The Sword of the Banshee by Amanda Hughes

of the encampment thrilled her. Out here, plans were being made and horses and supplies were coming and going. Life was in motion. She loved taking in the delicate fragrance of wildflowers in the sunshine and the husky aroma of bonfires at sunset. At night, she fell asleep to the murmur of voices or the melancholy strains of someone playing the fiddle.
    India sighed. It appeared Colm was going to miss breakfast again. She pitched the rest of his oatmeal in the woods. She looked around the glade for the last time. Shaking off her disappointment, she ducked into the tent to start packing. It was going to be a long day.
     
    *           *            *
     
     
         India dragged herself through the morning feeling light-headed and nauseated. Initially, she thought it was merely her monthly complaint, but then her stomach cramps grew more severe. She ate little dinner and did not attend the campfire that night, staying on her bedroll with her knees drawn up. The next morning, India could not rise, and when one of the wives came to check on her, they found her in a swoon, vomit caked in her hair.
    Colm had been gone all night and when he returned, he became frantic then suspicious. He believed that India had been poisoned. He guessed it had been intended for him and that India had ingested it when she tested his food earlier that day.
    After the excruciating pain subsided, India grew as pale as death; her lips white as she lay unconscious. The wives of the O’Donnell clan tended to her diligently, keeping her clean and comfortable nursing her around the clock while Colm made frantic preparations to depart.
    “Their solicitous ministrations are merely a ploy to deceive me,” Colm roared at Aengus Kildare, his new head of intelligence, an oily insincere dandy.
    “I agree, Lord Fitzpatrick,” the young man said. “This clan has a reputation for ambition and treachery.” 
    He stole a look at Colm to see if this was the correct response.
    “Yes,” Colm said, nodding. “I should never have included them in the rebellion. They lust for my command, especially that Cian O’Donnell.”
    “I agree, milord.”
    After that, all communication shut down between Fitzpatrick and the O’Donnells. The strides made in forging a united front in Ulster were lost. Colm did not care. He could not leave fast enough. He had the rest of Ireland behind him, and he believed that he did not need this clan's support.
    Ignoring the risks involved in moving his wife, he loaded the delirious India onto a pony cart and left for County Louth. He gladly left the pushy O’Donnell clan behind.
    India drifted in and out of consciousness on the open cart. Sometimes she was lucid enough to see white clouds and tree branches overhead, then she would fall back into delirium and wild dreams. After several days, she began to notice the stars at night and watch the birds during the day. The cool night air filling her lungs and the warm afternoon sun baking her skin gave her strength and nourishment. By the end of the journey, she was sitting up for short periods of time drinking broth. Headaches continued to plague her, and she had grown alarmingly thin, but by the time they reached County Louth, she was able to say a few words and smile at Colm once more.
    By autumn, she was fully recovered. She would sit in the garden at the manor in Louth with a blanket on her lap and read. Mrs. Daley, the housekeeper, would turn the fountain on so India could listen to the water splashing out of the cherub’s urn all day. India knew she was recovering when she grew restless, and  so she began taking her walks again. Even though she could put the ordeal behind her, the thought of testing Colm’s food again terrified her.
    After Watermore, Colm had fewer public meetings. It was no longer necessary to rally the people of Ireland. They were poised and ready for action. India had gathered enough money now for the cause, and Colm decided to do more than