‘Now is the time to shoot!’ Kathie whispered to Dermot. ‘Give the order.’
As she spoke she raised her own musket and peered along the long barrel at the soldiers. Dermot hesitated too long, and Kathie knew that if she did not take the initiative the opportunity would be lost. She squeezed the trigger, and with a deafening report a musket-ball hummed away from the ridge, leaving behind a dense cloud of acrid black smoke.
The musket-ball did not find a target, but the sound of the shot startled the soldiers and before they recovered from the sudden shock the other Kilmar men opened fire to some effect. The soldiers fled from the firelight, leaving two of their number lying on the ground behind them.
Kathie and the Kilmar fishermen loaded their muskets frantically in the darkness and began firing at anything that moved or looked as though it might move. It was not long before the soldiers began returning the shots and the battle became a ragged and haphazard affair, both sides firing at powder-flashes and scoring no hits.
Soon it became apparent that the soldiers were working their way around the ridge in an attempt to get behind the Kilmar outlaws and drive them down to the firelight. Before their plan could succeed, the Kilmar men and Kathie quitted the ridge and made their getaway, passing close to the camp, but keeping its fires between themselves and the soldiers.
As they passed by, one of the wounded soldiers rose to his knees to call to them, believing them to be his colleagues. The flames from one of the burning cabins were reflected in the gold stripes on his arm and Kathie stopped in sudden shocked recognition as she saw his face. This was one of the soldiers who had raped her.
A wave of ice-cold hatred flooded over her and, raising her musket, she shot Corporal Garrett dead at point-blank range, the burning powder from her gun setting fire to the breast of the blood-red uniform coat.
The Kilmar men were horrified, and Dermot opened his mouth to say something to her, but a look at his new wife’s expression was sufficient to make him shut it again quickly. A moment later a volley of shots rang out from a number of soldiers who had gained the ridge, and the outlaws hurriedly moved away from the camp and were soon lost in the darkness of the upland moor.
Kathie’s murder of the wounded corporal had been witnessed by the first of the soldiers to reach the ridge. Five of them knew the reason for her action, but that night a legend was born of the ruthless girl who led a band of outlaws in the Wicklow mountains and gave no quarter to her enemies.
The Kilmar men met up with Eoin Feehan the next morning. He had not been in Rathconard when the soldiers returned from their abortive sortie into the Wicklow mountains. Tortured by thoughts of what was happening to his late companions, he had wandered through the mountains and heard the shooting from a distance. When Kathie and the Kilmar men found him he was trying to pluck up the courage to return to the camp and the scene of carnage he expected to find there.
At first, he pleaded ignorance of the events of the night, claiming he had been on his way back to the camp from Rathconard when he heard the sound of shooting and saw the camp in flames. He had, he swore, been wandering through the mountains all night, not knowing what to do.
Not until one of the Kilmar men had knocked Eoin Feehan to the ground for the second time did he cease to protest his innocence. He sat with his back against a rock, his limbs shaking, wiping blood from a split lip, certain he was about to be killed.
‘You are a poor liar – and even less of a man,’ said Kathie, trying hard to control the hatred she felt for Eoin Feehan. ‘We knew all about the soldiers’ plans, and your part in them. We were expecting you to leave the camp last night, and when you had gone we set an ambush for the soldiers. Some of them were killed. They believe you led them into a trap, Eoin.’
Eoin Feehan ran his tongue over his swollen bloody lip. ‘I don’t care what happened to the soldiers. They mean nothing to me.’
‘I doubt whether such a lack of interest is mutual. I am sure they would love to have you in their hands.’
Eoin Feehan looked around the circle of unsympathetic faces wondering whether they intended turning him over to the soldiers. He did not know that Corporal Garrett was dead and he could only think of what his fate would be if the callous corporal had him in his clutches. He knew he would never live to be brought to trial. The perspiration of fear broke out on his forehead.
‘I had to do what they asked,’ he blurted out. ‘They gave me no choice.’
Kathie was glad he had finally admitted his guilt. There were still some of the Kilmar fishermen who were not sure.
‘How about ordering them to kill your brother, young Sean? Did you have no choice about that, either?’
‘That … that was a mistake.’
Eoin Feehan broke down and began crying, and the Kilmar men looked at him in disgust.
‘The soldiers tricked me. I didn’t know they had Sean. He was the one who told them who you were. I said nothing.’
‘That is not what I heard,’ said Kathie. ‘And it isn’t the story that will be going back to Kilmar. If the soldiers don’t get you, your father will.’
Realisation of what she had said came slowly to Eoin Feehan. ‘You … you aren’t going to kill me?’
Dermot answered his question with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Why should we? You’ll have little enough to live for and no place where you’ll be safe. Someone else will kill you soon enough.’
‘Then I can go?’ Eoin Feehan rose to his feet hesitantly.
‘Not before you’ve told us what regiment the soldiers who attacked the camp belong to.’ It would be a regiment to be avoided in the future, but Kathie had her own reason for wanting to know.
Eoin Feehan hesitated only briefly. He would gain nothing by pretending he did not know.
‘The forty-eighth Regiment of Foot. They are in camp at Rathconard – that’s all I know about them.’
‘All right. Go now, before we change our minds.’
Eoin Feehan began to walk away, his eyes upon the ground, reluctant to look at his late companions.
He would have been well advised to avert his eyes until he was clear of them all, but as he passed Kathie he could not resist looking up into her face. It was only a brief glance but it was enough for Kathie. She saw contempt there and it brought back the memory of her nightmare experience in the darkness outside Rathconard. At that moment she realised that Eoin Feehan knew what the soldiers had done to her.
‘Stop!’
At her shout Eoin Feehan froze and his muscles tensed in anticipation of the bullet he was sure would follow.
‘Turn around.’
He turned with fear on his face to stare down the barrel of the musket held in Kathie’s hands. He saw her finger tighten on the trigger and he stood before her, paralysed by fear.
Not until the very moment of firing did Kathie swing the barrel of the gun downward.
The musket-ball shattered Eoin Feehan’s kneecap, and his screams were something Dermot would always remember.
‘Kathie! Why …?’
‘To help him remember what he has done to us and what he did to his own brother. For the remainder of his life Eoin Feehan will never be able to take a single step without remembering.’
Kathie stepped over the writhing traitor without looking down at him, ignoring his screams for help.
As he and the other Kilmar fishermen followed her in silence, Dermot wondered how he could reconcile what he had just witnessed with the warm and loving girl who came to him so readily on their wedding night. One was so far removed from the other that he could hardly believe it was the same person. Dermot realised he did not know his wife at all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
With Tommy Donaghue standing in the bow of the boat ready to jump on to the quay steps, Liam brought the boat in under sail. It had been a good day’s fishing. Tommy Donaghue’s skill had improved with the weather. He was now a passable fisherman, if a poor sailor.
At the quayside, Norah McCabe helped them u
nload the baskets of fish and carry them up to the quay. Things were easier now for the Kilmar fishermen. With the opening of more soup kitchens inland and the need for the cottiers to tend their next season’s potato crop there were fewer of them begging around the fishing village.
‘If we continue to bring in catches of this size, we’ll need to buy a bigger boat,’ said Liam good-humouredly.
‘It’s certain I’ll have to make more than one trip a week to Gorey,’ agreed Tommy Donaghue. ‘You’ll need to take on one of the village boys to help you, Liam.’
Both Liam and his mother thought of Dermot, who should have been here with them, sharing in the work and the good fortune of the season. There was silence until Tommy Donaghue said, ‘Here comes Father Clery. It isn’t often he is to be seen down here at this time of the day. I wonder what he wants.’
The little priest threaded his way between the nets and baskets on the quay, pausing here and there to speak to the women gutting fish. His comments invariably drew a smile, but there was little humour in his glance when he looked down at the McCabes and their helper.
The look was wasted on Tommy Donaghue.
‘Good evening, Father. If you’re looking for a fine piece of fish for tomorrow’s dinner, then you’ve come to the right boat. We’ve got the best catch in Kilmar today. Isn’t that right, Liam?’
‘I haven’t come for fish, Tommy. I am here to give you some news. For good, or bad, it affects every one of you.’
‘You’ve heard something from the mountains?’ Norah McCabe looked anxiously up at the priest.
‘I have.’
Father Clery made his way carefully down the wet stone steps and seated himself on the gunwale of Liam’s boat, riding high against the bottom step.
‘I have had a letter from the priest of a parish which takes in a large area of the Wicklow mountains. He tells me there was a battle there recently between a band of outlaws and the Army. Rumour has it the outlaws were led by a woman.’
‘Led by a woman … Kathie?’
‘Was anyone hurt? Did he say …?’ Norah McCabe was frightened of the answer, but the question had to be asked.
‘The only men hurt were soldiers. It seems two of them were killed – one of them shot by the woman in cold blood. The priest says the woman and the men with her are from Kilmar.’
‘How does he know that? Did he hear it from the soldiers?’
‘No.’ Father Clery took off his hat and wiped his brow with his forearm. ‘He married the girl to one of the men only a day before the battle with the soldiers.’
‘My Kathie married? Without the blessing of her own father? I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. Not Kathie.’ Tommy Donaghue was stunned by the news.
‘Who did she marry?’ Liam asked the question but he already knew the answer.
‘She married Dermot.’
Norah McCabe looked at Liam, but not by so much as the twitch of an eyelid did he reveal anything of his feelings.
‘Why? Why?’ she whispered.
‘Only Kathie can give us the answer to that.’ Liam picked up the long rope attached to a folded fishing-net and began to coil it carefully as he tried to think what could have happened to cause Kathie to marry Dermot so suddenly.
‘Well…. She couldn’t have chosen a better man,’ babbled Tommy Donaghue. ‘I’m happy for her – for them both…. But I wish they had gone about it differently.’
Norah McCabe had not taken her eyes from the face of her elder son, but when he spoke again it was not about the wedding.
‘Did this priest know anything more of the battle? What action are the soldiers taking? Are they still in the mountains?’
‘I don’t know. Oh! There was one other thing. The day after the battle someone made his way to a farm-house with an injured knee. The farmer said it was caused by a bullet, but the man did not give a name and a day or two later the farmer gave him a ride into Wicklow. He said he was heading north.’
‘I wonder who that could have been?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll send a letter to the priest at Wicklow, if you like. He might have some more news.’
‘Don’t bother.’ Liam finished coiling the rope and threw it in the boat. ‘Give me the name of this priest in the mountains and I’ll go and see him myself.’
‘Is that wise?’ Father Clery frowned. ‘If the soldiers are scouring the mountains in a vengeful mood, you could walk straight into trouble.’
‘Someone has to go there to find out what is happening; it’s no good waiting here for rumours. I’ll see if Nathan Brock will come with me. Between us we should be able to avoid the soldiers.’
‘I’ll come with you, too,’ said Tommy Donaghue, but he spoke without enthusiasm. ‘After all, I am as concerned as you.’
‘I’m sure you are, Tommy, but you will be more help to everyone here. Nathan and I will travel faster without you. I’ll get one or two of the village lads to give you a hand with the fishing. I’ll leave you and Mother to clean up now.’
‘You are not leaving right away?’ Norah McCabe was torn between wanting to know more about Dermot and fear for the safety of Liam.
‘The sooner we learn the truth about all this the better.’
‘I’ll walk up to the village with you,’ said Father Clery, and Liam nodded.
‘Liam!’
He turned to his mother, and her eyes held his.
‘This is not what either of us wanted, or the way it should have happened. But Dermot is your brother – and my son. Give him my love and say I look forward to the day when he brings his wife home to Kilmar. Tell him that, Liam.’
Liam nodded without comment and turned away.
On the way from the quay Father Clery told Liam what he knew of the mountain priest and where he could be found. Then he repeated his warning about the soldiers.
‘They do not take lightly the killing of their own, Liam. They will be searching with a bitter hatred of the Irish in their hearts – and they won’t be looking to find any innocent man up there in the mountains. Keep well clear of them.’
‘I’m not anxious to meet up with the soldiers,’ said Liam. ‘I’ll stay out of their way.’
‘Then may the Lord travel with you, my son.’
Liam found a bored Nathan Brock supervising no more than half a dozen men who were deepening the foundation trenches where Lady Caroline’s house would one day stand. There had been a delay in the delivery of the stone blocks needed in the construction of the house, and work was at a virtual standstill.
When Liam informed Nathan Brock of the reason for his visit he was eager to go to the Wicklow mountains with him.
‘But Lady Caroline will need to agree to let me go,’ he said. ‘She has been more than good to me and my family and I can’t just walk out on her.’
Liam agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to talk to Caroline, and on the way to the house he told Nathan Brock everything that Father Clery had known.
‘If Dermot and the others got the better of the soldiers in a fight, it sounds as though they must have led them into a trap. It could be that your suspicions of Eoin Feehan were right, Jeremy must have learned something and warned Kathie. Was there any news of the boy?’
‘None, but I didn’t ask, and I doubt if Father Clery would have thought of mentioning him, even had he known something.’
‘It matters little; Kathie will know.’
When Liam made no reply, Nathan Brock looked at him sharply.
‘You’re not going to the Wicklow mountains to settle any personal feud, Liam?’
‘Personal feud …? I don’t understand.’
‘I always thought there might be something between you and Kathie, that if ever she came into the McCabe family it would be as Mrs Liam McCabe.’
‘There was never anything between us. She was free to make her own choice – and I wouldn’t fight my own brother over a girl who is his rightful wife.’
‘I am pleased to hear it, Liam. We’ll have troubles enough wi
thout making any more for ourselves— Ah! There is Lady Caroline. I hope she is feeling better today.’
‘Better? Why, has she been ill?’ Liam spoke sharply, his eyes on the distant Caroline. She had been riding and was now walking her horse slowly towards the stables away from them.
‘She works much too hard. Half the day she spends in the soup kitchen in Gorey; then she is involved with the new fever hospital they are building at Courtown – with her money. Yet, for all that, she is a lonely woman.’
‘Sir Richard Dudley is in Dublin. Has he not been here?’
‘Once only, and from what the servants told Shelagh he might as well have stayed away. He and Lady Caroline quarrelled most of the time. After being here for two days he left in a fury.’
‘Why were they quarrelling?’
If Nathan Brock wondered why Liam was so interested in Lady Caroline’s relationship with her husband, he made no comment. ‘I understand she refused to join Sir Richard in Dublin. He said his career is suffering because his wife is not there to act as a hostess for him. Lady Caroline told him she considers starving cottiers to be more important than social etiquette. She suggested that Sir Richard set an example by ceasing to entertain and by donating the money to famine relief.’
Liam smiled; he could imagine the baronet’s indignation when the suggestion was put to him.
‘Sir Richard Dudley would not approve of that. He does not care for the Irish.’
‘I sometimes wonder whether God himself cares,’ commented Nathan Brock. ‘By giving us famine, fever and the English he has made life in this green island of ours all but impossible. But it looks as though Lady Caroline has seen us.’
Caroline had turned her horse and was bringing it toward them at a trot. Pulling to a halt, she jumped to the ground before either man could offer assistance. Smiling at Liam she said, ‘Well, this is a most unexpected surprise. Have you come to see Nathan – or to visit me?’
‘Both of you.’
Liam gave her brief details of the fight between the Kilmar outlaws and the soldiers and said he wanted Nathan Brock to go with him to the mountains.
The Music Makers Page 24