The Pirate's Booty (The Plundered Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  That was not going to happen.

  The moon rose above the trees now, illuminating her path and enabling her to reach the courtyard entrance much more quickly. As she entered the courtyard, her sword clanged against the sword of a land fighter who was not expecting to be set upon so quickly.

  And Quinn was nothing if not quick.

  She easily dispatched the first man, who never had the chance to raise his weapon.

  The second went down a little easier because he did not have a good grasp on his sword, so she easily knocked it from his hand when she came out of the shadows.

  Quinn realized there were other men attempting to pick the woman up, but their victim had struggled and kicked scratched long enough for Quinn to reach her.

  Her—and the four brutes surrounding her.

  Quinn knew the fate of that woman if she failed to reach her in time. She would be raped and then killed, her body tossed into the sea. It was that very image that pushed Quinn harder to get to the woman before the gates closed.

  Quinn readied herself for a fight she knew she could not win. Not alone. She simply wasn’t good enough to take on four land fighters.

  “Leave the lady, leave with yer life,” Quinn said in English. “Or suffer yer fate at the hands of an Irishman who calls Grace O’Malley his captain.”

  “Well, bust me balls, a Celt who knows the Queen’s English.”

  “It sounds ugly comin’ from an Irish mouth. Now, lad, come taste the Queen’s metal.”

  “Yer speaking of Queen Grace O’Malley of Connacht, right, old man?” Quinn quipped.

  “Fuckin’ Celtic barbarian!” The first threw himself at her, striking from her left. She deflected his blow with her long sword and drove her short sword between his ribs before spinning around and catching the next sword in the “X” of her two crossed weapons.

  It would not be enough.

  Already, her arms quivered as she held the sword being pressed into the cross she’d made. She saw movement from the corner of her eye and knew she was about to be run through. There were just too many of them.

  Suddenly, she kicked her second attacker in the chest, sending him hurtling away, just as the third man ran his sword through her side and the fourth raised his sword to finish her off.

  But before he could lower his weapon on Quinn’s head, another sword unexpectedly burst through his belly. He looked down at it in surprise before falling forward and sliding off the sword protruding from his abdomen.

  Quinn couldn’t see who had saved her; she was too busy twisting away from the sword that had impaled her, swinging wildly as she cried out in agony. Holding her bleeding side, she shook off the pain in time to parry the third attacker’s next attempt at her. Their swords clanged loudly, but with one hand on her side and the other merely defending, she knew she was done for. It was only a matter of time.

  “Ya bloody Celts never know when ta quit,” he said when she went down on one knee.

  She knew the remaining two Englishmen were probably engaged with whoever had joined the fight on her side. If her unidentified ally didn’t finish them off, she wasn’t sure either of them would get out of this alive.

  “Quit is a word... the English made,” Quinn said, grimacing and rising to her feet.

  “And dead is a Celtic word, lad.” The attacker’s sword resounded twice more against Quinn’s before he whirled to defend against the blow by her mysterious ally.

  When Quinn swung around to help, she realized that it was Fitz—and that he had just cut the ear off the man who had tried to attack her.

  Fitz and the second Englishman began a dance that the third man now joined as he bled heavily from the side of his head where his ear once was. The third attacker was a rather skilled fighter, his heavier sword beating Fitz’s to a pulp and backing him up, even with his injury. Five more feet and Fitz would be pinned.

  Reaching for the daggers she always kept in her boots, Quinn let one fly at Englishman Number Two.

  It bounced off his chest.

  Looking down at her, he laughed before sprinting toward her, sword in both hands, a mixture of rage and excitement on his shadowed face.

  Quinn tried a second dagger, remembering how Grace had flicked her wrist and told her to get as much spin on it as she could.

  Flicking her wrist, she let it fly. This one almost found its mark, embedding itself in his left shoulder.

  He didn’t even slow down.

  Struggling to stay on her feet, Quinn stood ready, both hands on her long sword as she held it out in front of her. He kept coming, murderous rage etched across his face.

  She wondered now if maybe Bronwen’s fears hadn’t hit the bull’s eye.

  Suddenly, she was deafened by the sound of a loud musket shot. The ball ripped through her attacker’s neck, sending him to the ground and to his death.

  Quinn barely had time to see where the shot had come from before she heard Fitz swearing.

  Following his voice, she leapt in the air, grimacing as she did, and drove her sword into the shoulder of his attacker, falling to the ground on top of him. Quinn growled in pain as more warm blood leaked from her side wound. That last leap had taken every ounce of energy she had left.

  Fitz was at her side in an instant. “Callaghan!”

  Quinn held her hand to her bloody side. “Go back ta help Connor and One Eye. Secure the castle at all costs.”

  “Nay, lad. I’m not leavin’ ya here alone. Them English’ll be back afore ya knows it.”

  “He won’t be alone,” came a woman’s voice. “And I’ll let nothing happen to he who risked his life to save mine.”

  Quinn and Fitz turned to the woman, who bowed, still holding the musket she’d just shot. “Fiona Moynihan, gentlemen, mistress of Blackrock Castle. You may call me Fiona. Callaghan, is it, is correct. Go help your friends. Help us secure the rest of the castle. I’ll take care of him.”

  The tall, slender woman knelt by Quinn’s side. She had a magnificent face that carried a small nose, clear, piercing blue eyes, and high cheekbones. She was stunning in a way Quinn had never seen before, made all the more lovely by her strength as she took in the sight of the gash on Quinn’s side.

  “Go,” Quinn growled. “Ya can help nobody from in here.”

  “Aye, but we’ll be back fer ya, Callaghan. I swear it.”

  When Fitz was gone, Fiona Moynihan helped Quinn to her feet and put Quinn’s arm across her shoulder. “Can you walk?”

  Quinn stared at the woman’s soft red lips and nodded. Lady Fiona was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. “Aye.”

  “I’m going to remove us back inside the castle. You may lean on me. I’ll not break.”

  Quinn balked. “I think I’ll be fine. I... need ta help my men.”

  “Your men do not need your protection when you are in this condition. Come along. We’ll be fine as long as they can secure the castle.”

  “I suppose if yer shot earlier wasn’t lucky, we will be.”

  Fiona shook her head. “Nothing about that shot was lucky.”

  “My crewmates––”

  “Know you’re in good hands. Quiet now. Be still. Conserve your strength. You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

  Quinn allowed Fiona to help her to a chair near the garden house on their way back inside.

  “Lift up your shirt, please. I’ll get a lantern from inside.”

  Quinn started to, then paused. Suddenly, her fear was not of dying but of being found out. “I... uh... just need a cloth or––”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been stabbed pretty handily. We need to stop the bleeding.”

  She had to get out of here. “I... I can’t leave my men, Lady Fiona.”

  “Pshaw. And you may cease with the Lady. That might work for my da, but I’ve never been comfortable with the title myself. Wait here. And I do mean wait. If you don’t, I shall come after you and tie you to that chair myself.” Fiona disappeared into the garden shed.

&nb
sp; Lifting her shirt, Quinn winced as she touched the wound. A hand’s length from her rib, the gash was still flowing pretty smoothly. She was far more injured than she wanted to admit to herself.

  “There now, let’s take a lo––” Fiona lowered the lantern to see Quinn’s side. As she did, she studied it a moment. “I just need two pieces of linen and a belt. I’ve seen many wounds like this before.”

  “Truly?”

  Fiona sucked in her breath, set the lantern down, and tore off fabric from the bottom of her skirt. “I am a woman of means, but that does mean I’ve not experienced the world.”

  “I trust the world ya live in, M’lady, doesn’t typically come with sword wounds and blood.”

  Handing the two pieces to Quinn, she undid the scarf she’d tied around her waist. “We can use this.”

  When Quinn reached for it, their hands touched for the briefest of moments.

  “Good. Now put this piece on the wound back here, the one I can’t see.”

  “In?” Quinn was beginning to feel somewhat woozy.

  “No, on. Fold it and place it on the wound. Hold it there until I can get this front wound covered.” Fiona’s hands were warm against Quinn’s skin. “Oh.”

  “What? What is it?” Quinn struggled to sit up.

  “Uh... nothing. It is nothing.”

  Quinn turned so she could see her. “Is it bad?”

  “No, no. I apologize. I was remarking about... well... about the softness of your skin. I’d always assumed men’s skin was rougher.”

  Quinn looked away and nodded. “Hairy men are not smooth. Men like me are.”

  Fiona held the cloth in place as she gazed into Quinn’s face. “Men like you are a rarity, I am sure.”

  “I’m nothing special, m’lady. Trust me.”

  “If you don’t stop with the lady, I will shove this cloth clear through you.” Fiona’s eyes sparkled as she spoke.

  “I apologize. Force of habit.”

  Fiona cocked her head to one side. “Habit? Have I managed to befriend the only pirate with manners?”

  “Pirate? So ya know who we are.”

  “Of course I do. Grace O’Malley’s father, Black Oak, did business with my grandfather. We know the family quite well. Or did you think Grace risked her crew for just any family in Ireland?”

  “I don’t quite know. I’ve not been around her long. I just know when she says jump, I ask how high on the way up.” Quinn held the cloth in place while Fiona gently tied the scarf around Quinn’s waist. Fiona smelled of lavender and mint.

  “I have to tighten it some. I imagine it’s going to hurt.” Pulling the scarf together, Fiona tied it in a knot.

  Quinn gritted her teeth and cursed under her breath.

  “There. That’s good. It should hold, but you’ll need some stitching to close it up so it will heal properly.”

  Quinn nodded, feeling her energy wane. “Aye. Our cook does that job most of the time. I’m certain he is quite tired of seeing my face.”

  “Does it hurt much?”

  “Only when I breathe.”

  Fiona smiled as she wiped the blood off her hands and sat next to Quinn. “Have you got a first name, Callaghan?”

  “Aye. It’s Kieran.”

  “Well, thank you, Kieran, for saving Blackrock from those greedy English bastards.”

  Fiona’s cursing caught Quinn off guard, but she managed to hide her amusement. “It’s what we do now. Clan against clan will play right into Elizabeth’s plan for us. If we disintegrate from within, it will be that much easier for her ta bend us ta her will.”

  Fiona cocked her head. “Have I also befriended the only pirate who knows big words?”

  Quinn cursed herself for not catching herself. “I only meant if we canna stand together, we will surely die together.”

  “That’s easier for you to say, Kieran. Grace O’Malley’s clan is the really the only strong clan still standing on its own two feet and not beholden to England.”

  “We need more chieftains like her.”

  Fiona sighed. “Indeed. Well, I can see why she remains powerful with the likes of you and your men. You fought very bravely tonight.”

  Quinn felt a blush creep up her neck and rest in her cheeks. “My da taught me well.”

  Fiona leaned in closer, her breasts lightly rubbing against Quinn’s arm. “And which Callaghans do you hail from?”

  “From the north.”

  Fiona waited for more.

  “A village called Longforth.”

  “And it was there you learned sword fighting?”

  “I did. Then I left home and learned from being on the captain’s ship.”

  “Oh, aye. I hear Grace’s sword skills are second to none.” Fiona still leaned, her breasts gently moving as she breathed. “I’d love to hear more about living on a ship. Life in a castle can be so... lacking... so devoid of adventure.”

  Quinn looked down at the cloth. The blood was beginning to seep through. “I would verra much like that, m––”

  “Fiona. Please. Just Fiona.”

  “If I can stay awake, I would love ta tell ya about life at sea, but I fear I am feeling a tad... ”

  “There he is!” came Fitz’s voice from the darkness. “We been lookin’ all over fer ya.” He was at Quinn’s side in an instant. “How’s the side?”

  “Still bleeding.” The edges of her vision seemed to get fuzzier with every passing moment.

  “Well, Murph is at a tavern sewin’ up everraone else. We managed ta beat the English bastards back ta whatever rock they crawled out from. I can get ya ta Murph where he’ll take care a’ ya. Come on.”

  “Mind yer manners, Fitz. Fitz this is... ”

  “Fiona. Nice meeting you, Fitz.”

  “M’lady. M’apologies. I just wanted ta get Callaghan ta the cook before he bleeds out.”

  “Are you sure it is wise to move him?”

  Fitz took Quinn under one arm, and Connor took the other. “Aye. Our cook can stop the bleedin’. Thank ya fer watchin’ over the lad. He doesna quite know how ta stay away from the tip of a sword just yet.”

  “You fellows be careful with my protector. That’s precious cargo.”

  Connor and Fitz gave each other a look. “Aye, m’lady. That we will.”

  Fiona walked up to Quinn and bowed her head, her lips a breath away from Quinn’s ear. “I am forever in your debt, Kieran Callaghan. Thank you.” Pulling away, Fiona smiled softly into Quinn’s eyes.

  They looked into each other for a protracted moment before the men carried Quinn off.

  As they half-carried, half-dragged Quinn into the darkness, Connor asked, “What was that about?”

  Quinn smiled. “Ya know, I’m not really sure.”

  ***

  Quinn waited her turn while the heavily wounded men were patched up and then sent off to drown their pains in ale. Three did not look like they would make it. Two more had lost fingers or other body parts. Still a couple more had cuts, scratches, and a few broken bones.

  When Murphy finally got to Quinn, her cloths were soaked through, and Quinn was feeling even more light-headed and dizzy.

  “Damn it, Callaghan, ya should’ve shoved yer way through while I was wastin’ time with dead men.”

  “I felt fine until a minute ago.”

  “Lay down.”

  Quinn lay on the table and pulled her shirt up again. When Murphy grabbed his knife to cut the scarf off, Quinn stopped him. “No!”

  “Hold yer horses, lad. I need ta get it off ya.”

  “Untie it. Please. It belongs ta Fiona Moynihan.”

  Murphy paused. “Ya were tended ta by Fiona Moynihan? That woman is the prettiest woman I ever saw.”

  “Yeah, she’s pretty beautiful.” Fiona’s lips floated in Quinn’s mind’s eye. She wondered idly if that swooning sensation was infatuation or blood loss. Perhaps both.

  Murphy threaded another fish hook. “This one’s gonna hurt a helluva lot more. Ya should’ve had mo
re ale.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Patch me up, Murph.”

  “Here. Suck on this.” Murphy handed Quinn a piece of bark. “They say somethin’ in that bark helps with the pain.” Sponging off Quinn’s side, Murphy leaned closer to look at the wound. He turned his head this way and that. “Hmm.”

  “Hmm?” Quinn said, her lips around the bark.

  “Ya got such girlie skin, Callaghan. Like a baby’s back.”

  “Don’t make me hurt ya, Murph.”

  Murphy chuckled. “Just an observation. Ya know, I knew this one man once––”

  As Murphy told his story, Quinn slowly released her tenuous grasp on consciousness and faded to black.

  ***

  Quinn opened her eyes to find Bronwen’s face hovering above her. Bronwen? That couldn’t be right. “Am I dreaming?” she asked, looking around.

  “No, love, you are not dreaming, though with the restless sleep you had, I am quite sure you had many dreams.”

  Quinn tried to sit up, but Bronwen gently pushed her back to the bed. “You are not in any shape to be up and about.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Nice little cottage a bit a ways from Blackrock Castle. And from what I’ve heard, you fought like a wild man to save... a woman?”

  Quinn looked away.

  “You think I do not know what truly ails you, my dear friend?”

  Quinn turned her head back to Bronwen. “Ails me?”

  Bronwen crossed her arms. “We’ve never spoken about it, Quinn, and I have been patient waiting for you to share with me, but you haven’t, so I am going to lay this at your feet.” Bronwen took Quinn’s hand. “You are a lover of women. You always have been, and now... now that you are dressed like a man, acting like a man, and, shall I say, loving like a man, your spirit is calmer... more at ease. Although the life you are living is filled with violence, I have never felt you more balanced.”

  “You knew all this time?”

  “I am a priestess of the goddess, sweet one. Of course I knew. Though I must say, you hid it very well when we were younger, but anyone who watched you for longer than ten breaths would have seen you staring at the prettiest lass in the room. Always. I felt your pain so often, it nearly broke my heart.” Bronwen laid her palm on Quinn’s cheek. “You risked your life for Lady Fiona. That’s what they are saying about you at that horrid tavern you frequent.”