Sister of Rogues (25 page)

Finley rose. “I guess we are paying the good nuns a visit?”

“That we are,” Kier said. “That we are.”

Fiona rounded the corner at the end of the attached buildings and confronted a series of narrow winding streets meandering up the gently sloping hill and lined with small whitewashed, thatched cottages. Consulting the map Ailis had drawn, she started along what she hoped was the right one. Ailis had said the shutters were painted purple, which was her sister by marriage's favorite colour, so it shouldn't be too hard to find. Fiona had almost decided she'd taken the wrong lane when she spotted it, tucked away behind a white picket fence at the end of the road. The grass of the neatly trimmed lawn had to be the greenest Fiona had ever seen. Rows of purple pansies lined the stone walkway leading to the cottage door, which was also painted purple.

She was about to knock when she heard the sound of a woman weeping followed by a muffled male curse. Furniture shuffled on the other side of the door and then all was quiet. Fiona hesitated. If the couple were having an argument, she didn't want to intrude. She'd half-turned away when the door was flung open.

The man about to step out stopped in mid-stride and so did Fiona. Her mouth dropped and she closed it quickly. Ailis had not mentioned her brother was a good deal younger and handsome to boot. His hair, although fairly short, was the rich-auburn colour no one would call red and his eyes were a light amber that reminded Fiona of Jamie. He wasn't quite as tall, nor as muscular as her brother, but from the wide stance he'd taken and the sharp-eyed look he gave her, she could picture him wielding a sword with the same ease.

His gaze moved over her head-covering, from which black curls had come loose with the breeze off the water, to the high-collared brown gown she wore. His eyes rested on the wooden cross hanging between her breasts and then travelled downward to her dusty shoes and the valise she had set on the ground. One dark eyebrow rose slightly.

“Sister?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Are you Aiden Mulvey?”

“I am.”

Fiona fumbled behind the pinafore of the dress and withdrew the letter of introduction. “This is from Ailis. My name is Fiona MacLeod. I…I am seeking shelter until I can arrange for passage on a ship to England.”

His brow arched higher as he took the letter. While he scanned it, Fiona noted movement behind him. A moment later, an extremely thin woman dressed in a lavender-coloured dress that made her skin seem sallow, appeared at his side. She wore her brown hair severely pulled back from a gaunt face, making her nose look too big for her narrow face. Her large eyes had white surrounding the brown irises. From the way she twisted her hands nervously, Fiona wasn't sure if the woman's eyes seemed to be popping because she was flustered or if that was their natural condition. Was this the woman who'd been weeping earlier?

“What can we do for ye, Sister?” the woman asked.

“I…I am not a sister,” Fiona replied, fingering her gown. “This is a disguise.”

“A disguise?” She looked shocked. “Why would ye defy God?”

“It seems Miss MacLeod will be our guest for a while.” Aiden folded the letter and looked up, his gaze once more sweeping over Fiona, lingering once more on the cross.

“Our guest?” She twisted her hands again. “Why would we let someone stay in our home who mocks God?”

Aiden looked annoyed. “There is no reason to jump to conclusions.”

“But 'tis a sin.”

“Giving the lass shelter is what my sister, a
nun
, asked us to do.” He gestured. “This is my wife, Meara.”

Meara? In Gaelic it meant merry. Fiona almost let her mouth gape again. Of all the names she could think of, that one hardly suited the anxious-looking woman. And if the disapproving look on her face was any indication, she didn't believe in the idea either.

“I have nae wish to impose,” Fiona said. “I…I was threatened at the place I lived, so I had to leave. I can earn my keep,”

Aiden's mouth quirked at one corner as he backed up and held the door open for Fiona to enter. “'Tis good to know.”

His wife gave him a sharp look. “I will see to her duties if she stays that long.”

“Of course,” he said, barely glancing at his wife before he gave Fiona a small bow. “If ye will excuse me then. I have a matter to see to.”

“Aye. Certainly,” Fiona answered politely as he closed the door behind him. Then she turned to smile at Meara.

Only Meara was not smiling back.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“What do you mean, Fiona is not here?” Kier asked the mother superior after he and Finley were admitted to her small office later that afternoon.

She slipped her hands into opposite sleeves of her habit. “I thought I was clear. Miss MacLeod has left.”

“Where did she go?”

The nun looked over at Sister Ruth standing by the door next to Finley and then back to Kier seated across from her. “All I can say is that she is somewhere safe.”

Kier bit back a sound of frustration. Aside from the order using as few words as possible, it seemed he was going to get nothing but vague answers. “I appreciate your respect for Fiona's privacy, but a woman on the road alone is not safe.”

“She is not alone.”

He lowered his brows in consternation. “Who travels with her?”

Mother Superior smiled. “God, of course.”

“Yes, well.” Kier took a deep breath, not wishing to offend. “Be that as it may, a highwayman may not take notice of the fact.”

“Even the worst blackguard would not attack a woman of the cloth,” Sister Ruth said from behind him.

Kier turned. “What do you mean?”

“She travels as a novice, so have no fear, she is well-protected.”

Finley stared at her while Kier raised both brows in question. “You sent Fiona to another convent?”

Neither nun replied.

Kier tried again, this time appealing to Sister Ruth. “Your nieces are employed at my home. Have either of them ever told you that I mistreated my guests?”

Sister Ruth studied him. “No,” she finally replied. “They think you are kind.”

“But Fiona told us she was about to be removed from your home and taken to the asylum,” the mother superior said and gave him a stern look as he swiveled around. “That place should only be used to house the poor, unfortunate souls who have completely lost their wits and have no one to care for them.”

“I agree completely,” Kier said. “I would never allow Fiona to be taken there.”

The mother superior peered at him over her spectacles. “Fiona told us she was committed to the asylum by a man claiming to be her father, but she cannot prove that he is not. As much as your intentions might be good, you cannot overrule a parent.”

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?