Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry (8 page)

 
It felt like fingers were tapping all over Darcy’s body. Her mind moved in a thick fog until she realized rain was pelting her as she lay in the mud. The earth felt cool on her burning face. Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over her, and she rose to her hands and knees retching. A flash of lightning illuminated the McBride cottage, as she fell back down into the mud.

 
Darcy couldn't understand why she was outside, and she tried to rise again but intense pain would not allow it. Her wet hair lay in long, muddy tangles, and her clothes were filthy and plastered to her skin. Gradually the details returned to her, and she shuddered to think of someone finding her out here, disgraced and humiliated. She remembered all the justifications for the thrashing of a woman such as, "I think she likes it," or "She must have done something to deserve it.” She couldn't bear the thought of anyone blaming her for Liam's shameful behavior.

 
She pulled herself up onto her hands and knees, shaking from pain and weakness and crawled like a hurt animal to the door of the cottage. Leaning heavily on a small bench, she gathered all her strength and hauled herself into a standing position. On wobbly legs, she entered the cottage, supporting herself on the walls and furniture until she struggled to the bed where she threw herself down. She slept for hours until sharp pains roused her, and she opened her eyes.

 
Pushing herself up, she looked down at her blouse. "Oh sweet Jesus!" she exclaimed. It was covered with blood, vomit, and mud. The bed sheets too.

She rose from the bed, managed to light a candle, searching for Liam. With every ounce of strength she pulled herself up the stairs to check his bed.

The room was vacant, and she heaved a sigh of relief backing down the stairs. Darcy limped over to a small, cracked mirror and gazed into the glass. She gasped. She didn't recognize the monster with purple, swollen eyes. Caked blood had hardened around the cuts on her face, and her lips were swollen to double their ordinary size. Moaning, she fell back onto the bed.

 
Darcy lay for a long time too exhausted to move, trying hard to ignore the throbbing in every part of her body. She turned her head and noticed that streaks of light were breaking across the dark sky. There was not enough water in the house to clean the blood and filth from her body. The town well would be surrounded by women at this time of day, so Darcy lay helplessly in bed trying to think of what to do. Suddenly, it occurred to her that Father Etienne bathed in Glinnish stream. The spot was secluded and offered lots of fresh running water.

 
She moved to the cupboard, removed a crock of soft soap, and then turned to her linen chest gathering a towel, clean clothes and rags for bandages. Clamping the top down tightly on the crock of soap, she rolled all the articles into a bundle and sat down to rest before starting her strenuous hike up the hill.

 
She cracked the cottage door to search for villagers, but many still slumbered in the half-light of dawn. As Darcy stepped out the door into the fresh air, another wave of nausea overtook her, and she fell to her knees, retching once more. Pushing the hair out of her eyes, she turned toward the bluff and began her painful ascent. She hobbled and stumbled her way up the incline, hunched over with the pack under her arm, and when she at last reached the summit, Darcy turned toward a cluster of trees behind the abbey where Glinnish Stream was concealed.

She could hear the brook bubbling, as she plunged into the brush and was grateful to be under the cover of darkness once more.

 
She spied a small clearing where the stream broadened out between the rocks into a deep pool and began to peel off her soiled clothing. Her skirt dropped easily to the ground, but her blouse was painful to remove. The blood had dried the material to her wounds, and she clenched her teeth pulling the garment from her skin. At last Darcy stood naked by the water, her body covered with purple bruises and open wounds.

 
Setting her soap and wash rag on a rock, she eased herself down into the running water. At any other time, this stream would have felt icy, but her body was so inflamed with injuries that the cold water was an anesthetic.

 
Darcy felt it rush over her skin, floating her black tresses around her head, as she lay almost completely submerged. The stream gurgled in her ears, and she listened to the comforting rush as hot tears welled into her eyes. Feeling frightened and betrayed, Darcy knew that she would never trust Liam again. It was apparent that her worth did not extend beyond that of housekeeper, and she realized that all her years of loyalty had been misguided.

 
She sat up and reached for the soap. She washed her hair and her body, dabbing gingerly at her wounds, and lying back squeezed water from her rag onto her face, soaking the dirt out of the wounds.

 
As Darcy climbed up on the bank, the cold air hit her wet skin and she quickly toweled herself off, getting dressed. After she covered her wounds with bandages, she gathered up her things and stepped out into the open meadow.

As quickly as she could, Darcy limped back down the bluff breathing a sigh of relief when she ducked inside the cottage at last. She was relieved that she did not run into Father Etienne returning from his nightly rounds, cornering her and insisting on answers. This was a minor problem, but what terrified her was that Liam would return and renew his assault.

 
For days Darcy lay on her bed, growing ever weaker and more saturated with infection, eating nothing and sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning. She couldn't tell if she had been there for minutes or days, and her dreams turned to bizarre nightmares as she sank deeply into delirium, dreams of walking in the freezing sunshine, naked and humiliated in front of the villagers or being beaten by monks in the Abbey.

 
Darcy's head was pounding from fever; it became so intense it sounded as if someone was drumming on her head. In reality someone was banging on the door. There was a rush of air, muffled voices, and then she had the sensation of being lifted. Someone ran icy cloths up and down her arms, and she wished they would stop, but people returned choking her with foul tasting drinks and more wet compresses. When Darcy finally awakened, her eyes focused on a glowing peat fire. People nearby were talking in hushed tones.

Suddenly a child screeched, "That's mine!"

"Shhh!" and the room fell silent once more.

Darcy stared at the fire and after some time realized someone was watching her. With difficulty she rolled over and spied a toddler standing at the end of the bed, sucking her thumb, staring at her.

"Brianna?" she murmured.

Hearing Darcy’s voice, Teila and the others came running to the bed. Her friend dropped to her knees, crossing herself by the bed saying, "The saints be praised! I thought you were going to die." She put her hand on Darcy's forehead and announced to the children that the fever had broken.

"How long have I been here?" Darcy whispered.

"Over a week, I can't tell you how happy I am. There is something I must do, before we talk, Darcy. Rowena will take care of you. I'll be back in a few minutes,” and Teila dashed out the door.

Teila’s daughter gave Darcy some broth. It was the first bit of sustenance she had taken in days, and she felt it revive her with a warm glow.

"Well, this is an improvement indeed! We've been very worried," said Father Etienne walking in the room, followed by Teila.

He patted Darcy's hand, as she asked in a raspy voice, "How did I get here?"

"I found you at the cottage. I knew something must be wrong when you missed your lessons, and after banging on the door repeatedly, I found you drenched in sweat and fever. Keenan came and helped me move you to their cottage."

Suddenly his expression turned serious, and he said, "Who did this to you?"

Darcy said nothing; fear of retaliation kept her mute. She could not risk another beating.

"I found the burned volume of
Don Quixote
on the floor of your cottage, Darcy. It was Liam, wasn't it?" When there was still no reply from Darcy, he continued. "I wanted to wait until you were awake to be sure that I didn't unjustly accuse him, but now my suspicions are confirmed. Darcy, it is your moral obligation to tell me now if Liam is innocent."

Father Etienne paused, waiting for an answer, and Darcy still said nothing, staring down at the quilt.

"So be it," he said and left the cottage.

The priest walked briskly down the road toward the outskirts of town. The rain soaked his black cassock and ran down into his eyes. He wiped his face impatiently. He heard raucous laughter as he approached a small rundown cottage. He banged several times on the door with a heavy fist until a large man with a bright shock of red hair answered the door.

Father Etienne was not acquainted with Joseph Tierney. Like Liam, he stayed away from the priest, never attending Mass preferring the company of a bottle. He curled his lip as he regarded Father Etienne. Blue smoke and the smell of stale beer rolled out from the door. The priest demanded, "I want to talk to McBride!"

Teirney stuffed a piece of meat into his mouth, wiped his greasy hands on his shirt and shouted with his mouth full, "McBride, get out here!"

Father Etienne could hear laughing, and Liam thrust his head out the door saying, "I got no business with you!"

"But I have with you!" said Father Etienne. He reached in, grabbed Liam’s shirt and pulled him out into the rain, slamming the cottage door shut with his foot.

The men stood face to face in the downpour. Although the priest was a head shorter than Liam, he looked him squarely in the eye and said, "I'm here to save your pathetic soul, McBride. Give me your confession, now!"

"I’m not sorry for beating that uppity bitch. I was doing her a favor. I knocked some sense into her!" snarled Liam.

"What was her crime? Trying to learn?" demanded Father Etienne.

Liam poked his finger in the priest's face and said, "Thinking she was better than us,” he said, spraying spittle in Father Etienne’s face. “That was her crime. Get something straight, you candy-assed meddler. You breeze in here to preach to us ignorant bastards, and the whole time you think you’re better than us. We don't need your books
or
your God."

Liam turned and staggered back toward the Tierney cottage, but stopped when he heard Father Etienne say, "You'll not beat her again, McBride."

"I'll beat her whenever I want," he said, impudently.

As Liam put his hand on the latch of the door, Father Etienne warned, "Touch her again and I'll tell your friends about the young man you meet at the abbey at night.”

Liam turned with his mouth open. Father Etienne added, "I assure you, it won't be
me
they'll be calling the candy-ass.”

Chapter 7

Over the next few days, Darcy spent most of her time sleeping. She was too weak to rise from bed for almost a week after the fever had broken. Fighting the infection sapped her strength, and she lost a great deal of weight. There was little she could do for herself, and it was hard to allow the Mullins to wait on her, but the children loved the responsibility, and Teila enjoyed the company. She would bustle around the kitchen talking to her best friend about everything.

This atmosphere of warmth and love did more for Darcy's healing than any medicine, when Tiela tended the sheep, Darcy helped by entertaining the children. She told stories of the glorious days of Brian Boru and the High Kings of Tara. They would listen intently, as she told of their ancient adventures and daring deeds.

Darcy healed physically, but emotionally the cure took longer. For a long time, she feared Liam's retaliation, but gradually as her strength returned so did her resolve. She had survived more difficult ordeals, and no brute force was going to beat her into submission. With renewed determination she pursued her love of learning and devoured the books that Father Etienne left for her on the nightstand.