Page 37 of The Pirate Queen

His chieftain looks him in the eye.

“You,” he says.

Gutty runs.

There is a scratching at the flap of her tent and Grace pushes onto her elbows. A few seconds of silence, then it happens again.

“Gráinne?” Her name is little more than a whisper. “Are you there?”

“Gutty?”

He pushes his head through the flaps and she sees that he is out of breath, crying.

“What’s wrong?” She grabs him by the shirt and pulls him inside. “Here, I’m decent. Take your hand off your eyes.”

Gutty looks up. Down. Everywhere but at her. He squints his eyes closed. Rubs them with his fists. It makes him look like a child.

“Tell me before I slap it out of you.”

The boy takes a deep shuddering breath, then says, “Your husband just killed a man.”

“What?”

“I saw him. Threw a dagger in his neck, then cut his throat like he was gutting a fish.”

“Who did he kill, Gutty?”

“One of those brothers. Those Bourkes. You know? They were first up in the knife throwing.”

No. No. No. No. No.

Her mind stutters. Trips. She can’t get past that one syllable.

“Which one?” She reaches out to shake him, but he turns toward the tent flap like he expects someone to burst through.

“I don’t know his name.”

“Think. The older one? Or the younger one?”

“He had a beard.”

“They both have beards!”

He flinches at the sound of her voice. “I…I…I don’t know.”

“That’s fine,” she says. “That’s fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” Grace sets a soft palm against his cheek. Feels the sparse stubble of a not-yet-bearded man. “Was it the one who threw his knife first? Or the one who threw second?”

“Second. The one who threw his knives second.”

She swallows a sob. “You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” she says, her breath rushing out in a whoosh.

When Gutty starts talking again, he reminds her of Young Eóin: the way her son confesses after he’s been caught sneaking sweets from the kitchen. “I didn’t mean to follow your husband. I wasn’t trying to snoop. He just…I don’t know. He looked like he was searching for trouble. And he’d just lost the match and then the fight. I was curious, so I followed him, and he followed Bourke. I thought maybe they would fight and I could watch. But everything happened so quickly. He got close and threw his knife and when the man went down O’Flaherty tackled him and cut his throat.”

“Mother of God.” She sits back on her heels. “Did he see you?”