by Chloe Walsh
My back hit the trunk of a tree and I sagged in defeat, cornered and prepared for death. Sinking to the damp ground, I exhaled an exhausted sigh. "Kill me now, Officer Daniel, because I will never give my brother up!"
"I don’t want to do this," Daniel growled, voice laced with pain, as he stalked me like a predator would his prey. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"You've already killed me!" I screamed, tears dripping down my cheeks. "My father was dragged from his bed by your men. They shot him, Daniel. On your orders. Tied him to the post out back and shot him dead while my mother and sisters watched!"
"Not my orders," he growled. "I didn’t want that to happen!"
"Liar!" Broken hearted, I began to pray to myself, for my family, for my people that would never be free.
"I am not going to hurt you," he repeated, marching towards me in the colors I so dearly despised. "You have nothing to fear from me."
"You lied to me," I snapped, heart palpitating as I studied this strange English man. A man like none of the others.
Fear spiraled inside of my body as I watched him take a knee in front of me. His eyes, those bright green eyes, burned holes in my resolve. Yellow hair that shone like the stars.
So different.
So strange.
My gaze flickered between his face and the rifle clasped in his large hands, and a different kind of fear blossomed inside of me.
"You betrayed me!"
"And you betrayed me," he replied in his lyrical tone, so different to my own people.
With wide eyes, I watched him slowly place his rifle on the grass at my feet.
Leaning back on his haunches, he slowly raised his hands in front of his chest, a sign of peace, and whispered, "You lied to me, too, sweet Maggie."
Pain.
It was everywhere.
"You lied about who you are." He swallowed deeply, pain flickering in his eyes. "You lied about the family you come from."
"You killed my father!" I snarled, heart hammering so hard against my ribcage, I felt I would die. "You want to kill my brother."
"Your brother is a traitor to the crown," he countered, tone calm, eyes locked on my face.
"Your crown," I sneered, digging my bare feet into the grass beneath me as I lunged for the rifle at my feet.
I got there first, and in truth, I was sure he let me take it from him.
"Your crown," I repeated, chest heaving. "Not mine." With trembling hands, I pressed my back to the tree and aimed the rifle straight at his heart. "Never mine."
"Are you going to shoot me, Maggie McBride?" he asked in a voice so soft I was thrown off kilter. His green eyes were filled with heat and…reluctant acceptance.
"You won't leave if I don’t," I hissed, trembling from head to toe, "Officer Daniel."
"No," he agreed gently. Kneeling before me, he placed his hands on his thighs. With his back as straight as a poker, he inclined his head towards the heavy rifle in my hands and whispered, "I won't."
Falling onto my own knees, I scrambled closer until the barrel of the rifle pressed into his flesh.
"My father and three of my brothers are gone," I hissed, drowning in my pain. "Ye killed them all. They're all in the ground, Daniel. Because of you. Because of what you represent to us. My people are starving to death. The crops are gone. Everything is gone. Because of your crown."
"Maggie…"
"My mother wept at your officers' feet. She begged them for his life. And do you know what they did to her? They spat in her face. Held her up and forced her to watch, to see what they did to my father, and you want me to give my brother up? My last living brother!"
"You don’t want to kill me, sweet Maggie," he whispered, gazing back at me with a look of warmth and pain.
Time stood still, as I battled with duty and heart.
Unblinking, we both knelt in front of each other, with only a rifle between us.
A rifle that had shed the blood of my people.
A man who had taken the lives of my people.
A man who had stolen my heart.
My body shook, resolve weakened, as I stared back at him. "You're one of them." My chest rose hard and fast, my breath coming in short, quick gasps. "You're my enemy."
"And you're mine," he replied, pressing his chest into the muzzle of the gun. Achingly slowly, he reached up and covered my hands with his large ones. "But I love you like a man loves his wife."
"Your people won't leave," I breathed, feeling my upper hand slip away, as he gently took the gun from my grasp. "They won't stop."
"No." With sad eyes, he tossed the gun to one side and closed the space between us. "They won't."
His hands came around my body, touching me in ways only he had before. With his blood-soaked hands, he tugged my hips, causing me to fall forward – and into his arms. "I won't."
"I hate what you are," I hissed out, hating myself with every ounce of my being, as I tightened my fingers in his traitor jacket. "I hate every one of you!"
"No, sweet Maggie, you don’t hate me," he soothed, dropping his brow to mine.
"I should," I bit back, trembling as he trailed his large, calloused hands up and down the length of my bare arms.
"Perhaps, but you don’t," he whispered, his breath hot and welcome as it warmed my cold cheek.
I knew God would strike me dead for my betrayal, but the words came out all the same, "No." Clinging to my enemy, I dragged his body down on mine. "I don’t."
His lips touched the curve of my neck, and my legs shook violently.
"Be mine, Maggie McBride," he coaxed, as his lips trailed up my neck to my jaw, stopping to hover over my mouth. "Be mine, sweet Maggie."
Unable to breathe, I stared straight into his eyes, as the aching inside of me threatened to burst.
Releasing a gasping breath, I pressed my lips to his, allowing my body to answer the questions my voice and pride would never allow me to.
Tucked away in the hills of the Ó Donovan farm, I knew we wouldn’t be found by his comrades or my people.
Allowing myself one small moment of reprieve from the horror around me, I lay on my back on the damp grass and put up no fight or battle when the Englishman undressed me, revealing flesh and bone that had been seen by no Irish man before him.
"You are beautiful, sweet Maggie," he whispered, kneeling between my legs.
Wide eyed, I stared at the scars littered across his bare chest as he rid his flesh of the horrid uniform I despised. There were more than I could count, and still, it was the most magnificent naked male form I had ever laid eyes on.
He was broad and muscular, with two brown nipples accompanied by a flat stomach filled with deep groves and ridges.
His flesh was beautiful and golden from the sun he'd seen on his travels. A trail of hair beneath his bellybutton leading to his…
"It's okay," he whispered when I reached for him, but quickly thought better of it – the fear of god inside of me as the thoughts I had of this man caused a blossoming deep inside of my womb.
Startled by the painful and unfamiliar need growing inside of me, I covered my naked breasts and scrambled onto my knees.
Confused and frightened, I debated making a run for it, but quickly realized that I only wanted to run to him.
My traitorous heart skipped a beat.
What was I doing?
I would go to hell for this.
I would be disowned.
For being with a man.
For being with a British solider.
Kneeling before me, he cupped my face with his large hands and forced me to look at him. "I'm yours, sweet Maggie," he whispered. "Whatever I have, it's yours."
Taking one of my hands in his, he gently pressed it to his stomach, green eyes never leaving mine.
When he removed his hand from mine, I continued to touch him, feeling the hardness of his stomach beneath my hand, feeling the way his muscles contracted beneath my touch.
"See," he whispered, when I placed both of my hands on his chest, c
urious and fascinated. "We're the same."
I shook my head.
We were not the same.
He was one of them.
And still, I continued to touch him.
I continued to yearn for him.
Conflicted and consumed in my lust, I scooted closer to him, unsure but willing.
"Are you mine, sweet Maggie?" he asked, voice low and gruff, as he placed his hands on my naked hips.
My heart raced erratically in my chest as I searched for the answer.
Was I his?
I wasn’t.
I could never be.
And yet…
My lips crashed against his of their own accord, my heart making a choice that my head would never make.
I allowed myself to get caught up in the feeling of freedom he was offering me.
I allowed myself to pretend that this foreign solider boy could love me forever.
His traitorous hands encompassed my body, making me feel things I knew were wrong.
Feelings a wife felt for her husband.
Feelings that should not be acted upon until a man was your husband.
And yet, I allowed this soldier to put his hands on me.
I enjoyed the feel of his mouth on my body, as he kissed me deeply, as he touched me in ways I would undoubtedly pay penance for.
When he pressed me onto my back once more, I let my legs fall open, and welcomed his body to settle between them.
I could feel him; powerful and terrifying.
He whispered soothing words of comfort and love in my ear as he covered my body with his.
With my hands, I encouraged him to take me to hell with him.
If I was to go, I would go only with him.
Breathing hard and fast, I cried out when his fingers slipped between my legs, touching me in ways no other had before.
His mouth on my breasts, his fingers inside my body, gentle and probing…it was more than I could take.
"I love you, my sweet Maggie," he promised as he pushed himself inside of me, ripping through both my innocence and pride. "I'll love you always."
And to my deepest detriment, I believed him.
I believed the solider.
And just for a moment, I allowed myself to love only him in return.
In secret, of course.
He stretched me, claiming my body as his, and in return, I gladly gave myself over to him, blocking out all thoughts of tomorrow.
Blending my body with an English soldier.
Allowing him to fill me up with his seed.
This was ludicrous. But I couldn’t stop it and I didn’t want to.
He was deep inside of me, thrusting in and out, making me ache with need, soothing the burn with one kiss at a time.
He was big and terrifying, a murdering brute of a man, and still I allowed him to take over my body.
For a brief moment, I threw a prayer up to Saint Anthony to protect my soul.
As my body burned with fire, my soul descended into hell.
I had well and truly sold my soul to the devil and the consequence made me feel wonderful.
His big hands gripping at my flesh, pushing and pulling me in different directions. I went willingly, trusting in this soldier to keep me safe.
For a strange unknown reason, I knew he would.
Maybe he really did love me.
It wouldn’t matter in the end.
We were doomed.
I knew this.
And still, I let him sacrilege my body.
He was ferocious, unstoppable, as he continued to move inside of me, unyielding, and I welcomed him. I encouraged him to keep going.
He was making me feel better than I had ever felt in my life and I never wanted him to stop.
Frightened, I clung to his broad shoulders, as he moved harder, faster, deeper.
Unable to help it, I cried out loudly, begging him with prayers and words to keep doing what he was doing to me. It was unlike anything else.
When he was finished, I noticed the blood smeared down both my thighs and his.
He didn’t look angry about it, though.
Instead, he looked at me in wonder. "You're mine now, sweet Maggie."
"I'll never be yours," I told him sadly. "We're on opposite sides."
Officer Daniel Rose
She was half starved to look at – nothing like the women from back home. No, she had a look of wildness about her.
A feral kind of woman.
She wasn’t clean either, and didn’t wear pretty dresses or bonnets. And she certainly didn’t smell like the girls back home.
None of them did.
Every bone in her body protruded through her pale, freckled skin.
But she was a beauty, sweet Maggie McBride.
Her long black hair, like shining coal, her piercing blue eyes. The freckles on her nose, and those long legs…
"I'll never be yours," she whispered, blue eyes locked on mine. "We're on opposite sides."
Her words caused me to stiffen and I stared hard at the woman beneath me. Even now in the throes of passion, she wouldn’t give herself to me.
All of a sudden, I was stricken down by the unnecessary grief, the overwhelming pain, and the destitute poverty of this country.
Of my sweet, stubborn Maggie McBride and her people.
Why did they continue to do this to themselves?
Why couldn’t they just stop?
Why?
Fucking why?
I didn’t make the rules.
I was a soldier.
This was my duty.
We were at war.
The crown these people so vehemently distrusted and objected to was my purpose.
I was loyal to my country and cause.
A country that was good to me.
A country I loved and put my life on the line for every morning.
These people were fighting a losing battle.
"You can't win this war, Maggie," I told her, tone pained, heart weary. Surely she knew that by now. "You need to get yourself out of here. Get on a boat and leave this fucking island."
"No, Officer Daniel," she replied, tone hardened, as she glared up at my face, body stiffening beneath me. "We can't lose."
"I don’t understand."
"Foreign kings and queens will never rule our land."
"You're mistaken," I growled, losing my patience with this fiery scrap of a girl. Pulling away, I quickly grabbed my clothes and re-dressed. "They're not foreign. They're your monarch. The sooner you people accept that, the sooner we will have peace."
"We are free Irish." Hurrying to throw on her raggedy nightdress, she scrambled to her feet. "We do not bow to foreign invaders."
"You don’t have an army!" I roared, furious that she was prepared to die for a useless cause. "You have farmers and boys! Death is the only thing waiting for your people if you don’t back down!"
"Eight hundred years of oppression, Daniel!" she roared right back at me. "Eight hundred years of raping and pillaging. Eight hundred years of invasions. You'd think your kings and queens would learn by now; you'll never beat us." With venom in her eyes, she spat at my feet. "We will be a free, united Ireland. Nothing your kings, queens, and government can do will stop that. Ireland will be free from British rule."
"Your people will die because of their pride," I warned her. "You'll all die for this fucking cause of yours."
"Then we'll die," she spat back. "But if we do, I can assure you that we'll die fighting."
The truth in her words took the wind out of me.
She meant it.
Every word.
She was willing to die for this.
For this free Ireland her people dreamt up.
"Maggie," I choked out, desperate to get through to her. "This doesn’t have to be our fight. You don’t have to stay here."
I wanted to protect this woman.
I had a need inside of me to keep her alive.
Why did she have to make it
so fucking hard for me to do that?
"No, Daniel," she countered shakily. "This doesn’t have to be your fight." With tear-filled eyes, she looked up at my face and said, "It has always been my fight."
"Let me take you away from here," I practically begged her. "Come away with me."
"What are you going to do, Officer Daniel?" she taunted. "Steal me away?"
When I didn’t protest, she laughed harshly. "I would be shot on sight."
"I can keep you safe," I promised, and I would. With my life.
"But not here," she filled in.
"No." I shook my head. "It's not safe for us here."
"I'm not going to England," I warned him. "I'd rather die first."
Angry with her for being so stubborn, I growled, "You'd have a better life in England with me. A nice house, plenty of food, no more hunger, Maggie. No more of any of it. I can give you better. Come home with me."
"I am home, Officer Daniel," she replied mulishly. "This is my home."
"Your stubbornness will be the death of you," I seethed, feeling my chest tighten. "Fuck, Maggie. Fuck!"
"You're a good man fighting on the wrong side of a war, she whispered, reaching up to cup my cheek with her small hand. "You're loyal and honorable, and you won't walk away from your duties any more than I'll walk away from mine."
Maggie and Officer Daniel are another new couple.
Their book is not available yet.
9
Cork City, Ireland
Aoife Molloy
"Case, you bloody turncoat, don't leave me on my own!" I called after my so-called best friend as she shimmied out of the smoking area, arm in arm with the fella she'd made acquaintances with no more than five minutes ago when they shared a lighter to spark up. I wasn't a smoker, but I had loyally accompanied Casey outside to the smoking area. Pity she couldn't return the same loyalty when dick was on the menu. Whore. "Wait up, whore. You have my bag."
When Casey didn’t turn back for me, choosing instead to saunter inside the jam-packed, not to mention strictly over 18s, nightclub in Cork City without me, I muttered a string of curses not under my breath before stalking after her. My cousin's I.D, the one I had used to lie my way into the club earlier tonight, was in my bag, along with my phone, house keys, and cash. If I lost Kim's driver's license, I would be as good as dead. Mentally plotting all of the ways I planned to cock-block my BFF when I found her, I started to push through the crowd, with malice on my mind.