Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry (12 page)

The sun was beginning to lighten the room, and Maggie O'Rourke could see the officer's handsome profile in the dim light of morning. She felt his indecision and pressed closer to him. He jerked his arm away and snapped, "Get away from me. I need to think."

"Think about what? The days drag on and on and the nights are an endless rotation of drinking and whoring. All one has to look forward to in
Kilkerry
,
Ireland
, is a headache the next day.”

"Damn it! I wish those orders would come for us to quit this God-forsaken place," he grumbled.

Maggie kept quiet. She liked this young, ambitious major, and she hoped that when the troops left, he would take her with him.

Women found Major Russell attractive. At twenty-five he was in the prime of his life. He was tall with broad shoulders and sandy blond hair which he kept tied back in a club. He had a fine, aristocratic face and a keen mind, but there was a quality of cold steel in his character which prevented him from being likable. Surprisingly, it was this ruthlessness that enticed Maggie O’Rourke. His dangerous nature appealed to her.

Major Russell was the commanding officer of the encampment in Kilkerry, and from the beginning he resented being buried in this backward Irish community. He longed for a commission in which he could exploit his power and provide sustenance for his overblown pride. Hoping that a challenge might improve his character, Major Russell's wealthy parents refused to buy him a more prestigious military commission. He hated his rank and was consumed with vindictiveness and smothered rage. The young officer was looking for an opportunity to gain attention and a name for himself. He believed if lives were lost in the process, it was of no consequence.

Major Russell looked out the window at a mother and her four children walking to the well. Stupid people, he thought, reproducing so fast that they will starve again. He felt warm skin make contact with his back and realized that Maggie was pressing her body against him. Feeling desire mount, he turned and said, "Damn it all, there's nothing else to do.”

*
     
*
     
*

 
It had been several nights since Darcy had seen Father Etienne at the Mullin cottage, and she still rankled when she thought about their last conversation. Maybe she wasn't an enthusiastic bride, but she was no longer a child filled with unrealistic dreams either. Marriage is a convenience, and it is folly to believe it is anything more. He had no business making observations about anyone's love affairs, having no first-hand experience himself. Darcy continued to accept her role as Bran's fiancé, but she could not give him her heart. This aloofness fueled Bran’s desire.

Lusting for the unattainable, he thrilled in the chase. Eight years ago, he had left an eager girl standing on the road waving goodbye, and when he returned he found a beautiful woman holding him at arm's length.

To the casual observer, Darcy appeared devoted and affectionate. The town saw a handsome happy couple, and many thought their courtship was idyllic, but the undercurrents of dissatisfaction flowed in them both, distressing one and exciting the other.

They took great care to conceal their trysting spot near Glinnish Stream. It was a lovely little secluded area of green shrubbery bordered by wild fuchsias. When in bloom, the deep splashes of pink enveloped their bed of moss, drowning them in brilliant color. The spot was quiet with only the murmuring of the stream in the distance.

They met there every day just before sunset. The curfew imposed by the soldiers limited them to these few moments together, and Darcy would arrive a few minutes early to drink in the surroundings. Bran would arrive, overcome with desire and be so engrossed in his own passion that he would forget Darcy. He would drive forward in a hot, selfish rush until he was completely sated.

The scenario was always the same, and Darcy believed that this was all that love had to offer. She found Bran's lovemaking occasionally satisfying but usually far too hasty and rough. She became resigned to the fact that sex was simply something to endure. Once it was over, she would put it from her mind and turn back to her books.

Darcy continued to receive literature from Father Etienne, but she missed their talks together. Meeting him was far too dangerous, and she began to feel restless and irritable. On every front, she felt confined.

She returned to her walks along the coast, gazing across the water as if it held the answer.

It was here where she could truly forget everything and allow her mind to drift and transport her places offering freedom and a chance to set her own course. She chided herself for not being satisfied, but she could no longer deny the longing.

 
On her return from the cliffs one sunny afternoon, she encountered Bran climbing the abbey hill. He had been working hard, and sweat soaked his shirt. Darcy felt a pang of desire when she saw the outline of his broad chest under the wet material. His masculinity and rugged appeal usually helped Darcy build passion, but today he was frowning, and he was devoid of appeal.

He strode up to her and grabbed her roughly by the arms. "What are doing, girl? You can't be up here alone."

"I'm all right,” she said frowning and jerking away from him. “I must come up here every now and then."

"Why? To do what?" he asked suspiciously.

"To walk and to be alone with my thoughts."

"What thoughts? I don't understand you," he growled.

"Don't try," she replied curtly and began to walk down the bluff.

He watched her with his jaw clenched. She could be raped up here. The thought of another man defiling his property enraged him. Bran decided he must marry Darcy immediately. She was far too strong-willed, and he could hold her no other way.
 

That evening Father Etienne stepped out of the home of Seamus Donnelly and looked around cautiously. He pulled up the hood on his woolen brat and started down the road, searching for red candles burning in windows.

His visit to the Donnelly’s' home had been to give Last Rites to a seriously ill child.

When an older member of his flock joined Jesus, Father Etienne felt peace, but the death of a youngster always disturbed him.

Even without the famine, life continued to be hard for the villagers. The added strain of having the soldiers in residence brought the villagers to the breaking point.

He heard some raucous laughter on the road and spied some British soldiers, obviously drunk, making their way home. Father Etienne silently stepped into the shadow of the high cross on the town well and observed them as they stumbled past. The king’s soldiers were becoming bored with this sleepy hamlet, and he knew that trouble was brewing.

Once the merrymakers were safe inside, Father Etienne resumed his rounds. There was a red candle burning in the cottage of Casey Kennedy. Several families resided there because their homes had been requisitioned by the British. Christmas Eve was the last time he had seen a candle in that home. He remembered standing outside the cottage one cold night last December, watching Darcy arrange holly in the window. She wore her mother's red dress, so dramatic against her white skin and dark hair. Bran was sitting at a table with the others, and he nodded his head in greeting to Father Etienne.

Darcy said, "Happy Christmas, Father Etienne! Do come in."

Mrs. Kennedy came to greet him with a huge smile. It was an honor to entertain a priest on Christmas Eve. He commented on the platters of sausage and plum pudding, but what dominated the board was a lovely, round cake on a footed plate decorated with a sprig of holly.

Darcy picked up a plate and cut a piece of the cake for Father Etienne.

"This is no ordinary cake. It is filled with small charms, and each charm predicts the future. It is fun to see what everyone gets." She handed him some cake. "Now eat your cake and see if you get a charm."

He took a bite and said, "I must take care not to break a tooth."

"Aye, that is something I forgot to warn you about," she chuckled.

After the second bite, his eyes widened, and he spit something into his hand saying, "This is a most undignified tradition, Darcy."

Leaning over, she peeked into his hand and saw a small pewter bell and cried, "Oh, a bell for betrothal!"

Father Etienne straightened up with a surprised look on his face. "I think not!" They laughed then it was Darcy's turn. On the first bite she discovered a small thimble. "The thimble is a very good charm. It brings hope for the year."

"Our charms were mixed up, Darcy," said Father Etienne. "You have the betrothal charm. I'll take the thimble. I need every bit of hope that I can get right now."

The smile dropped from her face. Laughter distracted them, and they looked at the fireside where the men were having brandy.

"Bran’s stories of the American Colonies may be amusing for you," Darcy offered.

"I don't believe he is comfortable with me."

"He doesn't know what to say to you. I too was uncertain of what to talk about with a priest."

“We eventually found common ground. Didn’t we?” Have you told him yet that you read?"

"No, but he will allow it, as long as I don't neglect his needs.”

Darcy appeared to be on the defensive. “I have known Bran all my life. He and Liam kept me alive during The Hunger, and there is an impenetrable bond that forms between people that have endured suffering together. I believe that our love is rooted in that bond, and no one can break it."

Father Etienne’s eyebrows shot up. He knew she was looking for a fight, and he wasn’t going to give one to her. Now more than ever, he believed Darcy was marrying Bran out of obligation.

The flame from the red candle flickered in the window, bringing Father Etienne back to the present. He stepped forward to knock on the Kennedy’s door. He knew before long a red candle would appear in Darcy’s window too.

Chapter 10

When Father Etienne entered the Kennedy cottage, he was greeted by a tiny, middle-aged woman. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun, and she darted a look out the door saying quietly, "Do come in, Father. We've been expecting you. Bran placed the candle in the window for you, but he is not back yet."

Father Etienne hung his cloak on a peg and said, "Why don't I hear some confessions in the meantime?"

Wiping her hands on her apron, Molly Kennedy nodded and called upstairs for her boys. She reminded him of a little bird darting nervously around the cottage, picking up dishes and straightening up the room. She turned to him and said with a proud smile, "I've news, Father. We will have a new one for you to baptize in about seven months."

"I'm very happy for you, Mrs. Kennedy. Are the men at the meeting tonight?"

"Aye, they'll be back soon. Ever since the troops set down here, I can't sleep nights, worrying about my Paddy. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him and now with another babe on the way."

 
At that moment, three boys tumbled down the stairs, pushing and shoving and roaring with laughter. Molly gasped and flew at them saying, "What are you knuckleheads thinking? There's a priest sitting here in our cottage, and you're acting like good-for-nothing ruffians. Stand up straight and address Father Etienne properly."

They snapped to attention, straightening their clothes greeting him cordially. Molly nodded her head with approval. To break the ice before confessions, he told the boys a joke about the British soldiers, and they dissolved into hearty laughter.

Shortly after confession, four men burst into the cottage, slamming the door behind them. They were wearing long black cloaks with hoods. They blew out the candles and Paddy darted to the window, peeking out. "Do you think they saw us?