Kings of the Boyne by Nicola Pierce Read Free Book Online

mystic and was jeered for her visions of Mary and Jesus. Cait was not blind to the looks that some of the locals gave her while she claimed strange occurrences for herself. Hadn’t she heard the banshee wail her terrifying lament not three days before their grandfather died? Afterwards, man to man, Gerald’s father had wondered to Gerald if she had not just heard the screeching of an owl.
    Cait spent her days looking after the sick and the poor. Nobody had asked her to do this; it just sort of happened, as Gerald remembered it. Naturally her favourite saint was also a healer, bringing a child, her nephew, back from the brink of death just by laying her hands upon him. In truth, Gerald found himself more interested than he expected, and he was definitely impressed by the coincidence of finding one of her books here in Drogheda.
    The pages were edged in more gold, and, with an obstinate puff, the book fell open on a page where Gerald felt obliged to read the following:
    Let nothing disturb you
    Let nothing frighten you
    All things are passing;
    God only is changeless.
    Patience gains all things.
    Who has God wants nothing.
    God alone suffices.
    It was as if he could hear the saint herself, her breath cool against his ear, the slightest hint of blossoms in the air, the gold colouring suddenly suggesting the gold of evening sunlight as it stretches across the fields in front of his home.
    Completely absorbed in his thoughts, Gerald almost screamed when Jacques crept up behind and tapped him on the shoulder, asking, ‘Did you not hear me calling you?’
    Ignoring his friend, Gerald called over to Mr Mahon, his timidity gone, ‘May I ask the price of this book?’
    Of course it cost more than he had in his pocket. In fact, it cost more than he had ever had in his pocket. Well, it was beautiful, it would be an insult to attach a mean price to it. Yet, Gerald lingered, turning the book this way and that, wondering what he could do.
    However, Patrick Mahon was not a bookseller for nothing. He recognised and appreciated when a customer had fallen in love. And this young soldier looked truly smitten.
    ‘If you like, I can hold it here for you. Just pay me a deposit and the rest as you go. I promise that no one else shall get their hands on it.’
    Gerald hesitated. As of yet, there was no firm information available regarding the payment of wages for the Jacobite army. The deposit was the easy part; simply hand over the contents of his pockets and hope for the best. He looked down at the book again as if waiting for guidance. It was the perfect gift for Cait and, yes, for him too. How odd it was, that those few words moved him to remember that he was never truly alone but also served to remind him that he was about to take part in what promised to be a momentous, not to mention dangerous battle. After all these months, it was easy to forget why he was wearing this uniform and what all these days were tumbling him towards. How small he suddenly felt. No, he needed to have this book because he needed to believe that he would survive what was coming if only to press this precious book into his sister’s hands.
    He nodded to himself, thinking, If worst comes to worst and I can’t pay for it, I’ll just tell him to put it back on the shelf, but he can keep my deposit.
    Still, he heard the tremor in his voice as he told Mr Mahon, ‘Thank you. I would be most grateful if you held it for me, although I am not exactly sure when you will see me again. I mean if … or …’
    The bookseller hushed him. ‘Do not trouble yourself, lad. See, I will keep it right here with your name on it. Just give me half of those coins in your hand. There’s no need to clear yourself out completely. A man should always have a bit of money in his pocket, just in case.’
    Stuck for words at Mr Mahon’s kindness, Gerald could only obey him, dutifully counting out the larger coins into his hand before mumbling his thanks.
    He turned and walked out the door,