Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (18 page)

A small bell welcomed Morgan as he sauntered into Patrick Bligh’s apothecary shop. Brown bottles and jars of varying sizes filled the shelves along the walls. There were sundry goods in the bins and barrels stacked on the floor, as well. He took note of those that could be used to his advantage should he have need for a hasty exit.

A loud voice boomed from the rear of the store. “Welcome, sir. Can I help you?”

Morgan motioned toward his neck. “Throat drops?”

“Aye, right away.”

A portly man, as large as his booming voice, snagged a paper bag from a shelf and circled a long oak counter. He motioned toward a metal bin. “How many would you like?”

“Just a few.” Again he touched his neck.

“Ach, summer colds are the worst kind.”

He didn’t correct his assumption.

Lifting the lid on the bin, the man eyed Morgan’s clothes. “Just off the sea?”

Morgan shrugged. His dark blue coat and brass buttons usually gave him away. Nothing suspicious there.

“Where are you from, if ya dinna mind me inquiring?”

“Dublin.”

The man’s head bobbed. “I’ve got family there. Ya been gone long?”

“Long enough,” Morgan said, taking the bag the man proffered.

Replacing the scoop inside the bin, the man wiped his hands on his apron. “That’ll be fifty cents, please.”

Morgan removed the coins from his pocket and dropped them into the man’s waiting palm, then followed him to a shiny cash register that jingled as he rang up the purchase.

“Will there be anything else?” the man asked, his shaggy eyebrows lifting with his friendly smile.

Morgan cast a glance about the store. Except for an elderly man who looked intent on choosing the right elixir, the place was vacant. He turned back to the proprietor. “Actually, I wonder if you could help me. I’m looking for the owner of this store. Patrick Bligh, I believe his name to be.”

The man straightened, his smile fading. “I’m Patrick Bligh. Do I know you?”

Morgan lowered his voice. “Jacob Kilarny sent me.”

If the name meant something, Bligh didn’t let it show.

Morgan slipped the pouch containing Tillie’s ring from his coat pocket and laid it on the counter.

“Say, Mr. Bligh,” a wavering voice behind them called, “this potion here, is it good for arthritis?”

Bracing his hands against the counter, Bligh leaned to peer around Morgan. “Not that one. That one’s for ague. Try the one next to it.” He returned his attention to Morgan and the pouch on the counter. “What’s that?”

“Something Jacob wanted you to see.”

Bligh’s gaze bounced between the pouch and the figure at the shelves. “No, no, Mr. Collins, on the other side.”

He darted—an odd feat for such a large man—around the counter and rescued a bottle from the customer’s shaking hand and replaced it with a much smaller jar. “This be the one I was referring to. It’s a balm now, not an elixir. Rub it on the affected areas. Usually you can expect relief in just a couple of hours. Would you like me to wrap it for you?”

The man’s graying head bobbed, and both returned to the counter, Bligh’s hand steady on Mr. Collins’s elbow. Watching them, Morgan slid the pouch out of the way and waited while he rang up the older man’s purchase. When they’d finished, Bligh turned to Morgan.

“Now, you were saying?”

What he’d been saying and what he’d been thinking were two vastly different things. Surely this could not be the same Patrick Bligh that Kilarny had meant. Morgan shook his head. Grabbing the pouch off the counter, he made to leave. “Nothing. Sorry. I must have the wrong place.”

“I was expecting a woman.”

Morgan paused near the door and looked back. “Pardon?”

Bligh gestured toward the pouch. “He told me it would be a woman bringing that there ring by—assuming that be what you have in the bag.”

Morgan let go of the doorknob and returned to the counter. This time it was Bligh who looked about the store. “Let’s see it. Make it quick.”

Sliding the pouch to him, Morgan watched while Bligh shook the ring into his palm and gave it a cursory glance. His face twisting, he reached below the counter, took out a magnifier with a slender black handle, and held it to the ring. With a flick of his thumbs he separated the rings, exposing the ruby heart and giving it careful study.

Shock registered on Bligh’s face. “
Memento mori
,” he breathed.

“What?”

Bligh shook his head as though to clear it. He dropped the ring back into the pouch and handed it to Morgan. “Put it away before someone comes in.”

Morgan did as he was told and pushed the pouch into the pocket of his coat. “Well?”

Bligh sucked in a breath. “Aye, I’ve seen it before.”

“You know who it belongs to?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you?”

They stared at each other across the counter for the span of several seconds.

“Where’s the woman Kilarny told me would be coming?” Bligh asked at last.

Morgan shrugged. “Thought it would be safer if I came alone.”

“Safer, eh?”

The way he spoke the words sent a shiver coursing down Morgan’s back.

“Aye, then,” Bligh said, “I suppose you’re right, especially if that ring belongs to the person I think it does.”

Morgan clenched his jaw. “And who is that?”

Another glance around the store, and then Bligh leaned forward, drops of perspiration rolling down the sides of his face. “Have a care with that there ring. It belongs to a very important man. How your girl managed to come by it . . . well, I’d be interested to know that myself.”

“The owner,” Morgan snapped, growing impatient, “what’s his name?”

Bligh drew back, his head shaking. “I dinna know his name. I reckon there’s not many who do. But around here—” he stopped, took another quick glance around the shop—“around here he’s known as The Celt, and he’s the leader of a brotherhood made up of Irish.”

“The Fenians.”

“Aye, lad. The Fenians.”

Tillie’s pulse quickened as the door to the apothecary’s shop swung open, but instead of Morgan, an old man hobbled out, his back and shoulders stooped and a small bag clutched in his fist. She let go a sigh.

Cass’s voice rumbled in her ear. “Easy now, no sense drawing attention to ourselves.”

How could she help herself when she so badly wanted to rush to Morgan’s aid? Her fingers shook as she replaced a white kid slipper on the shelf.

A harried salesman scurried to her side. “Can I help you with that, miss? It’s a fine shoe. Note the toe and the narrow strap on the instep, both embroidered with white and gold beads. Makes for a fine evening slipper.”

Indeed it would, though it would take weeks for her budget to recover. Never had she owned such a fine shoe, nor would she have need for such anytime soon—not in the millinery or the orphanage.

She’d been so wrapped up in her recent troubles, she’d hardly given a thought to the orphanage.

She glanced at Cass, who slipped his arm about her waist and smiled at the salesman. “We’re just looking for now, but we appreciate your attention.”

The salesman looked doubtful as he turned to assist another customer, but then he was gone and Tillie could concentrate on the shop across the street once more.

“You all right?” Cass whispered.

As he led her away from the shoes, he nodded at two women who watched them from beneath large feathered hats. Taken with his infectious grin, one of the women giggled
and hid behind a lace fan. The other merely deepened her
scowl.

“I’ll be fine just as soon as—” Tillie began, then cut her words short when the door across the busy street swung open again. This time it was Morgan’s broad shoulders that filled the frame.

Grabbing Cass’s hand, she yanked him toward the door. “There he is. Let’s go.”

Her feet could hardly keep up with her heart as she dropped Cass’s hand and raced out of the store. She skittered to a stop at the curb and waited impatiently for a black phaeton to whir past before resuming her trek toward Morgan.

He met her midway across the street. Seizing her hand, he led her back to the sidewalk, then raised his arm to hail a carriage for hire.

“Where’s Cass?”

“Here,” Cass replied, huffing as he caught up.

“We need to get Tillie away from here.”

When the carriage rolled to a halt, Morgan’s hand fell to her waist to help her up. She sat, then didn’t wait for Cass but held out her hand to assist Morgan.

This time, he didn’t let go.

A second later, Cass joined them, and the carriage set off with a lurch.

“Did you find him?” Tillie asked, a trifle breathless.

It was the excitement that constricted her chest so, yet she couldn’t help but be aware of the tingle in her fingers where the warmth of Morgan’s skin touched hers.

Reaching inside his coat, he withdrew the pouch and gave it to her. “Aye, I found him.”

“And what did he say?” Cass leaned forward, his eyes gleaming.

A trickle of disappointment filtered into Tillie’s thoughts. It was the danger and mystery Cass found so exhilarating,
not concern for his brother. Not concern for her. She directed her attention to Morgan.

“He remembered the ring. Said it belonged to someone called The Celt.”

Tillie stifled a gasp.

“You know him?”

She took a deep breath, tugged loose the strings of her bonnet. Morgan gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

“I only know
of
him,” she replied. “He’s the leader of the Fenians, the group Braedon belonged to. Very powerful and mysterious.”

“So how did Braedon get his ring?” Cass asked.

Tillie looked at Morgan. “I don’t know, but I think we should tell this to Rourke as soon as possible.”

Leaning out of the window, Morgan barked new instructions to the driver, then dipped back inside and resumed his grip on Tillie’s fingers. Cass’s eyes followed and, a second later, drifted up to meet Tillie’s.

Morgan too appeared to notice the direction Cass’s attention had taken. He slid his hand from Tillie’s and clasped both of them in his lap. The rest of the ride was carried out in silence.

Barely had the carriage shuddered to a stop than Morgan leapt to the ground, one hand on the door and the other toward the driver. “If you’ll hold for a moment?”

The driver nodded. Morgan then poked his head back into the carriage. “We don’t all need to go inside, and it’s safer for Tillie back at the boardinghouse.”

To her dismay, Cass agreed.

She reached out to clasp the door handle. “But—”

“No arguments, Tillie. Better if you wait at the house with Amelia and the others. Also . . .” His face darkened in a frown. “I think it’s time you told them everything so they can be on their guard.”

Her stomach sank. She settled against the seat. “All right. And Mrs. Ferguson?”

Morgan looked at Cass. “Send word through Giles that Tillie won’t be returning to work for at least a couple of days. Dinna tell her why, but let her know it kinna be helped.”

As he finished, he shot a questioning glance at Tillie. She nodded.

“Good. I’ll get back to the boardinghouse as soon as I finish here.”

She leaned forward to tell him to be careful, but before she could, the door closed and he was striding away. Too quickly the carriage set off again, and all she caught of Morgan was one final glimpse out the window as the carriage rounded a corner.

Several buildings and businesses sped by before Tillie realized that Cass was still watching her. A look of sorrow flashed across his features and then disappeared, replaced by a wink and a too-brilliant smile.

“He’ll be all right, you know. Morgan’s always been able to take care of himself. It’s looking after others that he’s lousy at.”

The attempt at humor only heightened the foreboding growing in Tillie’s stomach. It was a feeling she was only too acquainted with—the knot of dread that felt like it had taken root and would soon spread to every limb and nerve.

She’d felt it the day she left Ireland.

And again the day Braedon died.

A third time when she’d lost her baby.

And now . . .

Gripping the side of the carriage, Tillie clenched her teeth and forced herself to concentrate on what Cass had said about Morgan taking care of himself, but one thought kept intruding, kept fanning to life the embers of doubt and fear.

She’d fallen in love with Keondric Morgan. And that meant
he was in greater danger than he knew, because God would never allow her love for him to exist. Not when she had done something so frightfully wicked she deserved whatever punishment the Almighty decided to hand down.

Her only hope was in God’s mercy and Morgan’s own goodness. Surely God would not rob their family of Morgan’s provision. Surely He knew how much Cass and their mother needed him?

The thought was of little comfort, as was the simple prayer that repeated itself over and over inside her head.

God, dinna let anything happen to Morgan. Let your wrath
fall on me instead. Please . . . bring him back safe.