Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (25 page)

Morgan’s head felt like a log that had been split in two. Even his hair hurt. And his teeth. He rubbed his bruised jaw. No, his teeth hurt for an entirely different reason.

Pulling the cloth from his head, he grimaced. At least he’d stopped bleeding. Tillie’s shawl had served as a bandage, and judging by the amount of blood staining it, she’d never find it useful again. He looked up the walk to the top of the stairs, where she waited. An angel bathed in the glow of the open boardinghouse door.

Ach, but he’d been sorely tempted to admit the truth of his feelings back in the carriage. How easy it would have been to tell of the almost maddening fear that had driven him after her—of the agonizingly sweet relief he’d felt when he’d opened his eyes and seen her face and known she was safe. If it weren’t for Cass . . .

He mounted the stairs and paused with his hand on the knob. Immediately she was at his side, her hand a fiery brand upon his arm.

“Are you all right? I can fetch Giles.”

“No. I . . .”

Even now, it wasn’t too late. The words simmered on his
tongue, longing to be spoken. He turned to her, closing out the memory of the danger that had just passed, the guilt he’d carried over his part in Braedon’s murder—everything but the light in her eyes, the tempting silkiness of her hair, even the promise in the curve of her mouth.

“Tillie . . .”

Awareness melted over her face. He saw it in the softening of her lips as she stared up at him.

He stepped closer, letting the shawl slip from his fingers so that he could grip her by the arms. As he pulled her close, she made a sound, so vulnerable and sweet that it sparked an almost primal instinct inside him. How could he have thought for even an instant that he could give her up? Not when being near her made every nerve in his body spring to life.

She tilted her face to his, and her eyes drifted closed. His fingers trailed upward, one hand twining in her hair and the other lingering at her shoulder. For just one instant he wondered what it might be like to put what
he
wanted first, to ignore his duty and think of no one and nothing but himself.

He sucked in a breath. Kissing her now would be selfish, and even were he to forget his brother, he couldn’t hurt Tillie. Not ever.

He shuddered and let his hands fall away. “I should check on Cass.”

Her eyes shot open, first questioning, and then filled with remorse. “But—”

“I’ll let Giles know what happened.”

She blinked as if struggling to comprehend, and then her back stiffened and she clenched her jaw. “You should at least let someone tend to the cut on your head.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Unless you enjoy bleeding all over the carpet.”

At least in the face of her irritation, he had room enough to breathe. He managed a grin and followed her inside, where they were greeted by a round of worried exclamations from Amelia, Giles, and Meg.

Amelia rushed to them, an anxious look on her face. “Thank goodness you’re safe. Cass is upstairs. He insisted on riding back so he could be here when you arrived.” She turned and clutched Tillie’s hand, tears welling in her eyes. “He told us about your plan. Oh, Tillie, it was so dangerous.”

“How could you have risked it, child?” Giles added with a toss of his gray head. “Don’t you know who you’re dealing with?”

Tillie shook her head. “We had no choice, Giles. Besides, I’m fine. It was Morgan who was hurt.”

Amelia clucked as she examined the bruises on Morgan’s face. “Meg, ask Laverne to fetch us some water and then find something to put on these cuts.”

“Aye. I’ll go straightaway.”

Tillie moved to join her. “We’ll need bandages, too. I’ll get them.”

She excused herself while Meg set off in search of the necessary items. Meanwhile, Amelia returned to claim Morgan’s hand.

“Come, dear. Sit down and tell us what happened.”

Knowing the others would want to hear the story as well, he waited until they’d returned before relaying in detail the events of the evening. While he spoke, Tillie tended to the cleansing of his wounds. Now and then her skirt would brush his thigh or he’d catch the slightest whiff of her perfume. He found it was all he could do to concentrate with her standing so close, her gentle touch sending tremors through every limb.

When he got to the part about the blow to his head, her fingers stilled and he looked up at her.

“That’s all I can remember, except for waking up inside the carriage,” he finished quietly.

He thought he saw tears gathering in her eyes as she looked at him, but then she blinked and turned her attention to the washbasin.

“I should take care of this,” she said.

“I’ll see to it, lass.” Giles jumped to his feet. “After what we just heard, I dinna think I want you or anyone else outside alone.” He shot a meaningful glance at Laverne and Amelia. “That goes for the two of you, as well.”

“I agree.” Morgan struggled to rise. Surprised at the momentary weakness that wracked him, he steadied himself on the back of a chair. Once it passed, he directed his gaze to Tillie. “I’m going upstairs to check on Cass. After that, I’ll ride over to Rourke’s place to tell him what we learned. Tillie, you have to promise that you’ll stay here with the others until I return. Will you do that?”

Determination shone in the rigid lines of her small frame. “You kinna go alone. You were almost killed tonight.”

“Tillie—”

“She’s right, lad,” Giles said. “Maybe I could go with you?”

“And leave the women to fend for themselves? I dinna think so.”

“Cass will be here,” Tillie interjected. “Regardless, either Giles rides with you or I do.”

She looked as stubborn as a billy goat, staring at him with her fists braced against her sides, with a glower to rival any man’s marring her small face. Though he knew it would only make her angrier, he couldn’t help but smile.

Raising his hand to ward off another bout of disapproval, he shrugged. “All right, all right. I’ll take Giles.”

“Good. Then it’s all settled,” Amelia said, to which Tillie added a muttered, “’Bout time you showed some sense.”

His grin widened. At least with her temper he knew a bit of the fire had also returned. The notion also brought with it a renewed sense of dismay, for realizing her mettle only made him love her all the more.

As if that were possible, he mused. Already she occupied most of his thoughts. Even now, he ached at the need to leave her again.

But it wasn’t anger he read as their eyes met. In her expression he saw hope, fear, even a bit of pleading. Unable to withstand the draw, he went to her.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Promise?”

The word was like a blow striking at his chest, and though he wanted to close the gap between them, he resisted. “Aye, lass. I promise.”

Whirling, he severed the tie that held him bound to her and made for the stairs. Everything would be all right. It would, because regardless of what happened to him, Cass would take care of Tillie and see to it that she came to no harm. As for him . . .

Morgan grimaced and clutched the railing. He would do as he’d always done—what he’d always do.

He would take care of Cass.

Tillie laid her fingers against the door and gave a slight push. Morgan had been at Cass’s bedside for some time, and while she felt a bit like an eavesdropper, she couldn’t resist checking on them.

Morgan leaned against the window, and Cass watched him from an overstuffed chair near the hearth. A blanket covered him from shoulder to foot, but one corner pooled on the floor as he pitched forward to peer at Morgan.

“You’re doing it again. Trying to figure out a way to keep me out of danger while you grab hold of it head-on.”

Morgan snorted but did not look at him. “Dinna be ridiculous. You can hardly move. Even if I were worried, which I’m not, I couldn’t risk taking you with me.”

He moved away from the window then to focus on his brother. “You’d only slow me down, Cass.”

He slumped against the chair. “I know.”

Morgan pulled a chair over to sit next to Cass. Steepling his fingers, he gave a heavy sigh. “’Tis been good having you on the ship. And here too. I was wrong before, Cass—about the things I said back home in Ireland. You’ve more than proven it.”

“You mean about me being a foolish lad who only cares about himself?”

“Aye, that.”

“And about me being green and . . . let’s see, how did you put it?” He scratched his head, then held up one finger. “I remember. I believe the words you used were ‘dull as ditchwater.’”

“No, I meant that.” Morgan ducked as Cass reached back to chuck a pillow at him.

Both men laughed, and then Cass groaned and grabbed for his shoulder, and Morgan his head.

When they quieted, Cass’s lips turned in a frown. “We’re quite a pair, eh? Tillie probably would have been better off if neither of us had ever showed up on her doorstep.”

Morgan hoisted to his feet and clapped his hand to Cass’s uninjured shoulder. “Me, maybe. Not so sure about you.”

Tillie’s breath caught. Did he think . . . ?

“You’re wrong about that, Morgan.”

Morgan’s head lowered, hiding his face from her sight. He shrugged. “Regardless, we have a deal, do we not? I expect you to uphold your part.”

Her heart rate quickened. What kind of deal?

“Dinna worry about that, big brother. You just see to it you get the information to Rourke and then head home before anything else happens.”

“Right.”

Morgan chuckled and started to say more, but Tillie was already padding away from the door, her heart in her throat and her cheeks more than a trifle heated. She lunged into her own room just as he stepped into the hall.

Could it be? Did Morgan keep her at arm’s length because he thought she belonged with his brother?

She trembled as she recounted all the reasons why she should not be in love with Morgan, or Cass, or any man. But all of them paled in the hope of one solitary notion: Morgan had feelings for her. He just wouldn’t admit it because he cared too much for his brother to risk hurting him.

Joy such as she’d never known lifted her so that she felt her feet barely touched the floor. Morgan knew the truth about her past, and if he could forgive her and love her anyway . . .

She glanced up at the ceiling and smiled. Perhaps God too had already seen fit to forgive her, only she hadn’t allowed herself to believe it. Perhaps the only person who had yet to fully forgive Tillie McGrath was . . .
herself
.

Giles drove the wagon to the rear of Rourke’s home near the carriage house, then set the brake and cast a glance sidelong at Morgan.

“I figure this will be less likely to draw attention than leaving it around the front.” He pointed toward Morgan’s temple. “How’s the head?”

He grimaced in response. The rickety old wagon had been rough enough, but with the hurried pace he felt as if he’d been struck all over again.

Giles chuckled. “That’s what I thought. Better let me go in first.”

He climbed down and was greeted by a stableboy, who offered to care for the horse. Giles dismissed the lad with a wave. “Best let your master know we’re here and let me see to the horse.” His brows lowering, he eyed the dark-gray gelding the stableboy had been grooming. “That one new?”

“Belongs to Mr. Hamilton, sir. He arrived earlier today.” With that, the boy took off at a jog for the main house.

Morgan hitched a shoulder. “Who?”

“Eoghan Hamilton,” Giles said. “Miss Cara’s brother. I didn’t know he was back.”

Guilt rolled over Morgan as the name penetrated his thoughts. “Rourke sent for him. We may not have told you everything that’s been going on.”

“Ach.” Giles clucked his tongue as he ambled for the door. “Dinna worry, lad. I’m not so dense as I make out. I know there’s more been going on than what you and that brother of yours have admitted.”

Flashing a wink, he led Morgan to wait just inside the door. Rourke appeared a short time later, trailed by another man Morgan had yet to meet. He wrapped Giles in a brotherly hug and then turned to study Morgan.

“So, you must be the captain Rourke has been telling me about.”

Morgan stuck out his hand. “And you must be Cara’s brother.”

Accepting his handshake, he nodded. “Eoghan Hamilton.”

“Keondric Morgan.”

Motioning toward the hall, Rourke led the group to his study.

“Well?” he said once they’d entered and he’d closed the door behind them. “What happened?”

Morgan gave a concise recounting, then turned to Rourke. “Your men still staking out the boardinghouse?”

“Aye, I’ve got some there now.”

“Good.”

“You’re worried, then?”

“After what I just told you, aren’t you?”

Rourke’s face hardened, and he nodded to Eoghan. “There’s more you need to know. The man who paid to have Ana’s uncle brought to America last winter . . . I have reason to believe ’tis the same one who’s been after Tillie.”

Eoghan’s mouth dropped. “But none of that was about Ana, remember? It was me they wanted dead.”

“And why do you think that was?” Rourke crossed to the desk and took up several sheets of paper. He scribbled something on each. Like Eoghan and Giles, Morgan drew closer to read them.

On the first sheet he’d written his own name and Cara’s. On the next, Eoghan, and beside that, Ana. On the last sheet he wrote Tillie’s name.

Morgan looked them over, confused. “What are you trying to say here, Rourke?”

“Just . . .” He ran his hand wearily over his face. He then drew one final sheet of paper from the pile, but before he wrote on it he looked each of the men gathered in the eyes. “What do all of us have in common? What is the one thing that ties us all together in one way or another?”

Eoghan gave a shake of his head. “I dinna know. I’m guessing you do?”

“Maybe.”

Looking down at the paper, he wrote something and laid it in the center of the desk. On the sheet was written
Daniel Turner
.

Morgan shifted his gaze to Rourke. “Your father?”

“Aye, my father. Of course, we know how I’m tied to him. But Eoghan?”

Eoghan glanced at the paper and back. “I was there when he died.”

“Aye, and so was Tillie’s fiancé.”

“Braedon,” Morgan said.

“Aye, Braedon.”

“But they weren’t the only ones.” Giles looked at Rourke. “You’ve said it yourself, lad, your father’s death was an accident.”

“Was it?”

Eoghan stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it was meant to appear so, but when that failed, when we found you and realized you had actually been trying to help him—”

“The truth became a liability.”

“If there was truth to be found.”

“Wait.” Morgan lifted his hand. “You think your father’s death was planned all along?”

“Why else would someone go to such lengths to cover it up?” Rourke’s hand fell to touch each sheet of paper. “Someone has been trying to silence every one of these people. Why? It has to be because they have something in common.”

No one spoke for several long seconds. Finally, Eoghan blew out a sigh. “If you’re right about this . . . ? Who would want your father, and me, and Braedon McKillop, now even Tillie . . . who would want us all dead?”

Morgan gritted his teeth. “I think I know.”

All eyes turned to him. He met them all and settled at last on Rourke. “The ring that Braedon McKillop gave to Tillie, it belonged to The Celt.”

Giles’s face reddened under the light of the lamp. “Hold up now. Are you saying it was the Fenians what caused all of this?”

“Not the Fenians,” Morgan replied. “One of them. Their leader. Why else would he try so hard to bury the truth?”

“Because he was acting alone,” Eoghan said. “The Fenians didn’t know about his plan to murder Daniel Turner.”

Morgan shrugged. “Well? What do the rest of you think?”

Rourke beat the table with his fist. “The Celt. What good does knowing any of this do? We’ve been trying for months to track him down, and always we’re one step behind. We dinna even know who he is.”

“But we know someone who might.” Morgan glanced over at Rourke. “The man in the gray cap who Tillie said she saw
tonight. He was at the meeting with the Fenians. That means Jacob Kilarny probably knows who he is.”

Rourke’s brows rose. “And if he’s working for The Celt?”

“He could be our link,” Eoghan said. “I’ll meet with Jacob, find out the man’s name.”

Morgan nodded. “But we’ll still need to get close enough to him to ask some questions.”

Rourke’s nostrils flared as he blew out a breath. “I’ll get word to my uncle. We’ll set a trap, see if we kinna lure him into the open.” He cast a warning glance at Morgan. “It’ll mean leaving the boardinghouse unprotected. We’ll need all our men if we’re to stand a chance.”

He didn’t like the idea, but Morgan knew Rourke was right. If The Celt discovered their plan, he’d likely disappear, and from that point on none of them would ever be free from the threat to their lives.

Squaring his shoulders, he looked at Rourke, Eoghan, then Giles. “If we bait the trap correctly, it wilna be the boardinghouse they’re interested in anyway.”