Mark of the Damned is a registered work and its copyright is enforceable by law. Any attempt to exploit my work(s) for profit is illegal and will result in immediate legal action.
Note: This is a standalone story, but was written as a tie-in / origin story to The Playlist series. Enjoy!
© Myranda Rae 2023. All Rights Reserved.
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Come Away to the Water by Maroon 5
I won't do it.
Call me selfish or cold-hearted, call me uncaring and callous. I won't do it. I cannot.
Viscount O'Clery is rich, owning half of the homes in Wicklow, but he's nearly forty-five! I won't marry him. His thin greasy hair is always slicked to his head and his wispy mustache is unkept, often hanging over his lips. I can't imagine his narrow, slimy lips being my very first kiss.
Sneaking into the barn, I pull the smallest saddle into Clover's stall. I'm already stealing my father's fastest horse, I shouldn't take one of the better saddles, too.
Clicking my tongue, I pull her out into the misty early morning air. "Come on, girl."
Mounting the tight, uncomfortable saddle, I quietly steer her toward the fields. I can't risk anyone seeing me. The roads are too dangerous until I get far enough away from anyone acquainted with my family.
Father says it's my duty as a daughter. I need to help my family. I have to marry the Viscount so that my younger sisters will find themselves in a more advantageous position when it comes time for them to marry. I tried. I really did. I plastered a fake smile on my face and went to his manor for a meal.
In the brief moment we were alone, he pinned me against the wall with his boney, cold hand on my neck. He told me he couldn't wait to fill my cunt. He wanted children immediately. At least five of them, all boys.
I'm not educated on reproduction and childbearing, not really, but I know what every woman knows. Still, I don't believe I can control whether or not we have sons. If it had been up to them, my parents would not have had only four daughters.
The way his tongue swiped over his thin lips, the smell of his skin. I couldn't bear it. The mere thought of it, three weeks later, has a nauseous pit forming in my stomach.
I can't marry him.
So, I'm running away.
It will take at least two days on horseback to get to the harbor in Dublin. I'm not sure what I will do when I get there but I don't have time to think, I need to go now.
The tall, wet grass whips at my ankles as Clover runs toward my salvation. It's as if even she knows the dire circumstances of our departure. She's running fast and quiet, understanding that my life depends on it. All my future happiness is wrapped up in this escape.
I've never made this trip on my own. As it stands I've only been to Dublin twice. The fear that I'll lose my way keeps my body uncomfortably rigid. My muscles tense, in a constant state of high alert.
As the sun rises behind the thick clouds, I can see the muddy road that will take me to Greystones. If I make it there, I can relax.
Adjusting my hood and tucking my head down, I urge Clover on. We're still far too close to home. The chimneys of the houses we pass spill smoke into the sky, and people are waking up. Any one of them could see me. My father and the Viscount won't take my departure lightly. I expect the search will be extensive.
I want to disappear like the morning fog. No traces left behind. One minute I was home in my bed then I was gone, never to be seen again. Leave no leads to follow. That is the only way I truly escape.
"Run, Clover, go!" I beg her.
Mud from the road splashes up against us, covering my legs and skirt. I haven't had time to care about the chill and dampness in the air. The mud and wet haze seep into my clothes, freezing me down to the bone.
Pressing forward, I ignore everything but the long road ahead. If I focus, even for a moment, on the brittle cold in my fingers and how difficult it's becoming to hold the reins, I will be able to think of nothing else.
As the hours pass, the saddle digs into my thighs, chaffing and bruising. Shifting uncomfortably, I push through. Each step brings me closer to freedom, closer to a life of possibilities. I'm heading toward a real future. I have the chance to be more than Ferris Dubhghall's daughter or Seamus O'Cleary's wife.
Maybe I can sail to the Americas.
Thoughts of the adventures to come keep me company as we walk until dark. Silly, childish ideas of travel and excitement fill my head. Daydreams about a life filled with passion and romance.
A marriage for love is rare but I long for it. I imagine any life, no matter the circumstances, would feel worthwhile with true love.
Under the cover of darkness, I pull Clover from the road, hiding in the thicket. Bringing hay was not an option so we share apples and carrots in the scratchy brush.
The ground is cold and the night is full of sounds that make it impossible to sleep. Birds and small animals, the wind whistling through the leaves, the occasional snap of a twig, everything is frightening. Pulling my shaw around my face, I nestle into the mud, exhausted but too restless to drift off.
The sound of hooves against the ground wakes me just before dawn. My body aches and moans from cold and a night on rocky ground. Peering out from my hidden place in the leaves, I listen for any noise. The rider passed by quickly, leaving me alone again.
For a moment, my heart stopped beating. I was sure that I was caught. That my father had managed to find me even with my lead and faster horse.
Unable to shake the nervous feeling, I pull Clover out of the brush and start our journey before the sun. The better part of the morning is spent looking over my shoulder. Each person that passes by on the trail seems menacing. They're all plotting against me. Paranoia has settled into my chest, weighing heavily on my lungs.
The closer I get to Dublin, the busier the road becomes. People are coming and going in both directions on the narrow path. With my hood up and my head tucked down, I keep myself covered from passersby.
My breath catches in my throat as galloping hooves thunder down the road toward me.
"Clover, go," I force her forward.
My heart pounds in my chest as I push her as fast as she can run. I'm filled with dread as the city comes into view. I'm so close to freedom that I can almost taste it. If I can make it there, I can hide, get lost in the crowds. But I have to make it there first.
The rider approaches, his horse gaining on us with ease.
Fear bubbles up in my throat and I start to scream as I'm sure he's about to reach out and grab me.
"Get the fuck out of the way, lass," he snarls as he passes by me, his horse kicking mud across my face.
I shrink back, my cheeks heating with embarrassment as I slow Clover down to a trot.
We made it.
The thrill of city life is almost impossible to ignore. Thick tendrils of black smoke billow into the sky from scattered factories. Carriages and people crowd the filthy streets buying bread, meat, and fish from merchants. The bustling storefronts, bakeries, seamstresses, and tailors sprawl as far as the eye can see.
I'm caught up in the excitement. Wicklow has one general store and one pub. I've passed two pubs already within minutes of arriving here. Shop windows are filled with beautiful dresses made of fabrics so stunning, I have to stop Clover to take a look.
Pushing on, through the center of town and toward the water, I finally see it. The harbor. Ships large and small line the docks, loading and unloading goods. Weathered men in tattered clothes toss barrels and crates from below deck to the waiting arms of dockworkers.
In awe, I watch as the closest ship unloads brown sacks creating a wall of supplies along the pier.
The line of ships and cargo seems neverending. As far as I can see there are men and goods. A wooden pen with horses and cattle catches my eye. My heart aches as I approach the man bucking hay into the animals. I know I have to sell her, I can't take her with me. Knowing doesn't make it any less painful.
"Excuse me, sir. I have a horse for sale."
He stops, eyeing me for a moment before an oily smile plays on his lips. He steps forward, grabbing the reins while he inspects her.
"I'll give you ten punt."
"Ten?" I can hardly believe my ears! "She's a purebred Connemara! She is worth more than ten punt!"
"I'll give you twelve for the saddle and the horse, final offer," he turns back, hurling a bail of hay into the stall.
Looking around, I search for anyone else who might want to buy a horse. He can't be the only man dealing cattle and livestock in Dublin!
"If you're lookin' for someone else to sell to, you won't find anyone. Not here, at least. You can go outside of the city," he turns back to his task.
Two policemen are walking along the docks, heading in our direction. I'm gripped with panic at the mere sight of them. Logically, there is no way for them to know that I'm selling a stolen horse but I can't slow my racing heart. I need to get on a ship before my frayed nerves do me in.
"O-Okay, twelve punt." I run my hand over Clover's neck. Leaning in, with my face pressed to hers, I whisper for only her to hear. "Take care of yourself, girl. I will too."
Though it's nowhere near what she is worth it's still the most money I've ever held in my hand. Stuffing it into my bag, I spot a longshoreman checking inventory.
"Excuse me," I call to him just as he starts to scream.
"Who left these bloody ropes here?" His shrill yell catches me off guard. He calls out, rambling angrily over items not put away and unmarked inventory. I search for someone else to ask but he is the only person now running here and there or carrying heavy cargo.
"Sir?" I step forward again.
"What?" He snaps as he spins around.
"I was wondering if you might point me in the direction of a sea captain."
He snorts out a bitter laugh, "You won't find any of those around here." His arm juts out as he points. "The Brazen Head, that's where they'll be."
"Thank you," I turn to leave but he grabs my arm.
"Make sure they have a captain's pin." He warns me, his eyes moving up, over my dress.
"A captain's pin?"
"Yes," he points to his lapel. "A simple circle pin with an anchor on their jacket. A captain will always have one. He wears it proudly. No pin, not a captain, understand?"
"Yes. Thank you," I hurry away as he starts to yell again about clearing the decks, whatever that means.
I follow a group of merchant marine sailors in the direction he pointed. They are obviously excited to be on land and have loudly stated their intentions for spending the rest of the night at 'The Brazen Head.'
The alley smells strongly of urine and rats run through the waste and garbage in broad daylight. Clutching my hood tightly, I bury my nose in the fabric. It's daytime but it feels dark down here. I should take this as a sign to look elsewhere, but I don't have time to be picky.
Loud, raucous laughter and yelling can be heard before the door is pulled open. Walking into the dingy pub after the group of excited men, I'm met with a bar full of drunken sailors.
Taking a deep breath, I ignore the stares and do what I came to do. It's time to find a captain.
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