Infinite Devotion (34 page)

“Pleasure doing with business with you, O’Hanlon. Be sure to come back again.”

I realize he must have learned my name back at the gaol.

“I never caught your name?”

“People round here call me Cahir of the Horses.” He smiles and takes his bag into his office.

Art looks at my glimmering beauty standing hands above his grey. “I see why the extra pounds.”

Chapter 6

About a month later, Art and I are regular highwayman. We wait on the most remote spots for lone well-to-do riders and are careful to wear masks and keep moving. Each robbery goes as smoothly as the first, and we collect enough money the first week to get Ma and Da a nice little tenant farm near our old farm, and the next week we have enough to get them some livestock to get them started again. Ma never asks where it came from, and Da shakes our hands proudly. As soon as they’re comfortable, we have to start hiding what we didn’t drink or eat in a night. A hole here, a rock there, but it never stays for long because everywhere we go, we’d hear another desperate peasant story, and we’d make sure to put it in their hands.

The Cashel’s worth every penny. Every day he surprises me with something else Cahir had taught him. Ma sees him gallop to me when I whistle, and he gets down in a bow for me, and she swears he’s enchanted. Art walks straighter, and the color comes back to his face. He looks able and young again, and the two of us are a mighty good team.

Art and I collect so many guns and weapons that we don’t know what to do with them. I decide ’twill serve us best if we stash them all over the woods in well-known places in case of emergencies. Our favorite places are in between little hills covered in dense, long grass where a grown man can disappear. On days where there’s thick military presence in Armagh, Art and I walk through the woods, scouting good caves, tricky bog walks, and thick brackets of thorns that we can hide horses behind.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Art and I lie down in the tall grass under the shade of a tree, letting our horses graze in a clearing in the woods. We both doze off only to be woken up by the feeling of cold steel to our heads.

“Get up, you ruffians!” the leader yells in our language. “On your feet!”

I slowly rise to my feet with my hands up and see there are four redcoats. I give a look to Art to let me speak, and he nods slightly, understanding.

“What’s the problem, officer?” I say in English.

“We’re clearing these woods of Tories.” He takes the gun from my head, puts it behind my back, and nudges me to move. “Go get those horses,” he says to his men.

“Oh, we’re no Tories, sir.” I cock my head over to Art. “Just closed our eyes and let our horses graze a bit.”

“What are you doing out here in the thick of the wood, then?” He studies Art. “A little lover’s tryst?” He laughs, and so does the soldier pointing his gun at Art.

“No, sir, we’re in search of a good stash of mountain dew that a fellow in the tavern was too tipsy to keep quiet about.”

“Poteen, you say?” He checks around. “A good stash around here?”

“Well, he said he picked a nice spot near a field and a grove of silver birches, ten paces from a rock in the shape of a man’s head. Stuck down low between a grassy crevice. Two whole jugs of it, he says.”

This gets the officer’s attention, and he searches around and spies a rock just like a bald man’s head.

“There, that’s the very rock. The good man found it for us,” I say to Art, who’s wondering what I’m doing, since he doesn’t speak but three words in English. “Ah, and look, there’s grassy crevices all around there.”

“Which way did he say to take the ten paces?” The officer starts pushing me over to the rock as the other two tie our horses and come over to see what we’re doing.

“He didn’t say, so we’d have to take a guess.” I reach the rock and take ten paces with the officer behind me. I stop right in front of a large grassy hole. “Would you like me to reach in, officer?”

He pauses a moment. “No. Edmund, give Luke your gun and come over here to reach in for a jug.”

The younger man steps forward, and I move out of his way as he reaches into the grass.

Snap!

“
Aaaahhhhhh!
” the man screams, and the solders all jump and drive the guns farther into our backs.

Edmund keeps screaming in agony as he pulls both arms up with a traquenard clenched deep into his forearms, making the already red sleeves dark with blood.

The officer barks, “Did you know that was there yeoman?”

I try to act surprised. “I heard nothing of the booby traps, sir.”

“Luke! Take Edmund immediately back on your horse to the village before he bleeds through.”

Luke takes the screaming man, puts him sidesaddle on his horse like a child, and takes off toward town.

Art gives me a look like he’s figured out my plan.

The officer nudges me again. “Back to the rock with you, and try another direction.”

I walk back and take my ten paces in the opposite direction, straight to another dark hole. I stop and say, “Do you want to do the honor, sir?”

“Oh, no, yeoman, I think this time I’ll trust you to find out what’s waiting in there.”

I take a deep breath and slowly put my arms down through the sharp grass. I have to bend even deeper to reach the bottom of the hole.

“I got something, sir.”

“What is it, then?” He moves the gun off my back in suspense, and the other officer moves in for a look.

I pull my arms out fast and spin around with a pistol in each hand‌—‌one pointed at each officer. “Now, drop your weapons, or both of you will find out if these are loaded.”

They both throw down their guns, and Art quickly picks them both up.

“Now, take off your uniforms.”

They begrudgingly begin to take off their shiny brass-buttoned coats, and when the leader goes to hand it to me, he drops it to the ground.

“Oops,” he says with a sarcastic curl of his lip.

I keep quiet and slowly pick up the coats, hats, and pants. Art takes one of their horse’s leads and I take the other. I get up on Ghost, turn, and point both pistols at their chests. One of the men gets down on his knees as the other watches the gun. I pull the triggers.

They both flinch at the clicks. The look on both their faces when they realize they aren’t loaded sends us reeling as we turn to gallop away deeper into the woods.

After our laughter dies down, Art says, “Did you ever think of what would have happened if he let you reach in for that trap?”

I reply, smiling, “An Englishman thinks, seated; a Frenchman, standing; an Irishman,
afterward
.”

Chapter 7

The cold mud from the river’s edge seeps into my boots as I crouch in the reeds along the swollen Cusher River. I start to make my way, squatting up the bank, toward the man I’ve followed here. I don’t like being so close to the water. Something about the sound of the rushing water makes my heart beat faster and my breath get tight. Put me on top of the highest peaks, scaling the cliff walls, climbing to the tops of the tallest Scots pine, in the muddiest bog, or the darkest forest, but any churning deep river gets me in a panic. But this is worth it today. I think of my ancestors fishing in this very river and imagine them all watching me, whispering, “
Tandragee Castle.
”

I hear his voice. I’m getting closer. I hear the slosh of boots and the casting of a fishing line with a heavy hook. I raise the barrel of my blunderbuss out of the reeds and level it right at Henry St. John’s back. I pull back the trigger ever so slowly, but suddenly a boy jumps in the water beside him, splashing St. John.

“Look what you did boy!” he fumes. “Not only did you drench me, you scared away every fish up to Newry Canal!”

“Sorry, Father,” the boy says with his head down.

St. John takes a step away from the boy, turns his back to him, and casts out his line again. I push my gun down and back away, wishing St. John had come alone.

Needing something to brighten my day, I ride Ghost down to the ferry and watch from a safe distance. The boat pulls up, with a fine carriage waiting. Two rich-looking gentlemen are deep in conversation as they step off the ferry. One puts his gloved hand up for the footman to come for their chests. When one of the men sees a young lass struggling to get off, he runs to assist her. I can see even from this great distance that her chestnut hair shines copper in the small amount of light that peeks through the grey skies. She wears a pale blue dress with yellow ribbons and a lace-trimmed kerchief pinned at her neck. I want to see her closer so I can see the details of her face.

The men help her from the dock to the carriage and make sure her things are loaded. I reach for the officer’s jacket I have laid across my knees and put it on with the hat. As soon as the carriage leaves the ferry depot, I kick Ghost to follow behind. I keep my distance until we’re approaching a wooded and overgrown part of the path, and then I push Ghost into a blazing gallop. We catch up to the overburdened carriage quickly, and I get the attention of the driver, who studies my uniform carefully and decides to halt his carriage.

“What is it, Officer?” he asks as a gentleman from behind sticks his head out of the carriage window to listen.

“I am the surveyor general of all the high roads in Ireland,” I say. “I have been sent here to warn all carriages and travelers of this stretch of road. A dangerous highwayman has been through here but an hour ago, and we’re afraid he might strike again.”

The driver looks up the desolate road warily.

“Does anyone here carry arms for protection?” I ask.

“I have this musket here up with me. Any of you gentlemen armed?” the driver asks to the men in the carriage.

The man checks within. “We have our swords.”

“Good you have that.” I nod to the gentlemen and ask the driver, “Do you mind if I take a look at your musket? She’s a beauty.”

He shrugs and hands the gun down to me. I run my hand over it, hold it up to my eye, pull back the hammer, and point it straight at the man hanging out of the carriage.

“Drop your swords out the window, quick!” I holler.

Two swords, still in sheaths, clunk out the window. The driver moves slightly, and I point my gun back at him and say, “Get in the carriage so I can keep an eye on all of you.”

He moves carefully down into the small carriage door and squeezes in beside the terrified girl. I dismount, put the musket in my saddlebag, and pull out my two pistols. I smile at the lass. “Easier to chat holding these.”

She’s even prettier close up. She has light brown eyes, and her face is kissed with Irish freckles. The red in her cheeks shows through her pale skin from the thrill of the robbery.

“Nobody worry,” I say as I try to give her a dashing smile. “I only shoot people I don’t like.”

I open the door and say, “This is the lord examiner of all passengers. Everyone empty their pockets.”

The gentlemen reach in and hand me their coins and watches. The young lady speaks in a soft voice, “My father sent me over before him with £100, but ’tis all I have to live on until he comes back in six months.”

“Where is it, darling?”

“In my chest,” she says quietly.

I close the door and walk back to the stacked chests and pull one down with a pistol set on the door. The first chest I open contains some men’s clothes and a bag of coin. The second I pull down is much heavier. Inside is a whole silver tea set, a large silver platter, and a complete set of cutlery still wrapped up in its case. I whistle for Ghost, and he comes right to me and stands as I stuff each item in his saddlebags. The last chest is the lightest, and upon opening it, I see an explosion of ruffles, bows, lace, and silks. I reach down through the heavenly scented items and set my hand on a hard bag of metal. Pulling it up, I see what looks indeed to be £100.

I walk back over to her and see her beautiful, worried face. I take a half crown out of the bag and hold it in front of her. “I will give you this if you tell me your name.”

“Muirin,” she says, her eyes too shy to make contact with mine.

I hand her the whole bag, to her surprise.