They tried to ration the money they had gotten from Éamonn. Ciaran had faith his cousin would always get more money. He had little guilt about appropriating the funds. They could travel all the way back down the coast to Campbeltown. The fare across the sea would be cheaper, at least. But he was homesick, and Ciaran still had the cart and other supplies if he should need to sell more things off for passage to Ireland.
No one planned to sail to Ireland from Oban, though. A fierce storm lashed the Irish coast, so the sailors said. Few captains were willing to chance such a rocky landing in a tempest. So they needed to wait. Just now the sea appeared calm from his vantage point on the sea wall. The waves lapped and broke below his feet. In the distance rose the humped blue forms of the Isle of Mull and Lismore.
And if Éamonn did fall to ruin, he would shed few tears. His cousin had always bested him at everything, be it wooing women or playing at dice games. He stood taller, had a broader smile, and those damn blue-green eyes which fascinated the girls so. The only thing Ciaran could do better was leatherwork, and Éamonn had a fair hand at that exacting skill.
He had even taken both Katie and Deirdre from him.
It simply wasn’t fair both women were in love with Éamonn. Didn’t Ciaran deserve one of them? He was the one, after all, who fiery Katie granted the first kiss. And then along comes Éamonn and practically sweeps her off her feet. And without even trying, he turned Deirdre’s affections to the point the girls fought tooth and nail for him. And above all, Éamonn had left them… left them… to the not-so-tender mercies of the vicious soldiers. He still wanted to cry in frustration at his inability to save Deirdre from the beasts.
Well, all great things must come to an end. And Ciaran knew just how to make that happen.
His cousin would surely need to do some heavy gambling to earn their fare across the Irish Sea. Éamonn’s skill at gambling remained good enough to arouse suspicions. A few judicious whispers in the ears of a few superstitious sore losers could engineer a fitting retribution for all the luck Éamonn had previously enjoyed.
It wasn’t so long ago that panics about witchcraft burned across the countryside, leaving in their wake the smoking husks of burnt old women and friendless men. People feared what they didn’t understand, and men’s fears and memories were long.
Ciaran sat on his sea wall, gazing at the water but not seeing it. He thought instead of Deirdre. Deirdre of the midnight hair, the rosebud lips, and the enchanting laugh. His Deirdre.
His Deirdre had gone to the herbwomen to discuss obscure remedies. With little to do but wait for better weather, he remained restless.
What would he do when he returned to Ireland? He’d asked Deirdre to be his wife, many times. Each time she’d avoided an answer, saying she needed more time to think about it. He knew what she wasn’t saying, though—she wanted more time to try to win Éamonn back. The realization made his head swim with jealousy.
Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a wineskin and took a long, angry drink.
The sound of crinkled paper got his attention, and he reached into his pack again. Ciaran fingered the fine pieces of vellum Éamonn had rescued from the MacCrimmons’ home. They were dry and smooth, with lots of black, scrawled musical notations. Ciaran couldn’t read music. He could barely read at all, truth be told. But these were precious to Turlough. Turlough would be happy to get these back. If Éamonn were not to come back, he might even accept me as a sort of son, rather than a nephew. I’d take Éamonn’s place in his heart.
If only he could take Éamonn’s place in Deirdre’s heart as well.
Chapter Sixteen
A click of the dice, a thrill of anticipation, and Éamonn had won again. He still hadn’t regained the deep pleasure he used to get from winning, but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing he would win. The cheating became a necessity, now Ciaran and Deirdre had stolen their coin. He didn’t really begrudge them the money. He probably would have given most of it to them, had they but asked. But he did need to replenish once they’d gone, and this was the only way to do so in a strange city with nothing to trade or sell.
His latest win had engendered several mutters and resentful glances, nothing unusual in the gambling ring. He pushed some goodwill out to the circle, and the grumbles eased. He’d learned finesse with his gift. He affected more people, and for longer. It might be the better part of wisdom to back off before things got ugly. He gathered his winnings—not a huge amount, but sufficient to the day—and rose to leave.
“Oi, where are you going, mate? We merit a chance to earn our dosh back, now.”
“I must go, lads. I’ve a lady waiting for me, and it does no good to leave a lady waiting, now, does it?” With a flash of his teeth, he made to stride off.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Spinning, ready for a confrontation, he saw one of his fellow gamblers backing up with his hands up in surrender. A wiry man, he stood perhaps a foot shorter than Éamonn. Certainly no match for the taller man in a fight.
“No worries, mate! Just wanting to bring you this. You left it by your seat.” He handed Éamonn one of his dice.
Abashed, Éamonn took the proffered cube and smiled. “Thanks, then. Here, I’ll be back tomorrow night if you want a chance to win things back, aye?”
“Aye, that’ll do.” The man walked off without a glance, and Éamonn heaved a sigh of relief.
He wasn’t sure why he was so jumpy. Usually, he wouldn’t be an obvious winner so many nights in the same place, a sure way to arouse local suspicions of cheating. But they had little choice at the moment. Another night or two of decent winnings and they could hire a boat back to their home.
Home. Such an odd concept to him, having usually lived as a Traveler. They would sometimes winter in the same place, and he had spent those years on his uncle’s farm. But in reality, home had always been his father’s wagon, wherever that might be. Now, home would be wherever Katie was. Without her, his heart experienced a pang of loss, a sort of homesickness. She remained the fiery spark which kept his soul alive. If she left, he would be a dead coal in the hearth.
These ideas ran through his mind as he walked into the inn and saw Ruari sitting at a round table with Katie. His brother had just brought a huge mug of ale to his lips when he saw Éamonn. Slamming it on the table while the liquid sloshed out, he stood, crying out.
“Éamonn!”
“Ruari!”
In his weakened state, his giant of a brother crushed him as they hugged and pounded each other’s back.
“But you’re so thin? What happened?”
“A sword cut me in the leg. It festered like your arm had.”
A common enough thing to get—less common to come out unscathed. His brother did hold his affected arm strangely.
“How is the arm? Better, I hope?”
Ruari flexed it experimentally as if just now remembering the wound which had almost robbed him of the limb. “Not so bad. It itches and aches when the weather changes.”
“How did you find us?” Éamonn pulled one of the stools at the round table. Katie had already gone to fetch a mug of ale for him, and he grinned at her with gratitude before taking a long draught.
His brother shrugged. “By accident. I headed towards Skye. Heard about a dice-man who seemed way too lucky, so I figured it might be you. Then I saw Mistress Katie here walking to the inn, and I followed her.” He shrugged at the simplicity of it.
“It’s great to see you, brother, but why were you searching? Did Da finally get an annulment for Katie? Did she tell you it doesn’t matter anymore?”
“She told me she’s widowed. Which is good, because Da couldn’t get them to do anything. But there’s more.” Ruari frowned and furrowed his brow.
“What? What’s wrong, Ruari?” Éamonn put his mug down, worried now.
“It’s Da.”
Éamonn sat straight. “Da? What’s wrong with Da?”
“Remember his cough?”
Éamonn searched back through
the adventures and trials they had survived the last weeks and remembered, vaguely, his father had a cold when he’d left. He nodded, mute.
Ruari glanced at the mug in his hands. “It got worse. He’s stuck in bed now.”
Éamonn stood up. “We’ve got to get back! Damn, I wish we knew where Deirdre went. She’s good at healing. Katie, can you pack our stuff? Ruari, do you have enough money to get us back to Ireland? I’ve got some, but not enough for the two of us, much less all three.”
Ruari looked heartened by Éamonn’s action. “I’ve got some, let’s see if it’s enough.”
“If it’s not, we’ll just have to steal a boat. I must be there for Da.”
They didn’t have enough. The storm hit late in the night, so stealing a boat wasn’t an option. Éamonn paced the room at the inn, frustrated at his inability to do anything.
“Will you sit your great, lumbering self down, already? You’re making me dizzy with your walking back and forth,” Katie said. She sat cross-legged near the hearth in the room mending one of many bramble tears in her skirt. Ruari sat on the bed. None of them slept with the furious storm battering the wooden building, and the knowledge Turlough might be dying across that wind-tossed sea.
He kept pacing. All he thought about was his father, wasting away in his wagon, with no one to care for him, no one to heal him. He was here. Ruari was here. Ciaran had gone God knows where. Who did Turlough have with him, but the girls? And Fionnuala had died, so only Etain and Síle were left.
Flashes of memory raced through his mind unbidden. The day his father had left them at their uncle’s farm to go ‘walking,’ as he put it. Turlough, coming home after several years. The first time Éamonn had killed a rabbit, and his father showed him how to dress and skin the creature.
He’d taken his father for granted. He begged God now for the chance to get back in time to tell his father how much he loved and treasured him, how much he needed him in his life.
“Éamonn, come, sit with me by the fire, please?”
Katie patted the hearth rug. He was tempted, but he had too much energy. He had to get outside of this stifling room somehow.
“No, I think I’ll go down to the ale room. I need to be busy, not just sit and twiddle my thumbs.”
A night of dicing and cards did little to alleviate his nervous activity, but at least it got him doing. Anything but stewing on his father dying, alone, in Ireland.
He didn’t really pay attention to the dice and lost several rounds in a row. The losses roused his instincts, and he made sure the next rounds were winners. He saw suspicious glances from his gaming companions, but thought little of it, pushing out another wave of peace. Everyone was suspicious of a winner now and then.
He tossed the dice on one last throw, hoping it was a good one. Expecting reluctant congratulations, he gathered his winnings. The other gamblers were silent, and staring at him.
With a nervous laugh, Éamonn stood. The others rose with him.
He backed up to give himself room to run if he needed to. They moved with him.
“‘Ere now, we think you’ve been a tad too lucky there, Irish.”
Éamonn shrugged. “Everyone’s got a streak now and then. That’s no crime.” Another few steps backwards and he came to a wall. Hell.
Five burly men surrounded him. How would he get out of this one?
“Now, boys, I’m sure you all have warm beds to get home to. How about I stand you all a mug of ale to send you on your way?” The headache came pounding in but Éamonn pushed some more. He reached into the pouch to pull out several doits. The man on the left, the one who had lost the most that night, knocked the coins out of his hand. He growled as his eyes narrowed. One of the other men laughed and bent to pick them up, and that left Éamonn an opening.
Éamonn ran as fast as he could back toward the inn. One man ran close behind him, so close he heard panting breath, but he daren’t glance back. When he saw the humble building, he sent a prayer of thanks to God. Once inside the inn, he’d have Ruari to back him up.
It didn’t turn out to be necessary. His pursuer had given up by the time he reached the inn.
With several mugs of ale to celebrate his escape, he stumbled back to the room he now shared with both Ruari and Katie. His darling wee girl curled on the narrow cot, while Ruari had set up two pallets on the floor. His brother lay in one of them, snoring loudly, his feet towards the fire. Éamonn made sure to properly bank the fire before he crawled into his own pallet. It would do no good for a spark to fly out and catch the flammable wool in the night.
In the morning, the storm had blown itself out, and the day dawned bright with sweet, cool dew on every surface. While Katie and Ruari appeared refreshed and energized, Éamonn groaned from his excesses from the night before. They packed their belongings and moved to the docks. Perhaps someone would be willing to ferry them to Ireland with what coin they had.
A couple of inquiries disabused them of this notion. Most captains outright laughed at them. One did look at them each, considering. By the time he looked Ruari up and down, he shook his head.
“Too much weight on that one. My boat would capsize at the first squall.”
No amount of arguing or pleading would change his mind.
Finally, they found a boat which might take them, a larger sloop with room for about twelve passengers.
“I usually go to Ballycastle once a week. I’m due out tomorrow, as a matter of fact. I prefer to go with a full load, so I’ll take you, despite the short fare. Mind, I expect to get work out of you for the voyage for that, aye?”
Both Éamonn and Ruari were perfectly willing to put their backs to any task which might allow them to fly across the ocean to their father. They agreed quickly.
The captain nodded. “Well, be here at dawn tomorrow. We leave on the tide.”
* * *
The impatience flowed out of Éamonn like the flames of a hot, wood fire. He was wound so tight, Katie daren’t touch him for fear he would explode. She didn’t want him to go out and gamble again to pass the time. She grew wary of his now well-known reputation as a lucky man. Ruari remained content to sit as the seagulls played in the waves. They sat on the sea wall, but Éamonn jumped down and tossed stones from the rocky beach into the ocean. He threw each one harder, farther, and sometimes they came close enough to hit one of the birds. A raucous squawk was the gulls’ tart rejoinder, with a dirty look as they fluttered to safer waters.
“Why don’t we go climb the hill on the other side of town? Maybe we can see Ireland from there?”
Éamonn imparted a long-suffering look. “Katie, Ireland’s over eighty miles away. On a clear day, you might—might, mind you!—see seven or eight miles into the distance, if you’re on a mountain.”
“Well, pardon me for not knowing all that! I’m sure a world traveler such as yourself knows such things. A poor little button-head idjit like myself is just ignorant.” She was annoyed at his cocksure attitude. While her own family were Travelers, they didn’t stray from the west coast of Ireland much.
He stopped his stone-throwing and came to her on the wall. Standing on the rocky beach, he barely reached her breasts while she sat on the wall. He placed a hand on each of her knees, and gazed up into her eyes. “Ah, Katie, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I’m just frustrated and eager to be off. You know that, don’t you?”
She relented, “Yes, I know that. I just took exception to your tone. Not everyone had a father who traveled the country and taught all he knew.”
She regretted speaking of his father as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Would she never learn to curb her tongue? Both Ruari and Éamonn remained silent. They exchanged a glance and then peered out over the water as if searching their parent out. He peered up at one of the hills to their right, eyes narrowing, but she couldn’t see anything special about it. She could barely make out some stones or an old cottage lying in ruins on the top.
Katie tried to will the sun to move fas
ter across the sky. Anything to avoid this awkward, uncomfortable waiting. Alas, her efforts were for naught, and she needed to wait for time to pass.
Éamonn patted her on the knee and said, “I’ll be back for supper. I need to take care of something.”
“What’s wrong?” Katie asked.
“Nothing’s wrong, but I need to go up that hill for a bit.”
“The hill? Whatever for?”
“I need to go to the faery stone. Bide here and rest, eh? I’ll not be long.”
The gloaming fast approached, and she didn’t want to be walking back to the inn at night. “But what can you need to do there?”
“It’s just something I need to do. A ritual my father taught me. It’s… religious, I guess. Can you just wait here?”
Screwing her face in skepticism, she said, “I can, but since when have you been religious, Éamonn Doherty?”
“Not exactly religious… it’s a personal ritual.” With that, he climbed the hill.
After trying to spy Éamonn on the hill, she finally abandoned her search, as it grew too dark to see anything but their own hands. The moon was dark tonight, or not yet risen. She hadn’t been paying attention in the last few days to the moon cycles. Such pity, as she loved the moon. She loved the mysterious glow in the sky, a gentler light than the sun, somehow gentle and powerful at the same time. In times past, people would worship a moon goddess and no wonder.
Thinking of the moon made her remember her cycle. It still hadn’t begun. She had no doubt about that now.
“What’s that?” Ruari’s startled tone brought her back from her musings.
She glanced up and saw blue and purple sparks on the hill Éamonn had climbed. They were faint but definitely glowing. Standing up, she walked towards the hill.
Legacy of Luck Page 27
