Page 7 of The Pirate Queen

“It would have been easier to go around,” Grace says, pointing to the harbor, then throws herself into her brother’s arms the moment he sets the little girl down.

“And what’s the fun in that?” he asks. “Besides, this one is just like her aunt and loves nothing more than getting wet.”

Grace bends down for a closer look at the girl. She is nothing if not Donal’s daughter, though she does have Nora’s wide brown Spanish eyes.

“And who is this?” she asks.

“We call her Gráinne,” Nora answers, a smile in her voice. “ ’Tis an old family name we thought to keep alive.”

Grace blinks hard to keep the sudden tears away. She sets a hand on the girl’s head, runs her thumb through the soft curls. “I am glad that you’re here. But you must be hungry. How many are you?”

“The four of us.” Donal nods to everyone who has come ashore in the rowboat. “And another twenty as crew.”

“Not a full boat, then. I will make sure ye have a fine dinner.” Grace extends her hand to the dark-headed little girl and is stunned when a chubby palm is set in hers. “I suppose there is a reason for your visit?”

“Tá,” Donal says. “I’ve a message for your husband.”

“My husband is away,” Gráinne says when they are all seated at the table in the Great Hall. It does not escape Donal’s attention that she cannot quite meet his eyes, that her smile is stiff.

“Her fecking husband is always away.”

Donal isn’t certain who spits these words, though he thinks it might be that dirty boy who tends the fires. His back is turned and he’s speeding from the Great Hall.

“You can tell me, and I will relay the message to mo fhear,” she says.

He snorts. “ ‘My husband’? It’s been four years. You still won’t say his name?”

“I only have room for one Donal. You are my brother. You came first. He is only my husband. But g’wan. What’s this message?”

“Not anything either of us is meant to know.” Donal reaches inside his shirt and pulls out a letter that has been folded into thirds and sealed with wax. “From your sister-in-law.”

“Finola?” Gráinne asks. She takes the letter and squints at the seal. “Does she think I read my husband’s correspondence? And how did you come to be messenger?”

Nora sets a hand to her round belly and shifts in her chair, trying to get comfortable. “Donal has been given the tower house in Westport because—”

“Da wants a stronger presence on the mainland,” he finishes for her.

“And since Westport and Rockfleet are not so far apart, we see The MacWilliam and Finola often enough. Last time we were at dinner, she gave that letter to Donal.”

“Though she did so away from The MacWilliam,” he adds.

“A secret?” Gráinne asks.

Donal shrugs. “It’s likely just a family matter. And it gave us a reason to visit, so I didn’t mind.”

“How did you manage to get your hands on Niamh?”

“Da has me at sea often these days. And since Sivney is tasked with turning me into…” He pauses. “Well, with turning me into you, it’s Niamh I take. Sivney says he’ll not set foot on another boat. And I know better than to argue with him.”

Gráinne looks at her plate and the food she has barely touched. Donal hates how different his sister seems in this place, how small. She is pale and thin. Sad.

“I have not been on the water since I married.” She says it like a confession, like she needs absolution.

Donal O’Malley, heir to the chieftainship of the O’Malley clan, is the only person at this table who understands what his sister means.

“So long?” he asks.

“My husband is away.” Gráinne dares a glance, communicating everything that cannot be said aloud. “And when he goes, he takes his ship. So I am here. With his people.”