Chapter 9 #2
When it was over, every man in the village of Kilraddick was dead, except for himself and Flynn, and a redcoat had been killed by Sean’s own hand.
His every instinct told him to find Peg and Michael, to take them and flee.
On foot, limping from a bayonet wound, he had raced through the village.
Peg was waiting, white with fear. There’d been no time to explain anything, no time to pack up their meager belongings.
He’d taken her and Michael and they’d fled to the next village.
The next day, he’d told her the truth, all of it.
She’d wept for the deaths of her father and everyone else.
And she had told him she was carrying their child.
He’d married her the following day, Michael bearing the ring he’d managed to borrow.
Because no troops came searching for him, they began to hope that he was presumed dead in the Darby fire.
Some of the shock began to wear off, then real grief began.
With it came a burning need to avenge the dead, but he knew better.
And when Peg came to him and asked him where they were going to live, it struck him that, somehow, he had become a married man.
He had stared at her, absolutely at a loss, incapable of understanding how and when he had married this woman, a woman he didn’t really know and certainly didn’t love. Amber eyes had haunted him, and he had felt guilt.
Shyly, she had told him she wanted to make plans for the birth of their child. As shyly, she had told him that they needed their own home and hopefully, another farm.
He suddenly realized he had a wife he was responsible for, a son, an unborn child.
They were too close to Kilvore and the garrison in Drogheda.
He knew that he must take his family back to Askeaton.
Lieutenant Colonel Reed would never look for him there—and even if he did, he would never assume the earl’s stepson to be the same man who had been in the Kilvore Rising.
But then the impossibility of that decision suddenly hit him. How could he go home with Peg and Michael? What would his brother say? What would the earl and the countess say? What would they think?
What would Elle think?
He’d stayed in the village tap room, debating the subject, until cries of alarm roused him from his brooding and indecision.
A fire had started. Glad of the distraction, he joined the men to help put it out.
When he walked outside, he was shocked to find that it was dark already.
And then he realized that the cottage, where he had let rooms, was in flames.
As comprehension came, so did dread. And then he saw the cavalry galloping away from the town and the cottage and he knew what had happened.…
Sean ran.
Only one home was on fire, and it was his.
The thatched roof was an inferno, the walls just beginning to burn.
He screamed for Peg, for Michael. He tore his shirt from his body and used it to avoid inhaling the smoke.
Inside, fire was devouring every stick of furniture, every cabinet and door.
Fighting the smoke and fire, he found Peg unconscious on the floor, her clothes torn from her, bleeding from her wounds, clutching the toy boat.
She had died in his arms and Michael had never been found. …
AND NOW ELLE was at his side, with the British hunting him down.
In that moment he was terrified that the past was going to repeat itself.
Nothing was as important as protecting Elle, as seeing her home safely, not even his escape.
As long as she was with him, she was in danger.
In fact, if the woods weren’t so perilous, if he didn’t fear a wild boar, he’d leave her then and there, and let her find her way back.
But he couldn’t leave her alone in the woods, so he would take her to Cork, where he would find her a safe escort to see her home.
Men like Reed could not harm her if she was behind Adare’s solid walls.
But could the earl protect her from criminal charges?
If they couldn’t hurt her the way they’d hurt Peg and Michael, maybe they’d do the next worse thing.
She would not be the first woman to be imprisoned in the Tower for the rest of her life, charged with conspiracy and treason.
No, he thought furiously, that wasn’t going to happen, either. But there was so much panic that it was hard to think.
“Sean? Why didn’t you leave last night?”
He did not want to think about last night, not ever again—and he especially did not want to discuss it with her. “I did leave.”
“But you came back.”
He chose not to answer now.
She seized his arm, dragging him to a halt in the water. Somehow he was facing her. He knew the water lapped her thighs and her skin was visible through the cotton drawers, so he refused to look—except from the corner of his eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.
He pulled away. “I told you…goodbye.”
“But it wasn’t goodbye. This is a new beginning,” she said softly.
“Damn it! When did you become…foolish?” The words exploded from him. “You could be married…to an Englishman…Sinclair! Instead…freezing water…hunted by Englishmen!”
“I don’t love Peter,” she said, her tone stubborn.
His mind was treacherous, choosing that moment to recall all of last night. He almost told her she had proved that. “It doesn’t matter.” He turned away, continuing on downstream. “No one marries…for love.”
“I beg to differ with you!” She slogged through the water, chasing him.
“Father loves the countess and he chose to marry her for love! Tyrell married for love—but you wouldn’t know that, because you weren’t here!
He was engaged to an heiress, and he carried on openly with Lizzie, living with her at Wicklow.
He was prepared to give up the earldom for her.
And what about Devlin?” she cried to his back.
“You know as well as I do that he married for love!”
He whirled. “We have…an odd family…do we not? But Rex hasn’t married for love.
… Cliff will never marry! And I…” He stopped.
He was breathing hard. He hadn’t married for love.
He had married because he had gotten Peg with child and she had needed him desperately, as had little Michael, who had begged him to be his father.
He had married her because he had been too shocked by the massacre to even think about doing anything other than protect her and her child from more harm.
And what had his efforts gotten him? In the end, he had done the very thing he had been determined not to do.
His attempts to protect them had gotten them murdered.
“You what?” she asked in bewilderment, reaching for him.
He shook her hand off and led the stallion on. She made no move to follow. Although he was furious with himself for dragging her into his escape, he strained to hear her slogging through the water behind him. It was another moment before he heard her starting through the river after him.
Elle had always known when to engage and when to withdraw, when to push and when to let go. “We’re making good time, I think,” she said, as if their previous argument had not existed. “We haven’t stopped. But we’ll have to rest at some point, especially for Saphyr.”
He doubted it had been even two hours since their escape from Adare.
But she was right—they had been moving swiftly the entire time.
They needed rest—and so did the horse. The sun was high but weakening, and in an hour or two it would start to descend in the west. “We’ll leave the river in half an hour… turn inland then.”
“Sean!” Eleanor suddenly grasped his arm. “Do you hear that?”
He didn’t wait to discern if she had heard their pursuit or not.
“Come.” He ran with the stallion to the opposite bank, Eleanor at his side.
He handed her the reins and she ran with the horse into the woods.
He had kept a piece of her wedding train wrapped around his arm and now he tied it to a branch.
He quickly swept the sandy area clean, covering his own footprints as he went back to the woods.
He found Elle and paused, breathing hard. Their eyes met.
Hers were searching. But the question in them had nothing to do with their pursuers, and everything to do with last night. He glanced away. Why did she keep insisting that he give her something he did not even have left to give?
And then he heard voices, faint but not far enough away. They were English. One voice was giving orders, very distinctly.
Elle turned to speak.
He clapped his hand over her mouth and in doing so, pulled her close. She went still.
He whispered into her ear, “Upriver. Close.”
She nodded, her eyes huge.
He slowly removed his hand, willing himself not to think about her body, more undressed than dressed, pressed against his. With his other hand, he caressed the stallion’s neck. The stud could easily give them away.
Four of them were in the river, riding in single file, their gazes going from bank to bank. And the fifth horseman was Devlin O’Neill.
At the sight of him, Sean felt his heart lurch.
He knew what his brother was doing. Devlin had convinced the officer in charge to let him join the search.
Devlin’s reputation was notorious—he had been a ruthless commander during the war.
Most of the naval command had been in fear of him, as well as in awe.
It probably hadn’t been difficult to persuade the officer to allow him to join the search party.
He was there to help Sean escape.
Devlin’s gaze veered toward them, as if he had somehow been able to pinpoint their location in the woods.
Sean put his arm around Eleanor and felt her tension. He wanted to reassure her, even though the soldiers were within shouting distance and he was afraid. He tried to calm her with his eyes. Sweat trickled, interfering with his vision.
Elle tried to smile at him. Her face was white with fear.