The rain wouldn’t let up at all. It just pounded on her head like a drum, pitpatpitpatpitpat. If it didn’t stop, she might go mad. The mud mired the wagon wheels, so the trip to Stranurler took longer than they had hoped. She only hoped it wouldn’t hold Éamonn back, as well. Surely he wouldn’t be bringing any wagons along? Tonight she would try again to make her escape. She knew of only the one main road to Derry, after all.
Would he be alone? Or would Ruari or Ciaran be with him? Ruari would be a big help if there were a fight. Not that Ciaran and Éamonn couldn’t fight—she’d seen the tussle with Lochlann as everyone else had, that one night. But Ruari had been built for such things and was more than a match for Donald. Donald stood tall enough, though couldn’t compare to the giant Ruari. But he made up for it in cruelty and rage.
The rain might help her slip away. While it would clearly show her trail, they’d have no doubt where she would head anyhow. It might keep the horses and mule from giving the alarm. They would be just as miserable as the humans and not notice sounds in the driving rain. As much as she hated it, she prayed for the strong rain to continue that night.
The campsite was a sopping mess. Mud splattered every surface below the waist. It was like trying to camp in soup.
“Lochlann, let’s pull out some of the stronger trunks, cover them with the tents, and sleep in the wagons tonight, aye?” Donald suggested. Katie didn’t want that.
“No, no, it’s fine. It will just mean the trunks will be covered with mud tomorrow when we put them back in the wagons. We’re already filthy. It won’t do us harm to be filthier, will it?”
“Well, if milady doesn’t object, I’m fine with sleeping in the tents. Lochlann?” Donald’s tone dripped with dry sarcasm when he said ‘milady’. Katie did her best to ignore it. For once she wanted to be conciliatory and accommodating.
“Fine—less work all around, then. I’ll get firewood.”
“You’ll find nothing that will burn in this. We’ll just have bread and dried fish for supper,” Donald said. They set up the tents under a large tree which managed to deflect a good portion of the falling rain. Heavy drops still pounded the tent, but they were larger and fewer.
Exhaustion dragged Katie down. They had stopped late the night before and were up at dawn. She figured they were at rest maybe five hours, and she hadn’t slept most of that. But she had to stay awake. Before she went to her tent, she made sure to pet and speak to the horses and Clarence the mule. The more familiar they were with her, the less they would make noise if she stirred.
“Katie? You must go in the tent. Donald’ll not sleep until you’re in.”
She meekly entered her tent. Having done her best to set it up farther from the boys’ own, citing a particularly deep wallow of mud, she hoped it would be far enough away to mask noises of her stirring.
The next hour went by so slowly, she was sure it would be dawn by the time she heard snoring from across the campsite. She waited. Perhaps just one brother slept, after all. Once she heard the snoring man snort and cough, while another snore went on beside it. Good, both were gone, then.
She carefully wound her woolen cloak about her, put her boots on and grabbed a chunk of bread she had put aside. It might be hours before she found Éamonn. She poked her head out and waited. Still snoring.
With careful steps, she squelched across the clearing and past the wagons. She had only made it so far when Ceanndána whickered. Katie froze, waiting in case it woke anyone.
“Shhh, a chara, all is well,” she whispered with a stroke of the horse’s neck. The mare snuffled but made no more noises.
With more squelching, she found the trail back towards Ballyshannon. She gained more confidence as she got farther away from the animals. Had she done it? She shouldn’t need to keep quiet any longer. She moved faster in the still-pouring rain.
One foot stepped on a stone in the road, and the other slipped in the mud. A moment later, she fell on her backside in a deep mud puddle, completely soaked and bruised. She couldn’t move as fast in this mud as she wished. With a groan, she stood again, tried her best to wash her hands off in the rain and kept moving.
One foot in front of another in the dark. Luckily the moon shone brightly behind the clouds, giving a faint, diffuse glow to the countryside. It limned the leaves with a silver lining as if someone had painted them on the edges with faery light. They moved and rustled as the raindrops splattered. It was almost beautiful. Despite the hard work of moving through the mud without falling, pride surged through her. She was no trade good to be bought and sold. She remained in command of her own fate, for once. Hopefully, Éamonn wouldn’t be too far behind.
What if he had camped to the side of the road, out of sight? She stopped in her tracks. She would never find it in the dark. The rain which had helped her escape would hide the sounds of horses or any sort of trail from the main track, at least at night. She might have already passed by him.
Katie stood, hesitating. If she had passed him, there would be no way of knowing. If she hadn’t, she would do better to be closer. At least, the logic sounded well enough. If she made it all the way back to Ballyshannon, maybe Turlough would shelter her until Éamonn returned.
She heard hoof beats splattering in the mud. Turning around and expecting her hero to rescue her, she saw instead Donald, on Ceanndána. Lochlann, on Righin, followed him.
Panicking, she ran into the brush to the side of the road. Branches and brambles tore at her cloak and tripped her, but she scrambled as best she could through the thick undergrowth. The horses couldn’t follow her, so they’d have to dismount. She pushed on blindly until she came up short at the edge of a large lake.
“Damn!” The shore of the lake would be too easy to follow. She had to stay in the bracken. It would be impossible to track her in the dark, even for the best woodsmen. She might even find a place to hole up and wait for them to pass by. She plunged into the brush again, this time to the left.
Thorns scratched her face, despite her hood. Katie pushed head first, stepping carefully. She had no wish to sink into a bog. Most of Ireland became bog in rain like this.
She heard cursing behind her, so she stopped, listening. It moved off, getting fainter. She tried to be quiet as she moved further away.
She found a fallen tree, mostly hollowed out. Could she get cover from the space, and hide in there? She glanced around. Nothing appeared sufficient this early in the spring to give enough coverage. She moved on.
A large rock had a cave underneath one edge. She tried to squeeze herself into it, but she wasn’t as slim as Deirdre. Katie daubed mud and fallen leaves over her exposed bits, and a smaller fallen tree dragged in front completed the camouflage. She hoped it would be sufficient.
Though the night was chilly and she remained soaked through, she sweated and panted from her flight. She slowed her breath, closed her eyes, and waited.
There were sounds in the darkness. A whinny from one of the horses, cursing from the woods, and a splash. Then shouting and yelling from more than just Donald and Lochlann. Had Éamonn found them after all? She almost emerged from her hiding place but stayed put. She had no idea if Éamonn would win, after all. It was a hope, of course, but no assurance. She heard a female voice. Who in Brid’s name could it be? It couldn’t be Éamonn.
She strained, but now only heard silence.
Katie trembled in her hiding hole, but couldn’t emerge yet. She now shivered so violently whoever walked by must hear her teeth chattering. The soaked cloak offered no comfort now, but she daren’t move.
She heard a strange snuffling sound in the darkness, and she heard people walking around. They were coming close to her. A dog bayed.
Oh, damn it all to hell. Where had they gotten a dog?
In mere moments, the sounds came close to her, and she heard the dog barking at her rock. She tried to spring out of her refuge and run, but Donald grabbed her arm in an iron grip. There were three men and a woman there, with a bloodhound now yipping and barking on
the end of a leash, excited at his discovery. Katie tried to wrench herself away from Donald, but he held her fast.
“Thanks to you. Here, the promised payment.”
Donald handed the woman a small purse of coins. She peered inside and shook it. With a nod, the group faded back into the brush, presumably back to the trail.
“Come on, you stupid bitch. This time, I’m not taking any chances.”
She didn’t know what he meant, but she knew she wouldn’t like it.
Chapter Eight
Éamonn took heart in the fact the rain would slow the wagons far more than it would slow him. They’d met other travelers on the road from time to time, but most had joined the trail recently and hadn’t encountered the wagons. Two horses, two wagons, and a mule. Three travelers. There couldn’t be many groups that matched that description, could there? One of the MacCrimmon wagons had red and blue stripes over the roof. The other might be green and blue.
Most Traveler wagons were brightly painted or at least had been at one time. Some wagons were shabby out of poverty. Others let them fade from a desire to appear poorer than they were. Others took great pride in their wagons, though, and painted them often and with delicate designs of flowers or birds. The MacCrimmons’ wagons were plain, though not in bad nick. Perhaps if they were in poor repair, they would break down on this mad flight to Scotland, and he’d catch them soon.
The plan had been to just follow them until he got word of success from his father, but he couldn’t do that. He wanted to just rescue Katie and hold her until things had settled.
Would she be willing to do that? He had a moment of doubt. Perhaps she wanted to be Lochlann’s wife, after all. Maybe she didn’t want to go caroming across the countryside, hiding in a different place each night like Diarmuid and Gráinne.
Gráinne had been the beautiful daughter of the High King Cormac mac Airt. He had arranged a marriage for her to Fionn. Horrified to discover her groom would be an old man, she fell in love with one of his handsome young warriors, Diarmuid. Using a sleeping potion on the guests in the castle, she encouraged Diarmuid to take her away. He resisted, but she threatened him with a geis, and he complied. They hid all across Ireland as Fionn searched for them in hill and dale, on mountains and beside rivers.
There were many tales associated with the flight and pursuit of the two lovers. After many years and many near misses, Diarmuid’s foster father, Aengus Og, negotiated peace with Fionn. The two lovers settled and had many children.
Would their own tale be thus? Would they be chased all over the land, only to finally find peace after years of desperation and guile? It didn’t matter, he wanted Katie. His cheann derg.
Everything else was irrelevant to his aching desire. It pounded in his head, his heart, and of course, in his groin. He snorted at that. He had never even properly kissed the girl. He’d never had such an insidious longing for a woman before.
He saw a group of people coming toward them on the road.
“Dia duit, good folks. Could you help me? I’m searching for some friends.”
They stared at him with suspicion. He saw an older man, a younger man and a younger woman, presumably a wife or sister. They had a black and white hound with them and wore packs on their back. They had no wagon or livestock and must have missed a few meals in recent months.
“I have food to trade for information if you can help—?”
The woman glanced at the man, and he nodded.
“What do they look like, these friends?”
Éamonn sighed with relief. Some folks wouldn’t even answer. His people could be garrulous or taciturn as they saw fit, but strangers were usually ignored.
“Two wagons, one painted red and blue. Two horses and a mule. Two young men and a young woman with red curly hair.”
They exchanged glances again.
“I saw a group with horses which match your description, but no wagons or mule.”
Éamonn tried to quell his excitement. It might not be them.
“The young woman had red hair? Was she very short?”
“Aye, she was a wee thing. The men were on draft horses, but riding them. One had blond hair. T’ other had brown. Couldn’t tell much more, from the mud.” The man barked out a snort of laughter and smiled.
“How far back were they?”
“About four hours’ walk, I’d say?” she looked at the older man, and he nodded.
“And headed on towards Londonderry?”
“No idea where they were headed. But they didn’t pass this way, so I imagine they’re going north, aye.”
“Ah, thanks to you, kind lady. Here, bread and cheese for your help?” He rummaged in his pack and pulled out a big chunk of cheese wrapped in burlap, and a medium loaf of horsebread.
The woman hesitated, but then grabbed it, and they moved past Éamonn’s horse.
“Well, at least we’ve finally heard of them. Wonder what happened to their wagons?” Ciaran furrowed his brow. “We didn’t see any abandoned on the road, and surely that lot would have mentioned it if they have. They’d likely have pilfered them, and would be groaning under the weight of their plunder.”
“You are a cynical one, aren’t you? Perhaps they had to backtrack? I don’t know. We’ll catch up with them by nightfall, though, if they’re just a couple hours ahead of us. If they still have the wagons, that is.”
Deirdre remained silent. Éamonn still regretted giving in and letting her tag along. He had half a mind to send her back, but she wouldn’t go. She remained as determined to escape her parents as he was to find Katie.
They moved along the road. At least the rain was letting up. The morning had brought heavy mist, and the road practically disappeared in the fog. It slowed them, but it would slow the other group, too.
After about an hour, they heard hoof beats splashing in the mud, a heavy horse or a heavy burden. The mists masked the direction from which the sound came. Had Katie escaped, and even now rushed towards them?
A large form loomed out of the dim light and resolved into his brother.
“Ruari! Ruari, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be back with Fionnuala?”
The big man reined in his horse, who panted heavily from the effort of carrying such a large man for so long. Ruari wasn’t much better himself. He was pale and drawn, sweating despite the cool morning mist. His eyes were sad.
“Ruari, you look awful. Why are you out here when your arm is so bad?”
“Éamonn, if you shut your mouth long enough, maybe Ruari can answer?” Ciaran glared at him. Éamonn ignored him and glanced at his brother.
“Fionnuala… she’s gone, Éamonn.”
“Gone? Gone? But she got better! Ciaran, we’ve got to get back—”
“No, Éamonn. There’s nothing you can do now. It’s done. Da said to tell you.”
He didn’t try to stop the tears, his mind a maelstrom of emotions. Dear, sweet little Fionnuala, just twelve and newly engaged. His tall, thin little sister. Ciaran’s eyes weren’t dry, either, he saw. He sniffed mightily.
“Da? How’s Da doing? And Síle? Etain?”
“He’s tired. I think he’s sick, too, but he said to go tell you. The girls are crying, but they’ll be fine. I’m coming with you now.”
Éamonn shook his head. “If Da is sick, he needs you, Ruari. And you aren’t well. How’s your arm? You never answered.”
Ruari shrugged. “It hurts, but its better, Cormac says. I’ll be fine.”
“Still, it could fester again. Go on back to Da, Ruari. He needs you more than we do, truly.”
His brother hesitated. His thoughts were clear on his face. Finally, he nodded. “All right, but be careful. Donald’s a good fighter.”
“I will, brother. Take care of the family for me. I’ll be back when I can.”
Éamonn’s resolve strengthened. Life was so short and uncertain. Seizing joy suddenly became more important than ever.
* * *
Two more sodden days passed before th
e skies cleared. Londonderry was a wet blur, as Donald hadn’t allowed them to stay in the town itself. He insisted on camping along the road. It was obvious why, and as much as Katie wanted to argue, she gave it up as useless.
His solution to her escape was to tie her hands behind her back as they rode. She had struggled, of course, but he knew how and the knots were tight. She tried to get Lochlann to speak for her. To his credit, he had argued with his brother, but without much hope of winning.
Her wrists chafed, and she jounced in the wagon seat. She couldn’t steady herself with her hands and kept falling over. Finally, Donald tied her to the wagon itself until they stopped for breaks or to camp for the night.
The first night, she had managed to convince him to switch her binding, so her hands were in front.
“I can’t sleep like this! I can’t even feel my arms as it is.”
With a growl and much muttering under his breath, he worked the knots out. It took a long time, as they were tight with use and rain. She waggled her arms once they were free, trying to get feeling back into them. She stretched hugely with her arms straight up and sighed in pain and pleasure at the freedom.
When she put her arms back down, Donald leered at her. The stays had shifted around during her imprisonment. Her breasts had popped out over her stays when had she stretched. The shift still covered them, but the rain made it practically translucent. With an embarrassed blush, she fixed her clothing until she was decent again.
She walked to the edge of the clearing, but Donald grabbed her arm.
She cried out in pain. The muscles were still tender.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“To relieve myself. Unless you prefer to watch?” she snapped, snatching her arm back.
Donald still stood there when she re-emerged from the bushes. What was he on about now? She checked her shift, but things were still in place. She set up her tent. He still hadn’t moved by the time she finished.
Lochlann finished setting up their own tent and came over to see what had happened.
“Lochlann, you need to go in there and consummate the marriage. Once that’s done, she won’t try to escape again.”
Legacy of Luck (Druid's Brooch Series 3) Page 12