"You may as well sleep here," she whispered.
"If I do, is there any chance we may be able to make love in a bed?"
She giggled softly. "A chance, perhaps."
She undressed, too weary to be shy. And it seemed quite natural to snuggle up against O'Ryan's chest and close her eyes for a few hours' sleep before it was time to rise and begin the day.
* * *
His hand on her bare shoulder woke her when the sun was high. "Anne. Wake up," he said. "We have company."
"Who?" She sat upright in bed and blinked. Memories of the night's mischief flooded her senses, and she stretched and smiled at him. "Who's here?" she said. "Is it my sister? Is Mary here at last?"
O'Ryan bent and kissed the crown of her head. "No. It's those damned bankers. Two of them are downstairs in the parlor with the sheriff. They're demanding money—today."
A hard look passed over his chiseled features. "They say that if we don't pay them, they will foreclose on the plantation and take our slaves and our livestock."
"So soon? Surely not so soon!" She rubbed her eyes. "You'll have to stall them until I can get dressed. I can't go down looking any less than my best." She dug Shannon out from her warm nest under the sheets and handed the pup to him. "She needs to go out."
Anne yawned again. "Feed our guests, or lock them in the wine cellar. You're the adventurer. Surely you can think of something until my maid can have me presentable."
The hard line of his mouth softened into a grin. "You have a devious mind, woman. Are you certain your blessed mother wasn't Irish?" He turned toward the door with the squirming pup tucked under his arm. "I'll send one of the girls in. But hurry. The less I have to do with the law, the better pleased I'll be."
Chapter 14
O'Ryan passed the puppy to a maid, returned to the parlor, and delivered a disarming smile. "Stoddard, Obediah," he greeted the bankers. He nodded to the Talbot County sheriff. "Gentlemen, I apologize for the delay. Mrs. O'Ryan—as you may suppose—is greatly aggrieved by her father's demise. She is not herself. Please, come into the dining room. It's early, and you cannot have had your breakfast yet."
"We didn't come here to eat," the younger Mr. Rawlings said. "If Mrs. O'Ryan isn't receiving visitors, we will conduct our business with you. We want—"
"Hold on, Stoddard," Sheriff John Clough interrupted. "I for one am hungry. Mr. O'Ryan, here, seems disposed to behave like a gentleman. You could do the same. I've known James Davis since we were boys, and I intend to see that his daughter receives the proper respect due her."
"Exactly." O'Ryan ushered the three men back into the center hall and into the spacious dining room. The table was set for breakfast, but no food, hot or cold, was in view. "If you'll permit me to give instructions to our staff."
Ignoring the Rawlings's grumbling, O'Ryan entered the kitchen and shut the door firmly behind him. The twin maids Afi and Afua stood motionless near the hearth, their identical brown faces inscrutable. "Where is breakfast?" O'Ryan asked.
He saw a flash of rebellion before Afi averted her eyes.
"What's wrong?" O'Ryan demanded quietly. "Where's Ivy?"
Afua covered her face with her hands and whispered something he couldn't understand. Afi elbowed her sister sharply.
"There's more to this than cold eggs," said O'Ryan. He walked out onto the back porch and surveyed the service area. Smoke drifted from the chimney of the summer kitchen, but otherwise the yard was deserted. No children played on the steps. No chickens scratched around the dependencies, and no women gathered at the well to gossip. Old Henry's African drum was silent.
"Ivy?" O'Ryan called.
No answer.
O'Ryan glanced back at the whitewashed summer kitchen. "Toby?"
"A-ah?" The cook, a bald, moonfaced man with a neatly trimmed beard, pushed open a shuttered window and leaned against the sill. As always, Toby wore a white apron over a blue homespun shirt, and his hands were dusty with flour.
"What's happened to our breakfast?" O'Ryan asked. "We have guests. I need food for three extra, eggs, ham, fish, biscuits, whatever you have."
The cook tugged at his neatly trimmed beard.
O'Ryan noted that Toby's florid complexion was the color of old wax and he was far too affable. "Have you seen Ivy Washington?"
Toby's pale gray eyes narrowed suspiciously as he turned his floury hands palm up in a gesture of total ignorance of the housekeeper's whereabouts.
O'Ryan knew that Ivy was normally at her post before dawn. If she wasn't here, this was serious. "Is Ivy sick? Did you send someone to look for her?"
Toby shook his head.
"Why not?"
The cook mumbled something in Welsh that O'Ryan couldn't quite make out. "What did you say?" He was fast losing his patience.
Toby spat onto the grass. "Gone."
"Gone? Gone where? Is she at Abraham's shop? He must know—"
"Both gone," the little man proclaimed sagely. "Nobody knows where, or if they do, they ain't be telling me."
"No doubt you can venture a guess." Toby could cook as well as any chef in the great houses across the water; he held opinions worthy of his lofty status and was never reluctant to express them loudly.
The Welshman glowered. "They followed the drinking gourd."
O'Ryan shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Gone North, Irish sir. They have run away."
O'Ryan muttered an oath and turned back toward the house. "Breakfast!" he ordered. "The best we can offer and plenty of it."
In the kitchen, he gave instructions to the servants, put Afi in charge, and returned to take a seat at the head of the table. "I apologize for the delay," he said as Afua entered with a silver coffeepot. "We are always pleased to have guests at Gentleman's Folly, but I'm afraid you've taken time from your busy schedules for nothing."
Afi began offering cheese, cold slices of smoked ham, and rare roast beef from a huge platter. Grace followed close on the slave's heels with biscuits and apple tarts. In less time than it took to saddle a horse, the women delivered a feast to the table.
"Please, have some of these oysters on the half shell,"
O'Ryan offered. "The clam fritters are excellent, and I know you'll enjoy the pickled eel."
The sheriff, known throughout the Eastern Shore as a mighty trencherman, ate slowly but solidly, while Obediah picked and nibbled at the delicacies on his plate. Stoddard barely tasted the offerings.
"We did not come here to eat," he reminded O'Ryan. "We came for payment of a debt incurred by James Davis, now deceased. We have no arrangement with you or Mrs. O'Ryan. Either produce the funds, or we will takes steps to claim your—"
"My funds?" O'Ryan drew himself up stiffly. His expression turned haughty. "You are questioning my ability to pay a few thousand dollars?"
"More than a few," Obediah said. He named a sum somewhat greater than that the lawyer had given. "It is never pleasant to—"
O'Ryan cleared his throat, rubbed at an invisible crumb on his lower lip, and fixed the banker with a frosty stare. "My wife's debts are now mine, sir. It is not my policy to discuss financial matters in my home. If you wish to settle accounts, I suggest you contact my solicitors in London."
"London is a good distance from here, Mr. O'Ryan," Stoddard Rawlings answered. "Our policy is—"
O'Ryan flung his napkin onto his plate and stood abruptly. "This is hardly the time or place. My wife is of delicate constitution. She has suffered the loss of our..." He turned his head and swallowed, conveying great emotion. "Pardon me. That is a private tragedy, too personal to speak of. It is unseemly of me to mention it. Let me say only that Mrs. O'Ryan has sustained two great losses in a month's time. I refuse to allow her to be troubled by any..." O'Ryan pressed his lips together, as if he had tasted something unpleasant. "In all decency, I would expect you to postpone your inquiries until a proper period of mourning has—"
"Rawlings and Rawlings is truly sorry for your wife's loss... losses," Obedia
h put in. "But we'll have our money, sir. Our money or—"
"Slaves, personal goods, livestock, title to—" Stoddard completed the thought.
"Money!" O'Ryan cut him off with a roar. "Money? For the love of God, man, are you a fool? I'm an O'Ryan of Cuchulainn. I could buy and sell your banking house." He shrugged. "I still might."
John Clough paused in sipping his coffee. "Calm down, Mr. O'Ryan. I'm sure they meant no insult. It's just that you're a stranger here, and—"
"Sheriff Clough!" Anne made her entrance, garbed in mourning black from head to toe. "Oh, sheriff, how good... how very good of you to come. I've been so worried. We had word just last night of a sighting of those terrible pirates. One of our men saw them butchering a steer."
She rushed around the table and flung her arms around his neck. "Dear, dear Sheriff Clough. My father..." Here she broke down, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed pitifully.
O'Ryan went to her and helped her into a chair beside him. He motioned to a servant, who poured her a goblet of water.
Anne took a sip, then wiped her eyes beneath the veil. "Thank you," she whispered weakly. "Forgive me, sheriff. You must think me a foolish woman, but I loved Papa so much. He depended on you. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to see your kind face. It eases my heart to know that you'll be here for Mr. O'Ryan and me."
The sheriff blew his nose on his napkin and cleared his throat loudly. "There, there, Miss Anne," he blustered. "Things will come right. You'll see."
"I don't understand," she replied meekly. "Mr. O'Ryan is..." She inclined her head modestly. "Well, let me say only that Papa was exceedingly pleased by the marriage."
"What my wife is trying to say," O'Ryan put in, "is that Rawlings and Rawlings have no need to worry about their debt. It will be taken care of in good time."
"And what exactly is good time?" Obediah demanded.
"Please." Anne fluttered her hands. "A few months only. Foreclosure on Gentleman's Folly would be—"
"Premature and foolish," O'Ryan said. "An embarrassment, not to mention a financial loss to your investors."
The sheriff finished his third biscuit and glanced meaningfully at Stoddard Rawlings. "Well?"
"We'll hold off on the land," the banker replied, "but must have five thousand dollars, hard money. Mind you, we'll accept no notes drawn on foreign banks. By the first of October. If not, every slave, every head of livestock, and all boats will be auctioned to the highest bidder in Annapolis on October second. Is that clear?"
"That sounds fair to me," Clough said, reaching for the platter of cold ham. "Will that satisfy you, Mr. O'Ryan?"
He saw Anne stiffen, and he laid his hand over hers. Her skin was cold, her bones small and fragile under his touch. "We are agreed," he said. "I'll send to Philadelphia for the cash."
"But we will advertise the auction," Stoddard said. "Just in case your funds go astray between Penn's town and Annapolis."
"Naturally you must do as your conscience dictates," O'Ryan answered quietly. "As behooves us all."
* * *
"Five thousand dollars! Where will we get five thousand by the first of October?" Anne ripped off her mourning veil and tossed it onto the bed. They had retreated to the seclusion of her chamber as soon as Sheriff Clough and the Rawlings brothers had departed.
O'Ryan took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Don't worry. It will be all right. We'll get the money somewhere."
"Don't. Don't treat me like a child. You don't have it, and I don't have it. Unless we dig up a chest of pirate gold in the garden, it's hopeless." She pulled away, crossed to a window, and gazed out at the fields. They needed rain, but even in late summer, amid the dust and heat, she thought her home the most beautiful spot on earth. "What will we do?" she whispered. "I can't let them auction off our people."
He followed her and slipped a strong arm around her shoulder. "Courage, Annie. At least we're on the same side this time." Moving so that he still held her but could look directly into her face, he said, "I'm afraid I've more bad news. Abraham and Ivy have fled."
Anne stared at him in disbelief. "Run away? Not Abraham! He wouldn't—"
O'Ryan placed two fingers across her lips. "Shhh, think. Why wouldn't he? Because he's smart? Because he has a good trade?"
She brushed his hand away. "Papa was always good to him. I liked Ivy. I thought—"
He pulled her against his chest and cradled her head with a broad hand. "They wanted to be free. Can you blame them? If someone wanted to separate your father from your mother, what would he have done?"
"This is awful. Do you know what they do to runaways?"
"I'm afraid I have an idea."
"They'll be whipped, maybe worse."
O'Ryan's features hardened. A frisson of fear flashed through her breast as he stepped back and stripped off his shirt. Instinctively, she backed away. "What are you—?"
"Tell me about floggings, Annie." He twisted so that she could see the ugly ridges of scarred flesh. "Have you ever seen a man lashed? Can you imagine what this would do to a woman's soft flesh?"
"Stop!" She didn't know whether to run or to slap him. "What do you expect me to do? If they hadn't run away, I could protect them, but when word gets out—"
"If they had a little time—a few days—they might pull it off. Hell, why report them missing at all?"
"I wouldn't, but we won't be able to keep it a secret. You have no idea how word travels among the servants. Old Henry's probably sent out the word by drum, and the slaves will tell their white friends. Half the Eastern Shore knows by now."
"It's not right." His eyes blazed with anger.
"No, it isn't, but I didn't make the laws," she said. "If they're caught, they'll be punished, whether I wish it or not." She laid a hand on his arm. "Who whipped you, O'Ryan? Why?"
For seconds she thought he would refuse to answer, as he'd refused each time she asked about his past. She met his steely gaze without flinching and gradually his stance relaxed.
He sighed. "I stowed away aboard a ship in Ireland. Three days out, a crewman discovered my hiding place. The captain gave me a choice: take the place of an ailing sailor and suffer a flogging, or take the flogging and be put ashore in the Canaries."
"They wouldn't let you pay for passage?"
He shrugged. "With what? My smile?" Slowly, he tugged his shirt back on. "Thomas Dyce, the bosun's mate who delivered the sentence, enjoyed his work. They left me, unconscious and bleeding. A bucketful of salt water might have kept the wounds from mortifying, but Dyce forbade anyone to help me. I was spread-eagled on deck for a week without food or drink."
Anne's throat constricted. "That's inhuman. How did you survive?"
"Sean. He and Nora cut me down and carried me below. I was out of my head with fever. They risked their own lives to save me. Nora's salt and vinegar remedy cured the worst of the infection."
"And this bosun, he didn't care?"
"Half the passengers were down with cholera by then. Twenty-two died in a single night. The crew went crazy. After another week, they started throwing the critically ill overboard. The captain locked himself in his cabin, and Thomas Dyce and his henchmen prowled the vessel taking whatever they wanted."
"It sounds like a nightmare."
O'Ryan's eyes reflected the horror of his words. "Sean's wife awakened in the night. Her youngest was burning up and the water bucket was empty. She slipped topside to fetch more. Dyce and another man cornered her."
Anne's fingers knotted into fists at her side. "This bosun ravished her?"
"He meant to. Knowing Dyce, he would have left no witness. She would have gone overboard once they'd had their sport. But I'd heard her crawl from the bunk. I followed. And when Dyce laid hands on her, I flattened the second man with a belaying pin. Dyce and I struggled. He had a knife. I hadn't regained my full strength yet, and he might have gotten the best of me if Nora hadn't rolled an empty water cask at his feet."
"What happened?"
&nb
sp; "He went over the railing."
"He drowned?"
"I saw him come up, and I tossed him the keg. I thought about diving in after him." O'Ryan uttered a bitter laugh. "In truth, I didn't think about it long—not after I saw the first fin slice the water."
She covered her ears, not wanting to hear the rest.
"We'd thrown so many dead and dying overboard that sharks were following the ship. Dyce screamed once, and then he vanished under the surface."
Anne's stomach turned over. "Did you tell anyone?"
"No. And nothing more was said about it. Until now. I had a letter from Sean in Philadelphia saying that there was a warrant for my arrest."
"For killing this Dyce?"
O'Ryan nodded. "Among other charges. Nobody saw what happened but me and Nora. She certainly didn't tell anyone but Sean. The story had to come from the sailor I hit over the head."
Suddenly she was afraid. "Will they come here after you?"
"No, I doubt it. I used another name aboard the Providence."
"What name?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, just a name."
"Why tell me anything, if you won't be completely honest with me?" She was torn between suspicion and wanting to believe him. She did want to believe him, but she didn't want to be a fool. That was what some women did, wasn't it? They accepted any wild tale a man offered.
As quickly as it had descended, his dark mood lifted. "Because we're partners in crime, Annie. That was quite a performance you put on downstairs."
"What do we do about Ivy and Abraham? And what do we do when October comes and we still don't have the money?"
"I told you." He smiled grimly. "We don't do anything. We give them a head start. And we come up with the cash by the allotted time."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
She sank onto the bed. "I'm scared, Michael. I've never been so scared before. I don't know the person I've become."
He chuckled. "I think you'll like her, if you give her a chance."
The Irish Rogue Page 16