As very few people seem to have heard of this fandom, I shall explain in brief: The Pirate Queen is a musical based loosely on the life of the Irish pirate woman Gráinne Ní Mhaille, better known as Grace O’Malley and also called Grania, Grania Mhaol, Granuaile, and many other names. Go to Wiki for more information on both musical and woman.

This is dedicated to Tiggy the Hopeless Romantic, who first compared one of my Fiyeros to Tiernan and got me started on this obsession. Written in honor of the release of Stephanie J. Block’s CD, which includes the title song of this story.

Into this story I will also be incorporating information both from the Morgan Llewellyn novel and from history, so my hold ever lessens, though I freely screw with both history and fiction.

Disclaimer: The Pirate Queen is as much mine as it was appreciated by the critics.

Part I

There had been an element of heroism in her choice, Grania had thought. Leaving the man she loved, leaving the sea, leaving everything she held dear, for the sake of peace and unity in her beloved land. She had told herself this for weeks, and it had been her lifeline through the seemingly endless stream of wedding preparations and well-wishing. She had almost come to peace with her decision.

So she suffered the wedding, and almost enjoyed it—there was always the chance that this marriage would work out, she told herself, and danced with the others. She was even able to separate from her new husband, and it was only when she found herself face-to-face with Tiernan, and Dubhdara moved between them, that the heroism began to be replaced with a terrible pit in her stomach.

Tiernan moved elsewhere and her father smiled at her. “May I dance with my daughter?” he asked her.

She made herself smile back. “Of course.”

But dancing and feasting can last only for so long, and soon enough the party ended and she was sent off to Rockfleet as the wife of Donal O’Flaherty. He was drunk, she noticed in disgust, and not in a light way. Not surprising, as every time she had happened to see him during the wedding he had been imbibing. She wondered if it was even worth it to try to make conversation with him. But he took the initiative, surprisingly.

“Isn’t that one of your ships over there?” he asked her in a somewhat slurred voice.

She looked in the direction of his pointing finger and yes, that was her favorite galley sitting still in the water. “She is.”

“Well, you had better get used to calling your ships your father’s now, because your life as a sea captain is over!” he laughed. “I’ll lose no gold over you.”

She ignored the painful mention of her ships and asked, instead, “What do you mean, ‘lose no gold’?”

Donal smiled. “That’s no woman’s business, but I’ve a reputation to keep.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He went silent then, and nothing more was said until great dark Rockfleet loomed in front of them like a sudden storm cloud. Donal made no pretense of being welcoming. He went straight to the bedroom, dumped her on the bed like she would throw out a barrel of slops, and began taking off his clothes. He raised his eyebrows at the horror that had come over her face. “What, nobody told you about this part?” He grinned, mocking.

“Of course I know,” she snapped. And she did: the entire point of this whole awful marriage was to produce an heir that would unite their two clans. Still, she had pushed that matter to the back of her mind, refusing to think about it. Until now. “But does it have to be right now?” It could wait a day, a year.

“Why?” Donal smirked. “We have a duty, don’t we?”

“I assume that I am correct in assuming that the only duty you feel toward me is sex, no different from the other thousand women you’ve had.”

“Oh, I don’t know about a thousand,” he said. “Besides, how about all the men you must have had?”

“Pardon me?” She drew herself up. She stood taller than he, they both noticed. “I’ll have you know that I am not, in fact, one of your whores—”

“You’re a woman living a man’s life.” He shrugged. “A woman in trousers, leading a crew of probably screw-starved men? What else can you expect?”

“A sense of honor, Donal.” God, this man disgusted her. “You may not have ever learned the concept, but I bear it well.”

“Then you’ll keep the vow you made hours ago,” he reminded her. “So we’ll easily enough settle the question of your virginity.” His hands went to the fastenings of her dress, but she pushed them away.

“I can undress myself,” she told him, and to her surprise he stood back and let her struggle with the troublesome garment herself.

Grania tried to work slowly, but after a minute Donal came forward. “Will you hurry up or will I do that for you?”

She turned slowly and tilted her head. “Would you rape me?” She certainly believed it of him, and he seemed to seriously consider the answer.

“No,” he said at last. “But again, your precious honor…”

She swore but picked up the pace, and within a few seconds the dress was off. Hours of work and more money than Grania wanted to think about had gone into it, but Donal casually kicked it out of the way as. He scanned her with his eyes, and for the first time in her life Grania felt uncomfortable in front of a man. “So you are female,” he observed. “That’s that with those rumors.”

“You doubted it? I thought it was my virginity you worried about.”

“Oh, I never doubted, and I don’t worry, dear. I simply wonder if that Tiernan is your mate in more ways than one—”

Slaps had never been Grania’s cup of English tea; she packed a hard punch and Donal found himself on the floor with a very sore jaw and his new wife glowering over him. He sprang up to retaliate, but Grania caught his hands and held him back. “You would attack your wife before you’re four hours married, Donal O’Flaherty? Why, I daresay you would appear frightened.”

“Frightened of a woman?” He snorted and tried to push her away. Her muscles strained to hold him, but she would not budge; she fought better than many men he’d known. “In that you think me wrong; you think right, though, in that you are a wife, Grania O’Flaherty—”

“O’Malley!”

“and you will obey me—”

“You will lose that delusion. I come into this marriage as an equal to you—”

“A marriage that you should honor!”

“Ad what do you know of that?” she spat. She gave a final push and once again he was on the floor. “You don’t give a damn about clan unity; all you want is to be able to say that you fucked Grania O’Malley.”

“Which I still intend to do.” He got up and inspected her body again: female indeed, and not a bad one, not at all.

So he took it.

Grania shuddered as Donal’s hands moved over her. “You’re shaking,” he observed. “Scared?”

“Should I be?” And all the while he was touching her, with his hands, his mouth, all of him. “I see no reason.”

He didn’t answer; just kept rubbing against her, and making no attempt to hide his pleasure. Grania closed her eyes and tried not to think about what was happening. Oh God, what did I get myself into? Oh God…. Her fists clenched as Donal landed heavily on top of her.

Tiernan’s kisses had always been gentle; Grania was sure that his lovemaking would have been the same way. Donal was not gentle with her. She was just a body for the using and he didn’t care if he was hurting her and they both knew it. After what seemed an interminable time he rolled off of her, pulled the blanket over himself, and went to sleep without a word.

Grania lay awake, though, for a long time, wondering if this was what it felt like to be a whore, and wondering whether she would be able to take living with Donal for any long period of time. Was this what she had to live with if she were to be his wife? Even glancing at him made her shudder.

She fancied she could see the sun rising when she finally drifted to sleep.