Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (26 page)

The minutes dragged into hours as Tillie paced the library floor, waiting for Morgan’s return. Though Amelia, Meg, and Laverne all waited with her, no one spoke. Finally a wagon rumbled around to the stable, and she hurried to the kitchen to unbolt the door.

Morgan and Giles bustled inside, but instead of replacing the bar, Giles took it from her and leaned it against the wall. “I’ll see to the door, lassie. We’ve got visitors arriving shortly.”

“Visitors. Who?”

Morgan held out his hand. “Come. I’ll explain everything.”

Her fingers shook as she slid them into his. When they reached the hall, she tugged him to a halt. “The others are in the library,” she whispered. “Before we go in . . . tell me, Morgan.”

He turned toward the stairs. “Cass?”

“He’s resting.”

He hesitated, and then the lines smoothed from his brow. “All right. C’mon. Let’s find somewhere to talk.”

The light of an oil lamp still glowed beneath the library door as they walked past. At the parlor he slid open the door and took a quick look around before poking his head back into the hall and motioning her inside.

She hurried to a chair and held her breath while he closed the door. “So? What happened? What did you find out?”

Her toes tapped the floor as she waited for him to light a lamp and blow out the match. When at last he joined her to sit, her fingers were red from the wringing.

Bit by agonizing bit he relayed all that had been discussed, including their plan for drawing the man in the gray cap into the open.

“We’ll need Braedon’s ring, Tillie. With me as the mule and the ring for bait . . .”

She bit her lip. There was no questioning the logic of the plan. What concerned her was the part Morgan would play.

“Tillie?”

His face, already so dear, bore a troubled frown. “You do trust me to take care of the ring?”

“Of course.”

Her immediate response eased a few of the worried lines from his face. She leaned toward him, determined to admit a portion of the fear which weighed upon her heart.

“I’m afraid for you. What if this man ambushes you, or if he’s not alone? How do you know help will come in time?”

“There is risk involved for sure, but I trust Rourke. Jacob and his men, too. Don’t you?”

“I do. But why does it have to be you? Why not one of the others? You’re still hurt, and you lost . . . a lot of blood.” Feeling her emotions swell, Tillie swallowed and took a deep breath. Looking at him only made the ache in her chest worse. She studied her fingernails, and was surprised when his hand covered hers. “I dinna want you to go,” she blurted before he could speak. “I couldn’t bear it if . . .”

His thumb lifted to the tears brimming on her lashes and gently wiped them away. “Tillie?”

She shook her head, too miserable to speak.

He sighed and leaned toward her to whisper, “So now you know.”

“Know what?” she choked out.

His palm warm against her cheek, he smiled. And to think she’d once believed him incapable of knowing how.

“Morgan?” His name slipped out on a sob.

“You asked me why I went out looking for you. Now you know.”

Her heart felt as if it might burst. She closed her eyes against the sudden wash of exquisite hope and tenderness. When she opened them, Morgan’s face was hard, and his blue-gray eyes flashed with the intensity of a barely bridled storm.

“Keondric?”

She was pleading, but for what she asked, she couldn’t say. He grasped her by the arms and stood, dragging her with him as he rose.

His arms twined around her, pulling her so close she felt cradled against the entire length of him. “I kinna let you go, Tillie,” he whispered, his words muffled by her hair. “I thought I could, but . . .” He pulled back, once again holding her by the arms. “I have to know. About Cass. Tell me.” With each word his voice grew more ragged.

“What?”

“Do you love him?”

“No! I mean . . . aye, but not . . . I mean, I love someone else.” She’d kept it hidden for so long, the truth felt foreign to her. A shiver traveled through her as she peered up at him. “I love someone else,” she repeated. She spoke the words slowly, willing him to understand, but instead of the joy she longed to see, he stared at her through narrowed eyes.

His grip on her arms tightened. “Who? Kilarny?” He spat Jacob’s name.

Tillie shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“Someone else then. Is he in love with you?”

Tears threatened, but she tamped the burning at the back of her throat and whispered, “I think . . . I m-mean I thought . . . I hope so, but . . .”

The words tripped over themselves, and while she tried, she couldn’t sort them out. No longer able to stem the rush of tears, they flowed unchecked down her cheeks.

“I love someone else, and even if he”—she forced the words from her mouth—“doesn’t love me, it’s enough, because I never thought . . . after Braedon, I never thought I could . . .”

A grimace twisted his features. “If? You mean you dinna know if he loves you? How could you ever think that would be enough? You deserve more, Tillie. You deserve to feel cherished.”

A fissure formed inside her chest, ripping her in two. He was trying to be kind, trying to find the words to ease the pain he’d caused, because he knew it was he whom she loved and . . .

He did not feel the same.

Shame burned her cheeks. So this was to be her penance—to love a man who would never love her in return. Indeed, Sister Agnes had spoken wisely when she’d accused Tillie of laying a wearisome penance upon herself, for what could be more cumbersome, more unbearable than to long for something one could never have?

Stepping back, she rubbed the dampness from her cheeks. “My thanks to you, for everything you’ve done.”

He moved as though to embrace her, but she shook her head and stepped back from him.

“Please, dinna say more. I appreciate the kindness, but I am not so foolish as to deceive myself.”

He drew back his shoulders and braced both hands on his hips. “Deceive yourself? What are you talking about, Tillie McGrath?”

She studied the floor, the buttons on his shirt, anything to avoid his searching gaze. “Morgan, please.”

“Keondric.”

Startled by the sharpness of his tone, she searched his eyes and then found she could not look away. “What?”

“Earlier, you called me Keondric.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I’m not.” He reached over and touched her chin, the warmth of the gesture robbing her of breath. “When he kisses you, this man you love whom you
hope
loves you back,” he said, pressing closer to her with each word, “does he make you forget about everything else? Make you feel as though nothing else matters except loving him? Answer me, Tillie.”

Even could she have spoken, she never would have admitted the truth to him—that his touch alone was enough to drive all rational thought from her mind.

His hand caressed her cheek. And as he did so, he dipped his head so that his mouth hovered just above hers. “Say my name. I want to hear it again.”

She closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of his lips, and was immediately assaulted by the intoxicating scent of his skin. “Keondric . . .”

Before his name had fully left her lips, he was kissing her, his mouth roving over hers in a way that left her weak and trembling.

Once before, she’d been awash with the kind of emotions that now swirled inside her. She’d vowed never to give in to them again, but one kiss from Keondric . . .

Her spine stiffened. Giving a cry, she ripped from his arms and whirled to cover her face with both hands.

“Tillie?”

Anguish resonated in his tone. She felt him move toward her, felt him stop shy of touching her yet reaching out all the same.

“Forgive me, lass. Please, look at me.” When she did not, he gave a pained sigh. “I only kissed you because—”

Voices sounded in the hall, interrupting what he’d been about to say—that he’d only kissed her because he felt sorry for hurting her.

This time it was bitter tears that soaked Tillie’s eyes and burned her cheeks. Ach, what devastating justice to prove her so wrong. Living without his love was only the start of her penance, but living with his pity?

That was far, far worse.

Morgan paced the length of the library, his thoughts as tattered and frayed as a knotted old rope. Behind him, Rourke and Eoghan spoke in hushed tones with Giles and Amelia, while Meg and Laverne hurried to and fro fetching water and sandwiches for Rourke’s kinsmen.

His uncle stepped to the center. “All right,” Malcolm Turner said, speaking to the room, “we meet at Shanahan’s Pub in one hour.” He raised an eyebrow in Morgan’s direction. “You have the ring?”

“Right here.”

Tillie carried the pouch bearing Braedon’s ring to Morgan and placed it in his hand. She’d washed her face and combed her hair, but there was no mistaking the redness that rimmed her eyes. He berated himself as a blackguard for having been the cause and laid hold of her fingers before she could move away.

“Tillie.”

Her skin was pale, but her eyes were determined as she looked back at him. “Come home safe.”

A response burned on his tongue—three words that spoken now would only add to her burden, especially if he could
not fulfill her request. But there was one thing he did want her to know.

He squeezed her fingers tight. “I’ve spoken to Cass. If anything should happen to me, he has promised to look after you and to help you buy that house you want for the orphanage.”

The determined mask slipped a bit, and fresh tears welled in her eyes.

Fie
, Morgan thought. Did everything he said have to be such a bumbling attempt? “I didn’t mean to upset you, lass.”

“You didn’t.” She curled his fingers around the pouch and pressed her hands to the backs of his. “Thank you.”

That said, she moved away to join Amelia, Laverne, and Meg. The women welcomed her quietly as the four of them stood watching him with linked arms.

He nodded to Giles. “You have your pistol in case there’s trouble?”

“Dinna worry about us, laddie. We’ll be fine. It’s yourselves you need to be watching out for, you hear?”

“We’ll be careful.” Rourke turned to Amelia. “You’ll say a prayer for us?”

Tremors shook her from head to foot. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Rourke. Perhaps if I’d told you of my connection to the Fenians sooner, you wouldn’t be faced with such dire straits now.”

He dismissed her protests and wrapped her in a hug. “No. We’d have known nothing of this if it hadn’t been for Tillie.” He held out his hand to her. “I’m grateful for your courage. I pray we might finally lay some of this to rest.”

She smiled as she took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Please be careful. All of you.”

Rourke lowered his head to her and said something Morgan couldn’t quite hear before glancing about at the others. “Are we ready?”

Grunts and nods rose from the men gathered. They filed out, some through the front door, others out the back. Morgan waited until the house had returned to a somewhat uneasy silence before giving one last cautious command to Giles.

“Keep the doors locked until morning. If anything happens before then, one of us will report back. Otherwise . . .”

Giles patted a rather conspicuous bulge at his side. “No one’ll be getting in here uninvited.” He motioned him out the door. “Go on with ya now, so I can get this thing barred up and see to the women.”

Morgan clasped his arm and then slipped outside. He waited for the sound of the door being barred before joining Rourke and the others.

Ach, but he was more than ready to get on with the task at hand. Action was always better than idleness in his opinion, and if he could find the men responsible for wanting Tillie harmed?

His stride lengthened with determined purpose. Before the night was done, he’d see to it that those who’d tried to hurt her were punished for it—no matter the cost to him, even if that meant his life.

A sound jolted Tillie awake. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined it, but then Cass stirred in the bed and she knew he’d heard it, too. She put out her hand and laid it on his chest.

He pushed upright. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure. It sounded like something fell.” She rose from the chair where she’d been sleeping, the blanket she’d tossed over her shoulders slithering to the floor. “I’ll go check.”

“Tillie?” His voice rang with caution.

She paused with her hand on the knob. “It’s probably just Giles being clumsy as ever. Wait there while I look.”

He glanced down at the bandages wrapping his shoulder and made an exaggerated grimace. Hiding a smile, Tillie tugged open the door and stuck her head into the hall.

Except for a single lamp on a table at the bottom of the stairs, the house was dark. Even the sounds emanating from the library had faded as Amelia, Laverne, and finally Meg had given in to exhaustion and dozed despite their worry.

Tillie leaned over the railing and scanned the hall for Giles. The chair at the door where he’d taken up guard duty was empty. Neither did she glimpse any sign of activity from the kitchen. Perhaps he’d gone for something to eat, then dropped his snack while fumbling around in the dark.

She opened her mouth to call out and then paused. If the others were sleeping, she’d only disturb them yelling for Giles. She retreated to Cass’s room and poked her head inside.

“Everything’s fine. I’m just going downstairs for a minute. Shall I bring you something?”

Cass pushed aside the blanket covering his legs. “It be dreadful quiet down there. Maybe I should come with you.”

“Dinna be ridiculous,” she said. “The hour is late, and everyone’s tired. That’s why it be so quiet. Now, I’ll be back up in a moment.” She wagged a finger toward the bed. “I’d better not hear you moving about while I’m gone.”

Though she made the remark in jest, she felt a certain amount of trepidation as she slipped into the hall. Once again, no sound rose from downstairs, and no light escaped from the kitchen or the parlor. She took the first few stairs but was startled to a halt when male voices drifted from the library. Though she couldn’t make them out, she sensed they did not belong to Morgan or Rourke.

But if not them . . .

Her breathing became shallow, her hands clammy and cold. Movement from the parlor caught her eye, and without
thinking she jerked away from the railing to press her back against the wall.

“What about him?”

The harsh whisper sent shivers coursing over her flesh.

“Tie him up and gag him.”

“I dinna have any rope.”

“Find some, you fool. Check the barn.”

Another voice joined the first two. “And the women?”

At the softer, more feminine tone, Tillie yanked her hand up to cover her mouth. Mary! What was she doing at the boardinghouse? There could only be one answer. But what had they done to Giles?

“Find out what they know. She must be nearby or we’d have seen her leave.”

“Unless they disguised her as one of them when they lit out earlier.”

“Maybe. You two search the rest of house. The stables too. Move.”

Tillie’s heart thumped. So they had been watching the boardinghouse all along. She waited till the voices faded down the hall before risking another peek over the railing. As before, it was dark and still, only now angry murmuring drifted from the library.

If she were to have a chance of finding Giles, it had to be now. She wouldn’t have long. The intruders would be back to search upstairs. She scurried down the steps, pausing at the bottom to listen for voices, and then dashed across the hallway to the parlor. Holding her breath, she risked a peek through the crack in the sliding doors. At first, the room appeared vacant, but then she observed Giles’s booted feet sticking out from behind the settee.

He wasn’t moving.

Stifling a cry, she ducked inside and hurried to his side. He
was lying on his back, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly agape. “Giles?”

She shook him gently. His head rolled from side to side, yet he made no sound nor showed any sign of waking. Dread settled like a stone in Tillie’s stomach.

Remembering the pistol tucked into the waistband of Giles’s trousers, she patted his side, found the gun, and plucked it out. He’d not even had time to draw it when they surprised him. No time to wonder how they’d gotten in.

Inching out the way she’d come, Tillie crept up the stairs and scampered on tiptoe down the hall to Cass’s room.

“What—?”

Tillie put her finger to her lips. Cass quieted instantly, though the tension showed in his white-rimmed lips and the lines of strain around his eyes. As she eased the door shut, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, then stood and clung to the footboard.

“What’s going on?” he demanded in a whisper. “Who’s downstairs?”

Trembling took hold of her as she shoved the gun under her blouse and into the waistband of her skirt. Afterward, she hurried to the wardrobe and yanked out one of Cass’s shirts. “They’ve found us. Mary . . . and the man in the gray cap, I think.”

Cass paled. “Giles?”

“They must have ambushed him. He’s unconscious.”

Cass’s jaw squared. “I’m going down there.”

“No!” Tillie clutched his arm. “Your shirt. Take it. You have to go for help.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you here alone!”

“You have to. They’re searching the house for me, but I dinna think they know about you. If you leave now—”

Cass gave a vehement shake of his head. “I wilna run and leave you to face them alone.”

“Cass, we have no other choice.”

“We can stall. Morgan and the others will be back soon.”

“You dinna know that.” She grabbed his arm in frustration. “There’s no time to argue, Cass. They’ll be here any minute—”

She cut off, her eyes wide. By the look on his face, Cass too heard the sound that struck fear in her heart as certainly as any blade. As one, they turned and stared at the door. A moment later, the sound came again, only this time there was no mistaking the source.

It was a creak on the stairs. Shortly afterward, a shadow passed by the crack in the door.