Page 114 of The Pirate Queen

“A commission signed by Bingham. One that allows his sheriff to search all of Mayo for Spaniards and any traitors harboring them. I told him they cannot go through our territory. That they had no right and you wouldn’t be standing for it. But when he realized you weren’t here to stop them, he took his men to Mulranny.”

“There are no Spaniards in Mulranny,” she says.

“The sheriff doesn’t know that, does ’e? ’E’s only looking for a fight.”

“Then we’ll have to give him one.”

Young Richard is not yet sixteen. Tall like his father, but slender as a reed. It will be some years before he has the muscle to be intimidating. With his fosterage only just ended, he has been at Rockfleet learning what he can from Grace.

She places a reassuring hand on his forearm. “How many men did the sheriff have with him?”

“A personal guard of twenty-five. But he has another two hundred and fifty already marching north into the territory of Erris.”

“How long have they been gone?”

“Four hours, at least. I am sorry, Granny. I had no way of stopping them, I—”

“This is Bingham’s fault, not yours. Do you hear me?”

The boy nods.

She grinds her teeth together for a moment, considering what to do. “The sheriff will be in Mulranny already. But we have to stop him before he can lead his army north toward Blacksod Bay. Or they’ll find our Spaniards at Doona Castle, and all the evidence they’ll need to hang me.”

Young Richard straightens his shoulders. He gulps but his eyes are hard. “I’ll go with you.”

“No. You ride for Burrishoole and alert your father. I’ll take my men by ship. But he’ll need to rout as many as he can by land. We’ll deal with what’s left together. Go. Now.”

“No.” Young Richard lifts his chin and she sees all his father’s stubbornness. “It’s me that didn’t stop him earlier. And it’s me that will stop him from going any farther.”

He’s little more than a boy. And she’s no right to drag him into battle without the knowledge of his parents. But if she refuses Young Richard now, neither he nor her men will forget. Grace has lived far longer than she’s had a right to, given all the trouble she’s seen these last six decades. But she will not lead this clan forever. And her grandson, young though he is, will likely be one of the men to carry on after she is gone.

“Get your weapon, then,” she tells him, and prays that her daughter will forgive her.

The boy is off like an arrow, bolting through the door and into the castle. When Grace turns back to Niamh, she sees her crew on deck waiting for orders. “Empty the garrison,” she tells them. “We’ll need every sword we can muster.”

There are near eighty men on board Niamh within the hour. They set out late that afternoon, first using oars to make their way through Rockfleet Bay, then sails once they glide into Clew. There is some skill required to navigate the shallow waters and its cluttered drumlin islands, but they’ve no time to spare. Gutty is surprised Gráinne takes the risk. She coddles this ship more than any of her grandchildren.

Gráinne is in her sailing trews, still damp from her earlier voyage as she guides Niamh onto the broad flat beach at Mulranny. All these years later and Gutty is still unnerved at the sight of her, dressed like a man, while at the helm. In his experience, there are two Gráinnes: the chieftain and the sea captain. But every once in a while, they converge to become this version of her. And now that woman stands before him, scowling at the blood-red sunset.

The white sands and gentle waves of Mulranny belie the acrid black smoke that rises from the village. A dozen families live here and there’s little chance they could fight off the English sheriff and his armed guard.

Gráinne orders Young Richard to stay with Gutty as they pile onto the beach. The boy carries no weapon but a scythe sharpened to a lethal glint.

When Gutty looks at it askance, the boy says, “Was good enough for my da during his first fight.”

“This is your first?”

He nods.

“Isn’t as fun as they say—” Gutty motions toward all the men gathering on the beach. “They boast when they’re drunk, but they’re all scared enough in the moment.”

“Were you scared?”

Gutty pulls his sword from its scabbard, readies the blade in his hand. “I screamed like a cailín the first time I saw a man killed.”

“You did?”

“Tá. Was in Moycullen. That wasn’t a battle, though. It was a murder. I was about your age.”