Had he not been up in the safety of Rathconan, he’d have heard the steps when they were farther off. As it was, they were only ten feet away when he heard the soft tread on the turf. Even so, he didn’t open his eyes. He tried to decide who they belonged to. Not Caitlin. A little two heavy. His father? Possibly. One of the Brennans? Could be. He smiled and waited.
“Asleep?”
He opened his eyes. The thickset face was smiling. The eyes hard. The twin barrels of the shotgun a foot from his nose.
“Heard a car backfire. Thought I’d take a look. Never know who may be paying you a visit, these days.”
Victor Budge. He’d forgotten him. Supposed he’d gone back to England. Willy was quite sure that he’d have heard if old Rose Budge had died and Victor had come into his own. Mind you, with all the fighting and the travelling of the last few months, he’d been sadly out of touch with his father.
“Is old Mrs Budge . . . ?”
“Alive and well. Still waiting to turn into a hawk.” He seemed to find this funny. But the gun didn’t move. “We have an arrangement. I take care of the estate now. I’ve been up here two months. I wondered if I might see you here some day.”
“Aren’t you afraid? A man like yourself mightn’t be liked too well up here, I should say.”
“I’ll take my chances. We have a score to settle. You killed a friend of mine, remember?”
“Perhaps. A long time ago.”
“I don’t think so.”
Caitlin had told him she’d brought her pistol. He wondered where it was. He didn’t think she’d be carrying it with her. Under the seat perhaps? He could try to dive for it, but he’d have to be right. First time. Even if his leg let him move like that. He couldn’t think where else to try. On the other hand, to duck like that: afterwards it would look as if he’d been too much of a coward to face his death.
He might make a grab for the barrel of Budge’s gun. Foolish thought. Budge knew what he was doing. He’d just die looking like an idiot. So he learned back.
“You would shoot a man in cold blood?”
“I’ll shoot you like a dog.”
“How will you explain it?”
“Doubt that I’ll need to. Times like these.”
“Ireland’s curse upon you, then.”
Caitlin heard the bang when she was standing outside the Brennans’ cottage. She ran. She raced up the track towards the car, in time to see that Willy had been pulled onto the ground. A man was walking away. He was carrying a shotgun. She looked down at Willy’s face. It wasn’t there, just a great red mess of flesh and shot.
She reached under the car seat, and called out. She man turned. She recognised him. Victor Budge. The Black and Tan who’d come looking for Willy. He recognised her, too. The girl who’d known old Rosa. He frowned as he worked it all out.
“You killed him,” she called.
“What of that?”
The single shot caught him exactly between the eyes. She hadn’t lost her skill. She stared at Budge for a moment, nodded to herself, and put her Webley on Willy’s right hand, curling his fingers round it.
She heard voices. She stepped back. Several people were arriving. One of them, she saw at once, was old Fintan O’Byrne.
At first, seeing the bloody mess of the face on the ground, he did not understand. Then, as she came towards him and took his arm, he did. He bowed his head and sank to his knees.
He had been kneeling by Willy for a minute or two when he looked up at her.
“They shot each other?’
“They must have,” she said.
“I thought the two shots were some time apart.”
“They can’t have been.”
He paused to look at her a long while.
“No. I must have been mistaken.”
He got up stiffly to his feet, walked over to Victor Budge, noted the hole neatly between the eyes, and nodded. As he passed by her again, he touched her arm, and quietly murmured, “Thank you.”
Some years later, when Mrs. Rosa Budge passed to her next life, the Rathconan estate was sold. Sometimes new owners of such estates would find the local people a little shy with them. They have learned, after all, to guard against strangers coming to dwell upon their land. It is a lesson learned down many centuries. But the new owner of Rathconan, with her flashing green eyes and her husband and children was always welcome from the first. After all, Caitlin belonged there.
EDWARD RUTHERFURD was born in Salisbury, England, and educated at Cambridge University and Stanford University in California. His bestselling novel Sarum is based on the history of Salisbury and Stonehenge. Russka, his second novel, recounts the sweeping history of Russia. London tells the two-thousand-year story of the great city, bringing all of the richness of London’s past unforgettably to life. His novel The Forest is set in England’s ancient New Forest. His last novel, The Princes of Ireland, is the companion to The Rebels of Ireland, covering the first eleven centuries of Ireland’s history. Edward Rutherfurd divides his time between Dublin and New York.
The Rebels of Ireland is a work of fiction. Though some characters,
incidents, and dialogues are based on the historical record, the work as a whole is
a product of the author’s imagination.
2007 Ballantine Books Trade Paperback Edition
Copyright © 2006 by Edward Rutherfurd
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN : 978-0-307-42408-2
www.randomhouse.com
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Edward Rutherfurd, The Rebels of Ireland
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