Page 40 of The Pirate Queen

“Then he’ll be no threat to you for many years.” She lets her hand fall from Richard’s cheek. “Do you really think your mother not capable of this?”

He snorts.

“Then you’ll need to take it up with Finola the next time you see her. Right now, you have to get Gutty to my father.”

“And what am I supposed to tell him when I do?”

“That I sent him. And that I asked my father to make a sailor out of him.”

“And your husband? If he goes searching for the boy?”

“He won’t know where to look. I’ll tell him that Gutty ran away. That he saw his chance and took it.” She lifts her chin. Levels him with a gaze. “Please? Do this for me.”

Richard looks to the boy and she watches his assessment. “And what about you? I’m just supposed to send you back?” He throws his hands up as the rest of Gutty’s confession sinks in. “And Walter? He’s dead? Somewhere out there in…in…”

“The forest,” Gutty says.

They both glare at him. The body can be dealt with later.

“My husband won’t hurt me,” she tells him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Grace pats her belly. “He’ll not take a risk with the báb.”

“And what about after it’s born? What then? How am I supposed to protect you then?”

“It isn’t your job to protect me. ’Tis mine.”

“You can’t.”

“It was you who taught me how.”

He looks like he wants to curse or break something. Spit or fight or scream. Richard grinds his teeth and balls his fists. It takes him nearly a minute to wrestle every emotion into submission.

“I’m going to kill your husband,” he says finally.

“Then you’ll have to get in line. I suspect there are any number of people in this camp who plan to get there first.” Grace steps so close that the swell of her belly pushes against him. She sets her palm against his chainmail vest. “That isn’t how I need your help, Richard. Take Gutty. Please.”

He closes his eyes. Drops his head.

“I’ll do it. On one condition,” he says.

Grace moves back a step so that she can see him clearly. “What?”

“I will take the boy to your father if you take this.”

She looks down to see a dagger in his hand. The one that hit the target.

“A kitchen knife is little protection against a man bent on rage. You still carry it in your boot?”

“You told me to keep it there at all times.”

“I am glad to know that you can listen. So listen to me now: You take my blade. And you use it on your fool of a husband if he ever sets a hand to you again.”

She looks at the knife but doesn’t take it. “Again?”

“How many times, Gráinne?” Richard asks. “How many times has he hit you?”