The Sword of the Banshee (31 page)

“Good Afternoon Lady Allen,” said Oliver Dupuis.

Of course, he would know my footsteps, thought India. Dupuis was in his usual spot by the fireplace. Lucretia came down the stairs with dirty linen in a basket. India noticed that the whole side of her face was bruised, and her left eye was swollen shut. She would not look at India as she walked into the back room.

India opened her mouth to say something then stopped. She looked at Dupuis. He stared straight ahead in his chair his arms outstretched resting on the head of his cane as usual. She knew he was responsible for Lucretia’s bruises. She wanted to follow her into the back room to speak to her privately, but she knew it may put the woman in danger.

Dupuis called in his nasal voice, “Lucretia, don’t be rude. We have a guest.”

There was no response. He stood up, taking his cane and tapped his way behind the bar where he opened a chest and began to count coins.

India detested this man, but she had business to conduct. She asked curtly, “Any information?”

He did not look up. “For a woman of breeding Lady Allen, you certainly lack manners. A greeting would be in order.”

India would not respond to this creature. She lifted a hankie to her nose. His smell repulsed her. It was a combination of rotting teeth and unwashed clothing.

“The fucking Lobster backs are positioning for a strike here,” he said, at last in his whiny voice.

“Do you know any specifics? Are they coming overland or by water?” India asked.

“By water.”

“So up the Delaware,” she reflected. “When?”

He shrugged.

“Anything else?”

He shook his head.

Without saying a word, India left the Red Unicorn.

That evening, at her lodgings she paid the innkeeper's wife to visit the tent of Lucretia Dupuis for a divination. After the reading, she had the woman give Lucretia the address of Singer Rum Brokerage with instructions to go there if she was ever in trouble.

*           *            *

India did not sleep well that night. Her mind kept remembering Lucretia's face then to the Brandywine Valley, Calleigh and Barbara. The next morning, she was weary and considered returning home immediately, but she knew that she should pay a visit to Camille Ashton. As she wearily climbed the steps of her town house the front door opened, and a man of middle years stepped out. He was dressed in dark modest clothing, appearing to be a farmer or tradesman. The man nodded and slipped past her. India was surprised, believing that Camille only entertained gentlemen and officers.

The servant announced India, and Camille glided down the stairs, smiling graciously. She was in an indigo colored gown and her hair was dressed high on her head. Even though it was morning, her makeup was heavy. They went into the sitting room, and Camille pulled the doors shut. India handed her a coded script and sat down in one of the wing back chairs by the fireplace.

“You come in person this time,” said Camille taking the script with a smile. “You must have run into my father-in-law as he was leaving.”

“Yes, I did,” said India.”

“I am a widow, you know.” Camille enjoyed conversation when
she
was the topic of conversation. “Ashton is my stage name. Josiah adores me and came to say good bye today. He is moving further inland. He is a bit bombastic, but a truer patriot never lived.”

“I see,” India said, trying to act interested but eager to change the subject. “Now, Mrs. Ashton--”

“As a matter of fact, you may know his name,” Camille said carrying on. “He lives down your way. Josiah Molloy?”

India’s throat tightened. “Oh yes--yes, I know his daughter.” She sighed, wondering if she could ever get away from the omnipresent Barbara Molloy.

Camille’s eyebrows shot up. “Daughter? He has no daughter. He only has unmarried sons.”

“Oh well, then she must be his relation,” India said, dismissing the topic.

“There are no other Molloys in the area,” said Camille, insisting on clarification. “You are mistaken.”

“But I just met a Barbara Molloy, and she said her father is Josiah Molloy from Highland Meadows.”

“Well Josiah
is
from Highland Meadows but forgive me, Lady Allen I was married to his son. I would know if he had a daughter.” Camille was arranging her hair in the mirror. When India didn’t reply, she turned and looked at her quizzically.

India’s mouth was dry, and she asked in a raspy voice, “You say he is a patriot?”

“He declares it more adamantly than anyone I know,” replied Camille, still looking at India.

“Yes, he would,” murmured India.

Quinn’s words rang in her ears,
“I met her father a few months back when we were conducting raids in the area. He told me that he had a daughter who was an excellent shot.”

India jumped to her feet and rushed out the door. Camille ran after her, calling, “Are you ill, my dear?”

Jumping on her horse and riding astride, India tore down Fenchurch Street, onto Ragmore Lane and headed out of town. She knew the sharpshooters were planning an ambush north of Philadelphia, and she had to get there before the raid started. Time was of the utmost importance; Calleigh’s life was at stake. She knew the sharpshooter’s exact location; she and Enoch Powell had scouted it earlier in the week. It was on a ridge overlooking the main road. India cut across a wheat field, and dismounted at the back of the incline. Putting her pistol in her belt, she hiked up her riding habit and started to climb the hill.

She heard voices in the distance and knew the Redcoats were on the road below. Grabbing weeds and branches to help her climb, India scrambled up the ridge in a frantic race against time. Her heart was hammering in her chest. When she reached the top, she could see figures crouched along the summit, poised for the assault.

Crouching low and panting, India ran toward the sharpshooters. She spotted Barbara by an oak tree with Quinn not faraway. Suddenly, she heard the signal from Calleigh to fire. As if in slow motion, India saw Barbara take aim with her rifle and instead of pointing her firearm at the British, Barbara swung it around at Quinn.

At that moment, years of exposure to danger and bloodshed served India well. With the cool head of an assassin, she went down on one knee, pulled the pistol from her belt and put a bullet into Barbara Molloy’s temple.

*           *            *

The ambush ended quickly, and the sharpshooters started to run for cover. Quinn turned to flee with Barbara and froze when he saw her lifeless body. Utterly flabbergasted, he looked at India.

“I did it, Quinn. She was going to kill you.” She reached out to take his arm, but he jerked it away. “We must go!” India shouted.

Shots whizzed past his head, but Calleigh was too stunned to move.

“Look!” she screamed. “Look at the angle of her rifle. She was a Loyalist and here to assassinate you. Molloy didn’t even
have
a daughter!”

Mechanically, Calleigh looked down at Barbara’s rifle. At last he comprehended what India was saying. As if waking from a dream, he took India’s arm, and they stumbled down the ridge together.

The men knew not to ask questions. They waited at camp that night until Calleigh called them all together. They were shocked and embarrassed at how easily they had been duped, including Calleigh. Since the security of the operation had been breached, it was decided that the group would scatter across the valley and meet at a later date to resume the operation.

India mounted her mare to head for home. She dreaded breaking the news to Phineas that they must leave their home in the Brandywine immediately, but their safety was in jeopardy.

Even though guards were headed for the property, Calleigh said he would be more comfortable if he escorted India to the house. They rode side by side along the dark lane in silence. India was tired beyond measure. Calleigh was taut as a bowstring.

“For the first time in my life, I am speechless,” he said, at last.

India looked at him and smiled, then went back to riding in silence. A light drizzle began to fall.

“You saved my life today, Lady Allen.”

Still India did not respond. She lifted her face to the sky to feel the cool mist on her skin.

“You are fatigued?” he asked.

“Yes, I am weary,” she admitted. Not since she had lost her babies had India felt that kind of panic and fear. She had tried to deny her emotions all day, but a sick feeling in her stomach reminded her how terrified she had been.

“I feel like a damned fool,” said Quinn.

India shook her head. “Don’t. Barbara was a consummate professional. She was beautiful, seductive, and you were taken with her.”

“No,” said Calleigh, his brow furrowing. “I was a fool about
you
. I thought Barbara would make me forget
you
.”

The breath caught in India’s throat. She pressed her eyes closed then opened them again glad that Quinn could not see her in the darkness.

“When I saw you with O’Donnell I--” he stopped.

India was afraid her voice would quiver, but she responded anyway, “There is nothing between Cian and me. There never has been. Nothing like--” this time India was the one to stop.

Quinn swallowed hard. “We are almost to the stables.”

He dismounted and said, “Please get down.”

When she dismounted, Calleigh stepped up so close to India that their clothing was touching. She could feel his breath on her face. Even though he did not embrace her, his lips were so near that India could feel their heat. For the first time in her life, her icy reserve melted, and she bent her head back to be kissed.

Quinn searched her face and stepped back, taking her hand instead. He brought it to his lips and murmured, “Lady Allen, I will forever be in your debt.”

*           *            *

All that night, India paced in her room, flooded with feelings she didn’t understand. Something inside of her had changed, and for the first time in her life, she began to recognize emotion. India felt vulnerable and afraid one moment then filled with desire and yearning the next. Quinn Calleigh had a hold on her like no other man before. Her connection had become visceral, and when his life was threatened, India’s life was threatened as well. She longed to have him envelope her in his arms and keep her safe, yet she could not surrender her independence. Feelings of pleasure and pain churned inside her violently, and India wondered if this crucible of emotion was love. If it was, then she wanted no part of it; it tasted sweet one moment then blistered her like hot sugar the next.

*           *            *

After Barbara Molloy had compromised the safety of the sharpshooters, Calleigh had to reorganize the entire operation. He sent most of them out on minor skirmishes while India and Cian gathered information about the occupation of Philadelphia.

Chadd’s Ferry was the site of their new encampment, not far from Quinn’s property. Calleigh wanted everyone to stay together in a small well protected group for now.

It was heaven for India to be sleeping in the open again. It reminded her of the days back in Cork with the Ballyhoura Boys and the blissful weeks in camp by the mountain spring in the Barnsmore Gap. She loved hearing the birds chattering in the morning, and the rush of river water bubbling over rocks. Every evening she would gaze over the peaceful rolling hills of the valley, see the green grass sprinkled with yellow iris and fill her lungs with the sweet air of sunset.

Phineas loved the setting as well. He would hunt and fish endlessly, and when Quinn had the time, he would take him back to the stables to ride his horses. Powell was always there, grumbling but loyal as an old dog patrolling and guarding the Calleigh property around the clock.

“I believe we will have some definite answers for you about the occupation,” Alden Quincy said to Quinn, one sunny afternoon in June. “O’Donnell and Powell and the boy are up at the house with Lady Allen right now. Hiram Pickles is translating a letter from Philadelphia.”

Calleigh rubbed his forehead and nodded. “Good,” he said. “At last.”

He walked down to the river to smoke before going up to the house. Long days in the sun had darkened his skin, and his curly hair had grown long. More than ever Quinn Calleigh resembled a gypsy.

Suddenly he heard hooves, and he turned around, startled. It was his brother Ian on horseback. “Quinn!” he barked. “Renegades masquerading as patriots have been sighted in the area. They may be at your property.”

Quinn jumped on the gelding Ian brought for him, and they flew up the hill onto the road. Five men followed in their wake. They thundered over bridges, past farms, fields and woodlands. As they rounded the curve to the Calleigh estate, Quinn was in the lead, riding fast and riding low. Before his gelding even stopped, he jumped to the ground and began running. Carrying his rifle, he crouched low and bolted toward the house. The others followed.

The grounds were ominously quiet. The men flattened themselves against the walls poised for a fight. Quinn looked around the corner and saw something hanging from one of the trees. His stomach twisted. Panic and despair flooded him.
Was it India, or was it the boy?