Fortunate Son (30 page)

Richard!
James growled inside. The thought, the reality of that man being there, so close to Laura, pulled James up, standing resolute, adrenaline pumping. He gripped the dirk tightly, but quickly slumped down. He was too tall to stand straight without being seen.

Richard continued, “Your men have been arrested by my constables. English soldiers under my charge will be here shortly to see them away. Tell me where the bastard is and I'll leave you be.”

James studied his options, the available paths, albeit few. He had to get into the middle, into the open, grab Laura and get her out. Though Richard's withering barrage continued, the stout Scotsman only stared, his eyes steely, unwavering. Laura was obviously frightened, looking around, to the main door, apparently hoping to see James there. From his position, James could see the back of Richard's head, the long wig flowing from under an expensive green hat. The man's right hand was holding a short horsewhip, twitching, making the straight thing flick and wiggle alive. His left palm was open, hovering over the gilded hilt of his sheathed rapier. Ten feet in front of Richard, near Laura's feet, lay one of the Highland guards, bleeding, grimacing, apparently shot in the leg, groaning, pulling himself behind the wagering pole. The other two guards were standing rapt, pistols at their sides, staring at several men behind Richard, each with an aimed musket.

“Why don't we go outside and take paces on the sod?” Mackercher challenged, his voice rigid and quiet. “Just you and me. Let these men stand down.”

James quickly moved to his left, slinking behind the spectators, until he could see Richard's men. There were four. But where was Captain Bailyn?

“Pistols? I am without!” Richard bellowed. “Ye've one holstered yet ye seek satisfaction?” He spoke louder, turning as to be certain the crowd heard him. “Is this yer idea of Scottish honor?”

“McCauley!” Mackercher barked, “Give this man yar pistol.” The guard flipped his pistol around, offering it to the Earl.

“Ney,” balked Richard. “I could never trust a Jacobite's firearm.”

“Of course ya wouldn't,” whispered Mackercher. “Pious turds such as yarself have no honor about them. None a'toll. Ya're no nobleman. And these fine Irish can see that.”

“Quiet yer tongue. Ye're the rogue!” He again addressed the crowd. “This is nothing more than a villain in second-hand finery. A vile lawyer hiding a criminal from justice. I've come to protect you from—”

Mackercher smirked. “Ya stole both land and title, and in the process—”

“Damn you!” Richard swung with the horsewhip but Mackercher caught it mid-air and held it fast. Laura stepped back, searching for an escape, and James watched her, surprised at how fragile her beauty appeared, her wild nature now flushed with alarm.

“Ya stole yar stinkin' peerage,” Mackercher continued. “Ya're a lying raconteur. Ya kidnapped a boy and murdered my sister. I curse ya before all these men!” He jerked the whip from Richard's hand then slapped him across the face with it.

“Damn you!” howled Richard, recoiling in pain.

Mackercher threw the whip. It bounced off Richard's chest and fell to the floor. “You mark
me
, Richard Annesley,” Mackercher breathed, a finger pointed in the other's face, “In Dublin, I'll show this country who ya really are.”

“You're dead! I'll have satisfaction from you!” Richard screamed, his face red, jaw shaking.

“Any time. Any place.”

“Do ye not realize on whose land ye're standing? Who do you think owns this bloody track? Who do ye think governs this area? I am the law here and you and your men are trespassers. I warned ye! Now you're all under arrest!” He spun to face his men. “Constables, throw these men in irons.”

James burst upon them, charging Richard from behind. In an instant, he had hold and spun him around, using Richard's body as a shield against the muskets. He shoved the dirk firmly against Richard's side. “Think twice, gentlemen!” James barked, “Lower those guns.”

Behind him, Laura cried, “No, James!”

“If it isn't my prodigal nephew,” Richard snarled.

“I should run ye through, right here,” replied James, his voice steady. “Get out Laura!” he ordered. “Soldiers are coming. Go, Mr. Mackercher!”

“You'll hang for this,” Richard said bitterly, his black eyes boring a hole. “I'll tear you limb from scrawny limb.”

“Shut yer mouth.” James prodded him lightly with the dirk, cutting through cloth. As the constables took a hesitant step forward, Mackercher pulled his pistol and took aim at them. They stopped. Behind him, James heard the two Highland guards cocking their pistols as well.

“All right men,” Mackercher said calmly. “There's no need for this. Lay down yar weapons and we'll all ease out of here.”

“You're outnumbered,” one rebuked, looking at James.

“Not while I'm prying these ribs apart,” James snapped back.

“Don't listen to him,” commanded Richard.

“Nay?” Mackercher said, enraged. He shoved the barrel against Richard's temple. “Do as he said. Tell yar men to back away. God help me, I'll blow yar brains all over that window. Leaving Lord Annesley with no need of slicing ya.”

Richard hesitated, then growled at his men, “Stand down.” The constables quickly complied. “When the infantry arrives, arrest these animals. And that bitch with them.”

James eyes narrowed. He made a fist around the dirk's grip, cocked back and slammed it squarely into Richard's jaw, sending the Earl flying to the ground. “Say that again, I dare ye! Say it! I'll gut you like the pig ye are!” Now James was on him, dirk turned to slam its point right through the man's heart.

Mackercher's mass were there, lifting James, throwing him off. “He's not worth it.”

“You won't get away with this, by Christ,” Richard stuttered, struggling to his feet.

“Go fuck yer own self!” James shot back. He grabbed Laura and they rushed for the door, him leading the way, brandishing the dirk. The crowd split for them. His heart was pounding out of his throat. They hurried to the paddock, then raced into the stables. There they found two of the Highlanders' horses still saddled. Without saying a word, he led one into the open and helped Laura climb on, then re-entered the stall for the other.

“James!” she cried in a muffled scream. James spun to see Seán in the middle passage of the stable, holding the reins of Laura's horse.

James grabbed a pistol from a saddlebag and took aim. “What do ye want?” he roared.

“Ye gonna shoot me, Jemmy?” asked Seán, not sarcastically, but with resignation.

“I just might.”

“Perhaps ye should.”

“Why are you here?” James blurted, then realized the answer. “Ye're here with Richard.” He moved closer, his voice menacing, cocking the pistol.

Seán stood still, watching warily. “No, Jemmy. I'm not.”

Laura was pleading, “James, let's go.”

“I didn't know Richard was here,” Seán continued. “Until I saw Bailyn and heard—”

“Bailyn?” James's eyes widened. “Where is he?”

Seán shook his head. “If I find him, I mean to kill him.”

“Horse shite! Ye're with them.”

“Listen to me! I was summoned by Mackercher. To be here today. To talk with you. That you and I might reconcile.”

James led his horse forward, keeping a careful aim on Seán's head. “Just back up, Seán.”

“I didn't know about any of this,” said Seán, retreating a few steps.

James had his horse to the middle of the stable and was preparing to mount. “Tell me one thing, friend, was it you who killed Higgs?”

“Jaysus, no. ‘Twas Bailyn. I brought him to ye for burying. To warn ye.”

“Sold yer soul to the devil, ye did. Ye bloody traitor.”

“I'm telling ye true. I called on Mackercher in Edinburgh. He arranged us to meet here.”

James glared. “I haven't the time for this or your lies.” He waved the pistol at Seán. “I want ye to stand aside now. If ye've anything to say, find me in Kildare.”

“How nice, finding you two lads here,” announced Captain Bailyn, stepping into the stable, clapping his hands. Two men slipped in behind him, both armed with blunderbusses and blocking the exit. “Just like those olden days of yore.”

James wheeled around, pointing his pistol. “Get yer arse back, Bailyn!”

“Oh, and look!” He smirked at Laura. “His whore. Ye carryin' this bastard's bastard?”

“I will kill you, Bailyn. I swear on it.” James clenched his teeth, restraining himself from pulling the trigger.

Bailyn leaned to see past James, then smiled at Seán. “Ye still work for us, aye?”

Seán ignored him.

“Let's see, shall we?” Bailyn sneered. “Take his pistol.” He motioned toward James.

James's eyes flashed to Seán, then back to Bailyn, then to the two men beyond.

“Let me have it, Seámus,” said Seán.

James wheeled to see Seán's hand extended, palm up. “Damn ye!” James bellowed. “And don't ye dare call me such.”

“I'm glad to be here, to see this,” said Bailyn, grinning.

“Please. I'm asking ye.” Seán moved closer. “Just let me have it.”

The distinctive clomp of a military march resonated outside, followed by the distant order to halt. A voice commanded, “Affix bayonets!” James saw Bailyn's toothy smile.

“‘Tis over,” said Seán. “There's only one thing left to do.”

James turned back toward Seán, his mind racing. Then, with a shaky hand, he lowered the pistol, defeated. Then he saw it, Seán's outstretched hand. His palm was up, his three middle fingers held tightly together, his thumb and little finger spread wide.

“One choice left, Seámus. And ‘tis mine. Let me do what I must do.”

James saw it all, everything the next minute would hold, all before it happened. He slowly shook his head, mouthing “no” as he withdrew the weapon.

“Let's have this done with,” Bailyn ordered.

Seán nodded. “Soldiers will be here soon. Let me do this. I was wrong then. Let me be right now.”

James glanced back at Bailyn, who was still beaming. Then he looked at Seán, jaw flexed tight. He gave a knowing blink and nod, took a deep breath and carefully handed the pistol over, butt first, barrel toward Bailyn. He hesitated a moment, giving Seán a small smile. Finally, he let go.

“Now!” yelled Seán. As James jumped clear, Seán lifted the pistol and fired.

Deafening explosions ripped through the stables, the echo mixing with men shouting, horses neighing in fear. Laura's horse charged madly for the light, James's close behind as he struggled to climb on. Once in the saddle, he spurred the animal into a thundering run. Laura was already a good distance ahead, her blue dress flapping wildly. When two more shots blasted out in quick succession, James looked back though the flying dirt and sod churning up behind him. Captain Bailyn was racing on foot from the stables, followed by one of his men. Soldiers were swarming the ivy-clad buildings, the track, the paddock, some rushing to the stables. James whipped his horse harder, finally catching up with Laura, then again looked back. Counting Bailyn, there were at least six men riding hard their direction.

They rode hard, galloping across the Curragh plain, through a shallow creek and into the cover of trees. “James, stop. I must stop,” Laura yelled breathlessly, slowing her horse in the safety of the slanting shadows.

James reined his horse around. “What is it?”

“I can't,” she began, flushed and panting. “I can't go this fast. I almost fell.”

“Ride astride then. Can ye?” He turned toward the creek, watching for their pursuers.

“I've never tried and at a gallop.” She hesitated. “I might not—”

“‘Tis all right,” he said, flashing a reassuring smile and spurring his horse up beside hers. “We'll let yers go off and split the tracks. Here, climb on.” He held his arm out and she took it, pulling herself up sideways in front of him. “Whoa, stand,” he ordered, jerking back on the bit, forcing the animal to quit lurching forward.

“I'm set,” she assured him.

James smacked her horse on the rump, shooing it off at a run, then wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close to his chest. He spurred his horse forward, out of the woods, across another field. Laura's blonde hair had come loose from its combs and was now streaming back, across his shoulder, her head leaning against the scar on his face, her small hands grasping his arm. He couldn't push the horse to a full gallop, not with both of them on it, not through the trees, not for long. “Do ye see a house?”

“What?” she shouted, not hearing him over the wind and hooves.

“A farmhouse or barn. Help me find one.”

She nodded.

They rode for another mile without seeing a building of any kind, except an occasional sheep pen. James slowed their pace. He didn't know the land, and as it was mid-afternoon on an overcast day he was not entirely sure which direction they were traveling. Kildare was to the north, he knew, but were they riding north or northwest, or even west? At least no one was following them, as far as he could tell. They would stop. They needed to rest and figure where they were.

“There!” Laura pointed to the right.

“Aye, so ‘tis,” said James, relieved. Over half a mile away was a small cottage on a smooth green hillside framed by a stand of trees. He turned the horse toward it, spurring the beast hard. Laura leaned back and he held her tighter. Suddenly a flash of anger struck him. It had been foolish to take her to the races, too risky, and he had known it. He had even told Mackercher he didn't think they should go. But at Mackercher's insistence, he had given in. What a fool he had been to let her get anywhere near Richard and his damned gunmen. The thought of Laura being in harm's way was infuriating. A breach of an inviolable promise. But it was not Mackercher's fault, he reminded himself. It was his own doing. From that he pictured Mackercher standing there in the race house, declaring Richard's crimes for everyone to hear. I pray he got away. But what of Seán? Seámus? He called me Seámus. Damn. Don't let him be dead.

Nearing the cottage, he slowed the horse, trotting it around to the front and stopped. As he helped Laura dismount, an old, robust woman came wobbling out in a faded green dress and tattered apron, brandishing a large stick. “Get off dat beast or I bid ye ride on!” she ordered. She advanced toward the horse, walking directly past Laura.

“Ma'am, we mean ye no harm,” James began. “We—”

“Well den,” she said, smiling at the horse, “I'll spare ye harm in return.”

“We thank ye,” James stammered, smiling cautiously as he got off the horse. The woman had stopped near the horse's head and was now running her wrinkled hand along its jaw, murmuring something to it. As if they had mysteriously common bonds. As if this were not their first meeting.

Laura started, “Ma'am, I hope—”

“Ah, by Jaysus, the Lord Christ and Mother Mary!” The old woman jumped. “I thought ye on me other side.”

“Sorry.” Laura looked perplexed.

James studied the far tree line, looking for movement, anyone on horseback, but he saw nothing. “Ma'am, if it'd be no burden, I'd like to stable our horse here a bit? We must—”

“What's de name?” the woman asked, still stroking the horse's sweaty muzzle.

“My apologies, ma'am. James Annesley at yer service. And this is—”

“A horse named James?”

“Nay, ma'am,” he said slowly, exasperated. “We need to use yer stables, yer pen—”

“So, what's its name?”

“I don't know. If we could use your—”

“Ye don't know de name?”

Laura moved quickly to the woman, gently placing an arm around her. “Its name is Dover, ma'am,” she said, then turned to James and whispered, “She's blind.”

James nodded with a slight smile at her, then tugged on the reins, prodding it to walk with him. The woman followed, keeping a hand on the horse's rump, while Laura walked beside James. They went around to the back of the thatched cottage and headed for a horse pen set off in a cluster of trees.

“‘A cryin' shame, t' be sure, don't ye think, lassy,” the woman said over the horse, “t' see an olden mare lose her precious sight?”

“Ma'am?”

“Yer horse, lassy. Dover. Ye said ‘twas blind.”

“Oh, nay, ma'am, I meant you. I hope I gave no offense.”

“Why should ye have?” the woman snapped back.

“Indeed I shouldn't have,” said Laura, glaring at James, expecting him to say something.

He silently tied the horse to a water trough, and the woman returned to its muzzle. Then James came to Laura and held her lightly, slipping back into those sullen regions of his mind where Seán never left, never died. There was nothing to be done for that. Except another prayer that it wasn't so. Nothing for now. They were here, out of sight of the roads and safe. They certainly could not return to the track. After an hour or two, when the sun was further down, they would head for Kildare. But did this blind woman know the way? Though he wished she would invite them inside, he didn't want to alarm her by asking directly. An idea came to him. “May we trouble ye for some food, ma'am? I'd gladly pay.”

“Plenty o' hay ‘round de back. Ye get it yerself, Mr. Seámus Annesley.”

James shook his head. He wasn't of the mind for this nonsense.

Laura elbowed his ribs. “Thank ya, ma'am,” she said. “Ya're most kind.”

“Ma'am, I'm most concerned for a friend, that he might live, so please forgive me if—”

Suddenly the woman turned and walked directly to James, letting him see her cloudy eyes, white wax orbs. “Do ye think I'm blind, lad?”

“I don't know, ma'am,” he said, releasing Laura. “Are ye?”

“Might be. Might be. Some days I am fer sure.” The woman stopped and stared straight ahead, as though she were seeing right through his chest. “Are you blind, Lord Anglesea?”

“Nay, ma'am. Ye know me?”

“Ye sure ye're not blind?”

“Aye,” James said, growing impatient. “How do you know me?”

“Humph,” she snorted. “But can ye see all dis and everything?”

James glanced at Laura, then back at the woman's haunting eyes. “I can. I think.”

“Don't be so sure wise, lad.”

“Ye know of me?”

“Heard yer stories,” she muttered. “And m' mother, she knew of yer family. She's served the Buckinghams. Now she be in Kildare. Lived in Dublin. Served your mother some time ago.”

James and Laura exchanged looks, each asking the silent imponderable: If she's this old, how old must her mother be? James spoke up. “I'd like to meet her.”

“As I said, she's in Kildare. Talked of ye all de time,” the lady continued. “Said yer uncle is wrong of yer mother. As the facts are the other way.”

“My mother? Aye, she was Mary Sheffield. Not Joan—”

“Ma said the truth was hidden from ye.”

“What truth, ma'am?” James studied the woman. This was tiresome. Another useless witness and blind at that.

“Something she knew. Go to her. She's in a papal grave.”

“Grave, ma'am?”

“Cemetery beyond Kildare, m'lord. Why do ye bother me with yer questions? Ask her yerself. She'd like yer visit but mind ye take lassy here along.”

Laura spoke up with a soft smile. “I'd be honored to go to her.”

James gave Laura a puzzled look. This was dizzying. How could Laura be so kind? Regal. The word came to him. Laura had a regal kindness to her. A well kept, well bred beauty. Tough, to be certain, yet gentle, unthreatened by such confusion. He pressed on, in the only direction he understood. “'Tis no secret of my mother. It will be seen—”

“Ye can see everything, m'lord? Can ye? We've heard of ye all round dese parts of Eire.” She felt for his shoulder, and when she found it, she pulled down on it, raising herself to her toes, whispering in his ear, “De question is, m'lord, do ye know of us. Do ye know of me?”

“Should I?”

She stepped back. “Should ye, ye ask?” Her tone now crackly and sharp. “Why should anybody know about anybody, I ask ye? Tell me, sir, if ye can. I heard ‘bout you, didn't I?”

James frowned. “I must apologize, but I'm adrift here.”

“So be we all. Look under yer feet, m'lord.”

He looked down, and noticed Laura was doing so as well.

“What do ye see?”

“The ground, ma'am.”

“But whose ground?”

“Yers?”

“Nay, m'lord! For shame and swear.” She pointed near his boots. “'Tis yers.”

“Mine?”

“Yers, indeed. Ye're standing on yer own land.”

“It will then be.”

“Didn't ye be knowin' dat?”

“Well, nay. In truth, I didn't know the estate—”

“Learn t' see right from wrong, m'lord. I foresee soon I'll be bringin' me rents t' ye. They aren't much, but I know ye'll take ‘em. An' when I do, I want t'know dat ye can see. Dat ye know of me. Dat ye can see dis land o' Eire, m'lord, whether we be prayin' t' de Blessed Mary or no. ‘Tis our land. Our sweat gave it de dark smell. Our backs broke de rocks. An' our blood made it rich. Learn t' see de life in it, m'lord. ‘Tis Irish. Until ye do, ye're more blind dan me. An' yer lassy's horse.”

“Aye, ma'am,” James said, then studied her closely, astounded. Annoyed, but astounded.

“Are ye noble yet?” she pressed on.

“Another riddle for me?” James had had quite enough. But Laura didn't seem particularly perturbed so he hated to show his own shortness. He decided to humor the woman once again. But just this once more.

The woman waggled her finger in his direction, yet slightly off to the right. “My father used t' say, true nobility, m'lord, is not about de business of bettering yer brothers and fellow men. True nobility is found in being better dan ye used t' be. Are ye better dan ye used t' be, m'lord?”

“He is,” interjected Laura. “Mr. Annesley has traveled a lifetime journey that few could bear. I vish ye to know, ma'am, that he is noble in every sense of the vord.”

James's eyebrows peaked. His cheeks flushed, smiling. He had never heard her gush such.

“Den mind he knows himself as ye know him.” The elderly woman turned to face Laura square. “And lassy,” she said, “yer horse smells o' Eire. Feels o' Eire. As if he has Connemara blood in him. Why'd ye give him an English name as Dover?”

Laura shrugged, with a wink toward James. “‘Twas the first name I thought of, ma'am.”

The old woman cackled infectiously. “Well said, lassy!” She reached for Laura's hand. Finding it, she gripped it tightly, and with her other hand she patted Laura's head. “Ye've got a fine lil' Swede here, m'lord. Ye should listen t' her. Pray ye take heed of what she says.”

“Aye, ma'am,” replied James.

The woman turned and began walking toward her cottage. “All right, ye said ye wanted t' eat. Let's see what we can find in de kitchen. Some tea. More if ye like. I'll say a prayer for yer
deartháir
.”

James and Laura glanced at each other, then quietly followed her inside. “
Deartháir
?” Laura whispered.

“Brother,” James replied with a shrug.