Page 195 of The Pirate Queen

“Are you tired?” Eóin asks. He has come to stand beside her, his hand resting between her shoulder blades.

“I am ready to go home.”

He frowns. “As is your brother. Now that he’s acquired his prize.”

“Are you displeased? I like her very much, if that makes a difference. Though I know you’d rather he married a noblewoman who could give you some advantage.”

“I have not yet decided how I feel,” he says. “At the very least, your brother has missed his chance at a dowry.”

Eóin’s thumb rubs a circle onto the fabric of her dress. “And what about you? Have you decided what you want?”

She is startled that he would ask. “Surely you must know?”

“I did hear rumors. But they go in two directions. Is it Walter Bourke or Donal O’Flaherty that you have decided on?”

Grace shakes her head. “I want neither of them.”

“Is there a third option that I am unaware of?”

So he knows, then, she thinks, and searches his face for any sign of encouragement. Seeing nothing, she remains silent.

“Walter will become The MacWilliam. And Donal will be The O’Flaherty. Richard is the second son of a second wife. I intend better for you than second. Richard is not an option for you.”

She knows what his quiet, calm tone of voice means. Knows it, and disregards it. Grace turns back to the water and gives him the only answer she can think of. “Then take me to Spain. As you promised.”

“You must let that go,” her father says.

“You won’t take me?”

“No. ’Tis time for you to be married.”

“I do not want to be married!” Her voice comes out louder than she anticipated, almost a shout.

They have argued before, but never once has she screamed at her father.

“Gráinne,” Maeve warns. “Enough.”

Her mother angles herself between them, close enough that she might intervene if this goes any further.

“You have what you want! Donal has married a chieftain’s daughter—”

“—who can give us no advantage,” Eóin interrupts. “No lands. No dowry.”

“She can give you heirs! An alliance!”

“That. Is. Your. Job!” he bellows.

“Am I to be chattel? A broodmare with nice manners?”

“You think so little of your duty? Your family? I have never pretended that you had any other role than this.”

“No,” Grace says, “you have only made promises you never intended to keep.”

Maeve sets a hand to Grace’s sleeve. Tries to tug her closer.

She yanks her arm free and turns her ferocity upon her mother. “Do not take his part.”

“Look around you,” Maeve admonishes. “You go too far.”