robe. “The ermine-lined cloak which you wore here was given to the poor. As was the purse of gold which your father sent. But though this is a humble replacement, it will serve its purpose, Briana, and keep you warm throughout your long journey.”
“I care not for clothes, Reverend Mother.”
“I know that, child.” It was one of Briana’s most endearing qualities. The lass had no artifice. And though she was an incorrigible rascal, she was much loved by all at the convent.
It had been plain, from her first day, that she would never fit in to the life of a humble sister. But it was also plain that she was kind, and dear, and with her impulsive behavior and irrepressible humor, the most impossible challenge of Mother Superior’s life. As she looked at Briana now, she wondered just how she would fit into that other world beyond the convent walls. She’d had no time to flirt, to dance, to experience the things of young womanhood. By now, the women Briana’s age would be wives and mothers. And though this sweet lass would be treated like a woman by those who met her, she was still, in her heart, that naive girl of ten and five who had burst upon their silence and order, bringing with her chaos and passion.
The older woman lifted a hand and Briana bowed her head. “Until we meet again, child, may God hold you safely in His hands.”
“And you, Reverend Mother.” Briana turned away and was assisted onto her mount.
With a clatter of hooves, the horses moved out.
Briana turned for a last glimpse of the Abbey of St. Claire. Mother Superior stood, her hands folded as always inside the sleeves of her robes. Behind her the roof of the building, and the cross that rose from the highest peak, were still cloaked in darkness.
Briana turned her head and stared straight ahead. Toward the sunrise, just beginning to tint the sky. There lay Ballinarin. Her heart fluttered with unrestrained happiness. At long last, she was going home.
“What is it? Why are we stopping here?” When the leader of their little group signalled a halt, Briana urged her mount forward.
“A village, my lady.” From his position at the top of a small green hill, the lad pointed. In the distance could be seen the thatched roofs of sod huts, and the smoke from turf fires, and beyond them, the towers and turrets of the distant keep. “We’d be wise to seek shelter before it grows dark.”
“I’m not yet weary. I could continue for a few more hours.” For every hour would bring her closer to home.
“You have been away now for several years, my lady.” He kept his tone respectful, but Briana felt the sting of censure. “There are many more English soldiers in our land now. And no one, man or woman, is safe after dark.”
It was on the tip of Briana’s tongue to remind the lad that she was an O’Neil, and that the decision should be hers and hers alone. But though it stung, she knew he was right. She had been sheltered so long, she had no way of making a proper judgment. The lad was only looking out for her safety.
Reluctantly she nodded. “Aye. We’ll seek the shelter of a tavern then, and be on our way again in the morning.”
Below them lay a field of green. Peasants from a nearby village could be seen tending their flocks. It was a pleasant, peaceful scene that brought a smile to Briana’s lips as she and her escorts urged their horses down the hill. This was what she had missed. Laughter, as clear and tinkling as a bell, carried on the breeze. The sound of voices raised in easy conversation. How long had it been since she had heard such things? Even in the fields, the sisters and novices never broke their vow of silence.
As her horse moved in a slow, loping gait between the furrows, she lifted a hand and waved, and the men and women straightened and returned her salute.
She was halfway across the field when she heard the thunder of hooves. For a moment she didn’t know what to make of it. Then, seeing the lad in front of her turn and mutter an oath as he unsheathed his sword, she followed his gaze.
An army of English soldiers, perhaps fifty or more, was heading directly toward them from a nearby forest.
With a feeling of dread Briana looked around. They were caught in the open. Trapped. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to seek shelter from the trained warriors bearing down on them.
The leader of her escorts, a fierce, muscular lad of perhaps ten and six, shouted orders. “The village. At once. It is our only hope.”
As they urged their horses into a run, Briana glanced over her shoulder. The peasants, caught offguard, were being cut down by the invading soldiers’ swords. In the blink of an eye, five, then ten, then more, were seen falling to the ground, screaming in anguish.
The air was filled with the sound of voices shouting, swearing. Women weeping. The sharp clang of metal on metal as those few peasants who were armed strove to defend themselves. Horses whinnied in pain as they died, crushing their riders. That only made the soldiers more determined to retaliate against those peasants who dared to fight back.
The once tidy rows of grain were now slashed and torn, the earth red with blood as the mounted soldiers overtook the fleeing peasants and, in a frenzy of killing, left not a single one standing.
When they had finished with the peasants, the soldiers turned their attention on the five horsemen, fleeing across the fields. Within minutes they fanned out, determined to cut off any chance of escape.
Seeing that there was no hope of making it to the safety of the village, the leader of Briana’s escorts signalled for the others to form a circle around her. “Come lads. We must defend the lady Briana with our lives.”
“Give me a sword,” she shouted.
But her voice was drowned out by the thunder of hooves and the shouts and jeers of the approaching army. As soon as Briana and her escorts slid from their saddles, their terrified horses took off at a run. The lads formed a ring around her, swords at the ready, determined to defend her to their last breath, as the soldiers bore down on them.
“Halsey.” A soldier’s shout had the leader of the army turning in the saddle. “Look at this. These lads are spoiling for a fight.”
“Then, let’s give them what they want.” The one called Halsey threw back his head and roared. It was obvious that he was enjoying the killing. “I’ll do the honors myself. The rest of you can see that the sniveling cowards don’t escape.”
His soldiers held back, allowing him to lead the charge. He singled out the leader of the band of defenders, plunging his sword through the lad’s heart with a single swipe.
His voice rang with disdain as the lad fell to the ground, writhing in pain. “Embrace death, Irishman. And may your sons and their sons join you in it.”
At his words the other soldiers began to laugh. When the remaining lads formed a tighter circle around Briana, several of the soldiers slid to the ground and drew their swords.
“Jamie,” Halsey called to a comrade. “Throw me your weapon. Mine’s buried too deeply in the Irishman.”
The soldier tossed his sword, and Halsey easily caught it before engaging a second lad in battle.
Briana watched with sinking heart as the lad fought bravely. But each time he managed to dodge a thrust from
