by Lily Silver
“King.” Tara sniffled, “I never realized just how arrogant these nobles could be. I always romanticized it. Reality isn’t as kind as our fantasies. Reality Sucks.”
Dan sank down on the sofa beside her, placing an arm about her. “It will pass, my girl. He’ll wear himself out eventually. He can’t keep pushing himself like this. He’ll collapse in a day or so, and when he does we’ll wean him off the drug.”
“Lord Dillon requests your presence in his chamber immediately, my lady.” Mrs. Chatham gently intruded. “He says it is a matter of grave import.”
“Tell him to go to hell.” Tara snapped.
“My lady, please. He’s expecting a visitor and he needs your assistance.”
“Tell him I said no.”
“Tara, maybe you should go.” Dan plied. “Don’t give me that look. You can find out what he’s been up to in the past days. Come on, give him a chance.”
“Sure, I’ll just walk in and he’ll tell me exactly what I want to know. Sure, Dan. Would that be before or after he ridicules me again and tears out my heart.”
Impatient pounding intruded from the front step. The occupants of the parlor froze, eyeing one another with worry. Could it be the Constable with new evidence? With all the covert comings and goings in the past days, Adrian could well have brought disaster upon them. Or Burke could have gone to the authorities, as he threatened.
Mrs. Chatham stepped out into the hall and was heard whispering to her husband, who was gazing through the lace curtains at the side window to see who was outside.
Tara closed her eyes, squeezing the tears back as she tried to invoke an aura of calm with which to face this latest crisis.
Dan stepped out into the hall. She could hear Chatham whispering to him in a frantic tone as they gazed out the window together, discussing the visitor on the stoop. He returned to the parlor with somber eyes. “It will be all right, ladies. His lordship is expecting this one. Just keep silent and play along.”
Tara gave him a chilling stare, tired of all the charades of the past weeks. Their lives were hanging in the balance. The slightest suspicions raised and they could all be sentenced to hang for treason. She knew it, whether Dan realized it or not.
“Sheriff Burke to see Lady Dillon.” Chatham announced ominously, exchanging a penetrating look with Dan before disappearing. Beyond Burke’s short frame, Tara glimpsed the decorous butler sprinting up the stairs to Lord Dillon’s chamber.
Taking in her tear stained face, the little sheriff glowered with approval. “What’s this, you actually loved the man? I’m touched.” He said in mock sympathy. “Tsk, Tsk, poor Lady Dillon, a widow at such a tender age.”
“Get out. Now.” Tara advanced on him, only to find Dan restraining her. She gave him a killing look. “Do something, don’t just stand there. Toss him out on his fat ass.”
“Wait, Tara.” Dan’s eyes held hers. He was trying to communicate something, but what, she couldn’t understand. “Let’s listen to what he has to say.”
“My Lady, I came to offer my condolences.” Burke advanced, taking her hand. “And, to make you an offer of compromise.”
“Oh, God, he’s not in the grave yet and you’re here to gloat, you horrible little toad.” Tara shrieked. “Get out. Out of this house!” Dan silenced her by jerking her around, giving her shake and a significant look. Tara glowered up at him.
“I think we should listen to what he has to say.” Dan said in a forceful tone.
“I said get out.” She hissed, a rage rising within her at the treacherous man. “Lord Dill—“ Dan clamped a hand over her mouth before she could finish telling him that Lord Dillon would kill him before he allowed his wife to bargain with the charlatan.
“My daughter is out of her head with grief. Go on, then.” Dan prodded, keeping his large hand over Tara’s mouth while clutching her against him with the other arm.
“In light of the unfortunate demise of Lord Dillon, I am prepared to make a generous offer. If I keep my silence regarding his activities as Captain Midnight, allowing you to keep his memory unsullied, I would ask only one thing.”
“And what would that be?” Dan asked for Tara.
“Why, your hand in marriage, Lady Dillon. There is no male heir to inherit Dillon Estates, so you, my dear, would hold it–unless I exposed his seditious activities, which would make Dillon lands forfeit to the crown—and possibly mine as a reward. You see, this way, I’m allowing you to remain the mistress of Glengarra and to keep your beloved’s memory pure. Believe me, Lady Dillon, few doors would be open to you should it be made public that you are the widow of a traitor.”
“Easy prey, so you’d like to believe, Sheriff?” A familiar voice growled from the stairs. Adrian limped down the last two steps with his face tense, the muscles of his forearm flexing as he maneuvered the cane in one hand while balancing on the balustrade with the other. Chatham followed him, his face taut, his lips sucked in tight like a fish as his eyes monitored each step of his lord as they slowly descended the stairs. His arms were outstretched on either side of Adrian, to catch him should he falter.
“There’s just one minor hurdle to your scheme, isn’t there.” Adrian shuffled into the parlor with his face set, his eyes hardened. His hair tumbled wildly about and his shabby stubble of a beard gave him a dangerous appearance.
Burke backed away from him with a startled expression. “Dillon? The papers said you passed away in the night.”
“You, sir, were given a special edition, compliments of the Irishmen.” Adrian snarled. He pulled a pistol from his waistcoat, waving it dangerously with one hand as he balanced on the cane with the other.
Dan released Tara at last. She took in great gulps of breath as his hand left her face. He nearly suffocated her and all the while she resisted the urge to defend herself and cause him harm.
Chatham entered the parlor, his face a mask of propriety as he gestured to the footmen following him. Tara had never laid eyes on the men before. They were dressed in the first and second footmen’s clothing. They were not employed under this roof, of that, she was positive. They must be members of Adrian’s rebel band. At his signal, they converged on Burke, dragging him to a chair as he bellowed like an enraged bull. They pushed him into it and held him fast as Adrian advanced, pistol leveled at his fat face.
“You can’t kill me.” Burke sneered.
“Why not?” Adrian’s brows raised in amazement.
Tara gasped. Lady Fiona fainted. Dan moved to catch her, breaking her fall. He dragged Fiona to the sofa, propped her there and then took his place at the door.
“They’ll suspect, they’ll miss me.” Burke protested.
“Miss you? Who, the Duke of Leinster, the head of parliament? It was he that warned me of your scheme.” The harsh snarl of Adrian’s voice told Tara he was suffering immense pain, trying to ignore it as he worked his snare.
“You won’t get away with this.” Burke persisted.
“Death is too good for the likes of you: threatening my wife, preying upon her, blackmailing her when she was the most vulnerable.” Awareness glimmered in those silvery eyes. “And you love it so. Women cowering, groveling at your feet, begging for mercy. It’s the only way you can feel like a man, you spineless whore’s son.”
“Bastard.” Burke spat. “You set me up. You lying, traitorous bastard.”
“Traitorous? ‘Tis I who remains loyal to Ireland, Burke, not her conquerors. You are a parasite, a blood sucking leech. Does Elmira know how a social pariah such as you chanced to marry her mother, Lady Gregory?’
Burke bit his lower lip, his face becoming mottled.
“Does she know that you blackmailed her mother into marrying you? Lady Gregory was terrified her betrothed would be hanged for his subversive activities years ago. You generously offered to keep quiet if she married you instead. You had her lover indentured in the colonies. Not a willing bride, Harlan, and still a wealthy one.
“I loved her. She refused my suite—I h
ad to make her see—”
“Did she truly die giving birth to Elmira or did you smother her with a pillow and call it childbed fever?”
“You can’t prove a thing.”
“Why? Because anyone who would know has been silenced, one way or another?”
“Lies. All lies.” Burke protested.
“Never mind, your days of climbing up the social ladder on the backs of others are over, at least here in …” Adrian staggered slightly, and then recovered himself, clutching the cane tighter, his forearm bulged, his face twisted in pain as sweat beads glistened his brow. He had to be standing by sheer willpower alone.
Tara moved to support Adrian. His look stopped her. He would not succumb to weakness before his enemy.
“You’re a stubborn man, Dillon. I’ll give you that.” Burke acknowledged. “Ye’ll not escape justice, you won’t be able to get away with this.”
Adrian brushed his forehead with the back of his gun hand. “We’ve witnesses here a plenty to say you left here hale and hearty … of your own … strength …” His voice faded as he swayed backwards momentarily. Dan vaulted from the door, positioning himself just behind Adrian, to catch him should he pass out.
Once again, Adrian recovered himself, summoning all of his strength to complete his purpose. He waved his weapon at Tara. “The bell pull, my sweet.”
Tara skirted past the men holding Sheriff Burke in his chair, as if avoiding a snake, and yanked the cord near the hearth. Her husband gave her a grim nod, saying nothing as they waited for the recipient of that summons.
Mrs. Chatham brought in a tray containing a bottle of brandy and two half full crystal goblets. Adrian placed his pistol in his belt as the housekeeper handed him his glass. Tara recognized the small vial behind the brandy decanter. The sheriff took the glass offered him with large eyes, sniffing it, savoring the potent liquid before lifting it to his lips.
“A toast, Harlan, my old friend. A salute to Captain Midnight.” The silver eyes glittered with triumph as Adrian emptied his portion.
Burke spat out the amber liquid at the mention of his nemesis.
Adrian snatched the gun out of his belt as he tossed the empty brandy glass to the floor. It didn’t shatter. Chatham moved forward and bent to retrieve it. He placed it on the tray in his wife’s hands.
Adrian stood no more than two feet from his target. If he fired, Burke would be dead or horribly maimed. “Drink.” He barked, cocking the weapon and pointing at Burke’s face. “Or I’ll drop you right here, in front of my wife and mother.”
A shiver went down Tara’s spine at this new, savage edge to her husband’s voice.
Burke scowled and lifted the glass to his lips. He sipped it languorously, then offered, “Excellent, Lord Dillon, you never served this to me at Glengarra.”
“You were ever arriving and never departing Glengarra.” He gestured to the housekeeper, who poured them both a second glass. “Another toast, Harlan.” Adrian’s eyes sparkled with amusement, softening his features considerably as he offered a polite smile. “To Elmira and Robert’s happiness.” Adrian drank his portion quickly and set the glass on the tray this time instead of tossing it away.
Burke balked. Adrian once more prompted him with his weapon. Greed overcame the pugnacious sheriff’s reluctance. He finished the second glass.
“Adrian.” Lady Fiona awoke with a start. Tara placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder from behind the sofa. Seeing Adrian in command of the situation, the elder woman remained silent, watching the spectacle with large, worried eyes.
Thirty minutes later, Harlan Burke was being walked out of the front door leaning heavily on Dan’s arm. Dan made a great show of laughing, making it appear they were both drunk, supporting each other and singing old folk songs. Burke was conscious, yet glassy eyed, humming along in tune with Dan’s deep baritone rendition of Yankee Doodle Dandy. The footmen followed them to the coach, and that was that.
Ashen and drained, Adrian sank down on the sofa beside his mother, who seemed stunned by the episode. Tara wanted to rush to Adrian’s side and assure herself of his well being. Instead, she walked to the opposite end of the room, peered out the window to observe the departing coach, giving him her back.
When he didn’t speak, she turned about, giving in to her worry, momentarily. As their eyes met, he studied her, and closed his eyes wearily. He looked dreadful.
“Well, you might have let me in on your little plot. Lord knows every other person in Dublin must have been privy to it, what with all the comings and goings in the past week and whisperings behind closed doors.” When that failed to force a response, Tara took three steps toward him with concern. She wasn’t sure if he heard her.
Was he still conscious? He hadn’t moved or opened his eyes.
Reading Tara’s thoughts, Fiona leaned over and touched her son’s face. His eyes fluttered momentarily to scan the room for danger and closed again, his fist tightening on his pistol.
“Adrian, look at me.” Tara prompted. “You shouldn’t have given him that drug mixed with alcohol. He could die.”
The grey eyes opened, fastening on her. “And I should feel remorse if he does?”
It was like looking into the eyes of a crazed beast lifting his jaws from his latest kill. She carried his child—but looking into his eyes at this moment she felt as if she had never truly known him at all. Not this vicious, calculating villain staring heartlessly back at her.
Tara stepped back from him and touched her abdomen protectively.
The dark eyes watched that subtle movement of her hand and then captured her eyes, holding them prisoner in the ensuing silence. “He poisoned my cousin. Burke hoped to gain notoriety for his deed, I stole that from him when I took on Quentin’s identity and continued to lead the Fianna as Captain Midnight. No one would believe Burke had truly killed Quentin as long as I was continuing his cause. He knew it and yet couldn’t prove it, not legally. He coveted my estates, and sought to avenge himself upon me by attempting to blackmail me into marrying his daughter. I deprived him of Glengarra by marrying you.” The wolf explained calmly, as if sensing her revulsion at his cold blooded scheme. “And I should have a pang of conscience for ridding Ireland of such a man, who, when he learns of my death and comes here to gloat and black mail you into giving him Glengarra as well as yourself?”
Tara couldn’t argue with his logic.
“We may all rest easier this night. He’s bound for the East Indies, ladies, as we speak.” Adrian finished. “And you, my dear, are forever safe from his schemes.”
“I thought you sent Elmira and her Lieutenant to America?” Tara took a step closer to the wild man on the sofa.
“Aye, lass. Burke will go to America by route of India and China, then sail around the great southern portion of the new world to Jamaica and the West Indies. He should arrive in Boston in about two years time.”
“But how?” Tara edged closer to him. “How can you be sure he’ll stay on course? Surely you don’t intend to keep him drugged the entire time.”
“I’ve entered into an agreement for him. An indenture. He will serve as galley cook for the next two years on The Endeavor, an American ship of the line bound for the far east and then back to the United States. If he minds his temper, and learns to cook, the crew won’t kill him and he will be united with Elmira, just as he wished.”
“You need to get to bed.” Tara implored, seeing the fight had gone out of him now. He allowed her to pry his fingers from the gun he’d been clutching to his chest all the while. With dull eyes, he watched her place it carefully on the table beside them.
“Get up, damn you.” Tara volleyed when he ignored her. She was done being the dutiful little wife, being ordered about by a big, belligerent lout who fancied himself her lord. She was a woman of the future, of the twenty first century, and she would make his life hell in the next week as he had hers the previous one.
Impatient, Tara shook him to gain his attentions. “I said get up.”
With a groan, he slipped forward, into Tara’s arms.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Dan returned alone. The rebels who impersonated the footmen did not accompany him back to Merrion Square. His face was grim as he announced to all that Sir Ambercromby had declared martial law throughout Ireland.
Tara informed him of Adrian’s collapse from the strain of dealing with Burke.
Once Adrian was conscious again, Dan and Dr. Magnus held a family council including his mother and Tara. Together, they convinced Adrian he needed to withdraw from the powerful opiates he’d become dependent upon in recent weeks by taking such heavy doses of Laudanum.
Dr. Magnus had a colleague in England who claimed it was possible to clean up an opiate addict within a week, who in fact had done so with many of his wealthy patients. Dan murmured that he had experience with dependency as well, and yet did not elaborate to the rest. He gave Tara a sidelong glance which said quite enough.
Adrian snarled a little, like a wounded wolf. He cast a few unkind aspersions at Dan and the physician regarding their abilities. Once he’d put the gathering on edge, Adrian agreed to submit to their plan. Dan cloistered himself in with Adrian for the first day, forbidding Tara, Fiona or the servants to enter Adrian’s chamber, no matter what horrible noises they might hear emitting from it.
Tara, Dan and Dr. Magnus took turns keeping Adrian sober. They ended up tying him to the bed for a time after he threatened the doctor’s life at knifepoint if Magus did not give him what his body so violently craved. Fortunately, Dan and the butler were within shouting distance and came quickly to subdue the crazed man. The townhouse sounded more like an asylum as Adrian cursed them and ranted like a madman.
“Please, Tara. I’m in hell … Oh, God—Oh God make it stop.” Adrian pleaded. “Please, my heart, my dearest … untie my hand—just loosen one hand … please, Tara!”
Tara wanted to give in to his pleas. She wrapped her arms about herself and nibbled the inside of her lip. It was torture to see him so, to listen to him beg, to watch him writhe and sweat as if the very fires of hell were licking his flesh. If not for Dan’s eagle eye and her promise to him to remain firm, she would’ve given Adrian the medicine to ease his suffering. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
