The Sword of the Banshee by Amanda Hughes Read Free Book Online Page A

he was opening her cloak to check for injuries.
    "I am unharmed," she said. India's head began to spin and she felt her stomach churn. "A man is dead, his throat cut."
    The man fell back onto his heels a look of horror on his face. He ran his eyes over India surveying her fine clothes. "Are you? Are you the wife of--?"
    "Fitzpatrick," she said, nodding. India closed her eyes.
    He looked frantically at the door as if he expected someone to burst in, and then back at her. "Was it your husband?"
    "No, one of the guards at the estate."
    He stood up and took his club. "Were ya followed?" he asked looking out the window.
    India tried to raise her head, but it felt unbearably heavy. "I don't think so."
    "The dog will warn us if they come,” he assured her. “I am going to move ya to the stable."
    He leaned the club against the wall and slid his arms under her carrying her to the back of the cottage. Like so many of the peasant dwellings in Ireland, the stable was attached to the house. He put her down gently on some straw well away from the cattle and whispered, "The children must not know you are here. Wee ones have loose lips."
    Something in India's eyes held his attention for a moment. He stared as if mesmerized then blinked, shaking himself free. "I must check on them to make sure they still sleep."
    He returned shortly with a damp rag to wipe her hands and face, a blanket and some clothing. "These clothes belonged to my wife. When you have rested, change into them. We must burn your cloak and gown. Now rest. I will stand watch."
    All was quiet the rest of the night. When she felt stronger, India changed clothes in the dark. Sleep would surely not come that night, so she lay there stiff and silent on the straw. After several hours, she was roused by the rattling of the stable doors. They swung open. The dog rushed in with the man behind him. It was still dark.
    "You've changed,” he said picking up her bloody garments. “These will go into the fire right now." He stepped outside for a moment then returned, setting down a lantern and swinging a stool over to start milking.
    India sat up gingerly, rubbing her eyes. Every muscle was sore, and there were abrasions on her arms.
    “You saw no one?" she asked.
    "No one.”
    India's thoughts returned to Marcas Peadar. She tried to shake the image of his last moments from her mind, but it was difficult. She wondered if he had left a wife and children.
    She examined her bruised and battered arms. She winced as she pulled straw from the wounds.
    The man was watching her, and he offered, "I'll get soap and water for ya after milkin’.”
    "Thank you for keeping me safe Mr.--"
    "Donal McGuire, Lady Fitzpatrick."
    "Thank you, Mr. McGuire. I must leave as soon as possible. I don't want to put you or your children in peril.”
    He said nothing resting his cheek against the cow, starting to milk. For the first time since she arrived, India noticed her surroundings. The stable was small and smelled of straw, animals and smoke. There were four cows standing in the stalls waiting patiently to be milked. They rolled their eyes suspiciously at India as Donal murmured to them in a soothing voice.
    “Are these your animals, Mr. McGuire?” she asked.
    He chuckled, “No, they are the property of our landlord. Everything you see here is the property of Lord Griffith. I am his tenant.”
    Inside the one room cottage she could see a crude table and chairs set in front of the glowing embers of a peat fire. Up above on the mantel were several plates and a cross. A shawl was hanging on a peg by the door.
    “Are the children awake?” she asked.
    “Not yet,” he replied, still milking.
    India lay back and sighed, listening to the milk spraying rhythmically into the bucket. For a moment she was able to forget all the horrors of the night and feel safe and protected. It had been a long time since she had felt secure. She fancied herself Donal McGuire's wife, sitting there on the straw, dressed in