Eochaidh - Legend of the Horsemen (Book One) (6 page)

Hooves pounding, the horse seemed to sense Meaghan’s urgency
and galloped toward the village without any coaxing from her rider.
 
Meaghan held on, the wind pulling her hair
out of its carefully styled twist and whipping it in waves behind her. The spray
from her horse’s hooves shot pebbles and mud up onto her skirt, but she didn’t
care.
 
She knew time was of the
essence.
 
“Good girl,” she shouted, the
wind whisking her words away. “Let’s go save Jepson.”

Slowing the horse as they entered the village, Meaghan chose
a narrow path behind some cottages rather than the main thoroughfare, in case
Murphy had someone waiting for her.
 
Her
heart pounding, she leaned close to her horse’s neck lest she be seen. As they
moved, she sniffed the air around her and nearly gagged.
 
Pulling her lace handkerchief from her
pocket, she placed it against her nose and then looked down.
 
The path she had chosen was actually the
sewage canal for the village, a small creek that carried waste from the village
to a pond just outside of town.
 
The
putrid smells were nearly enough to make her sick.
 
But because of the odor, the villagers had
planted lilac bushes between the creek and the backs of their homes.
 
The large, lush vegetation seemed to thrive
on the unique fertilizer provided by the creek and not only masked the odor,
but also concealed Meaghan’s progress to the Magistrate’s Office at the far end
of the village.

Guiding her horse through a break in the bushes, she peered
out into the clearing, making sure she was still unnoticed.
 
Then, with a quick flick of the reins, she
hurried the horse past the building and into a small copse of trees
nearby.
 
She slid off the saddle and
jumped the final inches to the ground quietly, then led her horse behind the
trees and tied her to a small limb.

“I’ll be back directly,” she whispered.

Pulling her sword from the sheath, she hid it in the folds
of her habit and rushed to the back of the building. The building was
constructed of grey stone and thick off-white mortar cementing the stone securely.
 
The doors were heavy oak with wrought iron
hinges and latches, and the windows were barred with iron. The building had
three distinct sections: a center portion that was two stories in height and
held the living quarters for the magistrate, a long rectangular one-story wing
that housed the cells for the prisoners and, finally, a smaller, square
one-story wing that was used for trials.

Meaghan ducked beneath the window ledges and slipped along
to the prisoners’ wing. It was there she was sure she’d find Jepson.
 
The heavy oak door was slightly ajar, and
Meaghan stopped and listened.

“Damn Gypsy,” Murphy yelled, and Meaghan heard the sound of
whip slapping against something. “You will answer me now.”

“I do not believe Lord John would wish me to disclose such
information to you,” Jepson said, and although his voice was soft, Meaghan
could hear the steel in it.

“I don’t care what Lord John wants,” Murphy spat. “You
ain’t
going to be alive when he gets here.
 
So, you can tell me what I want, and I will make
your death quick and easy. Or I can beat the information from you.”

Meaghan had heard enough. She pushed the door forward with
all the anger she was feeling in her heart, and it smacked up against the stone
wall, the sound reverberating throughout the room. Stepping forward, she noted
the initial shock on Murphy’s face, and then she saw Jepson, tied to the cell
bars with leather, stripped down to his breaches and angry red welts on his
back.
 
“Perhaps you would like to ask me
your question, Mr. Murphy,” she said, her voice cold with authority as she
stepped forward. “Or perhaps you only question people who are tied up and
defenseless.”

“Miss Meaghan, no,” Jepson yelled, pulling on the leather
bindings to try and face her. “Run. Get out of here now.”

“I’m not leaving you, Jepson,” she said with determination.
“You would never think to leave me.”

“
Ahh
, little
Miss Meaghan,” Murphy taunted with a wicked smile as he turned toward her.
“You weren’t on my list, but I don’t mind taking care of a haughty shrew such
as yourself. Who knows? Maybe there’ll be a bonus in it for me.”

Ignoring Jepson’s pleas, Meaghan moved forward into the room
where she would have enough room to maneuver her sword. “Not on your list?” she
asked, as she stepped sideways into the room, leading him away from Jepson.
“And what list might that be?”

“Well, see now, that’s a secret,” he said, spitting a stream
of black tobacco out of the side of his mouth into a dark puddle on the floor.
“But seeing as you
ain’t
going to live to tell no one
about it, I shall satisfy your curiosity.”

“How kind of you,” she replied.

“There’s those who’ve sworn an oath to protect the
enchantment, and we
ain’t
going to let nothing or no
one get in our way,” he explained.

Shaking her head in wonder, Meaghan was dumbfounded.
 
“This is all about a fairy tale?
 
The Eochaidh enchantment?” she laughed. “You
do know it’s a tale mothers tell their children at bedtime to keep them from
roaming the forest.
 
Truly you don’t
believe in this farce.”

“It
ain’t
a fairy tale,” he
growled. “It’s an oath that we’ve honored for centuries, and we mean to
continue.”

“You’ve honored for centuries? Funny, you don’t look that
old,” she replied. “And did your dear grandmother swear you honor bound when
you were three or four?”

“
Ain’t
you the funny one,” he
said, putting his whip down and pulling a knife from his belt. “Let’s just see
if I can’t make you see the serious side of things.”

The knife had a twelve-inch blade and a carved hilt that
seemed to fit easily into Murphy’s hand. He hefted it a few times, testing its
weight and Meaghan’s reaction. He was concerned and perplexed that she wasn’t
showing the proper amount of fear as he slowly approached.

“I am going to stab you,” he insisted.

She nodded casually at him. “Oh, I have no doubt you plan to
do so,” she replied. “Nice knife, by the way.”

He stopped cold in his progress and stared at her,
open-mouthed for a moment. “Are you daft?” he asked, incredulous. “I am going
to cut out your heart, right here in this building, and all you can say is nice
knife?”

Meaghan studied the distance between them and knew she only
needed him to step a few inches closer to be in range of her sword.
 
She smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.
“Seemed like the thing to say. Besides, I’ve heard about your fighting skills,
and I’m really not all that worried.”

Surprise, then rage, washed over his face.
 
His arm lifted in attack as he lunged toward
her.
 
Meaghan reached to her side and
lifted her sword with both hands, swinging true and knocking the knife from
Murphy’s hand.
 
She attacked again,
catching him on his stomach, cutting through his coat, vest and shirting to
scratch the skin beneath.

Stumbling backward, he tripped on a chair and fell hard on
the wood floor.
 
Meaghan dashed forward,
picked up the knife and placed it in Jepson’s hands before turning back to the
prostrate magistrate. She pointed her sword at his neck and held it, her arm
ready to thrust, only inches away. “I would suggest you stay in this position,”
she warned him, “if you value your singing voice at all.”

“You would murder the Duke’s magistrate?” he threatened.

“Well, the way I see it, if you move, you’ve thrown yourself
on my sword,” she replied easily. “So, I merely watched the Duke’s magistrate
commit suicide before me.”

She batted her eyes dramatically. “And I can truly say I
will never be the same again,” she replied, sotto voce, as she moved the sword
fractionally closer to his neck.

Having sliced through the thick cords of leather, Jepson was
finally free, and he moved to her side. His wrists were bloodied, and she could
tell he was in a great deal of pain.
 
“Father is probably on the way here,” she said to him, never moving her
gaze from Murphy. “Shall we wait?”

Walking across the room, Jepson picked up his shirt and,
wincing, pulled it over his head, and then slipped into his jacket.
 
“No, I fear there may be others already
riding this way who have also sworn to uphold this oath,” he said. “I believe
it best to retreat to the estate where we may fortify our position.”

He picked up the leather cords and walked back to Murphy.
“Slowly lift your arms above your head,” he ordered the man lying on the floor.

Narrowing his eyes, Murphy glared at him. “I don’t take
orders from Gypsy scum,” he growled.

Meaghan lowered her sword tip, grazing Murphy’s neck so a
slim line of red appeared. “You will listen and obey,” she stated, holding the
sword still. “Or I might slip, and we won’t have to worry about tying you up at
all.”

Sending her a look filled with hate, Murphy lifted his arms
over his head and waited while Jepson tied them tightly together and then tied
them to the bars of a nearby cell.

“That will hold him for a short while,” Jepson said. “At
least until we can get on our way.”

“My horse is behind the building in the copse of trees,”
Meaghan said. “I’m sure Mr. Murphy will be happy to lend you his horse, as he
forced you to leave yours back at the Gypsy camp. I’ll stay here and watch over
Mr. Murphy while you bring the horses to the back door. And then, Mr. Murphy, we
will be happy to leave you alone.”

Jepson slipped through the door as quickly as his injured
body would allow, leaving Meaghan alone with Murphy.

“You won’t be safe no matter where you go,” Murphy choked.
“When the Duke—”

“Ah, yes, the Duke,” Meaghan interrupted him. “I don’t care
what hold you have on the Duke.
 
I can
assure you when he learns that the daughter of an earl was threatened with
death by a local magistrate, you will receive your just rewards.”

“
Ain’t
no way the Duke is going to
care,” Murphy replied. “He does what we tell him.”

“Then we have no choice but to go over his head,” Meaghan
said. “My father is a friend to the crown; I am sure justice will be meted out
fairly.”

Hearing the sound of hooves coming up to the door, Meaghan
pulled her sword back from Murphy’s neck. “I would have no reluctance killing
you for what you did to Jepson,” she said. “But I would hate to deny the
hangman’s noose its prize.”

Jumping over his body, she hurried out the door and to her
horse.

“Don’t you worry, little Miss Meaghan,” Murphy cried out
after her. “This is not the last time you and I will meet. And the next time,
you will be begging me for mercy.”

Daisy hung on for dear life with one hand clutching the
wooden bench as the cart sped down the bumpy dirt road and as she slapped the
reins with the other hand, pushing the horse to move even faster. Dust and dirt
were churned up into the air, and Daisy coughed continuously as a cloud of dust
encompassed her head. She glanced down at the basket of strawberries wedged at
her feet, now covered with a thick film of dust and sighed.
 
She hoped Mr. Fitzhugh would understand that
she didn’t have any choice in the matter.
 
She had to help save the young miss.

Glancing up, her sigh turned into a scream as she saw the
coach and four barreling in her direction.
 
Rather than stay on their side of the road, the huge coach was traveling
directly down the center, and the coachman was whipping the reins madly, the
team frothing at their mouths, the whites of their eyes showing as they leapt
forward.

Daisy let go of her hold on the seat and grabbed the reins
with both hands, pulling on the right rein to force her poor horse into the
ditch alongside the road.
 
The cart
lurched into the high grass leaning dangerously sideways, two wheels lifted
into the air for what seemed to be several long moments.
 
Daisy thought for sure it was going to turn
over and she would be tossed into the road.
 
She leaned in the other direction and kept hold of the reins,
strawberries spilling out of the side of the cart.
 
“Whoa,” she screamed, trying to stop the
frightened horse.
 
“Whoa!”

Finally, her horse slowed and the cart came to a stop
alongside the road.
 
She looked over her
shoulder and noted that the coach and four had sped by without a second glance
at the cart they’d forced off the road.
 
As the coach traveled farther down to the curve in the road, Daisy could
see the insignia on the door of the coach.
 
It was the Strathmore crest.
 
“Not
a bit of a surprise there,” she said, turning back to the horse in front of her
and giving it a gentle toss of the reins. “Come on, now, let’s get you back
home for an extra bit of grain and an apple.”

The horse lumbered up the slight hill and back onto the
road, spilling the remaining strawberries.
 
Daisy looked over her shoulder at the strawberries littering the side of
the road. “Oh, well, I suppose Lady Strathmore owes us some strawberries.”

They clipped along at a quick pace and were in the courtyard
of the estate in no time.
 
Daisy pulled
the cart up to the front of the estate and ran up the stairs to the main
door.
 
Before she reached the top step,
the door was opened before her and an unsmiling Fitzhugh stepped out. “I do
believe you have forgotten your place,” he stated harshly. “Servants never
enter—”

“Oh, Mr. Fitzhugh,” Daisy cried urgently. “Miss Meaghan sent
me to get her father. The magistrate has taken Jepson, and Miss Meaghan has run
off to help him.”

“Never say so,” Fitzhugh gasped, rushing forward and
hurrying her into the house. “We must send help immediately.”

“Problem Fitz?” Lord John asked, coming down the stairs into
the front hall.

“It’s Miss Meaghan,” Daisy said. “She told me to find you
and send you to help.”

“Meaghan?” he cried, rushing forward, standing in front of
Daisy and grabbing hold of her shoulders. “What happened?
 
What did she say?”

Daisy was now stammering with fear.
 
She had never seen Lord John so upset. “The
magistrate arrested Jepson,” she said. “Meaghan was afraid for his life.
 
She told me to get you.
 
She went into town.”

“Alone?
 
She went
after Jepson by herself?” he cried, standing and running toward the door.

“Well, she had her sword, sir,” Daisy called after him.

“Her sword?” he asked, stopping and turning. “How did she
happen to have her sword?”

Daisy shrugged. “I found it in the stable and didn’t want
her ladyship to happen upon it, so I hid it in the cart and took it with me to
town.
 
I gave it to Miss Meaghan.”

In two quick steps Lord John was in front of Daisy again. He
leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Daisy,” he said. “You may have
well saved both of their lives.”

Turning and running out the door, he called back to Fitz.
“Have all the servants fortify the estate.
 
Have all weapons at the ready.
 
We
don’t know what we are dealing with.”

“Yes sir,” Fitz called and Lord John was surprised to see
that Fitz was running alongside him to the stables.

“Fitz, I charged you with an order,” he said, entering the
stables and hurrying to Galahad’s stall. He pulled the saddle and pad from the
wooden stand and placed it on his horse.

“And the first footman, Rawlins, heard it, too,” Fitz
replied, opening another stall, leading out a large gelding and saddling it.
“He will fulfill the task while I ride along with you.”

“Fitz, there is not time to waste,” Lord John said, cinching
Galahad’s saddle.

“I agree sir,” Fitz said, surprising Lord John by tucking a
blunderbuss in his waistband. “Therefore, I will not wait for you.”

Fitz kicked the sides of his horse, and the horse galloped
out of the stables, through the courtyard and onto the road toward town.

Lord John quickly mounted his steed, grabbed hold of his
sword and staff and, slipping them over his shoulder, urged Galahad out the
door, following in Fitz’s wake.