What could the gunshot mean?
He looked back over his shoulder. It was totally quiet. Only the sound of his own labored breathing breaking the silence.
He knew from the minute that Brendan found him that he hadn’t been serious about bringing him back to the camp. He was too slow, too interested in talking. It hadn’t taken much to make the promises that bought his freedom.
“I’ll give you more money than you’ll see in a lifetime.”
“Five thousand US,” Brendan said. He’d obviously given it some thought.
David nearly laughed in his face. Why not make it a million?
“Done,” he said.
“Because I know the Yanks’ll come for your lot sooner or later,” Brendan said. “If any of you’re alive.”
“Alive, we can make you a rich man, Brendan,” David had said, holding his bound hands out to the big gypsy. “Dead, we are just another blot in that big copybook in the sky.”
It had been the exact right thing to say. The big Irishman was clearly not feeling too secure about where he stood with God these days. It made complete sense to him that God’s way would also make him rich.
Brendan gave David the directions back to his cottage, but the cottage was not where David was going.
He turned in the direction of where he had heard the gunshot and prayed like he had never prayed before.
When Dan reared, Sarah didn’t have time to lean forward. She tumbled to the ground and immediately felt rough hands on her, pulling her away from the horse’s feet. Both knees of her jeans had ripped in the fall and she bloodied her elbow, too. As the man held her, Sarah found herself wondering why Dan—usually so steadfast and calm—would do that, when she saw the big gypsy grappling with the horse’s bridle. More men scrambled from out of the bushes at the side of the road, reaching for her, her horse, and yelling. She twisted in their grip and saw the still form of Gavin crumpled in the middle of the road. Her stomach lurched and she turned and was sick on the man who held her the tightest.
“Blimey! The bitch puked on me!”
“Shut your gob, you git! Just bring ‘er.”
Sarah tried to wrench free from the two men who held her. They were no taller than her but wiry and muscled. Even terrified and sickened, Sarah found herself turning away from the sour breath of the one closest to her. He kept his face near hers as if, any moment, he would lean over and take a bite out of her.
“The bastards are getting away!”
Sarah heard more gunshots and she prayed Jimmy and Aidan had the sense to leave the main road as they retreated. Her eyes rested on Gavin.
That’s my fault, she thought. I did that. That poor boy…
“Forget it. They’re too far.”
“Should we go after ‘em?”
“Nah. Let’s get these two back to camp. He was expectin’ ‘em hours ago.”
Sarah looked at the body in the road.
They were bringing Gavin, too? Did that mean he was still alive?
One of the two men holding her let go of her arm long enough to tie her hands together in front of her. They pushed her towards a smaller horse. They ignored Gavin.
She heard one of the men behind her rasp out sharply:
“Let’s go, boyo. Try to run and we shoot yer mum, yeah?”
Sarah snapped her head around, nearly jerking herself out of the vice-grip of one of her captors.
Twenty yards away, John sat on his pony, the reins looped in the hands of a tall skinny youth who was leading him down the road. He was looking down at his hands.
Sarah gasped.
“Finn’ll be pleased,” her captor said to one of the other men as he roughly turned her to face the horse and boosted her into the saddle. “We’re bringin’ him a little bonus.”
The howls of laughter from the men echoed in Sarah’s ears as they moved down the road at a walk, each horse carefully stepping over or around poor Gavin.
“What do you mean you couldn’t find him?”
Brendan rubbed his hands along his jeans and refused to look at Finn. He had returned not ten minutes before, empty handed.
Finn glanced around the nearly deserted camp, his frustration coming off him in waves. He looked back at the big gypsy before him.
“You let the bastard go,” he said, biting off every word.
Brendan looked up at his leader.
“No,” he said.
“You did.”
“I tell ya, I couldn’t find ’im.”
“What did he promise you?” Finn stuck his face close to Brendan’s and the man recoiled. “Money? American dollars? An hour with his wife?”
Brendan looked back at the ground and rubbed his perspiring hands against his pant leg.
“I didn’t find ’im, Mack,” he mumbled. “I swear.”
“I need that bastard back here!” Finn shrieked. “They’re bringing his wife down that road any minute.”
Brendan looked up long enough to look toward the road that Finn indicated.
“I… I could try again, yeah?” Brendan looked back at Finn. Perspiration from his scalp begin to trickle into his eyes. “I could go back out there. I’m sure I know the way he went.”
Finn said nothing. He looked at Brendan with hooded eyes.
Suddenly, he pulled out the pistol from the waistband at the small of his back.
At the gesture, Brendan took two steps back and put his hands up.
“Oh, Jesus, Mack, I can find him, I will find him. Oh, please don’t do this.” Brendan’s face twisted into a grimace of terror, his eyes darting from the gun and back to Finn’s face.
“You’ve helped enough, boyo,” Finn said as he shot him twice in the chest.
David knelt by Gavin’s still form and unbuckled the gun and its holster. The boy was still breathing but there was nothing David could do for him. He had at least another two miles on foot back to the gypsies’ camp.
“I’m sorry, son,” he said to the unconscious boy. “I’ve got to leave you.” He touched the young man’s sleeve and, for a moment, got a flash image in his head of John laughing at one of the puppies’ antics. David stood up, quickly strapped on the holster, and checked that the gun was fully loaded before jogging down the main road in the direction of Finn’s camp.
Sarah reeled from the hard-handed slap. She had been dragged from her mount the minute they entered camp. She recognized the gypsy she had shot back in October. He was standing over the body of a man lying in the middle of the grassy courtyard between the barn and the farmhouse. She heard John yell out in a terrible, broken voice: “Dad!” She caught her breath and for a moment she thought the poor man on the ground was David, too. For one sickening, endless moment, she was sure it was her husband.
The gypsy leader turned on his heel and walked over to where she stood next to the horse, her hands bound in front of her, his eight men standing around her as if to present her to him. Without a word, he backhanded her, driving her backwards into the dirt.
“Get ’er up,” he barked harshly.
Sarah felt rough hands grabbing her jacket, her hair and pulling her back to a standing position. Her legs buckled and one of the men grabbed her under her arm and kept her standing.
“Hey, Mack, we brung ya two for the price of one.” The men laughed and it was all Sarah could do not to throw up again.
My precious child. Dear God, don’t let this be happening.
Finn turned from Sarah and looked in the direction his men were pointing in and, for a moment, Sarah saw his face relax and soften. She was surprised to be able to realize that, without the hate and the anger manipulating his face, he had a pleasant face.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.