Without a word Kieran Devers put his shoulder to the door, and after a minute or more, it sprang open. He and the duke hurried into the room. There they found Sir Shane Devers, bound hand and foot, a gag tied about his mouth, upon his bed. Swiftly they loosed the gag and his bonds, and helped him to sit up. There was a nasty bruise upon his temple, and a small crusting of blood at the back of his head.
"Da!" Kieran embraced his parent.
"He killed Molly!" Sir Shane said "He told me himself, the young devil. And my lasses too, God curse him!"
"We know," Kieran replied grimly. "Biddy hid herself, and afterward came to Erne Rock to tell us, Da."
"He tried to kill me too," Sir Shane declared, "and he might have done so had you not come to seek me out, my lord. I thank you."
"What are you saying?" Jane Devers quavered. "How can you accuse our boy of such a terrible act as patricide?"
"Your son, madame," Sir Shane said coldly, "coldly murdered the woman I love, along with our two daughters, his half-sisters. He attacked me, and then when he found I had not died so he might blame my death upon the hapless Catholics of Lisnaskea, he brought me home, trussed up like a Christmas goose, and told me quite plainly he intended killing me so he might have his inheritance sooner than later. He is a viper, your son, and I will drive him from my home as soon as I can."
"You have been injured, dearest," Jane Devers said, reaching out to touch the bruise on her husband's temple. "You have surely misunderstood our William. He would never harm you, Shane."
He pulled away from her hand. "Madame, I am not so injured that I could not understand your son when he boasted of how he had shot Molly Fitzgerald and our two daughters. Maeve was seventeen, and our wee Aine just fourteen, madame. They were to go with Kieran and his wife to England, and then the New World next year. We knew they had no future in Ulster. What harm did any of them ever do to William that he would murder them with such icy disdain? Innocent lasses, madame! I rue the day I ever wed you, and brought you into my house, Jane! I regret the son I fathered on your passionless body. He is a monster!"
"He is not!" she defended her son. "If he killed that woman he did it to protect my honor. That you would take a mistress was bad enough, but a Catholic mistress? And those two brats you fathered on her brought me nothing but shame, flaunting themselves about the village. I was pitied for your follies, and had it not been for the kindness of the Reverend Mr. Dundas, I should have been a laughingstock in Lisnaskea. Now poor James is dead along with his wife and children thanks to your bloody murdering Papists!"
"It was Dundas who encouraged the mayhem last night, and at your bidding using your son as a cat's paw, I have not a doubt," Kieran Devers said. "Willy is not that clever, madame, but he is certainly vicious enough given the proper encouragement. I imagine both you and his wife fostered his baser nature. What in the name of God did you hope to gain by your mischief?'H
"I will have no Catholics in the vicinity tainting my children," William Devers said, suddenly entering the room. "My wife is with child, and it was past time these Papists were driven from our lands." His cold blue gaze swept them all. "Ah, Da, I see you are up now."
"You're no son of mine," Shane Devers replied angrily. "I want you gone from this house today!"
"What?" William mocked. "You would send me from my birthplace? And what of my little wife, ripening with your first grandchild, Da?"
"Take her with you, and this bitch who bore you as well," Shane Devers said furiously, his color now high with his choler. "I'll not have the man who shot my Molly and our girls in this house even one more night!" Shane Devers then hit his son a mighty blow that staggered him, and sent him to the floor.
Surprised, William struggled to his feet, aided by his mother. "I only shot your whore and her eldest brat," he said cruelly. "The other one, the littlest, I had on her back. How she struggled and screamed when I savaged her maidenhead. I meant to give her to my men to enjoy as well, but then came the word the church was afire with poor old Dundas in it. I cut her throat. I wonder if she was as lusty a fuck as her mother, your whore?" He smiled at his father.
Shane Devers stared hard at his younger son. "You raped your half-sister?" he said, horrified. "Aine was but a child."
"She had nice little tits," William replied. "Besides, I count her no kin of mine, Da. Surely your whore could not be certain which of her lovers fathered her children." He smiled again.
Shane Devers heard the mighty thundering of his heart in his ears. His temples throbbed fiercely. The world was red before his eyes, and then he felt a violent sharp pain slam inside of his head. With a cry he fell to the floor. He knew he was dying. His eyes desperately sought his eldest son. His breath was coming in shallow, short pants. He struggled to speak a final time. "Forgive me, Kieran," he rasped, and then he died with his last heroic effort.
There was a long silence, and then William Devers said, "Well, that is that, is it not? Get out of my house, Kieran, and do not come back ever again. Be warned. I have taken care of the Catholics in Lisnaskea. I shall come to Maguire's Ford next."
James Leslie caught the young man by his shirt front. "Ye be warned, William Devers, put one foot, ye or yer minions, on land belonging to my wife, and ye'll be driven off wi nae mercy. I canna prevent ye from causing trouble here, but ye'll cause nae difficulties in Maguire's Ford. Trust me, laddie, ye dinna want Jemmie Leslie for yer enemy. I hae only just hae word from my cousin, King Charles, that he hae approved the transfer of the properties belonging to my wife to my two sons, Adam and Duncan Leslie. Yer a fool if ye think ye can rob my lads of their lands. I'd happily use that as an excuse to kill ye for what ye did to Mistress Fitzgerald, her lasses, and yer own da. Yer responsible for the death of Shane Devers, Sir William. Try to place the blame on anyone else, and I'll see the world knows the truth. For yer brother's sake, for the sake of the Deverses' good name, I'll say nought for now. I will nae hold yer family responsible for the actions of one villain, for the Deverses hae always been an honorable family. Do ye understand me, Sir William?" He loosed his grip on his antagonist's shirt-front, pushing him away with a sound of disgust.
William Devers's cold eyes surveyed the duke, half-afraid. His glance flicked swiftly to his elder half-brother, but Kieran's face was grief-stricken with their father's death. He knelt by the body, tears streaming down his handsome face, his hand tenderly protective on his father's head. Let him mourn the old man, William thought. He's gone, and good riddance. I am now master of Mallow Court. The knowledge sent a frisson of pleasure down his spine, but then Kieran looked up at him. His gaze was filled with both anger and pity.
"Don't look at me like that!" William almost screamed.
"God help you, Willy," his elder sibling said wearily. "God help you. I'd not have this sin on my conscience for all the world."
"Get out!" Sir William Devers shouted at his half-brother. "Get out, you filthy papist bastard!"
Kieran Devers arose from their father's body and struck his brother a blow upon his elegant chin, knocking him to the floor. His stepmother screeched, and ran to her son.
"I'll have the law on you, Kieran Devers," she threatened.
"Oh, pray do, madame, and I shall tell them the truth of what happened last night in Lisnaskea. There are enough of your Protestants feeling burdened by their guilt who would gladly unload the onus of the horrors committed there on your son. Willy was never particularly popular for his arrogance would always overcome him when dealing with those good souls he considered his menials. The authorities may not believe the Catholics, although I suspect they would believe me, but they will certainly believe their own Protestant fellows. Remember, your precious son raped his fourteen-year-old half-sister before his companions, and then murdered her. 'Tis not a pretty picture, madame, especially as Aine Fitzgerald was known to be a decent lass. Many in the mob have daughters her age. Now, madame, I am going into your village to take the bodies of my half-sisters, and their mother, for burial. Should you, or tha
t mongrel you bore my father attempt to stop me, I shall kill you. Is that quite understood, madame? Willy?" Kieran kicked his younger brother with his booted foot. "Do you understand me, laddie?"
Sir William Devers groaned weakly.
"Good!" Kieran said. Then he bowed to his stepmother. "Madame. I shall be at my father's funeral. If you try to prevent it, you will live to regret it." He turned and left the room, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he descended the staircase.
A sardonic smile touched James Leslie's lips. This was a side of his son-in-law he had hitherto not seen. Kieran Devers was tougher than he had thought which boded to the good, for it would not be an easy life in the New World. Reaching out he aided William Devers to rise. Then he, too, bowed first to the mother, and then the son. "Good day, madame, Sir William," he said, and departed them. He found his son-in-law outside awaiting him. "Do you think they will tell you when the funeral is to be, laddie?" he asked.
"They'll try to keep it from me, but I have allies in the house who will keep me informed," Kieran said stonily.
"I'll ride wi ye into Lisnaskea to fetch the bodies of yer sisters and Mistress Fitzgerald," the duke said.
"I'm grateful for the company, and the help," came the reply.
They came into the village, and were shocked by the ruin they saw. Houses burned to the ground, half-burned, the church totally destroyed. The smell of death was everywhere, and yet the people were already rallying to rebuild. The Catholic families who remained alive had been gathered together in a cattle pen. James Leslie was appalled, and insisted they be set free at once.
"What the hell did ye intend doing wi them?" he demanded angrily.
"Sir William says they're to be killed, my lord," Robert Morgan, the village blacksmith, said.
The duke looked into the pen which contained mostly women, children, and old men. "Open the damned gate, let them gather what belongings they own that may have escaped the carnage, and allow them to leave Lisnaskea unharmed. Are ye such fools that ye truly believe God has smiled on yer murder and violence?"
"But my lord, they are papists. God doesn't care about the papists," the smithy reasoned.
"And who was after telling ye that?" the duke said scornfully. "For God's sake, man, we worship the same God, albeit in different ways."
"Their God is an idol, my lord, and not our true God," came the reply. "Surely you understand that?"
James Leslie closed his eyes briefly. It did no good arguing with fools, he thought wearily. Would this kind of thing ever stop? His eyes snapped back open, cold and determined. "Free those poor souls at once!" he thundered. "I have far more authority than yer damned Sir Willy, and I'll fire what's left of this place if ye do not obey me at once!" Behind him his dozen clansmen glared with equal determination at the smithy, and the small group of men who had gathered about him.
The smithy considered defiance against this Scot, but then to his horror the duke spoke again, and his words were chilling.
"Would ye like to hae yer daughters suffer the same terrible fate as poor wee Aine Fitzgerald, man?"
"Open the pen and let them out," Robert Morgan said. "Let them take what is theirs, and leave Lisnaskea."
"And nae harassment," James Leslie cautioned the villagers. "These are women, and bairns, and the old ones. Ye lived in peace wi them for years until ye were infected by others wi prejudice. Ye shared happy times, and mourned together over yer dead. Ye birthed children, and danced at each other's weddings. Remember those times, and nae what happened last night." Then he turned to his own men, and ordered six of them to remain to oversee the freeing of the Catholic survivors while he, Kieran, and the others went to fetch the bodies of the Fitzgeralds.
They reached the lovely brick house and saw that its front door still hung open. Entering they were surprised to be greeted by Father Cullen Butler. The priest in Lisnaskea, he explained, had been murdered last night along with the Protestant cleric. It had been the death of Father Brendan that had enraged the Catholics to commit their own murders. Until that moment they had been too busy defending themselves but when their priest had been killed, they had erupted with fury.
"Someone had to come and pray over these poor women," Cullen Butler said quietly. "You won't be able to bury them here. The burial ground has been destroyed. And you cannot bury them at Maguire's Ford for their graves would be a terrible reminder of the hate between the Protestants and the Catholics. They will have to lie in some quiet place, unmarked, but safe," the priest said. "I will consecrate the ground myself, and say what needs to be said. Best your men do it, James Leslie, for then no one will ever know where Molly Fitzgerald and her daughters have been laid to rest. When Kieran is gone there will be none left to mourn them."
Kieran Devers looked at the two bodies in the parlor. The priest had untangled the two from their deathly embrace, and laid them out upon the floor. Molly's blue bodice was darkly stained with her blood. Maeve's wound, being in the back of her head, was not visible to her half-brother. "Where is Aine?" he asked the priest.
"Where William Devers left her," came the reply. "Biddy covered her before she left."
Without another word Kieran Devers climbed the staircase of the house, and entered the chamber where Aine Fitzgerald lay dead. Below they could hear of a sudden, the sobs of grief that wracked him. All knew that next to Colleen, Aine had been Kieran's favorite sister. Then they heard his footsteps descending the staircase, and he reentered the room, the young girl wrapped in the coverlet Biddy had thrown over her, cradled in his strong arms. "Willy must pay a price for this," Kieran Devers said quietly.
"God will judge him, and God alone," Cullen Butler said. "You have a wife now, laddie, and a bright future. Do not allow yourself to be trapped here in the past that is Ireland, Kieran Devers. Do not endanger your immortal soul for the sake of a moment's vengeance."
"You can ask me that even while looking upon the body of this innocent lass?" Kieran said brokenly. "He violated her. His own half-sister. She was barely out of her childhood, and as pure as a spring day. And then he murdered her. How can I forgive him any of it?"
"You must for the sake of your own soul," the priest counseled. "Aine, Maeve, and Mistress Fitzgerald are safe now in God's kingdom, for surely the manner of their deaths spared them the trial of Purgatory. Your half-brother has blackened his soul, and will answer for it, I promise you, Kieran Devers. Do not darken your own soul by preempting God's authority over us all. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord."
"Let us bury them," Kieran said, still holding Aine.
"Commandeer a cart," the duke said to one of his men, and when the cart was drawn up outside the house the bodies were carefully laid out in it for transport to their burial site.
"Give me but a moment," Kieran said, going back into the house.
When he had emerged again they went on their way, moving back through Lisnaskea so the duke might ascertain the surviving Catholics had been freed, and were safely gone. They were, and the duke's men joined the funeral train. The Protestants of Lisnaskea lined the village's only street watching them go. Some were stony-faced, and grim, but a few wept. One fresh-faced young lad ran to the cart to look in, and seeing the women he said but one word, "Aine." Then he dashed away.
James Leslie stopped the procession, and looking sternly on the people there said with a sweep of his hand, "This is what your hate, and your intolerance hae brought you. I hope you can live wi it." Then he signaled his men and the cart to move on again. Behind them Molly Fitzgerald's brick house was completely engulfed in flames, for Kieran had set it afire, determined that those who had killed her would not have her house or her possessions.
They traveled until they were halfway to Maguire's Ford, and there, in an ash and oak wood, they dug one large grave, laying the mother and her two daughters side by side. The grave was filled in carefully, and then camouflaged carefully with a blanket of moss and dead leaves. The priest had consecrated the ground before the trio were laid to rest, and
then he had spoken low, in his soft Latin, the words of the burial service. Kieran prayed with him, his handsome face grim. James Leslie wondered how much to heart his son-in-law had taken the priest's words on the matter of revenge. He would keep a hard eye on Kieran for he would not have his daughter widowed and unhappy. Ulster, he decided, was an impossible place. One murder led to another, and another. There seemed to be no room for compromise.
***
It was just past sunset when the duke and his party returned to Erne Rock Castle. Biddy dozed by the fire where Jasmine sat with her daughter.
Fortune jumped to her feet as they entered the hall. "Sir Shane? Is he all right? God's boots, Kieran, you are pale." She hurried to her husband, and put her arms about him.
"We have buried Molly and her girls," he said.
"Your father?"
"Dead. Willy killed him," Kieran responded. Jasmine gasped, shocked.
"He's a devil, that one," Biddy muttered, suddenly awake. "He'll roast in hell for his wickedness, and sooner than later, I'm thinking."
"We found Sir Shane a prisoner in his own home," the duke said to his wife and daughter. "We freed him, but then William came. His father told him he must leave Mallow Court, taking his wife and mother wi him. He was furious for William hae bragged to him about how he hae killed Mistress Fitzgerald and her lasses. William then told his father how young Aine had died, sparing him no vile detail. Sir Shane grew apoplectic, and fell to the floor. He died almost immediately thereafter," James Leslie told them.
Fortune burst into tears, and clung to her husband.
Jasmine's eyes were moist. Her hands went to her belly, and she said, "How terrible. Thank God Fortune did not marry that man. He is obviously mad."
Night had fallen outside the Great Hall's windows. Rory Maguire joined them, and he was obviously concerned. "There are hotheads among some of the Protestants here," he said. "The good Reverend and I have had all we could do to keep the peace this day. I think some of the younger men from Lisnaskea have infiltrated Maguire's Ford with their poison, and are trying to stir up our people against one another."
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