Chapter 12 Catherine
Catherine
Before we could step from the house, Maeve stormed in, skirt dripping bog water, hair pinned so tight her cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut bread.
She stomped her boots, then stopped dead when she saw Sully in the middle of the room.
The lines in her face cut deeper; she set her jaw, and all the warmth drained out of the house.
Nora trailed behind, thinner and quieter than ever, hovering at the threshold like a stray cat. She had her hands tucked under her armpits, eyes flicking from Maeve’s back to Sully to me, like she was clocking a tally only she could read.
Nobody spoke for a heartbeat. You could hear the wind in the chimney, the tick of the cooling kettle, the thud-thud of my own pulse. Then Maeve locked eyes with me and spat, “You said he was dead.”
Her voice was a whip, the kind that left a welt. I winced but kept my chin up. “He was,” I said. “Now he’s not.”
She snorted, sharp and mean. “And you expect us to just believe that? After we buried him? After you wept enough to salt the fields?”
I glanced at Sully. He stood by the hearth, hands loose at his sides, face set in that strange calm he wore when everything was one bad turn from going up in flames. He didn’t say a word. That was his talent—he could make silence mean more than shouting.
Maeve crossed her arms. “So what’s this, then? A trick? Some black magic you cooked up with the priest?” Her eyes cut to Father Declan’s battered coat, still drying by the stove.
Nora piped up, barely above a whisper. “Maybe it’s not even him, Maevie. Maybe it’s something else, wearing his face.” She’d always been the spookier one.
“Don’t be daft,” I snapped, but the words sounded hollow, even to me. I wanted to step between them, block Sully from the force of Maeve’s glare, but my legs wouldn’t move.
Sully’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile. “If I was a demon, I’d have picked a better set of trousers,” he said, nodding at the ruined jeans and the dark crusted blood on his left leg.
Maeve ignored him, eyes locked on me. “We came to bring you news, Catherine. The Kelly boy from down the lane—dead, shot clean through by the Redcoats at the bog. Mrs. Kelly’s gone mad, and Father says they’ll come for us next.
” She jerked a thumb at Sully. “If you’re running off, now’s the time.
But don’t drag us into your delusions. We’ll not dig another grave for you, not this week. ”
It hit, sharper than I expected. I wanted to explain, but the only words that came out were, “We’re leaving tonight. It’s safer that way.”
Nora’s face fell, and for a second, I saw the little girl she’d been, all gap-tooth and clinging to my skirts. “But what about the farm? What about Mam and Da?” Her voice wobbled.
I touched her cheek, but she flinched away, embarrassed, then tried to cover by picking at the frayed sleeve of her dress. “You’ll manage. Maeve knows how to run the fields, and you’ve always been clever. We can’t stay, not with Sully here. Not with what’s coming.”
That’s when the old fire lit in Maeve’s eyes. “You’d leave us,” she said, voice gone flat and cold. “You’d walk out, like a spoiled cat, and let them burn us to the ground?”
I shook my head, but the tears were already threatening, hot and stinging behind my eyes. “You don’t understand—”
She slammed her palm down on the table so hard the crockery jumped. “Make me understand! Explain how you wake up with your dead husband in the kitchen and decide to play house, like nothing’s broken!”
I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Sully, searching for a lifeline, but he just stood there, jaw tight, eyes shining.
“Is this what you want? To make a scene for the whole parish to gossip about?” Father Declan said.
Maeve rounded on him. “Don’t think I don’t see your hand in this, Father. If you’ve been dabbling—”
He held up a hand, sharp as a slap. “No one’s dabbling. Least of all me.” He turned to Sully and me. “You two are leaving. Good. You’re a liability, both of you. If you stay, the English will use your love as a noose for the whole village.”
That shut everyone up, even Maeve.
Declan sat, slow and careful, at the edge of the bench, then fixed his gaze on Maeve. “You want Catherine safe? Let her go. There’s nothing left for her here but suffering. The English want her. You want her. But she’ll die if she stays.”
Maeve swallowed, her anger curdling into something meaner. “So she just gets to walk away? Leave the rest of us to hang?”
Declan’s lips thinned. “No one gets to walk away, girl. Not in this war. But at least this way, she gets a chance.”
Sully finally spoke, his voice steady but so low I almost missed it. “It’s not about running. I just want to keep her alive.” He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw the terror in his face. “I can’t lose her again.”
The words punched all the air out of the room. Even Maeve had nothing to say. She just glared, but her shoulders slumped, and I knew she’d lost.
I moved to her, wrapped her in a hug before she could push me off. For a second, she just stood there, stiff as a tombstone, but then she shuddered and hugged back, her fingers biting into my spine.
“Don’t be stupid,” she whispered in my ear. “Don’t get killed for nothing.”
“I won’t,” I promised, even though I had no way to know.
Nora sidled up, pressed her face into my sleeve. “Will you send a letter?”
I smiled, shaky. “I’ll send you a whole book, if I can.”
We stood like that, a heap of dirty clothes and old hurts, until Sully cleared his throat. “We should go,” he said, eyes on the door.
Father Declan levered himself up, grimacing. “You’ll need a head start. The soldiers will be here before sunset.”
Maeve stepped back, wiped her nose with the heel of her hand, and glared at Sully one more time. “If you hurt her, even once, I’ll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you again. Understand?”
He nodded. “Fair.”
I looked at them all—sisters, priest, and Sully—and for the first time, the choice felt like something I owned, not something pushed on me by death or war.
My hand found the leather ring on my finger, the knot pressing into my skin. I squeezed it, a lifeline braided out of hope and madness.
We’d barely cleared the edge of the yard when the light failed, the sky going from bruised gray to gunmetal in one long exhale.
Sully led the way, his hand crushing mine so tight my knuckles popped.
He never glanced back, not once, not even when the wind kicked up behind us and slammed the cottage door with a noise like the crack of a whip.
We crossed the fields in silence, boots churning up mud and cow shit and what was left of last autumn’s dead grass.
By the time we reached the old barn, my lungs were burning, and I wanted to scream just to hear my own voice.
The place hadn’t changed since we were kids—sagging roof, planks warped so bad you could see through to the night, every nail rusted to hell.
It stank of hay and rot and horse piss, but when Sully shouldered open the door, I felt the world snap back into place.
I remembered the first time, all those years ago, when he’d pushed me up against the stall door and dared me to take what I wanted.
We’d been so young we didn’t even know how to touch each other right.
Now we were old and haunted and desperate, but the feeling was the same.
Inside, the moonlight came in broken lines, striping the floor with bands of silver and black. Sully tossed our bag down and swept the hay into a rough pile. He didn’t say a word, just sat with his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground like it owed him an answer.
I shut the door behind us and leaned against it, watching him. “You okay?” I asked, stupid as it sounded.
He nodded, then shook his head. “Never better, Cat.”
I wanted to believe it. I wanted to be the kind of woman who knew what to say in these moments, but all I could do was walk over and sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder in the damp straw.
He put his arm around me, stiff at first, then softer. I let myself lean in, let my head rest against the curve of his neck, the way I used to when the world was small, and nothing hurt that couldn’t be fixed by a kiss or a fight.
I watched the moon crawl up the rafters, felt Sully’s breath go slower, deeper. The barn was cold as a crypt, but his body was warm, and I pressed closer, burrowing under his jacket.
He didn’t move. Just traced circles on my shoulder with his thumb, the rhythm steady, grounding. When he finally spoke, it was in that hush he used for secrets.
“I dreamed about this place,” he said. “In the future. I’d wake up and smell the hay, and for a second, I’d think I was home.”
I traced the line of his jaw, rough with stubble. “Do you miss it? The future?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t real. Not the way this is.” He cupped the back of my head, held it steady, and kissed me. Not hard, not hungry, but like he needed to prove something to himself.
I let him. I let him do whatever he wanted, because for the first time since he came back, I wasn’t scared he’d vanish if I blinked.
He pulled away, eyes shining in the dark. “We don’t have much time.”
“No,” I said. “But we have this.”
That did it. He laughed, low and wet, and tipped me back into the hay.
It prickled my skin through the dress, the little bits of straw working into my hair and my bra and everywhere else, but I didn’t care.
I pulled him down with me, wrapped my legs around his waist, and dragged his mouth back to mine.
We kissed like we’d never done it before, mouths bruising, teeth knocking, tongues clumsy and wet.
I grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it up, fingers searching for the shamrock on his arm.
The skin there was hot, the lines of ink raised like scars.
I traced it with my tongue, and he shivered, his whole body going rigid.
His hands were rough, not gentle at all. He hiked up my dress and slid his palm up my thigh, fingers digging in like he wanted to memorize the shape of me. I bit his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and he growled in my ear.
He moved fast, always did. The pants were already undone, his thick cock springing free as my knickers vanished somewhere in the shuffle.
He pushed inside me with one brutal thrust, no warning, no build up, just raw and hot and perfect.
It hurt, just a little, the way I liked it, the stretch and sting of his girth grounding me in the moment, filling me completely.
I clawed at his back, nails scoring red tracks down the muscle, and he moaned, head buried in my neck.
"Don't stop," I whispered, and he didn't. He pounded into me, his hips slamming hard enough to rattle the boards, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust. The hay prickled everywhere, sweat and heat and that old animal need twisting up inside me as he hit that perfect spot deep inside, over and over until I thought I might break apart.
I came fast, always did, my pussy clenching around him in waves, the rush starting in my belly and spreading out to my fingers and toes as I soaked us both. He followed, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled me with hot spurts, collapsing on top of me, body shaking with the aftershocks.
Just when I thought it was over, Sully freed my tits, his hands massaging, his lips sucking hard at my nipples. He started going down, kissing my bare stomach. He went further, spreading my legs.
“Sully,” I whimpered.
But Sully was on a quest. He buried his mouth against my pussy, pressing a finger against my asshole.
The jolt of his tongue was wild, wet, electric.
I clamped his head between my thighs, saw straw in his hair and the scar at his temple where the Redcoat grazed him, and I almost howled.
He sucked hard, lapping at the mess he’d made of me, then slid his finger in, gentle at first, then rougher, pushing until I gasped.
The other hand still worked my nipple, thumb rolling the bud, and the world narrowed to his mouth, his hands, and the sweat slicking my body.
When I came the second time, it was louder, maybe too loud, echoing through the barn.
He kissed me, and I tasted the mess of ourselves. He started to pull away, and I stopped him, dropping to my knees in front of his slick cock.
He let out a half-laugh, a broken thing, and watched as I jerked him off, thumb twisting over the tip, dragging another string of come down his shaft.
My mouth watered; I wanted to taste it, wanted to swallow down the proof that he was here and mine and alive.
I licked along the ridge, slow, then took the whole head between my lips, rolling my tongue over the slit, moaning at the salt.
He groaned, hand twisted tight in my hair, holding me there as he pulsed in my mouth.
I swallowed him down, sucked until he was too sensitive, and tried to push me off, but I bit down, forcing his hips back against the wall, and kept sucking, letting the taste of him fill my mouth until he went limp and a little helpless.
His breath rasped out, rough, and he slid to the floor, cradling me close with shaking hands. Maybe I’d never make sense of the world, or the future, or all the hurt waiting outside, but here we were, locked together in the ancient dark, as alive as the first people to walk the earth.
We lay there, tangled up in each other, breathing hard.
I stroked his hair, the sweat-slick strands stuck to his forehead, and kissed the corner of his mouth, tasting salt and that flavor that was uniquely him.
He smiled, lazy and loose, and for a second I saw the old Sully, the one who'd make jokes about the priest and the farmer's daughter.
“It’s our time, Cat,” he said, and we gathered ourselves.