Page 56 of The Pirate Queen

“ ’Tis no secret. But what does it matter?”

“Why avenge him if you did not love him?” he asks.

“ ’Tis not the man we avenge, Finn. Our enemies must fear the O’Flaherty name. If we do not defend that castle, they will take it from us. Then they will know that we are weak and they will take more. Our very lives will be forfeit by the end.”

“And what of your children? Why put their lives at risk?”

“They are at risk already. The Joyce has just killed their father. And Murrough will eliminate every rightful heir in his quest to keep the title they were born to have. My children are safe enough for tonight. What we do next will ensure that they remain so.”

Finn pushes at his cheek, tongue bulging against the thick muscle above his jaw. He nods but does not speak.

“Say it,” Gráinne tells him. “Whatever ’tis you’re thinking.”

“You mean to fight.”

“Tá.”

“Have you ever fought before? With a blade, I mean.”

“There is much you do not know about me, Finn.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

Her voice is cold when she says, “Do you question my ability to lead those men?”

“I only question their ability to follow. I can’t think of a time any of them have seen a woman with a sword in her hands.”

“ ’Tis a good thing, then, that I won’t be holding one.”

Open. Closed. His mouth works like a bellows while his brain stumbles over what to say. Everything that occurs to him will no doubt insult her.

Gráinne laughs and sets a hand on his shoulder. The touch moves through him with a frisson and he can feel the warmth of her fingers for several long seconds after she pulls them away.

“Help me get my army on that boat and leave the rest to me.”

Again his thoughts betray him, his tongue worrying the side of his cheek. Her eyes fall to the movement and she sighs.

“What now?”

“ ’Tis just the O’Flaherty name.”

“What of it?”

“You don’t claim it. Never have.”

“I never agreed to take it. But my sons are O’Flahertys. As will their sons be after them. So the name does mean something to me.” She looks out at the dark unsettled waters of Bunowen Bay. “Do you know what is engraved upon the seawall along the quay in Galway?”

He shakes his head.

“ ‘From the ferocious O’Flahertys, Good Lord deliver us.’ It was carved in Latin long before I was born. My father showed it to me the first time I ever set foot in that fecking city. Can you guess who engraved those words?”

“A Joyce?”

“Tá. So I’ve been told. Is perhaps time they remember why.”

Grace stands on the battlements of Cock’s Castle sixteen hours later as the pink shawl of dusk settles over the still waters of Lough Corrib. All is calm and quiet on the small half-acre island as she watches the western shore for any sign of movement.

“They’ll come from the north. From Maum,” Finn says. “Down the River Cong.”