Never Never (23 page)

“I have waited two weeks to bring you to justice, Donovan,” Hurley hissed as he drew a long knife from his belt sheath. “Two weeks to see you pay for your crimes.”

Mike took a step backward. His hands were untied. He had that. Hurley was big but they were evenly matched for size. If he could somehow get the knife…hold it to his throat…use him to get past the guards without being shot in the back. If he could just…

Hurley coughed a hacking explosion that sounded like a frontal attack in its own right. The coughing seemed to escalate his fury. His face was swollen red with fury.

“Guards!” Hurley shrieked. “Secure the prisoner!”

Mike turned as two soldiers filled the door of the tent. He lashed out with a fist and felt them grab his arms. Stepping into the two soldiers, Mike tucked his head and drove it into the face of the nearest man, hearing the cartilage crunch like the sound of dry twigs underfoot.

An explosive pressure erupted behind his ear and Mike felt darkness pressing in as they dragged him to the ground. Two more soldiers stepped into the tent. One pulled a short cord of rope from his belt.

Mike saw stars glittering in his periphery as he tried to clear his vision.

“Tie him,” Hurley snarled, now standing next to Mike. The soldiers tugged Mike's hands behind him and cinched them tight. Hurley grabbed Mike by the hair and jerked his head back, exposing his throat.

“We're going to hang you in full view of the castle. But first you'll accommodate me for the wait I endured by allowing your friends to hear your screams.” He jabbed the tip of the knife into Mike's throat. The two soldiers stood behind Mike, holding him firmly. The pressure of the knife pressing into him erupted into an electric jolt as the blade pierced his skin. Mike gasped.

“And we won't finish until the whole world is screaming along with you.”

“
T
ake him outside
,” Hurley said.

“Yes, Commander!” The four soldiers grabbed Mike by the upper arms and dragged him to the tent door. He fought to walk even if it meant he was walking to his own execution. The agony from the men yanking on his shoulder worked to clear his head.

Was there a chance? A ghost of a chance? Mike didn't look at the castle. He found himself praying Gavin wasn't watching.

Once outside, the two soldiers on either side of him hesitated.

“Tell your people if anyone fires down on us,” Hurley said, “we'll kill everyone inside starting with the children.”

“I have no control over what they do,” Mike said, his jaws clenched tight.

“Bring him over here,” Hurley said stifling another cough as he walked closely behind one of his soldiers, clearly using him as a shield against a direct shot from the castle.

The group walked twenty yards away from the front of the castle and behind a large yew tree.

Mike saw Hurley's problem and likely his soldiers did too. The bastard couldn't torture him in full view of the castle without risking being shot. But torturing him behind a bush took all the fun out of it.

Fighting to ignore the shooting pain in his shoulder and his throat, Mike pulled himself to his full height.

“Need a fecking battalion to hold me, do ye?” Mike said, his voice acidic with disdain.

“I don't need to prove meself to my men,” Hurley said hotly. But he coughed again.

“Are you sure?” Mike looked at the soldier holding him. “Because from where I'm standing—”

“Shirrup, you!” the soldier—a young man in his early twenties—said to Mike, but he stole a look at Hurley.

And Hurley saw it.

“Go! All of ye!” Hurley yelled. “I'll deal with him. Anderson, you and McKinney get ready to enter the castle through the tunnel. Everyone else group at the tower gate and prepare to enter. Tell them we'll dig Donovan's heart out with a rusty spoon if they don't raise the drawbridge.” He looked at Mike as he spoke and his eyes were flat.

“Yes, Commander. And once we're inside?”

Mike held Hurley's eyes and steeled himself. It didn't matter what the bastard said, he told himself.
They're just words. They're just words.

“Kill everyone.”

Mike swallowed down the bile of his fury and his fear. He pulled against his bonds behind his back but they were solid. He felt them cut into his wrists as he twisted against them.

Because he knew he couldn't wait for Hurley to make the first move, Mike was on the balls of his feet when the ground suddenly vibrated and pushed him skyward. The roar of the explosion was delayed by seconds and then obliterated by screams by the time Mike found himself splayed across a hawthorn bush ten feet from where he'd been standing. With his hands still behind him, he'd had nothing to protect his face and the sharp and jagged branches jabbed into his neck and chest.

Mike pushed himself onto his feet. The bush was coated in globs of red gore. He looked down to see where the wound was and instead saw the decapitated head of the young soldier who'd just told him to shut up.

Smoke and fire erupted in tall columns where Hurley's tent had been. A bomb? It was definitely an explosion. But coming from where? Mike saw Hurley sitting on the ground and shaking his head as if in a stupor. But unhurt.

The knife was on the ground.

Mike knew he had only a split-second where Hurley was dazed and unarmed. A moment that wouldn't come again.

He lowered his head and aimed for Hurley as the man attempted to stand. He hit him solidly smashing into the lower half of Hurley's jaw. Hurley went down with a loud thud spitting teeth. Before Mike could kick away the knife, Hurley lunged for him and wrapped his fingers around his neck.

Mike felt the thundering pain in his wounded shoulder like a hundredweight around his neck, pulling him down and smothering him against the iron necklace of Hurley's hands. He twisted his hips to flip the bastard on his back but Hurley unclenched from his neck just long enough to smash his fist into Mike's face.

Fireworks went off inside Mike's head as he absorbed the blow. His hands were trapped under him and behind his back. Hurley hit him again but Mike turned his jaw and the blow slid off his face, catching his nose instead and breaking it.

Hurley straddled him and punched him one fist over the other. The knife had to be under them or next to them. Hurley was too determined to kill him with his bare hands to worry about the knife. Not with a helpless victim under him with hands tied. Mike took two more punishing blows. He tried to move away from the punches but his thinking was getting foggy. The darkness was trying to claim him. He
wanted
the darkness to claim him. He felt the ground with his fingers, his head rocketing sidewise with the viciousness of Hurley's attack.

Mike's fingers found the blade.

Not giving himself time to react to the agony exploding in his face, Mike tightened his grip on the handle of the knife. He slashed at his bonds, feeling his wrists tearing too.

Hurley punched him again, once, twice before Mike raised his chest up and slammed him hard with his head. When Hurley recoiled, jerking backward, Mike whipped his arm out from behind him and stabbed blindly at Hurley's side. He felt the knife go in and then stop as it banged into the resistance of a rib. The man howled and scrambled away from Mike. The cut was bloody but not life-threatening. Hurley held his side and glared at Mike like a wild animal—his eyes darting from left to right as he tried to gauge Mike's movements.

“Brady!” Hurley screamed. “First Prefect! To me,
now
!”

“Everybody's too busy dying, arsehole,” Mike said, his mouth full of blood. He let it drip from his lips, afraid to take his eyes off the man in front of him. The fingers holding the knife felt slick. He clutched the knife and got to his feet.

“Brady!” Hurley yelled again. Now his eyes went from Mike's face to the knife.

Somewhere on the other side of the tree at the castle, Mike heard rapid gunfire.

Were the soldiers already inside killing people?

He saw movement over Hurley's head, but forced himself not to take his eyes off him even for a second. More screams pierced the air that was punctuated with gunshots but he didn't dare turn to see what was happening at the castle.

And then he heard Sarah's voice. He knew it wasn't real but in that moment when she came to him inside his head, every fiber and electrical pulse in his body reacted.

He hesitated.

And that was all it took.

Hurley lashed out with a hard kick to his kidneys. The pain ignited in Mike's lower back. He saw the satisfaction in Hurley's eyes as Hurley threw himself at him, hitting Mike full in the chest and knocking the knife out of his hands.

Pinned beneath Hurley, Mike writhed to free himself, groping for the knife on the ground.

Hurley gave a grunt of triumph and held the knife aloft in his fist over Mike's head. His eyes were feverish with intent.

“I execute you in the name of the Imperial Irish Army and the Irish Empire!”

Mike struggled to bring his arms up to protect his throat as Hurley slammed the knife downward.

M
ike never heard
the gunshot that saved his life. He felt the blade fall against his chest as it tumbled from Hurley's fingers.

Followed by Hurley's body.

Brady stood six feet away pointing a pistol at arm's length. He didn't look at Mike. His eyes were solely on his leader. Two soldiers appeared behind him. Over their shoulders Mike caught glimpses of men running, stumbling, falling. The screams and the gunshots filled the air around him but the tree blocked his view of the castle.

Brady lowered his arm and jammed the gun into his shoulder harness. He walked over and tugged Hurley's body off Mike so it lay facedown beside him.

Mike was amazed to see that Brady was really just a kid. He didn't look old enough to be out of school let alone in the army.

“Can you stand up?” Brady asked him.

Mike climbed unsteadily to his feet.

“Anderson! Jamison!” Brady shouted before turning and spitting on Hurley's body. “Grab this piece of shite!”

Brady leaned down to talk to the back of Hurley's head.

“How's the field promotion feel, Commander?” he said with a sneer. “You were in charge and now you're dead.” He straightened, keeping his eyes on Hurley as he muttered to himself, “Fecking lunatic parks us out in the open to be picked off one by one.”

The two soldiers lifted Hurley's body under the arms. They looked expectantly at Mike.

“After you, squire,” Brady said wearily, waving toward the front of the castle. “Your lot will shoot our fecking heads off unless you go out first.”

It was then that Mike realized the sounds he was hearing was a steady line of
rifle
fire
coming from the castle
.

The castle was shooting down on the men camped outside the walls with no benefit of cover. He and Hurley had been behind the only protected spot anywhere near the castle.

His heart pounded as he realized what was happening.

Head of the snake. My God, this has Sarah's name written all over it.

He stumbled out from around the tree and raised his hands to the castle.

“Don't shoot!” he called. “They're…they're leaving.” He turned to glance at Brady and the young man nodded.

“Aye we fecking are. As long as we can do it without a bullet or a fecking arrow in our backs.”

The two soldiers dragged Hurley's corpse to the drawbridge as it was lowering and dropped the body face down in the dirt. Mike looked up to see five figures in silhouette on the parapet—each with a rifle or long bow. One of the figures waved. Gavin.

Mike grinned which made his face ache. His right eye was already swollen shut. He turned to see the drawbridge fully open and Sarah flying across it. Toward him.

“Mike!”

She hit him solidly, nearly knocking him off his feet but then pulled back and began touching his chest, his face, and his neck. She was looking everywhere at once as she gently assessed his wounds. The fear in her face dissolved as she realized what he didn't have the breath to tell her.

He was okay.

With his last ounce of energy, he opened his arms to her and she slipped into them. His battered face was buried in her hair. And when the trembling began she held him. Like she would never let him go.

Which was just fine with him.

S
arah didn't know
who was shaking more—her or Mike. As he talked with the tall soldier who walked out with him, she checked him for any injuries and found nothing serious. Forcing herself not to step on the so-called commander's body as she pulled Mike back toward the drawbridge, she signaled to Kevin to get ready to close the drawbridge behind them. She wanted the soldiers to leave immediately. But Mike was already telling the soldier they could take the time they needed to collect their dead and pull down their tents.

She looked up at the parapet and saw the men and women lined up there with bows and arrows and rifles pointed down. She could only imagine what it must have felt like for the soldiers, to be down here—completely vulnerable—while bullets and arrows rained down on them.

As soon as she and Mike were inside the castle, Mike was swarmed by their people who slapped him on the back and embraced him. She could see the pain in Mike's face with every hug, but he was grinning too.

When he finally extricated himself from the crowd to find her again, she stood waiting for him in the courtyard with Nuala and Sophia, who added their hugs and kissed him soundly before scurrying off to the dining hall and the nursery.

Mike eased himself down onto the garden bench that abutted the eastern castle wall. Three women walked past them toward the kitchens to start the afternoon meal.

Just a normal Tuesday afternoon,
Sarah thought,
after everyone thought we'd all be dead for Wednesday morning.

The men resumed their positions on the parapet and watched as the army packed up and broke down their tents.

“Tell me,” Mike asked.

“Tommy had some C-4,” Sarah said as she slipped a hand inside Mike's shirt. The stitches on the gash in his shoulder had pulled apart. “He found a way to put a fuse to it and we hurled that into the middle of them.”

“That explains the big boom,” Mike said wincing.

“And all the women who'd been practicing like maniacs with their bows and arrows all week didn't see any reason not to use them.”

“Did they hit anyone?” Mike shook his head and laughed.

Sarah frowned as she slid her hand gently along his collarbone. “Maybe one guy? In the leg? But it didn't matter. We scared the crap out of them. The
soldiers
didn't know we couldn't hit a target at ten paces.”

“I felt like I was looking up at the fecking Alamo,” Mike said. “With everyone lined up there on the parapet.”

“I think the Alamo is an unfortunate reference,” Sarah said and wiped her bloody hands on her jeans. “We need to get you sponged off and bandaged up. Your nose is broken again.”

“What's wrong with the clinic? There's got to be a reason we're not there right now.”

Sarah sighed. “Mike…”

“What happened?”

“The bastards got inside the castle. There's a secret tunnel that comes through the clinic.”

“Shite.”

She squeezed his knee as she watched his face register that Fiona and Declan and Beryl had been in the clinic.

“Fiona…?”

“She's fine,” Sarah said. “But Beryl, no. And Declan.”

“Oh, Jaysus. I need to go to her.”

“Not yet, Mike. She's pretty raw. Although it helped to get you back inside. A lot.”

“What a disaster,” Mike said, shaking his head.

“No,” Sarah said, standing up and tugging on his sleeve to get him to his feet. “One thing today was
not
was a disaster. We repulsed an effing army today when we were totally unprepared. And while we did lose two precious members, it could have been much, much worse. We live to fight another day.”

A
n hour
later after Sarah had cleaned his cuts, loaded him up with painkillers, restitched his shoulder and bandaged his other wounds—his wrists, his throat, his broken nose, and a gash over his eye—Mike insisted on seeing Fiona and Shaun before going in to dinner.

Both she and Shaun were in the room that had been used as Shaun's cell before he'd been thrown out of the castle weeks earlier. Someone had set a line of candles on the built-in stone bookshelves in the room and a small fire burned in the hearth. The bodies of Declan and Beryl lay side by side on twin tables. Their hair was combed and hands arranged as if in prayer.

Mike put a hand on Shaun's shoulder and the man turned and nodded. Fiona stood up and went to Mike and hugged him. As he held Fiona, Sarah could hear him murmuring to her in Gaelic.

Sarah's own eyes stung with tears. It was true that Declan had been in the process of leaving them for a long time. Ever since the day he'd been taken from the compound last winter. After being shot and left for dead, he'd never fully recovered.

Her heart was broken when she remembered the Declan she had known—the gypsy king so full of life and verve who'd loved Fiona and Ciara so dearly and who had been the best of friends to her and a brother to Mike and young John.

And he would always be the man who'd saved Sarah's life years ago on a cold, wet day deep in the heart of the Welsh wilderness.

We'll remember you always, Dec
, Sarah thought, wiping the tears from her eyes.
And we'll make sure little Ciara never forgets you.

Mike and Shaun stepped outside the room and Sarah hurried to join them. She knew there was still the matter of the two soldiers in the tunnel to resolve.

“Where are they now?” Mike asked Shaun.

“One of them is injured,” Sarah said. Mike gave her a baleful look but if he thought she would keep quiet, then he'd taken too many pain pills.

“As I understand it,” Shaun said as they walked down the stone corridor toward the room where they'd locked up the soldiers, “these weren't the ones who shot Declan or my mother. Declan killed those two and we still have to clean up the clinic.”

“There are bodies still there?”

“Aye. There were four soldiers in the tunnel. The two who opened fire on everyone in the clinic, and these two bringing up the rear.”

“Mike, you can't kill them,” Sarah said.

“I can't let them leave here alive knowing about the tunnel!” Mike said in frustration. He nodded to Tommy who stood outside the door. Tommy unlocked the door.

The two soldiers sat next to each other on the floor. Sarah had patched up the arm of one which had a ricochet wound from a bullet bouncing off the stone walls. They were brothers. Both stood as Mike, Shaun and Sarah entered the room.

“We can destroy the tunnel,” Sarah said. “Then there's nothing to know.”

“That tunnel might save our lives one day,” Shaun said.

“It didn't help much today,” Sarah said.

The two soldiers listened but their eyes were on Mike. And he didn't look happy.

The taller of the soldiers—the one with his arm in a sling—cleared his throat.

“Me brother and I would like to formally request prisoner of war status,” he said. “We don't have family any more and if that wanker Hurley is really dead…”

Sarah noticed the younger man was missing two fingers. It occurred to her it might be the result of an instance of army “justice.”

“Are you asking to live with us?” Mike said, dumbfounded.

“I…I'm really strong,” the younger soldier said, “and neither me nor Frank are married. Frank here was a grammar school teacher before the bomb dropped and I'm dead clever with mechanical stuff.”

“We
could
use a few more men,” Sarah said. She glanced at Shaun who shrugged.

“Can't argue with that,” he said.

“Are ye both mad?” Mike said. His face was flushed and Sarah wondered for a moment if perhaps she'd overdosed him. She should at least have let him have his dinner before asking him to play King Solomon.

“These bastards raped and murdered everyone at the convent!” Mike said.

In a flash, Sarah felt the ground push away from her. It felt like someone just doused the lights. All the lights in the world.

When she came to seconds later, she was on the floor with Mike kneeling beside her and everyone talking and shouting at once.

“We never! It didn't happen!”

“I swear on me life! No one touched the Sisters!”

The nausea swam up from Sarah's stomach until it lodged in her throat.

“Sarah, lass, I'm sorry,” Mike said, patting her hand. His eyes were distraught with guilt. “I may be wrong about that. The lads say the nuns are fine.”

“We swear it's true!” Frank said.

“Well, we'll know soon enough,” Mike said gruffly over his shoulder to him. He turned back to Sarah and tried to smile reassuringly. “We'll head back there straightaway and see for ourselves.”

Sarah steadied herself with a hand on the cold stone floor. Her forehead felt damp but her stomach was settling down.

Yes. They would go back to the convent. Soon. Tomorrow.

“Promise me you didn't hurt them,” she said in a hoarse voice.

“We swear, missus!” Robby said. “Not a hair!” But Sarah saw a quick, guilty glance to his brother.

“What are you not saying?”

Mike helped her to her feet.

“It's just that…” Frank said as he looked at the floor.

“Out with it!” Mike barked.

“It's just…that bastard Hurley shot two of the nuns right off and then made us torch the place,” Robby said. His eyes welled with tears. “And…and when me mate Denny wouldn't do it right off, the fecker shot him too.”

“And stuck his…his head on a pole,” Frank finished.