17
Of all the terrible things Mike had experienced in his life, the vision of that tiny body being carried dripping wet from the surf would stand as one of the single most horrifying sights.
Nuala carried the child in her arms. Her eyes were stunned and vacant as she staggered through the surf onto the beach and sank to her knees. Sarah reached them before Mike and immediately turned the little girl on her side, pushing out the seawater from her lungs and then giving her the breath of life.
Nuala stared down at little Maeve’s body as Sarah worked. The child was blue. She’d been in too long. Anyone could see it was hopeless. And yet Mike’s fear and hope were ratcheted up to equal levels.
How could it have happened? Why was the lass out so early in the morning? He looked around to see Fiona racing toward them from her tent. She didn’t know yet who it was.
Mike saw Nuala’s lads standing back. The bigger boy held the baby Darcy who was crying. Both boys stared at the dead child on the beach with large, unblinking eyes.
“Siobhan,” he said out loud and then was immediately stricken by the selfishness of that single word—that he’d thought of her when she was surely safe.
“She’s with Catriona,” Liddy said as she came up beside Mike. She held her little lass in her arms. Mike could see she was squeezing her too tightly and the babe began to cry.
“She said she wasn’t afraid of the water,” Dennis said. He was Nuala’s oldest lad. He stared at the body. Sarah still hadn’t stopped trying to get the child to breathe.
Mike turned to him. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s not your job to watch her.”
“But it is.”
“No,” Mike said firmly. “Not when you’re meant to be asleep. You could do nothing to stop this.”
Dennis blinked back tears and nodded but Mike had no real hope that the lad believed him.
The sound of Fiona’s wails jerked his attention back to the group hovered over the child. Sarah was sitting back on her heels now, spent and done. She looked at little Maeve as if she were in shock. Fiona fell onto the girl and hugged her to her, rocking back and forth with the limp body in her arms.
Mike turned Dennis and Damian around and sent them back to their tent. He looked at Liddy.
“Gather the other women. Nuala and Fiona will need them.”
Liddy nodded and hurried away from the heartbreaking scene on the beach. Mike came over to Fiona and gently pulled her to her feet and took the child from her. He kissed little Maeve’s cold cheek and turned to make the long walk back to camp.
Shaun looked around the dinner table at the dozen women and two children seated there. It hadn’t taken long for Ava and Saoirse to spread the word about the people camped out on the front lawn.
Naturally everyone had an opinion. The table buzzed with laughter and anticipation. His sister Saoirse sat to his immediate right and his mother to his left. There was probably no one more excited about the possibility of newcomers in the castle than his mother Beryl Morrison. Before the Crisis, as docent of Henredon Castle, Beryl had given two tours a day to eager and avidly interested tourists.
If there was anything his mother loved it was talking about the castle.
“You’ll let them come in of course?” she said to him now. She pushed her dinner plate away, too excited even to eat.
“I haven’t decided.”
“But why ever not?” Her eyes clouded and he saw the unmistakable quiver of her bottom lip. He didn’t know when she began to pout when she wanted her way—it wasn’t something she ever did before the bomb dropped.
“Mother, there’s more to it than just inviting people over for tea. We don’t know anything about them.”
Ava was watching the conversation from her end of the table. Little Keeva was sitting next to her but her food was untouched and she kept her head down on her arms.
Shaun felt a pang of guilt. Would the newcomers really be able to help the child as Ava believed?
“I don’t know why we can’t have people come live with us,” Beryl said. “Henredon is four acres—more than enough space for at least a hundred people. The more people we get, the more skills and commodities we would have. It only makes sense, Shaun.”
He’d heard it all before. Hundreds of times before. He reached for his tankard of water and was grateful that they’d recently gone to the spring. Unless the people camping out there intended to try to put them under siege, they shouldn’t have to go outside the castle for weeks.
“Remember three Christmases ago?” he said, not looking at his mother.
He heard her intake of breath and he felt a stab of guilt for reminding her.
Three Decembers ago, in the spirit of the season, they’d taken in two young men who’d come asking for food and shelter. Before the first night was over, one of the younger women of the castle had been raped and, in the process of trying to stop it, Shaun’s younger brother Rodney was stabbed and killed.
While it was true that Rodney had himself been a problem—doing his own share of raping among the women—he was still family and that tragic night left them all reeling with a new legacy of fear and distrust.
“I’m just saying, perhaps it’s time to reach out to the outside world again,” his mother said. “Ava said they have medicine.” She leaned down to touch the head of one of the two large dogs at her feet. Shaun knew she was feeding them both morsels but when they had enough food as they did at present he didn’t care.
“They said they have medicine,” Shaun said. “We don’t know that they really do.”
“But Keeva is still sick.”
“Mother, I know.” What was he to do? If he let down the drawbridge, what was to stop them from swarming the castle?
As if she were reading his mind, Beryl said, “Saoirse said they’re mostly women and children.”
“I didn’t say that,” Saoirse said sourly from the other side of Shaun. “But even if it’s true, so what? It just takes one to hold a knife to your throat, woman or not.”
“Can we not talk about this right now?” Shaun said in exasperation. “I said I’d think about it and I will.” He looked up and watched he expectant faces of the nine other women watching him from down the table.
“You trust me to do what’s best for all, do ye not?”
They murmured back their affirmatives.
“Then let me have me tucker in peace and rest assured all will be well for all of us in Henredon Castle.” He turned and put a hand on his mother’s arm. “All right, Mum?”
She nodded and picked up her fork, realizing she could say no more to persuade him. When he looked down the table again, he caught Ava’s eye. She watched him, her eyes glittering with meaning and intent. He knew tonight, of all nights, she would come to him. He hated that it had been so long. Or that she would come tonight because she was trying to persuade him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t confident of her love for him.
He just wished he had something more to give her.
It had taken all the power of Hurley’s self-discipline not to throw the sniveling bogger into the lion pit.
Hurley stood now, his limbs trembling with the effort to contain his fury, and watched as two miscreants scraped up from the bottom of one of the streets were dangled screaming over the hungry big cats. The audience seats had been removed so that all viewers must stand. He hadn’t thought he’d need to force his soldiers to watch the lions at work and was surprised to discover that some of his men didn’t consider the entertainment a reward for their service.
Most, however, stood and cheered as the lions made fast work of the men his soldiers had found attempting to steal from the army post.
He’d never been close to Bill. In fact he hadn’t seen him in years. As far as Hurley knew Bill had been mentally deficient from childhood. He’d gotten his job at the Branigan research facility outside of Limerick because of Hurley’s position with the military. Given the moron’s incompetence, and without his older brother nearby to protect him, Hurley had just assumed Bill was no longer living.
But murdered?
No. Executed.
Just thinking of it made Hurley clench and unclench his fists. The screams from the pit didn’t help to mitigate the mammoth outrage he felt over some bastard’s arrogance in believing he had the right to execute a Hurley.
It was not believable.
That someone had the balls to execute his brother.
As if he were the law.
Hurley turned away from the carnage in the orchestra pit below and pushed through the crowd of applauding soldiers.
There was only one law in Ireland now.
He stopped at the door of the anteroom where the captive was being held. Even over the sounds of the cheering audience he could hear the man sobbing and pleading for his life. The Centurion Brady stood guard at the door and watched the captive with an impassive face.
“Bring the prisoner back to the post,” Hurley said, his eyes glossy with manic fervor.
“Yes, Commander.”
He would address all the men tonight at mess. But he wanted them ready. There was much to do.
“And spread the word that we will leave Dublin tomorrow at dawn.”
Brady blinked. “Leave? All of us, Commander?”
“You are promoted to Camp Prefect. Close down the pits. Free the lions into the streets. They’ll do a better job of watching Dublin while we’re gone than leaving a contingency squad would.”
“Yes sir,” Brady said. “May I inquire, Commander, where we are to go?”
Hurley fought down the irrational urge to cut the throat of the man he’d just promoted. Instead he turned away toward the door that led to the street.
“To a secret place,” he said over his shoulder, “where one man attempts to hide from his due.”