A: I think I should go outside and write.
D: No. Bad idea. I think you should stay inside.
A: But it’s spring, D. The flowers are blooming, despite the fact that it was snowing just the other day, and the birds are chirping, and the bunnies . . .
D: Which is precisely why you need to stay inside, A.
A: Because of the bunnies?
D: I think you misunderstand me on purpose.
D: No A. No birds, no flowers, no springtime – you need to focus. Stay inside. You’ll also burn under the sun and I’m not going to have you writing under the pain of sunburn.
A: I’ll wear my big hat—
D: Besides, springtime means Beltane, bonfires, merrymaking—
A: D? Calm down, D. First of all, this is America. This is Puritan country; they don’t do bonfires and Beltane, or merrymaking. . . not until Memorial Day.
D: Not even little bonfires?
A: Well, we have fire pits for our backyards, and barbeques.
D: And the merrymaking?
A: Do yard games count?
D: . . . No wonder you need me in your head. Puritan country, indeed. I don’t even want to ask about Beltane.
A: I wouldn’t. You’ll just get depressed.
D: Fine. Go outside. But if you get a sunburn—
A: Yes, D. Whatever you say, D. See ya, D!!
“. . . Careful with that one, I nearly had to kill her to get her off the bloody ship; she bit me!”
“Oh, poor lad; what do you expect, cavorting with pirates and rabble? Do you need the surgeon to look at you? Is it likely to fall off?”
Maureen kept her eyes closed listened intently. Both men were speaking English, but only one was familiar. Galen had been aboard Grania’s flagship; she had avoided him every time she saw him, and luckily had never shared work duties with him. She didn’t like how he stared.
“Bugger off, Jamie,” Galen cursed, somewhat moodily. “Just make sure she’s bound before she comes to. I’ll not be the one responsible for her attacking the Governor of Connacht when he comes to inspect her.”
Jamie was gentle enough as he bound her arms and legs to the small stool where Galen had dumped her, and Maureen had a feeling he knew she was awake.
“That should hold her – don’t worry, Gale, you and Sir Bingham are safe from the wee lassie, now.”
“Galen O’Flaherty,” said a voice. Maureen held her breath. “Not only did you not warn us that Grania O’Malley’s flagship travelled with two galleys, thereby outnumbering us, you also saw fit to snatch a lass in Grania’s care, and expose yourself as a traitor in the process. That was not the plan, boy. . .”