Sister of Rogues

by Cynthia Breeding

  “Where are ye from?”

  “Town of Cobh, County Cork,” Erin answered in the same proud tone.

  “Is it a pretty place?”

  Erin nodded enthusiastically. “’Tis full of lush, green valleys and wondrous rivers and coast.”

  “It sounds like my home in Glenfinnan,” Fiona said. “Only we are bordered by mountains. The glens are green though, and Loch Shiel gleams silver in the sun.”

  The maids exchanged wary glances again. “Did I say something wrong?” Fiona asked. “I have no wish to insult ye.”

  Erin and Brena both shook their heads so quickly that Fiona knew she’d said the wrong thing, but she didn’t know why. “Have ye heard of the Highlands?”

  Brena nodded and reached for the door knob.

  “We can come back for the water later,” Erin said, and they were gone, the door locked again behind them.

  Fiona sank onto the bed. What had she said? She’d only spoken the truth. Where did they think she was from?

  More importantly, how could she get Kier to believe her? How could she get him to understand something she didn’t understand herself? She still had no idea who Walter Avery was, why he had brought her to Ireland or why he would concoct such a massive string of lies.

  Tears stung her eyes. She was all alone. During her first two weeks held here, she’d thought her brothers would come for her—that a ransom note had been sent. After the third week, Fiona had realized that hadn’t happened, but she still held the foolish hope that Ian and Jamie would know where to look, which was madness itself. She had disappeared from a ball after her partner had been assaulted. Did her brothers think her dead by now? And her sisters? How were they faring? Both Bridget and Shauna were sensible, but this whole thing made no sense.

  Resolutely, she dried her tears with the towel and put on the clean gown Erin had brought. She would find a way out of this. She would. Fiona reached under the bed to retrieve the club and coins. She would have to hide them until she could plot a way out.

  The room was barren, the only possible hiding place the armoire. It was empty save for the tattered ball gown, her shawl and an extra blanket. Opening the door, the piece of furniture wobbled slightly. Wrapping the club in the blanket, Fiona tucked the coins into a bottom corner and then paused, looking at the door.

  She might not be able to get out, but maybe she could assure no one could get in. The armoire wasn’t very heavy since it was empty. Maybe she could push it in front of the door, barring entrance for the night. The last thing Fiona wanted was another unexpected visit from Ada and Seamus.

  Moving to the side of the armoire, Fiona pressed her shoulder to it, bent her knees and used her thighs to push—a technique for latching doors in strong winds that Shane had taught her when she’d insisted on learning how to sail three years ago.

  She managed to nudge it a little. Huffing in exasperation, she looked around the room for something to give her leverage. A small scatter rug lay on the floor beside the bed. Maybe if she could slide it under the armoire, she could drag the cabinet along.

  Getting the rug under one end took a little longer than she’d anticipated, but the armoire slid easily when she got it done. So easily that she stumbled and reached out for the wall, only to encounter nothing but air. Barely managing to keep herself upright by grabbing the edge of the cabinet, Fiona stared into a gaping black hole in the wall behind it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fiona stared into the recess, a thrill of discovery coursing through her. She should have remembered old castles often contained secret passageways for nobles to escape if under attack—which meant this one might lead to a way out.

  She could hardly contain her excitement as she tugged the armoire fully in front of the chamber door to block access and returned to the hole to poke her head inside. Directly across, another hole opened in the wall of the bedroom next to hers, a heavy object covering its entry. Fiona didn’t think anyone was housed in that room. On her right was a narrow passageway. A rickety railing to the left was all that protected her from dropping off into empty space. A lingering odor of damp mold drifted upward. Water dripped from somewhere. Cautiously, Fiona placed one foot on the planks, testing the strength. The wood groaned, but it didn’t give way. She peered into the blackness, unable to see more than a few feet. Glancing back to the oil lamp, Fiona thought about removing it from the wall, but how would she explain a broken hinge in the morning if she did not find a door leading out?

  The passageway was narrow enough that she could place one hand on either wall to guide herself through the dark. Encountering slime on the stone walls at first touch, Fiona cringed and then straightened her shoulders. What did she expect from a castle that was even older than Ian’s? She made her way forward, the light becoming dimmer with each step until she moved into total darknesspitch. Unable to see her hand in front of her face, Fiona felt the walls closing in, the air becoming thick, enfolding her. Lifting her foot, she had the sensation of stepping into nothingness. Slowly, she inched ahead, the solid feel of the walls comforting in spite of the sticky substance clinging to them. Something scurried in front of her—a mouse, or more likely a rat, and she halted. Fiona didn’t like rodents, but she was determined nothing was going to stop her. Determinedly, she moved on, only to cry out when her left hand reached into open space.

  Keeping her hand braced against the right wall, Fiona slid the toe of her slipper tentatively forward and gasped when her foot slipped off an edge. Did this passageway lead nowhere? It could just be a hidey-hole. Those were common enough in old castles. Or had the wooden planks rotted and given way? Fiona stretched her left arm, sweeping it around but encountering nothing but air. Her right hand still felt solid wall, but she dared not move too much farther, not being able to see anything. She lifted her foot to swing it about, but the movement made her dizzy in the total blackness. Fiona stepped back, grasping the walls again until she felt her balance restored. She was on the second floor—dropping one story might be feasible if only she knew what she would land on. She couldn’t risk breaking a bone, or worse, not being found until she was dead.

  Muffling an oath her brothers often used, Fiona found her way back to her room. Once inside, she contemplated leaving the armoire where it was, safely barricading her door. Then she looked at the gaping hole in the wall. The armoire wasn’t so heavy that Seamus and Ada couldn’t push it aside if they tried hard, and if they did, they would see the hole. Better to keep its existence hidden for now. With a sigh, Fiona slid the cabinet back to its original spot.

  That passageway could be Fiona’s way out of here. She just needed to find out what lay at the end…and for that, she would need a candle at least.

  There were candles aplenty in the dining rooms, but they would be missed if she were even able to steal one. However, Kier had candles in his library too. She remembered the soft glow of them catching the midnight fire in his eyes when he’d kissed her. She blocked out her feelings about that kiss. Kier had made it abundantly clear he did not want to partake of more.

  Still…somehow she would find a way to visit his library again.

  When Ada unlocked the door the next morning dressed in a warm coat and muffler, Fiona tensed. Where was she being taken? Had she somehow been heard dragging the armoire across the floor? With a sinking sensation in her stomach, she realized there were faint tracks on the dusty wood. Lord, would Ada find the passageway? Fiona forced herself not to look at in the direction of the armoire. Instead, she rose from the hard-backed chair by the window and waited, mindful not to clench her hands into fists, even though she longed to be holding the club.

  Ada’s face looked like a dark cloud ready to unleash a storm. Fiona scanned her memory, trying to remember her talk with Kier. Had she said something that could have caused him to question Ada regarding the holly bushes? Fiona had tried not to place blame, knowing all too well the repercussions. Her memo
ry failed to recall the conversation—or at least, anything that had been said after Kier’s kiss.

  “Master O’Reilly says ye are to work in the courtyard this morn,” Ada said with a sneer. “I intend to make sure that ye do work.”

  Fiona breathed a sigh of relief. Thank the saints and faeries. She was going to be allowed some freedom. Kier may think her a lunatic, but at least he had allowed her this. Ada glowered at her and Fiona quickly assumed a passive expression. It would not do to let the matron think she wanted to work outside. As it was, Ada seemed torn between not letting her out of the room and making sure she didn’t enjoy being out.

  Fiona picked up her shawl from the bed. “I am ready.”

  “Ye won’t be needing that.”

  She laid it down. The November air would be chilly, but nothing compared to gusty Highland winds blowing in from Iceland. Fiona could easily warm herself up pulling weeds. Besides, the more docile and agreeable she appeared, the less Ada would suspect anything. “As ye wish.”

  Ada narrowed her eyes but stepped aside to let Fiona precede her. Once outside, she pointed to the garden plot that hadn’t been touched yesterday. “The entire thing needs to be dug up.”

  “Aye.” The area was fairly good-sized since once it had been meant to sustain the inhabitants of the castle in times of drought or even siege. Parts were now overgrown with weeds and the dried leaves and stalks of summer vegetables. Fiona figured it would take several days to clear it completely. Several days would give her a chance to look for an escape route.

  “Mind ye get the roots out,” Ada barked.

  “Aye,” Fiona said again. A hoe and small trowel lay on the stone bench near what she had termed the faerie plant. She wondered if Kier had put them there or if the faerie had something to do with it. As she got closer, she also noticed a pair of gloves.

  Ada made a disgruntled sound when Fiona picked up the gloves, but she didn’t forbid her using them. Kier must have given her instructions. Fiona kept her smile to herself, but she wasn’t particularly surprised to see the faerie peek out from the mum petals to give her a wink.

  Half-expecting Ada to stay next to her, Fiona was relieved when the matron took herself to a sunny spot on one of the benches and sat down. Not being closely scrutinized gave Fiona more opportunity to study possible ways out. She’d already seen the towers at each corner had no doors, and the ones opening into the courtyard from the separate wings obviously led into interior halls. Fiona had no idea how the side wings were laid out or what kind of rooms were there, since the women were led down the steps and through the courtyard to the front hall where the dining rooms were located. Still, there were doors…

  A soft humming sound attracted her attention. Fiona put her gloves down and parted some weeds. To her delight, several faeries danced beneath the overgrowth, their translucent wings shimmering as rays of sun filtered through the leaves. Fiona cast a sideways glance toward Ada, but the matron was bundled up, paying no attention. Fiona kneeled, holding out her hands. The faeries giggled and flew to her fingers, spreading faerie dust across her hands. Then they spun into a vortex of iridescent colours and dissolved into mist.

  “Go raibh maith agat,” Fiona said to the disappearing mist. “Many thanks.” And then she got to work, the magical dust on her hands making her fingers fly.

  Kier watched the activity in the courtyard from a third-story window. He stood a safe distance back where Fiona—or Ada—could not see him if either of them looked up. He had given the matron specific orders that Fiona—and the other women if they wished it—was to be allowed into the courtyard for more than one hour a day. When he’d last talked to Fiona, he’d realized how confining it must be to spend so much time locked inside a room that was bereft of substance.

  Kier had also left instructions to allow Fiona to work in the courtyard if she chose to—and made sure the garden tools and gloves were laid out. He wondered now if Ada had given Fiona a choice.

  She glanced upward at his room and he stepped back into the shadows, not wanting her to see him, although she really had no idea that he was there. He probably shouldn’t be watching her at all—the act was certainly not allowing him to keep his mind off her—but Kier wanted to make sure Fiona was not being abused by Ada. At least, that was what he kept trying to convince himself he was doing.

  He should be in the library preparing notes for tonight’s meeting at the Kildare Street Club. Finley had told him about two recent French arrivals to Dublin who might be interested in supporting the Irish cause. France, although in the midst of recovery from the Napoleonic wars, had come to the aid of Wolf Tone’s rebellion some years ago, albeit they had arrived too late.

  Kier turned his attention back to Fiona. She appeared to be studying the walls, her gaze lingering on the doors set into each wing. He hoped she was not thinking of an escape—that her reason for wanting to work in the courtyard was not a ruse. Anyone caught trying to escape would be taken to the main asylum and a less-risky inmate sent to him. Knife-like pain sliced through him at the thought. Kier told himself it was only because conditions were much worse at the asylum and didn’t have anything to do with her not being in his home.

  No. He just didn’t want her to be harmed. The memory of Fiona’s soft hands, cut and bleeding from the holly, still infuriated him. There had been no need to cause her pain. He remembered how stoic she had been, not flinching when he’d cleaned those tender hands with whiskey. He also remembered how Fiona’s breasts had risen as she’d inhaled sharply when he’d brushed a kiss across her knuckles…and he most definitely remembered the taste of her delicious mouth and the way she had responded to him.

  Damnation. After Lady Jane Clare, Kier had vowed he’d allow himself no feelings for another woman. They couldn’t be trusted. Sincere declarations of faithfulness—at least on his part—had led to his financial ruin. Lady Jane Claire had sworn Kier’s investment was safe and then she’d run off with the financier to America.

  The dire need for money since he’d been attacked while searching for her was what had led Kier to accepting inmates from the asylum. The cutthroats had even stripped him of his grandfather’s ring before leaving him for dead in an alley.

  Before Fiona, the only interest he’d expressed in any of the women sent to his home was whether their conditions mimicked his mother’s at all. If he hadn’t spent so much time courting Lady Jane Clair, maybe he would have taken more notice of his mother’s decline into the melancholy that had taken her life.

  Melancholy. Kier frowned as he observed Fiona pick up the tools and move toward the garden. That term was one that Mr. Kelly had mentioned in his notes, yet Kier could make no comparison to his mother’s condition. His mother had grown quiet and despondent, spending more and more time in her chambers, secluded. Slowly, she had withdrawn from the outside world to an inner one where no one else dwelt.

  Fiona showed no such symptoms. She answered his questions in a forthright manner, her eyes clear and void of dullness. Her temperament was fiery, not docile. She seemed to enjoy being out of doors as well. Melancholy did not apply to her, Kier was sure. If Mr. Kelly had been wrong about that, had the other assumptions also been wrong? Perhaps Fiona was not insane at all.

  Kier blinked and then edged closer to the window. What was Fiona doing? As he watched, she knelt down beside a clump of weeds and a big smile broke out on her face. Next, she lifted her hands in the air and waved them about as though she were directing music. That action was followed by her bending closer to the weeds. Kier could see her mouth moving as though she spoke to someone and then, even more to his surprise, she sat back and her fingers began to move with frantic speed, tossing weeds everywhere.

  He stood back once more. Perhaps Fiona wasn’t quite sane, after all.

  Kier was still contemplating Fiona’s strange actions later that evening as he entered the doors to the Kildare Street Club. He’d watched Fiona carefully
at lunch to see if there were any other indications of madness. Lona mentioned her ghosts and Dulcee talked to angels, but Fiona’s conversation had sounded reasonable, at least to him. But then, he wasn’t sure about his own sanity any more.

  “Why are ye brooding?” Finley asked as he approached Kier and then grinned. “Are ye thinking about the lady guest who speaks to faeries?”

  “No,” Kier said and then gave Finley a thoughtful look. Was that what Fiona had been doing? Talking to faeries? Except the fae didn’t exist. Then again, maybe the wee folk lived in Fiona’s mind. He sighed. If he kept thinking in circles, he’d be locked up in the asylum too. “No,” he said again, hearing the doubt in his own voice. “No.”

  “Well, ye don’t have to be sayin’ it more than once. I am not hard of hearing.”

  “Of course not. My apologies,” Kier replied and changed the subject. “Are the men you wanted me to meet here yet?”

  “That they are,” Finley answered and led the way to a private room off to one side of the main salon. “I thought we might be better off in here.”

  Two men sat at a card table, brandy snifters in hand. The one appeared to be in his early forties, slender, with short brown hair showing no signs of grey. The other was much younger, with longish blond hair and the air of a Continental dandy. Neither of them rose in greeting, but Kier wasn’t surprised. The French, even though they’d lost the war, still considered themselves superior in many ways.

  “May I present Gerard Fontaine and his associate, Nicholas Algernon?” Finley said formally and turned to the men. “It is my pleasure to introduce Kier O’Reilly, the Earl of Adair.”

  Something flickered in the older man’s eyes for a brief instant and then it was gone. Kier glanced at his friend. When Finley acted like a proper gentleman, he was usually setting something up. Using the title of Kier’s grandfather was a bit much though. Kier almost smiled. At least his friend hadn’t made him the Duke of Leicester.