Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (28 page)

“You kill me now and you’ll never know where the money is,” Tillie blurted.

“Aye, you’re right about that.” He drew so close that she smelled the sweat on his clothes and the whiskey on his breath. “But if you do not show me where that money is, I’ll start killing your precious friends downstairs.” Angling the knife, he inserted it into her hair and tugged a lock loose from the bun at her neck. “Starting with the old woman.”

With an almost lightning flick of his wrist, he ripped the blade free.

She felt the jerk and thought for a split second that he had cut her. Instinctively she screamed and threw her hands up, but instead of blood, she watched in horror as a piece of her hair fluttered to the floor. In the next instant, Neil grabbed the lamp and strode toward the door.

“Wait! I’ll tell you.”

He stopped at the door and turned on his heel.

“The money is in my r-room,” Tillie stammered. “I hid it in a hole in the floor next to the bed. I promise you, the money is there. It’s there.”

She almost couldn’t breathe waiting for his signal. Finally he lifted the lamp and gestured for her to start walking.

Tillie staggered down the hall, blinded by tears and running her hands along the wall to find her way. Bursting into
her room, she dropped to her knees and pointed at the rug beneath which lay the loosened board.

“There.”

“Get it.”

Her chest heaving, she gathered her skirt and crawled forward to haul the rug out of the way. With shaking fingers she pried up the board. Sweat ran over her face and neck. Dragging her sleeve across her forehead, she nodded at the hole.

“Pull it out!”

Tillie rolled onto her backside and used her heels to shove toward the wall. “No. You’re going to kill me now anyway. I’ll not pay you to do it.”

He squinted and, a second later, dropped to his knees. Setting down the lamp, he laid the knife aside and began rummaging in the hole.

Now. The gun.

With him so intent on digging, he’d not even see . . .

Euphoria melted over Neil’s face. He pulled his hand from the hole, and dangling from his fingers was the bag holding all the money Tillie and Braedon had worked and scrimped to save. He held it up and gave it a shake, grinning at the resulting
clink
of coins. Shoving the bag into his shirt, he reached for the knife and stood, turning to face her.

For a split second he stood frozen with an almost comical look of disbelief on his face.

Laying her finger to her lips, Tillie pushed to her feet. “Not a sound,” she whispered, leveling Giles’s pistol at his chest. “There’s only one bullet in here, but I reckon that’s all it will take.”

Every evil deed, every possible nightmarish imagining filtered through Morgan’s brain, torturing him as he and Rourke raced through the city’s winding streets. Bending low over the saddle, he urged the mare’s clattering hooves faster, pleading for every ounce of speed the animal could give.

How could he have left them alone?

The same thought pounded over and over in his head, driving him to the brink of madness. If only he’d stayed behind, or left someone besides a wounded brother and an old man to stand guard. If only . . .

He blinked the sting of sweat from his eyes, lowered his chin against the mare’s whipping mane.

Please God . . . take care
of them.

Never had he felt so helpless, his loved ones so out of reach. Finally, Ashberry Street. At last the shadowy outline of the boardinghouse. Barely had the horse skittered to a stop before he leapt from the saddle.

“Morgan, wait!”

He heard Rourke’s voice, knew the others were seconds behind, but he could think of only one thing—saving Tillie.

Flying up the steps, he forced himself to control the rush of adrenaline enough to test the knob. Locked.

“Back here.” Rourke motioned from around the side of the boardinghouse.

Morgan vaulted over the railing to the ground, absorbing the fall with his knees. Together, he and Rourke circled to the kitchen, sliding to a halt at the sight of the stable door gaping open and the sounds of a skirmish drifting out.

By now, the rest of his kinsmen had clustered around them in the dark. Rourke jerked his thumb toward the stable. “Two of you check it out. The rest come with us.”

At the kitchen door, Morgan scanned the circle of grim faces. Some of them he knew only as Rourke’s kinsmen, yet they stared, awaiting his orders.

“We’ll go in through the kitchen. There’s a door leading to a hall. From there the library is to the right, farther down the hall and parlor. We’ll only have a few seconds before they know we’re coming. When we get inside, try to split up. I dinna know how many are inside or what they’ve done with the residents of the boardinghouse, but if we spread out, we should be able to see quick enough what we’re dealing with.”

Nods came from the four gathered around. Bracing himself, Morgan counted to three, then drew back and gave the door a vicious kick. Splinters flew as it crashed against the wall. He registered the shouts coming from the library and veered that way. Someone jogged at his elbow. He noted his position as he thrust his shoulder into the library door and sent it smashing open.

Two men. A woman—

Morgan saw the gun in her hand and threw himself to the floor, then came rolling up as the report split the air.

Eoghan.

Morgan realized it was he who had followed into the library as he flew at the woman and knocked the gun from her hand. Morgan went in the other direction, tackling the larger of
the two men on the run and driving him to the floor. Fists flailing, Morgan landed several blows, then rolled off as the man’s head lolled sideways.

Jumping into a crouch, he scanned the room. Rourke had the other man in hand. Eoghan had the woman, and Laverne was clutching her gun. Morgan strode to her, breathing heavily.

“Tillie?”

Laverne shoved the gun at him. “Upstairs. He took her. Go!”

He took off running, shouting Tillie’s name as he raced for the stairs.

“Keondric!”

He rushed into her bedroom. Too late, she screamed, “Look out!”

A fist took him on the chin and spun him into the wall. Instantly, Dunahoe was on him, grabbing for his gun. They wrestled for it, Morgan straining to keep the barrel pointed away from Tillie. Away from himself.

Dunahoe grunted. Both their hands locked over the pistol’s trigger. A blast echoed through the room.

Tillie screamed . . . and kept screaming.

For a few seconds, Morgan stood blinking—trying to breathe, trying to process what had happened. Shuddering free of his stupor, he rushed to Tillie.

“Are you all right?” He gripped her by the arms and pulled her to his chest. “Tillie . . .”

“He shot you! He shot—”

“No. Tillie, look at him. Look!”

She stared openmouthed at Dunahoe’s slumped body, then collapsed into his arms.

“Did he hurt you?” he demanded, his heart thumping.

He clasped her chin and tilted her face to look into her eyes. Her hair was wild, and a bruise covered her cheek. Groaning, he cupped her head to his shoulder and held her tight.

“I’m so sorry, Tillie. God help me, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m all right,” she sobbed.

“What happened?”

“I dinna know.” She looked up. “Amelia?”

“She’s downstairs. She, Laverne, they’re all unharmed. Except . . . Giles?”

“He’s in the p-parlor. They t-tied him up.”

Though he desperately wanted to go on holding her, he had to know the rest of the house was secure.

He smoothed the hair from her face. “Tillie, I have to go downstairs. Wait here, do you hear me? Dinna leave this room.”

“Keondric—”

The pounding of footsteps on the stairs cut her short. Morgan thrust her behind his back.

Rourke burst through the door, and on his heels was Eoghan. Rourke’s lip was bloodied, and one eye looked bruised and purple, but upon spying them, his lips curved in a smile that released the tension from Morgan’s muscles.

“You two all right?”

Morgan nodded. “Downstairs?”

“We’ve got ’em.” Rourke pointed down at Dunahoe. “What about him?”

Eoghan went to him, kneeled down and pressed two fingers to his neck. Grunting, he stood back up. “He’s gone.”

With those words, all of the rage—the panic and fear that had driven Morgan since leaving the pub—drained from his limbs. He blew out a sigh and turned to pull Tillie into his arms . . . except, before he could do so, she was already there.

Tears of gladness mingled with relieved exclamations as Tillie and Morgan made their way downstairs to the library. Both Meg and Amelia scurried to her, Amelia patting her cheeks and fingering the ends of her cut hair. Giles sat on the settee, gingerly rubbing his wrists while Laverne fretted over him, but both rose and shuffled close as she entered.

“You all right, lass?” Giles said.

Tillie nodded, repeating her assurance that she was not hurt over and over. She looked toward the wall, where Mary and the other two henchmen sat bound and gagged and guarded by Rourke and Eoghan.

“Did they tell us anything?”

“No, but these two might.”

At the sudden voice, she squeezed to Keondric’s side. Instantly his arm tightened around her, and she felt tension rumble through him. “Kilarny!”

Holding a gun, Jacob and a couple of Rourke’s kinsmen ushered two more in. “Discovered ’em lurking in the stable.” He gave a nod to Keondric. “Your brother found me, told me what happened. I came to help.”

“And Cass?”

“My men are looking after him.”

Keondric said nothing, and for a moment she thought he would not believe Jacob. She twisted to look up into his face.

“Jacob did not do this. I know he didn’t.”

Though his face was still hard, Keondric nodded. “Fine. Then who did?”

Jacob pointed the gun at one of the prisoners. “Well?”

The man’s eyes bounced from the three seated on the floor to the one standing next to him.

“He’ll kill you if you talk,” the second man hissed.

The hammer on Jacob’s gun clicked. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

Silence permeated the room. Like the others, Tillie held her breath, waiting. The man’s eyes rounded. Sweat slicked his face and neck.

“He . . . he gave us orders,” the man began.

“Shut up!” the second man interrupted, but then Malcolm grabbed him by the nape of the neck and forced him to the floor. Driving his knee into his back, he held him there.

“The Celt,” Jacob growled, “he’s the one what told you to come?”

The man licked his lips and nodded.

“Why?”

He jerked his head toward Tillie. “Her. We were supposed to find some ring, then kill her before she could talk.”

Pressing the barrel to the man’s forehead, Jacob said, “I want a name. You’ll give it to me or I will count to three, and then I will bury a bullet in your skull. Do you understand?”

“Don’t give it to him!” the second man groaned from the floor. Across the room, the other three prisoners strained against their bonds.

“One.” Jacob’s eyes narrowed.

His eye twitched. “No. Please . . .”

Tillie’s heart raced. “Jacob—”

“Two.”

He would die. And then Jacob would try to force another prisoner to talk. The burden of another man’s death would be too much to bear.

She squeezed Keondric’s arm. “Dinna let him do it.” She lifted her face to him. “Please.”

“Douglas Healy!”

Everyone in the room froze, their eyes fastened to the broken man at the center.

He lifted pleading eyes to Jacob. “The man who sent us was Douglas Healy.”

Leaving Keondric’s side, Tillie rushed to Amelia and grasped her shaking hands. “Amelia?”

“I . . . I kinna believe it. Why would he do this?”

Keondric lifted his hand. After a moment, the room returned to an uneasy silence. He motioned to Jacob, then Rourke and Malcolm. “We need some time to sort this out.”

“I agree.” Malcolm signaled to his men, spoke quietly to them, and finally turned to Rourke. “We’ll wait outside, and take them”—he nodded toward the prisoners—“with us.”

“No,” Kilarny said. “They’re Fenians. My men will take care of them.”

Malcolm eyed him a moment. “Fine. Take ’em,” he agreed.

“You should go, too.” Tillie gave Amelia’s fingers a gentle squeeze. She looked to Laverne and Meg. “This has been a shock. I think she should lie down, maybe have something to drink. Giles, will you help take Amelia upstairs?”

They nodded, and within minutes all that remained with Tillie were Jacob, Rourke, Eoghan, and Keondric.

Tillie crossed to him. “Can it be true? Is Douglas Healy The Celt?”

Keondric dragged his fingers through his hair and looked at Jacob. “What do you think?”

Jacob shrugged. “He’s wealthy. Powerful. If it
is
him, we’ll have a hard time getting close.”

Tillie shuddered. “What have I done that he would want me dead? Or Braedon?”

“I think I know,” Rourke said. “All along we’ve suspected that the men who murdered my father were not acting alone. It would make sense that if The Celt were involved, he would want to keep it covered up.”

“Why?” Tillie asked.

“Because the plan was always to make sure that Daniel Turner ended up dead,” Eoghan interjected.

Rourke nodded. “Healy wanted a parliament seat. He used my father, and the Fenians, to make it happen.”

Jacob frowned. “So you be blaming the Fenians now?”

“No.” Rourke lifted his hand, palm out. “I’m saying Healy plotted with his son to make it look like it was an accident and the Fenians were involved.”

“And the ring?” Keondric asked.

“Sean.” Grief etched deep grooves into Eoghan’s face. “Sean must have given it to Braedon.”

“Hold up. Who is Sean?” Keondric asked.

“Douglas Healy’s son,” Eoghan said. “Sean must have taken his ring to convince the Fenians that The Celt supported the plan to kidnap Daniel Turner.”

“And when Daniel was killed,” Tillie said, “Braedon figured out that it wasn’t an accident and kept the ring for insurance.”

“He must have known something was wrong on the ship,” Keondric added. “That’s why he gave you the ring and told you to hide it—because he knew he wasn’t just sick.”

Nausea rolled in Tillie’s stomach. “Murder and scheming, even sacrificing his own son—all of this for power?”

She searched their faces and finally settled on Jacob. Of them all, his was the most tortured.

“I’m sorry, Matilda. Sorry for Braedon.” Jacob lowered his head. “Healy used our cause—everything we’ve worked and sweated and bled for—for his own selfish gain.”

“We’ve all suffered,” Rourke said grimly. “The question now is how do we stop him? Like you said before, Jacob, we wilna be able to stroll up to the door.”

Struck with an idea, Tillie squared her shoulders. “There is a way, if we give him something that he wants.”

“Like what?” Jacob said. “The ring?”

“The ring alone wilna be enough to convince anyone what Healy has done.” She paused a moment, then said, “We need something more damaging, something like . . . me.”

“No!” Keondric said.

“’Tis the only way any of us will ever be free, Keondric. Rourke and Eoghan, even you and Cass now—we’re all captives of this man unless we stop him while we still can.”

“Morgan, let’s listen to her,” Jacob began, but he was quickly cut off.

“She was almost killed tonight!” He glared at Tillie. “I dinna care what Healy’s done. I won’t let you risk your life again.”

“What about your life, or Cass’s? Do you really think The Celt will stop hunting for you now? We’ll none of us be safe again until he is stopped.” She placed her hand on his arm. “And I wilna be alone. You’ll be with me.”

He fell silent. “What?”

Tillie turned to Jacob. “We can disguise a couple of your men, dress them in clothes we take from the prisoners, and use caps to cover their faces.”

“What about us?” Eoghan said.

Rourke shook his head. “We’re too recognizable, you especially.”

“But my men”—Jacob gave a grunt—“we could make Healy think they captured you.”

She nodded.

“And if Morgan is with you, Healy will think he was taken in the fight, too,” Rourke added.

“We’ll need at least one of his own men to lead them,” Eoghan interrupted, “or he’ll kill them all before they cross the threshold.”

“Or one of his women,” Tillie said. “Mary. Keondric can walk behind her, force her to keep quiet until we’re inside.”

“That’s still only four,” Rourke said. “Five at the most. That wilna be enough to overpower Healy’s men.”

“We wilna need to,” Jacob said. “Some of the men inside that house are loyal Fenians. They’re only protecting Healy because they think he’s fighting for them. If we can get to Healy, make him confess what he’s done, the fight will be over before it starts.”

They all fell silent, considering the idea. Finally, Keondric nodded. “All right, but I stay with Tillie the entire time, and if there’s any doubt that Healy’s falling for our plan, our first concern is getting her out.”

Tillie drew a deep breath as all of them nodded their agreement. Once again a trap was laid, only this time she would be the bait.