make them any less acceptable. Killing, it appeared, had become the mainstay of her pirate life.

  Six years ago, it was plunder and booty, whiskey and women. Now that life was almost as unrecognizable to Quinn as her life as a noblewoman.

  Tavish and Quinn worked brilliantly in tandem: silently, efficiently, as if of one mind. For a thick man, heavy of foot and with tree stumps for legs, Tavish could move like a gazelle when he wanted to.

  Tonight, in the eerie darkness and still silence, Tavish McGee acted like a man with a purpose. He skewered three more guards before they reached a tiny cottage nestled between the castle and its walls.

  They never shared a word between them the entire time they made and slayed their way to the small cottage. When they reached the door, Tavish shocked Quinn by knocking.

  Knocking?

  The door opened to reveal a man standing in his underwear.

  “You’re not a guard.”

  Tavish kept his hand on the hilt of his bloodied sword. “Nay, I am not.”

  “Who’s this?” another man asked, walking up behind the first.

  “That is what I am attempting to discover.” The first man eyed Tavish closely. “What business is it you have?”

  Tavish did not remove his hand from his sword “I’ve not much time, gentlemen, so I’ll give it to ya straight. I’ve come to break Mary from yer dungeon and need to ken where, exactly, she’s bein’ kept. If ya help us, ya can live to see the sunrise. If not, I’ll kill ya and everraone else in yer house.”

  Quinn blinked and placed her hand on the hilt of her sword wondering what in the bloody hell he was up to.

  The first man stuck his head out slightly and looked left, then right. “Just the two of you?”

  Tavish slowly shook his head. “Just the two of us right here, but there’s a trail of dead bodies where we came from, if that tells ya ennathin’. There’s plenty more where we come from.”

  The man stood back from the door. “Hurry. Inside.”

  Tavish looked at Quinn, who was rooted in place. “We’ve come this far, laddie.”

  Once inside, Tavish released his sword. There was little room to navigate a sword fight if it came to that.

  “I’m George Douglas,” the second man offered, bowing slightly. “This is my brother, Sir William Douglas.”

  Tavish cocked his head. “Ya fellas own this place, and yet ya live in the cottage?”

  “The cottage is mine,” George answered. “William owns–”

  “We do not answer to an interloper, brother, especially one who has come to rescue Mary of Scotland.”

  Quinn noted the familiar tone and lack of regal title.

  Tavish stood a little taller. “Mary? Ya doona call our monarch by her title?”

  “Her title, good sir, was legally withdrawn on the twenty-fourth day of July, when she abdicated her throne to her son, James VI.”

  The air felt sucked out of the room, and Quinn could no longer remain silent. “Her son is an infant. Who forced this ridiculous abdication upon her?”

  “It is as it should be,” William replied, tilting his head at her. “You’re not Scottish.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “What is as it should be, Sir Douglas, is the Queen’s freedom,” Tavish spat out. “I doona give two shites if she signed a letter to God himself. Ya will take us to her chambers, or ya will die where ya stand. The decision is yers.”

  William looked at George. “I cannot release her to you without suffering great consequences for me and my family.”

  “There is no greater consequence than death, Sir Douglas,” Tavish growled. “But if that is yer choice–”

  “No.” George stepped forward. “My brother and I are in a precarious situation, sir. If he does not help you, you will kill us. If he does help you, they will kill us. Allow me to take you to Her Majesty.”

  Tavish looked from one brother to the other. “Have ya landed on opposite sides?”

  George nodded. “Aye. That we have. Queen Mary is and always will be Scotland’s monarch to me, but William has fallen in step with those who think differently. It would be my pleasure to aid you in your–”

  “Brother, you do not ken what you’re saying.”

  “Oh, but I do. This time Mary has been with us has allowed me to see what a gracious, strong, fiercely loyal ruler she is. It is foolish of you to fall into England’s ploy. Our sovereign is Mary—not Elizabeth and not James. You should never have forced her to sign that letter, so I am going to right the scales and help free her.”

  “You are a fool.”

  “Enough. Sir Douglas, we will tie ya up while George takes us to her. Be grateful I am not removin’ yer head from yer body fer how poorly ya’ve treated my queen.”

  Once William Douglas was securely tied, George led Tavish and Quinn through the darkness and to a well-hidden side entrance with just one guard. Tavish knocked out the guard with one punch.

  George could only gawk.

  “Move along, George,” Quinn said, trying not to laugh at his shocked face. “Time is of the essence.”

  The castle itself was sparsely guarded, and Quinn surmised that the guards figured no one would really get inside. Whatever the case, walking with George Douglas made it easy to seem as if they belonged.

  When they came to a large door where two guards stood, George bade Tavish and Quinn to stay back, which they did.

  “I have news for the—for Mary.”

  The guards stepped aside, and George opened the door. “She shall be in her bedchamber,” he said to Tavish. “It is the room to the right of this door.”

  When they entered the parlor, Quinn took George’s arm. “I wish not to frighten her, George Douglas. The Queen knows me and will be less inclined to scream out if I go alone.”

  George rubbed his chin in thought. “Leave your weapons then. If she cries out in any way, I’ll be in to run you through, with or without your big friend.”

  “I swear to you, George, we are not here to harm her. We only wish to remove her from her captivity.” Quinn took her belt off as well as the sheath holding her throwing knives. She left her two boot knives in her tall boots.

  “You say she kens you?”

  Quinn nodded. “Very well, actually. She will not cry out because she will know she has nothing to fear from me.”

  George looked at Tavish, who nodded. “The lad tells the truth. Ya and I both ken if they take Mary to England, she’s a dead woman.”

  George nodded. “I never thought it would come to this.”

  “Oh, it’s gonna get worse... and soon. Right now, three dozen more of us are surroundin’ this castle, and we have the ability to kill everra last man in it. But the thing is, I doona want enna more Scottish blood on me hands than need be.”

  George nodded. “I’ll take you out while–”

  “Callaghan.”

  “While Callaghan gets the Queen ready for travel. You can explain everything to your people while I return for Callaghan and the Queen.”

  “Ya can get her out, by yerself?”

  George grinned. “I designed this castle, sir. No one kens it better than I. Trust me. We’ll leave here undetected.”

  Tavish ran his hand through his thick mane. “Whaddaya say, Callaghan?”

  “I say if you don’t stop Grace, there will be a lot of dead bodies to step over when we leave. I’d rather there be no unnecessary deaths of your countrymen, Tavish. Go. I’ll be fine.”

  With a slight hesitation, Tavish took one long stride up to George Douglas. “Just so we’re clear here. The lad dies, and I’ll personally kill everra last person in and around this castle.”

  George stepped back. “He’ll not die on account of me.”

&n
bsp; “Good.” To Quinn he said, “Be safe, laddie. We’ll see ya at the boats.”

  When Tavish and George left, Quinn stood at the bedchamber door and stared at it.

  Not in a million years had she ever thought that becoming a rogue pirate would toss her into the inner circle of monarchies or cast her into the arena of political intrigue.

  Inhaling deeply, Quinn opened the door and nearly wet herself when she saw Mary Queen of Scots standing in her nightgown with a candlestick raised above her head.

  The Queen slightly lowered the candlestick when she saw Quinn. “Callaghan?” Her eyes lit up. “Callaghan! It is you!”

  Quinn bowed. “Your Majesty. There’s not much time. I’ve come to free you.”

  Reaching out with cat-like reflexes, Mary pulled Quinn into her bedchambers and closed the door.

  “Then it’s really you? I am not dreaming?” At nearly six feet tall, Mary had to lean over to peer into Quinn’s face. “My word, but it is you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, it is I.”

  Mary pulled Quinn closer to the lit candle flickering on the table. “You... surely you did not come alone.”

  “No, Your Majesty, I did not. Captain O’Malley is here with dozens of men and many more waiting for you on the coast.”

  Mary immediately grabbed her clothes and stepped behind the blind to dress. “It is true, then? My Irish allies have done what my Scottish subjects would not?”

  “Aye. We are going to take you away from here so you might better deal with your cousin on your own terms.”

  The Queen paused. “I told you one day I would have need of you, Callaghan. This is that day. Thank you.”

  A rare blush crept over Quinn’s cheeks. When she had first met the Queen of Scotland, it had been in the guise of Grace O’Malley. Only... Grace had then appeared at court. Mary knew Quinn was a woman and seemed not the least bit fazed in the knowing of it.

  “I understand you were forced to abdicate the throne, Your Majesty.”

  Mary waved her hand in the air. “Pish-posh. Signing a document under duress makes said document null and void. Scotland and her people remain mine, Callaghan, and mine alone. If my cousin wants a fight, she will have one.” Coming out from behind the partition, Mary smoothed down her blue dress with a white underdress beneath it. Her hair had thinned since Quinn had seen her last and had thin strands of grey.