Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (20 page)

Though she still appeared doubtful, Amelia nodded her agreement.

“Good.” Tillie pasted a cheerful smile to her lips. “You’ll see. We’ll get this sorted out soon enough, and then things will be back to normal around here.”

She gave Amelia one last squeeze before hurrying out into the hall after her shawl.

She would talk to Rourke about Amelia’s dilemma, but first she needed to find Morgan so she could fill him in on everything she’d learned about Douglas Healy. Deep down, she had a sneaking suspicion that his visit today had not been by accident, or that his involvement with the Fenians didn’t have something to do with his sudden interest in her.

Shawl in hand, she scurried out of the kitchen toward the barn, where Cass was still working. She found him with currycomb in hand, brushing down Amelia’s mare.

“Put the brush away, Cass.” She strode toward the tack room where the mare’s bridle was kept. Looping the reins over her wrist, she turned and lifted them up before his widened eyes.

Cass held up his hand. “Hold on there. Morgan told us to wait here, remember?”

“Never mind what Morgan said. We’ve got an errand to run.”

Morgan lengthened his stride as he swung onto Ashberry Street. Ahead lay the welcoming façade of the boardinghouse. At least the walk had afforded him ample time to ponder what he would say to Tillie and how he would say it.

We need you to speak
to Jacob Kilarny again—that is, if he’s not
already dead.

Even in his head, the words sounded harsh.

“Fie.” Morgan slapped his cap against his thigh. “Better if we could just leave Tillie out of it.” And hadn’t he said the same thing in Rourke’s house? And hadn’t they determined there was no way around it?

A shadow separated from the trees, and Morgan reached for his dagger. Realizing the shadow was the kinsman Rourke had ordered to watch the boardinghouse, Morgan nodded to him and mounted the steps.

Morgan knocked, waited, then reached for the knob. The door swung open with just one twist. Poking his head inside, he called, “Cass?”

No answer. He frowned. Hadn’t he been explicit in his instructions about leaving the front door locked and guarded? He dropped his coat and cap on the hall tree and rounded the corner toward the parlor.

“Mrs. Matheson?”

She met him in the hall, her apron in hand. “Captain Morgan, you’re back. Are Tillie and Cass with you?”

“With me? I told them to wait for me here.”

“Yes, but then Tillie said she needed to speak to Rourke. I assumed they would have ridden back with you.”

Morgan cast a quick look about the empty boardinghouse. “So, you’re saying they aren’t here?”

“Why no.” She lowered the apron, deep lines of worry marring her forehead. “They left some time ago, headed to Rourke’s house. Didn’t you see them?”

Foreboding rooted in Morgan’s gut. “No, I didn’t.” He glanced toward the kitchen, where Laverne was noisily preparing supper. “I’d best go out looking for them. Will you let Laverne know?”

“Of course, if you don’t think you’ll be back in time?”

Morgan shook his head, already reaching for his coat and cap. “I doubt it.”

Like a small bird, she flitted toward the kitchen and then skittered back, her hand nervously twisting the hem of her apron. “Perhaps you should give them a few minutes. It may be that they’re already headed home.”

Morgan slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat. “I’ve got an unpleasant feeling about this. I think it’s best if I went out looking.”

“Captain, wait.”

He paused mid-turn and looked at her over his shoulder. She peered at him, her eyes rounded saucers in her small face. She clutched both hands beneath her chin, the ruined apron twined between her pallid fingers.

Lowering her hands, she took a tottering step toward him. Instinctively, Morgan reached out to steady her.

“Before you go,” she said, clasping his arm, “there is something I must tell you.”

“There is something I must tell you.” Cass glanced sidelong at Tillie. “Before we talk to Rourke, I mean.”

Tillie twisted on the wagon seat to study his profile. They hadn’t gone far, only a half mile or so, and Rourke and Cara’s home still lay another fifteen minutes ahead. Still, she couldn’t help but be curious at his tone. He was seldom so serious.

“All right. What is it, Cass?”

Rather than look at her, he hunched his shoulders and gathered the reins in close. “I’m worried about you, Tillie. We haven’t known each other long”—he glanced at her, then away—“still, it seems like a part of me has known you forever.”

She smiled, a bit of the worry she’d felt upon spying his concerned frown melting away. “I agree. You are a dear friend, and grateful I am to have you.”

A muscle ticked along Cass’s jaw as he hunched lower in the seat. “’Tis more than that. You’ve come to mean a great deal to me, Tillie. There, I’ve said it.” Straightening, he gave the reins a tap, and the wagon lurched forward.

Feeling befuddled, she looked forward at the oncoming carriages. “Well . . . I . . . you’ve come to mean a great deal to me too, Cass.”

“You don’t have to say it,” he said. “I’m fairly certain I know in which direction your affections lie. I just had to get it off my chest is all.”

Somewhere along the path from the boardinghouse to Rourke’s, things had gotten severely skewed. Tillie laid her hand over Cass’s arm. “Get what off your chest? I dinna understand what you’re trying to say.”

He scowled, transforming himself into an exact replica of
his brother. Despite his obvious consternation, she couldn’t help but giggle.

One eyebrow rose. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, lifting her fingers to cover her mouth.

“You find my confession amusing?”

Convicted by the look of hurt that flashed across his handsome features, Tillie sobered and gave his arm a pat. “Not at all, my dear lad.”

“What then?”

Leaning toward him, she bumped her shoulder against his. “Well, with that menacing scowl on your face, you looked just like Morgan.”

Instead of erasing the frown from his face, Cass appeared even more glum. Drawing back on the reins, he pulled the wagon off the street and stopped. “My brother again. Ach, I suppose I should have known.”

She pursed her lips in feigned irritation. “Whatever are you talking about, Cass Morgan? I declare, sometimes you be almost as perplexing as—”

He raised his palm. “Dinna say it.”

Something in his demeanor awakened Tillie to the fact that despite his jovial manner, he was deeply troubled. Her smile fading, she reached out again, but this time when she laid her hand upon his arm, he covered it with his own.

She then became acutely aware of their proximity on the seat. With Cass turned toward her, and she toward him, his face was only inches away.

Mindful of the pain she read in his eyes, her breath caught. “Cass . . .”

“I love you, Tillie.”

He whispered the words, so low that for a moment she doubted she’d heard him correctly.

“What?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as his throat worked to swallow. “I’ve known it for a while now, only I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, not with your feelings for Morgan so obvious. Only now . . .” He grimaced. “Forgive me, Tillie. I had to say it, if only for my own sanity—so I could live knowing I’d told you the truth even if you didn’t choose me.”

She felt herself blanch, felt her fingertips grow cold. “What are you talking about?”

His face became like stone. “You and Morgan. He loves you too, even if he won’t let his guard down long enough to admit it.”

For a split second she thrilled at his words. And then her guilt and fear returned and drove away her momentary flash of happiness. “Oh, Cass.”

She fell silent as his grip on her fingers tightened.

“Promise me one thing, Tillie.”

Unable to speak, she simply nodded.

“If things dinna work out between you and Morgan, or if you change your mind, or . . .”

Hot tears gathered behind her eyes. She blinked them back and nodded. “Aye, Cass. I understand. Please, dinna say more.”

Though she knew her words hurt him, neither could she bear to hear him pour out his heart. Twisting her hand so that it lay palm up, she gave his fingers a squeeze, then pulled away and turned her face toward the street.

Beside her, Cass gave a chirp and the wagon jolted into motion again. Tillie gripped the side, glad to be moving, to be leaving the uncomfortable conversation behind. Still, the drive to Rourke and Cara’s house had never stretched so long. She fidgeted on the seat, wishing she could somehow ease the pain that rolled silently off her companion.

She sneaked a sidelong glance. Cass rode with his eyes
focused straight ahead, his jaw firm and unyielding, his grip tight on the reins.

Confusion tangled her thinking. How had this happened? How had they moved from being friends to tense, uncomfortable strangers?

“Cass?” she pleaded.

He stared ahead as though he had not heard.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Cass’s chin jerked up. Following the direction of his gaze, Tillie tensed as a horse approached, the rider bent low over the saddle. He made a beeline toward them, weaving in and out of carriages at a pace that made her heartbeat quicken.

“Who is that?”

“I dinna know.”

Pulling back on the reins, Cass slowed the wagon and turned off the main thoroughfare onto a less busy street.

Behind them, the clopping of hooves echoed against the sides of the brick buildings. Tillie craned her neck to see. It was the same horse and rider.

“Cass?”

“I see him.” He cut Tillie a glance. “Hold on.”

Giving a sharp whistle, he urged the mare into a gallop, which propelled the wagon bumping and heaving over the cobbled street. Twice, Tillie almost lost her balance. Only Cass’s grip on her elbow kept her on the seat. Once again he veered around a corner, slowing only slightly. Buildings and tenements flew past in a blur. Wind whipped tears into Tillie’s eyes, but too frightened to let go of the seat, she let them roll down her cheeks unchecked.

Ahead, wagons and carriages clogged the crowded street.

“Cass!”

Tension stretched the skin across his face as he jammed both feet against the bottom of the wagon and stood against
the reins. It rocked to a shuddering halt, narrowly missing a carriage whose driver scowled at them from beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

“C’mon,” Cass said, dragging her out of the wagon with him and into a darkened alley.

“Where are we going?” Tillie huffed, hitching her skirts with her free hand and struggling to keep up with his rapid pace.

“Somewhere we can hide.”

Her heart already in her throat, panic somehow managed to turn her limbs numb.

Shooting her a glance over his shoulder, Cass tugged on her hand. “This way.”

He rattled the knob of the first door they came to. “Locked.” He jabbed his thumb across the alley toward another door. “Let’s try that one.”

Though her feet felt weighted with lead, she scurried to obey. “It’s locked.”

“Keep trying!”

They rushed down the alley, trying doors. At the last one, Cass pounded with his fist. “Anybody there? Hello!”

A shadow darkened the entrance to the alley. Tillie froze, her eyes wide and fixed on the menacing figure.

“Cass,” she whispered.

He rattled the knob and pounded again. “Hello in there. We need help.”

“Cass.”

Lifting his head, he turned in the direction of her stare.

The rider had spotted them. He slowed his mount with one hand, the other hidden by the flap of his coat.

Determination hardened Cass’s features. “Get behind me, Tillie.”

Her knees shook. “What?”

“Do it. Now.”

Surprisingly, her feet obeyed. “Maybe if we call for help . . .”

“Too much noise on the street. No one would hear.” His breathing heavy, Cass squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Who are you?”

The man laughed, the sound rasping like razors over Tillie’s skin. She felt Cass tense as he stretched out his hand to push her back.

“What do you want?” Cass asked the man.

“You’re in possession of a small trinket. A ring. Give it to me.”

“What ring? What in blazes are you talking about? I’ll ask again, who are you?”

Her fingers tightened on Cass’s elbow. His other hand grappled for something at his back. She looked down and saw a knife blade flash in the sunlight streaming between the rooftops.

“I said, what do you want?” Cass demanded a second time. “You—”

He got no further. In an instant, the rider’s hand slid from his coat. Almost as though time slowed, he aimed a pistol at Tillie’s head.

She staggered back. “Cass!”

He spun and threw his arms around her like a shield. An explosion ripped through the alley. A second later, Cass slammed against her and knocked them both to the ground.

Shock registered on Cass’s face, and something else—pain.

Blood trickled from his mouth.

The rider’s arm lifted again.

Tillie’s heart thrashed inside her chest. He’d shot Cass. He intended to shoot her. He was going to kill them both. She threw her arms over Cass’s head, protecting him as he had protected her.

And it was then that she screamed.