Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) (37 page)

The room was silent as a tomb.

"Nay." Tara whispered the word. So luck had finally abandoned her when she needed it most. When she had finally found someone to live for, it had left. She closed her eyes. "I am sorry," she whispered, not daring to face him.

Silence again, heavy and long, then, "It is gone?" Roman asked.

Sweet Mary. She would give her life not to disappoint him. "In the river," she whispered.

Harrington's nostrils flared. He slapped the pouch to the floor. “Then MacAulay dies."

"Nay!" Christine appeared at the top of the stairs. "Please, Father!" She rushed toward them, skimming down the steps.

"I have made my deals," he said, rage showing in his face. "But even the Scotsman didn’t care enough for his kinsmen to fulfill his end of the bargain. 'Tis all an intricate plan. First MacAulay steals your mother's ring, then Forbes takes the necklace. And now the bracelet, too, is gone."

"Father. I beg you! 'Twas not David that did the deeds."

"The boy dies!" Harrington raged, turning on his daughter.

But in that moment, Tara O'Flynn marshaled all her strength. "He does not die," she said, her voice absolutely steady.

"What's that?" Harrington turned back.

She watched him face her, watched his eyes narrow.

"If you think I will not follow through with my threat, you are sadly mistaken."

"I am not mistaken," Tara said. "You will not do as you threaten, for you owe me."

"You!" He snorted, raising his chin.

She raised hers in unison, meeting his eyes.

"I owe you nothing," he said, but his voice was not so sure now, and his face showed his uncertainty.

"Aye," she said quietly. "You owe me more than you can ever give."

Recognition dawned on Harrington's face. But he pushed the expression away and shook his head as if he had seen a ghost. "Who are you?" he whispered.

Silence echoed in the hall.

"I am your granddaughter," Tara whispered.

Chapter 26

“Daughter!" Harrington gasped, falling back on a settle where he clutched his chest. "My little Maude. You've come back." He faltered, breathing hard. "But nay! It couldn't be. Who ... Who are you?"

Tara said nothing. She stood immobile. Memories rushed around her like a whistling gale.

"Lady Fontaine," he whispered. "I knew your eyes. Your mother's eyes. But I thought 'twas only my guilt twisting the blade in my gut. Dear God." His hands shook.

"Father!" Christine said, crouching beside him. "What is this all about?"

"Tara." Harrington whispered the name. "Your name is Tara."

"Tara?" Christine straightened slowly. "My half sister's daughter? But she died as a babe before I was born."

Harrington's gaze remained on Tara. "I searched for you. Searched. She wrote to me." He squeezed his eyes closed, as if shutting out the memories. "But I did not read her missives. I would have nothing to do with her until I learned of you. I could not bear to think of my grandchild growing up there, so far from home with a penniless father and ..." He faltered. "My Maude," he whispered. "You are so beautiful."

"Father." Christine dropped to her knees again, gripping the old man's hands. "Maude is gone. Died of the plague long ago. Do you not remember?"

"The plague?" Tara whispered. Unreality threatened to pull her under its swirling tide, but she fought for breath and life.

"You don't remember?" Christine asked, looking up at Tara. "But no, or course you wouldn't." She shook her head. Tears brimmed her sky blue eyes. "You were but a babe when your mother died. Father thought the disease must have taken you as well."

'The plague!" Tara said, her voice stronger. Fire suddenly burned her mind. Her mother's scream torched her soul.

"Please!" Harrington lifted his face. "Please, forgive me. I loved her," he whispered, looking first at Tara, then at Christine. "She was the image of my Mary. So young and fair and vibrant. I would have given my life to make her happy. I did not know..." His voice had become fainter still. "I did not know how she loved ... that Irishman. I was certain she would not be happy with him. Not after all I had given her here. I thought 'twas but a young girl's fancy. I sent them for her. That's all. I but sent them for her." His face fell into his hands again.

"'Tis not your fault, Father. You could do nothing. The plague takes who it will."

"No!" He shook her hands away, suddenly fretful. "No! 'Tis not true. 'Twas not the plague that took her life. 'Twas a bitter, jealous, old man who couldn’t bear to lose both his wife and his daughter in the same year.

"I sent men for her. I told them to do what they must to bring her and the child back home. I did not mean for O'Flynn to die. Oh, I hated him!" He gripped his hands into blue-veined fists. "I hated him for taking her from me. But I didn’t mean for them to kill him. The fire! It was an accident. Why did she go in there when it was ablaze?"

"Because he loved him," Tara whispered. "More than life."

Silence wrung the place.

"All I had to remember her by was the portrait they brought back. I am sorry." His words were but a whisper. "Dear God, I am so sorry. Please forgive me."

"I can never forgive," Tara said, lost somewhere in a world of broken memories. "But if you set MacAulay free, maybe your daughter will."

Harrington rose shakily. "Edmond, get my carriage."

"No," Tara said, stepping forward. "Dagger will expect Roman to come here. He'll connect him to you. It won't be safe."

"Then. . ."

"Lord 'arrington, your carriage awaits." Liam bowed in the doorway, his tattered clothes in comic difference to his manner.

"Liam," Tara breathed. "How did you get here?"

He grinned. "I never doubted you'd make it through, but 'e don't look so good," he said, nodding to Roman. "Feigning weakness so she'll take care of ya, huh?"

"Just get MacAulay," Roman growled irritably from his seat near the door.

Harrington's mouth had fallen open.

"No time to dawdle," Liam said. "Victor felt a need ta lend me Lady Milan's team again."

"The dowager's team?" Harrington gasped.

"No time for questions," Liam said, grasping the old man's arm and ushering him through the door. Christine hurried after, but Harrington turned on her, his face pale. "You'll stay here."

“I will not," she said evenly.

“I’ll not take you along."

"Then I'll procure a ride from this fishwife."

Mrs. Cobb swallowed hard, but raised her chin as if in silent defense of young love.

Harrington shook his head, "My own daughter," he mumbled, but Liam was already hurrying him to where the team of bays stood champing at their bits.

Still, Christine paused a moment. "Missus," she said softly to the fishwife, and slipping a gold ring from her finger, pressed it into the woman's rough hand. "I would thank you," she said, and rushed away.

In a moment Liam and the Harringtons were gone. Mrs. Cobb bobbed her head toward Tara. "I don't know who ya are, lass. But you've got heart. Take care of 'im, will ya?" she asked, nodding toward Roman.

"I will," Tara whispered.

Mrs. Cobb turned, hurrying toward her humble cart. The house went quiet, like a tomb awaiting a new arrival.

Tara swallowed. Servants surrounded her, their eyes wide, their jaws slightly ajar.

"I... I might fetch you water and bandages ... for the ... gentleman ... Mistress ... O'Flynn,” said a nervous maid.

Tara nodded jerkily and swallowed again. She could creep as silent as a shadow through a darkened house. She could face the Dagger as a gypsy girl, or risk her life in a thousand other ways. But standing here in the hall of her grandfather's mansion frightened her to death. Nevertheless, she would do what needed doing.

They had seen to Roman’s wounds as best they could, but time passed like a dirge. He slept fitfully, passing in and out of slumber.

“Lass," Roman said softly, and she jerked, leaning closer. "Are ye well?"

"Roman," she murmured, touching his brow, "I am sorry."

"For trying to save me life?" he asked. He tilted up one corner of his mouth. Although he didn’t raise his head from the cot they’d set up for him, he looked stronger. Hope surged through her.

“For
endangering
your life," she whispered.

"Ahh," he murmured, touching her face in turn, "but did I na tell ye 'twas worth the trouble ta have known ye."

"Don't talk like that. As if..." Her voice failed. Terror gripped her heart. She loved him. Dear God, she loved him. She drew her hand back, frightened by the intensity of her emotions, but in that moment, Roman's eyes fell closed.

"Scotsman. Scotsman!" she said, gripping his arm.

His lids rose, but slowly and only to half-mast. "Lass..." His voice was weak. She leaned closer, trying to hear. "Dunna let me die here. Tek me ta the Highlands."

"Roman!" A Scotsman rushed through the door. He was bearded and filthy, but he moved with quick assurance.

The Harringtons followed behind him.

Tara rose abruptly to her feet. Roman opened his eyes, but remained where he was.

"Sweet Jesu," murmured MacAulay, bending over Roman. "What has happened here?"

The smile again, slowly lifting one corner of Roman's mouth. He raised a hand which was quickly clasped in his countryman's. "'Tis a long story, me friend. And I have na time for the telling."

Beneath the grime and beard, Tara saw David pale. "'Tis as bad as that?"

Roman let his smile drop away, shifted his gaze fretfully to Tara and then back to his friend's. "I dunna wish ta die on English soil," he said simply.

David closed his eyes and tightened his grip, but in a moment he turned to Christine. "I must see me friend safely ta our homeland."

"I know," she agreed.

"And ya'd best 'urry," said Liam from where he looked out the window. " 'Is lordship won't stay gone for long."

"His lordship?" Harrington said.

"You've heard of Lord Dagger?" Roman asked, his voice quiet.

"Yes, but—"

"Some call him Lord Dasset."

"Nay." Harrington paled. “It couldn't be."

Roman closed his eyes again. "If you love yer daughter," he said weakly, "dunna let him near her."

"Dear God!"

"It ain't that I want to break up the party," Liam said. "But my 'orses is restless."

"Can you walk?" asked Tara. She had bandaged his wounds and dressed him in one of Harrington's voluminous shirts. Hose had been harder to come by, but finally one of the manservants had given him a serviceable pair.

"I'll make it, lass, if I can lean on ye."

His confidence in her ripped her heart. She had done nothing but wound him since the first moment they'd met. But she wouldn't fail him now.

Roman gritted his teeth as his feet touched the floor, but he rose quickly. They moved in tandem toward the door.

'Tara." Harrington's voice was quiet. She stopped to look over her shoulder at him. "You have her spirit. My Maude would have been proud of you. I but wish I could begin again."

For a moment she held her breath. He had caused her parents' death, had thrust her into a world of theft and want. But he was her grandfather, old and frail and hurting. Roman's weight lightened on her shoulder, as if he were urging her to go to him. But the memories were too clear. She turned back toward the door, needing air.

Outside, it had begun to rain. They hurried through the weather. The coach leaned as Roman entered it. The seats were red, soft, tufted. Tara eased Roman onto one. He dragged her down beside him. She tried to disengage, to shift toward the window and watch for trouble, but he seemed weaker suddenly, and held her there with a heavy arm.

"Roman?" She breathed his name. "How are you faring?"

"So long as I'm with ye, I dunna feel the pain so sharp."

"But I should watch—"

MacAulay entered. His gaze met Roman's and locked. Understanding flowed between them. "I will watch," he said.

"'Ere," said Liam, pulling a sheathed sword miraculously from his hose and handing it to David. "Ye may need this."

"Where did you—"

"And one for you, Scotch," Liam said, pulling another from the right leg of his hose.

Tara shook her head and reached for the weapon. "He's too badly wounded," she said.

Liam snorted and opened his mouth, but Roman caught his gaze and took the sword himself.

"Where'd ye get them?" repeated David.

"Folks shouldn't leave such things 'anging carelessly on walls and what not."

"Ye stole them from—" David began, but Liam was already hurrying up to the seat behind the bays. "He stole them?" asked David, turning toward his countryman.

"Watch yer beard," said Roman, glancing out the window, "lest he take a liking ta
that."

From the seat above, they heard the boy chuckle. Then they lurched into motion.

Again, Tara tried to move to the window, but Roman groaned. "Please dunna move, lass. Ye shelter me from the bumps just as ye are."

Houses skirted both sides of them. Roman watched them rush past as he weighed Tara close to him. They had been relatively safe at Harrington House, but already the city changed. Wealth and prestige was falling behind, replaced by the ragtag end of society. Dagger owned this world. "Are there na routes skirting the slums of Firthport?" Roman asked, and was Liam to be trusted, he wondered, not shifting his watchful gaze from the window.

"There are," Tara said. "But Liam will take the straightest course to the main gate. 'Tis the quickest way out of the city."

"Or to Dagger," Roman murmured.

"What?"

He could feel her gaze on his face and turned to look at her. For a moment, for just one sharp shard of time, his heart stopped. Her hair was still damp and swept away from her face to expose each line with harsh clarity. Her skin was pale, whether from fatigue or worry, he wasn't sure. She was a thief, a ragamuffin. And he loved her so that his soul ached at the sight of her. But he would not say it aloud again. He would not frighten her. Not yet. They were on their way to the Highlands, and that was enough.