Chapter 7: Irish Revenge

“ ... and you John Tynsdall, your sister is at Dunrossiter, and we all know what she had done to her! She was buggered by the Earl and his sons until she damn near bled to death!” argued Rory Shaughnessy.

Across the table a red-haired man hung his head in shame, saying nothing. None of the other occupants of the tavern responded, though a murmur of indignation swept the room.

Rory turned on another man. “You, Seamus, your oldest daughter is an English bastard, and you, Andy, your sister is expecting one. Good God, but how long are we to be expected to put up with this?” he demanded

Seamus O’Toole looked at him angrily. “And what of it, damn you.” He pointed at the woman sitting next to Rory. “Will you tell us that what’s growing in your Tess is your own handiwork, eh?”

Tess Shaughnessy gave a horrified look at her new husband and broke down in tears. She had begun to show and had been sacked earlier in the day. She had been shown off the estate and had run to Rory’s shop in tears, desperately afraid that her final hope of salvation would throw her out. Much to the young man’s credit, he had taken her in, and then had sent for the village priest. The hurried ceremony would neither make the child his nor delay it past the ninth month, but the woman he loved needed his succor and he had provided. She had agonizingly told him of the day the two Dunrossiter boys had trapped her in the barn, raping her and impregnating her, not caring that they did so.

The wedding party had quickly degenerated into a hot and argumentative session among the many who had attended, but tonight there was a bitter difference. Midway through the complaining, a couple of local men who worked the Dunrossiter estate had come in and talked to Denny McLaury. The old man had let out a terrible shriek and bolted for the door, only to be restrained by his friends. The two men had explained what had occurred.

Earlier in the day, the Earl had visited Denny and demanded payment on a note that Denny had been tricked into signing. When Denny had been unable to pay, the Earl had suggested that his granddaughter of fourteen years be indentured to him. There had been little choice between the indenture and debtor’s prison, so Denny had acquiesced. That afternoon, the girl had been forced to use her mouth on first Clive Tolliver and then on the Earl himself, to swallow their foul spendings, and in both cases had been caned cruelly on her bare bottom to make her comply. Denny lay half on a table now, crying, dazed and dejected at what he had done.

The mood of the tavern was sullen and dark. Denny proved the final spark to ignite the flame that had been building throughout the evening. “I say we go out there and burn them to the ground!”

“And I say you’re a fool and a mad man!” answered Seamus. “The place is armed like a damned fortress. And besides, I saw red coats riding in today.” Despite the heated talk, the mention of English soldiers quieted more than a few of the men.

“Aye, and they’ll be riding out again on the morrow, and Dunrossiter with them,” said Trey Calhoun. He had been one of the workers on the estate who had snuck out to tell Denny what had befallen his granddaughter. The room turned towards him.

“What mean you by that?’ demanded Rory, his blood still up.

“I’d be meaning that the soldiers are here to escort Rob off to the Army tomorrow morning, and Dunrossiter means to ride with them to the coast. The house might be a fortress, but not the roadway through the weald,” he replied.

A gleam came to Rory’s eyes. “And tonight, they’ll be celebrating, aye? Drinking and raping and fornicating, eh? And in the morn, they’ll be damn nigh useless as soldiers, aye, that’ll be the case.” A number of the other men in the tavern looked at him, some curiously and some calculating the odds.

Kent helped Rob into the saddle. He was in barely better shape himself than his brother, who slumped across his pommel, and it seemed far too bright in the late morning sun. The corporal and the private soldiers gazed morosely around the courtyard. They had been of too low a rank to have been allowed to participate in the merriment of the night before. Only their captain had been invited to whore and drink with the Earl and his two oldest sons. Even the captain seemed the worse for the wear; only the Earl himself looked primed and able.

Jamie hopped down the front steps and shook his half-brother Rob’s hand, laughing at his distress. “I hope you freeze in your garret at Oxford,” replied Rob blearily. Jamie laughed and slapped the horse on the flank, causing it to skitter to the side and nearly tumbling Rob from his saddle. The young man cursed his sibling vilely, much to the amusement of his father, who swung his riding crop at the horse and set him in motion again. The party moved down the drive and sorted itself into a semblance of order, with two privates leading the way, and the corporal and the other private following, sandwiching the captain and the Dunrossiters between them. It would be a slow ride to the coast.

It would become slower than any had imagined. The party of eight men had been several hours from the estate, halfway to the coast town where the nearest sizable English garrison was quartered. Wending their way through the small forest, only the corporal had noticed the unusual quiet of the woods they were going through. He looked around in concern, but it was too late. Rising as a mass from behind a stone wall, over a dozen men raised muskets, some newly stolen from the English army, some so ancient that they were more dangerous to their users than to any enemy and aimed them in their direction. The corporal’s cry of alarm had barely passed his lips when it was overwhelmed by a long crash as the muskets were fired.

Few of the balls actually hit their targets, even at short range, but enough did to turn the small group into a shambles. The corporal and the captain died instantly, and one of the privates fell gutshot. The two other soldiers were thrown from their horses, which fled down the road. Kent was shot from his saddle and bled to death by the time his wounded horse collapsed beside him. Rob was only grazed, but it was enough to send him reeling into a tree limb, which broke his neck.

Dunrossiter was hit in the right leg, shattering the thigh bone instantly, the ball passing through to kill his mount. His horse collapsed, trapping his good leg under it. Screaming in pain, he fumbled for his pistols. It was too late. They were kicked away from him as work-roughened hands dragged him out from under his dying horse. As the men dragged him away, the broken bones in his thigh tearing at him like a knife, he witnessed other men, more Irish peasants, moving among the dead and wounded men and horses, dispatching those still alive with musket butts and knives. The horses were treated much more quickly.

Dunrossiter was dragged to an oak tree and tied to it, his arms wrapped around it, his back to the trunk. Disdainfully he looked at the madman advancing to stand before him. He had a long knife in his hands. “Be damned to you and be done with it!” he roared out.

Rory smiled, stepping closer. “What be your hurry, milord?” he said, then gently inserted the knife into Dunrossiter’s breeches, slitting them open.

Katherine wondered where her husband and Kent were. She had been expecting them back in time for a late supper, but they hadn’t arrived, so she had eaten it with Jamie instead. Several hours later she had gone to her rooms and changed into a nightshirt and gotten into bed. She knew that after a long day’s ride her husband would be sufficiently aroused to demand her every attention, and she needed some rest.

The previous day and night had been a long one. Dunrossiter had decided to celebrate his son’s lieutenancy by joining Kent and Rob in drinking and fornicating with the servant girls until the wee hours of the night. Only Jamie had demurred, hiding Jenny and Gwen in his chambers, visiting them occasionally to check on them. She had smiled at this, since it was well known around the household how he had taken a fancy to the two women. She was sure that his visits had been more than social since he always seemed satiated when he came back from his rooms.

The Earl’s behavior had been beastly, surpassing any that she had seen to date. The men had passed around the servant girls like candy, raping and sodomizing them repeatedly, as if it were a terrible contest to see who could spend themselves most often. When she had made a pithy comment to him during a break in the early evening, she had been shocked beyond belief. Her husband had snidely commented that when he had gone away once, his father had invited him to his bedchamber. There he had found his mother naked, her hands tied behind her back, and blindfolded, bent over the pillows with her arse in the air. His father had already buggered the poor woman, who was begging to be used anew, and he had silently pushed his son into his place instead. The two men had alternated sodomizing the woman as she shrieked for more. “Watch your mouth, wife, before you find yourself bent over in there with the others!” he had warned her. Horrorstricken, she had run to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her, and throwing a chair before the door.

It was almost midnight when a pounding on her door awoke her, to the voice of one of the butlers calling for her to come out. Climbing out of bed, she wrapped a robe around her form and opened the door.

“You’d best come downstairs, ma’am,” said the nervous servant.

“What is it? Has something happened to the Earl?”

“You’d best come, ma’am,” he repeated.

Mystified, Katherine followed the man to the foyer. Jamie was already standing there, still wearing his breeches, although his shirt was undone, and he was barefoot. He was talking to a young officer, a lieutenant by the looks of him. “What’s going on?” asked Katherine.

“It’s the Earl, madam,” said the young officer. “He’s been murdered, him and his other two sons.”

Lady Dunrossiter stared at the man, then slumped lifeless to the floor

Katherine Dunrossiter awoke to find it still the night. Feeling a weight on her hand, she looked and saw that Jamie was sitting up against the headboard next to her, though his eyes were closed. He was dressed now, and differently than she had seen him downstairs. He was holding her hand in his.