The woman remained silent, but Lucas could perceive that her wariness had diminished somewhat.
"You just stay hidden away at home?" she abruptly asked. Her voice was rough and husky, bearing little distinction from that of a man, perhaps owing to a habitual imitation.
Lucas arched an eyebrow, casting her a questioning gaze.
"You are a coward," she disdainfully uttered.
Lucas had once hunted bears single-handedly; only a few years ago, on the other side of the Channel, he had also witnessed battlefields drenched in rivers of blood. Perhaps it was just because of this that he showed no slightest sulk at the accusations of the person before him whom he had just rescued.
He didn''t argue back, but pondered for a moment before saying, "Must I die for the Goddess Sovereignty in your poetry to be considered a brave man? I have a wife, I have a daughter, I have a family. My wife would smile at me, waiting for me to bring back deer for them to eat. My child is but this high, with blonde hair, tugging at my trousers, asking me to tell her stories. I love them. As for that Ireland you depict, the poor old woman who lost her land, the disloyal wife who threw herself into the arms of the British, the bad mother who abandoned her own children, I don''t know them, they are far from me. I just want to live, to well protect my wife, my daughter. What is wrong with that?"
"Do they need your protection?" The woman seemed to be infuriated. Suddenly, she stood up from the table and walked towards Lucas, who was leaning against the cupboard. Her square jaw tightened firmly. "Irish women are not widows living in disgrace, not docile maidens waiting to be rescued by you from the arms of the British. An Irish woman is me. An Irish woman stands before you. These are her hands, hands that have wielded sickles, wielded axes, fired guns. With these hands, she has held you. With these hands, she has killed."
Lucas looked down at her outstretched hands and asked, "You''re not talking about killing on the battlefield, are you?"
"No," she replied expressionlessly. "The person I killed was my own son. He had just been born a few days ago. I used this hand to cover his tiny mouth, and soon, he stopped crying."
Lucas s