Nuala looked to be in her early thirties. She was tall with long wiry red hair. Sarah couldn’t remember if she was married but she knew she had two small children.
“You’re doing it,” Sarah said and tried to smile. “Why don’t you make some tea? Archie will get the stove hot for you.”
After a quick glance at Fiona, Sarah went into the kitchen where Archie was standing. She put her hand on his arm and he looked at her with surprise. I wonder when the last time anyone has touched him, Sarah found herself thinking.
“Archie, I need you to stoke the stove and then run an errand for me.”
The old man’s eyes lit up.
“I need you to go to the Murdoch’s house. You know which one that is?”
“I’ll find it,” Archie said.
Sarah outlined what she needed him to do and then returned to Fiona and Abby on the couch.
“Bring her into the bedroom,” Sarah said. “I can’t leave Siobhan alone any longer. If you need help, Mr. Kelley will bring her in for you.”
“I can do it, missus,” Abby said.
Sarah hurried back to Siobhan’s bedside. She held her breath as she took up Siobhan’s wrist to feel the pulse again. Stay with us, Siobhan. A little bit longer.
Abby led Fiona into the bedroom.
“Sit her over there on the other side of the bed,” Sarah said. She nodded to Nuala as she came in with the tea tray.
“The water will be hot in a minute, Missus,” Nuala said.
“Please don’t call me that,” Sarah said, “and thank you, Nuala.”
The woman hesitated and then left to get the water.
“Fiona,” Sarah said loudly. “Look at me.”
Fiona stared at Siobhan’s still form in the bed. Sarah snapped her fingers.
“Over here. Fi. Look at me. You are not responsible for this.”
Fiona dragged her gaze from Siobhan to Sarah, her eyes still glazed.
“Who took your baby, Fi?”
Fiona blinked and then her face crumpled into a mask of pain.
“Let’s do this together. Focus, Fi. It wasn’t Siobhan who loved Ciara like her own child. Who took Ciara?”
Fiona swallowed and a terrible sob escaped her throat. Abby covered her face with her hands at the sound, long and keening.
Dear God, is there nothing but pain left in this world?
Sarah felt for Siobhan’s pulse again. Weak. Thready. She tucked Siobhan’s hand under the covers and leaned over and kissed the old woman’s brow.
“Who took her, Fi?” Sarah asked again gently.
“Margaret.”
“That’s right. Margaret took her.”
Nuala came in with the teapot and set it down on the dresser. She looked at Sarah questioningly.
“And all along it’s been her,” Sarah said. “She’s been working with the druids, from inside the compound. All along.”
Fiona bowed her head and wept. “My poor baby. My poor angel. She’s so terrified. They’re going to kill her. They took her to kill her.”
That’s a definite, Sarah thought grimly.
“But they need time,” Sarah said. “They have to arrange the ritual to make the offering. The time has to be just right. The stars, the weather. They’re not going to kill her. Listen to me, Fi.”
“You were right,” Fiona said. “I pushed her off on anyone who would take her.”
“You didn’t do this, Fi, any more than Siobhan did. Margaret did this.”
Nuala poured the tea and offered the cup to Fiona.
“Drink it,” Sarah said. “I need you tonight. Siobhan needs you tonight.”
Fiona looked up through her tears at Sarah and then Siobhan. “Have we lost her then?”
“I think she knows we’re with her.”
Fiona hesitated and then reached across the bed to take Siobhan’s hand.
“We love you, Siobhan,” she whispered. “And we’re here.”
“We’re all here, Siobhan,” Sarah said, smiling through her own tears now.
The four women sat quietly for several minutes. Sarah held Siobhan’s left hand and Fiona the other. They made a circle, a connection among the three of them, unbroken at least for now. Sarah tried to focus on the life force so strong in herself, with her unborn baby. She prayed Siobhan felt it. She prayed she knew how much she was loved.
“Is Margaret the one who left with Gavin?” Fiona asked.
Fiona’s eyes were clear. The cloud had lifted.
“We’ll soon find out,” Sarah said. “I sent Archie to ask Regan if the person she saw leaving the compound with Gavin could have been a woman.”
They heard heavy boots on the front porch and the voices of men. Before Sarah could stand up, Archie was in the room.
“What did you find out?” she asked. She glanced at Fiona and was gratified to see her friend was intent on the answer too.
“I didn’t,” Archie said. “When I got there, her da was just raising the alarm. Seems the girl’s gone.”
A sudden intake of breath made Sarah look back at Siobhan. The older woman’s eyes were open. She was staring at Sarah.
“Siobhan—” Sarah went to her and touched her arm but Siobhan closed her eyes and gave a long sigh.
This time when Sarah felt for her pulse, there was none.
*****
Mike directed his flashlight onto the path in front of him. They had nearly every able bodied man out looking for Margaret and the baby. An uneasy feeling crept up the back of his neck at the thought of the compound, left with only women and a few men—and most of them useless. No communications, no security.
Surely, this night would see the end to this nightmare. He only prayed they got there before the child was killed. Because there was no doubt that was the druids’ intention. Every time Mike thought of Declan wasting yesterday when Sarah had told them exactly where to find the bastards he wanted to punch something. Any doubts he’d had about Declan’s involvement with the druids ended when Ciara was taken.
Declan had taken all of the gypsy men with him as soon as they’d found out about the baby’s abduction. Because none of them were horsemen—and because Declan was too distraught to think clearly and take the Jeep—he and his men had set out on foot. Mike rode his horse and four men from the compound walked behind him. The druid campsite wasn’t far. Not quite three kilometers.
If Declan had cleared them out yesterday like he was supposed to, we wouldn’t be doing this. Mike forced himself not to focus on that.
It was what it was.
Nobody needed to tell that poor bastard Declan that if he’d done the job he’d set out to do yesterday his daughter would still be safe at home. No, a reckoning was coming. Was long overdue, but tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight was only about what one thing.
Get the child back.
If there was to be a battle today—and Mike knew the druids were well-armed—it wasn’t likely be a sneak-attack. If anything, he thought as he slowed his horse’s gait, they know we’re on our way. He held up a hand to silently indicate to the others to stop. Then he dismounted and turned to them.
“We’ll go the rest of the way on foot and through the woods,” he said.
“But the pasture road is faster,” one of the man, Davey, argued.
“It’s where they’ll be waiting for us, too,” Mike said. He walked across the road and led his horse through an ancient wooden gate. He tossed the reins over the animal’s neck so he wouldn’t trip on them and then returned to join his men on the road.
“We go through the woods. With any luck, we’ll come at them from behind. Declan’s men will already have gone through the front door.”
“I don’t feel good about going into the woods,” a young man said. He eyed the woods with discomfort and touched the gun holster on his hips.
“Nor, I,” said one of the other men. “I say we keep to the road.”
“Jaysus!” Mike said. “Are you fecking kidding me? You’re afraid of the woods? Or is it t
he dark? Blast you, a little girl’s life is depending on your cowardly arses!”
Mike pushed past them and entered the woods. He flipped on his flashlight and started walking due north toward the place where he remembered the new graves were. Sarah said it was a quarter mile or less behind the altar, opposite the northern tip of old Seamus’s pasture. He heard his men trudging along behind him.
He focused on not falling into holes or tripping over the many fallen limbs. There may have once been a path, but it was now overgrown with long-thorned briars which made their progress slow and difficult. He cursed the thorns and how much longer he knew it would take them. Every minute counted. Even now, the image of his tiny niece limp and unresponsive on that cold hard altar made him slash with renewed vigor through the underbrush.
“Oy! Mike!” One of the men whispered hoarsely. “Do you hear that?”
Mike stopped and listened. It was singing. Unearthly, ethereal, otherworldly singing. In spite of his best intentions, he felt his stomach clench at the sound.
“Feck me, it’s the fairies,” one of the men whispered.
Mike wanted to tell him to shut his gob but he couldn’t form the words. The singing was light and perfect like music as it was envisioned by the gods before man got a hold of it. It was singing so divine it brought tears to Mike’s eyes.
He shook his head to dislodge the enchantment of the music in his ears and tried to focus.
Were they close? Surely, they were close. Mike snapped off his flashlight and gripped a nearby tree trunk for support. How can the bastards just disappear like that? A group that big? Just melt into the woods like fairies leaving no trace?
He realized he wasn’t moving and for whatever reason, he didn’t feel the urge to, either. He felt rooted to the spot, as if his hand was glued to the tree. As if the tree was communicating with him. As soon as he realized what he was thinking, he snatched his hand away and he heard the sudden whooshing sound of many flapping wings descending on him. A thick fisherman’s net whipped around his head.
Mike lashed out with both hands but the net was weighted down with rocks and it tangled around his rifle and arms, sending him crashing to the ground. He heard his men scream behind him and the sounds of gunfire coming from the trees above. But in the dark, he never saw their attackers. He just felt the ground fly up to punch him in the face until he was finally united with the earth and the dirt and the rock.
And all the while he heard the hypnotic lilt of the fairy songs, deep and resonate within him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“How did Regan get out?” Sarah asked. “Could she have gone with Margaret?”
“Nobody knows the last time they saw her.” Archie sat opposite Sarah on the couch in Siobhan’s living room after having walked Abby and Nuala home to their families.
“Mike gave orders for the front gate to stay locked. Nobody opened it?” Sarah asked.
“Nay.”
The dawn was creeping through the window, providing a weak, cold light in Siobhan’s living room. The men had been out all night. Every minute they didn’t return was proof they hadn’t found the baby.
And the take away from that was too horrible to contemplate.
Fiona stood at the front parlor window gnawing on her nails and staring out into the ebbing darkness.
“Then she had to have gone through the break in the fence, right?” Sarah asked.
Archie shook his head. “Your husband had the break mended straight after. There’s none could get through now.”
“But Regan’s definitely gone?”
“Says her da and he’s that fecked. I don’t think he’s acting.”
“What fecking difference does it make?” Fiona said, whirling on them. “Before, after. Maybe she levitated over the walls? What difference does it make?”
“Just trying to establish a timeline,” Sarah said mildly. Declan should have taken Fiona with him. At least on the search she’d feel like she was doing something. Here she was just standing in a dead woman’s living room waiting to hear news. And going slowly mad.
Sarah turned to Archie. “Did you find Father Ryan?”
“He’s coming directly. Everyone’s wanting him.”
“It’s pandemonium out there, isn’t it?”
“It’s under control. For now.”
Fiona slunk back to the couch and sank into a seated position with her head in her hands. Sarah exchanged a look with Archie.
“Why don’t you try to sleep, Fi?” Sarah said. “You’ll need your strength today. I’ll wake you when the men return.”
Fiona didn’t respond.
“You’re dead on your feet, lass,” Archie said gently.
“Don’t talk to me!” Fiona said to him. “If it was up to you, my baby would never have been born!”
Archie looked as if he’d been slapped. He stood up as if to leave.
“I’m sorry, lass. I wasn’t in me right mind then.”
Sarah put her hand on Fiona’s arm. “Go lie down in the second bedroom. I’ll call you when she’s back.”
Fiona pulled her arm away, her eyes still on Archie. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I should go,” Archie said as he walked to the door. “Unless you need me to do something.” He gestured toward the bedroom with Siobhan’s body in it.
“Check on the hole in the wall, will you?” she said. “And then the front gate? Just make sure there’s no way in.”
He nodded. “Aye. I’ll grab Murdoch. He’s going mad, himself with his lass gone.”
“Is Tommy still up in the watch tower?”
“Aye.”
“Could you ask one of the women to make sure he has a sandwich or something? And that he’s awake?”
Sarah watched Archie jog down the main compound pathway toward Murdoch’s cottage. He passed Father Ryan along the way, the priest’s dog running ahead of him as if they were on an outing. Ryan waved to her as he approached, a sad smile on his lips. She turned to see that Fiona had fallen asleep on the couch so she grabbed her jacket off the door hook and stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
“Fiona’s finally asleep,” she said to Ryan as he looked questioningly at the closed door.
“Poor lass,” he said, his hand going unconsciously to his dog by his side. “The whole place has gone mad. Hysteria is what it is.”
“I know. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
“You look done in, yourself, Sarah. I’m that sorry about Mrs. Murray.”
Tears sprang to Sarah’s eyes at the mention of Siobhan’s name. Ryan put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“Sure, she was well-loved, so she was,” he said.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Sarah said in a hoarse whisper, letting the tears fall. “I can’t believe the baby will never know her. Or that John—” She covered her face with her hands and sank to the top step of the porch.
“Whisht,” Ryan said, patting her back. “It’s all right, Sarah. Let it out. It’s as natural as the rain to mourn the ones we love.”
Sarah cried in soft, gurgling sobs, not caring how it sounded or who heard. She wept until she had no more tears left. Even the dog sat beside her and rested its chin on her knee as if wanting to ease her pain. Finally, Sarah wiped her face with her jacket sleeve.
“They should have been back by now,” she said.
“The men?”
“It’s not that far. I told them right where to go. Even if they were too late to save the baby, why aren’t they back yet?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head.
“Should we leave, do you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“Cormac, the druid leader, said either we leave the compound or he’ll kill us.”
“He did?” Ryan pulled back to look at Sarah in surprise.
“We can always start over somewhere else.” She put her hands back to her face. “But I can’t lose everyone. I can’t lose John and Mike and Sio
bhan.” The tears were flowing again when she was so sure there wasn’t a drop left in her. “I can’t believe these bastards are able to snuff out the lives of the people we love. How can we let them get away with that?”
“But what can we do?” Ryan put a hand on his dog’s head and looked around at their surroundings. “Until the men return, we’re helpless.”
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and felt the hopeless agony of her new reality wash over her until the only prayer on her lips was for oblivion.
After Ryan left, two women, Mary and Liddy—both compound women who’d known Siobhan most of their lives—came in to prepare Siobhan’s body for burial. Fiona was still asleep, so Sarah walked back to her own cottage. The exhaustion of the long terrible night was weighing heavily on her shoulders until she wasn’t sure she’d make it all the way back without falling.
Archie hurried down the pathway toward her and from a distance she was reminded that he was an old man, at least mid seventies if not older. She tried to remember if she’d ever seen him smile.
“Oy, Sarah,” he said as he joined her. “You look done in.”
Sarah slipped her hand onto Archie’s arm and leaned on him. She could tell by how he started when she touched him that he hadn’t expected it. But she could also tell he walked a little taller.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
She shook her head. “How about you?”
“Mrs. Murdoch fed me.”
“Archie, can I ask you something?”
They were nearly to the cottage. It occurred to Sarah that she now looked at her home not as a haven but as the essence of all sadness and desolation. Was it because of John’s empty bedroom? The room that mocked her with his absence and frustrated her best intentions to believe she would see him again?
“Sure, of course, you can,” he said as they approached the cottage.
“What does it mean that Mike and the others haven’t returned yet?”
“Well, it’s early days yet, lass.”
“Tell me the truth, please.”
She felt him take a long sigh and let it out as if all the energy and bravery he’d been holding inside was escaping like air from a balloon.
“It’s not a good sign,” he said finally.
Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6 Page 17
