Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3)

by Alex Westmore

  As the Firsts cleaved and hacked their way across the deck, the archers high on the nets of the Malendroke picked off even more men.

  Quite often, the opposing captain would surrender before the Seconds had a chance to enter the fray.

  That was not the case today.

  With the Firsts barely making a dent and the archers’ arrows being blown by gusty winds, the Seconds quickly came on board with swords glinting in the morning sun. When Quinn landed on the blood-soaked deck, she was surprised to see a number of Firsts already lying dead on the deck. Three or four was typical, but at least twice that lay dead or dying.

  Quinn cast a look over to Connor as he landed. He planted his feet and withdrew both swords with a snikt sound as they left his belt.

  “They’ve got somethin’ big down there, Callaghan,” Connor said, grinning. “And it be ours in but a moment. Watch my backside, Callaghan. Live and learn.” With that, Connor leapt into battle, swords slicing the air with practiced precision. Three men were dead before Quinn could join him.

  Just as she took a step, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Not so fast, lad,” came Tavish’s voice. “Look.”

  Quinn followed his gaze. There, sailing fast and lively behind the Malendroke, was another English ship.

  Not just any ship.

  Francis Drake’s ship.

  Francis Drake was Grace’s mortal enemy. They had crossed swords on a couple of occasions, the worst of which was when he tried to trick Grace into burning down a ship with all of her men in it–a feat that would have spelled disaster for her as a captain.

  Grace would never forget, nor would she ever forgive him for it.

  “This ship is a decoy, lad, meant to keep Grace and all others at bay while he skirts our shoreline.” Tavish pulled Quinn back away from the battle. “See how they keep comin’ up from below? They got nothin’ down there we need except enemies. Call the Seconds off.”

  Quinn watched in horror as many of the Firsts were run through or cut down. Tavish was right–there were fresh fighters streaming from below deck who continued taking out the Firsts and some of the slower Seconds.

  “Fall back!” Quinn yelled. “Seconds, fall back now!”

  It was too late.

  The only way she could help her men now was to find a way to keep those enemies below... below. Turning to Tavish, she ordered, “Tell Grace to pull away from the ship.”

  Tavish frowned. “Pull–she’ll never do that, lad. She’ll never leave us.”

  “I’m setting fire to this ship, Tavish. Grace and the Malendroke need to be well away. Go, before she leaves the ship.”

  Tavish hesitated but a moment and then disappeared.

  “Fitz!” Quinn yelled, barely getting her long sword up in time to deflect a blow coming from her side. She ran her attacker through with her short sword and then pushed him to the side, where he collapsed to his knees.

  “Aye, Callaghan? We’re retreatin’?”

  “No. Ya are retreatin’, but first I need whiskey.”

  Fitz nodded and tore off across the deck, fighting as he did. Men fell not only to his sword, but also to the manner of hand-to-hand combat Grace’s crew had learned from Scottish warriors, who had learned it from the Shaolin monks. It was a form of hand-to-hand combat that gave the Irish a distinct advantage.

  After tearing part of the shirt off a dead man, Quinn rose and parried a number of quick blows by a swordsman twice her size. The pirate bore down on Quinn so fast, she barely managed to get both swords up in time to catch his long sword before it cleaved her in two. He might have bested her had Connor not driven his sword through the man’s back.

  “Retreat, Callaghan?”

  “Aye! Get the men back to the ship, Connor. We can’t win this one.”

  “What about ya?”

  “Pick me up in the water.”

  Connor looked dubious at her. “In. The. Water?”

  “Aye.”

  Grace’s men now fought to get off the ship they’d attacked. Quinn killed two more men before Fitz finally made it back to her with two bottles of whiskey.

  “Excellent,” she said, glancing down at the whiskey in his hands. “Leave them here and get goin’.”

  Fitz shook his head. “Ya can’t do this alone, Callaghan. Somebody has to watch yer back. Looks like it’s gonna be me.” Fitz cut down a man trying to sneak around a corner. “Can ya throw?”

  Quinn grinned. “Have ya not seen me use my throwin’ knives, ya daft bastard? Of course I can throw.”

  “Ya gotta get out in front, so the bottles break at the bottom of the stairs. I’ll cut a path fer ya. Ya follow right behind.”

  Quinn nodded and promptly glanced to see Connor fighting from the railing, helping their crew make it back across the gangplank as the Englishmen trailed after them.

  “Now, Connor!”

  Connor jumped back onto the deck of the English ship and shoved the gangplank over to the Malendroke. “Ya got the lead, Fitz. I got Callaghan’s back.”

  It was futile to argue now. The Malendroke was slowly, laboriously, pulling away. Grace had, once again, left some of her crew in the hands of Kieran Callaghan.

  “Come on, Callaghan, before they realize what’s happenin’.” Fitz took off, just as Quinn stuffed the torn shirt into the bottles and lit them from a lantern hanging on the side of the boat. As the linen caught fire, Quinn ducked behind Fitz, who was fighting two men at once to keep her protected. Fitz took a slice through one upper arm and cursed as he killed the fighter.

  Just as a sword nicked his shoulder, Connor yelled, “Throw it, Callaghan! Now!”

  The first bottle glided through the air in slow motion, disappearing down the steps. For a moment, there was nothing. Then a loud FOOM! sound reverberated through the air just as she released the second, which landed on the top step, also breaking and igniting.

  The deck immediately caught fire, as did four men who had been near the bottle when it landed. When the dozens of Englishmen standing at the railing heard the sound, they turned in unison.

  “Uh, Callaghan?” Fitz muttered.

  “Follow me, boys.” Running to the railing opposite the side the Malendroke was on, Quinn leapt in the air, clearing the railing by a good three feet before plummeting thirty-five feet into the cold water below. When she surfaced, she looked for Connor and Fitz, both of whom kerplunked into the sea at the same time.

  When they surfaced, Quinn swam over to Connor. “Come on. We have to swim out so Grace can see us.”

  Connor nodded and grabbed Fitz, who was struggling to stay afloat. “Please tell me ya can swim.”

  Fitz spat out water. “I can. Just not so good.”

  Digging into the water, Quinn fought wave after wave until she was clear of the bow of the English ship. Waving her hands over her head, she watched as Grace scanned the water for them.

  “Ship’s gonna burn to the bottom,” Connor said, lugging Fitz along. “Gotta get clear before she starts listin’.”

  “She sees us,” Quinn said as she watched the deck of the Malendroke come to life. “Gotta swim way out, fellas. Ya all right?”

  Connor nodded.

  Fitz coughed up more water. “Too mucha me life on land, Callaghan. I’m not use’ta all this saltwater nonsense.” He vomited into the water.

  Grinning slightly, Quinn swam further away from the English ship and watched as a rope ladder unfurled over the side of the Malendroke. “Ya got this, Fitz. Be braver or I’ll tell yer brothers what a pussy ya are in the water.”

  Connor laughed and pulled the still puking Fitz along behind him.

  “That’s our ride, boys, come on!”

  When she reached the rope ladder hanging on the side of the Malendroke, Quinn’s arms and legs felt like dead weights, but they were alive and safe, and that was all that mattered.

  When Connor and Fitz were finally at the ladder, she pushed Fitz to it. “Get yer land-lovin’ arse up that ladder, Fitz. Connor and I wi
ll be right behind ya, so move it!”

  Fitz didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing the wooden rung, he flew up the ladder like a monkey up a tree.

  “It was a good plan, Callaghan. We were gettin’ butchered.”

  Quinn sighed. “Aye. Captain is gonna have a fit.” She nodded to him. “Up ya go. Thanks fer comin’ back.”

  “I had to.”

  “Why?”

  Connor chuckled. “I knew Fitz could barely swim.”

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, as they returned to Clare Island to replace their lost crew members, Grace strode across the deck to address the entire crew, her hair flowing behind her as if it too were angry.

  “The mistake was mine and mine alone, gentlemen. I never saw Drake’s ship. That rat bastard pulled a fast one in an effort to get around. He verra nearly succeeded.” Grace paced back and forth with her hands behind her back. “We lost many a good man, and so we are back home to collect more men. Ya have tonight to enjoy yerselves, to toast those no longer with us, but we shove off at dawn. Do not be late. Dawn. Not a second later. Are there enna questions?”

  “Sir, rumor has it Drake was on his way to the Americas. Is that true?” someone asked from the middle of the deck.

  Grace stopped pacing. “Fer his sake, I hope so. Mark my words, men, the day will come when that bastard is in our sights, and we will quarter him and feed him to the sharks. What say ya?”

  The men roared with bloodlust enthusiasm.

  Grace held her hands up, and the men quickly silenced.

  “The cretin showed the kind of man–nay–the kind of captain he is by sacrificin’ hundreds of his English compatriots so he could skirt by us like a little girl afraid of her mother.”

  Again, the men hooted and hollered, banging the hilts of their swords on the deck.

  “Hundreds sank to their deaths because of one man’s cowardice. Let that lesson penetrate to the marrow of yer bones, men. Cowardice kills as surely as if it were a man with an ax. Ya fought bravely today, and ya might not all be alive if it wasn’t fer Callaghan’s quick thinkin’.”

  “To Callaghan!”

  The men banged some more.

  “Tonight, Callaghan, Connor, and Fitz pay fer no drinks, ya understand?”

  More shouting. More banging.

  “Good. Now go and enjoy yerselves. Remember, dawn means dawn. Go on, ya good-fer-nothin’ curs!”

  Like leaves in a gust, the men scattered.

  “Callaghan, a word?”

  Quinn met Grace up at the wheel.

  “Sir?”

  “I wanted to thank ya fer yer quick assessment of a bad situation. Well met.”

  “I learned from the best, Captain.”

  Grace threw her head back and laughed. “Would that I could take credit, but I can’t. That was entirely yer skill, Callaghan. Ya will make a good captain one day.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, sir. Too much pressure. Too many life-and-death decisions.”

  Grace studied Quinn a moment. “Ya got a good head on yer shoulders, Callaghan. That counts fer somethin’ in this world.”

  “Thank you, but if that were true, I imagine my life would look very different.”

  “Well, aside from yer love life, that is.” Grace grinned. “I would imagine one woman is a handful, but two? Yer plate is full, Callaghan. It’s no wonder ya look to the sea fer solace.”

  “Solace, sir?” Quinn looked down at the thrashing water as they pulled into Clew Bay. “I can’t remember the last time I felt peaceful.”

  “Perhaps it is too overemphasized, Callaghan. Be at peace when yer old or dead. Life is fer the livin’. Life is about adventures. Do ya know why all seamen and pirates go to taverns?”

  “To drink themselves into oblivion?”

  Grace shook her head. Her fiery mane looked alive. “To tell their tales. Life, Callaghan, is about collectin’ stories to tell–it’s about havin’ an adventure worth talkin’ about. That’s why they go–to share their tales. Yer life, up until ya stepped onto my ship, was what?”

  “Dreadfully dull.”

  “Aye! What kinda life is that, ennaway? And, after today, everra one a them men is gonna tell the tale of how Callaghan saved the ship and singlehandedly sent three hundred Englishmen to their graves.”

  Suddenly, the impact of her actions settled heavily on her chest.

  “Don’t look so glum, Callaghan. The world outside those privileged walls ya once lived behind is a violent place. If yer alive at the end of each day, send a prayer to them that ya pray to and then go share the adventure ya lived through. Life without risk simply isn’t livin’.” With that, Grace took the steps two at a time and began issuing orders to dock in Clew Bay.

  Watching Grace stride about and seeing the men respond to her orders made Quinn both proud and ashamed.

  She’d sent three hundred men to the bottom of the sea.

  That wasn’t adventure. That was nothing short of murder.

  Is that what she’d become in her nearly seven years dressed as a man?

  No, she was more than that.

  She was also an adulterer, a thief, and a womanizer, not to mention an enemy of the English crown.

  Suddenly, Quinn wondered how she’d strayed so far from the woman who was Quinn Gallagher, who now seemed lost inside the man who was Kieran Callaghan.

  Perhaps the bigger questions were: Could she ever go back? And if she could, would she?

  * * *

  Becca was gently running her fingers through Quinn’s hair as they lay together on the hard bed.

  The moment Becca had opened her door and seen Quinn’s face, she’d folded her arms around her and brought her to the bed.

  There was no sex.

  No talking.

  Just the two of them lying in silence as Becca stroked Quinn’s head. It was as if Becca always knew what Quinn needed most.

  At last, when Quinn rose up on one elbow, she kissed Becca’s plump lips. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve been lovin’ ya long enough to know when ya just need some peace. I’m just glad it was me who got to give that to ya.” Becca brushed Quinn’s bangs away from her eyes. “We need to cut yer hair again, love.”

  Quinn nodded, her eyes never leaving Becca’s face. “Am I a horrible person?”

  Becca’s hand froze mid caress. “Why on earth would ya ask that? Yer one of the best people I know.”

  “Then you might want to know more people, Becca.”

  “Talk to me, darlin’. What has ya so glum?”

  Quinn felt tears come to her eyes. “I have, of late, been assessing my life, and I discovered that I have turned into a bloodthirsty, adultering pirate. I think I have lost much of who I once was.”

  Becca waited. When Quinn said no more, she kissed Quinn’s forehead. “Oh, my love, don’t be silly. Yer a pirate. Pirates live by a different set of rules than the rest of us. Ya cannot measure who ya are as a pirate against who ya were as a lady. It’s... ” Becca looked up at the ceiling in thought “... apples and oranges.”

  Quinn sighed loudly, tears coming to her eyes. “I sent three hundred men to their deaths today without barely a thought of it.”

  “And?” Becca gently traced Quinn’s eyebrow.

  Quinn leaned back slightly. “And they’re dead!”

  “But yer not. Yer crew and captain aren’t. Yer job, yer responsibility when yer on Grace’s ship is to protect it and them at all costs, correct?”

  “Yes, but–”

  Becca placed her index finger over Quinn’s mouth. “If three hundred men had attacked yer home when ya were a lady, would ya have hesitated one bit in the killin’ of those men?”

  Quinn slowly shook her head.

  “And if ya kilt them all, would ya grieve fer it?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a little?”

  “Not for a second.”

  “Because protectin’ those ya love is what ya do, my sweet, sweet pirate. Ya watch over me, ya ke
ep a close eye out on Fiona, and ya worry night and day about Gallagher. If others must die fer yer loved ones to be safe in this world, it matters not if yer a pirate or a lady–it matters not if ya wear a dress or pants. Protectin’ yer people is in yer nature, Callaghan. Do not judge yerself so harshly fer that.”

  Quinn took Becca’s hand and kissed her palm. “You get wiser every time I see you.”

  Becca chuckled. “Oh love, there is nothin’ wise about this foolish heart. I am in love with a pirate who was once a lady and who loved another. Probably more than one other.” She shrugged. “There is nothin’ wise about that.”

  Quinn felt her heart hurt. “How do you put up with me?”

  “The heart loves who the heart loves, Callaghan. I have tried not lovin’ ya. I have tried fallin’ fer another. But in the end I gave up and accepted the fact that ya are the one my heart longs fer at night.”

  Kissing Becca softly, Quinn laid palm against Becca’s cheek. “I am not worthy of that love, Becca.”

  “No, ya are not, but knowin’ that makes not one bit of difference. All I can do is hope that one day, ya will release yerself from the hold Fiona has over ya and come to me to make me yers. Until then, I shall love ya as best as ya will allow me.”

  Quinn nodded slowly before laying her head back on Becca’s ample bosom. “You deserve so much more.”

  “Oh Callaghan, deservin’ has nothin’ to do with love. Love has to do with sharin’ things even when ya don’t want to.”

  Quinn frowned. “Things?”

  Becca looked away and then back again. “Fiona is pregnant again. She—”

  Quinn did not hear the rest of Becca’s words. The news of Fiona’s pregnancy stabbed her in the heart—not the pregnancy itself but the fact that Fiona had not told her or found any way of letting her know.

  Then it was truly, completely over. Quinn could no longer live with herself for bedding a married woman who had a family with another. It was simply time to be done. “You kept your ear to the ground or did she send a message?”

  “She sent a message fer me to let ya know the next time ya were at port.”

  Another baby.

  Another sign that Fiona’s life marched on while Quinn pillaged and plundered and continued her adventurous life on the high seas.