Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (12 page)

Even at ten thirty in the morning, a solid line of people pushed in and out of the swinging door of Shanahan’s Pub, a squalid place in a seedy corner of the Lower East Side. Morgan grasped Tillie’s elbow and pulled her to one side, out of the line of sight of two men whose leering made him itch for a fight.

He lowered his head to whisper in her ear, “You’re sure about this?”

She gave a quick nod and lifted her chin. “Aye. If there’s anyplace he’s apt to be in a city this big, it’s here.”

He had to admit, he admired her pluck. Yet admiration or no, the idea that she might be putting herself in further danger sent an uneasy tremor racing along his flesh. “I mean about talking to Kilarny alone. How do you know you can trust him?”

Her chin trembled and then fell just a bit. “He doesn’t know you. If I’m to have even a chance of speaking with him, I have to go alone. Besides, Braedon trusted him. That’s enough for me.”

But it wasn’t enough for Morgan.

He eased to stand before her, both hands clutching her
shoulders. Though he felt her trembling through the fabric of her dark blue dress, she met his gaze steadily. “I’ll be right here,” he said at last. “Try and stay where I can see you, and if you need me—”

“I’ll call out,” she finished, repeating what they’d said before leaving the boardinghouse. She looked past him, over his shoulder toward a table near the window where Cass sat nursing a tall mug.

Reluctantly he dropped his hands from her shoulders. “One of us will have an eye on you at all times. You remember what you’re to do if the situation becomes uncomfortable?”

He bit back a grimace. The situation was already uncomfortable. He’d chosen the word hoping to calm her fears.

She pulled a fan from her reticule and flicked it open with a snap of her wrist.

“Right.” It was time. They were beginning to draw attention, yet Morgan found himself unwilling to let her venture further.

She put her hand to his chest, effectively blocking the air from entering his lungs. “I’ll be all right. Braedon would never have sent me to him otherwise.”

Fie.

Dipping his head, he shuffled aside and allowed her to pass. The moment she was out of arm’s reach, however, he wanted to call her back, to carry her to the
Marie
and lock her in his cabin, where he knew she’d be safe.

Morgan, lad,
what in the world is wrong with you?

Except for Cass, it had been some while since he’d been so acutely aware of the well-being of another. The feeling was not altogether welcome. Morgan wrestled with it as he yanked a chair from a nearby table and dropped onto the seat. He was accustomed to looking out for his crew, but somehow this was different. It had to be simply that she was
female—a very small, very vulnerable female—that stirred such protective feelings.

“Get ya something?” A redheaded barmaid brushed his shoulder suggestively as she leaned to clear the table of dirty dishes.

Morgan craned his neck to see around her. Tillie had wound through the bar and was approaching a table near the back. A large man in dark trousers, white sleeves, and suspenders rose to meet her. Hands braced against the table, Morgan prepared to rise, then relaxed when the man nodded and pointed toward another table away from the bar.

“Well?” the barmaid said.

“Coffee. Black,” he snapped, glad when she moved away to fetch his drink. He slipped a coin from his pocket and tossed it onto the table so they’d not have to speak when she returned.

Slow down
, he commanded silently, willing Tillie’s steps to slacken before she passed through a door at the rear of the pub and out of sight. He cast a glance at Cass, who was also straining to keep an eye on Tillie’s retreating back.

But she didn’t stop, didn’t even hesitate as she walked through the door and closed it behind her. The muscles in his stomach clenched. This wasn’t good. Hadn’t he just told her to stay within sight?

Grinding his teeth, he pushed away from the table and made to stand. A flick of Cass’s wrist caught his attention.

Wait
, his brother mouthed.

For what? Until it was too late?

Cass glanced around the crowded room. Morgan caught his meaning. What could Kilarny do with so many people present?

Growling low in his throat, Morgan plopped back into his chair. Five minutes. That was all he’d wait, and if there was
still no sign of her, well, not even the door would keep him from getting to her.

Tillie passed through the doorway into a long hall, resisting the urge to cast one last glance at Morgan before it shut behind her. Three doors opened off the hall just as the man at the bar had said—one to her left, one to her right, and one straight ahead. She made for the one straight ahead.

Two knocks, then wait.

Her hand shook as she raised it and pounded on the door twice. After a moment, the door opened a crack and a rather ugly man with a long face and pointed chin poked his head out.

“Well?”

She pressed her damp palms against the fabric of her skirt. “I’m T-Tillie McGrath. Braedon McKillop was my fiancé. I’m here to see Jacob Kilarny.”

It was the same line she’d given to the man at the bar, yet it had nowhere near the same effect. The man’s eyes only narrowed further. “He expectin’ ya?”

“No, but if I could just—”

“Ya got the wrong place. No Kilarny here.” The man shut the door with a firm click.

Tillie’s brow furrowed in consternation. If she’d been wrong, why then had the man at the bar pointed her toward this door?

Drawing a breath, she lifted her fist and knocked again. This time the door flew open, startling her so that she stumbled a step and nearly tripped over her dress.

The man with the long face strode out, his brows dark slashes across his forehead. “Look here, woman, I told you once already, ya got the wrong place.”

“But if I could just tell you why I need to see him—”

“Get out before you get yourself hurt!”

The man stopped inches away and thrust his face close to hers. Though she feared her shaking knees would fail her, Tillie stood her ground.

“Please,” she whispered. “My life depends on my talking with him.”

The man didn’t move, but neither did he speak. She pressed on.

“My fiancé’s name was Braedon McKillop. He and Jacob knew each other years ago. Braedon told me if ever I was in trouble, to seek him out and . . .”

She hesitated to tell this man about the ring.

Behind the man, the door swung wider. “Let her pass.”

Tillie recognized his voice the moment she heard it. When Braedon was alive, it had haunted her dreams and filled her waking moments with fear. She shivered as the man blocking her path moved aside and swept his hand toward the open door.

Heart thumping, Tillie eased around him. The room she entered was furnished with a couch that looked as though someone had slept on it, along with a table and two chairs. Against one wall stood a large bookcase, and on the opposite wall a clock kept perfect time.

Jacob Kilarny stood next to the clock.

The pendulum swung back and forth several times before he finally stepped toward her, his hand outstretched. “Matilda? It is you.”

She licked her dry lips nervously. “Jacob.”

He grasped her hand and drew her to the table. Pulling out one of the chairs, he seated her and then swung the other around so he sat facing her. “The rumors be true then. Braedon’s dead.”

She clasped her hands in her lap and nodded. “On the ship crossing over from Ireland.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, lass. That must have been hard for you.”

She searched his eyes for traces of derision and found none. Instead she read compassion in the lines of his face.

“You look older, Jacob.”

“As do you. I reckon the world has been less than kind to us both.”

How much did he know? “Aye, I reckon that be so.”

“And is that why you’ve come?”

The wild racing of her heart returned. She looked around the room at the rumpled blankets scattered over the arm of the couch and the dirty dishes stacked high on one end of the table. This hardly looked like the quarters of a man wielding power enough to protect her. What if Braedon was wrong and Jacob wasn’t the man to help?

Rather than look at him, she picked at the edge of her sleeve. Wrong or not, he was the man Braedon had told her to turn to.

She drew in a breath to steady herself. “What happened all those years ago, Jacob? What drove you and Braedon out of Ireland? He never would speak of it, but I know it must’ve been something terrible.”

Ignoring her question, Jacob replied with a question of his own. “I thought you said you were in trouble?”

“I am.”

“And your questions, what have they to do with it?” He jerked up from his chair. “You want my help, lass, you’re gonna have to trust me and quit your prying.”

Though her heart beat like a hammer against her ribs, she rose and planted both palms against the table. Sticking out her chin, she said, “Aye, I want your help, but I’m not a fool, and you’re wrong if you think I’m going to stumble in here blind.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, and then a whisper of admiration. Tillie forged on, quieter than before.

“Braedon might still be alive if he’d stayed in Ireland. I have a right to know what it was that drove him to go. What drove us both to go. Tell me, Jacob.”

His jaw worked as he stared at her, measuring. Outside the door, muffled laughter swelled, but he seemed not to hear. Finally he indicated the chairs they’d vacated. When they sat, he said, “How much do you know?”

She shook her head helplessly.

He grunted and laced his gnarled hands, which made him look much older than he was. “Doesn’t surprise me. All Braedon ever wanted was to protect you, you know.”

She swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded.

He sighed. “You didn’t have to come to me. Anyone inside the Fenians could have told you what I’m about to share. Probably would’ve been a lot less trouble for you, too.”

“Like I said, Braedon told me who to find.”

His eyes narrowed. “Right. I suppose we’ll get to that.” Leaning back in his chair, he eyed her steadily. “So you want to know what happened, eh? Fine, I’ll tell you. But then I’ll have a few questions of me own.”

He waited a moment, and then at her nod he began, “There was a group of us lads from Derry what joined the Fenians around the same time—me, Sean Healy, Eoghan Hamilton, and Braedon. I suppose if you asked any one of us why we joined, we’d give a different answer, but the bottom line was we all believed that Ireland needed to be free to rule herself, independent of England, and by force if necessary.”

Her chest tightened. For just a moment, she heard Braedon’s voice speaking the exact same words.

Jacob went on. “That meant we were all willing to use drastic measures to accomplish what we wanted. Sean came
to us, said he’d heard of a politician named Daniel Turner who might be influenced with just a little pressure. Turner was opposed to home rule. The plan was to kidnap him, scare him into voting with us, and then let him go free.”

“That wasn’t what happened?”

Jacob leaned forward and laid both arms atop the table. “I’ve heard two different sides to what happened that night. Truth is, I kinna be sure. Not really. All I know is what was supposed to put a scare into Turner ended up killing him. Sean Healy, too.”

“And Braedon? What part did he have in all of this?”

Jacob settled back against his chair. “When Sean realized Turner wasn’t going to be cowed into reversing his stance, he pulled a gun and threatened to kill him. A fight broke out. Eoghan stepped in to protect Turner and wound up killing Sean instead.”

Everything he said fit with what Tillie had learned last summer. What she didn’t know was which side Braedon had chosen. She held her breath.

“Some of the lads thought Sean was in the right,” Jacob continued. “Others picked Eoghan. I don’t know that Braedon sided with either, but he knew we had to stop the fight before anyone else died. He pulled out a pistol and fired it into the air. Took me a second to realize where the shot came from. When next I looked around, Eoghan was gone and Sean was dead.”

“But so was Daniel Turner.”

He nodded. “Sometime during the fight, Sean’s gun went off. The bullet hit Turner in the back. Me and Braedon . . . ’twas me and him what carried Turner back into town.”

Tillie drew a shaky breath. “So that was it? That was why the two of you thought you had to leave?”

“Not thought, lass. We
knew
the Turner clan would be
bent on hunting down the men responsible for killing their kinsman. Parliament too was bound to go after any Fenians who’d had any part in murdering one of their number—and we knew that’s how it would be seen, regardless of whether we’d planned for him to die or not.”

Covering her face with both hands, Tillie battled a rush of hot tears. So, according to Jacob, Braedon had been a part of the terrible event that nearly destroyed Cara and Rourke, and later forced Ana and Eoghan into hiding.

“Ya all right, lass?”