Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry

by Hughes, Amanda

  Michael was dressed in a newly woven white smock with dark breeches. Everyone marveled at his black boots, which he had borrowed from Casey Mulligan. Many a bridegroom in Kilkerry had borrowed these boots from Casey, but they still inspired awe when they were worn publicly.

  Bridget stood quietly by Michael, looking down at the dirt floor of the cottage. She was painfully shy, and all this attention was unbearable for her. She longed to be home alone with Michael away from all the prying eyes. Bridget was a tall big-boned girl with broad hips and a freckled face. Her brown hair was tucked neatly under a white mob cap lined with the fine lace she had woven by candlelight. Michael linked arms with her, patted her hand and nodded to Father Etienne that they were ready.

  Outside on the green, pony carts continued to pull up, unloading guests, eager to spend the warm, sunny day dining and dancing. Women scurried about, carrying pots filled with their best suppers, and tables were moved out into the open air to hold food. They were arranged in long lines with homespun tablecloths which snapped in the breeze. The men gathered in groups around the square, starting on the stout and the brandy earlier than usual, ribbing each other about who would win the races and games. Their voices would occasionally grow louder and frequently end in hearty laughter as the children ran back and forth across the green, turning somersaults and playing tag.

  The green was filled with guests when the bride and groom stepped out of the cottage into the sunshine. The crowd let out a hearty cheer. A group of fiddlers struck up a jig as guests swarmed the couple offering best wishes and congratulations.

  Long lines formed to consume the stews, puddings and mutton pies which graced the tables. Potatoes and cabbages, ordinarily so mundane, had been dressed in special ways for today's festivities. Everyone donated their best recipes, and the aromas were delectable.

  At the end of the line, there was a table reserved for fresh breads and dainties. This was considered extravagant fare, reserved for special occasions only, and it was here that the hungry villagers found delicate flummeries and tarts. The rich, deep colors of the berries alongside the generous creams were a feast for the eyes, and one guest donated a trifle. To post-famine Kilkerry, such excess seemed sacrilegious, but the guilt was fleeting. Plates filled up quicker than consciences, and everyone made merry.

  Many spread tablecloths and blankets on the ground or simply sat directly on the soft green grass. Many of the men, preferred to indulge in spirits before clearing their heads with food, and several games of chance sprang up, including the shell game.

  The bride and groom received guests at their table, and between bites of food, gave thanks to all the villagers for their gifts. During the festivities, Father Etienne found it prudent to remain in the O'Hearn cottage, and he was chatting with old Mrs. Mallory as Darcy stepped inside to see him. John Kinsale, one of the young men in town, was watching the door to be sure no informants entered the O'Hearn cottage. Father Etienne noticed the look he gave Darcy, as she swept past him. The priest was glad that he did not have the game of courtship to distract and confuse him.

  As Darcy approached, Mrs. Mallory rose and said, "You take my chair, dear. My bones need warming in the sun."

  Darcy sat down, handing Father Etienne a mug of stout and said, "I wish you didn't have to hide in here like a prisoner."

  Father Etienne laughed. "It doesn't bother me. I feel like a king holding court as they drift in and out paying homage to me."

  "Oh, is that what I'm doing?"

  "No, you have never been impressed with me.”

  Darcy asked, "Have you been sleeping at night?"

  "Most nights I sleep, but there are times when the slightest memory triggers it all again.”

  There was little time to visit. The cottage was filling again with people wishing to greet Father Etienne. They were chattering and laughing, and one of the young men handed him a plate of food saying, "If you can't come to the celebration, it will come to you. One of fiddlers stepped into the cottage and started to play a tune.

  Michael grabbed Bridget and swung her into a dance inside the cottage while others kept time clapping. It had been a long time since Father Etienne had felt this light-hearted. He marveled at how good life can feel.

  The afternoon grew warmer, and after everyone had filled their bellies they drowsed in the warm sunshine. Some of the more ambitious male villagers organized footraces and wrestling matches in the meadow as the women watched.

  Darcy and Teila walked over to snicker at them, as they heatedly tried to outdo each another.

  They watched for a long time laughing and cheering when Teila said suddenly, "Darcy, there will never be a husband for you in Kilkerry."

  Darcy looked at Tiela surprised. “Yes there is, he is coming home from the Americas any day now."

  Teila shook her head. "When are you going to give up, girl? He's not coming back. Darcy, I think you should leave Kilkerry."

  "What!” said Darcy, stiffening her back. “What are you saying? You want me to leave?"

  "I would keep you here with me forever, if you would be happy, but you need something that we don’t have here."

  Darcy jerked her chin and said, "I will decide what is best for me.”

  The women were silent for a moment, pretending to watch the wrestlers. Suddenly, Darcy grabbed Teila's hand and pulled her toward the green. "Look! The sun is setting and the dance will start soon."

  Several torches were set up around and five musicians stationed themselves in front of the town well under the large stone cross rose. There were three fiddlers and two tin whistlers. Once the music started, Keenan swept Teila into a jig, and John Kinsale dashed over and held out his hands to Darcy. She flashed him a smile and accepted. Everyone cheered, and clapped after the first song then scattered back to the edges of the square to catch their breath. By the time the sun set everyone was gathered on the green or crowded around the casks of brandy. The musicians started a new song, a contra dance called the Childgrove. This was different from the jig, and Darcy was anxious to give it a try. As she turned to join the line of dancers, Liam stepped in her path and startled her. He was drunk again and smelled foul. He was covered with grime and sweat.

  Darcy stepped back and asked, "What do you want?"

  "I have a surprise for you, little sister," he said thickly.

  Darcy’s throat tightened, and her heart began to pound. A man stood behind Liam, and when he stepped forward the light from a torch flooded his face. He was large and raw-boned, his blond hair falling loosely around his shoulders. Bran Moynahan was living proof that the Norsemen had once inhabited their land.

  "You don't know who I am, do you?" Bran asked with a crooked smile.

  Darcy was stunned. "Bran, I--"

  Liam pushed the two of them together and slurred, "Why don't you kiss or something?"

  Darcy stepped back, and Bran chuckled. "I expect she'll be giving kisses free enough before long."

  He looked her up and down lustily, and Darcy's heart raced. She couldn't believe it. Bran was back. She blushed and dropped her eyes.

  Bran said to Liam, "Go and find something to do. I have a lot of catching up to do with your sister."

  Bran took Darcy's elbow, and escorted her toward the brandy. "You look like you could use a drink."

  The men eyed Bran suspiciously and fell back, allowing him to make his way to the cask, intimidated by his size. She said when he returned with her drink, "They don't recognize you. You left a boy and returned a man."

  "I don't recognize most of them. A lot has changed," admitted Bran as he took her arm.

  They found a bench in the shadows of an oak tree where Darcy sat down. Bran preferred to stand, placing one foot on the bench alongside Darcy. He leaned close and said, "Did you miss me?"

  She didn't answer and instead tried to calm herself by taking a gulp of brandy. Her heart was pounding, and her face was burning. "Were you in America all this time?"

  He ran his eyes over her face and shoulders, l
ingering on her breasts until Darcy said, "Bran, I asked you a question."

  "Begging your pardon, Miss," was his sarcastic reply. Reluctantly, he dragged his eyes up to her face with a smirk. "I've been in the Colonies the whole time,” he said taking a pull of his drink. “They sold me to the East India Company. I worked with a shipwright in the Massachusetts Colony. They liked me. When I return to the Colonies I will have a paying job with them."

  "So you're leaving? You just got back."

  "Do you want me to stay, Darcy?" he asked, grinning. He yanked her into his arms and murmured, "Or do you love another?"

  "My heart belongs to no one," she said wriggling away.

  Agitated, she started to walk away, but he caught up to her. They walked through the village, Darcy keeping the conversation light. She learned that Bran had arrived in Cork last week and planned on staying in Kilkerry only a few months. He would return to the American Colonies, and although he didn't tell her why he had come back, she suspected that he was here to claim her as his bride.

  Darcy told him all the village news and informed him of the new tenant in their cave, Father Etienne. Bran was surprised and interested in the new priest. As they approached the Mullin cottage he remarked, "You don’t live with your brother anymore?”

  "He has changed, Bran. He has grown hard and callous, loving nothing better than the bottle. He is so consumed by bitterness and hatred for the British that nothing remains of the boy you once knew."

  He pulled her close. Darcy’s legs grew weak in the warmth of his arms. She felt small, as he enveloped her. "You have changed too. You have filled out into a woman."

  Darcy was breathless. He pulled her chin up and placed his lips firmly onto hers. Abandoning her reserve, Darcy began returning his kisses passionately. Sensing her desire, he slipped his hand inside her bodice. His hand felt warm, as it cupped her breast. "No more," she said pushing him away, both of them breathing heavily. "I'll do no more tonight.”

  Anger flashed across his face, but he quickly turned it to a suggestive smile, “So, you will tease me. No matter,” he shrugged. “It will make the conquest that much sweeter.” Bran kissed her on the cheek and strode off.

  Chapter 8

  Bran returned to the dance and found an eager conquest in Mary Kerrigan. She sated him physically until his next encounter with Darcy. Darcy was an extremely desirable woman, and he would not rest until he could have her.

  Half the night, Darcy tossed restlessly in bed, and in the early hours she tiptoed out of the Mullin cottage, taking her shawl. The moon cast long shadows on the rolling moor as she approached the cliff walk. Finding a rock, she sat down and hugged her knees.

  She marveled at how quickly things changed and how in one evening her life had taken a different course. Bran had given her a new path, and at last she would be able to have a home and family. He was everything that she had hoped for--handsome, virile--and even if they had little in common, he was the finest Kilkerry had to offer. Darcy noticed the other young women looking at him, and she was proud to be on his arm. At last she would be safe and have someone to take care of her. It was very comforting.

  Father Etienne did not sleep that night either. He returned to the cave around three in the morning after the dance and lit a candle. He picked up his quill to compose a letter to his brother. He knew that he would be grieving for his mother as well and that any word from family would be welcome.

  News of this small hamlet would be an interesting diversion for his brother, and almost like characters in a novel, he presented the villagers of Kilkerry to his brother. He knew that he would enjoy the escape from the world of turmoil and war in the Colonies, and that he would take pleasure in the pastoral setting of rural Ireland. Tonight he would describe the wedding including the long-awaited reunion of Darcy and Bran.

  He sat back a moment and mused. The reunion was an answer to a prayer, and he was happy that this handsome young man had returned to Darcy but he sensed something was wrong.

  The candle burned low before Father Etienne finished composing his letter, and sealing it with drippings, he set it aside for the next French vessel.

  The morning after the wedding, heavy clouds moved in and perched themselves over the coast, drizzling throughout the day and into the evening. Reluctantly, everyone returned to the mundane routines of tending sheep, weeding the plots of praties and cooking suppers.

  There was a meeting scheduled that night for the owlers at the O'Hearn cottage, and Michael was being very mysterious about the agenda. Darcy's instincts told her that the news was not good. When she entered the room, smoke and the smell of spirits choked her. Yesterday’s gaiety had vanished. It had been replaced by serious faces pinched tight with tension, and Darcy swallowed hard, sitting down in the corner.

  She counted eight men present, and sitting by the fireplace was Michael's new bride, Bridget. The girl did not look up, giving all her attention to her sewing.

  Suddenly, the door opened and Liam and Bran entered the room. It was obvious most of the men did not recognize Bran, but they said nothing. After Michael looked around the room, he said, "Fine, then we are all here."

  He rubbed his brow and said with a sigh, "As you know, there is a shipment arriving. But special precautions must be taken starting tonight. I have news that we are scheduled for an encampment.”

  There was silence in the room. Michael continued. "It's likely ten or fifteen soldiers will be posted in our homes. I have been informed that they will be coming tomorrow."

  A collective groan went through the room. Jerry Joyce, a man of later years who had worked under Michael's father asked, "Ya think they know of us?"

  Michael shook his head. "From what I've gathered, they know nothing of us, but it is common knowledge that smuggling exists on this coastline. The point of my meeting is this," said Michael, as his bride watched him nervously. "We must be on the alert. As of tonight, we return to the old ways and use all the old precautions, and there is one more thing we must take into account. We must limit interactions with Father Etienne. Meetings with him must be for the sacraments only," said Michael looking directly at Darcy. "He has been told that a red candle burning in a window is a summons to him. There must be no mistakes. We can not endanger him."

  In conclusion, Michael stood up and pulled Bran to his feet saying cheerfully, "Some of you may remember Bran Moynihan."

  There were exclamations of surprise and recognition. "Well, he is back now from his transportation, and we welcome him into our operation." Several of the men applauded, as others slapped him on the back.

  Michael signaled that it was time for them to go to their posts. When Darcy moved toward the door to get her lantern, she felt someone catch her wrist. "Will you be at the abbey tonight?" Bran whispered.

  Darcy nodded, feeling intoxicated at being so close to him again. She smiled then reluctantly pulled away to retrieve her lantern. She watched Bran go down the road with Liam to grease the donkeys and hitch them to the carts. His presence warmed her blood.

  Returning to the cottage, Darcy walked over to the fireplace to light the candle for her lantern. Bridget was still sitting by the hearth sewing.

  “You must be very happy, Bridget," said Darcy.

  The girl tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears instead. Darcy was astounded, and slid onto a chair beside her.

  Dabbing her eyes with her apron, Bridget said, "There's so much I didn't understand about marriage."

  Darcy knew Bridget was referring to her wedding night, and she patted her hand. "Men certainly take great stock in it, don't they?” said Darcy. “I thought the whole thing sounded disgusting when I first heard about it."

  Bridget snickered. Darcy continued, "If you love him, it will someday be an expression of affection for you."

  "It was all such a surprise, and I just had to tell someone," said Bridget, heaving a sigh.

  Darcy jumped up suddenly, lighting her lantern. "I must not wait any longer. The ship will be here soo
n. Teila is a wonderful person to talk to about these things, Bridget. Please come and see us.”

  The drizzle made Darcy’s skirt heavy as she pulled herself up the bluff. It was curious, but the abbey didn't look ominous to her anymore. The walls once again served as a seat of enlightenment, at least for her. But then she remembered there would be no more visits with Father Etienne. No lesson was worth endangering his life. She would have to wait until the encampment moved on.

  She entered the abbey and stood in a spot where she was visible to the French vessel. She lifted her lantern into the air, stretching to her full height. The rain made it impossible for her to see a ship off the coast tonight, so pacing back and forth; she swung the lantern in front of her. Her arms ached, but still she continued her march.