her Irish one— “Catriona MacLean.” Moira realized neither Kyle nor Keith might want their clan name bandied about. But it was too late. Moira couldn’t and wouldn’t take it back.
“Then why do you sound like an Irishwoman?” pointed out the farmer.
“Because we fled when we were weans. I was brought to Ireland and my brothers went to sea,” Moira reasoned. “Now that I’m old enough to sail with them, I do.”
“You’re a lady pirate?” chirped a young girl of about nine summers. “Are you a pirate queen?”
Moira gulped. She’d really backed herself into a corner. She offered a half-hearted smile before she spun yet another lie. This conversation had raced out of control, and she was now as thick in the weeds as she would have been if she’d denied being aboard the Lady Charity or Lady Grace. “I can’t pick my kin. What my brothers do is their choice. I mend their stockings and darn their leines. I remain out of the way. But they are my family and all that I have.”
“Are you trying to find them then?” The farmer cut in.
“That’s what I wish. I fear they think I drowned at sea. Last I saw from atop the cliffs were two ships sailing north,” Moira explained.
“Wicklow. If your brothers think you’re alive and on land, that is the closest port they could sail into.”
“How far is that?” Moira wondered.
“Half a day’s sail if the wind is with them,” the farmer estimated.
“And on horseback?” Moira pressed.
“A day,” the farmer answered, a speculative expression settling on his visage. “Would you be thinking to go to Wicklow, lass?”
“If I had a way,” Moira said, matching the man’s speculative mien with a forlorn one of her own. The man only nodded before looking at his wife to communicate silently. The woman bustled forward and pulled Moira into a nook cordoned off to give the couple privacy at night. Without a word, the woman sized Moira up and tsked. She went to a chest that creaked as she opened it. She withdrew a gown but shook her head.
“You’re a wee thing, much smaller than I ever was. This won’t work.” She dug a little deeper until she looked back at Moira, scowled, and pulled out a leine and leggings. “These were my older son’s before he married and left home.”
She walked over to Moira and held them up, canting her head one way then the other. Moira stood silently as she waited for the woman to offer them to her. With puckered lips, the farmwife handed them to Moira.
“You can change here, and we can hang your clothes to dry before the fire. Your boots too. Mind you, you’re wiping up the puddles you’re leaving.”
“Thank you. Your kindness is appreciated,” Moira murmured, her teeth still chattering despite the blanket taking away some of the chill. The woman grunted and stepped past the partition into the primary room of the cottage. Moira hurried to remove the sodden clothing, struggling to peel them from her arms and legs. The leine and leggings were a surprisingly good fit, so she used the already damp blanket to dry the floor beneath her feet. She hurried to gather her clothes and boots before peeking her head into the family living space. When neither the farmer nor his wife said anything, Moira crossed the room and spread out her shirt and leggings. She put her boots as close to the fire as she dared. As she stood up, a grimy little hand tugged on hers. Moira looked down to find the youngest child, a boy of about five summers.
“Tell me what it’s like to be a pi-wat,” the boy pleaded. Moira sucked in a breath, about to offer the only truth she could.
“I’ve never actually been on a pirate ship when it’s attacked another boat. I only know what it is to sail on the open sea,” Moira confessed.
“You’ve never seen your brothers set a ship ablaze, skewer the other crew? You’ve never seen your brother set a man adrift?” The oldest girl said with disbelief.
“They’ve attacked no one while I’ve been aboard,” Moira stated. “Only the O’Malleys have attacked us.”
“And why would they do that?” The farmer joined the conversation. He maintained the speculative look in his eyes, and it made Moira uneasy. The man might have offered her shelter, but the hairs on the back of her neck and forearms told her not to trust him.
“I don’t know why my brothers haven’t attacked with me onboard.