Eamon inhaled and exhaled, glad to be out of the town. He clucked to Niamh, who tossed her head and trotted down the road as though she shared his feelings. Eamon began to sing softly to himself, his words coming out in a jolting rhythm that matched Niamh's gait.

Nach doiligh domhsa mo chailín a mholadh,
Ní hé amháin mar bhí sí rua,
Bhí sí mar gha gréine ag dul in éadan na ngloiní,
Is bhí scéimh mhná na Finne le mo chailín rua.

Thug mé lion í ó bhaile go baile,
Ó Gheaftaí Dhoire go Baile Átha Luain,
Chun fhuil aon mhíle dár shiúil mé ar an fad sin,
Nach dtug mé deoch leanna do mo chailín rua.

My red-haired girl is finer than the one in that song. Eamon grinned, scanning the road for a hiding place. He spotted an area where the shoulder of the road sloped downward into a small hollow. Checking behind him and in front of him to make sure no one else was on the road, he guided Niamh off the road and down into the hollow.

It was a perfect place to wait: sheltered from the weather and from the eyes of anyone on the road. Eamon dismounted and took off Niamh's saddle, wrapping the reins around a tree branch. He took off his coat, balled it up, and put it under his head. I should find a tricorne hat, he thought lazily. I would look very dashing in one. He grinned and ran his fingers through his forelock. Dashing...what would make me look more dashing? He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and grinned wider. I'm thinking a beard would make me more dashing.

Eamon yawned and closed his eyes. I can spend the rest of the day resting.

His conscience pricked him and whispered, You could be home helping Catriona. Instead you're out lazing and chasing girls.

Eamon grimaced and waved his hand in the air. I'm chasing one girl. And I'm going to marry her. His conscience subsided and let him sleep.

Eamon woke when it was growing dark. He sat up and pulled on his coat, smoothing the wrinkles out of the fabric. How vain. He laughed at himself and pulled some bread and cheese out of his pocket.

He had just taken a large mouthful of bread and cheese when he heard horse's hooves on the road above him. He cursed silently and took his pistol from his belt, cocking the gun and chewing frantically at the same time. Next he pulled out part of an old black shirt and tied it over the top half of his face. He had cut holes in the eyes so that he could see, but couldn't be recognized.

He scrambled up to the edge of the road and counted the horses. Only two. He grinned and stepped onto the road. "Stand and deliver!" As he neared the two riders, he saw that one was a woman. She's bound to have jewelry. "Stop, or I'll shoot!" He brandished his pistol.

"What do you want?" The man's voice was harsh with surprise and fear.

Eamon pointed his pistol at the man's chest. "I want your money."

The man stared at Eamon. "You come up here with food in one hand, pistol in the other, to demand my money?" He said finally, reaching for the pouch at his waist. His voice was cultured, almost all traces of an Irish accent stifled.

Eamon looked down at his hand, where he still held the crust of his bread. He shrugged and focused again on the man. "Tá. How else should I be coming to you? Crawling?"

The man frowned. "You're impudent. Impudent and foolish, waving a pistol around like that."

He held the pouch out, but Eamon shook his head. "The lady's jewels, too. Put them in the purse." The man glared, but reached over to take the jewels from the woman's trembling frame. He tossed the pouch to Eamon, who stuffed the last of the bread in his mouth and caught the pouch in his free hand. It clinked as it settled in his hand, hinting at the wealth that lay within.

"Mm...now..." Eamon chewed and swallowed, then continued speaking. "Now you may be on your way."

The man spurred his horse, then reined in abruptly. "I should like to know the name of the man who so boldly robbed me."

Eamon snorted and was silent for a moment. "Sure, you'd be wanting to know that! You can tell the Briotanach soldiers that you met with Achrann on the road tonight."

"Achrann?" The man said with a curt laugh. "You think very highly of yourself."

Eamon motioned with his pistol. "Be on your way." The man and woman rode off in the direction of Attymass.

Eamon slid down the embankment, chuckling softly. He had used the Gaelic word that meant trouble, confrontation, or a battle. It was close to the sound of his own name, and was similar to the word trioblóide. His mind had flashed back to the conversation he'd had with Catriona about her "chasing trouble."

As he mounted Niamh and took to the road again, Eamon watched for places to hide. The land was mostly flat, but the roads were lined with trees. If he spotted a stagecoach or a large group of riders, he headed for the edge of the road and hid in the shadow of the trees. Once a band of British soldiers passed, riding swiftly and purposefully. Eamon shuddered, glad he had gotten off the road in time to avoid a confrontation.

He stopped when he came to the fork in the road that marked the halfway point in his journey. I could wait here, he mused. There were bound to be travelers on the road between Foxford and Swinford. He hid beside the road in the darkness, pulling the collar of his coat up to protect his neck from the chilly night air.

It wasn't long before two people came down the road on foot, heading to Foxford. Eamon dismounted and stepped out from behind the tree. "Stand and deliver!"

The people stopped immediately, the man stepping in front of the woman. As Eamon approached, he saw that these people were not rich - not by any means. The woman's dress was worn and thin, and the man's coat was too large for him. He paused, feeling guilty. "Your sack, man," he said, trying to push away the feeling of guilt.

The man took the sack off his back and set it on the ground. "We've nothing but some food. Leave us that...le do thoil."

Eamon reached inside the sack and pulled out some potatoes, bread, and cheese. He shoved the food back in the sack and sighed. "I can't take this." He reached into the heavy money pouch and took out a handful of coins, then poured them into the sack. As an afterthought, he took the rich lady's necklace and stuck it in the sack as well.

The man and woman gasped at the sound of money. Eamon felt a smile spread across his face and he was suddenly struck with an idea. He reached into his own sack, pulled out one of Catriona's shawls, and handed it to the woman silently, not able to find the words to explain his behavior. The man picked the sack up as if he were in a daze. "Go raibh mait agat. May you be blessed for your actions tonight." His wife echoed her thanks, wrapping the shawl around her shoulders and caressing the soft wool.

Eamon shifted his weight uneasily. "Go your way. Slán." He waited until the couple was a little way down the road, then slipped back to where Niamh stood waiting.

He rode home without stopping again until came to where Aisling's parents lived. Then he stopped and placed several coins in the water bucket beside the door. When he reached Tadhg and Aisling's house, he left almost half the contents of the money pouch under a loose stone in the wall. When he reached the Kavanagh house, he left several coins in a basket outside the door.

By the time he reached his house, Eamon was stifling yawns. He unsaddled Niamh and left some straw for her to eat, then headed for the house.

Eamon took off his boots and opened the door softly. He shut the door and slid the latch into place, moving slowly and carefully. He quickly stuffed the money pouch beneath his mattress, grabbed his nightshirt from beneath his pillow, and stood in front of the hearth while he undressed and dressed in his nightshirt.

Leaving his boots beside the hearth, he tiptoed to bed and slid under the covers. I just hope sometime Cínaed asks me how much money I have. I can't wait to see his face when I tell him.

***

"Eamon?" Catriona's voice cut through Eamon's sleep. He grunted and hid his head under his pillow, pulling the blanket up to his neck.

"Eamon?" Catriona asked again, her whisper soft but insistent. Eamon made a noise that he thought sounded like a growl and stayed hidden under the blankets. "Oh dear, I'm thinking I'll need to change tactics." Eamon could hear the smile in Catriona's voice. He grinned to himself.

His grin disappeared when Catriona stuck her index finger between his shoulder blades. She moved her finger in tiny circles, pressing hard. Eamon's growl was real this time. Catriona's finger was tickling his spine, and he didn't like it. He sat up quickly, wrapping the blanket around his head and shoulders. "What?"

Catriona laughed, holding a hand over her mouth. "Look at yourself, Eamon."

Eamon glanced down at the blanket and scowled. "Tá?" I'm just trying to stay warm, so I am. What's so funny about that?

"You look like an old woman at the market wrapped up like that," Catriona laughed.

Eamon scowled again and blinked. "I do not!"

"You certainly don't sound like one." Catriona swallowed the last of her laughter. "I've started the tea already, and the leite, too. Get out of bed."

Eamon swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself up. He threw the blanket on the bed and raced to where his coat hung beside the door. Slipping his arms into the coat, he went to the hearth and stuck his feet into his boots. "Why is it so cold?" He grumbled.

Catriona sniffed. "You're cold because you've just woken up." She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. "It is colder than normal," she mused. "The tea will warm you up."

"It had better." Eamon stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Someone is having a bad day," Catriona said quietly. "What's wrong?"

Eamon shrugged, keeping his face towards the fire. "Tá tuirse orm."

"Well..." Catriona sat at the table. "It's lucky we don't have much to do today."

Eamon grunted and watched as steam rose from the kettle on the hearth. Soon the tea and porridge was ready. Catriona and Eamon both sat down at the table and began eating. Eamon tried to make himself enjoy the bland porridge, but he couldn't help thinking that Orla's family probably had sugar or honey to sweeten their porridge. The thought only soured his mood further.

"Eamon," Catriona began hesitantly, "one of Lord Newell's men came to the house yesterday."

Eamon stopped eating and frowned. "What did he want?" It can't be anything good.

"He..." Catriona bit her lip, shaking her head.

"He what?" Eamon growled, pushing his bowl away.

Catriona took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. "He's raised the rent, Eamon! His man saw the new roof, and the shed, and said our rent is now tenpence!"

I'd bet that's Máirtín's doing. That bastard. Eamon sighed, resting his head on his arms. He raised his head after a moment. "I suppose it's thankful we should be that he didn't see Niamh?"

Catriona nodded, running her finger over the surface of the table. "He'd have made us pay five pence more just for the horse," she agreed bitterly.

Eamon scrunched his mouth to one side. "I'll think of something." He ate the last few spoonfuls of his porridge and stared at the rough surface of the table. "Antín?"

"Hm?" Catriona looked up from knitting another shawl. Eamon felt a flash of guilt for giving away one of Catriona's shawls, but he told himself that the money he had stolen made up for it.

"If...if I wanted to be getting married, what would you think?"

Catriona dropped her knitting into her lap. "An bhfuil tú ag magadh?"

Eamon laughed, feeling his heart lighten a bit. "Níl. I'm serious." He watched Catriona's face closely, but his aunt's expression was neutral. "I met a girl in Attymas."

"Does this girl have a name?" Now Catriona let her lips hint at a smile.

"Tá. Her name is Orla Tierney."

"Orla." Catriona tested the name, then spoke it again. "Orla...Gallagher. What does she look like?"

Eamon propped his chin on his fist and stared into the fire. How can I describe her? "She has red-gold hair," he began, "almost like a candle-flame. Her eyes are brown like...Niamh's coat." He tore his gaze away from the fire and looked at Catriona. "She has the tiniest hands!"

Catriona laughed, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "Eamon, hold out your hand." She pressed her hand up to Eamon's, the tips of her fingers coming up only to the second joint of Eamon's fingers. "Anyone has tiny hands compared to you."

Eamon shrugged. "But you'd not be opposed to me marrying?"

"I'd miss you, I would, but I'd not be opposed." Catriona took up her knitting again. "Have you met her father?"

"Níl. I'll be doing that soon." Eamon exulted inwardly, already planning his next visit to Attymass. Slow down, Eamon. First you've got to be paying the rent. He turned his thoughts away from Orla to less pleasant things.

***

Briotanach - British

Le do thoil - please

Tá tuirse orm - I'm tired

An bhfuil tú ag magadh? - Are you joking?

Translation of An Cailin Rua:

Isn't it hard for me to praise my red-haired girl,
Not only because of her red hair,
She was like a ray of sun reflected through glass,
And she had the beauty of the Finne women.

Chorus:
I took her from town to town,
From the gates of Derry to Athlone,
There's not a mile of the way I traveled,
That I didn't give my red-haired girl a drink of ale.