Celtic Mist Ch. 02

Chapter 2: The Mission

Captain Blaylock and the four Crusaders strode down the center aisle of the shadowed stable, their boots tromping and swords swinging in unison. The rows of brass buttons on their dark blue uniforms gleamed in the low light as they walked --- Captain Blaylock in the lead, Burrows, Fitzgibbons, Lynch and Declan in two pairs behind him. Declan's belly twinged in excitement as he matched their purposeful demeanor, endeavoring not to appear the novice in the company as they set out upon the yet unknown mission.

They rode in a similar formation, heading north on the main road after they left Kilmaedan Castle. 'Twas a cool night, with a thin wind and intermittent moonlight through shifting grey clouds. In some two miles, they turned west onto a narrow lane, the horses' hoofbeats muffled on the soft, damp ground as they passed between the stone walls along dark pastures. The sounds of night accompanied them...the hooting of owls, the trill of nightingales, the chirping of crickets.

At the Captain's bidding, Declan advanced to ride at his side. "I've already instructed the others in the plan for tonight's engagement," he said. "So, I shall apprise you of the essentials. Our destination is the farm of one of the Duke's tenants. The farmer has been overheard in a local tavern in seditious speech against his lordship. Indeed, the family is suspected of aiding the rebel United Irish faction known to be active in the county."

The horses splashed across a shallow stream. Blaylock continued: "The farmhouse is some thirty paces from the road, separated from it by a stone wall. 'Tis a simple cottage --- stone with a thatched roof. There are two means of egress: a door and a window, both on the front. The inhabitants are four in number: the farmer, his wife, her sister, and a young child. The man is young and strong and may be armed --- be prepared."

Declan attended the Captain's words closely. As he listened, he observed in his peripheral vision a large bird flying silently alongside them, eerily silhouetted by the moonlight --- eventually he lost sight of it when the clouds regrouped over the moon.

"Upon our arrival, Burrows, Fitzgibbons and I will address the door; you and Lynch will wait in the yard. Given the hour, I expect we shall find them abed. We will escort the women and child out. Whilst we interview the man, you and Lynch will guard the women. We do not yet know the extent of the women's involvement in the treasonous plot, but I intend to discover it. In the meantime --- mark me well --- no harm must come to the women. Do not let them escape, but do not injure them. Is that clear?"

"Aye, sir."

"As the events unfold, I shall give you further orders --- or the others will. Obey them as you would me."

"Aye, sir."

After a half hour's ride, they reined to a stop alongside a low wall, the stones dim under a tracing of vines. "'Tis here," the Captain muttered. In the dark, the black shape of the dwelling was scarce visible, but Declan could smell the peat smoke over the scent of earth and animals. For some moments, the five men stared into the blackness with no sound save the wind rustling leaves about them.

Then the clouds broke, and moonlight dimly illuminated the scene. 'Twas as Blaylock had described it: a small stone cottage with a thatched roof and smoke rising from the chimney...a sight quite familiar to Declan from his past employment on farms. Nary a hint of light leaked round the shuttered window or door.

On Blaylock's nod, the men dismounted and passed through a sagging wooden gate in the wall --- Declan bringing up the rear. As he stepped into the yard, there was a sinister stirring of the air above him that made him duck --- his eyes darted up to the swooping shape of some winged creature against the night sky. With a harsh caw, a large bird alit upon the roof of the cottage.

Silently the men crossed the yard, picking their way over soft ground, stones, tufts of scrub grass, and past pale mounds of ruminating sheep --- a few lurching to their feet and bleating as they passed. Some twenty feet from the dark house they halted. Following the Captain's hand signals, they proceeded according to plan: Fitzgibbons and Burrows flanked him to the door, whilst Declan and Lynch stood back. Declan carefully stepped sideways in the mud to give himself a clear line of sight to the door. He put his hand upon the butt of his holstered flintlock and watched intently.

Captain Blaylock knocked forcefully upon the door and commanded, "Open in the name of the Duke!"

Immediately there was a ferocious barking on the other side of the portal. Declan and Lynch exchanged quick looks. Blaylock hadn't mentioned a dog! In all the guards' drills, he had never trained to defend against a canine attacker. 'Twas apparently an unforeseen development for the three men at the door as well, for they leant close together in impromptu consultation. Above the barking Declan could make out little of their exchange.

"...about a bloody dog!" Fitzgibbons said.

"Stand ready," Blaylock ordered.

A faint line of light now appeared round the window shutters, then the door slowly opened several inches. In the sliver of light was the face of man. "Patrick Lanigan?" Blaylock said above the barking.

The man's face turned to take in the five uniformed, armed men...then he opened the door a little wider, showing the snarling dog next to his bare feet. He was a young man of middling height and sturdy build, his hair tousled and his shirt hanging out of his breeches. In his right hand was a stout blackthorn shillelagh. Declan's thumb went to his pistol's hammer, his eyes fixed upon the farmer's hands.

With his hand upon his own flintlock, the Captain said something to the man, who, after again surveying the visitors, issued a curt, unintelligible command. The dog at once ceased barking but remained at his side, growling. Again, Blaylock addressed the man --- the Captain's words inaudible from where Declan stood, but his demeanor was completely composed.

The farmer seemed to be pondering the words...after a pause, he turned with a grim expression and stepped out of sight inside the cottage. In a few moments he reappeared along with two young women with woolen shawls wrapped round their nightgowns --- one was carrying a whimpering wee lad some two years of age.

Blaylock, Fitzgibbons, and Burrows stood aside to permit the women to step out into the dark yard --- Patrick Lanigan and the dog following close behind them. Blaylock pointed at Declan and Lynch. "Over there."

The women halted at the indicated spot, some four feet in front Declan and Lynch. In the darkness, Declan could scarce see their faces, but he heard Lanigan's low voice. "'Twill be fine, love. Just wait here whilst I talk to these men." He looked from Declan to Lynch, his eyes fierce in the dim light. "Orla, stay!" he said without looking down.

As Lanigan turned back towards the cottage, Blaylock called out, "The dog stays with you." The man hesitated for a moment, regarding the three men waiting at the door, then signaled the dog to come. He and the dog preceded the guards into the dwelling and the door was shut behind them.

Silence.

Leaves rustling.

They stood staring at the cottage --- the two women close together, Declan and Lynch behind them. Declan noted Lynch taking a step closer, putting himself within arm's reach of the woman who was holding the wee bairn. Wise, Declan thought, recalling the Captain's order to keep the women secure. He followed suit --- stepping closer to the other lass --- and quickly considered what might betide in this assignment, and what the proper course of action would be. What if they ran? What if they had weapons under their large shawls? His hands hovered in the air behind his charge as he assessed the scene.

The Captain had stated that one woman was the farmer's wife, and the other was her sister. Indeed, they appeared as like as sisters in the dark. Declan guessed the woman with the child to be the wife. They were both small, light-figured lasses --- the tops of their heads no higher than his collarbone. Both had long hair hanging down their backs in a pair of braids.

The moon emerged from the clouds once more, and their nightgowns shone pale below their wool shawls, the wind stirring the linen round their bare ankles.

Minutes passed. The child hiccupped...the lasses leant their heads close and whispered to each other. Declan contemplated whether this liberty was allowed...the Captain had given no order forbidding it, and Lynch made no objection, so he said nothing.

Silence.

Declan's ears strained for some intelligence as to the proceedings within the cottage.

They all jumped as a furious barking erupted --- only to be cut short by the explosion of a gunshot. The child began wailing and the women gasped and started forward but were immediately halted by Lynch and Declan grabbing their shoulders. Admixed with the child's cries could now be heard a violent scuffle inside the cottage. 'Twas but a brief moment later that a choked shout pierced the night air...and the cottage fell silent.

Now the only sound was the crying bairn.

Under his hands, Declan felt the tensing of the lass's shoulders.

The door swung open. The Captain appeared in the doorway, wiping the bloody blade of his dagger with a rag. The wife screamed. Declan beheld the body of Patrick Lanigan upon the cottage floor, a red slash widening upon his neck.

The women shrieked and wrenched against the restraining hands on their shoulders as the Captain strode across the yard towards them --- Burrows and Fitzgibbons following. Declan's mind raced, struggling to comprehend this turn of events. Why, the man must have attacked them!

Blaylock halted before the women and calmly sheathed his dagger. The wife strained against Lynch's hands, screaming incoherently, whilst the sister tried to hit and kick the Captain --- Declan pulling her back.

Unperturbed, Blaylock looked down at them, studying one raging face then the other in the dark. His gaze at last stopped upon the woman with the bawling bairn. "Bring her and that infernal child," he ordered. As Lynch released her to Burrows and Fitzgibbons, the Captain and Lynch exchanged curt nods.

Each holding an arm, Burrows and Fitzgibbons escorted the struggling woman back to the cottage, clutching the crying wee lad. The Captain followed them inside and shut the door.

Declan nigh lost his hold on the other lass as she lunged forward. He shifted his grip lower to control her flailing arms.

From inside the cottage, the child's screams all at once redoubled. And then an abrupt, horrific silence fell. The mother's agonized shriek echoed in Declan's spine and tightened his throat. What the devil?!

The lass went rigid in his hands. "No," she whispered. "No."

"OH GOD!! OH GOD!!" The mother's screams like a banshee's filled the night but were swiftly interrupted by a crashing sound. In a few moments there rose wails of anguish and pain in equal measure.

Christ! What was happening? Were they torturing her? Declan's body tensed, and he felt his heart thumping against his ribcage. The cries took on an almost rhythmic quality, and all at once Declan had an inkling of what was transpiring within --- his face flushed hot. He glanced at Lynch, who, appearing entirely undisturbed by the events, had stepped back to his horse and was opening the saddle bag. Lynch gave him a crude grin and said, "No fear, next time 'twill be our turn inside."

Declan gaped at him. Under his hands the lass writhed and hissed, and he realized that his grasp upon her arms had grown so fierce that he was hurting her. He mustn't injure her...aye, he must follow orders. He eased his grip.

The next moment, he was holding only the shawl and the lass was running towards the cottage. He leapt after her, promptly tripping on a stone and falling to his knees. In his continuing momentum, his outstretched hand snagged her bare foot, bringing her to the ground ahead of him. He dived forward and threw his arms about her thrashing body. By God, she was strong for such a wee lass!

She scratched and spit at him, wresting free of his hands and repeatedly jabbing her elbows into his chest and belly. Declan fought to secure her as his knees slid in the mud --- consciously checking his strength that could subdue a stalwart man. He mustn't hurt her...and in view of what they both ken was happening within the cottage, he strove to restrain her small body with his large hands in the most chivalrous manner he could...which was proving to be an awkward endeavor.

They were now on their knees facing the cottage, both breathing raggedly as she tried to crawl away from him. Declan managed to seize the maid's wrists and imprison her arms against her chest, heaving her torso upright. Crossing his arms over hers, he dragged her backwards between his spread thighs and pulled her back tightly against his chest. She squirmed, then violently flung her head back --- CRACK! --- directly onto his nose. He was momentarily dazed but held her fast as he shook his head clear.

As the blood streamed over his lip, Declan shifted his grip to bring her head lower and clasp her chin firmly. When he looked up, he saw Lynch standing by with a coil of rope and an amused expression on his countenance.

Declan realized then that the screams from the cottage had subsided into wretched sobbing.

The door opened.

Captain Blaylock stood in the rectangle of light, buttoning his breeches --- in the background, the motionless body of the child was visible, carelessly atop that of his father. Burrows, Fitzgibbons, and the wife were not within sight. "Well, lads, now that I've loosened her up, enjoy yourselves. When you're done with her, dispatch her to their popish heaven. Search the farm and report back to the castle."

Blaylock stepped into the yard, buckling on his weapons belt. There was a flash of a grin when he beheld Declan kneeling upon the ground with the writhing girl. "Making mud-pies, eh?" He signaled to Lynch. "Bind her."

Declan kept his confusion to himself, holding the lass's arms tight against her torso as Lynch pulled her feet out from under her and bound her ankles together with rope. Then Lynch tied her wrists together behind her back. The lass made no sound as they worked, but her eyes glittered unnervingly in the dark as she stared at them. Lynch heaved her over his shoulder and carried her to the horses where he slung her face down over the Captain's grey stallion --- her legs hanging down over one side, her head over the other --- and secured her to the saddle with a rope round her waist.

Blaylock and Lynch prepared to mount their horses, and Declan followed suit. Swinging astride behind the pinioned lass, the Captain smacked her upturned arse. "Onward!"

They rode back to the castle --- Declan's perturbed eyes upon the bouncing of the girl's hanging feet and braids, even as his muddled mind churned. There must be a righteous explanation for the night's happenings...aye...and he mustn't distress himself over it. He was a man, a fighter, a guard...a Crusader, he reminded himself...'twas no place for a squeamish wee lad.

*****

From the stable through the guards' dark quarters they marched --- the Captain in the lead, the lass walking behind him with Lynch beside her holding her upper arm. Declan followed last.

When they had dismounted in the stable, and Lynch was releasing the rope from the girl's ankles, Blaylock had given Declan a sly smile. "Did this little girl bloody your nose, Quickfist? Perhaps we need to arrange a match...I'll lay my money on the wench." He winked. Declan had surreptitiously wiped his nose with the back of his hand as they walked.

They passed through the stout oak door at the end of the passageway that led to the keep. Immediately upon the other side was the landing with stone stairs going down to the kitchen on one side and up to the servants' quarters on the other. Directly across was the more elegant door --- the door through which the guards were not usually permitted.

Past the second door they were in the castle proper, Declan surmised, as their odd procession crossed a grand entry hall and entered a flanking hall. In the scant illumination from a few heavy candle sconces upon the walls, he could make out the marble floor, patterned rugs, paintings, and tapestries upon the walls. Nary a soul was in sight.

Declan's troubled eyes otherwise returned again and again to the lass walking a few feet in front of him...and inwardly to the scene at the farmhouse. She walked without struggling, her head held high, two long darkish braids swinging slightly against her nightgown. In the dim light Declan could see her bound hands behind her back...could see the clenching and unclenching of her small fists as she tested her bonds.

After passing several ornately carved doors, they halted before a door at the end of the hall. Blaylock rapped briskly, and at a muted "Enter," they proceeded into a large, richly appointed room...a library of some sort. Declan quickly took in the marble fireplace, dark wood bookcases to the ceiling, and fine drapes and rugs.

At the further end of the room, a man stood up from an elegant writing desk --- 'twas a moment ere Declan recognized Mr. Bruckton, he being without his wig. His broad head was balding with a flanking rim of short black hair. He was comparatively informally attired --- not wearing a coat or a stock round his neck, although his breeches, shirt, and long waistcoat were as stylish as usual. The chamberlain stepped round the desk and approached them.

The men stopped in the middle of the room next to a gilded round table under a chandelier; here Lynch released his hold upon the girl and stepped back behind her, as if presenting her to Mr. Bruckton. The Captain stood at one side and signaled Declan to stand opposite him on her other side --- the four men thus formed a circle round her, standing some six feet away.

Mr. Bruckton took a step closer and looked her up and down, his hands on his hips and his expression shrewd.

Now able to see her in the light from the chandelier and various candelabras, Declan stared at her as well, and was confounded by a rush of unfamiliar sensations: wonder, confusion...admiration.

She was a lovely young lass --- even with her bare, muddy feet and mud-smeared, threadbare white nightgown, Declan thought her the loveliest creature he had ever beheld. The longer he gazed at her, the more he perceived the unusual qualities of her individual features and found himself perplexed by her beauty.

True, her flaming red hair and milky skin were not at all uncommon, but instead of the usual pretty, pert female features to which Declan was accustomed, this girl's face had an otherworldly semblance. Indeed, she looked like he imagined a faery would...notwithstanding the liberal smears of mud upon her nose, cheeks, and chin. Her big eyes were an astonishing pale blue --- crystalline like raindrops shimmering on a robin's egg --- and were embellished by lush, reddish-brown lashes and brows. Her nose was long and slim and her cheekbones high.

At this moment, perhaps most unsettling was her demeanor. After the events at the farmhouse, here she stood, a wee, bonnie lass in naught but a nightgown --- surrounded by four vigorous men, each at least twice her weight and three of them armed --- yet she betrayed not a hint of fear. She stood straight, her countenance alert, calm...even defiant as she met Mr. Bruckton's eyes unflinchingly. Could she indeed be a rebel? A feeling of misgiving grew in Declan as he considered to what lengths the interrogation might extend to ferret out the truth.

"You are Aoife O'Farrell?" Mr. Bruckton said. "Sister to Clodagh O'Farrell Lanigan?"