“Give me the bag, boy. My horses are hungry,” said a portly officer with saggy skin.
“I won’t!” the child said in Gaelic, standing firm.
“You cocky little bog. Speak English!” the officer barked. When the child replied in Gaelic once more the soldier kicked him. The boy staggered back and fell in the mud, his bag spilling open with oats scattering everywhere.
The soldiers chuckled and pulled their horses over to eat the oats. Tears of humiliation streamed down the boy’s face as he got up on his knees to scoop up the food before the horses consumed it. The soldiers went back to their conversation, ignoring the child’s frantic attempts to recover the muddy oats.
India pushed her way through the crowd reaching the lad, just as Jamie Kinsella arrived as well. He dropped down to help the boy, nodding and mumbling, pushing oats back into the sack with the child.
One of the officers roared, “Hey! Get away from him, you simpleton!”
Lifting his boot, he kicked Kinsella in the shoulder, sending him sprawling into the mud as well. When Jamie fell, his pistol flew out of his belt, landing on the ground a few feet away. Everyone in the crowd was stunned. The soldiers stared at the gun.
Before anyone had time to move, India stepped in front of the officer who kicked Jamie, pulled her pistol out and put a bullet into his face. The horses bolted and someone screamed. In a flash, Kinsella rolled over recovering his firearm. From flat on his back, he aimed and shot another officer in the chest.
Before the third officer could act, he was hit in the face by one of the villagers with a flail. He staggered back falling against the well, blood pumping from his smashed skull. India and Jamie recovered the frightened horses as the villagers scattered to their homes.
Shouting to Kinsella, India ordered, “Go warn McGrath’s wife.”
Kinsella nodded, mounted a horse and tore down the road to the McGrath farm.
The villager with the flail pulled the boy up into his arms as India tossed him the reins of one of the horses. “You and the lad go into hiding.”
After they rode off, she mounted a horse too, jerked the reins and raced off to camp to warn the repparees. When she arrived, she was spattered with mud and out of breath. One of the guards grabbed her horse as she jumped off The men were eating supper by their campfires.
“Addis!” India called, picking up her soaked skirts and running toward him. “There has been bloodshed in the village. Kinsella has gone to warn your wife.”
McGrath stood up; his eyes large in his care-worn face. “I must go to her.”
India nodded and turned to the others as they gathered around her. “Collect everything. We leave immediately.”
Within the hour, the repparees had evacuated the area. They split into small groups, taking different routes to Killarney.
Late the next day they arrived in Killarney, exhausted but relieved. After getting Colm and his nurse settled at the host manor, India changed her soaked and dirty clothes and rode out to the encampment. It was growing cold again. She pulled the hood up on her red cloak as she wound her horse through camp, making sure everything was in order. The men had built fires to warm themselves, some were smoking and others were eating. One man was playing a mournful tune on the tin whistle, echoing through the glen.
When Cian saw India, he stood up from the fire and walked over to meet her.
“Has everyone arrived?” she asked, dismounting.
He did not reply.
“Mr. O’Donnell?” she asked, searching his eyes.
“Lady Fitzpatrick,” he said, taking his hat off. “We have just received word from Roslow. The British hanged Jamie Kinsella, Addis McGrath, and his wife.”
Chapter 9
Stunned and grief-stricken, the repparees carried on with their duties. Jamie Kinsella and the McGraths were highly respected in the rebel community, and the men were shaken, but somehow it strengthened their resolve. It was difficult for them to articulate their sorrow; some of them withdrew, while others found comfort in hard work, but they always found inspiration from Lady Fitzpatrick. She led them bravely and with a stoicism that sprang from her nature of quiet reserve and fortitude. The rebellion survived, and it was stronger for it.
Outrage over the hangings swept across the counties in Southern Ireland increasing support and enlistments. The uprising expanded now to the political arena. Barry Gallagher brought news one summer afternoon that several members of Parliament had taken notice and were taking up the cause of emancipation. Jamie Kinsella and the McGraths had not died in vain.
After announcing the news to the repparees, India went to the manor house in Kerry to share their progress with Colm. As she came through the front door, the housekeeper introduced herself.
“Lady Fitzpatrick, it is indeed an honor,” said the distinguished, elderly woman. “I am the housekeeper here at the Cahill estate. My name is Maeve O’Banain. If there is any way I can be of service.” With her hands folded primly at her waist, the tall, stately woman bowed her head slightly in deference.
“Thank you, Mrs. O’Banain,” said India, pulling off her gloves. “We appreciate the risk you take housing us here at Cahill. We will try not to be a burden to you.”
The housekeeper looked surprised. She murmured. “Lady Fitzpatrick, you really do not understand. Do you?”
India’s eyebrows shot up. “About?”
The woman opened her mouth to say something then stopped. India continued to look at her. “If there is any problem, please advise me.”
A smile flickered on Mrs. O’Banain’s lips. “You and your husband are living legends. You are no burden. We—I had not anticipated you being so--”
India smiled bitterly and started up the stairs. “Ah yes, you have listened to rumors about the ice queen.”
“Oh no, milady,” Mrs. O’Banain said, taking several steps toward India “It’s just that you have not seemed real until this moment. Not since the time of the high priestesses has there been a woman to lead the Irish people.”
India stopped and stared at the housekeeper, nodded uncertainly and continued up the stairs.
* * *
It was getting late, and Colm was in bed reading, candles flickering on the night stand. He was propped up against several pillows, dressed in a fine silk dressing gown. His wig was on a stand on the dressing table, his bald head bent over a book. He had returned to his normal weight, but India thought he looked much older. His skin had sagged and his eyes had yellowed.
“I applaud your optimism, my dear,” he said to India when she had shared the progress the rebellion had been making politically. “It is truly good news, but I must warn you. I know these men in Parliament. They are political opportunists and motivated by self-interest.”
India turned her back on Colm to hide her frown. It seemed as if he was always discounting recent strides in the insurrection. She walked to the window, put her hand on the casement, and said, “If you are so perceptive, why didn’t you see the self-interest in Ryan Oliver before he shot you?”
Immediately, India wanted to take back her words. She winced, ready to be reprimanded.
There was a pause, and Colm said, “Don’t you ever address me in such a manner.”
India struggled to hold her tongue. She was the leader of a great rebellion and treated with the utmost respect everywhere but here in this room. Here with Colm, she was nothing more than a lackey.
There was a tense silence, and then he said, “I am willing to overlook your insubordination this time India, but I suggest you mind your tongue in the future.” He held out his hand and demanded, “Now, come here.”
Reluctantly India walked to him, taking his hand. He guided her to sit down on the edge of the bed. She did sit, but refused to look into his eyes.
“My dear, you are on edge. All of this has been too much for you. I can imagine how overwhelming these responsibilities are for a young woman. So, after much deliberation, I have decided that it is time to relieve you of you
r duties.”
India looked up at him, her eyes flashing a brilliant green, her face flushed.
“The strain is showing on you--,” and he paused, as if reluctant to say the words, “and quite frankly it is showing on the men. It has been a struggle for them these past few years without me. But now I am ready to restore order and put the rebellion back on track.”
India was stunned. She had hoped this day would never come, and now it was upon her. She knew her eyes would reveal her feelings, so she looked at the floor.
“You will resume your role as secretary, and since I have limited mobility, you will be my assistant as well.”
“How--how soon will you assume your position?” she murmured, afraid her voice would crack.
“Soon, my dear,” he said reaching up and stroking her cheek. He ran his fingers down her neck then stroked her lightly between her breasts. “I am ready to be a husband again as well. I may have limited mobility, but you can be my assistant in that way too.”
India took a slow deep breath, trying to maintain her composure.
“Tomorrow, you will move your things back into the manor.”
She left Colm’s room, walked down the stairs and outside into the night air. She felt as if she was suffocating. Trying to take a satisfying breath of fresh air, India walked briskly through the gardens and along the river until she reached the moor where she stopped. The wide expanse seemed to calm her and quiet her anxiety. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed, and she sighed.
India had always found peace in the Irish countryside, and her eyes scanned the misty vista which was dimly lit by the stars. She spied a fire in the distance on a hill and another. She remembered that it was Midsummer’s Eve, and the residents of Kerry were upholding the ancient Celtic tradition of bonfires.
Suddenly, she recalled the women around the fire a long time ago. She rubbed her forehead, as if to massage the scene into clarity. Then it returned to her. They had told her she would be a great leader, and that she would be the first woman to lead the Irish people since the time of the Celts. So that is why the housekeeper’s words sounded so familiar.
An owl hooted in the woods, but India did not hear it, she was too deep in thought. It had all come true—how did they know? And then she remembered that strange woman saying, “I have seen it, my child. You will fail on your home soil.”
India chuckled bitterly and shook her head. They had been right about that too.
* * *
India hated the thought of Colm reestablishing himself as a leader of the insurgents. She believed in her mind that it was only right that he return, but in her heart, she railed against it. India told herself that she was acting spoiled and selfish, not wanting to give up power, but deep down she questioned Colm’s motivations.
India organized a meeting that night to discuss replacements for the seats left empty when Jamie Kinsella and Addis McGrath were killed. Dressed in her threadbare riding habit, she rode to town leaving her mount at the cottage of one of the local repparees and passed through town on foot.
There was a fair that day in Kenmare, and the town was filled with music, vendors, and entertainment. Townspeople and country folk alike were shoulder to shoulder in the narrow streets, talking and laughing, consuming spirits, and watching the street entertainers. Booths were set up for craftsman to display their wares, filled with earthenware pottery and richly woven woolen garments. Farmers sold their produce and poultry, soliciting their cheeses and butter as well. Musicians played fiddles, tin whistles, and bagpipes.
India stopped the muffin man as he wound through the streets with a bread board strapped over his shoulders. She smiled with pleasure deciding which muffin to purchase.
Early for the meeting, India strolled along contentedly eating her baked good. She stopped to watch a juggler and his dog balance balls and plates, spinning and tossing them deftly back and forth. After that there was a contortionist. The man stood on a table and bent his body in ways unimaginable, back and forth, over and under. He seemed to have no bones, and India marveled at his amazing abilities.
Halfway through the act, the lithe young man stopped his show and looked directly at India. He smiled, pulled off his cap and swept down into a low bow. The crowd turned and looked at her. There were murmurs and then applause. Taken aback, India looked around. All eyes were on her. They had recognized her. Embarrassed, she smiled slightly and nodded her head once in acknowledgment
Taking her leave immediately, India turned to go and the crowd parted in deference.
As she passed, she heard them saying, “Thank you, Lady Fitzpatrick,” and “God bless you, Lady Fitzpatrick.” Several people even touched her garment.
Usually, so poised and dignified, India was clearly flustered. Although she knew the popularity of the rebellion was widespread, she had no idea that people knew her by sight.
She heard someone say, “It is your flaxen hair and those eyes--”
India turned around. It was the voice of Cian O’Donnell. He was smiling mischievously and said, “For shame. You were indiscreet today. I must get you to a safe place.”
He gave her his cloak and pulled the hood up as he led her down an alley. They weaved in and out of the streets until Cian was satisfied they were not being followed.
At last, they entered the public house where the meeting was being held. The men all stood up when India walked in.
“Thank you, gentleman,” she said, hanging Cian’s cloak on a peg. She swept crumbs off her gown and said, “Please sit down, and let’s begin.”
The first order of business was a discussion on the seats left vacant by McGrath and Kinsella. They had spoken for only a few moments when the tavern door opened, and Colm entered in his chair being pushed by Aengus Kildare.
The room fell quiet. Everyone was stunned. India stared at Colm. She was speechless, and Cian shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Colm wore his white wig, and was dressed in a dark waistcoat and breeches. He gestured for Kildare to wheel him to the head of the table by India. “Let me begin,” announced Colm, “by thanking all of you for keeping the rebellion alive in my absence.”
Still there was silence. India’s heart was pounding, and her face was flushed.
“Special thanks go to my wife. She toiled continuously for the cause and now can rest. She has kept me up to date on everything.”
Colm reached over and took her hand murmuring, “My darling, your job here is done. This is no place for a woman.”
India blinked, not comprehending what he was saying. Then her lips parted, and she looked around, confused. At last she stood up, her chair scraping loudly on the floor and swept from the room.
Colm looked from one to the other, his head held high, and a challenging look on his face. He said, “I understand that tonight we will be appointing new officers. Without my approval, some months ago, Aengus Kildare was relieved of his post as head of intelligence. I am reinstating him tonight.”
Kildare smiled smugly.
“The little weasel,” Cian mumbled.
Colm heard the remark and stated, “And you Mr. O’Donnell will be relieved of yours.”
Cian had raised his tankard to drink but stopped in midair. He put his drink down slowly and stood up. Towering over Colm, he burned a look into the pompous autocrat. He turned to his compatriots and said, “Gentlemen, the rebellion is doomed.”
Slamming the door as he left the room, Cian scanned the busy square for India. She was nowhere to be found so he set out after her. He knew that she had left her horse at the O’Fallon cottage.
He walked briskly down the streets of Kenmare, grumbling and longing to smash Fitzpatrick’s face. Everything they had struggled for would be lost in a matter of days. He would now have to return to his clan in Ulster and share the news. The O’Donnells were one of the most powerful clans in all of Ireland, and without their support, other clans in Ulster would withdraw as well. The rebellion was over.
Cian found India outside of t
own standing on a hill not far from the cottage. She had dismounted and was holding the reins looking over the valley at the sunset. The light cast a golden glow on her hair which was blowing in the breeze. She looked almost angelic to him, but when she turned to look her eyes were as hard and cold as blue ice.
He searched her face a moment then said, “It is over for us.”
India said nothing, turning back to watch the donkey carts in the distance, winding their way home after a day at the fair. It was over. Everything she had hoped for Ireland was over.
After years of trying to think the best of her husband, India finally admitted that personal ambition was Colm’s only motivation. With him in a position of leadership, Irish freedom was doomed. It was only a matter of time before he would be goaded into formal warfare with the British, and the Irish would fail miserably. She knew now that Ireland would not find freedom in her lifetime, and it was a bitter disappointment for her. She turned to her horse, ready to mount.
Suddenly, Cian realized he would never see India again. His heart started to pound, and he panicked pulling her into his arms. “No!” he said urgently. “You and I will not let it be over. We will strike out on our own. They will follow us. I know they will. There is still a chance.”
India’s eyes softened. For a moment she was bewitched into believing it could happen. The desire in Cian confused her, as well as his warm embrace. Maybe we could do it. Together, maybe there still was a chance.
He pressed his lips onto hers, running his hands frantically over her hair. She dropped her reserve and allowed herself one last moment of freedom. Her passion mounted, and she returned his kisses.
Suddenly, she pushed away from him. “No Cian. It cannot happen. It is--” India hesitated then said, “Ireland must find her freedom elsewhere. It will not happen now.”
The Sword of the Banshee Page 9