Page 13 - Archangel

legacy of celtic courage

As Skye shivered in despair at that memory and Rory etched every word
and detail into his heart, the Irish Nationalist sighed deeply and comforted
Skye with, “If you and Sean are right and there is a heaven, Sean is in it.
And from what he shared, you had saved his life several times before and
nearly died doing it, you did. ‘Highlander’ he called you. For courage,
sacrifice, why? When your own people have been fuggin’ Yanks for
two centuries?”
Breathing deeply and refocusing, Rory continued, “I don’t know or care
if you saved our Sean because you’re daft, deranged, or a hero. Just that
you did, and more than once. And I swear to you those bastards who took
life away from our Sean are dead men walking.”
A silence descending between the two, Rory stared at the enigmatic
and muscular 5’10“, long haired humanitarian aid worker who remained
entranced and peering into the grave like a banshee. He remembered
Sean’s letters mentioning MacIain with descriptions bordering on the
bizarre. The Georgian, a kilt-wearing Donald clansman, sympathized with
the IRA’s goal, if not all their methods, for a United Ireland.
Skye was descended from Jacobite Highlanders who fled for the
Colonies to later fight and defeat the bloody English for American
Independence, inheriting their burning desire for a free and independent
and Scotland. MacIain’s grandmother taught him and his siblings Gaelic
through childhood fairy tales. Since his birth, Skye’s curly haired, blue
eyed, freckled sister played bagpipes in a Saint Patricks Day parade larger
than Dublin’s, featuring the city’s own Sinn Fein representative and float.
Who would have thought Savannah, Georgia had entire squares named
after martyred Irish nationalists, and a Saint Andrews Society circa 1737
whose Jacobite members and monument memorialized the Scots’ ‘fight
against English oppression?’ Rory hoped it all aided his request.
Impatiently interrupting MacIain from his mourning, Rory reloaded and
pleaded, “I am asking that Skye, Sean’s life saver and best mate, help us
avenge his death. For Christ’s sake, . . .”
Before he could continue, one of Rory’s younger siblings approached
and whispered, “Time to go, Dearthair” [Brother, Gaelic].” He then subtly
nodded northward at the arrival of English–controlled Northern Ireland
Gardai police who mandated the Collins brothers’ immediate departure.

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