Sister of Rogues (28 page)

Jesu
.

She had been a virgin. At least he'd had the sense not to spill his seed into her.

Kier made his way down the stairs where the barkeep's wife was bustling about, wiping up last night's mess. The delicious scent of bannocks baking wafted from the kitchen, overcoming the smell of stale ale. He detected bacon frying as well. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he'd expended a lot of energy in bed.

He needed to clear his head. What he really needed to do was dunk it in the horse trough, but a fast jog would have to do. Fiona would be waking soon and he needed to decide how to handle what had happened last night.

Kier set off at a brisk pace. When he'd arrived in Cobh, he'd been so sure what he would do. Marrying Fiona would free her from her father's authority and keep her out of the asylum. She'd be under his protection and, in time, perhaps her memory would return and she'd recall exactly what had happened to her.

But that was when Kier had thought she was Mrs. Brice MacLeod.

Fiona's being a virgin changed everything. She had been telling the truth that she had no husband. Her insistence that Walter Avery was not her father, that he had abducted her as revenge against her brothers, did not seem as unlikely to believe now—and, if that were true, then Fiona's brothers were real as well.

Kier was honour-bound to marry her since he'd taken her maidenhead, but if she had a family—a real family—then he needed permission from the eldest brother. How would he find them?

It was a question he still pondered when he returned to the inn. Fiona had just finished dressing when he entered their room. The look of relief on her face made him feel guilty that he'd left while she slept.

“I went for a walk,” he explained, even though she hadn't asked.

She gave him a small smile and limped toward the door. “I'm nae sure I can walk too far this morning.”

Kier felt like a dolt. Of course, Fiona would be sore. He should have ordered hot water for her before he went out. Sakes, he couldn't even think straight when space separated them. “I am sorry if I hurt you.”

“Ye didn't.” Her smile widened. “Well, maybe a little, but was nae more than I asked for.”

He smiled back. “It will not hurt each time. You'll see once we are married.”

Fiona stopped so suddenly he nearly bowled her over. She gave him a wide-eyed look. “Married?”

“Yes. I came to Cobh to tell you. If we marry, Walter Avery—whoever he is—will no longer have authority over you. You'll not be an inmate of the asylum.”

She blinked. “I see.”

“Besides, now that I have basically ruined you—”

“I doona feel ruined.”

“Perhaps not, but society will see it that way. Since I took your virginity, I have to be responsible and marry you.”

“Responsible?”

“Of course,” Kier went on. “I have a duty to take care of you now.”

“Duty?”

“It is the only honourable thing I can do.”

“Honourable?”

“Yes. Why are you repeating what I say?”

Fiona paused by the door. “Those are grand words, but I am nae hearing the one that is most important…love.”

Kier hesitated. “I am not sure I know how to love. Perhaps I can learn.”

“I doona think love is a thing to be learned. My brothers and cousin all kenned they loved their wives when they married them.” Fiona tilted her head and looked at Kier. “What happened last night was what both of wanted, nae?'

“Yes. Absolutely. How can you doubt that?”

“Then it was a gift to me. Let it be at that.” Fiona gave him a sad smile and turned away. “I will nae marry without love.”

Kier didn't think he'd ever been so frustrated. Fiona had preceded him downstairs to break their fast and when they got to the room, Inna and Maureen were already there. The carriage awaited them and there had been no opportunity to talk to Fiona alone the entire day.

Last night had been the best he'd spent in his entire life. Fiona had proved to be as insatiable as he was. Kier wanted to tell her that kind of response didn't happen with just anyone. He'd never experienced anything like it before, although since he seemed to blunder everything he'd said, perhaps not talking about past experiences would be the wiser thing to do.

He was confused too. Society—and certainly women—set great store by a man's sense of honour and duty. Responsibility and obligation he understood. Love he did not. Kier knew his mother had loved his father. She'd taken her own life in despair over his father's death, yet he'd never seen passion spark between them like it did with Fiona and him. His father had been gone much of the time, conscribed to King George's army. His mother had always been proud that his father was doing his duty.

Why was that not enough for Fiona? She would have a good life with him. Kier would see to that. The fact that she had put her complete trust in him said something. He had a duty to live up to her expectations and see her needs met.

His feelings were still unsettled when the carriage rolled into Dublin. Fiona grew visibly nervous in the private hack heading toward the castle, so Kier spent his time reassuring her she'd not be locked in a room again. She'd given him a grateful smile but shaken her head when he'd said he wanted to talk about their marriage.

He sighed as he paid the driver and escorted Fiona up the steps to the front door of the castle. With time, he would convince her to see things his way.

Seamus opened the door for them and then skittered away quickly as they entered. Kier was about to ask why the odd behavior when he heard booted feet in the parlor.

Two men stepped into the foyer. Two tall, muscular men wearing kilts. The dark-eyed one wore a broad sword and had a knife handle protruding from each boot. The golden-eyed one had an array of knives in his belt as well as a huge claymore slung across his back. Both of them widened their stances to fight.

Fiona shrieked, flinging herself at them.

And Kier knew he was looking at the MacLeod brothers.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jamie lifted Fiona, spinning her around so much that her head swam. When her toes finally touched the floor, the bear hug Ian enveloped her in nearly took away the rest of her breath. “Stop!” she pleaded with a laugh.

“Ah, 'tis good to see ye, lass,” Ian said, still holding on to her.

“Aye, and when we catch up to Wesley Alton, he'll be drawn and quartered with nae aid from horses,” Jamie added.

Kier looked from one brother to the other. “Wesley Alton is Walter Avery?”

“Aye,” Ian said. “'Tis a pity the bastard is in France.”

“So it is all true then. Fiona was committed to the asylum under false pretenses.”

“Of course 'tis false. Fiona is nae mad. What kind of a fool would think otherwise?” Jamie clenched a fist and took a step toward Kier. “Did ye rape our sister?”

Ian put a restraining hand on Jamie's raised arm. “Let the mon speak first.”

“What…what are you talking about?” Kier asked.

“Warden Kelly received a letter from Alton claiming Fiona had written him, saying she'd been raped by her caretaker.” Ian gave Kier a leveled look. “Since the letter came from Alton and I ken Fiona would nae write such to him, I give it little credence—but I would hear from ye that my sister is untouched.”

“He dinnae rape me,” Fiona said.

Ian shifted his dark gaze to her. “Can the mon nae speak for himself?”

“Of course he can speak. Ye just heard him,” Fiona replied.

“'Tis nae what I asked.”

“I did not rape your sister,” Kier said.

Jamie narrowed his eyes. “'Tis nae the question I asked either. Does the lass remain untouched?”

“Oh, for heaven's sake. I forgot how bossy ye are, Jamie.” Fiona shrugged. “Kier may have kissed me.”

Ian raised a black brow. “May have? He either did or dinnae. Which is it?”

Fiona frowned. “He did, but I wanted him to.”

Ian turned back to Kier. “What other liberties did ye take?”

“I…God help me, I should not have—” The sentence was cut off as Jamie smashed his fist into Kier's face. His head snapped back, but he remained standing.

“Stop it!” Fiona beat her small fists against Jamie's back. “Stop it!”

Jamie turned, catching her hands in one of his. “I will nae allow ye to be used.”

Fiona yanked her hands back. “I was nae used, Jamie MacLeod! Nae more used than your Mari was by ye.”

Jamie straightened to his full impressive height. “Ye ken naught of how it was.”

Fiona lifted her chin. “And ye ken naught of how it was here either.”

“I should not have taken advantage of your sister.” Kier wiped a trickle of blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “I had no wish to disrespect Fiona.”

Ian stepped in front of Jamie before he could throw another punch. “Ye admit then that ye took our sister's virginity?”

Kier took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and nodded. “I did.”

“I wanted him to!” Fiona protested.

“Then you will be willing to marry her?” Ian asked, ignoring Fiona's remark.

“Yes. I already suggested it.”

“Then 'tis settled,” Jamie said and unclenched both fists.

“Aye, 'tis settled,” Ian added, extending a hand toward Kier. “Welcome—”

“
Nae
.”

Jamie and Ian both turned to Fiona, incredulous looks on their faces. “Nae?”

Fiona folded her arms across her chest. “Nae.”

Jamie sighed. “Why nae, lass?”

“Kier doesnae love me.”

“He will in time.”

“That is what I told her,” Kier said. “I told Fiona I honour and respect her. I will protect her with my life—”

“'Tis nae enough,” Fiona interrupted.

Ian frowned. “'Tis a good beginning, lass,”

Fiona placed her hands on her hips. “Would ye have married Jillian if ye dinnae love her? Or ye, Jamie? Ye would nae agree to live in London if ye dinnae love Mari.” When neither brother replied, she lowered her hands. “I only ask the same for me. I willna marry a mon who is nae sure.”

Ian exchanged a glance with Jamie and then nodded slowly. “So be it then.” He looked at the valise Fiona had dropped. “Is that all your things? If we hurry, we can sail with the ebb tide.”

“I…I…” Fiona looked at Kier. A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he stared straight ahead, saying nothing. Fiona lowered her gaze. What had she expected? That Kier would suddenly declare he loved her? She might not have much experience, but she knew love didn't work like that. And without love, she couldn't stay.

Fiona reached to pick up her valise, willing away the sting of tears. “I am ready.”

“I am troubled about Fiona,” Jamie said to Ian three days later after the
Sea Lassie
had traversed the Straits of Dover and turned eastward toward the inlet of the Thames. “She's scarce spoken a word since we left Dublin.”

Ian lowered the telescope he'd been using and placed a hand on the bowsprit's rail. “I ken. Fiona rarely misses a chance to stand at the bow of the ship either, and she's stayed down below the whole time.”

“”Do ye think she was harmed at the asylum? Bedlam in London is a horrible place. Do ye think Fiona was treated cruelly?”

Ian looked thoughtful. “'Tis unlikely, since she was boarded at the castle. O'Reilly dinnae strike me as a mon who'd tolerate torture. 'Tis lucky for her—and us—the women's ward was full. Alton wanted her in the asylum proper.”

Jamie set his jaw. “I will kill the mon with my bare hands.”

“Ye will need to wait yer turn.” A muscle twitched in Ian's jaw. “'Tis a pity he manages to elude us.”

Jamie looked toward the stern to the man at the helm. “Captain Henderson had nae other information on the bastard either?”

Ian shook his head. “Alton just told him that he'd be returning to France once he had his
daughter
settled. 'Twas the same thing he told the warden.”

“France is a large country.”

“Aye, but Shane has friends in the Brotherhood there, remember. Once he returns, he can send word to them to begin searching.”

Jamie nodded. “The Templars have kept their order alive and hidden for the past five hundred years. They'll ken where to look for Alton. And when they find him—”

“Aye. He will pay for what he tried to do to our sister.”

“How can a mon stoop so low? To put an innocent lass into a place of torture?”

“I doona have the answer to that. Just thank the saints Fiona was sent to O'Reilly's castle instead.”

Jamie became thoughtful. “Do ye think she pines for O'Reilly?”

“Most likely.” Ian replied. “'Tis one of the reasons I never cared to take a lass's maidenhead. The taking is more special to lasses than it is to us.”

“Aye. 'Twas important to Mari,” Jamie said and then frowned. “O'Reilly should still be held responsible though.”

Ian raised a brow. “He offered. 'Twas our sister who said nae.”

“Stubborn lass.”

Ian mouth quirked. “She probably learned it from us.”

“Och, well. She should heed our advice. We ken what's best.”

Ian's other brow shot up. “And has that worked with our wives?”

Jamie grimaced. “Nae verra well.”

“All we can do is hope Mari and Abigail get Fiona to tell them what happened—and then tell us.”

“Aye.” Jamie grinned suddenly. “And I do ken how to get Mari to talk. All it takes is a wee bit of bed sport…well, perhaps more than a wee bit.”

Ian grinned too. “A hardship ye will endure, nae doubt.”

“We cannot tell you how glad we are that you are safe!” Mari said later that afternoon after Fiona had arrived at the townhouse and they were settled in an upstairs bedchamber. “Jamie has been beside himself with worry.”

“I…I am glad to be back as well,” Fiona replied as she accepted a cup of tea Abigial poured. Not that she had had any appetite. She felt listless. Her sister and friends had fussed over her, having a hot bath drawn and sprinkled with lavender and then insisting she don one of Mari's silk negligees. Given its cut and sheerness, Fiona was pretty sure Jamie had chosen it for Mari, which only served to remind her she'd never have the opportunity to wear such a thing for Kier. She wrapped a plaid around herself more tightly and settled farther into the window seat. Thinking of Kier only brought tears to her eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shauna asked.

Fiona knew
it
meant the asylum and not Kier. The asylum was probably a safer subject, but she shrugged. “'Tis nae much to say.”

Mari gave her a worried look. “Was it so horribly awful you cannot talk about it?”

“We want to help,” Abigail added. “But we can wait until you are rested.”

Fiona shook her head. She might as well get this over with. Ian had gone with Captain Henderson back to Edinburgh as soon as the tide turned, but Jamie would still demand answers. “The conditions were nae that bad, partly because the women's ward at the asylum was full. I was housed in an old castle nearby.”

“Thank God for that,” Mari exclaimed. “What kind of a story did that nasty Wesley Alton concoct that they even committed you?”

“He told them he was my father and that I was a recent widow and despondent over my husband's death.”

“Damn Wesley Alton.” Mari patted Fiona's hand. “Do not worry. Jamie and Ian will find him.”

Fiona managed a small smile. “I think he fled to France.”

“Never mind that,” Shauna said. “Did the warden even listen to your side of the story, or did they just believe that man?”

“The warden dinnae believe me. Just about everything I said only made me look like I was lying…or truly mad.”

Abigail grimaced. “Typical that they would not believe a woman.”

Fiona nodded. “What I hated most was feeling so helpless.”

“How awful,” Mari said. “I had nightmares over what kind of torture you might have to endure.”

“Were you hurt?” Abigail asked.

Fiona decided she would spare them the details of Ada's cruelty. “I was confined to a room, but the…the master of the house dinnae allow beatings and such.”

“Thank God, that the master showed kindness to you,” Mari said.

Fiona blinked back tears. “Yes, he was kind.”

“Did you try to speak with this man about your predicament?” Abigail asked.

Fiona nodded again, trying not to think about how one of those talking sessions had ended in Kier's embrace. “He dinnae believe me at first either. By the time he finally did, Jamie and Ian were already there.”

“So he let you go?”

Yes, Kier had let her go. Because he didn't love her. Fiona pushed that thought away too. Abigail was not asking about that. “He let me go.”

“Praise the Lord,” Shauna said. “Now you can put all of that behind you and never think of it again.” She rose. “Get some rest and we can talk again later.”

Fiona wasn't tired, but she didn't want to talk any more either. “Perhaps rest is what I need.”

“Of course it is,” Abigail replied as she and Mari stood. “Rest is just what you need. Pretty soon, this will all be just a bad memory.”

“I suppose,” Fiona answered and watched them leave. Rest wasn't going to help her and Kier would never be a bad memory.

But he would be a memory forever.

Kier ignored the look Finley was giving him as they entered Daly's Club. Kier knew his mood was dark as storm clouds and conversation this past week since Fiona left had been as sodden as rain-soaked fields. Finn had eventually quit trying to talk to him.

He knew he should be glad that Fiona was not mad. He should be glad that her brothers not only existed but had come for her. He should be glad she was free.

Kier clenched his jaw. He
should
have believed her. He
should
have told her the words she wanted to hear. If he had said those three simple words, Fiona would have stayed. But would those words be truth? Kier had never felt for any woman what he felt for Fiona, but his emotions were jumbled. When she'd come to his home, he'd thought her a grieving, depressed widow, and only a cad would take advantage of that situation. The cockeyed story Walter Avery had told had sounded logical at the time. Even when Kier had begun to doubt that Fiona was insane, it had not occurred to him she wasn't married. Her responses to him were not those of an innocent maid. Or so he'd thought until he'd discovered she was a virgin.

Damnation.

He'd needed some time to think, to sort things out, but the MacLeods had been waiting. How could he have told Fiona he loved her when his mind had been spinning like a child's toy and not all pieces of the puzzle had been put in place?

“Do ye agree?” Finley asked.

Kier blinked. “Agree to what?”

Finn sighed. “I asked ye twice if ye wish to disclose the action we are about to take with everyone who will be here tonight?”

The action Finn was referring to involved drawing up a document requesting a peaceful separation from the English Parliament. The idea would not be popular with the faction that wanted open rebellion and the document itself would have to be carefully worded in a non-offensive way. Daniel O'Connell was especially brilliant at such maneuvers, but convincing Irish countrymen was another matter.

“The O'Briens will not be pleased, but it is better for them to know which direction Daniel plans to take.”

“I was not thinking of the O'Briens,” Finley replied, “but of the Frenchmen.”

Fontaine and Algernon. Gerard Fontaine had produced two letters from French aristocrats pledging support for Irish independence, but so far, no funds had arrived. “If we do not include them, we certainly cannot expect financial help.”