In the distance, she could look down on Clew Bay, the pirate ships in port, people milling about the docks, as well as men entering the tavern. They seemed to enter far more frequently than they left and she wondered about the happenings inside. Curiosity about that life always tugged at her. Was it the forbidden unknown? The fact that her papa never let her near the port? The appeal of a life of freedom on the high seas? She could not know, but as she did on most days, she sighed deeply before pulling out her father’s old spyglass. He had never even noticed its disappearance, not that he was home enough to notice. It was just as well. Without it, she would lose much of her will to wander.
Extending it as far as she could, she put the glass up to her right eye, closing her left. “What happens upon your shores today, Clew Bay?”
Chapter Three
The sea was eerily calm, which unsettled Thomas more than it should have. He felt a tightness in his stomach. They were off the coast of Ireland and though land was not yet in sight, they were close. There was a certain sense men got, almost a different scent in the air when land was nearby. They would drop anchor soon and once they did, he would be one skiff ride away from his homeland. He had expected to feel more excitement and less apprehension. Aye, he was here, but he was here to serve the queen who threatened Ireland’s independence.
Would he see his family? Not likely. His ship sailed off the northern coast and his family was in Connaught, to the west. Being so close yet so far, left him more tense than he had anticipated. The fact that the ship’s rowers were slaves did not help his uneasiness. As first mate, he had no control over it but forcing men into labor was not sitting well with him.
“Sail ho!” Captain William shouted and pointed into the distance. “Pass me the glass!” The second mate stepped forward and passed the spyglass to the captain.
“Aye, as I suspected. ’Tis the Spanish.” Thomas stepped up beside the captain and could barely make out the red and yellow striped flag in the distance.
“I thought all their ships returned to port or were scattered by the wind, Capt’n,” Christopher, the second mate said.
“Aye, well, things are not always as they seem, are they? Cursed Spanish!” Captain William spat. He had fought directly alongside Drake and had a hate for the bastards as strong as Thomas did. Spanish near Irish waters could only mean trouble for the British.
“Ready the cannons! Be prepared! I want to know what she’s got aboard!”
Blood running with excitement through his veins, Thomas squinted at the ship growing closer on the horizon, hearing cannons being rolled into place by the crew, preparing to attack if necessary.
“Disable them, lads. Then, ready the skiffs! We board, take their bounty, and let Davy Jones have what’s left of them!”
“Aye!” the men shouted excitedly at their captain’s command.
The hackles on Thomas’s neck rose in what he could only explain as instinct. Something was not right. He knew it even before they spotted the galleon. Why would one lone Spanish ship risk sailing into Irish waters just to supply them? Once their armada had been scattered to the wind or destroyed, all able ships would have returned to their own ports. These waters were littered with both pirates and English ships, such as theirs. It was suicide for one Spanish galleon to approach these waters.
“Captain, this is a trap. ’Tis not right,” Thomas warned William. Before he could speak further, Captain William scowled and shoved Thomas aside.
“You dare to second guess my instincts, do you, Irish? Why are you even here? Aye, I know this is your ship and crew, given to you by Drake.” The man spat on the wooden boards of the deck. “The queen did not see you fit enough to captain this ship! I was Drake’s Second Mate! I know this ship! I fought against the Armada, as well, in case you have forgotten! I know a Spanish galleon when I see one! You think that because you are the Sea-Banshee’s grandson, that you know more than I do, aye? I never did like you… never trusted you…”
As the captain continued his outpouring of disdain for him, Thomas kept his eyes on the ship, decidedly ignoring the man’s temper tantrum. If he acknowledged the foul name the man had used against his grandmother, he would likely slice his throat and be accused of mutiny. As another flag started to rise in the distance, Thomas yanked the spyglass from Captain William’s clenched fist and cursed. Rising higher and higher was the flag of the Scottish Pirates: The Devils of the Deep.
The crimson flag whipped wildly in the wind like a flash of warning to all. Though it was hard to make out all the details as the flag continued to snap and billow, he clearly saw the image of a devil’s head and fist bearing a sword. “Bloody Scottish Pirates!” Thomas roared, shoving the spyglass back at his sputtering captain.
“What?” William bellowed as he looked for himself just before his face turned pale. “It changes nothing! Only that they deserve the same fate! Prepare to fire!” William shouted. “Hold no quarter!”
“They meant to lure us, Captain! Why else would they fly the Spanish flag, if not to attract the British? That is a true Spanish Galleon. They captured it at sea! More than likely, they have a well-armed crew and are prepared to fight back. ’Tis not what the queen sent us here for! If we are sunk before we reach the coast, we serve our Majesty nay purpose!” Thomas stressed. He was not afraid of a fight, but his instincts told him there was more to this situation than Captain William’s blustering temper was allowing him to see. They would likely see many pirates on this journey and would fight if the fight was brought to them, but with their enslaved crew who had no loyalty or promise of profit, how prepared were they to fight? How loyal could they be? Fight for their own survival, aye, but nothing more.
The entire situation stank of defeat… their defeat, and mutiny or nay, he would not allow their crew to perish, nor lose the ship Drake had meant to be his. He had earned this ship, even though his queen deemed him only worthy to be its first mate. Drake had thought differently. Drake had known what Thomas was capable of on the sea, and that he had been on more ships by the time he was seven years of age than most men had in a lifetime.
“Are you disobeying my command, First Mate?” the captain said in clear rebuke. But before Thomas could say anything further, another ship showed up on the horizon. William held up the spyglass and mumbled a string of curses. “’Tis the flag of the Sea-Banshee. Your grandmother!”
Thomas’s stomach clenched, and his heart leapt. A large galley came into view waving a black flag with a boar crushing a skull and crossbones in its mouth and blood dripping off his tusks. How strange that the pirate flag that was meant to instill fear in all others made him swell with pride.
The two pirate ships, one Scottish and one Irish, now turned their course and began a clear pursuit of their English ship. “We must parley, Captain. ’Tis the only way out of this.” Though it was the truth, he was also worried his captain’s arrogance would lead him to try to take on his grandmother’s ship as well. And while that would lead to the absolute destruction of their ship and crew, it may also lead to his grandmother’s death and he could not fathom that.
“She is your blood. She will not attack us!” William responded confidentially.
Thomas scoffed and ran a hand through his short, dark beard. His plain white tunic ruffled in the wind, his brown breeches clinging to his thighs. He felt much more at ease in these simple garments than he did in his court attire. He hoped to never wear those again. “You forget she has not seen me in over twenty years. She will likely not recognize me, and even if she does, I am the first mate upon her enemy’s vessel. She is a pirate queen. I doubt she will see fit to show me mercy. Parley is our only chance.”
William begrudgingly seemed to begin to see reason and he nodded, commanding that the white flag be raised. “We will parley!” he shouted, as if the idea had been his all along.
Thomas tried not to roll his eyes at the old, wrinkly man with his leathered skin mostly hidden behind his graying beard. As long as they did not all die at
sea this day, he cared not if his captain was an arrogant fool. He was not afraid of death. Thomas had fought many battles and would lay down his life if necessary, but this day, being so close to his homeland, seeing his grandmother’s ship in the distance, he was not ready to die. Nay, this new journey had just begun. They would find their own plunder when the time was right.
The two pirate ships approached, flanking theirs on either side. The crews of both ships stood on deck, some with snarls on their faces, some holding weapons or simply folding their arms. The Devils of the Deep wore kilts or plaids of varying colors, but the person who caught his eye was the red-haired woman with her boot propped on her ship’s taffrail, a smug look on her face. He saw red-flame hair blowing freely in the wind, and a steely green-eyed gaze that would freeze the bollocks off most men.
“Och, the white flag. I see that most often from ye lily-livered Sassenachs.” She grunted and folded her arms. “Ye want to parley then, aye?” she spoke with a deep Irish brogue. “I was so lookin’ forward to a fight. Yer queen promised me some peace and I promised her I would nay attack her ships, yet she sees fit to send ye into me waters. Here are me terms. One man from yer crew may board. I will give ye my demands and ye will meet them, lest your ship meet me cannons.” Her brows waggled, and Thomas watched his grandmother in her element, wanting to laugh as she put Captain William in his place.
Captain William stepped forward and puffed out his chest. “My first mate will board,” he nodded at Thomas and Thomas almost did laugh out loud. The man truly was a bloody coward. The queen thought he was more fit to captain a ship than Thomas? “He will relay your demands and we shall try to accommodate them if they are sensible.”
Grace O’Malley tilted her head and cackled like the very Sea-Banshee many thought her to be. “Ye be askin’ the Pirate Queen to be sensible, aye?” Her gaze landed on Thomas for the first time and her smile faltered. Did she recognize him? It had been more than two decades since she had seen his face. There was no way she could know it was him.
Pointing to him, she jerked her head. “Time to board the Cailleach’s Curse, love. Remove yer weapons… all of them,” she grinned, seeming to know full well that most men kept daggers within their boots. “Then take a skiff over.” Thomas remembered sitting upon her lap as a wee lad while she shared their ancient family heritage and the names of the many gods and goddesses their people have always revered. Cailleach was the goddess of death and destruction. How appropriate a name for the Irish Pirate Queen’s ship.
With a nod of his head, he removed his sword, pistol, and dagger, making a show of then bending over to remove the extra dagger in his boot, before he walked to the rung ladder and climbed down to the lowered skiff. Rowing over to her boat, he climbed the ladder, not at all surprised to find himself surrounded immediately by several pirates wielding swords or daggers. He knew they would not attack. Though pirates were considered outlaws, they followed a strict code. This was a proper parley and he was unarmed. So long as he made no threats or acts of foolery, he would keep his head… he hoped.
“Well, well…” Grace walked up to him slowly and he was shocked by her small stature. In his mind, she had always seemed larger than life, yet now she stood only tall enough to reach mid-chest on him. He stayed silent, deciding it was best to let her run this show. He was not so arrogant as his captain. “Ye look an awful lot like someone I once knew,” she said, walking in circles around him like a shark appraising her next meal, arms folded, and eyes squinted. Her breeches went just past her knees and she donned the hose of a man, though he had to keep a smile from slipping when he took in the purple silk of her tunic. Only nobles could wear silk and only a royal could wear purple. His grandmother was making a point: that she lived by her own rules.
Walking over to the bow of her ship, she cupped her mouth and shouted at a man on the Scottish ship. “Niall MacDougall! I need ye aboard me ship, love!”
Thomas’s gaze wandered over to the man she hollered towards. Though he was on the other side of the British ship, with the calm waters and silent crews, he must have heard her command, yet scowled as if he was weary of doing her bidding. He crossed his arms in defiance and eyed Grace.
“Och… these men and their bloody pride,” she murmured so only her crew could hear. Everyone laughed at her jest just before she shouted back toward the man named Niall. “Captain Niall, leader of the almighty Devils of the Deep. Could ye kindly join me upon me ship? It will be most worth yer while,” she teased, smiling mockingly as he seemed to relent and walk toward the lowering skiff.
The silence lasted for a few moments while the man rowed the distance to her ship. Thomas eyed his grandmother, though she did not spare him a glance as she watched the other captain board her ship.
“I dinna ken what ye think is so important, woman, but it had better be good. As far as I am concerned, we are square. My crew captured the Spanish galleon. Ye get the goods, we keep the ship.” Niall crossed his arms and glowered at Grace.
“And I think ye got the good end of that deal, did ye nay? Keeping the ship for yerself,” she responded as the wind whipped her hair around once more. “Now, come see why I called ye here.” She pointed in Thomas’s direction and he furrowed his brow, keeping his arms crossed. What in the world was his grandmother up to? The man’s brown eyes widened.
“It cannae be,” he said, turning pale and shaking his head as he took a step forward.
“Would someone like to explain why ye are all staring at my face?” Thomas growled, growing impatient with… whatever it was that was going on. Was this not a parley? His grandmother was intrigued by him, but not for the reason he would have suspected. He stood on the deck with his legs spread wide and his hands on his hips, his jaw ticking. He was not known for his patience.
“Och, he is the spittin’ image of Savage,” Niall whispered as he stepped closer. “His eyes are more green, at least from what we see in his portraits, but he could be his brother.”
“If over one hundred and twenty years did not separate them. More like a great-great-grandson, aye?” Grace added.
Niall scratched his head. “Aye, as am I, ye ken. Shaw MacDougall is mine, as well. Can this be?” The man called Niall looked fierce with a scar bisecting his left brow, but at the moment, he looked awestruck. Thomas felt unnerved by the intense stare of this burly pirate.
“It can be, aye. It is. His father was Shaw’s great-grandson, only he turned away from the family… business,” Grace smiled.
“How can ye ken all this, Gracie?” Niall asked. Must they continue to speak about him as if he was not standing before them?”
“I ken it, because he is also my grandson.” She looked at Thomas finally and cocked a red brow. “Are ye nay? Tomás O’Malley. I would know yer face anywhere, and ye have yer mama’s eyes lad. Ye truly are the spittin’ image of your father’s family, though.”
Thomas froze and sucked in a breath. After all these years, he was standing face-to-face with his beloved grandmother, and she recognized him. Shaking his head, he had to tamp down his emotions. He was no longer an O’Malley. He had given that up twenty-three years ago. He was here to serve his queen and had no time for a family reunion, as much as he longed for one. He stood, a man of two worlds, upon his enemy’s ship and yet, his enemy was a woman he could never truly view as anything other than his grandmama.
“My name is Thomas Esmonde, son of Lawrence Esmonde. But aye, I am your grandson.” He nodded his head and kept a straight face. He was pleased she knew him still, but it did not change his circumstances. Niall’s eyes widened when he heard Lawrence’s name, and looked as if he would speak, but Thomas cut him off. “Can ye get on with the parley?”
“Not until ye give yer grandmama a hug! What’s the matter with ye, lad?” She laughed and pulled him to her, embracing him in a way he did not expect a Pirate Queen embraced most people. Reflexively, his arms came around and returned her embrace, though awkwardly.
“The other ships approach, C
apt’n!” a man shouted, causing Grace to pull away from him and look out to sea. Two more ships bearing Grace’s flag came into view and his grandmother smiled.
“’Twas smart of yer captain to parley with us, Tomás. Though I would have enjoyed destroying her Majesty’s ship.”
“’Tis my ship,” he responded, feeling his resentment burn in his veins again.
His grandmother gave him a strange look. “I hope ye were not too fond of it, lad, because it appears to be turning tail without ye.” She laughed and pointed as the ship, indeed, began to move in the opposite direction, through the one gap where it was not surrounded by pirates.
Thomas’s anger boiled over as he watched that coward William turn tail and leave him behind. All the men around him laughed and he was quite certain the men on Niall’s ship were laughing as well.
“Four pirate ships was too much for the Sassenachs, aye?” Grace cackled, and stepped up beside Thomas. “I would command my crew to fire at will, but given that it is yer ship, I suppose I should not destroy it?”
“That would be preferred, aye. Although now I have nay idea how to get it back,” he groused, and ran a hand through his dark hair, spitting curses into the wind. Cursed coward! William truly was lily-livered. The man did not deserve his rank. No doubt the man sailed toward Ulster, hoping to evade trouble and drop anchor in the port.
“Look alive, lad! Ye be surrounded by pirates and not only that, most of us be yer kin. We will get yer ship back.”
“You would help me? Why?” He was unsure of how to feel. On the one hand, he wanted to gut Captain William for deserting him with people whom he believed to be vicious pirates. In fact, they were vicious pirates. On the other hand, he felt a sense of relief and freedom. Being on that ship under Captain William had felt stifling. Watching another man command his ship and his crew, and poorly he might add, had made his patience grow thin. He was close to mutiny. Mayhap being deserted with pirates was preferred to having to listen to that man crow endlessly.
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