The edge of the pale by maureen kieran

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The Edge of the Pale

Maureen Kieran

ISBN: 1-905451-29-6

978-1-905451-29-6

Price: €15.00

Sterling Price: £10.00

About the Book

In South Armagh the winter of 1689-90 was likely to be remembered for a long time. Frost and snow started in November and by the 24th March snow still clung to the top of Slieve Gullion an ever-present sign of more to come. Martha Owen pulled a skimpy shawl round her thin shoulders and tightened the threadbare bonnet when a sharp and strong gust of wind caught her off guard. The mist and early twilight added to her confusion, after all she knew all the roads; so purposefully putting her head down she forced her ill clad feet to move faster. How far more must she go? It was already late afternoon but she could see nothing that looked familiar or let her know if she was near the place she hoped would be salvation.

About the Author

Maureen Kieran was born in South Armagh. Her parents came from Louth.

‘I grew up in Forkhill, attended the convent school in Newry. All our family were passionately interested in local history.’

“The Edge of the Pale” has been written out of my great love for my country.

Sample Excerpts

CHAPTER 1

Turning a bend on the muddy road she almost cried out in joy and relief as a rider was coming towards her. Thinking for a second how she must look Martha made an attempt to drag the hair from her face praying the on comer would stop if only to tell her where she was. As the horse thundered closer; too late she knew it wasn’t going to stop, raising and waving like some mad scarecrow she tried to draw attention but no, this man must stop for nothing if his important journey to Dundalk was completed before dusk. The last thing Martha saw was the horse rear over her and heard the rider swear as she was flung to the side. James Darcey sat for a few seconds on his horse trying to calm it. How unusual for a peasant woman to approach a gentleman in such a manner! Where was she now? Glancing round he could see no sign of her. It gave him a peculiar feeling, had he imagined it? Could it be a sign of some danger to come? Laughing at himself for having such foolish thoughts he got ready to gallop off. It was then that he heard a whimpering sound coming from his left side, and as he was well used to the cry of a trapped animal, he felt sure that was what it was. Angry at the thought of poachers having the cheek to come on his father’s land caused him to leap off his grey mare and almost hurled himself on to what he was sure to be an animal trap. James Darcey had lived a fairly wide and varied life having been on several military campaigns in most countries of Europe. He had seen everything life could throw at him, or so the thinking in his mind was, as with most young soldiers but nothing had prepared him for what he was looking at. Lying twisted with her eyes open and staring, was the woman. She was dead. She had to be dead. Most of her head was smashed but the noise! What in God’s name was this unnatural sound? Then he saw her apron move, or did he? In one movement he cleared the ditch and knelt beside the mangled body.

He was used to the sights and smells of the battlefield but on this quiet road at Sleive Gullion’s foot the sight of the woman repulsed him, even for a few seconds he allowed himself to feel guilt – could he, should he have stopped in time? No, of course he could not; the woman had appeared out of the gloom like some strange bird. There was nothing he could have done.

As he bent to shift her apron and frock he could not help but notice that the one side of her body which had not been under the horses feet was elegant with long braids of reddish hair lying on what remained of her head. As his hand pulled her clothes to see what she had been hiding it never crossed his mind this was something he ought not to do. All he could see was a thief on his family’s land. “What are we hiding here?” he spat out, throwing the apron and tattered clothes into the hedge. “Jesus Christi” he gasped through white clenched lips as he steadied his weak hands. More than any sight he had had in his well-travelled life he was seeing something beyond belief. The thin leg of the young woman was lying on top of a baby which was about three quarter way out of her mangled body.