Sister of Rogues (22 page)

What in the hell was wrong with him? Kier was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything besides Fiona. From the glances Finley kept giving him as they walked toward Daly's that evening, Kier was pretty sure his friend knew of his dilemma. Whether he
understood
was another matter. At first the looks had been curious, since Kier had been lost in thought. Then they'd turned concerned, and now Finn just looked annoyed. Not that Kier could blame him. They were meeting one last time with the messengers from County Kildare before they returned home. Kier had sent word to several of the local Leinster men who favored Daniel's methods to attend as well. He hoped they could persuade the Kildare men to hold off on any type of open rebellion.

That
was what he should be thinking about, not Fiona.

But hell, he'd never expected her to be interested in pictures of naked men. Her bumbling explanation accompanied by the soft pink flush that had flooded her cheeks had gotten his own blood to near boiling. Most women—other than the ones who accepted coin for their services—shunned the topic completely. He'd never known a woman who actually searched for pictures of statues, who wanted to
look
at the nude male form. Lady Jane Claire had insisted they leave most of their clothes on the few times she'd allowed him access to her. The idea that Fiona found a man's body attractive made Kier want to rip off his own shirt right there in the library and let her look her fill. Would she want to touch him as well? Run her hands over his bare skin? When she'd stumbled against him and he'd touched her breast ever so briefly, he'd heartily wished neither of them were clothed. What kind of madness was this?

Kier knew he had absolutely no business even thinking about flirting with someone who was a guest in his home and under his care. He'd told himself that enough times—in English and Gaelic—for it to be inscribed in his brain permanently. Apparently, the repetitions had had no effect. Instead, he'd plied the lady with double
entendres
, which had only served to have her blush even more. By all that was holy, he envied Fiona's dead husband for having had the pleasure of her in his bed.

Finn stopped suddenly and Kier continued on a few steps before he realized it. He turned. “Why did you stop?”

Finn sighed and looked up at the heavens for help, muttering something under his breath that Kier was pretty sure wasn't complimentary.

“We are here,” Finn said, gesturing at the door to Daly's a few feet away. “And ye have not taken notice of a single step along the way.”

“Oh. Right. I…I've been thinking.'

“Aye, ye have, just not about the meeting, I suspect.” Finley held up his hand when Kier started to protest. “I do not care to hear it.”

Kier snapped his mouth closed and strode to the door, preceding Finn into the foyer of the club. Finn had the right of it. There really was nothing for Kier to say regarding Fiona. He was mesmerized with her—her face haunting his dreams, her voice as alluring as the Sirens' songs—and he was on the brink of leaping into a stormy sea of total destruction.

“They are over there.” Finley took his arm and propelled him toward a table in the far corner of a side room where a number of men were already seated. “Maybe ye should let me do the talking, eh?”

Kier frowned at his friend. “I am not quite that far gone.”

“
Hmmph
.”

With a start, Kier realized Gerard Fontaine was also seated at the table. The man had not been invited. Had he just happened to be at Daly's and recognized one of the Leinster men from the last meeting?

No matter, Kier supposed. Maybe luck was with him. If he were the sort to believe in the fae—or leprechauns—he'd almost concede the wee folk had lured Fontaine here tonight. After the meeting, he'd ask Fontaine to check with his contact at Le Havre to try to locate Walter Avery.

Kier was in dire need of some straight answers about Mrs. Fiona MacLeod before he completely succumbed to her silent, seductive call.

Wesley Alton could hardly believe his luck as he let himself into his rented flat later. O'Reilly had all but fallen into his hands wanting to find Walter Avery.

“So you think O'Reilly's inquiring about your other identity is good?” Nicholas asked after Wesley told him what had happened.

Wesley looked up from the wheel of cheese he'd just taken from the icebox. Sometimes he wondered if Nicholas really was his true bastard son. The boy appeared far too dense at times, but perhaps that was his mother's blood. The slut had been none too bright herself. He picked up a knife to slice the cheese. “Do I have to explain it to you again?”

Nicholas shook his head. “I would think if O'Reilly is asking questions that he is becoming suspicious.”

“Yes.” At least Nicholas understood that concept. “The point is that I had no idea the man was suspecting anything. Most men would be happy to take the money, use the women and keep their mouths shut.” Why did he have to have a goddamn knight obstructing his plans? Wesley stabbed the wooden counter with the knife, causing the utensil to stand upright, and abandoned the cheese in favor of the brandy bottle nearby. “O'Reilly's a damn earl who thinks I am Gerard Fontaine, so I cannot risk showing my face at the asylum under the guise of Walter Avery. I sent one post to the warden along with a cheque to ensure the MacLeod bitch's stay continued. Since I am supposedly travelling in France, if he replied, the letter has been lost.”

Nicholas eyed the still-quivering knife. “So now that you know, what are you going to do?”

Wesley tossed back his drink, poured himself another and smiled. “I am going to do what every good, caring father would do.”

Both of Nicholas's brows rose. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

Taking a seat on the sofa, Wesley brushed a non-existent piece of lint from his trouser leg and smoothed his coat sleeves before he looked up. “I am going to send the warden another post, saying I received a letter from my daughter claiming she has been raped continually.”

“The earl will just deny it. So will she.”

“Of course they will.” Wesley sighed over Nicholas's dimwittedness. “I will add that I have no idea if those allegations are true, given my dear daughter's mental state, but to be safe, she needs to be removed from that house and given space in the asylum.” Wesley smiled again. “Which is where she will stay until she truly is insane.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The sky hung low and leaden the next afternoon as the women were escorted into the courtyard for their exercise. The square had turned barren, leaves on the two trees were gone and the plants dormant. Fiona had not seen the faerie in several weeks, nor had any leprechauns appeared under the few holly bushes that remained. Fiona inhaled deeply. A cool, damp wind threatened rain, and she hoped it would hold off for another hour or so. December was upon them and who knew how many more days they'd be allowed outside before the weather got too cold for their shawls? The thought of being cooped up in her room except for lunch was near unbearable, even if Kier was lending her books to read.

She smiled to herself as she thought of the book Kier had selected for her. Sir Thomas Malory's
Le Morte d'Arthur.
Perhaps Kier had meant it to be inspiring or to lend her hope, since the ladies of Camelot were well-protected by the knights of the Round Table. Or perhaps Kier was sending her a message.
“I will not let anything bad happen to you.”
Warmth spread through Fiona in spite of the nip in the air. He'd spoken like a medieval knight pledging his troth to his lady.

She shook her head. Yesterday, she'd envisioned Kier as an archangel and now a knight? Her imagination was spinning fantasies. Kier had scarcely looked her way at lunch and had not spoken to her at all. Did he regret his words? Or maybe he didn't mean them? Maybe what he really meant was that she had better not even try to escape. After all, he had warned her not to try.

“Trust me.”
He'd said that too. Did that mean he was beginning to believe her? Or, at least, to have doubts as to her reason for being placed here?

Fiona sobered as she walked. She wished she could just
ask
Kier what he meant, but lunch had not been the time, especially with Kathleen glowering at her and Dulcee chattering on about archangels. Kier had excused himself after they'd eaten, saying he'd had paperwork to take care of. Clearly, he'd not wanted to spend time chatting today.

“There are archangels.” Dulcee's voice, higher pitched than usual, broke into Fiona's thoughts. “I saw one.”

Looking across the small yard to where Dulcee sat on a bench alongside Lona, Fiona could see Kathleen looming over Dulcee.

“Ye saw a
picture
of one.” Kathleen smirked “Are ye that much of a dimwit ye do not know the difference?”

Before Fiona could move, Lona did. She stood, pushing Kathleen hard enough that she stumbled backwards and fell.

“Damn, ye lunatics,” Ada yelled as she stomped over, grabbed Lona's arm and yanked her toward the door. “There will be no more freedom for ye for a long while.”

Lona started to struggle, only to have Seamus grab her other arm. Between them, he and Ada lifted and half-carried Lona out of the courtyard.

Dulcee watched with big eyes. “Michael will protect her.”

Kathleen looked around and laughed. “I don't see your Michael anywhere.”

Dulcee looked in Fiona's direction. “He's here, isn't he?”

Kathleen laughed harder. “Ye are asking that slut about angels?”

Fiona clenched her fists, willing herself not to respond to the name-calling. Picking a fight would only result in her ending up like Lona. “Doona fash.”

“Can ye not speak English, ye Scottish whore?” Kathleen asked and then turned back to Dulcee. “There are no angels.”

“Yes, there are!” Dulcee jumped up crying and ran for the door. “I saw Michael. I did. I did.”

“Ye idiot!” Kathleen said as she followed behind Dulcee. “Ye saw a picture.”

The door to the hall that led to their chambers slammed behind them and silence settled over the courtyard. Fiona stilled. Never had she been left alone outside. She glanced at the doors leading to the other wings. This was her opportunity to see if any of them were unlocked and if the halls might lead to outside exits. She moved toward the closest one, only to stop when she heard Dulcee scream.

Reeling around, Fiona ran for the door that had just closed. She heard Dulcee scream again as she yanked it open. Kathleen had hold of Dulcee's shoulders and was shaking her like a wolfhound with a rabbit. Dulcee's head swayed from side-to-side. In another moment, her skull would be smashed against the stone wall.

Fiona leapt and closed her hands around Kathleen's neck.

Kier looked at the women seated around the table in the small dining room. Dulcee looked disheveled, her hair loose from its pins and streaks of dirt on her face where tears had fallen. Kathleen had red marks about her neck. Fiona's dress was torn, exposing a creamy shoulder marred by bloody scratches from Kathleen's nails. His gaze went to Fiona's hands, one folded calmly over the other on top of the table. Small, dainty hands hardly capable of inflicting damage, yet Seamus insisted she'd been throttling Kathleen when he'd managed to pull them apart.

Kier shook his head. “I find this whole thing hard to believe.”

“The whore was choking me and trying to kill me!” Kathleen bellowed indignantly. “She belongs in prison.”

“There is no need to yell,” Kier replied. “We can all hear you. And there will be no more name-calling. Do you understand?”

Kathleen narrowed her eyes. “Ye always stick up for the…for her.”

“I am trying to find out what started all of this.” He turned to Fiona. “Were you strangling Kathleen?”

“I suppose I was.”

He frowned. “You
suppose
?”

“She was hurting Dulcee.”

“I was not!” Kathleen shouted.

“I asked you to keep your voice down,” Kier said and turned to Fiona again. “How was Kathleen hurting Dulcee?”

“She was shaking her senseless.”

“I hardly touched her.”

Fiona looked at Kathleen, her grey eyes turning the colour of slate. “Dulcee was slammed up against the wall. In another minute, her skull would have been smashed.”

“You're a liar!” Kathleen clenched her fists and started to rise, only to have Ada firmly push her down.

“Is that what happened, Dulcee?” Kier asked.

She turned frightened eyes to his, tears starting to fall again.

“Everything is going to be all right,” he said soothingly. “You do not have to be afraid. Tell me what happened.”

Dulcee looked at Fiona, who gave her a small nod. “Go ahead.”

“I…I was talking about Michael.”

“Who?”

“Michael. The archangel.” Dulcee sniffled and brushed at her tears. “The one Fiona told me about yesterday—”

“That's a fact,” Ada interrupted. “He was in the book.”

Kier managed to hold back his irritation. Dulcee seldom said more than two or three words at a time and he needed to get to the bottom of this.

“Are you talking about the book you were looking at in the library yesterday?” Damnation. He should have stayed with them yesterday and today as well, but he hadn't trusted himself to stop the flirtation with Fiona.

Dulcee nodded. “Fiona told me that Michael is a protecting angel.” She smiled suddenly, even though tears still glistened. “I think my Calum is with him.”

Kathleen snorted. “Ye see? That wh…that
Scot
fills Dulcee's head with nonsense, and we all know she is a dimwit to begin with.”

Kier took a deep breath, curbing his rising temper. “If you cannot refrain from calling people names, you will not be allowed to speak.”

Kathleen glowered at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

Kier inhaled deeply once more, trying to put the pieces together. According to Seamus, Lona had pushed Kathleen earlier in the garden. “So, Dulcee, you were talking about Michael this afternoon in the garden?” He waited for her to nod and went on. “And then what happened?”

Her eyes grew big and she started to tremble. “Kathleen called me a dimwit,” Dulcee whispered as she looked at the floor.

Kier looked over at Seamus. “Is that when Lona pushed her?”

The man shrugged. “I guess so. I didn't hear what was said.”

Kier turned his attention back to Dulcee. “What happened next?”

Dulcee shook her head, refusing to look up. Kier sighed. He would rather hear the story from Dulcee since she was the victim, but he'd probably gotten all the information he could from her.

He turned to Kathleen “I am giving you the chance to tell the truth. How did you all end up in the hall fighting?”

“We weren't fighting. The wh…the
Scot
attacked me.”

Kier bit back a curse he very much wanted to utter. “You are denying you were shaking Dulcee?”

“All I did was touch her shoulder to get her to stop walking.”

Kier kept his face impassive. “Fiona?”

She gave him a direct look. “I already told ye what happened. I'm nae changing my story.”

“Seamus?”

The guard shook his head. “After we got Lona to her room, Ada sent me directly down to the garden. When I entered the hall, all I saw was Fiona with her hands around Kathleen's neck. Dulcee was sitting on the floor, crying.”

Kier bit back another curse. So there were no real witnesses to what had happened. Basically, it was Fiona's word against Kathleen's.

The situation did not look good. Not good at all.

Ada delivered the breakfast porridge and toast herself to Fiona's room the next morning. The matron wore a smirk that only grew wider as she set the tray down and went back to close the door. “Ye have truly done it this time.”

Fiona stayed in her chair, ignoring the food. “All I did was keep Dulcee's head from being bashed in.”

“'Tis not Kathleen's version.”

“Kathleen lies.”

“Does she now?” Ada placed her hands on her wide hips. “'Tis obvious ye have not liked Kathleen from the first day ye got here.”

“I think ye have that backward,” Fiona retorted. “Kathleen has hated me since I first arrived.”

“We had no fights before. Ye have been nothing but trouble.”

Fiona reined in her rising temper. “I would be verra glad to leave and go home.”

Ada laughed. “Oh, ye will be leaving all right. Just as soon as I make my report to the warden, he will have ye removed from here and taken to the asylum. 'Tis where ye belong anyhow.”

Fiona stared at her, striving to remain calm even though a chill slid down her spine and her body felt as though it had plunged into ice water. “Mr. O'Reilly will nae allow it.”

Ada laughed again. “The warden pays your lover to house ye. How long do ye think your wiles and charms will keep ye here if the earl doesn't receive coin?”

“That's nae true.”

“We will see, won't we?” Ada turned to go, then stopped and turned around. “I might be persuaded to change my story some.”

Fiona frowned. “I doona understand.”

Ada opened the door and looked into the hallway before closing it again. “I could say I wasn't exactly sure what happened.”

“Ye were nae there.”

“Stupid girl. Do ye think that makes any difference? Seamus will say I was.”

“Seamus dinnae see what happened either!”

Ada shook her head. “Ye are almost as dense as Dulcee.”

“Mr. O'Reilly kens ye were nae there.”

“So he will say.” Ada smiled. “I will tell the warden the man lies to protect ye since ye offer your charms so freely.”

“My charms?” Fiona felt her face blaze, even though the rest of her felt frozen. “I doona.”

“Deny it if ye want. Your door gets unlocked. Ye sneak about at night.”

“
What
?” Ada couldn't know about the secret passageway, could she? Fiona's mind reeled. It wasn't possible. No…Ada had said the
door
had been left unlocked. “Ye are lying.”

Seamus has been watchin' ye.”

“The only time he sees me is at lunch or in the garden.”

“So far.” Ada leered at her. “He wants to see more of ye. Much more.”

Fiona stared at her. “What do ye mean?”

“Ye know what I mean. Ye spread your legs for the earl often enough.”

Heated rage sliced through the icy slush in Fiona's veins. She gripped the edges of her chair to keep from attacking the matron. In that moment, Fiona understood exactly why her brothers liked to fight. Nothing would have felt more satisfying than flooring Ada. Aware of the trouble she was already in, Fiona strove to subdue the urge. She had to remain calm. “Ye are mistaken.”

Ada shrugged. “Say what ye will. Seamus wants to have ye in his bed.”

“Nae.”

“He gives fair sport.” Ada gave her an odd look. “Gentler than most.”

Fiona felt her eyes widen. So what Erin had said was true. The matron and the guard were lovers. Fiona drew her brows together. “If he takes…if ye like him, why are ye doing this?”

For the first time, Fiona saw the matron's face soften. Her eyes clouded, as though her mind had taken wings and flown away. And then she inhaled and sharpened her gaze. “Seamus saved me from a working house in Galway.”

Fiona's mouth opened and closed of its own accord. Houses of Industry were little more than prisons. Had the woman been subject to even worse conditions than Fiona was in?

Ada reached into her pocket for a piece of paper that she laid on the table and turned toward the door. “I will give ye until lunch to reconsider. If your answer is yes, slip the paper under the door.”

Then she was gone.

Fiona picked up the paper with trembling fingers and turned it over. Only one word was written on it.
Yes.

Crumbling the paper, she threw it on the floor. A few minutes later, she retrieved it and straightened the wrinkles. Kier had told her to trust him—that he wouldn't let anyone hurt her. Fiona had to talk to him. Had to show him this. Had to get him to believe her.