Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry

by Hughes, Amanda

  "We'll take good care of her. Don't fret," assured Mrs. Stafford, the kindly nurse who had taken care of Jean Michel during the last siege.

  Darcy returned to Nathan's quarters and went straight to the cupboard, pouring herself a glass of rum. She was determined that she would not go sleepless tonight. Her nerves were raw, and she sat down, feeling the spirits warm her.

  It reminded her of the first night she had met Father Etienne. They had shared brandy in front of the peat fire on that wild, windy night in so long ago. Little did she know how their lives would intertwine and how his younger brother, living an ocean away, would fill her heart.

  After another drink, Darcy's limbs began to feel heavy, and she rose and went to Nathan's bedroom. Before the expedition with Jean Michel, Nathan would call Darcy to his room when he wanted her company, and she would return to her own quarters to sleep, but now he insisted that she share his bed the entire night.

  His bedroom was much more luxurious than Darcy's quarters. He had a large bed lined with crisp white sheets and topped with a multicolored quilt made by one of the officers' wives. In one corner was a cupboard holding liquor and his private library and next to his bed was an oak commode fitted with shiny brass hardware.

  Wearing only her shift, Darcy slid under the covers. She loved the soft feeling of Nathan's feather mattress, and feeling very tired, she drifted off. She was only vaguely aware of Nathan's presence when he joined her several hours later. He had been making preparations to defend the fort well into the night, and even though there was still work to be done, he knew that he needed sleep to keep his head clear.

  He slid under the duvet next to Darcy, but before he could pull her close, his hand dropped, and he fell asleep. A few hours later, there was a loud bang and light flooded across the bed.

  Someone, standing in the doorway, shouted, "Colonel Lawrence, wake up! They are coming over the walls!"

  Nathan jumped out of bed, pulling on his britches and boots. Still buttoning his shirt, he bolted from the room leaving Darcy alone and stunned.

  She threw the covers back and pulled her gown over her head. The last thing she did before leaving the room was to belt her skirts up so she could be ready to run. She rushed through the dark front room, out the front door. What she saw paralyzed her. The commissary and the barracks were ablaze, casting a hellish light on the carnage which unfolded before her eyes. Everywhere soldiers and civilians were running and shouting. Some lay before her bleeding; others were already dead. Shots were being fired, as well as the thunderous cannons. Screams of agony filled her ears. Men in buckskin and blue uniforms poured over the walls in a steady stream along with hordes of Abenaki Indians, dashing madly across the parade ground.

  Suddenly, Darcy saw men pointing at her. She heard someone shout something in French. She had made a fatal mistake; she had lingered too long in Nathan's doorway, and they had guessed who she was. Bolting across the parade ground, Darcy searched frantically for a hiding place. She was knocked off her feet by two men struggling, but was up again in a heart beat, running for her life.

  Then it came to her. As foolhardy as it might seem, she would hide in the powder magazine. The flames were alarmingly close, and the whole fort could blow at any time, but no one would be foolish enough to pursue her there.

  She ran inside and hid behind several barrels of black powder. Straining her ears she heard no one follow her. She reached for the cross around her neck, but it was gone. Remembering that Jean Michel had it, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She realized that if she were to die now, no one would grieve for her.

  Darcy darted to the door of the magazine to watch for her moment to escape. She scanned the parade ground. In the firelight, not far from the powder magazine she saw a large man dressed in buckskin, struggling with a young girl. Grabbing her shoulders, he bent her over the top of a barrel. Darcy realized, with a jolt, it was Faith Wyndom.

  As the Frenchman began to pull up her skirts and unbutton his pants, Darcy felt a surge of rage. This creature would not steal Faith's peace of mind the way hers had been stolen. Darcy bolted out of the powder magazine back into the mayhem. Searching frantically for a weapon, she dodged soldiers fighting, jumped over corpses and flaming debris. At last she saw an ax standing by the wood pile, and she picked it up bolting back toward Faith and her attacker.

  Darcy stopped abruptly in back of the man. She swung the ax over her shoulder, and with all her might drove the weapon deep into his back. The man straightened up and roared. He staggered, reaching in vain for the ax deep in his back and crumbled to his knees.

  Instantly, Darcy grabbed Faith’s wrist, and without a backward glance, raced across the parade ground. She heard someone shout, "That's her!" and dropping the girl’s wrist, she screamed, "It’s me they want, run!"

  Darcy fled up the ramp to the top of the fort wall, and pulling her skirts up as high as they would go, she swung herself over the sharp timbers of the fortification. The roughly hewn wood tore at her skin and ripped her dress, as she slid down the timbers.

  She landed heavily on the unyielding earth below; every ounce of air knocked from her lungs. She lay on the ground, stunned. After a few moments, Darcy gathered herself and struggled to her feet.

  Suddenly, an Abenaki warrior dashed toward her. She started to run, but he was too fast. He caught her, threw her down and lashed a rawhide thong around her wrists tightly. Terrified and exhausted, Darcy knew that she was too late; she was now a captive to be ransomed as Colonel Lawrence's mistress.

  Chapter 30

  Jean Michel woke up in a cold sweat. Something was horribly wrong. But as he cleared away the cobwebs of sleep, nothing revealed itself to him. He had returned to his home on the Picscataqua River safely, and his injuries had healed well, but for days now he had a nagging feeling that Darcy was in trouble.

  He sat up and touched the cross from her, as it rested on his bare chest. It had stayed safely next to his heart since the day she had given it to him, but he wondered if she may be in need of it now. Impatiently, he threw the covers off and walked to the window.

  Jean Michel was bathed in bright moonlight, as he looked out at the stars. Ever since he had arrived home, Lawrence's words haunted him. "I believe I have enlightened her as to your motives, Lupe'.

  It was indeed common knowledge that he and Elizabeth had an understanding, but he must get to Darcy somehow and reassure her that he had broken his engagement. He could feel in his heart that she had lost faith in him and that her fire for him did not burn as brightly.

  Jean Michel's hair was loose, and it lay in tangles around his face and shoulders. He ran his hands through it impatiently, as he paced the floor of his bedroom. He was growing frantic without her. How he wished that she were by his side to calm his fears and rest her beautiful green eyes on him.

  He looked around his bedroom at the curtained, four-poster bed, the mahogany writing desk and the lush draperies. He knew she would feel out of place here just as he did. At first it would be amusing to pamper and bathe her in luxury, but he knew Darcy too well. Soon she would grow bored and need to strike out, throwing herself into adventure.

  He longed to steal her from Lawrence and take her deep into the interior forever--just the two of them wandering under the stars away from laws and wars and ruthless governments. Etienne had seen something wonderful in that woman long before he even knew she existed, and he came to believe that his older brother had sent Darcy to him as a farewell gift.

  Before she arrived, Jean Michel had given up all hope of finding someone to love. Women of dignity and education didn't venture onto the frontier. Then, like a miracle, there she was standing next to him, shooting a musket on the wall of the fort with that fiery blend of frontier independence and patrician gentility. He could wait no longer. He had to get back to her, and he must leave immediately.

  Suddenly he remembered Elizabeth. He had been home for days recuperating and attending to business, and never once made an effort to call on
her. Of all of the reasons to return home, the most pressing and the most painful was breaking his ties with her. Before he could return to Darcy and give of himself heart and soul, he must complete this final errand.

  It took another day for Jean Michel to put his affairs in order, and he worked at a feverish pace meeting with his tenants and caretakers, answering questions and attending to details. It seemed like an eternity before he could begin the journey back to Fort Lawrence.

  Upkeep of the sprawling timber frame home was not the only responsibility which prevented Jean Michel from leaving immediately. The vast landholdings of the family needed constant attention. From the very beginning these affairs dominated a huge amount of his time, and he accepted surveys not for the money but as an excuse to escape the tedious nature of business and venture into the vast wilderness, which he loved.

  The home had been built by his parents many years ago, when the sawmill had opened, and it was a large multi-gabled structure, which loomed over the Piscatqua River. The dark lap siding had been exposed to the harsh northern elements for years now, but with Jean Michel's meticulous care, it had survived. Several chimneys reached up from the steep roof, and they warmed the many rooms of the home, but the element which revealed the vast wealth of the Lupe's was the large number of windows gracing every gable. Light flooded every room and illuminated the richly decorated interior. Jean Michel's mother had insisted that the furnishings be of the finest quality but never ostentatious.

  Even with all this luxury, Jean Michel did not feel at home. He was happiest when he roamed the vast interior and slept atop a cliff under the stars. Deep in the heart of Etienne had been that same wanderlust, and when he coupled it with his great love for God, the Jesuits became his true calling.

  This wanderlust had been passed down to them by their father who could never be bounded by four walls. It had caused great pain to Jean Michel's mother, and this was one of the reasons Jean Michel would never marry Elizabeth Campbell. She would be just like his mother, living her life all alone in an empty house.

  He finally sent a note requesting permission to call on Elizabeth one warm summer evening, and when he rode up to her home, he saw her standing by the door waiting for him.

  Jean Michel was sincerely happy to see Elizabeth, and he dismounted, kissing her gently on the lips. She was indeed lovely, he thought, tall with a slim body curving gently under the rich blue taffeta dress, smelling of sweet lavender. Her straight blonde hair was pulled up behind her head, and her blue eyes gazed on him serenely. What Jean Michel had always found the most attractive about Elizabeth was her full sensuous mouth. He used to love to kiss her lips, but this time they seemed cold and lifeless.

  Over dinner he was preoccupied with thoughts of Darcy. He found himself comparing the two women. The more he indulged in this pastime, the more restless he became. Sitting at the dining room table with Elizabeth, he felt like a fraud, yet he could not seem to find the right time to tell her the truth.

  He knew Elizabeth was willing to do anything for him. She would never dream of contradicting his wishes, but Jean Michel wanted a woman with her own mind and her own soul. He wanted someone with whom he could write a destiny.

  Elizabeth took a sip of wine and asked, "Why did you take so long before coming to see me, Jean Michel? In the past, you always rushed into my arms the minute you returned home."

  He knew he should tell her of his love for Darcy, but he choked on the words. So he steered the conversation to lighter subjects.

  After supper, they walked arm in arm along the river as twilight fell. For nine years they had walked here in the evening together.

  Jean Michel had always found it peaceful and relaxing, but tonight he was anxious. When he looked down at Elizabeth, she would smile back serenely, every hair in place.

  He could never imagine her racing through the woods with a child on her back or dancing lustily in the torchlight. True, she was capable of bearing him many healthy children, but she was too fragile and vulnerable to live life by his side. She had never left this valley, never tasted life and never suffered a day in her life.

  Suddenly, she put her arms up around his neck, pressing against him. "Why haven't you kissed me yet, Jean Michel? You are acting very mysterious this evening." She kissed him and Jean Michel pushed away gently and said, "I cannot!"

  "Why? What is wrong with you this evening?” she asked. “There should be no secrets between us. We have been lovers for years.

  Shaking his head, Jean Michel sighed and said, “That is precisely the problem. We have never been lovers--rather I have not loved--," and he broke off.

  Elizabeth stood motionless waiting for him to finish. A light breeze off the river blew her hair gently. She bit her lip a moment and then said, "I am no fool, Jean Michel. I know you have never loved me.”

  "Oh, Elizabeth," he said at last, taking her hands, "dear, devoted Elizabeth. I would probably be better off with you, but I love another, and if she still lives, I must spend my life with her."

  Her eyes filled with tears and she said, "I thought," and she stifled a sob, "I thought we had an understanding, Jean Michel?"

  "I can honor it no longer. I am truly sorry, Elizabeth."

  He walked slowly up toward the house and mounted his horse. He looked back at her, as she stood by the river. Jean Michel knew that Elizabeth would always be waiting for him, and he knew in his heart that he would never return.

  * * *

  Jean Michel was scheduled to depart for Fort Lawrence the following morning, and as he was cleaning his musket on the front steps, he noticed a rider approaching. It was John Bartholomew, his caretaker.

  "Hello, John! Come to see me off?" he called.

  John did not smile as he rode up, and before his horse had stopped completely, he dismounted and ran up to Jean Michel.

  "Fort Lawrence has fallen!” he said, panting. “You cannot go up north, Jean Michel. The French and Abenaki are everywhere."

  Jean Michel felt sick. "How many dead? What do you know?

  "I know very little. Colonel Lawrence and some of the others are at Fort Pepperell."

  "Is there a woman with Lawrence?" asked Jean Michel anxiously.

  "No, why?'

  Without answering, Jean Michel jumped onto his horse and tore down the road headed for Fort Pepperell. He sped along the path, splashing along the muddy riverbank, and when he arrived at the fort several officers greeting him.

  "Where's Colonel Lawrence?" he asked, as one of the regulars took his horse.

  "He's in there, in a meeting with his officers, but I wouldn't--"

  Jean Michel swept past them, and threw the door open with a bang. Nathan Lawrence was sitting at a desk, examining some maps with his officers, and in three large strides Jean Michel was upon him, grabbing him by the lapels and lifting him out of his chair.

  "Where is she?"

  Lawrence stared at him with his mouth open, stunned. Instantly, the officers jumped on Jean Michel, tearing him away from the colonel and restraining him. Lawrence barked, "What in God's name is this man doing here? He's under arrest!"

  "My escorts met up with some friends," sneered Jean Michel. "Now tell me where she is!"

  Nathan studied Jean Michel for a moment and said to his men, "Let him go."

  The soldiers dropped his arms and stepped back.

  "I want to be done with you once and for all, Lupe'," growled Lawrence. "The woman's gone. She's been ransomed by the French. They wish an exorbitant price; one which I shall not pay. If you can pay it, she’s yours. She's far too much trouble.

  "Was she harmed?"

  "I wouldn't think so. Not if they were planning on selling her back to me."

  Jean Michel said, "I need to speak with you in private, Lawrence.

  Nathan‘s eyes narrowed, he thought a moment, then he gestured for his men to leave.

  Jean Michel came right to the point, "I must ask a favor of you."

  Nathan looked surprised then laughed disdainfu
lly. "You are hardly in a position to be asking anything of me, Lupe'."

  "I will pay the French their ransom, and after that I shall give Darcy her freedom, but I wish to do this in your name only. I do not want Miss McBride to know that I ransomed her. She must not feel that she owes me anything. I want her to come to me of her own free will."

  Nathan stared in disbelief at Jean Michel then said, "My God, man! You're really in love with her!" and he threw his head back and started to laugh. Lawrence had always assumed that Jean Michel's motives were similar to his own. He had no idea it went beyond lust.

  He shook his head and said good-naturedly, "I can't say that I blame you, Lupe'. She is a fascinating woman.”

  He sat down at his desk and nodded. "You may use my name, but it may be too late. I have already sent my refusal. She could be anywhere now." He scrawled a few words on a note, signed his name and handed it to Jean Michel, "That says you are representing my interests. I wish you luck. You will need it."