As though he’d read her mind, Kier pulled a book from one of the shelves and handed it to Fiona. “Perhaps Lona and Dulcee could look at this while you select something for yourself.”
Fiona glanced at the title, Collections of Baroque Art, and suppressed a smile. Abigial loved art books, although mainly to see sculptures of naked men. Fiona furrowed her brows. Hopefully, there weren’t any in this book. She wasn’t too sure how either Lona or Dulcee would react to that. Thumbing through the pages quickly, she breathed a sigh of relief. Most of the pictures seemed to be religious in nature.
Kier gave her a curious glance. “Are you looking for something specific?”
“I just wanted to make sure there were no statues of nak…of men without…” Fiona felt herself blush. “I mean, I wanted to be sure there were no pictures that were—”
“Suggestive?” A corner of Kier’s mouth quirked up. “I think the book is safe enough for the ladies.”
“Yes, of course not. I mean…” Fiona caught a glimpse of humour in his eyes—or perhaps it was some other emotion, for the sapphire colour had turned darker, almost smoldering. A look that was suggestive in itself. And inviting. Even more so when his gaze shifted to her mouth. Fiona’s breath shortened and she found herself parting her lips to take in air. She sucked in her lower lip nervously, which caused Kier’s eyes to light with interest. A shiver slid down her spine, even though her body felt on fire. Lord in heaven, she wanted another kiss…
Fiona forced herself to look away as her cheeks flamed hotter and handed the book to Dulcee. “See if you can find a picture of an angel and maybe I can tell you which one it is.”
Dulcee nodded, taking the book and opening it so Lona could see as well.
Ada moved to stand behind them. Fiona wasn’t sure if the woman might actually be interested in the pictures or if she were positioning herself for an outburst. Either way, at least she wasn’t watching Fiona like a hawk, which was a good thing since Fiona was having trouble making her body parts obey her.
Kier had taken a step closer. “What would you like?”
Startled, her gaze flew back to his. He looked dangerously alluring, dressed in black as usual, ebony hair loose and eyes showing no flicker of blue in the light of the oil lamps. Faint stubble shaded his jaw and cheeks, outlining the chiseled contours of his face even more. Her skin tingled, her stomach fluttered and delicious warmth spread from it throughout her belly as her senses honed in on him. He was darkly beautiful, like a fallen angel, and not the kind Dulcee spoke of.
Dulcee. The real world reasserted itself into Fiona’s brain. They were in the library with Dulcee, Lona and worse, Ada. Fiona shook her head to clear it. Kier was asking her what she would like here?
“I doona think I understand.”
Kier raised a black brow in question. “What kind of a book would you like?”
“Oh.” A book. She had asked to borrow a book. Kier had not meant anything by his remark. Fiona had, after all, been the one to blurt out nonsense about naked men. She needed to stop thinking about the two kisses they’d shared. Kier was as braw and bonny as her brothers and, the Lord knew, they had kissed lots of women. Kisses didn’t mean the same thing to a man.
“More poetry from Walter Scott, or would you like to try something else?”
Try something else… No. Fiona stopped her thoughts from wandering into fantasyland again. Kier didn’t mean anything suggestive by that question. He was asking what she wanted to read. Read. Yet…the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly as he watched her.
“Uh…why do ye nae pick something for me?”
The eyebrow he’d lowered went up again. Then he nodded and turned away.
“Let me see if I can find something you will think pleasurable.”
Fiona stared after him. He did not mean that remark to be suggestive either.
Did he? No. He’d walked off. Something was wrong with her mind. She’d been imprisoned too long, that was all.
Imprisoned. The thought jolted her back to reality. She needed to escape. Through her peripheral vision, she could see Ada still looking over Lona’s shoulder at the pictures. Kier had disappeared behind a bookcase. Fiona casually moved toward the desk, running her fingers along the polished surface as though admiring the wood while she studied the map. She spotted the symbol marking the Dublin Lunatic Asylum not too far from the River Liffey. Checking again to make sure Ada wasn’t watching, Fiona bent down slightly. Erin had said the Sisters of Charity were located on North William Street, near Harold’s Cross. Fiona scanned the map quickly and then put her finger on a spot. Yes. There it was.
“If you find maps interesting, I have some books on geography,” Kier said from behind her.
Fiona stifled a squeak and stepped back quickly, only to collide with the solid wall of Kier’s chest. Stumbling, she lurched sideways and felt Kier’s breath tickle her ear as he reached around to take her elbow to steady her. His hand brushed the side of her breast as he did and her breathing hitched. For a brief moment, she was enveloped in his body heat and the clean soap-and-spice scent of him, and then he let her go abruptly as though he’d just realized what part of her he was touching. She nearly stumbled again, but this time because her knees had turned to jelly.
“Are you all right?”
“Uh…”
“Do you want to sit down?”
“Uh…” For some reason, speech eluded her, a trait no one had ever accused her of before. Fiona managed to make her legs support her. Good heavens, Kier must think her completely daft. “Nae. I am fine. Ye just startled me, ’tis all.”
“I apologize. You did seem rather intent.” Kier’s gaze moved toward the map and then returned to Fiona. “Was there some place you were looking for?”
“Nae.” Fiona shook her head for emphasis and then realized the gesture might be too much. She never had been good at lying. “Well, maybe. I was just wondering how big a city Dublin was.” There. That was true. At least partly.
“Not as large as London.” Kier frowned and lowered his voice. “If you are thinking to escape, cease. The city is a dangerous place for a woman.”
Fiona’s hands turned to ice as though her blood had chilled. Did Kier know she had found the hidden passageway? He couldn’t. Could he? She managed to find her voice. “I am locked in my room except for lunch and the courtyard in the afternoon. Seamus and Ada stand guard. How would I escape?”
“You will not. Believe me, Mrs. MacLeod, you are safer here than you would be out there.” Kier glanced at Ada and then back to Fiona. “I will not let anything bad happen to you.” He handed her a book, bowing slightly to take his leave. “Trust me.”
Trust him?
“Fiona! I found an angel. Come tell me who it is,” Dulcee said.
Gathering her wits about her, Fiona moved toward the sofa and looked down at the picture of an angel with flowing black hair and dark eyes. He held a sword in one hand, shield in the other, and had his foot on the head of a dragon. “’Tis the archangel Michael.” For a moment, Fiona’s vision blurred and the angel looked like Kier before the image cleared again. “He’s called the protector and the avenger.”
What in the hell was wrong with him? Kier was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything besides Fiona. From the glances Finley kept giving him as they walked toward Daly’s that evening, Kier was pretty sure his friend knew of his dilemma. Whether he understood was another matter. At first the looks had been curious, since Kier had been lost in thought. Then they’d turned concerned, and now Finn just looked annoyed. Not that Kier could blame him. They were meeting one last time with the messengers from County Kildare before they returned home. Kier had sent word to several of the local Leinster men who favored Daniel’s methods to attend as well. He hoped they could persuade the Kildare men to hold off on any type of open rebellion.
That was what
he should be thinking about, not Fiona.
But hell, he’d never expected her to be interested in pictures of naked men. Her bumbling explanation accompanied by the soft pink flush that had flooded her cheeks had gotten his own blood to near boiling. Most women—other than the ones who accepted coin for their services—shunned the topic completely. He’d never known a woman who actually searched for pictures of statues, who wanted to look at the nude male form. Lady Jane Claire had insisted they leave most of their clothes on the few times she’d allowed him access to her. The idea that Fiona found a man’s body attractive made Kier want to rip off his own shirt right there in the library and let her look her fill. Would she want to touch him as well? Run her hands over his bare skin? When she’d stumbled against him and he’d touched her breast ever so briefly, he’d heartily wished neither of them were clothed. What kind of madness was this?
Kier knew he had absolutely no business even thinking about flirting with someone who was a guest in his home and under his care. He’d told himself that enough times—in English and Gaelic—for it to be inscribed in his brain permanently. Apparently, the repetitions had had no effect. Instead, he’d plied the lady with double entendres, which had only served to have her blush even more. By all that was holy, he envied Fiona’s dead husband for having had the pleasure of her in his bed.
Finn stopped suddenly and Kier continued on a few steps before he realized it. He turned. “Why did you stop?”
Finn sighed and looked up at the heavens for help, muttering something under his breath that Kier was pretty sure wasn’t complimentary.
“We are here,” Finn said, gesturing at the door to Daly’s a few feet away. “And ye have not taken notice of a single step along the way.”
“Oh. Right. I…I’ve been thinking.’
“Aye, ye have, just not about the meeting, I suspect.” Finley held up his hand when Kier started to protest. “I do not care to hear it.”
Kier snapped his mouth closed and strode to the door, preceding Finn into the foyer of the club. Finn had the right of it. There really was nothing for Kier to say regarding Fiona. He was mesmerized with her—her face haunting his dreams, her voice as alluring as the Sirens’ songs—and he was on the brink of leaping into a stormy sea of total destruction.
“They are over there.” Finley took his arm and propelled him toward a table in the far corner of a side room where a number of men were already seated. “Maybe ye should let me do the talking, eh?”
Kier frowned at his friend. “I am not quite that far gone.”
“Hmmph.”
With a start, Kier realized Gerard Fontaine was also seated at the table. The man had not been invited. Had he just happened to be at Daly’s and recognized one of the Leinster men from the last meeting?
No matter, Kier supposed. Maybe luck was with him. If he were the sort to believe in the fae—or leprechauns—he’d almost concede the wee folk had lured Fontaine here tonight. After the meeting, he’d ask Fontaine to check with his contact at Le Havre to try to locate Walter Avery.
Kier was in dire need of some straight answers about Mrs. Fiona MacLeod before he completely succumbed to her silent, seductive call.
Wesley Alton could hardly believe his luck as he let himself into his rented flat later. O’Reilly had all but fallen into his hands wanting to find Walter Avery.
“So you think O’Reilly’s inquiring about your other identity is good?” Nicholas asked after Wesley told him what had happened.
Wesley looked up from the wheel of cheese he’d just taken from the icebox. Sometimes he wondered if Nicholas really was his true bastard son. The boy appeared far too dense at times, but perhaps that was his mother’s blood. The slut had been none too bright herself. He picked up a knife to slice the cheese. “Do I have to explain it to you again?”
Nicholas shook his head. “I would think if O’Reilly is asking questions that he is becoming suspicious.”
“Yes.” At least Nicholas understood that concept. “The point is that I had no idea the man was suspecting anything. Most men would be happy to take the money, use the women and keep their mouths shut.” Why did he have to have a goddamn knight obstructing his plans? Wesley stabbed the wooden counter with the knife, causing the utensil to stand upright, and abandoned the cheese in favor of the brandy bottle nearby. “O’Reilly’s a damn earl who thinks I am Gerard Fontaine, so I cannot risk showing my face at the asylum under the guise of Walter Avery. I sent one post to the warden along with a cheque to ensure the MacLeod bitch’s stay continued. Since I am supposedly travelling in France, if he replied, the letter has been lost.”
Nicholas eyed the still-quivering knife. “So now that you know, what are you going to do?”
Wesley tossed back his drink, poured himself another and smiled. “I am going to do what every good, caring father would do.”
Both of Nicholas’s brows rose. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”
Taking a seat on the sofa, Wesley brushed a non-existent piece of lint from his trouser leg and smoothed his coat sleeves before he looked up. “I am going to send the warden another post, saying I received a letter from my daughter claiming she has been raped continually.”
“The earl will just deny it. So will she.”
“Of course they will.” Wesley sighed over Nicholas’s dimwittedness. “I will add that I have no idea if those allegations are true, given my dear daughter’s mental state, but to be safe, she needs to be removed from that house and given space in the asylum.” Wesley smiled again. “Which is where she will stay until she truly is insane.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sky hung low and leaden the next afternoon as the women were escorted into the courtyard for their exercise. The square had turned barren, leaves on the two trees were gone and the plants dormant. Fiona had not seen the faerie in several weeks, nor had any leprechauns appeared under the few holly bushes that remained. Fiona inhaled deeply. A cool, damp wind threatened rain, and she hoped it would hold off for another hour or so. December was upon them and who knew how many more days they’d be allowed outside before the weather got too cold for their shawls? The thought of being cooped up in her room except for lunch was near unbearable, even if Kier was lending her books to read.
She smiled to herself as she thought of the book Kier had selected for her. Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur. Perhaps Kier had meant it to be inspiring or to lend her hope, since the ladies of Camelot were well-protected by the knights of the Round Table. Or perhaps Kier was sending her a message. “I will not let anything bad happen to you.” Warmth spread through Fiona in spite of the nip in the air. He’d spoken like a medieval knight pledging his troth to his lady.
She shook her head. Yesterday, she’d envisioned Kier as an archangel and now a knight? Her imagination was spinning fantasies. Kier had scarcely looked her way at lunch and had not spoken to her at all. Did he regret his words? Or maybe he didn’t mean them? Maybe what he really meant was that she had better not even try to escape. After all, he had warned her not to try.
“Trust me.” He’d said that too. Did that mean he was beginning to believe her? Or, at least, to have doubts as to her reason for being placed here?
Fiona sobered as she walked. She wished she could just ask Kier what he meant, but lunch had not been the time, especially with Kathleen glowering at her and Dulcee chattering on about archangels. Kier had excused himself after they’d eaten, saying he’d had paperwork to take care of. Clearly, he’d not wanted to spend time chatting today.
“There are archangels.” Dulcee’s voice, higher pitched than usual, broke into Fiona’s thoughts. “I saw one.”
Looking across the small yard to where Dulcee sat on a bench alongside Lona, Fiona could see Kathleen looming over Dulcee.
“Ye saw a picture of one.” Kathleen smirked “Are ye that much of a dimwit ye do not know the difference?”<
br />
Before Fiona could move, Lona did. She stood, pushing Kathleen hard enough that she stumbled backwards and fell.
“Damn, ye lunatics,” Ada yelled as she stomped over, grabbed Lona’s arm and yanked her toward the door. “There will be no more freedom for ye for a long while.”
Lona started to struggle, only to have Seamus grab her other arm. Between them, he and Ada lifted and half-carried Lona out of the courtyard.
Dulcee watched with big eyes. “Michael will protect her.”
Kathleen looked around and laughed. “I don’t see your Michael anywhere.”
Dulcee looked in Fiona’s direction. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
Kathleen laughed harder. “Ye are asking that slut about angels?”
Fiona clenched her fists, willing herself not to respond to the name-calling. Picking a fight would only result in her ending up like Lona. “Doona fash.”
“Can ye not speak English, ye Scottish whore?” Kathleen asked and then turned back to Dulcee. “There are no angels.”
“Yes, there are!” Dulcee jumped up crying and ran for the door. “I saw Michael. I did. I did.”
“Ye idiot!” Kathleen said as she followed behind Dulcee. “Ye saw a picture.”
The door to the hall that led to their chambers slammed behind them and silence settled over the courtyard. Fiona stilled. Never had she been left alone outside. She glanced at the doors leading to the other wings. This was her opportunity to see if any of them were unlocked and if the halls might lead to outside exits. She moved toward the closest one, only to stop when she heard Dulcee scream.
Reeling around, Fiona ran for the door that had just closed. She heard Dulcee scream again as she yanked it open. Kathleen had hold of Dulcee’s shoulders and was shaking her like a wolfhound with a rabbit. Dulcee’s head swayed from side-to-side. In another moment, her skull would be smashed against the stone wall.
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