Laurel McKee Page 21

  “I fear you look more like the poor French queen, Mama,” said Caroline. “Here, Anna, wrap this blanket around you tighter. You’re meant to be an invalid.”

  Will climbed up onto the cart seat beside Eliza, gathering up the reins. “We’ll go as far as we can before finding a concealed place to rest for the night.”

  “Yes, of course,” she murmured.

  “Are you ready to leave?” he said gently.

  She glanced back one last time at the house, so serene and beautiful in the sunrise light. “Yes. I am ready.”

  And Will flicked the reins, setting the cart into creaking motion as they rolled inexorably away from Killinan—and into they knew not what.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Will!” Eliza laid her hand on his arm, forcing him to rein in the horses. “Do you smell that?”

  It was the same; she knew it was. The same as that thick, sour miasma that hung over the ruined village on her way home—smoke. Smoke and charred decay, rotten in the warm weather.

  Will’s eyes narrowed, becoming a stormy gray as he quickly scanned the woods on either side of the narrow track. “I certainly do.”

  “Something is burning.”

  “Was burning, I think. It smells stale.”

  “Fighting last night?”

  “Perhaps. The town of Rossmorland is not far ahead, and there’s said to be a store of weapons from Dublin there. It could easily have been raided.”

  From the cart behind them, Katherine stood up, balancing herself against the rough wooden slats next to the sleeping figures of Caroline and Anna. Like all of them, a sleepless night hiding in the woods had left her pale and disheveled, her golden hair straggling from beneath her cap.

  “Do you think we should go back?” she asked. “Find another route?”

  Will rubbed at his stubbled jaw. “Surely it is just as dangerous behind us, Lady Killinan. It seems quiet enough now. If Rossmorland was burned, they would have moved on by now. We can go around the town, though, just past the bridge ahead.”

  “Mama?” Anna mumbled, slowly sitting up as she blinked at the light. “Why have we stopped? Is it nightfall?”

  “Not nearly, my darling,” Katherine answered. “I fear we have a long way to go before we rest.”

  A bird suddenly screamed in the distance, a haunting echo that pierced Eliza to the core. Or was it just a bird, not an omen? She hardly knew any longer. Reality had become distorted, unreal. There was no Killinan, no Dublin, either, only the five of them trapped in an endless uncertain purgatory.

  “We can’t stay here forever,” Eliza said.

  “Indeed not.” Will slapped the reins, urging the horses forward.

  The hot sunlight pierced through the trees, dappling the dusty roadway under the horses’ hooves to dark emerald spotted with black. It seemed an enchanted place, like in the old Irish tales Eliza loved so much as a girl. The realm of fairies and elves, hidden beneath the verdant leaves only to emerge at night to dance and make merry—and make mischief on unsuspecting humans.

  But even the world of the fairies could so quickly turn dark and violent. Fairies were so jealous and changeable, and heartless, too. They destroyed men who displeased them with scarcely a thought, laid waste to their dreams.

  Gradually, the light grew brighter as the trees became farther apart, the roadway wider. They were emerging from the fairy world of the woods into that of the river, the realm of mischievous naiads. There was a bridge there that led to Rossmorland and then curved in two directions, either to Dalkey and the coast or to Dublin. If they could make it past there, certainly their way would be open to the city.

  The smell of smoke grew stronger as the woods thinned, a thick, cloying scent that stuck in Eliza’s throat. Was this the smell of the whole country now, the stench of destruction?

  Anna coughed, pressing her hand to her face as Katherine gently urged her back down beside the still-sleeping Caroline.

  “What does this mean?” Anna whispered.

  “It only means we will have to find a path around the town and avoid people still,” Eliza answered. “That is all.”

  Even as she prayed her words were true, Eliza very much feared they were not. A terrible sight greeted them as they emerged into the light, the river just ahead. The bridge was blocked by slack, broken bodies clad in bloodied red uniforms, a cloud of smoke hanging over all in a dark gray pall.

  “Mama, get down!” Eliza cried. “Don’t look.”

  Katherine, though, had already glimpsed the carnage. She caught Anna in her arms, bearing her all the way to the bottom of the cart, holding her daughter’s face close to her shoulder.

  “What is it?” Anna sobbed brokenly.

  “Shh, darling, we must be quiet,” Katherine whispered.

  Will slowly climbed down from the cart, his face a frightening blank.

  “Will, no,” Eliza said, lunging forward to catch at his sleeve. But he was already gone from her.

  “It’s all right, Eliza,” he said, not looking back. “The battle is obviously done. I have to see if anyone lives.”

  How could anyone possibly be living, she thought in horror, staring at the scene of perfect, terrible stillness. The only things moving, the only sounds, were those shrieking birds wheeling overhead.

  “Stay here with your mother and the girls,” he said, looking back at her at last. His eyes were dark gray, flat and hard. Her Will, the tender, passionate Will from the garden at Killinan, was gone, the cold warrior now in his place.

  It made her shiver, despite the heat of the sun and the smoke.

  “If anything does happen,” he said, handing her the reins, “run back into the woods, as far and fast as you can, and don’t return.”

  Eliza wrapped the reins tight around her fist, watching as Will drew his pistol from inside his coat and made his way to the bridge. The whole world seemed at a perfect standstill, the river frozen in its flow, the birds caught in midflight.

  “Mama,” she said. “You heard what Will said.” And she, too, climbed down from the cart, taking her pistol from the knapsack.

  “Eliza, no!” her mother cried. “You must not. Stay here with us.”

  “I have to help Will if I can,” she said. “Who can hurt me there now?”

  As she moved closer to the bridge, the stench grew thicker and more pervasive. Smoke, blood, the stinking odor of fear. There were not so many dead as she thought from a distance, perhaps a dozen or so. But that was surely quite enough.

  Eliza swallowed hard past the sour knot in her throat and knelt down beside Will as he examined the first body.

  It was a young man, his eyes wide in startled horror. His boots were gone, his coat and bloodied shirt ripped open as if he had been searched for valuables.

  Her hand shaking, she reached out and closed his eyes.

  “I told you to stay at the cart,” Will said quietly.

  “I… I want to help, if I can.”

  “Help?” He glanced at her from those terribly dark eyes.

  She turned away from him, from that cold stare, and looked at the other men on the bridge. There was not a stir of movement, only the sprawl of broken limbs, broken lives, among broken pikes and torn flags. The green of the United Irishmen mingled with the red and blue of the regiment’s standard, as if they were all doomed together now, no matter which side they chose. Ireland was doomed.

  “I fear we cannot help any of them now,” she whispered.

  “No, we can’t.” Despite his empty eyes, he took her hand, helping her to her feet. Together they made their way from man to man, making sure none yet lived even as they knew it was futile.

  But the soldiers were not the only ones who lost their lives there. At the middle of the bridge dangled a thick rope and a hanged man, clad in the cheap garb of a farmworker. Eliza turned away in a rush of cold nausea, but not before she glimpsed the proclamation pinned to his chest—the order for Kildare to disarm and come back to the rule of the Crown.

  �
�They must have come here to hang him,” Will muttered. “And been surprised in their turn.”

  “Yet the attack came too late, if saving this man was their aim,” Eliza said. “And why did they not take the body away?”

  “Who has time for such civilized niceties as burial in times like these?” Will said bitterly. He drew his dagger from the sheath at his waist, as if to cut the man down, but then his gaze caught on the crumpled body at the end of the bridge.

  As Eliza watched, confused, he walked slowly to the man, kneeling down. She followed, even though her instinct told her to stay where she was, to run back to the cart. She had become quite adept at ignoring her instincts of late.

  It was not one man but three, a red-coated officer and two Irishmen. From the bloodstains on the stone, she judged there had been a most ferocious battle between them.

  “Who is it?” she asked quietly.

  “General Hardwick.” Will gently rolled over the man’s stiffening corpse, and Eliza saw to her horror that it was, indeed, the genial man she had last seen at Dublin Castle, laughing with his wife.

  And she remembered the general’s pretty daughter, smiling shyly at Will as he led her into the dance.

  “He was your friend, I think,” she said.

  “He was a brave and honorable man who should not have been in the field at his age,” Will answered hoarsely. “He said Kildare was a most dangerous place.”

  “And his family?”

  “He sent them to England months ago. They won’t hear of this for some time, I fear.”

  Suddenly, a burst of gunfire exploded from the trees lining the river, a flash of deadly sparks that shattered the eerie stillness. Will grabbed her hand, dragging her down the bank and shoving her under the pilings of the bridge.

  “Stay there!” he shouted. “And for God’s sake, Eliza, bloody well do as I say this time.”

  “Will!” She reached for him, but he was gone from her, disappearing back up the muddy bank. He knelt there just at the rise, firing his pistol in response.

  Holding on to the jagged stone of the piling with one hand, Eliza drew her own firearm, taking in a deep breath to steady her nerves. She was surely caught, with the unseen attackers ahead and her vulnerable family behind. The river flowed on beneath her, unconcerned at all the violence it witnessed that day, not caring that Will’s blood and hers might join its waters, too.

  But their blood would not flow that day, not if she could help it! Eliza was sick of death, of fear, of the terrible end of dreams. And she was angry, too. Angry with a fiery passion that made her want to howl with it all. To rush into battle and be done, once and for all.

  The sunlight glinted off the barrel of a gun, deep in the shadow of the trees. A mere flash, but that was enough. She leveled her gun at that spot and fired. The deafening explosion, the kick of that hot metal in her hand, was deeply satisfying.

  “Eliza!” Will shouted, firing off his own weapon. He fell with his back to the riverbank, reloading. “What are you thinking, woman?”

  “I’m thinking two shooters are better odds than one,” she said. “I’m thinking I will not just sit here and die, and I won’t let you die, either.”

  He stared at her, and she was sure he would push her farther under the bridge, shout at her to run away. But he just handed her his gun, taking hers as she reloaded.

  By the time they ran out of ammunition, the hail of gunfire from the woods had ceased, as if their attackers fled. Eliza slumped down in the dirt next to Will, her eyes shut as she listened closely for any sign they were still there. Waiting. There was nothing, not even the rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig. Even the birds were silent.

  Long, taut moments crept past as she thought of her mother and sisters and prayed they had fled. The rush of pure, hot energy was drained away, and she was exhausted.

  “I think they’ve gone,” Will whispered, a strange, tight sound to his voice.

  Eliza turned to him, opening her eyes to find that his wound had reopened in the fight. Blood spotted his shirt, and his lips were pressed together in a white line.

  “Oh, Will,” she groaned. She quickly unlaced his shirt, peeling it back from his shoulder.

  Some of the stitches were torn, the flesh around them red and angry, blood oozing through. She pulled out her handkerchief, pressing it against him to stop the flow.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” she said.

  “It hardly seemed the right time to pause during a gunfight and say, ‘Excuse me, Eliza dearest…’ ”

  “We’ll have to find a place to mend it.” She stooped down to dip the cloth into the river, wiping away the blots of fresh blood. “You’re not hurt anywhere else, are you?”

  “Not at all, thanks to you, my warrior goddess.”

  “I doubt any goddess was ever so frightened out of her wits!”

  “You didn’t seem frightened at all.”

  “I wasn’t.” Eliza dragged in a ragged breath. “Not until now. You could have been killed!”

  “Eliza!” she heard her mother say, and she glanced up to find Katherine peering down at them from the bank above. Her hem and shoes were stained with mud and dried blood. “Has William been shot?”

  “Mama, you should have stayed away,” Eliza protested.

  “Nonsense. The villains are quite gone. I saw their shadows creeping away, like the bloody cowards they are.”

  “Mama!” Eliza cried, almost laughing at the ridiculous sound of that curse in her mother’s cultured voice. “No, he’s not shot, but he opened his wound again.”

  “Such a nuisance. Here, let me see.” Katherine scrambled down the bank to kneel beside them in the dirt, peering beneath Eliza’s handkerchief.

  “Ladies, really,” Will said, trying to draw his shirt over his chest.

  “Oh, William,” Katherine said sadly. “If you think the sight of a bit of bare male flesh is going to give me the vapors after what I saw on the bridge, you are quite mistaken. We’ll have to fix those stitches, but we can’t do it here.”

  “We can’t go into Rossmorland now,” Will said. Despite Katherine’s words, he managed to pull his shirt and coat back into place, wincing as the cloth slid over his shoulder.

  “Indeed,” Katherine said. “But Houghton Court is not far. I heard that family fled weeks ago. Hopefully the place is deserted, and we can stop there for the night.”

  “Can we afford to lose the time?” Eliza asked.

  “No, we cannot,” Will said. “I vowed to get you all safely to Dublin.”

  Katherine peered down at his shoulder. “William, I fear we have little choice in the matter. Eliza, help me get him back to the cart.”

  “I can certainly walk,” Will insisted, shaking them away. “I tell you, it is nothing. We have to press on.”

  He scrambled up the riverbank, hurrying back over the horrible bridge as Eliza and Katherine ran to keep up with him. They went back to the cart where Anna and Caroline waited, watching them with white, tense faces. Caroline sat in the back while Anna held on to the horses’ bridles.

  “Where do we go now?” Anna asked, her voice subdued and sad. How much had she seen? She always did seem to be watching just at the worst times.

  “To Houghton,” Katherine said. “We can rest there for the night.”

  “No, toward Dublin,” Will insisted. “We should be to the next town soon after nightfall.”

  “Denton stubbornness,” Katherine said, shaking her head. “I tell you, William, you will be no good to us if you faint from blood loss.”

  “Denton stubbornness is nothing at all to that of the Blacknalls,” Will muttered. “And I never faint.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Despite her deep tiredness, Eliza could not sleep, even in the perfect stillness of the deepest part of the night. They had taken refuge for a few hours in the woods, near a burned-out farmhouse on the road to Dublin. There her mother had repaired Will’s stitches, and they had all fallen into fitful sleep, but Eliza was
too wary to join them. She was alert to every birdsong in the trees, every twig crackling.

  Will could not sleep, either, she knew. He lay beside her on a pallet of blankets under the cart, his breath quiet as he stared out from their meager shelter. It was so hard now to think of the past or future, or anything more than that one, single moment.

  “Will?” she whispered. “Are you asleep?”

  “No,” he answered. “But you should be. We’ll have to cover many miles tomorrow.”

  “I’m not the one injured and needing rest.”

  “My shoulder is fine; I promise. Your mother is an excellent physician.”

  “But will it be fine if we meet with another gunfight?”

  “We won’t, and if we do, I will be very careful.” He turned his head to smile at her in the darkness. “I don’t want your mother to scold me again.”

  Eliza laughed despite herself. “Nor do I.” She propped her head on her arm, gazing down at him in the lacy patterns of moonlight. “Will?”

  “Yes?”

  “I am very sorry about your friend General Hardwick.”

  He just nodded, as if he could say nothing.

  “Earlier today you said we all have regrets.”

  “Of course we do,” he said. “We’re all forced to see the truth of ourselves in times such as this, even when we would rather not.”

  Even if they would rather hide and pretend? Surely that would be the prudent course, the course that would allow them all to go on with their lives. But hiding had never been in her nature. Nor had it ever been in Will’s.

  “I do regret that a dream that seemed so wonderful has turned terrible in so many ways,” she said.

  “But you can’t regret what led you to those convictions.”

  “No, I can’t regret that. Freedom should be every human’s right. But are convictions, abstract ideas, worth pain?” She frowned. “I don’t know.”