Sister of Rogues

by Cynthia Breeding

  Abigail looked incredulous. “You are not blaming your brother, are you?”

  Ian’s dark eyes turned nearly black. “I trusted him to keep Fiona safe.”

  Abigail shut the ledger with enough force to make Ian raise a brow. Shauna was tempted to warn her not to argue with Ian—no one except Jillian ever won—but Abigail had a determined look on her face.

  She pushed her spectacles up. “Ian MacLeod, I cannot believe you could be so daft as to blame your brother for what happened.”

  Shauna held her breath. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called Ian daft…probably not since he was a lad.

  His other brow rose, although his voice did not. “Daft, am I?”

  Abigail put her hands on her hips. “You are if you think Jamie is at fault.”

  “He was there,” Ian growled.

  “Yes, and so were probably another hundred guests. Although I care nothing for balls and routs and such, they are generally quite civilized occasions—if you ignore the snide gossip. From your account of what Jamie told you, Fiona was in the company of the nephew of the Earl of Sefton.”

  “Aye, and strolling in dark gardens nae chaperoned.”

  Abigail let her arms drop to her sides. “They would not have been the only couple out there. The air becomes quite close with the crush of people in a ballroom. I can assure you, Viscountess Castlereagh is a stickler for propriety. As hostess, she would have kept the garden paths well-lit.”

  “Yet Molyneux was assaulted and Fiona taken. How do ye explain that?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot. Such a thing has never happened at a society event, as far as I can recall. What I am saying,” Abigail continued as Ian was about to interrupt, “is that Jamie would have had no cause for alarm.”

  “She is right.” Shauna put a hand on Ian’s arm, feeling how tense his muscles were. “Neither ye nor Jamie is to blame. We doona ken the why or how of what happened, but it did.”

  “If, as you suspect, this Wesley Alton or Walter Avery—whatever name he uses—has whisked Fiona away to the States, Shane will find her,” Abigail said. “He cannot be that far behind the American ship and the Border Lass is fast.”

  “We might get word in a week or two that Shane is back in London with Fiona safe and sound,” Shauna added, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt.

  Ian gave her a look that said he didn’t believe a word of it, but he was kept from replying when a dockworker opened the door, allowing another cold gust of wintry air to sweep through.

  “Ship approaching,” he said.

  Ian picked up the manifests from the counter and scanned them. “The schedule shows nae ship due. Did ye get her name?”

  “Aye. ’Tis the New Orleans.”

  Shauna turned to her brother. “That’s the ship—,” she started to say, but Ian had already grabbed his wool peacoat and was running down the quay.

  “We might as well wait here, where it is dry and warm,” Abigail said as Shauna started to get her coat to follow her brother. “It will take at least fifteen minutes to secure the lines before anyone can disembark.”

  “The captain will have word of Fiona!”

  “I pray so, but Fiona will not be onboard the ship. I do not think Ian will be shouting questions for all the world to hear either. He will wait until the captain is on the quay before he asks about Fiona.”

  “But that could take another half hour,” Shauna exclaimed. “No captain ever leaves his ship until everything is in order.”

  Abigail nodded. “Even a better reason to wait here.”

  “I have nae patience to wait. Fiona has been missing near two months.”

  “I understand. I love Fiona as a sister too,” Abigail replied. “But you cannot go onboard, so you might as well finish the ledger you were working on.”

  Shauna sighed, knowing Abigail was right. As much as she tried to concentrate, the numbers just blurred. Finally, she put her quill back in the inkwell. “I am going down to the ship.”

  “It should not be long now. Have a bit more patience. Besides, Harvey, the new dock master, is a grumpy sort who does not welcome women on the wharf at any time, but particularly when a ship is putting in to port. He thinks we interfere.”

  “I would nae get in the way.” Shauna frowned. “’Tis many a time I’ve helped Shane cleat lines.”

  “Harvey would probably have an apoplexy if he saw a woman actually handling the lines.” Abigail smiled. “He is like many sailors—superstitious of women around ships. He cursed most colourfully the first time he saw me get off the Border Lass.”

  In spite of her eagerness to talk to the American captain, Shauna had to smile too. “Aye. The fools think because their ships bear a woman’s name, the great floating hulk will actually be jealous of another woman aboard. Have they nae heard about the warrior queens who led their armies on land and sea?”

  “I suspect such history eludes most of them.”

  “Bah. The only things that make a ship founder are if she is nae maintained or her crew is shoddy.”

  “I could not agree more.” A blast of cold air and swirling snow accompanied the deep, baritone voice.

  Shauna turned toward the door and caught her breath. The American captain was as tall and broad-shouldered as Ian, but his hair was sun-bleached and his eyes were green as a glade after a rain. Those eyes began to light with emerald fire as he took in her appearance. Shauna felt herself grow warm with embarrassment over how she must look. She’d hastily put her hair up this morning, but at least half of it had come undone with the number of times the door had been opened and the gusts blown through. At lunch, she’d spilled stew on the plain brown work gown she wore. She’d dabbed at the stain, not wanting to get into the carriage for a cold drive home to change. And she had ink on her fingers. Hastily, she put her hands below the counter, but not before a corner of the American’s mouth had turned up in a half-smile.

  “This is Captain Robert Henderson of the New Orleans,” Ian said from behind him and then added, “My sister Shauna and cousin-by-marriage, Abigail.”

  “It is a pleasure to see you again,” Abigail said, giving Shauna a quizzical look when she just nodded.

  The captain’s smile broadened a little more as he removed his tri-corn and bowed slightly. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  His voice had a soft slur that hinted of an American twang, although his words were formal. Shauna managed to find her voice. “I am happy ye are here.”

  One eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly. If Shauna had not been so taken with his eyes, she might not have noticed it. She felt her face warm again as she realized how personal what she said must have sounded. “I mean, we want to ken about Fiona.”

  The captain turned to Ian. “Fiona. This is the sister you said was missing?”

  “Aye,” Ian answered and nodded at Shauna. “I saved the story and questions since I ken ye would want to ask it all over again.”

  “A wise decision,” Abigail said and received a scowl from Ian that she ignored.

  “Ye are the one who talked with Jamie,” Shauna said to Ian, “so ye speak.”

  He nodded and proceeded to give the captain the details of the abduction, what inquiries had been made and their learning of the New Orleans taking two passengers.

  Hardly waiting for her brother to finish, Shauna added, “Shane dinnae find ye?”

  Captain Henderson focused his attention on Shauna, all traces of humour gone. “No, but I was in Charleston only long enough to unload and take on another shipment. The seas are getting treacherous and I wanted to get this last run in.” He glanced at the window where heavy wet snow was collecting on the panes. “Perhaps fate dealt this weather. I was bound for Aberdeen.”

  “Which is why we had no schedule of your arrival,” Abigail said.

  “Never mind that,” Sha
una said, trying not to sound impatient. “How hard will it be for Shane to find Fiona in Charleston, Captain Henderson?”

  “Please call me Robert.” His eyes twinkled for a brief second when Abigail looked shocked. “We are much less formal in the States, so it is quite permissible.” Then he refocused on Shauna. “Charleston is a fairly large city, but I hope your cousin will not waste much time looking for your sister there.”

  Shauna felt confused as Ian scowled. “What do ye mean?”

  “I did not take your sister to Charleston. I—”

  “Where did ye take her then?” Ian interrupted and took a step toward the man.

  Captain Henderson appraised Ian calmly, although Shauna didn’t think he could miss Ian’s intent. Everything about her brother’s posture was pure Highland warrior. She hurried around the counter to place a restraining hand on Ian’s arm. This was not the time for one of her quick-tempered brothers to decide to settle things his way.

  Robert’s gaze moved to her hand and his mouth quirked a little. Then he turned his attention back to Ian.

  “I took Avery and his daughter—I mean, your sister—to Dublin.”

  Ian relaxed his stance and stared at him. “Dublin?”

  “Dublin. The man said she was suffering from depression and melancholy and had tried to kill herself over the loss of a husband. He said she needed to get away.”

  Abigail gasped and Shauna shook her head dejectedly. “That is nae Fiona then.”

  The captain looked puzzled. “Are you sure? Your brother gave quite an accurate description of my passengers.”

  “Fiona is nae married. She is nae the kind to be sad or to fash.”

  “Ye said she appeared drunken?” Ian asked.

  “That is what I thought at first.”

  “Laudanum will do that.” Ian looked out the window at the continuing snow. “I will prepare one of Shane’s other ships and leave as soon as the weather breaks.”

  Captain Henderson nodded. “If you can spare a sailor with local knowledge, my second-in-command can take my shipment to Aberdeen. Since I am the one who fell for Avery’s tale and took your sister to Dublin, I would like to go with you. In a way to make amends…and you’ll need a captain.”

  Ian hesitated a moment and then nodded, offering his hand.

  As the men shook hands, Shauna exchanged a glance with Abigail, who nodded slightly. Her brother didn’t know it yet, but both of them would be on board that ship when it sailed as well.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Ye had best be careful,” Lona whispered to Fiona as they moved about the courtyard for their exercise period several days later. “The witch likes ye even less than she does me.”

  “I ken.” Fiona didn’t have to ask whom Lona meant. It was becoming increasingly evident that the matron had taken an active dislike toward her. Not only had Ada curtailed the amount of time Fiona could work in the garden—she wasn’t quite bold enough to forbid it outright and risk Kier’s wrath—but the woman made sure tools for digging in the earth went missing, forcing Fiona to use her hands. The gloves had suddenly developed holes in them as well. Fiona didn’t mind getting her fingers dirty in the moist soil, nor was she particularly bothered by the cold, wet days when Ada left her in the garden for longer periods. Scotland was cold and wet this time of year also, and being outdoors was better than being caged in a room.

  What she did mind though, was Ada’s not-so-casual remarks about her owing a favor for not reporting Fiona’s violent behavior to the warden. Those remarks, coupled with the fact that Seamus seemed to be spending more time near Fiona, watching her, made Fiona’s skin prickle.

  Worse, she didn’t dare mention her misgivings to Kier. She had no proof of Ada’s intentions and the woman would just deny everything. By this time, Fiona had no doubt as to how devious and cunning the matron could be, and Fiona couldn’t risk retaliation. More than once, her fingers had itched to carry the club the leprechauns had given her, but any real act of violence would get her put in the asylum for sure.

  If only she could speak to Kier alone, she could tell him who Walter Avery really was and why she’d been brought here. The opportunity didn’t present itself since Kathleen stayed as close to Kier as she could whenever he joined them. Fiona had a suspicion that Ada had egged her on. Kier himself remained polite but aloof to Kathleen’s intentions, not that he singled Fiona out for attention either.

  She desperately needed to escape.

  “Do ye ken where the doors in these walls lead?” she asked Lona when Ada moved farther away to take shelter from the cool wind.

  “Hallways like ours, most likely.”

  Fiona supposed that made sense. The castle was built in a square around the courtyard. The back wing that contained their rooms had hallways running the length of the first and second floors with stairwells at either end by the towers. Once on the ground floor, there was a door leading into the courtyard that they crossed to get to the dining room in the front wing. She eyed the doors on the side wings. “I wonder if either of those hallways leads to the towers.” Fiona hadn’t seen any access to the back towers from their wing. “There has to be a way to get into them from some place.”

  “There probably is, but we are not allowed to go there.”

  Not allowed was a relative term that Fiona rarely heeded. Her brothers insisted she’d given them grey hairs from all the times she had not listened to them. Perhaps her nose for adventure might come in handy now. That hidden passageway had to lead somewhere. If it led to a tower, she wanted to know which hallway presented a way out.

  Perhaps the faerie would know. Aware that Ada watched, Fiona strolled leisurely over to the bench near the faerie’s plant and sat down. Ever so casually, she bent over to sweep a non-existent pebble from her shoe, brushing her hand against the leaves as if by accident. Nothing stirred.

  “She is gone.”

  Startled, Fiona looked up at Lona who had followed her. “What?”

  “The faerie. She is gone. Off with the leprechauns somewhere.”

  “I…see.” So Lona knew about the wee folk.

  Or did she? After all, Lona not only saw ghosts, but also the devil in a book… Fiona shook her head to clear it, wondering if Lona was sane or she herself was the one going slowly mad?

  Ignoring the paperwork that lay on his desk in preparation for Daniel O’Connell’s meeting two nights hence, Kier picked up one of the three volumes of Sir Walter Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border that he’d taken off a high shelf in the library. Blowing the dust from the cover, he wondered if perhaps Fiona would like reading the set as well. Her father had said they were from Carlisle. Perhaps reading more about the border would jog Fiona’s memory.

  At least, that’s what he told himself. In truth, he wanted to give her something that would bring her pleasure.

  By St. Patrick. Kier put the book down. Why could he not stop thinking about Fiona? Yesterday, he had observed her in the courtyard from the arrow slit in the tower room. She had been talking to Lona and then she’d gone to one of the stone benches and bent down to take a pebble from her shoe. Kier had been intrigued by the show of a trim ankle until he realized Fiona was actually fiddling with the leaves of a plant as though she were searching for something. He couldn’t imagine what she might have dropped, but the look of disappointment on her face when she sat up had been the catalyst in his search for more of Scott’s books.

  He’d gone to the courtyard today to ask her if she’d like another book, but ironically, Fiona had asked if she might visit the library again. Like some besotted youth, he’d practically stuttered his assent.

  He should be working on replies he’d received to the carefully worded missives Finley had sent out, instead of waiting for Fiona’s appearance. Kier walked over to the table where a map of Ireland was spread out. The O’Neills from Meath as well as the O’Briens of Connacht
had responded in coded words of support that would seem benign if the letters fell into the wrong hands. Keir was still waiting to hear whether the majority of men from Leinster and Munster would rally to the cause. He picked up the smaller map of Dublin. Christ Church Cathedral was a safe meeting place as long as they didn’t use it regularly and the group didn’t get too large. He’d have to think about other viable places to meet as well.

  The big clock encased in wood and glass gonged the hour and, as if by magic, his library door opened and Fiona stood in the doorway, an ethereal vision in pale muslin and flowing black hair, a soft light glowing around her. Kier blinked at how otherworldly she looked and then realized that Seamus held a torch high behind her, causing the silhouette and hiding her facial features. Kier shook his head at his own foolish thoughts. If he didn’t curb his fantasies, he’d be believing in Finley’s wee folk next.

  “Please come in.” Kier put the map down and then frowned as Seamus followed Fiona inside. “You can wait in the hall.”

  “My orders are to accompany the inmate.”

  By all the saints. He was tired of orders. “This is my home and I will decide if one of my guests needs watching.”

  The guard looked sullen, but he stepped outside and closed the door none too gently behind him.

  “Thank you,” Fiona murmured.

  Two small words, and yet they seemed so much greater—so heartfelt. Kier took in the lovely features of her face, those unusual silvery eyes holding his gaze. “You are more than welcome.” He gestured her to sit and took his own chair.

  “Ye doona ken how much it means to be free of him.”

  Kier frowned. “Has Seamus bothered you?”

  Fiona shook her head quickly. Almost too quickly. Kier felt a surge of rage rise in him that he hadn’t felt since his mother died. “If he has touched you—”

  “No. I…I just meant, ’tis uncomfortable to be watched all the time.”

  Kier felt guilt wash over him as he thought of how many times he’d watched her too, from the safety of the tower, albeit it for a different reason. “I cannot banish the guard, but I can tell him to keep a proper distance.”