The Red Drifter of the Sea (Pirates of the Isles #3) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,5
door closed behind her, she only considered what was ahead of her.
Moira gritted her teeth as she stood at the prow of the MacDonnell ship as it eased through the waves, drawing them closer to where Moira knew the O’Malleys trolled the waters. Grady and Malone already explained that they would drop anchor in a cove a day’s sail north of the O’Malley stronghold, then wait to sail past in the dead of night. The last thing Moira needed was for the O’Malleys to attack them. She would be served to Dermot like a stuffed Christmas goose. Despite her trepidation, she eased her grip on the railing and watched as the western horizon softened into hues of reds and oranges. She’d been at sea for three days, and the wind was not in their favor. She’d stayed below deck the first day, fearful that any passing ship would wonder why there was a woman aboard. But once they were well out of the popular shipping lanes, she ventured into the fresh air and spent hours watching the churning surf against the hull.
With the sun setting, the air grew chill, so Moira abandoned her post for the cabin Grady had given her. There was only a skeleton crew aboard the ship; only men Grady and Malone trusted never to tell Dónal of her escape. The men said little to her, and the pity in their eyes rankled, but she was grateful for their willingness to risk their lives to aid in her flight from Dunluce. Unused to the bracing air and brisk spray that coated the deck, Moira fell asleep easily and slept through the nights. She’d never considered how exhausted she was from years of waking with Sean’s night terrors. But the uninterrupted sleep was more restorative than manna from Heaven. It felt like only moments after shutting her eyes that they snapped open to pounding on her door and voices bellowing orders above deck.
“Moira, open the door!” Malone’s voices pierced through the wood. “We’re under attack.”
Moira sprang from the bunk and yanked the door open. “O’Malleys?”
“Pirates.”
Moira sucked in a whistling breath before she nodded. She knew Aidan wouldn’t raid them, and both Ruairí and Rowan MacNeil had retired. There were no pirates sailing along the Irish coast that she could count on as more friend than foe. Malone said no more before dashing back toward the ladder well. She shed her chemise and pulled on the oversized leine and leggings that one of the men had given her when she boarded in case this very situation arose. She stuffed her meager belongings into her sack before easing the door open. She could hear metal clashing against metal, and the stench of blood flooded her nostrils. Breathing through her mouth, she raced to the hatch that led to the hold. She slid more than stepped down the ladder until her feet hit the damp floor. She glanced around and spied the outline of a stack of crates and barrels that she could hide behind before tugging the rope that closed the door.
As the battle waged above her, Moira said all the prayers she knew and made up as many as she could conjure. She couldn’t tell from the muffled voices which side would be victorious. When she bounced against the bulkhead, she wondered if the jarring impact that sent her sailing was from a cannon or the pirate ship ramming them. She waited for water to rush in and engulf her, but when not even a sliver of light entered the blackness, she knew they hadn’t been rammed. That only left a cannonball. Few ships were equipped with the new weapon, but Moira suspected pirates would be among the first to arm themselves. She feared the deck would be alight and that she would still go to a watery grave when the ship burned around her. But she had no alternatives. If the MacDonnells were defeated, and she expected their tiny crew would be, she would die whether she entered the fray on deck or waited to sink with the ship.
As suddenly as the noise and turbulence began, everything fell silent. Moira didn’t dare move. Grady and Malone had been very clear with their instructions. In case of attack, she was to remain hidden unless one of them came for her. She wasn’t to trust anyone but them. If anyone found her, she was to appear and act like an adolescent boy rather than a woman. She’d fretted about appearing