Page 16 of The Pirate Queen

“I would say it is a pleasure to see you, Grace. But that would be a lie.”

“Remove your blade,” she orders.

“No.”

“You can’t harm me.”

He leans over her shoulder, hot breath on her ear, and drives the point of his knife into her rib a fraction deeper. The sting is sharp, like a wasp.

“You will find that I can do as I please,” he says.

“Your brother has given me letters of safe conduct.”

John laughs, then shoves her forward out of the tree line. There are men with him, though she cannot see how many. But she hears their laughter, their footsteps in the damp grass. There are enough of them, she thinks, to give her men pause. Otherwise, they would have already attacked.

It had been her intent to do this quietly, to kill John without alerting his men. Let them find his body in the morning.

A life for a life.

And if she’d taken an eye for an eye as well, who would have blamed her?

Young Eóin had beautiful eyes.

She always thought they were a gift passed on from her father. It was why she’d given him the name Eóin. That her son lost an eye in John Bingham’s assault is something she cannot forgive.

But now she is caught, and her men not yet out of the woods behind her. Grace tightens her grip on the blade in her left hand, then lifts her right, motioning her men to stop, to draw back. She hopes it appears to John as a sign of surrender.

“Drop it,” he orders.

One by one she lifts the fingers of her left hand and her blade falls to the ground, point first, lodging in a clump of trampled grass. He picks it up and slides it into the empty sheath at his waist. Clucks his tongue as though disappointed.

“Where are your men?” he asks.

Grace looks to the predawn sky, with its inky center and gilded edges. Most of the stars have faded, but there are a few that hold fast directly above, hesitant to surrender their glory to the creeping dawn.

“Sleeping,” she lies.

“Not likely.” John motions his head toward two of his soldiers. “I saw four coming along behind her. After them. They won’t be far.”

Nor easy to find, she thinks.

Her men know the woods better than these bloody English. Better than anyone, really. They are all Mayo men. Gone already. Whispers in the wind.

“Relieve the herdsmen of her cattle and anything else of value,” John orders. “The four who came with her are to be killed—leave the rest alive. Unless they fight you. Then make an example of them. The governor will not tolerate lawlessness.”

“Your brother can kiss my arse,” she says.

“My brother has been waiting to see you, Grace. But this is our time. Let’s make the most of it.”

Appointed as Governor of Connaught by the English queen, Richard Bingham is a man she’s despised since the age of eight. Too self-important to spend much time in the county he controls. Would rather hide at his stronghold in Athlone, or behind the Pale in Dublin, enjoying his English luxuries. He bathes in lavender water and sends his brother to do the dirty work. Not that John seems to care. Dirty mind, dirty hands.

The mistake was hers, of course. She knows that now. Blinded by her fury, Grace had not seen John and his men waiting for her. But she sees him well enough now, when he steps in front of her.

“My brother said you’d come,” he says, like he’s disappointed in her. “Said you’d seek retribution. Though I would think a woman your age would be tired of fighting.”

“Then you know nothing about women. The older we get, the easier fighting becomes.” Grace looks him over. Weak jaw. Narrow shoulders. That same familial meanness in his eyes. “And I will have my vengeance. It was you that killed Eóin.”

“Deserved it,” John laughs. Laughs. Like the murder of her son is some joke that he tells around the campfire. “Your son was an open rebel. Same as you. And you are in no position to make threats.” He nods to the two men who have stayed behind. “Bind her with rope before you search her. This one is clever.”