Rescuing Mr. Gracey (45 page)

She did not want to spend her last minutes being afraid, she thought, tears rolling down her face. Bending her head, she prayed her act of contrition.
Oh my God, I am heartily sorry…
She reviewed her regrets and faults, especially hurting Alec. All for nothing. Her father’s field was gone, her home gone, her town and church burning…all because she loved a Gracey.

A great sob escaped. She tried to forgive Bender. But he’d taken everything from her—home, family, true love. Deep within, Mary pulled out compassion and begged God to forgive him but not to let him get away with this murder.

Her lungs and throat now parched, the heat oppressive, she closed her eyes.
Allow Alec happiness when I am gone
.
 

Just before she slept, she thought she heard Alec calling her.

~ 44 ~

“And wish success to every man

 
who supports the British Crown.”

“Where have ya been, son? Do ya not know the whole world has exploded?”

Alec whirled. His heart clutched. “I’ve been to Banbridge to meet with my political allies. What is it?” he whispered.

His parents bounced worried looks off each other, his father speaking first. “Sit down, son.” The pause stretched, increased the drum of his blood in his head. Finally, with hands clasped behind his back, Gracey dropped his head. “I’m tortured by me own prejudice, for truth be told, I like Miss Mary and I canno’ believe she is a Smyth.”

Relief poured over him. He inhaled a soothing breath. “Don’t, Father. I do not need your confession.”

“Son. Give me this moment.” Gracey swiped a hand through his hair, then heaved a pained sigh. “It occurred to me, if I could be so wrong about a Smyth, mayhap I’ve been wrong about the whole proceedings this day.”

Alec stilled. “What proceedings?”

“Ya need to know. I tried hard to prevent what’s happening. The earl discovered about diverting the marching route and changed it a few days back.” Gracey’s long strides circled the room. “So, rather than worry ya, I had to come up with ways to appease the earl. One of those meant firing Mary’s brother and gettin’ her clients to drop her so the earl would think we weren’t deceiving him…”

“No,” Alec roared. “No. How could you do that?”

“Son. That’s not the worst of it.”

Alec had to clench his jaw against the agony. Ragged gasps were all he could manage. “Do not drag on, Father. Tell me quick.”

“I sent soldiers to protect them…but…” Gathering the bits of information from his father, Alec felt his heart hammering, his throat thickening.
Today was the Twelfth. The march
. Having been so consumed with gaining support for his plan, he had forgotten about the march. “What happened?” he barked
.

Gracey folded his arms, shook his head. “They’re marching on Dolly’s Brae with the intent to riot. There’s much danger to your Miss Mary at this very minute.”

As if he’d been slammed in his gut, nausea swept through him. His fingers trembled as he reached the door. His legs stumbled when he tried to run toward the barn. Even his vision narrowed, taking in only the bridle, the horse. Racing with Ringo toward Dolly’s Brae, the ground beneath them a blur, Alec wondered if a person could die from fear.

Then he saw the eerie orange glow against the black sky. The wind carried the smell of thick smoke and the sound of haunted screams. A downpour of destruction assaulted every sense. As he neared Dolly’s Brae, he saw homes burned to ashes, heard the moans of the injured, the cries of children. He sped past it all in search of Mary, his own bewildered cries joining the others as he glowered at the scarred and smoldering remains of the Smyths’ home and field.

“Mary…” he whispered. He slid from his horse, numb. Healthy flax had turned to black ash. Anguished, he bellowed, “Mary.” Seeing no sign of life, he mounted Ringo once more, and the horse nervously jittered as Alec trotted toward the town, crying out her name.

“Be gone, ye filthy Gracey. You’re the one what brought this tragedy,” one elderly man spouted at him.

His head tossed back as his teeth gritted. Up and down, up and down the road of Dolly’s Brae, he desperately called her name. “Mary.”
Please God
, he begged.
Please…forbid that she should be injured or dead.

Suddenly, he saw Joseph being dragged down the street by militia, though he fought violently against it. Alec rushed forward, demanding Joseph be released. The soldier laughed. “We have orders to detain Ribbonmen.”

Joseph shook his head. “Go…son. Do not worry about me. Someone was dragging Mary toward the church. For the love of God, help her.”

He pulled Ringo’s reins and turned him in the direction of the church. The villagers, like scattered ants on a stamped hill, rushed about in circles. Alec galloped down the road, his eyes on the church, the cross still visible above the flames, though the humble building was being eaten by a dragon of billowing smoke and hungry flames. “No. No!” he cried out.

Before Ringo had come to a stop, Alec leaped from the horse and stumbled for the front door. Locked. Frantically, he pounded, screaming her name. No answer, no whimper, no cry. Yet he sensed she was there…her heart thumping as his own. Dashing to the side, he cupped his hands to peer through the black-scarred window. Blurry images reflected off moving flames that, like a hungry dragon, consumed the walls, the floor. He rushed from window to window until he came upon the back door. Each second ripped something from him, stole the remnants of clear thought. Darting back and forth, panicked, horrified, desperate, Alec heard the sound of rupturing glass that shattered his insides, and the feel of intense heat burned his calm. He pulled on the small door, pounding and banging, jerking and kicking, all the while screaming, “Mary, Mary, Mary.”

In the insanity, he became aware of a rupturing sound on the other side of the wooden door. He clawed, he pulled, he banged. Once more, his teeth clenched, his eyes squeezed shut, Alec yanked until the frame finally fractured.

Ravenous flames and black smoke stretched toward new fuel, feeding on its prey, consuming the remains of timber and stone. Stripping off his jacket, Alec covered his face and crouched, making his way inside. As he sought out each small space for a human form, several statues guarding the corners of the building startled him. The crucifix of Jesus on the cross, his face tortured, looked down on Alec as he crawled along the edges of the altar.

A path of unspent wood lay beneath. Within the fire’s reflection, a beam of ethereal yellow light, a reflection from a golden box beneath the cross, cast a radiant glow upon one small woman.

His breath froze. Burnished hair…a forehead…a slumped shoulder. “Mary…sweet Lord, Mary…” he whispered. Alec fumbled, his hands finding her, lifting her, only to discover she was bound to a chair. He scowled, frustrated and furious, spewing curses as he released the cord from her slim wrists and ankles. She lifted easily into his arms. Rushing now, he dashed through the flames, unconcerned that the fire tried to wrap them both in its trap. Through obstacles, over fallen objects, he had to hold his breath, for there was no air to breathe. With one massive shove, he pushed them out of the building.

He heaved with a desperate need for air as he fled toward a safe grassy area. Just behind him he heard a pitiful creaking and shuddering as the church’s roof collapsed. Alec bent over his precious package to prevent the spitting sparks from hurting her.

“Mary. My beloved,” he whispered urgently. He lowered his cheek, pressing it against her mouth to see if air touched him. Nothing. He could not feel any breath of life.

His body shook violently. Wobbly hands brushed hair from her face; quaking fingers stroked her lips, tapped her cheeks. Alec heard himself moan. Water was dripping on her face from his eyes.
No. I will not accept this…I will…not…Mary. Dear God
.

He jerked her to his chest, rocking, murmuring, holding. His lips sought her mouth, and he poured his breath into her.
Take my life, Mary. Take me with you…
Over and over, he breathed into her, her lips chilling, her face icy.
Please, God. Please do not take her from me.
“Mary…Mary…come back to me…”

Between his own moaning, his own gasps of pain, he somehow heard the smallest sound. A whisper, like an angel.

He held his breath. He brought his face to her mouth. There. Was that a little brush of air on his face? He commanded shivers to stop as he traced her lips with one fingertip. “Mary. Wake, my love.” Once more he poured his own air into her. Waiting, waiting. His lips brushed hers as his tears washed soot from her cheeks.

She coughed. Alec laid her flat. “Wake, Mary. Wake,” he pleaded, kissing her cheek. “I have you. You are safe.” He clutched her once more. “Please, my love, try.” He was gasping. “Do. Not. Leave,” he whispered. “I cannot bear a world without you in it.”

A great spasm rumbled from deep within her. He sat her up. Her coughing now racked her small frame. As she gasped and shuddered, he rubbed her back and stroked her hair. “Aye, breathe, my love. Breathe.”

She opened her eyes, at first staring, confused and disoriented. “Alec? Are ya here?”

He stroked her hair, tears from his own eyes sending cool wet streams to her cheeks. “Aye. You’re safe, my love.”

“Let go of me betrothed,” Sean shouted behind him. He shoved Alec’s shoulders.

Alec ignored the man. “Breathe, Mary. Inhale and bring in good air…”

Sean came around, his fists clenched and waving in the air. “Look what you’ve done to us, Gracey. Ya’re the one what put her in danger.”

Alec continued to hold Mary upright, stroking her cheek, her hair, her forehead that cuddled within his shoulder. More and more air, each breath a little more easily taken than the last. Her shudders caused by racking coughs slowed. “That’s it, my love…”

“I demand ya release me intended.”

Alec growled, “Go to hell.”

“Only if ya come with me.” Now Sean started forward, but Brian pulled his arm, restraining him.
 

“Sean. Can’t ya see he saved her? He needs a moment.”

Her face streaked with tears and soot, Mary became aware of the scene around her. Her wide eyes, now filled with tears, met Alec’s. “We did this. You and I.”

“No, Mary.” He shook his head emphatically. “The Orange did this. They had it planned from last year. The earl and…”

She placed her finger on his lips and smiled sadly. “No. Bender burned me house and set fire to the church with me trapped inside because of our love.”

Alec inhaled sharply before growling a string of curses. “I’ll kill him. I will…”

Mary shoved Alec slightly, trying to rise from his embrace. “Stay away from him, Alec. Ya must. For everyone’s safety. Stay away.” Her back stiffened, and she slowly stood. “Stay away from us all, Alec,” she said softly, as Alec clambered to his feet beside her. “I canno’ abide the sight of ya anymore.”

His heart stopped. His arms dropped.

“Sean, where are ya?”

Sean rushed forward, putting his arm around Mary and looking back at Alec over his shoulder. “Be gone now.”

Gone.

Before Alec managed a shaken breath, she was gone. He slumped. Gone.

~ 45 ~

“And generations yet unborn

will mind this place of yore…”

Head bent as a defeated soldier, Alec rode Ringo down the ragged road toward Castlewellan. He ignored the metallic smell of blood, the hot, angry flames, the charcoaled homes, the dark night of eerie wails and shocked specters. His heart was too exhausted, his conscience too battered.

He was done with it all. Politics and blights and fathers and earls.

And Mary Smyth.

No recourse remained but retreat. Hide, flee. And never look back at Castlewellan, or think of the lake, or remember the forest. Aye, return to Dublin. There, at least, she did not live in every laugh, every whisper, the breeze, the rain, the sun.

A small whimper interrupted his mental rampage. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sound. After all, the air was thick with these sad sounds. Yet, against his will, his gaze shifted. A huddled figure, weeping quietly on the side of the road, caught his attention.

Another abandoned child.
Damnation.
He ran a hand through his hair and heaved a frustrated sigh. After swinging down from his horse, he approached her. “What is it, little one?”

Her eyes, so round and teary, brought a sharp inhale of his breath. Mary’s eyes. Alec swallowed a large lump.

“I canno’ find me da,” she wailed. “He’s no comin’ back.”

Alec lifted his focus, studying the hellish scene behind him. His eyes closed.
Lord, I can’t go back there. Let someone else find her. Let her father search for her.

His head lowered. Smiling reassuringly, he held out his large hand. The girl slipped her tiny one inside. Perhaps if he just started toward the village, her father would find them and take the girl off his hands. Unfortunately, this was also the route on which the sobering and somewhat subdued Orange, their bold sashes now stained with soot and splashes of red, their offensive flags sagging against exhausted shoulders, staggered toward home.

The defeated village, stripped of homes and crops, the earth blackened and blood-stained, now supported only clusters of lamenting humanity.