Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  She nodded, but her insides felt like they had been put in a high-speed blender.

  “I’m dying to saddle up and go after him. I’m surprised Fiona hasn’t done it yet herself. I wouldn’t stop her if she did.”

  Archie didn’t respond. She stopped walking.

  “Would Mike want me to stay here and protect the compound? Or go to him?”

  Archie cleared his throat and seemed to choose his words carefully.

  “There’s women and bairns here,” he said. “People who Mike promised he’d keep safe.”

  “So you think he’d want me to make sure the compound is safe—even if he needs me. Even if I could help him, wherever he is?”

  “I think it’s your decision to make.”

  She stared at him. “But to do what? Go after the men or protect the fort?”

  “That’s the question, so it ’tis. And I’m almost positive it isn’t meself who can answer it.”

  She nodded. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Archie.”

  He patted her hand on his arm as if too embarrassed to respond with words.

  “I need to ask you to do one more thing.”

  “Anything you need, lass.”

  “I’m going to lie down for an hour. Please check on Fiona and then come wake me. When you do I’m going to have an answer to that question and then you and I are going to make a plan.”

  She gave his arm a final squeeze and then turned and mounted the steps to the house that used to fill her with such joy but now held only heartache.

  ****

  Mike stared between the bars of the small wooden cage—barely large enough for him to sit up. There was straw in the cage, which had clearly been used to keep animals. Six other cages were set around a crackling, lively campfire at the center of a large clearing in the woods. Each one filled with the men from the compound.

  In the end, it hadn’t been a horde of mythical birds descending upon them or thunder clouds devouring them but a large rope net and a dozen armed men jumping from the trees.

  When you’re ready to see monsters in the trees, then monsters there’ll be.

  Around the clearing the woods were thick and dark and gave no hint of life. Mike struggled to sit up, grateful he could feel no broken bones. He flexed his legs, but the cage was too small to allow him to stand. He tried to make out the inhabitants of the other cages. All he could see was dark shapes humped on the floor of their cages.

  “Declan!” he called. “Dec! Are you there?”

  There was movement in the cages as the men began to rouse.

  “Aye,” a voice came back to him, lifeless and flat.

  Mike breathed a sigh of relief. Alive. At least for now.

  “Davey,” Mike called out. “Are ye hurt, man? Kevin? Nial? Terry?”

  Each man responded. Nobody hurt. Thank God. Mike’s eye caught movement on the other side of the fire as Cormac came into view with a small contingency of followers behind him.

  “Awake, I see,” Cormac said as he stood in front of Mike’s cage. Mike hauled himself to his knees and gripped the wooden bars of his cage. His eyes darted to the other cages. The other men were gripping their bars, facing him.

  “You fecking bastard,” Mike said.

  “Twasn’t me sneaking up in the woods,” Cormac said. “We are defending our way of life. I told the big Pikey the same.”

  “You can’t hold us here,” Mike said.

  Two women came up beside the druid leader. One of them whispered in his ear. He nodded.

  “Aye, bring the bairn,” he said.

  Mike gripped the bars tighter. Was he talking about Ciara? Dear God did the lunatic intend to kill her in front of them?

  Cormac’s words about the child ignited immediate activity in the other cages. The forms of the squatting and kneeling gypsy men came to life.

  “Ye bastard! Don’t ye touch her! I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll kill you!”

  One of the men whom Mike remembered from the first time he’d met the druids in the woods, dressed in long filthy robes that dragged in the dirt, approached Declan’s cage.

  “Shall we offer her up this minute?” the man snarled into the cage. “Say the word, ye fithy wog!”

  Declan leaned away from the bars. Mike couldn’t see his face.

  “Nay, nay,” Cormac said, waving a hand at his man. “Let’s don’t get ahead of ourselves. We’ll not be goaded into action before time.”

  The people seemed to come out of the trees and the ground itself. One moment it was just Cormac and two women standing in the clearing and in the next there were at least thirty people milling about. Where had they all come from?

  Mike heard the faint wail of a child screaming beyond all comfort. The screams drew nearer and louder until Mike saw a heavyset woman emerge from the woods with Ciara in her arms. The baby arched its back in the throes of racking sobs.

  “I can barely hold ‘er, Cormac,” the woman said. “There’s something wrong with ‘er. She won’t shirrup!”

  “Give ‘er to me,” Cormac said impatiently. “Drey, come with me.” He nodded to a man dressed in jeans and a heavy wool pullover who was standing by the cages.

  Dear God, what was the maniac going to do?

  Cormac took Ciara in his hands, holding her away from his body as if in fear of contamination. The child’s body convulsed, her hysteria manifested in one long blood-curdling howl of terror. Cormac walked to where Declan watched in agony. Cormac nodded to the man Drey who quickly opened the top of Declan’s cage. Cormac dropped the wriggling child through the opening and into Declan’s arms.

  Instantly, the baby stopped crying. Stunned, Declan held the baby—now making only a soft hiccoughing noise as she buried her face in his chest.

  “You’ll keep her quiet, aye?” Cormac said.

  The crowd laughed and murmured, “Praise Morrigan for the peace!”

  Cormac held up his hands to command silence and pointed to the cage nearest to Mike. Unlike some of the other cages, inside was only one man, Declan’s cousin Roddy who backed up against the rear of his cage.

  “Nay, ye fecking wankers! Tis’nae right! Declan, man, don’t let ‘em!”

  “Bring him,” Cormac said.

  Mike felt his hands squeeze the bars of his own cage until he thought they’d melt between his fingers. Ciara whimpered and Declan soothed her while at the same time speaking to Roddy.

  “Fight, man!” Declan said. “Fight for all you’ve got!”

  The druid with the hairlip marched to Declan’s crate and pulled a handgun on him.

  “Shut yer gob!” he snarled.

  Mike watched helplessly as Declan’s cousin was hauled screaming and flailing from the cage by three druids, their robes twisted and bunched around their knees as they fought with him. Suddenly Cormac appeared from behind Roddy. He jerked the gypsy’s head back with one hand and slit his throat with the other.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sarah’s one hour nap turned blessedly into four. When she woke, she shot to her feet and stood stunned and confused for a moment as she tried to remember what was happening. Her bedroom door opened and Archie poked his head through.

  “It’s not even noon yet,” he said. “You needed the rest. I’ve made tea.”

  Sarah sat back down on the bed. Her first thought was: They’re still not back.

  She didn’t want to get up. She wanted to lay back down and close her eyes. With an effort, she forced herself to stand and join Archie in the kitchen. He poured water into the teapot and pointed to the stack of ham and butter sandwiches on the table.

  “The lass Nuala brought them,” he said.

  Sarah sat down and picked up one of the sandwiches.

  “How’s Fiona?”

  “As you’d expect.”

  “Has she talked about going after the baby herself?”

  Archie poured a mug with tea and set it down in front of Sarah. “Nay. One of the women helped her home. She went to bed.”
/>   Sarah frowned and Archie pushed a dish with a sandwich on it toward her.

  “Everyone handles grief different,” he said.

  Sarah ate the sandwich without answering.

  “Murdoch thinks his lass Regan left on her own. But her mother says no, she wouldn’t. Young Tommy says there’s been no sign of anyone or anything to the north. I think we should man the other watch towers, but…”

  “But we don’t have enough men.” Sarah looked out the window. It had started to rain again. God, did it ever stop raining in Ireland? “How many do we have?”

  Archie winced. “Five if you count me, the priest and the lad Tommy.”

  “Shit! Seriously?”

  “I’ll wager Mike didn’t expect to be gone so long. He thought—”

  “I know. He thought they’d grab Ciara and be back in an hour, tops.” Sarah ran a hand over her face, then drank down her tea and stood up. “Today’s the deadline Cormac gave us.”

  “You think something will happen today?”

  “I think we need to be ready.”

  “Does that mean you’ve decided what we’re to do?”

  Sarah reached for her jacket and strode to the door. “We stay and protect the compound,” she said. “I’m not giving up on Mike, and it’s not what I want to do, but it’s what he’d want me to do.”

  “Aye, I think you’re right.”

  “I just have no idea how the hell we’re going to do that with five men.”

  *****

  For however long they intended to keep them here, it was clear that the druids were content with allowing Ciara to remain with her father. While Mike heard occasional whimpering from Declan’s cage, the baby was quiet for the most part. Once, in the middle of the night Mike called to Declan, and the tall druid with the hairlip called Bodhmail threatened both of them at knifepoint.

  How had these people kept hidden? How long had they been here? At one point in the evening, Mike caught sight of Margaret but she was clearly making an effort to stay away from the cages in the clearing. By Mike’s calculation, they’d been captured well after midnight. It was early evening of the next day now.

  It was unimaginable that they had just murdered one of the men. As quickly and businesslike as if wringing a pullet’s neck for supper.

  Mike shook the image out of his head of the man collapsing to the ground with blood pouring from his throat. That wasn’t any sacrifice. There was no ritual, no altar, no words spoken. And afterwards, they’d hauled his body off as if they needed it for something. But what?

  Why hadn’t they dealt with these bastards the minute they discovered the massacre? Had there been a sliver of doubt from that moment onward that they were a danger to the compound? Mike rubbed a tired hand across his face. So many mistakes. So many missed clues. So much stupidity had led to this night.

  Sarah had been right. It was a huge camp, easily twice the size of New Dublin in numbers. As Mike watched the activity in the clearing, he saw that the women were the servants, the men the ones who worshipped, and Cormac was their leader. There were children. They didn’t play or run or make noise, but sat still as the rocks and the sod, watching the adults with anxious eyes.

  Ever since the druids hauled Roddy off the other gypsies and the compound men were quiet. Except for two armed men who talked by the fire and occasionally glanced at the cages the whole druid tribe—even the children—had left with the body.

  Declan’s cage was twenty feet from Mike’s. Too far to communicate without being overheard but near enough to see. Ciara slept peacefully in her father’s arms.

  Declan never took his eyes off her face.

  As the cold and dampness of the evening settled into the cage with him, it occurred to Mike that whatever fantasy he’d concocted in order to believe that Gavin might still be alive was gone now. It was time to finally face the truth. Time to face the facts that had been there all along—Mickey’s dead body was wearing Gavin’s shirt. Gavin had been in the clutches of these murdering zealots. Mike put his hands to his face and let the realization pound into him. Gavin was probably dead.

  With his head bowed and pressed against the bars, Mike must have fallen asleep because the next thing he felt was the jolt of a large stick clanging against his cage. He jerked to wakefulness.

  “We are not evil people,” Cormac said without preamble. “I want ye to know that.”

  Mike stared at him. He knew that he and his men could be murdered as easily as poor Roddy. Easier if the madman didn’t bother taking them out of their cages first. He could just shoot them where they sat. There was nothing anyone could do to prevent it.

  “Everything I do,” Cormac said, “I do for my people—just like you. There’s no difference betwixt us, Mr. Donovan, in that regard.”

  “Except you’re a fecking monster,” Mike said, his eyes glinting in loathing.

  Cormac tapped his stick against the bars as if in reflection. “I accept that people won’t understand. That is often the burden of the truth.”

  “And the burden of being barking mental.”

  “You’ll be knowing that your death will serve a higher purpose, Donovan, one you could never have achieved without me. I wish I could make you see that.”

  “Go feck yourself.”

  “Tomorrow we go to the compound,” Cormac said. “Your New Dublin. I’ve told my men to spare no one, not even the children. Every death is a rebirth.”

  He walked away almost sadly, glanced at Declan and the baby and then slipped silently into the woods where the rest of them had gone.

  There was no help coming. Not for him and Declan and their men, and not for the compound. Mike hesitated and then got on his knees, feeling the wooden slats dig into his legs. He crossed himself and clasped his hands before him.

  His first prayer was that Sarah would not try to come for him. And that if she lived she would someday forgive him for preventing her from leaving.

  If I’d let her go after John, she and the baby would be safe now.

  When he thought of the baby she carried—their baby—he lifted the image to God in wordless, thoughtless petition.

  His final prayer was that the compound might somehow do what he and Declan were not going to do—survive this mad bastard and the evil people following him. He crossed himself and let sleep claim him once more.

  *****

  Sarah swung open the door of Fiona’s cottage without knocking. Fiona was huddled on the couch in the living room under a pile of blankets. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Nuala and Abby were seated at the kitchen table drinking tea. Two little boys played on the floor at their feet.

  “She won’t eat,” Nuala said, nodding in the direction of the couch.

  Sarah went to the couch and knelt by Fiona. “Hey, sweetie,” she said, putting her hand on Fiona’s head. Fiona groaned as if in physical pain. “Eat something even if you have to force it down.”

  “Why? For what possible reason? Declan hasn’t come back. That means he didn’t find her.” Fiona’s face scrunched into a visage of pain and tears. “I don’t want to live anymore.”

  “We can’t give up yet, Fi.”

  “This is payback for me telling you to stiffen your lip earlier, isn’t it? About your John? Isn’t it?”

  “You’re talking nonsense.”

  “The men are dead. You know they are.”

  “Nobody knows anything, Fi. Could you bring her a fresh cup of tea, Nuala?”

  “What if they need us, Sarah? You were so eager to slip out in the middle of the fecking night when it was John. But now that it’s Mike? Why are you still here?”

  “Thank you, Nuala.” Sarah took the hot tea and held it in both hands. “Drink this, Fi. You cannot fall apart on me.”

  “So are you going after them? Come on, Sarah, are you going to go all Xena on them?” Fiona’s sarcasm and frustration laced her words. “Show us the Sarah we all know.”

  “The problem is,” Sarah said, “we can’t leave. Turns out our children are
their children now.” She could hear Nuala’s two boys playing in the kitchen. Fiona heard the boys’ too. She squeezed her eyes shut and a sob erupted from her in a single agonized wail of grief.

  Sarah waved to Nuala and Abby gathering the children up to leave.

  “You two go on and thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

  She moved onto the couch with Fiona and slipped her arms around her. She held her friend tightly as if trying to hold her together. She held her as Declan might have held her. And as she held her, Sarah tried to imagine she was holding her own child, John, or the love of her life, her Mike. And when she did, she wept too.

  Moments later, Sarah made a fresh pot of tea. Fiona ate a few bites of a meat pie that Nuala had made and she and Sarah sat on the couch and held hands.

  “What do we do now?” Fiona asked weakly, staring unseeing at the wall ahead of her.

  “I don’t know.”

  Fiona turned her head to look at Sarah. “You know Archie Kelley tried to hang Mike and Declan two years ago?”

  “I’ve heard the story.”

  “Did you also know he attacked me when I was eight months pregnant with Ciara? He would have killed me if Dec hadn’t dragged him off.”

  “A lot of bad things happened back then.”

  “Not that long ago. Two years.”

  “Archie’s changed.”

  “He hasn’t.”

  Sarah let the rhythm of her own breathing calm and strengthen her. By the light outside, she guessed it was still early afternoon. Whatever was going to happen today would likely happen closer to evening. Whatever it was, she had no idea if she would be able to handle it.

  Or live through it.

  Both she and Fiona reacted immediately to the sounds of footsteps pounding up the porch front steps. Sarah tensed and tightened her grip on Fiona’s hand. Was this it? Was this whatever was coming today?

  Or were the men back?

  After a sharp knock on the door, it pushed open and Archie stood there.

  “Sarah?”

  “What is he doing here?” Fiona snarled, shaking off Sarah’s hand. “Get out.”

  Archie didn’t enter the cottage. “The gypsy women are packing up,” he said.