On the One Road Read online

  She nodded and stepped away from the door. Eamonn halted in the middle of the yard, not sure what was going on. A young man, close to the same age as Torin, came and took the mare's reins, limping as he led her to the barn.

  Eamonn told himself this weird clutching in his stomach was fear. What did they plan to do with the horse? What were they going to do to Torin and Eamonn? It had nothing to do with how the sun glistened off the boy's almost golden hair.

  Eamonn sucked in a deep breath and started walking again as Torin gestured him forward. "This is my brother, Eamonn," he told the woman. "You are sure you have the room for the both of us?"

  "Of course, lad," the old woman said. "Anyone willing to go up against that little diabhal has a place in me home."

  Eamonn whipped his head around to look at his brother. "You told her?" he demanded.

  "I told you. Anyone around here does not have friendly feelings toward him. It was only a matter of how much their fear outweighs the hate."

  The old woman spit on the ground between them. "He is the reason my great-nephew will not walk right again. Said he caught Desmund looking at him strangely, and that was all it took to shatter his leg so it would not heal true." She spit again. "I pray for the day he rejoins his master in Hell."

  Eamonn's insides twisted at that, and he glanced out the window toward the barn where the boy had gone. It was a reminder of how careful he needed to be. How he needed to ignore those feelings he got around other men. It could be worse than a crippled leg.

  "Torin's hurt. Did he tell you that?" There'd been extra shirts in Torin's saddlebag, so he'd been able to cover him up at least.

  She looked at Torin. "Nay. He did not. I may not have been able to fix my Desmund's leg, but I have some healing talent. Sit, and I will see to you."

  ***

  TORIN SETTLED ON the pallet Mairead O'Keefe had made up for him after feeding them supper. Torin couldn't remember the last time he felt so full. Not that Mairead had so much more than they had. She'd been affected by the blight as well.

  He didn't understand this contentment that came along with eating with Mairead and her great-nephew Desmund, who was of an age with him. Mairead had told them Desmund had come to live with her when he was three. After the constabulary had burned his parents' home when they were suspected as a meeting place of seditionists, it had been, but in Torin's mind, it didn't excuse what was done to them. Even if it was against the law.

  Desmund had been quiet through dinner. Torin couldn't recall hearing the boy talk at all. He did everything Mairead asked of him, though. His limp had gotten worse throughout the evening until Mairead ordered him to his own bed.

  Torin had seen Eamonn casting looks at the boy all evening. He did not know what that was about, and he didn't think too much about it. His brother was always observing people. He never knew what to make of it.

  Torin shifted on the pallet as the lantern light came toward their spot in the corner of the living room. "How are you faring, lad?" Mairead leaned over him. "Your bandages holding tight?"

  "Aye," Torin told her, though he wasn't so sure. He hadn't checked them since she put the bandages there. The wound in his side had bled right through the one Eamonn had improvised. Mairead had stitched up that one and the hole in his leg. The ones in his arm hadn't been as deep.

  She looked at him as if trying to spot a lie. "I will check them in the morning," she said.

  Torin felt his cheeks warm. He'd had to take his trousers off for her to tend to his leg wound. Desmund had given him a pair to replace his ruined ones. He didn't want to think about taking them down again for her to check the bandage.

  She didn't seem to notice. She glanced over to the pallet where Eamonn was, by all appearances sleeping. He was too still. Torin had shared a bedroom with his brother for too long not to know when he was feigning sleep. He didn't say a word about it, though. From the slight lift of Mairead's mouth, he thought she might know.

  "Sleep well, lads," she murmured before taking the lantern and plunging them into darkness.

  A sharp gasp came from Eamonn's pallet, but he just laid still. If Eamonn wanted to speak to him, he would. Otherwise, Torin would leave him be. He did not know what to say to his brother. He could have gotten Eamonn killed. He had not thought his brother would come after him, though.

  Why had he done that?

  There were more noises from his brother's pallet, and Torin quieted his thoughts as he listened. His chest ached when he realized what those sounds were. He had not seen Eamonn weep once since they buried their parents. He hadn't either. At least not when his brother could hear.

  That was what he was hearing now. Torin did not know what to do. Whether to go to him or just ignore it. If Eamonn wanted his comfort, he would have said something in the last weeks, wouldn't he? Torin shifted again, though there was no position he could get comfortable without pain.

  Torin stared up toward the ceiling until he no longer heard any sounds coming from Eamonn's pallet other than his soft snores. He had to swallow past the thickness in his own throat. He just wished he could heal faster. Then, he could make another try at being sure Owen paid for everything he'd done. He would not give up until that was finished.

  ***

  Part Two

  August 1850

  CHAPTER 8

  BIRDHILL, COUNTY MUNSTER, Ireland

  August 1, 1850

  Eamonn left the cottage when the sun had barely begun to rise. He had never enjoyed getting up this early when his father expected him to do morning chores. He had not slept easily the night before despite Mairead's words to do just that.

  Maybe because of them.

  Eamonn's mother had said those words every night to him and Torin. He thought he was doing so well since their deaths. It had all come rushing back with those simple words. Sleep well, lads.

  He felt his eyes watering again and blinked away the tears. He'd gotten this out the night before. Shedding tears would not bring his mother or father back to them. It would not take them to before his brother was wounded and nearly killed. He could barely believe he'd gotten Torin all the way here, still breathing. There had to have been a helping hand in that.

  He didn't know why he walked to the barn behind the cottage. It had never been his favorite place. Not like Torin. No, he always tried to stay as far away from the animals, and the most demanding work, as he could. Yet it felt like a sanctuary now.

  He didn't need to look on his brother, who he couldn't help but think he failed by letting him get hurt. He didn't need to see Mairead, who had sounded so much like his mother. Who they were putting out of space in her home and food from her pantry.

  He didn't need to see Desmund, who he hadn't been able to stop thinking about throughout dinner. Who had visited him in his dreams during the night. Yes, he needed not to see him.

  Eamonn stepped into the barn and drew in the sweet smell of hay. That had been the one thing he liked about spending time in the barn. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness there, even though the day outside wasn't too bright yet.

  A cow lowed on the other side of the barn, but Eamonn went toward the familiar nicker. No, horses had not been his love like Torin's, not even this one, but it was still something familiar. Maybe that was why he'd come out here. That was what he needed, even if it wasn't anything he'd run toward before.

  The mare nickered again as he approached. He ran a hand over her face and down her neck. She seemed to be staring over his shoulder, though. He had never understood the bond his brother had with this animal, but it was plain to see.

  "He will be right as rain again, lass. Do not let yourself worry for him. You did good work getting him this far. Let us care for him now."

  The mare let out a huff of air and nudged his shoulder. "Hey now," Eamonn said.

  There was a laugh behind him, but she nudged him again before he turned. He wasn't so sure he wanted to turn his back on her.

  "You comforted her," the voice said, a gruff one with a lilt that made it seem almost lighter. "Now she is trying to do the same for you."

  Desmund hadn"t spoken at all the night before. Eamonn had wondered what his voice sounded like. Now, he knew. Eamonn turned to face him. "I did not think anyone else was out here yet this morn."

  Desmund held up the pail he carried in his hand. "Great-Aunt Mair needs milk for the breaking of our fast. I am almost always out before the sun rises." His smile fell. "I heard you last night," he said. "You miss your parents."

  Eamonn dropped his gaze. He was sure Torin had heard him weeping, but he hadn't said a word. He had hoped no one else had witnessed his weak moment. It was not to be so.

  "I still miss mine as well," Desmund said. "It has been fifteen years they've been gone. I only have vague memories of either of them, but I still miss them. It is not something to feel shame over."

  Except he had wept like a babe. "I miss me ma fiercely," he admitted. "We would sit and read every night I was to home. Torin does not care so much for words. He and Da shared a love of horses. For me, it was Ma and words."

  Desmund's face seemed to light up at that. "Great Aunt Mair has shelves of books. You could read them. To me. I love words, but my eyes have never been strong. Hers are going as well. You could read to me. Tell me the stories you love the most."

  Eamonn liked the sound of that. Maybe a little too much. With a dry throat, he croaked, "I'd like that."

  Desmund grinned at him. "Come on. I should get this to the house. Aunt Mair will be waiting for it. She'll be getting breakfast on soon. You do not want to miss that."

  Eamonn wasn't sure he wanted to miss anything with Desmund. Even if nothing ever came of it. They would not be here long, anyway. Might as well enjoy it while he could.

  *** r />
  FORTANE, COUNTY CLARE, Ireland

  August 1, 1850

  Bridgette slipped out of the room in the boarding house while her father slept. She didn't want to disturb him. He had slept little on the journey. They'd gotten out of Scarriff without being seen by Garett or any other men Owen might have sent. They'd gotten passage with a mail coach on the way toward Ennis. It had left them here in Fortane, though.

  Still, it put distance between them and Owen's influence.

  Her father would not want her doing this, but she'd watched him counting through the coins left in the lockbox. He'd had a concentrated scowl on his face, too. He could sell some of his more delicate pieces of work in Ennis and make a fair price. They likely wouldn’t sell as well here, so she had to help.

  Bridgette closed the door to their room and moved as quietly as possible down the hallway, but there was one board that squeaked. She paused a moment but didn't hear movement from any of the rooms. With a relieved breath, she continued on her way. When she stepped into the kitchen, the house's mistress looked over. "Miss Muldoon," she said a little sharply though Bridgette swore there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Tell me what you are doing up so early this morn. Breakfast shall not be ready for a time yet."

  "I just have to step out for a moment," she said quickly.

  "Without an escort? I do not see your father pleased with that."

  Bridgette glanced over her shoulder, knowing the woman was right. Her father would not be pleased. She could not let him bear the burden of all of this. It was her fault they had to leave everything. She needed to shoulder at least some of the weight.

  "I shall be back before we break our fast. He should not be awake before then."

  The woman's frown deepened. "I dislike it. Let me at least send my daughter with you. It is better than being alone."

  Bridgette wanted to argue, but the woman was hurrying off toward her quarters. Bridgette didn't waste any time. As soon as the landlady was out of the kitchen, she went out the back door. She didn't need anyone with her to report that she was looking for work. She just needed to find something to help bring money in.

  Bridgette made it to the end of the alley before she drew in a full breath. She shouldn't need to worry about Sheilah finding her now. The girl was only about a year older than Bridgette, so she wasn't sure how she'd do as a chaperon. She was engaged to be married in the fall, so maybe that made it better than two unattached ladies walking alone.

  Not that it mattered to her. She was not looking for a husband. All the better if her reputation was ruined. No man would want her, anyway. It would be better that way.

  It was still early, and there were not too many places open yet. She had not thought of that flaw in her plan. She had been more worried about getting out before her father woke. And the few places she found turned her away with barely a second look.

  Almost an hour after she left the boardinghouse, she trudged toward the alley, hoping the mistress wouldn't be in the kitchen so she could sneak up to their room and pretend she hadn't already been awake.

  It was not to be that easy, though. Sheilah stood at the entrance to the alley, tapping one foot. "I have been searching all over for you. Ma said as you needed the company, and then you were just gone. Where have you been?"

  Bridgette didn't even meet her eyes. "I was looking for work," she said quietly.

  "What would you be doing that for?" She looked surprised. "Your da has paid for a fortnight. Once Ma learned he was good with gears, she got him to promise to do any work to cover any board beyond that."

  Bridgette had not known her father had made that deal. She wasn't so sure it changed much, though. "It should not all be on him," she said. "It is for me we are here at all."

  "From what I overheard him tell me ma, it is best you got out of that place. To be married to a man the likes of that would be a likely death sentence. I've seen other girls swoon over the likes of him, but I much prefer my Murtagh."

  Bridgette could not help smiling at that. Sheilah's betrothed, Murtagh Doherty, had joined them for supper the night before. He had been a quiet but well-spoken man. And entirely gentlemanly the whole night. He might not have the noble blood of those like Owen and Garret, but she believed he was in a class above them.

  Sheilah opened the door to the kitchen, and Bridgette stepped through. To see her father glaring at the door. Relief flashed across his face before he closed off again. "What are you doing, worrying me like that, Bridgette Amelie Dierdre Muldoon? I wake up, and you are gone. I thought..." He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her. "Do not ever scare me like that again."

  "I will not, Da," she said, patting his back. "Aye, I will not do it again. I have been set straight."

  "Good," he said. "That is good. You should stay here and work for Mrs. Fitzpatrick for the day to make up for it."

  Bridgette glanced between them and caught that glimmer in the mistress' eyes again. Could she know? No, how could she? It was a chance to help, just as she wanted, so she would not turn it away. "Of course, Da. Whatever you think is best."

  His mouth twisted up at that. Perhaps she had conceded too quickly. After a moment, he just nodded and left the kitchen. Bridgette looked over at Mrs. Fitzpatrick. "Thank you," she whispered.

  "I did nothing," the woman insisted. "Just offered a fitting punishment."

  Bridgette had never seen helping her father as a punishment. "What do you need me to do first?"

  ***

  BIRDHILL, COUNTY TIPPERARY, Ireland

  August 2, 1850

  Eamonn dropped beside the sleeping pallet when his brother cried out. He'd spent most of the last two days outside with Desmund. Just talking. Even though there was so much more he wanted to do. It wouldn't be a good thing, though.

  Eamonn held himself back, as difficult as that was proving to be. It shouldn't be. He'd only met the boy. He'd felt nothing this intense so soon. Not even with any of the girls he'd pursued.

  He'd barely thought about his brother all day. He just figured he was in here sleeping. How was he to know he'd started to burn up with fever? He would have if he'd been inside with him like he should have been, a harsh voice in Eamonn's head scolded.

  "Desmund," Mairead snapped at the boy, "do not just stand there. Get me my herbs and a bucket of water."

  "I will help," Eamonn said, leaping to his feet. "I remember where the well is. I can fetch the water."

  Desmund looked relieved at that. He had been limping more severely as they headed to the cottage with the fish he had caught. They also checked traps he had laid out, but they hadn't caught any rabbits or other small game. It was illegal to hunt without permission of the crown, or her emissaries, the like of Owen and his father. They'd never give leave for the O'Keefe's to do so, even if it meant the difference between starvation or survival. They accepted the risks and did it anyway.

  Eamonn thought he might have trouble hauling a full bucket of water now if his leg bothered him that much. He should have suggested they come in sooner, but he hadn't thought of anything but himself. Now, where had that gotten him? His brother was probably dying, and Desmund was in more pain than necessary. And it was all his fault.

  Shoving those thoughts away, Eamonn shouldered the bucket and headed back out to the well. He couldn't know that Torin would be overcome by fever, but he should have. Two of those wounds had been bad. Of course, infection would get into them. He'd cleaned them with river water. Hadn't known what else to use. What if that had caused this? What if... No, he wasn't going down that path. He'd fetch the water for Mairead, and hopefully, she could battle this.

  When he was trudging back up the hill, trying to spill as little water as possible, he saw Desmund standing in the doorway, waiting for him. He didn't like the lines around the boy's eyes. "What?" he asked. "What happened?"

  Desmund shook his head, though, and the lines smoothed out. "I was worried for you. It took you some time to fetch that." He took the bucket from Eamonn and turned back into the cottage.