Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry

by Hughes, Amanda

  Just as she turned around, she crashed into Bran. His hand shot up to stifle her cry and whispered, "I'm sorry I scared you, but the ship has dropped anchor. You can rest now."

  "Where are the others?" she asked, catching her breath.

  "They're still unloading. I'm a wee bit early cause I was hoping to find you here alone," he said with a grin.

  He took her hand and led her to the shelter of an ancient oak tree. He took her by the waist and swung her around pinning her against the trunk. "I won't be taking 'no' for an answer tonight, girl."

  Darcy struggled. “No, Bran. Not here--” but Bran's lips bore down on her own as she felt a wave of passion wash over her. He pressed her against the tree and ran his hands up and down her body. Her blood began to run hot, as he lifted her skirt. Before Darcy could move, he was taking her. He moved quickly and mechanically, moaning in her ear and slobbering on her neck. An impatient lover, he was eager to satisfy his lust as quickly as it had surged. In moments, Bran was finished.

  He stepped away from her, wiping his brow and said, "You'll be enjoying that from me the rest of your life, my girl."

  Darcy nodded her head and said nothing. He pulled her back into his arms and demanded, "I want to hear you say that you love me.”

  Darcy took a breath and wiped his saliva from her lips and neck. The whirlwind lovemaking had left her breathless.

  "Say it," Bran repeated. "That you love me."

  "Give me a moment, Bran.” she said, feeling irritable. She stepped back and straightened her skirt, pushing the hair from her face. “You know that I've waited for you all these years,” Darcy said. “Would someone do that if they weren't in love?"

  Bran scowled. He was not satisfied with her answer. He thought his skills as a lover would thaw her icy demeanor, but she held herself back, giving nothing. Maybe Liam was right--she had become an uppity bitch.

  In the eight years he had been gone, Bran learned that he must take what he wanted in life. Darcy was the best-looking woman he had ever seen, and he was entitled to possess the finest. He knew that he was handsome and to have anything less would be unthinkable. Darcy could not help but submit to his charms soon.

  * * *

  As predicted, the soldiers arrived in Kilkerry and life became severely restricted. Women did not gather at the well, children did not run through the streets, and everyone stayed inside fearing an encounter with the troops. The town, which had finally recovered from disease and starvation, slid back down into depression and despondency.

  Major Russell had been in Kilkerry for six months. He set up headquarters in the O'Hearn cottage and requisitioned several other homes for his regulars. When in residence, the British soldiers reigned supreme, and they viewed the Irish Catholic as subhuman.

  They dismissed the famine as a blessing on the ignorant peasants and saw it as a way to reduce their pitiful numbers. It enabled the British to make more room for the large plantations they were populating with Scots. They saw the Irish Catholics as a belligerent and troublesome lot clinging fanatically to their pagan relics and saints. They boldly took the housing and food supply, requisitioning whatever they chose, including the women. Any disturbance from a villager would mean transportation or death, so fear and trepidation walked among all.

  Darcy was concerned about Father Etienne. He boldly passed through the village at night, disobeying the curfew and ministered to the spiritually hungry. He believed more than ever his flock needed him, and single-mindedly he ignored his own welfare to meet their needs. Father Etienne did take one precaution though. He dressed in lay clothes. It had been many years since he had worn secular garments, and in truth, he found it amusing.

  He appeared at the door of the Mullin cottage one night, as Darcy sat at the spinning wheel. There was a sharp knock on the door and everyone jumped. A hush fell over the room as Keenan opened the door.

  There stood a rather sheepish Father Etienne dressed in a linen shirt and breeches. Casey Mulligan insisted that the priest wear his famous wedding boots so Father Etienne even had the look of a gentleman. At first no one recognized him. He shut the door, as they all stared at him trying to put a name to the face. With wide eyes, Darcy finally said, "Oh, Heaven and Earth! It's Father Etienne!"

  Collectively they gasped then everyone laughed. Keenan shook the priest's hand and ushered him to a chair saying, "We heard that you were no longer dressing in robes, Father. Still we did not recognize you. You look very different!"

  "It has been many years since I have dressed in lay clothes. It's rather novel," he confessed.

  "If you are caught being out after curfew, you must not say a word, Father Etienne," Teila warned. "If they hear your accent, they will take you."

  Darcy sat at the spinning wheel, still in shock, as she studied her friend's transformation. She began to realize Father Etienne had been at one time simply, Etienne a man like any other, laughing, perhaps drinking in a tavern with other men. It occurred to her that she didn't even know his full name.

  He could feel her eyes burning into him. "Surprised to see that I am a man, Darcy?"

  She knew that he had guessed her thoughts, and to cover her embarrassment she said, "I think it's disgraceful."

  Stifling a smile, he said, "It has been a long time since I have heard confessions here. Who would like to go first? You perhaps, Darcy?"

  Father Etienne may have taken the vow of chastity, but he was not naive, and he guessed that in the six months since Bran had returned, Darcy had done more than hold hands. Wedding plans must be discussed, and he suspected that her terse attitude toward him tonight may have something to do with a guilty conscience.

  He heard confessions from the Mullins then signaled to Darcy to come over to the fireside corner where he had pushed two chairs off privately to one side. Darcy froze. She could not tell Father Etienne the sins she had been committing with Bran.

  "Darcy," he said firmly, "It has been months since I have heard your confession. You must relieve your mind and your soul."

  Reluctantly, she walked over to him and sitting on the edge of the chair, said quietly, "I cannot."

  "Why are you uncomfortable telling me your sins?"

  "Because I refuse to 'go and sin no more.' "

  Father Etienne nodded. "It is for this reason, Darcy, that I think we should discuss wedding plans for you and Bran."

  Father Etienne read the panic in her face. She took a breath and nodded. "I am in agreement, Father. Bran told me that there must be a wedding soon because we will be leaving on the next vessel for France. I suppose a wedding would be in order."

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Not exactly spoken like an eager, blushing bride."

  "How would you have me act? Like some lovesick girl?” she said sharply. Realizing her tone had been harsh; she shifted in her seat and softened her voice. “I am well aware that true love is not remotely similar to the silly musings of the poets or the lyrics of the troubadours.”

  Father Etienne raised an eyebrow and sat back. It had never occurred to him that maybe she was not in love with Bran, and he suspected that maybe she had not admitted it to herself yet.

  "If there is ever anything, Darcy, anything at all, just put a red candle in the window, and I shall come."

  He rose from his chair to leave. After saying good night to the Mullins he looked at Darcy one last time. She had not moved. She was still sitting on the edge of the chair staring straight ahead.

  Chapter 9

  Major Jeffrey Russell sat up in bed and stretched. After pulling on his britches and boots, he pulled the covers back and with a resounding crack, slapped the bare buttocks of the plump redhead sleeping next to him. She yelped and jumped up, looking at him with surprise and then started to laugh. She pressed her breast against his arm and said, "Come back to bed. It's too early."

  The sun was beginning to lighten the room, and Maggie O'Rourke could see the officer's handsome profile in the dim light of morning. She felt his indecision and pressed clo
ser to him. He jerked his arm away and snapped, "Get away from me. I need to think."

  "Think about what? The days drag on and on and the nights are an endless rotation of drinking and whoring. All one has to look forward to in Kilkerry, Ireland, is a headache the next day.”

  "Damn it! I wish those orders would come for us to quit this God-forsaken place," he grumbled.

  Maggie kept quiet. She liked this young, ambitious major, and she hoped that when the troops left, he would take her with him.

  Women found Major Russell attractive. At twenty-five he was in the prime of his life. He was tall with broad shoulders and sandy blond hair which he kept tied back in a club. He had a fine, aristocratic face and a keen mind, but there was a quality of cold steel in his character which prevented him from being likable. Surprisingly, it was this ruthlessness that enticed Maggie O’Rourke. His dangerous nature appealed to her.

  Major Russell was the commanding officer of the encampment in Kilkerry, and from the beginning he resented being buried in this backward Irish community. He longed for a commission in which he could exploit his power and provide sustenance for his overblown pride. Hoping that a challenge might improve his character, Major Russell's wealthy parents refused to buy him a more prestigious military commission. He hated his rank and was consumed with vindictiveness and smothered rage. The young officer was looking for an opportunity to gain attention and a name for himself. He believed if lives were lost in the process, it was of no consequence.

  Major Russell looked out the window at a mother and her four children walking to the well. Stupid people, he thought, reproducing so fast that they will starve again. He felt warm skin make contact with his back and realized that Maggie was pressing her body against him. Feeling desire mount, he turned and said, "Damn it all, there's nothing else to do.”

  * * *

  It had been several nights since Darcy had seen Father Etienne at the Mullin cottage, and she still rankled when she thought about their last conversation. Maybe she wasn't an enthusiastic bride, but she was no longer a child filled with unrealistic dreams either. Marriage is a convenience, and it is folly to believe it is anything more. He had no business making observations about anyone's love affairs, having no first-hand experience himself. Darcy continued to accept her role as Bran's fiancé, but she could not give him her heart. This aloofness fueled Bran’s desire.

  Lusting for the unattainable, he thrilled in the chase. Eight years ago, he had left an eager girl standing on the road waving goodbye, and when he returned he found a beautiful woman holding him at arm's length.

  To the casual observer, Darcy appeared devoted and affectionate. The town saw a handsome happy couple, and many thought their courtship was idyllic, but the undercurrents of dissatisfaction flowed in them both, distressing one and exciting the other.

  They took great care to conceal their trysting spot near Glinnish Stream. It was a lovely little secluded area of green shrubbery bordered by wild fuchsias. When in bloom, the deep splashes of pink enveloped their bed of moss, drowning them in brilliant color. The spot was quiet with only the murmuring of the stream in the distance.

  They met there every day just before sunset. The curfew imposed by the soldiers limited them to these few moments together, and Darcy would arrive a few minutes early to drink in the surroundings. Bran would arrive, overcome with desire and be so engrossed in his own passion that he would forget Darcy. He would drive forward in a hot, selfish rush until he was completely sated.

  The scenario was always the same, and Darcy believed that this was all that love had to offer. She found Bran's lovemaking occasionally satisfying but usually far too hasty and rough. She became resigned to the fact that sex was simply something to endure. Once it was over, she would put it from her mind and turn back to her books.

  Darcy continued to receive literature from Father Etienne, but she missed their talks together. Meeting him was far too dangerous, and she began to feel restless and irritable. On every front, she felt confined.

  She returned to her walks along the coast, gazing across the water as if it held the answer.

  It was here where she could truly forget everything and allow her mind to drift and transport her places offering freedom and a chance to set her own course. She chided herself for not being satisfied, but she could no longer deny the longing.

  On her return from the cliffs one sunny afternoon, she encountered Bran climbing the abbey hill. He had been working hard, and sweat soaked his shirt. Darcy felt a pang of desire when she saw the outline of his broad chest under the wet material. His masculinity and rugged appeal usually helped Darcy build passion, but today he was frowning, and he was devoid of appeal.

  He strode up to her and grabbed her roughly by the arms. "What are doing, girl? You can't be up here alone."

  "I'm all right,” she said frowning and jerking away from him. “I must come up here every now and then."

  "Why? To do what?" he asked suspiciously.

  "To walk and to be alone with my thoughts."

  "What thoughts? I don't understand you," he growled.

  "Don't try," she replied curtly and began to walk down the bluff.

  He watched her with his jaw clenched. She could be raped up here. The thought of another man defiling his property enraged him. Bran decided he must marry Darcy immediately. She was far too strong-willed, and he could hold her no other way.

  That evening Father Etienne stepped out of the home of Seamus Donnelly and looked around cautiously. He pulled up the hood on his woolen brat and started down the road, searching for red candles burning in windows.

  His visit to the Donnelly’s' home had been to give Last Rites to a seriously ill child.

  When an older member of his flock joined Jesus, Father Etienne felt peace, but the death of a youngster always disturbed him.

  Even without the famine, life continued to be hard for the villagers. The added strain of having the soldiers in residence brought the villagers to the breaking point.

  He heard some raucous laughter on the road and spied some British soldiers, obviously drunk, making their way home. Father Etienne silently stepped into the shadow of the high cross on the town well and observed them as they stumbled past. The king’s soldiers were becoming bored with this sleepy hamlet, and he knew that trouble was brewing.

  Once the merrymakers were safe inside, Father Etienne resumed his rounds. There was a red candle burning in the cottage of Casey Kennedy. Several families resided there because their homes had been requisitioned by the British. Christmas Eve was the last time he had seen a candle in that home. He remembered standing outside the cottage one cold night last December, watching Darcy arrange holly in the window. She wore her mother's red dress, so dramatic against her white skin and dark hair. Bran was sitting at a table with the others, and he nodded his head in greeting to Father Etienne.

  Darcy said, "Happy Christmas, Father Etienne! Do come in."

  Mrs. Kennedy came to greet him with a huge smile. It was an honor to entertain a priest on Christmas Eve. He commented on the platters of sausage and plum pudding, but what dominated the board was a lovely, round cake on a footed plate decorated with a sprig of holly.

  Darcy picked up a plate and cut a piece of the cake for Father Etienne.

  "This is no ordinary cake. It is filled with small charms, and each charm predicts the future. It is fun to see what everyone gets." She handed him some cake. "Now eat your cake and see if you get a charm."

  He took a bite and said, "I must take care not to break a tooth."

  "Aye, that is something I forgot to warn you about," she chuckled.

  After the second bite, his eyes widened, and he spit something into his hand saying, "This is a most undignified tradition, Darcy."

  Leaning over, she peeked into his hand and saw a small pewter bell and cried, "Oh, a bell for betrothal!"

  Father Etienne straightened up with a surprised look on his face. "I think not!" They laughed then it was Darcy's turn. On t
he first bite she discovered a small thimble. "The thimble is a very good charm. It brings hope for the year."

  "Our charms were mixed up, Darcy," said Father Etienne. "You have the betrothal charm. I'll take the thimble. I need every bit of hope that I can get right now."

  The smile dropped from her face. Laughter distracted them, and they looked at the fireside where the men were having brandy.

  "Bran’s stories of the American Colonies may be amusing for you," Darcy offered.

  "I don't believe he is comfortable with me."

  "He doesn't know what to say to you. I too was uncertain of what to talk about with a priest."

  “We eventually found common ground. Didn’t we?” Have you told him yet that you read?"

  "No, but he will allow it, as long as I don't neglect his needs.”