The Pirate's Booty (The Plundered Chronicles Book 1) Page 8

  They had been on the horse less than an hour when Kennedy leaned into Quinn. “Slow down... I think––”

  “I see her.” Quinn slowed the frothing horse to a trot as she caught sight of a woman with long white hair and a green robe standing expectantly in the clearing. Pine needles scattered across the forest floor like a thick carpet as a few shafts of sunlight reached for the ground.

  “Ho,” Quinn commanded. The horse came to a stop in front of a woman who looked to be in her late twenties but whose white hair made her appear older. Quinn got down from her horse, helped Kennedy down, and they stood facing their old friend.

  “I knew you would come today,” Bronwen said, embracing Quinn tightly. “You have been in many of my dreams and visions, and I have worried about you so.” Bronwen held Quinn’s face and studied the cut on her eyebrow. “This is very deep and has reopened. Though, the stitching is passable.”

  Quinn nodded.

  Bronwen had grown up with the three girls but they’d all always known that Bronwen’s path was one of the goddess and that she would leave them one day to live in the woods with the rest of the Druids. When that day had come, they all cried and hugged, promising never to forget her.

  “Does it hurt?” Bronwen’s fingers lightly brushed the wound. “The last time I had to patch a wound like this on you was when that MacNally boy tried to look up Kennedy’s skirt.”

  Quinns smiled at the memory. “Aye.”

  “It hurt then. It is angry as if it hurts now.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “I can take care of that, but it’s this I am worried about.” Bronwen laid her hand on Quinn’s chest. “You are... ” Bronwen shook her head. “The only way I can explain it is to say that you are not yourself.”

  “See? I knew Bronwen could tell.”

  Bronwen ignored Kennedy. “This attire you are wearing... is it the mask I see in my sleep? Is it the reason I see you but do not see you? Feel you but do not feel you?”

  Quinn nodded. Bronwen had always been keenly aware of her three dear friends, even when they were not physically nearby. “Aye. It is a long story. I’m fine, really.”

  Bronwen stared deeply into Quinn’s eyes. “No, my friend, you are not. Come with me.” She led Quinn and Kennedy through the woods to a lake with a waterfall trickling into it. Dabbing a small cloth in the water, Bronwen lightly touched it on Quinn’s eyebrow and wiped off the dried blood. “I need to put some unguent on this. That will help with the scarring and... ” She paused and tilted her head. “What is darkening your spirit so much, my friend?”

  Quinn’s eyes filled with tears she hadn’t expected. Maybe it was Bronwen’s concern that touched her, or maybe it was her gentleness. Whatever it was, her tears came as a surprise. “I am sure it comes to no surprise to you that I am trying to find Shea, and I’m not sure I will be able to keep my promise to her. I think slavers took her. She’s out there somewhere, Bronwen, and I know she needs me, but she could be anywhere.”

  Bronwen crushed some leaves with a round stone and sprinkled some powder on it before adding a few drops of water. The resulting mixture was a light green paste she gently applied to Quinn’s eyebrow. “Aye. I knew her energy was not here, but I was unaware she had been forcibly removed. You should have come to me sooner.”

  Quinn closed her eyes, and a tear fell. “I was afraid of what you would tell me.”

  Bronwen handed warm tea to Quinn. “Drink this.”

  Quinn drank it quickly and handed the mug back. “That tasted awful.”

  Blowing on the mixture on Quinn’s eyebrow, Bronwen whispered, “Close your eyes. Rest your spirit, Quinn Gallagher. Breathe deeply. Think about your happiest memories with Shea. You too, Kennedy. Both of you, close your eyes and focus on Shea. Relax. Breathe.” Bronwen’s voice was soft and soothing. “Breathe.”

  “Listen to my words. Focus on my voice and breathe. Breathe.”

  That was the last word Quinn heard before she succumbed to the darkness.

  ***

  When she opened her eyes, it was nightfall. Her eyebrow had finally stopped throbbing, and her chest was less constricted. She felt more herself than she had in over a month.

  A small fire crackled, and the gurgling of the waterfall sounded behind her. Rising up on one elbow, she looked around the fire for Bronwen and saw her sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, chatting quietly with Kennedy.

  “You drugged me.”

  Bronwen smiled softly. “Aye, and I’ll not apologize for it. You were exhausted when you arrived. Your energy low, your spirit lower. You needed some rest, some peace. I gave it to you as I always have.”

  Quinn cast her gaze toward Kennedy. Ever since they were children, Bronwen had been different. She’d always known she was something special, and when a priestess of the Druids came for her when she was just twelve, she went willingly, promising to always be there if Quinn, Kennedy, and Shea ever needed her.

  They had needed her plenty, and she had never failed them, even though Bronwen was now a healer of the highest order, sought by many.

  “This was your doing.” Quinn raised her good eyebrow at Kennedy.

  “And? Quinn, if you knew what you looked like when you rode in, you’d have asked us to drug you. You just needed a moment to catch your breath, and Bronwen needed some time to tend to your wound and to pray to the goddess.”

  Quinn quickly sat up. “Has Kennedy told you about Shea? Do you... have you seen anything?”

  “Quinn, you know I am a healer, not a seer, but I can tell you this much––you must take better care of yourself if you are going to continue pretending to be a man.”

  Quinn started to respond, but Bronwen stopped her. “You must train your body––stay more physically healthy than you are. I have explained to Kennedy the foods you must eat, the work you must do to strengthen yourself. Life at sea is a harsh, harsh life, as you know. Ale and mead will break you down. It will fatigue you, as will lack of sleep and lack of decent meals.”

  “You’re saying I am not taking very good care of myself.”

  “I am saying there are things you need to do in order to be stronger, healthier, more balanced––successful. You are not doing those. The men you choose to spend your time with are not doing those. You may try to pass as one of them, but do not adopt their ways. Balance is vital, Quinn, for your spirit to be able to carry on this duplicity. It is very taxing on the spirit to be something you are not.”

  Kennedy piped in. “When we were children, how many lessons on spiritual balance did Bronwen share with us?”

  “Many.”

  “Precisely. Now, more than ever, you need your spiritual balance. Now, more than ever, you need to be as strong as you can.”

  Quinn sat between them both. “I understand.” Reaching up, she lightly touched her eyebrow. “My eyebrow feels much better. Thank you.”

  “You are very welcome. Now, I believe you can build your physical being like the strongest of barrel lifters. The stronger your body, the safer you will be.”

  “And I need you to be safe,” Kennedy said softly. “I know we promised Shea, but I can’t lose both of you.”

  Bronwen took Quinn’s hand. “Be wiser than you’ve ever been, my friend. Both of us are counting on you to return to us one day.”

  Quinn nodded, but she knew in her heart that she was never coming back to this life. She might not live out her days on the water, but her days of wearing a dress and being told what to do by a man were over.

  Over and done with.

  “Well, we shall have to see what the world has in store for me. For now, I need to stay until dawn and then return to the ship. I will not give up on Shea.”

  Bronwen smiled. “Of course you won’t. Tomorrow you may head back to the adventures of a pirate, but tonight please regale us with stories of your travels.”

  Quinn smiled. “Every day on a pirate ship brings with it the potential for a story.”

  Bronwen tossed another log o
n the fire. “Then do share.”

  Quinn inhaled deeply and looked into the fire. “Well, one day, Patrick and our shipmate Connor and I were on our way back to the ship when these three hooligans accosted us.”

  “Hooligans? Umm, Quinn, aren’t you a hooligan?”

  Quinn smiled. “Sometimes, yes, but on this particular occasion... ”

  ***

  When Quinn returned to the hustle and bustle of the docks a little before nine in the morning, she was surprised to find the Malendroke gone.

  “No. Oh, shite. No.”

  “Psst.”

  Quinn looked around.

  “Psst. Callaghan. Over here!”

  Quinn slid off the horse and looked around. Behind an outcropping of rocks knelt Connor, Fitz, and One Eye. They were all down on one knee and looked the worse for wear. Connor’s face was bruised, and Fitz had a small cut on his forehead.

  “What the bloody hell are ya boys doing out here? And where’s the ship? Where’s Patrick?”

  “Get down!” Connor commanded.

  Quinn went down on one knee with them. “Where is everraone?” she asked again.

  “Captain took the ship out ta Blackrock. She has it on good authority that the English ships released their men at Blackrock Castle before takin’ ta the sea.”

  “Did captain give chase without ya, then, or are the English after her?”

  Fitz shook his head. “Nay. Captain wants us ta go ta Blackrock Castle. She thinks they have an eye on that as a base a’ operations.”

  “And we are ta what? Attack?”

  “Aye. Attack, defend, whatever we had ta do ta keep Blackrock from their grimy hands. It’s too close ta Dublin. Her words were clear: ‘Do not let the bastards take the castle.’ So that, Callaghan, is why we be kneelin’ down here in the weeds... waitin’ fer ya so’s we can go after ’em.”

  “Me?”

  “Aye. Captain wants ya ta take the west side. She said yer the lead fer us. We’ll approach by land and get there faster, and then the rest of the crew will join us by sea. Pinch ’em in.”

  “Me?”

  One Eye shrugged. “Go figger. She fancies ya a leader a’ men. Who are we ta argue?”

  Quinn shook off her surprise. “Then what are we waiting fer? Let’s get moving, ya good-fer-nothing blokes.”

  “Captain don’t want us movin’ ’til dark.”

  Quinn glanced around at the pier. It was as busy and as ordinary as usual. “So ya want ta wait out here all day, or what?”

  The three men looked at each other.

  “We needs ta meet yer brother and his bunch at sundown. We don’t want them English rat bastards ta’ know Grace O’Malley’s men are goin’ ta send ’em all ta hell.” One Eye adjusted his pants as he said this.

  “Weapons?”

  One Eye pulled back a blanket to reveal swords, Connor’s bows and arrows, and assorted daggers.

  “No muskets?”

  “Not fer us. We needs ta be quiet. She don’t want ennaone ta give themselves away.”

  “So as far as we know, they’ve not attacked the castle yet.”

  Fitz shook his head. “Nay. We lie low. We wait.”

  And so they waited, leaning with their backs up against the rocks, telling stories, napping, and occasionally eating food that One Eye procured for them.

  The moment dusk faded into night, the pirates made their way from their hiding place toward the castle with Patrick and his men. All totaled, they made up fourteen of O’Malley’s men.

  The road was dark and the terrain rough from the worn grooves of carriages. They’d struck out on foot as it was quieter, but more than once one of them tripped on a groove and fell to the uneven ground below.

  Blackrock Castle belonged to the Moynihans, a rich, powerful family that shipped wine and sheep from Scotland to Spain. Their family home, the sprawling Blackrock Castle and Manor, served as a beacon to ships sailing up the coast, as it was easy to see from the sea both day and night, perching like a gargoyle along the rocky cliffs that were Ireland.

  “Here’s the plan,” Quinn whispered as they hunkered down in their next secretive location behind a small stone barn on the perimeter of the castle. “We stick together. We cannot afford ta fight like we’re on land, even though we are. We aren’t used ta that way of fighting, and it could be the death of us, understand?”

  Connor nodded. “Makes sense. Pirate fightin’ pirate on land is ennabody’s game.”

  “Precisely why we must fight the only way we know how. Tight and together.”

  Patrick leaned in. “You aren’t planning on leading this ambush are you?”

  Quinn thought of a million frustrated replies she could give, but bit her tongue. “The captain put me in charge, Paddy, so yes, I am.” Even in the darkness, she shot him a look he couldn’t miss. “Connor, we’re going ta position ourselves so that ya have a shot at killing the first man who comes our way. The longer we can stay hidden, the better our advantage. We’ll need the silence of yer arrows fer as long as we can.”

  He nodded and produced a burnt piece of cork, which he rubbed on his face. “Here,” he said, handing it to Quinn. “Ya want the element a’ surprise, ya can’t lead with yer white face.”

  Quinn smudged the burnt cork on her face and handed it back to One Eye. “Good thinking.”

  “I try. Ta think, that is.”

  Hunkered down at the barn, the men prepared their weapons. With only three archers, they would have to use their arrows sparingly.

  “So what do we do now?” One Eye asked.

  “We wait. The element of surprise is ta our advantage. They’ll come, and only then will we kill as many as we can.”

  They didn’t have to wait long.

  The Englishmen who came not long after snuck up to the castle in a much louder manner than they should have, alerting Quinn and her men of their arrival. To her dismay, they numbered far more than Quinn had anticipated, with at least three dozen men. Not only that, but from what she could see, these men were not seamen but infantrymen.

  The English had purchased land fighters.

  Elizabeth wasn’t just testing the waters. After being on the throne for a little over two years, she was going after one of the eastern coast’s proudest symbols.

  And Quinn knew why.

  When Henry VIII had named himself king of Ireland, he had instituted a policy of conferring on clan chieftains titles of nobility. The Moynihan chieftain had refused any and all English titles thrown his way. And though that had been a noble act, fewer and fewer chieftains had shown the backbone Geoffrey Moynihan had when replying with a polite “No, thank you” to the king of England.

  This had never sat well with King Henry, but he had become too busy in chasing women, and he let it slip from his grasp. Taking Blackrock Castle was Elizabeth’s way of letting the other chieftains know what would happen if you rejected her offer.

  She was far more formidable than her father.

  “Paddy, you and your men take the flank. Let’s push them toward the cliffs and make them fight with their backs ta the sea.”

  Patrick hesitated, then did as he was told.

  Connor notched an arrow. “Ready when ya are.”

  Quinn felt doubt begin creeping up her spine. She had never led men before... never been in a position to send a man to his death if he did the wrong thing or made a poor choice. Here and now, she would put to use what she had learned in her time on the Malendroke, as well as the lessons she’d read about wars and battles when she tutored Patrick.

  She could do this. She knew she could. And suddenly, her confidence pushed that doubt back down her spine.

  She was ready.

  “Stay tight. Connor, I want the three of ya ta let three fly apiece. On the third, we attack. Our job is ta secure this side of the castle, so we need ta strike as quickly and as silently as we can and then wait.”

  “Aye, but inna dark I’ll need ta fire more than three ta hit ennathin’.”

&nbs
p; “Do yer best. One Eye and Fitz, ya come with me as soon as Connor starts shooting. We’ll take out the men in back first and as quietly as we can.”

  “They outnoomber us, Callaghan, and they be land fighters.”

  Quinn nodded. “I’m aware. But we’ve been given a job ta do, men. Let’s make the captain proud.”

  Fitz nodded, pulling his sword out. “Okay, fellas. Here we go.”

  At the sound of the first arrow releasing from the wooden bow, Quinn and the other two moved stealthily through the bush until they were up on the English soldiers in the back. Connor had managed to successfully kill two of the men, and the others near the dead men had taken off in several directions, sounding the alarm and yelling that they were under attack.

  As they scattered, their ranks weakened, allowing the three Celtic archers the chance to strike down a number of men in the back of the formation.

  Quinn ran through the first man she came to with her short sword and barely had it pulled from him when she swung her long sword over her head, nearly decapitating the second man coming at her. Blood spurted from his neck, and he went down so hard and fast that the man behind him, unprepared, tripped over him and right onto Quinn’s sword.

  The element of surprise worked in their favor; the English were unbalanced and disorganized, confused in the darkness and not knowing which way to run or where the attack was coming from. They were so unused to the Irish fighting back that they were not adequately prepared to be attacked during nighttime.

  Under the faint light of the moon, Quinn and Fitz fought and hacked their way through the group of men on their side of the castle. She could not see One Eye or Connor, but she knew by the body count that they, too, wielded blood-soaked swords.

  As Quinn fought off one very tall Englishman, she heard a woman cry out.

  A woman?

  Kneeling down, Quinn cut the man’s legs out from under him before racing off in the direction of the woman’s voice. She knew if a woman had been attacked, some men had to have reached the castle, and that meant they could be in big trouble if they barred the castle with the family inside. If they got into the castle, they could fortify it while waiting for reinforcements, putting Grace’s crew in a very vulnerable position.