The Captives of Pirate Island

By Bernadette O'Connell

The Captives of Pirate Island follows the story of the classical Irish myth of Cian and Enya. It is set in ancient Ireland on Tory Island, a windswept outcrop in the North Atlantic Ocean. Lord Balor of the Evil Eye, has locked his daughter Enya inside a shining tower to avoid the fulfillment of dark prophecy: her child will one day slay him. Because she is a free-spirited and strong-willed princess, Balor knows that it is just a matter of time before Enya will try to break free and see the world beyond her courtyard walls.

For her entertainment, Balor brings Enya fine gifts seized during his piracy raids. His ship, the Seawolf, is the the scourge of the seas and the flagship of the North Atlantic Human Slave Trade. His finest gift is Blaze, a unicorn colt, that he rescued at sea during a mini-tsunami. To Enya’s surprise, her “adharcach” is a highly intelligent creature who learns to speak. Lord Balor also presents Enya with a magical cow that supplies all the island captives with a never-ending supply of rich milk.

While galloping in disguise across Tory Island headlands on Blaze, Enya stumbles upon Cian, the Chieftain of Clan Ui Neill who is scouting her island to take back his stolen property: the magical cow. They fall in love and Enya soon sneaks him into her forbidden tower where they are handfasted. Enya soon becomes pregnant. How will her father, Lord Balor, react to news of his grandchild? Because Enya’s life is in mortal danger, how will Lord Cian free his new wife from Fort Balor, the heavily fortified, pirate garrison on the eastern side of the island? Chances of their rescue are grim and all are in desperate need of a miracle. Will love find a way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665562164

Bernadette O'Connell

Bernadette O’Connell is an American, wife and mother of two children. She has been an elementary school teacher for over two decades. She lived in Dublin, Ireland with her Irish husband, Aedan, for seven years. When later homeschooling her children in America, she taught them the history of ancient Ireland from which she draws the inspiration for this writing. She presently lives in Baltimore, Maryland and is an active advocate for her children and for students with special needs.

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© 2022 Bernadette O’Connell. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/17/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-6217-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-6216-4 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Part 1 Alba

Chapter 1A Difficult Birth

Chapter 2Playtime

Chapter 3Augustian

Chapter 4Highland Escape to The Causeway

Chapter 5Crisis at Sea

Chapter 6Rescue

Chapter 7Voyage

Part 2 Pirate Island

Chapter 8Arrival

Chapter 9Tory Island, Dun Bhaloir, and a Brief History of the Island

Chapter 10Cethlenn

Chapter 11An Banphrionsa

Chapter 12Balor’s Gift

Chapter 13Birog, The Horsewoman

Chapter 14Breaking In

Chapter 15The Talking Adharcach

Chapter 16A Conspiracy

Chapter 17A Forbidden Ride

Chapter 18The Stories of Their Mothers

Chapter 19Trouble

Chapter 20Dreams

Chapter 21Balor Returns from The Sea

Chapter 22The Glos Gavlen

Part 3 Love

Chapter 23Cian

Chapter 24Enya Tells Blaze Her Dreams

Chapter 25A Dolmen Meeting

Chapter 26To Report or Not To Report

Chapter 27Kerfuffle

Chapter 28Comparing What They Saw

Chapter 29Discovery

Chapter 30Purposeful Trickery

Chapter 31A Tower Handfasting

Chapter 32Cian’s Escape

Chapter 33Confession

Chapter 34Unicorn Grief

Chapter 35Return to The Eire

Chapter 36Sixteen Men

Chapter 37Rebuilding

Chapter 38Balor The Invalid

Chapter 39Impasse

Part 4 Breakout

Chapter 40Behind the Tapestry Once More

Chapter 41Blaze The Forgotten

Chapter 42Raghery

Chapter 43Ruari

Chapter 44Spying on Seawolves

Chapter 45Conclusions

Chapter 46Waiting Game

Part 5 Escape from Tory

Chapter 47Balor Wakes Up

Chapter 48Orders

Chapter 49The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 50United Front

Chapter 51The Birth

Chapter 52The Storm

Chapter 53Freedom

Chapter 54Betrayal

Chapter 55Thorn Lake

Chapter 56On Dry Land

Chapter 57Flight

Chapter 58At Sea

Chapter 59Thunderstorm

Chapter 60Reunion

Chapter 61Eire

Chapter 62Through The Stones

Chapter 63Back with Friends

Chapter 64Reunited

Chapter 65Celebration

Chapter 66The Second Battle of Moytura and the Death of Balor

Chapter 67The Deaths of Cian and Enya

Appendix 2: A Field Guide to Unicorns

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my much-loved daughter,

Maureen. Were it not for her homeschooling, I would

have never researched Irish history to this degree.

Many thanks to Sue M. Her editing skills brought this work to

a whole new level. Many thanks as well to Nicole D, Penny P,

and especially Jason B for encouraging me to finish this story.

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PART 1

Alba

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CHAPTER 1

A Difficult Birth

A tlantic salmon gathered in a pool at the base of a waterfall, on the River Shin. It was an early September evening, in the Scottish Highlands. Fish choked the water as they splashed and spiraled around each other. They were waiting for the river to rise, and would finally end their long journey up to the spawning grounds.

The leaping flashes of silver defied gravity, in order to reach the top. And today’s rain, which dripped off gray branches into spongy mosses, was a promise of the greater rain soon to follow. The river was moving faster over the bedrock now, rising steadily.

But Adal, a unicorn mare, wasn’t paying attention to the salmon or rising water. She was anticipating the birth of her foal. Normally, unicorn foals were born in the summer time, but an occasional latecomer would arrive. And it was so with this one. Adal had trudged along the riverside for many hours now. She ignored the emerald green grass, only stopping to drink between contractions.

As the river cascaded down, it bubbled out like freshly poured champagne. Occasional browns and greens appeared in the ale-like foam, as the waters churned mud and plants through its meandering path. It surged through the bright green valley, between oaks and birches. And random meadows lined the riverbank. Adal’s meadow was about midway up the salmon run. Her home was bordered by lush hills, reaching toward silver, early-autumn skies.

But now, Adal lumbered close to the water’s edge in distress, with what looked like a balloon protruding from her hindquarters. Her massive belly heaved in regular contractions. A small hoof was now visible from under her tail. The foal should have been here by now.

Adal dropped to her knees and rolled onto her side, preparing for the final stage of delivery. She had birthed her previous six foals standing upright. But she was exhausted now. She rolled her eyes toward the heavens and waited.

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While Adal focused on her labor, an intruder was crouched nearby, watching her from the brush. Dougal MacDunn, master hunter and unicorn poacher, was choosing his moment to strike. Adal, by this time, was immobilized by labor and could do little to resist him. His tenacity had finally paid off.

As she panted, head drenched in sweat, MacDunn emerged. His eyes gleamed excitedly, his prize before him. He drew out a small blade from his filthy kilt. Swaggering out confidently, he grabbed the laboring unicorn by the horn. Holding her firmly, he grunted, Steady, Lass.

Then he began to cut. The sharp metal teeth bit into Adal’s horn as he sawed. She winced between contractions, passively watching his thrusting arms as he stood over her.

MacDunn had been tracking Adal for months. His plan was not to kill her; he just wanted her horn. Unicorns, in this part of the Highlands, were becoming more and more scarce. When he had located the telltale, cloven tracks, leading to the riverbank, he knew his prize was near.

When he found her foaling, he could not have been more pleased. A pregnant mare! Her horn would be an easy trophy, if he just waited. She would not fight back while giving birth. He would have never been able to accomplish this feat any other way without escaping horn injuries.

After he had sawed off Adal’s horn, he buried it in his sack. Her forehead only bled slightly. MacDunn severed many horns before this and knew what he was doing. Gratified, he looked down to watch her foal enter the world. Adal spread her back legs briefly and pushed.

This caused a look of rare concern to cross MacDunn’s face. Realizing the need, he sprang behind Adal’s hindquarters to grab onto the small, protruding hooves. Something was wrong. The water had long dried on her legs. This was a bad sign.

MacDunn slipped his hand inside Adal and felt for nostrils. The foal was stuck. He pulled down on the little muzzle crammed up against Adal’s pelvic bone. Firmly, but steadily, he pulled on the foal’s hooves, in unison with Adal’s final contractions. After some hard work, by man and beast, the foal finally slid out.

MacDunn cleared away the birth sac from the foal’s muzzle, then looked between its legs. It was a male. He had helped his own mare foal many times before this.

But it was not every day that a man could say that he helped birth a unicorn colt! He rubbed down the new arrival with tufts of grass that grew by the riverbank. With his mission accomplished, he made his way back down the valley. The horn was in his pocket, and he left Adal and her foal.

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The foal’s eyes then blinked open, as Adal tore the balloon-like sac away from his body. He inhaled his first breaths, snorting out small drops of amber liquid. He was a beautiful baby and Adal’s joy outweighed the humiliating ordeal she had just endured, in losing her horn.

She knew that her and her foal would have been dead by morning had the poacher not come. She was thankful and rested briefly, as the sun peeked out to greet the new foal. He was alive, she was alive, and the poacher was already leaving.

The little colt rested next to his mother. He did not look different from a horse at this point, with the exception of his cloven hooves, of course. Within a couple of months, his horn would start to appear. He had beautiful, brown eyes that looked up in trustful, blinking wonder.

Adal, after some time, managed to get up off the ground to inspect her baby. They bonded together, with the music of the Highland river singing behind them. The unicorn colt’s skinny legs were splayed out around him, awkwardly.

A few moments later, the colt made his first attempt to lift himself up. Adal encouraged him. He pawed and rocked, trying hard. Adal nuzzled and cleaned him. After a few confusing face plants and nudges from his mom, he finally got his unruly legs under him and took his first wobbly step. Adal watched him with pride.

Supper came next and the colt went under her belly to find his dinner: milky-yellow, rich foremilk. Nourishing vitamins, minerals, and antibodies rippled down his throat, as he sucked greedily. When he had his fill, Adal rubbed her head gash to her baby’s dripping mouth. The milk would clean her wound and help it heal. And it wouldn’t require much for that. Unicorn milk was well known for its healing properties.

Sunlight suddenly surged its way through the shimmering mist, its brightness dancing on airborne raindrops. The light momentarily dazzled her eyes, and she looked down on her newborn. I will call you Blaze, she said.

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CHAPTER 2

Playtime

A dal kept a keen eye on the mountain ridge before them. Nothing seemed to be out of place today. Her eyes narrowed to inspect each tree, boulder, and shrub. She lowered her head once more to graze on the verdant meadow grasses. She knew, however, that their time was growing short. Their relative peace would not last forever.

There is no one to play with. This place is so boring, Mama! Blaze complained. Indeed it was. Although the scenery of their Highland home was spectacular, Adal was Blaze’s only companion. It got old. He pranced around her endlessly, nipping at her legs and mane.

He bumped into her, jumped on her, and generally made himself a nuisance. Erupting with energy, Blaze trotted off after a grasshopper. Adal did her best to keep up with her son but often sent him across the field to find something to do.

Blaze, she called to him enticingly, hear the capercaillie at the end of the meadow? Why don’t you trot over to the pine trees and check him out?

Mama, that old bird isn’t any fun. Blaze moaned. He just puffs up his tail feathers to impress the hens. He’ll only make a go at me if there are no hens around.

But he makes that strange sound. Then there’s that dance! You don’t want to miss that! Ridiculous creature! she laughed.

Blaze just looked down his nose at Adal and rolled his eyes. Although he was only three months old, in unicorn years, he was already more like a teenager.

Well, off with you. See if you can stomp out some of those nasty midges by the river. It’s warm today, so they’re everywhere, buzzing about. I can’t stand those bloodsuckers, especially when they bite. There’s no end to them. Go on. Do it for Mama, she ordered, hoping for a few, small moments of peace.

She also had ulterior motives in asking Blaze to stamp on riverside insects. It was her job to teach him adult unicorn life skills. And adult male unicorns marked their territory by stamping. They would kick their scent along ridges, rivers, and bushes, warning rival males to keep their distance.

The adult male’s foot glands dispensed the malodorous pheromones, mixed with urine and feces. In this way, the stallion announced that he was the lord over the realm. Stamping would also help Blaze attract a future mate. In less than a year, he would leave Adal and live on his own. And he would have to know these ways.

But she struggled hard to teach Blaze. It was important for him to obey her, but each day, it was more and more difficult for him to listen. Any healthy male unicorn had problems with listening; she knew her words would only go so far.

Unicorns, especially males, were characteristically proud and stubborn. But Adal persisted, sometimes scolding, but always guiding him gently and with wisdom. Her autumn-brown eyes gazed at him adoringly, as he pranced impishly around their highland meadow.

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Blaze nibbled at the grass on the side of the riverbank. He had been grazing since he was two weeks old. But he still needed at least five more months of Adal’s milk, for proper growth.

His horn had already grown beyond a slight bump. A small point was forming. He had managed to stamp out a few midges, but too soon, he started to look for something else to do. He spread his knobby front legs apart to take a cool drink from the River Shin.

Adal watched over Blaze closely, even when just a short distance away. She grazed calmly in the sunlight, lifting her head from time to time, checking if all was well. When she lifted her head, she scanned the meadow for signs of Dougal MacDunn, or any other unicorn poachers. She also kept a wary eye out for any unicorn stallions in search of a mare. Stallion unicorns were extremely dangerous for foals. Even if a stallion was the foal’s sire, he would try to kill it, mistaking it for a rival male. Adal was ready at any moment to charge to her foal’s defense.

Without her horn, however, Adal’s could not protect Blaze as well as she protected his siblings. Now, she could only level injuring kicks or block defensively. She and Blaze would ultimately be forced to flee; she had found an escape route from the meadow through the hills. For now, Blaze was fine, stamping his way along the riverbank. She lowered her head to graze. Her horn injury was healed over. The sawn-off stump resembled the knob that grew on the front of Blaze’s face. Her horn, however, would never grow back to its former glory.

Mam! he exclaimed, These acorns are delicious! There are some here under this tree. I think I just found my new favorite! He munched on the nutty autumn goodness that had fallen from the oak. The tree overhung the sandy patch next to the river bank that he was standing on. Mmmmm, he hummed. Now it was time for a long, cool drink.

Upon lifting his head from the river, Blaze caught sight of a red flash darting through his meadow. A fox! They were so fun to chase. Blaze kicked out his back legs in excitement and took off like a shot in a highland sprint. In no time, he was cantering fiercely in hot pursuit. He wasn’t going to lose to that fox! Today he would be the fastest on the field!

All was going well until the fleeing fox pulled an evasive move. He banked left to avoid the unwanted competition. It worked well for the fox, who was swiftly free and clear to go about his business. Blaze, however, was not so lucky. In seconds, he had stumbled and ended up in a unicorn heap halfway across the field in a cloud of grass and dirt. It began with cartwheeling legs and finished with Blaze rolling over his own head. Stunned, Blaze looked up into the deep blue sky wondering what and how it had all happened.

Adal galloped to him from across the field. Had Blaze broken his neck? He had taken that fall at top speed! Perhaps he had broken one of those legs as they spun like wagon spokes. Motherly panic invaded her mind as she tore off to reach her foal. As she got closer, she assessed the damage, noting the look of abject shock in Blaze’s eyes. Adal soon breathed a sigh of relief; he was already trying to get up off the ground.

Blaze, Blaze! Are you all right? That was some fall! You were cantering at top speed. Are you okay? she stammered, finally reaching him.

What the____, Blaze replied. I was just racing with the fox and all of a sudden, I’m on my face. Owww! he groaned.

Let me see you walk, Dear, Adal ordered, closely inspecting him for damage.

Blaze was on his feet, but his back leg didn’t seem to be working. He held it out as he limped a few steps forward. After further unsteady bobs, he managed to put a little more weight on his back leg. Within a half hour, he was back running through the meadow as usual. It took much longer for Adal’s heart to settle back down.

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CHAPTER 3

Augustian

A t the edge of his meadow, Blaze could just make out a strange shape on the distant, highland ridge. Although technically still a youngster, Blaze had grown to almost his full size by the early winter. His horn had also grown. It was now about six inches with its point becoming more defined each day. As he scratched himself with it, his skin oils began to give the horn a polished, metal-like appearance. As he narrowed his dark, chestnut eyes, he realized that the shape he saw in the distance looked very much like his own.

Mam! Blaze called. We have a visitor.

Adal looked up from the shrub she was feeding on. Vegetation was becoming more and more scarce. The days were growing shorter; the chubby robin had just appeared on the meadow and snow had recently dusted the nearby mountaintops. Adal froze, but it was not because of the cold. She instantly recognized the far-off shape and twitches rippled down her back in alarm.

That would be your Father, Dear, she told him as calmly as she could manage.

Blaze briddled in terror. His Mam had warned him about this encounter. Adal would always recognize her son. She had birthed, nursed, loved and guided him. His father, Augustian, Lord of the Northern Lands, would not. Augustian would perceive Blaze as a rival male unicorn who was invading his territory. Because of this, he would put his own son to death.

As always, Augustian had left Adal shortly after breeding. Typical unicorn courtship lasts for approximately twenty days. First, the stallion keeps his distance until the mare signals for him to approach. This was why Augustian was keeping his distance on the ridge; he was sniffing the air for Adal’s tell-tale pheromones that signaled the onset of breeding season. Once Adal (or any other mare) signaled, courtship would commence culminating with breeding. Afterwards, Augustian would return to his solitary life. The Unicorn stallion plays no role in raising the young foal; so it was with Augustian. As the dominant male, he quickly left Adal last year in pursuit of other mares. (In one season, Augustian could sire close to one hundred unicorn foals depending on the season.) It was impossible for him to recognize his own son after his extensive wanderings. Blaze’s scent, character and physical characteristics were unknown to him.

In no time, Augustian had caught the scent of his rival, crossing the meadow on the highland breeze. To him it was like a battle cry. This rival male stallion had dared to enter his territory to approach HIS harem mare to breed. The punishment would be death. He lowered his mighty horn to battle position, pawed at the ground briefly, then began to charge across the field.

Blaze! Run! Adal yelled. Stay close and stay fast.

Blaze broke into a frenzied gallop with Adal close on his heels. The pair attempted the evasive moves they had previously practiced before this; they turned suddenly, then zig-zagged through the pine trees. It was no use. They could not outpace Augustian. He was already dangerously close. Now he closed in again.

Blaze whinnied in alarm. He banked left and his inexperience in fighting maneuvers caught up with him. Augustian lowered his head and sliced Blaze’s hind leg to bring him down. His plan was to quickly finish off his contender before he could get back up again.

Blaze slowed but his father’s cut was not deep enough to stop him completely. True, he couldn’t gallop at full speed, but he wasn’t lame. Adal darted in between Blaze and Augustian again to push her mate aside and save her son.

Move aside, Adal! warned Augustian, lest you be killed with this intruder.

Adal knew it was useless to try to reason with him. She knew Augustian would also wound her in blind rage. Maternal instinct, however, would not permit the death of her son. In desperation, she repeatedly side-swiped him, shoving him off her boy as hard as she could.

Blaze, she called. The next time I push him from you, turn towards the ridge. Make for the path. We must lose him there!

Without arguing, wild-eyed Blaze finally did what he was told for once. He was out of options. Augustian had driven them into disaster: the nearby cliff wall. They were trapped. Augustian then lowered his head for the final charge. This time, he would not miss. Adal trembled next to her unrecognized son.

Augustian charged towards Blaze. Adal dashed at him one more in a final attempt to divert his attack. She merely knocked him aside slightly. Augustian turned and readied himself to charge again. This time nothing would stop him. Blaze stood dazed. He realized his life was over. He looked up towards the cliff top and waited for impact.

But the impact did not come. When Blaze opened his eyes, all he saw was a cloud of dust and grass encircling his father who lay writhing on the ground. An arrow protruded from his father’s neck. Blood gushed from the wound; it must have hit an artery. A second arrow plunged into Augustian, then a third, leaving more lethal wounds in his neck and side.

Poachers! yelled Adal, rolling her eyes. Run, Blaze! Run to the hill. We must hide! Now!!

Dougal MacDunn had returned to the Highlands, this time with friends. They had been tracking Augustian for three weeks and had quickly moved in to fill him with arrows. As they hacked the Master of the High Grounds to pieces, reveling in their kill-trophies, Adal and Blaze made their escape to the uplands.

Sure, I already got the horn off that mare, McDunn reasoned. We will come back when the colt’s horn has grown in more, he said to his fellow poachers.

Blaze heard the poacher’s words over the terrible whacking sounds of blades that carved up his once majestic father.

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CHAPTER 4

Highland Escape to The Causeway

V arious shades of green slid down the rocky hill as the winter sun raced over it. Shadows of clouds, wisps of snow and leftover grasses all appeared to funnel down the mountain scene like the sands of a quickly emptying hourglass. Adal and Blaze’s life chapter in the Scottish Highlands was rapidly drawing to a close.

They spent many winter days crossing the Scottish Highlands. They picked their way through mountaintop snows, gorges, and stone-laden valleys. Poachers were not likely to venture into such places, especially at that time of the year. The ever-blowing wind would also make them harder to track. Shelter and food were issues. As they crossed, they fed on hidden lowland grasses that had been spared by the gales which lashed the mountain summits. Day after day, they plodded carefully along, sometimes through pelting snow squalls. Finally, from a lonely mountain peak, their spirits lifted as they caught their first glimpse of the Firth of Lorn, a coastline inlet that leads to the sea. From there, they would proceed southwest towards the Giant’s Causeway.

The Giant’s Causeway was a natural bridge of basalt, hexagon-shaped rocks that linked Scotland to Ireland. In those days, western Scotland and the northern parts of Ireland were known as one kingdom: Dalriada. The stones were legendary, put down by a giant: Finn McCool. He placed them there so he could travel from Ireland to Scotland without getting his feet wet. In actuality, they rose from the ocean after some early, volcanic activity that was felt on land but unseen by the eyes of men. In fact, the Causeway often shook because of something going on under the sea. In ancient times, perhaps Finn McCool kept his feet dry. These days, however, the water level was often ankle deep. This changed, of course, according to tide and storm conditions.

In times of old, people used the Giant’s Causeway as they would any natural land bridge for back-and-forth travel. It did pose significant risk for the traveler in the winter months. Trade boats often skimmed waters along the Causeway, which reassured walkers that some hope of rescue was nearby should they be swept off suddenly into the sea. Adal had made a run for this bizarre shoreline, having consulted with other unicorns who had fled to a relative sanctuary: an island called Eire.

The west coast of Scotland was sparsely populated, so Adal and Blaze’s descended down into Cnoc Moy undetected. They followed a small river to the coast, feeding ravenously on MacDonnell grasslands. They needed to regain their strength before crossing. In these foothills, they rested, drank the clear water trickling down the mountain side, and lay low until they sensed the time was right for them to move on.

Mam, how long will it take us to cross the Causeway? asked Blaze. Even