The Sword of the Banshee Read Online Free PDF Page B

shoulders. The floor felt cold on her bare feet as she walked to the window pulling back the drapes. Her jaw dropped when she saw the view. Just below her window there was a river as blue as the ribbon in her nightgown with two swans coasting lazily on the current.
    The spring morning lured her outside, so after dressing and a light breakfast, she walked along the river. India enjoyed her walks. She believed walking is what helped her endure childbirth and death. After the passing of her twins, who were only five months old, India had walked for hours on end, distraught and stricken with grief. The steady movement of her body, the breeze on her face, and the fatigue that followed were comforting to her. Slowly the dark days passed, and she accepted the will of the Lord. At times, she still raged against Him for allowing disease to take her babies, but gradually she walled off the bitterness and swallowed her fury.
    India stepped out onto the steps of the manor and greeted the guard Colm had placed on the grounds. She felt the man’s eyes on her as she followed the walkway along the river. She was uncomfortable because she had left her hair down this morning allowing it to drape over her shoulders like a golden sheet. Women were expected to have their hair tied up first thing in the morning.
    Gradually she relaxed as she strolled away from the house smiling when she spied otters sliding up and down the banks of the river, rolling over to crack shells on their stomachs. She quickened her pace filling her lungs with fresh morning air.
    When she followed the path into the woods, she surprised a young girl picking mushrooms in the thicket. The girl straightened up abruptly, and her mouth dropped open.
    "Oh! I am sorry I startled you," said India.
    The girl continued to stare. She shook her head as if waking from a dream and mumbled, "You are--I-I have heard of you, milady. You are the wife of Lord Fitzpatrick."
    India did not answer. Colm had taught her to be on her guard.
    The girl curtsied and climbed through the brush out into the sunlight. She put down her basket and brushed off her apron pushing back her dark hair. She looked ten or eleven years of age. "We have heard of you. You have hair the color of the harvest moon and eyes--" she got on her tip toes to look at India and said, "eyes that bewitch."
    India laughed and rolled her eyes.
    The girl asked, "Change the color for me. Won't you please?"
    "You have been misinformed, little one," she said still smiling and shaking her head.
    Lifting her skirts, India began to climb the embankment toward the manor house. The child fell in step alongside her and asked, "You seem so nice. Why do they call you the Ice Queen?”
    India stopped walking. She was astounded. "They call me the Ice Queen? Who calls me that?"
    The girl shrugged her shoulders and said, “Everyone, I guess.”
    India frowned then resumed her walk. She knew that she seemed unapproachable. She had always been quiet and reserved, but this new description had surprised her.
    She shrugged and let it go. It was just as well, she thought. In her position, she must remain aloof. She could not allow others to be part of Colm’s innermost circle.
    The child said goodbye and began to skip down the road toward one of the cottages with her basket over her arm. India assumed she was the granddaughter of the housekeeper. She went in the house to ask about dinner. Whenever possible, India prepared her husband’s meals. Colm had mentioned once the threat of poison, and India had been stricken with fear for his safety ever since.  He reassured her continually that his followers were trustworthy, but she nevertheless monitored his every meal. If she could not prepare the food herself, then she ate a sampling first.
    Colm laughed at India, but the thought of life without him was terrifying for her. The future of Ireland was at stake, and without Colm Fitzpatrick, the rebellion would crumble. To India, it was one small way she