Sister of Rogues (24 page)

And so here she was. The head nun's office wasn't much bigger than Sister Ruth's cell and furnished just as sparsely. The only addition to the room was a shelf beneath the crucifix on which stood a small statue of the Virgin Mary and several lit Novena candles along with an incense holder. The mingling smells of vanilla and sandalwood lent a pleasant scent to the air.

“Unfortunately, a convent's sanctuary is not as sacred as it once was,” Mother Superior said. “If the authorities come looking for you, we cannot deny you are here.”

“I would nae expect ye too,” Fiona replied. “All I need is some help to get to Cobh. From what Erin said, I should be able to get passage on a ship back to England or Scotland from there.”

The two women exchanged another look. “I do have a brother who still lives there,” Sister Ruth said.

Mother Superior mulled that over for what seemed like an hour to Fiona, although it could not have been more than a few minutes. Finally, she nodded. “I suppose we can provide you with a change of clothing and some coin for the journey.”

“I doona need the coin. I have some.” As soon as the words were out of Fiona's mouth, she wanted to clap a hand over it and take the words back. She'd left out the part about the leprechauns' help—and the faeries—since she'd not wanted to give Sister Ruth any reason to think there was any hint of madness.

The nuns exchanged glances again. Before either of them could ask how she'd come by the coin, Fiona changed the subject. “The sooner I can leave Dublin, the safer it will be for everyone.”

Silence ensued once more. Perhaps there was something to be said for vows of silence—or not
said
, Fiona thought as a hysterical bubble built in her throat. The expressions on both of the nun's faces were inquisitive, but they asked no more questions. Finally, Mother Superior nodded again.

“There is a public carriage that leaves each day at dawn for Cork. I believe it makes a stop at Cobh.”

“Thank ye! I will be forever grateful,” Fiona said and then suddenly remembered something. “Mrs. Delaney asked that I light a candle for her and her husband.” Fiona reached under her shawl for the square of linen she torn off her shift to hold her coins. “How much does that cost?”

Sister Ruth smiled and rose. “There is no cost. Come, I will take you to the chapel. We will pray for your safe journey as well.”

Fiona awoke well before dawn the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed, even though her dreams had been filled with images of Kier. Kier watching her at lunch as they ate. Providing gloves for her garden work. Listening to her pleas that she was not mad. Sending a letter to her brothers. And most of all, the kisses they'd shared. She would hold those close in her memory always and savor them.

Fiona sighed. She wished she had been able to say goodbye, but the circumstances had made it impossible. There was no turning back. She had to go home.

Just before she left the little cell they'd assigned her to, she took one of the coins the leprechauns had given her and left it on the table by the pallet. Legend said if you left a coin in a place you cared about, you would return one day.

Perhaps it was true.

Chapter Twenty Four

Kier paused in the small space where the passageway ended on the ground floor and listened for any sound of movement from within the tower room. He didn't hear any, but Fiona was probably sitting down, waiting for nightfall. He rapped lightly on the heavy door, not wanting to scare her, and then opened it slowly.

The room was empty.

Kier furrowed his brow. Neither of the old chairs had been moved since he and Finn had used them and the broken-legged table still had its collection of dust. Surely Fiona hadn't tried to leave in the middle of the afternoon? There were too many people about. Someone would have seen her, dressed as she was in the blue satin gown. He looked toward the door leading into the side wing hallway and then blinked.

That door was still bolted from the inside.

The furrow deepened into a frown. Had Fiona not come down to the tower room? The passageway hugged the back wall, leading up to his chambers on the third floor and to another chamber on the first floor that had served as a nursery for generations of O'Reillys. He knew she wasn't in his rooms since that would have been one of the first places Ada would have searched.

Maybe Fiona had gone to the nursery to wait? He dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it had entered his mind. The armoire in front of that entrance was full of children's toys, mostly made of solid wood and metal, and would be much heavier to move than the empty chest in Fiona's room. Besides, the door to the nursery was locked.

Then another thought filled his mind, causing him to rush back to the passageway. Had Fiona fallen? The steps were steep and narrow since the passageway was not wide, but there was room between the double walls for a small person to slip off and fall. He bolted to the first floor landing and peered down. The floor below was clear. Kier continued to the second floor, following the narrow hall to her chamber. He took hold of the railing, realizing how eroded it had become when it wobbled. Quickly, he looked over it, relieved to see the ground below contained no crumpled form.

Kier returned to the tower room and surveyed it once again. She must have come here. His glance travelled to the paneling beneath the stairs. It was in place. Of course, it could be closed from inside the alcove, but the door itself was cleverly hidden in the rough-hewn wood.

Cleverly hidden…and Fiona was clever…

Kier crossed the room in three strides and slid his fingers along the grooves to release the panel. Stooping down, he entered, noting the postern door was closed. The alcove didn't look like it had been disturbed either. His papers were piled on his desk where he'd left them, the chair pushed against the desk and the cot's blanket still pulled tight. Kier moved toward the door, reaching for the key on its peg.

But his hand only clenched air. The key was missing.

And so was Fiona.

“A good day to ye, Sister,” the coachman said as Fiona stepped out of the carriage two days later on the street that fronted Cobh harbour. “Just follow this road to the corner there,” the man pointed. “Ye'll see the church soon enough.”

“Thank ye,” she replied, giving the man a coin as he handed down the small valise containing two dresses that Sister Ruth had packed for her. Fiona had no intention of going to the church, but saying so would seem odd since she was dressed in the simple gown and head covering of a novice. The disguise had actually been the mother superior's idea. The nun had said God would forgive the deception since it was intended to keep Fiona safe from another confrontation on her journey.

And Fiona was grateful that it had worked. The driver had to switch teams of horses twice, at which time Fiona and the two elderly gentlemen sharing the coach were able to take care of personal needs. At the first stop, the stable boys had looked her over with interest until each had their ears clouted by a man in charge of changing the teams. The driver had stopped at a coaching inn at Kilkenny for the night and Fiona had avoided eye contact in the public house, keeping her head down, muttering low and fingering the wooden cross hanging around her neck. When she wasn't doing that, she tucked her hands demurely behind the pinafore that covered the front of the plain gown in the ways she had seen the nuns do. She must have carried the disguise well, for soup and bread were brought to her room so she wouldn't have to listen to foul talk, as the barkeeper's wife had called it.

Fiona hadn't minded staying hidden in the tiny room tucked under the slant of roof. The door was locked, but this time she was the one who'd locked it—from the inside. Oddly enough, sliding the bolt shut gave her a sense of freedom. She was in charge of her destiny now…not some asylum warden, nor the true madman named Walter Avery.

Her sense of elation was tinged with the regret of leaving Kier. For the nearly two months she'd spent in his home, he had provided for her as best he could. Even skeptical of her sanity, he had kept an open mind, listening to her and even attempting to contact Ian and Jamie. Kier had treated the other women with respect as well. Fiona knew her brothers would approve of his character, although maybe not so much if they knew about the kisses she'd shared with Kier.

The first day of the journey, she'd tried to put the memory of those kisses aside. Thinking about never seeing Kier again just brought tears to her eyes and questioning looks from the two elderly passengers. Then she'd dreamed of Kier last night. His warm, spicy scent had filled the room before he'd loomed tall in the shadows, approaching her bed soundlessly. His midnight-sapphire eyes had glinted as he'd come closer, leaning down, reaching for her… Fiona had awoken to the sound of fighting from the bar room below, feeling like her body was on fire. Every nerve ending tingled, her skin almost too sensitive to touch. She'd gasped at the friction across the hardened tips of her breasts when she'd thrown off the blanket. A pulsing had begun low in her belly, creating a pleasant type of ache that had stayed with her most of the day. As had images of Kier. She'd experienced the strangest sensations of the carriage suddenly becoming hot and stuffy to the point where she wanted to tear off her clothing to cool her body, but even tugging slightly at the collar of her dress had brought more inquiring looks.

Resolutely, Fiona picked up her valise and started walking, waiting until the carriage pulled away before stopping to switch directions. Erin's aunt had drawn a map to her brother's home and written a note of introduction as well. Before Fiona started toward the home tucked away behind the attached townhouses fronting the water, she stopped to survey the busy harbour. Assorted fishing boats of various sizes were tied to the quay and a few were moored farther out, along with several sailing vessels. Fishmongers hawked their wares from carts across the street, the somewhat pungent odor of their catches wafting towards her, mingling with the briny scent of the sea. The smell reminded Fiona of home, of Loch Sheil and Loch Linnhe. She lifted her head and sniffed, resisting the urge to shout wildly—an action certainly not in keeping with the attire she was wearing. But she could hardly contain herself. She was free. Finally. She was free.

And in a few more days, when a ship departed for England or Scotland, she would be on it.

Kier was nearly at his wit's end. He'd dreamt of Fiona last night, the dream so real he could almost smell the faint essence of the lavender soap he'd provided for her. She'd been lying in bed in a darkened room, waiting for him. The moonlight had caught the pale glow of her skin and she'd smiled invitingly as he'd approached. So close…and then he'd been jarred awake by the sounds of fighting outside the room. Only when he'd jumped out of bed, his groin tight and aching, he found only empty silence.

He was losing his mind. Glancing across the library's desk at Finn, he saw the same worried looked that his friend had worn since Kier had found the postern key lying on the ground by the door three days ago where Fiona must have left it. He'd gone into a near frenzy then, asking Finn to put the word out without alerting the authorities who would only return her to the asylum, that Fiona must be found.

The first thing Kier had done was go to the wharf where the Liffey emptied into Dublin Bay and inquired—practically badgered—the harbour master about any boat, regardless of size or type, leaving within the past twenty-four hours. When the man had assured him no woman had gotten onboard any vessel, Kier had taken to questioning every dock hand he could find. He'd given away enough shillings in his quest for information to provide half of Dublin's population with a few pints of ale each. All to no avail. No one had seen a woman anywhere near the docks. Desperate, he'd even asked if the boat handlers had seen any slender youths about. Having realized how clever Fiona was, he'd not put it past her to disguise herself in boys' clothing. But—after giving away more shillings—the men had seen no such youth either.

“Where else can we look?' Kier asked Finn as he tossed aside the list of men supposed to attend the next meeting at Christ's Church. “We've scoured the streets.”

“Aye, we have. It seems the lass has gone to ground,” Finley answered.

“But how?”

“That I cannot say. Perhaps the faeries helped her.”

“By the Saints, Finn. This is not the time to talk about mythical beings.”

Finley raised a brow. “Ye should not deny your heritage.”

“Strictly speaking, my ancestors were Vikings, but that is neither here nor there.”

Finley grinned. “Well then, maybe Loki—is he not the mischievous god of Vahalla?—whisked the lady away to some other place.”

“Will you stop…wait. Do you think someone abducted Fiona?”

His friend sobered. “Abducted? I don't know.”

“My God! We have to find her. If some brute has her—”

“Stop a minute,” Finley interjected. “Think this through. The lass escaped on her own. Ye said that when ye questioned the maids, Erin admitted offering to help Fiona escape, but she refused, not even accepting the money. Perhaps the lass had someone waiting for her.”

Kier frowned. “Impossible. Fiona knows no one here. She has had no visitors, nor has she even been outside the castle.”

“But she is now, no?”

“No. I mean, yes. You hardly need to the point the fact out. The real question is where would she go?” Kier suddenly recalled the day in the library when Fiona had been studying the map of Dublin. She'd had her finger on a spot. He'd been concentrating on the nearness of her, her scent and how her ebony hair had looked like dark blue silk in the light from the oil lamp, that he'd not paid attention to where she'd been looking. He'd warned her not to try to escape. Perhaps the warning had been half-hearted because he didn't think escape possible. He'd told her she was safe with him, that he would not let anything harm her. But then the warden had arrived and Erin had warned Fiona and Fiona had gone.

Stupid of him not to have taken more notice of where she was looking at the map.

“I think Fiona is still in Dublin.”

Finley raised a brow. “Why? No one has seen her.”

Kier explained about the map. “She was looking for a specific street, I think.”

“How would she know which street? Who would tell her such?”

Erin had warned Fiona
… Kier jumped up and went to the door, calling for both her and Brena before turning back to Finn. “I think one of the maids might know.”

They appeared shortly. “Can I get ye something, my lord?” Erin asked.

“No. Please have a seat.” Kier indicated an empty one beside Finley, who rose and offered his to Brena.

Erin twisted her hands nervously. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Do not worry,” Kier said. “I just want to ask some questions.”

She sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, looking anxious anyhow. Brena gripped the armrests.

“I know you said you offered to help Fiona, but she refused to even take your money. That makes me think she might have had a plan already about where to go. Maybe Lona, or even Dulcee, talked to her about places in Dublin. Did Fiona ever mention something like that to either of you?”

Erin shook her head. “We didn't get a chance to talk much since Ada usually came with us.”

Kier suppressed a sigh. “She never said anything when you went to pick up her dishes or bring water for her?”

Erin started to shake her head again and then stopped. “One time she did ask about our family.”

“Your family?”

“Aye. We told her we were from Cork.”

Cork. Good God. Had Fiona tried to go there? Kier exchanged a look with Finn who gave a slight shake to his head. Kier acknowledged it with a small nod. It would be nearly impossible for Fiona to travel to Cork without coin.

“What did she say?”

“She asked if we didn't have any relatives closer.”

The hair at Kier's nape began to prickle and he glanced at Finley once again. This time, Finn's expression was as alert as a hound scenting a rabbit. “Do you?”

“Well, yes. Our aunt.”

“Your aunt lives in Dublin?” Finley asked.

This time Brena nodded. “Aye. She's at the convent.”

“Convent?” Kier asked.

“Aye,” Brena said again. “Aunt Ailis is at the Sisters of Charity.”

By St. Patrick. He had not thought to check a convent. Most of the churches in Dublin were Anglican since England ruled, but the Sisters of Charity were allowed to operate, probably because they provided food and goods to the poor who would otherwise be in one of the English workhouses. Horrible as those places were, the government still had to provide food and shelter.

“Did you tell Fiona that? Did you tell her where it was?”

Both maids' eyes widened and they looked at each other nervously before they both nodded. “Did we do wrong, my lord?” Erin asked, twisting her hands again.

“No, no, you didn't. I think you did exactly right. There will be bonuses for both of you,” he added, grinning at the bewilderment on their faces. “I'll explain later.”