The Sword of the Banshee (29 page)

India looked down at the blood stained fabric, and realized he was right. In a flash, Quinn stepped over to the fireplace in the hidden room, pushed a catch under the mantel, and a narrow door popped open in the wainscoting, revealing a hidden closet. “It will be tight, but we will fit.”

India’s eyes grew large, and she said, “A hidden room within a hidden room?”

“Ah, but I am a clever lad,” he said with grin. “I built this just in case there was an informer among us.” He stepped inside the tiny enclosure, pulled India in and swung the door shut. They were face to face, sandwiched in the closet.

The voices grew louder and more insistent as the men entered the house. Pressed together in the darkness, India and Quinn listened as the Loyalists searched the house. Several of them dashed up the stairs while others ran toward the kitchen.

“Where is the lady of the house?” one of them bellowed.

“I don’t know, sir,” they heard Mr. Schumacher plead in broken English. “She was here when I retired for the night.”

India and Quinn listened as the men searched the sitting room. They thundered through the room, their footsteps approaching then fading as they disappeared down the hall and up the stairs.

India was pressed so closely to Quinn that she could feel every breath he took. She could smell his musky scent, and feel his heart hammering against her breasts. Quinn was even more aware of India’s body, the softness of her flesh and her warm breath on his neck. He had denied his feelings for her so long that he could feel himself losing control. He pressed his eyes shut, trying to gather strength against the urge to run his hands all over her. Nevertheless the alcohol clouded his judgment, and he brushed her ear with his lips. A bolt of desire shot through India, and she drew back abruptly.

Calleigh gripped her with his good arm and whispered, “You must be quiet.”  His breathing quickened as he clutched her shoulders and buried his lips into her neck. India tried to step away, but she was pinned too closely against the closet wall.

“Don’t move,” he murmured. Quinn covered her mouth with his lips.

India did not want to feel passion for this man. She tried to fight back the desire as it mounted. Colm had tried to coax a reaction from her years ago, but it was not something she would share. Nevertheless something inside her allowed Quinn to continue. He ran his hand down her back and over her hips, squeezing her flesh. She flooded with desire for him. Losing control, she moved her arms up around his neck allowing him to run his lips over the tops of her breasts and pull her hips to his loins.

Suddenly, they heard voices. “Over here!” someone called from the sitting room.

Quinn pulled back from India, his chest heaving, and his shirt soaked with perspiration. They listened, not moving, trying to calm their breathing. They heard glass break and books crash to floor as the Loyalists searched for the door to the hidden room.

“He said it was right here. God damn it! Break it down!” someone ordered.

They began to hammer the bookcase in the sitting room with the butts of their muskets, kicking and breaking the paneling away. There were several loud cracks as the wood splintered. The men burst into the hidden room wielding their weapons. India and Quinn held their breath, not moving a muscle.

“There is no question he has been here,” barked Durham. “Quickly, down those stairs,” he demanded of the others.

India and Quinn waited for a long time, for what seemed like hours until no sounds were heard from the Loyalists or the servants. Cautiously, they emerged from the hidden closet.

“I knew it,” Quinn muttered, looking around. “One of the servants has been spying.”

In two strides, he was at the cellar stairs making sure there was no one secreted there. “All clear,” he declared. He looked over his shoulder at India and said “You better have a story ready for the servants.”

India nodded, her legs feeling weak. Quinn smiled and strode up to her, ready to pull her back into his arms, but when he looked into her eyes. They were black and lifeless. He stopped abruptly, searching her face. “What is it?”

India did not reply. Instead, she began to straighten her clothing. Calleigh stared at her. He was thunderstruck. She had been completely unaffected by his caresses. Hurt and rejection warmed his temper. For the first time, in his life his passion had been fueled by something deeper than lust and he felt injured. He wanted to lash out at her. If he could not reach her with passion, he would reach her with pain.

He brushed his coat off casually and said with a chuckle, “Ah well, I had a bet with the boys that I could thaw the Ice Queen. It looks like I failed.” He raised his hand and patted her cheek. “Thank you though, darlin’. It was a sheer delight tryin’.”

Calleigh put a finger to his forehead and saluted India, disappearing down the cellar stairs. India stared after him, her expression unchanged.

Chapter 27

In June, the Congress announced the appointment of General George Washington as Commander in Chief of the newly formed Continental Army. The American Revolution had begun.

After convincing the servants and local Loyalists that she was out for a walk the night the house was ransacked, India went back to masquerading as the Widow Allen. By day, she was the conservative Irish Protestant aristocrat, haughty and elitist; by night, she was a hard-headed impartial leader of a rebellion.

All through the summer and fall of 1775, she toiled, sending and receiving messages, training spies, and supervising the placement of moles within the British Army. By July 1776, the operation was in full force, and India was busier than ever coordinating the activities of her long list of contacts. Occasionally, she would see Quinn at a meeting or consult with him on raids, but their interactions were minimal and strained. He no longer came to the house, avoiding his Brandywine home completely. India was unsure of his whereabouts most of the time and grateful for his absence. The man stirred feelings in her she did not understand. On one occasion, Alden Quincy told her that he was spending much of his time in the Colony of South Carolina, and the distance suited her completely.

Calleigh’s experience was different. He thought distance would cool his ardor for Lady Allen, but instead, it fueled his desire. She robbed his peace of mind like no other woman he had ever known, and he threw himself into a variety of liaisons to distract himself. Yet these women were merely carnal diversions, and his hunger for India increased. He could not rest until her saw her again.

The opportunity presented itself midsummer. Calleigh had been busy for months conducting raids around Camp Charlotte, South Carolina when, thanks to good intelligence, the patriots procured a naval victory. At last, he found time to return to the Brandywine Valley with a surprise for India.

The minute Calleigh returned home, he called a meeting at the Quincy barn, the location where India had originally encountered the Revolutionaries. He said it was to be a small meeting, but all officers must be in attendance.

That evening, Mr. Pickle’s lessons ran late with Phineas. It was not unusual for him to come in the evening to tutor the boy, but on this occasion, lessons ran even later than normal.

“The boy has a sharp mind,” Mr. Pickles said with a sigh to India, adjusting his spectacles. “But his desire for academics is low.”

Phineas rolled his eyes up to look at India.

She gave the boy a hard look then turned to Mr. Pickles. “I agree. He has but two loves, horses and pigeons. If he channeled half that energy into academics, we would have a scholar.”

Phineas looked down at his feet longing to be in the stables.

“We will discuss this later. I have a meeting,” she said to the boy.

He jumped up and bolted from the room, the door slamming behind him.

“Before you go, Lady Allen, I have a letter to translate for you.”

“Oh,” said India, looking at the grandfather clock in the sitting room. She was torn. It was time for her to go, but she had been anxiously awaiting news from the Singers regarding the transport of British supplies. “Yes—thank you,” she said reluctantly, sitting down. She swept the skirt of her green riding habit under the desk sitting down next to Mr. Pickles.

It was a slow and laborious task translating the document from Yiddish to English, but in less than hour, they were done. After seeing Mr. Pickles to the door, India stopped at the hall mirror to adjust her tricorne hat as Phineas saddled her mare. She rushed down the steps, mounted, and set off at a gallop for the meeting with her horse kicking up dust behind her.

When she arrived, it was well under way. The barn was dark, bringing back memories of her first visit there almost two years ago. Candlelight flooded one end of the structure, and she wondered why they had reverted back to the old ways.

India walked quickly toward the candlelight, still panting from her rapid ride. As she drew closer, she realized that this was a small meeting and, except for one person standing in front of the light being interviewed, all the officers were behind the candelabrums. She stopped in front of the desk near the stranger.

“Lady Allen, you’re late,” she heard Calleigh say from behind the candles. Her heart jumped at the sound of his voice. It had been months since she had heard him speak, and it sent an odd thrill through her.

“Yes,” she said straining to see beyond the candles. “Please forgive me. There was important news from Philadelphia.”

Calleigh continued. “The officers are interviewing someone new tonight. He has already met with my approval, and I believe he will meet with yours as well.”

“Oh indeed,” she said. With a welcoming smile, she turned toward the figure next to her in the candlelight.

Quinn continued, “Mr. Cian O’Donnell wishes to join our fight.”

India’s smile dropped. She looked into the handsome face of her former officer. 

Cian took her hand, kissed it, and murmured, “Lady Fitzpatrick.”

On the other side of the candelabrum, the smile dropped from Calleigh’s face too.

They watched as O’Donnell took India’s shoulders and said, “It has been an eternity.”

India still did not reply, looking at O’Donnell as if she was seeing a ghost.

Calleigh was thunderstruck. He had hoped to surprise India with an old friend and instead he surprised her with an old lover.

India stepped back from O’Donnell, her heart hammering in her chest. She said breathlessly, “Gentleman, you would do well to approve Mr. O’Donnell. He was one of my most devoted officers.”

“Obviously,” murmured Quinn.

Self-consciously, India pushed some hair back up into place and walked to the back of the candelabrum to join the others. Her legs felt weak and unsteady. Calleigh never took his eyes from her as she came around to take a seat. He was filled with rage.

His attention turned to O’Donnell as the officers interviewed him further. Calleigh longed to smash this large Irishman in the face.
It
was outrageous the way he touched her.
He wondered what their relationship had been. He wondered, with fury, if India had given herself to this man.

Impatiently, Quinn pushed the dark hair from his face. His forehead was damp with perspiration as jealousy burned within him.

The meeting adjourned and everyone left the barn but Quinn Calleigh. He stayed behind, slumped back in his chair staring up through the hole in the roof. Bats darted back and forth, zigzagging across the night sky as moonlight flooded through the hole illuminating him.

He had known all along that he never had a chance with Lady Allen
. They were from different worlds, and now, Cian O’Donnell was here, head of one of the most powerful clans in all of Ireland, from a family of status equal to the Fitzpatricks.

Calleigh sighed and ran his hands through his hair,
cursing the day he invited India to America. He stood up abruptly and walked out of the barn. He mounted his horse and left the Brandywine Valley.

*           *            *

O’Donnell caught India by the hand after the meeting adjourned. “Where can we talk?”

India did not want to meet him at the house; she didn’t want to run into Calleigh near the camp, so she suggested the abandoned mill by the river. In silence, they rode along the Brandywine River until they saw the shadow of the mill. Cian was off of his horse the moment they stopped, catching India as she dismounted. She slid down into his arms and he kissed her lips, her face, and her hair, murmuring, “I told myself, if ever I found ya again, I would never let ya go.”

India pushed him away. “Cian, you must not--”

“I am no longer married,” he said holding her fast. “She died over a year ago.”

India shook her head. “That is not all, Cian. You have only just come. My head is spinning.”

She broke away from him straightening her habit, a worried look on her face. They followed the shoreline in the moonlight, the river gurgling beside them as they walked in the damp night air. Cian held the reins of the horses as they trailed along behind them.

“How did you come to find me here?” India asked.