Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (8 page)

Donal swung off Broad Street and onto a less traveled side street, where a black carriage with a matching set of black horses approached at a brisk clip. Flat on top and trimmed in gilt, the carriage might have made a spectacle were it not for the locale and the sheer number of fine rigs passing by. This one rumbled to a stop alongside him, and one of the beveled glass doors swung open.

At last. He’d wondered how long he would have to meander this stretch of road before The Celt showed up. Donal climbed aboard and snapped the door shut behind him as the carriage lurched into motion.

Settling back against the plush velvet seat, he was about to give a respectful nod to the passenger sitting opposite when he realized there was another man in the carriage besides The Celt. The man seemed to be studying him, his eyelids hooded beneath a gray flat cap.

Donal forced his attention back to The Celt. “Glad you could meet me.”

“Your message said it was urgent.”

Aye, that it was. He licked his lips and glanced at The Celt’s companion and back again. “I thought you would be alone.”

He shrugged. “Does it matter? My associate here is privy to most of my conversations, isn’t that right, Mr. Dunahoe?”

The man gave a tip of his cap, a leer stretching his thin lips into a semblance of a smile.

Resisting the urge to lean forward to get a better look at the man, Donal remained where he was and folded his hands in his lap. “Your orders were to keep my eyes and ears open, no? I’d say I’ve done that.”

“Well?” The Celt’s eyes gleamed in the filtered light of the carriage. “What have you learned that made it so important we meet?”

Careful, lad. Don’t
want to make him angry with the messenger.

Again, Donal licked his lips. “It’s the lass. The one McKillop insisted he bring with him to America.”

Almost imperceptibly The Celt’s grip on his pearl-handled walking cane tightened. In fact, were it not for the whiteness of his knuckles against the burnished wood, Donal might not have noticed at all.

“What about her?” The Celt growled.

Donal drew a breath and squared his shoulders. If he were to win The Celt’s favor and thereby get his hands on the
Caitriona Marie
, it would have to be now. He swallowed, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Turns out getting rid of the good doctor wasn’t as tidy as we’d hoped. Turns out he left behind a few loose ends.”

The Celt’s eyes, already narrow, formed slits.

“What I mean is,” Donal continued, looking from him to the man seated next to him, “the captain let someone in to see McKillop before he died.”

“You know this for certain?”

Donal nodded. “Overheard the captain and his brother talking about it me own self.”

To his relief, The Celt released him from his unyielding stare and looked down at the carriage floor. Just then it jostled to the left, but The Celt swayed with the movement, barely having to adjust the way Donal did with a hand to the wall to brace himself.

“What else did you hear?” The Celt asked at last.

Anxiety bubbled in Donal’s gut. If ever The Celt were to lose his temper, it would be now. Instinctively he inched away from the end of the cane, which he’d heard rumored housed a steely blade. It had run red more than once, so the story went.

An involuntary breath puffed from his lips. “They said . . . before Doc died . . . he must have told them he’d been paid to murder McKillop.” He couldn’t help himself; he fidgeted under The Celt’s cold glare. “Leastwise that’s what I reckon since they both admitted they knew McKillop had been murdered.”

“And?”

“That’s when the captain said he feared it might be dangerous for the lass if anyone were to find out she’d been in to see McKillop before he passed.”

Donal waited, holding his breath and searching The Celt’s face, but the man absorbed the information like a sponge, no expression. More important, no word of thanks.

He clutched the edge of the seat where it hit the backs of his knees. “If I may, sir?”

A nod was his signal to continue.

“The captain and his brother, well, ’tis true they’re now privy to Doc’s part in McKillop’s dying, but so far as they know, it could have been anyone what ordered the deed done. The lass, however . . .” Donal paused, rubbing the dampness from his palms on his trousers, then stammered on, “There be no telling what was told to the lass before McKillop passed. I say she’s a thistle to you, sir, one that needs be plucked out before she causes any more damage.”

“Indeed.”

“Aye, sir. And I know just how to go about it—getting rid of her, I mean. I took it upon myself to follow her around the city this morning and last. Got a good feel for her comings and goings, I did. Figured the knowledge might come in handy.”

For the first time, Donal thought he saw a glimmer of appreciation shining from The Celt’s eyes. So much for his glowering companion. He lifted his nose. “I can take care of this problem for you. Easily, in fact. And I won’t ask much for me trouble, either. Just say the word and it’s done.”

“Like it was done after I gave you the word to get rid of Doc?”

His mouth dry, Donal said, “What?”

The Celt lifted his cane and rapped on the carriage’s roof. The man beside him cupped one fist inside the other and cracked his knuckles, the sound loud in the cramped space of the carriage. What was his name? Dunahoe?

“Like it was done when I asked you about Keondric Morgan and you told me I had nothing to fear from him?” The Celt continued.

Sweat formed on Donal’s brow. “That was hardly my fault. How was I to know Doc would do all that talking before the poison set in?”

“I paid you to know,” The Celt barked, his sharp tone sending shivers over Donal’s flesh.

He shot his hand to the carriage wall as they came to an abrupt stop. Through the window, tree limbs swayed, pushed by a breeze that blew off a winding stretch of the river nearby. He swallowed hard and looked at The Celt, then at Dunahoe. How far had they driven? “I don’t recognize this place. Where are we?”

To his relief, The Celt stretched out his cane and pushed open the door next to Donal. “I won’t be needing your services, Mr. Peevey. This is where you get off.”

Wouldn’t need his services? After the information he’d just provided? He formed a retort, then glanced out the carriage window and thought better of voicing it. Solitude rang from the place they now occupied. Dense trees lined the riverbank, and the rutted road they’d traveled looked barren.

He jerked his chin up. Fine. The Celt wouldn’t pay for his assistance, but he knew someone who would. No doubt Captain Morgan would be glad of the information he possessed.

Edging from the seat, Donal reached for the door handle and prepared to disembark. Maybe he wouldn’t get the
Caitriona Marie
, but for now that could wait. After all, what were a few more weeks?

Just as he placed one foot on the rung hanging below the carriage, Donal felt a sharp thump on his back, directly between his shoulder blades. Almost as though he’d been struck. Almost . . .

He fell forward, surprised to realize that his legs felt very weak, his knees refusing to hold him up. He pitched forward, caught himself with both hands when he felt it again—a sharp, stabbing pain.

“What—?”

“As I said, Mr. Peevey, I’ll no longer be needing your services.”

A buzzing in his ears deadened The Celt’s voice, made it sound as though it carried from a great distance. It was then that he knew. The blackguard had betrayed him!

He opened his mouth wide, fighting to suck air into lungs that felt hard and flat. The f-filthy rat had stabbed . . . stabbed him in the back!

It was the last thought he had before he flopped into the dirt and everything around him went dark.

The day dawned clear and bright the following Saturday. Despite what she’d told herself about avoiding Captain Morgan, Tillie took special care getting dressed and even gave her cheeks a pinch before descending the stairs on her way to breakfast. Catching sight of the captain, handsome in a dark cotton shirt that pulled at his shoulders, she hesitated at the doorway and took a deep breath before entering.

Immediately, Cass rose from his chair and met her at the door. “You’re looking quite fit this morning, competition for a fine day.”

Bending over her hand, he gave a kiss to the back of it before leading her to the table, where she was met by a chorus of good mornings—except for Captain Morgan, she noted, whose expression had gone sour.

Taking extra time in choosing the blue cotton dress she wore had made her the last to arrive. She spoke her apologies while Cass slid back her chair.

“Not to worry,” Amelia said, beaming her approval of Cass’s gallantry. “We haven’t even had our coffee yet.”

On cue, Laverne bustled in holding a silver pot and set it on the table near Amelia’s elbow. “Breakfast will just be a moment,” she said.

“And not a moment too soon,” Meg said, grabbing the pot and pouring both herself and Amelia a cup. “This weather makes me hungry.”

“It makes me lazy,” Giles said. He opened his napkin with a snap and laid it across his lap. “Barely got anything done in the stable yesterday.” He tilted his head toward Amelia. “Hope you don’t mind, I went ahead and started planting them extra rows of peas for a fall crop like you wanted.”

Extra rows? Tillie breathed her thanks to Cass as she took her place at the table. She reached for her water glass and took a sip. What need had Amelia for extra vegetables? As it was, there’d proved to be an abundance since Cara and Ana had vacated the boardinghouse.

Despite her concern, all rational thought fled her mind when, a moment later, Captain Morgan placed a light touch to her wrist.

He held the silver pot aloft. “Coffee?”

Somehow she managed to swallow. “Please. And thank you, Captain.”

Ach, but she sounded like her mother. Lowering her eyes, she set aside her glass and folded her hands in her lap while the captain poured her coffee.

“Cass is right.”

He’d spoken so softly, she had to look up to be sure. “I’m sorry?”

He filled his own cup, then set the pot aside. Averting his eyes, he said, “You . . . uh . . .” He gestured toward her dress. “The color suits you.”

She ran her palms over her skirt self-consciously. All that, and he’d yet to actually look at her. Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you again.”

“You have plans for today?” His eyes, appearing steely blue against his navy shirt, shone with genuine interest.

“Some shopping.” She lowered her voice. “Laverne’s birthday is coming up.” Surprised she didn’t stammer, what with the clumsiness of her tongue, she hid a portion of her face behind the rim of her cup.

Though he said nothing, the glance he shot at his brother prompted an immediate response.

“Perhaps I could accompany you,” Cass said, setting aside his glass. He pressed his napkin to his lips and cleared his throat. “I . . . um, need to purchase a few supplies for the ship, ain’t so, Morgan?”

“Aye.” He turned to Tillie. “’Twould be a great help if you would show Cass around the city, help him find the things we need. If it’s not too much of a bother,” he added.

Spending an entire day accompanied by the handsome Cass? No, she wouldn’t say ’twas a bother. The only thing that might make it better would be if the captain himself . . . She cut short her wayward thoughts and nodded. “’Twould be my pleasure.”

Cass raised his glass. “Good. We’ll leave after breakfast. Meg? Amelia?” He shifted in his chair to address them. “Would either of you like to come along?”

Meg frowned. “I can’t. I promised Laverne I would help in the garden.”

“And I have a meeting of the Ladies Auxiliary,” Amelia said.

Cass nodded. “Well, it looks like it’s just you and me then, Tillie.”

“What are your plans for this morning?” Tillie asked the captain.

“He is—” Cass began, only to be interrupted by his brother’s upraised hand.

“I’ve me own errands to run, and then I need to swing by the dock and see how the repairs are coming.” To her surprise, he leaned close and whispered, “You’ll be safe with Cass.”

Confusion muddied her thinking. Safe? Did he think she
doubted his brother’s honor? Was he concerned because they would be without a proper chaperone? Perhaps it was his own brother’s reputation he was concerned for, and he looked down upon her for the mistakes she’d made in the past.

“The city is a large place, and while I know you be quite accustomed to wandering it, I’ll feel better knowing you aren’t alone.”

Her guilt eased, for it wasn’t any of the things she’d feared. “Thank you, Captain. Your kindness is appreciated, though you needn’t have bothered. I’ve lived in New York long enough to know which streets to avoid.”

Instead of alleviating, the intensity of his countenance burned even brighter, robbing her of breath. Fortunately, Laverne appeared with their breakfast and the conversation turned to more pleasant topics.

Once the meal was finished and the dishes cleared, Tillie joined Cass on the street in front of the boardinghouse, glad for the sunny day, the mild temperatures, and the affable lad strolling by her side. Though he favored his brother in appearance, he was far less intimidating, what with his quick wit and easy laugh, and she found herself thankful for the good fortune that had sent him into town after supplies.

“Any idea where you’d like to go?” Cass asked, offering his arm and then moving with her down the crowded street.

“There’s a jewelry store nearby,” Tillie said. “Not too expensive. If we have time, I’d like to look for something there.”

“Jewelry? For Laverne? She doesn’t seem the type.”

Tillie smiled. “Do not let that gruff demeanor fool you. Inside, she’s as soft as a lamb. Besides, what woman doesn’t enjoy pretty things now and again? Laverne would never think to buy anything for herself, which is why I thought I’d see if I might find a bracelet or a pair of earrings—something to remind her of her gentler side.”

Cass’s lips curved in what could only be construed as a devilish grin. “Nice sentiment.”

She nodded as they approached a cheerful building with striped awnings over both windows. “That’s the one.”

Dropping her arm, he hastened to open the door, which pushed a bell that jingled merrily as they entered. Despite the hour, several patrons were shopping, and Tillie had to wait her turn at the counter. Unfortunately, though there were several items in her price range, nothing caught her eye. Some time later, she left the store disappointed.

“How about a bottle of perfume?” Cass suggested, indicating a shop across the street that had the name of the place painted on the door in wide, curving letters.

She bit her lip. Though she hadn’t thought to give Laverne perfume, it might prove a fine substitute and still fit within her budget. “Aye. Perfume would be nice . . . but what about your supplies?”

He shrugged. “Plenty of time for that. Shall we?” Once again he offered his arm, but this time, when she took it, he covered her hand with his own.

Tillie drew in a breath. While she sensed Cass to be the sort who made friends easily, and his gesture was intended as nothing more than amicable, it still felt odd to be in the care of a man.

A very nice, very handsome man.

Normally she traveled the streets unobserved. But today, several gazes followed them as they passed, most of them feminine, all of them envious. Tillie found herself walking with her shoulders drawn back, even lifting her chin ever so slightly.

Inside the perfumery, scents from spicy and robust to flowery and delicate wafted on the air. She almost expected Cass to wrinkle his nose and beg to wait on the street. Instead he picked up several bottles and sniffed. Finally he gave a satisfied nod and held one of them toward Tillie.

“This one. It’s perfect.”

Indeed, the exotic fragrance was exactly what she would have chosen for Laverne. Though she could only afford a small bottle, she was excited when she slid the package into her reticule.

“I can’t wait to see her face. Thank you so much for helping me choose, Cass.”

He tipped his cap. “My pleasure, ma’am. And now . . .” He pulled a package from behind his back and held it aloft. “For you.”

Tillie stared in confusion. “Me? What? Why?”

Cass bumped his cap off his forehead with his thumb and scratched his temple. “Why not?”

“But . . . it’s not my birthday.” The words sounded trite even to her own ears, yet she could think of no other reply.

Cass laughed, a completely abandoned sound that startled and then transfixed her. How long had it been since she had felt free enough to laugh so? She couldn’t remember.

Plucking her by the wrist, he deposited the package into her palm. “I’m sure you’ll have a birthday eventually, eh, lass?”

She couldn’t help but smile at the merriment in his eyes. “I’m sure. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And now,” she said quickly, before he could see how his token of kindness affected her, “we should see to your errands. I’ve a feeling your brother will not appreciate it if I keep you busy buying trinkets all day.”

He snorted. “Ach, my brother. He should spend the day just so once in a while. It’d do him good.”

He escorted her back outside, where the press of shoppers had thickened. Several times they were jostled as they walked, until Cass drew her to his side and moved with her closer to the street, where the crowd was thinner.

“So, your brother,” Tillie said, fidgeting with the string on her reticule, “has he always been so . . . somber?”

“You mean ill-tempered? Belligerent? Cantankerous?” He waggled his brows.

Tillie giggled. “I was thinking more like stern. Solemn. Serious-minded.”

“Ha! Good for you.” His grin changed, became wry. “To be fair, I suppose I’m to blame for some of that.”

“You?”

He nodded, his fingers absently patting the back of her hand. “He wouldn’t have worked so hard, given up his dream of staying home and running a farm, if he hadn’t had to provide for me and Ma after Da died.”

Her smile faded. “How old were you?”

“Ten. Morgan was nineteen. Of course, I didn’t bother making things easy.” Regret thickened his voice.

“I’m sorry.”

A carriage rumbled by, drowning anything else she might have said. When it passed, he pointed to a dry-goods store on the opposite side of the street. “Mind if we go there? Looks like it’ll have most of what I need.”

“Of course.” She hitched her reticule higher on her wrist and prepared to step out into the street.

“Have a care,” Cass warned, holding out his hand. A large wagon loaded with barrels rattled toward them at a brisk clip. “That fellow must be mad, driving like that.”

In truth, the wagon made quite a sight rumbling and lurching as it did down the busy street. The driver seemed not to notice the pedestrians scattering in various directions before him. If he wasn’t careful—

Before she could finish the thought, Tillie felt herself pushed from behind—a hard shove that sent her sprawling past Cass’s outstretched arm and into the busy street.

Straight into the path of the fast-approaching wagon.