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

country girl’s clothes, a warm peat fire in the next room. She watched his broad back, the shirt pulled taut as he bent forward, and a thrill shot through her. It felt strangely intimate being alone with this stranger in the dim light. India’s face flushed. After five years of conjugal relations, Colm had never thrilled India. He attempted to ignite desire within her, but she would not admit him. The gates were frozen shut. It was the one small corner of her world that she denied him, one room still under lock and key.
    Almost as if he read her mind, McGuire turned and looked at India. He held her gaze until she looked away. No man had ever looked at her in such a brazen fashion. Colm’s men were taught to drop their eyes in her presence. On the surface, India resented this man’s pluck, but something deep inside her stirred. She assumed her icy reserve once more and began to tie up her hair.
    “I never thought I would be giving shelter to the wife of the great Colm Fitzpatrick.”
    India did not respond, continuing to work on her hair. Finally she said, “You lost your wife, Mr. McGuire?”
    He moved his stool to the next cow and resumed milking. “Aye, a few years back to the pox. It killed two of my children as well.”
    Before she could respond, she heard a child say, “Papa, who are you talking to?”
    India leaned back into the shadows. A thin boy clothed in rags about the age of seven stood on the threshold of the stable.
    “I’m talkin’ to the girls. Who else?” Donal said brusquely. “I have a job for ya. I want ya to find Uncle Finn and tell him to come here right away. Tell him a cow is down.”
    “Which cow, Papa?”
    “Never mind which cow. Now go!”
    The boy shot out of the cottage. Donal told India that once informed his brother could remove her to a safe house where she could meet her husband. India nodded. She knew Colm would be frantic.
    She stood up and was stiff and unsteady. Holding onto the wall for support, she worked her way into the cottage to wash. She noticed the sun was up although it was raining. A little girl lay on a trundle by Donal’s bed, no more than three years of age. The child was sprawled out fast asleep, her red hair all in tangles.
    Donal came into the cottage and poured water into a bowl on the kitchen table. He handed India a crock of soft soap and a towel. Gingerly, she washed the wounds on her arms and face, dabbing herself dry with a towel.
    Donal looked up from his breakfast squinting at India, examining her face. “You’re not done.”
    India looked at him surprised. “Yes. I’m done.”
    “No ya aren’t,” he announced, standing up.
    He took the towel from her and dipped it in water reaching up to wash the wounds on her face. He stood so close to her she could feel the warmth of his skin. Donal rubbed the towel on her forehead, then across her cheek brushing her lips lightly. He dropped his arm looking at her intensely. He believed her eyes were as purple as the lavender growing outside his front door.
    India froze. She had never been this close to another man, and it felt wildly sensual. She wanted him to bear his lips down on her mouth, but instead he whispered, “Ah, but you’re a grand beauty.”
         The dog started barking, and the spell was broken. McGuire stepped to the door, picking up his shillelagh. He looked out the window and announced, “It is Finn and the lad. He will take ya back now.”
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 5
     
    After the death of Peadar, Colm moved the operation north to Donegal. They found an estate near Kilcommon and settled once more into the routine of training repparees and planning strikes against the British. It was a small manor overlooking a quaint harbor filled with colorful fishing boats.
    India thought she had settled back into her old routine again; making her husband’s meals, writing letters and taking her walks again, but in reality, she had changed. The violence and bloodshed of the rebellion had found