Page 8 of The Pirate Queen

The cheerful hubbub of voices rumbles around them, along with the clatter of trenchers on the table. It is a loud gathering. And no one notices when he reaches beneath the table to squeeze his sister’s hand.

“I had thought it would be Richard,” he whispers. “He is the one I’d hoped for you.”

“I was not given that choice.” She clears her throat, then pulls her hand away. “And how is he? Married, I’m sure. Probably with more bábs than you?”

Nora laughs. “That would be Walter. As the elder son, he couldn’t refuse to marry the way Richard has. My brother spends most of his time in the hills culling deer. We haven’t seen him in, what—?”

“Two months,” Donal answers, but does not shift his gaze from his sister.

“He did ask about you,” Nora adds.

Gráinne tries to smile. Fails. “And what did you tell him?”

“Was nothing to tell, was there? Only that we hadn’t heard from you but planned to visit soon.”

Gráinne takes a careful sip of mead. Clears her throat. “I am glad you did.”

Donal looks to Nora and they speak in that silent way of theirs.

A brow lifted in question.

A nod.

“I have an idea,” he says finally.

“And what might that be?” Gráinne asks.

Instead of answering her, he leans forward and shouts down the table, “Sivney! Ready the ship.”

Niamh crests a wave, then comes down hard, blowing frigid spray into her eyes. Grace laughs with delight from her position in the bow, then checks the compass that sits heavy in her palm. They are headed due west, into the Atlantic, toward the great unknown.

Grace looks over her shoulder to where Donal stands at her back. “Are you sure Nora didn’t want to come?”

“Tá,” he laughs. “She hates the sea. Even more than I do. Besides, our little one wanted a nap.”

Grace had taken Nora and her tiny namesake to the privy chamber and situated them in her bed. Both had been half asleep by the time she made it to the door.

They have been on the water for two hours now, and she knows their time is drawing to a close because Donal keeps looking at the horizon and the slow arc of the sun as it drops toward the water.

But Niamh ferries more than just Grace, her brother, and the crew today. The Murray twins are here as well, because she cannot be rid of the fools anytime she leaves the castle grounds. One of them—she can never tell which—has been leaning over the gunwale retching since they left the bay.

Gutty surprises her, however.

She had not intended to bring the boy at all until she’d seen him on the beach, fists planted on his hips, scowling to where Niamh sat bobbing in the water.

“What’s wrong?” she’d asked.

“Boats ain’t real,” he declared.

“Of course they are. You can see one right now. ’Tis as real as I am.”

“I see the moon too, but I can’t touch it. If I can’t touch it, it ain’t real.”

Grace laughed. “Well, come along, then, and touch it for yourself.”

Gutty had looked up at her with a kind of wonder. But there was also fear. “Ah, sure, I can’t swim.”

“Then you’ll be minding that mouth of yours, lest I throw you overboard.”