Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [18]
He had made the mistake of coming to Ireland in search of peace, but already he was glad he had come. The thought of tomorrow filled him with a vague, restless excitement, and as he took the mare down toward the house, there was a smile on his face.
3
The morning was grey and a light rain was falling as Clay rode out of the courtyard and followed the track that led up through the trees over the top of the moor.
In one of his old military saddlebags he carried the package he had been asked to deliver to Shaun Rogan, and as he rode, head bowed against the rain, he wondered idly what it might contain.
Of the man who had given it to him, he knew little. He had met O’Hara casually at a party at someone’s house in New York, and during the conversation his intended trip to Galway had been mentioned. Later in the evening, the man had asked him to deliver the package and Clay had agreed, thinking he would probably hear no more about it. When he boarded the boat on the following day, it was waiting for him in his cabin, with a polite note thanking him in advance for the favor.
There was already a suspicion at the back of his mind that O’Hara had used him and that the package was something out of the ordinary. From what he had seen of the Rogan family already, there could be little doubt that the contents were of a dubious nature.
He dismissed the subject from his mind for the moment and gazed about him. The mountains were shrouded in mist and visibility was poor, but yet there was a freshness to everything that gladdened the heart, and the air was like new wine. He started to whistle softly between his teeth and urged his mount into a canter as the rain increased in force.
As Kevin Rogan had promised, the track ran for some three miles across the moor and then dipped unexpectedly into a wide valley. Below him in the midst of a clump of old beech trees an ancient, grey stone farmhouse was rooted into the ground.
The place seemed prosperous and in good repair, with neat, well-kept fences to the large paddock. As he cantered down toward it, a woman moved out of the porch, a pail in each hand. She paused and looked toward him, then she put down the pails and stood with one hand shading her eyes.
She was tall and gaunt, her face wrinkled by a lifetime’s care. The hair that showed from beneath the shawl which covered her head was iron grey. She gazed up at him, no expression in her faded blue eyes, and Clay touched the brim of his hat. “Mrs. Rogan?” She nodded and he went on, “My name’s Fitzgerald. Is your husband at home?”
She shook her head, and said in an unfriendly voice, “He’s away for the day.”
“Might I ask when you’re expecting him?” Clay said.
She picked up her pails. “He comes and goes. You’ll be wasting your time if you wait.” Without another word, she turned away and walked across the courtyard to a cow byre.
Clay watched her until she had disappeared inside, a slight frown on his face. Then a voice said quietly from behind, “You mustn’t mind my mother. She doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”
The man who had spoken stood in the doorway of the stables and cleaned his hands on a rag, eyes calm in a lean, intelligent face topped by the familiar Rogan hair.
Clay walked the mare toward him, and smiled. “Dennis, Marteen, and Kevin I’ve met already in that order. Who might you be?”
The other smiled. “I’m Cathal, Colonel. The quiet one of the family. Kevin said you might drop by sometime today.”
“Your father’s not at home, I take it?”
Cathal nodded. “Pressing business in Galway. He and the boys won’t be back until late tonight.”
Clay leaned forward and looked inside the stable door. There were at least thirty horses ranged on both sides in neat stalls, and he whistled softly. “You’ve got some good stuff there.”
“We should have, Colonel. We breed them.” Cathal ran a hand over the mare’s muzzle in a familiar manner and spoke softly to her. “But not one of them to match Pegeen, here.”
Clay raised his eyebrows