Page 47 of The Pirate Queen

A smile turns the corner of her mouth. “Who else would it be?”

“To hear them tell the story, you were some great pirate.”

“Patched and peg-legged, no doubt,” she says with a laugh. “Probably half drunk and cursing as well?”

The guard shakes his head. “No. Lord Howth only said that you were beautiful and terrifying and he’s never been so scared in all his life as he was the days he spent beneath your roof.”

“Yet here I am at his doorstep, old and tired and in need of a bath.”

The guard stands there shaking his head, trying to make sense of it all.

Grace looks up when she hears footsteps on the gravel. The first guard is back.

“You’re to come with me,” he orders the moment he’s within earshot. “Bring your men.”

She follows the guard inside, the others in a line behind her once she indicates there is no danger. Up the steps and through a wide entry hall. Through a door, down a hall, and here they are in a tidy parlor. An old man sits in an upholstered chair before the fire. A blanket is thrown across his lap. Grace recognizes him even from the doorway, and she waits for Lord Howth to stand. His eyes are rheumy but it’s clear he recognizes her as well. She tries not to wince as he struggles to his feet, then shuffles across the floor with a pronounced limp.

The old man takes her right hand and lifts it close to his face. He squints at the ring on her thumb. “You still have it?” he asks.

“A prize possession.”

Old Lord Howth lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. “Welcome,” he tells her.

“I do apologize for my appearance. And my…ah…aroma, as it were. I was recently detained for an unfortunate length of time.”

“No doubt it will make for an entertaining story,” he tells her. “Over dinner. Which will be served shortly.”

Grace looks over her shoulder and flashes a triumphant grin at her men as though saying, I told you so. But to Lord Howth, she asks, “Might I make use of your bathing chamber first?”

He laughs, and Grace thinks it sounds of thunder on a distant hill. A soft and rumbling noise, devoid of threat. “What’s mine is yours. I will send a girl in with clean trews and a shirt. That is your preferred traveling attire, if I remember correctly?”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” she tells him.

Before Grace can retreat to the bathing chamber, the parlor door is thrown back and a young man stands there, breathing heavy, like he just ran the full length of the castle.

“You!” he shouts.

Grace tries not to smile, but fails. “Hello, Christopher.”

Blond hair curling at the ends, same as she remembers. Also there, the dark solemn eyes and ready dimples. “I thought to never see you again,” he declares.

“My apologies for disappointing you.”

Christopher grabs her hand. Looks for the ring. Kisses it in the same manner as his grandfather had. “On the contrary! In recent years I began to fear I’d imagined the whole adventure.”

Gutty clears his throat. “If only.”

His voice seems to startle both of her hosts. The elder and younger St. Lawrence look at him. Then flinch.

“And you!” Christopher practically shouts, then turns to Ultan and the Murrays. “All of you. Not one of them have aged a day. Least of all her. Do you see it, Grandfather?”

“It is alarming, I admit,” he says.

“Well. Salt is a preservative,” Grace explains.

“Let her be,” Lord Howth orders his grandson. “Until dinner at least. She wants to tidy up.”

And so she does.