Gemma ceased her retreat. “Who told you?”
“Does it matter? If you wish to sample the goods, I would be more than willing.”
Gemma gently leaned forward once more. “Since you have such good resources, perhaps you can find my room this evening after ten.” Gemma’s words came out as a purr.
“I already know where it is.”
“Truly? What a delight you are.”
“Oh, sweet girl, you have no idea. See you this evening.”
“I certainly hope so.” Gemma started to walk away then stopped and came back to the table. “While we don’t have rabbit, I’ll be sure to send you some meats.”
As Quinn watched her walk away, she sighed. That was easier than she thought. It never ceased to amaze her at how easy it was to pull women in. A little sweetness, a little gentleness, and they would eat out of the palm of her hand.
A woman suddenly sat across from her, smiling as she did.
Corrine.
“The Queen wishes to convey how much she is enjoying your lessons.” Corrine looked across the room at Gemma. “Should I tell her how much you’re enjoying the help?”
“You have a keen eye.”
“You are easier to understand than you realize. A woman wearing men’s clothing is one thing – a woman wearing men’s clothing and acting slightly mannish is entirely different. You are quite masculine, my dear. So much so, the little butterflies are all aflutter.”
Quinn tossed back a shot of whiskey. “What about you m’lady? Are you all aflutter or are you a typically stoic English woman with walls around your heart and a chastity belt girdled to your body?”
Corrine looked nonplussed. “I flutter for no one.”
“Still a caterpillar?”
Corrine rose. “A caterpillar to some, a cobra to others.”
Quinn was still laughing when Corrine left the room.
It was almost eleven thirty when Quinn made her way to Gemma’s room.
When Gemma opened the door, her night shift still on, Quinn quickly entered.
When the door was almost closed, she felt it. Too late.
They were not alone.
Someone shoved her against the wall and grabbed her right arm.
Quinn threw her left fist in the direction of the person on her right.
Her fist connected with the fleshy part of someone’s body. When she drew her fist back again, someone else grabbed it by her wrist.
With only her feet left freed, Quinn struck out with her left leg, bringing her heel down hard on the toe of the man holding her left wrist.
He howled and let go of her.
Raising her elbow, she slammed it into someone’s face. The grotesque sound of bones crunching filled the small room.
In the darkness, Quinn could not gauge how many people were in the room attacking her. Two at least. Gemma wasn’t in the fray, but that didn’t mean there were only three of them.
A fist shot out of the dark and landed in her stomach, doubling her over. Pulling her fist back, Quinn prepared to lash out when something hit her head, dropping her to one knee.
“Son of a…”
And that was the last thing she said before passing out.
Her head throbbed and she felt the burn of ropes tied around her wrists as she came to.
In a boat.
A small rowboat, she ascertained, by the way she was wedged between the seats and the sound of an angular pair of oars stroking the water.
Trussed up but she was alive.
Listening to the conversation of two men in French, she was able to make out what they were saying.
“… she’ll pay for what she did to my nose.”
“Maybe so, but you’ll not molest her in any way until we find out who she really is.”
French. Spoken by Englishmen who undoubtedly thought she could not understand them.
“No one need know.”
“The Queen will find out and you will be the one on the rack. You’ll do nothing until after she has given us what we need to know.”
The Rack.
Quinn felt the bile rise in her throat.
She’d lost her best friend, Connor, to the Spaniards’ rack a few years back and had seen firsthand what a body looked like that had arms and legs pulled from their intended locations.
Inhaling slowly, Quinn fought the urge to leap out into the water, taking her chances on drowning; a far better death than being pulled apart screaming.
“… No Irish bitch is gonna break my nose without feeling a bit of pain herself.”
“As if the rack won’t be enough.”
“Well, you best remember that Her Majesty knows everything.”
Quinn counted her options. If she was installed in the tower, the chances were quite high she would be raped or tortured.
Or both.
If she leapt into the water with her hand tied behind her back, the odds of her drowning were equally as high.
She would have to make a move when the boat docked at the tower.
No sooner had she had these thoughts than the boat’s side hit something and it felt like they had ceased moving.
A pair of hands grabbed her roughly at the elbows and hauled her to her feet.
“Look Ives, the bitch is awake.” For the first time, Quinn would see her abductors beneath the soft lights of the six or seven torches lighting the dock.
When the gaoler appeared, Quinn realized the futility of escape.
Clearly, they did not want her dead or she would be. No, they wanted to know who she worked for – who had sent her. Her only play was to make certain they took a message back to the queen. Only Elizabeth could help her now.
When the fat, balding guard with the purple veins snaking criss-cross over and around his nose shoved her forward, Quinn fell face first into the wall, scraping her cheek and chin as she slid down it.
“You busted my nose, you no good piece of Irish trash, and I’m gonna make you wish you’d never come to England.” Yanking her to her feet by her hair, he shoved her into the gaoler.
“Crime?”
“This one’s a spy for Ireland. Might have been trying to kill the queen.”
“He’s just an itty bitty thing. What was he gonna do, bite her ankles?”
“You never get tired of that, do you? He’s a female?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
The gaoler grabbed Quinn’s chin and stared at her. “Well, I’ll be. You’re right. She’s a she.” Releasing her chin, he turned to the two abductors. “You believe this…female tried to kill the queen?”
“Luckily, we caught her before the deed. What we need to know is who sent her. Who is she working for?”
“That ought to be easy. Two turns on the rack will be all it takes. She’ll squeal like a pig. It won’t take very long. You want to wait?”
“Whoa, there, Chunky Cheeks,” Quinn said. “I believe a trial is in order. I want the queen to know you’ve brought me here.”
The three men exchanged glances before breaking into guffaws.
“You do not have a say in the proceedings.” Grabbing Quinn’s arm, he yanked her next to him.
Quinn turned back to the two guards. “The queen knows who I am. Please… just tell her… tell her where I am.”
“Will do that. Right after you tell us what we need to know.”
“What you need to know is that I am just a woman helping your queen speak our language. There is nothing dark or mysterious about this.”
“Get her out of here.”
The gaoler, who stunk of fish and garlic, shoved Quinn toward the stairs. “Up ya go, missy. I’ve got just the cell fer ya.”
Quinn stumbled, but caught herself this time. Part of her wanted to kick him in the groin, and then stomp on his face, but she was very clear about the futility of such a move. Better to wait until her hands were free so she could go for the dagger held beneath her bosom.
“Heads will roll when the Queen hears how you�
�ve treated a guest in the palace.”
“Ha! A guest? If ya really have a mind to take her Majesty’s life, the only head that’s gonna roll is yours…and not before you feel more pain than anyone can handle.”
At the very top of the stairs, he shoved her in a dark cell with no window. Rat droppings littered a floor that had moldy straw in one corner.
“Say hello to yer new home.” Shoving Quinn into the cell, the guard closed the cell door.
“Aren’t you going to at least untie my hands?” Quinn asked, feeling the fear begin to well up in her chest.
“Nah. Not tonight. I got a dinner that’s getting cold. Sweet dreams.”
There was barely any light. No sound. Just the dank, moldy smell of rotting hay and wet rat turds.
Fear was threatening to become her constant companion, and it took everything in her power not to break down and cry.
She was completely and utterly alone now.
“Come on, Callaghan, you’re not finished yet.” Quinn sat on the hard floor and lifted her hips up to get her hands under her bum before sliding them under her thighs and feet.
“There we go.” With her hands in front of her now, she felt less vulnerable.
But not by much.
“Don’t lose your head,” Quinn muttered, pacing across the tiny cell. “Corrine will know you’re missing…the queen will know you’re—”
“Stop talking.” The disembodied voice came as a half command, half whisper. It was a woman.
“Who are you?”
“None of your business. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
Quinn recognized the voice’s very slight Scottish accent – as if the woman had tried very hard to hide it. “I’m Callaghan.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass. Just keep it down. These walls—”
“Have ears. Yes, I understand.” Quinn waited for more, but none was to come. The Tower had become silent once more.
At least she wasn’t so alone. That quelled her fears somewhat.
Somewhat.
“Save your energy, Callaghan. You will need your strength for what is to come.”
“Which is what?”
“Do you know where you are? This is called the Bloody Tower. It is called thusly because of the tortures that occur here.”
So that was it, then.
Images of Connor’s broken body flashed in her mind.
She shook the image off and sat on the ground, her back against the wall. She thought about Sayyida, Fiona, Becca, Kaylish, and Evan, and even Grace. Such wonderful women had shared her life with her. Had she loved them enough? Too much? Had she been enough? She carried a piece of each of them everywhere she went.
What would they say to her now? Would they understand why she had taken such risks? Would they think her foolish or uncommonly brave? Would they know she was thinking of them now?
Would they care?
As the edges of sleep crept in, Quinn’s last thought was of the one woman who had once been tossed in the Tower herself and lived to tell about it.
Queen Elizabeth herself.
Quinn did not wake up until her cell door banged against the wall. She was on her feet in an instant.
Last night’s gaoler had been replaced by a tall, thin man with a lazy eye and one buck tooth. He carried a small bowl of something that looked like corn chowder. “Eat,” he said, jamming the bowl in Quinn’s hands.
“Have they told the queen I am here?”
“No idea.”
“Please, you have to listen to me—”
“No I don’t.”
Quinn glanced down at the bowl. She thought she saw a bug dive into it. “Please.”
The guard whirled around and walked out of the room.
Quinn saw, for the first time, a slight crack about three inches wide that allowed a thin shaft of sunlight to enter.
When the door closed, she set the bowl down on the ground and fished in the chowder with two fingers until she found what she was looking for.
A cockroach.
Quinn flicked it on the floor where it scurried under the straw.
“Don’t eat it.”
“Poisoned?”
“That would be too easy. Just don’t.”
Quinn lifted the bowl to her nose and sniffed it. Then she set it back down. Lowering to her hands and knees, she started looking for some place to dump it.
She opted for the slit window and carefully poured it through the window…a window to nowhere.
She could see the water she’d crossed the night before.
For the first time in a very long time, Quinn began to doubt whether or not she was going to make it out of this alive.
“You’re Irish,” came the female voice.
“Aye. I came to teach the Queen the language of a soon-to-be-conquered people.”
“Ah. That makes sense. Languages are something she excels at.”
Quinn wanted to ask if she knew Elizabeth but did not want her only human and humane connection to withdraw or become skittish, so she didn’t.
“They do not like racking women, so there will be an investigation before they do so.”
“How long might that take?”
“Could be days. Could be weeks. If they truly suspect you meant the Queen harm it will be swift. Example making and all that.”
Quinn moved away from the window. So far, she’d been lucky the second guard had not known that her hands had been bound behind her back. What would the grotesque turd of a man do when he returned?
She’d already decided to gut any man who tried to rape her. That much she was sure of.
“So… Callaghan of the Irish…have you ever met the Pirate Queen?”
Grace.
Pirate Queen was how many other countries referred to her.
The problem was… what if someone was listening? If she admitted to knowing Grace, that could very well confirm their suspicions.
Sighing, Quinn shook her head. “No. I’ve not.”
Before the Scottish woman could respond, Quinn’s door flew open once more.
Quinn readied herself for a fight.
“Stop talking or I’ll gag one of you.”
Quinn nodded. “Any word from the Queen?”
He looked at her and chuckled. “Like you’re the most important thing on her mind.” He spat on the floor. “You’re going to be in here a while. She’s left the palace.”
“For how long?”
“She’s not really in the habit of telling tower guards her plans. So settle in. He reached down and grabbed the bowl. “I’ll bring water later.” And then he was gone.
Left the palace?
For how long? How could they investigate if the one of the two people who could vouch for her was gone?
And what about Corrine? Did she go as well?
Five days later, Quinn got her answer.
She dreamt of Gallagher, only the girl was a young woman now, who looked much like Fiona only taller, fully, more robust. In that dream, Gallagher had come to rescue her from danger, her bloody sword proving to be put to good use.
Just as Quinn in the dream was preparing to hug Gallagher, the door of the cell banged open.
“You got a visitor,” Buck Tooth growled, stepping aside. “I’ll leave the door open and will be right outside.”
Corrine moved around him. She wore a black cape with a hood, carried a basket on her left arm and fear in her eyes. “You will not. This woman will not harm me.”
“Sister, you don’t know that.”
“What I know, good sir, is my Lord will protect me. Please allow Him to do so without your interference.”
The guard, who had never raised his voice or laid a hand on Quinn, bowed his head and closed the door behind him.
Quinn found herself immobile as Corrine put her index finger over her own lips.
“Tobias, I really need to see some sun today,” came the voice of the Scottish woman. “Or not only will I go m
ad, I’ll make enough noise to drive you there with me.”
“Hold yer horses, ya daft woman.”
Corrine stepped closer to Quinn and whispered. “It appears you’ve made a friend.”
Quinn launched herself at Corrine and hugged her tightly. Please tell me you’ve come to get me out of his accursed place.”
Corrine handed the basket to Quinn. It was filled with breadfruits, rolled meats and cheese, a veritable feast. “Eat while I talk. We’ve not much time.”
Nodding, Quinn crammed the bread and meat into her mouth.
In a low whisper, Corrine began her explanation. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. The Queen, upon my report that you were nowhere to be found, assumed the worst and left in secrecy with instructions for me to try to find you. It was only by the grace of God that I discovered Gemma’s role in your…abduction. That twittering fool had not managed to keep her mouth shut and bragged to another about how she should be one of the queen’s more valued confidants.”
Quinn swallowed the last of the bread and nodded. “She set me up. Brought me to her room and had two of her guards waiting for me.” Quinn crammed more meat into her mouth.
“Yes. Well, that part of the tale never made it to the queen’s ears. The report was that someone was plotting to kill her and she needed to leave immediately.”
“So she does not think it me?”
“I cannot speak for her in that regard, only that she believes the killer discovered your purpose and got to you before you could get to him.”
“And now?”
“Now, they intend to rack you this evening to find out who you are working with.”
“Why me? What evidence is th—”
“You were sneaking all about the palace. You, a foreigner of an adversarial nation, and you dress unnaturally.”
“Why can’t you tell them?”
Corrine moved closer. “Having me thrown in here with you serves no purpose. I am all that stands between you and death.”
Quinn blinked, grease running off her chin. “Can you delay the proceedings?”
“I do not know that I can. I have sent out three of my most trusted friends to tell the queen that you have been wrongly accused.”
Quinn bowed her head. “They’ll not make it back before this evening, will they?”
X Marks The Spot (The Plundered Chronicles Book 6) Page 19