Cutthroat Crusades (The Plundered Chronicles Book 4)

by Alex Westmore

  Inhaling a deep breath, Quinn felt her head spin, her side scream in pain, and the silence that swiftly closed in around her as she passed out.

  “Where’s Evan?” Quinn asked immediately when she came to.

  Instead of being on the back of a horse, she was ensconced in a room of a castle with a fireplace crackling in a comfortable bed engulfing her, and less pain in her side than before she collapsed.

  “What is this place?” She asked an elderly woman entering the room of a tray of food. “Where is Evan?”

  “Well, hello there. Good to see you are still with us. You are at Kilravock Castle.”

  “What . . . what am I doing here? And where is Evan?”

  “Doing? Why, presently, you’re not doing much of anything.”

  Quinn lifted the covers to find herself in a man’s night dress. Her wound no longer hurt or bled.

  “One last time. Where. Is. Evan?”

  The old woman lightly touched Quinn’s shoulder. “She is in the next room. She is alive and will be fine, physically. Your men brought you to the home of Hugh Pope.”

  Quinn blinked. “The Black Baron?” Like everyone else in Scotland knew, Hugh Pope was a trusted friend of Queen Mary, and she spoke often and kindly of the man. Even Tavish had expressed his regard and respect for the accomplished tenth Laird of Castle Kilravock

  “One and the same. My master got word there was a struggle between the glaigh and those blasted Reivers, so he sent men to help out. They found you and your warrior friends on the road and brought you both here.” She handed Quinn a goblet of water. “Your body needs this.”

  “I have to see her.”

  “And you will. Right now, she is resting and will continue to do so for as long as Gillian demands it.”

  Quinn took several gulps and settled into the bed. “She’s here? Gillian?”

  The old woman nodded. “Aye. She will be in here shortly. She is changing bandages.”

  “Bandages?”

  “Oh yes. Several of the young men with you were injured in an ambush on the road. One young man, Laing, rode up to the castle with Evan pressed against his chest. He was being chased by many Reivers, all of whom died at the hands of my master’s well-trained archers.”

  Quinn felt her eyelids grew heavy. She knew this feeling well enough now to know she’d been drugged. “Damn . . . you . . . ”

  The old woman pulled the covers up around Quinn’s chin. “Not me, lass. Gillian. She is just taking care of her charges . . . especially two who do not know how to let their wounds heal.”

  “Then she . . . Evan is all right?”

  “Oh no, my dear, she is most definitely not all right. Your young friend may heal physically, but her spirit? Well, only God can heal that part of her.”

  God.

  Goddess.

  Either one might be able to help Evan, but which one could put the pieces of her soul back together?

  Closing her eyes, Quinn thought about the the dickless Reiver she’d left behind with a large piece of her own soul.

  The next day, Quinn stood at the foot of an empty bed that once held Evan. Gillian stood just behind her, a hand on Quinn’s shoulder.

  “How long has she been gone?” Quinn asked, looking over her shoulder at Gillian.

  Gillian silently shook her head. “Some time in the night. I came to check on her and she was gone.”

  “Of her own free will? Did she just get up and leave, or was she taken?”

  Gillian stood in front of Quinn and placed her hands on Quinn’s shoulders. “No one abducted her, if that is what you are suggesting. Evan is a broken woman who endured more than you or I could ever imagine. She feels dirty, tainted, and impure. Honor is what pulled her from your grasp. Honor and embarrassment. She will see what all they did to her as something that dishonored her, robbed her of her self-respect, and revealed her as the weaker vessel she is. My guess is she could not face you.”

  Quinn felt a flash of rage jolt her. “She is not a broken woman, Gillian, and you dishonor her by suggesting she is! As for being embarrassed? Have you any idea what all we do on a daily basis to stay alive? Nothing embarrasses warriors, and make no mistake about it, Evan is a goddamned warrior.” Tears came to Quinn’s eyes and she impatiently brushed them away. “So I’ll thank you not to speak like that of her again.”

  Gillian took a step back. “I apologize, Callaghan. I meant no offense.”

  “Well, I am offended. She is a strong, resilient warrior and she will heal. She will mend. She is not now, nor will she ever be broken. Understood?”

  Gillian nodded. “Again, my apologies. I misspoke.”

  “But for her, I would have been forced to experience what horrors she experienced. Would you consider me broken as well?”

  “No. I would not. She saved you from the humiliation and soul-crushing degradation she was willing to take on herself. You cannot blame yourself for that. I was just trying to get you to understand why she slipped away in the night without so much as a goodbye. She knew and understood what she was doing when she saved you. She was willing to trade places with you. It is the code of the glaigh. Now, she has disappeared in the night, leaving you to try to understand this is something she has to do for herself.”

  Quinn shook her head. “I do not understand.”

  “Evan must heal on her own. She and she alone must find a peace within herself, the strength to accept what those men did to her. She may verra well never come to you at all. You must prepare yourself for the worst. Her pride, honor, and self-respect were ripped from her. She has gone off to try to mend those wounds.”

  “Alone? She need not be alone to heal.”

  Gillian nodded. “You do not understand the code of the galloglaigh or their seconds. She is doing for herself what no one, not even you, can do for her. She must avenge her own honor. Not you, not Lake, not the clan can do this for her. She must do so on her own. It is my guess that is what she is planning on doing. As for yourself, you need to worry about less about Evan and more about your own wounds. You tore open that which I had sewn together. The wound has been resealed, but you cannot risk tearing it again.”

  Quinn was barely listening. All she could think about was Evan walking alone through the lowlands. “Where would she go?”

  “I can see you will not heed my advice.” Gillian sighed loudly. “What you must understand about the glaigh ways is that our warriors are a proud, proud people. She will return to exact retribution of those who tried to kill her.” She held a hand up to silence Quinn. “And no, she cannot and will not do so with you. This is a journey she must take alone. It is their way.”

  Quinn shook her head. “Go back? How . . . how can she go back there?”

  “How can she not? It is in the best interest of the men you lead to act in a manner that will ensure their safety. Evan made her choice, and it is one her people will support and understand. It is time you made yours. Whatever you choose to do, the Black Baron would like a word with you before you leave. It is the least you could do for all he has provided you and yours. He is in the library. Nara has cleaned your clothes and left them on your bed. I will take you when you are ready.”

  Quinn wiped the remains of the tears from her eyes. “The world is becoming an uglier place, Gillian, when men can do such horrors to women.”

  “Men have always done horrific acts to women, Callaghan. You simply have been fortunate enough to have never been treated in such a manner. More women than not suffer at the hands of men, Callaghan. I daresay you have just been slightly removed from a feminine perspective.”

  Quinn felt a blanket of guilt drop across her shoulders as she thought about Becca and how she had so often been groped and squeezed by calloused hands not belonging to her lover. “How do you know anything about me, Gillian?”

  Gillian smiled softly into Quinn’s face. “Bronwen is my cousin by marriage. I ken more about you, Quinn Gallagher, than you’ve any idea.” Gillian opened the door to Quinn’s guest room.
“Nara will assist you now. There are a couple of glaigh who need my skills far more than you.”

  Quinn quickly reached out and took her hand. “Forgive me for my poor manners and my harsh words. I . . . Evan is my lover, and I simply could not stand by and listen to any more of that kind of talk. Thank you for taking care of me . . . and Evan. I appreciate it more than it might appear.”

  “No apologizes necessary, Callaghan. I wish you luck in your quest and will pray to the goddess your love finds the peace she now craves.”

  When Gillian was gone, Nara motioned for Quinn to enter the bed chamber, where her now clean clothes lay on at the foot of the bed.

  Reaching into her bodice, Nara extracted a small linen handkerchief and handed it to Quinn. “She gave this to me outside your door. Told me you were worth everything that happened to her, and if she had to do it all over again, she would make the same choice.”

  Quinn gently took the handkerchief. Slowly opening it, she saw a note written in Scottish. “My Scottish is rudimentary—er, I mean, I can speak it well but I am not great at reading it.”

  “Allow me.” Nara held the handkerchief close to her face. “It says she will love you forever and a day but begs you not to look for her. To repair what has been abused requires a bloodletting that needs no partner. Please respect me for the laoch cuidich I am and tell Lake I am living within the code of honor all glaigh respect and value..Do not blame yourself, sweet Cap. I would do it all again if only to save you. My love now and always—Evan.”

  Quinn had Nara read it five more times until she had it memorized. Then she gently refolded it up and tucked it against her chest and wrapping. “Thank you, Nara.”

  “That young cuidich loves you to the marrow of her bones, but you’re going to have to respect her wishes. To not do so could verra well be the end of her.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Nara.”

  “You’re verra welcome. Come. The Master is waiting in the library.”

  The library was a small room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the same wall as the fireplace.

  In front of the fire sat two chairs facing each other. In one of those chairs sat a very, very thick man with greying hair sideburns and a full black beard. Everything about him looked and felt dark.

  “Captain Callaghan. Welcome to my humble home. Please. Have a seat. Can I get you water? Wine?”

  Surprised by his grasp of Gaelic, Quinn took a seat. “No, thank you. I’ve found your liquid here is often drugged.”

  To her surprise, he chuckled. “Nara has an amazing ability with potions and recipes. I don’t know who has taught whom more.”

  “You speak Gaelic very well.”

  One side of his mouth smiled. “Did you know Cleopatra spoke over a dozen languages fluently? She did so to prevent anyone from trading dishonestly with her. As a merchant and trader with your fine people, I found it . . . profitable to learn the language. I also speak Spanish, Portuguese, English, and French.”

  Quinn looked at the three-foot fire and slowly nodded. “I know about you and your love and respect for Mary, but I am unclear as to why you’re called the Black Baron.”

  “Because I wear black. My ships sails are black, and, I’ve been told, my character is black.” He chuckled deeply.

  “And yet you opened your door to a raped woman and an Irish pirate.”

  He now smiled with his whole face. “Indeed. The glaigh are warriors, fighters, and heroes of my dear friend and monarch. Those Reivers are a pox on us all, and only by an all-out slaughter will we be rid of them. I applaud their efforts.” He now leaned forward. “As I do yours. I understand you served under the pirate queen.”

  Quinn took notice of the past tense. “I did, yes.”

  “That fact alone is your ticket out of here. I am a businessman, captain, and sometimes, the best tool of the trade is knowledge. All I ask for my hospitality is for you to let me know whenever possible, of Queen Elizabeth’s aggressions toward our country.”

  “I can do that.”

  “You don’t wish to know why?”

  Quinn shook her head. “I do not. She is coming, for us, Hugh. Of that, there is no doubt. Her father’s plantation scheme has worked. She has installed her magistrates and governors, and she is sending ships to our coast to go after the Spanish galleons. She has bribed our clan chieftains with useless titles, she has built more churches, and she will soon be our queen as well. So, no, I do not need to know why.”

  “Well, that sums it up, doesn’t it?”

  Quinn rose. “You and your trade ships are welcome in Ireland and Galway, and I would be happy to introduce you to merchants who share your ideas.”

  The Black Baron rose. “Most excellent. I had a feeling you would prove to be more than meets the eye.”

  Not long after their meeting, Seanie, Laing, and Quinn headed out on horseback shortly before dusk, her mind on what and how she would tell Lake about what happened to Evan.

  Lake.

  Quinn knew she would probably see him before Evan did. What would she tell him? How much could she reveal when it was not her story to tell?

  Or was it?

  What Evan did for Quinn, she did out of love. She even admitted she would do it again. None of that would assuage the grief Lake would feel.

  But he had to know, and his ire would not be quelled by words alone. She was actually afraid for how he would react, but he needed to know.

  “So we’re headed to the port?” Laing asked.

  “Aye. My crew will be waiting for me. I am assuming Lake is with them now, and unless something goes terribly wrong, we should make our way there by tomorrow morning.”

  She knew she should never have said anything about something going wrong because it certainly did.

  As they picked their way through the marshes of the lowlands, they came upon several small bands of Reivers who would never make it back to tell their story of what happened when they attacked a pirate and two laoch cuidich.

  By the third group, not only was Quinn a bloody mess, so was her horse. That was how much killing transpired as they made their way to the coast, slashing and hacking their way until, at last, there were not more roadside attacks.

  For her part, Quinn felt a distant coldness to the act of killing now. She had no compunction about severing limbs or slitting a man’s throat. Her torture and killing of Evan’s rapist had changed her.

  Just how much, she was unsure, but she knew that any vestiges of Quinn Gallagher were now long, long gone. She was, for now and always, a murdering pirate.

  Leave no man alive was their battle cry, and it was one she lived with relish and more gusto than she ought. She’d never truly viewed the English as evil or murderers until now. Now, she wanted them dead. She wanted them all dead.

  And, quite suddenly, she finally understood Grace O’Malley and her dangerous maneuver up the Thames. She did not trust any Englishmen, but Elizabeth? She was a lady. She was a woman who was reasonable and honorable. But men? They seemed incapable of reason where women were concerned. Grace had counted on her gender to appease the English queen.

  And it wasn’t just the harmless, playful fucking of tavern wenches. No, what Quinn had witnessed . . . how she had responded in kind would change her forever.

  She could not imagine how it would transform Evan . . . nor did she wish to.

  She would, as Grace had done, cut down the English every chance she got. Grace would water the crops with their blood and make their children be raised in fatherless homes.

  She would treat them as they had treated her and Evan.

  “We’ve kilt us close to thirty men, Callaghan. We’re wearin’ the blood and innards of men too weak or too drunk to fight. Yer fightin’ like a man possessed. Is that how ya plan to lead yer crew?”

  Quinn tilted her head at Seanie. “Why do you ask?”

  “If yer aimin’ to draw blood everra time ya see one. I’d like to be one a yer crew.”

  “Aye. Me, too.�
��

  Quinn frowned. “But you’re laoch cuidich. You’re not pirates. The sea is a verra different place, my friends.”

  “We’re fighters, captain. Trained warriors. We’re both tired as hell of doin’ plebe work fer men old enough to be our fathers. We want action and adventure.”

  “Aye. It’s our time. We see a good leader . . . a strong leader, one who will let us swing our swords without question.”

  “Surely you could use a coupla us on yer crew.”

  Quinn blew out a sigh. Warriors like them would be welcome on board any ship she served on or lead. “Have you ever even been on a ship?”

  The two men looked at each other before shaking their heads.

  “And yet you want to go on one now?”

  “Aye. If you will have us.”

  “We’ll see. I won’t say no, but I won’t say yes yet, either.”

  “If we keep ya alive by the time we get to port?”

  “Then aye. It’s a deal.”

  And the two laoch cuidich hacked and slashed their way through the marshes until, at long last, they found themselves at port, where the Fortune Teller’s crew anxiously awaited.

  Innis and Logan crushed her in a hug that nearly broke her back.

  “Tavish and those glaigh bastards have been up and down the coast lookin’ fer ya, Callaghan, and I don’t mind sayin’ . . . ” Innis stared at her. “Did Logan hug ya too hard?”

  Quinn shook her head as she felt the pain in her side. “I have a sword wound which has not healed is all.”

  Logan frowned. “Maggie better get a look at that, Captain. Can’t have ya goin’ down on us.”

  “Later, Logan. Right now, I need to know where Tavish is.”

  “With the glaigh at a camp just outside of town. There was too many of ’em to take aboard. It’s like they just kept growin’. Warriors came outta nowhere to help.”

  Quinn patted Innis’s shoulder. “Thank you for being here for us upon our return, Innis.”