by BJ Hoff
What have I done?
At that moment, Evie let go a volley of blood-chilling shrieks. He saw that Biller had picked her up like a sack of flour in one arm and was trying to silence her with his other hand.
A storm exploded in Brady’s mind and propelled him into action. He shot forward, sprinting across the road, shouting until he thought his lungs would burst as he went. He twisted his ankle on a protruding stone, stumbled, gasping with the pain, but kept on going, driving into the yard and storming toward Robuck and Roweena.
Robuck whirled around, one burly arm wedged under Roweena’s throat, the gun barrel pressed against her temple as he used her to shield himself.
“That’s far enough! Back off, or I’ll plug her!”
Brady stopped, fury scalding him, pouring through him, nearly blinding him and filling his ears with a deafening roar. “Let her go, Robuck! Let her go now! What do you think you’re doing?”
Robuck’s lips curled back over his teeth in a feral grin. “Whatever I want, Yank. Whatever I want. You going to stop me—you and your…‘no weapons’?”
Brady’s mind raced. Roweena was facing him, her eyes wild with fear. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Biller set Evie to her feet, not releasing her but trapping her by the neck of her sweater.
Brady couldn’t think. Roweena could read his lips, but even if she were too terrified to make out what he was saying, Evie would hear. She would know he’d had a part in this. A big part.
Somehow he had to salvage his plan, without either Roweena or Evie getting hurt. But how?
“Let her go,” he said, his voice a low threat. “You can’t get away with this.”
Robuck continued to sneer. “I already have. Get lost, Yank. Come back in a few minutes, when I’ve finished with her. Then you can ‘rescue’ the both of them!”
He gave an ugly laugh, then jerked Roweena around and, as if Brady presented not the slightest threat, turned his back on him and renewed their trek toward the house.
Suddenly Brady’s plan no longer seemed important. It didn’t matter whether Roweena knew what he had done. The only thing that counted was saving her. And Evie.
His head cleared, and he felt almost weightless as he launched himself at Robuck’s back like an arrow shot from a bow.
But Biller shouted a warning, and the big man turned just in time, yanking Roweena around with him. With one beefy arm locked around her throat and the gun leveled at her head, he stood, legs outspread, his entire bearing a challenge.
“She’s dead if you don’t back off, Kane! You know I mean it!”
Brady saw the wildness in his eyes, the tears of terror in Roweena’s. He took a step backward, then another, and as he did, Robuck’s sneer broadened.
“That’s better, Yank” he said, waving the gun toward Brady. “Now then, you get yourself right over there, where Biller can keep an eye on you until I’ve finished my business with the lassie here.”
Brady wasn’t sure what happened next. Roweena must have thought Robuck was distracted to the point that she could free herself, because she gave a violent wrench, crying out with the effort, pitching herself forward. But Robuck apparently had the strength of a bull and yanked her back by the neck. She collided against him with such force that she screamed in pain.
At the same instant, out of the corner of his eye Brady saw Evie shrug free of her sweater, leaving Biller holding it by the neck, empty. The child took off running, shrieking as she went, but suddenly stopped dead, directly between Brady and Robuck.
She whirled around toward Brady, then toward Robuck and Roweena, clearly uncertain as to what to do.
Brady saw the danger and called out to her, waving her off. “No, Evie! Go back! Go back!”
She gaped at him, then again turned to look at Roweena. She stood there as if transfixed, staring at Robuck who now raised the gun and with an oath aimed it directly at her.
“Robuck!” Brady shouted, waving his hands. “No! You hurt her—you touch her and the deal is off, you hear me? No deal!”
Robuck looked at him, narrowing his eyes as if calculating his options.
“No deal,” Brady repeated again, his voice low and threatening. “And so help me, I’ll see you hang.”
Still the big man eyed him, seemingly unmoved, showing no sign of taking the gun off Evie. Roweena was staring at Brady with an expression of total shock and something else…something terrible, something so wounding that it pierced him through, cutting right into his very soul.
Finally, Robuck looked back at Evie and waved the gun toward Brady. “Over there with your pal, chit. And stay put, or I’ll hurt this beauty in ways you’ve never heard tell of.”
Still Evie hesitated, whipping around first to Brady, then to Roweena, who shouted at her to run. For some reason, this seemed to infuriate Robuck. He slapped Roweena, hard.
At that point Brady went mad.
Gabriel had just slid in behind the elm tree on the rise back of the house when he saw Roweena try to twist free of her captor, only to be hauled back against him.
He knotted his fists, struggling against a near mindless fury as she cried out in pain. At the same moment, wee Evie did manage to break free.
Gabriel held his breath as the child ran to the ground between Roweena and Brady Kane and stood, looking from first one to the other, as if trying to decide which way to run.
He took it all in: Kane’s uncertainty and indecision. The girls’ terror. The small wraith of a man now standing off to the side, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else than where he was.
As he listened to the exchange between Brady Kane and the man with the gun, he realized that Kane had apparently orchestrated this whole thing.
But why?
He clenched his hands so hard that his nails dug blood from his palms. His ears drummed, and his stomach twisted with sick fear as he stood in the darkness, waiting for the right moment.
Suddenly Roweena screamed at Evie, and the child took off running toward Kane. At the same time, the man with the gun slapped Roweena in the face.
The last shred of Gabriel’s self-control snapped, and rage rose up in him like a deranged monster unbound.
He pushed away from the tree and went roaring down the yard, heading straight for Roweena and the man with the gun.
The sight of Gabriel hurling himself across the yard, rushing toward them, elicited a cry of almost delirious relief from Roweena. At the same instant, she saw Brady Kane break into a run, right behind Gabriel, while the smaller man who had held Evie captive took off running into the night.
But her relief was short lived. The man with the gun suddenly pushed her away. She staggered, swaying on her feet, as she saw him sweep the pistol toward Gabriel.
In that instant, Roweena realized what was about to happen.
She never hesitated but lunged forward, bolting madly toward Gabriel, her feet scarcely touching the ground in a desperate attempt to reach him before the bullet did.
“Roweena—no!” Gabriel saw her fly toward him and called out to her as he ran, hoping to block her from the path of the gunman’s bullet. At the same time, Brady Kane, running toward them, shouted a warning.
But Roweena kept running, fairly leaping over the ground toward Gabriel, throwing herself in front of him as the gunshot exploded and shattered the night into pieces of despair.
At first Brady didn’t even realize that the screams being ripped from someone’s throat were his own. He saw Roweena fling herself wildly at Gabriel, saw the look of a love in torment fade from her face as Gabriel caught her in his arms and lowered her to the ground, saw the crimson stain blossom quickly over her shoulder and down one side of her chest—and all the while he kept on screaming.
The raw anguish in the giant’s face hit him like a blow. For a moment he stood numbly, watching Gabriel cradle Roweena against him. Then Gabriel looked at him, and Brady saw the dreadful knowing in his eyes.
When the racking clarity of what had happened finally re
gistered, he swung around toward Robuck and, heedless of the gun the man held trained on him, charged him like a bear gone mad with blood lust.
A shot rang out, and he felt a blast of pain tear through his shoulder. But he threw himself at Robuck, pounding him with his fists, cursing him—and himself—with all the fury that been unleashed by the sight of Roweena lying limply in Gabriel’s arms.
They grappled for the gun, and another white hot slam of pain ripped through Brady, this time in his side. Nausea swept through him, and the night rushed in on him as he felt himself thrown off Robuck and slammed onto the ground, on his back.
He caught one brief glimpse of Gabriel hurling himself at Robuck, hammering a mighty fist at the man’s head, and saw the gun go flying out of Robuck’s hand as the man fell to his knees, then facedown in the mud.
Brady thought he must have drifted in and out of consciousness for a time, but for how long he had no way of knowing. He glanced over at Robuck. The man was still lying in the mud. Apparently, he was unconscious, not dead, for Gabriel was trussing his hands and feet behind him.
Biller was nowhere in sight.
There were others milling about now, a few men, mostly women. Probably neighbors who had finally heard the commotion and ventured out. They spoke in hushed tones, standing back, watching.
Brady lifted a hand to Gabriel, groaning at the pain that scalded his side with the effort.
“Roweena…”
For a moment, Gabriel stood staring down at Brady in silence. Finally, he gave a terse reply. “She’s alive,” he said. “Evie is with her. I will see to your wounds in a bit, but not until after I take care of Roweena.”
“But she’ll be all right?”
Gabriel didn’t answer, merely stood looking down at Brady in stony silence.
“Get her a doctor, Gabriel,” Brady urged, reaching up for the big man’s sleeve, but missing it when the pain again shot through him with a vengeance. “I’ll pay. Whatever it costs. She needs a doctor.”
“I am a doctor,” the big fisherman said dully. Slowly, he shrugged out of his coat and knelt to one knee to cover Brady with it. Brady shrunk inwardly from the terrible sorrow in the big fisherman’s eyes.
“What have you done here tonight, Brady Kane? And why have you done it?”
Brady couldn’t bring himself to look at him. “I…didn’t think…No one was supposed to get hurt…I only meant to bolster your opinion of me. It was all put-up.”
He could feel Gabriel’s eyes boring into him. “Why, man? Why would you do such a thing?”
“For Roweena,” Brady said, shame flooding him like a fever as he turned his gaze back to Gabriel. “But it all went wrong. Roweena wasn’t even supposed to come outside. Only Evie. I thought, by pretending to save Evie…I could get in your good graces and you’d not fight Roweena’s seeing me…I never thought…I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”
Brady stopped to catch his breath. The sky overhead was beginning to spin, and he felt sick, so sick…
“It’s you she loves, Gabriel…did you know? Roweena…she loves you…I saw it in her face when she was running toward you,…and I knew I had done it all…for nothing. I almost got her killed…for nothing…She meant to die for you…”
For a long, terrible moment, Gabriel looked at him. Dazed, weakness sucking him in, Brady saw the other’s anger and surprise fade, to be replaced by a patent look of contempt.
“You poor, pathetic fool,” Gabriel finally said, an inexplicable note of sadness edging his words and making Brady cringe. “So you didn’t know.”
“Know what?” Brady muttered, feeling the ground beneath him start to whirl, along with the sky.
“You need to be told, I suppose, though I should not have to be the one to tell you.”
Gabriel’s voice sounded farther and farther away, as if he were retreating into a dark, winding tunnel. “Roweena and you—” he said, “there is every possibility that you had the same father.”
Brady struggled to keep his eyes open. “You’re mad,” he said, attempting a weak laugh but failing.
“I’m not mad. Roweena’s mother was violated by a drunken British soldier. Revenge for a raid by one of those infernal secret societies Ireland is forever spawning. There were three women tortured and raped that same night. All Galway women.” Gabriel paused. “Your mother was one of them.”
“You are mad,” Brady mumbled. “My father was Sean Kane.”
Gabriel shook his head. “No. Sean Kane was your brother’s sire. And your sister’s. But not yours. Your father was one of a band of soldiers—an Englishman.”
Brady pushed at him, as if by pushing him out of his sight he could also drive Gabriel’s words out of his hearing. “I don’t believe you…”
“ ’Tis the truth,” Gabriel said, getting to his feet. “But I will waste no more time with you for now. I must get back to Roweena.” He paused, staring down at Brady. “When you are strong enough, you write to your brother in America, Jack Kane. John Kane—Sean, in the Irish. Named after his father, so it seems. You write and ask him to tell you the rest of the story. Just know for now that Roweena may well be your half sister. There is no way of knowing for certain she is not.”
That said, Gabriel walked away.
A long, keening wail ripped from Brady’s throat. Then he turned his face into the mud and retched.
—BOOK TWO—
Ashes and Lace
PART THREE
ON AN ALTAR OF ASHES
We went through fire and flood. But you brought us to a place of great abundance.
PSALM 66:12
30
A SUBTLE THREAT
Wherefore do ye pause
Before the rich man’s dwelling? Will your woes
Avail to move his pity, or to touch
One chord of feeling in his hardened heart?
ELIZABETH WILLOUGHBY VARIAN
NEW YORK CITY, DECEMBER
The plan had begun to take shape in the back of Jack’s mind the night before. So suddenly had it come—and so clearly could he imagine its success—that by the time he left his office late in the afternoon on Monday, he decided to go directly to Grace Mission and speak with Terese Sheridan.
During previous meetings, he had sensed a number of contradictions in the girl, and he knew that any doubts or uncertainties she might have would only work to his benefit. If a vague uneasiness tended to plague him on the way to the mission house, he told himself it wasn’t because he meant to take advantage; to the contrary, he would be doing her a great favor. Not only would his plan considerably ease the way for her, but at the same time he would be able to give Samantha something he believed she wanted more than almost anything else.
If he was right, then he was convinced that she would finally agree to marry him.
He had not realized that Samantha could be so exasperatingly stubborn. Without fail, every time he had raised the subject of marriage over the past month, she had raised the subject of their differences—most particularly the fact that Jack didn’t share her faith—almost always followed by a mention of her inability to give him a child.
No matter how adamantly he insisted that he would do whatever he could about their religious differences, and that a childless marriage was far preferable—at least to him—than no marriage at all, she remained unconvinced.
Yet Jack no longer questioned her feelings for him. The few times—and they were few—that she’d allowed him to embrace her, he had sensed an unmistakable depth of emotion, even passion, in her response, although she clearly tried to suppress it.
But hang it all, she wasn’t fooling him, and the frustration of knowing that she did in fact care for him but was unwilling to do anything about it was driving him over the edge.
He was desperate to make her see things his way, to find something that would turn the battle to his advantage.
Now that he thought he had found just the thing, he was almost in a fever to get on with it.
It see
med to Terese that she woke up a few minutes at a time, day by day, until the vast sea of sickness finally lay behind her.
In the days that followed the first step of her healing, she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. She slept night and day. When she did rouse, it was like waking from one dream only to enter another. Her surroundings were veiled, her mind a fog-obscured maze. She couldn’t manage to hold onto a logical thought more than a few seconds or remember what happened from one hour to the next.
Yet now, more than three weeks later, she could still recall her first glimpse of Cavan on the night that had marked the turning point in her recovery.
She hadn’t known him at first—indeed, hadn’t even remembered where she was or how she got there. It had seemed to require a monumental effort just to force her eyes open, and when she did, she’d been startled by the sight of a figure sitting in the shadows, close beside her bed. But at her quick intake of breath, he had moved to clasp her hands in his, calling her by name and whispering, over and over again, “Glory be to God…He has spared you, little sister!”
He had wept the first time Terese called him by name, and she had also wept, out of her weakness, but more from the incredulity of being reunited at last with her brother, the only family left to her.
In the days that came after, she often awakened to find him sitting beside her bed, holding her hand tightly, as if he feared that he might lose her again. Little by little the years between them began to fall away as her memories of the brother she had not seen for so long a time faded into the reality of the man he had become. A good man, she sensed, a man of gentleness and integrity.
They talked much, but never once did he question her about the babe or show shame for her condition. As for Terese, she avoided as much as possible any mention of his job, for the thought of his connection with Jack Kane, Brady’s brother, never failed to trouble her.
Mostly they filled in the blank spaces of their years of separation, sharing their mutual grief for the father who had died not long after coming across and the mother and sisters who had perished in the heartless poverty and hunger of an island winter. As Terese grew stronger, they sometimes talked for hours, almost always speaking in the Irish, unless others were in attendance—as was often the case.
