The Pirate's Booty (The Plundered Chronicles Book 1)

by Alex Westmore

  Quinn looked into the horizon, hoping to see some sign of the Judith, but it was long gone, and she knew it could be anywhere.

  “So where is she going?” Quinn asked, helping Patrick with his rope.

  “I have no idea, but wherever it is, someone’s blood is going to wind up on the edge of Captain O’Malley’s sword. Of that, you can be sure.”

  ***

  The Judith had gotten away.

  By the time Grace was willing to concede that fact, the Malendroke was on the southern tip of Scotland. To Quinn’s surprise, Grace pulled into the harbor and moored just outside of the small town of Ardrossan.

  Ardrossan was a bustling port town that boasted a sandy beach with beautiful views over the Firth of Clyde, where turquoise and green water joined each other. From the ship, Quinn could see the area around the pier was flatter than flat and greener than green. The port appeared to be well kept and up-to-date, with several streets filled with merchants, many of whom spilled out onto the damp street.

  “While we’re here, we might as well pick up some galloglaighs,” Grace said, motioning to Innis to prepare the two smaller boats.

  Quinn whispered to Connor, “Galloglaighs?”

  “Aye. They’re Scottish mercenaries some clans use ta fight other clans. Rough bastards. Brutal ta everraone, loyal ta none. Go ta the highest bidder, they do.”

  One Eye leaned in. “Aye, lad, ya don’t wanna get on the bad side of a galloglaigh. They’d just as soon cut yer tongue out as look at ya.”

  Captain O’Malley started barking orders. She wanted only the Seconds to launch to the mainland.

  “Why just the Seconds?” Quinn asked Connor.

  “We’re faster. Lighter. If we have ta flee, we can do so without havin’ ta lug the Firsts around. They have their place, but land isn’t it.” He stared at her a minute. “Jesus, Callaghan, didja learn ennathin’ about privateerin’ before ya got on our ship?”

  Quinn checked her swords and then touched the pocket where she kept the Medusa coin. “Maybe.”

  “All right then, listen up!” Captain O’Malley ordered. “We are lookin’ fer two or three dozen galloglaighs fit ta fight and ready ta rip into enna and everra English ship we come across. We may hate the English, but our loathin’ disrespect is nothin’ compared ta the Scottish sentiment. We’ll go into Ardrossan and spread the word that we need good fighters ta beat back the English. They’ll flock ta the harbor when they hear it’s fer the Queen a’ Connacht.”

  One Eye spoke up. “Sir? Beggin’ yer pardon, but oughten’ ya stay wi’ the ship in case the Judith is near?”

  Grace O’Malley opened her mouth to reply, but she paused for a moment before answering. “I suppose ya make a solid point, One Eye. Innis, ya take the Seconds into town and shake the galloglaighs loose. I’ll give ya till sundown, then ya better be back on the ship with Scots in tow. Do not make me come after ya.”

  “Yes, sir.” Innis barked out orders, and in no time two of the smaller boats were launched toward Scotland.

  Quinn still couldn’t stifle her curiosity. “So the galloglaighs... they are foreign fighters from where? The Highlands?”

  “Aye, but mostly the Hebrides,” Fitz replied. “Ya don’t wanna fight a glass. They hit hard and are verra hard ta bring down.”

  “Hard?”

  “They know no fear and live fer fightin’. Not necessarily killin’, but fightin’. And they aren’t scared a’ dyin’. Ya don’t wanna fight a man who isn’t afraid a’ dyin.’”

  Quinn cocked her head at Fitz. “Ya’ve faced one.”

  “Aye. And barely lived ta tell the tale. Could’ve kilt me if he’da wanted, but he said he liked my style.”

  “Ya understood him?”

  Fitz nodded. “Me mother was Scots.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I survived.”

  “The glass should be respected,” One Eye said. “Never, ever turn yer back on one. Never let one live after a fight, and never, ever put yer life in their hands. They will kill ya everra time.”

  “Everra time?”

  “Everra single time.”

  ***

  When they got to the pier, it was almost nine in the morning, and the scent of breakfast filled the air.

  “Come on, Innis,” one man whined. “A man can’t work on an empty belly.”

  Innis hesitated until his stomach growled as well. “Fine then, ya empty wells a’ nothin’ good. Grab a bite. A quick one, mind ya. We need ta roust up some glass and be gone by sundown.”

  They’d been inside the Blue Whale Tavern for less than an hour when Fitz suddenly looked up and listened.

  “What is it, Fitz?”

  “Grab yer shite. Somethin’s goin’ on.”

  The crew jumped to their feet, swords out, ready to fight.

  “Outside,” Innis commanded. “Quickly.”

  When the crew hurried out to the small courtyard, they found themselves staring down at three dozen ten-foot long pikes directed at them from all sides. The pikes had sharpened blades on one end that looked like they had seen their fair share of blood and gore.

  “Who’s in charge?” a large, barrel-chested Scotsman demanded in Irish Gaelic.

  Innis stepped forward until the pike tip touched his shoulder. “I am. I am second ta Captain Grace O’Malley, Queen a’ Connacht, chief––”

  “There’s but one queen in this land, sir, and her name is Mary. Put yer weapons away or we’ll run ya all through where ya stand.”

  Fitz bowed his head as he did what they ordered and whispered, “These are not glass. These are royal soldiers a’ Mary, Queen a’ Scotland.”

  Innis slowly sheathed his sword. “Ya will not fight us man ta man?”

  The big Scot laughed. “The only way ta fight a pirate is from afar. We’re not here ta kill ya. If we were, ya’d be dead already.”

  “No? Then why are ya here?”

  “Where is Grace O’Malley, scourge of the seas?”

  “Ya mean the Queen a’ Connacht?”

  “I meant––”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  The smile remained on the Scot’s face. “We saw her ship. We know yer here fer those bloody galloglaighs... collectin’ those bloody bastards like week-old trash. Now, where is she?”

  “She died fightin’ an English ship two days ago,” Quinn offered. “The Judith.”

  The Scot did not take his eyes off Innis. “Well, we shall see how dead she is. Ya––” He jabbed his pike at Innis. “Return ta yer ship with these others and tell Grace O’Malley if she does not show herself by noon tomorrow, we will kill everra one a’ ya and mount yer heads fer all ta see what happens when ya land on Scottish soil with ill intent.”

  Innis hesitated.

  “Reach fer yer weapon, boy, and a dozen a’ ya will be dead afore ya can pull it all the way out.”

  Innis looked around at the pikes pointed at them. “And if she is dead?”

  “Then so are the rest a’ ya. Ya can join the trash ya keep tryin’ ta pick up.”

  Innis looked at Connor. “Keep everraone together. Don’t panic. Don’t fight until––”

  “Yer wastin’ time,” Connor said. “Find the captain. Bring her ta––” Connor looked up. “Where are ya takin’ us?”

  “Dumbarton Castle. Ya just bring O’Malley ta the tavern. We will take it from there.”

  Innis hesitated. “I don’t... I don’t know if the captain will return. Leavin’ the ship––”

  “We’ll be fine.” Quinn said. “Just get going. They mean us no harm. They clearly want the captain.”

  Innis nodded and growled, “Stay alive, damn ya.”

  When he was gone, Connor stepped up to the pikes. “We will come willingly. We’ve got no issue with ya or yer queen.”

  “Smart lad. Our orders were ta bring ya ta the castle. If ennaone does ennathin’ foolish, they will die. Are we clear, lads from Ireland?”

  “We’ll not be foolish,” Quinn said, as they started walking. Nudgin
g Connor, she muttered, “At least... not yet.”

  ***

  The dungeon of Dumbarton Castle was musty and smelled of decay and rotting flesh. The stone walls leaked a substance that may or may not have been water, and the light was dim and dirty looking, if light could ever be considered such. If there was air, it was stale and unmoving, chilly and damp, suffocating and disgusting.

  The crew was locked in a large cell, but not before their weapons were piled outside of it as they were given a warning to keep the racket down.

  “Ya think she will come?” Quinn asked.

  “I do,” One Eye replied. “Grace O’Malley would never leave us ta die in here. Have faith in her.”

  “It is not her I doubt. She would come after us... unless she... unless she couldn’t.”

  “And why couldn’t she?” Connor chimed in. “What do ya mean?”

  “If she was under attack. If the ship was attacked. That would be the only reason Captain O’Malley would leave us. Even then, she’d come back the moment it was safe ta do so. Have faith, I say. Have faith,” One Eye said.

  Faith ticked by slowly.

  One hour turned into five. The dungeon was wet, damp, mildewy, and dank, but what struck Quinn the most was that no one else was in it.

  Just them.

  Them and the huge black rats making that squealing sound as they skittered across the damp stone floor.

  “So this is where Mary Stuart lives?” One Eye asked.

  “No, ya dolt. This is one a’ her summer residences. She’s not been queen long enough ta have made her own palace, Connor replied.

  “She should be rulin’ England, not her bastard cousin. Mary would let us be, but that Elizabeth? She’s a greedy bitch who didn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “Keep yer voices down,” Quinn snapped. “They are cousins, after all, and family is family.”

  That seemed to quiet the men down. About half of them lay on the filthy ground and tried to sleep even as rats crawled all around them.

  Fitz pulled Quinn aside. “How well do ya know the captain?”

  She shrugged. “Well enough, why?”

  “Think she’ll come? Think she’ll really leave the ship ta come fer us?”

  Quinn looked around at the dampness. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “I don’t. Not with English ships makin’ their way around. We need ta find a way outta here. The captain has a responsibility ta the ship. We canna think she can come rescue us.”

  “Find a way? Fitz, we’re in a dungeon.”

  He shook his head. “No, Callaghan, we are not. We are in a place that is supposed ta be a dungeon. No guards are down here; there’s no one else imprisoned. No marks on the walls. I’m guessing ya might be skinny enough ta slide through that set a’ bars over there.”

  Quinn looked at the space between the bars. If she took her jerkin off, she just might get through... but to do so would be to reveal her true nature and lose the love and respect of the men she now cared for.

  “I... I suppose I could. Perhaps we should wait fer nightfall, when it would be easier ta get through unseen.”

  Fitz grinned. “Yer a smart one, lad. Then ya’ll try it?”

  Quinn nodded. “Aye. Then what?”

  “Then ya find the keymaster. They’re usually not far from the dungeon.”

  “Fitz, we can’t possibly fight our way out of here. Did ya see all those guards when we came in? And there are too many of us ta try ta move quietly through the castle.”

  “Let me worry about that. Fer now, we need ta figure a way outta here in case Captain O’Malley canna come ta get us.”

  Although Quinn couldn’t imagine any scenario where Grace would leave them to die, she also knew Grace’s hands were tied in terms of bringing more men to a Scottish monarch’s castle. That would mean her coming alone, and that was never a wise move.

  Mary Stuart had only been sitting regent for eight months, and not many knew her thoughts about how to handle the Irish, but she seemed amenable to negotiations. She had her hands full staving off her cousin. While it was clear Elizabeth wanted to subsume Ireland like her father before her, Mary had shown no such interest. Perhaps because of their close proximity or her fervent Catholic leanings, Mary, a Catholic ruling a Protestant nation, had a soft spot for Ireland.

  Elizabeth carried no such inclination.

  As a Protestant ruling a Catholic nation, Elizabeth’s only goal was to reap what she could from the island and keep her father’s Catholic nobles from joining a Scottish rebellion.

  Whatever the case, it would be political suicide for a “queen” of Ireland to come to Dumbarton Castle, with or without troops.

  As the men began to drop off to sleep, Quinn wondered if she hadn’t put too much faith in Grace O’Malley. Maybe she’d underestimated the situation. Maybe Grace would roll the dice for their lives and hope they managed to free themselves.

  Fitz was the last one to nod off, and when the one torch flickered, and then died, Quinn made her move. Slipping out of her jerkin, she inhaled her breath, sucked her body in as much as she could, and painfully squeezed through the bars near the bottom left of the darkened cell. A couple of times, men moved about to get comfortable, but other than that she was, with some effort, able to free herself from the cell.

  Grabbing her jerkin, she pulled it on as quickly as she could and made her way through the creepy, narrow passageways of the small, makeshift dungeon.

  When she came upon the pile of their swords, Quinn grabbed an armful and returned to the cell, where she carefully pushed them through the bars. She did this three times, never once waking men she knew could sleep through a hurricane.

  “I’ll be right back,” she whispered to no one in particular before making her way to the dark stairs. She knew there had to be a guard on the other side of the door at the top. She also knew she could not kill him. Killing a Scot now would be the death of them all. Instead, she did the only thing she knew to do, the one thing that would get a man’s complete attention: she removed her shirt and leather band that kept her small breasts even smaller.

  Glancing down at her pert breasts, she shook her head. Never in her life had she imagined using her body in such a foul manner, but if it saved the lives of the crew, she would parade about naked if she had to.

  When she knocked on the door, the guard opened it with sword drawn. He opened his mouth to say something, saw her chest, lowered his sword, and she knocked him unconscious two seconds later by the flat side of her blade.

  The clock started ticking at that moment. Searching him for keys, Quinn found nothing, so she continued ahead, this time with shirt on and leather strap fastened down around her waist. She’d already formulated a plan, but if she pulled this off, if it went the way she envisioned, everything would change for her.

  Everything.

  But none of that mattered. She sure as shite could not find Shea if she languished in a Scottish dungeon, and she certainly wouldn’t sit around doing nothing while they waited to see if Grace would come.

  No, this had to be done—and as quickly as possible.

  As Quinn moved through the next level of the castle, she heard girls giggling. She froze and waited for them to go on their way. The castle was waking up, and Quinn knew she had but a small window of opportunity. Once that guard recovered his senses, every one of the men in that cell would be in danger.

  As the three young ladies exited their chambers, Quinn snuck into the next room and closed the door.

  The atrium was well lit, and there was a seating area in the front of the room that led to two doors she presumed were bedrooms.

  Opening one of the doors, she went right to the vanity and started cleaning her face, brushing her hair, and making herself as feminine as she could with the powders and rouge pots sitting on the small vanity. Quinn brushed her clothes off, threw her shoulders back, and exited the room, hoping to grab a dress that might fit her.

  As she started out the door, she heard a woman cl
ear her throat.

  Quinn froze.

  “I could scream, or you could tell me what it is you are doing in my chambers.”

  Slowly turning around, Quinn found herself face-to-face with a beautiful young woman with deep-set blue eyes, full lips, and a button nose. “Uh... I’d greatly appreciate it if you chose not to scream.” Her Scottish Gaelic was passable, but the accent was deplorable.

  The young woman grinned. “Oh my. You’re Irish. I’ve never met one of you.”

  Quinn swallowed loudly. “Aye. That I am, and I mean you no harm, m’lady. I swear.”

  The woman cocked her head. “Truly? No harm? You sneak into my room dressed like a... a... ”

  “A pirate.”

  “Yes! Quite. A pirate. I’ve never met any of those, either. You sneak into my room and you tell me you mean me no harm in your terrible accent. How do I know this is true? If you mean me no harm, then whatever are you doing here?” The woman stepped closer. Quinn could smell roses and mint.

  “Your queen’s men brought us here from town. We... ” Quinn considered lying, then thought better of it. She didn’t have the time to invent a story. “My men are in the dungeon.”

  “Dungeon? That old rat hole? It’s hardly fit for a dungeon.”

  Quinn nodded. “Nevertheless, my crew is being held, and I want them returned unharmed.”

  The young girl tilted her head this way and then that. “You’re a woman. Fascinating. A female pirate? I am intrigued. Whatever is a female pirate doing in the chambers of one of the queen’s ladies in waiting?”

  Shaking her head, Quinn felt the grains of sand slipping too quickly through the hourglass. “It is a long story I do not have time for. I am here because I want... no, I need a meeting with Mary Stuart.”

  The woman let out a polite chuckle. “You, a privateer, wish for an audience with our very busy queen? And how, pray tell, were you planning on doing that?”

  Quinn sat down on the tufted couch, defeat beginning to overwhelm her. “To be honest, I have no idea. I figured... if I told her who I was... she might grant me an audience.”

  “And who are you that Mary, Queen of Scots, would do such a thing?”

  Inhaling deeply, Quinn changed her mind about lying. “Why, I am none other than Grace O’Malley, Queen of Connacht, chieftain of the O’Malley clan, and I am here for the release of my crew and clan members.”