Legacy of Luck

by Christy Nicholas

  The dreams were bad that night. Éamonn couldn’t move at all, as the tendrils from the bog enveloped every limb, and pulled him into the mire. He resisted as long as he could, but his arms became exhausted by the effort, and he succumbed to the darkness.

  They finally stirred late in the morning. Éamonn woke up first and found a brook to refill his waterskin. Bringing it back to the rest of the slumbering travelers, he offered it to each as they woke.

  He needed to get to a place he could gamble again. He had saved the few coins he had won the prior evening, thank God, and could use them as his stake. It would take a lot of work to earn enough to buy food, drink, horses, and boat fare. Perhaps it would be better if they didn’t get horses until they were back across the sea. Certainly, it would save them fare for the beasts. But it was such a long way to walk. How long was it back to Campbeltown from here? He had no idea. He just needed to go southwest.

  Surveying the damage, he studied each of his companions. Katie looked bedraggled and beaten, but she at least had a huge arisaid to keep her warm, and it appeared relatively unscathed. Her skirts were ripped in several places, and stained with grime and who knows what else. Her hair was a right mess. Ciaran was in better shape, though he dragged and could do with a week in bed. Deirdre had curled into herself. She had no fire or sparkle left in her eyes. He felt sorry for the girl, but he steeled himself against pity. That way lay madness. He sympathized, but he mustn’t give her the slightest opening.

  “All right, folks. Let’s get going. The day is bright, and the weather is fine. Let’s take advantage of it while we can. It’ll be a long walk—likely more than a week—back to the ferry port. One step at a time, aye?”

  “And who put you in charge, I might ask?” Ciaran asked.

  Éamonn blinked several times, surprised at Ciaran. “I suppose I put myself in charge. Have you a better idea?”

  Dropping his eyes, Ciaran said, “Not really, no. I just didn’t like the way you were ordering us about.”

  Éamonn grinned and cuffed his cousin on the shoulder. “Not orders—common sense, to be sure. First town we find, we’ll see if I can win us coins so we can sleep in a proper bed. Ciaran, would you mind hunting on the way?”

  “With what? My traps are all in my saddle bags.”

  “Oh, right. Bloody hell.”

  Deirdre spoke up. “Give me foraging time. I can at least find plants or berries. I’m good with such things.” Her voice sounded flat as if she chanted a liturgical prayer.

  Éamonn shrugged. “It’s a better idea than I have. Do you want to take time before we leave, or take side trips as we’re going?”

  “Both.” She stood, dusted her skirts off, and disappeared among the trees.

  “She really does know her plants and herbs. An old witch woman taught her one winter.” Katie offered.

  “As I said, it’s the best option we’ve got for now. While she’s off, let’s take stock of what we do have.” He emptied his own pack out.

  They didn’t have much. His dice and cup, of course, a couple small loaves of horsebread, a hunk of cheese, and dried meat. The waterskin, a clean shirt and breeks, and woolen stockings in much need of darning. The music he had retrieved from the MacCrimmons’ house. His belt knife, a half-bag of oats and a blanket for the now-missing horse completed the inventory.

  He passed out the bread to each of them, saving the meat and cheese for when Deirdre had joined them. If she could get them food, she certainly deserved to have a share of everything.

  Katie took time to try to wash the worst of the stains out of her clothing, while Ciaran sat on a log and slumped.

  “Ciaran? Talk to me, cousin. What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s a load of bullcrap, and you know it. You’ve been sulky ever since we started out. We’ve succeeded in our quest, and now we’re on our way home. Why are you so sour?”

  Ciaran glared at him, and if looks could kill, he should have been a quivering mass of burning ashes.

  Éamonn took a step back, surprised at the venom in his friend’s eyes.

  “What? What have I done to make you so angry?”

  Ciaran dropped his gaze again and mumbled.

  “Speak up, man!”

  He glanced up and said, with great care for enunciation, “Deirdre.”

  “Deirdre? What about her?”

  “That’s what you did. You took her. You took her like all the women, and now she loves you!”

  Éamonn rolled his eyes. “By the name of all that’s holy, Ciaran! I don’t want Deirdre. I never wanted her. She came to me and pushed herself on me until I couldn’t—”

  Ciaran jumped up and yelled in Éamonn’s face. “That’s a load of shite, Éamonn! You were always the one who got the girls. Any time I fancied a lass, you were the one they loved. A flash of your smile and your eyes, and they were panting after you like a bitch in heat! After that, they’re spoiled for ordinary men, men like me. It’s always you! Why can’t you just leave me the one, eh? Just one?”

  He stopped, huffing like a boar, his face no more than an inch from Éamonn’s.

  “Ciaran, you can have her, I don’t want her! I’ve got my Katie.” He tried for a reconciling tone and put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. He tried a little push.

  “Sure, and aren’t I always to take your castoffs!” He flung Éamonn’s hand away and went stalking off into the woods.

  Confused, Éamonn sat. He didn’t know what to do. Everyone was angry with him now. This had turned into such a mess.

  Well, he had to get his little group home, even if none of them were speaking to him. When Katie returned, he talked to her about their route. Heading due west until they came to Loch Ness, and following that down would probably be the easiest path. He just hoped it wasn’t too far away. Soon after, Deirdre reappeared with a skirt full of forage.

  She had raspberries, a couple tart wild strawberries, and dark crow-berries. She had several huge handfuls of clover, chicory leaves, and dandelions. Several tall stalks of fireweed and mushrooms finished off the haul. Éamonn brought out his meat and cheese, the last bits of bread, and they had a feast.

  Ciaran returned while they were halfway done, and studiously ignored Éamonn. He acted solicitous of both the women and laughed and joked with them.

  The trip back along the lochs took a long time. Days passed where they saw no one. A couple villages did yield coin to Éamonn’s gambling tricks, but he found little joy in cheating these poor crofters. If they hadn’t been desperate, he would never have done it. After he earned enough for their food and supplies as well as their boat fare, he stopped altogether. The illness after each use of his power got tiresome. The dice themselves had lost all their thrill now he could control the outcome. One of his great joys in life was ruined.

  Luckily, he had another. Katie still acted prickly and warm in turns, but she stood by his side, and it was all he wanted. Ciaran and Deirdre spent more time together. Often the pairs went off on their own for a while after setting up camp. The small bit of privacy allowed each couple to get to know each other better.

  As much as Éamonn wanted to take advantage of this privacy, Katie had made her position clear after her rescue. She would do nothing like that until they were married, and no argument. Éamonn railed at her declaration, but couldn’t really argue. She was well within her rights, and he admired her convictions. They talked a lot on the journey, getting to know the other’s fears and hopes.

  One night as the rain stopped their evening progress, the four of them huddled together under a make-shift tent, sharing each other’s warmth. It would be much safer if he slept on the far side, with Katie between him and Deirdre. The raven-haired girl hadn’t yet given up on him and had no wish to wake once again with his manhood hard in her hands. Nor did he have any desire to explain such a situation to Katie.

  “Éamonn, are you asleep yet?” Katie whispered softly.

  “Yes, sound asleep.” He smiled,
though he knew she couldn’t tell in the inky blackness.

  “I never thanked you.”

  “Thanked me? For what?”

  “For saving me from the Jacobites. For trying to get me back from Lochlann. For never giving up. For everything.”

  Éamonn didn’t know what to say. He fumbled around until he found her face, and stroked her cheek softly. He could only tell the truth.

  “The only thing I could do, a chroi. You are my soul’s home, after all. And I’ll never leave home again.”

  There were no nightmares that night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Several days into the journey back, they found an abandoned crofter’s cottage near dusk. It made for a better shelter than the tents they’d bought off the back of a questionable trader’s wagon two nights before. The tents leaked, they’d discovered on the first night, and smelled of rot.

  Still, the cottage appeared in decent shape. The thatch could use work, but it served to keep the now steady rain off their heads. They even found a bedstead inside, and a table, though not much else. It kept the wind at bay, and Katie was grateful.

  Their meager stores were much restored by this time. Éamonn had managed to get them an old mule, offering leeway as to what they could carry. A side of ham remained their biggest prize, several loaves of coarse bread, a bag of apples, and even a jug of ale. They all had blankets now, and though they’d been unable to find more clothing, each now had a decent cloak.

  Éamonn had pulled in logs for them to sit upon as he tried to get the hearth lit. Katie sat like a shriveled lump and shivering from the damp, despite her cloak and his arm around her shoulders.

  “Katie? Are you all right?”

  She didn’t answer but just shook her head. She couldn’t stop shaking.

  Éamonn came over and lifted her chin. She smelled woodsmoke and ale on him.

  “What’s amiss, lass? Have you taken a chill?”

  Through chattering teeth, she said, “I’m not sure. I just c-c-can’t seem to get w-warm.”

  He drew her up and sat her right in front of the smoky fire. It would take time to build up, especially with the damp wood, but they’d have warmth. He then sat behind her, wrapping his legs and arms about her small body to share his own body warmth. He sweated from the effort of getting the wood for the fire.

  Katie heard Deirdre snort, but didn’t care to confront her sister just then. They’d had a rocky reunion. While they had never been especially close, they were sisters. Their kinship wore prickly thorns. Deirdre’s seduction of Éamonn certainly didn’t help. She blamed Éamonn, but she remained well aware Deirdre shared plenty of the blame. Seeing her sister so miserable now Éamonn had dropped her—it made Katie both smug and sorry. Maybe Ciaran would be a steadying force for her. He obviously wanted the job. His slavish devotion was so obvious it hurt. Deirdre must not notice.

  Finally, her shivering eased. Éamonn still lay wrapped around her back, enveloping her with his arms and body warmth. She could sink into a deep, dreamless sleep for a week like this.

  “Katie?” Éamonn’s voice sounded far away.

  “Hmm?” Her mind was muzzy and drifting.

  “Do we really need to go back to Ireland?”

  That brought her back to her senses quickly.

  “What are you talking about, Éamonn?”

  “What if we were to stay here, right here, and rebuild this cottage. We could start a family, have a farm, and keep it well.”

  “Are you completely daft, Éamonn? What do you know about farming?”

  He didn’t answer her immediately, and she twisted around to look at him.

  “Well?”

  “I grew up on a farm, Katie. Until my da came back from his wanderings, we all helped. He left for several years. We milked cows, plowed fields, harvested wheat, all sorts of things.”

  “Oh.” She untwisted and looked down sheepishly. She had assumed he’d been a Traveler all his life, like her family, only staying in one place during the harsh winters.

  “We could do it, I think. What do you say?”

  A settled life. Nothing she’d really considered before Lochlann. This cottage was a far cry from the grand house she would have been living in on Skye. She’d never been particularly greedy, but there was a world of difference between grubbing in the mud for subsistence living, and living in a large house with glass windows and feather beds. Besides, if they had children, they’d be crowded out in a few years.

  Children.

  She quickly counted back in a panic. No, it couldn’t be. Already?

  Over three weeks ago she’d first lain with Lochlann. She’d lost count in the traveling, but by her reckoning, she should have had her courses several days ago.

  Stop panicking, Katie. Women are late all the time. It doesn’t mean a thing.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. How could she marry Éamonn—if indeed that’s what he wanted—while carrying Lochlann’s child?

  Never in her life had she cried as much as she’d been crying these last weeks. She’d turned into a completely different person. Someone who had already failed at life, though only just aged eighteen years.

  “Katie? Katie, why are you crying? We don’t have to stay here if it makes you so miserable. Shhh… shhhh….”

  Katie didn’t correct his assumption. How could she tell him until she knew for certain?

  The next day dawned cool, despite the promise of warmth as the sun burned the mists into a glowing morning. Deirdre woke up early, gathering more greenery from the surrounding areas. She even came back with potatoes someone had planted in the garden, perhaps their last act before they had left. Katie was surprised to see them. They were becoming popular in Ireland, as they were easy to grow and took less land than many other crops. But she hadn’t realized the Scots had started to grow them. Regardless, they made a good addition to their meager stores.

  A couple jokes were told, and Katie swore she actually caught Ciaran laughing once. When she pointed it out to him, he flushed and ducked, but she caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

  Whenever they heard someone coming down the track, they pulled to the side, to let the others pass. They were in no particular hurry and had no wish to be part of a confrontation. This morning, they had already passed a cartful of villagers going to a wool fair, three young men out hunting, and a boy who darted out of the woods with a ball, took one look at them and darted back out of sight. The antics brought a smile to Katie’s lips until she remembered her own possible condition.

  They heard the sounds of horses around the next bend, so they pulled their mule to the side to let the other party pass. They waited as a group of English soldiers came into view. Each traveler kept their faces down as the soldiers passed, wanting no trouble. The lead horse stopped, though, and they glanced up to see why.

  The officer with a troop of eight redcoats peered at them quizzically.

  “And just what business does this ragtag bunch of beggars have on the King’s Road, Martin?”

  “I don’t know, sir. They have the look of gypsies. Thieves, mayhap, or even murderers.”

  “Murderers, aye? Well, we shouldn’t let that sort wander around free, should we?”

  “Please, sir, we’re honest folk. Travelers from Ireland. We’re headed back to our home now.” Katie had never seen Éamonn be contrite and apologetic.

  “Hmm. Well, they are at least traveling in the right direction. Still—” After staring at each one of them for a long moment, he dismounted. Katie tensed and scooted behind Éamonn. She was particularly vulnerable since Lochlann’s death. She’d already come to rely on his protection.

  The officer stared at Deirdre, from the tangled crown of her head to her muddy, torn shoes.

  “This is a prime specimen indeed. What do you think, Chambers? Is there a pretty lass underneath all the Irish grime?”

  “I think so, sir. Hard to tell, though.” Chambers grimaced, wrinkling his nose and squinting his eyes.
Deirdre shrunk back behind Ciaran.

  “Here now, we won’t hurt you, girl. Just want to get a proper look, is all.” Chambers went and grabbed her arm. Ciaran protested, but the soldier ignored him.

  Éamonn spoke up, “Please, sir, we just want to go home. We want no trouble here.”

  “I’m not talking to you, you bloody bog-trotter. Now we won’t do no harm. Just a kiss, eh?” The Captain pulled Deirdre out of Chamber’s grip and put his arm around her waist, pulling her in. He used his other hand to hold her head while he planted a wet, sloppy kiss on her lips. She struggled, but this just made him laugh. He started to nuzzle her neck, his hands grabbing her breasts. He went back to kissing her, holding it longer and longer, until Ciaran burst out.

  “Stop it! Stop touching her!” Ciaran rushed at the Captain, but Chambers was ready for such an outburst, and neatly tripped the man. Ciaran sprawled out into the muddy road. Martin dismounted as well, to stand next to his comrade, eyeing Éamonn suspiciously.

  Ciaran tried to get up, but Chambers placed a boot on his neck, and said, “That wouldn’t be wise, now, would it?”

  Katie nudged Éamonn, urging him to act. He whispered, “There are eight of them. If all he wants is a kiss, she’s survived worse. But we can’t fight them all, Katie.”

  Deirdre was her sister. Despite all her anger, jealousy, and rage at Deirdre, she was still her sister. They were born of the same mother, had survived the brutal attentions of their father, and had grown up in the same places. A bond existed between them which would never break completely. It might stretch, twist, or even snarl at times, but it would never break.

  Mustering all her rage and authority, she stepped out from behind Éamonn to make her own demands for release… but Éamonn grabbed her and held her.

  “What are you doing, Éamonn? If you’re not going to stop them, I will!” Katie whispered in furious anger.