Celtic Mist Ch. 01

Despite his sudden, laudable literary ambitions, reading did not displace Declan's preferred pastime when he was not on duty or training. Armed with his newly acquired knowledge of the rites of Venus, his free time was nigh wholly occupied by bawdy thoughts and frigging...reliving the encounter with Tessie, thinking on a myriad of lewd engagements with various maidens, real and imaginary...all whilst striving to further his amorous education in actuality. Awkward however, he was more often unsuccessful than not in this endeavor, notwithstanding the recent flirtatious attentions from the maidens.

Aye, despite this one frustration, life was good indeed.

'Twas the second autumn of his employment at the castle when his prizefighter's and guardsman's training were fortuitously united in addressing an unfortunate incident.

He was one of four guards riding escort to the coach conveying her ladyship, the Duchess of P---, and her young son from Kilmaedan Castle to the family's Dublin mansion. After many miles riding past fields and pastures, they presently were passing through a densely wooded area where the trees grew close to the road. They were obliged to halt when they encountered a sizable tree which had fallen across the road.

The four guards dismounted and prepared to move the tree --- two men on each side of the trunk. As Declan squatted at the root of the tree, he heard the cry of a bird, then a snort from one of the horses. At that moment he noticed the axe marks at the end of the trunk. The hair upon the back of his neck rose. "Hey!" he called, drawing his pistol.

The next moment horses crashed through the foliage and onto the road --- five mounted men with flintlocks in hand and handkerchiefs tied round their lower faces. Declan, on the far side of the tree, thrust his pistol into the crevice between the road and the curve of the trunk.

"Hands up!" one intoned. The coachman and footmen raised their hands, and the guards, caught kneeling on the ground and faced with five pistols, followed suit.

Two of the highwaymen dismounted, ordering the guards to unbuckle their weapons belts and hand them over. Declan and his fellow guardsmen did as they were told; the belts were collected and piled upon the road far out of their reach. Fortunately, the empty pistol holster on Declan's belt passed unnoticed.

"Down on the ground, all of ye's! Face down! Arms out!"

Declan's mind was racing as they all complied --- guards and servants --- lying on their bellies, arms outstretched like Christ on the cross. The remaining three riders now dismounted. Two went to the boot and began unstrapping the trunks; two more kept their weapons trained upon the guards. The fifth --- the apparent leader --- opened the coach door.

"Out!" he barked.

There was a pause, then the Duchess stepped down, followed by her maid and the wee lad. The rank riders all stared.

Even with their lower faces masked, Declan observed in agitation the lecherous gleam in their eyes at the sight of the unexpected female captives: a lovely young aristocrat and her pretty maid. The ladies stood close together, the Duchess with a haughty expression, the maid cowering, the boy clinging to their skirts, crying. Declan also perceived that the thieves were not well disciplined, for their attention, one and all, was momentarily distracted.

Partially hidden behind the tree laying between himself and the group, Declan swiftly slid on his belly two feet to the left towards the end of the trunk. His outstretched hand picked up his flintlock from its hiding place.

"Well, well," the leader said. "What have we here? What a spot of luck for us...with this one we'll have diversion and riches." His comrades all laughed. The maid started weeping.

Declan brought his arms forward and through the ragged hewn end of the trunk took aim at the leader. He had but one shot...he must not hit the captives.

"Work before play, lads." The man turned slightly.

Declan squeezed the trigger.

BLAM!!!!

There was a choked cry and the man dropped.

Pandemonium ensued. The women screamed, the horses squealed and reared, the highwaymen spun towards the felled tree, and Declan leapt to his feet. One of the men lunged at him, pistol first. Bless the coachman! Lying on his belly, the man swung his leg out and tripped the ruffian, who tumbled to the ground. One gunshot, then another splintered the tree behind him as Declan reached the man on the ground...who had started to rise. A massive kick of Declan's boot to the man's head stilled him.

The other guards leapt into the affray.

Declan dived for the pistol that the man had dropped, rolling to his side to point it at the next assailant running towards him. His shot went wide into the woods.

Declan scrambled to his feet just as the next man leapt at him, dagger in hand. There was a burning slash along his ribs, but he heeded it not. Instinctively Declan knew that his opponent was at the limit of his balance with the vigorous stab --- he drew back his left fist and drove it into the man's masked face. His head whipped back and he fell. Throwing himself on top of him, Declan seized his head --- thumbs in his eyes --- and smashed the man's skull again and again against the ground.

At the same time, his three fellow guardsmen had now engaged the remaining two criminals. All pistols emptied, 'twas now the highwaymen with their knives versus the unarmed guards. With the advantage of numbers, the guards at last prevailed.

The five highwaymen lay motionless upon the road.

Then 'twas a flurry of activity. As the coach could not turn round on the narrow road, the guards heaved the tree aside. The coachman hastened the passengers back into the coach. The footmen lashed the trunks in place. At a gallop, the convoy left the woods behind them.

Tidings of the skirmish had already preceded their return to Kilmaedan Castle from Dublin a week later. Captain Blaylock had in the meantime led a company of guards to the woods and rooted out the remaining highwaymen from their refuge in an abandoned cottage --- and had confirmed that three of the five men who had attacked the coach on the road had been killed --- two by Declan.

With all the house staff, guards, and family assembled on the grounds before the castle, the Duke, flanked by Mr. Bruckton and Captain Blaylock, commended the four guards, coachman, and footmen for their bravery. Even her ladyship thanked them, taking each of their hands in turn in her own small, cool palm.

Declan stood at attention as they were presented with small silver medals bearing the Duke's coat of arms. He saluted --- the pain of the knife injury along his side inconsequential compared to this honor. His and the other guards' wounds had been sutured by the Duke's own physician in Dublin and were currently bandaged with poultices.

Captain Blaylock stepped in front of him, his dark blue eyes appraising him. "Excellent work, Quickfist."

"Thank you, sir!"

Later in his chamber, Declan carefully placed the medal upon a square of clean linen in the upper tray of his locker.

From that day on, every time he opened the lid of the box and saw the award, he humbly contemplated his good fortune to be serving Kilmaedan Castle. Fate had indeed been kind to him.

.

The hour had arrived to meet Captain Blaylock and the Crusaders for their unknown night mission. Declan buckled his weapons belt round his hips and slipped the sharpened dagger into its scabbard. He pulled his hat down over his forehead and headed for the stables.

Aye, his life had been transformed that October day nigh two years ago when he had walked into Kilmaedan town. He vowed to do credit to the Captain's confidence in him.

*****