But there must be something more we can do!" Caitlyn looked beseechingly up at Father Patrick. Though it was still daylight outside, the tunnels beneath Donoughmore were as black as the blackest night. Only a single lantern illuminated the spot where the six of them huddled. Beyond that small circle of light, all was echoing darkness.
"The seeds are planted and should, God willing, bear fruit. All that is left is to wait for the dawn and pray."
"We could attempt a gaol break." Like the rest of them who had spent most of the daylight hours of the past month in the dark tunnels, Cormac was pale. He was thinner too, as were Liam and Rory and Caitlyn herself. Mickeen was down to a bone. The only one who was much the same as he had always been was Father Patrick, who had been working tirelessly on Connor's behalf since he had heard the news of his arrest.
"Kilmainham is impregnable," Father Patrick answered with the weary air of one who had said as much before. " 'Tis no sense in throwing your lives away on such foolishness. Sure, and Connor would not thank the lot of you for getting yourselves killed as well as him, and well you know it."
"But, Father, do you think 'twill work?" Liam chewed on a fingernail as he looked across at the priest. They were sitting on saddles and other makeshift seats, the remains of a meal of bread and cheese that Father Patrick had brought littering the makeshift table on which guttered the lantern.
"To tell you true, Liam, I do not know. I can only pray to God. But to my way of thinking, 'tis the only chance your brother has."
"We cannot and will not let him hang!" Rory jumped to his feet and paced about in agitation.
"Believe me, there are many who feel as you do, and in that we must place our hope. Cone, are you ready?"
The rest of them got to their feet. The time had come for them to travel to Dublin. It would be a risky journey, as dragoons still combed the countiyside with an eye out for the Dark Horseman's band. Only by remaining safely beneath the surface of the earth had they avoided capture so far. But they would ride singly and in pairs so as to attract less attention, meeting at a prearranged spot in the part of Dublin's slums known as Botany Bay. The arrangements for the morrow were all made. Now came the most difficult part: the waiting.
"Father, have you any means to give Conn word of what we would attempt? He must be…" Liam's voice trailed off, and he finished the sentence with an expressive gesture. Caitlyn imagined how tortured must be Connor's thoughts on this, possibly the last evening of his life, and felt sick. She longed to go to him, to comfort him. It might be the last time she would see him in life.
"Be at ease, my children. I have made such plans. Connor has a part to play on the morrow as well." Father Patrick's eyes ran over the five faces that regarded him so anxiously. His tired face was somber. "Even the bloody English would not deny a condemned man access to a priest on the night before he is to hang."
"You'll see him, Father?"
"Will they let you, do you think?"
"Tell his lordship-tell him-ah, tell him what you will." Mickeen, unable to put into words his message of loyalty and affection, scowled and spat.
"They'll let me see him, have no fear. I will do what I can to ease his way unto death-or whatever." A long- absent twinkle appeared in Father Patrick's eyes. "Though it took quite a hefty bribe to arrange. Fortunately, the Sassenach are quite venal."
"Then if all the arrangements are made, why are we standing around here? Let's be away!"
"Not so fast, young Cormac! I'll have your word-all of your words-that you'll not be doing anything daft! Your role is tomorrow at dawn, not before."
"You have our word, Father." Liam spoke for them all. Father Patrick nodded. The group then headed toward the entrance to the tunnel that was hidden just above the Boyne. The horses were kept there, fed and watered and exercised at night and well hidden during the day. They saddled up in silence; Mickeen saddled Fharannain as well. His inclusion, riderless, in the journey was a testament to their hope. If all went well, Connor would be riding Fharannain when they fled Dublin on the morrow.
"If I may, I'll ride with you, Father," Caitlyn said, stopping beside the priest as he tightened the saddle on his well-fleshed bay. He looked down at her, compassion in his eyes. Then he nodded.
"Aye, my child, you may. I'll be glad of your company, in truth."
Caitlyn, in breeches and coat for the occasion, swung aboard the pretty piebald mare that Cormac had procured for her during one of his nightly forays into the world above. Caitlyn called her Meg, and tried not to envision the disaster that would occur should she, through some terrible mischance, come face to face with Meg's former owner. But Cormac assured her there was small risk of that, as he had taken the mare from the stable of an inn on the far side of Crumcondra.
Mickeen rolled aside the huge rock that blocked the entrance to the fissure. In a moment they were out in the freezing rain, pulling their hoods tightly around their faces as they split up. They would meet again just before dawn.
"I'll ride with you as well, if you've no objections, Father," Cormac said, bringing Kildare up beside Meg. "I'm loath to let Caitlyn here out of my sight. Conn would be wroth with us should we get him away and lose Caitlyn again in the process."
Father Patrick expressed no objection, and the three of them rode in silence toward Dublin. There was a considerable amount of traffic on the road, all bound for the hanging on the morrow. The whole countryside was astir with news of the Dark Horseman's fate.
They were some hours on the road, and the darkness and freezing rain made the ground underfoot treacherous. Riding single file, sandwiched between Father Patrick's comfortable bulk ahead of her and Cormac behind, Caitlyn was so anxious to arrive and get on with it that she could scarcely restrain herself from setting Meg to a gallop. But she had to be patient, she reminded herself. For Connor's sake. For weeks now she and the younger d'Arcys had been going insane trying to dream up ways to save him. Father Patrick had come up with the only plan that had the remotest chance of succeeding. It hinged on so many factors that the possibility of something going wrong was immense. But everything that could be done had been done. The only thing that could make a bit of difference now was prayer. And pray she did, fervently, even as her thoughts wandered over the weeks just past…
After dealing with Sir Edward, she had fled at once to Connor's house on Curzon Street, only to find it deserted. She learned later that, immediately upon receiving word that Connor was taken, Liam had quitted the house and ridden for Oxford to collect Rory and Cormac. Sure that the authorities would soon be looking for them as well, the three of them and Mickeen had prudently taken lodgings in a seedy rooming house near the quay while they awaited word of Connor's fate. Their fears were well grounded. Even while he was using them to threaten Caitlyn, Sir Edward had already revealed the younger d'Arcys' involvement in Connor's crimes. Caitlyn was uncertain whether he had mentioned her, though she rather thought not. He had still had use for her at the time, after all. But it was not wise to take chances when one might pay with one's life.
Alone and penniless on the streets of London, afraid she was being hunted as a highwayman and murderer,
Caitlyn had reverted quickly to as close a persona of what she had once been as she could manage. Stealing clothes hung out to dry, she had garbed herself as a boy and for the next week had haunted the streets surrounding Newgate Prison, where street talk had it they had taken Connor immediately after his arrest. She had not thought to take Sir Edward's purse from his pocket before she fled, but she managed to sell to a whore the clothes she had been wearing when she left Lisle Street. The few coins that brought her kept food in her stomach, and she slept on the streets. It was amazing how easily the survival skills she had learned when she was O'Malley the thief came back to her.
After nigh on a se'ennight had passed, she'd heard that the Dark Horseman would be moved that very day to Ireland for trial. Joining the small crowd gathered in front of the prison, she had seen no more of Connor than the outside of a curtained prison wagon as it pulled through the gates. But in the crowd she had spied Mickeen also trying to catch a glimpse of Connor at his brothers' behest. Though she stood right beside him, he did not recognize her until she grabbed his sleeve and, in a hiss, made herself know. For the first time since she had known him, he had seemed glad to see her.
"Because his lordship would be wishful for us to look after you," he said, and took her back to the seedy inn with him. Her reunion with Cormac and Rory had been tearful, while practical Liam had sworn eternal vengeance in his brother's name when she told them some part of how she had been used. The three of them would have charged in pursuit of Sir Edward and murdered him on the spot had she not been able to assure them that she had taken care of it herself.
They then had set out for Ireland, where they had gone first to Father Patrick at St. Albans. He had counseled them to hide while he did what he could for Connor. None of them had really thought Connor would be hanged. Irrationally, they had expected a miracle, but no miracle had as yet occurred. Connor would die on the morrow unless their last desperate gamble paid off. Caitlyn could not bear the thought. If Connor died, she would want to die too.
When they rode into Dublin it was past midnight. Revelers packed the streets despite the freezing rain. The town had a carnival air about it. A public hanging was an event even if only the lowliest pickpocket was to forfeit his life. When the condemned was as well loved and well hated (depending upon whether one was Irish or Anglo) as the Dark Horseman, the entertainment promised to be of the highest order. Everyone who could manage to travel to Dublin was there.
Outside St. Catherine's their ways split. Kilmainham Gaol was to the east, Botany Bay to the north. Father Patrick reined in and turned in his saddle to bid them farewell.
"Till dawn, my children," he said, lifting a hand. Caitlyn pushed Meg closer to his mount. She had an urgent request to make of the priest, though she hated to tell him what she feared she must to secure it. He would think her wanton, indeed. But if it was the price she must pay, pay it she would, and gladly.
"Can you find no way to take me with you, Father? I would see Connor, if I could. He-I-we have much that is unfinished between us."
"I would go too, if 'tis possible." Cormac spoke up from the darkness behind her. Father Patrick shook his head.
"You, Cormac, are a man grown now and should recognize folly before you suggest it. Do not forget that they are looking for you, and for Rory and Liam as well. You look too much like your brother, so you are impossible to mistake. As for you, lass…"
"We've had no word that I'm being sought." Seeing Father Patrick's hesitation, she shamelessly appealed to the soft spot he had developed for her. "Please, Father. Should Connor die and I… not have speech with him, I-I-" Her voice broke. "If there is any way, I beg you."
Father Patrick frowned. " 'Tis too dangerous. I cannot permit it. 'Tis sorry I am, lass, but-"
"Please, Father!" Caitlyn broke in. " 'Tis more im- portant than you know. There is something I must tell him." Haltingly, she explained the urgency of her mission. By the time she was done, her entire face was bright crimson, and Father Patrick was staring at her from beneath lowered brows. Cormac looked like he had been poleaxed.
"Dear sweet Jesus," Cormac muttered, his eyes running over Caitlyn. She silenced him with a look.
"That does make a difference," Father Patrick agreed after a long silence. "Very well, you may come with me. I will get you in somehow. But there is one condition."
When he told her what it was, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, nearly unseating him from his horse.