"Don't, please don't." Mary wiped away an invisible tear. "Don't you think I know his shortcomings? I live with him every day... It's not easy. But he is my husband and the father of my children. I owe him a certain... respect—even gratitude."
"Not love?"
"Don't be childish. A woman marries because she must. How else would she have a family, a social position?"
"The two of you seemed as though you were in love when he courted you. Papa didn't like him, you know."
"Papa liked George's money well enough." Mary sighed. "And yes, I'll admit I found him handsome... in a gentle sort of way. Best of all, he could take me off this isolated plantation."
"You've always seemed happy to me."
"A woman makes her own happiness, Anne. Only a fool looks to someone else, least of all a man, to give it to her."
"But you are here with him," Anne pointed out. "It looks very much as though you approve of what George is doing."
"That's ridiculous. He didn't want me to come down here. We had a terrible quarrel. He left Philadelphia without me, but I defied him and followed on my own. I took a coach to Head of Elk and had the bad luck to meet George there. He was livid, but he was afraid to send me back home without an escort. So here I am." She grimaced. "He's still very, very angry."
"George has always been angry with me," Anne said. "He's never liked me, not from the first day."
"Perhaps it would be best if Mr. O'Ryan answers their charges."
"No, it wouldn't be," Anne said vehemently. "Think! Philadelphia is George's town. His money can buy any verdict he desires, and he wants to be rid of Michael."
She stopped short of telling her sister that Nora Cleary was the only witness to what really happened aboard the Providence. Anne seriously doubted that a jury would put faith in the testimony of an Irish female who happened to be friend, employee, and countrywoman of the accused.
She was so worried about Michael that George's threat to take Gentleman's Folly didn't matter. Without Michael...
He'd promised he'd be back from Swan's Nest in time for supper, and by the sun, it was already after five. Anne decided she could wait no longer.
"Can I trust you?" she asked Mary. "I have to do something. Will you stay here and stall them from finding out that I'm gone?"
"You're going out through the panel in the dressing room?"
Anne nodded. "If you don't help me, I don't stand a chance."
"What do I say if George asks for you?" Mary folded her arms across her ample breasts and rocked back and forth. "I don't know. I just don't know."
"Tell him I'm on the closestool. Tell him anything. Just give me a little time. Please, Mary. You're my sister. You can't betray me."
"All right," she agreed. "But you're only going to make this worse."
"I'll have to chance it." Quickly, Anne changed into a dark dress and sensible shoes. Then she removed the panel and climbed the hidden stair to the attic, as Grace had done when the pirates attacked the house.
When she reached the top, she paused and listened. Below, she heard the scrape and click of wood against wood as Mary fitted the hatch back into place. "Good girl," Anne whispered.
Stepping as carefully as she could, she moved from the attic of the main house into the one over the winter kitchen. She crawled through another hatch into Grace's room and took the girl's hooded cloak from a nail. She tied a scarf around her head to cover her hair, smeared ashes on her cheeks, and donned the cape.
Anne took the narrow back steps to the kitchen and pressed her ear to the door. When she heard nothing, she pushed the door open a crack. Gerda looked up from the table and opened her mouth in surprise. Anne put a finger to her lips.
Seated with his back to the staircase was one of the men who had come with George and the sheriff. He was drinking a cup of coffee and devouring one of Gerda's apple turnovers.
Anne's heart was beating so hard that she wondered why he couldn't hear it rattling against her chest. Gritting her teeth, she stepped into the kitchen and started for the back door.
"Take that basket and fetch me some eggs from the henhouse, Nan," Gerda ordered. "And take care not to crack any of them."
"Yes'm," Anne mumbled. She snatched up the basket and went out onto the porch. Keeping her head down, she walked swiftly toward the chicken run. The man in the garden didn't even glance in her direction.
When she reached the grape arbor, she changed direction and made her way to the barn. She opened a side door and slipped inside. It took only a few moments to throw a saddle and bridle on the nearest horse. Then she scrambled up into the saddle and rode boldly into the barnyard.
"Hey, you!" someone cried.
Anne dug her heels into the gelding's side, leaned low in the saddle, and thundered away at a full gallop.
Chapter 26
The hay wasn't one of the fastest horses in Anne's stable, but he jumped the split-rail pasture fence with ease. Ignoring the shouts behind her, Anne urged him on. They galloped through an open gate and turned onto the rutted path that led toward the river and Greensboro Hall on the far side.
Two field hands stopped digging holes for the new cow pasture fence to watch her ride by, but she paid them no mind. Then, a short distance ahead, where trees closed in on either side of the road, she saw John Clough and several of his companions.
"Stop right there!" The sheriff stepped into the center of the lane and tried to wave her down.
Anne reined the gelding in hard, turned his head left, and urged him through a meadow of freshly cut hay toward the river. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that two men had mounted up and were following her on horseback.
"Get up! Go!" she yelled to the bay. She slapped the ends of the reins across his withers, and the animal flattened out into a dead run, leaping heaps of hay and splashing through low spots in the field. A covey of quail burst out of the grass, exploding into the air, but the gelding didn't falter.
They crashed through a stand of cattails, and the horse shied when he saw the river dead ahead. He tried to turn away, but she pulled hard on the reins and held him straight on course. The gelding half leaped, half slid into the tributary, went under, and came up swimming with Anne still in the saddle.
She was in midstream when a shot whistled over her head. She gasped in astonishment and pressed her face into the animal's mane. Seconds later, her mount lurched sideways as a second bullet plowed into his hindquarters.
The terrified horse threw his head back and whinnied in pain.
"No!" Anne cried. "Don't shoot!"
Assuming that the fire came from Clough's deputies, she twisted around to get a glimpse of them. In that instant, she caught sight of a black sloop, sail billowing, bearing down on her. The deck was crowded with grim-faced brigands. One terrifying figure standing in the bow held a smoking rifle.
Her gelding's shrill, agonized neighing deafened Anne as the animal thrashed wildly. Blood poured from the gaping wound, turning the water crimson around her. Anne struggled to kick free of her stirrups, but her wet skirts tangled around her legs, trapping her right foot.
Another bullet tore through the horse's neck. With a final gurgling scream, he twisted and went under in a frenzy of churning hooves.
Black terror seized Anne as bloody water closed over her head. The weight of the dying beast pulled her down. Unable to see, she held her breath, and tried frantically to loosen her right shoe.
She was beyond prayer, beyond reason. Her nails tore as she ripped at the laces. Her lungs burned. Then, abruptly, her foot came loose. Hope surged as she pushed away from the horse—and hit muddy bottom.
She knew that she had to reach the surface, had to get air. But blackness deeper than the river channel clouded her mind and weakened her determination.
An odd soothing voice told her that she didn't have to fight anymore. She could lay here, rocked by the current, with the cold water around her, safe, beyond fear and hurting, where nothing could harm her again.
/> She was bone tired... so tired.
And then Michael's image rose in her mind. What was it about Michael that troubled her... nagged at her complacency?
"I need you, Annie," he seemed to say in his deep, musical Irish voice.
The circle of darkness was closing, the brilliant amber-green aura of light growing smaller and smaller, flickering silver-gold and fading... fading.
"Annie." Michael's voice was insistent. "You must try."
Fiercely, she lashed out against the water, kicking, driving her weary body up toward the surface. Her head broke through, and she sucked in precious gulps of air. Coughing and gasping, she tried to swim with arms that held no strength, legs that would not obey.
And sank under again.
Sheer will drove her up one final time.
She took another breath, choked, and fought for the shore. But her reserves were gone, and the crimson water closed over her.
Something seized her hair and yanked her head back. Hard fingers dug into her shoulder. "Not gonna drown on us, gal. Not after we kilt that horse to stop ye."
Coarse hands tugged at her, dragging her over the side of a boat. Bay island voices jeered and a ruffian kicked her hip. She lay in the bottom of the sloop, retching, eyes clamped shut, unable to lift herself even to a sitting position.... Until a musket blasted over her head.
Anne's eyes flew open. She tried to push herself up, but a heavy boot slammed her against the deck.
"Keep yer head down, woman! You want it blown clear off?"
Two more guns roared from the far shore. Splinters flew from the single mast, showering Anne with bits of white oak. She covered her face with her hands as the marauders gave an answering volley.
When the shooting ceased, she peered up between her fingers at the ragged sailor kneeling beside her. Bearded, hair long and unkempt beneath a dirty, cocked hat, he whistled between broken, green-scummed teeth as he reloaded a flintlock musket. Behind him, a second pirate, head shaved but for a single braid that hung down over one ear, waved a Spanish cutlass and let out a high, almost girlish peal of laughter.
Then the stench of the men around her hit, and she clamped her eyes shut and curled into a ball, trying to keep from gagging. Her throat burned raw; her mouth tasted of death. She almost wished they'd let the river take her.
"On yer feet, trull!" a ruffian ordered. "Less you want old Tom to swive ye there in plain sight o' the rest." Anne scrambled to her feet as several of the other men jeered, offering lewd suggestions.
She looked around her, counting. There must be nine, ten—no, eleven raiders on the sloop. All wore various mixtures of ragged, filthy clothing that had lost all color and such newer garments as a plum silk vest and good leather boots.
The man who had spoken to her pointed to a pile of rope, and she sat on it and removed her single remaining shoe and soaking stockings. She crouched, trying to make herself small and invisible.
Then, her racing heart skipped a beat as she saw a big man in a blue coat near the bow. She knew that coat. Grace had sewn a button on it yesterday. It belonged to Michael. He had worn it this morning when he'd left for Swan's Nest.
Anne's stomach clenched and she grew light-headed. Hopelessly, she stared at the pirate. And then he turned away. Her lips moved in silent prayer as she saw the bullet hole in the back of the garment and knew that Michael was already dead.
Minutes later, Anne felt the sloop shudder as the keel scraped over the shallows. The pirates leaped over the side, splashing up the sandy bar and climbing the riverbank in the gathering dusk.
"You too," the bald man said. "Old Tom, he wants to keep you close."
"Why?" she demanded. Her voice sounded flat and emotionless to her ear. "Why are you here?" Why have you killed my husband, she wanted to ask, the only man I'll ever truly love. But she couldn't speak Michael's name to this scum... couldn't utter the words that would make him really dead.
"'Twere a bad thing to go t' Tom's island and burn his house," the raider answered, grabbing her around the waist and leaning close to hiss foul breath into her face. "Kilt one o' Tom's brothers, yer menfolk did. Got to teach you a lesson, Tom says. Stay offen our islands. Out of our marsh."
Anne hit the water, sank to her waist, and waded ashore. There, in the gathering dusk, other men waited with horses. The bearded man tied her hands together and threw her up on a dapple gray. Someone took the mount's reins, and the whole party started off toward the house and barns at a hard canter.
Ahead, she could hear shots and the sound of the alarm bell. The smell of smoke was strong in the air, and flames shot from the unfinished cow barn. They were all going to die, Anne thought. Mary, Kathleen and Conall, Gerda... Nora's Daniel. Michael was forever lost to her, and soon...
Not by hell, if she could help it. Cold fury burned away the total despair that had numbed her mind and body. If she was going to leave this earth, she'd take some of them with her.
Staying in the saddle with her wrists bound wasn't easy, but that was the least of her worries. She raised her hands and began to gnaw at the knotted rope with her teeth. She'd felt one loop loosen when the horse slowed to a trot as they clattered into the barnyard.
Everywhere was pandemonium. Men cursed and groaned as they fought hand to hand with knives and fists. Pistols cracked. Women shrieked. Here a frightened horse galloped by without a rider; there a pig ran squealing. A single chicken ran in circles amid the havoc.
Anne slipped out of the stirrups, grabbed hold of the dapple gray's mane, and threw herself off the saddle and onto the ground. She fell to her knees and rolled, nearly being trampled by another horse in the process. But she reached the corner of the pound fence and scooted underneath.
The enclosure was empty. Anne got to her feet, worked the free end of the rope back to gain more slack, then wiggled out of her bonds. Behind the barn, in the flickering firelight, a wild-eyed stranger chased a calf with an ax. She ran the other way, across the pound, under the bottom rail, and toward the turkey pen.
She'd almost reached the safety of the next building when she tripped over a fallen body and fell flat. Stunned, breath knocked out of her, she used her hands to regain her balance. Her right hand hit something warm and sticky, and the fingers of her left closed on a hard object. Gritting her teeth to keep from crying out, Anne pulled back from the repulsive sensation gripping a length of steel that could only be the barrel of a pistol.
Shaking, clutching the weapon, she got to her feet in time to see a shadowy figure lunge at her from the darkness. She whirled, facing him, and leveled the pistol. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
The firing pin clicked dully on a spent load.
Her assailant sneered and grabbed her arm. Anne fought to wrench away, and she swung the heavy handgun at his head. She felt the clunk and heard him groan. His iron grip bit into her flesh, and hair rose on the back of her neck as she heard the hiss of a knife sliding out of a leather sheath. Screaming as loud as she could, she struck at him again and again with the pistol.
"Ye foul bitch! I'll cut ye bow from stern."
A rifle spit fire and lead, and the pirate dropped like a stone.
"Annie!"
She turned toward the voice. "Michael?"
"Anne! Anne!"
Then she was in his arms, burying her face in his chest, shutting out the blood and the clash of steel and the scent of death. "I thought you were dead!" She sobbed tears of joy. "You're not dead! You're not dead!"
"Come," he said urgently. "No time. I've got to get you somewhere safe." He took her hand and ran with her toward the back of the house. "Into the cellar! Kathleen's there, and your sister."
He banged on the cellar door and shouted to the women. "Open up! I've got Anne!"
"Don't go back!" she begged him, knowing she was asking the impossible. "Please! I don't care about anything else. I can't stand to lose you twice!"
"Praise be!" Nora said as she opened the cellarway hatch wide enough to let Anne in. "Quick, now
!"
O'Ryan tore himself out of Anne's arms. "Next time use a loaded pistol," he said, thrusting his own into her hand. Then he shoved her down into Nora's arms and slammed the door. Anne heard the rasp of the iron lock as her husband snapped it shut.
"Go with God," she whispered.
Nora tugged at her hand, and Anne let Sean's wife lead her to the feeble circle of candlelight. Mary burst from the group of keening women and children and threw her arms around her.
"You're safe," Mary said, over and over. "We didn't know where you were. O'Ryan came to the house to warn us. But he couldn't find you. We thought—"
"I'm all right," Anne said. "Are you? You're not hurt. The baby—"
"It's dark and dirty down here. I think I have a spiderweb in my hair, but otherwise..." Mary shook her head. "I'm fine. Better than being up there." She pointed upstairs to the main house. Then she squeezed Anne again. "And I'm so glad you're safe. I was worried about you."
Anne heard a low whine and knelt to embrace Shannon. The gangly pup licked her face and bare arms. "Good girl," Anne said. "Good girl." She held the dog and looked around, seeing Kathleen and Conall, Blanche, Grace, and two Irish girls, and a black freeman's wife. Then she noticed taller shadows, near the foot of the stairs that led up into the hall chamber.
"My Sean," Nora said. "He has a shoulder wound. They were coming home with the bull when the pirates ambushed them. Michael and Sean got away, but Michael's horse was shot out from under him. He insisted my Sean stay here. Mr. George, too. He's guarding the—"
"Your children, Nora? Are your children here?" Anne searched the faces again. Some of the young ones had their heads buried in their mother's aprons. Others sat on the hard-packed dirt floor in frightened silence.
"All but Daniel," Nora replied. "He was with the sheep. We didn't have time to..," She broke off, overcome with emotion. "I should have gone after him. He's headstrong, my Daniel. I—"
"No," Anne said. "You did the right thing. Your girls are here, Nora. They need you. And your little ones. He'll be all right. Daniel's smart. He'll hide until this is over."
The Irish Rogue Page 28
