Page 107 of The Pirate Queen

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Hugh. De. Lacy.

Friend. Not. Foe.

Now Gutty and Finn follow him at a distance. He’d dragged the yawl onto the beach west of Achill Sound at Cloughmore. He goes up the sand and over the rocks and through the low brush. There, at the tree line, he stops, and both Gutty and Finn drop to their stomachs.

The liar has gone hunting. Technically. He’s brought a bow and more than enough arrows to last the day, with some luck. But he looks to be in no hurry.

The liar stretches, then lowers himself to a rock wall. He takes a long draw from his skin, drinking Gráinne’s ale. Then he pulls bread and cheese from a bag and enjoys a lunch taken from Gráinne’s larder.

Gutty can hear Finn grind his teeth.

“Lazy feck,” Finn hisses, and his words are no louder than wind in the grass.

An hour they wait, and the liar doesn’t budge an inch from his spot. Gutty thinks that they have just wasted their morning and should head back when they hear the sound of voices. Three men emerge from the woods, carrying the limp body of a gutted red deer between them. A buck. Antler rack three feet wide. Twelve points at least. They drop the carcass beside the stone fence. Gutty can hear the thump from his place in the grass and he scoots forward as they begin an animated conversation with de Lacy. The liar shakes his head, then the men shout. Shake their fists.

“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Gutty says.

“And we can’t go any closer,” Finn tells him. “Or they’ll see us.”

Several minutes later, one of the men pulls a small coin purse from his pocket and drops it into the liar’s hand. He weighs it in his palm, then drops the purse into his quiver for safekeeping. Then they’re all shaking hands and the three men tromp back into the woods from whence they came.

“Who are they?” Gutty asks.

He can feel Finn’s shrug at his shoulder. “Dunno.”

Gutty thinks the liar will start hauling the deer back to the yawl, but he lies down in the grass instead, looking for all the world like he’s going to take a nap.

Finn mutters a string of curses.

“There are many reasons to hate him,” Gutty says. “But his interest in the Bean an Tí isn’t one of them. Everyone knows you love her. Everyone except Gráinne. You’ve only yourself to blame if you do nothing about it.”

Finn looks at him, appalled.

“You can’t think we didn’t know?” Gutty asks, then shakes his head in disgust when Finn clamps his lips tight in denial. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”

They creep backward through the grass until they are far enough away not to be seen. When they reach the shore, Finn glares at the yawl that de Lacy brought.

“If it didn’t belong to her,” Finn says, “I would burn it.”

Neither of them says a word on the way back to Clare Island.

Hugh does not arrive back at Clare by sunset. Grace is concerned at first, then chastises herself for being silly. He is a grown man. An accomplished hunter. And he’s never come back without a deer. Or two. Must be a long hunt, is all.

The body of the man she knows as Hugh de Lacy arrives by currach late the next afternoon.

He is carried ashore by a group of shepherds who smell like lambs and struggle to look her in the eye. The oldest of them finally draws a deep breath and steps back, hands raised.

“Wasn’t us. Swear it on my mam’s grave.”

When he finally looks up, she sees that he is afraid.

Of her.

Her mouth parts slightly in surprise. Grace had not thought herself so fearsome.