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

by Alex Westmore

  “Ennathin’?” Tavish asked in his thick Scottish brogue.

  “Not yet, but if she’s out there, I’ll find her.”

  “And if she’s not?”

  “She will be. Grace O’Malley has an uncanny ability ta see tempests that haven’t even formed yet. She will see this one as well.”

  “Ya put a lot a’ faith in a woman.”

  Quinn tilted her head toward him. “That woman is the best captain on the sea, Tavish, and you’d best remember that.”

  The boat became silent as the oars cut through the water. The sun’s forehead poked over the horizon, and Quinn searched and searched as the sun slowly rose. She wasn’t going to give up now. She’d been with Captain O’Malley long enough to know she would never stop until she found her crew.

  It was that loyalty in the captain that bred the kind of loyalty Quinn was experiencing now. She would rather die on this boat than fail her friends.

  Then she saw it.

  The red and black flags fluttering at the top of the mainsail.

  “There! There she is!” Quinn said, pointing straight ahead. “She’s coming!”

  The captain of the boat ordered a series of different strokes that propelled them through the swells toward the Malendroke, which was bearing down on Drake’s at a pace that told Quinn all she needed to know about Grace’s state of mind. She was coming in hard and fast to attack.

  “If the Judith fires on us, we are sittin’ ducks.”

  “They won’t waste a shot on us.” Quinn said. “They need ta engage Captain O’Malley right away so while she fights, the English on the ship can get out before she sinks it.”

  Quinn climbed up a small rope net, tucked her legs through the netting, and faced the direction of the Malendroke.

  As the ship barreled toward them, Quinn started waving her hands over her head. She had waved nine or ten times when a cannon fired from the Judith toward the Malendroke.

  The shot went long, tearing through a small mast before landing in the water behind the large ship.

  Quinn kept waving, waiting to see if the Judith would fire again. She could see Grace O’Malley in her mind’s eye; she could picture the way Grace always scanned the seas with her scope. Grace would see Quinn’s boat for sure. Or at least Quinn could only hope she did—before engaging Drake.

  A second shot fired out from the Judith. It missed as well. Quinn knew that was probably the final shot. They had engaged the Malendroke now, and Grace pulled broadside for her canons.

  “Oh god... no... no, Grace. Don’t fire.” Quinn waved her hands and yelled louder as the boat bobbed like a cork on the water.

  Instead of another shot from Drake, Quinn watched as a small boat rowed away from the Judith, carrying Drake’s crew to safety.

  “There they go!” Quinn yelled to the deck below. “Ya got a song?”

  “A what?”

  “A song! A fucking song! Start singing. She’ll hear us if ya all sing at the top of yer lungs.”

  Tavis nodded. “‘Wenches and Wine,’ laddies! Start singin’ that blasted song ya sing at the tavern!”

  The men looked at each other and did nothing, so Tavish started singing. Soon, the others joined him, the cacophony of voices carrying out over the sea.

  “Come on, Innis. Hear us! Look over here!” The Malendroke was close enough for Quinn to see both Innis and Grace peering through their scopes. They were looking for that noise.

  “She’s slowin’ down!” came a call from one of the men. “Yeah, slowin’ down, fer sure!”

  Quinn scrambled off the netting. “Pull alongside her! Get as close as ya can, and don’t stop singing!”

  Her boat slid to the side as the Malendroke slowed down, its sails adjusting to the wind, the oars digging in, using the water to slow itself.

  Why hadn’t Grace returned fire? That was so unlike her.

  The waves crashed hard into both ships, and Quinn had to hold on to the rope ladder as the ship got closer and created a huge wake.

  And the men kept singing.

  “No other fire from the Judith,” one of the crew said to Quinn. “Ya may be right about there bein’ no English aboard.”

  “I am right.”

  Then she saw him. Innis was waving back to her and pointing her out to Grace, who was staring back at her now with those hawk-eyes of hers.

  “She’s seen us! Ya can stop singing.”

  As the singing quickly died down, Quinn looked up as Murphy tossed a rope ladder over the side, where it landed in the water.

  Quickly rowing over to the side of the ship, Quinn motioned to Tavish. “Come on, Tavish. The rest of ya, I owe. Thank ya fer putting yer backs into it—and yer voices as well.”

  The two ships bobbed side by side in the water as Quinn scrambled to the side.

  “Callaghan?” Murphy said through the mist, looking down at her. “That ya?”

  “Aye, friend, it’s me! Tell the captain not ta fire! Hold her fire!” Quinn climbed up, unable to see if Tavish was following after her.

  Once at the top, she felt Murphy’s hands under her armpits as he ripped her over the side, where she landed with a thud. She was stunned to see Murphy do the same to Tavish, who landed heavily next to her with an “oof.”

  Tavish reached for his sword, but Quinn stopped him. “No. This is my crew. We’re fine.”

  Murphy growled. “Who’s this Scottish bloke?”

  Jumping to her feet, Quinn answered as she touched Murphy’s arm. “He’s an ally, Murph, on loan from Lady Fiona. He is... well... here ta protect me.”

  Murphy released his hilt. “Captain’s spittin’ fire, Callaghan. She’s gonna blow Drake’s ship ta tiny bits. She––”

  “Is about ta draw blood against that Drake vermin, Callaghan!” Grace yelled as she stormed across the deck, hair flowing wildly behind her, sword waving in the air. “What the bloody hell is goin’ on? Ya better have a damn good reason why yer out here without the rest a’ the crew!”

  Quinn threw her shoulders back. “Captain, Drake’s men are not on the Judith,” Quinn said quickly as Grace set upon her. “Our men are.”

  Grace lowered her sword. “What?”

  “He collected our crew from town last night and put us on the Judith. He wants ya ta fire on the ship. They have already rowed away from the port side.”

  “It is a ship now filled with only yer men,” Tavish added for emphasis.

  Captain O’Malley blinked. “What? Are ya sayin’ Drake is sacrificin’ his ship so that I kill my own men on it?”

  Quinn nodded. “His brother, or cousin––some bloke named John Hawkins—has purchased another ship. They care not at all about the Judith––only about killing our crew and ruining ya, sir.”

  Grace paced back and forth as she took this information in. “What kind a’ devil are we dealin’ with here? What kind a’ man would sink his own ship?”

  “One who is trying ta destroy ya, Captain. This is personal, sir. He knows if ya kill yer own men, ya will be destroyed, and he wants ta destroy ya fer humiliatin’ him.”

  Grace looked at the Judith, at Quinn, and back to the Judith. “My men are truly on that ship?”

  “Yes, sir, they are. I was with them, but I escaped and got help. Ya have ta trust me. Firing on that ship will only kill our own men. The English are long gone from it, sir. The only option open ta us is ta go get our men and hope we can get back in time ta sink the new ship Hawkins procured.”

  Grace turned to Innis and said through gritted teeth. “Pull us alongside the Judith. Do not fire on that ship unless I tell ya.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grace O’Malley looked over at Tavish as if seeing him for the first time. “Who might ya be?”

  He bowed. “Lady Fiona sent me ta insure Callaghan’s protection and success. I have orders ta make sure Callaghan and yer crew are escorted safely outta these waters.”

  “She sent a Scotsman?”

  “She sent the best she had, ma’am... uh... s
ir.”

  Grace turned to Quinn. “Yer tellin’ me Drake grabbed my crew from shore, took ’em ta his ship and then fired on me so that I then kill my own crew?” She shook her head. “English evil is what that is. Pure and simple.”

  “Is there enna other kind a’ English?” Tavish asked.

  Grace almost grinned. “Yer certain there are no Englishmen aboard that ship?”

  “I am, sir. Our men are in the slave hold. Gimp and I managed ta free ourselves. I took the rowboat ta shore, and Lady Fiona sent her men with us ta the dock ta get this ship, so we could reach ya before ya sunk the damn thing.”

  Captain O’Malley barked sailing orders, and everyone stepped up and did as told. When she was done, she turned to Quinn once more. “We’re boardin’ that ship like we would enna other–– ready ta fight and draw first blood.

  Quinn nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  “Why do ya call her sir?” Tavish whispered.

  “She prefers it. It’s easier.”

  “I see.” Tavish shook his head. “Well, not really.”

  The two ships were nearly side-by-side when Grace ordered the Firsts to board. The crew crawled over the Judith like ants on a piece of candy.

  Quinn started, but Innis stopped her. “Captain wants ya and yer Scot ta stay here.”

  “My––”

  “Scot, laddie. He’s talkin’ aboot yers truly.”

  “Captain, I can fight. Tavish can fight. Don’t make us––”

  Grace whirled around. “Callaghan, have ya looked at yer clothes? Yer not really fit ta fight dressed like some dandy.”

  Quinn looked down at her clothes. It was true––she was wearing the foppish nobleman’s clothing Fiona had given her. Fighting clothes, they were not. “I’ll change straightaway, sir.”

  “No. Stay and prepare ta defend. Just in case.” Grace pulled her swords out and waited.

  As the newly freed crewmembers crossed the planks and jumped onto the Malendroke’s deck, Quinn heaved a relieved sigh. When she saw Connor, a huge smile spread across her face.

  “Good work,” Connor said, hugging Quinn hard and patting her hard on the back. “I was a little worried ya weren’t gonna make it back in time.” He stood back and looked her over. “Didja stop at a ball before ya got here, ya fop?”

  Quinn punched him in the arm. “Jackass.”

  Captain O’Malley uncharacteristically hugged Connor and then turned back to Quinn. “Ya done good, Callaghan. We’ll talk about all this later, but fer now, is there ennathin’ on this ship we can use?”

  Quinn shook her head. “No, sir. Maybe a few weapons, but not much. Not worth our time. It’s a slaver ship, pure and simple.”

  “Good.” Captain O’Malley called for the Thirds to go aboard and set fire to the ship. “That bastard will be surprised ta learn he lost his ship fer no good reason. Everra man ta yer stations. We don’t wanna be close when that ship dies.”

  “Scuttle it, sir?”

  “Aye. Scuttle it, burn it, hail fire and brimstone on it, but make sure it disappears from the face a’ the earth.”

  And that was precisely what her men did, with pleasure.

  As Quinn and the rest of the crew helped move the Malendroke away while the Judith began glowing, Quinn cut her eyes over at Grace. She stood ramrod straight, her arms akimbo, with a look of pure hatred on her face. “That motherfucker is goin’ ta pay fer this, Callaghan. Maybe not here and not now, but one day, that arrogant Englishman will pay, and when he does, he’s gonna feel it ta the marrow a’ his bones.”

  Quinn looked around the deck. “Where’s Gimp?”

  One Eye looked down and shook his head. “They musta tossed him overboard, because we looked everrawhere fer him. I don’t think he made it.”

  Quinn’s hand went to her mouth. She never thought the crew would kill a man who could barely fight back. “Ya don’t think... ”

  “He wasn’t on the ship, Callaghan. We looked everrawhere. More’n likely, they kilt him and chucked him over the side.”

  Quinn held her breath as if doing so would keep her emotions in check. “Poor Gimp. Are ya certain?”

  “Aye. He’s not on board that ship.”

  Quinn wondered briefly if the English took him with them.

  But why?

  The men all stood at the railing and watched the other ship come apart.

  Once the Judith crumbled and sank, Grace ordered the Malendroke back to port. “Kill enna and everra Englishman ya can find, boys. Run ’em through, take their heads off, but make them bleed. Do it fer Gimp. Do it fer us.”

  “Yer captain isna someone ya want ta be on the wrong side of,” Tavish said softly to Quinn.

  Quinn nodded. “I’m afraid that Francis Drake has just made one of the worst enemies of his life.”

  ***

  Drake had changed Grace. He had threatened to kill her crew, and that fact made this personal. So when she told the men they were going in for repairs and to cut the deadwood from the crew list, Quinn wasn’t a bit surprised that Patrick was on that list, and a part of her was glad for it. She had assumed Grace might have kept him because of his familial relationship to Quinn.

  She’d assumed incorrectly.

  As she and Patrick stood together on the dock to say their farewells, Patrick asked, “Any word for Father?”

  “Just tell him I am precisely where I need to be and that I will come home when I can. No need to keep up the school pretense any longer, Paddy. Tell him the truth.” Walking over to a fruit merchant, Quinn purchased an orange that was not nearly as healthy-looking as the ones Murphy usually gave to her.

  Patrick nodded. “I feel like I’ve let you down.”

  Quinn handed the merchant a coin in exchange for the orange. “You have done no such thing. The pirate life is not for you. It never has been. Be fine with that. I am.”

  “That’s just it. It isn’t for me, but how on earth could it be for you? Look at yourself. Your face is bruised, you have that tremendous scar on your eyebrow now, your hair looks like a blind woman cut it with a dull blade, and you have hands as rough as any man’s here.”

  “And yet I’ve never been more fulfilled nor happier than I am when I am on the water. I don’t expect you to understand, brother. I really don’t.” Tearing into the orange, Quinn held it to her nose, closed her eyes and inhaled the scent.

  “Yet, you wish for me to explain your absence to our father... that you have left school and chosen life at sea?”

  “Yes. I cannot keep carrying all of these lies and half truths with me, Paddy, nor do I want or need you to shoulder that burden. Tell him that. Do not elaborate, but let him know I have found the life for me. Besides, he will be so happy to have one of us home.”

  “He’d far rather––”

  “—it be both of us, I know, but it can’t be. Not until I hear word of Shea. And even then, it may never be again.”

  “Shea or no Shea, this crew... this ship... hell, even our captain is indebted to you. And though I have not said as much, I am quite proud of you. You have become a force to be reckoned with, Quinn. You have managed to function better than most men in a man’s world. That’s quite a feat.” Patrick hugged her, then pulled back and slapped her on the back. “Come home soon, Kieran Callaghan, and never forget who you really are.”

  Quinn forced a grin and wiped her eyes. “You’re the best brother in the world, Paddy. Don’t forget it.” Quinn felt such a range of emotion that she thought she would start bawling, but she knew she could not. She was sad, relieved, slightly afraid, and grateful, all at the same time. In the end, she knew Patrick deserved to live his own life just as she deserved to live hers.

  As he walked away, a hand went around Quinn’s shoulders and pulled her into a half embrace.

  “That is what I would like ta know, Callaghan,” Captain O’Malley whispered. “Who are ya, really?”

  Quinn froze.

  Grace laughed that deep, head-back, open-mouthed laugh of hers. “Don’t
look so guilty, Callaghan. I am merely teasin’ ya.” Grace waited for Patrick to disappear before motioning for Quinn to join her back at the ship in her quarters.

  Once in the captain’s room, Grace poured two shots of her best whiskey and slid one over to Quinn. “Have a seat.”

  Quinn sat down and picked up her shot, dreading what was to come.

  Grace studied the amber liquid for a moment. “I do not know if I should respect or fear ya, Callaghan. One minute, ya are facin’ the merry queen a’ Scotland pretendin’ ta be me, and the next, ya are jumpin’ off a boat and swimmin’ ta shore, both times in an effort ta rescue my crew.”

  “The men needed me, sir. I just did what you would have done to ensure their safety.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Callaghan. What ya did was a hair’s breadth from being batty. Ya could have been kilt at enna stage a’ yer escape.”

  “It was take that risk or die in the hold of an English ship. I preferred the former.”

  “I understand that. I owe my crew’s life ta ya, Callaghan, and an O’Malley chieftain always pays her debts.” Grace raised the glass and met Quinn’s glass in midair. “To repayin’ debts.”

  “Aye.” Quinn clinked her glass to the captain’s before shooting the amber liquid down her throat. It burned like swallowing fire for just a moment before smoothing out.

  “So, here’s what we’re gonna do, Kieran Callaghan, or whoever ya are. We’re gonna tear up and down these waters ’til someone tells us where those damn coins came from. Then we’re gonna sail there and put out the word that Grace O’Malley will pay a hefty reward ta ennaone who can lead us ta that boat and that captain who took yer friend.”

  Quinn could only blink back her surprise.

  “Don’t look so shocked. I wouldna have a ship, a crew, a clan, or a life if ya hadn’t gone ta the lengths ya did ta keep me from sinkin’ that boat with my men on it. That would have ruined me and broken my spirit, and my O’Malley spirit is somethin’ I canna put a price on. So, we’re gonna find yer friend, and while we look, we’ll be cruisin’ the seas lookin’ fer that bastard, Drake. Killin’ two birds, as it were. How does that sound ta ya?”

  Quinn thought she would cry. “That sounds mighty fair, sir.”