“Nothing be damned, you saucy tart. I heard well enough.” He chuckled, and I winced from the dark, mirthless noise. “Times be easier for Calhoun now. Once the girl’s loaded, I’ll find Mrs. Murphy and set things to right. Then come evening you’ll be for Paddy. I’ll advise him to beat you straight away to keep any funny ideas from sneaking into that head o’ yours.”
There was a soft thud as we bumped into something on one side. The rhythmic sound of the oars stopped, and one paddle came to rest against my calves. Feet shuffled, and the boat dipped to one side, only to rock back a second later.
“Stay in the boat,” Calhoun ordered. “And keep out o’ sight. I don’t want trouble, mind you, so don’t touch anyone unless there be no other choice, hear.”
The girl remained silent.
“Miserable brat,” Calhoun muttered. “I ought to tan that skinny hide o’ yours.” Footsteps receded, and his voice trailed off in the growing distance.
I stayed absolutely still to better assess the situation. Calhoun had just left, I assumed to retrieve the caravan he’d mentioned. Which left me alone in a boat with the girl. She didn’t speak, nor make a move of any kind. A minute passed, then another, and the silence deepened.
At present, there seemed two options. I could wait and do nothing for now, playing the docile prisoner until a better opportunity arose. Or I could attempt to free myself, and quite possibly instigate another attack. At least with the latter, the risks went both ways, as the girl couldn’t strike without harming herself in return.
Opting for immediate action, I resumed wriggling my wrists in search for any amount of play. The binding held fast, chafing the skin that still bore the faint scars from a similar exercise last summer. I pulled harder. The sack grew intolerably warm, the air stifling and insufficient. Sweat coated my forehead, dripped along my cheeks and into my eyes.
An exasperated sigh deflated from the far end of the boat. “Save your strength,” the girl said. “You’ll never make it out afore Calhoun returns.”
“Bugger off!” I tried to yell, effectively managing two squeaks that sounded a lot like waher waah. Panting through my nose, I pulled some more at the bindings.
“Stubborn fool,” she said. “Should have known you’d not recognize common sense when you heard it. Otherwise you’d be sitting pretty in Wexford with your friends instead o’ here with Calhoun and me.”
Stubborn, indeed. Perhaps she could have been a bit more explicit in describing the danger earlier. Then I would have happily returned to the cabin to warn the others. More fool, me. I had stayed to help, and been paid in treachery for my efforts. No doubt as Cailleach’s descendant, the girl was capable of little else, and if not for the gag, I would have given her an earful on the matter.
All the same, she spoke true about escaping from the sack unaided. And as she showed no intention of helping, I would do better to conserve my strength for future battles, in addition to the skin at each point of binding. My knees and ankles stung like the dickens and moisture wet my wrists from either sweat or blood.
Closing my eyes, I silently counted to fifty in an attempt to calm the near animalistic rage that boiled just beneath the surface. Then I counted to fifty again. On the third time, the girl shifted slightly. I paused, my ears turned to any further signs of movement.
A cork squealed free, followed by the sloshing of a water skin. The girl swallowed thirstily, the simple noise accentuating the dryness in my mouth. Finished, she re-corked the skin and cleared her throat. Silence ensued, and I had just resumed counting from the beginning when the most serene notes slipped past the tightly woven canvas. I went still as they brushed over my skin and wound through my senses. The remaining anger seeped away. Every muscle relaxed, and even the pain seemed somewhat diminished.
I inhaled deeply with little regard to the cinnamon. What is that? It sounded unearthly to the point of angelic. Each note flowed through me, soothed the body while reassuring the soul. I listened harder, afraid to lose even the smallest piece.
Time slipped by unnoticed. An hour or a day could have passed when a low rumble joined with the song. “Ah, there he be,” the girl said, the serenity dissolving with her sad voice.
My eyes flew open, and the shock would have set me off my feet if I weren’t already there. Such amazing beauty—from Cailleach’s descendant. The comfort and serenity had come from her. A puff of frosty air blossomed against the canvas right in front of me. I watched it dissipate when another appeared in its place. Only then did I realize that I was shivering with cold.
“It’s a pity Mrs. Murphy didn’t get to him first,” the girl grumbled. “That black-hearted charlatan, she’d have dragged him straightway to the magistrate.”
I felt the same though lacked the ability to share my thoughts.