Fire in the Hole (The Plundered Chronicles Book 3)

by Alex Westmore

  When they reached the deck, Quinn saw a circle of men with Sayyida standing in the center.

  “Callaghan,” Sayyida said in a clear voice. “You have been found guilty of the worst kind of theft imaginable, for you took not only my ship but our home. According to Moroccan law, your fate is in your hands. You are required to fight to the death a champion of my choosing, and since I refuse to allow even one member of my crew to lose one hair or one drop of blood to you, I have chosen thusly. Bring him!”

  The circle opened to the two men escorting a man with a sack covering his head.

  But Quinn didn’t need to see his face to know who her opponent was.

  It was Tavish.

  “No. Fuck no,” Quinn backed away, but the man behind her shoved her into the center with Sayyida. “This is cruel even for you. I won’t do it.”

  When they took the sack off, Tavish squinted a moment. When he saw Quinn, his face lit up. “Laddie!”

  “I won’t fight him, Sayyida.”

  “Fight me? What... what are ya talkin’ aboot, lad?”

  Sayyida held her hand up to silence Tavish. “I’m afraid you will. If you refuse, I will kill him anyway. At least if you fight him, one of you will return to Ireland alive.”

  Quinn had no words. She could not, would not fight Tavish for her life.

  As if reading her mind, Sayyida said, “Take your own life, and he dies. Fight any other man on board, and he dies. Do anything other than fight for your life, and he dies.”

  “This is wrong, Sayyida. All wrong. Hang me. Throw me overb–”

  “Shut it, lad,” Tavish growled. “It’s the way of their dark world. Ya canna change a thousand years of barbarism. Yer gonna have to fight me—and fight hard. I’ll not make it easy on ya. I have a life. A love. I have no intention of dyin’ on board a fookin’ Muslim ship, especially fer someone who didna have the decency to tell ennaone but me that he wasna dead.”

  “But you know why!”

  “Kennin’ and agreein’ with yer actions are two different things, lad. Ya broke a lotta hearts by pretendin’ to be somethin’ ya weren’t.”

  Quinn frowned. Something about the way Tavish was speaking seemed... disingenuous.

  Sayyida nodded. “Tavish speaks the truth of it, Callaghan. You must fight so one of you can live. If you do not give it your all–”

  “He dies. I get it, you fucking bitch.” Quinn felt a cold calm wash over her as she glared at Sayyida. “Why don’t you fight me, you fucking coward? You want to see just how cold my heart is? Fight me so I can run my sword through your equally frigid one.”

  “It is not our way.”

  “Cowardice suits you, then. Fine. But mark my words, Sayyida, regardless of which one of us wins, you are a dead woman. The winner will come after you and tear your goddamned head off your weak shoulders”

  Sayyida took two swords from her second and tossed them on the deck. “You fight until one of you is dead. Understood?”

  Quinn and Tavish nodded.

  “I’m sorry, laddie, that it has to be this way, but ya might as well be dead since ya left us all behind ennaway. Much appreciated ya heapin’ all that grief on us all.”

  Quinn was sure something was up now. Tavish would never have said all of this in front of a crowd. He might have growled it in her ear, but not in such a theatrical fashion. What was he up to?

  “Enough talk. When I drop this kerchief, you are each to grab one sword and commence to fighting.”

  Quinn stared daggers at Sayyida. “I’m going to fucking kill you for this.”

  Sayyida smiled a grin that threw Quinn off guard. “No, Callaghan, you are not.” Then she spoke to her crew in their Berber tongue.

  As she spoke, Quinn studied Tavish. He looked good. Thinner, but healthy. His hand seemed to have healed nicely. She could probably take him now if she played to his weakness: his flayed back. After six months, it was surely healed but still tender to the touch. If she could–

  What in the hell was she thinking?

  She could not kill Tavish. It would destroy—ah, Quinn understood now. Even if she won, she lost. How could she ever survive the guilt of killing her dear friend? She’d barely managed to forgive herself for her mercy killing of Connor.

  Motherfucker.

  As much as she wanted to live, the decision to steal Sayyida’s ship had been hers and hers alone. She would pay this price for that decision, not Tavish.

  She would fight him, yes, but ultimately, she would let him defeat her.

  It was the only thing to do.

  It was the right thing to do.

  “Ready?” Sayyida asked.

  Quinn looked at Tavish and nodded.

  He looked at Quinn and winked.

  Winked?

  “To the death,” Sayyida said, dropping the kerchief.

  Quinn lunged for the shorter blade, knowing Tavish would prefer the longer one.

  He got to his half a second after she grabbed hers, and Quinn managed to get a good swing in. Tavish barely got his blade up in time to deflect it. The swords clanged loudly against each other.

  Tavish punched her in the chest to knock her away. Then he swung errantly at her in a way she’d never seen him swing before. It was erratic and off balance. Had he lost his ability to fight since Tenerife?

  Grabbing her sword in both hands, she came at him. He managed to deflect the blow, much to the delight of the men, who cheered.

  “Jesus, lad,” Tavish growled, sweeping her off her feet with a leg sweep. “Ya truly aim to kill me?”

  Quinn fell on her back but was back up before his feeble attempt at stabbing her missed by a long shot.

  “What the fuck, Tavish? she said in Scottish. “Fight me, goddamn it.” Quinn came at him hard, sword raised too far over her head, leaving her chest completely exposed.

  “I’ll not kill ya, laddie,” Tavish replied in Scottish, deflecting the blow and shoving Quinn into the crowd. “Not now. Not ever. Just stay in the fight.”

  Straightening up, she glared at him. “Fight me, old man!”

  Tavish laughed and said in Scottish, “I need ya to knock me toward Sayyida.”

  Quinn immediately understood why he’d winked.

  He had a plan.

  Quinn charged him, and they sparred back and forth, swords clanging loudly above the cheers of the crew.

  Tavish took an enormous and awkward swing at her, but she deflected the blow and kicked him toward the ever-watchful Sayyida.

  Tavish landed on his hands and knees, and as Quinn closed in to finish him off, he rose, parried the blow, and then faced Quinn–the sword now in his ruined left hand.

  That was when she knew.

  He was going to save them both.

  Quinn charged him once more, the sword poised to take his head off.

  As she brought the sword forward, Tavish ducked, rose, whirled and punched Sayyida right in the face with his good hand. A loud crunch echoed through the air.

  As Sayyida crumpled to the deck of the ship, Quinn let her apparent errant swing take her right to Sayyida’s neck.

  “Make one more move and I’ll take her fucking head off!” Quinn said in Latin. She repeated it in English, French, and Spanish, just in case.

  The stunned crew did not move.

  “All of you go below, and she’ll live. Come at us, and I swear by your holiest god, I’ll leave her in pieces.”

  The crew muttered to each other and started backing down the steps.

  When all but the man in the crow’s nest were in the hold, Tavish closed and locked the door.

  “Come on, lad. We just need a boat, and we’re home free.”

  Quinn did not move, but kept the sword tip at Sayyida’s neck. She was out cold. “I should kill her. I should fucking cut her goddamned head off for this.”

  Tavish gently touched her hand and moved the sword away. “Callaghan, it is okay. Ya need not kill her. She kenned. It was her plan.”

  Quinn stared at him. “What
?”

  Tavish nodded, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead and running down the sides of his face. “She asked Captain O’Malley if she could borrow me fer a bit of translatin’. She’s been followin’ yer ship since ya left Howth. The woman has eyes and ears everrawhere.”

  “She knew I was on that ship?”

  Tavish shook his head. “I knew. I’ll explain it all to ya once we’re away. She got us as close to Galway as she could. All we gotta do is get the hell off this ship.” Tavish sliced his left hand open and rubbed his blood on Sayyida’s hands.

  “What are you doing?”

  “She has to save face, lad. I’m makin’ it look like she kilt us.” He wiped his blood on her sword. “Get a boat in the water.”

  Quinn hesitated. Sayyida stirred and tried to sit up, blood running down her face.

  “Damn it, Callaghan, this woman has risked everrathin’ to save yer arse. Get a fookin’ move on!”

  Quinn did as he bade. When the boat dropped into the water below, she returned to find Sayyida struggling to sit up.

  Kneeling down beside her, Quinn took her hand in both of hers. “Why?”

  Sayyida wiped her bloody nose and mouth with the back of her hand. “You can be as thick skulled as the rest of these men. Because I love you, Callaghan. I’ve been charged with your death; an act I cannot do. Tavish will explain everything. Right now, my sweet love, you and your Scot must get far away from here.”

  Quinn laid her hand on Sayyida’s cheek. “You... still love me after all I have done?”

  Sayyida’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course. A woman’s heart is a foolish thing. Even mine. I love you enough to know I must say goodbye to you, my love. Now, go. My men will not remain below long.”

  Kissing Sayyida softly, Quinn whispered, “Thank you. I... I don’t quite know what to say.”

  “This world is a better place with you in it, Callaghan. May you find the love you seek.”

  “Come on, lad. We have one final ruse to play.”

  That ruse was the visual of Tavish rowing away alone, Quinn hunkered down and hidden from the sight of a crew that cheered his apparent victory.

  When they were finally far enough away and Sayyida’s ship but a pinprick in the distance, Quinn took a seat next to Tavish and grabbed an oar. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

  “She was mighty shook up when Grace told her ya were dead. She asked the captain to borrow me. I didna wish to go, but she explained the Moroccan bounty on yer head and said that she was the only one who could remove it. So I said aye in the hopes of killin’ two birds.”

  “Where was she?”

  “Sayyida had been cruisin’ up and down the eastern coast all that time, though I ken she was all over the two months prior.”

  “Just searching for me?”

  Tavish shrugged and wiped his brow with his uninjured hand. “Maggie always says the heart loves who the heart loves. That woman loves ya hard, lad. Verra hard. Hard enough to let ya go.”

  “Here. Let me at least wrap up that hand.” Quinn pulled a kerchief from her pocket and tied it around his palm.

  “A woman in love makes decisions the rest of the world would never understand, lad. When she realized ya were still alive, her face lit up.”

  “But how did you find me?”

  “I went to yer village and spoke with a lovely but grief-stricken woman named Kennedy. Asked her if there was someplace ya’d go to heal if ya were alive because I needed some help meself. One look at me back and she said she kenned just the right woman.”

  “Kennedy would never have just lead you to Bronwen. What did you give her in exchange?”

  Tavish grinned. “The truth. She cried. Hard. Collapsed on a bale of hay and wept fer what felt like forever. She verra easily gave up the area the druid priestess lives in in exchange fer me to send word back to her aboot ya bein’ alive. Ya owe it to her to let her ken yer alive and well.”

  Quinn felt her chest constrict. Suddenly, Bronwen’s words over the past six months rang loudly through her head.

  Pretending to be a male pirate was not nearly as horrible as pretending to be dead.

  “And so you waited?”

  He nodded. “Sayyida had to deal with ya on the water, in front of her crew. She got the word aboot where her ship is, so it’s not aboot that. She needed to save ya and save face in order to get the bounty off yer head. She said... ” he chuckled. “She’s so good at being dead, let’s try it one more time.”

  “Why didn’t she say anything?”

  “Ya ken how ship’s walls got ears, lad. Besides, ya needed to believe it. Her crew needed to believe it. I kenned ya’d never kill me, that ya’d take all the blame fer stealin’ the ship. We counted on that.”

  “Which explains why she was in the circle.”

  He nodded. “Aye. Now, she’s saved face by havin’ her Irish lover killed, and there’s no longer a bounty on yer head.” Tavish looked at her sideways. “S’good. She made her choice long ago. That woman loves ya enough to take yer piece offa the board so ya can get on with the task of livin’. The question remains, what aboot yer decision? What are ya gonna do with yer life?”

  Quinn still didn’t know the answer to that question. Six months of intensive training with a druid priestess, and Quinn thought she was no closer to learning that than before.

  She was wrong. “I promised Bronwen I would return. Other than that singular act, I do not know.”

  “And bein’ on that ship? What was that aboot? Bein’ a female pirate? Lord kens ya got enough of them in yer life.”

  “Not just that, Tavish. I needed to see if the sea still had her hooks in me. I needed to figure out who I want to be for the rest of my life. I can’t hide myself any longer.”

  Tavish laughed loudly. “I’ve no doubt ya discovered the sea rarely lets go.”

  “Aye. I am surprised you were not settled down in Scotland.”

  “I had more important things to do than to resign meself to a life of leisure.”

  “How is Maggie?”

  “She is well. She found a nice place fer us with a long pier fer fishin’. Ya’d like it.”

  “I bet I would.”

  Tavish tilted his head to the side.“Ya let yer hair grow. It’s nice.”

  Quinn touched her shoulder-length hair. “Thank you. I had beautiful hair once.”

  They rowed in silence a while longer before Tavish cleared his throat. “I’m askin’ Maggie to be me wife.”

  Quinn smiled broadly. “You’re a smart man, Tavish.”

  “But we willna marry without ya there.”

  She stopped rowing. “Oh, that is not fair, old man.”

  He laughed. “We both agreed. So unless ya wish me to die an unwed man, ya will get yerself together and return to the Malendroke where ya belong.”

  He could have said a million other words with little or no impact, but the word belong stabbed Quinn right in the heart.

  She did belong on the deck of the Malendroke. Perhaps once Grace knew she was alive and willing to reveal her true self, Quinn could approach the crew and explain the extensive deceit.

  It was worth a chance, right?

  * * *

  Quinn did not remain in Galway long for the fear that poor Becca might catch a glimpse of her. Tavish had filled her in with the results of the news about Quinn going missing at sea when he caught up with her. He had told Quinn how Becca had not broken down upon being told of the shipwreck but had thrown her shoulders back and said, “Then I shall be happy with havin’ been well loved once in me life.”

  Fiona’s reaction had been far less stoic.

  She sobbed. She cursed. She threw things. And when she was spent, she asked for the details of Quinn’s disappearance and how long had Grace looked for her.

  Then she did something that surprised Tavish and Maggie: she gave them a purse of gold and silver and asked that they give it to Becca.

  Unbeknownst to Quinn, Fiona and Becca had planned to buy the O
xtail Tavern in order to give Quinn a safe place on land to start a life. Both had been saving for three years. Upon learning of Quinn’s “death,” Fiona wished for Becca to buy it for herself as Fiona’s way of thanking her not only for loving Quinn and keeping her secret, but for keeping Fiona’s secret as well.

  A lesser woman in Becca’s shoes could have done irreparable damage to Fiona’s reputation and marriage, but Becca had never crossed that line. In the end, Fiona felt her deserving of it.

  Knowing what they’d both been willing to do for her made Quinn’s guilt over not really being dead that much heavier.

  “There is no future in guilt, Quinn,” Bronwen said the first night of her return. “While it was good of the Scot to tell you of their reaction, there is nothing you can do about it now.”

  Tavish and Maggie swore to keep her secret, and Maggie hugged Quinn and thanked her for taking such good care of her man.

  Quinn spent the next week debriefing Bronwen about the activity involving Captain O’Dell’s ship and Sayyida’s role in releasing her. Then she told Bronwen she was ready to return to her life at sea.

  “You love her.” Bronwen poured some powder into the fire to make it turn blue.

  “I do, but not like that.”

  Bronwen leaned over and studied the flames. “Who does hold your heart, dear friend? It is so evident in your eyes and you have yet to share with me the inner emotions for a woman who has no name.”

  Quinn thought of Fiona, Becca, and Sayyida. Then, a large grin spread across her face. “It took me a long time to figure that out myself, what with so many women coming and going in my life, but I am certain my heart belongs to a woman also posing as a man. Her name is Evan.”

  Bronwen’s eyebrows rose. “A Scot?”

  “Aye. She is the most wonderful... but, as usual, our paths only intersect momentarily. Love, it seems, is not on my path right now.”

  “Don’t worry, sweet friend. It will be one day when you are ready. Until then, what have you decided to do about your real love, the sea?”

  Quinn hadn’t answered that question when she lay by the fire to sleep. She knew her time here was about up, but where did she go next? Her home, her people were aboard a pirate ship. How ever would she find her way back, and how on earth would she ever–