Sister of Rogues

by Cynthia Breeding

  But his hand only clenched air. The key was missing.

  And so was Fiona.

  “A good day to ye, Sister,” the coachman said as Fiona stepped out of the carriage two days later on the street that fronted Cobh harbour. “Just follow this road to the corner there,” the man pointed. “Ye’ll see the church soon enough.”

  “Thank ye,” she replied, giving the man a coin as he handed down the small valise containing two dresses that Sister Ruth had packed for her. Fiona had no intention of going to the church, but saying so would seem odd since she was dressed in the simple gown and head covering of a novice. The disguise had actually been the mother superior’s idea. The nun had said God would forgive the deception since it was intended to keep Fiona safe from another confrontation on her journey.

  And Fiona was grateful that it had worked. The driver had to switch teams of horses twice, at which time Fiona and the two elderly gentlemen sharing the coach were able to take care of personal needs. At the first stop, the stable boys had looked her over with interest until each had their ears clouted by a man in charge of changing the teams. The driver had stopped at a coaching inn at Kilkenny for the night and Fiona had avoided eye contact in the public house, keeping her head down, muttering low and fingering the wooden cross hanging around her neck. When she wasn’t doing that, she tucked her hands demurely behind the pinafore that covered the front of the plain gown in the ways she had seen the nuns do. She must have carried the disguise well, for soup and bread were brought to her room so she wouldn’t have to listen to foul talk, as the barkeeper’s wife had called it.

  Fiona hadn’t minded staying hidden in the tiny room tucked under the slant of roof. The door was locked, but this time she was the one who’d locked it—from the inside. Oddly enough, sliding the bolt shut gave her a sense of freedom. She was in charge of her destiny now…not some asylum warden, nor the true madman named Walter Avery.

  Her sense of elation was tinged with the regret of leaving Kier. For the nearly two months she’d spent in his home, he had provided for her as best he could. Even skeptical of her sanity, he had kept an open mind, listening to her and even attempting to contact Ian and Jamie. Kier had treated the other women with respect as well. Fiona knew her brothers would approve of his character, although maybe not so much if they knew about the kisses she’d shared with Kier.

  The first day of the journey, she’d tried to put the memory of those kisses aside. Thinking about never seeing Kier again just brought tears to her eyes and questioning looks from the two elderly passengers. Then she’d dreamed of Kier last night. His warm, spicy scent had filled the room before he’d loomed tall in the shadows, approaching her bed soundlessly. His midnight-sapphire eyes had glinted as he’d come closer, leaning down, reaching for her… Fiona had awoken to the sound of fighting from the bar room below, feeling like her body was on fire. Every nerve ending tingled, her skin almost too sensitive to touch. She’d gasped at the friction across the hardened tips of her breasts when she’d thrown off the blanket. A pulsing had begun low in her belly, creating a pleasant type of ache that had stayed with her most of the day. As had images of Kier. She’d experienced the strangest sensations of the carriage suddenly becoming hot and stuffy to the point where she wanted to tear off her clothing to cool her body, but even tugging slightly at the collar of her dress had brought more inquiring looks.

  Resolutely, Fiona picked up her valise and started walking, waiting until the carriage pulled away before stopping to switch directions. Erin’s aunt had drawn a map to her brother’s home and written a note of introduction as well. Before Fiona started toward the home tucked away behind the attached townhouses fronting the water, she stopped to survey the busy harbour. Assorted fishing boats of various sizes were tied to the quay and a few were moored farther out, along with several sailing vessels. Fishmongers hawked their wares from carts across the street, the somewhat pungent odor of their catches wafting towards her, mingling with the briny scent of the sea. The smell reminded Fiona of home, of Loch Sheil and Loch Linnhe. She lifted her head and sniffed, resisting the urge to shout wildly—an action certainly not in keeping with the attire she was wearing. But she could hardly contain herself. She was free. Finally. She was free.

  And in a few more days, when a ship departed for England or Scotland, she would be on it.

  Kier was nearly at his wit’s end. He’d dreamt of Fiona last night, the dream so real he could almost smell the faint essence of the lavender soap he’d provided for her. She’d been lying in bed in a darkened room, waiting for him. The moonlight had caught the pale glow of her skin and she’d smiled invitingly as he’d approached. So close…and then he’d been jarred awake by the sounds of fighting outside the room. Only when he’d jumped out of bed, his groin tight and aching, he found only empty silence.

  He was losing his mind. Glancing across the library’s desk at Finn, he saw the same worried looked that his friend had worn since Kier had found the postern key lying on the ground by the door three days ago where Fiona must have left it. He’d gone into a near frenzy then, asking Finn to put the word out without alerting the authorities who would only return her to the asylum, that Fiona must be found.

  The first thing Kier had done was go to the wharf where the Liffey emptied into Dublin Bay and inquired—practically badgered—the harbour master about any boat, regardless of size or type, leaving within the past twenty-four hours. When the man had assured him no woman had gotten onboard any vessel, Kier had taken to questioning every dock hand he could find. He’d given away enough shillings in his quest for information to provide half of Dublin’s population with a few pints of ale each. All to no avail. No one had seen a woman anywhere near the docks. Desperate, he’d even asked if the boat handlers had seen any slender youths about. Having realized how clever Fiona was, he’d not put it past her to disguise herself in boys’ clothing. But—after giving away more shillings—the men had seen no such youth either.

  “Where else can we look?’ Kier asked Finn as he tossed aside the list of men supposed to attend the next meeting at Christ’s Church. “We’ve scoured the streets.”

  “Aye, we have. It seems the lass has gone to ground,” Finley answered.

  “But how?”

  “That I cannot say. Perhaps the faeries helped her.”

  “By the Saints, Finn. This is not the time to talk about mythical beings.”

  Finley raised a brow. “Ye should not deny your heritage.”

  “Strictly speaking, my ancestors were Vikings, but that is neither here nor there.”

  Finley grinned. “Well then, maybe Loki—is he not the mischievous god of Vahalla?—whisked the lady away to some other place.”

  “Will you stop…wait. Do you think someone abducted Fiona?”

  His friend sobered. “Abducted? I don’t know.”

  “My God! We have to find her. If some brute has her—”

  “Stop a minute,” Finley interjected. “Think this through. The lass escaped on her own. Ye said that when ye questioned the maids, Erin admitted offering to help Fiona escape, but she refused, not even accepting the money. Perhaps the lass had someone waiting for her.”

  Kier frowned. “Impossible. Fiona knows no one here. She has had no visitors, nor has she even been outside the castle.”

  “But she is now, no?”

  “No. I mean, yes. You hardly need to the point the fact out. The real question is where would she go?” Kier suddenly recalled the day in the library when Fiona had been studying the map of Dublin. She’d had her finger on a spot. He’d been concentrating on the nearness of her, her scent and how her ebony hair had looked like dark blue silk in the light from the oil lamp, that he’d not paid attention to where she’d been looking. He’d warned her not to try to escape. Perhaps the warning had been half-hearted because he didn’t think escape possible. He’d told her she was safe with him, that he would not let anyt
hing harm her. But then the warden had arrived and Erin had warned Fiona and Fiona had gone.

  Stupid of him not to have taken more notice of where she was looking at the map.

  “I think Fiona is still in Dublin.”

  Finley raised a brow. “Why? No one has seen her.”

  Kier explained about the map. “She was looking for a specific street, I think.”

  “How would she know which street? Who would tell her such?”

  Erin had warned Fiona… Kier jumped up and went to the door, calling for both her and Brena before turning back to Finn. “I think one of the maids might know.”

  They appeared shortly. “Can I get ye something, my lord?” Erin asked.

  “No. Please have a seat.” Kier indicated an empty one beside Finley, who rose and offered his to Brena.

  Erin twisted her hands nervously. “Have I done something wrong?”

  “Do not worry,” Kier said. “I just want to ask some questions.”

  She sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, looking anxious anyhow. Brena gripped the armrests.

  “I know you said you offered to help Fiona, but she refused to even take your money. That makes me think she might have had a plan already about where to go. Maybe Lona, or even Dulcee, talked to her about places in Dublin. Did Fiona ever mention something like that to either of you?”

  Erin shook her head. “We didn’t get a chance to talk much since Ada usually came with us.”

  Kier suppressed a sigh. “She never said anything when you went to pick up her dishes or bring water for her?”

  Erin started to shake her head again and then stopped. “One time she did ask about our family.”

  “Your family?”

  “Aye. We told her we were from Cork.”

  Cork. Good God. Had Fiona tried to go there? Kier exchanged a look with Finn who gave a slight shake to his head. Kier acknowledged it with a small nod. It would be nearly impossible for Fiona to travel to Cork without coin.

  “What did she say?”

  “She asked if we didn’t have any relatives closer.”

  The hair at Kier’s nape began to prickle and he glanced at Finley once again. This time, Finn’s expression was as alert as a hound scenting a rabbit. “Do you?”

  “Well, yes. Our aunt.”

  “Your aunt lives in Dublin?” Finley asked.

  This time Brena nodded. “Aye. She’s at the convent.”

  “Convent?” Kier asked.

  “Aye,” Brena said again. “Aunt Ailis is at the Sisters of Charity.”

  By St. Patrick. He had not thought to check a convent. Most of the churches in Dublin were Anglican since England ruled, but the Sisters of Charity were allowed to operate, probably because they provided food and goods to the poor who would otherwise be in one of the English workhouses. Horrible as those places were, the government still had to provide food and shelter.

  “Did you tell Fiona that? Did you tell her where it was?”

  Both maids’ eyes widened and they looked at each other nervously before they both nodded. “Did we do wrong, my lord?” Erin asked, twisting her hands again.

  “No, no, you didn’t. I think you did exactly right. There will be bonuses for both of you,” he added, grinning at the bewilderment on their faces. “I’ll explain later.”

  Finley rose. “I guess we are paying the good nuns a visit?”

  “That we are,” Kier said. “That we are.”

  Fiona rounded the corner at the end of the attached buildings and confronted a series of narrow winding streets meandering up the gently sloping hill and lined with small whitewashed, thatched cottages. Consulting the map Ailis had drawn, she started along what she hoped was the right one. Ailis had said the shutters were painted purple, which was her sister by marriage’s favorite colour, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. Fiona had almost decided she’d taken the wrong lane when she spotted it, tucked away behind a white picket fence at the end of the road. The grass of the neatly trimmed lawn had to be the greenest Fiona had ever seen. Rows of purple pansies lined the stone walkway leading to the cottage door, which was also painted purple.

  She was about to knock when she heard the sound of a woman weeping followed by a muffled male curse. Furniture shuffled on the other side of the door and then all was quiet. Fiona hesitated. If the couple were having an argument, she didn’t want to intrude. She’d half-turned away when the door was flung open.

  The man about to step out stopped in mid-stride and so did Fiona. Her mouth dropped and she closed it quickly. Ailis had not mentioned her brother was a good deal younger and handsome to boot. His hair, although fairly short, was the rich-auburn colour no one would call red and his eyes were a light amber that reminded Fiona of Jamie. He wasn’t quite as tall, nor as muscular as her brother, but from the wide stance he’d taken and the sharp-eyed look he gave her, she could picture him wielding a sword with the same ease.

  His gaze moved over her head-covering, from which black curls had come loose with the breeze off the water, to the high-collared brown gown she wore. His eyes rested on the wooden cross hanging between her breasts and then travelled downward to her dusty shoes and the valise she had set on the ground. One dark eyebrow rose slightly.

  “Sister?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Are you Aiden Mulvey?”

  “I am.”

  Fiona fumbled behind the pinafore of the dress and withdrew the letter of introduction. “This is from Ailis. My name is Fiona MacLeod. I…I am seeking shelter until I can arrange for passage on a ship to England.”

  His brow arched higher as he took the letter. While he scanned it, Fiona noted movement behind him. A moment later, an extremely thin woman dressed in a lavender-coloured dress that made her skin seem sallow, appeared at his side. She wore her brown hair severely pulled back from a gaunt face, making her nose look too big for her narrow face. Her large eyes had white surrounding the brown irises. From the way she twisted her hands nervously, Fiona wasn’t sure if the woman’s eyes seemed to be popping because she was flustered or if that was their natural condition. Was this the woman who’d been weeping earlier?

  “What can we do for ye, Sister?” the woman asked.

  “I…I am not a sister,” Fiona replied, fingering her gown. “This is a disguise.”

  “A disguise?” She looked shocked. “Why would ye defy God?”

  “It seems Miss MacLeod will be our guest for a while.” Aiden folded the letter and looked up, his gaze once more sweeping over Fiona, lingering once more on the cross.

  “Our guest?” She twisted her hands again. “Why would we let someone stay in our home who mocks God?”

  Aiden looked annoyed. “There is no reason to jump to conclusions.”

  “But ’tis a sin.”

  “Giving the lass shelter is what my sister, a nun, asked us to do.” He gestured. “This is my wife, Meara.”

  Meara? In Gaelic it meant merry. Fiona almost let her mouth gape again. Of all the names she could think of, that one hardly suited the anxious-looking woman. And if the disapproving look on her face was any indication, she didn’t believe in the idea either.

  “I have nae wish to impose,” Fiona said. “I…I was threatened at the place I lived, so I had to leave. I can earn my keep,”

  Aiden’s mouth quirked at one corner as he backed up and held the door open for Fiona to enter. “’Tis good to know.”

  His wife gave him a sharp look. “I will see to her duties if she stays that long.”

  “Of course,” he said, barely glancing at his wife before he gave Fiona a small bow. “If ye will excuse me then. I have a matter to see to.”

  “Aye. Certainly,” Fiona answered politely as he closed the door behind him. Then she turned to smile at Meara.

  Only Meara was not smiling back.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

/>   “What do you mean, Fiona is not here?” Kier asked the mother superior after he and Finley were admitted to her small office later that afternoon.

  She slipped her hands into opposite sleeves of her habit. “I thought I was clear. Miss MacLeod has left.”

  “Where did she go?”

  The nun looked over at Sister Ruth standing by the door next to Finley and then back to Kier seated across from her. “All I can say is that she is somewhere safe.”

  Kier bit back a sound of frustration. Aside from the order using as few words as possible, it seemed he was going to get nothing but vague answers. “I appreciate your respect for Fiona’s privacy, but a woman on the road alone is not safe.”

  “She is not alone.”

  He lowered his brows in consternation. “Who travels with her?”

  Mother Superior smiled. “God, of course.”

  “Yes, well.” Kier took a deep breath, not wishing to offend. “Be that as it may, a highwayman may not take notice of the fact.”

  “Even the worst blackguard would not attack a woman of the cloth,” Sister Ruth said from behind him.

  Kier turned. “What do you mean?”

  “She travels as a novice, so have no fear, she is well-protected.”

  Finley stared at her while Kier raised both brows in question. “You sent Fiona to another convent?”

  Neither nun replied.

  Kier tried again, this time appealing to Sister Ruth. “Your nieces are employed at my home. Have either of them ever told you that I mistreated my guests?”

  Sister Ruth studied him. “No,” she finally replied. “They think you are kind.”

  “But Fiona told us she was about to be removed from your home and taken to the asylum,” the mother superior said and gave him a stern look as he swiveled around. “That place should only be used to house the poor, unfortunate souls who have completely lost their wits and have no one to care for them.”

  “I agree completely,” Kier said. “I would never allow Fiona to be taken there.”

  The mother superior peered at him over her spectacles. “Fiona told us she was committed to the asylum by a man claiming to be her father, but she cannot prove that he is not. As much as your intentions might be good, you cannot overrule a parent.”