Page 193 of The Pirate Queen

“We is a strong word, O’Flaherty. There is nothing in our long acquaintance that makes me believe you are a man willing to share.”

“It would be a strong alliance.”

Eóin says nothing. A roll of thunder in the distant hills is followed by a gust of wind, throwing rain into their eyes.

“Well?” O’Flaherty demands.

It isn’t a shout, but his words are louder now, tinged with impatience.

“The MacWilliam is waiting for us,” Eóin says.

Maeve had not realized she would miss her daughter so much. Her presence, of course. But all the other things as well. Laughter and conversation and the sound of her voice. The smell of Gráinne’s skin as Maeve tucks her face into her daughter’s neck nearly brings her to tears. She is both young and old. Child and woman. Flowers and wool, green grass and blue sky. And how Gráinne has grown! There is no girl left in her; she is only woman, and the look in those gray eyes is one of such joy and relief that Maeve could weep. And perhaps she will. But only later, once they are back home on Clare with Gráinne tucked safe beneath their roof.

As before, the table in The MacWilliam’s Great Hall is piled high with every kind of food. Servants skirt the walls and arrange platters as the families enter.

“Let us feast!” The MacWilliam calls, and they each go to their places.

Gráinne gives Maeve a quick peck on the cheek before retreating to the far end of the table, where she once again sits between the chieftains’ sons. All eyes are on their daughter again tonight, but this time Gráinne does not seem young and nervous. She looks confident in a way she did not three years ago.

“Where is Donal?” Eóin asks.

Maeve shakes her head. He isn’t at the table.

The O’Flaherty watches Eóin with an interest that makes Maeve nervous. She will ask about their conversation the moment she can get her husband alone. But for now she settles into the warmth of the Great Hall and the comfort of her daughter’s presence.

The MacWilliam stands, glass in hand, to make his toast, even as a murmuring grows at the far end of the room. “What is this?” he asks.

Donal walks to the foot of the table holding the hand of a young woman. Finola Bourke gasps, then stiffens. Her eyes narrow, her jaw clenches. The room falls silent, every head turned in their direction.

David Bourke, The MacWilliam of Connaught, is smiling, but Maeve cannot tell whether there is any good humor in it. His lips seem wrapped too tightly around his teeth. “Do you wish to make the toast, then, young O’Malley?” he asks.

Donal clears his throat and the voice that emerges is more confident than Maeve has ever heard him use. “I do. And I would like to begin by introducing my wife, Nora.”

“I have apparently kept an eye on the wrong child these last years,” The MacWilliam tells Eóin once the furor has died down and they are all seated at the table again. There is a new addition this time. The girl, Nora, looking uncomfortable in her place at the table beside Donal.

“They are handfast?” Eóin asks.

The MacWilliam nods. “For several months, apparently.”

“Is she with child?”

“They have not said.”

“It matters little. They have consummated, if the smug look on Donal’s face is any clue,” Eóin says, then turns to The MacWilliam. “And here I thought you had only sons?”

The MacWilliam lowers his voice. His words are not so quiet that Finola can’t hear, but it is clear he does not intend them for her. “I have never recognized her.”

Eóin’s gaze returns to Donal and Nora. At least the girl has the courage to look up and meet his glance. Even though she looks away first, she is not ashamed, only curious. And defiant.

“Pray tell, what have you been worried about, then?”

“I would not call it worry,” The MacWilliam says with a wry smile and then a glance to O’Flaherty, who is listening intently to their conversation. “But I have taken note that Richard and Gráinne seem to have formed an attachment.”

“Richard? She came here to become acquainted with Walter.”

“And my son,” The O’Flaherty growls.

“It seems your daughter has cast a wide net, O’Malley. According to my sources, she and Richard have snuck off together most every morning since her arrival.”