Bury the Living (Revolutionary #1)

by Jodi McIsaac

  “Oh, aye, I’ve had loads of time for dating lately.”

  “They’ll want a name.”

  “Fine. Daniel Miller.”

  “And who’s that poor sod?”

  “A friend of Pidge’s. At least, he used to be. He’s the one who got us arrested.”

  Nora craned her neck over Fionn’s shoulder and kept her eyes on the road, looking for a cloud of dust or any other telltale signs of a roadblock. They passed only two other people, a man on foot and a farmer with a horse and cart filled with milk canisters. But neither gave them a second look.

  She had so many questions about this strange, ancient man fate had delivered to her, but she couldn’t handle any more right now. Her mind was stretched thin enough as it was. When would the deal be made with Cosgrave to get rid of the Boundary Commission and keep Ireland together? She would need to keep Liam Lynch alive until then.

  Finally, Fionn directed the bike off the road and stowed it behind a cluster of dense brush. “We’ll walk in from here.” The ground was covered with gorse and stone. They pushed their way through it, heading toward the base of the mountains.

  “Where is he?” Nora asked.

  “He’s been on the move—traveling toward Araglin.” He frowned. “Maybe that’s where he’s meeting Cosgrave to sign the deal. But right now he’s at Goatenbridge.”

  Nora moved faster. “What if he leaves before we get there?”

  “Then we’ll follow. We’ll find him before they do, Nora. This way.” Fionn veered to the south. “If we stay off the road, we should avoid the scouts.”

  “Scouts?”

  “If the Chief is in the area, they’ll want to know who else is around.”

  Nora huffed. “It wasn’t enough last time. I mean . . . tomorrow. Jesus. This is messed.”

  Finally they came in sight of a small thatched cottage in a glen near the foot of the mountain. Fionn stopped. “That’s it.”

  Nora’s heart pounded. “We made it.” She took off at a run, not wanting to waste another second.

  “Wait,” Fionn called out, but she ignored him. Liam Lynch was inside that building, and he was going to die unless she did something about it.

  The click of a barrel stopped her in her tracks.

  “Hold it right there,” a man said, pointing a rifle at her head. Another directed his Thompson at Fionn, whose hands were in the air.

  “We have to see the Chief,” Nora said. “I have important information for him.”

  “The Chief isn’t here,” the man said, circling her slowly.

  “Like hell he’s not. I don’t care if you shoot me; just let me talk to him first.”

  The two guards exchanged glances.

  “She’s telling the truth,” Fionn said. “She really doesn’t care if you shoot her.”

  “What kind of information?” asked the guard pointing the rifle at her. “If we happen to see him, we’ll pass the message along.”

  “My message is only for him.” Nora folded her arms. “And you’re holding that wrong,” she said to the man with the Thompson.

  “Both of you, against the wall,” her guard said, jabbing toward the side of the house with the rifle. Nora and Fionn stood facing the wall, their hands pressed against the siding. The guard with the rifle went inside the house, leaving his comrade behind to cover them.

  “Bet this didn’t happen back in the day? With the Fianna and all?” she asked Fionn, watching his face for his response.

  He gave her a sideways glance; then a corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “No. It most definitely did not.”

  “They say humility’s a virtue, you know.” He gave her another look, but this time said nothing. Nora’s nerves sparked with excitement. In a few minutes, this might all be over. But she felt a twinge of hesitation as well. What would happen to Fionn once the curse was lifted? Would he die immediately, or just become mortal like the rest of them? Maybe he would shrivel up into an old man, like the story of Oisín after his return from Tír na nÓg after three hundred years away. She realized with a start that if the stories were true, Oisín had been Fionn’s son.

  The first man returned and nodded to his comrade. “He says he’ll see her. Not you,” he added as Fionn turned to follow Nora.

  “I’m going with her,” Fionn insisted.

  “Chief’s orders. Only the lady.”

  Nora made to follow the guard inside. Fionn started after them but was stopped by the barrel of a rifle pointed at his chest.

  “Nora, are you sure—” he said.

  “Just wait here. I’ll be fine,” she said. But in truth, she’d been counting on Fionn to lend her story credibility. He was an IRA man. He’d fought with Lynch before. But she didn’t argue. She couldn’t lose her chance, not when she’d come this far.

  The guard led her into the house, where a group of men sat around a long wooden table. Plates of biscuits and mugs of tea littered the table, along with ashtrays, sheaves of paper, and a large map. She recognized Lynch at once. He was thinner than he’d looked at the training camp, but he had the same studious, handsome face, the same strong jaw and perfectly shaped lips. It struck her that he was younger than she was.

  “So here’s the woman who says she has information for us,” he said genially, leaning back in his chair. “What’s your name, dear?”

  “Nora O’Reilly.”

  “You’re Cumann na mBan?”

  “No. I mean, yes, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Then tell us.” The other men regarded her with interest, casually smoking or sipping their tea.

  “I’d like to speak to you alone, sir.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Alone? That would hardly be appropriate.”

  “I insist.”

  “As do I. Whatever you have to say can be said in front of my men.”

  Nora hesitated, then gave in. She didn’t have time to argue. “You’re in trouble.”

  At this, all the men looked up. A man with a thick bristle-brush mustache pushed back his chair and stood, one hand on the revolver at his waist. Lynch took a long draw on his cigarette. “Sit down, O’Casey.” He turned back to Nora. “What kind of trouble?”

  “There’s going to be a gunfight, a skirmish. Tomorrow. Free State soldiers are headed this way, and they’ll intersect you on your way to Araglin.”

  Lynch raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know we’re headed to Araglin?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Free State knows it. You have to get out of here.”

  “That’s impossible,” one of the men said. “Our scouts would have heard if Staters were in the area.”

  Lynch didn’t take his eyes off Nora. “Are you certain?”

  “Aye. I know . . . I know you’ll run, take to the mountains. But they’ve a column coming from either direction. They’ll box you in. You’ll be outnumbered.”

  “Hogwash!” O’Casey said.

  Lynch remained calm. “Go on.”

  “It can be changed, so it can. If you leave now, you’ll be able to get out in time.” Nora pleaded with him with her eyes. You have to believe me.

  “I think I will have that private word, Miss O’Reilly.” He pushed his chair away from the table and indicated that she should precede him into the next room, a small office. He closed the door behind them.

  “How do you know this?” he asked.

  “I have a, uh, friend in the Free State Army,” she said.

  “And he gave you this information?”

  “No. I overheard him talking to his superior and did a little snooping. I saw some memos about troop movements.”

  “Did you make copies?”

  Nora grit her teeth. “No, there wasn’t time.”

  “But you’re certain of what you saw.”

  “And heard. Yes.”

  He lit another cigarette. “What battalion is your ‘friend’ in, may I ask?”

  She hesitated. “Kildare.”

  “Kildare. And why would a
soldier in Kildare know about troop movements in Tipperary, I wonder?”

  Her hackles rose. If he suspected her of lying, he might ignore her advice. “I have no idea. What does it matter? I know what’s going to happen. You can’t go to Araglin. Not tomorrow. If you die—” She stopped, choosing her words carefully. “If you die, we’ll lose the war. You know that.”

  “You put too much faith in me, Miss O’Reilly. I’m only one man.”

  “You’re the most important man on our side.”

  He tapped an inch of ash into a tray on the desk. “Whether or not that is the case, I’m inclined to not take unnecessary chances with my life at this point. But it does put me in a certain . . . predicament.”

  “What does it matter if it saves your life? This country needs you alive.” I need you alive.

  “I have a meeting in Araglin. A very important meeting.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Why else would you go there?”

  He drew close to her and dropped his voice. “My own men do not even know the reason for this meeting. I need to keep it that way, until everything is settled. But I’ll need to send a message to my . . . counterpart to change the location. I’ll need a messenger.”

  It was working. “We came here by motorcycle; I can take your message—”

  “I’m not about to send a woman alone into the mountains, Cumann na mBan or not.”

  “My friend . . .” She corrected herself. “My fiancé, Thomas. He’s just outside, with one of your guards. Let him deliver your message.” The necessity of it struck her as she said it. It had to be Fionn, didn’t it? He had to play a part in order for the curse to be lifted. “You know him—Thomas Heaney. He’s one of you. You can trust him.”

  “Thomas Heaney . . . Ah yes, I remember him. One of Coogan’s men. In fact, it’s his dog that’s been hanging about, isn’t it? The large hound?”

  She pretended she didn’t hear. “He’ll find your counterpart and deliver your message. The meeting can still happen—just somewhere else.”

  “And what about your friend in Kildare? Does your fiancé know about him?”

  Nora gritted her teeth. “We all do our part for the war effort,” she said pointedly.

  Lynch muttered something that sounded like “love and war,” then opened the door and called toward the kitchen. “Bring in Heaney—the lad outside.”

  A moment later Fionn was shoved through the door and into the small room. “Are you all right?” they asked each other, speaking at the same time. Nora reddened. Lynch gave an amused smile.

  “I have a message for you, Heaney,” he said. “One that must be delivered to William Cosgrave—and only to him, am I clear? No one else is to know of this.”

  “Yes, sir,” Fionn said. What was it like for him to take orders after being a leader for so many years? But he’d probably been taking orders for centuries now. Maybe he had forgotten what it was like to be in charge. The thought made her strangely sad.

  “He’s to meet me at Bill Hoolihan’s house by the River Tar tomorrow at noon. It’s only a few minutes’ ride, due northeast. Then I was to continue on to Araglin to meet with the executive.” He grimaced and looked at the floor. “It would have been a historic meeting.”

  “It still can be,” Nora urged. “Just a small delay, that’s all.” Lynch narrowed his eyes. She pressed her lips together. Had she said too much?

  He turned back to Fionn. “Find Cosgrave and tell him to meet me at Mahon Bridge instead. We’ll have to delay the council meeting, but if your information is right, it will be worth it.”

  “I’ll go straight away, sir,” Fionn said. “Let’s go, Nora.”

  “The lady stays here.”

  Fionn whipped around to face Lynch. “The lady comes with me.”

  “She won’t be harmed. Once the message has been delivered, she’ll be free to go.”

  “It’s grand,” Nora said, stepping between them. “What matters is that you get away from here now,” she said to Lynch. “I don’t know the exact timeline—they could be combing the hills by now, looking for you.”

  “She’s delivered her warning, hasn’t she?” Fionn said, his hands balled into fists. “She came here freely, and she can leave freely. I’m not leaving her behind.”

  “Fi—Thomas, leave off. Can I speak with you for a moment?” She grabbed his arm and dragged him to the other side of the room. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “It doesn’t matter if I stay here. I can take care of myself. You need to get to Cosgrave. This is your chance. If we make sure that meeting goes off without a hitch, we can change history. You’ll have done it—you’ll have saved Ireland, and you’ll finally be free.”

  His eyes were clouded by a deep-brewing storm. For the first time, she realized what an ancient being he was—how much he had seen, how much he had experienced. A thrill of awe swept through her. She was in the presence of the sacred.

  She took his hand. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “This is what you’ve always wanted.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment, then bent and gently kissed her. A jolt of surprise—and pleasure—ran through her. She closed her eyes and savored the feel of his lips on hers. Was this just part of the act?

  Fionn pulled away as suddenly as he had kissed her, then stalked over to Lynch. The men conferred quietly before Fionn cast one last glance at Nora and left the room. She fought the urge to run after him. There was too much at stake to let her feelings—whatever they were—get in the way.

  “Right, then,” Lynch said. “Time to pack up.”

  They returned to the main room, where the men were engaged in a heated debate. They fell silent when they caught sight of Lynch. He scanned the table. “Change of plans.”

  “What’s going on, Lynch?” O’Casey said. “Where is Heaney off to?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. It’s all for the Republic, lads.”

  “You can’t be making decisions without consulting the executive.”

  Lynch stared them down. “I have been chosen to lead this army. I’ll make the decisions I deem best for this country. We can’t have a three-day meeting every time a choice needs to be made.”

  “Where is Heaney going, then?”

  “I said you’ll find out soon enough. But right now we have to pack up and leave.”

  “Why? You’re not for believing this woman, are you? Our scouts have said nothing about Stater activity in this area. How d’you know she’s not the one leading you into a trap?”

  “Miss O’Reilly is my guest. Take care how you speak about her. Be ready to leave in an hour. We head toward Mahon Bridge.”

  “And what of the executive meeting in Araglin?”

  “Send a dispatch rider to tell them I’ll be delayed. By at least a day.”

  O’Casey pushed his chair back. “What are you playing at, Lynch? We’ve had enough delays already.”

  “I know this is a personal matter for you, Richard, but we cannot rush to a—”

  “My son is going to be executed!” O’Casey shouted. “We’re not going to win! You need to end this war now.”

  Lynch held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. The other men looked back and forth between O’Casey and the Chief. Some appeared worried. Others emboldened. “I’m trying to negotiate—” Lynch began.

  “No more negotiations!” O’Casey pulled a revolver from inside his jacket. Three other weapons were instantly drawn and pointed at O’Casey. Two of the men at the table sat still, not moving. “The longer we wait, the more of our sons die,” O’Casey growled. “It’s over, Lynch. Admit it.”

  A sickening horror descended on Nora, a cold, swooping sensation deep in her gut. This wasn’t happening. Not now, not after everything. She stepped in front of Lynch and withdrew her own gun out of her purse. She pointed it at O’Casey.

  “Get out of the way,” O’Casey growled.

  “Put it down!” Her voice was shrill now, desperate. “You don�
��t know what you’re doing.”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing. Now move before I put a bullet through you.”

  “Richard, for the love of God, put that down and we’ll talk about it,” one of the other men urged, pointing his own gun at O’Casey, then at Nora.

  “I’m done talking. That’s all he ever does—talk. He talks while our sons die. You all agree with me! It’s over. He’s the only one who doesn’t see it.”

  Nora moved closer to Lynch. He stepped out from behind her, but she moved with him, blocking his way. “Put it down, or I will shoot you!” she said, her finger tightening on the trigger.

  “For my son!” O’Casey bellowed.

  Nora fired.

  There was an explosion of thunder. Then another. And another. And a crippling, searing pain. Her head hit the floor, and a swarm of stars attacked her vision. When she could finally see, she wished she couldn’t. Lynch’s eyes were level with hers, glassy, unblinking.

  “No.” She could barely hear her own voice. There was shouting, someone crying. A dog barking. She crawled to Lynch, pushed aside the hands that were already on him, and took his face in her hands. “Wake up!” she yelled, incoherent in her pain. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this; it was a skirmish on the mountainside on April 10. Not this, not murdered by one of his own men in a cottage on April 9. She grabbed him by the lapels and shook him. “Get up! Get up!”

  Someone pulled her off him. She struggled to get back, to try to wake him, but a pair of strong hands dragged her across the room and into the small office she had just been in with Lynch. The door locked. She tried to stand, but her leg buckled beneath her.

  “Let me out!” she yelled, pounding the door with the palm of her hand. Over and over again she pounded and screamed, but she was of little consequence to them now. She could hear more shouting but couldn’t make out any details. Finally, she slumped against the door and watched the blood pool around her leg. I should fix that. A tourniquet . . . or something. But her mind was still focused on Lynch, lying dead in the next room. He could have changed everything . . . and now he was just another casualty in the centuries-old conflict.

  There was a crash and a gush of wind, and she was pulled to her feet. The searing pain in her leg brought her to her senses. Fionn’s arm was around her, lifting her, dragging her. The other held a revolver pointed in the direction of the room where Lynch had been murdered. Then they were outside, and the cottage was growing smaller behind them.