As she led Dan out of the camp at a walk, she caught John’s eye as he stood next to the little cart pony Ned. He waved to her but didn’t smile. She had hugged him fiercely not five minutes before she mounted up. Leaving him again left her with a sick feeling and she had to remind herself, nearly by the minute, that what she was doing—as unnatural as it felt—was in fact bringing her family back together again. She waved to him and forced a smile.
Dear God, please don’t let this be the last time I see him.
David stared at the rope winding tighter and tighter around his wrists. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him but, except to bind his hands, Brendan hadn’t touched him. The sickening feeling of being so close, in his mind, to ending this nightmare and then landing right back in it made him want to vomit.
“Sorry to ruin your plans for the day, mate,” Brendan said jovially as he cinched the hemp handcuffs tighter. “Finn thought you might try something like this, today of all days, you know? Not that I appreciate being awakened by a bucket of piss being thrown on me. That’s thanks to you.”
David looked at the man. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
“Do I look worried?” Brendan said, giving the lead rope attached to David’s hands a hard yank to test its security. “Now, I may smell a little raw…” He laughed heartily at his own joke and then indicated the path back to the camp.
“You don’t have to do this,” David found himself saying. “You don’t have to do everything that sociopath tells you to do, Brendan.”
“Feet moving, if you please, Yank,” Brendan said, tugging on the lead rope. “I’ll drag you behind me all the way if I have to but neither of us’ll be happy about it.”
“He threw a bucket of piss on you, you said.” David began to move in the direction of the camp. “Why would you willingly be his house slave?”
“Unlike yourself, we don’t have slaves in Ireland,” Brendan said.
“Clearly, you do,” David said. “I’m talking to one now.”
“Aw, shite, I was hoping we could stay friends a little longer. Name calling me isn’t a way to do that.”
“Neither is tying up people, Brendan.” David held up his hands to illustrate the point.
“Guess that means we’re not really friends,” Brendan said.
Because Sarah had been thinking of John when she heard the shout, the first thing that came, irrationally, to her mind, was that he had somehow gotten hurt in the brief moments since she had last seen him. She had ridden to the perimeter of the west wall that surrounded their little farm, but she wheeled her horse around and cantered back to the forecourt, looking frantically for the sight of her son.
What she saw, instead, was bad. All three of the men in the group were dismounted and huddled around a form on the ground. Sarah stayed mounted, the better to get a view of what had happened now that she knew it didn’t involve John. Donovan’s horse was running wildly back and forth in the open paddock, his reins streaming in front of him with each pounding step a threat to become entangled in them.
“What happened?” she yelled to the group. She could see now it was Donovan on the ground.
He wasn’t moving.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Can this really be happening?
Sarah sat on a hay bale, cupping a tin of piping hot milkless tea. Donovan’s horse had spooked nearly an hour earlier leaving him with a broken arm and the raiding party drinking tea by a quickly waning breakfast fire. Sarah had to admit the tea tasted good against the bad day. The storm clouds, while still threatening, had held off their rain so far. John sat next to her. He seemed to be watching her.
“You okay, Mom?”
She reached over and gave his knee a squeeze.
“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “Just a little wound up, I guess, because of what happened to Mr. Donovan.”
“But you’re still going, right?” He looked at her anxiously.
“Yes, John,” she said. “Dad’s there and so I’m still going.”
“Is it… will it be more dangerous without Mr. Donovan?”
Sarah could see his problem. He desperately wanted his Dad back but the odds of losing his Mother too just went up significantly. And yet, to do nothing…
“It would be better with him, of course,” Sarah said. “But being sneaky will make up for the lack of numbers, I think.”
“You’re not taking this theory about being sneaky from some television show, are you?” He frowned at her. “‘Coz I’m almost positive the writers didn’t get their information from first-hand experience, you know?” John shook his head and looked at her. “I’m worried, Mom,” he said. “You don’t seem to have a plan and now with Mr. Donovan out of the picture…”
“I have a plan,” Sarah said, tossing the dregs of her tea mug into the dirt behind her. “Who says I don’t have a plan?”
“Really?” The relief in his face buoyed her even though she knew, intellectually, that it was relief based on a hope that had no basis in fact.
She leaned over and hugged him.
“It’s all going to work out, sweetheart,” she said. “It is.”
It is because it has to.
“Missus?”
Sarah let John go and looked up at Gavin standing before her.
“Me Da says he’d like to talk to you before we head out, if that’s okay.”
“Is he in much pain?” Sarah got to her feet and, with a brief parting smile to John, followed Gavin into the barn.
“I guess so,” he said. “Kinda hard to tell, him being so cheesed off the best of times.”
Sarah let her eyes adjust to the darkened barn interior. Gavin took his fully tacked horse out of the one of the stalls and led it outside. Donovan was lying in one of the empty stalls, hay piled around him. Fiona walked out of the stall carrying two empty tea mugs. Sarah assumed they must have just finished a long chat.
Fiona smiled at her as she passed.
“He’s not happy, you’ll be knowing that straightaway, aye?”
Sarah nodded and returned her smile. She entered the stall and saw Donovan propped up against the far corner. His arm was in a sling but whether anyone in the camp had known enough to set the bone, she didn’t know and decided against asking him. His eyes were closed. She came in quietly and knelt down in front of him.
“Hey, Mike,” she said softly. “How you doing?”
Stupid question of course.
His eyes opened and the peace she thought she saw in his face when they were closed vanished. A grimace of pain shot across his features.
“I assume you’re still going,” he said.
“Nothing’s really changed,” she said. “Except, maybe, our odds.”
Donovan looked at her fiercely and spoke in a low voice.
“Put Gavin and Aidan in trees when you get to the camp, yeah?”
“Trees. Right.”
“They’re the best shots. And they’re the ones with the rifles. They can keep the camp pinned down or at least hiding in the house. Gypsies are famous cowards.”
“Cowards. Got it.”
“Don’t be thinking you can waltz into the camp and parlez or some such stupid thing, eh?” Donovan glowered at her. “This isn’t a movie. If you show yourself, you’ll be shot. If not by Finn then by one of his gobshites wanting to show off for him.”
“Don’t show myself. Right.” Sarah nodded and watched him with concern. She knew he was in pain and they had nothing, not even an aspirin, for it. It made her think about what other kinds of first aid they might need by the end of the day.
“So,” she said. “I got two of my guys in trees, that leaves me and…”