there?'
'Not a great deal,' Sandie admitted. 'And even less about Ireland.'
'And why should they?' asked Flynn. 'The fact is, Miss Beaumont,
Graunuaille is one of the names for Grace O'Malley, who was a
great sea captain and pirate in these parts when your Tudors were on
the English throne.'
'A woman?' Sandie was intrigued in spite of herself.
'Very much so. She married more than once, and gave birth to a
brood of children in between terrorising the seaways hereabouts. If
you go to Cleggan one day, you can take the mail boat to Inishbofin
which she used as her stronghold.'
He knew as well as she did that she would not be here to do any
such thing, Sandie thought resentfully.
She drew a breath. 'She sounds—formidable.'
'She was that, and more,' Flynn agreed drily. 'She met Elizabeth
Tudor face to face in London, and stood up to her too. But your
Queen Bess was a bit of a pirate herself, so would make allowances.'
Sandie found herself smiling. 'I suppose so.'
'Do you want to follow in their tradition, and take a turn steering?'
Sandie sent an apprehensive look towards O'Flaherty, who glowered
back at her.
'I think I'll just watch, if you don't mind.' She lowered her voice.
'Does O'Flaherty think all women on boats are unlucky, or is it just
me?'
'A little of both, probably,' said Flynn calmly. 'Don't worry your
head about him.'
On each side of the lake the hills were rising steeply almost out of
the water itself, and to the west, the sun was already dipping behind
the tallest of them, Sandie observed. It's getting late, she thought.
Aloud she said, 'Are we going much further?'
'Just to the island.' Flynn pointed at the dark mound crowned with
trees ahead of them. 'I have some things I want to leave at the
cottage.'
'Oh.' Sandie was taken aback. 'Am I actually going to see your
private island? I thought it was sacrosanct.'
'It generally is,' he said after a pause. 'But I warn you, there's not
much to see. You could jump over the whole place, with a following
wind.' He sounded dismissive, almost terse. Perhaps he'd decided
that O'Flaherty was right, she thought, and was regretting bringing
her.
O'Flaherty muttered something under his breath that might have
been swearing.
Sandie sent him a cool look. 'I'm sorry,' she said sweetly, 'I didn't
quite catch that.'
'He said Oilean an chroi,' Flynn told her. 'It's what the place is
known as locally. It means Island of the Heart.'
'Oh.' She digested this. 'That's—beautiful.'
'I'm glad you approve,' he said pleasantly.
As they got close, the sails came down, and Flynn used the engine to
manoeuvre them into a small rocky cove, and beside the jetty which
jutted out from the sloping rocky beach. Sandie could see no sign of
any house through the clustering trees. She found herself wondering
how he stood the isolation.
Once Graunuaille was safely tied up, they began to unload the
supplies.
'Coming ashore?' Flynn asked casually as he heaved the last box on
to the jetty.
She resisted the impulse to look at her watch. 'If you're sure it's all
right,' she said rather stiltedly. 'If it's not an intrusion.'
'No, you're invited.' He handed her a couple of bulging carrier bags.
'This way I can make use of you. Just follow the track through the
trees.'
Sandie had to bite back a cry of delight when she saw the cottage,
standing alone in the middle of its clearing. It was a low,
whitewashed building, with small-paned windows, and its thatched
roof seemed almost to sweep the ground.
Flynn pushed open the door, and she stepped in, ducking her head
slightly.
Inside, the air smelled musty and unused, and she stood looking
round her as Flynn began to open windows. The door opened
straight into the main living-room. It was spacious, with a large
fireplace, and a supply of peats stacked neatly beside it. There was a
curtained doorway, leading presumably to the sleeping quarters,
while on the other side of the room, under the windows, was
'Not a great deal,' Sandie admitted. 'And even less about Ireland.'
'And why should they?' asked Flynn. 'The fact is, Miss Beaumont,
Graunuaille is one of the names for Grace O'Malley, who was a
great sea captain and pirate in these parts when your Tudors were on
the English throne.'
'A woman?' Sandie was intrigued in spite of herself.
'Very much so. She married more than once, and gave birth to a
brood of children in between terrorising the seaways hereabouts. If
you go to Cleggan one day, you can take the mail boat to Inishbofin
which she used as her stronghold.'
He knew as well as she did that she would not be here to do any
such thing, Sandie thought resentfully.
She drew a breath. 'She sounds—formidable.'
'She was that, and more,' Flynn agreed drily. 'She met Elizabeth
Tudor face to face in London, and stood up to her too. But your
Queen Bess was a bit of a pirate herself, so would make allowances.'
Sandie found herself smiling. 'I suppose so.'
'Do you want to follow in their tradition, and take a turn steering?'
Sandie sent an apprehensive look towards O'Flaherty, who glowered
back at her.
'I think I'll just watch, if you don't mind.' She lowered her voice.
'Does O'Flaherty think all women on boats are unlucky, or is it just
me?'
'A little of both, probably,' said Flynn calmly. 'Don't worry your
head about him.'
On each side of the lake the hills were rising steeply almost out of
the water itself, and to the west, the sun was already dipping behind
the tallest of them, Sandie observed. It's getting late, she thought.
Aloud she said, 'Are we going much further?'
'Just to the island.' Flynn pointed at the dark mound crowned with
trees ahead of them. 'I have some things I want to leave at the
cottage.'
'Oh.' Sandie was taken aback. 'Am I actually going to see your
private island? I thought it was sacrosanct.'
'It generally is,' he said after a pause. 'But I warn you, there's not
much to see. You could jump over the whole place, with a following
wind.' He sounded dismissive, almost terse. Perhaps he'd decided
that O'Flaherty was right, she thought, and was regretting bringing
her.
O'Flaherty muttered something under his breath that might have
been swearing.
Sandie sent him a cool look. 'I'm sorry,' she said sweetly, 'I didn't
quite catch that.'
'He said Oilean an chroi,' Flynn told her. 'It's what the place is
known as locally. It means Island of the Heart.'
'Oh.' She digested this. 'That's—beautiful.'
'I'm glad you approve,' he said pleasantly.
As they got close, the sails came down, and Flynn used the engine to
manoeuvre them into a small rocky cove, and beside the jetty which
jutted out from the sloping rocky beach. Sandie could see no sign of
any house through the clustering trees. She found herself wondering
how he stood the isolation.
Once Graunuaille was safely tied up, they began to unload the
supplies.
'Coming ashore?' Flynn asked casually as he heaved the last box on
to the jetty.
She resisted the impulse to look at her watch. 'If you're sure it's all
right,' she said rather stiltedly. 'If it's not an intrusion.'
'No, you're invited.' He handed her a couple of bulging carrier bags.
'This way I can make use of you. Just follow the track through the
trees.'
Sandie had to bite back a cry of delight when she saw the cottage,
standing alone in the middle of its clearing. It was a low,
whitewashed building, with small-paned windows, and its thatched
roof seemed almost to sweep the ground.
Flynn pushed open the door, and she stepped in, ducking her head
slightly.
Inside, the air smelled musty and unused, and she stood looking
round her as Flynn began to open windows. The door opened
straight into the main living-room. It was spacious, with a large
fireplace, and a supply of peats stacked neatly beside it. There was a
curtained doorway, leading presumably to the sleeping quarters,
while on the other side of the room, under the windows, was
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