The Betrayed (Echoes from the Past Book 7)

by Irina Shapiro

  “Is Jude still sick? I miss him. Is Bridget sick too? Is she with Jude? Will Logan and Colin have babies? Why can’t men have babies? They have a belly, just like women. Why hasn’t Grandma Sylvia come round? When will we see Grandpa Seth again? I want to go to New Orleans. You said we’d visit Disney World next time we went to see Grandpa. And I want to meet Brett. Why hasn’t he come? He’s your brother, just like Logan and Jude, right? And where has Aunt Jo been all this time? Why has she never come to see us before? Why doesn’t she have children if she’s the same age as you are? She likes Daddy. She smiles at him a lot.”

  “She smiles at us too, Em,” Quinn had replied, taken aback by Emma’s unexpected comment.

  “Not in the same way,” Emma had replied matter-of-factly.

  Quinn chuckled to herself. What a little madam Emma was turning out to be. This morning, before going off to Maya’s, she’d asked to speak to Jill.

  “I have something important to ask her,” Emma had said, hands on hips.

  “Really? Like what?”

  “That’s between me and Jill,” Emma had replied. “Can I have the phone, please?”

  Quinn had selected Jill’s number and handed her mobile to Emma.

  “Hello, Aunt Jill,” Emma began. “I’m very well, thank you. Mum tells me you and Brian are finally getting married,” Emma said, nearly making Gabe choke on his coffee. “Am I to be one of your bridesmaids?”

  Quinn couldn’t hear what Jill said, but she could tell by Emma’s face that it was the correct answer. “Yes, I want to very much. I have experience, from Mum and Dad’s wedding,” she added, in case Jill had forgotten. “And I’m older now, so I’d like a more grown-up frock, please. And flowers in my hair.”

  “Emma,” Gabe whispered. “That’s not polite.”

  Emma gave him a disdainful stare as she continued her conversation. “Are you going to invite Aunt Jo? I think you should. She seems lonely. She could use a good party. Are you going to have a party or is this to be a small affair like Mum and Dad’s? I hope you have a party. I’d like a live band.”

  “All right, that’s enough now, miss,” Quinn said as she took the phone from Emma’s small hand. “I’m sorry, Jilly. Emma’s a bit overexcited.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem at all. As a matter of fact, I’d like her to have a word with Brian. He wants to get married at the registry office,” Jill said, her voice dripping with disgust.

  “I gather you have some objections,” Quinn said, chuckling.

  “You gather correctly. I’ve waited too long for him to finally get his nerve up, and I intend to have a proper wedding, band and all.”

  “Have you a date in mind?”

  “I mean to have this wedding by the end of June, before I begin to show.”

  “You’ll have a devil of a time finding a venue on such short notice.”

  “Not to worry. We already have a venue. We’ll have the wedding in my parents’ garden. We’ll get one of those party tents and set up a dance floor on the lawn. It’ll be grand.”

  “Your parents must be very excited.”

  “They will be, as soon as I tell them.” Jill giggled. “Got to dash. I have a wedding to plan.”

  Quinn disconnected the call and glared at Emma. “That was rude, Emma.”

  Emma shrugged. “I want to be a bridesmaid.”

  “Yes, I’ve gathered that, but you should have waited to be asked.”

  “Why?” she asked, puzzled. “How would Jill know I wanted to be a bridesmaid unless I told her? Now she knows, and I’m in,” Emma said, making a sliding gesture with her hand.

  “Gabe?” Quinn had turned to Gabe for support.

  “Let’s not make this more than it needs to be,” Gabe had said. “Are you ready to go, Emma?”

  “I’m ready, Daddy.”

  Quinn leaned back in her chair. Perhaps a few hours without Emma weren’t that bad after all. She should use the time to discover what had happened to Rafael, but she had to admit, she was reluctant to find out. Some of her previous subjects had unwittingly brought about their own downfall, but Rafael had done nothing, so far, to cause anyone to wish him harm—well, anyone except Julio Fernández, who didn’t seem like the forgiving type and might have found a way to revenge himself on Rafael after their altercation in the forest.

  Rafael was kind, considerate, and honorable. His only crime was his faith, but in the eyes of some, that was the most unforgivable crime of all. Would he be betrayed by Aisling? She appeared to be the only person to know his secret. Quinn’s stomach lurched at the thought of what was to befall the hapless young man, but she needed to get to the end of his story. She’d spend some time with the hamsa once Gabe returned.

  Her mobile buzzed and she reached for it, wondering if Emma might have changed her mind about spending the night, but the call was from Drew.

  “Hello, Drew.”

  “Hello, yourself.”

  “I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.”

  “It didn’t take long,” Drew said with a heavy sigh. “My man had a gander at the records last night.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. Jo was registered at St. Monica’s under her own name. There’s a record of her admission, antenatal examinations, and the child’s birth. There’s even a record of payment, made by Ian Crawford, in cash. What there is no record of is what happened to the child.”

  “What are you saying, Drew?”

  “I’m saying that I need a new lead, and I can’t get that without Jo.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Quinn, Jo’s brother and sister were in their thirties at the time of her child’s birth, and both in the medical profession. It stands to reason that her parents discussed the situation with their children, possibly even asked for their advice. They may know something, but they certainly won’t open up to me. And then there’s the solicitor. He must respect the attorney/client privilege, but Jo is his client, as was her father. Mr. Richards may have even drawn up the adoption papers. I’m happy to continue with the investigation, but Jo needs to give me something to work with, since I’ve exhausted the leads she gave me thus far. Will you speak to her? I think this might sound better coming from you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because any questions about her siblings get her hackles up, in case you haven’t noticed. Something happened in that family, something she doesn’t want me to know about.”

  “Right. I’ll speak to her, Drew.”

  “Give me a bell once you learn anything, if you learn anything. Something tells me Jo won’t jump at the chance to speak to those two.”

  No, I don’t think she will, Quinn thought. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Ta.”

  “You’re welcome. Bye.”

  Quinn set the phone aside and gazed at the clear blue sky. Jo hadn’t told Drew about the circumstances that had led to her stay at St. Monica’s, but Drew was a detective, he was adept at reading between the lines. He might not have deduced Michael’s part in Jo’s pregnancy, but he could clearly see the tension in Jo whenever her siblings were mentioned. Quinn would have to speak to Jo, but she’d have to tread carefully. She had to agree with Drew. As the child’s father, Michael was bound to know what had become of it, and Karen was sure to have been told of the arrangements at the time. Jo would never agree to speak to Michael, which was completely understandable, but Karen could prove to be a good resource, if a reluctant one.

  Chapter 41

  November 1588

  Leitrim, Ireland

  By the time the messenger exited Sir Brian’s study, everyone at the castle was wide awake and in a state of quiet agitation. It seemed to Rafael that the inhabitants, as well as the Spaniards, were holding their collective breath as they waited to discover what would induce Sean McClancy to send a lone man into the wilderness at that time of night. Rafael had never seen a wolf, but he’d heard them out there in the night, their howls sending a chill down his spine as he imagined
their bared fangs, crimson with blood after a fresh kill. No wonder the messenger had taken a flaming torch with him, since nothing but fire would scare off the hungry beasts.

  The man gave an apologetic nod as he pushed through the crowd and made his way toward the kitchens, probably desperate for a drink and a place to lay his head till morning. Sir Brian stepped out of the study and scanned the sea of worried faces.

  “Father Joseph, Kieran, with me,” he called out. “Señor de Silva, you too, and please ask the captain to bring along a few trusted men.”

  Rafael quickly translated the request and the captain called out a few names before following Sir Brian, the captain of the guard, and the priest into the hall.

  “Shut the door,” Sir Brian instructed Kieran O’Rourke before taking a seat by the great hearth. The fire had burned down, but it was still the warmest place in the great room, and the farthest from the door, where at least a dozen people were gathered, impatient for news.

  “What’s happened, Sir Brian?” the captain asked, looking to Rafael to translate. He looked grim in the light of the dying fire, his face unshaven and creased from sleep.

  “A large number of English troops have been dispatched to deal with the survivors of the Armada,” Sir Brian explained with the aid of the priest. “They’ll be here in less than two days, possibly even sooner, if the weather holds.”

  Rafael’s heart sank. Yesterday, the survivors had been a drain on the chieftain’s resources, but today they were a threat to his life and the lives of those under his protection. Brian O’Rourke had a good number of fighting men, but even if he decided to protect the Spaniards under his care, the chances of warding off the English were virtually nonexistent, and the penalty for treason was death, for Sir Brian and all those who assisted him in harboring the fugitives.

  “What does the chieftain propose to do?” whispered Alfonso, who was standing next to Rafael. He looked panicked, his head swiveling on his short neck as he looked from one man to the next, searching for a clue to his fate.

  “Sir Brian, we will leave at first light,” Captain de Cuéllar said, causing a ripple of shock to pass through the Spaniards who were present. “We thank you for your hospitality and boundless generosity.”

  Father Joseph translated. He was visibly relieved by the captain’s suggestion, but Sir Brian shook his shaggy head. “No,” he said, holding his hand up to silence the captain’s protests. “The English know ye’re here. If ye leave, ye die.”

  “And if we stay, you die,” the captain interjected.

  Sir Brian suddenly smiled, his grin self-satisfied and cocky. “This castle is impregnable. It’s surrounded by a lake on one side, woods and bog land on the other three. The English can come, but they’ll never breach our defenses. As long as we have enough provisions to last till spring, we can hold them off.”

  “Do you have enough provisions?” the captain asked, his voice trembling with hope.

  “We will if we drastically reduce our number. McClancy has offered his assistance, which I will gladly accept. Come morning, women, children, and anyone who’s not needed to defend the castle will leave for McClancy territory, where they will bide until summoned back.”

  “You must go with them,” Captain de Cuéllar protested. “If captured by the English, you will be tried for treason, Sir Brian.”

  Sir Brian inclined his head, mulling over the captain’s suggestion. “That I will, and I must admit, I’m rather fond of my head,” he said, making a few men chuckle nervously. “’Tis settled, then. We leave at first light.” He turned toward Kieran O’Rourke. “Kieran, inform the men and make an inventory of our weapons. And arm the Spaniards.”

  “Aye, Sir Brian.”

  “We’ll need a dozen men to escort us to McClancy’s. We can’t leave our people unprotected.”

  “As ye say, Sir Brian. I’ll see to everything,” Kieran replied.

  With that, everyone filed out of the hall, ready to either prepare for departure or find their bed. Rafael and Alfonso made their way up the stairs. There was nothing for them to do, and Rafael suddenly felt bone-weary. A few hours ago, Aisling’s anger had been his biggest concern, but now the situation had changed once again, and his life was in danger. Sir Brian was foolhardy to allow the Spaniards to remain, in Rafael’s opinion, but he was grateful to the man, nevertheless. The walls of Sir Brian’s castle were the only thing standing between the Spaniards and certain death.

  Rafael hardly slept that night, and crept downstairs long before the pearly light of dawn began to silver the sky in the east. He had no reason to keep quiet though, since the castle was a hive of activity. Preparations for departure were almost complete, and several loaded wagons stood in the yard, ready to roll out. Excited children ran around, chasing each other and pretending to fight off the English with sticks. Women simultaneously chastised their children, hurried along their husbands, and kept a keen eye on their possessions. The men-at-arms walked from wagon to wagon, issuing orders to the drivers, encouraging the women to get a move on, and trying desperately to avoid the children who were constantly underfoot.

  As the first shimmering rays of the rising sun lit up the sky in the east, the gates were unbarred and the wagons rolled out, followed by a column of people who’d travel to Sean McClancy’s castle on foot.

  “Cowardly dogs! Imagine leaving your home behind at the first sign of danger,” Julio Fernández exclaimed as he watched the exodus from the window of the great hall. “I’d put all those lily-livered cobardes to the sword if I were the chief. The man has no backbone, but I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s running scared himself. His people are only following suit.”

  “Be silent, Fernández,” Captain de Cuéllar commanded. “You will not speak ill of our host. He saved our lives and continues to protect us still. We will stay behind and defend the castle, but I won’t think ill of any man who wishes to leave. We are not their responsibility and I don’t expect any Irishman to spill his blood to protect me from the English. We’ve come here to fight and fight we will. Señor O’Rourke will provide us with arms. The rest is up to us.”

  “There are nearly two thousand English soldiers marching this way, if McClancy’s information is correct,” Julio argued. “We don’t stand a chance.”

  “The odds are not in our favor, I’ll grant you that,” Captain de Cuéllar said, “but we will do everything in our power to stay alive. We will use every resource available to us, and our greatest resource is this castle.” The captain looked at the assembled men. “Now, go. Arm yourselves with whatever weapon you can obtain and see if there’s anything we can do to fortify the castle. De Silva, use your knowledge of the language to spy on Kieran O’Rourke’s men. We need to know if we can depend on them in a fight, or if they’re open to turning us over to the English in return for their lives. Whatever happens, we will not shame Spain!”

  “I suppose soiling our breeches is out of the question, then,” Alfonso whispered as soon as they left the hall. “A few dozen men against two thousand. The question is not whether we’re going to die, but how long we can last before they skewer us on their swords. I almost wish I’d drowned when my ship went down. It would have been a more peaceful death.”

  “Alfonso, how did you wind up in the army?” Rafael asked, annoyed by Alfonso’s pessimism.

  “Not by choice, mi amigo. It was either the army or the priesthood. I’m beginning to think I made the wrong choice.”

  “I think you might be right.”

  “I didn’t fancy being celibate, but as it turned out, I’m celibate anyway, only now I have the opportunity to be used as a pincushion by English soldiers.”

  “You’re like a cat, Alfonso. You’ve got nine lives,” Rafael replied and left his friend to sulk. He was in no mood to bolster anyone’s spirits, not when his own were so dangerously low. He supposed that under the circumstances, it was foolish to worry about his less-than-amicable parting with Aisling, but he desperately wished he hadn’t hurt her feelings. Ha
d he agreed to consider her proposal, she might have kissed him. The memory of the kiss they’d shared in the woods stood out like a beacon of light on a dark night, a beautiful memory that would stay with him for the rest of his days. He’d give anything to see her one last time, to say goodbye, but he was glad Aisling was gone. She’d be safe from the British, and that was all that mattered.

  Rafael left the castle and walked across the now-empty bailey. He had his orders, but the only way he could learn anything from the Irish men-at-arms was through overhearing their conversations, and hardly anyone was about. The gates had been barred and several men were already manning the wall, but they were sullen and silent as they gazed into the distance.

  Chapter 42

  An unnatural hush settled over the castle once the sun sank below the horizon and lengthening shadows drove out daylight. Corridors that had been ringing with voices only hours ago were silent and dark, the rooms abandoned and eerie. Two dozen Irishmen remained, but their mood was sour, and they kept to themselves, openly blaming the Spaniards for their predicament. Several women had stayed behind as well, mostly wives of the men-at-arms, who felt it their duty to look after the men once the siege got underway.

  All the remaining men congregated in the great hall, Irish at one end, Spanish at the other, each group ignoring the other and spewing centuries-old rhetoric of war. Now that the Spaniards were armed, their pride was restored, and they no longer felt like a helpless band of refugees. O’Rourke’s men were able to spare eight muskets and arquebuses, which were given to men who were trained marksmen, and a dozen swords, which went to the more experienced fighters. Men who’d never seen battle, Rafael and Alfonso among them, were given shillelaghs and daggers.