The Maiden of Ireland. Susan Wiggs

a blessing,” said Caitlin. “Although it would take a bit of explaining to tell him where we got it.”

      “Shall we topple the powder and shot into the lake?” asked Rory.

      “Yes,” said Caitlin. “It’s of no use to us, anyway, since we have so few guns.”

      “We’ll have to get our hands on that food,” said Conn. He rubbed his bandaged side, cursing the cut Hawkins had dealt him in the fight.

      She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Refugees, turned out of their homes by the Roundheads, came in a steady stream to the western provinces, bringing sickness, despair, and starvation to the very gates of Clonmuir. “I have an idea,” she said. “Hammersmith’s expecting an attack by land. So we’ll approach—and leave—by water.”

      The men broke into smiles as she explained her plan. Under cloak of night, archers would harry the vanguard while the rest crept up from the banks of the lake and toppled the supply carts into the water, seizing stores and stowing them in the swift, light curragh.

      “You make a fine chieftain, Caitlin MacBride,” declared Brian. “I only wish you had an army of thousands following you.”

      Her gaze moved around the circle of her friends. Broad of shoulder, straggly of beard, in threadbare tunics and battered armor, the men resembled a band of pirates. Yet their loyalty enclosed her in an embrace of camaraderie that made her glad she was alive.

      A thickness rose in her throat. “Nay,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “Many’s the time I have considered begging Logan Rafferty for his men-at-arms, or enlisting the Irish soldiers banished to Connaught. But we don’t need them, don’t need their hunger for plunder and revenge, their quarreling factions and their prejudice against following a woman. The Fianna alone can hold its own against the English dogs.”

      She lifted a chipped horn cup and saluted them all. “I swear to God, I do not need a single man more. Except perhaps a priest, but they are all gone now.” She drank the bitter ale and smiled through a veil of tears. “Sleep now, my friends, for we’ve hard work ahead come nightfall.”

      She stole a nap from the quiet afternoon hours. Visions of Hawkins haunted her sleep, and she awoke feeling groggy and strangely off center. At twilight, the men gathered on the slope below the caves. Caitlin checked on Hawkins. He slumped against a tree, still asleep. The uncommon appeal of his face raised a disquieting clamor in her heart.