Sister of Rogues

by Cynthia Breeding

  “Thank you for that,” Fiona said unexpectedly. “’Tis good to be rid of her.”

  Kier frowned as he sat, hoping Fiona didn’t mean that literally. Her talk about handling weapons had been disconcerting enough. He smiled, keeping his tone light. “You do not harbour homicidal tendencies, do you?”

  From the sudden flash of silver fire in her eyes, he wished he hadn’t asked. For a fleeting moment, an image of Fiona astride a white horse, bow in hand and quiver on her back in the manner of the ancient warrior queens, swept through his mind. He could almost picture her and the horse high on a ridge, the wind blowing her raven hair back, her arm raised in command… Kier blinked, bringing the room back into focus.

  Fiona sat quietly, staring at him with her slanted, silvery eyes.

  Kier shuffled the papers, pretending to read until his mind re-grouped. What in the world had just happened? He was not given to flights of fancy.

  “They are upside down.”

  “What?”

  “The papers. Ye have them upside down.”

  “Oh. I was…just stacking them.” Kier put the mess quickly aside, feeling like a fool. What was it about Fiona’s presence that practically unhinged him?

  She was looking around the library as though seeing it for the first time. Glad that her attention was diverted, at least momentarily, Kier forced himself to put his thoughts in order. He was having difficulty concentrating on anything but the fact that they were alone and her thin muslin gown clung to her curves.

  “I would like to borrow a book.”

  “What?”

  “I would like to borrow a book,” she said again, more slowly this time as if he were daft.

  “You read?” He could not have sounded more daft if he’d tried.

  Fiona looked at him as though he’d taken complete leave of his senses, which he was beginning to feel he had.

  “Of course, I read. My whole family does.”

  Ah! The opening he had been waiting for. “Where did you learn?”

  “At home.”

  “Did your…brothers…teach you?”

  “Nae. My father hired a tutor.”

  “I should have realized Mr. Avery would—”

  “That mon is nae my father.” Silver fire flashed again. “Avery was ne’er my name either. I am Fiona MacLeod.”

  “Of course you are,” Kier said soothingly, not wanting to upset her.

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Ye doona believe me.”

  “I do believe you. Your fa—that is, the papers I received were quite clear on that point.” He decided to press forward tentatively. “You are the wife of Brice MacLeod.”

  “Mo chreach!” Fiona threw her hands up and glared at him. “There is nae man named Brice MacLeod. ’Tis Brice Molyneux ye are talking about.”

  Kier was so surprised she’d cursed that he almost missed what she said.

  “Molyneux?” He’d heard the name when he was at Trinity College. The escapades of London’s young rakehells served as fresh fodder for the English boys living in Dublin. “How do you know this man?”

  “I met him in London.” Fiona lifted her chin slightly. “I was visiting a friend.”

  “I see,” Kier answered, not seeing at all. Fiona had never mentioned London before, nor was there anything in the warden’s papers about London. Was Kathleen’s insistence that she was married to a lord having an influence on Fiona? But how would Fiona know Molyneux’s name? Then another thought slammed into his brain and he almost reeled as though from a physical blow. “Are you saying you were married to Brice Molyneux?” Kier wasn’t sure which idea was worse—that she was married to a man very much alive, at last count, or that Fiona was more delusional than Kier thought.

  She gave him an exasperated look. “I am nae married to anyone. Why do ye nae believe me? Write to my brothers. They will tell ye the truth!”

  Kier looked into her eyes, darkened like a stormy sea and wished again that he had heard something—anything—back from one of them. He wanted to believe Fiona, but he didn’t think these brothers existed, by marriage or otherwise. He took a deep breath. “I did write your brothers, near a month ago.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise and she leapt up. “Why did ye nae tell me?”

  “Because they did not write back.” Kier took another breath, even deeper. “Your brothers do not exist, do they?”

  Fiona stared at him for what seemed long minutes and then a tear trickled down her cheek. Without a sound, she turned and ran, disappearing down the hall before Kier could call out to her.

  “Stop!” Ada barked as Fiona rushed by.

  Fiona paid her no mind. Ada’s hand snaked out to catch her arm and she shook it off. “Leave me alone!”

  Something in her tone must have conveyed itself, for Ada didn’t reach out again, but merely followed her up the stairs. Fiona slammed the door in the matron’s face, not caring if it brought punishment, but all she heard was the turning of the key in the lock.

  Leaning against the door, she closed her eyes.

  Kier had written her brothers.

  They had not answered.

  Another tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Tears would do little good.

  Why had her brothers not replied?

  Her mind numb, Fiona moved to the straight-back chair by the window and stared into space, trying to understand. Her eyes refused to focus and her surroundings faded into shades of misty grey like tendrils of creeping fog, sliding along the floor, floating upwards, caressing her body and swirling around her in a comforting blanket of cloud.

  How long she stayed enveloped in that soft haze she didn’t know, but slowly she became aware of another presence. Half-expecting to see her garden faeries, Fiona turned, but no trail of iridescent sparkles lingered in the air. Slowly, a form began to materialize, drawing the misty vapor to itself, taking the nearly translucent shape of an older woman. Dressed in a white night-rail, her long black hair floating about her head, the apparition smiled and hovered in the air.

  “Who are ye?” Fiona asked and then realized she was speaking into thin air for both the spirit and the fog had vanished.

  Fiona blinked. Was the woman Lona’s ghost? She hadn’t been shrieking or wailing. She hadn’t seemed frightening at all. Truth be told, Fiona had felt encouragement in her presence, much like she did when the old crone of the Scotland hills appeared.

  Fiona’s mind cleared, as though the fog had taken all remnants of murkiness with it, and she straightened in her chair, able to think again.

  Maybe when she’d first disappeared from the ball, Jamie had thought she had decided to go off on some hare-brained adventure. She’d certainly done that enough times to warrant the idea, but she’d never been gone for days, let alone weeks. Surely, Jamie would have sent word to Ian.

  Brice would have told her brothers what happened…but then, she didn’t know what had happened to Brice. She knew he’d been attacked. Had he been killed?

  Did her brothers think her dead too?

  But that didn’t explain why they wouldn’t respond to a letter. She was missing. Fiona squeezed her eyes closed against more tears. Even if Jamie and Ian thought the letter a hoax… She popped her eyes open. That was it. They thought the letter a hoax! After all, what would she be doing in a lunatic asylum in Ireland, of all places?

  Fiona got up and began to pace. Things were slowly falling into place. Her brothers would think the letter was meant to lure them out of the country, leaving their wives vulnerable. Both Mari and Jillian had managed to escape abductions by Wesley Alton and that crazy man was still loose…

  Fiona stopped so abruptly she almost tipped forward. She felt her blood chill.

  Now she knew who Walter Avery was.

  Kier felt even worse the next morning than he had the day befor
e when he’d decided to talk to Fiona. He opened his desk drawer and put the list of contacts Finley had given him inside. He should be concentrating on the direction their clandestine meetings were going. A faction of the men wanted to openly rebel, even though the last time Ireland had tried, the attempt had not only taken many lives, but had also resulted in banishing Ireland’s parliament.

  But how could Kier encourage well-thought-out negotiations when his own mind was in turmoil?

  He had made Fiona cry. Unlike Lady Jane Claire’s faucet tears, Fiona’s had come from her heart. Kier had seen initial shock and then utter anguish sweep over her features before she’d fled from him. Erin had reported that Fiona’s dinner last night and her breakfast this morning had been untouched.

  What a complete fool he had been to admit he’d tried to contact her brothers. Even if they were figments of her imagination, which he now suspected, they had given her hope, something to cling to since her husband was dead. Much like letting Dulcee think an angel had taken her Calum, it would have been far better to allow Fiona the comfort of believing she had a family. Kier didn’t know how he could make it up to her, but one thing he would not do is mention her brothers again.

  He recalled she’d asked to borrow a book yesterday. Perhaps he could offer Fiona time in the library this afternoon after lunch. Would she come down to the dining room on her own? If not, Kier would personally escort her down. The idea had a certain appeal. His errant mind flitted to him physically carrying Fiona down the stairs, her soft, warm body melded against his as he held her close. The image was so real, he could almost feel the silkiness of her hair spilling over his arm. Maybe she would turn her face to his and he could kiss—

  “By Saint Patrick!” Kier stood and pushed his chair in hard enough to make the inkwell rattle on the desk. Could he think of nothing beside that raven-haired beauty with those unusual silvery eyes? If he believed in the Sidhe, he would be apt to think the mischievous fae had put an enchantment on him.

  A strange mixture of relief and disappointment filled him as he entered the dining room an hour later to find Fiona already seated at the table between Kathleen and Lona. Fiona face was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes and looked tired. Kier wondered if she’d gotten any sleep and felt another wave of guilt wash over him.

  “I am glad to see all of you,” Kier said as Erin and Brena served the stew and soda bread. “I would like to ask a question.” Perhaps it was better to address the group rather than single Fiona out. Three pairs of eyes looked at him. Fiona did not. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking in addition to your hour of exercise, you might want to take something to read from the library.”

  “Ye would allow us that?” Lona asked, her eyes wide.

  Ada stepped forward from where she had been standing. “The warden would have to approve.”

  “I hardly think this is the warden’s business,” Kier answered evenly. “This is my home and they are my books.”

  The matron pursed her lips. “I am to report the lunatics—”

  “Guests.”

  “—activities and what goes on.”

  “You do that,” Kier answered and turned back to the women. “Who would like to borrow a book?”

  Dulcee smiled at him sweetly. “I would like the Bible.”

  Kathleen snorted. “What for? Ye can’t read, ye half—”

  Before she could finish or Kier could correct her, Fiona’s elbow smashed into Kathleen’s stomach, causing her to emit a whoosh of air. At the same time, she clawed at Fiona’s hair. With the swiftness and agility Kier hadn’t seen in the best fighting men, Fiona grabbed Kathleen’s wrist, held it fast and then bent her arm back, holding the woman effectively in place.

  “Ye willnae call Dulcee that again,” Fiona said, her voice even and calm. “Ever.”

  Ada moved forward and yanked both women’s arms, separating them.

  “Enough.” Kier rounded the table, stepping between Fiona and Kathleen.

  “The Scottish whore started it,” Kathleen said.

  “I said enough. I will not tolerate name-calling.” Kier gestured to Ada. “Please take Mrs. Butler to her room.”

  “Lady Butler.” Kathleen sniffed and raised her chin, calling back as Ada led her away. “I do not wish to be in the company of such bloody riff-raff anyhow.”

  The remaining women stood watching him. At least the colour had returned to Fiona’s cheeks. Her eyes sparked as well, and once again, Kier’s mind conjured up the image of a warrior queen astride a white horse. He knew he should probably chastise Fiona for what she’d done, but truth was, he rather admired her for it.

  “Shall we go to the library, ladies?” he asked, gesturing for them to go ahead.

  Dulcee put her hand on Fiona’s arm. “The Bible has stories of angels.”

  Fiona smiled at her. “Yes, it does.”

  “Which one are ye?”

  “I am nae angel.”

  Kier bit his lip to keep from responding to that remark. Fiona looked angelic enough, although her fiery temper certainly was not. The kiss they’d shared had been sweet as the nectar of the ancient gods, but the havoc Fiona was playing in Kier’s mind reminded him more of the Apocalypse than heaven.

  Dulcee looked troubled as the women preceded Kier into the library. “But ye took my Calum to a safe place and now ye have come back to protect me.”

  “I…”

  Kier noticed Fiona looking toward Lona as though for help, but she had already settled herself in a chair with a book of Irish myths containing a great many pictures of Celtic gods and heroes. Fiona turned her gaze back toward Dulcee. “I will try to protect ye if I can, but I am nae angel. Perhaps ye would like for me to tell ye about the great angels—Gabriel, Uriel, Raphael and Michael?”

  Kier smiled as Dulcee’s eyes widened and she nodded. He was somewhat surprised himself that Fiona knew of the archangels. Mostly only men studied scripture. Since his mother had taken her life, Kier had lost interest in the workings of religions. He had prayed to Michael, the avenging Archangel, when he’d sought revenge for his father’s death, and again as he’d investigated his mother’s death when he’d returned from Italy. Nothing had happened on either count. Yet here was Fiona, almost like a female counterpart of the avenging angel, fiercely protecting fragile Dulcee.

  Lona screeched suddenly, jumping up and dropping the book on the floor.

  “What is it?” Kier asked, moving toward her. “What is the matter?”

  “’Tis the devil in there.” Lona pointed at the book and backed away from it.

  “Let me see,” Fiona said, leaning down to retrieve the open book.

  “Stop! Don’t touch it! ’Tis evil that lurks in there.”

  “’Tis just a book, Lona,” Fiona said in a voice that Kier might have used to gentle a frightened horse. “’Tis just a book.” She picked it up and looked at the picture. “Do ye think this is the devil?”

  Lona shook her head, covering her eyes with her hands. “I don’t want to look.”

  “’Tis all right,” Fiona said soothingly. “Just a quick peek.”

  Slowly, Lona lowered one finger enough to peer out and then shrieked again and ran toward the window to hide behind the curtain.

  Kier sighed. From archangels to devils. Perhaps it had not been the best idea to bring the ladies in here after all.

  Ada burst through the door with Seamus in tow. She gave Kier an I-told-you-so look as she yanked Lona out from behind the curtains and grabbed a now-wailing Dulcee as well. “Ye would be wise to heed the warden’s orders. These lunatics can’t be trusted as ye have just seen.”

  Seamus reached for Fiona, but she walked ahead of him, head high, a determined look on her face—a look as avenging as any archangel.

  For once, Fiona didn’t mind the sound of the key being turned in the lock. After what had just happened
in the library, being alone for the rest of the afternoon would give her time to think. She prayed Lona wouldn’t be taken for another purging. Fiona wished she had been able to warn Kier to stop it, but that hadn’t been possible. She could only hope he’d remember the last time Lona had seen her ghost.

  The poor woman. The picture she’d seen was of the horned god, Cernunnos, whom the ancient Roman priests had confused with the devil when they’d brought Christianity to the Isles. The Celts knew Cernunnos to be a benevolent god in charge of the forests and their creatures. Many of Fiona’s childhood escapades had been to the forests surrounding Glenfinnan. While she’d never met Cernunnos, the Crone of the Hills had told her stories of how he’d ride the Wild Hunt with his red-eyed white hounds against a black night sky, snatching only those souls who had violated the laws of nature.

  Fiona didn’t question his existence any more than she did the faeries.

  Dulcee was another matter. She dwelt in a world of her own making. Did she truly see angels? Fiona didn’t know. She started to smile, thinking how her brothers would have laughed until their sides ached at anyone comparing her to an angel.

  Her smile drooped. Somehow, she had to convince Kier about her brothers and about Walter Avery, but how could she get Kier alone again? After today’s incident, Ada and Seamus were sure to restrict the women’s movements about the house. Fiona would be lucky if forbidding her to work in the garden was the only punishment she received for poking Kathleen. Not that Fiona regretted doing it. Dulcee did not deserve to be called names by anyone, least of all one who gave herself airs.

  Fiona sighed, wishing the small club the leprechauns had provided were a magic wand she could wave and make things better for Lona and Dulcee as well as herself, but she knew magic didn’t work like that. The weapon had been a gift. It was up to her to use it, to decide how to use it.

  But now she had something else to use as well. Fiona put her hand in the pocket of her loose gown and took out a stub of candle. She might not have been able to borrow a book, but with all the commotion, she had been able to pilfer a candle from its saucer and slip it into her pocket. The candle would not last long, but it would give her enough time to see what was at the end of the passageway she’d tried to investigate earlier. All she had to do was wait until Ada showed up to light the oil lamp at dusk.