But he had to remain mute and tortured, watching India carry on like an ice queen.
She completed her talk and rolled up the map. “I am afraid I must take my leave immediately. Thank you for your time,” she said, putting her hat on once more. “Good night.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Allen,” said Francis Marion. “I am sure we will confer again in the future.”
India nodded and turned toward the door.
“I will see you out,” Emilee said.
Quinn’s mind was racing as he watched India leave the room. He had to move quickly.
Suddenly, India’s knees buckled, and she caught herself on the back of a chair. She steadied herself as if nothing had happened and walked on, but Quinn understood. He had witnessed the crack in her stone facade.
Seeing his opportunity, he burst forward, taking her arm. “I believe Lady Allen is fatigued. I will help her to her horse, Emilee.”
India did not look at Quinn. She pressed her eyes shut for a moment, put her chin in the air then stepped out into the hall. Quinn followed her out to the front steps, shutting the door behind them.
“Listen to me,” he said, grabbing her arms and jerking her around. “I never married Emilee. This is a cover for me while I am in the South. It has been nothing more than a role to play. I was going to tell you the morning I left the Hennessey plantation, but I was called away too quickly.”
India yanked her arms from his grasp. “No explanation is needed. I was mistaken to have ever made an alliance with you.”
“An alliance! What is wrong with you? You can’t even say the word,” he said grabbing her again. “This is not some damned treaty or coalition. We are in love!”
“Emilee is the one who loves you, not me,” India said. She reached up and dropped the veil over her face, starting down the steps.
“Listen--” Quinn demanded, but the front door opened, and Emilee came out followed by Marion.
“I am afraid both of our guests are about to leave,” said Emilee, looking from Marion over to India mounting her horse.
“Before I go,” said Marion to Calleigh. “There is something I must discuss with you about the sharpshooters.”
Reluctantly, Quinn dragged his eyes from India.
“I am unclear about where they will--” Marion said, his voice trailing off as they all turned back into the house.
India snapped the reins and started down the driveway. John Simon caught up with her and asked, “Back to the inn, Lady Allen?”
“Yes, only to gather my things. We return to Charleston tonight,” she stated flatly.
* * *
India was extremely fatigued from riding all night, but she was grateful for it. It replaced the hard edge of hurt and pain she had experienced the night before. After riding all night and thinking of nothing else, she came to the conclusion that she was glad she found out about Quinn and Emilee. Never again would she have to experience that maelstrom of emotion that intimacy wrought. She could return safe to her familiar world of seclusion and hard steel walls. It was bitterly cold, but it was safe.
The plantation was quiet when India arrived home the next morning. She thanked John as he continued on home to prepare his family for evacuation. When she dismounted, India was stiff and sore but glad she had put many miles between her and Calleigh so quickly. Her hair had tumbled down around her shoulders, and her habit was spattered with mud, but she did not care. She grabbed the reins and began to walk her horse to the stables.
The grounds were ominously quiet. India looked around for signs of life. She knew Prudence and Penelope had departed, but she was surprised, when she stopped by the kitchen, to see that Odette had left as well. The table was wiped clean, and only a few chairs remained. All the hams and cheeses that had been hanging from the ceiling were gone, as well as the pots, the pans, and the dishes. India reached over the grate and found it cold.
When she walked down the kitchen steps, all she could hear was the wind in the trees and the breathing of her mare. She took the reins and went to the stable. That too was deserted, the horses were gone, and the floors were swept clean.
Suddenly, India’s palms began to perspire. She picked up her skirts and ran to pigeon coops. They too were empty. Flying back into the stable, India ran up the stairs into the groom’s quarters. A letter was on the table with her name on it. Tearing it open she read,
Me and the boys signed up today to fight them Lobster backs. Don’t worry about the birds. I left them at the Simons. I know you’ll be proud of me someday.
Phineas
India looked up from the letter, stunned. Without realizing it, she let it slip between her fingers, and it drifted to the floor. Mechanically, she walked out of the stable and up to the house. Her gait was stiff and her arms hung at her sides as if she was sleep walking. She walked into the empty house and down the hall, her boots clattering on the floor. Opening the front door, she walked onto the gallery, stopping at the railing to stare at the lake. Her heart was pounding and desperation flooded her. She was now alone in the American Colonies.
From the moment she had stepped off the ship five years ago, Phineas had been at her side. He had shadowed her every move across the country, traveling with her, helping her, even advising her, and now he was gone. In less than twenty four hours, she had lost the two most important people in her life. She had lost all the family she had ever known. The emptiness seemed unfathomable.
India pressed her eyes shut. Because of the war, Quinn and Phineas were quite possibly lost to her forever. The prospect of a life without them was terrifying. She stood for a long time, staring at the water but seeing nothing. She wondered how she could go on. This battle was beyond her capabilities. It was too painful and personal to ever confront, to ever endure. India began to pace back and forth frantically, overcome with grief, cursing herself for having feelings, wishing for the numbness to return.
Gradually, she slowed her gait and listened to leaves rustling in the trees. The plantation was silent and abandoned. India felt deserted and betrayed. They had left nothing for her but loneliness and longing. The wind rippled her skirts and blew her hair, but she stood frozen and mute, staring straight ahead. Then, as if someone had infused her mind with color, images of the Ballyhoura Mountains came into view. She could see the dark hills at sunset and hear the water splash over rocks as it tumbled out of the mountains. Then Ballydunne came before her eyes, covered in vines, candlelight winking in the windows. Next there was a bonfire with Cian O’Donnell. She could see the weathered faces of the tenants and their rosy cheeked children turned up to her as she spoke to them of freedom.
India’s breathing quickened. “Not since the time of the high priestesses has there been a woman to lead the Irish people.” It was the voice of Bronaugh Bree. “Her eyes are as changeable as the sea, and hers is the sword of the Banshee.”
India pressed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead. I must think. I must try to think of what to do. At last, she opened her eyes and sighed. India knew that her fate was inescapable. She knew that she must continue the fight, even though all hope of happiness had gone for her. She must pursue freedom for her people and never again question her purpose here on earth. She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders knowing that this battle would be her greatest challenge.
Suddenly, something caught her eye on the driveway. It was a brightly colored gypsy wagon. A man with long white hair was holding the reins and seated next to him was a woman in a hooded cloak. Lucretia Dupuis had returned.
Chapter 35
Quinn was too late. He thundered up the driveway to the abandoned plantation, through the grounds, past the empty stables, along the lake and in back of the slave quarters, spewing profanities. Running his hands through his hair, he returned his tricorne hat to his head, jerked his thoroughbred around and tore back down the driveway toward Charleston.
He was cursing not only because he had missed India, but because Major General Lincoln had summone
d him to Charleston, today of all days. He had received word before he left that the General needed to consult with him on a matter of extreme importance and that it could not wait. Marion had kept him from India last night, today it was Lincoln. He had missed her departure by less than an hour.
Before the morning was out, Algernon MacBain had thrown India’s bag into the wagon and snapped the reins, turning the horses toward the mountains of North Carolina. India rode with them on her mare, relieved to be heading for the high country of the Overmountain men. It was unnerving to hear the thunder of cannons in the distance as the British continued their assault on Charleston, and she could not get away fast enough.
India looked furtively at Lucretia. She knew that she was anxious about her unborn baby.
Pregnancy was the first thing India noticed about Lucretia when she had slid clumsily off the wagon to hug her earlier that morning. “It was a complete surprise to us,” Lucretia had said with a sheepish smile.
“We never saw it in the cards,” Algernon added.
India remembered the Hennessey twins assuring them that Algernon was a eunuch, and she said with a chuckle, “Indeed, none of us saw it in the cards.”
They had gathered India’s belongings quickly and readied the horses for the long journey as fast as they could. The threat of British soldiers laying waste to the countryside was imminent. They had to watch the trees closely for snipers and the roads for pillaging parties. She felt tightness in her throat and chest that she had never experienced before.
India looked over at Lucretia again as they rode along the quiet road. In spite of the anxiety, she never looked better. Her skin had a rosy glow and her eyes sparkled. India believed it was because she was in love and for the first time in her life, Lucretia was in healthy surroundings. She was out in the sun and breathing fresh air. She no longer led a nocturnal existence where she lurked in dark tents and smoky taverns with rascals and miscreants. At last, she was safe and fulfilled.
Algernon appeared happy as well. He was proud to have Lucretia on his arm as he drove the multicolored gypsy wagon. He sat up straight in his hooded midnight blue robe and directed the horses with an air of confidence and authority.
The friendship between Lucretia and Algernon had deepened gradually over a period of months. The two were alone together day in and day out, so it was inevitable that they came to trust and rely on one another for security and companionship. It was easy for Lucretia to find Algernon attractive especially after her marriage to the conniving and vicious Oliver Dupuis. Over time, her love grew, and she saw a singular beauty in him, a beauty that other women had missed. Although his looks were unusual, Lucretia found his distinctive features enchanting. He was exceedingly gaunt with pale skin, eyes the color of rubies and a long mane of white hair. Although Algernon’s appearance was flamboyant, his voice was soft and his manner gentle.
Algernon was a diviner like Lucretia and always wore hooded robes which added to his mystique. Together, the pair presented an eccentric appearance well suited to their fortune telling profession.
The roads were lonely and deserted when the three started on their journey to the mountains late that morning. It seemed as if they were the last residents to flee the Ashley river plantations. Those patriots, who could not stay and fight, fled inland or to the north. The Tories remained, but their numbers were few, a fact which surprised and eventually undid British General Clinton.
With her departure, India turned her back on all of her memories of the Brandywine Valley and Charleston. She now set her sights on the Carolina High Country. Algernon told her it would take them almost three days to get to Charlotte Town and then several more to reach the village of Munroville, deep in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains. He assured her that in Munroville, she would find men of influence who could help her build support for the Revolution. So far, the Overmountain men had been more concerned with Cherokee conflicts than a war with the British.
India took a deep breath. It would be a challenge, but she would find a way to garner their support. They were losing the war. The Overmountain people were their last hope in the struggle for freedom.
India had on a blue skirt with a faded bodice over one of her old frayed shifts. She knew she must be practical and comfortable on this long journey. They rode all day to the northwest until the thunder of cannon faded. Lucretia leaned against Algernon in the afternoon as he held the reins. She was exhausted and dozed in the springtime sun. India noticed that she slept a great deal, and knew that it was because she was with child. She thought of her own babies, and her throat tightened. She remembered the joy at their birth followed by the wild despair at their loss. That same wild despair threatened her now when she thought of Phineas facing battle and possibly death. She wondered where he was and if he had seen conflict.
India swallowed hard and raised her chin. She knew that must forget these things and deaden the emotion. It must drain from her body like lifeblood and leave her empty and hollow once more. She must forget all connections with others because it only brings pain and sorrow. She must forget Quinn Calleigh and Phineas and never allow herself to rely on others for happiness. She was a freedom fighter and must never be anything else.
By evening, the terrain of South Carolina was beginning to change. They left the lush landscape of the Low Country and started a gradual climb. The air seemed clear and less humid here. There were pine trees, maples and oaks, and it smelled of fresh mint. They camped not far from a village where they bought supplies. The people looked at them suspiciously as they rode through town, and India realized that they were probably an unusual sight. Algernon and Lucretia did not seem bothered by it though. They even offered to read tea leaves at the tavern, but the innkeeper pursed his lips and shook his head.
Lucretia and Algernon pitched their large tent by a stream outside of town. It was an exotic looking enclosure decorated with Celtic symbols and animal skins. They built a large fire nearby and cooked supper while India took care of the horses. Algernon’s cooking skills were excellent. He roasted a savory duck that evening serving it with sweet potatoes and hush puppies.
India left to go to sleep in the gypsy wagon. Carrying her lantern, she pulled open the back doors and climbed inside. Her eyes widened in amazement. Holding up the light, she could see painted cupboards and drawers lining the walls, all of it decorated with landscape scenery. There were pictures of sheep grazing in fields, cottages nestled in the mountains, waterfalls and alpine lakes. Even the ceiling was decorated with geese in flight. At the far end of the wagon was a large enclosure, which looked like a cupboard too, but it held a bed. It was bordered with a railing so the sleeper would not fall out if the wagon was moving. The room had the subtle fragrance of spices, candle wax, and essential oils.
India put down the lantern and began to loosen her bodice as she looked around. She liked the atmosphere. Although the wagon was exotic, it felt warm and safe. She pulled back the covers on the indigo-colored coverlet, put out the lantern, and climbed into bed. The light from the fire outside flickered through the window. Traveling on such little sleep for the past two nights wearied India, and in moments she was pulled into a deep slumber, an escape that she needed badly.
The routine was the same for many days. They would be up when the sun rose and travel until it set. The landscape was breathtaking, but vastly different from the Carolina Low Country. The pine trees formed huge umbrellas overhead and mountain streams tumbled down from the higher elevations, splashing ice cold water over rocks and fallen debris. India could hear wolves at night and occasionally they would see a bear lumbering through the woods. When they came to an overlook, she marveled at how similar these mountains were to the Ballyhouras. Dark and moody like sleeping giants, they were often covered in mist, adding to their mystery.
Not only was the landscape different from the Low Country, but the residents were different as well. They were strong, outspoken, independent people, used to the hard scrabble existence of backwood
s living. They were also very insular and suspicious of strangers. Their dwellings were modest cabins sometimes many miles apart, each homestead self-sufficient. There were few villages or communities of any size in the Carolina Mountains, and India realized that they were indeed on the fringes of the frontier. She would look to the west and shudder, imagining all the souls that had lost their way out there, never to return again.
Most of the mountain inhabitants were of Scot-Irish descent. Disillusioned with the Ulster plantation system, many Irish Protestants left Ireland for America in the earlier part of the century, searching for a better life for their families. When they arrived in the Southern Colonies, they found the coastal regions to be expensive and already inhabited, so they moved inland. Life on the frontier was challenging and dangerous, and they clashed with the Cherokee, but the Overmountain men and women were a tenacious folk and they remained, forging lives for themselves.
“Greetings! What news do you have from the Low Country?” called a farmer one evening from his field as they traveled down the road. India, Lucretia, and Algernon looked up, startled, so few residents greeted them heartily. The man dropped his spade and took long strides across the cornfield toward the gypsy wagon. He was a handsome middle aged man with long red hair tied back in a queue and a tanned, weathered face.
“Logan Campbell’s my name,” he said, holding out his hand. India could detect the hint of a Scottish brogue in his voice.
Algernon jumped down from the wagon and shook his hand. “How do you do?”
“What is this?” Campbell asked, stepping back, surveying the wagon.
“We are diviners,” explained Algernon. “Fortune tellers,” he added.
“Oh,” exclaimed Campbell. “You’re gypsies!”
“Well not exactly--” started Algernon.
“You come up from the coast?” the man interrupted.
The Sword of the Banshee Page 32