Most important of all, she loved Aidan O’Rourke to distraction and it would tear out her heart to leave him. Sighing, she left the parlor and went upstairs to straighten the room where he slept. Standing in the doorway, she surveyed the mess. At first, she’d been unhappy enough to let him stew in his own rubbish—the dirty dishes, the rumpled bed, the pile of clothes. But she was still his wife and she would see to his needs.
She went to the window and opened it a crack to air out the stale smells. It was then that an odd glow of light caught her eye. What was that? A lamp? A torch.
Her eyes flew open wide. The end of the house was on fire. She ran downstairs to find the back porch and the side wall engulfed. Flames crept to the ceiling and smoke filled the kitchen. She reached for the bucket of water that stood by the doorway to the hall. But when she threw it on the wall, it made no difference.
Driven out of the room by smoke and heat, she ran to the front door, wondering what to do next. At the rate it was burning, the entire house would be ablaze unless a miracle occurred.
* * *
Inside his coat, Aidan clutched the Colt Navy revolver he’d bought in town. The shopkeeper where he’d gotten it had loaded it for him and given him a general overview of how to fire the thing. Aidan had never held a gun in his life. The English did not permit Irishmen to own firearms, but if it came down to it, he’d figure it out quickly enough.
He stood in a doorway to the mill. He’d set a lantern on a barrel next to him. It was the best place he could think of to watch for Noel and Fitch—sure, he’d bring Fitch, and perhaps Richards too. Aidan would see them coming and have the advantage of a bit of cover if he needed it. He didn’t know what might happen after that, but as far as he was concerned, this whole thing would be settled tonight.
Aidan heard the murmur of voices in the distance. Out here, there was no possibility that they could be simply passing travelers. There was nothing else here but the house and the mill. He had shut down the operation early to make certain that no one was left behind who wasn’t involved with his meeting with Noel.
Out of the darkness, just one man revealed himself, and that was Noel Cardwell.
“So, O’Rourke, I’ve found you at last.”
Aidan had hoped to never see those dead blue eyes again. “What do ye want, Cardwell? If you’ve followed me all these thousands of miles over the accidental death of Michael Kirwan, I’d say you’re not right in the head. Given the chance, I think you’d kill a man”—he searched the darkness beyond where he thought he saw Fitch—“or more likely, have a man killed, without a much thought beyond what the cost might be. So what is this about?”
Cardwell laughed softly. “For one, you deprived me of the satisfaction of doing in Kirwan. No doubt you’ve heard that he was stealing from the Cardwell estate. My father was extremely unhappy to learn about that.”
Aidan’s smile was grim. “Ah, yes, I’m sure he was. So you must answer for your rent agent’s thievery.”
“In part, yes. He sent me to America to find you and bring you back. Of course, I’m not about to do that. I’ve read a term on proclamations posted about this uncouth wilderness that I believe fits aptly: wanted dead or alive. I don’t need to bring you back, just some physical evidence of your death. An ear, perhaps, or knowing my father, your head in a basket.”
Aidan adjusted his grip on the gun handle. He’d been right earlier—Cardwell was insane. “I can tell ye, that won’t be happening, either. What’s the other part of your complaint? That I’m far away from Ireland and not bothering you or anyone else?”
Noel’s eyes narrowed. “You took something I want, and she is the one who will return to Ireland with me. Now that you and Farrell will be separating, gaining her trust should present less of a problem. Poor soul, a stranger in a foreign country with no husband or other friends. I’m sure she won’t mind posing as the grieving widow if I rid her of you.”
Aidan’s heart froze in his chest. So, now they had come to Cardwell’s true purpose. Farrell. God, this changed everything. How much did this viper know? More than he should, it would seem. “Ye know I won’t let you do that,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “I’ll drop you where you stand before I see her carried off by you. She is my wife and we are bound, now and forever.” He made this announcement not only to Cardwell and any of his toadies who might lurk in the darkness, but to himself and the world. Farrell and he were meant to be together. He would not give her an annulment, and he must have been out of his own mind with grief when he’d suggested it. He loved her, and he’d fight for her to the death if he had to. “If I hadn’t left Ireland, I would have broken your head on a rock for what ye did to her. I saw her the night she ran home, her dress torn from neck to waist, you filthy degenerate.”
Noel took a step forward. “As I said, you can easily be gotten rid of, and in the doing, I’ll accomplish two deeds at once. I’ll regain my father’s favor, and I’ll bring back a very handsome mistress.” His eyes looked like black, empty sockets under the shadow of his brow bone.
“And since you seem to know everything, if she and I have separated, where d’ye think she is?”
“I know she’s with Doctor McLoughlin. A very nice man, but his serving girl is better at providing information.”
Aidan kept his expression carefully blank, one of the most valuable skills he’d learned from card playing. At least Cardwell didn’t know where Farrell really was, safe at home.
From the far side of the mill, Aidan picked up the scent of wood smoke. He dared not look away from Noel, but he lifted his nose to sniff the wind.
“Yes, that’s smoke you smell. Jacob Richards had a score to settle with you as well, so we let him set the fire. While I’m about getting rid of you, I decided I’d destroy this little empire you’re trying to build as well. That has always been your trouble, O’Rourke. You’ve never recognized your place in the social order, as Fitch does. It was an outstanding stroke of luck that he lost money to you in New Orleans. He’s almost as hungry for your blood as I am.”
Seth Fitch stepped out of the shadows with a shotgun, which he threw to Cardwell. God, what was that in Fitch’s other hand? It looked like a snake that he uncoiled. But one crack across Aidan’s arm corrected his misconception. The pistol he held went flying into the darkness.
It was not a snake that Fitch held. It was the kind of weapon a former plantation overseer would own.
It was a bullwhip.
“Inside, O’Rourke.” Noel picked up the lamp and prodded him with the shotgun. Fitch flicked the tail of the whip right next to Aidan’s ear. At that close range, the snap sounded like an explosion and Aidan could hear nothing but ringing on that side of his head.
“You’ve slipped away from me before and I’ve come too far to let that happen again. This time, I’m going to make sure that you get what’s coming to you because I’m going to see it done.”
“Not man enough to take on the job yourself, aye, Cardwell?” Aidan goaded—foolishly, he knew.
This time the whip flicked the top of his ear and he felt the sizzling burn of torn flesh.
“You might learn your place yet before this night is over,” Fitch said.
“But it’s an unfortunate place, O’Rourke,” Cardwell added. “You’re going to die in a tragic accident. By the time they find your bones in the charred rubble, I’ll be far away from here with Farrell.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Flames ate up the front of the house at an alarming rate, and Farrell caught a whiff of kerosene in the air along with the burning wood. She stood on the front lawn, horrified, watching as the house was consumed by fire so hot, the skeleton of its frame gleamed dark red through the flames. Sparks and hot cinders floated skyward, and the whole fire roared with an evil sound, as if the ceiling of hell had cracked open and reached up to take the house. Bits of burning fabric and paper fluttered over the roof, carried along on the hot air currents. The yard was lit up as brightly as day. Farrell wore only a t
hin dress and no shawl, but fear and heat from the fire drenched her with perspiration.
From the bend in the drive, she heard horses and wagons, and voices raised in alarm. Neighbors who’d seen the flames had come to help, already forming a bucket brigade at the nearby creek, the same one that powered the mill. Seeing them, her gratitude made her throat tight.
“Mrs. O’Rourke, are you all right?” She recognized Tom Fitzgerald among the many who were pulling up. He jumped down from his horse and tied it securely to a tree far from danger.
“Yes, yes, but Tom, I don’t know where Aidan is. Have you seen him since closing?”
“No, ma’am, I—” He broke off to stare over her shoulder, and she followed the path of his gaze. Then she froze, her jaw open as terror flashed over her in waves.
“Oh, my God.” Flames were eating up the mill just as quickly as they were taking the house. “Tom, this is no accident! Someone has set these fires, trying to kill us both! What if Aidan is down there?”
“Don’t you worry, ma’am. I have Pete Dorsett and James Cole following. They should be here any minute. We’ll find out what’s going on.” He sprinted back to his horse and pulled a shotgun from its leather scabbard next to the saddle.
Farrell ran from person to person in the bucket brigade, all working on the house fire. “Damn the house!” she said, shouting over the inferno. “Ye must save the sawmill! Please!” It was a curse to her, but it was also Aidan’s pride and joy, and she loved him so much, she’d save it for him if she could.
She reorganized the bucket brigade, leading them to the mill. As they raced over there, Tom, James and Pete passed them at a full run, each carrying a firearm. Farrell took her place in the line, opting to stand close to the blaze so that she could keep an eye out for Aidan. Minutes dragged by like hours. Farrell’s hands blistered from passing the heavy buckets of water. She also noted a cramping protest in her womb, a remnant of her miscarriage, but still she kept on, doing her best to ignore the pain. Her agony lay in her worry for Aidan.
The house, now completely engulfed, gave an eerie wail. The tongues of flame cut through the roof and Farrell glanced up in time to see it collapse inward on the rest of the structure with a roar. She was certain that all the bric-a-brac in the attic served as fuel.
The mill did not seem to be faring any better. “Faster with the buckets! Keep them coming!” she screamed over the racket. “Ye must save this mill!” But where was Aidan? Even if they could put out the mill fire, if he was not safe, none of it would matter.
Over the din of the fire, she heard crack! crack! Moments later a group of men rounded the corner of the building. Aidan, his face a mask of black soot, led the way. Breaking ranks, Farrell dropped her bucket and ran to him, throwing herself into his embrace and sobbing incoherently.
“Aidan, oh my dear God, Aidan! Are ye safe?”
“Aye, céadsearc, but it was nip and tuck for a while.” Tom Fitzgerald and the other men passed them, with Seth Fitch and Jacob Richards bound at the hands. The mill workers prodded them along at gunpoint. “Those men were working for Noel Cardwell.”
“Noel! Holy Mother, Noel is here?”
“He’s inside. Tom shot him just as he was about to kill me. If he and the others hadn’t come when they did—” He left the sentence unfinished, but it was all too clear what nearly happened.
She saw the drying blood that left a gory trail down the side of his neck from the missing tip of his ear. “What have they done to you?” She whirled to look at the two trespassing arsonists. “Did they do this?”
“It’s all right. I’ll be all right.”
Suddenly, the mill gave a great, heaving groan, like a living thing suffering the throes of death.
“Look out!” someone shouted. “It’s going down!” Everyone ran, including Aidan and Farrell, who sank onto the wet grass far enough away to be safe. The roof collapsed in a raging blizzard of hot sparks and flying embers.
Aidan looked at the house, also on fire but now just a flaming wreck. “They fired the house too? I suppose they would. Thank God you’re safe. Cardwell thought ye were still with the McLoughlins.”
“Me? What do I have to do with this?”
“I’ll tell you all about it later. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Yes, we do.” Overhead, the skies opened up and cold rain began falling.
He stared at the hissing, steaming fires. “I’ve lost everything.”
“Ye haven’t lost me. I’m still here.”
He pulled up a yellow-green blades of the dormant grass. “Ah, but you’ve never stopped loving Liam.”
“Is that what you think? She gripped his sooty chin in her blistered hand. “Don’t you know, don’t you realize how much I love you already? Why do you think I craved your company at night? Just for someone to talk to? No! I wanted to be with you. And why else would I have urged everyone over here to try and save the mill?”
“You did that?”
“Of course. I hated the place, but I knew how much it meant to you, you great dunderhead!”
He gave her a wry smile. “I should have known. Whenever ye call me a great dunderhead, it’s done with love.”
“Well, it is!”
Now he laughed, actually laughed, and it was good to hear. “I know.”
“We’ll have a good life, Aidan. Ye promised me that, and I’m holding ye to it. You can’t just change your mind about that whenever the mood strikes you.”
“So you’ll stay and be my wife, even though, great dunderhead that I am, I tried to send you away?”
“I’ll stay. But don’t ever, ever do that again.”
He sighed. “I really thought I was doing you a favor, you know. I wanted to die the day I sat in the McLoughlins’ parlor and said that to you.” He took her hand. “And Farrell, I want you to know—Christ, I’m so sorry I left you alone that night. I should have been here. I feel like it’s my fault the child was lost.”
She swallowed hard, her throat tight at the mention of the baby. “I don’t know that it’s anyone’s fault. I just needed you to be with me, and ye weren’t.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I promise that will never happen again. I was a fool, even if a well-intentioned one. I know how wrong I was.”
“It’ll take some time, I think, but we’ll heal.” The rain poured down upon them, soaking them to the bone, streaking the soot on them. “Where are we going to live now?” she asked, looking at the ruined house.
“Well, we’re not destitute. I’ve cash buried in the field, enough to get us started again. But no more sawmills. We’ll farm this acreage, just as we’d planned. Are ye good with that?”
She smiled at him, and though they sat in the rain and people still milled around them, she gave him a moist, passionate kiss.
“I’ll do,” she replied.
* * *
The hotel opened its doors to them that night, though they came in looking even worse than they had the day they’d stepped off the Mary Fiona. This time, though, they were respected and known members of their community, and the desk clerk, upon learning of their horrible misfortune, and at Christmas besides, offered them every service he could think of. And damn, if they didn’t look like the holy family with no place to go, Aidan agreed. Farrell jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, and warned him of his blasphemy, but she laughed anyway.
“I’m sure we look far worse than they did. We’re wet and smoke-stained and bloody. At least they had a nice donkey.”
Aidan placed the same order he had at L'Hôtel Grand De Vue—baths and supper for both of them.
This time, Aidan stayed behind to lather every inch of Farrell’s skin. He washed her hair, massaging her scalp and neck until he evoked groans of pleasure from her.
“Mmm, that feels wonderful,” she intoned. “Ye might guess that this hasn’t been one of my better weeks.”
It was true, the week had been disastrous and heartbreaking. But her spirit w
asn’t broken. He could hear it in her voice, and her arch tone made him laugh.
“That’s one of the things I love about you, Farrell. You can always make me laugh.”
She turned in the tub to look at him. “Why, that’s how I feel about you. You let me have fun.”
When he’d dried her and wrapped her in towels, he put her in the upholstered chair and knelt before her. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. At least the things I could have helped. But I thought that I’d win your love by giving you the security you’d never had as a girl. That was why I worked so hard. And the harder I worked, the more I feared losing everything and you.” He put his forehead on her knees. He couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. It had been a bad week for him, too, and tonight had brought him as close to death as he’d ever been. “Farrell, please, will you marry me?”
“Oh, Aidan.” She stroked his dirty hair. “But I am married to you. You’ve told me so yourself.”
He raised his head. “No, I mean will you marry me in a proper church wedding at St. John’s? You’ll have a nice dress and friends to see you turned out, just as you should have almost a year ago.”
She searched his eyes and her expression softened so, she began crying. And looking at her, he feared he might cry as well. “That would be lovely. How about on our first anniversary in February? We’ll plan it for then.”
Aidan had never wanted to be a wealthy man. But he realized that as long as he had his Irish bride, he would always be the richest man in the world.
EPILOGUE
July, 1881
Aidan took Farrell’s hand in his as they climbed the last rise in the road that led to the valley. Around them the hills swelled and dipped gently, green and lush beneath the high summer sun.
He looked at her against the backdrop where they’d grown up. Despite the passage of twenty-six years and a lifetime spent raising four lovely daughters, three fine sons, and forging a home from raw land, his wife was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Over time, her hair had softened from its fiery cinnamon to a pale copper, and a few silver threads wove through her braid to glint like moonlight.
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