On the one road, p.10
On the One Road, page 10
"Torin, please don't do this," Eamonn said. "It's not what Da or Mum would have wanted. It will not bring them back. Why can't we just go somewhere we can start over? We do not have to go after Owen."
Torin's gaze snapped over to him at that. "Who said we? I am going after him. I told you there was no reason you could not stay here."
"And just let you ride to your death? Do you think I would do that?"
"I am telling you to," Torin shouted at him. "This be on me. There is no reason for you to die as well. Why can you not understand I do not want you to die?"
"Why can't you?" Eamonn shouted right back at him.
Torin's throat thickened, but he turned away and grabbed the bundle of clothes he'd already wrapped up. There had also been a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and a couple of apples wrapped in cloth Mairead had left on the table for him. She accepted this a lot better than Eamonn.
As Torin tucked the bundle under his arm, Eamonn said nothing and headed for the door. It wasn't until he'd reached the door that he heard him whisper, "Dia fanacht leat."
"God stay with you, too," he murmured and stepped out of the cottage.
Torin was near to the barn when he saw several riders heading down the path toward the cottage. They'd had a few visitors while he and Eamonn had sheltered here. It was usually only one or two people at a time, coming for one of Mairead's cures most often. This was different.
And it only took him recognizing one of the men to know his plans had been for naught.
CHAPTER 13
FORTANE, COUNTY CLARE, Ireland
Bridgette stared at the canvas stretched through her loop, but she wasn't paying attention to the needle now hanging loose from it. She'd been working on it until that clock drew her gaze one more time. She'd brought it up to her father the other night or had tried to, but he would not listen to her. So, she had let it go. It was not the same clock. How could it be? That was too much of a coincidence. She had to stop thinking about it.
She picked the needle up again and drew it through the canvas a few more times, but she still couldn't focus on it.
Was this all she would ever have? Pulling a thread through the canvas. She liked the act of embroidering, but she wanted more, too. She wanted what Sheilah had with Murtagh.
Bridgette didn't let herself think about that often. She could have had a husband. Would have had a family likely. If she had only said yes to Owen. She would have had a lot more than that, too, she was sure. Things she would not want. Like pain and misery. It wouldn't have been worth it and not even close to what she'd seen between Sheilah and her betrothed.
What would she have to do to get there?
Not sit here, she was sure of that. But what else could she do? Her father didn't want her going out on her own. She was sure if any man so much as approached her, he'd send them away. After what they'd run from, why would they risk that someone else would be like Owen?
No, that was not a chance she could take.
Bridgette looked in the clock's direction once again. Then, she gathered up her embroidering and went up to the room she shared with her father. He was out working, so she had it to herself. Maybe there she'd be able to concentrate and forget about any dreams she had for another life that would never happen for her.
***
EAMONN STOOD WHERE he was, watching Torin disappear outside. He closed his eyes and tried to draw in a breath, but there was too much pressure on his chest. How could that be when he was standing up straight?
He should go with Torin. No matter what he said. He could not just let him ride off to his death in this way. How was he to stop him? And how could he follow? They only had the one horse. They'd ridden it together while Torin had been injured, but this would be different.
"You will not change his mind," Desmund said by his side. "He made it up on this well before he healed. You cannot control what he does with himself."
"Will I even know what happens to him?" Eamonn asked. "If Owen kills him this time, how would I know? Desmund, I cannot..." He could not finish that statement. The thought of his brother dead was too much, and he choked on the words. Then, he felt an arm around his shoulders—Desmund’s arm.
"What do you wish to do?" the other man asked softly.
"I want my brother back here. I want to be somewhere we will all be safe. That is not a possibility. So, I do not know."
Tears pricked at Eamonn's eyes when Desmund brushed his lips over his temple. "Then, stay here," he said. "You are safe here with me."
"How? I could not live with myself if I let him do this and simply stayed behind."
"You have done what you can to talk him away from this path. There is naught more you could do. You should not pay because he would not listen."
"He is me brother!"
"I know," Desmund said, wrapping his arms around Eamonn, "but this is not a choice you could make for him."
Eamonn let out a wavering laugh. "Torin has let no one make a choice for him if he could make it himself. Why did I think this one should be any different?"
Mairead was still in the cottage with them, but he didn't protest when Desmund fit their lips together. He just clung to the other man, his mouth moving with Desmund's, taking what comfort he could in their embrace.
"I am sorry," he whispered. "I was out of sorts after. I did not mean..."
Desmund quieted him with another kiss. "I know," was all he would say.
They didn't break apart until Mairead cleared her throat once then again. "Your brother be returning," she said sharply. "Mayhap you did get through to him."
Eamonn and Desmund stepped further apart. Eamonn wiped a hand over his lips as if that could get rid of all signs of their kiss. It would never happen. Not when it felt like the other man was seared into his very being now. Eamonn hoped Torin wouldn't see it even as he looked toward the door.
That door crashed open, and Eamonn took a startled step back. His brother was in the doorway, though, only he looked a little wild. Out of breath, his eyes wide. "We must go," he said.
"You were going," Eamonn reminded him, trying to get his heart to come down from its panicked flutter.
"Nay, both of us must go. Riders are coming. They are Curran's men," he added. "I recognized Garret Keele among them. If he is there, Owen will not be far away."
***
DESMUND'S BLOOD RAN cold at those names. Owen Curran. Garret Keele. Torin was right. If one was there, the other would be as well. Garret had been there every time Owen had attacked Desmund. Sometimes he'd thought the second in line to Earl of Brinkburn even pushed Owen to some of those incidents.
Though he could never figure out why the other lad had hated Desmund so much. What had he done to fuel that hatred? Nothing he could think of but existing. For the men who rode with Owen, that was plenty enough.
"He is right," Desmund said, but he could hear the shake in his voice. "You must go, Eamonn."
Eamonn shook his head. "Nay. I cannot just leave." He looked at Torin. "How do you know they were coming here?"
"Where else would they have been going?" Torin asked. "They were coming down the path straight here. We need to go. I thought you would have been safe here, but not if they know we are already here."
"Maybe that is not why they are here," Eamonn said, but there was no conviction in his voice. His eyes darted around as if something in here could help him figure this out.
"I will saddle Ceallach." Torin headed for the rear of the cottage. Desmund saw his aunt heading after him. She wouldn't be trying to talk him out of leaving this time. Torin and Eamonn had to go now. Otherwise, they would all hang. He hated having to say goodbye to Eamonn after all, though.
Desmund couldn't even turn to look at him now, but Eamonn came up beside him and put a hand on his elbow. He couldn't stop from turning into it. That is what Eamonn had been doing to him since he first showed up—making him forget the smart way of living, alone but protected. He didn't want that if it meant not having Eamonn, though.
He could not keep the other man. Not now that it meant his life. He would hope he could survive this, that they both could, and would find each other again in this life, if not the next.
"You have to go," Desmund said, even as he ran his fingers across Eamonn's cheek.
"Not without you," Eamonn said. "I cannot just leave you here. He's taken you close to death before. I can't let him finish the task this time, and he will for harboring us."
Desmund shook his head even though he was sure it was true. Owen would kill him before they got him to the magistrate. He could see the fire light in Eamonn's eyes, terrified of what he had planned. "There are only two horses," Desmund said. "It would slow you to have one of them weighed down double. None of us would get away. You must leave with your brother, Eamonn."
Eamonn gave a hard shake of his head. "Nay. Torin and I would be riding double as it were, and I will not leave you. If I have to, I shall go out there, so you have the chance to get away with him."
"No!" Desmund grasped onto Eamonn's sleeve. "I cannot let you sacrifice yourself. You deserve to get out of here and live your life."
"As do you. Why should mine be held any higher than yours? I will not allow you to die for me."
Eamonn stepped away from Desmund, and he felt like his heart was pounding so hard it might leap right out of his chest. Eamonn took another step toward the front door, and Desmund could not take even the thought of him stepping out there.
Before either of them could do anything, though, a voice from outside called out, "Hello to the house."
Eamonn turned and stared back at Desmund, his eyes wide. It was too late.
***
"WE KNOW THAT you are harboring two outlaws in your midst," the voice called out again.
Eamonn snorted. Outlaws? Truly? What had he ever done in his life? Sure, he'd attended some meetings of the Young Irelanders, and some of the English would see that as enough. Torin had attacked Owen, technically a crime. The authorities wouldn't see it as the same as all the times Owen attacked Torin, though.
No. He would not let that happen.
He took a step toward the door. He had to give his brother a chance. He might be jailed if his participation with the Young Irelanders came to light, but they would hang Torin. He could not let that happen.
Desmund grabbed Eamonn's arm, his fingers warm against Eamonn's skin. There was no pleasure in the touch this time, though. "Do not go out there," Desmund said.
"And why not?" Eamonn asked. "They are after my brother and me. You and your aunt should not be punished for harboring us. I will go. You can get out with Torin."
"I do not wish any harm to come to you!"
"Nor I you," Eamonn murmured. One of the men called out again, warning them to come out or action would be taken. He knew all too well what that would be. "If they take me, I shall tell them that Torin is dead. That you and your great-aunt did not know who I was. You will go free."
"What of you?" Desmund demanded. "What will they do to you?"
"It does not matter," Eamonn said. "They will have me, and you can help my brother get away. Get away with him. That is what matters to me."
"You matter to me!" Desmund shouted.
Eamonn hushed the other man, but when he tried to hold on to him, Desmund shoved him away. Sometimes he forgot just how strong Desmund was despite his wrecked leg.
"What does it matter if anyone knows? You will be lost to me no matter what you do. I do not want to live knowing I let you go to your death."
"But, I should live with the same?" Eamonn asked, his voice cracking.
"I've survived before when I should have died. Go. I will keep them busy, so you and Torin can get away. Do not worry for me. If I do not make it, then it is my time. Maybe beyond it. Just stay free, and it will be worth it."
"Des," Eamonn murmured.
"Go," Desmund insisted as voices rose into shouts outside again. "Go," he said again with more force this time. "Before they surround the house, and you cannot."
"Eamonn," Torin called from the back of the cottage. He hadn't even realized his brother had returned. "We must go."
Eamonn looked between them, from his brother to the man he'd just thought he could be falling for, and chose.
They were outside and to the barn when flames lit the night. "No," he cried, lurching away from his brother.
Torin pulled on his arm. "We have to go," Torin said. "We cannot let it be in vain."
All Eamonn could do was stare at the burning cottage. The roof fell in, and more flames shot out into the sky. Had Desmund gotten out before it went up? Or was he burning in there? Eamonn wasn't sure he could bear the answer.
Torin tugged on his arm again, realizing his brother had already saddled both horses. "She told me to take both of them," Torin said when Eamonn just gaped at him. "She knew they would not get away. Come on. We cannot do anything if we are dead."
Eamonn clambered up into the saddle of the horse he had last seen with Desmund on its back, and they started away from the burning cottage. Eamonn looked back once more. "I am sorry," he whispered. "So sorry."
It seemed all he would bring to anyone was destruction.
They heard shouts behind them, but Eamonn couldn't chance looking back. It would slow him down, and he couldn't bear to see proof that anything had happened to Desmund. He would pray that he had gotten out. It was all he could do now.
They didn't slow down until they'd crossed the stream where Desmund had kissed him. Torin dropped from the saddle and led Ceallach to the water. "What are we doing?" Eamonn asked. "Shouldn't we keep riding?"
"The horses need to catch their breath," Torin said, "and could use a drink. We lost them back there."
"Are we riding into town?" Eamonn asked. "That is where Desmund and I went the other day."
"Then no," Torin said. "It would be best to veer in another direction. We shall follow this stream south. Find another town to find lodging." His face pinched. "Do we have any coin?"
Eamonn patted the pouch he still had on the inside of his jacket. "Aye, we do. It may not last long, but we can find a place for a few nights." He looked back over his shoulder in the cottage's direction. It was more than Desmund, or his great-aunt had any longer. If they still lived. He closed his eyes against that thought. He could not bear it.
Torin rested a soft hand on his arm. "I know he was your friend, but we had to go."
"I know," Eamonn said, his voice cracking. "But, he's probably dead. And it is my fault. I as good as killed him." Tears burned his eyes, and he spun away.
After several quiet moments, Torin only said, "We should be off before they come upon our trail. We'll walk the horses in the water for a way. Hopefully, it will keep them from finding the way we went."
His whole body felt tired, but Eamonn climbed back up into the saddle and followed his brother into the stream. He prayed this would work, too. Otherwise, he had lost Desmund for nothing.
Part Three
September & October 1850
CHAPTER 14
OUTSIDE TIPPERARY, IRELAND
September 1, 1850
Desmund tried to move his arms, but the rough rope slid along his wrists, already abraded from his attempts to get free. If any of the men saw him struggling, he knew they'd come over and kick him again. It had been two days, and his whole body was throbbing. He thought it was his heart that ached most of all.
He'd stepped out of the cottage, his arms raised into the air, just as one man had thrown the first torch onto the roof. He'd tried to dart back inside, to get Aunt Mairead out, but two men had grabbed him. At least three others had added their torches to the blaze. He'd heard her screams but hadn't been able to do anything about it.
Desmund had heard the pounding of hoofbeats, too. And had thanked God Eamonn and his brother had gotten away, but Owen ordered two of his men to go after them. He'd prayed hard for them even as the men forced him to his knees to watch the cottage burn to the ground. They returned without the brothers, and Desmund could not remember ever seeing Owen so enraged.
Owen had been taunting him this night while one of his other men cooked dinner for the rest of them. They would be in Tipperary the following day, and he'd be tossed right into the jail. Owen claimed they could forgo the magistrate’s questioning and put him on the dock. He wouldn't mind walking Desmund up to the gallows himself.
Desmund tried not to let the words get to him, but he imagined Owen had seen it. Desmund was sure none of it was true. Not even Owen had that much power. But, he doubted he'd make it to Tipperary so that it wouldn't matter.
The men laughed as he'd attempted to eat with his hands tied loosely to his ankles. His whole body trembled after running behind the horses just to keep up. Garret had been leading him most of the way today and had seemed to find it hilarious to kick his horse faster until Desmund fell to his knees. His bad leg had been in agony since they stopped at midday, but he didn't get a break.
Maybe if they hanged him, it would be a relief.
Desmund squeezed his eyes shut at that thought. No. He would not take that escape. If they led him to the gallows, he would fight every step of the way.
"Hey, O'Keefe," a quiet voice said from behind him.
His shoulders tightened. This was it then. They were coming tonight to end it. But he didn't hear anyone else. His breath grew ragged as he waited for one of them to make their move. No one did.
"You still awake? I saw you trying to get free, so I was sure you were."
Desmund recognized the voice this time. Leighton Burwell. The lad he had made a fool of himself for and nearly gotten himself killed for it. "What do you want, Leighton?" he asked. "Must be glad I'm tied up so I can't put my filthy hands on you. Though you seemed to flirt right back with me that day."
There was a sharp inhalation behind him and the soft touch of fingers to the back of his neck. He jerked away, though he couldn't get far. Or he'd likely just fall over. "I was," he said, his voice still quiet, "but Garret and Owen saw me with you, and I got frightened of what they would do."
