X Marks The Spot (The Plundered Chronicles Book 6)

by Alex Westmore

  Corrine’s eyes filled with tears. “One can only hope, dear friend.” Corrine gently wiped Quinn’s chin. “You absolutely must not tell them of the group or anyone in it.”

  Quinn stared at her.

  “As much as it will hurt, they’ll not kill you this first night. You must believe that. You must be strong.”

  Again, images of Connor’s body, his arms and legs torn from their natural positions, flooded her mind’s eye.

  “I will take those names to the grave.”

  “I will pray that not necessary. Just rest assured I am doing all I can do to free you.” Corrine reached into the basket and pulled out an orange. “Within this orange is an agent that will end your life should you need it. I wish there were more I could do.”

  Quinn took the orange and hid it under her hay. “You and me both. Thank you, Corrine, for coming to me. I understand what a risk it was.”

  “They believe me to be a sister at a local convent, but I cannot risk coming here again.”

  “I understand.”

  Gathering the basket, Corrine laid her free palm on Quinn’s cheek. “Be brave, Captain Callaghan. Never lose faith.”

  As Corrine started to leave, Quinn whispered, “Robert Devereaux.”

  Corrine stopped and slowly turned. “Is he—”

  “The one whose name is on everyone’s lips. While I have not had the chance to prove it, I strongly suggest removing him from the palace.”

  Corrine inhaled slowly. “If rumors are to be believed—”

  “He’s been bedding Gemma.”

  “Then perhaps—” Corrine lowered her voice. “Perhaps he is the one behind your arrest.”

  “That would be my guess. Listen. I am no spy. I am no provocateur. Clearly, I stumbled into an area and was seen or followed or both. If this is the case, I will not survive the second rack. Your men will see to it they make an example of me, and when they do, Devereaux will strike.”

  “When we least expect it.”

  Quinn nodded. “Aye. Can I ask you for one big favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “After I am dead, will you find someone to ride to Shell Haven and get word to my ship that I died in a carriage accident?”

  Corrine frowned. “A carriage acc—”

  “If it is an accident, they will go home. If they ever hear the truth, they will come after Elizabeth, and they will successfully end her life. You must believe that.”

  Corrine nodded. “I will do so for you, for my queen, and for your men.”

  “Thank you. And again, thank you for coming, sister.”

  Tears slid down Corrine’s cheek. “Sister. Yes. In more ways than one. Be strong, Callaghan, and know in your heart, I am doing everything I can.”

  Quinn nodded, her heart heavy, her hope crushed, her life nearing a painful conclusion. “I count on that, Corrine. I truly do.”

  When the tiny slip of sunshine slowly faded from her window, Quinn had managed to pull a brick out of the wall and create a niche for her salvation orange. Once completed, and she had heard the guard’s heavy footsteps recede into the distance, she said softly. “Thank you.”

  “I wish I could have done more, but—”

  “That was plenty. Keeping him from hearing our conversation was vital. Thank you.” Quinn wondered if there would be more, but it was minutes later before the Scot spoke again.

  “The key is to start crying before it actually begins hurting. Do not scream. Do not yell. Cry. Men hate it when we cry.”

  It was a brilliant idea. “I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

  “And remember: you are not alone.”

  She sure felt alone. In all the many moments she had faced danger, she never saw herself going out on her back with her body being pulled apart.

  What did she expect, really?

  She was, after all, a pirate, a thief, a killer, and an enemy of England. Maybe she was precisely where she deserved to be. She’d stabbed ladies, cut off limbs, and broken hearts, oftentimes without glancing back.

  She wished she had something to write with. She would have liked to have left a note for Gallagher and Kaylish, Grace and Sayyida, Becca, Evan and her boys. She wished she had spent more time with her loved ones; spent more time laughing and carousing. To die was normal. To die at the hands of a torturer for a crime you were actually trying to prevent was another thing altogether.

  The irony was monstrous.

  Then there was Tavish and Fitz, two men who would grieve for her for a very long time. They would drink for days, toasting to their beloved Captain, until Maggie would eventually put a cork in it and they would go on to a life without her.

  Maybe even without the sea.

  Multiple heavy footsteps told her what she dreaded most: they were coming for her now.

  Inhaling, Quinn pushed her fears down.

  There would be no miraculous last minute intervention of her people. No Tavish busting doors down or smashing faces in.

  No, she was alone in this moment; alone to face a pain she’d witnessed. She wondered if she had the internal fortitude to keep damning names from passing her lips.

  One never knew how well she could withstand torture until it happened to them.

  And she was soon to find out.

  When the door swung open, they were ready for her.

  Three men, swords drawn, waited for her to fight them.

  She did not.

  “Let’s get this over with, fellas,” she said, throwing her shoulders back in a manner that suggested she was braver than she was.

  The guards exchanged glances.

  “No tricks, gentlemen. I understand what you need to do. Just know that I am innocent of the charges that I haven’t been charged with yet. When the Queen discovers this, well, I hope you get as you give.” Then she walked past them and toward a room in the tower that could have been a room in a dungeon. The stench of iron from the blood on the floor was tangible, the stains on the torture device discoloring it after years of use.

  Quinn’s stomach lurched as bile threatened to rise in her throat. She felt the three men move into the tight chamber around her.

  “So this is it, eh? Do you…do you have a nickname for it?”

  The men all frowned.

  “Well… uh… we… no. No we don’t.”

  “Get up. Lay on it like a bed. We’ll do the rest.”

  Quinn did as he asked. “Come on. What do you call it?”

  “If you do not shut up, I will gag you.”

  Quinn nodded and closed her eyes.

  Rough hands locked her wrists in leather cuffs before doing the same with her ankles, leaving her slightly spread eagle on the rack.

  She focused on breathing.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  “All we want to know is who are you working with? You tell us that and this will be over with before we tear your arms off.”

  “I’m not working with anyone because I’m not after the queen.”

  The sound of the gears as they engaged made Quinn’s heart pound beneath her chest. She could feel the machine as the straps pulled away from each other.

  Her muscles started to stretch and tighten now. She grimaced and forced a whimper she did not feel.

  They stopped cranking.

  Just as the Scot had said.

  A face hovered in front of her. “Who are you working with? Give us one name and we can stop this tonight.”

  Quinn shook her head and licked her dry lips. “I am not the person you’re looking for. I am merely teaching the queen Irish.”

  The face disappeared. The crank started again. She could feel her muscles straining to the point of tearing.

  “Got a name?”

  Quinn shook her head. The pain burned in her armpits and grown. She did not know how much she could take of this.

  Tears rolled down the side of her face. Real ones. “Please, I am not trying to kill anyone. Where… where did you hea
r this?”

  “We ask the questions!”

  “Then ask someone…anyone where they heard that.”

  The rack creaked and groaned as the gears turned.

  This time, she screamed.

  This time, she couldn’t keep the pain at bay.

  This time, she blacked out.

  Quinn came to in the middle of the night. Pain jarred her awake as if someone had lain for branding irons on her body.

  She rolled over and moaned.

  “Thank God you’re alive,” came the gentle voice.

  Quinn rolled on her side and tried to life her arm. She screamed in pain, but at least it was usable.

  Connor hadn’t been so lucky.

  “What… what happened?”

  “Don’t worry. I do not think you gave any names out. You were very brave for a long time, then you screamed and passed out. They dumped you back in your room. Are you… are you in much pain?”

  Quinn nodded. Then she rolled over on her knees and tried to get up.

  She failed.

  “You need to be still. Rest. Because you did not produce one name, the guard named Eric wishes to hear from the investigators before they continue.”

  Quinn rolled over onto her back and yelped as she did. “Thank… you.”

  “You were very brave. Rest now.”

  “The pain… it… burns.”

  “Then listen as I tell you a story. Concentrate on my voice. Focus on every word.”

  Quinn closed her eyes and listened as the Scottish woman began a tale of a princess out in the woods…

  When Quinn woke, there was nothing but the inky black darkness of her cell. Her chest muscles still burned, but the pain was not as intense. It was there, but it did not grip her as it had earlier.

  Then she remembered the story… or at least the beginning of it. That story… that woman’s soothing voice had helped her fall asleep even with the throbbing pain she felt.

  “Thank you for the story,” Quinn said softly.

  “You’re awake. Good. I was beginning to worry.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Hard to say. Fourteen or fifteen hours, I believe. It will help if you continue to remain immobile for as long as you can.”

  Quinn’s stomach growled. She thought of the orange that would end all of this. “I’m famished.”

  “I’m sure you are. Dinner ought to be coming soon.”

  Quinn stared through the darkness, tears willing in her eyes. The next time they racked her, it would destroy her. She had no doubt about it. That orange and its contents might be the only think keeping her from yelling out someone’s name.

  “They’ll kill me next time.”

  There was a long pause.

  “No. They won’t. They are very good at keeping the tortured alive.”

  “When will I know I am forever crippled?”

  More dead silence.

  “When your body begins to make popping noises, but they will cease before you reach that point. Instead, they would employ other… tortures upon your body.”

  Quinn swallowed loudly. “Such as?”

  More silence.

  “Hot torches on your legs. Once I saw them pull a man’s fingernails off. The body can take a great deal of abuse with fire, so they’ll often use that to prolong the pain. They’ll not rack you to death until your third or fourth visit.”

  Tears ran down the sides of Quinn’s face, but she could not lift her arm to wipe them. Instead, she just let them fall.

  She had never felt so hopeless.

  “Thank you. Especially for last night.”

  “It is the least I could do. Do not lose hope, Callaghan of the Irish, You hang onto that with all your might.”

  “As you have?”

  “Oh, I stopped hoping to be released from this Hell months ago, but I still have faith that I shall someday be rescued.”

  Quinn laid in the darkness for a long time after that wanting for the food to come. When it finally did, she could barely lift the bowl to her mouth without excruciating pain.

  This night, if she also got bread, which she dipped in the soup and ate slowly and methodically.

  “Did they give you bread or cheese?”

  “Bread.”

  “Good. That’s good. They mean to keep you alive.”

  Alive.

  She barely felt alive as her thoughts drifted back to Connor.

  Dear, sweet Connor had begged her to end his suffering. Lying in a crumpled heap at her feet, incapable of moving, he had looked into her eyes and pleaded with her.

  So she did.

  Since the day she plunged her blade into his heart, Quinn had carried with her a ball of aching guilt for having taken his life.

  She would feel the weight of that guilt no longer.

  No, Quinn was finally able to comprehend the mercy she had shown him. Never more would she feel the pain of that decision.

  She had killed him out of love and compassion. She understood that now.

  She also understood she would not have that luxury, which was why she forced the next question from her lisp. “Once a woman can no longer move…do they—”

  “You cannot think of such things, Callaghan. It serves no purpose to wonder such foul things.”

  Quinn squeezed her eyes shut.

  She knew the answer. She would be raped until she died.

  “Callaghan?”

  “Yes?”

  “You are far from that moment. Do not allow your mind to force hope into a closet. Be strong. Be brave. Pray, but do not give in until you can no longer bear it.”

  Quinn nodded. “I shall try.”

  “No, Callaghan of the Irish. That is not good enough. Think of what all the strongest women you know would do in your place. Surely they would not give up so early.”

  Quinn thought of Sayyida, who would go out cursing in silent strength. Becca would go down in shrieking defiance. And Grace. Grace would fight and cuss until they took her tongue.

  Quinn would do no less.

  Inhaling deeply, she struggled to sit up and began wiggling her fingers and toes. When her right hand had feeling back in it, she gingerly touched her body to assess the damage.

  Her muscles were swollen and quite sore, but even a little movement seemed to make them feel better. So Quinn carefully tested out her limbs. It was slow at first, but she actually managed to stand.

  They hadn’t crippled her… yet. She was stiff, sore, and in pain, but it wasn’t anything she could not handle.

  For now.

  A second round too soon and they might very well cripple her. The problem was, she had no idea how to prevent that.

  Gently walking the seven paces across her cell, she pushed her face up to the tiny slit window. The cool air felt fresh on her face.

  Turning back to walk across the room, Quinn winced with each step.

  “Callaghan? They’re coming.”

  Quinn felt her knees buckle slightly. She dropped to the filthy floor just as the door swung open.

  “No word from the Queen,” the guard named Gregory said.

  “No word because she has no word or because no one has found her yet?”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ve been charged with getting a name from you. One name and you’ll spare yourself a great deal of pain.”

  “It would be a lie. I’ve told you. I am no killer.”

  Gregory stepped aside while two other guards got on either side of Quinn and hauled her to her feet.

  Quinn winced and groaned as her muscles cried out in agony as they lead her back to the rack.

  “You’re wasting your time, fellas. I have no names to give you.”

  “Then a pound of flesh will do.” Gregory pulled a nasty knife out and held it in front of Quinn’s eye. “What’ll it be? Left buttocks? Right leg?”

  Quinn thought she might vomit. Of all the horrors she had faced on the high seas, this was, by far, the worst.

  Suddenly, all hope vanis
hed. All faith gone. All she could think of was how it would be over soon. If she could get her hands on that sword, she could end it quickly.

  Getting on the slanted rack took longer than the night before because Quinn was much slower moving. When they grabbed her wrists to tie up, Quinn cried out. Having her hands over her head was too much.

  Quinn knew this was the end for her. The fight was gone from her. No hope. No faith. No fight, she sighed and closed her eyes.

  She never saw her life ending like this. All those years of hating Elizabeth only to have the bloody English be responsible anyway.

  Evan would shake her head.

  Becca would sigh.

  Fiona would cry.

  Sayyida would exact secretive revenge.

  Grace would be angrier with her than the English.

  Grace O’Malley had given Quinn a new life all those years ago when Quinn first stepped onto the deck of the Malendroke. She’d taught Quinn how to sail, how to fight, how to drink, how to play cards, how to read the weather, and how to stay alive. She’d taught Quinn that family was what you make it and that friends are those who would throw themselves in front of an arrow to keep you safe.

  Grace O’Malley had been the best mentor Quinn could have ever asked for. The adventures she’d gone on with her were some of the best memories of Quinn’s life.

  Grace, more than anyone else, would be so angry that Quinn had died at the hands of Elizabeth.

  “Is she praying?”

  Quinn opened her eyes, suddenly realizing there was no tension on the rack.

  “Not praying,” Quinn said. “Casting a spell on you three.” She had no idea where that came from, but the three men stumbled away from her.

  “A witch! I told ya there was something wrong with her!”

  The three guards huddled together outside the room as Quinn started the Lord’s Prayer in Latin.

  “Shut yer fucking mouth, witch!” One of them yelled from the antechamber.

  Quinn raised her voice a little louder.

  The English greatly feared witches and witchcraft.

  When Gregory returned, he stuffed a filthy rag in Quinn’s mouth. “Can’t do a goddamn spell without words, can you?”

  Quinn forced a laugh.

  She stopped when the second guard walked into the room with a lit candle.

  “Burning witches is the only way to get rid of them,” he said, kneeling down next to the rack. “Let’s see how funny you find being burned.” He set the candle down and together he and the other guard pulled her pants down to her ankles.