Cutthroat Crusades (The Plundered Chronicles Book 4) Read online

  “Jesus, Callaghan,” One Eye muttered. “What ha’ we gotten ourselves into?”

  Quinn had just been wondering the same thing. It appeared Elizabeth was not above grandstanding tactics or ruling by fear.

  When Grace pulled the Malendroke into the Port of London, they were met by several dozen of the queen’s guard unit all dressed and prepared for battle.

  “Callaghan?”

  “Sir?”

  “I need yer language skills. I’ve heard she does not favor our language.”

  “Yes, sir. I would imagine she knows it not at all.”

  “Who else should come with us?”

  “Not Tavish, sir. We do not need a Scot in the mix.”

  “Verra well. Me and ya.”

  “Shall I go as a woman, sir? That might disarm her a bit.”

  Grace shook her head. “No. I hear she is incredibly intelligent. We go as who we are.”

  Quinn glanced down at her filthy clothes. “Grace? I don’t believe it benefits us to appear like filthy pirates. I think we would be better off if we wore our best clothes.”

  Grace glanced down at her own attire before glancing back up. “Aye.”

  “And you ought to wear your hair free, sir. I don’t think looking like a woman will be detriment.”

  Grace smiled and wiped her nose with the back of her arm. “Good enough. We change dress and then leave the crew on board until we return. If we are not back in two hours, they must leave without us.”

  Half an hour and several instructions later, Grace and Quinn waited for Innis to lower the gangplank.

  Grace had changed into a billowy white pirate shirt and brown leggings. She wore the nicer pair of her two pair of boots all polished and cleaned. Her red hair, gorgeous by Quinn’s noble standards, hung loosely about her shoulders and cascaded off her neck. Around her waist she wore a green bandana that hung down around her knees.

  For her part, Quinn looked like a young boy in his Sunday finest. Black pants, black boots, yellow pirate shirt.

  Neither wore a sword sheath. Coming court armed wasn’t a very good idea, so Quinn convinced Grace to leave her swords in her quarters. That took some doing.

  “Ready, Callaghan?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Innis?”

  “Yes, sir. If yer not back by the time ya said, we will shove off. If they attack or try to board us, we will shove off. If the English do ennathin’ aggressive, we are to hightail out of here.”

  “Correct. Do not look back, do not come back, and do not do ennathin’ that would put the crew at risk. Understood?”

  Innis nodded. “Aye, Captain.”

  “Good. Good. We’ll be back, men.”

  As Quinn and Grace walked down the gangplank, Quinn stared down at the men in uniform waiting for them.

  “You ready, Captain?”

  “Aye, Callaghan. When the head guard asks, ya be sure to tell them it is Grace O’Malley, Queen of Connacht, Chieftain of the O’Malley clan and Captain of the Malendroke who wishes an audience with his queen.”

  Quinn winced at the noble label and went so far as to omit it when the guard asked what their business was.

  When Quinn told him who Grace was, his grey eyebrows shot into the air. He obviously recognized her name. It did not surprise Quinn that he did. Clearly, few Irish chieftains had committed so many acts of piracy against the crown, so Grace would be known far and wide.

  “You’re the one they call the Pirate Queen?” the older man asked.

  Grace barely cut her eyes to Quinn, who answered for her in flawless English. “Aye, that she is, and Queen O’Malley requests are audience with Queen Elizabeth at her first convenience.”

  The soldier looked both of them up and down as if measuring their level of threat.

  “We come unarmed,” Quinn said to him, holding her arms out.

  Grace looked over at Quinn but did not raise her arms.

  “Wait here,” he said in English.

  Grace, who had no command of the English language, elbowed Quinn. “Ya find a way to let me know what everraone is sayin’. I hate bein’ at a disadvantage.”

  Quinn nodded. “Aye.”

  When the soldier was gone, Quinn leaned over to Grace. “No use of the word pirate or warrior or even clan chief, sir. Your best bet is to go in as queen equal to her. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  Grace nodded. “Understood.”

  “Do you wish for me to translate when we get our audience?”

  Grace shook her head. “That would make me appear weak, and that we cannot have.”

  Quinn started to ask another question, but the soldier’s return quieted her.

  “Follow me.”

  They followed the soldiers through a couple of dark alleys, a labyrinthine series of passages until they emerged, as if by miracle, in an anterior.

  “The queen will see you now.”

  Quinn nodded. “That was quick.”

  “It isn’t every day the queen receives uninvited monarchs. Her . . . curiosity is piqued.”

  Quinn translated.

  Grace smiled. “Excellent.”

  “Aye. That is most unexpected.”

  When the enormous double doors opened, Quinn’s breath caught. The throne room used for such an audience was opulent and grand, done in whites and golds, with large, open windows with a bright, airy feel that made the woman sitting on the huge throne before them appear almost translucent.

  Queen Elizabeth wore a white dress with lace that travelled up her breasts to her neckline. The material on her arms was also a lace, only it clung almost protectively to her arms. It was similar to the dress Elizabeth wore the first time Quinn saw her.

  But even with the lightness of the dress, it was her regal bearing that dominated Quinn’s glimpse of the English queen. Elizabeth had always reminded Quinn so much of Mary of Scotland. They both carried themselves the same way—shoulders back, spines erect, and intense, piercing gazes. The greatest difference was that Mary had a warmth to her that escaped Elizabeth.

  Slowly rising, Queen Elizabeth kept her blue eyes locked on Grace but gave nothing away by her blank facial expression. As she walked toward them, her dress was both fluid and immobile, as if playing a trick on Queen’s eyes.

  Grace O’Malley stood a hair under six feet tall. Elizabeth was a tad shorter, so when Grace placed her hand between them for the queen to shake, Elizabeth actually had to raise her hand to the Irish queen.

  Quinn held her breath as Elizabeth’s lips twitched. Whether in amusement or irritation, Queen could not discern.

  For her part, Quinn bowed low, like a man would, and Elizabeth, seeing this from the corner of her eye, released Grace’s hand and softly said, “Very interesting.”

  To Quinn’s surprise it was Grace who started the conversation. She did so in Latin—the only language the two queens had in common. How Grace knew this, Quinn did not know. “It is not an easy task being a woman at sea. Callaghan here and I find it necessary to appear as one of the crew in order to earn their respect. We dress the part because we are part of the whole.”

  Queen Elizabeth grinned slightly. “One would think actions earned respect and not appearance.”

  Grace smiled. “Except that men are simple creatures who are easily swayed by one’s outward appearance.”

  To Quinn’s astonishment, Elizabeth laughed a very pleasant and light-hearted laugh. “A better truth was never spoken, Grace. May I call you Grace?”

  Grace wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Ya may. Lord knows I’ve been called worse.”

  Elizabeth laughed again and Quinn could not help but notice the surprise of her own retinue. Apparently, Elizabeth didn’t laugh often, or maybe they just didn’t think she would be laughing at this pirate queen. “Your honest view of the world is refreshing to a woman constantly being told what everyone thinks she wishes to hear.” Elizabeth pulled a fine cambric lace handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Grace.

  Grace
nodded once as she took the handkerchief, blew her nose in it and the strode over to the enormous fireplace and tossed it in.

  Quinn felt the room immediately chill. An intake of breath was all she heard.

  “That was a gift from Her Majesty,” one of the ladies-in-waiting said through grit teeth.

  “It was to be put in your pocket,” Elizabeth said, in Latin, without inflection.

  Grace strode back and replied, “Then we Irish must possess a higher standard of cleanliness, Elizabeth, as one would never deign to carry around a soiled linen in one’s pocket.”

  No one moved.

  Quinn froze, unable to find any words to salvage the disrespectful words Grace had just uttered.

  Then, to the relief of everyone in the room, Elizabeth tossed her head back and laughed again. “Dear me, Grace O’Malley, you hide your true self not at all. I find that so . . . freeing.”

  “As women, we are only as free as we demand to be, Yer Majesty, and I am, as ya can see, quite free.”

  “Indeed you are. Please, have a seat.” Elizabeth motioned to her ladies to set two chairs facing each other.

  Quinn remained standing behind Grace’s chair, mesmerized by Elizabeth and the vibrancy of life she exuded—Mary had once exhibited this same fire, but no longer. Elizabeth carried herself with a confidence and independence of spirit Quinn had not recently seen on Mary. Elizabeth also spoke with a more compassionate tone, where Mary always sounded like she was ordering people even when she wasn’t.

  “Your attire appears so much more comfortable than mine,” Elizabeth noted. “Men’s leggings must feel so––”

  “Freeing? To be unbound by one’s clothes is the first step in attainin’ one’s sense of self. I could no more be bound in that dress than I would wear a boulder for a hat.”

  Elizabeth shook her head and motioned for the wine to be poured.

  “To understanding those so unlike ourselves.” Elizabeth said, touching her ornate goblet to Grace’s.

  “Aye. To findin’ common ground.”

  Quinn stood in muted awe as the two queens drank their wine and started chatting like two old friends.

  She had never seen this coming. At all. Never had she expected the queen of England to show Grace . . . well, so much grace and respect. Here was arguably the most powerful monarch in the world, showing kindness and hospitality to a woman who had, time and time again, lightened her coffers and sent thousands of her sailors to the bottom of the sea.

  Was this a trick of some sort?

  Quinn felt uneasy, and yet she could pick up nothing disingenuous about Elizabeth’s demand. She actually appeared to be enjoying Grace’s company.

  How bizarre was that?

  “Well now, I’m quite certain you did not sail all the way up the Thames to discuss attire. What is it you braved the journey to see me about, Grace O’Malley?”

  Grace took another sip of wine and cleared her throat. “Yer magistrate in my country has leveled very serious and unfounded treason charges against my son, Tibbott. He has also jailed my half-brother in an effort to bring me to heel. Elizabeth—my family, my people, and my country are no threat to ya and yers. All we want is to be left alone in peace, to work the land and care fer our families, not unlike yer people. Tibbott is a good boy. He is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s all I’ve got.”

  “Family is so important during these harsh times. I quite understand why you would make such a perilous journey.”

  “It wasn’t so bad as that. I’d eat hot coals if I thought it would free my boy. I may be a queen, a captain, and a pirate, but I am first and foremost a mother.”

  Elizabeth tilted her head as she studied Grace a moment longer than necessary. “It’s no secret that you and your men have been a thorn in the side of my navy for quite some time now. Francis Drake utters your name like a curse, and you have cost me countless ships and hundreds of men. You and I both know I should have you tossed into the Tower for the remainder of your life.”

  Quinn held in her breath. She feared Grace’s ire at the mention of Drake.

  “Yer ships and men must understand that Ireland is not like a virgin waiting for her maidenhood to be taken by yer men. She is a strong, formidable lass who deserves the respect and recognition yer sailors seldom give her. I merely exact payment for their lack of respect.”

  Elizabeth carefully sipped her wine before answering. “I believe I have underestimated you, Grace O’Malley. I was lead to believe you were . . . ” Elizabeth waved her thoughts away. “Nonetheless, I believe you and I can come to an amenable solution to our combined . . . issue.”

  Quinn’s heart beat so hard in her head, she could barely hear the conversation.

  “A solution is all I can ask fer,” Grace said softly. “Yer governors and magistrates have been houndin’ my kin fer over a decade. If ya can find a way to allow my family a peaceful existence, then I would be willin’ to do the same for yer vessels and the men on them.”

  It was a bold move, to be sure, and Quinn had never been more proud of Grace than she was at this moment. Grace’s usual knee-jerk reaction had tempered, and her usual compulsive nature had been tamed.

  Of course, it helped that Elizabeth appeared almost taken with Grace . . . almost as if she respected the pirate queen more than she’d anticipated. The air about the two women fairly crackled with admiration.

  “I believe I can have your son and brother released on two conditions. The first may very well be hard for you to accept, but is imperative if I am not to appear weak.”

  Grace leaned forward. “A woman in our position must never seem weak, Elizabeth. So name yer conditions.”

  “The first is: you must swear fealty to me, renouncing any and all ties with Scotland, my cousin, and the dreadful galloglaigh.”

  Quinn’s tongue felt like a block of wood in her mouth. Fealty to the queen of England? Elizabeth had surely misjudged . . .

  “Agreed. I have little time or concern for the woes of our neighbor or its queen. My only obligation now is to Ireland and kinfolk.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Very good. Then secondly, I’ve been told the Spanish are putting more ships in the water and making their way up your coastline. I want you to turn your ships away from mine and attack, plunder, and destroy as many galleons as you can. When you send Spanish gold and a hundred swords, we shall release your son and brother and tell my magistrates to cease and desist their pursuit of your people”

  Grace leaned back and crossed her ankle over her knew. “Ya want me to plunder and then destroy Spanish galleons lurkin’ along the coast of Ireland.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “You’ll have a letter from me give you a pass through the country. I shall send messengers along the river now to let the ports know to hold their fire.”

  Grace tapped her chin with her index finger. “Any other conditions, Yer Majesty?”

  Elizabeth studied Grace a moment before smiling softly. “Just those two. I must say you are not at all like I’ve heard you to be. It has been a pleasure speaking with a woman fortunate enough to live her life on her own terms. The freedom you must feel when out at sea . . . Your ability to command men with but a word, without having committees and advisors second-guess you must feel . . . ”

  “Powerful.”

  “How do you do it?” Elizabeth leaned forward. “How do you manage to lead without some man telling you what to do?”

  “That’s easy. They who disagree, we toss overboard. I do not suffer mutinists or fools.”

  Elizabeth threw her head back and laughed again. “I’m quite sure you do not.” Rising, Elizabeth motioned to her secretary, who handed scrolls to Grace. “Those will aid your swift passage back to Ireland. It has been . . . far more enjoyable than I ever anticipated.”

  Grace threw back the rest of her wine and rose. “Ya have my word, Elizabeth, and my fealty as well. Ya shall have yer gold, yer swords, and yer proof that the Malendroke plundered and sank at least one Spanish galleon.
”

  “Then your family will be forever free of harassment from this throne. If the magistrate does not follow my orders, I wish to be informed.”

  Grace bowed at the waist. “Thank ya fer yer time, Yer Majesty.”

  “Another time, another place, and I believe we might have been friends.”

  “Agreed.”

  As Quinn joined Grace, she had no words for the meeting she just witnessed. She’d gone into the audience with a respect she wish she didn’t feel for powerful monarch and all things English, but she came away from this meeting feeling like she was beginning to understand that Elizabeth was a powerful woman fighting to keep herself and her country alive during violent and volatile times.

  When they were steps from the large double doors, Grace stopped and turned toward Elizabeth. “One more thing, Yer Majesty.”

  “Yes?”

  “If I ever see Francis Drake near my coastline, I will send him and his ship to the bottom of the sea.”

  Quinn closed her eyes.

  They were so close.

  Seconds ticked by.

  Elizabeth’s face gave nothing away.

  Quinn could not breathe. Why on earth couldn’t Grace just let it go?

  So close.

  “You do not care for Francis Drake?”

  Grace shook her head. “The man is an asshole.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Aren’t they all? I will have a word with him when next we speak.”

  With that, Quinn and Grace walked out of the chambers and back toward the dock.

  “Well, that went rather well, dontcha think, Callaghan?”

  “I’m speechless, sir. I . . . well, I have no words.”

  Grace laughed and threw her arm across Quinn’s shoulders. “Know what amazed me the most?”

  “What?”

  Grace chuckled. “That the English keep snotty linens in their pockets. How disgustin’ is that?”

  With that, Grace and Quinn started up the gangplank toward home, their laughter filling the air.

  Most of the crew was drunk before dusk as the Malendroke made its way down the Thames and toward open water. The Fortune Teller, piloted by Innis and a skeleton crew, sailed slightly behind in the Malendroke’s wake.