by Alex Dylan
Heughan was released by his mother. He fell to his knees as she turned to grab a weapon of some sort but the dark-cloaked figure slit her throat with one move. She dropped the screaming child on top of Heughan as she fell. Heughan grabbed his sister by the arm and dragged her sharply past the hesitant figure. He was out into the room. The reiver had been alone.
Heughan ran out into the battle, dizzy with fear and dread. There were people running everywhere. He recognized his uncle barrelling toward him on a chestnut horse. He offered up his sister as the horse charged by, and she was whisked away.
He darted inside the first open door of an already ransacked hut, cast around for a sword, found one in a dead hand and ran out towards his hut and his mother. Arrows were landing at his feet. There was his best pal La’l Willie with his bow on top of the hut opposite, pumping arrows into the fray and, for some reason, at him.
“Dinna gae in there, Heughan! Get into the trees; get into the trees now!” La’l Willie screamed at him.
“Not without mother,” he shouted back.
“Heughan, dinna gae in there, they’ll kill you.”
Heughan ignored him and rushed into his home. It was burning now. “Mother!” he screamed. “Mother, I’m here. Come out, we can run.”
There was no reply, except the crackling of the flames rising and heating his face, his tears stinging in the heat.
He peered through the fire into the darkness, which bowed and warped into a wave of blackness shimmering behind the tremendous heat. He had lost her. He screamed and vomited up empty fear. He was rooted to the spot. He wanted to die he with her. That would be better. They could live a different life with God and be together. He let himself fall towards the flames.
He was jolted backwards. Someone had him round the neck, his heels dragging in the dirt.
“You eejit!” shouted La’l Willie in his ear. “Run for the trees, Heughan. C’mon. Run! Or we’re gan to die!” He stared at his friend; he knew it was La’l Willie, why was he in here dying with him? He didn’t want him to die. They fell out of the door into some air, both of them coughing, eyes streaming, their clothes smoking.
“Run, mate; let’s run for the trees! We’ll come back and kill all the Armstrongs, dinnae worry. Follow me.”
Heughan ran hard through the huts following Willie, heading for the trees.
He could feel a rush of wind from behind him. There was something coming at speed. He ran. There was shouting but he couldn’t hear it for the blood in his ears, the heat in his breath. He instinctively reached out his arm, heart and heels in time with the beating hooves and was hoisted aboard as they clattered into the trees and away.
Heughan could feel a thumping on his back, solid and repeating; he wasn’t afraid.
Gradually, he opened his eyes, his ears took in sound. He could feel the sway of moving but it wasn’t a horse, it was the sea. McGuire came into focus; the thumping stopped.
“C’mon lad, you need water and you must eat,” Heughan groaned.
“No arguing, son,” said McGuire and he offered a wooden flask of water to Heughan’s lips. The water was sweet; he felt it coursing through him, reviving him. He was suddenly cold and bathed in freezing sweat.
McGuire unwrapped him, pulled him to his feet and pressed him back against the rail, rubbing his arms to ward off the cold. Cooper appeared with warm dry clothes. Heughan could see the shape of a headland approaching as he re-dressed.
“Where are we, Mac?” he asked.
“Carlingford is around the head; you’ll be tucked up warm with Molly wrapped around you in no time.”
Heughan looked out across the sound, it was still blurred.
“You’ve been lost to me again, lad. This bloody crossing takes its toll of us both, and I’m not talking about the sea. You’ll be the death of me someday. You’ll either spear me in your sleep or drown me in the deep. You can’t get her back; she is not there, no matter how hard you look. I know you need her but stop searching for the dead and start living for the living. You can’t grieve forever; it’ll kill you and all around you.”
Heughan felt his legs again, some sense of feeing returning, the numbness easing.
“There is a love out there for you,” McGuire continued. “No one loves you like your mother, that’s just a fact, so stop searching for that. There’s many a different love, just as real and important. It’s hard to find, it’s hard to handle but you’re a strong man. You can kill as many men as you want, but it’ll never be the answer. You can’t murder the pain; you must rid yourself of this guilt.”
In shock, Heughan remembered Melisande’s urging, ‘Accept her loss, accept the pain and it will pass.’ How could she possibly know?
McGuire cupped Heughan’s face in his big hands and looked him in the eyes. “Does she want you bitter and angry, a killer like the murderers who took her from you?”
Heughan was listening but he wasn’t looking. McGuire had told him this before, each time a little more of it registered, but he still wondered if he would be dead before he was easy with it. He felt death would be his answer. Come sweet darkness and consume me, he invoked. Help me find my way home to her. Wash me up on the shoreline, drowned.
Many times he summoned death to him, times he was bathed in Molly’s sweat, times he was listening to Rodrigues’s stories in the dark, the times he despised Ross Middlemore’s corruption, when he stood on the scar above the Eden, face into the wind of his own land, and now, every time he thought of Melisande.
That woman; something about that woman. Could a witch hold the key to his answers? Perhaps.
Carlingford, East Coast of Ireland
McGuire sent Cooper and Greaves ashore in the rowing boat with a slightly revived Heughan. “Make sure he is locked in with the girl; tell her to get him some hot stew and don’t let him out till I come for him,” he had instructed them.
The little harbour was cocooned in a gentle dusk. Smoke was rising from every house of clay and thatch. There was dwindling activity in the dozens of currachs, a lone fisher tidying after a day’s work, abandoning his drying nets to the uninhabited sea-side. There didn’t seem to be any militia in sight, though King John’s Tower stood a quiet sentinel on the outcropping hill. There was no light in the harbour house.
They tied up at the end of the sea wall. Cooper helped Heughan out of the boat. Heughan slipped him some small coins. Cooper looked sideways at him.
“There’s no need to tell Mac,” said Heughan. “I owe you.”
He stood on the quayside, judging his balance on the solid ground before setting off for the inn. He pushed open the heavy wooden door, it was quiet inside. Cooper slipped in with him, leaving Greaves on the door.
Cooper went into the back to find the landlord. After some muttering, they both reappeared into the main room, where Heughan waited. The landlord eyed him carefully. He knew Heughan and he knew he could be trouble to those who crossed him. He offered him a nervous welcome. “I will bring you some warm stew, my lord,” he said. “The girl will be back shortly. She is on an errand in the village. You will be in the big room at the back upstairs, as usual.”
“I’ll show him up there now, old man,” said Cooper. He took the keys from the landlord. Heughan followed.
Cooper checked behind the closet curtains, looked out of the window. Heughan lay on the bed. Cooper nodded the all clear.
“Get back to the boat lad and make sure McGuire gets some sleep,” said Heughan.
“I’ll leave Greaves downstairs. The Cap’n will be over in the morning,” said Cooper as he left.
After a while, there was a soft knock on the door and there was the beautiful, bright-eyed Molly with the stew. Heughan ate it without speaking. He watched her as she undressed. She was more of a feast than the stew, and Heughan pushed it away, took off his boots and pulled her under the sheets. He laid his head on her breasts and let her caress him asleep.
They awoke to the sound of gulls bouncing above the boats, scavenging what they c
ould. From the window Heughan could see McGuire’s cog at anchor just off the harbour. A small boat was sliding out towards it. The Excise men, he figured.
He turned back to Molly. She looked at him, disappointment on her face. “What’s the matter, girl?”
“Two months I haven’t seen you, and you fall asleep on me. I want my pleasure!” she said boldly.
He laughed. “It was a rough crossing,” he said weakly.
He looked back at the boat; they had time. He pulled the sheets back and took in her rough welcoming beauty, red curls, green eyes, full breasts, a small rounded belly and the cream of her strong working thighs.
She threw her head back to let him look. He liked her brazenness, most unusual in an Irish girl. She rolled onto her front so he could take her from behind, as he liked and she loved. He stroked her spine down to her beautiful firm buttocks, brushed the curls from her nape and kissed her on the neck and across her shoulders. He straddled her back and she lifted slightly. He reached round to cup the weight of her heavy breasts in both hands as she sighed with pleasure.
He was in two minds. Melisande was in his thoughts first. Molly sensed his hesitation and looked up at him, smiling. “What ails you, lover?” she said gently.
When he said nothing, she pulled him down onto his back. She knelt up, taking his hard cock in her expert hands to encourage him. He smiled at her. She wiped his creased brow and lifted herself onto him, sliding him inside her. She did all the work and took her pleasure.
Sometime later, there was a rap at the door. It was the landlord’s knock, so Heughan opened the door just a crack.
“The Excise is downstairs with Captain McGuire, m’lord. They ask you to join them.”
Heughan pulled on his trews. He looked at Molly, she knew what to do. She had to get across to MacShane immediately.
There were four men in the main room. They had farmers’ shoulders and faces the colour of beaten earth. They stood in silence behind the seated and resolutely cheerful McGuire, who was eating eggs gratefully. The landlord slipped out of the room as Heughan reached the foot of the stairs.
Heughan weighed up the size of each man, their age and their armaments, which were not obvious. He had only a throwing dagger in his boot and had no jack on. He cursed silently that his swords were on the boat. He noticed McGuire was wearing a jack, uncommon for him, which meant he had at least two daggers on him. They exchanged the briefest of glances.
The largest and most hirsute of the men spoke first, “You’ve come empty handed.”
“Empty handed?” asked Heughan.
“You’ve a cog for twenty horses and not one on board,” he said accusingly.
“You know very well horses are not our only business,” replied Heughan.
“Seems an extravagance to me, all that empty space you are paying for.”
“We don’t measure the value of every cargo by its size, same as a man,” said Heughan, pointedly addressing the Excise man, by far the largest in the room. "Besides, you wouldn’t thank us for English horses. Don’t the Irish breed the best?
“Depends what you are using them for. We certainly have some fine reiving horses for sure.” Heughan remained impassive but McGuire had shifted his weight in anticipation of moving quickly very soon.
“We are collecting, not delivering,” said Heughan.
“Well, you have either landed too early or too late. There’s no stock in the town,” said the Excise man, pleased with himself.
“We’re in no rush. Carlingford Lough is full of warm welcomes,” smiled Heughan.
“Not for visitors intent on smuggling,” growled the big man.
“In that case, we’ll be sure to let you know if we see any!” quipped Heughan.
“I want to see you gone on tonight’s tide,” said the Excise man deliberately.
“We won’t have finished our business, and I’m not paying for all that space empty both ways,” replied Heughan testily.
The Excise man stepped forward, giving himself more room to manoeuvre. The other three straightened. McGuire stood up, not too quickly, he didn’t want to make them jumpy.
“Good eggs, landlord!” he cried into the back. “Now lads, it’s already the middle of this lovely morning, and I’ve not had a pint of your grand Irish ale yet. So how about a drink? We’re paying.” He clapped a huge hand on the shoulder of the Excise man, holding it there long enough for the man to appreciate its power.
Clearly unnerved by McGuire’s strength, the man looked hesitatingly at his colleagues. “We’ve no gripe with you if you give us no trouble and your cargo is inspected and legal.”
“Legal is in the mind of the beholder, we always feel,” said Heughan. “Not a word we like that much.”
“We are the law here, mister, and we decide if it’s legal or not. Lord Ravensdale wants all crown taxes paid. He controls what comes in and goes out of Carlingford, you know that.”
“Perhaps he’s not seen anything like our cargo before. How would he price it? I wonder if any man can decide the tax to pay on love?” said a voice swooping low through the door. It was MacShane, followed by Molly.
“Love, I say to you, Declan, son of Fergus,” said MacShane addressing the large Excise man. “The lad Heughan here, a man I know and trust, has come to take his love away across the sea. We are grieving the loss of such a fine girl,” he said as he ushered Molly into the gathering. “Would you not agree, boys?” he said to the silent men.
Molly smiled and curtsied politely, making sure her generous bosom could be clearly viewed by all. She sidled over to Heughan and took his hand. Heughan was doing his best not to look too surprised.
“I’ll wager there’s no man born can put a tax on love, lads. Marriage, perhaps; and I’ll pay the license myself,” said MacShane loudly.
“You came here in a trader’s cog for this lass?” said Declan, similarly surprised.
“Have you seen her dowry, boys? Why I’ve been gathering it from all five provinces over the last month, waiting for Heughan to arrive. I’ll happily show it to you,” boasted MacShane offering them out the door. “You know my warehouse.”
MacShane was the largest trader in the Carlingford region: a man of influence who owned several ships and the loyalty of a hundred men. MacShane glinted dark and dangerous, brimming with equal parts of smug sinfulness and avuncular concern. That was sufficient to unnerve the Excise men, who exchanged wary looks, not wanting to embarrass him for fear of reprisal.
“That’s right, boys,” piped up McGuire. “I’ve known this lad since he was just a boy up to my waist high. Do you think I’d not bring him across the Irish on my own ship to collect the love of his life?”
Heughan was relieved. It looked like they might not have to fight their way out but he was just as worried about the excuse. He certainly didn’t want to take Molly back to the Borders.
“Let’s have a drink to toast the happy couple, and then you’re welcome to come up to the warehouse to inspect the goods,” MacShane assured the Excise men.
The three looked at the largest and they sat down. The landlord appeared immediately with four pints as if on cue, the sweat popping on his brow. Molly curtsied again and took her leave upstairs. “Don’t be long, my love,” she said pleadingly over her shoulder to Heughan.
Heughan took a pint from the flushed landlord and walked to the window. MacShane was berating McGuire for being over a week late, which became a discussion of the last storm. The Excise men were relaxing in the backwash of their banter. Across the bay, Heughan could see two eight-man long boats rowing out to the back of McGuire’s cog. There looked to be a dozen large wooden barrels stacked in each. He watched them disappear behind the ship. He knew the crew would be hauling them up. McGuire had rowed in behind the Excise men, Greaves taking back the cog’s tender. He’d be back for them at dusk.
MacShane was talking expansively, a tale of his exploits at Kinsale. Heughan kept out of it. He didn’t need to revive any more memories. Nevertheless,
he could hear when MacShane lowered his voice to tell them that Heughan’s mother, ‘now dead, God bless her’, hailed from Wexford, a girl of the Isles, so it came as no surprise to anyone that Heughan himself wanted an Irish girl for a wife. The men all nodded sagely at this bit of sorry intelligence.
The landlord brought out more eggs and wheaten bread for the group. Heughan waved him away. He didn’t fight on a full stomach, and he was still wary how this might go. One of the eight-man rowers was clearing the cog. Keep talking, MacShane, you wily fox, thought Heughan. Once he saw the second longboat clear the cog, Heughan sauntered over to join the table. He leaned on Mac’s shoulders. McGuire didn’t look at him but he knew the signal.
“One more pint, lads,” said McGuire.
“We’ll take a ride up to your warehouse now,” said Declan, son of Fergus. “That’s all of us,” he said looking at Heughan and McGuire.
“Ah, I’ll not join you,” said McGuire. “I need to restock with victuals for the journey back.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Heughan quickly, nodding at Declan.
“Good,” said MacShane, settling the conversation by rising to pay the landlord.
After a suitable amount of time-wasting, MacShane returned. They all filed out into the light and noise of activity in the busy Carlingford harbour. Heughan could see the longboats tied up, both empty. The crew had been absorbed into the bustle of commerce on the harbour side, but he could feel their eyes continuing to watch MacShane, poised, alert and ready. Heughan clambered into the back of the Excise wagon and they set off for MacShane’s theatre of subterfuge against which the Excise men had no chance, would have no answer and would have no recourse.
Sometime later, MacShane and Heughan stood together and watched the Excise wagon bob and weave across the rough track as it went down the hill from the warehouse. They had been successfully bamboozled with the tributes of the five provinces. There were caskets of snowy lace in the Venetian style, gossamer interwoven with intricate thread of gold. There were heavy rolls of beetled linen, woollen plaids and twills, as well as weighty embroidered silk, woven painstakingly on the pegs of wooden looms that clickety-clacked endlessly like the zealot’s rosary beads. On the face of it to any sensible man, it was a dowry far too large for a girl like Molly. Perhaps the Excise men assumed it was because her betrothed was a fierce Border reiver, he could demand such a levy. Perhaps MacShane’s hints as to Heughan’s dubious lineage convinced them that Heughan and McGuire were not to be troubled.