by Mia Pride
“Are you disobeying my command, First Mate?” the captain said in clear rebuke. But before Thomas could say anything further, another ship showed up on the horizon. William held up the spyglass and mumbled a string of curses. “’Tis the flag of the Sea-Banshee. Your grandmother!”
Thomas’s stomach clenched, and his heart leapt. A large galley came into view waving a black flag with a boar crushing a skull and crossbones in its mouth and blood dripping off his tusks. How strange that the pirate flag that was meant to instill fear in all others made him swell with pride.
The two pirate ships, one Scottish and one Irish, now turned their course and began a clear pursuit of their English ship. “We must parley, Captain. ‘Tis the only way out of this.” Though it was the truth, he was also worried his captain’s arrogance would lead him to try to take on his grandmother’s ship as well. And while that would lead to the absolute destruction of their ship and crew, it may also lead to his grandmother’s death and he could not fathom that.
“She is your blood. She will not attack us!” William responded confidentially.
Thomas scoffed and ran a hand through his short, dark beard. His plain white tunic ruffled in the wind, his brown breeches clinging to his thighs. He felt much more at ease in these simple garments than he did in his court attire. He hoped to never wear those again. “You forget she has not seen me in over twenty years. She will likely not recognize me, and even if she does, I am the first mate upon her enemy’s vessel. She is a pirate queen. I doubt she will see fit to show me mercy. Parley is our only chance.”
William begrudgingly seemed to begin to see reason and he nodded, commanding that the white flag be raised. “We will parley!” he shouted, as if the idea had been his all along.
Thomas tried not to roll his eyes at the old, wrinkly man with his leathered skin mostly hidden behind his graying beard. As long as they did not all die at sea this day, he cared not if his captain was an arrogant fool. He was not afraid of death. Thomas had fought many battles and would lay down his life if necessary, but this day, being so close to his homeland, seeing his grandmother’s ship in the distance, he was not ready to die. Nay, this new journey had just begun. They would find their own plunder when the time was right.
The two pirate ships approached, flanking theirs on either side. The crews of both ships stood on deck, some with snarls on their faces, some holding weapons or simply folding their arms. The Devils of the Deep wore kilts or plaids of varying colors, but the person who caught his eye was the red-haired woman with her boot propped on her ship’s taffrail, a smug look on her face. He saw red-flame hair blowing freely in the wind, and a steely green-eyed gaze that would freeze the bollocks off most men.
“Och, the white flag. I see that most often from ye lily-livered Sassenachs.” She grunted and folded her arms. “Ye want to parley then, aye?” she spoke with a deep Irish brogue. “I was so lookin’ forward to a fight. Yer queen promised me some peace and I promised her I would nay attack her ships, yet she sees fit to send ye into me waters. Here are me terms. One man from yer crew may board. I will give ye my demands and ye will meet them, lest your ship meet me cannons.” Her brows waggled, and Thomas watched his grandmother in her element, wanting to laugh as she put Captain William in his place.
Captain William stepped forward and puffed out his chest. “My first mate will board,” he nodded at Thomas and Thomas almost did laugh out loud. The man truly was a bloody coward. The queen thought he was more fit to captain a ship than Thomas? “He will relay your demands and we shall try to accommodate them if they are sensible.”
Grace O’Malley tilted her head and cackled like the very Sea-Banshee many thought her to be. “Ye be askin’ the Pirate Queen to be sensible, aye?” Her gaze landed on Thomas for the first time and her smile faltered. Did she recognize him? It had been more than two decades since she had seen his face. There was no way she could know it was him.
Pointing to him, she jerked her head. “Time to board the Cailleach’s Curse, love. Remove yer weapons… all of them,” she grinned, seeming to know full well that most men kept daggers within their boots. “Then take a skiff over.” Thomas remembered sitting upon her lap as a wee lad while she shared their ancient family heritage and the names of the many gods and goddesses their people have always revered. Cailleach was the goddess of death and destruction. How appropriate a name for the Irish Pirate Queen’s ship.
With a nod of his head, he removed his sword, pistol, and dagger, making a show of then bending over to remove the extra dagger in his boot, before he walked to the rung ladder and climbed down to the lowered skiff. Rowing over to her boat, he climbed the ladder, not at all surprised to find himself surrounded immediately by several pirates wielding swords or daggers. He knew they would not attack. Though pirates were considered outlaws, they followed a strict code. This was a proper parley and he was unarmed. So long as he made no threats or acts of foolery, he would keep his head… he hoped.
“Well, well…” Grace walked up to him slowly and he was shocked by her small stature. In his mind, she had always seemed larger than life, yet now she stood only tall enough to reach mid-chest on him. He stayed silent, deciding it was best to let her run this show. He was not so arrogant as his captain. “Ye look an awful lot like someone I once knew,” she said, walking in circles around him like a shark appraising her next meal, arms folded, and eyes squinted. Her breeches went just past her knees and she donned the hose of a man, though he had to keep a smile from slipping when he took in the purple silk of her tunic. Only nobles could wear silk and only a royal could wear purple. His grandmother was making a point: that she lived by her own rules.
Walking over to the bow of her ship, she cupped her mouth and shouted at a man on the Scottish ship. “Niall MacDougall! I need ye aboard me ship, love!”
Thomas’s gaze wandered over to the man she hollered towards. Though he was on the other side of the British ship, with the calm waters and silent crews, he must have heard her command, yet scowled as if he was weary of doing her bidding. He crossed his arms in defiance and eyed Grace.
“Och… these men and their bloody pride,” she murmured so only her crew could hear. Everyone laughed at her jest just before she shouted back toward the man named Niall. “Captain Niall, leader of the almighty Devils of the Deep. Could ye kindly join me upon me ship? It will be most worth yer while,” she teased, smiling mockingly as he seemed to relent and walk toward the lowering skiff.
The silence lasted for a few moments while the man rowed the distance to her ship. Thomas eyed his grandmother, though she did not spare him a glance as she watched the other captain board her ship.
“I dinna ken what ye think is so important, woman, but it had better be good. As far as I am concerned, we are square. My crew captured the Spanish galleon. Ye get the goods, we keep the ship.” Niall crossed his arms and glowered at Grace.
“And I think ye got the good end of that deal, did ye nay? Keeping the ship for yerself,” she responded as the wind whipped her hair around once more. “Now, come see why I called ye here.” She pointed in Thomas’s direction and he furrowed his brow, keeping his arms crossed. What in the world was his grandmother up to? The man’s brown eyes widened.
“It cannae be,” he said, turning pale and shaking his head as he took a step forward.
“Would someone like to explain why ye are all staring at my face?” Thomas growled, growing impatient with… whatever it was that was going on. Was this not a parley? His grandmother was intrigued by him, but not for the reason he would have suspected. He stood on the deck with his legs spread wide and his hands on his hips, his jaw ticking. He was not known for his patience.
“Och, he is the spittin’ image of Savage,” Niall whispered as he stepped closer. “His eyes are more green, at least from what we see in his portraits, but he could be his brother.”
“If over one hundred and twenty years did not separate them. More like a great-great-grandson, aye?” Grace added.
>
Niall scratched his head. “Aye, as am I, ye ken. Shaw MacDougall is mine, as well. Can this be?” The man called Niall looked fierce with a scar bisecting his left brow, but at the moment, he looked awestruck. Thomas felt unnerved by the intense stare of this burly pirate.
“It can be, aye. It is. His father was Shaw’s great-grandson, only he turned away from the family… business,” Grace smiled.
“How can ye ken all this, Gracie?” Niall asked. Must they continue to speak about him as if he was not standing before them?”
“I ken it, because he is also my grandson.” She looked at Thomas finally and cocked a red brow. “Are ye nay? Tomás O’Malley. I would know yer face anywhere, and ye have yer mama’s eyes lad. Ye truly are the spittin’ image of your father’s family, though.”
Thomas froze and sucked in a breath. After all these years, he was standing face-to-face with his beloved grandmother, and she recognized him. Shaking his head, he had to tamp down his emotions. He was no longer an O’Malley. He had given that up twenty-three years ago. He was here to serve his queen and had no time for a family reunion, as much as he longed for one. He stood, a man of two worlds, upon his enemy’s ship and yet, his enemy was a woman he could never truly view as anything other than his grandmama.
“My name is Thomas Esmonde, son of Lawrence Esmonde. But aye, I am your grandson.” He nodded his head and kept a straight face. He was pleased she knew him still, but it did not change his circumstances. Niall’s eyes widened when he heard Lawrence’s name, and looked as if he would speak, but Thomas cut him off. “Can ye get on with the parley?”
“Not until ye give yer grandmama a hug! What’s the matter with ye, lad?” She laughed and pulled him to her, embracing him in a way he did not expect a Pirate Queen embraced most people. Reflexively, his arms came around and returned her embrace, though awkwardly.
“The other ships approach, Capt’n!” a man shouted, causing Grace to pull away from him and look out to sea. Two more ships bearing Grace’s flag came into view and his grandmother smiled.
“’Twas smart of yer captain to parley with us, Tomás. Though I would have enjoyed destroying her Majesty’s ship.”
“’Tis my ship,” he responded, feeling his resentment burn in his veins again.
His grandmother gave him a strange look. “I hope ye were not too fond of it, lad, because it appears to be turning tail without ye.” She laughed and pointed as the ship, indeed, began to move in the opposite direction, through the one gap where it was not surrounded by pirates.
Thomas’s anger boiled over as he watched that coward William turn tail and leave him behind. All the men around him laughed and he was quite certain the men on Niall’s ship were laughing as well.
“Four pirate ships was too much for the Sassenachs, aye?” Grace cackled, and stepped up beside Thomas. “I would command my crew to fire at will, but given that it is yer ship, I suppose I should not destroy it?”
“That would be preferred, aye. Although now I have nay idea how to get it back,” he groused, and ran a hand through his dark hair, spitting curses into the wind. Cursed coward! William truly was lily-livered. The man did not deserve his rank. No doubt the man sailed toward Ulster, hoping to evade trouble and drop anchor in the port.
“Look alive, lad! Ye be surrounded by pirates and not only that, most of us be yer kin. We will get yer ship back.”
“You would help me? Why?” He was unsure of how to feel. On the one hand, he wanted to gut Captain William for deserting him with people whom he believed to be vicious pirates. In fact, they were vicious pirates. On the other hand, he felt a sense of relief and freedom. Being on that ship under Captain William had felt stifling. Watching another man command his ship and his crew, and poorly he might add, had made his patience grow thin. He was close to mutiny. Mayhap being deserted with pirates was preferred to having to listen to that man crow endlessly.
“Why will we help ye? Ye mean because ye are the Queen’s man now? If ye were anyone else, you would be feeding the fishes by now, love. But ye are saved only because me blood runs through yer veins. I will help ye because I want to get ye yer ship back. And, I want to show Captain William what happens to those who turn tail during a parley.” Then she turned to her crew and shouted about the sudden gusts of wind. “To Clew Bay! Tonight, we celebrate the return of my grandson! Tomorrow, we get his galley back from that Sassenach bastard!”
A round of cheers went up as men scattered to their positions, preparing to sail back to their pirate stronghold. He knew Clew Bay was one of the most famous pirate ports in the world. To know it belonged to his family gave him a rush of pride. He would never have been able to even approach those waters with a British flag flying from his mast. His mind was pulling him from one thought to another. Who was this Shaw MacDougall and why was being related to him so important? Did he truly look so much like the man?
Niall had left the ship already, but Thomas hoped to speak to the man more and learn how he was connected to the MacDougalls. Learning he had more pirate blood running through his veins made him smile with mirth. He had spent years trying to fight the call of the sea, the need for adventure, and the recurring dreams of caves and treasure. Mayhap it was not worth the fight. Mayhap it was time to follow his path and see where it led him.
Looking around, he watched his grandmother as she effortlessly shouted commands at the men who obeyed without question. She had a fleet of ships filled with loyal men. She had an alliance with the Scottish Brethren, who appeared to be sailing toward Clew Bay, as well. He was aboard a pirate vessel and like it or not, his fate was tempting him. Yet, he still had the code of knights ingrained in his mind, a code of honor that he could not just shed after all these years. He would not worry about that. For now, he watched with anticipation as they neared Clew Bay… his old home.
* * *
“Drop anchor and lower the sails, lads!” Grace’s eyes glittered with mischief as she looked upon Clew Bay. Even in her advanced years, she moved swiftly, easily keeping up with her men and leading them effortlessly. She had made quite a name for herself, and as Thomas looked around the Irish port and pirate paradise, excitement flooded him. It was very similar to how it was when he was just a lad. Hundreds of smaller islands littered the bay, making it nearly impossible for enemy ships to navigate the waters. The terrain was as flat as could be in some places, then covered in hills and tall trees in others. Even the air smelled the same and when Thomas inhaled deeply, the scent of salt, seaweed, and something unique to these waters drifted in the cold breeze. Clouds gathered ominously overhead and he knew they were weighing anchor just in time to beat a brewing storm.
His grandmother’s fleet had grown extensively through the years. He had heard his grandmother had amassed a score of ships, each of their captains solely answering to her, though only half of them seemed to be in port. Because the inlets were so narrow, anchoring further out was the only option, leaving the crew to take turns exiting using the skiffs, rowing until they reached the shore.
The crunch of fine grains of sand beneath his boots sent a spark of memory through Thomas’s mind of that fateful day when his mama had sent him off to England. He could never be mad at his mother for her decision, but he could not help but dwell on all he had missed here at home, how he would never see his Uncle Owen again because of that bastard Bingham… and he would not forget the vengeance owed his Uncle Murrough for harming his mother all those years ago. He may have been in Ireland on the queen’s orders, to keep an eye on Bingham’s activities and seek out Spanish treasure, which he was almost certain his resourceful grandmother had already claimed, but he would make it a personal mission to see those two men brought to their knees.
In the deepest part of his soul, he wished to gut Richard Bingham like a pig, watch the man squirm as he slowly sliced his blade through his stomach, ripping out his entrails just before slicing his throat. Yet, murdering the queen’s man would only get him branded as a traitor. How he would be near t
he man and not kill him, Thomas could not know.
“Do ye remember home?” his grandmother asked when she jumped off the skiff next to him, her boots also crunching on the wet sand.
“Och, how could I ever forget?” Instinctively, he craned his neck to the west, seeing Rockfleet castle, his grandmother’s fortress and his former home, towering in the distance. Though Grace had always preferred to dock her ships and keep her crews a good distance down Clew Bay from her private home, Rockfleet Castle was a notoriously functional stronghold, with windows on its fourth floor allowing his grandmother to oversee all that transpired in her bay.
It was said that several years ago, the English had attempted an attack on Clew Bay and his grandmother had defended her home all by herself simply from her own castle. He did not put it past her and grunted at the thought.
It was solid stone on the outside, but the two middle levels were built with wood. Only the bottom and top layers were full rock. Being back here now, Thomas was overwhelmed by a sense of belonging he had not felt in over twenty years. Being a knight for the queen had been fulfilling to a point, but it had always felt forced, as if he was simply living by rote rules and requirements, doing what was expected of him day in and day out, serving those who oppressed his people. And while stories of mayhem continued to reach his ears from Ireland, the English nobles continued to live their lavish lifestyles in their fine fabrics and ridiculous styles. He had not even the option to choose his own bloody attire, being tied down by even those societal laws.
“Ye are quiet.”
Looking over to his grandmother, he only shrugged. “I am simply taking it all in. I had hoped to find ye eventually. I just had not thought to do so in such a way.” He chuckled and Grace laughed, slapping him on the back as they began to leave the shore and head toward the main bustle of the villiage. Clew Bay seemed to be home to many. Small timber homes were scattered in what was clearly an unplanned pattern, settlers choosing whatever scrap of land they deemed fit to build on. Most of these families were likely O’Malleys or those seeking safe refuge from the English.