Inish Clare

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  As the miles grew between us and Ballynahinch, the tension in the car dissipated and Paul’s foot lightened on the gas. The lush green countryside stole my breath away as we drove past the hills and through the open expanse. Fresh breeze blew across my face from my open window and I breathed the clean, damp air.

  The car slowed further and then swerved to a rest area on the side of the road.

  I turned to Paul with raised eyebrows.

  “The Quiet Man bridge,” he stated.

  “What?” The corner of my lip lifted.

  “Come on.” He opened his door and climbed out, coming around to my side.

  Still shaken from Ballynahinch, I resisted leaving the sanctuary of his car. I looked back down the long stretch of open road, to be sure… well, just to be sure.

  He opened my door and reached for my hand.

  “Come on. It’s beautiful out here.” He pulled and helped my reluctance give in to his coaxing. “We can clear our heads.”

  He walked me over to a low stone wall and we sat, overlooking a river with a majestic mountain backdrop of greens, blues, and purples. Like a painting in a museum, we gazed at the picturesque wooden footbridge in the distance, leading across the river.

  “It’s the bridge from a famous scene in The Quiet Man. Quite a tourist attraction, actually.” He smiled.

  “That’s cool. My grandfather loved that movie.”

  I’d seen parts of The Quiet Man throughout my entire life. Never from start to finish, but definitely the entire thing. My grandfather loved John Wayne and watched the movie any time it was on.

  We stared out across the panoramic view.

  “Well, you never fail to keep me entertained, Maeve O’Malley.” Paul huffed and pulled me closer.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” I pressed my lips to the side.

  He reached for my chin.

  “I’m afraid, Maeve.” He brushed his thumb across my lower lip and pulled it down a little, sending heated butterflies through me. “I need to keep you safe. But I keep walking you straight into trouble. You’re killin’ me.”

  He stared at my mouth.

  “I’ll do anything fer ya. To make this right.” He gazed into my eyes with wide pupils, allowing me into his soul.

  I inched closer to him and reached my hands into his unzipped coat and wrapped my arms around his warm waist, pulling myself into him. I craved to be close to him, like I was starved.

  His hands ran through my hair and around the back of my neck, lifting my face toward his. He brushed his lips across mine and breathed me in.

  “I love you, Maeve. Always have.”

  His words washed over me like warm honey and filled every empty crevice.

  He kissed me as if it were our first kiss. Our last kiss. And every kiss in between. My strong armor melted and in that instant, I trusted him.

  My mind spiraled with thoughts of being close to him. His hands on me, his warm body on mine. Holding me forever. It was everything I wanted and needed.

  “Take me home,” I whispered into his ear.

  Chapter Nine

  Red King

  Time lost all measurement as minutes, hours, and days blurred together. Entwined in each other and wrapped in my fluffy duvet, we emerged for food and water only. The guilty pleasure was a welcome break from the craziness.

  I blinked into the air at the memory of my bliss with Paul. Greedy for more, I sulked about his having to get back to work.

  “Okay, wow.” Michelle’s voice shattered my daydream and scattered the images around the pub. “Are you thinking about him again? That’s just gross.” She pushed on my arm. “Pay attention to meeee,” she whined.

  I turned beet red, wondering if she could see my uncensored thoughts.

  She’d begged me to come out with her and Declan, and my stomach twisted in guilt wishing to be with Paul again instead. But the fact that Michelle was back in the game with me, in any way, was critical. Her support meant the world to me.

  Staying home alone wasn’t really an option anyway. I was in a mindset of “avoid awake dreams and aggressive run-ins at all costs.” So, being in this pub with my friends was a no-brainer.

  “Sorry! I’m so distracted. I need to focus.” I shook my head. “You guys are my normal. You’re like the most important part of my existence right now. Keeping me sane.”

  Michelle’s lips pressed to the side. “Yeah. About that….”

  “What?” My eyebrows shot up as my stomach took a dive.

  “I know you were hoping to talk about your trip to Clare Island and such, and we have your back on that, really….” Michelle swallowed. “But you just need to hear Declan first. Okay? I don’t mean to be a spoiler. But just listen. ’Kay?” Michelle hesitated, then nodded for my agreement.

  “Um. Okay.”

  My knees clasped together as I reached for the ring on my necklace. I had the feeling now that they had dragged me out for more than pints.

  My eyes moved across the bar, watching the barman pull pints amidst the plethora of Irish antigues hanging above and on every wall. I stared at Oley, the life-size statue of a Gaelic-speaking resident of Inishmore who stood at the bar, just as he was about to leave for America to escape the famine. His head hung in heavy sadness that made my throat constrict.

  Declan’s melodic voice pulled my attention back to him.

  “So, my sister. Her dreams are worse now. Like, more vivid and frightening.” Declan leaned in over the drinks as he began to describe his sister’s recent visions.

  I pushed back in my seat. “Wait. I thought her visions were just, like, symbolic. Like the Great Famine and stuff.”

  Michelle leaned in, with her hand on his knee.

  “Yeah, but they’re changin’ now. Izzy’s dreams are gettin’ more violent. She screams through them.” Declan’s face grimaced and his voice cracked.

  The blood drained from my head as my hand covered my mouth.

  “What is she seeing?” I asked through my fingers.

  Declan hesitated. He looked at Michelle.

  “What?” I pressed.

  “We don’t want to freak you out or anything. But you just need to know.” He kept his eyes on Michelle instead of me. “Everything you’ve been seeing. She sees it too.”

  “What do you mean? Declan! Stop trying to sugarcoat this. What does she see?”

  My heart rate accelerated as I thought about Izzy’s visions becoming more violent like mine. It wasn’t fair. She was only eleven.

  I rubbed my temples. Izzy’s dreams were more prophetic than assaults. She saw things that had happened and felt lost in the visions. She was more of an observer than the hunted. So at least that was good. I hoped.

  “Tell me, Declan. What does she see?” I was starved for details. Maybe something would be helpful.

  Declan pursed his lips and stared into his pint.

  His eyes rose to meet mine as he said, “A pirate queen.”

  My eyes widened and I sat back at full attention. “Seriously?”

  His face pinched as he swallowed. “She’s killing everyone.”

  My muscled tightened around my bones as my breath shook.

  “What? How would she even know about the pirate queen?” I asked.

  “That’s the thing,” Declan said. “She doesn’t.”

  I crossed my arms and then reached my knuckles to my mouth in thought.

  Izzy might be seeing the events on Grace’s galley, after Hugh was murdered. Or when Grace went after MacMahon castle and decimated it in revenge.

  But I couldn’t help but wonder if she was seeing future events to come. I had to be open to anything.

  “So, there’s more,” Declan added in a low tone, almost as if he were hoping to go unheard.

  I dropped my hand from my face and waited.

  “When she screams, she shrieks, ‘She’s coming!’ or ‘She’s almost here!’” Declan looked down again, and then at Michelle. Anywhere but at me.

  I swallowed hard.

/>   “Okay. That’s scary, not gonna lie.” I exhaled, thinking of poor little Izzy. “I want your sister to be okay, Declan. I’m going to stop this. I promise.”

  One of my eyelids twitched. I rubbed it while contemplating her visions.

  A storm was coming. And I was at the center of it.

  The musicians at the rear of the pub warmed up their instruments. O’Connor’s was known for the impromptu trad sessions, but once the fiddle started along with the thumping of the bodhran drum, my head began pounding.

  “I think I’m ready to head home,” I whispered, holding my stomach as a grimace covered my face. “Are you guys gonna stay a while?”

  “Yeah.” Michelle eyed their full pints. “For a bit, I think. Do you mind?”

  Her eyebrows inched up and she looked to Declan.

  “No. I’m just gonna go to bed.” My head swirled with thoughts of the pirate queen. Izzy’s visions. Ballynahinch and the unusual three innkeepers.

  “Paul said you shouldn’t be alone….” Michelle’s eyebrows scrunched together as she tried to figure out what to do.

  “It’s fine. I’m just gonna sleep. I’ll see Paul tomorrow.”

  Declan grabbed his phone.

  “I’ll get you a lift. It’s too far to walk. And, well, you know, just not safe.” He messed with his phone app for two seconds. “On their way.”

  The driver arrived in a matter of minutes and left me at my door on Bohermore. The sound of his engine faded into the night air as I fumbled for my key and dropped my phone. Shit. I picked it up and checked the screen.

  Intact. Shocking.

  I needed to text Paul to let him know I was home safe.

  As I wiggled the key through the lock and pressed on the door to open it, a sudden heavy weight smashed me from behind, forcing me through the door with a violent crash.

  With the wind knocked out of me, I fell inside with the force of a large person shoving me from behind. The angry assault kept me off balance as I was hurled through the alley space.

  A blur of dark color and rough motion clouded my sight as I gasped in panic to fill my lungs again. Thrown against the wall, I scrunched my eyes closed as a foul smell curled my hair and sharpened my focus, sending terror through my veins.

  Fergal!

  The shock of him all over me filled my lungs with a heave, just enough to allow for an ear-piercing scream as his grimy hand smacked over my mouth and squeezed with an intensity that shot fear through me, stifling any sound.

  He forced his full weight, pressing me against the wall as the speckled plaster cut into my cheek. His hot breath wet my ear as he slurred slow terror into my mind. Each vile word making me fear for my life to the point of believing it.

  “You’ve fooked with us long enough, ya bitch. It’s my duty to stop ye.”

  He pressed me harder against the gritty wall, keeping a strong hold over my mouth.

  Tears spilled from my eyes and whimpers escaped my throat. The taste of dirty salt and sweat from his palm, seeped through my lips, branding the trauma onto my soul.

  “My apologies for havin’ to do this to ya, miss, but you’ve the power to ruin us. And we can’t have that now, can we?”

  I wiggled and begged with my muffled voice, but his only response was his knee digging into my ribs to hold me still.

  My inner voice pleaded with him

  I would stop. I’d go back to Boston and never come back. Just please let go of me. Leave me alone.

  “Ya thought you’d show up in the final hour, yeah? To foil our plans of claimin’ the land permanently.” He pressed harder. “Well, not so fast, lassie. Sure, you don’t have the formal power, anyway. And I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

  He pushed his shoulders into me, grinding my face deeper on the jagged plaster wall, allowing freedom of his other hand. He dug around in his back pocket. Maybe for a knife. It was my last chance.

  If I could just get my legs free. Or an arm. I’d tear my face open on the rough points of the wall that poked deeply in my cheek, but maybe I could break away. I’d probably be killed anyway… but at least on my terms

  “It’ll be quick, now, O’Malley, I assure ya. Just close your eyes and….”

  Smash!

  My door burst open, having never fully latched after Fergal pushed me in.

  In an instant, Fergal’s foul hand was off my face and he flew against the opposite wall with a crash as his head smacked off it. He crumpled to the ground in a moaning heap.

  Peeling my face off the rough wall, I sucked in the first full breath since the attack, and my senses jumped to a new level of awareness.

  I beaded in on Fergal’s crouched form and moved to him with stealth, only noticing the pacing black boots next to him as an added detail. The familiar black boots kicked Fergal and spat angry words at him. I followed the black boots and kicked at Fergal too. Adrenaline shot through my veins and turned me into a raging bull.

  My fingers clamped onto a clump of his matted hair and held on like a vice grip. The power in my muscles was ten times my strength as I yanked him around like a rag doll, kicking at his scrambling body as he tried to escape my wrath.

  He was going to kill me.

  I kicked at him more.

  He planned to end my life tonight.

  I dragged him down the alley by his hair, snarling at him through clenched teeth.

  The black boots followed and stood with me.

  Their steady stance soothed me, assuring me we were in control once again. They encouraged me to release my grip, and move myself away from Fergal’s squirming heap.

  The black boots took on larger form as their lyrical voice filled the alleyway.

  “Yer blackballed now, Fergal. An outcast!” A boot connected with Fergal’s ribs one more time, causing him to wince. “The clan will punish you for this. Yer the defector. Scum. Always have been.”

  The brogue was almost too thick to decipher.

  One last kick and Fergal was out the door, staggering, crouched over on his right side.

  I crumpled down the wall onto the cold cement and hid my face in my knees.

  The black boots came to me, pacing around my crouched form. Then he stopped and spoke.

  “Maeve.” He knelt down to me.

  Rory’s voice filled me with sweet intoxication. The sound of my savior.

  “Maeve, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His voice cracked in fear.

  My face remained buried in my knees. I was frozen, unable to respond.

  Rory’s voice faded in and out as he ranted, not knowing what to do next.

  “I’ll kill the fooker for putting his hands on you.” He paced again. “Jesus!”

  He kicked the wall, over and over, sending paint and plaster shards flying.

  “Maeve. Come on! Don’t do this to me.” He knelt down to me again and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “Come on. Up,” he pleaded.

  I lifted my gaze to meet his and could only see Fergal’s face and could only taste and smell the rancid stench of Fergal. My stomach heaved and I dropped my face back down into my knees and whimpered.

  Rory’s arms wrapped me in warm safety as he lifted me to my feet.

  “Maeve, I gotcha. Let’s get you inside.”

  He nudged me to start walking. My knees betrayed me and buckled under my weight.

  Rory’s hold surrounded me again as he lifted me in one swift enveloping scoop. Curled in a ball, I buried my face in his chest.

  Jumping two steps at a time, he brought me up to my flat without a single bump and nestled me in the soft chair by my fireplace.

  Unable to look him in the eye, I hid my face in my knees again, but not before noticing his scrunched, pained expression. His face contorted with bared teeth and trembling lips. His eyes were wet and lingered on me as if viewing my dead body.

  The sight of him threw my body into a fit of quaking twitches as my muscles released the tension of the attack.

  “I’ll get a blanket. Hang there.” Rory pr
essed his hand on me to be sure I sat tight as he scanned the room for something to comfort me. He poked into the hall and glanced toward my bedroom.

  “Rory!” The scream flew out of my mouth like fire. “Don’t leave me!”

  Panic surged through me as I clamped the arms of the chair, bracing for a crash.

  He raced back in, eyes wide, and fell to his knees at my chair. He reached for my face.

  “I won’t leave ya. Ever. I promise.”

  He pulled me off the chair and into his arms, cradling me on the floor. My body melted into his as the shuddering quakes dissipated into his warmth.

  “I need to call the gards. I’ll deal with their questions.” His voice was solid with authority. “The clan will be dealin’ with Fergal, I assure ya. But a bit o’ modern day police work can’t hurt either. Pressure from all sides.” He huffed. “I’ll need ta be callin’ McGratt, too,” he mumbled as his lips pressed together into a tight line.

  Rory stroked my hair and ran his fingers along the sides of my face. He played with my hand and drew lines in my palm. My breathing slowed and grew deep as I drifted off in the security of his hold.

  ***

  Light twinkled on my lids as I made the slow decent from floating sleep to heavy wakefulness. My eyes fluttered open and watched a beam of morning sunshine stream through my bedroom window. In less than a millisecond, the memory of Fergal’s stinking hand pressed on my mouth and the weight of his body overpowering me filled my mind with terror and I sat straight up with a gasp.

  My rapid breathing sent me into a panic and I grabbed my sheets and pulled them up around my neck. My eyes darted around my room, certain Fergal would be lurking, waiting to press his knife into my throat.

  In a heap in the corner, black boots stuck out of worn jeans and the black fabric of a big dark coat moved in slow motion. Rory picked his head up off the wall and blinked a few exaggerated blinks.

  “Mornin’.” He smacked his lips like he’d had a good rest.

  I looked around the room again, not remembering how I got there or why Rory was on my floor.