Sister of Rogues (14 page)

Kier bit his lip to keep from responding to that remark. Fiona
looked
angelic enough, although her fiery temper certainly was not. The kiss they'd shared had been sweet as the nectar of the ancient gods, but the havoc Fiona was playing in Kier's mind reminded him more of the Apocalypse than heaven.

Dulcee looked troubled as the women preceded Kier into the library. “But ye took my Calum to a safe place and now ye have come back to protect me.”

“I…”

Kier noticed Fiona looking toward Lona as though for help, but she had already settled herself in a chair with a book of Irish myths containing a great many pictures of Celtic gods and heroes. Fiona turned her gaze back toward Dulcee. “I will try to protect ye if I can, but I am nae angel. Perhaps ye would like for me to tell ye about the great angels—Gabriel, Uriel, Raphael and Michael?”

Kier smiled as Dulcee's eyes widened and she nodded. He was somewhat surprised himself that Fiona knew of the archangels. Mostly only men studied scripture. Since his mother had taken her life, Kier had lost interest in the workings of religions. He had prayed to Michael, the avenging Archangel, when he'd sought revenge for his father's death, and again as he'd investigated his mother's death when he'd returned from Italy. Nothing had happened on either count. Yet here was Fiona, almost like a female counterpart of the avenging angel, fiercely protecting fragile Dulcee.

Lona screeched suddenly, jumping up and dropping the book on the floor.

“What is it?” Kier asked, moving toward her. “What is the matter?”

“'Tis the devil in there.” Lona pointed at the book and backed away from it.

“Let me see,” Fiona said, leaning down to retrieve the open book.

“Stop! Don't touch it! 'Tis evil that lurks in there.”

“'Tis just a book, Lona,” Fiona said in a voice that Kier might have used to gentle a frightened horse. “'Tis just a book.” She picked it up and looked at the picture. “Do ye think this is the devil?”

Lona shook her head, covering her eyes with her hands. “I don't want to look.”

“'Tis all right,” Fiona said soothingly. “Just a quick peek.”

Slowly, Lona lowered one finger enough to peer out and then shrieked again and ran toward the window to hide behind the curtain.

Kier sighed. From archangels to devils. Perhaps it had not been the best idea to bring the ladies in here after all.

Ada burst through the door with Seamus in tow. She gave Kier an I-told-you-so look as she yanked Lona out from behind the curtains and grabbed a now-wailing Dulcee as well. “Ye would be wise to heed the warden's orders. These lunatics can't be trusted as ye have just seen.”

Seamus reached for Fiona, but she walked ahead of him, head high, a determined look on her face—a look as avenging as any archangel.

For once, Fiona didn't mind the sound of the key being turned in the lock. After what had just happened in the library, being alone for the rest of the afternoon would give her time to think. She prayed Lona wouldn't be taken for another purging. Fiona wished she had been able to warn Kier to stop it, but that hadn't been possible. She could only hope he'd remember the last time Lona had seen her ghost.

The poor woman. The picture she'd seen was of the horned god, Cernunnos, whom the ancient Roman priests had confused with the devil when they'd brought Christianity to the Isles. The Celts knew Cernunnos to be a benevolent god in charge of the forests and their creatures. Many of Fiona's childhood escapades had been to the forests surrounding Glenfinnan. While she'd never met Cernunnos, the Crone of the Hills had told her stories of how he'd ride the Wild Hunt with his red-eyed white hounds against a black night sky, snatching only those souls who had violated the laws of nature.

Fiona didn't question his existence any more than she did the faeries.

Dulcee was another matter. She dwelt in a world of her own making. Did she truly see angels? Fiona didn't know. She started to smile, thinking how her brothers would have laughed until their sides ached at anyone comparing her to an angel.

Her smile drooped. Somehow, she had to convince Kier about her brothers and about Walter Avery, but how could she get Kier alone again? After today's incident, Ada and Seamus were sure to restrict the women's movements about the house. Fiona would be lucky if forbidding her to work in the garden was the only punishment she received for poking Kathleen. Not that Fiona regretted doing it. Dulcee did not deserve to be called names by anyone, least of all one who gave herself airs.

Fiona sighed, wishing the small club the leprechauns had provided were a magic wand she could wave and make things better for Lona and Dulcee as well as herself, but she knew magic didn't work like that. The weapon had been a gift. It was up to her to use it, to decide how to use it.

But now she had something else to use as well. Fiona put her hand in the pocket of her loose gown and took out a stub of candle. She might not have been able to borrow a book, but with all the commotion, she had been able to pilfer a candle from its saucer and slip it into her pocket. The candle would not last long, but it would give her enough time to see what was at the end of the passageway she'd tried to investigate earlier. All she had to do was wait until Ada showed up to light the oil lamp at dusk.

And pray that the matron didn't have another
lesson
in store.

Chapter Fourteen

Kier handed the list of supposedly legitimate business contacts to Finley late that afternoon when they met in the tower room.

Finley glanced at it and frowned. “Is this complete?”

“No. I…I have not had time to finish it.”

His friend's brow shot up. “'Tis not like ye.”

“I know.” Kier ran his hand through his hair and walked toward the arrow slit that looked into the courtyard. Nearly dusk, he didn't expect to see movement out there now, but he had been foolishly watching the garden area earlier instead of working on the list for Finley. Fiona hadn't put in an appearance and Kier suspected Ada had not allowed her outside her room after what had taken place at lunch.

“Are ye having second thoughts about our cause?” Finley asked. “Ye know Daniel does not want an open rebellion.”

“No. Yes.” Kier turned away from the window. “I mean, no, I am not having second thoughts about what we are doing. Ireland deserves a voice in Parliament. It is the only way we can control the English rents that keep us poor. And, yes, I agree there should be no bloodshed.”

“Um.” Finley tucked the paper inside his shirt. “Then can I assume your worries lie with the fae Scot lass ye have as your guest?”

“Fiona is
not
fae.”

Finley shrugged. “Perhaps not, but she has the same effect on ye as if she were.”

Kier opened his mouth to protest and then snapped it shut. Anything he said to defend himself would merely sound stupid. Besides, he could not deny the fact that Finley was right. Fiona had ensorcelled him as surely as if she had cast a spell.

Kier decided to change the subject. “I will bring the finished list to the meeting tomorrow night.” At least, he hoped he could attend. He'd spoken with Seamus and Ada this afternoon, giving both of them explicit instructions that no one was to be punished for today's incidents. Ada had scowled, leading Kier to believe she'd be putting everything that had happened into one of her reports for the warden. “At least, I will try. We had some problems today.” If an order came to take any of the women to the asylum, he wanted to be there to prevent it.

Finley gave him a studied look before he turned to the door that led outside. “If the fae are at work here, better ye acknowledge it. They can be right troublesome when they are ignored.”

“The Sidhe do not exist,” Kier muttered, “except in the minds of old crones telling faerie tales to children.”

Finley grinned and shook his head. “Someday, ye will believe, my friend.”

“Ye have brought nothing but trouble to this house,” Ada said, glaring at Fiona as she lit the oil lamp in Fiona's chamber just prior to dusk settling.

“I should nae have been brought here in the first place,” Fiona answered. “I would be more than glad to be released,”

“Oh,
aye
, ye would like that.” Ada chuckled menacingly. “Perhaps I can arrange for ye to have a bed in the ward at the asylum if ye don't like it here.”

Fiona's blood chilled and she clasped her hands to keep them from trembling. She remembered the horrible screaming, shrieking and howling she'd heard at the asylum the day she'd arrived. From what Lona had told her, after the purge, she'd been chained to a wall naked so she wouldn't dirty any clothing when she fouled herself in what the guards called a cleansing.

Did the matron really have the authority to send her there?

Or was Ada simply being a bully again? She showed that trait in just about everything she did, from shoving Lona to making Dulcee cower in fear. Kathleen seemed to be spared the matron's harsh tactics, but then Kathleen spoke her mind.

Fiona lifted her chin. “Mr. O'Reilly willna allow it.”

Ada snorted and stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “Ye have a history of violence here. Should I tell the warden about that, your lover
willna
be able to stop it. Ye might remember that when I ask for a favor.” She chuckled again as she left.

Fiona stared at the closed door. The threat was real and the blackmail scarcely veiled. Should she tell Kier? Would he even believe her? Ada would deny everything, which would just mean more trouble…but how could Fiona let this go? Bullies just got worse if something wasn't done to stop them.

In any event, Fiona had to get Kier alone first.

Being alone with Kier… Fiona felt her cheeks warm as she recalled Ada's remark. Kier's lover. The heat from her face swept through her body as she remembered the soft, sensual feel of his lips brushing hers, teasing with the promise of more and then deepening the kiss until her mouth was full of him. She could still feel the velvety texture of his tongue and the slightly spicy taste of him.

Kier's lover… Fiona took a ragged breath. He had made it quite clear the kiss had been a mistake that he didn't intend on repeating. She didn't need to waste time fantasizing about something that wouldn't happen. She
needed
to escape.

Fiona went to the door and placed her ear against the wood. She heard no shuffling or movement. As thick as the wood was, she'd probably not be able to hear a horse stomping in the hallway. No one should be standing guard since the door was locked from the outside. Even so, she tried to slide the armoire as quietly as possible.

Once that was done, she retrieved her candle stub from the chest, making sure her club and coins were safely hidden beneath her tattered blue gown. Taking the candle to the wall lamp, she removed the glass dome and carefully held her wick to the lamp's. The candle sputtered to life. The stub wouldn't last long, but at least she could see what lay at the end of the passageway where she'd only encountered space before.

Fiona replaced the glass and carried her candle to the hole in the wall, hesitating before entering to listen once more for any sound from the hall. Hearing none, she stepped inside the entrance.

Even with the light, the narrow confines of the passageway closed in on her once more. Now she could see the green slime that covered the stone, evidence of both the damp, cool climate and the age of the castle. The iron railing to her left was rusty with corrosion and she was glad she had not leaned on it the first time she was here. Fiona looked down at the rough-hewn planks of the walkway and wondered how old the wood was. It felt sturdy enough, but she was careful as she inched her way to the right.

A large rat scurried in front of her, beady eyes glowing red in the glimmer of her candle, and then the creature was gone. Fiona shuddered involuntarily, hoping it was a lone rover. Somewhere from within the bowels of the castle, she heard low strains of sound like something moaning, although she couldn't ascertain the source. Was Lona's ghost real after all? Fiona pushed the thought from her mind. She didn't need her overly active imagination to start conjuring anything right now.

The candle flickered, reminding Fiona she didn't have much time. She edged her way farther along the passage, stopping as the stub burnt out, leaving her in the pitch darkness again. As she turned slowly around, one hand on the wall for guidance, Fiona smiled. Before the flame had extinguished, she'd seen what she needed to see—a flight of spiraling stone steps leading down.

A stairwell to freedom.

All she had to do was get another candle from the library to light her way.

Kier studied the women overtly the next day at lunch. None seemed to be harmed in any way that he could see. Dulcee looked lost in her own world as usual, silently muttering to herself. Lona appeared nervous, her gaze moving furtively around the room as though searching for something—or someone. At least she was not spouting off about the devil or ghosts. Kier was all too aware the asylum's chosen treatment for ridding a person of delusions was removing as much bodily fluid from that person as it could. He didn't know if Lona could sustain another purging so soon after the last.

Doctors still relied somewhat on the belief that certain illnesses were associated with different humours like bile, phlegm and blood, and balancing those would restore health. Unfortunately, the effort to exorcise whatever evil spirits lurked in the victim's body took its toll. Much too often, Kier had seen the horse-drawn hearse go by, carrying another victim of an overzealous ward-keeper.

By St. Patrick, Kier hated how the inmates were treated. Even when they weren't being subjected to enemas, emetic purging and blood-letting followed by a near-starvation diet, they were still dealt with as less than human. When he'd first agreed to accept inmates, he'd been given a tour of the asylum.

The pitiful sounds of men manacled to the walls still lingered in Kier's ears. When he had asked the warden why they were barefoot and naked in massive cells that were damp and cold, the reply was so they could not harm themselves—and that it saved on laundry. The women's ward fared only slightly better. Although shackled to the walls, they had straw pallets on the floor and were clothed in loose shifts. The stench of no chamber pots and unwashed bodies permeated the air throughout and he had gagged when he'd left.

Kier pushed his plate aside, no longer hungry.

At least today, Kathleen and Fiona sat at opposite ends of the table. Whether Ada had put them there or Fiona had chosen to put some distance between herself and Kathleen, it was a good idea. Kathleen glared at Fiona for most of the meal but remained uncharacteristically silent. Fiona, for her part, seemed oblivious to the veiled hostility. In fact, she looked preoccupied.

He frowned, wondering what she was thinking about. He'd taken the regular stairs up to the third floor last night, partly to let Ada and Seamus know he was home, but also to stop by her door on the second level. Why he'd given in to such a foolish notion, he didn't understand. He'd told himself he'd wanted to make sure she wasn't crying…although she would have had to been howling like a banshee for him to hear it through the solid oak door. He'd had to restrain himself from knocking to ask if she was all right, but he'd have had to shout for her to hear. Good sense had kicked in before he'd made a complete fool of himself.

“I hope you ladies will join me in the courtyard this afternoon,” Kier said after everyone had finished eating. He thought Ada had probably restricted all of them. From the way the matron's lips pursed, he knew he was right and barely contained a smile. “The air is warm for this time of year and it is not raining.”

Kathleen preened as they all rose. “Why, thank you, my lord. I should love to have you escort me for a stroll.”

Lona snorted and headed for the door.

“I want to go to my room,” Dulcee mumbled.

“I…I would like to spend some time in the library,” Fiona said. “I didn't have time to find a book yesterday.”

“Of course, I will accompany you,” Kier replied, trying to ignore the lustful thoughts flitting through his brain in anticipation of being alone with Fiona.

“On second thought, I think I would like a book too,” Kathleen added.

Kier barely managed to control a groan. He grew tired of Kathleen's open flirting. Did the brazen woman not understand what he'd just said? Or, more likely, she did and she was thwarting him. Either way, he could not take both of them to the library. The last thing he needed was for a fight to break out.

“I will get a book for you later,” he said to Fiona. “Is there any particular author you like?” He thought she looked disappointed. Had Fiona wanted to be alone with him too? Did she remember that stolen kiss in as vivid detail as he did? He had no right to be thinking along those lines, but her response to that kiss had been so freely given. Did he dare hope she wanted…but then, she smiled and nodded.

“Something by Sir Walter Scott.
The Lay of the Last Minstrel,
if ye have it.”

“Of course.” A Scottish romance about a woman whose husband was killed. Perhaps their talk the other day about Brice had awakened some memory. Kier hoped it wasn't true and then he felt ashamed of himself for wishing such a thing.

Fiona needed to get her memory back…and she had a right to miss her husband.

Kathleen looked smug as a cat who'd found a way into the creamery a short time later. She stayed at Kier's side, forcing Fiona to trail behind as they joined Lona and Ada in the courtyard, and managed to give the impression that Kier was escorting her by gushing thank yous at him for taking her for a stroll. Lona rolled her eyes.

Ada gave Fiona a smirk. “'Tis a lovely day for such a walk,” the matron said.

Fiona refused to be baited. Instead, she made her way over to the stone bench near the flowers where she'd last seen the faeries. She didn't dare look down or part the leaves with Ada keeping a hawk's eye trained on her, but Fiona detected no movement among the small branches. Perhaps they had gone. Faeries were fickle folk, liking to roam at will. She wished she could join them.

Fiona tilted her head upward, letting the sunshine seep over her face. The sun had warmed the stone on which she sat as well. She should appreciate such a fine afternoon since the weather was considerably milder than it would be in Scotland this time of year, but she missed her home. She missed her freedom.

Fiona shut her eyes against the tears building. Crying did no good. Instead, she had to think. To plan. Now that she'd seen the hidden stairwell leading downstairs, she needed to know where it went and if it led to an outside door. To find out, she needed another candle to light the way. The library was the easiest place to filch one without being detected. She'd been so close to doing just that until Kathleen had intervened.

A shadow dimmed the sun and she opened her eyes to find Kier looming tall in front of her. His loose ebony hair lifted slightly in the zephyr breeze as the sunlight played with the angular features of his face, emphasizing the high cheekbones, slightly crooked nose, full mouth and firm jaw. Fiona felt warmth spread through her that had little to do with sun.