Page 85 of The Darkland

The Irish eve was amazingly mild, the smell of rain in the distance. Kirk was weary, but his murderous emotions kept him from seeking his pallet. With his mother and father killed, his thoughts lingered solely on those of revenge.

And his brothers were aware of the fact. But they were also aware that unless Kirk intended to kill every peasant in the county of Wicklow, he would never find the culprits.

“Why do not you sleep, Kirk?” Steven asked his brother quietly. “Drewie and I have the watch. You have been awake for days, lad, and it shows.”

Kirk grinned in spite of himself, rubbing his stubbled face. “So I am not my beauteous self, am I?”

Drew shook his head. “Christ, you’re an ugly man. No wonder you have never married.”

A dull twinkle came to Kirk’s eye. “A few months will see that changed, lads.”

Both Steven and Drew turned to him with surprise. “Is that so?” Steven snorted. “God’s Blood, I pity the woman. How much did you pay her, Kirk?”

Kirk chuckled. “There’s not enough money in the world to buy this woman. She’s priceless.”

His brothers grinned. “Priceless? Do tell, lad.” Drew was snickering.

Kirk sighed heavily, leaning against the parapet as he gazed into the clear night sky. “She’s a beautiful lass. Silken dark hair and the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. Her name is Mara and if you so much as sneeze in her direction, she’ll put her fist through your nose before you can blink.”

Drew raised his eyebrows. “A fighting wench, eh?”

Kirk grinned. “Not when handled correctly.”

His brothers let up a collective “oh”, a knowing sound that suggested they understood their brother completely.

“You have bedded her, then,” Steven said.

Kirk crossed his thick arms. “It wasn’t like that, Steven. I am in love with the girl.”

“And she loves you?”

“She does.”

“Foolish wench.”

The brothers shared a laugh. Kirk sobered, watching the great bonfires in the distance as the dead were burned. Their parents’ burial was slated for the morning, in the graveyard where Connaught ancestors had been interred for centuries. Still, Kirk was having a difficult time coming to terms with what had happened. Even thoughts of Mara seemed unable to distract him.

“You cannot do anything for them, Kirk.” Steven’s voice was soft.

Kirk turned to his brother, his crippled right hand a painful reminder of the once-great knight. “What do you speak of?”

“Mother and father,” Steven clarified. “You cannot do anything for them. Those who killed them are long gone, or dead themselves. We shall never know exactly who did it.”

Kirk hardened. “We will if I interrogate every rebel in the land, or burn every village. Someone will tell me.”

“You will destroy everything if you do this,” Drew said. “The actual number of rebels are few. But through threats and intimidation, they coerced the loyal peasants to aid their cause. You cannot destroy everyone simply to capture a few.”

Kirk’s jaw ticked. “How can you say that?” he demanded. “You saw what they did to father, to mother. How can you be so willing to stand ignorant while murderers roam free?”

“I told you why,” Drew returned, with more force. “What do you plan to do, completely obliterate the county, punishing everyone for the crimes of a select few?”

Kirk cocked an eyebrow. “When we came upon Wicklow two days ago, I would say that more than a select few occupied the castle. I’d say hundreds.”

Drew shook his head. “Untrained peasants forced to comply with the few trained rebels in their midst. The men who captured Steven and I were hardly more than children. And the only reason we were captured was because of their sheer number.”

“What about the men who killed father? Or beat mother to death? Were they children, too?”

“Hard to the core, Kirk. And we shall never, ever find them. They are too clever. And too intimidating.”