Infinite Devotion (Infinite Series, Book 2)

by L. E. Waters

  Bawn wrinkles his nose.

  “Did ya see what I just had to do, feed him like a baby magpie? You think that was fun? Now do as I say and be happy about it. We’ll all have a turn at it so it won’t only be you.”

  He seems to feel better thinking everyone will have to do it and goes back to his spot across from the prisoner.

  I walk back out and wish I could go home to Muirin. I decide taking hostages is a bad business. Last time we’ll ever do this.

  In the morning, Cahir and Síofra return. Síofra looks like she’d been crying all night and not slept a wink. She takes one look at Kelly leaning beside the entrance and charges into the cave. Cahir and I follow after her. The prisoner’s sitting up against the wall with his head up to the ceiling and his eyes closed. When he sees Síofra coming, her wild Medusa hair hissing, he instinctively rolls into a fetal position.

  She kicks him and screams, “He’d still be here if ’twas not for you!”

  I pull her off him before she can do any damage, and she wriggles like a cat being caught. “Let me off, O’Hanlon, this is my fight!”

  I try to whisper in her ear, “’Tis not the one you should seek vengeance on.”

  She laughs, sounding a bit cracked. “I’ll seek vengeance on them both!”

  Cahir looks her in the eyes. “Vixen, we’ll punish St. John best by holding his son and making him pay.”

  She stops wriggling for a moment. “Can you promise me, then, that if St. John fails to pay, I get the pleasure of shooting this cat of a kind?”

  I think about it for a moment. “That sounds fair.”

  The prisoner looks up. “You’ll get your way; he’ll never pay.”

  She screams and flies into another fit. “Don’t you talk to me, Sasanach! You’re not one of us! I’ll send you back to Hell where you and your kind belong!”

  She squirms out of my grip, pulls a hair off his head, and marches out of the cave.

  Cahir whistles. “I wouldn’t want to be him right now. That whipster’s going to do all sorts of magic.”

  “You mean the fairies?” I ask, unsure what he’s talking about. The prisoner looks concerned.

  “Sure, that, and she’s a bit of a witch. When we were little, shorter than a goat we were, she gave me this.” He pulls out a little wooden charm that’s roughly carved into a horse-like shape. “She gave this to me saying ’twould let me talk to the horses.” He laughs. “I thought she was cracked, but ’twas true. As soon I went to the horses, ’twas like they understood me. Even the feistiest stallion bucking for everyone else cooled and let me ride it. I swear that girl’s powerful.”

  Síofra’s gone for a day, I imagined off conjuring or dancing with fairies. The next night, Hogan comes to me in the middle of his night watch. “The prisoner’s shaking something fierce.”

  I go in to see him on the ground with his legs tucked up and arms brought close to his chest. His forehead’s wet with sweat, and his teeth are chattering uncontrollably. I put my hand to his head and feel he’s burning up.

  “Hogan, go get my blankets outside and some cold water.”

  I feel a twang of guilt that I hadn’t given him blankets to sleep under. I peer into his light green eyes for the first time and see the faraway look of someone close to death. Hogan comes back in with a pile of blankets he collected, and I put them under and over him. I keep wetting a cloth, holding it to his head and neck the way Ma would do, making sure he keeps taking sips of water. All night I do this, and by morning, he sleeps soundly with only a slight fever. Feeling I did all that I could, I go out to see Síofra at the fire.

  “He’ll soon be a load for four,” she says with her eyes on the fire.

  Cahir asks, “Síofra, have you had him blinked?”

  She looks up, smiling.

  “You’re taking this out on the wrong person. St. John’s the one you want,” I say.

  “Oh, I have plans for him too.”

  “The whole point of this plan was to teach St. John a lesson. The boy is just our means of doing so. Leave him alone, and go after the one who deserves it.”

  She stands up, throws her drink in the fire, and takes a whole bunch of sticks we kept for the fire and throws them on the ground. She studies the way in which they fell and then jumps on her horse. “Fine, then, who’s coming with me?”

  Everyone stands still, unsure.

  “Cahir, get your arse on your horse, or I’ll rip that charm off your neck!”

  Cahir takes one look at me and leaps on his horse.

  “What are you doing, Síofra? We have to wait to see if St. John gives in. We need to get the upper hand with him. Make him pay.”

  “Oh, I’ll make him pay.” She glares at the whole group. “You saw what I did to the boy, and anyone who doesn’t have my back will be shaking along with William there.”

  Liddy, Kelly, Bawn, and Berragh all head for their horses like scolded children. She gives me a triumphant look and kicks her horse to lead her charge. I go to sit with Hogan in the cave as he watches over William’s recovery.

  “I heard every word that went on outside,” Hogan says. “She’s going to get herself killed in that blind rage.”

  About an hour later, Ned comes back.

  “I sent my messenger out, and he returned with this letter from St. John.”

  I take the letter, crack the seal, and read out loud: “I’d no sooner pay the devil than give you a half penny. Rot in hell, Roman.”

  I’m silent at his complete disregard for his son’s welfare.

  William clears his weak throat. “I told you he would never pay.”

  “We have a few more days still.” I know I’m reaching.

  “He’s probably got his bodyguards around him. That woman is going to walk right into his trap.”

  “You think he’s laying a trap, then?” Hogan asks.

  “Of course, he is. He cares more about besting you than he cares about what happens to me.”

  “Hogan, you stay here with William, and I’m going to try to warn them.” I take off on Ghost and try to follow their trail.

  I get all the way up to the base of Tandragee, where we waited for William three days before. Many shots ring out, and horses whinny. I speed up to the noise, hoping I’m not too late to help. Before I reach the clearing at the top of the hill the castle sits upon, the sound of many horses comes my way. I take my pistols out and hold Ghost steady so I can get two good shots off well. But ’tis Síofra and Cahir thundering toward me.

  I shout, “Where’s Liddy, Bawn, Kelly, and Berragh?”

  “Coming right behind us! Get moving, Redmond! They’re hot on our tail!” yells Cahir.

  I see Bawn, Kelly, Berragh, and Liddy coming with a dragoon, following with his sword raised. I take my musket out, level it, and shoot him right in the hip, causing him to drop his sword and pull his horse to a stop.

  Kelly gives a cheer and shouts, “Get moving, O’Hanlon! There’s more!”

  I turn Ghost and gallop after them all the way back to the cave. I watch as Síofra, with pistol still in hand, swings her leg over, and slides down her horse. She walks into the cave as I run after her. She slips under the rock quickly, and by the time I’m under, I hear Hogan fighting with her. She pushes him away and puts the pistol right against William’s temple. She says through her teeth, “This is the gun I killed your father with.” Then pushes him over and spits, “Now we’re even!”

  By the time I get back out, she has vaulted onto her pony and taken off.

  Kelly rushes to get on his horse to go after her, but Cahir says, “Let her cool in the skin that she heated in.”

  I look at Cahir and ask, “What in the world happened?”

  “I told you not to bother her.” He sighs and sits on a log.

  Liddy chimes in. “You should have seen her, Redmond! Flew out of here like a banshee and rode all the way up to the castle!”

  “St. John was out riding with a few of his men, and she started chanting something eerie at
the top of her lungs, galloping right toward him with her pistol blazing!” Kelly says, all excited.

  Liddy continues, “St. John went straight for her with the men in tow. As soon as he was in range, he pulled the trigger, but his pistol malfunctioned—”

  “’Twas no malfunction, boys,” Cahir says.

  “Well, whatever ’twas, his pistol wouldn’t fire. She shot him straight in the same spot he shot John, the very spot!” Liddy finishes.

  “How did she escape the dragoons in one piece?” I ask.

  “Cahir stayed with her all the way up and took one of them down when they tried to shoot Síofra.”

  Cahir is silent.

  “Once Síofra took down St. John, she just turned to go back, with three other men chasing her with a vengeance.” Berragh gives a panting laugh. “’Twas like she was in a trance, paid no mind to them coming after her!”

  “Liddy, Berragh, Kelly, and I had to hold them off as she and Cahir got away.” Bawn leans back and smiles. “’Twas rich madness.”

  “She’s cracked, for sure,” Liddy says.

  Cahir laughs. “I bet your boy, William, in there, needs a change of pants after she was through with him.”

  This makes us all laugh and gets rid of the anxiety this all caused. Liddy, laughing louder than all the rest, sounds like a mule braying as he throws his head back.

  Berragh asks, thumbing the cleft of his chin, “What are we going to do with him now?”

  “I can take him out in the woods if you want,” Kelly offers.

  “I can’t believe this has gotten away from us like this. A terrible plan I had.” I get up to go talk to William. “I need some time to think.”

  Hogan gives me a look of disbelief, and he goes back outside to hear the story himself. William tries to sit up but starts to cough thickly. I kneel down on the cold stone ground and realize he needs some warmth. “Come on, William, you can sleep by the fire tonight.”

  When the men see me come out with William, Cahir asks, “What’s this?”

  “Cool it, boys. He’s got a bad cough, and until we figure out what we’re going to do, letting him sleep by the fire is the Christian thing to do.”

  I throw the blankets on the ground near the fire, and William tries his best to lay them out with his tied hands, coughing the whole time. The pathetic display seems to soften the men’s hearts, and they drop their edge against him for now.

  “Sounds like a bit of the chin cough to me,” Liddy says, covering his mouth with his shirt. We hear the sound of a horse rushing toward us, and we all stand up with our pistols out.

  “Boys, put your pistols away. It’s me, Síofra.”

  She comes and sits near William, which makes him shift away slightly.

  “You only left but an hour ago?” I ask.

  “You timing me now?” She laughs, much lighter than we’d seen her before. Her brown eyes are happy again and her smile’s wide. “I’ve seen the most wonderful sign, is all.”

  “What kind of sign you see?” Kelly’s eyebrows rise with interest.

  “When I rode out to the clearing across the woods, a warm fairy breeze kissed me and stilled my horse. I knew a message was coming, and I waited for it. Suddenly the largest flock of wrens I’d ever seen came across the sky. They did three large circles around the clearing and then flew off in the sacred direction.”

  Cahir, who must have been used to her talking like this, asks, “What does it mean?”

  “The wren is our sacred bird, and three is our magical number. I have balanced nature by taking a life after a life was taken. Nature was showing me that John’s spirit is with truth now and awaiting rebirth.”

  We’re all quiet around the fire, not wanting to anger her, but also not comfortable with how different this is from our faith.

  She notices the reaction. “Well, some of you might know.” She looks at Cahir. “Long ago, the druids were the sacred teachers of wisdom and magic in our ancient culture. The Celtic kings of Ireland used to rely on druids for every decision. They were highly learned people who were in touch directly with the gods and goddesses. When the Sasanaigh came”—she gives a glance to William—“they killed any of the druids that didn’t adopt or convert to Christianity, forcing many to feign Christianity and go underground to pass our ancient religion down through their children.” She looks at us proudly. “I am one of those children, and I won’t stop fighting for our culture that is being washed away.”

  “You say this is the religion that’s sacred to Ireland?” I ask.

  “Sacred as the green grass, sacred as the rocky coast, and sacred as these woods that shelter us.”

  I nod. “Anything Irish I take to heart.”

  William speaks up. “My mother used to tell me stories of the druids. She’d always say ‘Truth in heart, strength in arm, and honesty in speech.’”

  Síofra’s mouth falls agape. “How is it your mother knew anything about us? That’s our sacred saying.”

  “My mother wasn’t English, or Protestant. She came from the O’Sheil clan and told me the stories of her people so I wouldn’t forget where I came from.”

  “What the hell’s happening here?” Kelly laughs. “We’ve got the queen of the fairies telling us about some forgotten Irish religion, and now the Protestant tells us he’s an O’Sheil!”

  “If your mother is an Irish Catholic, why is she letting your father kick the Irish families off their own lands?”

  “She tried to fight him. They fought all the time. He treated her terribly and ridiculed her beliefs. He grew more and more violent. Even locked her in a tower and kept me away from her.” He’s quiet for a moment and puts his thumb in the space in his front teeth. “She died when I was twelve, and I didn’t learn until three years ago that she threw herself out the window.” He finishes in a coughing fit.

  It lasts for almost a minute, and Bawn passes him his bottle, saying, “Sounds like you need this more than me.”

  “Thank you very much,” he says after he wets his throat.

  “Well, I never thought to ask everyone their story. I guess we all have one. Hogan, what’s yours?”

  He takes a swig and starts, “I was a son of a blacksmith and was just a boy, maybe around nine or so. Well, my father followed the rebellion and helped them by fixing their horses and such. So he brought me along with him to assist him, but Cromwell’s cavalry took us captive. My father stood up to one soldier who beat him unconscious. The same soldier grabbed me and went to go hang me from the oak tree.” He pauses here and smiles. “All to a divine interference, the captain’s horse threw a shoe, and the captain told the soldier to bring me over first to fix the shoe, and then he could hang me.” He laughs. “So under that pressure I gave off some anxiety that the horse felt, and she wouldn’t let me lift her leg. The captain got so frustrated at me that he got off to hold the animal, and seeing ’twas my only chance, I turned and clobbered him over the head with the hammer.” He does the motion for us and sent us all into spits and laughs. “Then I jumped on the captain’s horse so fast that all the soldiers just watched as I galloped away. And that’s why they call me Galloping Hogan.”

  “What a grand story, Hogan. You swear it’s the truth?” I ask.

  “True as a druid.” And we all laugh at his quick wit.

  “Now, Kelly, I’m sure you got a good story. All the Irish rage in you had to come from somewhere.”

  “I’ll pass, not in the storytelling mood.” He drinks some more.

  “Okay, I’ll go, then,” Berragh says. “I do have one interesting story my Ma always tells. When I was four, I begged and begged my Da to let me ride a young colt that he knew not to try me on. But as wee folk do, I wore him down until he gave in and put me on saddleless. So I grabbed the colt tight by wrapping my strong arms round the poor thing’s neck. Sure thing, the animal bolted and headed right for the flooded Barrow River.” He sits up and takes a drink. “I clung to the horse’s mane like a tic on a dog’s tail, and the beast plunged un
der the water. The animal surfaced and attempted to get back out, but the water swept us away nearly fifty yards down river. The colt emerged sputtering, found its footing, and dragged itself out with me still clinging on. My da said I was as blue as a bilberry and knocked out. I was put in my Ma’s arms, and they thought me dead until I came to.”

  Cahir chimes in, “Berragh, don’t you know the saying, ‘He that is born to hang will never be drowned.’”

  “I’ll drink to that, then!” Berragh smiles and raises his glass.

  “Liddy, what’s your story?” Hogan asks.

  “I hate to say it, but I had a pretty grand childhood.”

  “Ugh… go on now. You going to tell us you’re really a Protestant, then?” Kelly jokes.

  “No, wasn’t that. Just lucky to come from a nice-sized tenant farm that my folks held on to. They were hard workers, though, never rested more than they had to. Right up and down with the sun, they were.”

  “So how’d they get such a scandalous outlaw for a son?”

  “When Art and Redmond asked me to fight for our lands and to help the people the only way we could, I couldn’t say no.”

  “Ah, we got here a regular altar boy!” Kelly slaps his leg.

  “Speaking about altar boys,” Ned begins, “you boys might be surprised to hear that I was on my way to the priesthood.”

  There’s an uproar of hoots and whistles, and men leaning back and kicking their legs in the air laughing.

  “Ah, go have your fun, everyone, have a good laugh on me now!” Ned’s grinning.

  As soon as Cahir can stop laughing, he asks, “So, tell us when you sold your soul, then?”

  “Blazing funny you are there.” He takes a deep breath and laughs. “Okay, okay. I came from a privileged Irish family and was fortunate enough to be sent for an education abroad in the great aspiration of my mam to become a priest. On a break from my studies and home from the continent, I heard a terrible moaning and crying coming from the cottage of a kind old widow who was always nice to me as a child. Well, I knocked on her door, and she tells me how the tax collector was on their way to collect taxes she didn’t have. I waited for the man to come and said I’d talk to him, but the bailiff was set on taking her last cow in repayment. The bailiff and I had words and both drew pistols, and before I could think, I shot the man dead and took off for the hills.”