Cutthroat Crusades (The Plundered Chronicles Book 4)

by Alex Westmore

  Lady Killigrew’s features soften. “Oh, dear. I am so sorry.”

  “As am I, but it is neither here nor there now. What’s done is done. Where are the men?”

  “On their way to a long night or a week of drunkenness, I’m afraid. Come. They will be glad to see you. Tavish asked for you the moment he came back.”

  Quinn followed Lady Killigrew into the manor. She’d obviously laid out quite a feast for the returning warriors, who were eating and drinking more somberly than she’d ever seen. There was no laughter, no singing, no ribaldry—just a group of morose men drowning their immense sorrow over the loss of their beloved monarch.

  “They’ve been so quiet as to be frightening. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Quinn slowly turned to her. “Were you . . . waiting for me outside?”

  “No. Actually, I was waiting on a messenger, but seeing you arrive was far better.”

  Suddenly, Fitz’s voice rose through the crowd. “It’s Callaghan.”

  Tavish’s head popped up, and he immediately made his way to her with Lake right on his heels.

  “Damn good to see ya lad,” Tavish said, crushing her in a hug. “I s’pose ya’ve heard the saddest of tales.”

  Quinn pulled away and gazed into Tavish’s sad and weary eyes. “Aye. I’m sorry to hear it.”

  Tavish sighed. “So that’s it. Scotland will be doomed to be ruled by the English sooner than later. Ya best take the men home to Ireland lad. Save yerselves. Save yer kin.”

  Quinn didn’t need to be any closer in order to smell the ale on his breath. “Go back to your drink, my friend. You deserve it.”

  Tavish shook his head. “Not yet. Was told ya went lookin’ fer Evan. Did ya find him?”

  Quinn thought about lying for just a moment, but she thought better of it. “I did.”

  “And?” Lake said, elbowing Tavish aside.

  “And you were right. She did not wish to be found. I should have listened to you. I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

  “It is not yer fault ya doona understand our ways. Ya believe me to be calloused and uncarin’ because I do not chase after someone who do not want to be chased. Evan kens his own mind. He kens he is broken and apart from his spirit. It is not ennaone else’s place to try to mend that spirit. When Evan is ready, he will return to the galloglaigh where he belongs. Until then, he is best left alone to heal.”

  Quinn bowed her head and fought back the tears that wanted to come. “You’re right. I did not understand . . . but I believe I do now. The person I spoke with was not the one who loves me. This I know.”

  “Then waste no more tears or words on him. Only time will heal some wounds of a warrior. Give the lad time.”

  Looking up at his blue eyes, Quinn shook her head. “I hate your fucking code of honor. You should all be going to get Evan. Don’t you care?”

  Tavish cleared his throat. “I hate to say it, lad, but it truly is time fer ya to get yer men home. Evan is now just a part of yer past. What ya need to be fightin’ fer is yer future. Ireland’s future. Ya’ve done all ya can and much more.”

  “Go home to Ireland and do what, Tavish? Plunder English and Spanish ships? To what end?”

  Tavish gulped down the rest of his ale. “To prepare yer people fer the English, lad! They’re comin’, of that there is no doubt.”

  Lake slowly nodded.

  “And leave you here?”

  “Aye. Maggie and I will return to our home to pack, to say our goodbyes, and then we will make our way to ya. Without Mary, Scotland hasna chance. If ya doona mind, we’d like to live out our days with the likes of these bloodthirsty bastards on board a ship. We’ve discussed it, and she agrees with me.”

  A wave of relieve rolled over Quinn. She had suffered too many losses as it was. Losing Tavish as well would have just been heartbreaking. “I’d like that, my friend. I’d like that very much.”

  “Good. Then tomorrow, you said, to home. Lake and his men will assure Maggie and I reach our house safely. How does that sound to ya?”

  “Good. It—it sounds goods. My crew is at my manor.”

  Tavish’s eyebrows rose. “Are they now? The one ya purchased all those years ago?”

  Quinn grinned. “Aye. The one you told me not to waste my time on.”

  “Too close to Fiona Moynihan, if ya ask me, but ya didn’t. Be careful going back there, lad. She is still is a married woman, and yer still a pirate.”

  Indeed, she was, but Quinn couldn’t help but wonder—for how long would she remain alone on the deck of a ship?

  “Ya ken I doona do goodbyes, lad.”

  “Yeah, and you ken that’s not what this is!” Quinn grabbed Tavish in a bear hug. He still reeked of the party from the night before.

  After all the men had sufficiently drowned their sorrows, the glaigh showed the rest of them how they handled the deaths of their loved ones.

  To say it was a party would be like saying the sun was just a lantern.

  The revelry didn’t end until nearly four in the morning. For her part, Quinn drank but stayed sober enough to make sure no one wound up in the water.

  Lady Killigrew said her goodbyes around midnight.

  “You have an uncertain future ahead of you, Callaghan, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” Lady Killigrew walked out into the moonlight to address Quinn, who’d been staring up at the bright orb.

  “Aye. Most futures are, are they not?”

  “Well, that depends. Surely you know of a druid who can give guidance where that’s concerned.”

  “I do, but she is a reluctant seer. More of a healer, really.”

  “Oft times they are one and the same.” Lady Killigrew stood next to Quinn as the soft sound of the waves lapped against the dock. “I am so sorry to hear about your . . . friend. I had so hoped good fortune for you.”

  Quinn’s only reply was a nod.

  “But surely you realize that as a laoch cuidich, Evan would never have been able to commit to a life with you—an Irishman, and a pirate at that. It is much like a cat falling in love with a dog.”

  Quinn slowly turned her head. “But I love her.”

  “Oh, Callaghan, so young, so sweet, and so naïve. Love is never enough. There is so much more to relationships. Look at Grace O’Malley. You loved her, and yet you still took her men. You love your men, yet you sent them home. Love is just one building block, my dear. You and the cuidich live in separate worlds. You need a woman who lives in yours. Trust me in this. When you find her, you will know. To the marrow of your pirate bones, you’ll know.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for all you’ve done for me and my men, if I can ever fully repay you—”

  “You’re very welcome. If you ever come across anything of historical significance that you cannot figure out what to do with, please remember me.” Reaching out, she lightly touched Quinn’s shoulder. “And know you are always welcome here.”

  When Lady Killigrew returned to the hall, Quinn glanced up at the moon one more time before turning and nearly running into Maggie and Tavish.

  “I’m taking my husband to bed,” Maggie said softly, threading her arm through Tavish’s “We’ll be leaving at sunup, and I believe he means to leave without a goodbye.”

  Quinn smiled. “He does not say goodbye.”

  “I imagined that to be so, so here we are to say we shall see you in Ireland once we have secured our things and taken care of some business.” Maggie released Tavish and hugged Quinn. “Take care of your heart, Callaghan. It is the best part of you.”

  “Thank you, Maggie. For everything.”

  “It is I who should be thanking you, Callaghan. You gave me the greatest gift this woman could ever long for. Now, I’ll leave you to it.”

  When Maggie retreated within, Tavish wobbled slightly.

  “You’re very drunk, my friend.”

  “Aye, lad. That I am. I’ll still not tell ya goodbye, lad.”

  “Good.” Quinn knew there was more to come so sh
e waited.

  “That fuckin’ bitch queen will be comin’ fer yer folks, Callaghan. When she does, I will be standin’ by yer side fightin’ fer all I’m worth . . . which isna much these days.”

  “I’ll look forward then, to raising our swords against a common enemy once more.”

  “Yer gonna be fine, Callaghan. Trust me. Yer heart will mend, and ya will find someone to love as I’ve found Maggie.”

  “Well then. Let us hope I do not have to be tortured to do so.”

  Tavish stared at Quinn a long time before shaking his head. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, lad. Yer torturin’ yerself. Ya did everrathin’ ya could to bring Evan back from the darkness, just like we did everrathin’ we could to save Mary. She’ll see that someday. When she does, she’ll come to ya. Just doona wait. Life, as we both ken, is too short fer that.”

  As Quinn stood on the deck the next morning, she knew Tavish was right. She’d done all she could and Evan still rejected her. It was time to focus on those who did love her and did expect her to lead them home.

  “Callaghan?”

  Quinn blinking and returned her attention to Fitz. “Aye?”

  “What will we do once we get home?”

  Turning back to the sea, Quinn closed her eyes and inhaled the salt air she loved so much. “After we eat, drink, and fuck?”

  “Aye.”

  “We do what we do best.”

  “Fight?”

  Quinn smiled. “Aye, Fitz. Fight.”

  The Dublin port was a hub of activity. Ships were coming and going, folks were bartering for goods, and businesses were booming all around the port.

  Once Quinn made certain the Emerald was fully locked down, she waited with Fitz until every man was off ship.

  “Here comes old Hammet,” Fitz muttered, seeing one of their former crewmates walk up onto the ship. “Wonder what he wants.”

  “I wonder how long he’s been waiting.”

  Fitz adjusted his belt. “I’ll stay until we find out whatever it is he’s here to tell ya.”

  Quinn started to talk, then remembered Grace telling her once that the ship and crew were often all these men had. If Fitz wished to remain behind, she would not stop him. “I appreciate that, Fitz.”

  Hammet strode onto the deck like he belonged there and stopped five feet in front of Quinn and Fitz.

  “Hammet.” Quinn nodded.

  “Callaghan. Fitz. Good to see ya both still alive. Is it true what they’re saying about Mary?”

  Quinn nodded. “I’m afraid so. The men witnessed her beheading, and it did not go well.”

  Seanie sighed. “It shouldn’t take two whacks to kill an old woman.” He visibly shuddered.

  “She deserved better,” Hammet said softly. “But I’m not here for that.” He stared hard into Quinn’s face. “Lady Moynihan is in a bad way.”

  Quinn felt her stomach muscles tighten. “What’s wrong?”

  Hammet shrugged. “The babe she was carryin’ did not come out alive. The birthin’ made her sick. Real sick. She sent word to Galway, and one of the boys rode to let us know.”

  Fitz was already grabbing their gear. “I’ll get us horses,” he said.

  “No need, Fitz. I’ve got everrathin’ ya need at the port stable.”

  Quinn grabbed Hammet’s thick forearm. “Does Grace . . . did she send the messenger?”

  Hammet’s eyes softened. “Aye, and not just because she and the Lady are family friends. Ya may have cut her to the quick, Callaghan, but Grace O’Malley doesna let grudges get in the way of doin’ what’s right.”

  “How long have ya been here?”

  “Three days. I’ve got a man ridin’ back from Castle Blackrock with news. She was still alive at the last missive but is fadin’ pretty rapidly. Ya have to hurry, Callaghan, if yer gonna see her before . . . well, before she gives up the ghost.” Hammet wheeled around and started down the plank. “If ya trust me, Callaghan, ya can leave the ship to me once yer gone.”

  Quinn hustled down the plank and shook Hammet’s outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

  “It is what we do fer each other, aye? We may be on different ships, Callaghan, but we’re still family, aye?”

  “Aye.”

  Thirty minutes later, Fitz and Quinn rode hard for Castle Blackrock, Fiona Moynihan’s family estate. Even though Robert had moved them away from the castle, Fiona would have chosen to have her children there. Quinn knew she always felt safer there, and it was no wonder. Her father always employed excellent guards and would hover over her, making sure she was comfortable and safe.

  They rode hard, without stopping but twice to water the horses. Fitz had wanted to get fresh ones, but Quinn liked the pace and agility of her steed and chose to press forward.

  It took nearly eight hours of hard riding before the castle’s turrets loomed in the distance. For the whole of the day, she’d thought about little else but her time with Fiona.

  Quinn had loved Fiona deeply, and they had shared the most intimate of experiences together. In the end, once again, Quinn had chosen a woman who could not be anything other than what she was born to be: a noblewoman with ties to the land. When Quinn finally understood how little she had to offer Fiona and her child, she sadly backed away from the relationship to allow Fiona the chance to fully invest in the only life she was brave enough to live.

  It had broken both their hearts to do so, but it was the only thing to do. Gallagher, Quinn’s namesake, deserved a real family, and as much as it had pained Quinn to admit, she wasn’t that.

  The thought of Fiona not sharing the planet with her brought tears to her eyes. If she’d had time, Quinn would have sought out Bronwen to see about healing Fiona, but something in Hammet’s words betrayed the dire situation.

  She refused to think about it.

  Instead, she put her head down, ignored her tears, and spurred her horse onward.

  When she arrived, Robert held a sword out in front of himself. “You are neither needed nor wanted here.”

  “I beg to differ,” Quinn growled. You set that down, and I’ll let you live. I just want to see her.”

  Robert glanced over at Fitz, who slowly withdrew his sword.

  None of the guards made a move.

  “Draw your weapons!” Robert ordered.

  “We do not take orders from you, sir,” the head guard said. “Callaghan is always welcome here.”

  Quinn and Fitz sped through the castle as if Quinn hadn’t memorized every hallway, every corner to Fiona’s chamber.

  When they arrived at the bedchamber, Robert came right behind them. “She wished not to see me,” he said, bowing his head, as if maybe Quinn’s presence would change Fiona’s reluctance to see her husband. “The fever makes her believe untruths.”

  “I could not care less about the many untruths you’ve told, Robert. You are the least of my concerns.” Quinn motioned with her chin for Fitz to stand by the door. “Where is Gallagher?”

  “My daughter is with the nurse trying to get some food and drink in her.” Robert shook his head. He looked tired and had aged ten years in ten months. “She is as stubborn as her mother. What . . . what will I do if Fiona dies?”

  Quinn stepped right up to his face. “First off, you’ll cease that sort of talk this instant. Secondly, go downstairs and have cook make Gallagher all her favorite foods, then bring them up here on a tray.”

  Robert looked like Quinn had just told him to eat duck shit. “Me? But that’s––”

  “What you’re going to do, Robert. Now go.”

  He hesitated a moment before trudging away.

  “I never liked him,” Fitz said. “Pompous and arrogant. His English blood is too entitled fer my taste.”

  “Well, keep him out. I don’t need his narrative while I am in there.”

  “Aye that, Callaghan. I’ll let no one in without yer orders.”

  “Thank you, Fitz, and thank you most of all for riding so hard with me.”

  “We’
re family, Callaghan. Ya’d have done it fer me.”

  When Quinn opened the door to the chamber, she was smashed in the face by the smell of death. Putrefaction hung in the air with candle smoke and lavender.

  Lord Moynihan leapt to his feet. If he’d ever known Quinn’s real identity, he never let on.

  “By the gods, you came!” He extended his hand to shake Quinn’s. “She has done little save call out your name.”

  Gallagher also left Fiona’s bedside and came toddling to Quinn. “Callaghan!”

  Scooping the two-year-old up in her arms, Quinn pressed her into her chest. For a long, quiet moment, the room was absolutely still.

  “Sick. Mama sick.”

  Quinn set Gallagher down. Bright red hair hung loosely around her shoulders, but she was not dressed like a noblewoman’s daughter typically was. No, she was wearing the leggings Quinn shipped several times a year to Fiona for Gallagher, who wore not only the pants, but also a necklace with a miniature telescope and knife on it.

  “Well, I am here now, little one.”

  “I shall take leave myself,” Lord Moynihan said quietly. “And I will take my granddaughter with me into the study. Take your time with her, Callaghan.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Back soon, Mama,” Gallagher reiterated before leaving with her grandfather.

  “You came.” Fiona reached a thin hand out to Quinn.

  Quinn steeled herself at the sight in front of her. Fiona looked like she was disappearing right before her eyes. Her skin had a grey tint to it, her eyes were sunken over, and her normally beautiful hair was thin and lacked any sheen.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Quinn started to hold Fiona’s hand when Fiona brought Quinn’s hand to her chest.

  “Of course I came. I’m so sorry to hear about the baby . . . ” Quinn’s voice caught. She’d practically delivered Gallagher herself.

  Fiona’s eyes welled with tears. “He . . . he killed her.”

  Quinn thought she heard wrong, so she bent closer. “Who?”

  “Robert. I am convinced he gave me a disease that killed her in the womb.”