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A Man of Honor

Barbara Taylor Bradford
Chapters (71)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. Part One
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Part Two
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Part Three
  38. Thirty-Three
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Part Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Part Five
  61. Fifty-Four
  62. Fifty-Five
  63. Fifty-Six
  64. Fifty-Seven
  65. Fifty-Eight
  66. Fifty-Nine
  67. Sixty
  68. Sixty-One
  69. Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
  70. About the Author
  71. Newsletter Sign-up

Copyright Notice

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Dedication

To the memory of my beloved husband,

my darling Bob. Always my joy and

inspiration and in my heart forever.

Part One

FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE

NORTH KERRY, IRELAND

1899

One

It was very windy on the top of the cliffs. He hadn’t expected that, to be sure. And it was a strong wind that buffeted him forward. It was as if two strong hands were pushing him. Mighty hands at that.

He staggered and flayed about, and attempted to stay upright. Somehow he managed to do so, but he was suddenly afraid. The cliff top was a dangerous place to be on this cold morning.

It was Monday, May the eighth, in the Year of Our Lord 1899, yet despite the month, the weather was icy. What bad luck he had in choosing to come here. Daft, I am, he thought, that’s a certainty.

His bright mind was racing, as he continued to be battered about, and so he threw himself on the ground, deeming it the best place to be as this gale raged around him.

Once down on the ground, he began to crawl across the grass, heading for the formation of boulders grouped together. He knew these cliffs well, and there was a crevice between them. He could squeeze in there and be protected until the wind settled down or disappeared. If I be lucky, he thought miserably.

It was some relief when he reached the rocks and managed to get comfortable in the crevice. Sitting back, he pulled his overcoat around him and stuck his hands in his pockets. Although he was still shivering, being sheltered from the wind helped. He warmed up a bit.

His name was Shane Patrick Desmond O’Neill, but the whole world called him Blackie. He lived in a hamlet in North Kerry, these days with his cousins Michael and Siobhan O’Brien. They had invited him to come and live with them in their cramped thatched cottage after his sister, Bronagh, had died a few months ago.

The twins were employed by the wealthy Anglo-Irish Lassiter family, who lived in the mansion up on the hill above the hamlet. As Shane huddled against the rocks, his thoughts stayed with his cousins.