Never Broken (14 page)

She grinned a genuine, sweet smile. “Then we should find a priest in the morning.”

His practical side kicked in. “Not yet.” At her frown he added, “Not until I have a job and some money set aside. Then I will marry you.” He grinned, unable to stop himself. “Since you’re askin’ me and all.”

She flung her arms around his chest, hugged him tight, then kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Now I’m holdin’ you to your word, Rory. We are officially betrothed.”

“And we’ll wait for our weddin’ night? Because I can’t be counted on to be strong enough for the both of us.”

A shy smile spread across her face. “We’ll wait for our weddin’ night.”

His grin widened. “Now, off to bed with you. We have a long journey in the mornin’, and ’twill be difficult for me to get back to sleep as it is. Scotland awaits.”

“And there we’ll be wed?”

“Aye. When the time is right, my darlin’ Shannon, we’ll be wed.”

Sara covered her long
hair with a fisherman’s cap, making sure no stray strands could escape. She glanced down at the trousers, work shirt, and old coat she’d worn since arriving in Cork. Her first day in the overcrowded town, she’d nearly been accosted twice. She realized she couldn’t search the city alone wearing finery, or even a dress. Making friends with the innkeeper had been easy, yet expensive. However, it was worth it because she had a safe place to stay, food to eat, and a way to search the city.

She’d started with the jail, only to be told that Colm had been tried and convicted in England, put on a ship, and was on his way to Australia. Defeated, she’d nearly booked passage on a ship to America. If she couldn’t find Colm, perhaps she could find Rory, although she knew the odds were against her.

Then she’d seen him—or thought she had. His hair was longer and he was thinner, but as she waited to pay for her ticket she caught a glimpse of a man who looked like Rory filtering through the crowd and heading for one of the ships. She immediately followed him, only to lose him in the crowd.

It was him. As each minute passed, she was sure of it. And because of that surety, she refused to leave Cork until she found him. If he wasn’t on his way to America, then something had gone wrong, and she was determined to find out what it was.

She sighed as she adjusted her hat again and left the small, sparse room to resume her search. She patted down her coat, feeling the bumps underneath the lining where she had sewn in her jewels. She didn’t dare leave them in the room.

As she stepped out into the street, already teeming with people at this early hour, she wrinkled her nose. The stench of the city was almost unbearable. Having spent her whole life in Ballyclough, with the exception of her visit to court in London for her debut, she had never been in a city. Especially one like Cork, filled with so much despair, and contrarily, so much hope as people boarded ships bound for America, Liverpool, and Scotland in search of new lives.

Sara pulled the brim of her hat low over her brow and hunched into her coat. She was petite, which helped in her disguise as a boy and from receiving undue attention. She glanced up, seeing the masts of the ships in the harbor, readying herself for a day spent walking up and down the docks searching for Rory, assuming and hoping that he would return to where she had first seen him.

Her shoulder suddenly jostled a tall, thin man as she went past him.

“Watch yerself, lad.” The man looked down at her, his thick brown eyebrows flattening over pale gray eyes that held a good dose of irritation.

“Sorry,” she said, deepening her voice and scurrying away. She’d bumped into so many people on a daily basis that she barely noticed them. Yet there was something different about this man, something she couldn’t put her finger on but had her looking over her shoulder.

He was gone.

Quentin Bancroft, Baron of Whigby,
peered around the corner of the building that housed a rather smelly fish market and watched his betrothed head for the docks. He’d let this go on long enough. Today he would put an end to her folly.

For the past two days, he’d been watching her, and today was the first time he’d allowed himself close enough for her to see him, making sure she would literally run into him. She was a tiny thing, and when she looked up at him with those luminous blue eyes filled with apology and wariness, he’d wanted to snatch her up in his arms and take her away from Cork right that minute. But he had other ideas in mind, ones that would benefit them both.

He brushed off the dust of the peasant coat he’d had his man, Wallace, purchase for him the moment he’d arrived in Ireland. Blast his cousin Priscilla’s vain and slightly unhinged husband. If it weren’t for William Gormley’s underhanded tactics, Quentin would be readying for his nuptials—and putting his plans into place.

He headed for the docks, his sights still on Sara, but remained a good distance away. She shouldn’t be here among the dirt and filth of Cork Port. She should be at Gormley Manor, or in London, enjoying the boons as part of the aristocracy. Priscilla and William certainly did, along with Priscilla’s mother-in-law, Lady Jane. But Sara eschewed creature comforts. She was fiercely loyal to her cousins, as she had been to her father. She also carried the Irish cause close to her heart.

Which was why Quentin wanted her as his wife.

Priscilla had sent her missive before she departed from Ireland, apologizing for Sara’s disappearance and encouraging him to find a worthier woman.

She will strive against you, Quentin. She will not fit into London society. She is obstinate and obtuse. You would do well to align yourself with another family. Even William agrees although he is severely disappointed in his wayward sister. However, he is willing to brave the scandal her disappearance has caused, and he would not have you caught up in it.

Ah, but what his cousin failed to realize was that he was already caught up in Sara Gormley, from the time he’d met her over a year ago at Priscilla’s wedding celebration at the manor. Although she was ten years younger than he, she had a mature soul, something in short supply among the vapid ingénues in London. Still, he’d thought her out of reach until William had suggested uniting their families even further.

After spending an insufferable time with William Gormley, Quentin was determined to separate Sara from her brother. He had plans for his future wife, and they included Gormley Manor. So he’d stayed away from her these past two days but kept a keen eye, fearing she might run off if she knew he was following her.

But now was the time for action. He hurried his steps until he was nearly behind her, then he kept a close pace until she reached the back alley of the docks. As she had the past two days, she entered the alley. And just as it had the past two days, his heart squeezed. She had no fear for her safety and was absolutely void of street savvy. She seemed unaware of the trouble that could befall her. He was about to show her.

The alley was empty, and she was halfway down the narrow corridor, looking around as if her cousin would appear out of thin air. Quentin knew why she was here. He also knew it was a fruitless mission. Rory had left for Scotland the day before with two young peasant women. She would never find him, no matter how hard she looked.

With one swift movement, he grabbed her from behind and put his hand over her mouth. She fought against him, but her slight weight and weak squirming were no match for him. He looked at the end of the alley to see Wallace pull up in the small coach Quentin had rented for the trip to Cork. Tightening his grip on Sara, he dragged her toward it.

Cold fear flowed through
Sara’s veins as she fought against her abductor. She bit his hand, but that didn’t cause him to remove it from her mouth. She screamed, but he simply tightened his grip. They were heading to the end of the alleyway that connected to the city street, straight toward a nondescript carriage, one that would never be noticed among the bustle of the city.

She wriggled in his arms, but they were like bands of steel around her body. The past few months had taken a toll on her physically, and she had little strength left to fight him.
Dear God, please! Help me!

When they reached the carriage, her abductor opened the door, and they both tumbled inside. Still holding her, he righted them into a sitting position, with him remaining beside her, preventing her escape. He slammed the door shut, and the carriage began to move at a swift pace.

“I’m going to let you go,” he said in a low, gruff voice that wasn’t Irish nor country cant English. If anything it was aristocratic. “Do not scream. Do not try to escape. If you do, I shall have to restrain you again. Do you understand?”

His mouth was near her ear, his breath warm and smelling of cloves. Again, not what she expected. She had no choice but to comply or remain bound in his arms. She nodded. His arms loosened but did not completely release her. She squirmed to face him, barely able to make out his features in the dim light of the coach. Then she saw them. The pale gray eyes that belonged to the man she had bumped into earlier. Remembering her disguise, she lowered her voice and said, “I fear ye made a mistake, sir, for I’m a poor lad. I’ve nothin’ to give ye.”

He lowered his head, so their faces were near each other. “You’re not a lad.”

“Aye, but I am!”

“And you have plenty to give me.”

She suddenly became aware of his heavy breathing, and it terrified her. She realized how foolish she’d been, thinking she could pass as a boy, that no one would see through her disguise and accost her. “Sir,” she said, trying to steady her voice and failing miserably, “Please. Let me go.”

“I cannot do that.” He moved and loosened his grip further, giving her room to breathe. He turned up the interior lantern, and now she could see him clearly. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before, other than in the street.

“I don’t expect you to recognize me.” He took off his hat, revealing thick curly hair cut in the latest fashion. Everything about him seemed to be the opposite of a typical workman or peasant in Cork.

“I know you?”

“Quentin Bancroft.” He bowed his head. “At your service.”

A brand new fear shot through her. “What are you doing… how did you know… did William…?” She couldn’t compose her thoughts. All she could think about was what Priscilla said the day Colm was taken away.
My cousin Quentin doesn’t deserve to be married to such an ungrateful child… be assured, he will instruct you on how a proper wife should conduct herself.

And now he had abducted her. Had her alone in his carriage. What would he do to her now?

“Do not be afraid,” he said, his voice low. A bit soft, even. He pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped his hand with it, covering the spot she’d bitten. Small dots of blood seeped through the linen.

She didn’t feel one drop of guilt over the injury. “I am not afraid.” She lifted her chin higher until she thought she would strain her neck. “I’m also not going anywhere with you.”

“That, Miss Gormley, is incorrect. You have no choice but to accompany me.”

“Back to London?” Her legs started to tremble as she thought about marriage to this man—this stranger. If he was anything like her brother, there was no hope for her.

“Not to London—to Ballyclough.”

Her eyes widened. “What? William is still there?”

He shook his head. “Your brother and mother are in London, along with Priscilla.”

“But you’re not going to take me to them.” Confusion added to her fear.

“Certainly not.” He sat back a bit, still hovering beside her, but more relaxed than before and ignoring his bandaged hand. The carriage continued to jostle as it made its way down the road—the road back to Ballyclough, she realized in amazement. He tossed his cap on the seat next to him. “You and I have much to discuss. But we will not talk about it now. You need a good meal, and, no offense, a good bathing.”

She wasn’t offended—at least not much. “I demand to know what’s happening before we go any further.”

“All you need to know for now is that I am on your side. Yours and your cousins.”

“You know about Rory and Colm?”

“About Colm, yes. And there’s not much I can do for him, I’m sorry to say. At least not in the near future. Rory, I remember from the wedding, and I know you came here to find him.”