Sister of Rogues

by Cynthia Breeding

  Jamie set his jaw. “I will kill the mon with my bare hands.”

  “Ye will need to wait yer turn.” A muscle twitched in Ian’s jaw. “’Tis a pity he manages to elude us.”

  Jamie looked toward the stern to the man at the helm. “Captain Henderson had nae other information on the bastard either?”

  Ian shook his head. “Alton just told him that he’d be returning to France once he had his daughter settled. ’Twas the same thing he told the warden.”

  “France is a large country.”

  “Aye, but Shane has friends in the Brotherhood there, remember. Once he returns, he can send word to them to begin searching.”

  Jamie nodded. “The Templars have kept their order alive and hidden for the past five hundred years. They’ll ken where to look for Alton. And when they find him—”

  “Aye. He will pay for what he tried to do to our sister.”

  “How can a mon stoop so low? To put an innocent lass into a place of torture?”

  “I doona have the answer to that. Just thank the saints Fiona was sent to O’Reilly’s castle instead.”

  Jamie became thoughtful. “Do ye think she pines for O’Reilly?”

  “Most likely.” Ian replied. “’Tis one of the reasons I never cared to take a lass’s maidenhead. The taking is more special to lasses than it is to us.”

  “Aye. ’Twas important to Mari,” Jamie said and then frowned. “O’Reilly should still be held responsible though.”

  Ian raised a brow. “He offered. ’Twas our sister who said nae.”

  “Stubborn lass.”

  Ian mouth quirked. “She probably learned it from us.”

  “Och, well. She should heed our advice. We ken what’s best.”

  Ian’s other brow shot up. “And has that worked with our wives?”

  Jamie grimaced. “Nae verra well.”

  “All we can do is hope Mari and Abigail get Fiona to tell them what happened—and then tell us.”

  “Aye.” Jamie grinned suddenly. “And I do ken how to get Mari to talk. All it takes is a wee bit of bed sport…well, perhaps more than a wee bit.”

  Ian grinned too. “A hardship ye will endure, nae doubt.”

  “We cannot tell you how glad we are that you are safe!” Mari said later that afternoon after Fiona had arrived at the townhouse and they were settled in an upstairs bedchamber. “Jamie has been beside himself with worry.”

  “I…I am glad to be back as well,” Fiona replied as she accepted a cup of tea Abigial poured. Not that she had had any appetite. She felt listless. Her sister and friends had fussed over her, having a hot bath drawn and sprinkled with lavender and then insisting she don one of Mari’s silk negligees. Given its cut and sheerness, Fiona was pretty sure Jamie had chosen it for Mari, which only served to remind her she’d never have the opportunity to wear such a thing for Kier. She wrapped a plaid around herself more tightly and settled farther into the window seat. Thinking of Kier only brought tears to her eyes.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Shauna asked.

  Fiona knew it meant the asylum and not Kier. The asylum was probably a safer subject, but she shrugged. “’Tis nae much to say.”

  Mari gave her a worried look. “Was it so horribly awful you cannot talk about it?”

  “We want to help,” Abigail added. “But we can wait until you are rested.”

  Fiona shook her head. She might as well get this over with. Ian had gone with Captain Henderson back to Edinburgh as soon as the tide turned, but Jamie would still demand answers. “The conditions were nae that bad, partly because the women’s ward at the asylum was full. I was housed in an old castle nearby.”

  “Thank God for that,” Mari exclaimed. “What kind of a story did that nasty Wesley Alton concoct that they even committed you?”

  “He told them he was my father and that I was a recent widow and despondent over my husband’s death.”

  “Damn Wesley Alton.” Mari patted Fiona’s hand. “Do not worry. Jamie and Ian will find him.”

  Fiona managed a small smile. “I think he fled to France.”

  “Never mind that,” Shauna said. “Did the warden even listen to your side of the story, or did they just believe that man?”

  “The warden dinnae believe me. Just about everything I said only made me look like I was lying…or truly mad.”

  Abigail grimaced. “Typical that they would not believe a woman.”

  Fiona nodded. “What I hated most was feeling so helpless.”

  “How awful,” Mari said. “I had nightmares over what kind of torture you might have to endure.”

  “Were you hurt?” Abigail asked.

  Fiona decided she would spare them the details of Ada’s cruelty. “I was confined to a room, but the…the master of the house dinnae allow beatings and such.”

  “Thank God, that the master showed kindness to you,” Mari said.

  Fiona blinked back tears. “Yes, he was kind.”

  “Did you try to speak with this man about your predicament?” Abigail asked.

  Fiona nodded again, trying not to think about how one of those talking sessions had ended in Kier’s embrace. “He dinnae believe me at first either. By the time he finally did, Jamie and Ian were already there.”

  “So he let you go?”

  Yes, Kier had let her go. Because he didn’t love her. Fiona pushed that thought away too. Abigail was not asking about that. “He let me go.”

  “Praise the Lord,” Shauna said. “Now you can put all of that behind you and never think of it again.” She rose. “Get some rest and we can talk again later.”

  Fiona wasn’t tired, but she didn’t want to talk any more either. “Perhaps rest is what I need.”

  “Of course it is,” Abigail replied as she and Mari stood. “Rest is just what you need. Pretty soon, this will all be just a bad memory.”

  “I suppose,” Fiona answered and watched them leave. Rest wasn’t going to help her and Kier would never be a bad memory.

  But he would be a memory forever.

  Kier ignored the look Finley was giving him as they entered Daly’s Club. Kier knew his mood was dark as storm clouds and conversation this past week since Fiona left had been as sodden as rain-soaked fields. Finn had eventually quit trying to talk to him.

  He knew he should be glad that Fiona was not mad. He should be glad that her brothers not only existed but had come for her. He should be glad she was free.

  Kier clenched his jaw. He should have believed her. He should have told her the words she wanted to hear. If he had said those three simple words, Fiona would have stayed. But would those words be truth? Kier had never felt for any woman what he felt for Fiona, but his emotions were jumbled. When she’d come to his home, he’d thought her a grieving, depressed widow, and only a cad would take advantage of that situation. The cockeyed story Walter Avery had told had sounded logical at the time. Even when Kier had begun to doubt that Fiona was insane, it had not occurred to him she wasn’t married. Her responses to him were not those of an innocent maid. Or so he’d thought until he’d discovered she was a virgin.

  Damnation.

  He’d needed some time to think, to sort things out, but the MacLeods had been waiting. How could he have told Fiona he loved her when his mind had been spinning like a child’s toy and not all pieces of the puzzle had been put in place?

  “Do ye agree?” Finley asked.

  Kier blinked. “Agree to what?”

  Finn sighed. “I asked ye twice if ye wish to disclose the action we are about to take with everyone who will be here tonight?”

  The action Finn was referring to involved drawing up a document requesting a peaceful separation from the English Parliament. The idea would not be popular with the faction that wanted open rebellion and the document itself would have to be carefully word
ed in a non-offensive way. Daniel O’Connell was especially brilliant at such maneuvers, but convincing Irish countrymen was another matter.

  “The O’Briens will not be pleased, but it is better for them to know which direction Daniel plans to take.”

  “I was not thinking of the O’Briens,” Finley replied, “but of the Frenchmen.”

  Fontaine and Algernon. Gerard Fontaine had produced two letters from French aristocrats pledging support for Irish independence, but so far, no funds had arrived. “If we do not include them, we certainly cannot expect financial help.”

  “True enough.” Finley gestured to the hallway and the smaller backroom where they’d meet. “Let’s join the others.”

  Kier had forgotten the black eye he’d received from Jamie MacLeod’s punch until sudden silence fell when he entered the room and everyone turned to look at him.

  “What the hell happened to you?” one man asked.

  “What does the other man look like?” another quipped.

  “I hate to miss a good fight,” a third one added.

  “No fight,” Kier said, “just a misunderstanding.”

  “Ah. From one of the lunatic women ye keep?” the first one asked.

  Kier gritted his teeth. “Guests.”

  “Well now,” the second man chided the first, “perhaps one of the guests got a bit too frisky under the sheets.” Several men laughed at the innuendo.

  Kier felt the storm clouds gathering around him again. He suddenly longed to punch a few faces himself—another wild emotion he hadn’t felt in years.

  “It would be better if we not speak of that,” Finn said before Kier could reply.

  Gerard Fontaine swirled his brandy in its snifter and looked at Kier. “Is there a problem at your home?”

  “No problem,” Kier answered. “Actually, one of my guests was released.”

  Fontaine’s hand stilled. “Which one?”

  Kier blinked rapidly, feeling his eyes sting. By the saints, he hadn’t shed tears since his mother died. He swallowed hard. “The Scottish lass.”

  “It seems her father wasn’t who he said he was, after all,” Finn filled in quickly. “Her brothers arrived and took her back to England.”

  The glass slipped from Fontaine’s hand, shattering on the stone and sending shards flying. He stared at the floor.

  “How clumsy of me,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Wesley Alton slammed his empty glass down on the table and continued to pace the small area of the rented flat. He’d hardly been able to sit through the rest of that miserable meeting once he’d heard the Scottish bitch had gone back to London.

  Somehow, the damnable MacLeods had won again.

  “What do we do now?” Nicholas asked as he refilled both their glasses.

  With growing irritability, Wesley noticed Nicholas had not used the Waterford. “Scared I will smash another of your precious glasses?”

  Nicholas shrugged. “They are expensive.”

  Wesley went to the cupboard, took out one of the Waterford snifters and threw it against the wall, shattering the crystal. Then he began pacing again.

  How in hell had the damn MacLeods found her? He had covered his tracks well, getting rid of Brice Molydeux and boarding a commercial ship at the last moment. The story he’d created for the warden contained details that would only parry any protests from the bitch and make her seem truly mad.

  If only he’d been able to convince the warden to house her in the asylum instead of at O’Reilly’s castle.

  O’Reilly. No doubt the bitch had worked her wiles on him while he’d enjoyed the benefit of being between her legs. Women were deceitful creatures who lied and cried to gain a man’s sympathy. They made stupid attempts to appeal to a man’s honour, not that Wesley had ever allowed that to happen to him. He was too smart to be foiled by such artifice, but O’Reilly acted like some gallant knight in shining armor. The man even called those lunatics he housed guests.

  All Wesley’s plans for revenge lost. Again. And all because of the damn earl.

  “Will we be leaving this outpost of civilization?” Nicholas asked.

  “Soon.”

  “Why wait? If Fiona is gone, there is nothing to keep us here.”

  Wesley turned to glare at his son. “I am not finished here. I will have revenge.”

  “On whom?”

  “O’Reilly upset my plans. I need to make him pay.”

  “Why bother? He looked miserable at the meeting.”

  Wesley snorted. “The stupid fool managed to let himself fall for the bitch.”

  “Isn’t that enough then? The MacLeods will never let her return.”

  “You are way too soft. The man needs to pay.”

  “In coin? Richard sent your funds.”

  “Do not be daft. Once I am finished, the honourable Earl of Adair will be spending his life behind bars, just like the MacLeods tried to do to me.”

  “And then what? America? You mentioned New Orleans.”

  Wesley shrugged. “I am not so sure I want to go there just yet.”

  “Where then? Somewhere on the Continent besides France?”

  Wesley shook his head. “Scotland.”

  Nicholas sputtered, spewing brandy on his cravat. “Scotland? You are the one who is daft, dear father.”

  “I am shrewd. No one would ever think to look for me there.”

  “But why? You did not like using a disguise or living in city slums.”

  “I do not plan to live in slums. Villages in the Highlands are remote and I’m sure one of them would welcome a French benefactor to make their lives better.”

  Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “Since when did you care about improving anyone else’s life?”

  “I do not.” Wesley smiled. “But there is one MacLeod sister left whom we have never met.”

  Fiona knew Shauna was worried about her from the look her sister gave her as they finished dinner at the London townhouse. Mari and Jamie had retreated to the parlor and Abigail was staying with her father, so they were alone.

  “Ye have been back two weeks,” Shauna said as she leaned forward, “and still ye willnae talk.”

  “I already told ye I was nae hurt.”

  “Some hurts cannae be seen.”

  “’Tis nae good talking about that.” Fiona wished she’d never mentioned Kier to any of them. In a weak moment though, when they were all crying and hugging her, she’d told them about him. How he’d protected her and kept her safe. Mari and Abigail had exchanged a look and the interrogation had started. She’d blurted out everything except the fact that she’d lost her virginity. Thankfully, Jamie had kept silent on the matter, but her friends had hatched all sorts of plans.

  Shauna wasn’t about to be deterred either. “If ye miss Kier that much, maybe ye should write to him.”

  “What good would that do? If the mon doesnae love me—”

  “Mari told me she dinnae think she loved Jamie either at first. Maybe ye should give Kier time—”

  “He needs to ken it.”

  Shauna sat back in her chair. “And what if he doesnae? Are ye going to mope about for years?”

  Fiona frowned. Shauna sounded like their older sister, Bridget, who had little sympathy for people feeling sorry for themselves. “I am nae moping.”

  “Nae? Ye turned down the last two invitations to balls that came.”

  “I am nae interested.” It was true. Although Christmas loomed near, some of the ton had stayed in London and wouldn’t retire to their country estates until after Yule. When the first invitation had arrived several days after her return, Mari and Jamie had insisted she attend—that it would do her good. Fiona suspected Jamie hoped that male attention would take her mind off Kier, although the way her brother hovered protectively at her side, the men
stayed several arms’ length away. Not that Fiona cared. Compared to Kier’s intelligence and compassion about the plight of the inmates, the eligible bachelors seemed like spoiled boys. Thankfully, Brice Molyneux hadn’t been among them. Abigail’s father had said Brice had gone to the Continent.

  Nor had Fiona changed her mind when Jamie chaperoned her to various soirees and the theatre. Knowing how much he hated such events, she appreciated his effort to make her feel better, but it hadn’t helped. Eventually, she’d just refused to attend anything.

  “I am nae moping,” she said again.

  “Fine.” Shauna pushed back her chair and stood. “Then let’s join Mari and Jamie in the parlor.”

  That proved to be a mistake. From the hallway, Fiona could see mistletoe suspended over the window seat on the far side. Beneath it, Mari sat on Jamie’s lap, her hands threaded through his hair while his slid alongside her breasts. Engrossed in the deep kiss they were sharing, neither of them noticed Shauna and her.

  Fiona’s breath caught in her throat and she turned to run up the stairs. She closed the door when she reached her chamber and listened for Shauna’s footsteps, but she heard nothing. Thankfully, her sister had remained downstairs. It had taken all of Fiona’s willpower not to burst into tears when she saw Jamie kissing Mari under the mistletoe, but now the tears flowed freely.

  She slipped out of the simple dress that Sister Ruth had provided. Even though Mari had lent her gowns and Madame Dubois had assigned several seamstresses to make her more, the plain homespun dress that she’d worn the night Kier had made love to her was comforting. She’d had to stitch it up from where he had ripped it, but that too was comforting and brought back memories.

  Fiona pulled back the covers of the bed and slipped in. It was stupid to be so upset. She’d seen both her brothers kissing their wives countless times…Shane and Abigail as well. She’d wondered about the semi-dazed looks they all had when they broke apart. Now she knew why. Kier’s kisses had done that to her too.

  Turning the wick on the bedside lamp down, Fiona rolled over and drew the covers up. At least she had the memory of the one night they’d spent together. She closed her eyes and tried to drift into sleep.