by BJ Hoff
Gabriel had no knowledge of art, not even an inkling of all that must have gone into the creation of such a work. He knew nothing of what must be, he was certain, an emotionally and physically challenging endeavor, perhaps even, for some, a kind of spiritual experience. So how, then, was it that he knew, and knew with a heavy certainty, that this portrait of the one he held more dear than anyone else in the world had been painted by a man who burned with an unholy desire for her, an obsessive—possibly even a dangerous—need for her?
There were those among the Old Ones in the village who had long held that he possessed the gift of discernment. It had been pointed out to him over the years, and while he had never admitted as much to another, he accepted the reality that indeed he did seem to possess a strong—sometimes so strong as to be a burden—sense of what was of the darkness as opposed to what was of the light, of that which was good and that which was evil, and, at times, even the needs and passions of those with whom he came in contact.
He had not coveted the gift, in fact on more than one occasion had even bemoaned it. But it had been a long time since he had attempted to deny it. He simply tried as much as possible not to dwell on it, not to make much of it, but rather to keep close communion with his Lord, to walk in the light of his presence, to obey his teachings, and to listen closely to the whisper of his Spirit. If God had indeed gifted him with this ability to discern, to sense the truth, then he felt the need to always be sensitive to the responsibility that must surely be a part of it.
Tonight he had no question in his mind but that the emotion kindled in him by the portrait of Roweena was more than a man’s natural response to a lifeless work of paint and canvas. Her likeness had been rendered as through a veil of sensuality, a cloud of compulsion and dark desire.
He knew now that Brady Kane burned with an obsession…and the obsession was Roweena.
Somehow, it was all connected, he sensed: the dark motives behind the paintings, Kane’s sudden show of remorse, and, most recently, his casual gesture of friendship.
The realization made him almost physically ill and strangely frightened, though he could not as yet clearly identify the source of his fear.
Again came the near-desperate urgency to hear from Ulick. He didn’t even know what he hoped to learn, but more and more he felt a wild clambering inside him to learn something.
Soon his troubled reflection took the form of a silent, insistent prayer, to the effect that if there was indeed something—anything—he needed to know about Kane, it would soon be revealed. In time to ward off any possible harm to Roweena.
26
UNEASY DREAMS, UNHOLY PLANS
All omens monstrous and appalling
Affright my guilty mind.
JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN
Brady Kane was trapped in a fog, a fog that reeked with the stench of fear and decay. Shadows, dark and terrifying in their distortion, darted in and out, looming at him, writhing about him and clutching at him like a band of unholy dervishes. The foul miasma of the fog seeped into his nostrils, his mouth, the very pores of his body.
Somewhere nearby, though he couldn’t see her, he heard Roweena, screaming as if the terrors of hell itself held her captive. In a frenzy, he lashed out with both arms, trying to beat off the deadly shadows surrounding him, fighting desperately to free himself so he could rescue Roweena. But the more he struggled, the more the fog and the shadows sucked him in.
There was nothing around him, above or below him, but darkness—a blackness deeper than night itself, an impenetrable, wet gloom that cloyed at him, tossing him about like a piece of driftwood in a sea storm. He was blinded by the darkness, totally trapped by his own helplessness, while the fog swept him farther and farther away from Roweena.
Her terror-stricken screams were growing fainter now. Brady reached out, thrashing wildly in search of an opening, a hole in the barrier of fog that kept him from her.
He tried to call out to her, but the fog choked off his shouts, turning them to weak, ineffectual bleats.
All he could hear of Roweena now was a strangled, broken weeping, like that of a child frightened beyond all reason. He exerted every ounce of strength available to him in one enormous strike against the fog, only to find himself pitching forward into a deep, spiraling fall.
Roweena’s voice faded to nothing as he hurtled headlong through the darkness.
Brady came awake with a cry, gasping for breath, thrashing his arms. His heart was beating against his rib cage in a savage fit, as if it would explode right out of his chest. He was drenched in perspiration, the bedclothes tossed into a tangled heap.
Light flooded over him, and he blinked and shook his head, looking around the room in bewilderment.
Finally, awareness dawned, and he sank back onto the pillow with relief.
It had been only a dream…only a nightmare…
It was morning. There was no fog, there were no evil shadows, and Roweena was not screaming in the distance.
From the light pouring into the room, he thought it must be nearly noon. His head began to clear, slowly at first, until he remembered what day it was. The sudden recognition was like downing a full pot of strong black coffee all at once.
Thursday. Tonight was the night.
He lay unmoving, his heart still racing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His head felt like a blacksmith’s anvil, and his mouth was as foul as a pigpen. He’d practically drunk himself into a stupor the night before, finally stumbling into bed a couple of hours before dawn.
In spite of his good intentions, he had been drinking for two days almost without letup. He wasn’t sure why. Some of it had to do with today’s affair, of course. He was tense, had been all week.
He hadn’t been able to work for days now, and that in turn caused him even more tension. At this point, he was so far behind in his assignments for Jack, he’d be lucky if he didn’t get a furious summons home.
Added to that was the fact that he was running out of funds. The initial payment to Biller and Robuck had set him back a pretty penny. If he didn’t post a story and a new recommendation as to some immigrants for Jack to sponsor soon, he was going to land himself in a real fix.
No wonder he needed a drink now and then to steady his nerves.
Now and then?
He ignored the uneasiness lurking at the edge of his mind. This was no time for self-examination. Besides, once today was over with, he’d be able to concentrate again. Get back to work. Redeem himself with Jack, knock off the drinking, and get some much-needed work done. It was just the anticipation of tonight that had him rattled, that was all.
As he lay looking around his rented room, arms locked behind his head, he felt the beginning of the need for a drink to start the day, even though he was still slightly high from the night before. Only the chill of the room and the sickening pounding of his head kept him from getting up to retrieve the bottle on the desk.
He swallowed down the vile taste in his mouth and stretched a little. He ought to get up, have some breakfast, get himself together. But he was still shaken by the nightmare, still disoriented.
He refused to give a stupid dream any credence. It had just been the liquor and maybe some anxiety about tonight, nothing else.
He wouldn’t think about it. Better to think about Roweena instead. Just for a minute or two.
After tonight, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have to resort to dreaming about her. If everything went as planned—and why wouldn’t it?—then he’d be able to see her out in the open whenever he wanted.
With Gabriel’s blessing.
He smiled, then winced as his lips cracked from the dryness. He needed to clean himself up a bit. Get a haircut and a shave. Have his landlady press some clothes. Needed to look presentable tonight, even though he’d get roughed up a little in the fray.
Not much, of course. He’d warned those two uglies to have a care when he appeared on the scene. He didn’t want any broken bones for his trouble. In fact, he didn�
�t want any more pain than absolutely necessary. They were to push him around just enough to make things believable, no more.
He wished he didn’t feel so uneasy about those two. Especially Robuck. They were both bad business, but something about Robuck literally gave him the creeps.
Well, what did he expect? It wasn’t exactly a job for missionaries. Besides, he’d seen the way their eyes bugged when he quoted the price. Money was everything with their kind. They would do the deed, he’d pay them off, and that would be the last he’d ever see of them. And good riddance.
This was worth a few risks, after all.
Roweena was worth a lot of risks.
He let his mind wander, imagining what it would be like with her once Gabriel took the cuffs off and they had a chance to be together.
Roweena was a total innocent. She had never been with a man; he was sure of it. No way a man would have ever gotten past Gabriel.
His mouth twisted at the sudden, unbidden image of the big fisherman, beefy arms crossed over that massive chest of his, standing guard with a scowl.
But not for much longer, he reminded himself. It would all be different after tonight.
He was going to be good to her. He really was. He would court her in grand fashion, make her head swim, make her wild for him. He’d gain her trust, win her over entirely. And eventually…soon…she’d be warm and willing in his arms.
This time, though, it was going to be different. Roweena was different, a different kind of girl. She was everything he could ever want. He had never felt this way about a woman. Never.
This time, he wanted more than just another quick fling. He was going to change, change for Roweena. He’d be different with her. She was so good, so innocent—so trusting. He would be the kind of man she’d look up to. She’d be crazy in love with him, and he would cherish her. Even Gabriel would approve.
Eventually…who could say? He might even marry her.
He wasn’t so sure he’d ever go back to the States, at least to stay. He was Irish now, thoroughly Irish. And Ireland was where he belonged.
There was still Jack to be dealt with, of course. He had to figure a way to keep big brother from disowning him until he could support himself. He might want to live in Ireland, but he had no intention of living poor.
Ah, well—he could handle Jack. Hadn’t he always?
For now, he needed to get on with the day. This was the day that was going to change everything.
He pushed himself up, slung his feet over the side of the bed, grabbing his head with both hands when the pain slammed down on him. His eyes went to the bottle on the desk, and he decided to have just one quick drink. Just one. To settle his stomach, ease the headache.
After all, he had to be in top shape for the day ahead.
In another minute, he got to his feet and headed for the desk.
27
AN ILL WIND OVER THE CLADDAGH
How sad to see eyes clouded, dim…
Eyes meant by God to mirror Him.
ANONYMOUS
Gabriel took the streets at a brisk clip, his coat buttoned all the way up, the scarf Roweena had knitted him drawn snugly about his throat.
Early in the evening, a raw wind had blown up, cutting across Galway and the Claddagh with a wintry chill. The sea tossed and heaved like a bad-tempered behemoth roused too soon from its nap. In deference to the weather, the village lanes were nearly deserted. The Claddagh’s fishermen were huddled by the hearth fire tonight, their children shut safely indoors against the wind. Gabriel himself had issued a caution to Eveleen not to get her “feathers blown off” by dawdling in the yard, as was her custom this time of day.
No one had yet forgotten the Big Wind that had caught all Ireland by surprise January past, nor was it likely that anyone would forget it for a long time to come. Memories of animals and entire houses blown out to sea by the savage storm were still all too vivid in the minds of mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. Loved ones had been lost, homes destroyed, lives devastated. Ever since, each time a strong wind stirred the thatch on a roof, all Galway looked to the sky with apprehension.
Gabriel’s haste was not born of fear, however. He had endured enough winds in his time to recognize tonight’s as nothing more than an ordinary blow that would subside without wreaking any real damage. What had him pounding the cobbles in such haste at this hour was the message from Ulick, delivered late in the afternoon. Immediately after reading his friend’s hastily scrawled note, he sent word to the other men that he would not join with them to pray this night, as was his custom, that instead he had another obligation to see to.
He was to meet Ulick at the house of his cousin, near the priory. Gabriel didn’t question why his friend simply didn’t come to his home. Those who knew Gabriel Vaughan best also knew that he was adamant about keeping men’s business removed from his personal life. Because of Roweena and the child, he exercised every caution; he had never allowed much tramping in and out of his house, even by those with whom he had a long-standing friendship.
The thought of Roweena and Eveleen alone at the house made him pick up his stride still more. They were used to his Thursday night absences for prayer meeting, and tonight he had left the house even earlier than was his habit. But for some reason, he was exceedingly anxious to get the meeting with Ulick over and done with—not only because he was eager to hear whatever information the man might have for him, but also because he was uneasy about leaving Roweena and the child alone.
Perhaps the wind had unnerved him more than he’d realized. He looked up at the sky, totally bereft of moon and stars. It seemed that the wind had already died. The dark streets had fallen silent, with an unnatural stillness hanging over the entire Claddagh. An unaccountable shudder seized Gabriel as he turned onto the lane that led to his destination. He felt chilled through, but not as a result of the night air. It was more the unexpected calm that had spooked him, he realized.
Like most fishermen, he had experienced firsthand the strange, singular quiet that often preceded a storm. As he trudged up to the front door of the small, mud-walled cottage where Ulick was waiting, he caught himself holding his breath, as though bracing himself before yet another blast of December wind could come shrieking down upon his head.
Ulick threw open the door only a second or two after Gabriel knocked. The mouth beneath the drooping mustache was set in a thin, hard line, and the uncommonly pale eyes met Gabriel’s with a look that seemed to hold something more akin to dread than welcome.
In that moment, Gabriel feared that he was about to be caught up in more than one storm this night.
Clive Robuck shifted his bulk and stepped back a little deeper into the shadows, accidentally tromping Biller’s foot.
An oath from the smaller man brought an indifferent shrug from Robuck. “Get yourself some proper boots, why don’t you?”
“I’ll be getting myself a hot water bottle and a roaring fire after this night, I can tell you,” Biller groused.
“Aye, and for me a warm-blooded woman as well. This infernal weather has me near frozen. I wish the little chit would come out so we could get on with it.”
“ ’Tis still early,” Biller reminded him. “I can’t help but wonder why Vaughan left before his usual time. You don’t think there’s something wrong?”
Robuck turned to eye him. “You worry too much. You’d worry yourself witless if you had any to begin with.”
“Seems to me there’s a fair measure to worry about with such a stunt as this,” Biller muttered.
“Are you cracked, man? We couldn’t have found a softer job! We scare a wee girl for a bit and let the man who’s paying us come to the rescue. Nothing could be easier, it seems to me.”
Still scowling, Biller continued to dig a crater in the mud with his toe. “Unless something goes wrong.”
“What could go wrong?” Robuck snapped, out of patience with his cohort. “Any gawm could pull this one off. Even you.” Without turning away, he spat o
n the ground, then added, “Quit your bellyaching. You saw for yourself, the big man is gone—just as Kane said he would be. What does it matter if he left a bit early? The girl will show any time now, and when she does, we’ll get this—”
Biller fastened a hand on his arm and jerked his head in the direction of Vaughan’s house. Robuck turned to see a dark-haired tyke trundle out the door, a basin in hand. She stopped just long enough to clumsily pull the door shut with her other hand, then went around to the side of the house, where she tossed the contents of the basin onto the ground.
As Kane had predicted, the chit clearly meant to dawdle awhile in the yard. For a moment, she stood unmoving, looking idly about at her surroundings. After a time, she tucked the empty basin under her arm and did a few skips and a couple of hops around a piece of bare shrubbery growing near the house. She stopped long enough to pull her bulky sweater more tightly around her, then headed toward the back of the house, all the while staring up at the sky as she went.
Robuck lifted a hand to Biller to signal that they would move in a moment. On instinct, he pulled his pistol out of his back pocket.
“What are you doing?” Biller hissed behind him. “The American said no weapons! And we agreed!”
Robuck whipped around. “Shut your gob!” he ordered in a harsh whisper. “You want to give us up?” He palmed the gun and aimed it square in Biller’s face. “This isn’t a weapon. ’Tis insurance, is all. Weren’t you just the one fretting that something might go wrong? This is to make sure nothing does. Now come on before she—”
They stopped, turning to look as the door was flung open with a bang and another girl—no, a woman, this one—stuck her head out and called, “Evie! Eveleen—come inside now!”
