Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (13 page)

Surprised by the concern in his voice, Tillie lifted her head. The fiery passion that once burned in his eyes had become less intense, less destructive to those on the fringes. Instead he seemed a gentler soul, one who’d suffered enough to have compassion when he saw suffering in others.

“I’m glad I know the truth.”

He dipped his head.

But what would she do with the knowledge? Her thoughts winged to Morgan. She pushed back from the table. “I should be going—”

Jacob’s hand flashed out to fasten around her arm. “Not quite yet, lass.”

At the strength of his grip, she startled. “What . . . ?”

A slow grin spread across his thin lips. “You still haven’t told me why you came.” Jacob’s fingers tightened like ropes around her wrist. “And I still have me own questions to ask.”

Ten minutes. Morgan stared at the pocket watch in his palm. It had been ten minutes since Tillie disappeared behind the door on the opposite side of the pub. Since then, it had remained tightly closed, a scowling tree of a man barring the entrance.

Morgan caught Cass’s attention and tipped his head toward the giant. They’d have to be careful. One swing of those fists could fell a man like a sledgehammer. Cass gave a slight shake of his head.

He thought they were moving too soon.

Ignoring his brother’s warning, Morgan stood, his chair scraping the wood floor.

“Another drink? Maybe something a wee bit stronger this time?”

The barmaid’s return only irritated him further. “No, thanks.”

He moved to sidestep her, but she sidled to stand in his way, her hand to his chest. “Aww now, what’s your hurry? Why not sit with me a while?”

Morgan directed a pointed stare at her long, painted fingers. “I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

She pouted. “Too bad. Maybe another time?”

He didn’t think so, but he gave a tip of his cap as he dodged the fabric of her fitted silk skirt.

The giant had spotted him. The muscles of his biceps flexed as he sent a sharp glare winging across the pub at him. No doubt he knew who Shanahan’s regulars were, and Morgan wasn’t one of them.

“Say, before you go . . .”

Morgan bit back a growl of frustration as he looked over his shoulder at the barmaid.

She held up his pocket watch. “This belong to you?”

His hand went to his jacket pocket. He’d have sworn he replaced it before he got up. How . . . ?

She was distracting him.

The realization hit him so hard he nearly reeled. Whirling, he strode across the pub straight for the giant. The man uncrossed his arms and waited with feet braced.

Before Morgan reached him, Cass stepped into his path and hissed, “Hold up there, Cap.”

“Not now, Cass.”

“We don’t know that she’s in any trouble.”

His voice rose. “Get out of my way, Cass.”

Cass grabbed his arm. “Would you simmer down? ’Tis only been a few minutes.” He threw a glance over his shoulder at the giant. “If she did find him, she’s hardly had time to explain what she’s doing here.”

Though the argument made sense, Morgan could see nothing past the scowling figure blocking his path to Tillie.

Cass shook his arm. “Morgan!”

Sucking in a breath, he forced himself to relax, his knotted muscles to loosen. “Fine.”

Behind them, the barmaid stepped closer. “He all right?”

Cass clapped him on the shoulder. “Aye, he’s all right. Ain’t so, Morgan?” Though he smiled, his brows lowered in warning.

“Aye,” Morgan grumbled at last.

Turning, he saw as Cass took the pocket watch from the barmaid’s outstretched hand.

“Our thanks to you, Miss . . . ?” He scratched his temple. “Dinna figure I caught your name.”

Her smile broadened until a dimple appeared on one of her pale cheeks. “Catherine.”

“A pleasure, Miss Catherine.” Cass bent low over her hand and pressed a kiss to the back, then gestured to the table he’d vacated. “Can I buy you something to drink?”

Morgan grunted. Ach, but the lad could layer on the charm. Still, the offer seemed to defuse the situation. Catherine followed him to the table, and the giant crossed his arms again and resumed a more relaxed stance, though he continued to watch them warily. Left with little choice, Morgan claimed one of the chairs while his brother delighted Catherine with tales of boyish escapades.

After what seemed an eternity, the door behind the giant opened, spurring Morgan from his seat as if he’d been jabbed. When at last Tillie emerged, he let the air loose from his lungs in relief.

She was all right. A little pale perhaps, but none the worse for it. He cut the distance between them to fasten onto her arm and lead her outside.

“Well,” he demanded once they’d walked some distance and the fresh air had had a chance to fan the fogginess from his brain. “Did you find him?”

“Wait up!” Dodging horses and pedestrians, Cass jogged to meet them. Wiping sweat from his brow, he peered at Tillie. “How’d it go?”

“Can we go somewhere private to talk?” she asked.

Her cheeks puffed in and out as she spoke, and Morgan regretted dragging her up the street. He motioned toward a
carriage for hire. “First, let’s get you out of this neighborhood to someplace safer.”

Letting go of her arm, he hailed the carriage, helping her up after the driver circled around.

“Ashberry Street,” he ordered the driver before climbing up after Tillie.

And after Cass.

The sneak had scurried in and claimed the seat next to Tillie while Morgan’s back was turned. Unwilling that either should sense the turmoil roiling inside him, Morgan settled against the leather seat and let Cass do all the talking.

“So, was it him?” he began, eyes snapping with excitement.

Tillie pulled a frilly lace handkerchief from her reticule and pressed it to her mouth. “Aye, it was him.” Her eyes darted to Morgan. “I had no idea that seeing him again after all these years would affect me so. He and Braedon worked together a long time.”

Either he didn’t see her trembling or didn’t realize what it was that caused it, for Cass continued rambling while Morgan was hard-pressed to remain in his seat. Just what had happened in that room that had unnerved her so?

“What did he say when you showed him the ring?”

Morgan put up his hand. “Slow down, Cass. Let her tell it from the beginning.”

His heart rate quickened at the look of gratitude she flashed his way. Bit by bit, she explained how she and Braedon had come to know Jacob Kilarny and what their relationship to him had been since. She finished by clutching her reticule to her chest.

“He wanted to keep the ring, but I wouldn’t let him. I told him it was all I had of Braedon, but if he needed to see it again, I’d bring it by.”

“And you have no idea why he was so interested in it?” Cass asked.

She bit her lip. “He didn’t say.”

Morgan gnawed the inside of his cheek. The ring was definitely the key to something or Kilarny wouldn’t have been so interested. “Tell me again what he said when he saw it.”

Curiosity gleamed in Cass’s eyes. Morgan flashed him a look meant to say
later
.

“Well?” Morgan said, turning to Tillie.

The rumbling carriage hit a bump, throwing Tillie sideways. Though he put out his hand, he could only watch helplessly as she fell against Cass’s chest . . . and Cass’s arms went up to encircle her waist.

For a second they only looked at each other, and then Cass chuckled. “You all right?”

A rosy flush colored her cheeks and neck. “I’m fine. You?”

“What, having a bonnie little thing like you fall into me arms? Aye, I’m right as rain.”

A spark of something he’d never experienced toward his brother ignited in Morgan’s belly—anger, and mixed with it a draught of jealousy. ’Twas not a good meld. Though he fought not to let it show, it was several blocks before he dared turn his face to either Tillie or his brother, and a few more before he was able to unclench his fingers from around the handle on the door.

“The ring,” he choked at last, cutting into Cass’s lighthearted jesting. “What did Kilarny say when he saw it?”

Tillie’s gaze fastened to his, a hint of frustration rippling in its depths. Perhaps she wasn’t as taken with his brother as he thought. Or was it him she was frustrated with, for breaking the mood with Cass?

“He didn’t say much, but I think he recognized it the moment he saw it. He held it up to the window, almost as though he were checking to make sure the stone was real. Then he sort of sucked in a breath and asked if I knew where Braedon had gotten the ring.”

“Do you?” Morgan asked.

She shook her head. “I always assumed it was a family heirloom.”

“And what did Kilarny say to that?”

“He grumbled something about hanging on to the ring, told me to keep it in a safe place and not let anyone else see it.”

As she spoke, her fingers tightened around the reticule. Just what in blazes made the ring so significant? And if it wasn’t an heirloom, where had McKillop gotten it? More to the point, why had he kept it?

These questions and more pummeled Morgan’s brain as they approached Ashberry Street. Even as he instructed the driver on where to leave them off, he couldn’t help believing that if he uncovered the truth about the ring, he’d find the answers he sought regarding Braedon’s death, and later, Doc’s and Donal’s.

In the meantime, he was wont to follow Kilarny’s advice. He’d keep both Tillie and the ring in the safest place he could find.

Close by his side.

Tillie undid the last button on her boot and let it slide from her foot to the floor with a thump. Laying aside the hook, she stretched out on her bed, content to let the stress of the day trickle from her limbs.

Had it only been one day since she’d learned the truth about Braedon’s death? Or since she’d almost lost her life . . . twice? It hardly seemed possible.

A light knock broke her from her thoughts. She sat up in the bed. “Aye?”

Meg poked her head around the door, her long hair rolled in rags. “Still awake?”

“I am.” She gestured for Meg to enter. “Please, come in.”

Meg closed the door tight and then went and sat down on the bed beside Tillie. “The captain is downstairs. I saw him keeping watch at the parlor window. Giles repaired it this afternoon.” Her green eyes widened as her voice lowered to a whisper. “I still kinna believe that someone tried to shoot you.”

“You and me both.” Tillie pulled her legs up and smoothed her skirt over her knees. “I feel like I’m in a bad dream
from which I kinna wake. Every time I think on it . . .” She shuddered.

Meg’s lips drooped in a sympathetic frown. Wriggling close, she patted Tillie’s knee. “What can I do to help?”

The last thing she wanted was to endanger Meg or anyone else at the boardinghouse. She shrugged. “For now, I’d appreciate your prayers.”

“Tillie . . .” Meg bit her lip, then leaned forward, her face earnest and pale. “Have you thought about speaking to Rourke?”

“Cara’s husband?”

The rags on Meg’s head bobbed. “After you got back this afternoon, I thought about what you and the captain said, how you both thought it would be wise to lay low until you could figure out who wanted you dead. With Rourke’s connections here and at home, maybe he could help. It be worth a try, no?”

Tears glistened on the tips of Meg’s lashes, and for the first time Tillie considered how worried she would be if the situation were reversed. She gave Meg’s hand a squeeze. “Aye, it be worth a try. I’ll speak to Captain Morgan in the morning.”

Relief washed over Meg’s features, and just as quickly a bit of teasing lifted her lips in a smile. “That captain . . . he’s dreadful handsome, wouldn’t you say?”

“Meg,” Tillie scolded.

“He’s also verra concerned about you. I’ve noticed how he watches you. In fact, he never lets you wander from his sight. Him or his brother, for that matter.” Her brows rose. “I suppose Cass Morgan is closer to our age.”

“None of that is of concern to me,” Tillie said, grasping the covers and giving them a firm tug. “They’re here because they want to help, nothing more.”

Meg’s scowl said she didn’t agree, but she let it pass. Instead
she cupped Tillie’s hand in both of hers, the sleeves of her nightdress swallowing them up so only Tillie’s arm showed.

“Promise me you’ll listen to him—Captain Morgan, I mean. I’ve a good feeling about him, Tillie. I think maybe God sent him here to take care of you.”

Heat suffused her cheeks. “Don’t be silly, Meg. The captain’s arrival here was a fortunate coincidence. It has nothing to do with me.”

“Eh,” Meg said, standing. “Think what you like. I’m inclined to believe ’tis because he’s had a hard time ridding his thoughts of a bonnie young miss who stepped aboard his ship two years ago.” Winking, she ducked through the door, her merry laughter ringing along the empty hallway.

Despite her protest, the beating of Tillie’s heart did quicken at the idea that Captain Morgan’s concern might be personal. Could it be true? Was he purposefully keeping an eye on her, as Meg claimed?

The possibility kept her lying awake atop her covers well into the night. Knowing he stood vigil mere yards away was an even greater temptation. Finally, she pushed her feet into a pair of worn slippers and made her way downstairs. As Meg had said, the captain was standing watch at the parlor window, his tall form a rather imposing figure in the light of the half-moon. At his elbow a single candle cut the gloom of the shadowed room.

Tillie paused at the entrance. “Captain Morgan?”

He turned. His long hair was tousled, and a day’s growth of beard roughened his chin. With his jacket removed and his sleeves pushed to his elbows, he was as fetching a sight as any she’d ever seen. Her breath caught.

Letting the curtain fall, he left the window and crossed to her. “Tillie? It’s late. Is everything all right?”

If one counted a heart that was beating too fast and a
mouth that was too dry as being all right, well, then she supposed so. She nodded. “I couldn’t sleep. Forgive me for bothering you at this hour, but may I speak with you, Captain?”

“Of course. Wait there a moment.”

Easing to the window, he checked outside one last time and then arranged the drapes so that the view inside was fully covered. Afterward, he pulled two chairs away from the hearth to a wall farthest from the windows. Motioning for her, he indicated one of the chairs. After she was seated, he claimed the other.

“You look upset,” he said, his dark brows bunched and his mouth turned in a frown. “What’s wrong?”

Tillie searched his face. Though she read genuine concern in the etched lines on his face and around his mouth, it went no deeper. Meg was wrong. He probably would look exactly the same if it were one of his crew in trouble.

She sighed. “Captain Morgan—”

His hand lifted. “Please, just Morgan is fine.”

She swallowed and offered a tight-lipped smile. “Morgan. Aye.”

“You were saying?”

The room, the candle, the time of night—the entire setting felt too intimate. Tillie swiped her damp palms over her skirt and rose. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have bothered you. It’s nothing that kinna wait until morning.”

In the span of a blink, he too was on his feet. “Tillie, wait. You’re here now. May as well confess what keeps you from sleep. Perhaps I can be of help.”

Giving in to his gentle urging, she sank back onto the chair. “I spoke with Meg. She thinks I should talk to Rourke, get his opinion on what Kilarny told me.”

“Rourke?”

“Cara’s husband, and Daniel Turner’s son.”

“The politician whom Sean Healy accidently killed.”

She nodded. In the dim light of the candle, his face was awash with concern, doubt, maybe even a bit of frustration. All things she herself had wrestled with before coming downstairs. “You dinna agree?”

He ran his hand over his face in a weary gesture that broke her heart. Surely he regretted having gotten himself involved in her troubles. Rourke, on the other hand, had a vested interest in the outcome. Better she should rely on him than to ask Captain Morgan to further embroil himself in a mess not of his making.

Before he could answer, she laid her hand upon his arm. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done to help me. ’Twas more than I had any right to expect.”

He looked down at her hand, then up to peer at her. “Nay. ’Tis my fault any of this ever happened.”

She withdrew her hand. “No. I learned one thing by speaking with Jacob Kilarny, which is that all of this goes back much further than either of us thought. You had no way of knowing Braedon was involved with a plot that went wrong all those years ago.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her for a long moment.

She bit her lip nervously. “What?”

“Something else is bothering you. Something you didn’t talk about earlier.”

She looked down, afraid he’d read the truth in her eyes, more than she was ready to reveal. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“No?” His long fingers wrapped around hers, warming her hand, thrilling her heart. “Tillie, look at me.”

She did, though somewhat reluctantly. His eyes were dark pools in the low light, his face a shadowed veil behind which myriad questions lay.

“You said you realized this went back much further than you thought. What did you mean?”

She’d had plenty of time to think upstairs. One question in particular had risen time and again to invade her thoughts. But to share it with him would only involve him deeper than he was already.

She shook her head, and though she tried to pull her hand away, he refused to let go. “Captain Mor—”

“Morgan.”

“Morgan,” she repeated, “you are a kind man. Grateful I am that God saw fit to put Braedon and me aboard your ship when we left Ireland.”

He made to cut her off, but she pressed on before he could speak. “None of this was your fault. After meeting with Jacob, I’m certain of that. Tomorrow I will speak with Rourke, and we’ll figure out what we should do, where we should go. In the meantime, I want you and your brother to get clear of this and be about your business—”

Morgan’s hand went to her cheek, slicing the words from her tongue as effectively as any knife. “I’m not leaving, Tillie. Not until I know you’re safe and we both know what happened to Braedon and my crew.”

The warmth of his callused palm against her skin, the look of affection and concern welling in his eyes—both spurred a response in Tillie’s chest that she had no right to feel.

She held her breath as he drew closer. She wasn’t so naïve as to not know that he meant to kiss her, but was surprised when he ended up pressing it to her forehead instead of her lips. When he drew back, a wry sort of grimace twisted his features.

He lumbered to his feet, drawing her with him. “Go to bed, Tillie. Try and get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll talk about
this more, and if you still think it best, we’ll seek out this Rourke Turner.”

Helpless to argue given the dryness of her mouth, Tillie turned and fled the room, her feet taking her up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. Resting her back against the closed door, dismay filled her.

Despite her intentions, despite all her precautions to the contrary, one thing had become clear. What she’d meant to say or hoped to accomplish were of little consequence. What mattered was what had actually happened.

And that was that somewhere along the way, be it when he’d pushed her from the parlor window and saved her life or just now, when he’d cupped his hand to her cheek and vowed to remain by her side . . .

She’d fallen in love with Captain Morgan.