There was fighting along the road as the coach in which Sir Edward held her captive tried to get through. Bands of Volunteers clashed with gangs of Straw Boys; peasants marching on their landlords with burning torches and scythes for weapons filled the road at several points. In some places, passing dragoons had engaged the warring peasants in battle, leaving scores dead. Corpses lay where they had fallen, Protestant and Catholic alike. Blood and death and rebellion were in the air. The proposed hanging of the Dark Horseman had touched a chord in the hearts of Irishmen everywhere. He was their own, universally beloved. It was on this love, this sense of the Dark Horseman as a symbol of a conquered nation, that Father Patrick had banked when he had sown the seeds of Uprising in the most productive ears. The peasants were in revolt, the Catholics bent on avenging themselves on their Anglo oppressors. That the Dark Horseman, whom a downtrodden people had taken to their collective hearts, had not died on the gallows after all was a matter for fervent pride among those he called his own as the tale spread from mouth to mouth.
Still groggy from whatever had been on the rag that Sir Edward had held over her mouth, Caitlyn nonetheless was aware of the turmoil raging in the countryside. Cursing, Sir Edward had called on his coachman to get them to a place of safety. But there was no place of safety on this day, and the coachman could only continue along the road and pray that they would be allowed to pass unmolested.
It was near noon, according to Caitlyn's somewhat fuzzy-headed calculations. Though the coachman had stopped several times to let one or the other warring group pass, and had exchanged comments with many, still she knew nothing of Connor's fate. From several gloating comments Sir Edward had made, she knew that he was assuming Connor had been hanged as scheduled. She hoped against hope that he had escaped.
They were headed north in the general direction of Donoughmore and Ballymara. She guessed that he was taking her to the lodge on Ballymara land where he had kept her while she was recovering from her wound. Given its proximity to Donoughmore, she did not think that it was a wise hideaway, from his point of view. But then, he was basing his plans on the assumption that Connor was dead and the younger d'Arcys on the run. And for all she knew, he could be right.
The motion of the carriage was making her nauseous, and she lay back on the seat with her eyes closed. Sir Edward had bound her hands behind her back, and her ankles, too, with ropes he had brought for that purpose. She had been unconscious for quite a while, and had been faking unconsciousness for sometime more. She and Sir Edward were alone in the coach, the man who had originally been inside with them apparently having climbed up on the box with the driver. She was reluctant to open her eyes and face Sir Edward. He would have harsh plans for her, she knew. But she also knew that, whatever happened, she could no longer allow herself to be abused. She had the child to think of. Somehow, she must find a way to escape.
The carriage jolted through a huge rut, and Caitlyn's teeth came down hard on her tongue. Taken by surprise, she cried out and opened her eyes. Sir Edward was looking at her narrow-eyed.
"I rather thought you were awake, my dear. The dose I gave you was not strong enough to induce such a sleep as you have been pretending to these last mdes."
Caitlyn said nothing, merely looked at him, her expression stony.
"I expect you are mourning d'Arcy. What a pity you missed his hanging."
Still not quite sure that Connor had not indeed been hanged, Caitlyn was stung into retorting:
" 'Tis a pity I did not strike a second blow with the scissors!"
Sir Edward smiled at her, that cruel smile she had come to know and dread. She stiffened her spine and glared at him. Now that his hold on her was at an end, he would find that he was dealing with a very different lass.
"Ah, yes, from your point of view it must be. But we are never permitted second chances in this life, you know. The fact remains that you merely wounded me. 1 am quite recovered now-and you will soon be punished for what you tried to do. Severely punished." He drew this last out as if he enjoyed the sound of the words.
"One day I will kill you." It was a statement, not a threat. His smile faded momentarily, only to slowly renew.
"Do you know, I think I like you defiant? It will add spice as I bring you to heel."
He reached out and put a hand on her breast with casual familiarity. Though she knew he did it merely to demonstrate his mastery over her, Caitlyn could not bear his touch. But, bound as she was, she could not strike his hand away. So instead she spat full in his face.
"You bitch!" He jumped back, glaring at her as he slowly wiped the spittle from his cheek. Then, smiling, he drew back his hand and slapped her with brutal force across the face.
Caitlyn cried out as her head snapped back. She tasted blood in her mouth from a split lip. She straightened, cheek numb and burning, and saw that he was drawing back his hand to do it again.
"Whoa, there! Whoa!" The driver's startled oath, coupled with the reining in of the horses, distracted him.
"What's to do?" Sir Edward called out the window. Caitlyn sank back with relief.
"Men in the road-brigands from the look of 'em, yer worship. They've got it blocked."
"Drive through!" Sir Edward ordered as Caitlyn heard the familiar command.
"Stand and deliver!"
"Connor!" she cried, scooting across the seat toward the window. "Connor, I'm here!"
"Get back, you bitch!" Sir Edward hissed, his slap sending her reeling as the door was jerked open before the carriage had come to a complete stop. Connor stood there, still clad in the tattered clothes in which he had faced the gallows. A murderous scowl marred his face. Caitlyn knew without a word being said that he had witnessed the slap. Behind him, she could see Cormac astride Kildare holding the rest of the horses. She knew that Liam, Rory, and Mickeen must be at hand as well.
Even as his eyes found her, assured himself that she was safe, Connor was reaching into the coach and dragging Sir Edward out.
"He's wearing a sword, watch out!"
Connor reached out, closed his hand over the one Sir Edward was using to draw his sword, and applied pressure. Sir Edward cried out, his hand falling away from the hilt. The sword rattled to the floor of the coach.
"That slap will cost you dear," Connor said through his teeth, his hand wrapped in Sir Edward's coat front. Then he dragged Sir Edward the rest of the way out of the coach and flung the man from him. "Watch him," he said briefly to someone Caitlyn could not see but knew must be either Rory or Liam. Sir Edward stood very still. She guessed that a pistol was pointed at his heart.
"Oh, Connor!" She collapsed back against the seat, smding foolishly as he came inside the coach and sat beside her, reaching for the sword on the floor and using it to saw through her bindings.
"You gave me quite a fright, my own! When we came to the place where we were to collect you, only to be greeted by Father Patrick with the news that you'd been taken… Well, I hope never to endure another morning like it, is all I can say."
"How did you find me?" Her hands were free, and she rubbed them together as he worked on her ankles.
"Some public-spirited bystanders caught one of the thugs who grabbed you. Father Patrick-ah-persuaded him to tell who had taken you, and where. We rode like the devil to overtake you. I was sore afraid that he might do you harm-the bastard. Did he harm you? Besides the slap that I saw."
"Only another one like it. Nothing more. I am so glad to see you! I was worried you hadn't gotten away."
He straightened up from freeing her feet, and Caitlyn threw herself against him, hugging him fiercely. He wrapped his arms around her, kissed the uninjured side of her mouth.
"I have you safe now, my own, and I don't mean to ever let you go again. Let me just deal with this vermin outside, and we'll be away."
"They'll be looking for you. He doesn't matter. Not any more. There's no time-you must flee!"
He shook his head, put her away from him. "I have too many scores to settle with him. Not until they're discharged will I be free."
Looking at him, she realized that to argue would be a waste of breath and time. "Be careful," she said in a husky voice, but he was already stepping down from the carriage, Sir Edward's sword in his hand. He helped her down, then turned, her hand in his, to face Sir Edward.
"When you abused my wife, you sealed your death warrant, you stinking excuse for a man," he said. "However, I will give you the choice I promised you once before: you can be shot where you stand like the dog you are, or you can perish in a fair fight."
Sir Edward, who was held at bay not only by Rory's pistol but by Liam's as well, looked wildly around. The driver and the other man were under guard by Mickeen. They showed no signs of wishing to come to his aid. The carriage had just rounded a bend in the road when it was stopped. Another bend lay ahead. A small rise blocked the view of the countryside to the east. Far to the west, across a meadow and a stream, could be seen a group of peasants, scythes in hand as they marched in what Caitlyn assumed was the direction of their landlord's house. Sir Edward's face paled as he realized that there was no help at hand. He faced death, and he knew it.
Then, slowly, his spine stiffened and his shoulders squared. He turned to face Connor, who was regarding him with steely intent.
"Very well, I'll fight you, d'Arcy. And kill you too, just as I killed your father before you. Do you know what he whispered before I pushed him over the edge of that window? He wept, 'Have mercy!' like the coward he was. As will you, just before I sink my sword into your heart."
"You lie, you whoreson bastard!" Cormac's head came up, and so did the hand holding the pistol. For a moment Caitlyn thought that Sir Edward would be shot out of hand.
"No!" Connor said sharply, holding up his hand to stop his brother before he could fire. " 'Tis a long time I've waited for this, Cormac. Do not cheat me of it."
"He lies, Conn!"
"Aye, like the lying worm he is. 'Twas said to enrage me merely. Pay no heed to it."
"Conn!" Connor looked around to where Liam had dismounted and untied one of the bundles from the pack horse they led. He was holding out a sword with a jeweled hilt to his brother. Connor crossed to him, taking Caitlyn with him, and accepted the sword.
"Watch her, brother," he said briefly to Liam and let go of her hand. Liam moved to stand beside her as Connor tested the blade by flexing it.
"Sir Edward!" Connor tossed Sir Edward's sword to him. He caught it, flexed it. Then he looked at Connor, his eyes filled with hate.
"Do I win, your brothers will kill me out of hand. Not quite a fair fight, after all, is it?" he sneered.
"You'll not win," Connor said with confidence and laid his sword aside to take off his coat. Sir Edward, scowling, followed suit. That done, they picked up their weapons and faced each other.
"To the death," said Connor, his aqua eyes glinting as coldly bright as his sword.
"To your death," Sir Edward amended, his face just as intent. The swords came together, rang in salute. Caitlyn drew in her breath. She was sore afraid. Liam put his arm around her, his hand tight on her shoulder.
"Do nothing to distract him," he warned in an undertone. Caitlyn could feel the tension in Liam, and this frightened her as nothing else could. If Liam was afraid for Connor, then she had every reason to be. Liam knew his brother's ability with a sword-and Sir Edward's.
The onlookers held their collective breath, their attention all on the two men as the fight was joined in earnest. It was silent except for the deadly clash of steel on steel, and the grunts as each combatant fought for breath and advantage. The men feinted, parried, lunged. Sir Edward was a master swordsman, Caitlyn discovered to her horror, light on his feet with superb moves. Connor, while not quite his technical equal and hampered by his lame leg, brought a strength and stamina to the fight that, as they moved over the uneven terrain without either gaining the advantage, gradually began to tell. Sweat popped out on Sir Edward's face, ran down his brow. Connor, seeing that telltale sign, smiled. Sir Edward rallied, lunged. His sword flashed along Connor's arm before Connor could jump back out of the way. Caitlyn saw a long line of red slowly appear through the tear in the white shirt, and gasped. Liam's hand tightened on her shoulder again, reminding her to keep still. She saw that Rory and Mickeen were pale and intent on the fight, while Cormac kept fingering his pistol. Caitlyn guessed that only the thought of Connor's wrath should he be cheated of his long-sought prize stayed Cormac's hand.
The wound merely seemed to increase Connor's ferocity. Disregarding the blood that dripped from his arm, he pressed his attack, driving Sir Edward slowly backward. Finally Sir Edward was gasping, his eyes desperate as he fought to turn away the savage parries that were beating him to his knees. A flick of the sword, a lunge, and Sir Edward's sword went flying through the air. A collective sigh of relief went up from the watchers. Connor paid them no heed. He advanced on Sir Edward, held his sword to the man's throat. To Sir Edward's credit, he never flinched.
"Do it and be damned to you, d'Arcy," he snapped.
Connor slowly shook his head. "I want you to tell me how you killed my father. Every little detail of how you murdered a brave man."
Sir Edward swallowed. The point of the sword pricked his throat, drawing a bead of blood. Then, his nerve breaking, Sir Edward began to talk, describing the events of that long-ago night. When it was over, with himself branded the old Earl's murderer, Liam, Cormac, and Rory all looked ripe for murder. Connor, his sword withdrawn just a little from Sir Edward's throat, was pale but calm.
"Now I believe you owe my wife an apology."
Sir Edward looked toward Caitlyn. She could see hope gleaming in his eyes. She herself could not believe that Connor would let him live, no matter how much talking he did. But Connor had ever been a strangely moral man…
"I apologize, Caitlyn." Sir Edward's voice was little more than a croak. Caitlyn, from where she stood some short distance away, could almost smell his fear. Yet she felt no pity for him. His crimes against her, against those she loved, were too great. Were she holding the sword, Sir Edward would have stood not a chance.
"I mislike your addressing my wife so familiarly. She is Lady Iveagh, to you." Connor's voice was as cold as the steel he held.
"I apologize, Lady Iveagh."
"Mount up, Liam, and take Caitlyn up the road a way."
"No!" Caitlyn shook off Liam's arm.
"Think of the child," Connor said without looking at her. Sir Edward, realizing that his end was near, began to pant. His breathing sounded obscene in the sudden silence. Liam took her arm, and this time Caitlyn did not fight him. She mounted Meg docilely enough. To argue with Connor would be useless, and would only slow him down. But before they had gone fifty paces up the road, she turned the mare around.
"You heard what Conn said."Liam came back beside her, trying to catch Meg's reins. "Think of the babe."
"Oh, pshaw!" Caitlyn snorted, snatching the reins out Of his reach. "I want to watch. Don't be a dolt, Liam. Neither the babe nor I will come to harm from just watching. Don't forget, I almost killed the bastard myself. This time I want to make sure he is dead."
Silenced, Liam watched as Connor put the point of the sword to Sir Edward's throat.
"If you know aught of prayers, now is the time to say them." Connor's voice was barely audible at that distance.
Sir Edward began to babble. Connor smiled into his eyes and thrust the point of the sword clear through his throat, so that a foot of steel showed on the other side. Blood gushed forth, stained the ground. Connor withdrew the sword with a quick pull. Sir Edward fell forward and died.