Free The Sword of the Banshee by Amanda Hughes

get up, but Bronaugh reached out to her and touched her knee. “Please do not be afraid. We ask nothing of you but to have faith in yourself. You are that leader.”
    “I don’t know what you are talking about,” India murmured, rising again. “You have the wrong woman.”
    “Please. It will be easier for you if you accept the truth. There is no running away,” Bronaugh said apologetically. “Your path is predestined.”
    As India was about to bolt for the woods, Bronaugh took her wrist. She spoke quickly, almost frantically, “I have seen it, my child. You will fail on your home soil. But you must not give up the struggle. The Irish will be delivered to a new land, and you will be a part of that fight for freedom!”
    India locked eyes with the woman. Her head began to spin, and there was buzzing in her ears. Scenes of bloodshed and struggle passed before her eyes, and for an instant she believed everything to be true about this strange woman’s premonition.
    Then in a flash, she shook her head casting off the spell. India yanked her arm away from Bronaugh and ran to the woods, sliding down the hill, struggling through the brush, dashing out onto the Portadown road. She raced back to the manor in a fury, across the lawn and into the house, slamming the kitchen door behind her. She bolted it quickly and leaned against the door panting.
    India pushed the hair from her face trying to make sense of this madness. Gradually she caught her breath. It all seemed outrageous. Who were those women, and how did they know her? Grabbing Colm’s decanter of brandy, India dashed upstairs to her room. For the first time in her life, she tried to drink herself into a delirium, but try as she might, she could not forget the terrifying prophesy of the Druid priestess.
    *           *           *
    When the sun peeked over the horizon, India fell asleep. She woke up late in the afternoon with a headache. The glare of the sun made the events of the previous night seem ridiculous. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through her hair trying to massage the throbbing. The ritual on the hilltop seemed preposterous, and she laughed out loud.
    “The people of Armaugh are certainly curious,” she mumbled, dismissing the incident.
    India noticed that Colm’s side of the bed had not been slept in. She knew that he was probably out planning another raid. 
    She had the housekeeper bring water to her room, and she bathed slowly washing and pulling briars from her hair. Her first order of business for the day was to learn to use her pistol. After dressing, India tied her hair up, took her pistol case, and stepped out into the garden to look for one of the guards. She spied a young man sitting under a tree watching the driveway with a musket over his knees.
    “Hello there!” she called to him. “I am Lady Fitzpatrick.”
    The bulky lad sprang to his feet pulling his cap off his head. “Yes, my Lady,” he said expectantly.
    “I am considering purchasing this new pistol for Lord Fitzpatrick for his birthday,” she announced, flipping open the case. “It is to be a surprise so please say nothing to him,” she said smiling. “I am sorely unfamiliar with the workings of a firearm. Would you be so kind as to try this pistol to see if it is indeed a weapon of quality?”
    Flattered, the boy’s eyebrows shot up, and he said eagerly, “Of course Lady Fitzpatrick, at your service.” His heavy hands handled the pistol with reverence. “It is indeed a lovely piece.”
    India nodded then her eyes narrowed as he loaded the weapon. She memorized his every move watching him pour powder into the barrel; ram the ball, powder the pan, cock, aim and fire.
    “Yes,” he said holding it out and turning it over. “It works well.”
    “Would you try it one more time please?” India asked.
    The lad looked at her with a smile. “Of course, Lady Fitzpatrick,” he said.  Once more he loaded the pistol as India watched