A year ago, I mused that another author's AU Owen reminded me of Adam DeMarisco. So, I hatched an eventual plan to mash-up Jurassic World with the historical fiction O'Malley Saga. When I started writing it down, I didn't know if I'd ever share it with anyone. The dramatic set-up and a few scenes in subsequent chapters are directly lifted from the first section of Skye O'Malley (Book 1), but I formed everything into a Clawen/Jurassic shape. To maintain a measure of respect for Irish history, I didn't change every name and place. I veered away from some - but not all - of the disquieting elements of Skye O'Malley. Knowledge of the O'Malley Saga is not necessary for enjoyment of this work, and I give credit to Bertrice Small for her creations and inspiration. Story and chapter titles invoke Irish mythology.
I was going to wait until I was done with the entire fic before starting to post, but I got really distracted by Fallen Kingdom news and needed more motivation/pressure to write.
Masrannessey Island, 1555
Owen Grady gazed upon the port in Dearing Bay with mixed emotions. He wasn't returning home to Ireland entirely of his own accord. He dreaded disembarking from the Deep Blue Sea, but only in part because his family commissioned the excellent trading vessel. As they neared the dock, he saw one of its sister ships, Charlotte, over the starboard side. Someone was walking the deck with an authoritative presence. On closer inspection, Owen realized that it was a woman. She looked pensive while checking riggings, pulling one tight enough to lean her body over the water. Her beauty was undeniable. Her taut buttocks accentuated by her riding pants. He was captivated but confused. Women were considered bad luck on ships, and Simon Dearing hadn't mentioned women in his employ during the week that Owen was his passenger. Surely this couldn't be the old man's daughter, Claire? She would be preparing for her wedding, not busying herself at port.
After Owen hitched a ride on the Deep Blue Sea in Calais, Simon waxed rhapsodic about his soon-to-be-married, youngest daughter. He spoke wistfully about her literally cutting her teeth on his ships' wheels. The proud father took her to sea shortly after her birth. He taught her to sail and command his fleet. He told Owen that he would've groomed her as the formal heir to his trading empire if his second wife hadn't given him two sons. Simon forced Claire to learn the womanly arts and how to run a household - at which she was equally as good as she was sailing. He gleefully related that she could do anything. When he mused that her husband was a lucky man because she might also be the fairest in all of Ireland, Owen thought Simon was speaking in hyperbole. Sentimental about the wedding and his last daughter leaving home.
Owen was also soon to be married but completely unsentimental about it. The match had been arranged by his father, Victor, and Owen had never met his bride-to-be. Upon finishing his naval service, he chose to galavant about Europe - much to his father's chagrin - before settling down. Owen enjoyed his freedom, bound to no one and no place. He understood from Simon that Claire, too, resisted settling down. Simon had indulged her as his favorite, as Victor had with Owen. He referred to his daughter as a spitfire and struggled to deny her whatever she desired. Now, it was finally time for both wayward offspring to marry. Pressure from the household of Claire's bridegroom had tipped the scales toward the wedding. The aging and infirm patriarch of that family wanted a legitimate grandson. Owen rolled his eyes at his own father's want of the same. He felt a kinship to Claire even though they'd never met.
He continued to watch the pretty lass in silent wonder as his ship came to a halt beside hers. Then, Owen unhitched a rope to swing himself onto her deck. He landed with a booming thud - a worthy entrance for a man of his size and vigor - and her head turned immediately. Owen licked his lips in delight. He planned to fully sweep her off her feet, as was customary for him. He wasn't known as Captain Marauder just for his military escapades. It had been a few weeks since he'd lain with a woman, so he imagined he could spend a few days with this one. Up close, she was breathtaking: emerald eyes, porcelain skin, the pinkest of lips, and flaming red hair. Very nearly the definition of Irish beauty. She seemed almost mythological, a fairy of Mag Mell left on a doorstep by the little people as a babe.
Claire was instantly suspicious and unimpressed by the arrogant sailor who disrupted her reverie. She was trying to enjoy some peace and quiet before returning to the cacophony of Dearing castle. She stomped over to him and barked, "Who do you think you are, crashing onto my vessel, pillager?"
"You wound me, my lady," Owen smirked and clutched his chest with feigned offense. He thought "wench" was a more apt title to match her attire and attitude, but he was trying to woo her. She merely rolled her eyes, seemingly unaffected by his abundant charms.
She snickered, "If you're that easily wounded, you must not be much of a man." Owen laughed. He was further captivated by her spirit. He looked forward to breaking it and making her moan. His response caught Claire off-guard, but she was happy that he wasn't incensed by her saucy remark. Her betrothed, Lowery, would've threatened to beat her for saying such a thing to him, especially because there would be truth to it. She was feeling emboldened in her element on the ship. Claire pointedly looked the stranger up and down. It was clear that he didn't know who she was. He had the strong build and deep tan of most sailors she'd known. She squinted in the daylight and could barely make out his face beneath the beard, but the gleam in his hazel eyes and white teeth blazed almost as brightly as the sun. One side of her mouth curled up in satisfaction.
Simon's shouting interrupted their moment. "Leave my daughter alone!" he cried in a teasing tone. "She's feisty and liable to bite." Claire glowered at her father, and he shook his head. "What're you doing away from the castle?" Simon chastised her. "You should be keeping your step-mother and siblings company before shipping off with yer husband." Claire crossed her arms and postured. Simon changed his tactic. His tone lightened. "Besides, you need to prepare for your wedding guests, poppet."
She ignored the pet name and answered haughtily, "I needed to mentally prepare myself and preferred the company of Charlotte." Owen stood stunned next to her throughout this heated exchange. He could scarcely believe that she was Simon's much-heralded daughter. This was a real woman and, quite rightly, could compete for being the fairest in the land. He was staggered, however, by more than her physical form. He marveled at her gumption as well as her comfort on the ship. Charlotte had also been commissioned by his father and named for his own mother, God rest her soul.
Claire and Simon continued to bicker about her clothes and hair. Owen took the opportunity to further appraise her body. The loose-fitting, white sailor's shirt, billowing softly in the gentle winds, didn't leave much to the imagination. The sea spray-loosened strands of hair escaping her messy braid begged for his fingers to smoothen. Although he was increasingly aware of his arousal, his enticing thoughts were not exclusively carnal. Owen began to imagine having Claire as his wife. He never previously wanted to marry. These were crazy thoughts. He tried to push them away but failed while she stood within his grasp. The sea journey must've affected him more than usual. He was surely ill.
Claire eventually turned her attention to the man staring at her, unmoving and not speaking. "Are you dumb, sailor?" she snapped. Owen blinked rapidly and was shaken out of his musings.
"Hold yer tongue, wicked thing," Simon hissed at her. "'Tis the MacWilliam heir to whom you speak."
Her eyes popped wide, and she stuttered, "Lord Owen Grady?" She stepped back to reassess him but did not curtsey. Captain Marauder, in the flesh, she mused. This was a famous man, the secret dream lover of half the maidens in Ireland. His feats of bravery at sea were practically legend and heralded by just as many - if not more - of the country's men. Even though his father, the MacWilliam of Connaught, commissioned the four finest ships in their fleet, Claire had never met any member of that family face-to-face. She grimaced and shrugged her shoulders. He wasn't what she expected, but she surmised that he was still likely to be a typical nobleman. She wasn't a typical maiden and refused to swoon at his attentions. Furthermore, what point was there in searching deeper? Even if intrigued by him, she was to be married in three days. Claire tried to tuck away her feminine curiosity but couldn't help biting her lip as the enthralling man smiled down at her. His expression was quite different from the revoltingly lascivious ones she was accustomed to seeing plastered across her bridegroom's face.
The three of them rode together back to Dearing castle. Simon chastised Claire for riding astride, and she argued back. Owen found himself silent and entranced again. It reached a point of embarrassment. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He was always so quick-witted. Claire had truly rendered him dumb. It must be due to his imminent marriage, he decided. This was a manifestation of cold feet. Jitters about the unknown O'Donnell daughter to whom he'd been contracted.
Claire shook him from his thoughts once more and offered to race him to their stables. "You have me at a disadvantage," he jabbed, regaining his confidence. "You surely know all the shortcuts."
"I wouldn't need to use them," she balked. "You've never visited our island." She grinned wickedly. "As the barony of your own vassal, shouldn't you be more familiar with Masrannessey?" It was a rhetorical question. She reveled in mocking him. His reputation and her father's warnings only served to spur her on. Claire tilted her nose in the air as she continued, "It's despicable. Lofty, distant overlords who want quarterly tribute but don't give a whit for the estates or the people who manage them."
"Claire, stop," Simon commanded irately. He appeared close to losing his temper or taking a hand to her. Owen felt his body bracing to defend her against her father, even though it should have been the other way around.
She flashed Owen a quizzical look before countering arrogantly, "Maybe I should prefer the hands-off approach by the MacWilliam and look forward to running the Cruthers estate on my own without interference." As she turned her focus back to the road ahead, Owen seethed. He assumed that her remark indicated a contentment with the match. His blood boiled with a double-dose of jealousy. Envious that she was happy with her fate and that the Cruthers man would marry her.
"Why don't you ride ahead?" Owen spat bitterly. "You're obviously anxious to get back to your betrothed."
"Hardly," she scoffed. "But I wouldn't mind a brisker pace compared to you geezers, lolly-gaggin' about the countryside." She knew that Lord Grady was only ten years older than her seventeen but she enjoyed giving him a ribbing. She did want to race him. To see what he had in him on a horse, not a ship.
"Go on then, Claire," Simon chided. "Get out of those scandalous clothes and put on something more suited to yer position. Maybe fewer people will see you bringing shame to me astride." She laughed, gorgeous and full-bodied.
"Da, I never bring shame to you. It's why I agreed to wed." Her jovial mood abruptly shifted. Before disappearing down the road on her black stallion, she glared at her father with an anger that surpassed Owen's flaring temper.
Simon sighed heavily, "I've been too soft on her for years. Now, when she's finally doing her duty, she continues to give me that sharp tongue." Owen could see the regret and sadness on the older man's face. It effectively cooled his rage.
"You'll miss her in the house...and the ships," said Owen, sympathetically.
"Aye, she's wasted on the Cruthers clan. They don't deserve her. But it's a better match than I could get for her plain, older sisters." He sighed again. "I wish I had the name and the fortune to assure her a nobler husband than young Cruthers." Just as he didn't know much about the Dearing family, Owen knew little of the Cruthers. He was shamed, being the MacWilliam's heir and so ignorant of his people. It felt worse that Claire, specifically, called him out on the truth. He had an inexplicable drive to impress her, more than he'd felt with any woman in his past. He had planned to stay at their castle the next few days as his father's representative at the wedding. It was ordered by Victor in the last message Owen received from him in Paris. At first, Owen was annoyed but then enjoyed Simon's company on the ship and looked forward to spending time with the family. Now that he'd met Claire, the visit would likely be torturous. He couldn't stop himself from asking, "She doesn't love him then?" This elicited a raucous laugh from her father.
"Heavens, no," Simon smirked. "She very nearly hates him. She's begged me for years to find someone else, but they've been betrothed since the cradle. When she grew in grace and beauty, there was no power on heaven or earth that could dissuade Cruthers from making her his. He's been waiting longer than most boys would because it's Claire. I admit that I don't like the way he treats her, leers at her. Like his possession. I hope it is all from the waiting and he'll relax when they're wed." A dark shadow passed over Simon's face, telling Owen that this was a dim hope. Owen would've disliked Cruthers anyway, but now he worried about being able to tolerate the man at all. At least he could find comfort in being engaged himself and hope the O'Donnell lass to be half as pretty as Claire.
As soon as Claire arrived back at the castle, she let it slip, maniacally, that Captain Marauder was with Da. Her older sisters pummeled her with questions about him. She delighted in tormenting them with innuendo and by exaggerating his features. They were eventually interrupted by their step-mother, Karen, who entered the room with a stern expression. Karen was only six years older than Claire, but still the lady of the house. She was the mother of sons. Although they always maintained being on civil terms, Claire was disappointed that Karen never supported her when arguing against the match with Cruthers to Da. Da had secured Karen after she bore him sons - something Claire's own mother died trying to do. While Simon was unfaithful and sought the beds of many lowborn ladies across the countryside, Karen looked the other way. She found joy in raising her boys and encouraged Claire to seek the same fulfillment. Claire felt doomed to such a fate with Lowery Cruthers as her husband.
In addition to that of Lord Grady, Karen and Claire's sisters knew the Lowey's reputation all too well. His nickname was "The Bull." He'd bedded quite a few ladies, including Claire's own serving girl, Zara. Zara claimed to be helping Claire, lest the man's unquenchable lust lead him to ravish his bride and take her virtue prematurely. Claire had long-decided that Zara would remain in Dearing castle. She would be taking the middle-aged, toothless Peigi as her maid to the Cruthers estate upon their marriage. Claire found Lowery's behavior exceedingly distasteful, indicative of his utter inability to control his urges. He had no sense of decency. She dreaded what that would mean for her as his wife. What degradations she might be subjected to in their bedroom. In truth, she knew very little about what went on between men and women. Lowery had certainly never inspired her. In fact, he repelled her. The way he was always undressing her with his eyes made her skin crawl.
Claire left the castle that morning in a foul mood, ruminating on the unfortunate role of women. Lowery and his men had already gone on a hunt and weren't expected to return until the afternoon before the wedding - the same time that the majority of their guests would be arriving. By contrast, Claire was expected to remain at the tower house until then to play hostess and feign excitement for her wedding to her assembled family. A hunt, she had huffed, for stag, bore, and likely some willing lasses, too.
When Claire excused herself to bathe and change for dinner, Zara was clearly interested in learning everything about Captain Marauder. Claire tutted, dismissing him as a vain male in the same category as Lowery. Despite her verbal insults, she innately knew that Lord Grady was not the same. He more than put up with her - honestly, rude - comments all afternoon. He actually seemed excited by their banter and sided with her against her father. As she sunk into her vanilla-scented bathwater, Claire allowed herself to fantasize about the burly man with the brilliant smile. She imagined how she could make him smile at dinner. She even considered what good bedsport they might have. The trip to port improved her foul mood after all.
Thanks for giving this story a chance. Let me know what you think of the mash-up idea and how I kicked it off. I'm planning digestible, 2.5-3K chapters and already amidst writing chapter 5. Please send good vibes.
P.S. I humbly beg forgiveness for historical inaccuracies - complete deference to Irish/Elizabethan Era history would've significantly hampered this adaptation, but I did some research to prevent it from being wildly incorrect.