by Merry Farmer
“They’re our cousins, Aidan; they could die.”
“They will survive for a few hours while I convey you to London and retrieve Patrick.” Aidan’s tight voice belied his sentiment, his eyes glowing fiercely in the dim cabin. “Both Samantha and Edward know how to use a pistol; Benjamin and Thomas are with them.”
“What about Da?” Alana’s eyes flicked to the man scrunched into the corner on her left, snoring lightly, his head drooping on his chest.
“Are you suggesting I should have left him on the property alone?” Aidan arched an eyebrow, his hand curling around rifle stretched across his lap. The same one Aidan extracted from Da when he shoved him into the coach. Had Aidan told their father where they were headed? “He would have shot someone.”
Alana tilted her head, pursing her lips in frustration. Leaning forward, she hissed, “I meant about sending me to America.”
“You agreed!”
“You tricked me!”
A smirk crossed Aidan’s face—acknowledgment of her accusation. “Patrick and I are quite capable of caring for Da while assisting with the capture of Mr. Morris. You…”
“If you say, I’m a woman, I will slap you,” growled Alana.
Another smirk. “Actually, I was going to say you’re a woman.”
She flew off the bench, a ball of anger and irritation, swiping at his face. Aidan captured her arms, forcing her down next to him. Collecting both her wrists in one hand, he placed a finger over her mouth, his eyes flicking to their father. She snapped her teeth, nearly biting his fingertip. Aidan sighed, releasing her.
“How do you think your death would affect Da?”
Her hand raised to smack his face, she paused, her brother’s melancholy question floating around her. She stared into his blue eyes, a mirror of her own, then slowly lowered her hand.
“That’s unfair.”
He reached over, placing his hand on top of hers, and squeezed. “With you safe in America, Mr. Morris cannot hurt you. Once he is arrested, you can return.” Aidan shrugged. “Perhaps you’ll meet someone.”
Alana narrowed her eyes. “Matchmaking? You hardly seem the type to meddle.”
“Something to occupy my time.” He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Pray tell, who did you have in mind for me?”
Stroking his chin, Aidan dragged out the silence. “To be honest, there’s not one man in Wiltshire I’d subject to your fiery temperament.”
She punched him in the shoulder and moved to the opposite bench, folding her arms across her chest. “When are you going to tell Da about sending me to America… after a year has passed?”
“I’m not banishing you forever.” Rolling his eyes, Aidan rubbed his arm. “I swear to send for you as soon as possible.”
Her mouth crooked. She’d hit him harder than he expected.
“And you? What plans have you for your own happiness?”
He paled, a brief flash of terror washed over his face. “I have no plans.”
“It seems only fair, dear brother, if I am subject to the marriage mart once again, you must experience it at least once.”
“I have been dealing with it for the whole of my adult life.”
“Are you not tired of being pursued by females?”
“Pursued?” Aidan snorted. “No woman wants a husband who is caring for an addled father, no matter how much property he owns.”
“If she is with you for your inheritance, she’s not the right one for you.” An evil grin crossed her face. “When I return from America, I will find you a suitable wife.”
He swallowed. “I have no need of your assistance.”
“I think you do.” Alana’s smile widened, watching Aiden tug at collar, squirming like a little boy in church. “First, we will find a custodian for Da, then we will find you a wife.”
“What of Patrick? He’s the eldest.”
“Patrick is against marriage.” Alana waved her hand, dismissing the notion.
In truth, Patrick was against any form of social activity. The eldest Flannery left for Wiltshire when he turned eighteen, only returning once for his mother’s funeral, preferring to remain locked inside his lighthouse. Alana had been dumbfounded to learn Patrick agreed to assist with their father.
“I am too,” Aidan grumbled, his mouth folding into a thin line. “You are the girl.”
“And I was married. Sebastian died.” Patrick had attended her wedding in France, his demeanor withdrawn and haunted; the last time she’d seen him.
“Thus, we start over, and it is your turn.” Grinning, he tilted his head. “I am certain Patrick will agree with me.”
Alana narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers together as she considered her brother’s statement.
“I have a proposal for you.”
Amusement crossed his face. “Do continue.”
“Once I have secured a husband for myself—do not laugh, dear brother, I have turned down several proposals since Sebastian’s death—you will allow me to match you with a suitable woman.”
“And Patrick, are you going to leave him to his solitude?”
“Certainly, not.” Alana laughed. “However, I will need your support for that particular undertaking, and it would be much easier with your wife’s assistance.” She leaned forward, holding out her arm. “Do we have an agreement?”
Aidan’s eyes flicked to her hand. “After the heartache you have suffered, the premature death of Sebastian, and the rejection of your previous fiancé…”
Bristling, Alana slid forward, her nose nearly bumping into his, a menacing growl rumbling in her throat.
“Thomas and I were not well-suited; fate saw fit to separate us. I will not hear you speak one disparaging word about him.”
“Thomas is one of my dearest friends; it is my right to speak ill of him.” Aidan snickered, leaning back against the seat. “Are you certain you want to take on another husband?”
“It’s been over two years,” Alana replied. “I will always love Sebastian, just like I will always love Thomas, but I am lonely, Aidan. I want someone to talk to. Do you not understand that feeling?”
“I do,” he sighed as though his heart weighed heavy. Scooting forward, he clasped her fingers in his, pumping her hand once. “We have an accord. However, I do not recommend informing Patrick of your plans to meddle; he’ll vanish before you finish the word matrimony.”
Laughing, Alana’s eyes flicked to the window behind her father, the smile fading from her face. The journey had been much quicker than she anticipated. She swallowed, retracting her hand.
“Are we almost there?”
Aidan craned his head, staring out the glass. He nodded, glancing back at her.
“Are you nervous? You’ve sailed before.”
“Not this far,” whispered Alana.
Aidan’s hand whipped out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her to his bench. Bumping his forehead against hers, he grinned.
“That doesn’t sound like something my sister would say.”
“What would she say?”
“She would tell me not to worry about her.”
“But you do, anyway.”
“Every single day.” He embraced her.
“I shall miss you.” Alana sniffed, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his collar.
“Where are you going?” asked a gruff voice. Their father peeled one eyelid open, his faded blue eye glaring at them. “You said we were here to collect Patrick.”
“We are,” placated Alana, sliding across the aisle.
Their father sat up, staring at her, his mouth pinched into a thin line. “I’m disappointed in you, m’girl, lying to your father.” His gaze flicked to Aidan. “You as well.”
“It is what is best—”
“I decide what is best for this family.” He slammed his fist against the side of the carriage. “If your mother knew… the treachery, sneaking around behind my back.” He lunged for the rifle, but Aidan reacted quicker, snat
ching the barrel out of the older man’s hands.
“Da!” Aidan shook his head. “You cannot shoot people in London.”
“I’ll shoot anyone who lays a hand on my daughter!”
“Just tell him, Aidan.” Alana jerked her head at her father.
“Tell me what.” His eyes narrowed.
“We are here to collect Patrick and transport him back to our estate…”
“And?” Their father folded his arms, pointedly staring at the rifle.
“And with the continued threat of Mr. Morris, we,”—Aidan gestured between Alana and himself—“decided Alana would be safer in America until he was captured.”
“We?” He arched a bushy white eyebrow, turning his attention to Alana. “Is this really what you want?”
Alana glanced at Aidan, questioning. Did she need to go as far as America? Surely, France was far enough. Aidan tilted his head. She knew the reason—Mr. Franklin Morris’ reach extended through Europe. As Aidan had explained the extent of Mr. Morris’ crimes—information shared with him by Benjamin—they both realized Alana wouldn’t be safe unless she traveled further than his capability. She turned back to her father, holding his gaze.
“We.”
His wrinkled face crumpled, tears leaking from his eyes. “Do you not trust your father?”
Alana flung her arms around his neck, squeezing him fiercely. He wept on her shoulder, his frail body shaking.
“I do, but…” Her eyes jumped to Aidan, begging for assistance.
“Alana has decided to remarry, Da.” Aidan placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. “She will return with a husband.”
“Have you?” Pushing away, their father extracted a handkerchief, mopping his face. He tucked it carefully back into his pocket before lifting his gaze to Alana, the burning blue fire in his eyes dying. “Perhaps you will give us grandchildren this time; Noreen always wanted grandchildren.”
The coach slowed, the driver pulling back on the reins. When the coach stopped, the driver leapt down, opening the door and assisting Alana as she climbed from the cabin. Aidan followed, turning to help his father from the coach. His father slapped his hands away, grumbling he was more than capable of climbing from a coach.
Snickering, Alana turned, her eyes searching the docks for the red shock of Patrick’s hair. Like her and their father, Patrick had inherited the vibrant Flannery characteristic, quite the opposite of Aidan, whose dark hair took after their mother. The only shared trait between them was their brilliant blue eyes.
“Patrick!” Alana waved her hand, jumping up and down. “Patrick!” Running through the crowd, Alana launched herself at her brother, tackling him. His large hands closed around her waist, swinging her in a circle, a smile cracking his lips. Setting her back on her feet, he drooped a heavy arm over her shoulders, leaning his weight on her.
“A pleasure to see you again too.”
Grunting, Alana shoved him off. “We brought Da,” she murmured, indicating the coach with a jerk of her head.
“How is he?”
“Better, worse, the same.”
“I see.” Heaving a giant sack over his shoulder, he lumbered down the docks toward the coach.
“Da!” Patrick called out, forced happiness in his tone. Their father lifted his head, searching the crowded docks for the familiar sound. Spying Patrick pushing his way through the throng, his eyes popped open wide. With a whoop, their father dashed toward them, Aidan trailing after. Enveloping him in a bone-crushing embrace, Patrick’s free arm snaked out, wrapping around Aidan, drawing him in too. “Hello, little brother.”
“Patrick.” Aidan extracted himself from his brother’s heavy arm. “We have a schedule to keep.”
Patrick glanced at Alana, muttering loudly, “When did he become so proper?”
“Right after Ma died,” snarled Aidan over his shoulder. He stomped back to the coach, yanking Alana’s trunk from the rear, slamming it to the ground.
“You got something you want to discuss with me?” Patrick’s face darkening, he stepped to Aidan.
“I have a lot that needs to be discussed.” Aidan’s eyes narrowing, he leaned in, refusing to back away from Patrick.
Perhaps she ought to rethink her trip; Patrick and Aidan would kill each other long before Mr. Morris managed that feat.
“Boys.” Their father hobbled between them, his stern gaze bouncing between the two. “There is no need for this hostility. Noreen doesn’t like hearing her sons fight, and I think it’s been much too long to continue this disagreement.”
“Disagreement?” exploded Aidan. “He abandoned the family.” Aidan slashed his arm at Patrick.
“I had a job.”
“Which you do not need…”
“I happen to enjoy the sound of the ocean.”
“I gave up everything, Patrick.”
“I told you to hire a guardian.”
“Why, so I could be as happy as you?”
“I am happy.”
“You ran away.”
The sound of flesh on flesh echoed. Alana gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Aidan staggered backward, blood dripping from his nose. With a snarl, Aidan flung himself forward, crashing into Patrick, knocking him to the ground.
“Stop!” Alana yelled, watching helplessly as they rolled across the filthy ground. A small crowd was beginning to gather around them. She glanced behind her at their father, who perched on her trunk, an amused smile on his face. She flung her hands up. “Da! Do something.”
“What can I do?” He grinned, tilting his head. “One does not interrupt two dogs when they are fighting. Let them get this out.”
“Ma would be embarrassed.” She appealed to his sentimental side.
“Then it is a good thing your mother is not here to witness this.”
Alana growled. Of course, he would be lucid for this particular incident. Marching over to them, Alana leaned forward, grabbing ahold of Patrick’s ear, which she wrenched until he cried out. Before Aidan could swing, Alana grabbed his ear as well, dragging them both to their feet. They bent at the waist, craning their heads toward her, twin expressions of agony on their faces. The crowd around her clapped as she hauled them back to the coach, flinging them at its side.
“You should be ashamed,” she muttered, her eyes darting between them. “A public spectacle of your private disagreement.” She shook her head, lowering her voice. “I expect the two of you to end this absurdity, right now.”
“He started it,” murmured Aidan, staring at the ground. He hit Patrick with his elbow, digging it into his ribs. Patrick shoved him in return.
“Aidan! Patrick!” They froze under her hissed chastisement. “I am leaving tonight, for America, per Aidan’s suggestion.”
“You agreed.”
Alana placed her finger over his mouth. “Yes, I agreed. However, after this childish display of manners, I am concerned leaving the two of you unchaperoned might result in the death of one of my brothers.” She raised her arms, cupping each of their cheeks. “Aidan, can you not see Patrick was grieving and did not know how to cope with that loss? Patrick,”—she cut off Aidan’s retort—“can you not see Aidan felt abandoned, left to deal with everything that should have been the older brother’s responsibility, while he was suffering the same loss?”
They both stared at each other, processing Alana’s comment. Slowly, they leaned forward, embracing.
“I am sorry, brother.”
“As am I.” Aidan released him, turning to Alana. “When did you become so intelligent?”
“I have always been so.” Offering him a giant smile, she looped her arm through her father’s, lifting him from the trunk. “Will you carry my trunk to the dock?”
“Before you leave, I have something.” Patrick collected his bag from the ground. Untying the rope, he dug into the bag, extracting a small bag, tossing it to Alana. Peeling open the top, she giggled, glancing up at him with glee. “Washed ashore a couple of weeks ago. They’re too small for
someone of my size, so I figured…”
“Thank you.” Alana rose up on her toes, planting a kiss on the side of his bearded cheek.
“It’s just a bag of clothing.” He reddened, squeezing her tightly. Leaning down, he murmured in her ear, “At least, it should deter you from borrowing mine.”
Glancing down at her trunk, Alana blushed. “Does that mean you’d like me to return the ones I already took?”
Patrick laughed, the deep booming sound reverberating through Alana’s bones. She would miss that sound. She prayed when she returned from America, he would extend his trip. She never had enough time with him.
“Keep them. Return them to me the next time we meet.”
Unlatching her trunk, Alana dropped the sack of clothes on top and relocked it, hanging the key from a chain around her neck. She walked toward the docks, her arm threaded through her father’s. He mumbled quietly, telling her how much he’d miss her and wishing her luck in finding a sturdy husband. She patted his hand.
“I shall write you every week, Da.”
Her father grabbed her wrist, squeezing tightly. “Noreen had a terrible dream.”
Sighing, Alana glanced back, catching Aidan’s eye. With a grimace, he set her trunk end-up next to the quartermaster, speaking with the man regarding Alana’s accommodations.
“What did she say?”
“Do not go to America.” The hand holding her arm shook fiercely. “She is worried for you.”
“I promise to be safe.” Alana leaned forward, embracing him, and placed a light kiss on her forehead.
“What about sharks?”
“I don’t plan to go swimming.”
“Storms?”
“At least there will be no sharks.” Alana smiled, releasing her father. Turning around, she hugged Patrick and Aidan simultaneously.
“Pirates?”
“Pirates should be terrified of her,” replied Aidan with a smirk. Giving Alana a light shove up the ramp, he waited on the dock as she walked slowly up the gangplank. Spinning at the top, she offered them a small wave before vanishing into the bowels of the ship.
She never reached America.
Chapter 2
