Never Broken (11 page)

Her screams barely registered as Colm pummeled William’s face, his fists landing true with every jab and punch.

“Mr. O’Leary!” O’Kelley yanked Colm off of William. He threaded his brawny arms through both of Colm’s and held them pinned to his back. Although O’Kelley was twice his size, that didn’t stop Colm from trying to escape.

Colm gasped for breath as Sara went to her brother and knelt by his side. She touched William’s bloody face. He moaned as he tried to move.

“Oh, Colm,” she said, staring at William in shock. “What have you done?”

An hour later, Colm
stood in William’s study, his hands tied behind his back with rough rope, flanked on both sides by William’s loyal footmen acting the part of makeshift jailers. Blood trickled from a cut above his left eye where William had gotten in one well-aimed punch. He had no way to stop the flow, and no one offered to clean his wound.

In the house where he’d spent the majority of his life, he was now treated as a criminal.

William sat on a plush sofa and held a cloth to the gash underneath his right eye, the skin already turning yellow and green from bruising. His left eye wasn’t spared either, and his lip was swollen. Despite that, he was still able to hold court in the room. Priscilla, who had returned from London, sat beside him, dabbing his cut knuckles with her monogrammed handkerchief.

“You’ll pay for this, Colm,” William said, pressing the blood-soaked fabric against his eye. “This time you have gone too far.”

“’Tis you who have gone too far in your selfishness and cruelty toward your fellow man,” he muttered. No use in holding back his thoughts any more.

“Colm, stop, please.” Sara went to him, touching his arm. “You’re only making things worse.”

“Leave him be, Sara.” William winced as he looked at the blood on his handkerchief. “Let him stew in his juice, for he has dug his own grave today.”

The study door suddenly swung open. Colm’s eyes turned to see Lady Jane enter the room, covered head to toe in black. She would wear the widow’s weeds for two years, but Colm suspected she had donned the costume more out of societal convention than actual mourning for her late husband. Her eyes grew large as she caught sight of her son’s injured face. She rushed to him, flanking him on the opposite side of Priscilla. “My goodness, William, what happened?”

“Colm,” Priscilla said, her voice shaking. “Colm did this, m’lady.”

Lady Jane turned to face him, her dark eyes flashing. “How dare you turn on your cousin?”

“But Mother…”

“Do not defend him, Sara.”

“’Tis both their faults.” Sara held up her hands in surrender. “They are both pigheaded, juvenile imps who won’t listen to reason!”

Priscilla gasped. “You cannot speak of your brother that way in his own home!”

“Yes,” William said, slightly mocking his wife’s tone, “You cannot.”

“You should be thankful William doesn’t cast you out in the streets,” Priscilla continued, seemingly unaware of the ever so slight dig from her husband. “You’ve done nothing but whine and complain about everything he does, even when his decisions are for your benefit.” She pointed at Sara. “My cousin Quentin doesn’t deserve to be married to such an ungrateful child. But be assured, he will instruct you on how a proper wife should conduct herself.”

Colm could see Sara’s spirit break right in front of him. She couldn’t wage war against her family, therefore she couldn’t help him. His gaze flitted to William, who despite his swollen face, managed to exude an air of triumph. “You bloody—”

“Hush, Colm.” Sara’s soft voice was almost inaudible. “You’ve done enough.”

Her words snapped him back to his senses, and he realized the gravity of the situation. He had physically bested William, but he hadn’t meant to do it at Sara’s expense. Yet that’s exactly what had happened. She would pay not only for his assault on her brother, but also for defending him. Colm could take whatever William dished out. What he couldn’t bear was the fact that because of him, Sara would suffer. “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“You never think, do you?” William rose from the sofa and faced Colm, who flinched at his battered face. He dabbed at his swollen lips. “Then again, you can’t help but act the heathen, like your father.”

Colm gritted his teeth, refusing to take the bait. There were times, like now, when Colm questioned how William knew so much about Finn O’Leary while Colm knew so little. Who had fed him these slanderous stories—and were they actually true? Rory had never spoken of their father, and Colm only had vague memories of a man who was rarely home, and when he was, always had a liquor bottle within reach. Yet like wisps of smoke in his mind, he also vaguely recalled sparkling green eyes, a crooked grin, and a man who used to call Colm “my wee laddie.”

Colm’s jaw jerked, but he was determined to let William’s remarks bounce off him like a raindrop hitting a gravestone. He remained silent and stared straight ahead.

“Where’s your glib Irish tongue? Oh, that’s right. Cleverness and intelligence are Rory’s traits. At least he had the good sense to run away, albeit like a frightened fishwife. A rather fitting farewell, I think.” William’s eyes narrowed as he came nose to nose with Colm. “You and your brother have been nothing but thorns in my family’s side,” he said in a voice so low that Colm was sure only he could hear him. “My father may have given you a place to live. He may have put food in your mouth and wasted an education on you. But you never truly had his love. He saved that for his real family, not two pathetic castoffs.”

Colm met William’s cold blue eyes. Then he saw it. The flicker of doubt. He relaxed his stance, finally understanding what had eluded him for so many years—the true reason his cousin hated him. “You are wrong,” he said meeting William’s gaze without hesitation. “Your father loved Rory and me. I would stake my life on it.”

William’s puffy bottom lip twitched, and his eyes grew icier by the second. Slowly, he took a step back, then turned and walked to his desk. With measured calm, he took out paper and a quill pen then scribbled something down. He folded the paper and applied his seal. He looked at one of the footmen. “Bring in O’Kelley,” he said.

The footman nodded and left. Expecting to wait while the servant went to the stables to retrieve the groom, Colm leveled his gaze at William. His cousin creased the edges of the sealed paper, not looking at him.
Good.
Perhaps his words about Uncle Edwin had hit him square.

A moment later the door opened. Surprised, Colm looked over his shoulder and saw O’Kelley lumber into the room, his head hanging slightly—and carrying Colm’s coat. The footman returned to his place beside Colm, O’Kelley standing behind him. Colm met the man’s eyes, and his gut churned when he read regret and apology in them.

William looked up and held out his hand. “Mr. O’Leary’s coat, please.”

O’Kelley gave Colm a repentant look before handing the coat to William.

“You are excused, O’Kelley.”

The man fled faster than Colm thought possible. He turned to William, saw a look of triumph in his cousin’s hard eyes, and knew he was in trouble. Deep trouble.

William held up the coat as if checking the weight of the garment. “What have we here?” He reached into one of the pockets and pulled out three silver spoons—spoons that weren’t there this morning. He tossed them on the desk.

Colm flinched.

William put the coat aside and picked up his missive. He motioned for one of the footmen to approach, then handed him the paper. “Deliver Mr. O’Leary to the authorities in Cork,” William said, his gaze not moving from Colm’s as he spoke to the footman. “He’s been charged with thievery.”

“William, no!” Sara rushed to the desk. “How can you accuse him of stealing what is already his?”

“But the silver is not his.” William sat back in the chair. “He has also been charged with trespassing.”

“This is his home,” Sara cried.

“Not anymore.” He turned to the footman, ignoring Colm completely now. “Once he has been jailed, he will be sentenced and transported.”

“Transported? Where?” Sara asked, her eyes filling with tears.

“The Wyeth Colony in Western Australia.”

Colm felt the drip of warm blood running down the side of his chin, but he remained motionless. Inside, however, he was quaking. He’d expected William to exile him, but he thought it would be to America, or worse, England. Not Australia. He’d heard about the horrors of the penal colonies. There was no telling what would happen to him once he set foot on Australian soil.

Suddenly it all became clear to Colm, and as he met Sara’s gaze, he knew she also understood. Not only had he been framed, but William would use his money and influence—would pay off the appropriate people—to make sure he never came back and that he would never see his family again. In this way, he could punish not only Colm, but Sara as well.

“Mother,” Sara begged weakly. “Please! Do something!”

Lady Jane turned to Sara, her expression now placid, almost as if she were in a trance. “We are not to interfere with the lord’s affairs.”

“William,” Sara said again, weeping openly now. “I beg of you, reconsider.”

“Sara.” Colm broke his silence as a sudden sense of calm overtook him. He longed to break his bonds and comfort her. As frightened as he was for his fate, he was more worried about hers. “It’s all right.”

She broke down in sobs. “Nay, it’s not.”

“Don’t cry, lass.” Colm’s voice grew thick. “I promise it will all be fine.”

Tears coursed down her cheeks. “It won’t. We both know that.”

“Mother, escort her out,” William said, rising from behind the desk.

Like a dutiful servant, Lady Jane took her daughter by the elbow and guided her out of the room. Priscilla followed closely behind, her eyes dry and filled with satisfaction. William had all three women under his strict control, exactly where he wanted them.

He turned to Colm. “I suppose it’s only fair to tell you a little something about Wyeth since you’ll be spending the next decade of your life there.”

Colm lifted his chin and looked away. Somehow he would fight this and return to Ireland. He would not give up. William would not win.

“Not interested? No matter, you’ll find out soon enough.” He gestured for the footmen to take Colm away.

As the men dragged Colm out of the room—for he would not make it easy on any of his cousin’s accomplices—William spoke. “Oh, and Colm, I shall provide a bit of a warning.”

Colm glanced over his shoulder.

“The warden is extremely fond of the lash.”

Sara bit her lip
as she stood at her bedroom window and watched the footmen shove Colm into a carriage. Her cousin’s hands were still tied behind his back, but his posture remained rigid. She said a prayer. Whatever fate he met in Australia, she knew he would face it head on. Her cousin possessed not a single cowardly bone in his entire body. Unfortunately, he did possess several foolish ones. If only he had left with Rory, then he would be safely on his way to America and away from the troubles here. Now he had brought more problems on his head because of his stubborn temper.

After the carriage disappeared, Sara moved away from the window, numb. She was alone now, without a single ally. Rory was gone. Colm was being sent away. Her mother had turned on her, and her brother had descended into some kind of cruel madness. She had nowhere to go, other than with her family to London. And she had nowhere to turn, other than to dutifully follow William’s vile wishes and marry a man she had never met, despite turning eighteen only three weeks ago.