The Irish Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  Viola raised an eyebrow. “Apaches?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Of course there aren’t. You’d have raised the alarm if there were, wouldn’t you? And anything else can be dealt with. So stand aside.” She tapped her toe impatiently.

  He looked down at the telescope, then slowly moved away with a final, plaintive, “Mrs. Ross, it’s really not a sight for ladies.”

  She ignored him as she pounced on the instrument. A moment later, she stared at a brawl that seemed to involve most of the town’s male population. Miners fought teamsters hand to hand, kicking and biting and gouging when fists weren’t enough. She could hear no gunfire, but every other weapon and fighting technique imaginable was being employed.

  Where was William? What if this riot had been staged by Lennox to crush him?

  She scanned the riot in a desperate search for her lover. Her breath stopped when she found him, fighting for his life against three of Lennox’s thugs who were armed with knives and cudgels. The thugs were obviously accustomed to working together, coordinating their attacks well enough to threaten William from all sides.

  Then she found Lennox, standing aside as he eagerly watched. His expression wasn’t aloof and remote; instead it reeked of hunger and carnal excitement.

  She turned to the sentry to demand intervention.

  He shook his head, reading her mind. “Sorry, ma’am. My duty is here, against the ’Paches. If one of them shows up, I can shoot. If someone fires a gun down there, I can shoot. But I can’t fire a shot otherwise unless someone gets killed.”

  “That could happen any minute.”

  “But it hasn’t yet. Sorry. Believe me, if anything happens to the boss, I’ll kill the fellow responsible.”

  “Damn.” Viola whirled and ran back down the stairs. No use in looking for the sheriff. He was probably pouring whisky down his throat while waiting for Lennox to tell him whom to arrest.

  Abraham still stood guard in the courtyard.

  “Can you stop that brawl?” Viola demanded.

  “No, madam, I can’t leave you. I swore I’d guard you, no matter what.”

  “Mr. Donovan could be killed.”

  Abraham flinched slightly, the first sign of emotion she’d seen in him. Then he shrugged. “I would be very sorry to see that happen, madam.”

  “So I must be the one to do something.”

  “Mrs. Ross…”

  “I promise you I will not go within reach of anyone’s fists. Is that good enough?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Then bring an incense censer from the shrine and come along.”

  His eyes widened, but he obeyed without further discussion.

  Viola snatched a loaded shotgun from the armory. Then she ran down Main Street to the general store, glad she’d chosen to keep William’s coins and their comforting jingle in her pocket at all times.

  The shopkeeper stood on the boardwalk in front, watching the fight a few blocks away, as did other businessmen. Even Mrs. Smith was watching, with all of her girls beside her. Unlike yesterday’s scuffle, no one was wagering on the brawl’s outcome, which spoke volumes about its ugly atmosphere. And with Lennox involved, they’d be risking their leases and their livelihoods if they tried to intervene.

  The prematurely gray proprietor turned as she came up. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ross.”

  No time now to ask about his wife’s health, although Viola had visited her daily before Maggie’s departure. “A half dozen quarter sticks of dynamite and a box of your special shells, Mr. Graham. The ones loaded with rock salt.”

  His jaw dropped. “Are you sure about that, Mrs. Ross?”

  A man cried out from the depot, the long chilling scream of someone shocked by pain. Viola’s jaw set. “Now, Mr. Graham,” she ordered coldly.

  He had the wisdom to hold his tongue. She followed him into his store, Abraham beside her like a faithful shadow. Dynamite and a small wooden box quickly appeared on the counter.

  “Thank you, Mr. Graham.” Viola handed the dynamite to Abraham and put down one of Donovan’s gold pieces. She quickly reloaded the shotgun, pocketing the original shells, and ran for the door.

  “Good luck, Mrs. Ross,” Graham called after her.

  She simply nodded and picked up her skirts for extra speed.

  The riot was worse now, with men limping or rolling on the ground. Mules bugled their distinctive alarm call.

  Evans punched one miner in the jaw, then ducked to avoid another’s blow.

  William was still on his feet, but there was blood on his arm as he faced the three thugs. One of the thugs was limping but held a knife ready. Lennox watched avidly from a few steps away, one hand fondling his groin while the other twirled his sword stick.

  Viola took up position across the street from the depot, which placed her only a few yards from the edge of town. “Ready, Abraham?”

  “Yes, madam.” He sounded curious, but she had no time to consider his thoughts.

  She took a quarter stick of dynamite, lit it from the incense censer, and tossed it into the desert. The resulting explosion was loud but brief, sending a momentary swirl of dust into the air.

  Mules and horses screamed. Hooves beat against a mud-brick wall. Men froze, then cautiously turned to look for the cause of the explosion.

  William’s eyes caught hers, widened, and returned to the thugs. One of them started to swing his cudgel again.

  Viola cocked the shotgun. The sound carried clearly in a break between the stamp mill’s booms. Abraham stood beside her, holding the dynamite in plain sight. The two of them could mow down any, or all, of the rioters in seconds.

  “Gentlemen, your shindig is delaying my supper. Please shake hands and call it a day,” Viola shouted.

  A man took a step toward her, no one she recognized. Viola took aim at the fool where he stood next to the depot’s bell. “Now, mister, this shotgun is loaded and I will use it,” she warned him.

  “I ain’t taking no orders from no damn woman,” he complained, and took another step. She shot the bell beside him, which erupted into furious clanging. The fool dropped to the ground and curled into a ball.

  As she reloaded, she sent up a silent thank-you to Edward for his insistence on shooting lessons. She was merely passable with rifle or revolver, but quite comfortable with a shotgun. Which did not prevent a bruised shoulder, as she would have later.

  The other men glanced around, then dropped their weapons. The fool cautiously lifted his head.

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” She lowered the shotgun and swallowed hard.

  Lennox glared at her and started to say something, but fell silent. She’d have trusted him more if he’d cursed her.

  The fool sat up slowly, then stood up to dust himself off. Handshakes were exchanged as miners and teamsters complimented each other on a good fight. Viola rolled her eyes at masculine thinking.

  Sheriff Lloyd finally arrived, reeking of whisky and panting hard after propelling his bulk forward at an awkward trot. “What happened here? Don’t stand around, folks. Off with you all, now, and be quick about it.”

  Graham snorted and turned for his store, along with the other businesspeople.

  “Gentlemen, the infirmary is open,” Doc Hughes announced. He was a successful horse doctor for Donovan & Sons, and he treated people as successfully as most medical doctors would. Men murmured and a few followed him to his office in the depot.

  Miners departed quickly, many pausing to shake hands with Viola. Teamsters dispersed to clean themselves up or return to their chores. Thankfully, no one remained in the dust, too injured to move.

  The three thugs nodded at William and left the depot, following Lennox back up the street. Viola’s blood ran cold at the look in Lennox’s eyes when he passed her. Merciful heavens, what would happen when the cavalry came and most of the teamsters left for the new fort?

  She shivered as William crossed the street and kissed her hand. “Many thanks, Mrs. Ross.”

&
nbsp; “My pleasure, Mr. Donovan. How did this function begin? Did Mr. McBride arrive, with a few of his friends, to speak to Mr. Lowell?” Her voice quavered a bit.

  “Exactly so, Mrs. Ross.” His eyes searched her, then he offered his arm. “Shall we proceed to the depot? I believe there are horses and mules in need of soothing.”

  She handed the shotgun to Abraham and accompanied William to the stables. Abraham separated from them with a polite bow and walked toward the magazine, carefully holding the dynamite and incense censer very far apart.

  Her knees wobbled as she entered the friendly darkness. The horses in here were much calmer than the mules outside. She could already hear their restless movements slowing down.

  William wrapped both arms around her in a comforting hug. She clutched him, letting his strength seep into her. His heart was beating hard and fast under his respectable wool suit.

  “Your arm needs to be seen to,” Viola murmured, her cheek resting against his chest.

  “Merely a scratch. It’s already stopped bleeding.” He kissed the top of her head and kept his grip close. His voice was entirely Irish. “Ah, Viola sweetheart, my heart stopped beating entirely when I saw you standing there. Give me a few minutes to catch my breath, will you?”

  Viola nodded, making no other movement. If she’d lost him to those hoodlums…

  Saladin poked his big gray head over a door to study them curiously. Two doors farther down, another horse placidly chewed straw as she watched. What was Lennox’s new mare doing at Donovan’s depot? Then his voice recalled her.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Viola. Aye, you’re as brave as a lion,” William crooned, then added in a husky whisper. “But your beautiful body can make my heart skip a beat, as well.”

  Viola was too emotionally tired to tolerate pretty speeches. “I am not beautiful. I’m short, scrawny, and pallid.”

  “Is that how you think of yourself?” William pulled back to stare at her. “Do you not feel how my body reacts to you? You’re lovely beyond compare, sweetheart.”

  Viola opened her mouth to deny it again, but stopped when a ray of sunlight illuminated his face. His expression was entirely open to her for the first time outside the bedroom. William was telling the truth.

  “But I have no curves,” she stammered.

  “I can hold your breast in my mouth. Your hips cradle me and take me to the heights. What need is there for more? Your hair has moon magic woven through it and your eyes are the color of the dawn sky. And your mouth. Ah, sweetheart, do you want me to describe in detail all the ways your mouth has roused me to ecstasy?”

  Viola shook her head, blushing as she tried to smile. Her eyes blurred with moisture.

  “Look at yourself through my eyes, sweetheart. You’re a beautiful woman in every way—mind, heart, and body.”

  His conviction took root in her heart. Her smile grew as she, too, believed in her own beauty for the first time. “Thank you, William.”

  She leaned up to him. His lips met hers in a long, sweet kiss that melded their breath as much as their lips and tongues. She couldn’t have said how long the moment lasted as she savored the hard strength of his muscular body behind layers of clothing.

  She slipped her arms around his neck and simply enjoyed the kiss. He seemed content to do the same, holding her close and safe and gently stroking her back.

  Undemanding companionship seeped into Viola from his touch. He wasn’t demanding carnal fulfillment, simply offering his affection. A knot around her heart slipped loose.

  Perhaps William might be someone to ride the river with, someone she could trust to stand with her no matter what the odds against them.

  William Donovan possessed few of the virtues her mother had deemed essential for a husband. He had money but little else Desdemona Lindsay valued. To begin with, he didn’t belong to the right church or the right clubs. He couldn’t claim ancestors who’d fought in the Revolution. He lacked family, especially kinfolk who could pull strings in business or politics.

  Viola knew the pampered life her parents had planned for their daughters: the dinner parties for the right people, the balls with the right people, summers at Saratoga Springs. A Paris wardrobe, of course, with magnificent jewels. And an elegant piano in every house for her amusement.

  The husband would be carefully selected for his bloodlines and wealth. He’d probably be fat, pompous, and disinclined to seek her company for sensual amusements after he’d bred a few children on her.

  He’d lie to her whenever he pleased, cheat his social inferiors whenever possible, and hunt power at all times with the obsessive energy of a rabid wolf.

  In short, he’d be everything she should want.

  Viola leaned her head back against William’s shoulder. She had three months remaining with him before the bargain demanded her departure. It had to be enough for her heart.

  Paul Lennox strode into his office and tossed his sword stick down on the desk. The O’Flaherty brothers silently followed him in. The youngest, favoring his right leg, closed the door behind them.

  Paul unlocked the ornate cabinet against the wall and pulled a decanter of Napoleon brandy and a single snifter out of it. He poured the snifter full and drank it down, favoring his wounded hand. It warmed his insides, but not as much as a good killing.

  Revenge for today’s debacle would be very sweet, when he finally had Donovan in his clutches. And when Viola had paid in blood for wounding him like this.

  He smiled, considering the possibilities, and twirled the crystal goblet.

  Then he filled the snifter again, capped the decanter, and settled into his chair. The O’Flahertys had doffed their caps and remained standing, as befitted their inferior social status.

  They’d served his family for a long time, ever since they arrived in New York as young men in 1850. He’d heard whispers their father had been a bitterly unpopular land agent in County Cork, eventually ambushed and killed by “unknown assailants.” Paul cared little about their background, except for how it had developed their instincts and skills as the most feared thugs in Five Points.

  “What next?” he demanded of the senior O’Flaherty. “Staging a brawl won’t work twice.”

  Conall shrugged slightly. “Simplest way would be to wait for the cavalry to come. We strike hard when they take that big wagon train and most of the teamsters up to the new fort.”

  “We can’t wait that long. If Lindsay comes straight through from Colorado, he could be here in two days. I must have Mrs. Ross before then.”

  “Her mother was quite the one for shopping, remember, Conall? Buying those rifles we had to deliver to Richmond for her. Maybe this girl likes to shop, too, and we could snatch her off the street,” the youngest brother offered.

  “Richmond? You delivered rifles to Richmond during the recent unpleasantness for Desdemona Lindsay?” Paul’s head spun. A naval officer’s wife committing treason?

  “Yes, sir, we did,” Conall agreed.

  “And you’d swear to it in court?”

  “Of course, sir. God’s own truth, for once.”

  Paul smiled slowly, stroking his muttonchops. Either Viola Ross would marry him or he’d destroy her mother, and her family’s reputation.

  “Very well then,” he said briskly. “Snatching her from a shop should work. Afterwards, you’ll escape into the mine tunnels below Main Street before Donovan can come to her rescue. There’s an abandoned mine where we can hold her until she turns biddable. Yes, that should definitely work.”

  “Donovan’d probably come hunting her,” Conall mused, a feral battle light glowing in his eyes. He enjoyed killing as much as Paul enjoyed watching. They’d spent more than one delightful evening together in Five Points, indulging their mutual appetites.

  Paul stirred reluctantly. The only other bids he’d ever received for freighting goods into this godforsaken hole demanded half again as much as Donovan & Sons. He couldn’t afford to lose Donovan & Sons a day earlier than necessary, especi
ally since he planned to keep the Golconda. Nick might want to sell it and focus on railroads but Paul found the hunt for silver too exciting to give up. “Might be better if he didn’t. Perhaps I can bribe him.”

  With money? That hadn’t worked before. There must be something else he could offer, something Donovan couldn’t obtain any other way and would be properly grateful for.

  Perhaps an invitation to join the Pericles Club. Yes, that might do very well. He’d seen how Donovan’s eyes widened with hunger when he mentioned his own acceptance. He’d ensure the Board of Governors voted Donovan down, of course. A quick note to Nick should do the job.

  Nick had coaxed the governors into admitting Paul into the Pericles Club, despite all the ridiculous gossip about Paul’s war record. He was well-spoken, accounted handsome by the ladies, and a skilled blackmailer who worshipped his older brother. Yes, Nick should be able to easily block Donovan’s admission.

  “Yes, plan to kidnap her Friday morning before the stage arrives. That will give you time to clear the entrance to that old mine so we can keep her there,” Paul ordered. “I can send her a note while Donovan’s at the depot, purporting to come from that fool Graham, which should fetch her immediately. You’ll have to eliminate the Chinaman, of course.”

  “Of course, sir. We’ve fought his type before and won. Paddy will dispatch him in a trice.”

  “Try not to use a gun. I don’t want any untoward attention.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “Anything else? You’re hesitating.”

  “Donovan looks a bit familiar, that’s all.”

  “Common name in the old country,” Conall’s youngest brother suggested. “Especially in southwest Cork.”

  “Maybe that’s it. But I swear I’ve seen his eyes before. Never mind my fancies, sir. We’ll snatch the woman for you.”

  “Fetch some mules from the mine’s stables and return here in an hour. You can start work on clearing the rubble from the abandoned mine tonight.”

  “Yes, sir,” the O’Flahertys chorused.

  Paul walked them out to the street, planning to stop by his house next. A plume of dust in the distance caught his attention. He shielded his eyes against the sun’s glare and squinted. Then he chuckled, a sound he’d taught Virginia civilians to know and hate during the war.