Darcy looked over her shoulder as she walked along the bluff toward the abbey. She knew that Bran might follow her, so she quickened her pace. Then she began to run. She could not allow him to catch up with her and try to change her mind.
When she reached the ruins, she was breathless but feeling free. For the first time in her life she felt completely independent, and even though she would not be on that ship, she no longer felt as if she were a prisoner in Kilkerry. She would now make her own choices and be in charge of her own future. The thought of Bran dictating to her was unthinkable, and she was surprised that it took her this long to realize it. I will be in charge, in charge of my own mind and my own body.
She stopped and leaned against the abbey wall, thinking back to her last conversation with Father Etienne. He was responsible for planting the doubt in her mind about Bran. He knew how dearly she held her independence, and he cleverly orchestrated her epiphany.
Darcy looked in the direction of his cave and then scanned the meadow. Bran was nowhere in sight, and she decided to pay Father Etienne a visit. This day belonged to her, and she would do with it exactly as she pleased.
The wind was refreshing, as she walked along the cliffs, and it combed through her hair leaving the fresh smell of sea air in her tresses. Grabbing her skirt, she climbed down the rock face to the mouth of the cave, and as she landed on the flat stone ledge, she called, "Good morning!"
Father Etienne looked up from his reading with a wide smile and said, "Well, good morning to you!"
Darcy noticed two chairs and a table on the ledge. A small crock held yellow gorse. "Are you expecting company, Father?" she asked.
"Yes, I've been expecting you, Darcy.
A slow smile of recognition came over her face, and she began to laugh, shaking her finger at him. "You are very sure of yourself."
He smiled mischievously then held a chair for her. Darcy took a deep breath of the fresh air and sat down. With the ocean below her and wide sky above her, it was like sitting on a cloud. She remembered the first day she and Father Etienne had dined here almost two years ago. It had been a day like this--warm, sunny and filled with hope.
Father Etienne placed some bread and cheese on her plate, and as a special surprise, he produced a handful of wild strawberries. When Darcy saw the plump fruit, she clapped her hands marveling at how this day had been filled with unexpected treasures. The priest took his seat and said, "You were just thinking about our first meal here together, weren't you?'
"That I was," she said nodding her head. "You had only just arrived. We hardly knew one another."
"A lot has happened since that day."
"Yes it has, but I must know something, Father. Did you really pray for Bran's return?”
He wiped his mouth and nodded. "Everything I said to you is true. I did pray for his return, but when he arrived, I could see that you had moved far beyond what he could offer you."
"Then why did you encourage the marriage?"
"If you think back, I never said anything to encourage it. I allowed you to make all the decisions yourself, Darcy. I was well aware of your independent spirit and stubborn nature, and any hint of disapproval from me would have sent you directly into marriage just to spite me."
"You know me too well," she said smiling and shaking her head. Darcy picked up a strawberry and studied its beauty. "Bran could never understand me. He would think it folly that I could see this strawberry as something more than a piece of fruit," and she popped the juicy morsel into her mouth.
Father Etienne frowned. "Beware, Darcy. Do not underestimate his resolve. I believe that he is incapable of love and will stop at nothing to satisfy his own ambitions."
Darcy shrugged, as the wind lifted her dark tresses, "Well, he needn't include me in his master plan any longer." It didn't seem right to worry about anything dark and threatening that day, and they watched the seagulls circling off the coast, gliding up and down on the breeze.
"Have you been happy here, Etienne?"
He looked up at her, aware that she had dropped his title. Turning his attention to the rugged cliffs and the brilliant green hills beyond, he mused, "I've never been happier anywhere. Your strange and beautiful land has entwined my heart like a vine, and I will never be free of it."
"I'm glad," Darcy said smiling.
"I have the feeling that I may never leave Ireland," he mused.
"Oh, that would be wonderful! We all need you."
"You will be the one to leave, Darcy. You must leave. Your destination is beyond these cliffs."
She dragged her eyes away from the bluffs and gazed across the ocean feeling the flow of the tides, "Perhaps, but today we are here dining on beautiful red strawberries by the sea, you and me together, Etienne, on top of a cloud."
* * *
Bran returned to the village searching for Darcy. He was not particularly concerned. He knew Darcy had a hot temper and could never resist his charms for long.
He went to the Mullins' first, awakening Teila rudely demanding information from her and Bridget. He boldly searched the loft, paying little heed to their assertions that she was nowhere in the cottage.
Next he ventured into the pastures to question Keenan. As the day moved on, Bran became increasingly agitated. He believed that Darcy was weak and that she would eventually succumb to his will, but he could not persuade her if he could not find her. If he could find her before sundown, he would have time to marry her and board the French vessel tonight.
He went repeatedly from the abbey to the cliff walk and back to town again.
After demanding her whereabouts from almost everyone, he encountered Liam trudging down the road carrying a sack of potatoes on his back. He thought it unlikely that she would seek refuge with him, but he must exhaust every possibility.
"Where is Darcy? Have you seen her today?"
"No, but I'd bet that she's with that meddlesome priest," growled Liam.
Bran clenched his fists and growled. Why hadn’t he thought of that already? With his heart pounding, he turned toward the bluff.
Liam shouted after him, "Don't be surprised if you find them abed, Moynahan!”
Daylight was fading fast, and when he reached the abbey, it held nothing more than the wind. He dashed along the cliff walk and climbed down the rock face to the Father Etienne's cave. That too was empty. Enraged, he turned over the table. Standing there panting, he remembered that this had been his home a long time ago. He swallowed hard and looked around with a growing tightness in his chest.
Shrugging off the memories, he climbed back up to the cliff top to resume his search. A thick fog crept in along the coast as Bran ran back to town. He had one last hope of finding Darcy at the Kennedy cottage where a meeting was scheduled tonight. As he entered the home, his eyes scanned the room for Darcy. He found her sitting by the window, her hair pulled back in a knot, wearing a black, woolen cape suitable for traveling. Her cool, green eyes rested on him with a look of icy indifference.
It was crowded and stuffy in the cottage, and the meeting was about to begin. All the necessary precautions were reviewed by Michael, including a warning about the fog. He turned to Darcy and said, "It will be very difficult for the ship to see your beacon tonight.
You must light several lanterns and try to get at least one up as high as possible."
"So," thought Bran, "she thinks that she will be the beacon tonight. Before the hour is up, she will be boarding the ship with me."
Bran had no feelings of remorse, as he watched his comrades file out of the cottage to get ready for tonight's shipment. Within a few short hours, every one of them would be at the mercy of the British soldiers. That was not of interest to him. What he wanted was a thick wad of British notes in his pocket and Darcy on the vessel heading for Paris.
Darcy saw Bran approaching as she was bending down to light her candles. "Darlin', I'm willing to forget about this afternoon. I know that you are just overexcited about the wedding, but you must put these si
lly worries to rest."
Darcy said nothing until she finished lighting her last lantern. She stood up and said, "I'm sorry, Bran, but you no longer figure into my plan."
He threw back his blonde head and let out a hearty guffaw. "Damn it, woman, you have spunk, and I love you for it."
Grabbing her waist, he pulled her close placing his wet lips on her neck. Darcy pushed away, picked up her lanterns and walked out the door. It suddenly occurred to Bran that allowing her to proceed as the beacon tonight meant that she would lose her freedom, maybe even her life.
"Darcy, stop! There is something--"
He took three large steps over to her and grabbed her wrist. When she looked at him he saw the contempt in her eyes. He had seen that look a thousand times in the eyes of his jailers. It was something he could not abide.
"What?" she questioned, impatiently.
Bran hesitated then said, "Nothing. It's the fog. The fog is dangerous tonight."
Darcy turned on her heel and left Bran standing in the open doorway. "Go to your death," he murmured, as the mist swallowed her up.
He knew that he must hurry if he were to catch the ship tonight. He hastened to the Kennedy home to gather his belongings. Bran found the cottage empty and bounded up the steps, throwing a few belongings into a bundle and tying it tightly. Getting down on his knees, he ripped some stitches from his mattress and reached inside, pulling out a fistful of notes. He stuffed them deep within his pockets. This is all I really need to get the respect I deserve, and I will certainly never be hungry again.
He stopped a moment and did not move. Usually Bran refused to think of the famine, but after seeing the cave yesterday, the memories suddenly flooded him. He could see little Liam bending over the rocks gathering kelp and Darcy's frail little body climbing up the rocks to the mouth of the cave. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and his heart beat furiously. The drumming grew louder and louder. Visions of his childhood friends flashed before his eyes, and he whispered, "Oh my God, oh my God, what have I done!"
He walked to the wash basin and retched. He splashed water on his face to steady himself, but the drumming intensified. He stumbled down the stairs and tripped over a chair, sprawling onto the dirt floor. He could not see or hear anything beyond the infernal roar in his ears. He pulled himself to his feet running blindly into the night fog. He could think of nothing but ridding himself of the roaring in his ears. He staggered through the mist, crying out in fear and pain. He spied a red candle on a windowsill, and his heart leaped. Redemption! He stumbled over to the cottage and released three heavy blows against the door.
A woman answered, her jaw dropping. Frowning, she turned into the house and cried, "Father, come quickly."
Bran saw it was the black robe of the priest, and his only thought was to unburden himself. He grabbed Father Etienne and roared, "I am going to burn!"
"What are you talking about?" Father Etienne cried.
"Liam, Darcy, the others--soldiers--for money." confessed Bran. He slid down Father Etienne's body, landing on his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
The priest's eyes widened, as he realized that Bran had turned informant, and he gasped, "What have you done, man?" Hoping that it wasn't too late, Father Etienne broke away from Bran and dashed into the fog, hoping that there still might be time to warn the smugglers of the ambush.
Bran lay on the ground for a long time, tearing at the sod beneath him and wailing. After a while, the roaring in his ears subsided then stopped entirely, and he pulled himself to his feet. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. His face was streaked with tears, and he was covered with mud, but he felt better. In fact, he felt much better, and he reached down for the money in his pants. It was still there. He realized it was too late to catch the French vessel but with money to spend, anything was possible. With a light heart and heavy pockets, he stood up and left Kilkerry forever.
Chapter 13
The density of the fog alarmed Darcy. Using her memory to the abbey was the only way through the blinding mist. The fog was less upon the bluff, and she had renewed hopes that the ship may see her lanterns after all. She climbed onto a crumbling stone wall in one corner of the abbey and placed one lantern down. Using great care, she walked to the cliff's edge and placed another lantern on top of a large boulder. The last lantern she would take to the top of the high cross in the monastery churchyard.
Darcy strained her eyes, looked out to sea. Nothing was visible, and all she could do was hope that the candlelight would penetrate the mist, and signal the French vessel. She could have been on that ship tonight heading for France, maybe even Paris, but she had no regrets.
The high cross of the churchyard was barely visible, and the mist swirled around the sculpture as if it were a phantom. She loved the Celtic design adorning it, and similar to the small cross on her neck, the high cross was covered with lovely, flowing patterns and a circle on the crossbar representing the circle of life and immortality of the soul.
As Darcy stood staring at the cross, a sense of uneasiness crept over her. She reached down to clutch her little pewter cross. Deciding that she must focus on her work and not allow her mind to wander, Darcy asked the Almighty's pardon and pulled herself up to the top of the cross. The stone was slippery, and she struggled to the top, stretching tall, thrusting her lantern into the air.
Suddenly, a hand yanked her ankle. She clawed at the air and came tumbling down, hitting her hip on the hard stone of the crossbar, then the ground. The impact of the fall knocked her breathless.
Two soldiers jerked her to her feet and began dragging her toward the abbey. She stumbled along blindly with a sharp pain in her hip, choking and gasping for air as they pushed her.
"Hurry up, you ignorant bitch!”
As they swept her along, she tripped sprawling to the ground, and the men lost their grip. Seizing the opportunity, Darcy dashed toward the cliff walk, terror driving her to run faster than she ever had in her life. She could hear them shouting and swearing behind her. Darcy's knowledge of the terrain allowed her to run full speed in the blinding fog, even though she was bruised and shaken. On and on she ran until she could go no farther. She doubled over, panting and struggled to listen. The only sound she heard were the waves breaking.
She realized now that her comrades were walking into an ambush. Suddenly, the pounding of hooves sent her bolting toward Glinnish Grove. Darcy was no match for men on horseback. The thunder of the horses behind her roared in her ears, and one of the soldiers grabbed her hair, pulling her up off her feet. Darcy struggled madly trying to free herself. The horses slowed their pace, and the men jumped down, pushing Darcy to the ground. She felt a sharp pain as one of them dug a knee into her back, and bound her hands tightly. She thought her lungs would explode as she lay there pinned to the ground. Lifting her like a sack of meal, they threw her over the back of one of the horses and carried to the abbey.
"Put her here, Cooper," ordered a fat, wheezy sergeant. "We must tie her to something before we help catch the others."
It was exactly as she had feared, the owlers were being ambushed. Cooper, a skinny pimply-faced regular, dragged Darcy inside the abbey, not far from the lantern she had placed there earlier. The mist crawled across the floor like a poisonous vapor. Darcy had never seen the abbey look more hideous. Terrified and desperate, she called for the monks, asking them to intercede as guardians giving her sanctuary from these violent men.
"Get over there, and I don‘t want you looking!" shouted the fat sergeant to Cooper, as he unbuttoned his pants.
The young man moved away. Sergeant Beardsley pushed Darcy down onto her back and snarled, "I'm going to give you a pounding that you'll never forget," and he pulled up her skirt.
"No!" she screamed through her teeth, writhing on the floor.
Without the use of her hands, Darcy was helpless. As the man bore down upon her, he violated something deep within her. The hatred he unleashed on her was terrifying and the act humiliating.
After pounding
her violently, Darcy heard him grunt, and the full weight of his huge body fell upon her. Initially it knocked the air out of her lungs, but when her breathing returned, she could smell the greasy closeness of his hair and his foul breath. Filled with hatred, she lashed out the only way possible. She turned and tore his ear with her teeth. Beardsley roared and jumped to his feet, clutching his head.
As hard as he could, he kicked her in the ribs. “I should kill you, you filthy cunt!”
He lunged at her once more, but Cooper grabbed him before he could touch her. "Not so fast," said Cooper. "I want a piece of her too."
Panting with rage, the sergeant yanked away and walked over by the lantern to nurse his wound. Lying in the darkness, every fiber of Darcy’s being was on alert. Her instincts said this younger soldier was even more dangerous than his predecessor.
He mumbled, "You'll not get the better of me."
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