Sister of Rogues

by Cynthia Breeding

  Kier frowned and then rubbed his ear when it tickled. “If he is not her parent…” He stopped to swat at his other ear. What in blazes were flies doing in here? Not that he could see them, but the slight buzzing sound was an indication.

  “I can if I am Fiona’s husband.” Behind him, Finley made a strangling noise, but Kier paid no attention. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say it, but the idea of marrying Fiona suddenly made sense. He no longer thought her a lunatic and doubted that she ever had been. If she were his wife, he would legally be in charge of her welfare—and he could remove her from the nebulous care of the asylum.

  “Do you love her then?”

  Did he love Fiona? Kier didn’t know. She haunted his dreams and crowded out most of his lucid daytime thoughts and distracted him from his work. Even though some of what she said sounded far-fetched at first, the more he came to know her, the more apt he was to believe her. She had a fiery spirit yet showed great patience dealing with Dulcee’s delusions. Fiona was kind too, treating Lona with respect when most people dismissed her assertions of ghosts as mere ramblings. Erin and Brena obviously liked Fiona and didn’t think her mad either.

  The highlight of his day had become lunch when he would see Fiona, listen to her talk, catch the faint scent of the lavender soap she used and be graced by her smile.

  Like a green lad still in knickers, he made excuses to be near her, pulling her chair at the table so he would have the opportunity to brush her arm.

  And the kisses they’d shared had driven his blood to near-boiling—and left his nether regions hard and aching with need.

  Finley had been right. Kier was besotted.

  Mother Superior tightened her mouth. “You hesitate over your answer?”

  He straightened in his chair. “No, I do not. I care for her.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “If you do not love Fiona, it would be a sin to marry her.”

  “No. That is not what I meant.” Kier resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. By St. Patrick. Talking to a nun—two of them—about his feelings toward Fiona, especially since carnal thoughts were now spinning in his head, seemed incongruous. He swallowed hard, pushing away images of a naked Fiona in his bed. “I care for her very much.”

  Behind him, Finley made the same strangling sound again.

  “I suppose that is a start. Fiona—if she hasn’t already caught a ship for England—can be found in Cobh at Sister Ruth’s brother’s house.”

  Kier leapt out of his chair so quickly he almost overturned it. “Thank you,” he managed to remember to say as he moved toward the door. “Thank you.”

  Finley followed him out, trotting to keep up with Kier’s long strides toward the public stable. “I’d never thought—”

  “Not another word, Finn. I’ll not hear your opinion on it.”

  “I was not going to give ye an opinion.”

  Kier stopped momentarily. “What then?”

  Finley clapped him on the shoulder. “I was going to say ye finally took the advice of the fae.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Finley grinned. “The faerie who whispered in your ear.”

  “I don’t have time for this nonsense. There was no faerie,” Kier said, moving again and increasing his strides.

  Finley’s laughter rang after him. “Aye, there was.”

  Meara didn’t look any happier than Fiona felt at the news that a ship had just sailed for England that morning.

  “When will another ship be departing?” Fiona asked the harbour master.

  “’Tis hard to say.” The man shuffled through a stack of papers on the counter. “There’s not a ship due from the States for at least a week, and they have a window of several days for wind and sea conditions.” He picked up a different paper. “There have been reports of storms in both the Irish Sea and the North Sea, so I suspect ships coming from England and Scotland will be delayed as well.”

  “Ye are welcome to stay with us as long as ye like,” Aiden said.

  If the way the corners of Meara’s mouth drew down, she was not in agreement with her husband. But then Fiona had already surmised as much in the few hours since she’d arrived at their cottage.

  Meara had put Fiona to sweeping the already clean floors as soon as Aiden had left. When he’d returned an hour later to find Fiona seated and mending one of several garments beside her, he’d immediately taken the pile away. That move was probably fortunate for the clothing since Fiona’s skills with a needle were sorely lacking, but the sour expression on Meara’s face had made Fiona wish he hadn’t done it. Matters hadn’t been helped when he’d tossed his coat in the corner and then gone to the little kitchen area to pour two glasses of wine. He offered one to Fiona before sitting down across from her and lifting his glass. “To a fine guest.”

  “Will your wife not join us?” Fiona had asked.

  “She doesn’t drink.” Aiden had glanced at Meara who’d hung his coat on a hook and was now busy wiping droplets of wine off the counter, and then he’d winked. “’Tis not good for a man to drink alone.”

  Fiona had been careful to take only a few sips.

  Now, walking back from the docks, she wished she’d had a whole wine skin. She’d managed to escape the asylum, but she wasn’t safe until she could leave Ireland. Every day she spent here was another day in which the authorities might find her. Even though she’d mentioned her plans to no one, how long would it be before someone questioned Erin and figured out that Fiona had gone to the Sisters of Charity? Although the mother superior might be evasive, the nun would not overtly lie for Fiona. Allowing her to wear a novice’s attire was all Fiona could ask. She was living on borrowed time.

  “Are ye sure ye can carry all that?” the earnest-faced youth asked Fiona several days later as she put the fruits and vegetables she’d selected from the open market into several sacks. “I can close the stall for a few minutes and help ye home.”

  Fiona smiled at the gangly boy. He must have tried shaving this morning if the nicks and scratches on his face were any clue. For the past three days when she’d come to market, he’d followed her around, offering to help, in spite of the fact that his stern-faced mother called him back to tend to their stall. “Nae, thank ye. I can manage.”

  The bags weren’t heavy since this was the fourth day in a row that Fiona had gone to get food. She knew Meara was not happy that no ship had put into port and Fiona tried to stay out of her way as much as possible. The evenings were the worst since Aiden was home and insisted they have a glass of wine together. Fiona wasn’t sure if Meara was more annoyed with that or the fact that Aiden conversed and laughed with Fiona.

  She was almost at the door when she heard the weeping again.

  “Why do ye torment me so?” Meara asked.

  “Ye make no sense, woman,” Aiden replied. “No one is tormenting ye.”

  Fiona hesitated. Aiden must have come home to get something. Should she go in or wait outside?

  “Ye know I do not approve of your drinking, yet ye do it every night since that girl has been here,” Meara complained.

  “’Tis a glass of wine we share.”

  “Aye. And ye share much talking and laughing too.”

  “’Tis harmless.”

  Her voice rose. “Ye treat that girl better than ye do me.”

  “Are ye daft?”

  “No. Ye are making a fool of yourself with her.”

  “Enough!” Aiden growled. ‘Silence!”

  “I will not be silent in my own home!” Meara’s voice rose even higher. “I see ye watching her all the time. Ye are wanting to take her to bed, aren’t ye?”

  “What if I am?”

  In the silence that ensued, Fiona almost dropped her bags. Aiden wanted to…she couldn’t even finish the thought.

  “I will not allow it, Aiden Mulvey!”
Meara screamed. “Ye are married to me!”

  “Then maybe you should start acting like a wife instead of my keeper!”

  Fiona grasped her bags tighter and tiptoed across the tiny patch of immaculate lawn. She’d just rounded the corner of the cottage when she heard the door slam and Aiden’s boots stomping down the walkway.

  Setting the bags down, she took a deep breath. Good Lord. What was she going to do? Fiona had known Meara was upset at having her as a guest, but she hadn’t suspected it was because Aiden wanted to bed her. The man was married. Didn’t he love his wife? Fiona remembered Mari telling her about affairs that took place among London’s ton, but here? At home, in the past, marriages had often been arranged between clans to form allies against raiders, but now people were free to marry for love. They should marry for love as Ian and Jamie and Shane had done. She certainly would not do otherwise.

  Still. She needed to leave. Tonight. As soon as everyone had gone to bed, she’d pack her valise and go. Maybe the church would take her in.

  Fiona picked up her sacks and walked around to the front of the house. Forcing a smile on her face, she pushed the door open and went inside.

  As time raced by, Kier felt himself moving too slowly, as if he had a coil of linked chain wrapped around him. By the time he’d rented a sturdy horse and gone back to the castle for provisions, each moment had wrapped another band of chain around him until it felt as though he were dragging a kilometer’s length behind him.

  And then there had been the questions and suspicious looks from Ada and Seamus. Where was Kier going? Why? How long would he be gone? Who was in charge in his absence?

  He knew very well the information would be given to the warden. Even though Kier had concocted a story that word had come for what was left of Irish aristocracy to convene in Dundalk. Unrest was brewing in Ulster and Daniel O’Connell was trying to establish peace, or at least a truce of sorts. The story had an element of truth to it since Ulster was at odds with the rest of Ireland, but Kier knew neither Seamus nor Ada had completely accepted it. Kier also suspected Seamus would be trailing him, at least for a while, which meant he’d have to ride north first and cost him another day getting to Cobh. By St. Patrick. What if Fiona had already sailed for England?

  Cantering along the road—first north and then south after he felt he was no longer being followed—gave Kier plenty of time for thought. The longer he rode, the more he was convinced that marrying Fiona would solve her problems—and his, if he acknowledged the painful condition his cock was in when he crawled into bed alone each night. That they were physically attracted to each other boded well for them. Lady Jane Claire had never responded to his touch like Fiona did. Fiona didn’t hold anything back. Kier could envision night after night of pleasure for both of them. Just the thought of sliding his swollen shaft into her warm, wet sheath made Kier squirm in the saddle.

  The movement made the horse toss his head and turn his ears back in question. Kier ran a hand along the animal’s neck. “Sorry about that, fellow. I’m thinking about getting married.”

  The horse snorted in response, sounding much like Finley.

  Finley. The man was intelligent and quick-witted, save for the small idiosyncrasy of believing in the fae. Sometimes Kier thought his friend simply jested with him, other times he was not so sure. But the idea that a faerie had given Kier the idea to marry Fiona was ludicrous. That buzzing about his head at the time had simply been a fly or one of those pesky midges that no one could see.

  No matter. However the idea had come to him, marrying Fiona was the perfect answer. She might not be totally well, but perhaps with time she would recall what had happened to her husband. But none of that mattered to Kier. He could hardly wait to tell her she didn’t have to fear being confined again. She would never be locked in a room again. As soon as they returned to Dublin, he’d arrange for a special license. After that, Kier would protect her and provide for her. What more could a woman want?

  Kier slowed the horse to a trot as they approached Cobh early the morning of his fourth day riding. He’d have preferred to ride in last night, but darkness had fallen, and since he didn’t know the road, he’d stayed at a coaching inn in Youghal. The stop had given him the opportunity to bathe and shave, but he’d hardly been able to wait for dawn to break before leaving.

  Sister Ruth had given him instructions to her brother’s house and he had no trouble finding it. Kier dismounted and looped a rein over one of the pickets. Since the sun was not yet high, perhaps he and Fiona could start the journey back as soon as she’d packed whatever few things she might have. He would rent a second horse for her tomorrow, but today he’d enjoy having her body pressed against him while they shared the saddle. The thought made him grow hard again.

  A thin woman with a pinched face answered his knock. Kier smiled, wanting to put her at ease. “I am Kier O’Reilly from Dublin. Are you Mrs. Mulvey?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I have the right house. Your husband’s sister Ailis said my fiancée was visiting you. I’ve come to take her home.”

  “Your fiancée?”

  “Yes. Fiona MacLeod.”

  The woman’s somber expression changed and she began to laugh. Or that was what Kier thought she was trying to do. The sound came out more of a cackle, as though she were not used to laughing.

  Kier felt puzzled. “Is something funny?”

  “Oh, no.” Mrs. Mulvey continued the strange sound. “It’s just that my husband…he thought…your fiancée…”

  Had the man taken liberties? Kier felt his temper rise. “Perhaps I should speak to your husband.”

  “He’s not here.”

  Perhaps that was better. “Then I will just collect Fiona and we’ll be on our way.”

  The woman shook her head, the laughter fading. “She is not here either.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tired of the cat-and-mouse game, Ian stared Warden Kelly down. “Ye have been evading the questions and we want answers.”

  “Now.” Jamie’s hand inched closer to one of the knives he had on his belt but stopped short of touching the handle.

  The movement wasn’t lost on the warden. He eyed the weapon and then looked at the big claymore hung on Jamie’s back. “Weapons are not allowed in here. How did you get past the guards?”

  Jamie smiled, his amber eyes looking wolfish. “Persuasion.”

  “Ye are stalling again,” Ian said.

  “I already told you I am not at liberty to discuss our patients. It is a matter of confidentiality.” The warden started to arrange papers on his desk, only to draw his hands back quickly when the tip of one of Jamie’s daggers pinned the stack to the wood.

  “’Tis nae the answer we are looking for.”

  “We have come to take our sister home.” Ian leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. “We are nae leaving until she is with us.”

  Mr. Kelly sighed. “You will have a long wait then. It seems she has gone missing.”

  Ian bolted upright. “Missing?”

  Jamie leaned over the desk. “What do ye mean, she’s missing?”

  “She was being housed nearby since the women’s ward was full,” the warden answered. “Apparently, she managed to escape.”

  “When?”

  “Um…” Mr. Kelly looked nervously at Jamie who had his hand on another hilt. “I…think about five days ago.”

  Ian stood and began to pace. “Nigh a week and no one has gone looking for her?”

  “Of course, we have looked. The authorities were notified, ship departures were checked, and public carriage owners questioned. No one recalls a young woman matching Mrs. MacLeod’s description. It is possible that Mr. O’Reilly arranged to have her moved. He left shortly after she disappeared.”

  Jamie narrowed his eyes. “Who’s O’Reilly?”

  “T
he man who was housing her. Really, I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. Her father, Mr. Avery, is the one who committed her—”

  “Her da is dead!” Ian stopped in mid-step and turned. “Where is that bastard, Avery? We need to find him too.”

  “In France.” The warden pointed to the papers pinned to his desk, the dagger still quivering from the impact. “There is a letter in there from him.”

  Jamie pulled his dagger back. “Show us.”

  He shuffled the papers, removed one and handed it to Jamie. “This was delivered yesterday after a ship from Le Havre arrived in port.”

  Jamie read the letter, his face darkening. “This letter accuses O’Reilly of raping my sister. More than once.” He handed it to Ian. “Seems like we have another cur to hunt down.”

  Ian scanned the letter and then became thoughtful as he folded it. “If Walter—Wesley Alton—wrote this letter, we cannot be sure ’tis true.”

  The warden looked from one of them to the other. “Why are you referring to Mr. Avery as Wesley Alton?”

  “The mon uses aliases,” Ian replied. “He is suspected of murdering a woman in London, but he escaped from Bedlam before charges were filed.”

  Mr. Kelly’s eyes widened. “You are saying Mr. Avery is the insane one?”

  “Aye.”

  “But why would he put an innocent girl through this?”

  “’Tis a long story,” Jamie answered, “but the mon hates us MacLeods.”

  Ian placed the letter back on the desk. “’Twould seem the real intent of this was to put Fiona into the asylum.”

  Jamie fisted both hands. “I will kill the mon myself.”

  Ian gave him a tight smile. “Not until I am through with him.”

  Jamie turned back to the warden. “We still have to find Fiona. Do ye have any idea of where O’Reilly may have taken her?”

  “I do not know that he took her anywhere,” Mr. Kelly replied. “All we know is that your sister disappeared. Mr. O’Reilly left town three days later, supposedly to attend a meeting in Dundalk, but no such event took place.”