Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3)

by Alex Westmore

Connor was shaking Quinn. “Ship! There’s a ship!”

  Gazing in the direction he pointed, Quinn could see a small galley ship just floating in the water. “No wind,” she said for no reason.

  Suddenly, Tavish untied himself.

  “No!” Quinn barked. “Nobody goes ennawhere.”

  “I’m the strongest, lad, and if we doona get someone on that boat to see us, we’re dead men.”

  “Tavish is right,” Connor said. “Go on, ya fuckin’ daft Scotsman. Swim like a shark was chasin’ ya.”

  Tavish grabbed Quinn’s wrist. “We’re not dyin’ out here, lad. I’ll be back.” With that, Tavish pushed off from the barrels and began the long swim toward the listless galley.

  “He’ll never make it,” Fitz said. “If he does, they’ll just eat him.”

  Quinn and Connor looked at each other and shook their heads before resuming their watch of Tavish.

  “Think he’ll make it?” Quinn asked.

  “If he doesn’t, Callaghan, he won’t be back. No way does he have it left in him to swim back here.”

  When Tavish finally disappeared from her sight, Quinn lay her head down on her forearm. “He can do it,” she said aloud. “I know he can.”

  Nodding off, Quinn was abruptly awoken a short time later by waves hitting her in the face. Through burning eyes she saw Tavish in a small boat leaning over the side with a knife.

  Was he going to kill her?

  Her fuzzy mind could not make sense of it all.

  “It’s all right, laddie. Just need to cut yer ropes and get yer arses on board. We’ve been saved,” Tavish said, grinning. “I made it.”

  * * *

  It took everything Quinn had to get her eyelids to open, and when she did, she thought she was still hallucinating. She could have sworn she saw bars. “Where are we?” she asked, struggling to sit up.

  “Would ya believe a goddamnable dungeon?” came Connor’s voice. It was already much stronger than the last time she’d heard it.

  Tavish helped Quinn sit up. “Ya went down the moment I pulled ya into the boat. Ya’ve been out a few hours.”

  Quinn quickly looked around. “We all here?”

  Handing her a splintered wooden cup of water, Connor nodded. “Aye, though Tavish and I’ve been eyein’ Fitz fer lunch.”

  The men laughed.

  Taking the water, Quinn sipped it slowly. It soothed her throat, but her cracked and bloody lips received no solace. “Glad to see yer in good spirits.”

  “Why not? Fer the first time in days, we’re dry, with our bellies full.”

  Finishing the water, Quinn stood up unsteadily.

  “Eat somethin’ first, lad.” Tavish handed her a small loaf of bread. “I’ll answer as many of yer unasked questions as I can while ya eat. We are on a small island named Tenerife.”

  “Spanish.”

  “Aye. Their ship was unmovin’, so I was able to swim to it and get someone’s attention. They sent a boat to collect us, then fed and watered us.”

  Quinn started to ask a question, but Tavish held up his hand.

  “Keep eatin’. When we reached the dock, they brought us to a magistrate of some sort. He took one look at Kwame and tossed us in here.”

  A cold dread washed over Quinn. “Oh no.”

  Tavish nodded grimly. “They believe him to be a Muslim, and since he was with us–”

  “They think we’re heretics.”

  Everyone nodded.

  Stuffing the last bit of bread in her mouth, Quinn took a second cup of water and washed it down. “Don’t tell me–”

  “That’s all we ken, lad. So far they’ve fed us and treated us well.”

  “But?”

  “But we’re still in a prison, and no one has come to speak with us.”

  “Ya’d think Tavish’s red mane would ease their worries.” Handing the cup back to Connor, Quinn assessed their situation. In a word, they were in trouble. “Everraone well?”

  “We were worried about ya,” Fitz said.

  “Keep drinkin’, Callaghan,” Connor said, motioning with his chin toward the water bucket. As Connor handed her another cupful, the door groaned open.

  “Español?” a man asked.

  They shook their heads. Quinn knew some Spanish but did not feel this the right time to convey that information. On more than one occasion she’d seen Grade withhold information while she assessed the situation.

  “English?”

  Quinn nodded.

  “Very good then. I am Esteban, a member of the council here on the island. Who is your captain?”

  Quinn stepped forward. “Our captain is Grace O’Malley, Queen of Connacht, Chieftain of Clan O’Malley.”

  “So who are you that those large men could allow such a small young man to speak for them?”

  “My name is Callaghan, and I am Captain O’Malley’s second. Have ya rescued ennaone else from that ship?”

  “No sign of a ship. According to the crew, had your man not swum over, they would never have seen you, either. It appears only you all survived.”

  Quinn felt Fitz and Tavish scoot closer to her.

  “Why are we bein’ held prisoner?”

  “We live in dangerous times. We do not know who you are or why you were in our waters. You have a Muslim as a companion and–”

  “I am no Muslim,” Kwame said.

  Esteban slowly turned toward Kwame, a look of surprise on his face. “You speak English?”

  “Among other languages, yes. I am no slave, no Moor, and not Islamic.”

  “Well... of course you would say as much to save your hide.”

  Quinn stepped closer. “Why would he need to ‘save his hide’?”

  “Callaghan–” As Fitz moved forward, his necklace fell out of his open shirt.

  Esteban reached out and looked at it. “No cross for you of the O’Malley clan?”

  Taking his triquesta back, Fitz shook his head. “This was a gift from my uncle.”

  “Was your uncle a Catholic man?”

  Fitz licked his lips before replying. “My uncle was a good man, and that is good enough fer me.”

  Esteban took the time to gaze into every face before quietly taking his leave.

  “We have to find a way outta here, now.” Connor said. “So far, they believe us to be heretics, and no amount of words will convince them otherwise.”

  Quinn looked at her thigh. Her throwing knives were gone, but she still had the dagger she kept within the bandage that kept her tiny breasts even smaller. “Where are our weapons?”

  “Took ’em when we boarded their ship.”

  “Damn it, Connor is right. If they believe us to be heretics, this will not go well. We must make our move the next time someone comes.”

  “Our... move?” Kwame asked.

  Quinn nodded. “Aye. We need to attack.”

  “With what?”

  “Our fists. Our feet. Ennathin’ we have.”

  Fitz started shaking his head. “Why risk angerin’ them? We don’t know fer sure if they–”

  “Fitz, he is a member of the inquisitors’ council, and in our presence is a man who appears to be a Muslim, and ya wear a symbol of the goddess. Trust me. When he comes back, it won’t be to have a conversation.”

  Connor and Tavish exchanged glances Quinn did not miss.

  “What? What is it?”

  “When we first arrived... there were screams.”

  Quinn immediately started for the dagger still hidden in her chest wrap, but the door opened once more before she could pull it out.

  Connor was the first to lunge for Esteban, his fist connecting with the Spaniard’s jaw.

  Three uniformed men ran in, swords drawn and pointed at Tavish, Kwame, and Fitz. A fifth man grabbed Connor and pushed his face into the wall.

  “Enough!” Esteban said, getting to his feet. “I applaud your courage. I’d heard the Celts were a sniveling bunch of cheap-shotters.”

  Quinn held her hands up to the
men. “Do not let him goad ya,” she said in Gaelic. “We will not take the bait he is offerin’.”

  None of them moved.

  “Bring the fighter with me,” Esteban said, motioning to Connor. “I can see this one will be a problem.”

  “No!” Quinn started after the group and received a punch in the stomach for it. Doubled over, she could only watch as the guards dragged Connor away.

  “They can’t... they aren’t–”

  “It’s the Inquisition, lad,” Tavish said, helping Quinn rise back up. “They’ll come in and, one by one, tear us apart until we give them what they want. Even then, they’ll keep at us until we are broken and dead.”

  “What is it they want?”

  “A confession.”

  That confession started a few minutes after Connor had been dragged away.

  Quinn could not drown out Connor’s anguished screams as they echoed painfully through the air. Fitz leaned against the wall, covering his ears. Kwame and Tavish examined the door, the small barred window, and every inch of the tiny cell, looking for a way out.

  Quinn was glad they kept busy, but she knew it was futile. The Spaniards would do to them one by one whatever it was they were doing to Connor. She had no idea how to get them out of this... this... whatever it was would be nothing compared to what they’d do to her once they discovered she was a woman.

  “I can’t bear to hear him enna longer,” Fitz said, covering up his ears.

  Quinn nodded. “Go ahead, mates, and cover yer ears. Me? I’m gonna listen fer ennathin’ that might tell us where he is.”

  Suddenly, after two hours of screaming, Connor stopped.

  Quinn thought maybe her heart did as well. “Ya... ya don’t think... ”

  “No, lad. Easy, quick death is not what the Spaniards desire. Trust me. He is alive—well, wait... let me amend that. He is not dead.”

  When they brought Connor’s limp and battered body back to them, the guards wordlessly dumped him on the ground and left the cell.

  Quinn knelt down and started to take his hand when Tavish, in a speed she’d never witnessed before, grabbed her by the wrist to stop her. “Doona touch him, laddie. It’ll only hurt.”

  Quinn frowned. “Hurt? I don’t see how–”

  “He’s been on the rack. Look at his arms and shoulders.”

  Quinn nearly fainted when she realized Connor’s hands were resting too near to his knees. He had been stretched beyond what his body could handle.

  “Oh god... ” Tears came to her eyes as bile rose in her throat. Never had she seen a body in this condition. Never had she witnessed such disfigurement of a human being.

  “Pulled ’em right outta their sockets, they did. Poor bastard,” Fitz said sadly. “Motherfuckers.”

  “Can he... ” Quinn could not finish and did not want the answer.

  “Leave him be fer now. When he wakes up, the pain will be unbearable. I doona ken what we can do to help.”

  Quinn sat as close to Connor as she could without touching him. Then she leaned over and stroked his head. His hair was stuck to his forehead and wet with perspiration and fear.

  She no longer cared how it looked or what anyone thought of her tender caress.

  It was Connor. Her Connor. Her best friend.

  Kneeling next to her, Tavish sighed loudly. “I won’t allow them to put me on the rack, lad. I’ll fight ’em until they hafta kill me, but I am not dyin’ on me back.”

  The tears found a home on her cheeks as she caressed Connor’s head. “He... he can’t die, Tavish. We didn’t get saved only to be tortured.”

  “Aye, lad, we did. Tenerife is one of the king’s special islands, and many of the council members here were handpicked by him.”

  “But what in the hell do they stand to gain by torturing us?”

  Tavish stared down at Connor. “Practice.” His voice was so soft, she thought she had heard him incorrectly.

  “Did you say–”

  “Practice. They gain nothin’ by a confession, right? Connor here shoulda lasted longer. The idea is to hurt him enough to get a confession but not enough to kill him or make him pass out. Whoever was in charge of his torture is inexperienced. Otherwise Connor would still be in there.”

  Blinking her tears away, Quinn felt Connor stir.

  It was another hour before he opened his eyes. When he did, they were filled with pain and regret.

  “Calla–ghan–” Connor struggled to speak.

  “Shh. Don’t talk.”

  “I’m so... sorry. I tried... ”

  Fitz handed Quinn some water over her shoulder, which she took.

  “Connor, ya be quiet now. Sip some water.” She tried to pour it on his lips, but her hand was shaking so much that she spilled it everywhere.

  “Tavish?” Connor said, cracking open and eye. “Ya here?”

  “Here, lad.”

  Connor winced, tears running down his temple. “I can’t feel my arms or legs.”

  “Shhh.” Quinn stroked his head, more tears rolling down her face. “Just rest.”

  “Tavish?”

  “Aye, lad. Still here.”

  Connor blinked once. “Kill... me. Callaghan would never do it. I need ya to do it, man.”

  Quinn’s head whipped around.

  Tavish shook his head. “Yer right aboot that, but killin’ ya is somethin’ I canna do.”

  “Fitz? Kwame? I... beg ya. Please... ”

  Both men backed away as if afraid.

  Connor shifted his gaze back to Quinn. “Callaghan... it... hurts so bad.” Tears rolled down Connor’s temples. “Ya can’t let me die like this. Kill me. Please.”

  “Connor, don’t ask me to do that.”

  “Not askin’. Beggin’. I’m nothin’ but a talkin’ head... please.”

  Quinn wiped her eyes.

  “Captain would. Ya know she would.”

  Of that, Quinn was sure.

  “I’d do it fer ya.”

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, allowing her sorrow to wash over her. He was right, of course. Connor would do it for her. Without hesitation.

  And here she was.

  Hesitating.

  Although his pain brought him tears no pirate would ever willingly shed in front of others, Quinn knew in her heart she did not have the courage to kill her best friend even as he begged her to do so.

  She also knew he would have done it for her.

  Pulling her dagger from her chest wrap, she set it in her lap. “Ya are a better man than most, Connor McBride, and we will live just so we can tell the tales of a life well lived.”

  Connor grimaced again. “The truth is, Callaghan, ya are a better man than the rest of us. Don’t ya ever doubt that yer place is on the deck of a ship. It’s in yer blood. Never forget that.”

  Holding the dagger tightly in her hand, Quinn’s heart raced, her eyes misted over, and her palms were so sweaty, she was barely able to hold the handle.

  “Do it,” Connor said, wincing once more. “And forgive yerself, Callaghan. It is the right thing to do.”

  A single tear escaped down the side of her face. “Close yer eyes.”

  Connor forced a smile and did as she said.

  Staring down at one of her best friends, Quinn understood just what it felt like to have her heart broken. Worse than leaving Fiona, worse than any other pain she had ever experienced, this feeling had to be what a truly broken heart felt like.

  “Do it,” Tavish whispered softly. “And ken we’d all want the same mercy.”

  Two tears clung to her eyelashes, slightly blurring her vision. “Mercy,” Quinn whispered, raising her dagger over her shoulder. “With love in my heart and yer life in my hands, I send ya off, Connor, to the Promised Land.” With that, Quinn plunged the dagger into his heart, killing him instantly.

  She was sobbing now, not just for the loss of her friend but also for that part of her soul that bled out with his heart.

  As she sat with Connor as he bled, some
one gently removed the dagger from her hand while someone else rubbed her shoulders.

  “I’m... so... sorry,” Quinn said between jerky breaths. “I... ”

  “Shh, lad. No apologies needed.” Tavish’s voice was soft and kind. “We’re pirates. We gamble with our lives everra day, and today he lost.”

  Quinn bowed her head and nodded slowly.

  Her friend was dead. Tortured and tossed aside like rubbish.

  So, too, would the rest of them be if she didn’t find a way out.

  Raising her head, Quinn leaned over and kissed Connor’s head. “Be well, my friend. I’ll never forget ya.”

  Facing the other four, Quinn took back the now blood-free dagger. “We’re not losin’ ennaone else,” she growled. “At least, not without takin’ some of them with us.”

  * * *

  No one came to the dungeon again that night. As Quinn lay with her arm over her eyes, all she could feel was a numbness around her feelings and a heart she wasn’t certain would ever recover from being broken. Where once there was love in her heart, now a bitterness replaced it, holding hands with a white hot anger.

  Quinn Gallagher was completely gone now–replaced by a pirate who could drive a dagger through the heart of one of her dearest mates. Any semblance of nobility or humanity faded away as she finally, and perhaps irrevocably, transformed into something she could no longer hold at bay.

  She was a pirate through and through now. There was no turning back. Maybe there never had been. Maybe, at the end of the day, she’d been born a killer, a cutthroat, a thief, and a liar.

  No wonder Fiona had chosen an honorable man. How could she trust someone who could do what Quinn had done?

  So now it was time to put the bloodthirsty nature to work. It was time to fight back, to kill as many of these Catholic bastards as they could. She just needed a pl–

  Suddenly, she felt something being pressed into her palm.

  It was a necklace.

  Not just a necklace, though. This was Fitz’s necklace.

  “Fitz?”

  “I want ya to give this to my ma if we don’t make it.”

  Quinn sat up. “Fitz–we’re gonna–”

  “Not this time, Callaghan. Not this time. We’re gonna go out fightin’. It’s been decided. What ya did–”

  “I know, Fitz. It was ho–”