Captain Gallagher

Chapter 3

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?"