Sister of Rogues

by Cynthia Breeding

  “I said I should like to see Mrs. MacLeod in the library,”

  Ada pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Very well. I shall bring her.”

  “I do not need your assistance.”

  The matron jutted her jaw forward. “The warden’s orders are—”

  “I do not care what the warden’s orders are,” Kier said, enunciating each word and trying to rein in his rising temper. “I doubt that Mrs. MacLeod poses a danger.”

  “Still, I should—”

  “You should see to the other women,” Kier said and turned on his heel. “Mrs. MacLeod, when you are finished—”

  “I am finished now,” Fiona said and rose from her chair.

  Again, Kier noticed the awkward shuffling of her gait, but he said nothing until they had repaired to the library and he’d closed the door. No doubt, Seamus would be lurking there shortly, but he intended to keep the conversation down.

  “You do not look like you are feeling well.”

  “Ah—” Fiona smoothed the course fabric of her dress and Kier noticed how her hands trembled.

  “Are you ill? Shall I call a physician?”

  “Nae,” she exclaimed, twisting her fingers together nervously.

  Instinctively, Kier took her hands in his. “There is no need to be…” He stopped, feeling something sticky on her palms. Turning them over, he felt his eyes widen in shock as he looked at the open blisters and bloody scratches. “How in God’s name did you get these?”

  “I was removing the holly bushes.”

  “The holly bushes?”

  “Aye. They…they…” Fiona looked away. “They had dead branches.”

  “You should not have taken that upon yourself, especially without gloves.” Kier dropped her hands and went toward the small bar where he kept several bottles of liquor. He took the counter’s wiping cloth, poured some whiskey onto it and returned to Fiona. “This may sting a bit,” Kier said as he carefully dabbed at the blood and dirt from one palm. He watched Fiona’s face for signs of pain, but she didn’t flinch, which amazed him. He knew from firsthand experience how much alcohol stung in open wounds. Kier finished cleaning her other hand and tossed the cloth aside. “You are a brave woman,” he said and raised her hands to his lips to brush a light kiss across bruised knuckles.

  Her barely audible gasp was his undoing. Looking into the depths of her slanted grey eyes was like getting lost in the mists that hung above the Liffey on a winter’s day.

  The room blurred and only Fiona’s face stood out, pale and ephemerally beautiful.

  Kier bent and covered Fiona’s mouth with his.

  Chapter Ten

  The sensation of Kier’s lips on hers made Fiona lightheaded. Kier still held her hands and she clenched his to keep from swaying. Who knew a man’s lips could be so soft and yet so firm? The initial demand of pressure gave way to light brushing, a gentle caress against her mouth, as if to tease, to titillate, to entice… Fiona made a mewling noise deep in her throat, instinctively opening her mouth. Kier responded with a low groan, sliding his tongue slowly across her upper lip and then catching the lower one between his teeth to tug lightly. He slipped his hands into her hair, cradling her head as he tilted it and let himself fill her mouth.

  The feel of his velvety tongue playing with her own caused a whole new set of sensations. Sensations that shot through her belly and deeper. Sensations that caused a slow pulsing between her legs. Sensations Fiona didn’t want to ever let stop. She clutched Kier’s shoulders as the world swirled around her like a hazy cocoon, basking her in warmth.

  Then, abruptly, she felt the cold. Kier pulled away, breaking contact, his dark sapphire eyes shimmering with an emotion she couldn’t read.

  “I should not have done that,” he said, his voice shaky. “Please forgive me.”

  Fiona blinked. “Forgive ye? I liked it.”

  Kier’s eyes darkened, turning midnight blue. He shook his head. “I took advantage. You are a guest in my home and you are not well.”

  He still thought her mad. Would it do any good to insist once more she was not a grieving widow? “I feel fine,” Fiona said, choosing to ignore her physical aches and pains. She remembered Abigail had once said sometimes a woman had to let a man know what she wanted. The strategy had worked for Abigail and Shane. Fiona managed a smile. “Ye dinnae take any advantage that I was nae wanting to allow.”

  Kier made a strangled sound and shook his head again. “Your body was simply responding to the passion you have been denied with your husband’s passing. I cannot—will not—take advantage of a weak moment.”

  Fiona had no idea what he was talking about. She’d never felt passion before—at least, not the kind that the kiss had made her feel. The stirring deep inside her had nothing to do with a husband she didn’t have, but trying to explain that would only make her seem more unstable.

  But Lord, she wanted more. Kier fascinated her. Dressed all in black like he was, with his ebony hair loose and a dark expression on his face, he looked like a shadow warrior from the tales the Crone of the Hills used to tell. There will come a black knight… Fiona shook her head. Now was not the time to be conjuring up images of legendary knights. Kier already thought her mad.

  He bent down to retrieve the cloth he’d dropped and took it to the bar, putting distance between them. “The reason I brought you in here was to ask what had taken place this morning. I did not intend to…to dally with your affections.”

  Fiona felt her face warm as his words penetrated her brain. Disappointment and embarrassment washed over her in equal measures. Clearly, Kier had not been affected by the kiss, and even more clearly, he had no intention of doing it again. She was reacting like a foolish girl, allowing herself to think the kiss had meant something to him. No doubt, he was used to having women practically swoon at his feet, just like her brothers. Even worse, Kier thought she was a lunatic.

  “What took place this morning?” he asked again.

  Fiona willed herself to focus on the question. She wanted to tell Kier everything…how Seamus and Ada had come for her, gagged her and tied her hands…how she’d been forced to stay hunched inside a small trunk all night. Would Kier believe her? The story sounded incredible, even to her own mind. Fiona had no witnesses to call on either. Erin and Brena had retired to their room near the kitchen on the first floor. All of Kier’s guests had chambers on the second floor, but they were down the hall from the direction Fiona had been taken. Since their doors were also locked, they could not have seen anything. Even if they’d heard muffled shuffling, that wouldn’t prove a thing—and they were all considered lunatics, just as she was.

  Even worse, if Kier were to give Fiona the benefit of the doubt, he’d question Ada and Seamus. Both of them would deny the charges. They had made sure Fiona didn’t have any marks or bruises, so her accusation would only make her sound more and more insane. For certain, Ada would seek retaliation, and Fiona would be open to even more torture. She had the small branch tethered to her thigh, but she didn’t have the brute force to wield the weapon against Ada and Seamus at the same time.

  “Mrs. MacLeod?” A trace of impatience laced Kier’s voice.

  By the Saints. She was standing there probably looking as vacant as Dulcee. Kier really would think Fiona addled—or to add insult to injury—addled because of his kiss. She lifted her chin. “I was told the autumn weeding needed to be done.”

  Kier frowned. “I gave no such order.”

  “I doona mind working in the courtyard.” Perhaps if Kier allowed her more time there, she could make contact with the leprechauns or the faerie again.

  Kier raised one of his dark brows. “Did you volunteer to tear out the holly?”

  “I…the plants needed tending.”

  His brow rose higher. “Without gloves?”

  He would think her barmy for sure. Even a fool could see h
olly leaves were pointed and sharp, but Fiona couldn’t very well tell Kier she had been refused gloves. That would make him question Ada. Fiona had seen enough of Ada’s tactics to know what her answer would be.

  “No one else was wearing gloves. I dinnae ken there were any.”

  “We have gloves, although I do not know if any of you should be working in the courtyard. I can hire someone for that job.”

  “Oh, nae. I doona mind,” Fiona said quickly.

  Kier studied her. “You are sure?”

  “Aye. I like being outdoors.” That was the truth. Being confined to her small room was beginning to have the effect of driving her mad for sure. “I will be glad to take responsibility of the courtyard.”

  “I will think about it.”

  “Thank ye. May I leave now? I would like to clean up a wee bit.”

  Kier nodded and Fiona turned toward the door, hardly able to contain her excitement. Even having Seamus stalking behind her didn’t dampen her mood, although she kept her face impassive. She made her limp more pronounced too, so Seamus could report to Ada that Fiona was still in pain. As much as she would prefer to stand up to Ada, the first strategy of any battle was to survive…and then to win. The ability to be outdoors opened up lots of opportunities—and perhaps even an avenue of escape.

  Kier tossed his pen down, splattering ink across the piece of parchment on the desk. No great harm since he’d mostly doodled on it instead of making lists of the ideas given by the various factions of the group that had met at the crypt. Finley planned to come by tonight to get them for Daniel.

  So far, Kier had written only two things. Is Fiona insane or isn’t she? And Am I the one who is the real lunatic?

  He was pretty sure he had the answer to the last one. What in the name of all that was green in Ireland had he been thinking when he’d kissed Fiona earlier? Kier groaned, remembering how soft and pliant her lips had been under his, how silky her long mane of hair was when he’d run his fingers through it…and how dazed with desire her eyes had been when he’d broken off the kiss. Looking into those darkening depths, he’d felt as though he were wandering in grey swirls of mist. He who had always prided himself—at least after Lady Jane Claire—on being in control of his emotions. Of not succumbing to a pretty face. Of not being gullible and believing a woman’s lies…

  But had Fiona lied? He’d expected to hear another scuffle had taken place outside, given that she was limping. The other three women weren’t the most reliable witnesses, but he’d questioned them anyway. Each of them insisted nothing out of the ordinary had taken place and none of them had an idea why Fiona was pulling holly bushes out of the ground. Ada had told him—and Seamus had agreed—that Fiona had insisted the holly bushes needed to be taken out. Neither of them had any idea why Fiona would be limping, other than suggesting pulling the bushes out had been a strain.

  Something was not right. Fiona had looked exhausted at lunch and gardening didn’t account for the dark circles under her eyes. Was she not sleeping well? Kier groaned again. The image of Fiona lying in bed conjured up other activities besides sleeping, and his wayward cock stirred. Resolutely, he pushed the thoughts aside. He had no right to lust after her like this. Her reaction to him was just what he had told her it was—a widow’s body recalling the passion in her marriage.

  But she had denied being married.

  No virgin would be so naturally responsive to his kiss and touch though. No virgin would blatantly say she’d enjoyed it either.

  According to the notes Warden Kelly had taken—Kier didn’t need to take them out since he’d read over them dozens of times—her father had said Fiona had been so much in love with her husband, Brice, that she had never accepted his death. That one day, in the depths of her grief, she had tried to take her life. Only Fiona had survived. After that, according to her father, she had simply refused to acknowledge she had been married at all.

  Perhaps there was some comfort in shutting out the memory. Maybe if his mother had been able to do that…

  Kier sighed, put the quill back into the inkwell and stood. Wondering whether Fiona was sane or not was going to make him an inmate as well. He was no physician. He was a host to four women who were ill—a fact he needed to keep in mind. He had absolutely no right, legally or morally, to become involved with one of his guests.

  He needed to clear his head. Kier walked outside and turned toward the Liffey. Perhaps after a brisk walk, he could return to those lists he needed to make for Finley.

  But it wasn’t Finley’s face he saw inside his mind as he picked up his pace, nearly loping. It was Fiona’s—her eyes filled with passionate desire.

  As soon as Seamus turned the key, locking Fiona inside her room, she slipped the branch out from under her dress. Truth be told, she’d completely forgotten about it when Kier kissed her. Thankfully, he hadn’t put his arms around her waist or he would have felt it. Having to explain why she had it would only have made her sound even more like the lunatic he thought she was.

  Now that she had time, Fiona examined her new weapon. Oddly, the wood was smooth with no trace of bark, almost as though it had been sanded. The branch was straight too, and seemed thicker. More like a stout club than the crooked holly branch she thought she’d picked up. Perhaps the leprechauns had worked a little extra magic.

  She took the coins out of her pocket and studied them as well. Guineas, enough to get out of Dublin if she could escape the castle. She could purchase boys’ clothing to disguise herself as Abigail had done when she’d stowed away on Shane’s ship…

  Hearing the key turn again, Fiona slipped the coins and club quickly under her bed. Now was not the time to confront Ada. To Fiona’s relief, Erin and Brena entered instead, carrying pails of hot water.

  “Master O’Reilly said ye are to wash,” Erin said as she emptied the contents of their pails into the hipbath that still stood in Fiona’s chamber.

  “And here,” Brena said shyly, handing Fiona a sliver of soap that held a lavender scent, “we thought ye would like this.”

  “Thank you.” Fiona held the bit of soap to her nose. “It smells wonderful.” She shed her gown quickly and stepped into the bath before the water got cold, working the soap into a foamy lather.

  “Just don’t let Ada find it,” Erin warned. “She doesn’t believe in coddling the guests, and especially not ye.”

  So she was not just imagining being singled out. “Do ye ken why?”

  “She thinks Master O’Reilly favors ye,” Brena replied.

  Fiona’s face heated and she hoped the girls would think it the warmth from the water. If only they knew how she had been favored a little while ago. Kier’s kiss still sent tiny shivers down her spine, although obviously, it had not had the same effect on Kier since he’d backed off so quickly. But then what man would willingly kiss someone he thought was a lunatic? Still, it was nice of him to send the water.

  “Mr. O’Reilly is a kind man,” Fiona said, tilting her head back to wash her hair.

  “Aye, he is,” Erin agreed.

  “And he pities ye,” Brena added.

  Fiona almost choked on a mouthful of water. Kier pitied her? “Why?”

  Erin glared at Brena. “’Tis not our business, cousin.”

  “But ye were the one who said the master felt sorry for her.”

  Erin turned an unbecoming shade of pink. “I didn’t say that exactly.”

  Reaching for the towel on the floor, Fiona stood and wrapped it around herself. “Why would ye think it?”

  “’Twas just something the master said earlier when he asked us to bring the water,” Erin replied, keeping her eyes down. “I might have misunderstood.”

  Fiona stepped out of the low tub. “What did he say?”

  “Something about how hard it must be for ye to be alone, having loved your husband as much as ye did.”

  That aga
in. “I am not married. I have nae husband.”

  Both maids widened their eyes, glanced at each other cautiously and then edged toward the door. Fiona sighed. They obviously didn’t believe her either, and worse, she had frightened them. “Pay me nae mind. I would ask ye a different question, if ye have a mind to answer it.”

  The maids looked at each other warily and then Erin slowly nodded.

  “Do ye live here permanently? In the house, I mean.”

  “We have a room off the kitchens,” Erin replied.

  “I ken that, but ye have nae family here then?”

  “We have an aunt Ailis that took the veil at the Sisters of Charity.”

  A nun. Could she possibly be of assistance? Could Fiona convince either Erin or Brena to speak to their aunt on her behalf? “Where is that? I am nae acquainted with Dublin.”

  “’Tis on North William,” Erin said, her brows furrowing. “Why do ye ask?”

  Her tone sounded suspicious. Perhaps it was better not to ask for help so soon. “I was wondering if the women who are housed here ever go to church.”

  “No.” This time, it was Brena who answered. “The warden will not allow any of the guests out. He says it is too dangerous.”

  Fiona would have laughed, had she been capable of humour at the moment. Allowing four women to attend church under the hawk eyes of Ada and the burly guard—dangerous for whom? She decided to change the subject.

  “Ye have accents different from the matron and guard.”

  “’Tis because we are not from Dublin,” Brena said, a note of pride in her voice.

  Fiona tried to recall her history lessons, wishing she’d paid more attention when the scholar her father had brought to Glenfinnan had droned on and on. She knew that nearly a hundred years ago, protestant English aristocracy had ascended to landownership in Dublin, and somewhere along the way, the Catholic majority had lost most of their rights. The whole thing reminded Fiona of what the English had done to the Scots at Culloden and then again with the Highland Clearances just a few years ago. She guessed the native Irish-born took pride in their roots.