Page 179 of The Pirate Queen

“How can I be assured that your fleet is as impressive as you say?”

It is Grace’s turn to lean back into her chair, to fold her hands in her lap and grin. “You are welcome to inspect it yourself. My entire fleet is anchored in Galway Harbor.”

As they leave the room, Grace feels the long, warm fingers of Richard’s left hand snake around her elbow. She feels his lips against her ear. “So we are married?”

She swats his hand away. “Not now.”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “don’t think I’ll be forgetting.”

Sir Henry Sidney has caught up to them in a few strides. He tugs on his coat, makes a failed attempt at keeping the grin off his face. Then he hands Grace a small coin purse.

“As you require, one pound.”

She opens her hand and he drops the purse into her palm with a soft jangling of coins. Then he is out the door and down the stairs.

“I cannot believe you are charging him for this,” Richard hisses.

“He won’t consider our time valuable otherwise,” she says.

When they meet Sidney on the street, he is antsy, rocking foot to foot. The moment they’re at his side, he’s off like a shot, headed toward the quay. His son has joined them, but LeStrange has not. His bellicose tendencies subsided the moment he understood Grace’s relationship to the O’Flaherty clan.

“Do you know,” Sidney asks, “this will be my first chance to glimpse the seawalls from afar? I have been told on numerous occasions that they are quite decayed and in need of repair.”

Fifteen minutes later they are at the quay on board Niamh, along with Sidney and his son. Both Tibbot and Christopher come at Grace in a rush, all hugs and laughter. They could be brothers with all those blond curls, and she does not disabuse Sidney of the notion as he looks at the boys with a kind of wry humor. And why not? Let him think they’re twins. They wouldn’t be the only set on this boat, for the Murrays are at oars, their scowls on full display. Within moments, Gutty has shuttled the little boys off to the cabin deck so that they can pester Ultan instead of her guest.

“They sound like a pair of wild Spanish macaques up there,” she mutters. “I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if they start swinging from the ropes.”

Sidney turns to her, a curious expression on his face. “You have been to Spain?”

“Many times,” she tells him.

“And what is your relationship with the Spaniards?”

“Entirely one of trade. I do most of my business in Bilbao, though I know others prefer Seville. But my experience with the Algerians has been…unpleasant. So I keep to the northern coast.”

“Interesting,” Sidney mutters. He does not elaborate on whatever thoughts run through his mind as they push off from the dock.

Grace takes the Lord Deputy and his son on a leisurely trip through Galway Harbor so that he can inspect the defensive walls and make notes for the needed repairs. Then Sidney finds Grace at the prow and says, “It’s time to prove this fleet of yours really exists, O’Malley.”

She lifts an arm, alerting Ultan to take them deeper into the bay. Her oarsmen grunt and groan as they respond to each of Ultan’s calls. Then, when they are situated amidst numerous other ships at anchor, she calls out, “Raise the flag!”

The O’Malley banner goes up the line. After it has unfurled and snapped tight in the wind, she orders Ultan, “Give the signal.”

He ushers the boys back, then raises the blunderbuss above his head, squeezes his eyes shut, and fires it toward the sky.

One long breath, then the resulting fire echoes through the harbor in twos and threes and fives. Boom. Boom. Boomboomboom. Until twenty-five shots have fired.

After a moment of prolonged silence, Sir Henry Sidney, Lord Deputy of Ireland, turns to her, a grin on his face. “It would seem that you are quite powerful by sea, Mistress O’Malley. I am more than happy to write to Her Majesty and suggest that she accept your offer of assistance—along with your condition—in keeping these shores safe from her enemies.”

Some days later, they make their approach into Rockfleet Bay, and Grace smiles to see an English merchant vessel at anchor a short distance from the tower house.

“Oh!” Christopher shouts the moment he sees the ship. “That is Fair Catherine. My grandfather’s ship!”

“So it would appear,” Grace tells him as Richard chuckles softly beside her.

She is about to give the order to row in when Tibbot’s small hand slips into hers. Grace pulls him closer, then notes the expression on his face. His brows are pinched and his lips drawn together.

“I know you are sad,” she tells him, “but Christopher is not ours to keep. We must return him to his grandfather.”