Sister of Rogues (26 page)

Kier slowed the horse to a trot as they approached Cobh early the morning of his fourth day riding. He'd have preferred to ride in last night, but darkness had fallen, and since he didn't know the road, he'd stayed at a coaching inn in Youghal. The stop had given him the opportunity to bathe and shave, but he'd hardly been able to wait for dawn to break before leaving.

Sister Ruth had given him instructions to her brother's house and he had no trouble finding it. Kier dismounted and looped a rein over one of the pickets. Since the sun was not yet high, perhaps he and Fiona could start the journey back as soon as she'd packed whatever few things she might have. He would rent a second horse for her tomorrow, but today he'd enjoy having her body pressed against him while they shared the saddle. The thought made him grow hard again.

A thin woman with a pinched face answered his knock. Kier smiled, wanting to put her at ease. “I am Kier O'Reilly from Dublin. Are you Mrs. Mulvey?”

“I am.”

“Then I have the right house. Your husband's sister Ailis said my fiancée was visiting you. I've come to take her home.”

“Your fiancée?”

“Yes. Fiona MacLeod.”

The woman's somber expression changed and she began to laugh. Or that was what Kier thought she was trying to do. The sound came out more of a cackle, as though she were not used to laughing.

Kier felt puzzled. “Is something funny?”

“Oh, no.” Mrs. Mulvey continued the strange sound. “It's just that my husband…he thought…your fiancée…”

Had the man taken liberties? Kier felt his temper rise. “Perhaps I should speak to your husband.”

“He's not here.”

Perhaps that was better. “Then I will just collect Fiona and we'll be on our way.”

The woman shook her head, the laughter fading. “She is not here either.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Tired of the cat-and-mouse game, Ian stared Warden Kelly down. “Ye have been evading the questions and we want answers.”

“Now.” Jamie's hand inched closer to one of the knives he had on his belt but stopped short of touching the handle.

The movement wasn't lost on the warden. He eyed the weapon and then looked at the big claymore hung on Jamie's back. “Weapons are not allowed in here. How did you get past the guards?”

Jamie smiled, his amber eyes looking wolfish. “Persuasion.”

“Ye are stalling again,” Ian said.

“I already told you I am not at liberty to discuss our patients. It is a matter of confidentiality.” The warden started to arrange papers on his desk, only to draw his hands back quickly when the tip of one of Jamie's daggers pinned the stack to the wood.

“'Tis nae the answer we are looking for.”

“We have come to take our sister home.” Ian leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. “We are nae leaving until she is with us.”

Mr. Kelly sighed. “You will have a long wait then. It seems she has gone missing.”

Ian bolted upright. “Missing?”

Jamie leaned over the desk. “What do ye mean, she's missing?”

“She was being housed nearby since the women's ward was full,” the warden answered. “Apparently, she managed to escape.”

“When?”

“Um…” Mr. Kelly looked nervously at Jamie who had his hand on another hilt. “I…think about five days ago.”

Ian stood and began to pace. “Nigh a week and no one has gone looking for her?”

“Of course, we have looked. The authorities were notified, ship departures were checked, and public carriage owners questioned. No one recalls a young woman matching Mrs. MacLeod's description. It is possible that Mr. O'Reilly arranged to have her moved. He left shortly after she disappeared.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes. “Who's O'Reilly?”

“The man who was housing her. Really, I shouldn't be discussing this with you. Her father, Mr. Avery, is the one who committed her—”

“Her da is dead!” Ian stopped in mid-step and turned. “Where is that bastard, Avery? We need to find him too.”

“In France.” The warden pointed to the papers pinned to his desk, the dagger still quivering from the impact. “There is a letter in there from him.”

Jamie pulled his dagger back. “Show us.”

He shuffled the papers, removed one and handed it to Jamie. “This was delivered yesterday after a ship from Le Havre arrived in port.”

Jamie read the letter, his face darkening. “This letter accuses O'Reilly of raping my sister. More than once.” He handed it to Ian. “Seems like we have another cur to hunt down.”

Ian scanned the letter and then became thoughtful as he folded it. “If Walter—Wesley Alton—wrote this letter, we cannot be sure 'tis true.”

The warden looked from one of them to the other. “Why are you referring to Mr. Avery as Wesley Alton?”

“The mon uses aliases,” Ian replied. “He is suspected of murdering a woman in London, but he escaped from Bedlam before charges were filed.”

Mr. Kelly's eyes widened. “You are saying Mr. Avery is the insane one?”

“Aye.”

“But why would he put an innocent girl through this?”

“'Tis a long story,” Jamie answered, “but the mon hates us MacLeods.”

Ian placed the letter back on the desk. “'Twould seem the real intent of this was to put Fiona into the asylum.”

Jamie fisted both hands. “I will kill the mon myself.”

Ian gave him a tight smile. “Not until I am through with him.”

Jamie turned back to the warden. “We still have to find Fiona. Do ye have any idea of where O'Reilly may have taken her?”

“I do not know that he took her anywhere,” Mr. Kelly replied. “All we know is that your sister disappeared. Mr. O'Reilly left town three days later, supposedly to attend a meeting in Dundalk, but no such event took place.”

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. “So where do we begin to look? They could be anywhere in Ireland.”

“Or he could have taken Fiona out of the country,” Ian replied.

“Probably not,” the warden said. “Mr. O'Reilly is the Earl of Adair. He has property here—an old castle that has been in his family for centuries.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Why would an earl be housing inmates from an asylum?”

“Taxes, I suppose. His father was killed at Vitoria, leaving his widow near penniless. The English require all non-Anglican Irish to tithe as well. He will return.”

“Is O'Reilly a decent mon then?”

“He seems to be, but…” Mr. Kelly paused.

“But?”

“Well, the matron who resides there did say Mr. O'Reilly seemed to take an extraordinary interest in your sister.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes again. “How so?”

“He seemed to grant her special favors. The matron said they spent time together alone in the library.”

Jamie cursed. “Then there might be an element of truth to the letter?”

“I do not know that.” The warden shrugged. “I suppose it's possible. Your sister is very attractive and Mr. O'Reilly is young and unattached.”

Jamie's eyes blazed molten gold as he turned to Ian. “If the mon has ruined Fiona, he will answer to me.”

Ian set his jaw. “He will answer to both of us, brother.”

Having found out from Meara there were no ships in the harbour about to depart was a small relief for Kier, although the woman didn't know why Fiona had suddenly packed her valise and left in the middle of the night. From their limited conversation, he'd gotten the idea Meara was not overly concerned that Fiona was gone.

The public carriage wasn't due to pass through Cobh until the afternoon, which gave Kier about three hours to scour the town and find her. Since she'd contacted the Sisters of Charity in Dublin, the church here was the logical place to begin.

He was met inside the door by a monk who lifted one eyebrow slightly when Kier told him he was inquiring about a young woman having asked for shelter sometime in the night or early morning. Silently gesturing to follow him, the monk led Kier through the choir and behind the altar to a recessed door that opened into an office behind the church proper. A man with coppery hair was already seated across the desk from the priest.

The priest looked at the monk as Kier stepped inside. “Another one?”

The monk nodded, backing out and closing the door and Kier turned his attention to the priest. “I have come to inquire—”

“No doubt about our recent arrival,” the priest finished for him. “I am Father O'Brien. Please have a seat.”

Kier took the only other available chair. “Is Fiona MacLeod here then?”

The auburn-haired man narrowed his amber eyes slightly. “Who are you?”

“Kier O'Reilly, Earl of Adair,” he replied, not sure if using his title was of any good. People outside the pale of Dublin appealed to a higher order than aristocracy. “And who would you be?”

The man studied him before answering. “Aiden Mulvey.”

For a fleeting second, Kier was taken aback. This man with a fighter's build was married to the hawk-nosed, reed-thin woman at the cottage? Kier had never seen two more incompatible-looking people. Somehow he'd expected Sister Ruth's brother to be older too. He'd envisioned a scholarly man, perhaps a bit stooped, with scant grey hair.

“Fiona was staying with you. Why did she leave?”

“That is what I have come to find out.” Aiden turned back to the priest. “Can I see her now?”

“I need to see her too,” Kier added.

Father O'Brien looked from one of them to the other. “In a moment. I have some questions first.”

Aiden looked annoyed, but whether at him or the priest, Kier didn't know. He squelched his own impatience. “Of course.”

“Aiden, I'll begin with you. Why was Fiona staying with you?”

“My sister sent her with a note saying she needed shelter until she could board a ship to England.” Aiden shifted his gaze to Kier. “Fiona was fleeing a dangerous situation in Dublin.”

The priest looked at him too. Kier wondered how much to say. It didn't sound as though Fiona had told anyone about being an inmate at the asylum. He wasn't about to either, lest the authorities get called. “I plan to marry her.”

Father O'Brien's eyes went wide and Aiden snorted. “I don't think she wants to marry ye if she's running away.”

Kier managed not to glare at him. “I have not asked her yet.”

“That's a relief,” the priest said.

Kier frowned, but before he could ask why, the priest turned to Aiden.

“Fiona told me she felt she was creating tension between ye and your wife.”

“Nonsense. Meara sees temptation for me lurking around every corner.”

Temptation? Kier's frown deepened. Had the man tried to take liberties?

“Regardless of what Meara might think, Fiona was quite clear she did not want to continue to stay at your home.”

Kier balled a fist and then placed his other hand over it. He had learned long ago to keep his temper in check, although right now, he longed to smash Aiden's nose in. Kier forced his hand to unclench. A church was hardly the place.

“I want to honour my sister's request,” Aiden said smoothly. “If my wife insulted Fiona, I can take care of that. If you'll let me see her, I'll take her home.”

“She is not going anywhere with you,” Kier interrupted. “I am taking her home with me. To Dublin.”

The priest looked at both of them and then sighed. “Perhaps we should ask Fiona what she would like to do.” He picked up a small bell Kier hadn't noticed before and rang it. Instantly, the door opened. The monk who'd escorted him in must have been standing guard outside.

“Yes, Father?”

“Bring Fiona to us, please.”

Kier ignored the glowering look Aiden was giving him while they waited in uncomfortable silence. Since he didn't want to bring up the asylum, he would apologize for the
misunderstanding
they'd had and pray Fiona really understood she could trust him. That it was safe to come
home
. Everything else could be explained later.

He stood as the door opened, ready to rush to her and gather her close in a courtly manner, but he nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw her.

Fingering a wooden cross, murmuring softly, her eyes demurely downcast, Fiona moved forward, dressed as an acolyte nun.

Fiona stopped abruptly as she saw two pairs of booted feet on the floor ahead of her. When Samuel, the monk, had come for her, she was sure Father O'Brien had more questions. The story she'd concocted about wanting to join a convent in Scotland had been sketchy, so she'd been trying to act the part of an earnest novice by keeping her gaze downcast and not making eye contact.

She recognized Aiden's voice. “Get your things, Fiona. I'm taking ye home.”

“I will be the one taking her home.”

Fiona's breath shuddered as the sound of Kier's voice. She jerked her head up, widening her eyes at the sight of him.

“Wha…what are ye doing here?”

“I have come to take you home.”

Fiona's fingers felt like ice, frozen to the wooden cross. “I…I willnae go back.”

“See?” Aiden asked Kier triumphantly, “she doesn't want ye here.”

“She did not say that.” Kier looked at Fiona. “You do not have to go back to the same…circumstances. Things have changed since you left.”

She studied him, trying to decipher what he meant. “Is the woman who treated me so harshly still there?”

“She will be gone,” Kier replied. “She no longer has authority over you.”

“Fiona, were you abused?” Father O'Brien asked.

“Aye.”

The priest turned to Kier. “Perhaps you should explain.”

“My…housekeeper took a dislike to Fiona and treated her badly when I was not there to intervene.”

Father O'Brien drew his brows together as he turned his attention to Fiona. “You worked for Mr. O'Reilly?”

Fiona flashed a glance at Kier and then lowered her eyes while she nodded. Perhaps nodding was not quite as big a lie as saying it.

“Yes,” Kier said, a tiny bit of relief sounding in his voice. “I own an old castle that requires a great deal of upkeep.”

The priest looked over Fiona's attire. “Was the abuse the reason you decided to join a convent?”

Fiona kept her gaze downcast. “I didnae see another way to survive.” She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping a lightning bolt didn't strike her for another lie.

“It is a common enough thing to do,” Kier interjected.

“So you did not hear a call from God to do so?” Father O'Brien asked Fiona.

She took a deep breath and raised her chin. “N…no.”

“I see.” The priest leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on his desk. “God wishes no one to be forced into His service. You are relieved of the habit.” He turned back to the men. “Now the question is who will take the girl home?”

“I will,” Aiden said. “Fiona wants to return to Scotland. I will see that she does.”

“No. Fiona needs to return with me.” Kier turned and took her hand. “Trust me. Please. If you do not like the changed conditions, you will be free to return to Scotland from Dublin. I give you my oath on that. Trust me. Please.”

At the touch of his hand, a flood of other memories washed over her, her resolve to leave breaking like a crashing wave. A tingle shot up her arm and then slid down her spine to pool low in her belly, like the sea lapping at the shore.
Trust me
.

Did she?