Sister of Rogues

by Cynthia Breeding

  “Did you find Fiona?”

  Ian held up both hands. “I can only answer one question at a time. Your husband is fine, Abigail.” He turned to Shauna. “How did ye ken Fiona was missing?”

  “Jillian. She sent a messenger here as soon as ye rode to London.”

  “Aye, I should have thought as much. Is Albert around? Or David?”

  “Albert is out on the docks supervising the unloading of a shipment from Norway,” Abigail answered. “David is assisting him. Do you need to speak to them?” Her voice rose slightly. “Something has happened to Shane, hasn’t it?”

  “Nae. Doona fash. ’Tis just that I will be assisting the men for a wee bit since Shane sailed for America.”

  “America?” Shauna and Abigail asked in unison.

  “Aye.”

  Shauna placed her hands on her hips and leveled a look at Ian. “Would ye give us a wee bit more information than that? How Jillian puts up with ye—”

  “Never mind that,” Abigail interrupted. “Why did Shane sail to America?”

  “To find Fiona.”

  Shauna looked at the ceiling. “If ye doona mind, brother, could ye start from the beginning? All we ken is that Jamie thought Fiona had eloped to Gretna, but the riders he hired dinnae find her, so they rode on to Glenfinnan.”

  Abigail leaned over the counter. “What did you find out in London?”

  “’Tis a long story.” Ian looked around the small office. “Does Shane keep a bottle about? ’Twas a long, thirsty ride I had getting here.”

  “Aye.” Shauna retrieved a bottle and a glass from the bottom drawer of the desk and set them on the counter. She then went into the file room and came back with two more glasses. Ian raised a questioning brow and she shook her head. “Doona begin to chastise Abigail and I for joining ye in a dram.”

  “Actually, I have found your uisge beatha steadies one’s nerves,” Abigail added.

  Ian looked from one of them to the other and drained his glass. “Och, well. Jamie allows Mari to drink too.”

  “Allows her?” Shauna laughed. “I doona think Mari gave him much choice.”

  She refilled Ian’s glass. “Now then, can we find out what happened?”

  When he finished relating the events, Shauna added a good measure of whisky to all their drinks and strived to keep her voice calm even though her hands shook. Jillian and Mari both had barely escaped being raped by the man. “If Wesley Alton has abducted Fiona, what makes ye think she’s still alive?” Or even wants to be, Shauna thought, although she didn’t voice it out loud. Who knew—and she couldn’t even imagine—what hideous torture Fiona was having to endure.

  “Ye doona mince words, sister.” Ian swallowed hard. “I think if Alton wanted Fiona dead, we would have found her floating in the Thames. As it was, Shane got descriptions of both of them boarding a ship, which is why he is in pursuit.”

  “Does Shane know where the ship is bound though? The States have many ports.”

  “Luck was with us on that one,” Ian replied. “Twas the New Orleans—”

  “I remember that ship!” Abigail exclaimed. “Captain Henderson put in here last spring with a load of cypress. He seemed like a good man. Why would he agree to take Fiona to America?”

  “Chances are the captain dinnae ken who she was. Shane said the dockworkers thought Fiona was a drunken doxy. Alton is clever. He managed to escape Bedlam and has eluded authorities for over a year. Who kens what story he concocted?”

  “But why abduct Fiona in the first place?” Abigail asked.

  “Because she is a MacLeod,” Ian answered, bitterness in his voice. “The mon hates us all.”

  “But why? Mari said he wanted to marry Jillian at one time, but—”

  Ian frowned. “Jillian looked like Alton’s young stepmother who took him to her bed at an early age—”

  “That is incest!” Abigail gasped.

  “’Tis the way of it.” Ian’s scowl deepened. “Then Jillian was forced into marrying the old marquis—”

  “That made her Wesley Alton’s stepmother too,” Abigail interrupted again.

  “Aye, ’twas a sick notion, but Alton also thought he could legally inherit the title when the old mon died.”

  Abigail’s brows furrowed. “I remember my father talking about that when the marquis cocked up his toes. The prince regent sent a special bill through Parliament because the old marquis had disinherited his son and sent him to France.” She bit her lip, her eyes bright with tears that threatened to spill over. “If he had not returned, perhaps my mother would not be dead.”

  Ian gentled his voice. “Aye, lass. ’Twas a sorry day the bastard was born.”

  “That it was.” Shauna reached for the whisky and poured each of them another dram. “But the mon is alive, barmy as a rabid boar and dangerous to boot—and he has our Fiona.”

  “I just doona have a good feeling about this,” Jamie said as he and Mari had breakfast several mornings after Ian had gone north.

  “How can you?” Mari asked, pushing her coddled eggs around on her plate. “I have had no appetite since Fiona disappeared. I do not know which is worse…not knowing what had happened to her or the fact that Wesley Alton has her on board a boat bound for America.” She put her fork down, food untouched. “I remember how terrified I was when he abducted me.”

  Jamie ground his teeth. The memory of his Mari in the clutches of that madman and how close she had come to being raped still made him see the world in a red haze. And now Fiona had been captured. He clenched his fist so hard he bent the spoon he was holding. Tossing it on the table, he pushed his porridge aside as well. “I should have killed the mon instead of waiting for the authorities.”

  “Then you would be sitting in Newgate or worse,” Mari replied, reaching over to take his hand. “You did the right thing.”

  “The mon is loose. My claymore would have settled the matter.” He scowled at the unoffending bowl of porridge as though it might be at fault somehow. “I havenae forgotten his bastard son, Nicholas, escaped as well.” That memory made his rage white-hot. The damn French painter had sought to ruin Mari’s reputation.

  Mari shuddered, making Jamie instantly contrite, and he put his other hand over hers. “I am sorry, lass. I dinnae mean to make ye remember.”

  “Well, it is over. No doubt Nic…that beast…is back in France preying on other unsuspecting women.”

  Jamie turned a thoughtful gaze on her. “I am nae so sure.”

  Mari looked startled. “You do not think he stayed in London? Surely someone would have recognized him.”

  “I doona ken. Alton used disguises.” Jamie paused, wondering if he should continue. “Ye ken Shane has contacts in France who made inquiries. Neither of them could be found.”

  “He did not get on the boat with Wesley and Fiona. At least, not at the same time, according to the dock workers Shane questioned,” Mari said. “I cannot imagine why Nicholas would remain in London, especially incognito.”

  “Ye have a point. I was thinking…” Jamie paused again and then went on, “…I was thinking maybe the bastard took off for America. He could establish himself as a painter there. Alton would have an ally when the New Orleans arrives.”

  “That makes sense, I suppose,” Mari replied. “Although I still do not see why that nasty man would take Fiona across the sea, instead of just demanding ransom.”

  “Safety,” Jamie answered. “The United States covers a lot of territory. It would be easy to change his name and get lost once the ransom is received.”

  “We have not received a ransom note.”

  “I suspect we will in a few weeks, if Shane is nae successful.” Ransom was the only thing Jamie was confident in. If Alton’s intent had been to kill Fiona, he would have done so before boarding a ship to America. The bastard wanted them to worry, but he also wanted money,
so Fiona’s life would be spared until he got it. Although Alton would not live long enough to spend it. Jamie and Ian would be delivering the request themselves, armed with an assortment of weapons.

  “How will Shane ever find Fiona if the States are so vast?” Mari asked, bringing Jamie back from his fantasy of making Alton’s death a slow one.

  “According to the bill of lading, the New Orleans was bound for Charleston. The Border Lass is fast.”

  Givens interrupted their conversation to inform Jamie one of the Bow Street runners had arrived with a report, and Jamie stood and bent down to give Mari a kiss. “Just in case I am wrong, I doona want ye leaving the house without me. I doona want anything happening to ye. Will ye mind me this once?”

  Mari frowned, but she nodded. “This one time I will.”

  “Good.” Jamie followed Givens into the hall trying—but not succeeding—to shut out the gruesome pictures of what Fiona could be enduring.

  Fiona awoke to the sound of a key turning in the lock. In defense, she started to spring out of bed only to drop back with a groan of pain after last night’s lesson. Muscles in her shoulders and back and legs ached worse than the time she’d fallen into a ravine when she was two-and-ten and hit a few rocks on the way down. Inwardly, she cringed, expecting Ada to appear with some new form of subtle torture.

  Instead, Erin entered, but she did not have the usual bowl of porridge with her. Fiona had a glimpse of Seamus standing in the hallway. Determined not to let him see the pain she was in, she pasted a smile on her face and struggled to sit. “Am I to go down to breakfast this morning?”

  Erin shook her head, her face troubled. “Ada says all of ye are to meet in the courtyard. ’Tis time for the fall weeding and removing of shrubbery brush.”

  So Ada and Seamus intended to have Fiona do manual labor this morning, knowing full well she was stiff and sore after having spent the night stuffed in the matron’s clothes locker. The space was not big enough for a dog and Fiona had been unable to move. When they’d finally released her just before dawn, Fiona had hardly managed to hobble to her room. She’d only had an hour’s worth of sleep, if that.

  She was not overly surprised when Seamus marched her past the small dining room without stopping. The other three women were finishing their porridge and Fiona’s stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning.

  Still, this was an opportunity to make contact with the faerie. Trying not to seem obvious, she made her way toward the bench and bent over gingerly to pull weeds. As she neared the chrysanthemum, the petals began to unfold, allowing her a glimpse of the sprite inside and then Fiona was yanked up by one arm. She squelched a yelp of pain as Ada pushed her toward the holly bushes near one of the towers.

  “These need removing,” the matron said. “I want ye to tear them out, including all the roots. Ye will not have lunch until the work is done.”

  Fiona looked at the shiny leaves with their sharp, pointed edges. Knowing the question was futile, she asked anyway. “Do ye have a pair of gloves I might use?”

  Ada laughed and walked away.

  Turning back to the shrubbery, Fiona grabbed a branch and gave a tug. Nothing happened. She tugged again, feeling the plant slip out of her hands. On her third attempt, the roots loosened slightly. It took several more tries before she could actually pull the plant out of the earth. By that time, her hands were scratched and beginning to blister. Fiona eyed the remaining three bushes, wondering how she’d manage to remove them before her hands were raw and bleeding. She glanced around. The other three women were tearing at weeds. Lona turned toward her once, only to have Ada bark out a command to keep her attention focused on what she was doing. Fiona studied the walls and the four towers but could detect no faces in the windows that faced the courtyard. Was Kier in the castle? Had he approved this work? If only Fiona could get near the chrysanthemum…

  She felt something brush the hem of her skirt. Looking down, she saw nothing at first and then blinked as the dense foliage seemed to move. Carefully, she separated several branches, expecting to find rats or perhaps a badger.

  Instead, three tiny men, their green clothing blending in with the leaves, grinned at her. Hardly higher than a hand’s width, they industrially tugged at the roots of the bushes, loosening them for her. One pushed a broken branch toward her, indicating she should take it. With clarity as sure as if one of them had spoken, she understood. The leprechauns were giving her a weapon. She maneuvered herself to block Ada’s view and then slipped the limb under her gown, securing it with the rope that served as a belt for the shapeless dress…the same rope that had been used to tie her hands behind her last night. Now it served a better purpose. “Go raibh maith agat,” she whispered, but the leprechauns had vanished and didn’t hear her thanks.

  Fiona pulled the de-rooted holly out of the ground and laid it in front of her. As she did so, she saw something sparkle in the dirt. Under the loose earth lay a wealth of gold coins. Carefully pocketing them, she straightened. Now she had money and a weapon…It was a start.

  Kier blinked against the bright light slanting in his third-floor window and sat up in bed. Jesu, it must be near lunch if the sun was that high. He always woke shortly after dawn, although last night he’d gotten home shortly before dawn.

  He swung his legs over the edge and reached for his breeches. Last night had not gone well. The group that had gathered at the crypt had been larger than intended…large enough to draw the interest of a constable patrolling near Christ Church. Daniel O’Connell’s monster meetings had been banned and the English aristocracy that remained in Ireland looked with suspicion on gatherings of more than a handful of people. To make matters worse, about half of the men favored resurrecting the Society of United Irishmen, whose open and bloody rebellion had led to the hated Act of Union. Daniel preferred to use his barrister skills to negotiate for Catholic seats in London’s Parliament. The goal of Irish independence was becoming very muddled.

  Pushing political thoughts aside, Kier realized how much he looked forward to seeing Fiona at lunch today. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. Having slept most of the morning away, he’d have to hurry if he wanted to shave and bathe before going downstairs to see her.

  Kier yanked the door-pull that would ring a bell downstairs, signaling Seamus to bring hot water for the wooden hipbath in his room. Instead, Erin and Brena arrived a short time later, each struggling with two buckets. Kier stepped forward and relieved them of their burdens. “Why did Seamus not bring these?”

  Brena darted a look at Erin, who hesitated and then replied. “He is in the courtyard guarding the…guests.”

  Kier frowned. “What are the women doing in the courtyard at this hour? They do not take their exercise until after the midday meal.”

  Erin exchanged glances with Brena before answering. “I think Ada wanted some weeds pulled.”

  “I see,” Kier said and dismissed the girls. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt for them to do some light gardening. Unfortunately, the room he’d chosen after his mother’s death didn’t offer a courtyard view or he would have enjoyed watching Fiona from afar.

  Lona, Kathleen and Dulcee were already seated when he entered the small dining room a short time later. Before he could ask where Fiona was, he saw Ada leading her past the door. He stepped toward them. “Where are you taking Mrs. MacLeod?”

  “She got herself dirty pulling a few weeds,” Ada said. “’Tis not fitting to sit at a table filthy.”

  “Nonsense. The food will be cold if Mrs. MacLeod has to change clothing.” He gestured to Fiona. “Please join us.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Fiona pulled her arm a bit stiffly from Ada’s grasp and limped to the table, taking a seat at the other end. Kier frowned, wondering if she’d turned her ankle outside. He had intended to have her sit next to him, but Dulcee occupied one of those seats, her empty gaze fixed
on the wall, and Kathleen slid quickly to the other available one, leaving no room. Kier didn’t want to call attention to the seating arrangement, so he sat down and nodded to Erin to begin serving the food.

  Kathleen smiled at him. “I did so enjoy my stroll in the gardens this morning. It was quite refreshing to see the servants…” she waved vaguely toward Fiona and Lona, “…do some work for once.” Kathleen lowered her lashes and glanced at Kier coyly. “My lord husband was not present. I would have appreciated your company.”

  By St. Patrick. The last thing he needed was for the woman to flirt with him. “I had business to attend to, Kathleen,” he said in a tone that he hoped would end the matter. Kier fully expected Lona to launch a verbal retribution. Instead, she concentrated on her food, ignoring Kathleen totally.

  Something was wrong.

  Kier glanced around the table. Although Dulcee rarely spoke, Fiona seemed unusually subdued as well. Her face was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes as though she had not slept. Her appetite appeared fine—she was eating everything Erin had placed in front of her—but her movements were constrained and her body tense. Kier noticed Lona giving Fiona furtive looks as well.

  What was going on?

  The meal continued quietly, save for Kathleen’s prattling about London balls she’d attended just last year. Kier suspected she’d never been out of Dublin, but he let her talk, nodding occasionally without really listening. Fiona looked exhausted, much like Lona had after the purging. Kier drew his brows together. The women had all been locked in their rooms when he’d left last night, he was sure of it. He had even paused in the passageway outside Fiona’s room on his way to the tower and heard her rustling about. Erin had said the women spent this morning in the courtyard, so there hadn’t been time for Fiona to have been taken over to the asylum for any treatments.

  Kier laid down his napkin abruptly and stood. “Mrs. MacLeod. I should like to see you in the library.”

  Fiona turned startled eyes on him and Ada cleared her throat. “Mrs. MacLeod is filthy. Ye do not want her spreading dirt in—”