Shiver Her Timbers: The Plundered Chronicles

by Alex Westmore

  “Ya fellas lookin’ fer a job?” Tavish asked in Scottish.

  The large fellow with the claiomh mor took one step, the sword resting lazily on his broad shoulder. He was one of the largest men Quinn had ever seen.

  “That depends. Who’s askin’?”

  Quinn studied the giant, who was dressed in plate armor that covered his chest and right arm. Beneath the plate armor he wore a knitted garment that hung just a tad below the waistline of his belt.

  Tavish threw his shoulders back and took a step forward. “I’m askin’.”

  Quinn stood back and said nothing.

  “We come on ships of the Irish pirate queen Grace O’Malley in the name of Mary of Scotland, who is in dire need of our assistance.”

  The warrior did not attempt to hide his surprise. “And where is yer pirate queen?”

  “Collectin’ other warriors as we speak.”

  “So the Irish support Queen Mary.” It was not a question.

  “These Irish do, aye.”

  He looked past Tavish’s shoulders. “Then who is yer captain? Surely the infamous Grace O’Malley didna assign a Scotsman as captain to her crew.”

  Quinn now stepped next to Tavish. Her heart raced in her chest. “No, she did not. I am the captain. Ya can call me Callaghan.”

  The warrior frowned. “Why, yer just a wee lad.”

  The other warriors chuckled behind him and mentioned something about the absence of a beard.

  “I keep my beard off my face so when I pleasure my many women, they do not feel as if they are bein’ licked on by another hairy pussy.”

  The men erupted in laughter.

  “And Captain O’Malley is just a woman, yet she is feared nonetheless, and rightly so.”

  “Not by us.”

  Tavish shrugged. “Simply because ya’ve not fought her. If ya had, ya’d ken better. Perhaps we’re talkin’ to the wrong folks.”

  The warrior seemed to consider this. “Why would Grace O’Malley come in the name of a queen not her own? It makes no sense.”

  “Mary of Scotland is in danger from her cousin. She requested our aid, and here we are, procurin’ that aid fer our queen. Captain O’Malley sees this as an important blockade between the countries.” Tavish lifted an eyebrow as if to challenge the giant on the word our.

  “She is no queen of ours.”

  Quinn put her hand on Tavish’s shoulder and said. “We are wastin’ our time here.” With that, she signaled to her men to return to the ship.

  “Hold on. Hold on,” the giant said. “No need to be hasty. While Mary is not truly our queen, she is a Scotswoman with a great deal of wealth. What are ya payin’?”

  Tavish started to answer when Quinn interrupted him. “The queen of Scotland will pay ya handsomely upon yer return to Scotland. We are payin’ nothin’.”

  All six men stared at her a moment before erupting into laughter.

  “Come on, Tavish.” Quinn turned to leave. “There are plenty of others who will wish to reap the rewards from a queen in need.”

  “Boy, do ya even ken who we are?”

  Quinn whipped around. “Did ya just call me boy?”

  The giant nodded. “Only a boy would come to galloglaighs with his dick in his hand.”

  Quinn took her belt off and dropped it and her sword to the ground. Her men eased themselves back behind Tavish. The giant outweighed her by a dozen stones.

  “The last man who called me that ended his life without either hand. Fer ya, I’ll make an exception and let ya keep one... to hold yer dick in yer hand.”

  Tavish reached for Quinn’s shoulder to stop her. “Leave them be, Captain. There isna ennathin’ we need here. They are not really what we are lookin’ fer.”

  The giant took his enormous two-handed broadsword off his shoulder and handed it to a short, skinny man who appeared out of nowhere. He was so thin and lithe that Quinn did a double take. He was barely tall enough to hold the broadsword off the ground. “And just what are ya sayin’, Scotty?”

  Tavish took a step forward. “I’m sayin’ that by the looks of ya, yer too soft fer our needs and too greedy to be of service. We need real fighters, not gold-diggin’ mercenaries.”

  The warrior took another step. Now he and Tavish were barely six feet apart. “Ya doona wish to live to see sunrise, do ya, little Scotty?”

  Tavish stood taller. “I’ll see it, all right, over the top of yer thick skull.”

  “Ya believe ya can take me, little man?”

  Tavish chuffed. “With one punch.”

  The other five glaighs guffawed.

  “Yer either addled or wish to live no more.”

  Shrugging, Tavish opened and closed his fist. “Or I’m speakin’ true. If yer so sure of yerself, laddie, let’s make a deal. If I fell ya with one punch, ya and yer men come with us without pay.”

  “And if ya don’t?”

  “Then I imagine I’ll not see another sunrise.”

  The warrior narrowed his eyes. “One punch? No man in his right mind would ever believe he could best a warrior my size with a single punch. It is an arrogant boast of a small-minded man.”

  “Then ya willna mind agreein’ to our deal. If I knock ya off yer feet with one punch, ya, yer men, and enna others ya can round up will come with us to fight fer the queen of Scotland.”

  “And what are we fightin’ fer?”

  “To protect the queen. Protect the queen until she can figure out who is what in the world. She has enemies all around her, and we need to give her some breathin’ room.”

  The warrior turned to his buddies. “Addle-minded fool, aye?”

  “Just let him hit ya, Lake, so we can get back to drinkin’,” one called out.

  “Aye, just take the punch and then take his fool head off and be done with it,” shouted another.

  Lake turned back to Tavish. He towered over the smaller Scot by at least a foot. “Fine then. It’s yer life. If ya think so little of it, so will I.” Lake planted his feet three feet apart. “Ya get one shot, Scotty. Make it count.”

  Tavish cast a long look over to Quinn.

  “You sure?” she asked in Irish Gaelic, feeling her heart bang heavily inside her chest.

  Tavish produced a grin and replied back in her native tongue. “Aye. Size doona matter if ya hit hard enough in the right spot. Doona worra, Captain. He’ll go down like a sack of sweet Irish potatoes.”

  Quinn swallowed hard. She was captain in name only. She didn’t have the experience needed to deal with the complexities of this situation. Could she really sacrifice her dear friend to help a queen she had zero allegiance to? What would Grace do?

  Tavish leaned into her. “I’ve got this, laddie. Trust me.”

  In one swift pivot, Tavish wheeled around, his right fist leading the way until it smashed so hard into Lake’s left cheek, it lifted him off the ground. Lake’s head snapped so hard to the right; the rest of his large body followed. The next thing anyone knew, Lake was laying on his back, unmoving, immobile, and unconscious.

  For a moment, no one moved. No one said a word.

  When Lake’s eyelids fluttered a minute later, the young, skinny glaigh helped him off the ground. “Lake, are ya... should we... ”

  Lake waved him away. “Fear not fer me, Evan. I wouldna have believed it if I hadna seen it with me own eyes.”

  Then Quinn pulled her sword off the ground and stood next to Tavish. “I believe we had a deal, fellas.”

  Behind her, her crew unsheathed their weapons.

  “That... that’s impossible. Nobody takes out Lake with one punch. Nobody,” one of the Glaighs muttered.

  Tavish held his meaty paw up. “Do one of ya care to confirm it?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “Good. We sail within the hour.”

  “An hour? We need to say goodbye to our families.”

  “Fine. Two hours. Bring friends. Scotland needs ya. Mary needs ya. Yer people need ya.”

  “We’ll be bac
k.”

  “Doona make me come after ya.”

  One of the warriors, a tall blond fellow, walked over to Tavish. “Can ya show me how ya did that?”

  Tavish chuckled. “Ya bring another dozen warriors, and I’ll do just that. Move it along, fellas. We got a lot of stops to make before settin’ sail to Scotland.”

  When the galloglaighs were out of sight, Quinn laid her arm across Tavish’s shoulders. “I have to hand it to you, Scotty—you’re one tough son of a bitch.”

  Tavish grinned. “Ya made the plan. I just supplied the meat.”

  “Well, nicely done.”

  As Quinn walked back to the ship, Tavish called to her. “And Captain?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Call me Scotty again, and ya and me are gonna have a problem.”

  Quinn nodded. “Understood. Would you rather I call you meaty?”

  Quinn had never heard Tavish laugh so hard.

  * * *

  By their fifth port, they had amassed nearly one hundred warriors willing to come to Mary’s aid. It seemed as though the more Scots they had on the boat, the easier it was to secure those who were unsure. And amazingly enough, they managed to do so without spending one solitary gold coin.

  “I gotta hand it to ya, Captain, ya filled the damn ship in half the time Grace gave ya.”

  “Yeah, well, I couldn’t have done it without you. But tell me again why all those little guys had to come?”

  Tavish shook his head in disgust. “How can ya ken so little aboot the people who live in Mary’s country? The glaighs just want to fight. They doona want to stop to eat or get a new weapon or carry ennathin’ in their hands. The boys are their mules, so to speak, carryin’ everrathin’ from food to sharpenin’ stones.”

  “Well, it would have been nice to have known that before we left.”

  “Lad––er, Captain, ya’ve got yerself some bulls and some oxen on board. It’s just their way.”

  “I appreciate you smoothing things over with Lake. I was afraid he might have taken offense to being bested.”

  “Ah, that was nothin’. A true warrior can acknowledge when he’s been beat by a better fighter. He holds no grudge. They never do.”

  “Well, thank the goddess for that. Have you ever seen a man so huge?”

  Tavish chuckled. “Nope. I wasna at all sure I could put him down. That’s why I hit him before he could get ready fer it. It mighta been a cheap shot, but the glaighs would never admit that.”

  “So tell me about that little guy with him––Ian?”

  “Evan.”

  “Evan holds weapons he’s not using. Is that how it works?”

  “Aye. Along with food, water, ennathin’ the warrior thinks he might need.” Tavish looked at the young boy leaning on the railing and staring out to sea. “I’m guessin’ he’s never been on a ship. I’ll go talk to him.”

  Quinn reached out to stop him. “No, that’s okay. I’ll do it.”

  Tavish frowned. “Are ya sure? Remember, yer the captain. Ya get others to do yer biddin’ if ya wish it.”

  “Yes. Watch the wheel for me, will you?” With that, Quinn made her way over to where the young boy stood gazing out at sea.

  “Pretty amazin’, isn’t it?”

  Startled out of his reverie, the young man stumbled back away from the railing.

  With one arm, Quinn reached out and grabbed him by the belt, steadying him.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, Captain. I didna mean––”

  “No need to apologize––”

  “Evan. Me name is Evan, laoch cuidich to Lake MacLeod.”

  Quinn cocked her head at an angle. Evan had the sweet face of unmolested youth that framed large blue eyes, which held an intelligence he appeared to be working very hard to disguise. “Lake is a MacLeod?”

  “Och. Aye. Best galloglaigh family in the world, bar none.”

  Quinn studied Evan’s deep-set eyes and strong nose. He was almost... pretty in a boyish sort of way. “He must be hard to work fer.”

  Evan frowned. “Fer? I doona work fer Lake. I work with him. He needs me as much as I need him.”

  “Is that so? Educate me about it. I know so little about these warriors except that they fight to the death.”

  Evan looked left then right, before lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “Fiercest, bravest warriors on earth, they are. Ya wouldna wish to be in the dark with one of these fellas on a bad day. They like killin’. Plain and simple.”

  “And what about ya? Why do ya do what ya do?”

  Evan frowned as if puzzling out the answer. “Assist? I canna think of ennathin’ more excitin’ than to be right up on the battlefield helpin’ yer fighter win that battle. It is the best life I can imagine ever havin’.”

  “So ya... like yer job?” Quinn found herself fascinated by Evan, whose full lips and cleft chin gave him an alluring presence. Was it possible she was actually attracted to this young pup? It was inconceivable to her to think she was drawn to a man, but there was something about Evan...

  What in the hell was wrong with her?

  “Like it? Captain, do ya just like bein’ a pirate?”

  Quinn grinned. “Point taken. And yet, it would seem that a laoch cuidich is a far more dangerous occupation than privateerin’.”

  “Only if yer fighter goes down. Things can get a bit dicey if that happens.”

  “Dicey? How so?”

  “Well, fer one, yer carryin’ lots of expensive and well-crafted weapons that other fighters want.”

  “So they’d kill ya fer the weapons.”

  Evan shook his head. “No sir. A laoch cuidich would fight to the death to protect them from bein’ taken so his family back home has somethin’ of his.” Evan stood a little taller and straighter but was still a good seven or eight inches shorter than Quinn. He was the smallest of the laoch cuidiches on board by far.

  ”My life and Lake’s are bound together by blood. If he dies, I must fight fer him.”

  “That’s verra noble.”

  “It is what’s right. He trusts me with his life as I do him. Surely ya have some such similar arrangements on board this ship.”

  Quinn smiled inwardly. The wording, the phrasing, gave Evan away. This was no stable boy turned laoch cuidich. This was something entirely different from his appearance. “How long have ya been a laoch cuidich?”

  “Half me life. Ten years. I came to Ireland with Lake. It is how I ken yer language. Since then we’ve managed to amass quite a bit of gold.”

  “As a mercenary?”

  Evan shrugged, his shoulders grazing his brown hair. “Does it matter what we’re called, Captain? Privateer or pirate or corsair, ya all plunder other ships and take what’s not yers.”

  Quinn was slightly taken aback. “Bravo, sir, ya have made a point I cannot counter. My apologies. Lake is obviously quite an adept fighter, and ya obviously are part of his success.”

  “More than adept, sir. He is nigh unstoppable.”

  “Yet my first mate knocked him out with one punch. One.”

  “Aye. I’ve never seen that before. Yer mate has enormous fists. I’ve never seen ennathin’ like it. Impressed doesna begin to explain how we all felt seein’ him go down so hard.”

  “Yet he is not angry and seeks no retribution. Why is that?”

  Evan waved this away. “Pfft. True fighters take no issue when bettered. Tonight, Lake will toast Tavish’s skill, and all will be well.”

  Quinn stared out at the churning waters along the coastline as they returned to Clew Bay.

  “The water seems alive at times... like it has a personality of its own,” Evan said. Ten years in Ireland had clearly given him a good command of the language.

  Quinn did not take her eyes off the water. “She’s a cruel mistress, the sea. She gives and takes as she wishes and destroys at will.”

  “It is often scary to look around ya and see no land. I have never enjoyed it.”

  “It was at first, but I got
used to it.”

  “Captain,” One Eye said, coming up behind them. “We’re almost there. I think ya oughtta be at the helm in case Captain O’Malley is lookin’ through that telescope of hers. I wouldna want her thinkin’ somethin’ happened to ya.”

  Quinn started toward the stairs and then stopped. Glancing over her shoulder at Evan, she tossed him a smile. “Ya needn’t be afraid, Evan. We sail along the coastline most of the way, so ya will see plenty of land. Ya will be fine.”

  Evan returned the smile. “Fear is a luxury we doona get to have,” he said, blue eyes sparkling. “Just ken that most of our men doona ken how to swim.”

  Quinn turned all the way around. “Wait. They can’t swim?”

  Evan shook his head. “Not even a little.”

  * * *

  As the moon rose slowly above the encroaching clouds, all three of Grace’s ships creaked and groaned as they made their way north up the Celtic Sea. The chill off the water pushed the men below, where the laoch cuidiches produced flash upon flask of Scotch.

  True to Evan’s words, Lake held up a flask, toasted Tavish, and chugged the flask before passing it to Tavish. They exchanged words in Scottish before Tavish downed some whisky himself.

  After several rounds of drinks, it became difficult to tell who was Scottish and who was not. The men exchanged tales of bravery and cunning, their laughter louder with every round of drinks.

  “Come on, Captain––take a swig or two and put yer feet up,” one of the men said.

  Quinn took the flask. Most of the men were pretty drunk by the time she took her first swig. It felt good as it burned its way down her throat, but she knew, as always, that getting as drunk as they did was a dangerous place for her. Still, after her quarrel with Fiona and being handed a ship, she needed to let her hair down. She needed a moment’s respite from it all.

  The crew cheered, and she caught Evan’s watchful eye as she tipped the flask once more. Scottish whisky had a slightly stronger aftertaste to Quinn than Irish whiskey, but it was still very tasty.