Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (29 page)

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Authors: Elizabeth Ludwig

Tags: #New York (N.Y.)—History—19th century—Fiction, #FIC027050, #Irish Americans—Fiction, #FIC042030, #Young women—Fiction, #FIC042040

BOOK: Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3)
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48

Tension squeezed the muscles in Morgan’s shoulders as they approached the ornately scrolled gate surrounding Douglas Healy’s house. Though his hands were loosely bound in front of him, he clutched a pistol to Mary’s ribs. Behind him, three of Kilarny’s men walked disguised as Healy’s men. And Tillie . . .

His heart leapt in his chest as he looked at her. One word of warning from Mary and all their lives would be forfeited.

He pressed the barrel tighter to her side and leaned forward to speak into her ear. “I’ll not hesitate. Do you hear me? One word, one sound . . .”

She shivered, and he knew she believed him.

They drew to a halt as Healy’s guard met them at the gate. The guard glared at Mary. “Where’s Dunahoe?”

“Dead. Killed in the fight by these two.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I brought the girl.”

“Your orders were to kill her.”

“My orders were to get the ring, and then kill her. Maybe you can get the information out of her. I couldn’t.”

“And him?” He looked past her to Morgan.

“He tried to protect her. I figured he might be useful.”
Again she looked at them. Morgan held his breath. She then turned back to the guard. “What was I supposed to do? It’s almost dawn. I couldn’t verra well hang around the boardinghouse. People were going to start stirring.”

Her foot tapped the graveled walk. “Well? You want someone to see us standing out here?”

After what seemed an eternity, the guard grunted and waved her through. “Make it quick. He’s waiting for ya.”

Morgan eyed the layout of the grounds surrounding the main house. ’Twas an expansive estate for the city and no doubt, but what concerned him was the lack of cover for Kilarny’s men. He shot a look at Rourke. By his scowl, he felt the same.

“Which way?” Morgan muttered, shifting the gun to jab Mary in the back.

“He’ll be in his study,” she said. “And no need to remind me about those guns you’re all carrying. I’ll gladly lead you to him, since we be walking to your deaths. When he finds out who you are, he’ll have you all killed.”

It appeared she’d be right when several men exited from the back of the house to meet them. The largest of them waited at the door, his arms crossed and an angry frown on his face.

“What are ya doing bringing them here? Have ya gone mad, Mary?”

Morgan increased the pressure of the pistol to her spine.

She fidgeted, then said, “Mad or no, I dinna answer to you, William Byrne. I want to see The Celt. I have a prize for him, one I think will make him most pleased.” She jerked her thumb toward Tillie and then pressed her fists to her skinny hips. “Well?”

William’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “You always were a grubber, Mary. You think this will make The Celt finally take notice of ya?”

She jutted out her chin. “Just take me to him and shut your mouth.”

His scowl deepened, but he led the way. Inside the house, heavy curtains and carved furnishings dominated most of the rooms they passed. Morgan made note of the many twists and turns before they arrived at a set of wide double doors.

Mary narrowed her eyes at William. “Aren’t we going in?”

He jabbed his finger toward Tillie and Morgan. “They are. Dinna think there’s any need for you. I’d say your job’s done.”

Morgan tensed. Something wasn’t right. Behind him, he sensed the same tensing of muscles from Kilarny’s men.

Mary poked out her elbows and stood grinning. “Well, I can hardly go anywhere with this here gun jabbed in my back, now, can I?”

The moment she said it, the doors flew open, and men armed with rifles streamed out. Thrusting Mary aside, Morgan reached for Tillie, but he was too late. William shoved a gun in his face, halting any action he thought to take.

“Ah, ah! No sudden movements now. Wouldn’t want your lady here to see you getting your face blown off. Now drop your weapons.”

“Keondric!” Tillie stretched out her hand, but he shook his head, willing her to remain still.

Grunts sounded from behind them as more men spilled from the hall.

From inside the study, a deep, booming voice drifted out. “Captain Morgan, Miss McGrath . . . please, come in. I’ve been expecting you.”

Seeing the gun pointed at Keondric’s head, Tillie almost couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Arms grabbed her from behind and forced her forward. At the harshness of her
handling, Morgan’s face darkened, and Tillie resolved to do everything she was ordered so he might not risk his own life trying to protect her.

Despite the hour, Douglas Healy did indeed appear as though he’d been awaiting them. His hair was neatly combed, his shirt collar starched, his vest buttoned. He rolled a fat cigar between his fingers as if relishing the moment.

Leaving the door, Mary sidled to him, a wide smile on her lips. Douglas welcomed her with arms open wide.

“Well, my dear, you were right after all.”

“I said he would come back for her, didn’t I?” She cocked an eyebrow at Keondric. “I saw how he watched her at the pub. Couldn’t take his eyes off her. Knew there was something there.” Her mouth drooped in a frown. “Neil’s dead.” She jerked her chin toward Keondric. “
He
killed him.”

Setting down the cigar, Douglas clucked like an old rooster. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a loyal man.” He lifted his head as though thinking. “Aye, and loyalty deserves swift justice.” He gestured toward the man Mary had called William. “Take him outside and shoot him.”

“No!” Heedless of the danger to herself, Tillie strained against the arms holding her. “No, you kinna kill him!”

But despite her protest, Douglas’s men started taking Keondric away. She threw her head sideways to plead with Rourke. “Do something!”

Yet Rourke stared helplessly at her as Keondric was getting farther away.

“Tillie.” Even above the din, she heard Keondric’s voice—sad and pleading. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” Ripping free, Tillie spun so hard she fell in a heap at Healy’s feet. “I have your ring!” she shouted. “I know what you did. Stop them now or I’ll tell them everything.”

Hands grabbed her shoulders and yanked her to her feet,
but she shouted all the louder. “Healy is a liar! And he’s using you all to gain power. Ask him for his ring. Ask him where it is.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “He doesn’t have it, and I know why. Ask him!”

Curious stares turned her way. Healy saw them too, for he lifted his hand above the crowd and signaled for silence. The men dragging Keondric halted at the door.

Tillie grasped the brief reprieve. “Your ring. You gave it to your son the day Daniel Turner died. You knew it was the only way to convince the men with him that you supported the plot to kidnap him, only you never intended it to be lost, did you? That’s why you had my Braedon murdered, and why you’ve been so desperate to hunt down the Hamiltons. You had to cover up what you’d done to Daniel Turner.” She spit the words out, half shouting, half crying.

“You didn’t want anyone to find out that you’d committed murder in order to steal a seat in parliament for yourself, because you
knew
if the Fenians found out they would turn against you. How many lads died in retribution for something you did?”

To her surprise, Healy made no move to stop her, so she forged on. “Braedon gave me your ring and told me to use it if ever I was in danger. Somehow you learned that I was in possession of it and you . . . you . . .”

Confused by his lack of response, she trailed into silence.

Healy gave a satisfied nod. “Does Morgan here still have the ring?”

“He must. I ain’t seen it,” Mary interrupted before Tillie could speak.

Striding to Keondric, she ripped open his coat, dug out a pouch, and looked inside it. Holding her prize aloft, she tossed it to William and then sneered up at Keondric. A shudder traveled through Tillie at the murderous look in her eyes.

“I said you was walking to your death, didn’t I? You thought you were so smart, so conniving.”

“That’s enough, Mary,” Douglas said.

He took the pouch from William. Reaching in, he pulled out the ring, held it up to the light of the chandelier, and snorted. His gaze fell on Tillie. “It is a rather good reproduction.”

Tillie stiffened. “What?”

She watched transfixed as Healy reached into his coat pocket, his long fingers fumbling and finally emerging with a bit of gold clutched tight. “But
this
is my ring.” His chin lifted as he addressed the men. “This has been their plot—the Hamiltons and Turners—to create a ring similar to mine and frame me for murder.” He held the two rings aloft. “Look for yourselves. Do you see a difference?”

Tillie’s eyes widened. “It kinna be . . .”

“He’s lying. There is a difference!”

At Keondric’s shout, all eyes turned to him. He stared at Tillie, but she shook her head in bemusement.

“The memento mori,” he said. Greeted by silence, Keondric repeated the strange phrase, only louder. “The memento mori. Healy’s ring has it.”

Healy’s face took on a look of curiosity. “Remember you must die.”

Tillie’s heart lurched. At first, she thought he spoke to Keondric, but then realized he’d interpreted the phrase. He lowered the rings and looked at the one taken from the pouch.

There was a disgruntled murmuring in the crowd, and then they parted to allow another larger man to step through. He was one of Kilarny’s, disguised in the clothing taken from the intruders at the boardinghouse. He stripped off his cap, revealing a head of graying hair. At his appearance, Tillie looked to Keondric, who sent her a reassuring nod.

Looking at him, Healy’s confidence melted from his face. “Patrick Bligh?”

“Aye, that’s me. Glad to see ya remember.” He lifted a finger to point at the rings still clutched in Healy’s hand. “One of those belonged to your predecessor. I know. I was there when he gave it to ya and told ya it had been passed down to him from Fenian leaders all the way back to James Stephens.”

A flush crept over Healy’s face. “And I’ve kept good care of it—”

“No.” Bligh shook his head. “You haven’t. In fact, you weren’t even sure where it was, which is why you had that duplicate made.” He turned to address the room. “A memento mori is a carving, a depiction of the reminder that death is inevitable.” He pointed to Healy’s hand, the one clutching Braedon’s ring. “That ring has a skull worked into the gold underneath the ruby heart.” He scowled at Healy. “Too bad you didn’t know that. But I knew, and so did someone else.”

“Enough!” Douglas yelled. “William, get them out of here.”

“Your anger speaks against you,” Bligh said. “Why would you be so determined to end this talk if you had nothing to hide?”

“William!”

Instead of moving to obey, William went to stand next to Bligh, who clapped him on the shoulder. Healy stared openmouthed.

Bligh nodded. “Aye, Mr. Healy. This is he—the other who knew about the ring’s secret.” He turned to William. “Well? Heard enough?”

For several seconds, no one moved. Only angry muttering filled the quiet room. Finally, William strode to the window. Flipping the latch, he thrust it open and shoved his head out.

“Kil?”

“Here.” Like a cat, Jacob jumped through the window and landed with a thud.

Douglas’s face went white as he stared at William. Around the room, the men who’d seemed to take Keondric, Tillie, and Kilarny’s men hostage now stood with their weapons pointed at Douglas.

“What . . . what are you doing?” he stammered.

“It’s what
we’re
doing,” Keondric said, striding over to Tillie and pulling her into his arms. “And we are finishing what you started.”

49

Now that the danger was behind them, Morgan’s heart ceased its wild racing. He still wasn’t keen on letting Tillie out of his sight, however. He knit his arm around her waist and pressed her to his side as the room emptied.

Kilarny sauntered toward them. “I was right—all we had to do was convince the Fenians that what I told them about Douglas was true.”

“It still could have played out wrong,” Rourke said, joining them from the kitchen. He nodded at Patrick, who gave a respectful nod in return, even though they continued to eye each other warily.

Kilarny barked a laugh. “Still kinna see yourself working with a bunch of Fenians, eh, Turner?” He clapped Eoghan on the shoulder as he too joined them. “We aren’t so bad, are we, Hammy, me boy?”

Eoghan chuckled. “I hate to think what will happen to the Fenians when you’re their leader, Kil.”

This was followed by more laughter, which quieted when William and several of the other Fenians returned.

Anger colored William’s features. “We’ve heard all we need
to.” He tipped his head at Kilarny. “I didn’t want to believe it, even when you told me about the ring.”

The smile faded from Kilarny’s face. “None of us wanted to believe he’d betrayed us, William. But I am glad you were willing to listen.” He waved toward the door. “What about the rest of his men?”

“The ones who weren’t with us are dead. Most of ’em. A few ran off when the fighting started.” He drew his sleeve over his sweat-drenched brow. “It’s on you now, Kil. The men are waiting to see what you want them to do next. What should I tell them?”

Kilarny’s attention shifted to Rourke and Malcolm. “Most of this started with Daniel Turner. I know you’ve been searching a long time for his murderer, wanting to see him brought to justice, but my concern is for the Fenians. We kinna afford to have Healy’s deeds tarnish what we are trying to do for Ireland.” He squared his shoulders. “I wilna turn Healy over to the American authorities. I’m asking you plain, will ya trust me to see to it that he pays for what he’s done?”

Rourke and Malcolm exchanged a glance, and then Malcolm nodded. “Daniel was my brother. I loved him, but our quest ends here.” One bushy eyebrow rose. “Dinna be thinking we’re friends now. No Turner has ever broken bread with a bunch of Republicans.”

William bristled, but Kilarny laughed. “Fine, no bread breaking.”

Malcolm’s scowl transformed into a smile. “Even so, that doesn’t mean we kinna sit down for a pint.”

At this, even William let down his guard enough to smile. He gave one last nod to Morgan and Rourke and left the room.

Kilarny extended his hand. On his finger was a slender gold ring. “Well, Captain, I suppose you’ll be setting sail?”

Morgan clasped his hand and, feeling Tillie’s eyes on him,
fidgeted uncomfortably. “I’ll have to give my brother time to recover, but after that, aye, I suppose we’ll be setting sail.”

Kilarny turned to Tillie. Taking her by the hand, he said, “You were verra brave tonight, Matilda. Braedon would have been proud. But now I think . . .” He paused, looked back at Morgan, his lips parted in a crooked smile. “Now I think maybe he’d want you to be happy.”

“Thank you, Jacob.”

He glanced down at the ring on his hand. “You all right with this?”

Tillie only hesitated a moment before returning his smile. “He’d want you to have it.”

Nodding, Kilarny pressed a kiss to her cheek before saying good-bye and exiting the room, the rest of the Fenians following in his wake.

A painful tightness filled Morgan’s chest as he searched Tillie’s face. ’Twas evident she wasn’t happy to see Kilarny go, yet it was what he couldn’t see that had him most troubled.

He said to Rourke and Eoghan, “The authorities will be here soon. We should go.” And to Tillie, “Are you ready?”

“Aye, I’m ready,” she replied, her chin held high.

Spinning on her heel, she strode for the door. No doubt it was the pain and the memories that she hoped to leave behind, but for Morgan . . .

Watching her retreating back, he couldn’t help but feel that what she left behind was him.

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