Sister of Rogues

by Cynthia Breeding

  Fiona pulled her shawl forward, hiding more of her face. The blue gown she’d quickly changed into was tattered, but it still looked like a fancy ball gown. She wished she’d had something more plain to wear so she could blend in with the people, but her only alternative was the asylum shift, and that would clearly have given her away.

  “Eh, lady! Aren’t ye a bit far from Fownes Street?” one of the men asked as she passed by.

  Fiona ignored him and picked up her pace when another man laughed.

  “Maybe she’s trying to strum up more business,”

  “Looks to be a right pretty thing,” a third man piped up. “How much do ye charge?”

  A hand shot out, grabbing Fiona’s arm. “If ye don’t want to go all the way back to the brothel, we can get a room here.”

  A chorus of ayes accompanied the notion, along with comments of who would be first. Fiona wrestled her arm away and reached her other hand under the shawl for her club. Before the man knew what she was about, she’d swung backhanded and connected with the man’s groin. He gave a muffled squawk before falling to his knees. Fiona jumped back, assuming the stance her brothers had taught her during swordplay and held the club ready.

  One of the men leered and another snarled as they stepped forward, trying to flank her. Fiona took another step back, her eyes shifting only slightly to keep both men in view. She tightened her grip on the club, muttering desperately that the leprechauns who’d given it to her were nearby to trip her attackers.

  It didn’t happen of course, but the tip of the club began to glow with a strange light. A light that grew and extended, reaching out. The men stopped, stumbling over themselves as they backed away.

  “Witch!”

  “Sidhe!”

  “What the devil is going on out here?” the proprietor of one of the public houses came out followed by a plump woman wearing an apron.

  Both men started jabbering as the third one slowly stood. “She’s a witch! Fae! The devil’s mistress.”

  “Have ye all gone daft?” The plump woman bustled over to Fiona. “’Tis just a young lass.” She glowered at the men. “’Tis too many tankards of ale ye’ve had.”

  “Get along with ye then,” the proprietor said, waving a beefy arm.

  The men glanced once more at Fiona holding what now appeared to be a normal club and turned, bumping into each other as they ran.

  “There, there,” the woman said to Fiona after they’d gone. “Why do ye not come in and have some tea?”

  Fiona shook her head. “Thank ye, but I need to get to the Sisters of Charity.”

  “’Tis a far walk.” The woman looked over Fiona’s gown. “Dressed as ye are, and as pretty as ye are, ye’ll no doubt get accosted again.”

  “Why do ye want to go to the convent?” the man asked.

  “I…I…” Fiona hesitated, thinking what to say. “I—”

  “’Tis not our business,” the woman said, jabbing the man in the side. “If ye need to go to the Sisters, my husband will take ye.”

  He gave his wife a surprised look. “But ye need help with the evening meal.”

  “The barkeep can help until ye get back,” she replied. “We cannot let the lass wander about alone.”

  “I would be glad to pay ye,” Fiona said.

  The woman shook her head. “’Tis no need. Just light a candle and say a prayer for us, if ye will.”

  “I will be happy to do that,” Fiona said, realizing now that the danger was over, her knees were beginning to shake. Kier had been right. The streets were no place for a woman alone, even if the leprechauns had enchanted her club.

  And then her mind swept back to her conversation with Dulcee.

  Perhaps there were real-life angels after all.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I do not know how Mrs. MacLeod could have escaped.” Kier tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice as he looked at the warden seated across from his desk. He needed to be questioning his staff and he needed to be out searching for Fiona, not sitting here repeating what he’d already said a dozen times. “I don’t know where she went either.”

  The warden looked skeptical. “You are not hiding her then?”

  Kier threw up his hands in frustration. “Why would I suddenly decide to hide one of my guests? I had no idea you were going to try and take Mrs. MacLeod away.”

  “I will take her away,” the warden answered, “for her safety as well as the rest of the inmates. Violence cannot be condoned.”

  As if violence didn’t occur at the asylum in the form of torture. Kier bit back the retort. The warden would only tell him they called it regulated correction—for the sake of the patient, of course. “I will take the appropriate measures here to make sure such an episode does not reoccur.”

  “That is well and good,” Warden Kelly replied, “but this is not an isolated incident. Mrs. MacLeod has established a pattern of such behavior. I might add that the last time I spoke with her father, he felt having her housed at the asylum would be a better alternative than this arrangement.”

  Kier managed to set his mouth in a tight line to avoid gaping at Kelly. What kind of a father—what kind of a man—would prefer his daughter live in an asylum and be subject to prolonged discipline and punishment? Kier couldn’t fathom it, but his determination grew. He’d posted a letter to Arthur Wellesley, reminding the duke of their brief meeting and asking for help, but he couldn’t wait for a response.

  “I have told you everything I know, so allow me to show you out.”

  “I would like to search the castle first.”

  “I have already instructed Ada and Seamus to do just that,” Kier said with a brittle smile. “I will be sure to let you know if they find Mrs. MacLeod.”

  As if on cue, Ada appeared in the doorway. Her sour expression told Kier the search hadn’t been successful. In an odd way, he felt relieved, even though thinking about Fiona alone on the streets made him anxious.

  “No luck then?” the warden asked as he rose.

  “Nothing.” Ada looked around the library as though Kier might be hiding Fiona in plain sight. “I questioned Brena and Erin too.”

  Kier raised a brow. Ada’s questioning techniques left a lot to be desired. “What did you ask?”

  “Just when was the last time they’d seen the luna—Mrs. MacLeod.”

  “And?”

  The matron shrugged. “Brena hadn’t seen her at all. Erin said the Scot was in her room when she went to get the lunch tray.”

  “And the maid locked the door behind her?” the warden asked.

  “Aye. Erin gave me the key when she brought back the dishes, but I always double-check, just in case.” Ada narrowed her eyes. “How could the woman just vanish into thin air?”

  It was a question Kier asked himself as well, once he’d finally gotten rid of the warden and sent Ada to check on the other women. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and let himself into the unlocked room. The window remained nailed shut, its glass panes intact. Ada and the warden had already checked under the bed, behind the chamberpot screen and in the armoire on the initial search. Fiona had not been hiding anywhere. Had she overpowered Erin and slipped out when the maid came for the tray? Erin had not sported any bruises, nor had she mentioned an escape.

  Kier walked over to the armoire and peered inside again. There was nothing except the extra blanket and Fiona’s crumpled inmate shift. He frowned. She must have changed into the blue ball gown she’d been wearing when she first arrived. By St. Patrick. A woman couldn’t just waltz through the halls and down the stairs in an evening gown without being noticed. He turned toward the window again, nearly tripping on the small rug bunched up on the floor. Reaching down to straighten it out, he saw part of it was under the armoire. Why in the world…

  Comprehension dawned like the sun bursting through morning
mist, lifting the fog that had clouded his thinking. Kier pulled on the rug and the armoire slid along with it as though it weighed no more than a child’s toy, revealing the passageway behind it. He’d known it was there, but he’d assumed the armoire was too heavy for a petite lady to move. Besides, why would she even think to look for a secret stairwell?

  He’d been wrong on both counts. How Fiona had discovered the passage, he didn’t know, but she’d been clever enough to use the rug to aid her. Not only in moving the chest away from the wall, but in tugging it closed again. Very, very clever.

  But these passages only led to the tower room. While the hallway door on the first floor was bolted from the inside, he didn’t think Fiona would try to leave during daylight since she’d have to pass by the courtyard and kitchen.

  Which meant she was probably hiding in the off-limits room.

  Very, very clever.

  Kier stepped inside the passage, turning to tug the armoire to the wall again so no one else wouldn’t stumble onto it. The pitch blackness didn’t bother him since he knew the steps well, but he slowed his procession, giving himself time to think what he’d say to Fiona. First of all, he’d swear to keep her safe, even if it meant keeping her hidden in the tower room until other arrangements could be made.

  And then…then he would kiss her until neither one of them had any sense left.

  The mother superior adjusted her spectacles, tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her habit and looked at Fiona seated on a straight-back chair in front of the utilitarian desk used by the nun.

  “You say you were abducted and brought to Ireland against your will?”

  “Aye. I only just managed to escape.”

  The woman looked past Fiona to where Erin’s aunt Ailis—Sister Ruth—stood quietly by the door. “You say you believe her story?”

  The other nun nodded, although Fiona had to turn to see it, since silence was a virtue at the convent and words were used minimally. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  When Mr. Delaney, the public house proprietor, had escorted her to the gates of the convent, the novice who’d met them had been hesitant to allow her inside. Mr. Delaney had explained Fiona had been accosted on the street and needed safe haven. He had no idea of how true that was since she could hardly explain from where she’d escaped. The novice had glanced at the low-cut neckline of Fiona’s gown and looked even more skeptical. Finally, an older sister had come out and gently rebuked the novice.

  “Our doors are open to those in need,” she’d said.

  The novice had given Fiona a look that was none too charitable, but she’d bowed her head and turned away.

  Sister Ruth had been summoned. She looked so much like Erin, save for the wimple hiding her hair, that Fiona almost cried at the comfortable familiarity. Sister Ruth had taken her to a tiny cell with a straw pallet on the floor for a bed and a crucifix the only adornment on one wall. Fiona had just sat on the lone chair next to a small table when another novice brought hearty vegetable stew, warm bread with melted butter and a cup of cold milk. Sister Ruth had smiled when Fiona’s stomach rumbled and insisted she eat before she talked. The meal was simple, but it tasted as delicious as a feast.

  And then Fiona had poured her heart out. On the carriage ride to the convent, she had thought about what she would say and how much detail to mention. She’d thought about concocting a story of being lured to Ireland under false circumstances—which had a wee bit of truth to it—and then being left to fend for herself. She could say she’d met Erin at the farmer’s market and the girl had directed Fiona here. If she mentioned the asylum, there was the possibility the Sisters of Charity would alert the authorities and have her returned. In the end, Fiona decided on the truth. Lying just didn’t seem the right thing to do in a house of God, and she’d never been good at lying anyway.

  Sister Ruth had listened in almost absolute silence, her face as impassive as a faro player’s. Fiona hadn’t been sure Erin’s aunt believed any of it until she had asked Fiona to accompany her to the mother superior’s office.

  And so here she was. The head nun’s office wasn’t much bigger than Sister Ruth’s cell and furnished just as sparsely. The only addition to the room was a shelf beneath the crucifix on which stood a small statue of the Virgin Mary and several lit Novena candles along with an incense holder. The mingling smells of vanilla and sandalwood lent a pleasant scent to the air.

  “Unfortunately, a convent’s sanctuary is not as sacred as it once was,” Mother Superior said. “If the authorities come looking for you, we cannot deny you are here.”

  “I would nae expect ye too,” Fiona replied. “All I need is some help to get to Cobh. From what Erin said, I should be able to get passage on a ship back to England or Scotland from there.”

  The two women exchanged another look. “I do have a brother who still lives there,” Sister Ruth said.

  Mother Superior mulled that over for what seemed like an hour to Fiona, although it could not have been more than a few minutes. Finally, she nodded. “I suppose we can provide you with a change of clothing and some coin for the journey.”

  “I doona need the coin. I have some.” As soon as the words were out of Fiona’s mouth, she wanted to clap a hand over it and take the words back. She’d left out the part about the leprechauns’ help—and the faeries—since she’d not wanted to give Sister Ruth any reason to think there was any hint of madness.

  The nuns exchanged glances again. Before either of them could ask how she’d come by the coin, Fiona changed the subject. “The sooner I can leave Dublin, the safer it will be for everyone.”

  Silence ensued once more. Perhaps there was something to be said for vows of silence—or not said, Fiona thought as a hysterical bubble built in her throat. The expressions on both of the nun’s faces were inquisitive, but they asked no more questions. Finally, Mother Superior nodded again.

  “There is a public carriage that leaves each day at dawn for Cork. I believe it makes a stop at Cobh.”

  “Thank ye! I will be forever grateful,” Fiona said and then suddenly remembered something. “Mrs. Delaney asked that I light a candle for her and her husband.” Fiona reached under her shawl for the square of linen she torn off her shift to hold her coins. “How much does that cost?”

  Sister Ruth smiled and rose. “There is no cost. Come, I will take you to the chapel. We will pray for your safe journey as well.”

  Fiona awoke well before dawn the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed, even though her dreams had been filled with images of Kier. Kier watching her at lunch as they ate. Providing gloves for her garden work. Listening to her pleas that she was not mad. Sending a letter to her brothers. And most of all, the kisses they’d shared. She would hold those close in her memory always and savor them.

  Fiona sighed. She wished she had been able to say goodbye, but the circumstances had made it impossible. There was no turning back. She had to go home.

  Just before she left the little cell they’d assigned her to, she took one of the coins the leprechauns had given her and left it on the table by the pallet. Legend said if you left a coin in a place you cared about, you would return one day.

  Perhaps it was true.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Kier paused in the small space where the passageway ended on the ground floor and listened for any sound of movement from within the tower room. He didn’t hear any, but Fiona was probably sitting down, waiting for nightfall. He rapped lightly on the heavy door, not wanting to scare her, and then opened it slowly.

  The room was empty.

  Kier furrowed his brow. Neither of the old chairs had been moved since he and Finn had used them and the broken-legged table still had its collection of dust. Surely Fiona hadn’t tried to leave in the middle of the afternoon? There were too many people about. Someone would have seen her, dressed as she was in the blue satin gown. He looked toward
the door leading into the side wing hallway and then blinked.

  That door was still bolted from the inside.

  The furrow deepened into a frown. Had Fiona not come down to the tower room? The passageway hugged the back wall, leading up to his chambers on the third floor and to another chamber on the first floor that had served as a nursery for generations of O’Reillys. He knew she wasn’t in his rooms since that would have been one of the first places Ada would have searched.

  Maybe Fiona had gone to the nursery to wait? He dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it had entered his mind. The armoire in front of that entrance was full of children’s toys, mostly made of solid wood and metal, and would be much heavier to move than the empty chest in Fiona’s room. Besides, the door to the nursery was locked.

  Then another thought filled his mind, causing him to rush back to the passageway. Had Fiona fallen? The steps were steep and narrow since the passageway was not wide, but there was room between the double walls for a small person to slip off and fall. He bolted to the first floor landing and peered down. The floor below was clear. Kier continued to the second floor, following the narrow hall to her chamber. He took hold of the railing, realizing how eroded it had become when it wobbled. Quickly, he looked over it, relieved to see the ground below contained no crumpled form.

  Kier returned to the tower room and surveyed it once again. She must have come here. His glance travelled to the paneling beneath the stairs. It was in place. Of course, it could be closed from inside the alcove, but the door itself was cleverly hidden in the rough-hewn wood.

  Cleverly hidden…and Fiona was clever…

  Kier crossed the room in three strides and slid his fingers along the grooves to release the panel. Stooping down, he entered, noting the postern door was closed. The alcove didn’t look like it had been disturbed either. His papers were piled on his desk where he’d left them, the chair pushed against the desk and the cot’s blanket still pulled tight. Kier moved toward the door, reaching for the key on its peg.