Virginia Henley (33 page)

He raised his eyebrows. “Tara, is it? You’re a shrewd little baggage.”

“I had a good teacher,” she said, casting him a provocative glance. “While she’s at Greystones she’s going to abdicate her throne and teach me how to act like a princess.”

“You, my beauty, need no lessons; you are quite haughty enough.”

Emerald tossed her curls. “You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

    
I
t seemed the leaves had changed from green to blazing autumn colors overnight, and on their ride from Maynooth to Greystones the sun showed them off to perfection. When they arrived, Tara inspected the gardens, then laid claim to the stillroom as her own private domain.

Emerald put Nan in the bedchamber that Johnny had occupied, then, thinking to please Tara, offered her the room done in lavender.

“I’m sick to death of this color. Don’t you have something in a nice calming green? I’m entering a new phase where I need to get back to nature,” she announced theatrically.

“Of course,” Emerald said, leading the way into another wing of Greystones. She put her in the green room next to
Kate’s, wondering what the no-nonsense housekeeper would make of Princess Tara.

In the morning when Emerald opened her eyes, the bed was heaped high with the last roses of summer and Sean stood gazing down at the enchanting picture he had just created. He handed her a lovely fluted wineglass filled with chamomile, mint, and rosewater, which she sipped gratefully. Tara’s concoction was miraculous. Emerald sighed with relief and then happiness.

“What a lovely way to awaken. You must have plucked every rose at Greystones.”

“Orders from Tara. She intends to distill them, so I thought I’d surround you with their beauty before she swoops down and carries them off. She also insists we are in for some very stormy weather.”

“Perhaps she means when you tell Shamus she’s here.”

“You have such a delicate touch, I thought I’d let you do that.”

“You devil! This situation amuses you, doesn’t it?”

“Highly,” he freely admitted. “I have complete faith in your witchery.”

The very next hour brought such a blustery wind with a decided nip in it, that Emerald thought perhaps it was Tara who performed witchery. Leaving Nan in the library to reread and dream over Johnny’s letter, Emerald decided to beard the lion in his den. She knew that Shamus had withdrawn from the big house after Kathleen’s death, because he couldn’t bear to live there without her. Emerald also realized he avoided the FitzGerald women because of misplaced pride regarding his disabled legs. She and Tara, wrapped in warm shawls, braved the wind and ran across the lawns to the gatehouse that stood at the end of the driveway. As they climbed to the tower, Sean and Mr. Burke descended the stairs in an unseemly hurry.

“Cowards!” Emerald flung after them, then the two
women covered their mouths so the laughter that threatened to bubble out did not reach the ears of Shamus O’Toole.

He sat by his favorite window with a warm plaid shawl tucked about his knees, his spyglass in hand. The smile of welcome on his still-handsome face faded the moment he laid eyes on Tara FitzGerald.

“What’s this?” he demanded, wary as a wolf who always ranged alone.

“You remember your wife’s aunt Tara, don’t you, Shamus? She has graciously offered to stay for a month to keep us company and to help look after us. She is an absolute wizard with herbs and potions and thinks she can concoct something that will help your legs feel better.”

“Wizard? Don’t ye mean witch? I need no bloody nursemaid!” he shouted.

Emerald sank down upon her knees before him and took his hand. “Darling Shamus, I know you don’t. It is Mr. Burke who needs help, but he is far too proud to ask for it.”

“She’s doolally,” he mouthed frantically.

“I heard that, Shamus O’Toole,” Tara declared, pulling a chair up to his and sitting herself beside him. “Did you know it was you who drove me to it?” she asked enigmatically.

Emerald watched his face as curiosity warred with rejection. Perhaps it was loneliness that allowed curiosity to win. Both of them listened raptly as Tara told her tale.

“When you first came to Maynooth to woo Kathleen, you were the handsomest young devil us FitzGerald females had ever clapped eyes on. There were a dozen of us about the same age at that time and you fair set all our hearts aflutter.

“Kathleen snubbed you. She was the eldest daughter of an earl and too overproud to allow a merchant sailor to woo her. Back then my predominant sin was not pride, it was vanity. I decided I wanted you, and with my great beauty I saw no earthly reason why I couldn’t lure you from your
infatuation with my cousin Kathleen. No matter how many times I threw myself across your path, you pretended to be oblivious and doubled your efforts to win Kathleen.

“To save my pride I told myself you preferred her to me because she was the eldest daughter of an earl, and you were only doing what was expedient. I was so madly in love with you, it broke my heart. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t even think coherently. I went completely out of my senses.

“I received so much sympathy and attention from the family that I began to enjoy it. I also realized it gave me power. So when I came to my senses I wisely kept it to myself and didn’t let on. I also learned an invaluable lesson. The more Kathleen scorned you, the more determined you were to have her. The more proud and haughty she acted, the more you loved her. You were so masculine and domineering that Kathleen finally yielded to you. When she did that, I realized she had wanted you from the start and that was her clever way of making certain sure she got you.”

Shamus had such a bemused look on his face that Emerald knew Tara had drawn his sting. He patted Emerald’s hand. “I’ll put up with her for Paddy’s sake. A month isn’t a life sentence.”

“Are there blue irises in the garden?” Tara inquired.

“Yes, but the flowers are all finished now.”

“It’s the root I need; it warms and comforts the joints like nothing else.”

“Ye’ll have me walking in no time; it’s the only bloody way I’ll get away from ye,” Shamus said testily, but Emerald knew he had capitulated.

“Would you show me where the blue iris grows, little one?”

“Yes, they’re in the walled garden.” As they left the gatehouse, Emerald said softly, “I was touched by your story.”

“Ah, that was the idea. It flattered him outrageously to think we were all attracted to him. Then I used guilt to gain his sympathy, and finally I told him what he longed to hear, namely that Kathleen wanted him from the start. What a load of claptrap!”

Emerald was shocked at Tara’s duplicity, yet as she thought over the tale she decided there was more than a grain of truth in it.

    
T
he wind continued to strengthen during the rest of the day and howled all night. Emerald slept only fitfully and the moment Sean quit the bed in the gray light of dawn, she opened her eyes. She watched with disbelief as he folded clean linen and shirts into a small trunk. “Where are you going?”

“I told you I had to go away for a few days. Em only going up the coast.”

Her worst fears were realized. “Surely you’re not sailing in this?”

“It’s only a squall, love, you needn’t worry.”

Emerald flung back the covers and padded over to the window. What she saw filled her with dire apprehension. The sea was roiling with anger. “’Tis a gale!”

He came to the window, standing behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders. “It looks worse than it really is. Autumn always brings squalls.”

She turned furiously, ready to fight if it would keep him safely home beside her, but his face was filled with such eager anticipation, her words died on her lips. For one reckless moment she thought of using guilt to keep him from leaving. Perhaps all she need do was pretend to be unwell. She could feel that his excitement was barely held in check. He was clearly bent on this adventure. She shuddered, afraid to pit herself against whatever it was that lured him.

“You’re cold.” He gathered her up and carried her back
to bed. He tucked her in firmly. “Your condition is making you fanciful. I’m a sailor, I relish high seas.” He lifted her chin until his eyes met hers. “Emerald, nothing can happen to me. After all, I have made a pact with the devil!”

T
he
Sulphur
, hidden in the mouth of the River Boyne where it emptied into the Irish Sea, waited, patient as a predator for its prey. Sean O’Toole had aboard his usual crew of FitzGeralds, as well as the Murphy brothers, along with a dozen of Maynooth’s best horse handlers.

Sean slipped ashore under cover of dark and learned that the horses from Meath had already arrived at Drogheda. Montague’s ships were overdue because of the unexpected early storm, but shortly after dawn the
Heron
sailed into harbor and dropped anchor to await the more cumbersome
Gibraltar.

Sean waited for four hours, and still the
Gibraltar
hadn’t come. They watched as the captain of the
Heron
gave his crew orders to start loading the livestock though the other ship was still missing. Just as the last animals were being led aboard in the late afternoon, the
Gibraltar
lumbered into view. By now the sea had calmed down, so Captain Jones of the
Heron
sent a message to Captain Bowers of the
Gibraltar
informing him that he had already loaded his cargo and was weighing anchor immediately.

O’Toole knew exactly when dusk would fall. The
Heron
was safely out of sight of Drogheda, sailing down the coastline, when the
Sulphur
took on sail and rapidly closed the distance between the two ships. With the brawny Murphy
brothers at his back, Sean O’Toole boarded the
Heron
, quietly brandishing a pair of brass-barreled pistols.

One look at the devil and his disciples was enough to prevent the captain from bellowing for help. Then his bosun, Daniels, emerged from belowdecks with his own brace of pistols. The captain knew defeat when it stared him in the face. His crew were dog tired, half of them nursing bites and kicks from their vicious cargo.

“If you know how to follow orders, this could turn out to be your lucky day,” O’Toole said quietly. “If you had one wish, Captain Jones, it would be to rid yourself of these bloody horses. I am about to grant that wish.”

Sean O’Toole took over the ship’s wheel and sailed the
Heron
into the tiny port of Rush. The
Sulphur
stayed on the
Heron’s
stern, her carriage cannons threatening to blow Montague’s ship out of the water.

Jones and his crew stood by in disbelief at how quickly and smoothly over two hundred animals were unloaded. Sean dispatched half of the handlers to Maynooth with the herd before he laid his proposition before Jones and his weary sailors.

“As you are probably aware, gentlemen, Fortune is a fickle jade. Once she stops smiling upon you, disaster usually follows. Fortune has turned her face from the Montagues. The losses the Montague Line has sustained, coupled with those that are yet to befall, will put them out of business within a few short months. But your fate need not hinge on theirs. Until now you have been overworked and underpaid. That is about to change.

“The
Heron
now belongs to me. I am sending her to Charleston to bring back a cargo of cotton. You are welcome to sign on for the voyage.” He knew sailors had restless souls and were always eager for a change. When he laid out the pay scale, any reluctance the crew felt was quickly overcome. “You are free to enjoy the hospitality of Rush for a
few days while the
Heron
is transformed into the
Dolphin
and she is victualed for the voyage to America.”

Leaving the Murphy brothers in charge, Sean reboarded the
Sulphur
, taking Danny FitzGerald with him. They prowled back up the coast, knowing the
Gibraltar
would not start loading the rest of the horses until full daylight the next day. Again Sean O’Toole waited until the ship was headed down the Irish coast before he and Danny FitzGerald boarded her.

The crew of the
Gibraltar
already was in O’Toole’s pay, though they had done nothing yet to earn it. They assumed O’Toole was adding the
Gibraltar
to his own line, as he had the
Swallow.
Sticking to the principle of divide and conquer, he sailed past Rush and made port at Malahide, where he unloaded the horses and sent them on their way to Maynooth. Only then did he inform Captain Bowers and his crew of the fate of the
Gibraltar.

“She’s a stinking old bitch who is going to a watery grave. Mr. Daniels will return to London and report that the
Gibraltar
ran aground on Lambay Island in the gale and that the damage to her hull, unfortunately, could not be repaired. Montague will have to send a vessel to take you off the island. He will no doubt send someone to investigate the disaster.

“There will be lots of physical evidence to support your claim. The three horses you somehow managed to kill while loading can remain in the hold. They’ll wash up on the island with the timbers of the
Gibraltar.
I presume Captain Bowers would prefer to be reported missing than be held to blame for this loss?”