THE BAY MARE PICKED HERway along a meandering deer path through a stand of sun-dappled woods. Virginia was herself again and furiously relieved because of it. She was Virginia Hughes, a planter’s daughter and the mistress of Sweet Briar. She was an outspoken, independent woman with no interest in any man, with no interest outside of her home and plantation. With the utmost determination, she had spent the past half hour plotting a new means of escape, this time by horseback. Now she was determined to thwart her damned captor. He no longer expected her to try to flee, and once he found her gone, he would expect her to go back to England by ship. To hell with him! She would first cross Ireland on a horse, and she’d sail out from one of the coastal towns in the east. In fact, as soon as she had the opportunity, she would sneak into the library and find some useful maps. Maybe she wouldstealone.
Suddenly the bay mare nickered.
Virginia started, so lost in thought she hadn’t been aware of leaving the woods. She halted the mare instantly, wary and alert. She was on a low, grassy ridge overlooking a small freehold. A stone farmhouse marked its center, along with several barns, a vegetable garden, some cornfields and an open pasture where a dozen cows grazed. Virginia saw his gray stallion instantly.
She stiffened with alarm, renewed anger flooding her. The stallion was tied up in front of the farmhouse with four big-bodied country hacks. Three buggies were parked in front as well. What was going on? She didn’t think the farmer was having an afternoon tea.
She reminded herself that she didn’t care what Devlin did and whom he did it with. She started to turn the bay to return to the woods, when she looked at the other mounts tied in front of the house. Wasn’t the heavyset chestnut Sean’s?
What was going on?
Virginia hesitated. Something odd was happening—her every instinct told her that. She dismounted, tying the mare to a tree and letting her graze. Scrambling down the ridge, she ran hard to cross the clearing until she reached the safety of the farmhouse walls. Virginia crept up to a window, her heart pounding with unbearable force. It had no glass and the shutters were wide open.
Inside, many men were shouting in an uproar.
What could this be? If she were lucky, she was going to catch Devlin O’Neill with his hand in someone else’s cookie jar. She fervently hoped so. Virginia straightened until her chin was level with the sill and she could peek inside.
Instantly she saw two dozen men, maybe more, most of them peasants and farmers. The second thing she saw was Sean standing on a dais with a Catholic priest, holding up his hands and asking for order in the room. She quickly spotted Devlin, seated in the front row of the crowd. Bewildered, she could not even begin to imagine what kind of meeting was in progress.
“Please, everyone has a turn,” Sean was saying with authority.
The shouting turned into disgruntled murmurs and mutters.
“Tim McCarthy,” Sean said. “Would you like a chance to speak your mind?”
A big man with shaggy gray hair stepped forward. “It’s just more lies, it’s always been lies, it’s all the English are good for, that and stealing our land!”
“Here, here!” everyone roared.
Virginia stood up, stunned. Was this apoliticalmeeting?
“They promised us our rights, the same rights as any Protestant, back in 1800, with the Union. And what have they given us? Does a Catholic sit in Commons? Does a Catholic serve the king? An’ I still got to take the ungodly oath if I want to buy my land—land that is really mine!” Tim McCarthy cried.
Everyone began speaking at once, clearly in furious agreement.
Sean held his hands up again. “One at a time.”
“I ain’t done,” McCarthy said.
“Fine, do go on,” Sean returned.
“We been meeting for two years now, and for what? We need to get them damned bloody British out of Ireland, yes we do, and the time is now! Because nothing will ever change unless we show ’em the day of steppin’ on Catholics is over. We need to bloody a few noses and get all of our rights, just the way the French did!”
A huge cheer sounded.
Virginia bit her lip so as not to cry out. This sounded very dangerous—it sounded like treason. And what in God’s name were Devlin and Sean doing there?
Virginia didn’t know very much about Ireland, but she did know a lot about the revolution in France, which most Americans had fervently supported, at least until Napoleon had begun his campaign to conquer Europe. She wasn’t sure what rights Tim McCarthy referred to, but she knew that Ireland was a part of Great Britain, and an Irishman shouldn’t speak about driving the English from their midst. That sounded like an impending revolution to her. It was certainly seditious speech.
Suddenly Devlin stood. Before he could even step forward to join Sean, lusty cheers rang out. “O’Neill!” someone cried.
“The O’Neill,” more men answered.
“O’Neill! O’Neill! Hurrah!” everyone boomed.
Virginia slammed back against the wall, shaken and shaking. Was Devlin involved in this unpatriotic, antigovernment conspiracy? But how could he be! He was a captain in the British navy!
Devlin had joined Sean on the dais. “May I?” he asked his brother, confirming Virginia’s suspicion that Sean was in command of this group.
