The Sword of the Banshee

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The Sword of the Banshee Page 23

by Amanda Hughes


  “You obviously recruited this female for her looks not her abilities.”

  “Oh did I? Well then let’s put her to the test,” he said, jerking his head toward the road. “Here she is now.”

  Barbara Molloy waved to Calleigh as she dismounted. Her clothing was homespun and threadbare, but she carried herself with the grace of a queen. Poised and elegant, she thanked Ian for taking her horse and walked over to them. She smiled and said to India, “Hello again, Lady Allen.”

  India did not reply.

  “Miss Molloy, Lady Allen would like to see an example of your marksmanship,” said Quinn.

  India noticed that Barbara held Quinn’s eye for a moment before turning toward her. “Of course,” she replied. “I would enjoy that.”

  Barbara reached up to tie her hair back, showing her full breasts straining against her gown. India wanted to see if Quinn was looking, but she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  “Thank you, but first I have some questions,” India said. “Where are you from?”

  “Not far from here. Highland Meadows, in the Colony of Delaware,” she said with a wide smile. The girl seemed friendly and open.

  Turning to Calleigh, India quizzed, “How did you find her?”

  Calleigh slid down from the wall. “I met her father a few months back when we were conducting raids in the area. He told me that he had a daughter who was an excellent shot, but I never believed him. Josiah is very outgoing, to say the least, and can exaggerate.” He looked at Barbara and they both laughed, sharing the joke.

  India pursed her lips.

  “I was drinking with him one afternoon and I asked Bar—Miss Molloy to demonstrate. I was dumbfounded. Here she had been near me all time, and I didn’t know it.”

  India’s eyes widened. She did not like the way Quinn said, “Near me.”

  Barbara, on the other hand, did like it and a blush ran from her cheeks down onto her neck.

  “Shall we?” Calleigh said, gesturing toward the meadow.

  He picked up a crate of pigeons and carried them to the open field. “Don’t worry,” he said to India. “These are not Phineas’ little friends.”

  Ian Calleigh walked behind them with several Kentucky Long rifles that were primed and ready for the demonstration. Barbara walked some distance away from them, far enough that India believed it would be impossible for her to be accurate. To qualify for service with the sharpshooters, a marksman had to fire at and repeatedly hit a seven-inch target at two hundred and fifty yards.

  Quinn released the first bird. With the confidence of a seasoned marksman, Barbara lifted the rifle, took aim and fired, hitting the bird squarely. Calleigh continued to release bird after bird, increasing the difficulty each time for the girl, until India had seen enough. She nodded, turned and left.

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before Calleigh entered into a liaison with Barbara Molloy. He was completely taken with the beautiful young woman. He loved to gather her long auburn locks into his hands and run his lips along her long neck. The men were taken with her as well. They all fought for her attention, teasing, making jokes and showing off whenever she was near.

  Late that fall, the sharpshooters left camp and traveled through Pennsylvania and New Jersey harassing the Redcoats throughout the winter. Quinn knew the British would never anticipate raids in the heavy snow and cold, and he took advantage of this assumption.

  As expected, Barbara was an excellent addition to the sharpshooter team. They executed raids up and down the seaboard leading the British on a chase all over the Colonies, picking off officers like they were on a turkey shoot. Good fortune was upon them. They lost only one sharpshooter that season.

  Quinn was successful in another arena as well; he had forgotten India Allen at last. He focused all of his attention on Barbara Molloy, putting his infatuation for India behind him. In the end, he was glad that he had found O’Donnell for her. They were the Old World Irish and meant for each other. Barbara and Quinn were of the new order, the up and coming patriots of America.

  When the sharpshooters returned to the Brandywine Valley that spring 1777, there was wide-spread celebration. To get some needed rest, the team agreed to conduct raids locally for a while.

  With surly resentment, India watched Quinn and Barbara at the meetings. No longer was India the vortex the men rotated around, Barbara Molloy had taken over. For the first time in her life, India felt jealousy, and she despised herself for it. The only one who continued his devotion for India was Cian O’Donnell.

  Chapter 28

  In April 1777, a send-off was planned for the sharpshooters. India carefully avoided the festivity by deliberately planning a trip to Philadelphia to meet with her contacts. She couldn’t stomach watching Quinn and Barbara fawn over each other.

  It was a warm spring day, and India decided to ride her mare to the city rather than take her carriage. She withheld this information from Cian because he would comment on her recklessness riding alone.

  She enjoyed the ride up. The sun was strong, and the mud was starting to dry on the roads. The songbirds had returned from the south, and the woods were splashed with trilliums. When she arrived in town, the city was bustling. Her first stop was Singer Rum Brokerage.

  The bell jingled as India stepped inside the dark office. Mrs. Singer looked up and smiled. She was sitting at her tall desk writing in her ledger. The other two clerks nodded a greeting.

  Malachi Singer stood up from his desk at the back of the room. Deliberately he pretended not to recognize her. He said in a voice thick with German accent, “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I have a rather large order, please,” India replied.

  “This way,” he said, gesturing toward his desk.

  India sat down across from him. After taking up a quill and some paper, Mr. Singer scanned the room with his dark eyes and said, “I have news. The British supply orders are increasing. I believe troops are slowly moving into the area. They are ordering large amounts of rum from me because they don’t want to draw attention at the quay.”

  India nodded. “I have been expecting troop movement. Philadelphia is next. What routes are they taking?”

  “I don’t know yet. I will send the information with Hiram.”

  “Thank you for taking my order, Mr. Singer,” India announced, standing up. “Good day to you.”

  India stopped outside the door of the brokerage to pull off her fine leather gloves and take off her smartly plumed riding hat. She was going to Peg’s Run and needed to dress down.

  It was quiet when she arrived. It was the afternoon, and the streets and alleys were deserted. A church bell rang in the distance. Only a few whores were lounging on steps smoking. A laundress rolled a cart down the cobblestone street, echoing loudly between the buildings.

  Lucretia’s tent was empty when she arrived. India realized that it was too early in the day to find diviners telling fortunes, so she stopped at The Red Unicorn instead. The tavern was deserted as well. It smelled of stale beer and smoke when India stepped in and the floor creaked loudly.

  “Good Afternoon Lady Allen,” said Oliver Dupuis.

  Of course, he would know my footsteps, thought India. Dupuis was in his usual spot by the fireplace. Lucretia came down the stairs with dirty linen in a basket. India noticed that the whole side of her face was bruised, and her left eye was swollen shut. She would not look at India as she walked into the back room.

  India opened her mouth to say something then stopped. She looked at Dupuis. He stared straight ahead in his chair his arms outstretched resting on the head of his cane as usual. She knew he was responsible for Lucretia’s bruises. She wanted to follow her into the back room to speak to her privately, but she knew it may put the woman in danger.

  Dupuis called in his nasal voice, “Lucretia, don’t be rude. We have a guest.”

  There was no response. He stood up, taking his cane and tapped his way behind the bar where he opened a chest and began to count coin
s.

  India detested this man, but she had business to conduct. She asked curtly, “Any information?”

  He did not look up. “For a woman of breeding Lady Allen, you certainly lack manners. A greeting would be in order.”

  India would not respond to this creature. She lifted a hankie to her nose. His smell repulsed her. It was a combination of rotting teeth and unwashed clothing.

  “The fucking Lobster backs are positioning for a strike here,” he said, at last in his whiny voice.

  “Do you know any specifics? Are they coming overland or by water?” India asked.

  “By water.”

  “So up the Delaware,” she reflected. “When?”

  He shrugged.

  “Anything else?”

  He shook his head.

  Without saying a word, India left the Red Unicorn.

  That evening, at her lodgings she paid the innkeeper's wife to visit the tent of Lucretia Dupuis for a divination. After the reading, she had the woman give Lucretia the address of Singer Rum Brokerage with instructions to go there if she was ever in trouble.

  * * *

  India did not sleep well that night. Her mind kept remembering Lucretia's face then to the Brandywine Valley, Calleigh and Barbara. The next morning, she was weary and considered returning home immediately, but she knew that she should pay a visit to Camille Ashton. As she wearily climbed the steps of her town house the front door opened, and a man of middle years stepped out. He was dressed in dark modest clothing, appearing to be a farmer or tradesman. The man nodded and slipped past her. India was surprised, believing that Camille only entertained gentlemen and officers.

  The servant announced India, and Camille glided down the stairs, smiling graciously. She was in an indigo colored gown and her hair was dressed high on her head. Even though it was morning, her makeup was heavy. They went into the sitting room, and Camille pulled the doors shut. India handed her a coded script and sat down in one of the wing back chairs by the fireplace.

  “You come in person this time,” said Camille taking the script with a smile. “You must have run into my father-in-law as he was leaving.”

  “Yes, I did,” said India.”

  “I am a widow, you know.” Camille enjoyed conversation when she was the topic of conversation. “Ashton is my stage name. Josiah adores me and came to say good bye today. He is moving further inland. He is a bit bombastic, but a truer patriot never lived.”

  “I see,” India said, trying to act interested but eager to change the subject. “Now, Mrs. Ashton--”

  “As a matter of fact, you may know his name,” Camille said carrying on. “He lives down your way. Josiah Molloy?”

  India’s throat tightened. “Oh yes--yes, I know his daughter.” She sighed, wondering if she could ever get away from the omnipresent Barbara Molloy.

  Camille’s eyebrows shot up. “Daughter? He has no daughter. He only has unmarried sons.”

  “Oh well, then she must be his relation,” India said, dismissing the topic.

  “There are no other Molloys in the area,” said Camille, insisting on clarification. “You are mistaken.”

  “But I just met a Barbara Molloy, and she said her father is Josiah Molloy from Highland Meadows.”

  “Well Josiah is from Highland Meadows but forgive me, Lady Allen I was married to his son. I would know if he had a daughter.” Camille was arranging her hair in the mirror. When India didn’t reply, she turned and looked at her quizzically.

  India’s mouth was dry, and she asked in a raspy voice, “You say he is a patriot?”

  “He declares it more adamantly than anyone I know,” replied Camille, still looking at India.

  “Yes, he would,” murmured India.

  Quinn’s words rang in her ears, “I met her father a few months back when we were conducting raids in the area. He told me that he had a daughter who was an excellent shot.”

  India jumped to her feet and rushed out the door. Camille ran after her, calling, “Are you ill, my dear?”

  Jumping on her horse and riding astride, India tore down Fenchurch Street, onto Ragmore Lane and headed out of town. She knew the sharpshooters were planning an ambush north of Philadelphia, and she had to get there before the raid started. Time was of the utmost importance; Calleigh’s life was at stake. She knew the sharpshooter’s exact location; she and Enoch Powell had scouted it earlier in the week. It was on a ridge overlooking the main road. India cut across a wheat field, and dismounted at the back of the incline. Putting her pistol in her belt, she hiked up her riding habit and started to climb the hill.

  She heard voices in the distance and knew the Redcoats were on the road below. Grabbing weeds and branches to help her climb, India scrambled up the ridge in a frantic race against time. Her heart was hammering in her chest. When she reached the top, she could see figures crouched along the summit, poised for the assault.

  Crouching low and panting, India ran toward the sharpshooters. She spotted Barbara by an oak tree with Quinn not faraway. Suddenly, she heard the signal from Calleigh to fire. As if in slow motion, India saw Barbara take aim with her rifle and instead of pointing her firearm at the British, Barbara swung it around at Quinn.

  At that moment, years of exposure to danger and bloodshed served India well. With the cool head of an assassin, she went down on one knee, pulled the pistol from her belt and put a bullet into Barbara Molloy’s temple.

  * * *

  The ambush ended quickly, and the sharpshooters started to run for cover. Quinn turned to flee with Barbara and froze when he saw her lifeless body. Utterly flabbergasted, he looked at India.

  “I did it, Quinn. She was going to kill you.” She reached out to take his arm, but he jerked it away. “We must go!” India shouted.

  Shots whizzed past his head, but Calleigh was too stunned to move.

  “Look!” she screamed. “Look at the angle of her rifle. She was a Loyalist and here to assassinate you. Molloy didn’t even have a daughter!”

  Mechanically, Calleigh looked down at Barbara’s rifle. At last he comprehended what India was saying. As if waking from a dream, he took India’s arm, and they stumbled down the ridge together.

  The men knew not to ask questions. They waited at camp that night until Calleigh called them all together. They were shocked and embarrassed at how easily they had been duped, including Calleigh. Since the security of the operation had been breached, it was decided that the group would scatter across the valley and meet at a later date to resume the operation.

  India mounted her mare to head for home. She dreaded breaking the news to Phineas that they must leave their home in the Brandywine immediately, but their safety was in jeopardy.

  Even though guards were headed for the property, Calleigh said he would be more comfortable if he escorted India to the house. They rode side by side along the dark lane in silence. India was tired beyond measure. Calleigh was taut as a bowstring.

  “For the first time in my life, I am speechless,” he said, at last.

  India looked at him and smiled, then went back to riding in silence. A light drizzle began to fall.

  “You saved my life today, Lady Allen.”

  Still India did not respond. She lifted her face to the sky to feel the cool mist on her skin.

  “You are fatigued?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am weary,” she admitted. Not since she had lost her babies had India felt that kind of panic and fear. She had tried to deny her emotions all day, but a sick feeling in her stomach reminded her how terrified she had been.

  “I feel like a damned fool,” said Quinn.

  India shook her head. “Don’t. Barbara was a consummate professional. She was beautiful, seductive, and you were taken with her.”

  “No,” said Calleigh, his brow furrowing. “I was a fool about you. I thought Barbara would make me forget you.”

  The breath caught in India’s throat. She pressed her eyes closed then opened them again glad that Quinn could not see her in
the darkness.

  “When I saw you with O’Donnell I--” he stopped.

  India was afraid her voice would quiver, but she responded anyway, “There is nothing between Cian and me. There never has been. Nothing like--” this time India was the one to stop.

  Quinn swallowed hard. “We are almost to the stables.”

  He dismounted and said, “Please get down.”

  When she dismounted, Calleigh stepped up so close to India that their clothing was touching. She could feel his breath on her face. Even though he did not embrace her, his lips were so near that India could feel their heat. For the first time in her life, her icy reserve melted, and she bent her head back to be kissed.

  Quinn searched her face and stepped back, taking her hand instead. He brought it to his lips and murmured, “Lady Allen, I will forever be in your debt.”

  * * *

  All that night, India paced in her room, flooded with feelings she didn’t understand. Something inside of her had changed, and for the first time in her life, she began to recognize emotion. India felt vulnerable and afraid one moment then filled with desire and yearning the next. Quinn Calleigh had a hold on her like no other man before. Her connection had become visceral, and when his life was threatened, India’s life was threatened as well. She longed to have him envelope her in his arms and keep her safe, yet she could not surrender her independence. Feelings of pleasure and pain churned inside her violently, and India wondered if this crucible of emotion was love. If it was, then she wanted no part of it; it tasted sweet one moment then blistered her like hot sugar the next.

  * * *

  After Barbara Molloy had compromised the safety of the sharpshooters, Calleigh had to reorganize the entire operation. He sent most of them out on minor skirmishes while India and Cian gathered information about the occupation of Philadelphia.

  Chadd’s Ferry was the site of their new encampment, not far from Quinn’s property. Calleigh wanted everyone to stay together in a small well protected group for now.

 

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