Page 84 of The Pirate Queen

“Why didn’t you say anything when you came for the children?”

Eóin’s voice answers. “Because I told him not to.”

She glares at her brother. “I see your loyalties have shifted.”

Their father is sitting upright, the color bright in his cheeks as the sun streams across his face. He looks content. Happy. One hand still holds hers, and the other a steaming cup of mulled wine. He takes a sip and winces. His throat is sore.

They’ve all let her sleep through the night. The day feels bright and calm. When Grace tries to draw back, Eóin grips her hand tighter, his first real sign of strength since she arrived.

“You would keep your death from me?” she asks.

“Of course not,” he says. “Only my illness.”

“Why?”

“Because you would have rushed back here. And your people needed you.”

“They are not my people, Da.”

“Tell that to the one hundred and seventeen new inhabitants of my island. Because they certainly do not swear allegiance to me.” Too many words too quickly. Her father coughs, his breath shallow.

“You heard?”

“I called for your men to give a report while you slept.”

“Which one?”

“Wouldn’t know. Can’t tell the bastards apart.”

That makes her smile. “The Murray twins. I never heard them.”

“They seemed quite unwilling to wake you. But they informed me of all that has happened since you sent the children. Your husband’s death. Hen’s Castle.” He raises an eyebrow. “The Mary Fortune. Rory usurping the title. They explained the arrival of my new tenants, and that hundreds more are expected by land in the coming weeks. We will have to spread them across Clare, Achill, and Westport. One of your twins mentioned you haven’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep in the last four days. Maybe longer.”

Grace rubs her eyes and arches her back. “A peril of the job, I suppose.”

“ ’Tis hard, being chieftain,” he says, and the room grows entirely still.

Donal shifts in the chair beside her, and some long look passes between them. Her brother asks a question with his eyes. Eóin shakes his head.

“It was made rather clear to me that I am no such thing, Da.”

“There is little we can do about the O’Flaherty succession right now,” he tells her. “But something must be done about the O’Malleys. I have days, bird.”

“No. We don’t have to do this now.”

Donal’s voice is steady when he speaks. “We do, in fact. Now is the only time.”

“I have chosen my successor,” Eóin says, and his voice sounds thick and wet.

Grace sighs. “That does not mean the clan will agree.”

“If I have anything to say about it, they will,” he tells her.

“The leaders are gathering here today,” Donal says. “Both to pay their respects and to receive Da’s suggestion.”

“I will put forth a name and they must consider it. I will not leave this to chance, bird. You must trust me.”

Grace opens her mouth to say that of course she trusts him, but then she remembers that her father married her off to a man she did not love. All the begging in the world had not changed his mind. Now she is widowed and clanless, with three children. So she simply offers a weak smile and squeezes his hand.