On the One Road Page 5

  "Those are our best, Miss Muldoon," the older woman said. "I kept the most misshapen for our own stew."

  Bridgette nodded and took three of the best carrots and a handful of the potatoes, passing over some coins. "That is too much," the woman insisted.

  Bridgette shook her head and turned away. She and her father might struggle from time to time. They were still better off than the farmers around here, who had lost so much in the blight.

  She wanted flour to make bread, too, but the market price of wheat had gone up too high for them to afford it—another effect of the blight. Everything was too expensive. She would make do with what they had.

  Bridgette continued on her way to the house, thinking of what she could do with what she bought and what she still had in the pantry. Her thoughts so consumed her that she almost did not notice the man. It took his shadow falling over her to bring her back to awareness.

  She might have brushed it off to an uneasy feeling if she hadn't looked in a shop window and seen his reflection and recognized him.

  Garett Keele was the second son of the Earl of Brinkburn and was the overseer of an estate in the countryside here. Most of the men who rode with Owen were the same.

  He stopped as if he was looking in the window of another shop. Bridgette knew better, though. Owen must have sent him to town to watch her. That meant he was back at the estate near Killoscully. It may only be a few hours' ride from here in Scarriff to that estate, but he sent one of his followers when he couldn't make it.

  Her hands shook, but she made herself keep walking. She didn't want him to know she spotted him. He'd stop her with whatever message or gift Owen had sent with him if he figured it out. She wanted nothing from him. She tried to make that clear, but it never seemed enough.

  Bridgette walked into the house without him stopping her. That made little sense. Why didn't he come up to her like Owen's men usually did? Why would Owen want his man to keep his distance? Was that the case? The questions kept circling in her head. She tried to slam the door on them just as she did the cottage’s front door. However, it didn't keep them out as well as she would have liked.

  She leaned back against the cottage's door, her breath coming in short pants as if she had run all the way here from the market. Bridgette closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. At the pounding on the other side, she jumped and felt her heartbeat like a drum again.

  "Bridgette, dear, why do you not open up?" Garett called to her.

  Bridgette drew in a deep breath. She couldn't do it. She did not know what Owen had sent her way this time, and she did not want to. "Go away," she whispered, not able to raise her voice any louder than that.

  "Come on, Bridgette," he said, "you know you want to let me in. Owen has quite the message for you this day."

  She shook her head even though he wouldn't see her. She took a few steps away from the door. "Yes, he does," Garett said as if she said a word. "I am to bring you to him. He will not let you put him off one more time. Your mother tried to send him away and see what happened to her."

  "No," she gasped.

  "Come on, sweet Bridgette, come out to me. Otherwise, I must go to your father and use him to bring you out. Is that what you want?"

  She dropped the basket and ran to the kitchen, swinging open the door and dashing into the alley. A moment later, she slammed into the back room of the shop, the door slapping closed behind her again.

  "Da," she cried. "Da, are you still here?"

  "Bridgette, lass, what are you doing back here?" he asked, stepping to the doorway. "I thought... whatever has happened? You look a fright, you do."

  "Da, we have to go," she said, trying to catch her breath. "Garret Keele is at our house. He is to take me to Owen. I will not go. We must leave."

  "It cannot be as bad as all that. I told you—"

  "He said if I did not come out to him, he'd use you to get me out. We cannot be here when he comes. I won't let him hurt you, Da, but I will not go with him."

  "You will not," her father said, his face hardening. "I promised you that, Brid. I will never let that happen. But, how can I leave me shop? Everything we have is here."

  "We have each other, Da. Please. If we stay, we will not even have that. I do not know what Owen will do to you once he has me. He will not have a need for you, and that worries me. Please. We have to go."

  Her father hesitated for a moment, glancing into the shop. Then, he gave a sharp nod of his head. "I just need to get a few things. I shall be right back, Bridgette. Stay here."

  She watched him move across the shop, sliding a bolt into place on the door before moving behind the counter again. He grabbed a small lockbox and a few other items and put them in a sack. The shop's money would be in the box, she was sure. She was unsure what the other items, watches, and the like, were for. It didn't matter. They were getting out of here. They would be safe. That was all that mattered.

  ***

  COUNTY TIPPERARY, IRELAND

  July 30, 1850

  Eamonn felt Torin's blood soaking into his own shirt. His brother wasn't awake. Eamonn was trying to guide the horse with one hand while the other arm wrapped around Torin's waist. He hoped no one still followed them. They'd be caught in moments.

  The mare slowed until she was standing still. "No," Eamonn said hoarsely. "We cannot stop. Not yet. They will find us."

  "Leave me," Torin said, his voice weak. He remained slumped against Eamonn, but at least he was still aware.

  "I will not."

  "You must. I will slow you down. Once they have me, they will leave you be."

  "No. Owen will not allow either of us to get away. We must stay together. I will not leave you, Torin."

  "I cannot go on, Eamonn. I will not make it."

  "Aye, you will," Eamonn insisted. "I will not let you give up. We can rest here." He looked around and saw a little copse of trees next to the stream. It would offer them some shelter, at least. He needed to clean Torin's wounds and stop any bleeding he could. Otherwise, his brother was right. He wouldn't be able to go on. Eamonn would not let that happen.

  He nudged the mare with one knee, and she started for the stream. Once they got to the thicket, he slid to the ground and pulled Torin down with him. Eamonn was glad to be on solid ground again. Torin could keep the horses. Eamonn thought he'd rather walk wherever he had to go.

  Eamonn laid Torin in a spot between two trees and then stepped back. What was he supposed to do now? He did not have medical supplies out here. He was sure Torin had packed nothing like that if they'd even had anything he could take from the house.

  Knowing his brother, he would have packed supplies to take care of the horse but not himself.

  First, he had to see how bad the damage was. So, he knelt beside his brother and tried to pull the shirt away. It stuck to his body, though. Eamonn pulled out the small knife Torin carried in his boot. He'd kept it there since their father gave the blades to them as boys. The scian was sharp as always. Eamonn hadn't carried his with him in ages, but Torin wouldn't be without his.

  He pulled it through Torin's shirt. His brother didn't even grunt. He had to take a moment to make sure he still breathed. Satisfied with that, he examined the wound in Torin's side. It was oozing blood, more now that he'd pulled the fabric away from it. Eamonn wanted to curse, but what good would that do?

  He also sliced the sleeve and was glad to see those cuts weren't still bleeding. They needed to be cleaned, but they would be easier to deal with. He looked down at the one in Torin's leg. It was still bleeding. Eamonn sank back on his heels. What was he supposed to do?

  He took in a deep breath and shoved up to his feet, taking the shredded shirt with him. He used the knife to slice it into strips and, taking one length, strode down to the stream. With the strip of cloth sodden, he headed back to his brother. Torin made little noises as Eamonn washed the blood away from each of the wounds, cutting open the leg of his trousers to get to that one. Once they were all clean, he wrapped the other strips around each wound.

  Then, he sat back again. "I do not know what else to do for you," he said, his voice thick. "So, stay with me. That's all you have to do, Torin. Do you hear me?"

  His brother didn't answer.

  ***

  SCARRIFF, COUNTY CLARE, Ireland

  July 30, 1850

  Bridgette followed her father. She didn't know how long they had before Garett came to the shop looking for them. And they were just heading down the alley. Her father hadn't seemed to be able to stop thinking of more things they should take with them. Finally, she'd convinced him they needed to go.

  Every second she was sure Garett would come right through the door. They were out of the shop now, and Garett hadn't been waiting like she feared would happen. They might be able to get out of here. Please, Lord, let them get away safe.

  Even going to the back of the alley wouldn't do much good. Garett could see them when they came out. What if other men were watching the shop? Oh, Lord, they would never be free. "Da," she said, her voice trembling.

  He pushed open the door to one house at the other end. She did not even know who lived there. Still, she followed him inside, hoping he knew what he was doing.

  A woman turned from the fireplace and greeted them with a smile. "Padraic. You are not who I would have expected to come through the door," she said.

  "Sorry to bother you, Glynna. Do you think Fionn would mind us taking shelter here until dark falls?"

  "He will not be home before then, but I do not see what is wrong with your own home? I know since Amelie..."

  He shook his head. "It is not because of her." He glanced at Bridgette, and she wondered if she should tell him what Garett had said or if it would only make things worse. Her father was already looking ba
ck to the woman. "Just if someone comes looking for us, please do not tell them we are here. It could be our lives."

  The woman's face paled at that, and she clutched at the neck of her dress. "What have you brought to me door, Padraic?"

  "I would not have done it for me own life, Glynna. You and Fionn mean more to me than that. But, it is me daughter's life I care about more. If Owen Curran takes her, she may be as good as dead. I will not let it happen."

  Understanding flashed through the woman's eyes. "Of course, you won't. You have nothing to fear. I would never give you over to him. Come on and settle in. You have a couple of hours as yet to wait."

  Bridgette started to breathe a little easier as Glynna made tea. Until the knock came on the door. Her father jumped to his feet and hurried her into a back bedroom. There was not much space to hide in the little house. She prayed Glynna sent whoever it was away.

  She was shaking by the time Glynna returned to the room. The woman's hands were unsteady, but she offered them a wavering smile. "You can come out. I sent them on their way. Soon you will need to be as well."

  At least they had the chance now. Bridgette prayed they wouldn't lose it.

  CHAPTER 7

  COUNTY TIPPERARY, IRELAND

  July 30, 1850

  Torin groaned and blinked his eyes open. When he tried to roll over, pain stabbed through his left thigh, side, and right arm. And into his back. His cot had never felt this hard. Farm work had not made him this sore in a long time.

  Something picked at the back of his mind at that thought. Torin couldn't bring it to the forefront, though. His eyes fluttered a few times, and he saw the blue sky above him. That couldn't be right. Why was he outside?

  Had he fallen asleep when he should have been bringing the horses to the barn again? Da kept telling him... No, that wasn't right either. This wasn't the pasture. It wasn't right.

  Torin tried to push himself up, but he let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground. What had happened?

  "Torin," his brother said as he knelt beside him.

  It all started to come back to him. Bringing the horses to the farm. The fire. His father's body. Fighting Owen. "What have I done?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

  "Nearly got yourself killed, that's what," Eamonn responded, a little sharply. "I bandaged you up, but we cannot stay here much longer. They are likely searching for us as it is. We've been here near on an hour, I'd suppose, and I have heard nothing yet."

  That wasn't what concerned him. Not getting himself killed. He had not taken Owen with him, and that had been the plan. Now, he had to figure out how to get that done. When he tried to push himself up again, Eamonn held him down with one hand. That shouldn't be possible.

  "A lot of your blood spilled out. You need to rest."

  "I need to stop him. Keep him from killing anyone else."

  "Not now, you don't. I will not lose me only brother to the man. Deartháir," he whispered, "do not leave me alone in this world."

  The emotion in his brother's words surprised Torin and what it did to him. "That doesn't matter. All that matters is making sure he is not in it."

  "It matters," Eamonn shouted at him, then jerked back, his gaze scanning around them. Nothing moved, though. "It does matter," he said again, softer. "I would rather have you here than him gone, and you are too weak right now to do a thing about it. I have half your blood staining my own shirt."

  "I can't just let him get away with everything he has done." He would never forgive himself for not finishing things when he had the chance.

  Eamonn stared at him for a moment, then his shoulders slumped. "At least allow yourself to heal. Once dark falls, we will try to find a place to hide out until you have your strength back."

  "Fine then," Torin assented. "But we should not wait for dark. They could come on us, and this land is not safe to traverse with no light. Especially if you know not where you are going." Torin knew this land better than Eamonn, and even he would not want to be traveling off the roads in the dark.

  "What if they see us?"

  "Either way, they will catch us. I do not want Ceallach to break a leg trying to get us away."

  Eamonn scowled for a moment, but he nodded. Torin knew what he thought, that he was putting the horse before them. Maybe it was true, but that did not change things. He did not want her injured for their sakes. That would not change on his brother's opinion.

  "I will get her ready," Eamonn said. "Rest until I return."

  Torin would rather be the one getting her ready, but as he could barely sit up, it was better this way.

  He just wished he could do something. Waiting around was not his strength, and he was tired of it.

  ***

  BIRDHILL, COUNTY TIPPERARY, Ireland

  July 31, 1850

  Eamonn stumbled as he came up over the rise of another hill. He wasn't even sure how long he had been walking or how long they'd have to walk. Not much longer, hopefully. The light was growing dim, and he was having enough trouble with the terrain. He didn't want to chance covering it in the dark. Torin had been right.

  Eamonn glanced back at the thought. Torin still sat in the saddle, swaying but awake. He took comfort in that fact. If only they could find a place to stay for the night.

  "Smoke," Torin croaked out.

  Eamonn dropped the reins and moved to the horse. He pulled the flask he'd filled with water out of his jacket and held it to Torin's lips. His brother couldn't seem to get enough to drink.

  "There's smoke ahead," Torin said, pulling away. "Can you not see it?"

  Eamonn looked in the direction his brother pointed. Sure enough, there was smoke rising against the sky. He hadn't noticed it before. That shouldn't surprise him. His brother was always better at spotting things such as that, even in his weakened state.

  Eamonn studied the smoke now. It was a steady thin column rising into the clouds. From a chimney, not a burning house. At least he was pretty sure. Still, that didn't mean things were safe ahead.

  "What should we do?" He was asking for advice from his little brother. It should seem strange, but he couldn't make this decision for himself.

  Eamonn felt his brother staring at him, though, even as he kept his gaze on the house. He did not see a soul stirring down there, but there was that smoke coming from the chimney. That had to mean someone was home, did it not?

  "You said we need somewhere to take shelter. That place looks as good as any."

  "What if they turn us over to Owen? We do not know who lives there."

  "You will not find many farmers in these parts who have any more love for him than we do. His da may be fair, but he is cruel to everyone in equal measure. These people have likely suffered at his hands as much as we have."

  "And if they have so little, they may see the coin he'd give them in return as needed."

  "We need to take the risk," Torin said. Before Eamonn had time to stop him, he kicked the horse into a fast trot.

  "Torin," Eamonn called, but his brother rode away too fast to catch him.

  Eamonn picked up his pace, jogging down the hill. However, he did not know why. If they gunned his brother down, there was no way for him to stop it, no matter how fast he ran. His brother was stopping the horse and sliding off its back when Eamonn made it to the edge of the yard.

  His own breath was coming labored as he made his way closer to the house. Any minute he was sure he would hear a shot and see Torin go down in front of him. Even though Torin weaved on his feet, he stayed on them. He called out to the house in Gaelic.

  Eamonn looked over his shoulder as if a constable would form out of the mist and arrest Torin for daring to speak their ancestor's tongue. Not that it was illegal, but someone might make up some charge just to make their lives difficult.

  No one came, but the door to the cottage opened. An older woman, stooped in the shoulders, stood there. Eamonn moved closer as Torin spoke to her. Eamonn couldn't hear what he said, but it had creases appearing in the woman's face.