Eliza sighed. Worry was surely her lot now, and as Anna said, the waiting was terrible, especially after she was accustomed to action in her work in Dublin. At least her own worry did not include a baby, like poor Annie, who still waited for word of her Davey. Eliza’s courses had been regular since Will left.
But there was also a tiny, foolish part of her who wanted Will’s baby….
Impatiently, she kicked back the bedclothes, getting out of bed. She could not lie there another moment, thinking of war and of babies who would never be. It did no good. She should look in on her mother.
As she reached for her dressing gown, a sound even worse than the silence tore through the house. A pounding at the front door, like the one at her house in Dublin when the soldiers came. Loud enough to be a battering ram.
Eliza’s stomach lurched, and she pressed her hand hard against it. Was it rebels or troops? Either way, it was trouble. Killinan could be burned, her mother and sisters killed…
“Oh, get ahold of yourself!” she said sternly. Panicking would help nothing.
She tied the sash of her gown, hurrying out onto the landing. Anna and Caroline were already there, their arms tight around each other. Caro buried her face in Anna’s shoulder.
“I forgot my spectacles!” she whispered. “I can’t see what’s happening.”
“That’s probably all for the best, Caro,” Anna said, smoothing her hand over Caroline’s rumpled hair. The hammering at the door went on, and Eliza peered over the balustrade to see the wood panels shudder. Those new locks her mother had installed would not long hold.
Her mother’s chamber door opened, and Katherine emerged still dressed in her gray silk dinner gown. A shawl was tossed over her shoulders, and she held a pistol in both hands.
“Mama!” Eliza cried. “Do you even know how to fire that?”
Katherine glanced down at the weapon, an old dueling pistol that had probably belonged to Eliza’s rakish grandfather. “Not really,” she said, shockingly calm. “But how difficult could it be?”
“Very,” Eliza said. She slid the gun from her mother’s hand. “I will see what is happening. You stay here with the girls, Mama, and if necessary, you must run down the back stairs and escape through the garden.”
“No, Eliza!” Anna gasped. “You come with us now.”
Eliza kissed her sisters’ cheeks quickly. “Do as I say for once.”
Katherine wrapped her arms around her daughters, hugging them protectively close. Eliza ran down the stairs, suddenly realizing she had no shoes. The tile was cool under her bare feet, but she hardly noticed.
She dragged back the locks, opening the door. For an instant, she was blinded by the glare of a torch and could see only the silhouette of a tall figure against the night sky.
“What is this?” she demanded, despite the fact that her throat was dry with fear. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the light, but she did not recognize the man who stood there. He seemed very large, broad-shouldered, a monster of the night, with long, wild black hair. His face was half obscured by a dark beard, but his eyes glittered as he watched her. He said nothing.
Eliza drew in a deep breath. He was only one man; surely she could defend her house against one man!
“We have no arms here but this old pistol in my hand,” she said. Weren’t arms what everyone was after these days? “You may have it, if you leave us in peace.”
A deep, agonized moan suddenly sounded at Eliza’s feet, and she looked down in growing, icy horror.
“Will!” she screamed, collapsing to her knees, the gun falling to the ground. With shaking hands, she smoothed the tangled, sweat-soaked blond hair back from his face and saw that it really was Will. Lying on her doorstep, half unconscious. His coat was gone, his white shirt dirty, the shoulder torn away to reveal a bloody bullet wound.
She cradled his head on her lap, staring up aghast at the dark man before her. Distorted by the torchlight, he looked utterly terrifying.
Will’s breath was harsh, his skin hot under her touch. She had never been so scared.
“What is the meaning of this?” she said hoarsely.
“There was a patrol not far from here,” the man said in a light Irish brogue. “They were dead when I found them, except for this one.”
Found them, or killed them himself? And why had they not killed Will, too? The Moretons were not much liked in the neighborhood.
“Why did you bring him here?” she said, running her hand gently over Will’s furrowed brow as he moaned.
“He had this clutched in his hand.” The Irishman held out a pearl-framed miniature. Its surface was cracked, but Eliza saw it was her own portrait, the one painted just before she married Mount Clare, the one she gave Will before they parted, hoping he would remember her. She snatched it away, holding it tightly until the pearls bit into her skin.
The dark man frowned grimly. “You and your mother have a fine reputation in Kildare,” he said. “No one wants to hurt you, nor none of your friends. But Kildare is ‘green’ now. We won’t stand for the likes of him, especially after what happened with Annie and the village. It would be best if he left.”
His stare was almost gentle, yet unyielding. How did he know of Annie and the soldiers? What did that have to do with Will? “Left?” Eliza cried in confusion. “He is half dead!”
“The English are being driven out of these lands once and for all,” he said. “I brought him here out of respect for your family. I can’t say how others will feel. He should leave as quick as he’s able.” With that, he took his torch and melted away into the hot, dusty night.
Eliza was alone in the silence, except for Will’s labored breath as he struggled to hold on to life.
“Eliza,” she heard her mother say behind her. “Have they gone?”
“Yes, they’ve gone.”
“What did—oh!” Katherine, too, fell to her knees on the ground, staring down at Will, aghast. “William Denton? What is this?”
“He was caught in an ambush,” Eliza said numbly, gently smoothing back his hair until he quieted in her arms. “His… rescuer found this on him, so he brought Will here instead of killing him.” She handed her mother the cracked miniature.
“Your portrait?”
“They said they brought him here out of respect but that he should leave the county.”
“Well, obviously we cannot leave now, can we?” Katherine said, tucking the painting into her long sleeve. “And they certainly will have killed him if we don’t get him out of the night air.”
Eliza shook her head frantically. “I don’t want to hurt him more by moving him!”
“I know, my dear. But we can’t stay here. He needs to be seen to, and who knows if the mob will change their minds and come back again,” said Katherine, and in her voice, Eliza could hear the calm echo of the Angel of Kildare. The woman who helped sick tenants all over the county.
“You take his feet, Eliza,” she went on. “I will take his shoulders.”
Her efficiency and her measured tone shook Eliza out of her own numb shock. She handed Will’s head into her mother’s arms and went to grasp his booted feet. They were covered with dust and dried blood, though the shoulder seemed his only wound.
“On my count, then,” Katherine said. “One… two… three.”
Even though Will was tall, with lean, hard muscles, they managed to lift him in their arms, carrying him into the foyer. They laid him on a backless chaise, set under the unblinking stare of a marble Artemis.
She leaned over Will, examining his ashen face and his pale lips. He was quiet now, but his brow was creased, his jaw clenched as if in fierce, feverish nightmares.
Eliza quickly tore away the blood-matted shirt from the wound. She had helped a few Irish fugitives in her cellar who had wounds, but none this bad. And none of them had been Will. Still, she could tell from gently probing that the bullet was still there under the skin. It would have to come out, or it would fester and he would die.
�
��The doctor is gone from the village,” Katherine said. “The Army conscripted him last week to help with their own wounded.”
“There would be no time for him to get here anyway,” Eliza said. “I can do it.”
“Yes. I will help you.”
Eliza looked up into her mother’s eyes to see that Katherine Blacknall was back. Whatever torpor she had suffered under the last few weeks was shaken away, and in her blue eyes there was only clear determination.
“I have done my share of nursing in my life,” Katherine said. “We can save him, my dear. I’m sure of it.”
“So it was Will,” Anna suddenly said. “I was afraid…”
Eliza turned to see her sisters on the lowest step of the staircase, their hands clutched together as they stared at the bloody scene suddenly invading their peaceful home.
“Is he dead?” Caroline asked quietly.
“Yes, it is Will, and no, he is not dead,” Eliza answered. Not yet. And not for a very, very long time, if she had anything to say about it.
“Girls, you must help,” Katherine said firmly, rising to her feet as she rolled up her silk sleeves. “Caro, fetch hot water from the kitchen and a bottle of whiskey. Anna, we need clean sheets, as many as possible, and one of your father’s old nightshirts.”
As the girls dashed off, Katherine turned back to Eliza. “I will fetch my medicine case.”
When they were alone, Eliza took Will’s hand in hers, raising his fingers to her lips. He tasted of the salt of sweat, the tang of blood, but underneath there was still the familiar essence of her Will. That hand had caressed her, brought her delight and joy and life. Now it was cold under her touch.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Please, please, Will, don’t leave me.”
His eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were unfocused, clouded, their usual blue a pained gray. But then he saw her, and they sharpened, his hand flexing in hers.
“Eliza?” he muttered hoarsely.
“Yes, my love, it’s me,” she said, trying to smile reassuringly. “You’re at Killinan now; you’re safe.”
He shook his head. “Another dream.”
“No, I’m not a dream.” She kissed his hand, again and again. “I’m here! I’m sorry, Will, so sorry. I’ll take care of you.”
“No, she hates me now.” Suddenly, his back arched, as if in a great spasm of pain. “ ’Tis Morrigan!”
Morrigan, the black-cloaked death goddess. “I won’t let her find you.”
Yet still he cried out, as if at visions far beyond her. His head tossed on the chaise, and his hand tightened painfully on hers.
“Here, I have laudanum,” Katherine said, kneeling again beside Eliza with her black leather medicine case. Eliza remembered that case well from her childhood—it had always seemed full of magical elixirs to cure anything. Could they now cure Will?
They had to.
“Hold his head,” said Katherine, unstoppering the bottle. Even as she carefully counted the drops into Will’s mouth, she directed Anna and Caroline as they rushed in with their burdens of sheets and water.
“We’ll have to move him to put the sheet under him,” Katherine said. “And clean the wound thoroughly so we can find the bullet. I have pincers and scissors and yarrow to stop the bleeding. Girls, tear up this sheet here for bandages, but in the library, please. You should not see this.”
Will quieted under the laudanum, enough that they could move him and slide the sheet over the stained brocade upholstery. They cut away the rest of his shirt, and Eliza dabbed at the crusted blood with a wet rag. Cleaned up, the wound seemed smaller, the edges not so ragged, so it was slightly less fearsome. At least his breath was more even.
“You will have to find the bullet, Eliza,” Katherine said, taking the pincers from her bag. “Your hands are steadier than mine. But I will be right here to help you.”
Eliza smiled at her wearily. “Thank you, Mama.”
Katherine gazed down at Will. “I took him from you once, my dear,” she said quietly. “I won’t do it again.”
Chapter Twenty
It’s an ambush!”
Will barely had time to spin around at the panicked shout behind him, barely had time to level his firearm before a burning pain seared down his left side. Stunned, he stared down at the charred hole in his coat, at the red blood blossoming on the red wool.
For an instant there was fury, the rush of battle-readiness. Then… nothing. A cold numbness that spread over his whole body, his mind. He collapsed to the ground, lying there on the dirt path between the beautiful silvery ash trees.
All around was a nightmare. A sea of pikemen flooded out from the cover of the trees to engulf his men. Screams of agony filled the hot summer air with curses and pleading. The stench of rich black earth, powder smoke, fear, and blood. So much blood.
He reached painfully toward his shoulder, feeling the stickiness there. It was his own blood he smelled, then. His and that of his men, who fell all around him in terrible carnage.
Beneath the sodden wool, he touched a small, flat object, and something about it dragged him from that cold emptiness. Frantically, he clawed open his coat, pulling out Eliza’s portrait.
Her painted image smiled down at him, so beautiful. Somehow he always thought he would find her again. That once all this horrible conflict ended and Ireland was at peace again, he could find her. That somehow, despite everything that drove them apart, they could find a way to be together. Now that was gone.
“Eliza,” he whispered.
A young captain landed in the blood-soaked dirt next to Will, his glassy eyes staring at nothing. His murderer pulled the pike from his back and turned to Will.
“And what have we here?” the pikeman gasped roughly. “A fancy limey major, from the looks of it.”
Will struggled to reach for his gun or sword, to make one last stand for his life, but that paralyzing numbness spread over his whole body now, an icy blanket. With one last desperate surge of strength, he curled his fist around her portrait, holding Eliza in his mind as the last thing he would see. Eliza, Eliza, I’m so sorry I left you…
That blood-stained pike touched his chest, piercing just below the gunshot. “Here, now, what’s that in his hand?”
“Doesn’t matter,” someone else said, terribly distant. “Just kill him.”
“Will!” Eliza called, her frantic voice drowning out the words of the rebels. “Will, wake up now, please.”
His eyes flew open, his hand instinctively reaching for his pistol. A burning pain shot down his arm at the sudden movement, and he fell back with a groan. He could still smell that blood and dirt, but there was something else, too. The sweetness of rose perfume.
Eliza’s face swam into view above him, her forehead creased in concern. Her eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted, but she smiled as she smoothed back his hair. Her hands were soft and cool.
This was a new part of the nightmare, one he did not understand. “Are you dead, too?” he muttered.
That crease deepened, but so did her smile. Her beautiful smile. “Neither of us is dead, Will. You were having a nightmare; that is all. But you’re awake now finally.”
Slowly, he became aware of other things. He lay not on hard, dry-packed dirt but on a bed, amid clean sheets and feather pillows. Above him was an embroidered green velvet canopy, candlelight casting strange, shifting shadows on the flowery patterns. A window was open, letting in a warm night breeze that mingled with her rose perfume and the sickly sweet scent of medicine.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re at Killinan Castle. You’re safe.”
Safe? None of them were safe, not even in their own homes. He clutched at her hand, feeling her fingers curl around his. So familiar, so sweet. He had feared never to feel that touch again.
His Eliza. How she would hate him when she knew of all he had seen since they parted, all the loathsome things he had done. She would not want to touch him again. But for now he held ti
ghtly to her, as a drowning man held to a lifeline.
“How did I come here?” he said. “The last thing I remember…”
“Was a battle?” she said hoarsely.
“An ambush. I was shot right away, could not even fight back as my men died around me. I thought I was dead, too.” Dead… and holding her in his mind as his last thought. His beautiful, fierce Eliza, who believed so fervently in her idealistic freedom. Her Ireland. What did she think of it now?
“My portrait was found with you,” she said. “You were left on our doorstep. At first, I thought you were dead.”
Will tried to picture the scene. Eliza opening her door to find him bleeding all over Killinan’s pristine marble steps. “I’m sorry, Eliza,” he said, kissing her hand. “I never wanted to bring any danger to you. Not a single moment of fear.”
She laughed wryly. “We have had more than a moment of late. I came home because my mother was scared to be alone in her own home, and yet I have been able to do nothing of use. Just wait and worry, like a bacon-brained ninny.”
“I think saving my life was of use. At least to me.”
“That was mostly Mama’s doing. She is an excellent nurse.”
“I daresay it was not all her doing,” Will said, watching as Eliza eased her hand from his and reached for a basin of water. She soaked a cloth in it, gently bathing his warm brow. The water smelled of lavender, which added sharpness to her sweet roses and slowly washed away the last stinking vestige of blood and dirt from his dreams.
“I take it Lady Killinan has forgiven our youthful romance,” he murmured, closing his eyes to revel in her touch. To convince himself it was real at last.
“That was a long time ago,” she said softly, tracing the cloth over his cheekbones and along his throat. That cool caress seemed to restore life to his nerves, his blood, his heart, wherever she touched. “I am finding that even Mama can change.”
Laurel McKee Page 18