A/N: So. Yeah. I'm super sorry for the delay. I've been busy, plus had a small lack of inspiration. But thank you so, so, so much for the reviews! I really love reading everyone's reactions. I'm sick so I have sometime (bad news for me, good news for you! :) ) I did read the novel by Morgan Llywelyn, (called Grania: She-King of the Irish Seas) which I enjoyed, though if you're a big Grania/Tiernan shipper it's probably not for you - I believe it's about 400 pages and she doesn't actually get together with Tiernan until about page 300. So I have some more insights - but I also forget what comes from where, so book-verse stuff may sneak into this. And I am most certainly not a sailing expert - bear with me, if you don't mind. :) Okay. Time to stop babbling.

"I'm sure she's fine, Tiernan," Dubhdara assured him, considering the young man before him for a long moment. "If there's one thing I know, Grania can take care of herself."

"But - "

"That is the last I want to hear on the subject. We will continue our voyage as planned. Back to your duties, sailor."

Despite Dubhdara's reassurances, Tiernan could not shake the insistent feeling of dread and horror that his dreams had afforded him. Three nights of the same nightmare had finally gotten his courage up to speak to the captain.

He hadn't slept much in the past two days, lying in his barrack, afraid to drift off lest images of Grania and faceless men and violence burn into his eyelids.

Grania knows what she is doing, he told himself firmly. No man, regardless of who he is, could get the better of her.

But the quiet nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that she was in unfamiliar territory, with unfamiliar people, and was completely out of her element. Get a hold of yourself, his mind insisted. There's nothing you can do, so worrying is pointless.

That night, Tiernan sat on the deck, fingering his rosary and staring up at the stars. His mind wandered from his catechism as he wondered whether the same stars shone down on Iar Connaught.

Idly he realized he had thought through this train of thought before. You're losing your mind, he thought to himself. What, are you so weak, dependent on her that you can barely function without her?


It was easier, sometimes, to forget about everything by working his body past the point of exhaustion, mindlessly doing whatever task was thrust into his hands, no matter how menial.

It meant that he no longer had to think about anything, could just listen and obey and work from dawn until dusk, and fall into bed too exhausted to dream. It was a fantastic coping method, though sometimes his body protested almost more than he could bear.

Time passed faster this way, he decided, when he stopped thinking and simply obeyed without question. He was even moderately cheerful on the off days when someone passed around a skein of whatever alcohol happened to be on hand.

It was one of these days that he found himself lounging on the deck with the other sailors, taking turns swallowing a swig of whiskey and talking, mostly, as was usual, about women, boasting, as was usual, of their conquests.

He was half listening, laughing when one story was rather impressive or humorous. He almost never shared his own - his interests before Grania virtually nonexistent - and speaking of the captain's daughter was sure to bring trouble he was not interested in experiencing.

"Come on, Tiernan," someone said, clapping him on the back. "You've never told us about any of the women you've had!"

Someone else laughed. "It's because he's never had any!"

"Yes, I have," he replied quickly, shrugging. "There's just not much to tell."

"Over too fast, eh?"

"Aww, come on," someone cajoled. "Tell us, how is Grania? Is she as fiery in bed as she is on a ship?"

"Ship approaching off the starboard side!"

Tiernan was never so happy to hear the alert sound from the crow's next. Scrambling to his feet, he hurried to the edge of the deck, squinting at the fast approaching ship in the distance. He couldn't stop the shot of hate that coursed through his veins at what he was almost positive was an English flag flying above the ship.

Another sailor came up beside him. "Do you think...?"

"Sasanach*, I'm pretty sure," Tiernan replied. "You'd better get the captain. Now."

The boy scurried off to do as he said. Tiernan took a deep breath, turning his back to the approaching vessel. "Man the weapons!" he called out, striding quickly towards the upper deck.

The Irish flag snapped in the wind, assuring him of the inevitability of the oncoming fight.


"We're being boarded!"

The obvious nature of that statement was accented as metal hissed through the air near Tiernan's ear. He ducked and spun, drawing his sword and swinging it at the Englishman's feet.

The man went down with a howl, which died out pitifully when Tiernan gifted him a sword through the heart.

Given a slight respite from the battle, his eyes focused across the deck, where Dubhdara fought one on one with an English sailor. Caught up in his fight, the chieftain couldn't see the pistol being aimed directly at him.

The steps he took across the deck didn't even register; all he could think was that he was her father and he couldn't face her to give her that news and he wouldn't answer to that swine of a husband of hers as chieftain and he had to stop this and damn the English and -

Pain. He forgot all else except the radiating pain from the bullet that pierced his shoulder. The deck came up to meet him, and he let himself be lost to the thankfully less painful darkness.


*sasanach - Gaelic word for English