Chapter 29
Families, when all was eaten and no hope left, took their last look at the sun, built up their cottage doors, that none might see them die nor hear their groans, and were found weeks afterwards, skeletons on their own hearth.
“Wake up,” a voice called, a strange, clear, female voice that floated before me, somewhere between waking and oblivion. I recognized it immediately. It belonged to the woman in white. “All you want is now within your grasp. Yours for the taking, Maggie O’Shaughnessy.”
“I didn’t want this,” I said … or thought I said. Something deep down told me not to open my eyes. Not to look at whatever it was that spoke. Not to engage.
“Are you not tired of running yet?” it asked.
Yes. Yes, I was.
But then another voice called. A man. Gentle. Lulling. Far away. The taint of my people coloring his English in shades of vibrant familiarity.
“Maggie? Maggie, wake for me.”
Cormac.
Cormac!
I tried to call for him, to beg him to drag me from whatever darkness had hold of me.
“I’ll run and fetch Dr. Brady. He’s tending to our visitors,” I heard him say.
“No.” This time Lady Catherine’s voice filled my ears, muffled. “Give her a few moments. It’s naught but a fainting spell. Go see to our guests, please.”
“Did ye know?” he demanded, anger dripping from his tongue.
“You give me far too much credit, nephew of mine,” said Lady Catherine.
Somewhere, the faint echo of retreating steps permeated my dream. Well, no. ’Twas nay a dream, for there was naught but darkness. A void of nothingness.
“I’ll give you some time alone, Maggie,” Lady Catherine’s voice whispered from that far-off place. “You have much to talk about with my mistress.”
A rustle in the distance nailed the coffin on any hope I had of rousing, but still I couldn’t open my eyes.
“Take it,” said the strange lady.
“Take what?” I asked, voice sure and steady despite the quivering marrow deep within my bones.
“What you seek. I brought it to you.”
“I have no idea what yer talking about,” I replied, when suddenly an ice-cold finger ran from the top of my forehead, down over the bridge of my nose, only to pause at my lips.
“He took from you, and now you can take from him,” said the voice. “And when you do, your vengeance shall fuel the féar gortach for yet another cycle. Don’t you want to save the village?”
“Of course,” I replied, heart hammering in my chest.
“I am the one summoned to bring protection. The one whose price is vengeance.” The cool touch dissipated from my skin, and I shivered. “Do that which you were brought here to accomplish, and the woman with whom I am bound will keep her word to you.”
My mind ran a mile a minute, desperately trying to piece together whatever it was this spirit was saying, and it clicked.
It wasn’t enough to feel vengeance, nor enough to live a comfortable life as an act of revenge.
Worse, was he truly, right now, beneath this very same roof, or had it all been but a dream?
“That was no dream you had, child,” said the voice, launching my pulse into a canter. “The man who wronged you so deeply is right here, beneath this roof, thanks to me. I, who protect the people, I, who am Ireland itself.”
Fear gripped my soul as the woman in white spoke my thoughts back to me.
“You know what I am,” the voice purred. “Say it aloud.”
“The Cailleach.” Once the title left my lips, the being laughed, a deep, harsh sound that scraped against my very soul.
“And yet, ye only save those whom Lady Catherine allows,” I spat, emboldened. “Why do ye let the rest of the country fall to ruin?”
“Quiet,” the voice hissed.
“Ye said ye were Ireland itself, yet here ye are, haunting the halls of this old house like a rattling spirit with naught to do but petrify the living, doing the bidding of a woman with a bit of the Sight, begging someone like me to do … what, exactly?”
Silence fell in the void between us, and I fought the urge to open my eyes. To face her down. But I held firm.
“Why all the strange theatrics?” I snapped into the darkness, rallying for whatever might come next.
“Did ye fear I’d cower before the face of the man who killed my entire family?
The man who killed me, everything I once was?
No need, for I’ll gladly slit his throat from ear to ear. Just say the word.”
“Hmmm,” purred the Cailleach, the goddess tasked with turning the tide, the goddess of change, of new beginnings.
“Have I surprised ye?” I asked, with a scoff. “It seems Lady Catherine underestimated the depth of my hatred.”
Silence. A step. Silence.
Then …
“An eye for an eye,” whispered the Cailleach, closer now, as if leaning into my ear.
“A tooth for a tooth. The Christ-God might have overtaken the hearts of the people here centuries ago, but this teaching from the older book—from the Jewish texts—I admire. See, brave one, it’s no longer vengeance if you truly desire it; it’s pleasure.
Pleasure won’t feed the féar gortach. And if you fail, Lady Catherine will be forced to pay the price. ”
“What price?”
“If you fail, she must kill you and find another willing to do what’s needed before the new moon,” said the Cailleach, as though commenting on the weather. “But to find another so quickly … impossible.”
She’d kill me? End my godforsaken life? I laughed aloud and felt the Cailleach rear back, lightening the weight of her presence—wherever we were.
“Fool,” spat the Cailleach.
“Nay,” I managed, gasping for breath between chuckles. “More fool ye. Whatever it is ye need, I’ll take my vengeance out on Teddy Moore-Vandeleur. That I guarantee. There’ll be no need to kill me.”
Something like frustration emanated from the Cailleach. “Have you no comprehension at all?”
“What more is there to understand?” I asked. “Ye want me to take vengeance, and I want to kill Teddy so my family can finally be at peace.”
“An eye for an eye,” the Cailleach repeated, and I cocked my head to the side.
“Ye want me to kill his lordship? Lady Grace? Is that it? His family in exchange for mine?”
I felt it again, the strange heaviness that warned the Cailleach had come close, and my skin crawled with anticipation.
“Nay, girl. For what man like your Teddy would care a whit for a family that tore the only happiness in his life from him?” said the Cailleach, and I shook my head.
“Happiness?” I spat. “Teddy cast me off—”
“He was told you died, you fool. That childbed took ye. And resigned himself to marrying whomever his father thrust before him.”
The blood in my veins froze to ice as her words punched the air from my lungs. I wanted to say “no,” to protest with all I had.
But the specter of Teddy’s pale face came to mind, that time I had met him by chance at the market, the day baby Crofton had passed away. The way he’d asked “How?” as though seeing a ghost.
But ’twas his name on that declaration. His name on the document that turned us out of our homes.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But it does, and it will, when you realize you were told the same tale,” said the Cailleach, and I could envision her smile in my mind’s eye.
“What tale?” I demanded.
“An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. For the only family that man cares for now is the child.”
“The child?” I asked, slowly, fighting against the tremor of fear that radiated from the deepest recess of my gut. “Ye want me to take his son from him?”
“The child he’d had with his new wife—that I couldn’t even think of. That I couldn’t even think of. To take a child? An innocent life with naught to do with the sins of the parent?
“He has the look of your brother about him, don’t you think?” asked the Cailleach. “The one who hovers near. The brother that protects.”
“Who looks like my brother?”
She laughed, then said, clear as day in my ear: “The child. Your son. Your Diarmuid.”
I woke, screaming, and bolted upright in the bed.
No. It couldn’t be, could it?
“Michael,” I whispered, steepling my hands before pressing them together. “Michael, if ye can hear me, I need ye. Protect and guide me. God above, help me.”
My voice broke on the last word, and the tears I constantly fought finally won the battle.
The child … the child?
My child?
Had they lied to me? Had Lady Grace organized for my babe to be taken, while his lordship told Teddy I had perished?
No, they couldn’t have. Of all the incredible cruel, brutal—
Remember.
I was meant to be far away in Sligo, working for a new family, never to be seen again.
My child, taken from me to be raised by the woman his lordship found to mend Teddy’s broken heart.
Then why … why had Teddy gone to such lengths to have us evicted?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, tossing aside the blankets, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I rose, grabbed the flower-filled vase that sat on the stand, and tossed it into the fireplace. Pottery shattered, and my breath came hard and heavy. Air, I needed air.
I strode to the curtains and swept them aside before unlatching the window. Pushing, I waited for the pane to give way, but the old hinges simply creaked and didn’t yield their hold.
I pushed again—over and over—breaking nails and drawing blood as I fought against the maddening urge to smash it. To shatter it. To—
“Get a hold of yerself!”
Two strong arms came around my waist, pinning mine to my sides.
“Let go of me!” I screamed, the searing smart of it scraping my throat. Good. I welcomed it, the pain.
“Maggie, please. It’s me.” The words ebbed near my ear, and my body—wound so tight just a moment before—suddenly crumpled.
“Whoa,” he murmured, adjusting his grip to hold me upright. “Easy now. Easy. What’s the matter? What can I do for ye?”
“Cor-mac,” I stuttered, locking my knees so I might stand for myself.
“I’m here,” he said.
“We …” My eyes widened, and I whirled to face him. “We must go. Now. Away. Can we do that?”
“Of course,” he said. Readily. Easily. I watched his face as he glanced around the room. “We’ll wait but a few moments, lest anyone else heard yer cries. Then we’ll be off.”
I nodded and took a step back.
“What happened?” he asked, taking my elbow as he led me toward the bed. “Sit. I’ll fetch water from the jug.”
Where to start? Where to end? Would it matter? Cormac O’Dea certainly had his own suspicions, but this—whatever it was I just experienced—was beyond the pale.
He busied himself with pouring water into a glass, then opened the door ajar and glanced out into the hallway.
“We might be clear. I heard ye by chance when coming out of the visitors’ room,” he whispered, handing me the glass. I knocked back its contents, before wiping a hand over my mouth.
“Why were ye there? What time is it?” I asked, offering the empty glass with a shaking hand.
He took it, placed it on the vanity, then returned and grasped my cold hands in his.
“’Tis past two in the morning. Dr. Brady instructed he be watched for fear of concussion.
Is it true, Maggie? Is it him? My aunt said ye must have been shocked, and she had no idea who he was nor his connection to ye.
But surely she knew there was some history between ye and the Moore-Vandeleurs. ”
I glanced at him, eyes wide. That’s right.
She knew what poor union I came from, and that Da was land agent to his lordship.
And Cormac had relayed the story Da had imparted to him and his family.
Surely she had made the connection when he gave his name at the door?
It was unfathomable to think Teddy would have failed to introduce himself before I arrived. “Aye. It’s him.”
Cormac pressed his lips together and nodded. “Get dressed. I’ll be back for ye in a short while. I’ve had a bag ready for such an occasion for months now. We can be on our way within a half hour.”
He pushed to his feet, but I reached out with two hands and grasped his arm.
“Wait!” I hissed, unable to keep the desperation from my voice. “The child. We need to bring the child.”
“The child?” Cormac sat back down and placed a warm hand over mine.
Taking a deep breath, I told him of my dream—or the dream that may not have been a dream—and he listened. Quietly. Patiently. Until, at last, tears rolled down my cheeks.
“He’s my child, the babe I was told had died, Cormac,” I whispered. “And she wants me to harm him, this entity your aunt conjured.”
“Over my dead body,” Cormac hissed, pushing to his feet once more. “Dress warmly, in something practical, and meet me at the cottage as soon as ye can.”
“Where are ye going?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“To fetch the lad. I’ll bring him straight to the cottage, and we’ll leave together. The three of us.”
Without another word, Cormac strode from the room, and I stood to follow his instruction.
This once. Surely I could rely on him just this once, couldn’t I? The situation had swollen far beyond the bounds of my capabilities, and I needed help.
“Thank ye, Michael,” I whispered to the darkness, certain my brother had led Cormac to my room.
Sometimes prayer did work.