Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen) (2 page)

The sins of the father.

She shut her eyes against the thought and swallowed.

“They’ll see he’s innocent. They’ll let him go,” Geraldine said. It was a lie, that was easy to see, but it was comforting to hear nonetheless. Geraldine pulled the damp white scarf from her head, shook rain water from it and then replaced it. “I’ll light a candle for him as well.”

“That’s very kind.” The words that passed over the lump in Kathleen’s throat were just above a whisper. “Thank you.” Unwilling to continue the conversation, she gave her excuses and made to leave. Before she did, Geraldine cast off a sympathetic look that made Kathleen want to scream.

She took a steadying breath and blew it out her cheeks as Geraldine vanished inside the church. It was Wednesday. There was much to do before school let out and the little ones came home. There was the mending to do. Her husband seemed to put more holes in trouser pockets than any man alive. It had started to rain while she was inside the church, a soft mist, and she opened the umbrella she’d brought with her. The street in front of the church was empty. Rubble formed a hill opposite and not far away from that was the Army check point she’d have to pass through before reaching her flat. As she walked she focused hard on the list of things she needed to do to keep from thinking of Geraldine’s face, and as a result it wasn’t until she’d passed the churchyard gate that she noticed she was being followed. Screwing up her courage, she whirled and was struck dumb by the sight of the very person she’d been thinking of earlier.

“Is it really you?” She blurted it out before thinking. There never seemed to be a pattern in his arrivals. She’d spent years searching for one.

Tall with black hair and pale blue eyes, Bran looked every bit as handsome and wild as he had the first time she’d met him.
That’s not entirely true,
she thought.
Is that grey in his hair?
He stood on the other side of the churchyard wall, rainwater dripping from his hair and shirt. As always his clothes were outdated—all but the pegged jeans she’d given him long ago.
Pegged jeans, ancient linen shirt and bare feet. It’s a wonder no one notices him, a man like him.
It was then she saw the bloody gash in his shoulder. He hadn’t even bothered to bandage it yet. “I need to speak with you, Kathleen.” His voice was grave. “It’s important.”

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing. Please. I don’t have much time.”

“You never do.”

“Oh, now. Don’t start in at me already.”

“Was you that left before it was done,” she said.

“And was you that won’t leave with me at all.”

“I married Patrick and stay with him I must.”

“I’ll fight him for you. I am of the Fianna. He won’t have a chance of winning. But he’ll release you before it came to that, surely. He doesn’t love you as I do.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore.” She passed a hand over her face to hide from the knowledge that he was right.

“Ah, sweet Kathleen. I’m begging you.”

“Don’t!” Recovering herself, she looked around to see if anyone was listening. “And where were you sixteen years ago? Why were you not begging then?”

“I was in a
Sídhe
gaol. We talked about this before.”

“And we’ll talk about it again. But it won’t make a difference, will it? It changes nothing. It’s married I am and married I’ll stay.”

He sighed and nodded. “As you wish it.”

“It isn’t what I wish at all. But it’s how it has to be.” She hated it when he blamed her for the very thing that made her so unhappy. He should’ve come to her when she needed him. She’d waited for six years, and her with his illegitimate child. The hurts she’d suffered from her own mother were enough to kill her. At the last she’d agreed to marry Patrick. It’d been clear her mother was right after all. Bran wasn’t coming back, and Liam needed a father. Except Bran had returned, but it was too late. It was always too late. Sometimes she found herself hating him. No matter his war. No matter his honor and his oaths. To be fair, she knew the situation was her responsibility too. She should never have let herself love him, but she’d been young and stupid.

Well, she wasn’t young and stupid any longer.

“Kathleen, please,” he said. “It’s important. For you and the babe.”

“He’s not a babe anymore.” She found herself walking toward the churchyard gate. “You’d know that if you’d but seen him.” The gate squealed when she pushed it open. It was a sound distilled with years of loneliness, pain and grief.

“Was you who won’t tell me of him. Was you told me to stay away. Was you who said he was too young to understand.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Bran smiled that charming smile of his, and it melted her anger all over again. “Tell me. Something. Anything of him at all. Is he big and strong like his father?”

She sighed and blinked the blurriness from her vision.
He’s grown into the very spirit and image of you. My heart aches every time I see him.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”

They walked together between tombstones and Celtic crosses to the back of the churchyard. When she was sure they were far enough from the street she stopped beneath an ancient oak tree. “What is it that’s so important?”

Bran’s face clouded. “You may be in danger. I’ll shield you both as much as I can, but the war with the Fallen has taken a bad turn, and I’m needed elsewhere.”

“You’re always needed elsewhere.”
And if you wanted the truth of it, that’s the very reason why I’ll not leave this life for you. I can’t count on you,
she thought.
I can’t trust you’ll stay and be a father to my children. I can’t even trust you’ll appear in regular intervals.
She stood a little straighter in spite of the emotions ripping her apart. “Well, what is it?”

“Do you know of a creature called a Redcap?”

“You’ve come from the Other Side to warn me of a bogey man?”

“He’s real, Kathleen, and he’s sworn to destroy my men, me and mine. One by one.”

“Why?”

Bran looked away. “It’s lovely here. So peaceful.”

“Don’t you shy away from my question. You’ll tell me straight, or I’m walking out of this churchyard and never speaking to you again.”

“Oh, Kathleen.”

“I mean it.” To emphasize the point she took three steps toward the gate.

“Wait!”

She slowly turned to face him but otherwise didn’t move or speak.

“Please! It’s important!”

The urgency in his voice frightened her, but she wasn’t about to let him know he’d gotten to her, or how much she needed him. “Out with it, then.”

“It’s only that I wished to speak of more pleasant things first. Rest in the shade of the oak together a while. Talk. Like we used to. When we first loved each other.”

“I’ve no time for your pretty words. I should not have had it then. So, say what it is you’ve come to say. Or I’ll make you swear to speak only truth—”

“You would put such a thing upon me? You would bind me so?”

She didn’t understand why it was he felt so bound by the promises she forced out of him, but it had always been so; and because his word-bond was the only hold she had on him, she had always been careful of it. Bran was a proud man. She knew there was a limit to how far she could push without breaking him. And break him, she could. She’d seen it. Extracting that promise regarding Liam had come close enough.
So many years. So much pain.

Why do I torture him so?
She narrowed her eyes and set her jaw, waiting with a shuddering heart.

“I told you of the war with the Fallen. The ones the new religion brought with it.”

She nodded. She didn’t know what to think of the things he’d told her over the years—that the old myths were every bit as real as the Church. Such thoughts were enough to shake the foundations of her faith.
The Good Folk warring with fallen angels.
She wasn’t sure if she should believe him. In truth, she couldn’t even be sure what or who Bran really was.

Bran said, “There have been setbacks.”

“Go on.”

“The Fallen have summoned allies from over the sea. The Redcap is among the worst,” Bran said. “Very powerful. He established a
rath
not far from the coast. Me and my men broke it and burned it to the ground.”

“That’s all?”

“It’s been a long war even by our terms. Lies mixed with truth goad the fires of hate. Some of our own have died the final death. Emotions run hot, and there are those who thirst for revenge,” Bran said, staring at a tombstone. “Things were done at that
rath
that shouldn’t have been done. Things that went beyond the normal terms of war. It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t the one who perpetrated the acts, or that the ones that did have been punished. They were my men, and they stepped over the line. I’m responsible.”

“Oh.” A cold gust blew from the north, tearing at the scarf on her head and stinging her cheeks.

“Please, Kathleen. For my sake. For the boy’s. Be careful of strangers.” He closed his eyes. “The iron will do no good against the likes of him. Uncle Fionn says you’ll have to use your bitty cross. Keep it with you at all times. Tie red thread around it. Good Irish linen will do the trick.”

“I will.”

“Make sure the boy does the same.”

It was her turn to flinch. “He’s gone. They’ve lifted him.”

“Who?”

“The BAs. The British Army. Who else? He’s gone, and I don’t know where they’ve taken him.” It felt good to tell someone who wasn’t merely interested in gossip—someone who could help. “Will you get him home?”

“I’ll do what I can. I swear it.”

“Thank you.” Her breath hitched and suddenly the tears were pouring down her cheeks enough to compete with the rain. Bran opened his arms to her, and she dropped her umbrella and went to him, grabbing his waist as if she were drowning. Maybe she was. She certainly didn’t care who might see. Most of her life was spent being strong for other people. For once she would have something for herself. She needed him. She needed this. It didn’t matter that it was against everything she’d been taught to believe and everything she taught her own children.

She felt him tug away her scarf. His hand smoothed her wet hair and slid down her back. “Shhhh. There now,” he said. “My beautiful Kathleen.”

A derisive sound worked its way up her throat.

“You doubt me? It’s the truth, I’m telling.”

She felt him kiss the top of her head, and she gloried in his tenderness. After a while she reached into her coat pocket, fishing out her handkerchief. She pulled back and wiped her face. Her nose and cheeks felt half-frozen. Her hair was sticking to her skin. She was shivering now. It was so cold in the churchyard.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He lifted her chin and before she could speak a word against it, he kissed her. She didn’t fight it. Worse, against her better judgment, she kissed him back. The strength of her passion made her forget all but the fire that ran through her body. His hands crept beneath her coat and inside her blouse. His fingers were cold at first but grew warmer by the time he plunged into her bra. Her pulse quickened in response. When she was sure someone was going to notice she released him and stepped back. “I have to go.”

“Stay. Give me a little something to keep warm.” He winked.

“I thought you had to be somewhere?”

“Uncle Fionn can wait.”

“And your son? What of him?”

He combed the fingers of his right hand through his hair, a gesture she’d seen her eldest son replicate in every way since he was a boy. She shivered again and this time it wasn’t the fault of the chill.

The sins of the father.

Bran said, “You’re right. I’ll go to him.”

“He knows nothing of you, or your kind,” she said, buttoning her blouse. “Bear that in mind when you find him.”

“You’ve never told him anything?”

“Nothing at all,” she said. “I’m still not sure he’d understand. He… he looks like you. You’ll know him by that at least.”

A flash of pride and surprise shot across his expression.

“Let me tell him in my own way,” she said. “It has to be done gently.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll never even know ’twas me.”

“Good.” She tucked in her blouse and smoothed her skirt. “How do I look?”

“Like a beautiful woman in dire need of a good bedding.”

“Hush now!” A laugh burst out of her before she could stop it. She covered her mouth to catch it but was too late. “I’ll have you know, I’m a respectable woman.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Ah, more’s the pity. For I love you, Kathleen O’Byrne, and I always will.”

Kelly,
she thought.
I’m Kathleen Kelly, but not at this moment.
She allowed herself an indulgent smile in spite of herself. “I love you too.”

“Are you sure you’ll not come with me?”

Retrieving her umbrella, she decided the rain had already done its work and closed it. Let them think her mad for walking in the rain. It was the same rain that ran over her lover’s body and the only intimacy she’d ever share with him again. “Ask me another time.” Before her resolve could break, she turned and ran out of the churchyard like a school girl.

As she went, his voice floated after her. “I’ll love you forever, Kathleen.”

She couldn’t help thinking that forever was a long time for one of the Good Folk.

Chapter 3

Long Kesh Internment Camp

Lisburn, County Down, Northern Ireland

December 1971

Trailing behind Kevin O’Donohue, Tom Finney and Hugh Conner, Liam paced the perimeter of the chain link fence in the cold and battled intense homesickness. He used to believe men didn’t weep for their mothers no matter how frightened they were, but a few days in the Kesh had taught him otherwise. Men cried in the night when others couldn’t see. It didn’t matter that with forty prisoners packed into a space designed to hold half that many that there was every chance of being heard. The hearing wasn’t the issue. It was the being seen. So it was that the first lesson he’d learned from Long Kesh was that men didn’t acknowledge what happened in the dark no matter what.