Page 197 of The Pirate Queen

Grace does not want to hear her parents argue. She does not want the guilt that comes with knowing they fight because of her. So she slips down the stairs on bare feet, quieter than a breath. Down, down she goes. Past the Great Hall and through the kitchen. Out the door and down the steps. All the way to the rock-strewn beach and stands beneath the moon.

She searches the dark waters of Clew Bay, hoping to see Richard Bourke coming for her. She sees nothing but white-tipped waves and distant blinking stars.

Grace reaches for the Sense, but Manannán is silent.

Richard lifts a hand to knock on the privy chamber door just as it swings open. His father walks out, tying his trews. His face is ruddy. Beads of sweat on the bridge of his nose and at his temples. He looked pleased with himself. A quick glance over his father’s shoulder and Richard sees Finola in the chair, her leine hanging off one shoulder and hiked up to her hips. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Takes a long drink of water.

Richard shudders and turns away.

“Pack your bag,” his father says.

It takes a moment to change the course of his thoughts. “For what?”

“Hunting. We leave immediately.”

No, no, no. This won’t work. He needs to sail for Clare. Tonight. He needs to get Gráinne away.

“ ’Tis late,” Richard stammers.

“I didn’t realize you were afraid of the dark.”

“I amn’t. I…I can’t go hunting. Not now.”

“I didn’t ask for the pleasure of your company, Richard.”

“How long will we be gone?”

“Two weeks at least,” his father says. “Your mother wants a red stag to mount in the Great Hall.”

Richard is shaking his head, preparing a defense, when his father shoves past him. “That is an order, son.”

He is fool enough to look to his mother for help. But when he meets Finola’s eyes, he sees them narrowed. Cunning. And he understands. This was her idea.

She does not leave her room until sunset on the day of her betrothal dinner. Grace speaks to no one except Nora, who has been sent to get her ready—not as a servant, but as a friend. A favor that Maeve begged of Donal.

Grace is bathed and brushed and trussed up like some doll. Her prettiest gown, her hair clean and soft, with a circlet of flowers. They have been in the garret room for hours. Talking mostly. Laughing some. Grace knows that Nora prolongs every task just to keep her company.

Nora is a gift, and Donal a genius for seeing that fact the first moment he looked at her. Grace thinks she might have put a knife to her own wrist if not for Nora’s company today.

She does not want to die.

She simply does not want to be married off.

The two things feel one and the same today.

There are no windows in Grace’s garret, so she does not know which ship is docked below on the stone pier. Whether it belongs to a Bourke or an O’Flaherty. But based on the hubbub in the Great Hall below, she knows their guests have arrived and that her father has ordered a fine meal to celebrate.

“Thank you,” Grace says when emotion starts to build behind her eyes, in her throat.

“For what?”

“For being here. For trying to lift my spirits.”

“Have I failed, then?” Nora asks.

“They are too heavy to lift, I’m afraid.” Grace’s smile is real, though tinged with sadness. “I always wondered what it would be like to have a sister. I’m glad for one now. Even if I have to leave you.”

When Nora moves to light another candle, Grace knows that her time has run out. Moments later, a knock sounds at the door and Maeve enters.