Eamon pulled the blue coat on as he ran, glancing backwards. The riders were gaining on him. He counted in his head. One, two, and the boy. Faster, Eamon! He forced his legs to move faster.

Eamon darted into a grove of trees, hoping to lose his pursuers. He wove around the trunks of the trees, breath coming in gasps. Eamon could only see one rider now. The trees were making it difficult for the men chasing him. A grin appeared on his face and he dashed out of the trees.

A horse and rider appeared in front of him. Eamon gasped and jumped back, but the rider moved at the same time, grabbing Eamon by his collar and hauling him up into the saddle. Eamon let out a hoarse squawk and attempted to fling himself from the horse, but the man's arm gripped him too tightly around the waist. "I've got him!" The man called, pushing his horse into a run.

Within moments, the other riders emerged from the wood. "Let's be off, then," the other man called. Eamon, still panting from his run, could only cling to the pommel of the saddle as the horses carried him away.

They rode for several minutes until they came to a large house, surrounded on all sides by a wall. Without a moment of hesitation, the riders raced through the wrought iron gate and up the long circular drive to the house. Eamon's jaw dropped as he looked around the property.

One man dismounted and hurried into the house, leaving Eamon, the man who had carried him, and the boy. Eamon squirmed and the man slid out of the saddle, pulling Eamon with him. He took Eamon's arms and held them securely. "Don't try to run away, lad," the man murmured. "It'll only go harder with you." Eamon was left with no other option than to stand in the man's grip.

The boy rode up in front of Eamon. "I still think you're a dog." He dismounted and marched up to Eamon. "Philip, give me your crop."

The man tensed. "My lord, I don't-"

"Give it to me!" The boy cried, holding out his hand. Philip sighed and placed his riding crop in the boy's hand. Eamon darted a glance upwards at Philip before focusing on the boy again. "You're a dog. Say it. And say you're sorry!"

Eamon shook his head. "I'll not say that." He flinched as the crop struck his face.

"Say it!" The boy demanded. "Say it or I'll make you sorry!"

"No!" Eamon stuck out his chin and spat at the boy, who gasped as if Eamon had physically struck him. The boy retaliated with the crop several more times. Eamon felt his lips swelling, but remained silent.

"Máirtín Newell!" A man dressed in a deep red coat descended the stairs of the house. "What are you doing?"

"Father!" Máirtín whirled around. "This boy...this dog assaulted me on the road and took my jacket! He hit me, Father! See?" The boy turned a sorrowful face to his father and pointed to a faint red mark on his cheek.

The man raised an eyebrow. "I see." He surveyed Eamon, who stood defiantly in Philip's arms. "I see you hit him back. Well, lad," he asked, moving closer to Eamon, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

Eamon swallowed. Suddenly Tadgh's words came back to him. Not just the risk from him, from other people. "I..." He licked his puffy lips. "I took your son's coat because I wanted it for the winter." He threw out his chin.

"You know what you did was highway robbery?" Lord Newell asked gravely. "And that I can have you hanged for it?"

Eamon's stomach twisted. "Aye," he whispered, staring at the lord's polished shoes. "I know it."
Lord Newell hummed thoughtfully. "What am I to do with you?" He put a finger under Eamon's chin. "What's your name?"

Eamon swallowed again. "Eamon Gallagher."

"Have you got any family, Eamon?"

"Aye, sir. My aunt Catriona. But she didn't know anything about this!" Eamon met Lord Newell's eyes and stared anxiously up at him.

"I imagine not." Lord Newell looked at Philip. "Take him to the garden shed until his aunt gets here."

"Aye, my lord." Philip bowed and guided Eamon away.

"Father! Make him give me my coat!" Máirtín shouted. Eamon was too far away to hear Lord Newell's reply, but he grinned through his swollen lips.

"In here, lad." Philip opened a door and pushed Eamon inside.

"It's bigger than my house, so it is!" Eamon gasped.

Philip chuckled. "I hope you'll not be here long," he said ruefully. "You've spirit, Eamon Gallagher. Use it well." He shut the door, immersing the small room in darkness. Eamon heard the bar slide into place over the door.

"That could have been worse," Eamon muttered. He touched a wary finger to his lips and winced, then skimmed over the rest of his face. "I'll not forget that whipping for a while." He slid down against the wall and sighed.

***

Eamon paced around the shed restlessly. He disliked being shut up in the small room even more than he hated staying inside on rainy days. He felt sure he was making a trail in the dirt floor. What do I care? It's not my shed.

Eamon tried counting as high as he could multiple times, but he always lost count around seventy. Who ever uses that number anyway? The only thing I've ever seen seventy of is... "Humph," he said aloud. "Seventy potatoes? No, I've not seen seventy of those at one time. Trees? Maybe...Money? No, definitely not."

Suddenly Eamon tore off the coveted blue coat and balled it up. He laid down on the ground and put the coat under his head. He began counting again and closed his eyes.

"Eamon! Eamon Gallagher!" Eamon jerked awake at the sound of his name, scrambled to his feet, and slipped into the coat.

The door opened to reveal Lord Newell, Máirtín, Philip, and Catriona. Eamon's aunt was clothed in her best dress, twisting her hands nervously. "Eamon Gallagher!" She whispered. "What have you done?" Eamon stepped out of the shed, blinking in the sudden light. He warily eyed Lord Newell and Máirtín.

"Eamon." Lord Newell's voice made Eamon start. "I've informed your aunt of your actions earlier today. She agrees with me that you should apologize to Máirtín." The lord inclined his head, waiting for Eamon's response.

Eamon frowned, glancing at Catriona. She glared fiercely at him and nodded her head towards Máirtín, who was standing with his arms crossed, a smug grin on his face. "I'll not do it!" Eamon whispered rebelliously.

Catriona's eyes widened. She stepped forward and squeezed Eamon's shoulder tightly. "Say it."

Eamon gulped, tears stinging his eyes. It's unfair! He stammered, "I-I'm...sorry."

"I'm sorry...what?" Máirtín prompted. Catriona's fingers dug into Eamon's shoulder.

Eamon gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry...Master Newell," he muttered, staring at the ground.

Lord Newell cleared his throat. "Now that bit of unpleasantness is out of the way, I've decided Eamon may keep the coat."

"But...Father!" Máirtín protested.

Lord Newell raised a hand and Máirtín fell silent. "Eamon, Catriona, you may go."

Catriona released her hold on Eamon's shoulder and curtseyed. "Thank you, my lord." She took Eamon by the arm and they walked hurriedly across the lawn.

As soon as they were out of the gate, Catriona exploded. "Eamon Gallagher! You...you...eedjit!" She shook Eamon's arm angrily. "You could have been killed for what you did today!"

Eamon shoved his hands into the pockets of his new coat and grunted as Catriona went on. "When Philip came for me, I was so worried! I didn't know if you'd still be there by the time we could get back!"

"Philip came for you?" Eamon frowned.

"Aye," Catriona said hastily. "He told me what you'd done. Eamon, what put it into your head to do such a thing?"

Eamon shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted the coat."

Catriona let an angry sob out of her throat. "I went to Lord Newell and begged for you! I...I...let him make love to me - for you!" She wiped a hand across her face. "And you don't care at all!" She strode angrily ahead of Eamon, breathing harshly.

Eamon stood still for a moment, then ran to catch up with his aunt. "Did...did he hurt you?"

Catriona sniffed, hugging her arms close to her chest. "No. Not that it matters. You're safe...and you've a new coat for the winter."

"I...I'm sorry, antín," Eamon murmured. "I didn't think..."

"Of course you didn't!" Catriona cried. "You never think about anything except wars and food!" She set her jaw. "And you'll get no supper tonight, Eamon."

Eamon frowned. "But I've had no dinner, either!" He protested.

Catriona glared at him. "And whose fault is that?"

"Tadgh's," Eamon replied. "He ran off with the dinner."

Catriona snorted. "So Tadgh was part of this, too? I'll wager it wasn't his idea, was it?"

"No..." Eamon muttered. "He wanted no part of it."

"You still get no supper." Catriona spoke firmly, clenching her fists tightly as if steeling herself against changing her mind.

"Yes, antín," Eamon murmured. The rest of their walk through the darkening countryside was spent in silence. Eamon's stomach growled, but he knew better than to ask Catriona to change her mind. Was the coat really worth this?