Chapter 28 #3
“I think it’s safe to go,” Virginia said hoarsely.
They had spent the entire day hiding in the attic of someone’s home.
From a tiny window there, they had seen death, destruction, murder and rape.
They had seen vicious brutality, unspeakable carnage and mass mayhem.
They had seen so much blood and it flecked and stained their faces, hands and clothes.
Once, troops had entered and searched the house, but had not bothered with the attic where they hid, faint with fear.
Miraculously, the house had somehow been spared, when half of the town surrounding them seemed to be burning still.
Virginia was shaking uncontrollably, as was Tillie. She remained in a numb state of fear and terror. Still, she thought about Devlin. He might be ruthless, but she was sure, as she had never been so sure of anything, that he would never condone what had been done that day.
She looked at Tillie. Her long, curly hair had come down to hang wildly about her shoulders.
Blood smeared her pelisse, her dress was torn and muddy, and her eyes were wide and wild.
Virginia knew she must look as frightful, as terrified, as her friend.
“Shall we try to go?” she whispered raggedly.
Her heart continued to beat hard and fast, uncomfortable in her chest. Every time the house creaked, she flinched and whirled, raising the musket she had taken from a dead man, expecting to confront a British soldier on the attic’s threshold and prepared to fire first.
Tillie nodded, looking frightened and uncertain.
The street below was empty, although two buildings still burned.
They crept through the house and slipped outside, holding their guns so tightly their knuckles were white.
It remained hard to breathe, because of the fear, because of the smoke, and because of the stench of death.
The night was starry and lit by a full moon.
Virginia fought tears. “So many have died, and for what? Free trade? Land in Canada? For what?” she cried, shaking wildly.
Voices could be heard, drunken, leering, approaching.
“Hush,” Tillie said hoarsely. “You hush until we are safe at home.”
Breathless with renewed fear, Virginia leaned close and whispered, “We have to find Frank.”
Tillie’s eyes suddenly overflowed with tears. “We both know he can’t be alive.”
Virginia didn’t want to believe it. But Tillie was probably right. They started down the street at a quick pace, Virginia determined to ignore the aching in her belly. She had been fighting mild cramps all day and the baby had been kicking.
Please hang on, she silently told her unborn baby. Just a little longer and we will be safe at home.
She ran alongside Tillie, wishing Devlin might appear and safely spirit her away, then tell her that he was wrong, he was sorry, that he still loved her and he always would and that they would make their marriage right.
They turned the corner and came face-to-face with five dangerous, bloody, red-coated men.
They whirled to run the other way.
A man suddenly blocked their path, his sword raised.
Instinctively Virginia raised the musket, finding the trigger, aiming at him. Then she saw the navy-blue jacket, the gold buttons and epaulets. She saw the clear gray eyes, the hard face. She began to shake and her musket waffled wildly.
“Virginia,” Devlin said harshly. “Put the musket down.” He lowered his sword.
Devlin. She had been praying for him to come and he was there. Stunned, she started to lower the gun. “Devlin,” she whispered, suddenly flooded with relief. And she was an instant away from moving into his arms.
But his expression changed. His eyes went wide and his sword was raised. “Virginia,” he shouted in warning.
And in that instant, she felt the hostile presence behind her. But before she could react, she was seized from behind. As she twisted, she met glazed eyes, a toothless grin and saw the man’s scarlet coat. Other marines were with him and one held a fiercely struggling Tillie.
“Got me a nice whore,” the man laughed, his breath foul with rotten teeth and whiskey.
“Devlin!” Virginia cried, trying hopelessly to break free of the marine’s grasp.
And suddenly his grip eased and the marine howled in pain, hot liquid spraying over her.
Dumbfounded, she saw that the hand still attached to her breast was severed from the marine’s arm.
As dumbfounded, he stared at his armless shoulder.
A saber whistled and the marine’s head disappeared.
Virginia stumbled away, gagging, as the armless, headless body collapsed at her feet.
She turned to see Devlin assault the other marine, his face frightening in its fury.
As he landed blow after blow, she went down on her hands and knees, crawling away as fast as she could, somehow realizing that Devlin was insane with rage.
Now, nearly paralyzed with terror, she turned from the ground and saw four dead marines not far from where she knelt.
Devlin was viciously attacking the last soldier, clearly intent on murdering him, too.
Suddenly Tillie was beside her on the ground, but she had eyes only for Devlin, wide and aghast.
A voice whispered in the night. “O’Neill.”
It was soft, taunting. Virginia knew that voice and knew the threat and she desperately wanted to warn Devlin.
But the earth had tilted wildly and she had to hold on tight.
Somehow, as her world spun around, she managed to look up.
And the last thing she saw was Thomas Hughes standing behind Devlin, smiling as he raised his musket and aimed it at his head.
And the last thing she heard was his gun being fired.