Master of My Dreams (2 page)

Her gaze darted to the grinning seamen, then
back at the handsome lieutenant, who didn’t seem to care that the
skies were about to open up. “Deirdre.”

“Deirdre,” he repeated, the name sounding
strange on his foreign tongue. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty
lass.” He was smiling at her, and for a moment she could almost
imagine him as a knight from a fairy tale, so handsome was his
face, so reassuring and kind were his gray eyes. Childishly wiping
the back of her hand across her running nose, Deirdre gathered her
courage and took a deep breath.

“And what’s
yer
name?” she asked.

“Christian.” He grinned. “Christian
Lord.”

“That’s a funny name,” she said, trying not
to laugh.

“Indeed it is. My pious mother’s idea of a
joke, I suspect. Would that I were a John. Or a Richard. Or even an
Elliott, like my brother.”

“Are ye in the Royal Navy?” she blurted
innocently.

“Aye, that I am, little wren.”

“My mama says only pirates, thieves, and
tyrants are in the Royal Navy.” Frowning, she peered closely at
him, searching the depths of his face for some proof of her mama’s
words. “But I think my mama might be wrong.”

“Do you, now?” The corners of his mouth were
twitching, as though he was trying awfully hard not to laugh. “And
why d’you say that, foundling?”

“Because my cousin Brendan is in the Royal
Navy, and he’s the kindest, handsomest man in the whole wide
world.” His sudden laughter bolstered her courage, and she puffed
out her chest importantly. “And he’s not a thief, nor a pirate! His
daddy was an admiral, and Mama says that someday Brendan will be,
too.”

“An admiral, you say?”

“Uh, Lieutenant?”

Beyond her new friend’s broad shoulder,
Deirdre could see another man leaning against his club and grinning
crookedly. Without turning around, the lieutenant snapped, “For
God’s sake, Hendricks, don’t just stand there. Go find O’Callahan
so we can be about this devilish business.”

“No need to, sir. I think I hear him coming
now.”

“As does the whole blighty village,” muttered
Jenkins.

Rising abruptly to his feet, the lieutenant
donned his hat and turned toward the road. Deirdre stared at him in
awe, but he seemed oblivious to her perusal. He cast a wistful
glance toward the man o’ war, as though he regretted being here and
wanted nothing more than to be back aboard his ship. He looked once
more toward the road. His mouth went hard, and when he looked down
at her again, his mood had changed and his gray eyes had become
determined and resolved.

“Time for you to run along, little wren.”

“But don’t ye want to hear about my cousin
Brendan?”

“Next time, foundling.” He reached down, put
his hands around her waist, and lifted her up to the pony’s back.
The motion was quick and sure; the manner in which it was done
brusque and businesslike. Numbly, she allowed him to stuff the wet
reins into her hands, noticing that he was no longer smiling, and
that his mouth looked tight and strained. He gave her hair, damp
now with mist and rain, one last tousle before turning away. “Now,
off with you, before it gets any darker.”

“’You can’t let her go, Lieutenant, she’ll
spread the alarm!”

“A pox on you, Hendricks!” he barked with
sudden anger. “’Tis too late for any alarm, they saw us coming long
before we’d already lost the element of surprise. Hail O’Callahan’s
party and let’s be done with this. By God, ’tis miserable enough
business as it is, without having to spend the entire night in this
godforsaken hellhole, damn you!”

Deirdre shrank back, the lieutenant’s swift
change of mood confusing and frightening her. The rain was falling
steadily now, gathering momentum, growing colder by the minute and
pulling little curls of steam from the pony’s neck. She looked at
the lieutenant, standing there in the rain, and waited for him to
come back and talk to her again—but he did not. Why was he suddenly
so angry?

Deirdre was just about to turn Thunder away
when she heard men coming up the road. She couldn’t see much
through the rainy gloom, but the sounds that came to her were sharp
and clear: the stamp of boots and rattle of muskets; dragging feet
and angry shouts; the click of a flintlock, the dull thud of a club
against flesh, and a man’s howl of rage and pain. English laughter
. . . an Irishman’s swift curses.

Another blue-and-white-clad officer was in
the lead.

“Lieutenant!” he called, saluting. “I’ve got
some for you, prime lads who’ll do the ship proud!”

The fair-haired lieutenant cast a cold eye
over the approaching group. “By God, that was quick.”

“Aye, well, being born an’ raised in this
part o’ the world sure has its advantages.” The man’s voice was
Irish, familiar and dear among the strange tongue of the
Englishmen. As the British seamen approached, Deirdre saw they had
a smaller cluster of men with them, herding them like frightened
sheep and threatening them with swords and clubs to keep them in
line.

She frowned and craned her neck, her hands
tightening on the wet reins. The rain was coming down hard now,
pitter-pattering against the nearby rocks and heightening the scent
of earth, grass and the pony’s hide.

Somewhere out to sea, she heard the low
rumble of thunder.

“And where were they hiding, O’Callahan?” The
English officer strode toward the new arrivals, his long blue
coattails dark against the back of his white-clad thighs.

“Just where I thought they’d be. Out in th’
hills, and drinking themselves senseless in the ruins of an old
castle.”

“Splendid work, O’Callahan,” the lieutenant
said, yet there was an odd tonelessness in his words. “I shall make
note of it to the captain.”

But Deirdre’s horrified gaze was not on the
lieutenant, not on O’Callahan, not on the group of English seamen.
She stared at the frightened, angry men whom the English tars
surrounded. Their clothes were dirty and torn, their faces sullen,
and some of them were cut and bleeding. Yet there was no mistaking
who they were. Seamus Kelly . . . Patrick O’Malley . . . the
brothers Kevin and Kenny Meeghan. . . .

And Roddy.

It took a moment for the truth to hit. Before
she knew it she was off the pony and racing across the wet grass.
She slipped on a rock and went down hard, scraping her chin and
knocking the breath from her lungs. “Roddy!” she cried.
“Roddy!
”

Her brother’s head jerked up, and she saw
horror in his purple eyes at the sight of her—horror that changed
quickly to rage. Without a second’s hesitation, he slammed his fist
into the jaw of the nearest seaman and sent another sprawling with
the deadly hook that had earned him many a free ale at the village
tavern.

Chaos erupted.

Deirdre scrambled to get up. In a daze, she
heard the shouts of the Englishmen, the barked commands of the
lieutenant, the wild yells of her neighbors. Fists slammed against
flesh; guttural groans and curses were all around. Managing to get
to her feet, she resumed her flight toward her brother, only to be
neatly snared by Hendricks. Sobbing wildly, she saw Roddy
struggling between three burly seamen, spouting curses and kicking
savagely out at their legs, their groins. A sharp cuff across the
face stunned him; then, someone kicked him in the belly, and a
cudgel’s blow brought him to his knees.

With Roddy retching and coughing, the rest of
the Irishmen quieted. They looked hatefully at O’Callahan, then at
the fine English lieutenant. Their eyes were sullen, their backs
rigid with pride.

‘Take them to the boats and let’s be off,”
the lieutenant commanded in a cold, toneless voice. “We’re done
here.”

Deirdre felt Hendricks release her, and she
stood frozen as the seamen hauled Roddy and his friends down the
hill, slipping on wet rocks and cursing the Irish rain, the Irish
cold, the Irish seas that awaited them. She stared dazedly at the
proud profile of the English naval officer, suddenly realizing just
what he had done.

No fair and handsome knight was he.

“My brother!” she wailed, throwing herself at
him and beating her hands against his back. “Please, don’t take my
brother!”

He turned and caught her flailing fists. “I
said go home, foundling.”

“But ye can’t take Roddy! Ye just
can't
! He’s my brother!” She struggled madly against his
iron grip. “Roddy!” she screamed as the last seaman disappeared
over the far side of the hill. “
Roddy!
”

Her struggles quieted, and hanging from his
grip, she collapsed in great, convulsing sobs of terror and grief.
She heard the wind moaning across the dark pasture, and the voices
of the seamen fading to a few barks of laughter, a curse, then
nothing as they reached the beach far below. Her cheeks streaming
tears and rain, her wet hair hanging in straggly spirals around her
face, Deirdre raised desperate eyes to the lieutenant. He stared
down at her, an anguished look on his handsome face, and for a
moment she thought he was going to recall the men and release her
brother. Then his jaw turned hard and unyielding, the set of his
mouth resolute. “We are at war with France,” he said harshly. “And
while I despise the methods our Navy must employ to obtain its
seamen, as an officer my loyalty and duty lie with my country, not
with my own inclinations.” His eyes softened. “I’m sorry, little
wren.”

Then, abruptly, he released her and turned on
his heel, striding down the hill without a backward glance. She
watched him melt into the darkness, heard his footsteps fade, until
she was all alone with nothing but the sad patter of falling rain
and the mournful crash of waves against the beach far below.

Moments later, she saw lights bobbing out on
the sea, fuzzy and dim in the mist, as the boat headed back toward
the man-of-war and carried her brother away forever.

Deirdre stood there for a long time, the wind
blowing her hair in wild, wet tangles around her shoulders as she
watched the lights fade to tiny pinpricks in the foggy darkness and
then to nothing. At seven years of age, she had just learned there
were more frightening evils in this world than the banshees whose
low moans could even now be heard through the darkness of the
gathering night. Choking on a last sob, she wiped her eyes, gripped
in both shaking hands the ancient cross that had once belonged to
her formidable ancestress, and raised her chin, her gaze fixed out
to sea.

Someday, she’d be old enough to go to England
by herself, seek her cousin Brendan, and obtain his help in getting
her brother back.

Someday, she would find that English
lieutenant and make him pay for what he’d done.

Someday, she vowed—she would see that English
lieutenant
dead.