The Bloody Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (38 page)

The days crawled past on the ship, while the food supplies seemed to go down far faster. They were catching fish and each one was a joy but, shared out among so many people, it was nothing. Bridgit was forced to give priority to the men working the sails, the nursing mothers and to the younger children. The women and the older ones had to go hungry. The men needed strength to work the ship, while she was afraid the younger children might get sick without a little extra.

Yet that was not her greatest worry. They were still checking their direction at dawn and dusk and thought they were going north-east, although that was more hope than certainty.

On the days they could see the sun, this was easy enough. But there were days when the sun hid behind thick clouds and they could never be sure which way they were going.

And then there were the storms – nothing like the winter tempests that lashed Gaelland but foretastes of what was to come.

The sky turned black and the waves pounded at the ship, tossing everyone around and making the children scream in fear. They took in the sails and the men worked on the pumps instead, forcing a steady stream of water up out of the ship’s bowels to be washed into the waves that scoured across the deck.

The ship groaned and grumbled and Bridgit watched lightning light up the sky and joined the others in praying to Aroaril that it pass, and they would get home safely.

On such days there was no chance of fishing, while the men on the pumps needed even more generous rations, for the exertion of forcing the heavy wooden paddles around left them exhausted otherwise.

Luckily no storm had so far lasted for more than a couple of days, and then they could emerge from below to dry themselves out, try to fish – and try to find their course again.

“It would be nice to see Fallon and the others coming to get us now,” Bridgit said. The three of them were basking in the sun after two days of being cramped below decks as the wind howled and the water lashed the ship. The sea had been so bad they could not even refill the water barrels, for fear the rain would be tainted by the saltwater breaking across the deck, and many had been unable to eat even their meager rations.

“Well, they are certainly not coming to rescue us,” Riona said. “When I see Devlin again I won’t know whether to kiss him or hit him over the head for leaving it all for us to do. He always was lazy when I wanted him to do something.”

“This is not like him refusing to hang the washing out!” Nola said with a laugh, flapping her wet sleeves.

“Exactly. Where are they? And why did they not come for us? I would have sworn they would do anything to get us back,” Riona grumbled.

“Aye. Thank Aroaril for Bridgit or we would still be waiting back there,” Nola said.

Bridgit did not say anything but it had been filling her thoughts as well. What was Fallon doing? She had been so sure he would come for her. Had something happened to him? She felt like imagining a series of horrible deaths for him and, a couple of moons ago, she would have. But now she pushed that aside. There were bigger worries, real worries. She would get them back to Gaelland and then find Fallon. All questions could wait until then.

“What is the word below decks? Are people grumbling too much?” she asked instead.

“Well, everyone is hungry. But they are in good spirits, because they think we are going in the right direction and should be home soon. Besides, after what you did to Blaine and Carrick, they know you are protecting them. And they can see you are eating no more than they are, so they have no cause for complaint there,” Nola said.

“Well, I’d like to complain about it. Devlin won’t even recognize me when I get back,” Riona said. “And Nola should be really unhappy. When your husband is the size of Brendan, you need more than a little padding or you end up black and blue!”

“Well, if you can make jokes like that, then you can’t be too bad,” Nola said with a shake of her head.

“Come on, Bridge, cheer up. We have done so much. Everything is under control now,” Riona said.

Bridgit sighed. “I wish you hadn’t said that. There is always something that could go wrong.”

“Well, there it is over there,” Nola said, pointing.

Bridgit followed her and saw three men lurking by the mast. They were well known. Keegan, Arron and Fitz, a trio of useless lumps who were always the first to complain and the last to do any work. Their stories of how they had been caught by the Kottermanis did not ring true and, after what happened with Blaine and Carrick, she was not prepared to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.

“You three! Get below and ask to be given some work!” she snapped.

The trio looked at her with a mixture of guilt and bitterness, but they sloped off anyway.

“There you go, nothing to be worried about. Problem solved,” Riona said.

*

“Get us out of here,” Blaine growled. “We’re bogging well starving!”

“And you think we are all lying around shoving bread and honey down our throats?” Keegan snapped back. “I’ve spent the past day on the pumps until I couldn’t feel my arms!”

Carrick laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Then let us out and we’ll make sure there’s food for the right people. Like you and us.”

“There’s not much left,” Keegan warned.

“So? We’ll throw some of the brats overboard, more for the rest of us. And we’ll feed that bitch Bridgit and her friends to the fishes. Use them as bait maybe,” Blaine said harshly.

“We can keep some of the younger women. But that’s all,” Carrick agreed. “We’ll even let you have first pick. All you have to do is get us out of here!”

“Easier said than done,” Keegan grumbled.

The two brothers had been shut into a sail locker deep inside the ship. There was space for the two of them to lie down and little more than that. Once a day they were brought a little of the fluffy grain couscous, dates and water and the rest of the time they were left alone. Keegan was not sure how he had come to be given the responsibility of feeding them but he and his cronies Fitz and Arron knew nothing about sailing or fishing and that bitch Bridgit kept making them do all the dirty and smelly tasks. He hated being treated like this but there was no denying Bridgit. Whatever she said, you had to do. Fitz and Arron were back sweating on the pumps, keeping water out of the guts of the ship, but he had been told to bring the food down there before he joined them. He had been surprised but perhaps they had all forgotten he and his mates had once sided with Blaine, Carrick and their two cousins, who had died writhing under the brutal sun, their eyeballs burned to a crisp. After all, they had been careful to stay away from them since then.

“Just give us a knife. One knife and we can be out of here in a night,” Blaine pleaded.

“Are you mad? What if you can’t and they catch you? We’d join you in there!” Keegan protested.

Carrick pushed forwards. “If you don’t help us, we’ll tell them that you were stealing the food too. We know how you got caught back home, stealing the tribute people had left out for the selkies.”

“They won’t believe you,” Keegan said.

“Bridgit will. She will remember you from before, that you were with us and Sean and Seamus. And if there’s as little food as you say, she will jump at the chance to throw you in here with us and starve you slowly to death,” Blaine said.

Keegan cursed them but they just stared back at him.

“What have we got to lose?” Carrick asked. “But give us what we want and you will have the pick of the women and the food, not have to lift another finger until we are back home.”

“Or walk away now and join us later,” Blaine added.

Keegan looked over his shoulder but there was nobody down there. “You promise to help me?” he hissed.

“You have our word,” Blaine said.

Keegan drew his knife, a chunky, curved dagger that he had taken from a Kottermani guard. He passed it between the thick wooden bars in the top of the door, designed to air out the old sails and prevent mold from setting in – but which also made the locker look like a prison.

“Keep your word,” he said, then turned and hurried away.

The leader of the thieves in Lunster who had tried to kill them was less than impressed at being dragged along but Rosaleen wanted to be sure she could look again into his memory whenever she needed. They kept his hands tied and two men were always by his side, knives ready.

His memories led them down the coast to a beautiful little home by a secluded bay, where he remembered being taken, given wine and gold and his orders. Gallagher’s sharp eyes spotted men moving around so they sailed past, anchoring in another cove for the day.

“We shall go in at night. There is almost no moon, so they will not see us,” Gallagher said.

“But there are so few of us and we don’t know how many they have,” Rosaleen pointed out.

“They will be asleep and unaware. And we have you,” Gallagher said.

That was all very flattering but it did not stop the nerves in her stomach as they crept forwards that night.

Gallagher had sailed their little ship into the bay with his customary skill, bringing it alongside a wide jetty. Obviously none of them had been to the Duke’s summerhouse, but they had heard of it, a cool escape from the stench of Lunster in the height of summer. But what was happening there now was a bigger mystery.

The jetty was big enough to allow the biggest of ships to berth in safety. But, apart from their own vessel, the only other boat tied up was a rickety old fishing sloop.

There were no sentries and all eight of them slipped up to the house silently. Mika had been left tied securely to the mast – Gallagher had been more than thorough because the thief looked like he was covered in rope. Yet there was still enough left for each man to be wearing a coil around their waists.

The heavy wooden door was locked and barred and the time it would take to batter it down would give those inside more than enough notice to grab weapons and give them a rude welcome. But with Rosaleen guiding them they were able to move around the side to where a window had been left unlocked. It was not visible from the front, being hidden by a screen of bushes, but she led them right to it.

“This will bring us into the kitchen. From there seem to be six men sleeping in a large room and a seventh in a smaller room,” she said.

“Me first, the Sister second-last. Edan, you’re the smallest, so you come last,” Gallagher ordered in a whisper. “You six take the ones in the room, we’ll take the man alone.”

Three of them lifted Gallagher up and helped him ease through the window. Rosaleen could feel her heart hammering as he vanished inside and she had to remind herself to trust in the knowledge that Aroaril was giving her. The men inside were asleep and, until they awoke, Gallagher would be safe.

With men on the outside and inside, it was much easier to get through the window. When it was her turn, she clambered onto the back of Edan and strong hands lifted her up. She got one knee onto the windowsill and then overbalanced. But Gallagher was there and rather than falling heavily, she landed in his arms.

For a moment she enjoyed the sensation as they were locked together. Then he released her and, after an extra heartbeat or two, she stepped away. Behind them, Edan was dragged in through the window and they could all look around the kitchen, lit by the embers of the dying fire. It was huge, with enough room for an army of cooks.

Rosaleen led the way forward. Each man had a hand on another’s shoulder so they formed one long chain. One turn of the corridor away from the kitchen and the place was in darkness, only a hint of moonlight. But Rosaleen, guided by a higher power, led them through a series of large rooms to the barrack room, where they could all hear the snores of sleeping men. A fire was dying down to embers, one last log glowing to show the carved wooden beds.

“Knock them out and tie them up. If any wake and give you trouble, use your knives. No hesitation,” Gallagher ordered.

They looked nervous but determined and Rosaleen left them to it as she and Gallagher hurried down the corridor to a much larger room, where one man snored under heavy blankets in a huge four-poster bed.

“Do you think this is the Duke? Maybe he faked his own death,” Gallagher murmured into her ear.

Rosaleen enjoyed the sensation of his lips brushing her ear and his warm breath on her neck for a moment before replying. It seemed almost perverse that she could think of such things at a time like this but every nerve was on edge, every breath was crisp and clear and her senses were heightened, both by the danger and the magical help she was getting. She had never felt more alive. “This is not the Duke. It is the man in Mika's memory. And he has all the answers.”

The man snuffled in his sleep and turned over. Instantly Gallagher pounced on him.

“What—?” the man gasped as the covers were dragged back but he said nothing else as he felt the prick of Gallagher’s knife.

“Follow us,” Gallagher ordered.

Rosaleen hung back as Gallagher marched the man back down the corridor and into the guard room, where the villagers were lashing up the last of the other men. All six were alive but only two were conscious, the others sporting blossoming bruises on their heads.

“Poke up the fire and let’s see what is going on,” Gallagher ordered.

Their prisoner was made to sit on the bed nearest to the fire, revealing him to be a young, fit man with an arrogant face and a bandaged arm. Gallagher stepped back a pace, taking the knife away from his throat.

“Start talking,” he ordered.

“You don’t know what you have done. You have doomed yourselves,” the man told them angrily. “Do you know who owns this house?”

“The Duke of Lunster,” Rosaleen said, stepping into the light so he could see she was wearing the robes of Aroaril. “But you are not him, so why are you sleeping in his bed? Who are you? What do you know of Hagen’s death? Why did you have a watch on his house – a watch that tried to kill us when we came asking questions.”

The man clamped his mouth shut so Rosaleen stepped forward and reached out for his head.

“Leave me alone!” the man cried, raising his hands.

Next moment Gallagher was there and the knife was back at the man’s throat.

“Go on, kill me. I will never talk,” the man said defiantly.

Rosaleen stepped around to the side of him and grasped his head. “You don’t have to,” she told him.

She closed her eyes and plunged into his memories. Unlike Mika, this man tried to fight her but his mind was weak and malleable and easy to read.

Rosaleen’s eyes snapped open. “We have to get him back to Berry and Fallon. Now!” she said, urgency making her voice crack.

“Why? What is it?” Gallagher asked.

“I know what happened to the Duke of Lunster and why that ship sailed into Baltimore. Our friends are in terrible danger. We have to tell them before it is too late.”