Flight of the Earls (10 page)

His mouth opened in surprise but then straightened, as if he didn't want her to think she was overpaying. He flipped the coin she gave him in the air and caught it deftly. “Five pence. Consider it done.” With that, he put his hat back on his head and spun, the tails of his coat lifting up.

The door closed behind him and the lantern went with him, leaving her in darkness. She probed her way to the door, and by the time she found the handle and opened it, he was gone from the hallway as well. Too tired to protest, she retreated back inside and lay down on the bed, fearful to know the condition of the linen.

For Clare, who had shared a bed with her siblings her entire life, this lonely room offered a touch of luxury. And before she could enjoy her independence, her eyes closed and she was gone. Her dreams replayed the past week's events to her, albeit in raw and distorted fashion. Rather than the pictures of tranquil retreat she usually enjoyed in her sleep, these were fraught with worry and hopelessness.

She woke sometime later with a start, her face flushed and her body sweaty.

Clare was not alone.

Chapter 8

A Tale of the Woods

Clare's eyes opened to the moist blackness of the room and her heart pulsated. So much so she feared the pounding in her chest could be heard. She lay still in terror and listened with all her flesh.

There was the sound of snoring and labored breathing near her bed. She strained her eyes, hoping they would adapt in the darkness.

Should she risk moving? What could she use as a weapon?

Raising her head inch by inch, Clare pressed up from the bed with her arms. A creak and then a groan sounded from the old mattress.

She froze again. Waited. Listened. If only the room wasn't so dark.

Sliding from under the blanket, she pivoted until her feet touched the ground. Pause. Then she rose as silently as possible, but the bed betrayed her with a squeak ripping at her tattered nerves.

The snoring stopped. A shadow moved and Clare let out a yelp as her body propelled toward the direction of the door. But her legs got caught in a mass on the floor and she tumbled to the ground. Arms reached out to grab her. She began to scream and a hand covered her mouth.

“Clare. Clare. It's me.”

She recognized the voice instantly and the terror waned.

Suddenly, light filled the room and Clare saw she was in her brother's arms. Pierce held a lantern in his outstretched arm, his tired eyes filled with concern.

Clare's panic shifted toward rage. “What? How did you—?”

“The little man in the suit,” Seamus said. “He brought us here.”

“Pence?”

“Who?”

“Pence. The boy. That's his name. He actually found you?”

“Found us, he did,” Seamus said. “And he tried to shake us for five pence. Says you told him it was fair bounty. I paid him well with a twist of his ear.”

“You didn't?”

“I did. And I would have done the other ear if the boy hadn't turned and run.”

Clare sighed as she climbed to her feet and embraced Seamus. “Well, I suppose it's good to see your faces. I thought them for lost.”

A pounding noise interrupted them.

They exchanged perplexed looks. “Who is it?” Clare asked.

No answer. A key turned in the lock and the handle of the door turned. The door cracked open to the splashing light of a lantern. Soon the bulbous nose of the innkeeper emerged, followed by the man himself.

“What's the racket in here all about?”

Pierce stepped forward between the man and Clare. “What manners are there in barging into a lady's room without permission?”

The innkeeper raised his lantern toward Clare and then glared toward the boys.

Clare was grateful she had slept in her clothes. “This, sir, is my brother and his friend.”

“Yes. Certainly they are. But regardless, it will cost you another two pence each for your . . . relations.”

Before her brother could protest, Clare grabbed her purse, pulled out four coins, and handed it to the man. “Very well. Now would you be kind enough to let us be?”

Stubby fingers reached out to grab the coins. “Unless yer planning on staying another night, it's time for you all to leave. It's well past morn.”

Surprised to hear day was already upon them, they offered no opposition and the innkeeper retreated out the door.

It took the three of them only a few minutes to gather their belongings. Clare noticed the filthy pillow she had been sleeping on all night. The light filtering into the room revealed more dirt, cobwebs, and strange fluids spilled on the floor, and she couldn't bear staying for another moment.

They went down the dark hallway and returned the rusted key to the keeper, and in the bright sunlight and midday street activity, they winnowed their way toward the center of the city.

They passed children playing in the streets, mothers hanging bedding and clothing from second- and third-story windows, pigs wandering on cobblestone roads, and vendors proclaiming their wares.

Clare reveled in the rediscovered security of being with Seamus and Pierce, but she wasn't ready to forgive them for the torture they put her through yesterday. “So what happened to the two of you? And how did Pence find you?”

“Pence?” Seamus took off his hat and brushed back his hair. “Oh, your little man.”

“He found us at a pub,” Pierce said. “Not much to it. The story is in how we found the pub.”

“'Tis.” Seamus nodded. “It was a favorite of your dear friend Mr. Finn, the pig farmer. He took us there himself.”

“The old man?” Clare shifted her pack to relieve some of the pressure from her shoulders. “Tell me you didn't trouble him to bear you all the way back to Cork?”

“Trouble him we did,” Seamus said. “But not before we got his pigs returned to him. The ones you lost.”

Clare stepped out of the alleyway to stand clear of an old woman pushing a cart of potatoes. “How did you go about doing this?”

Seamus went to grab a tater from the cart as it went by, but the woman stopped and stared him down. “Sorry, miss.” He lifted his hat before turning back to Clare. “The pigs? That's a story there, I'll tell ya.”

“Seeing as you left with our ride, we were on foot when we came upon the old man,” Pierce said.

“Ah, he was a sad sight to see.” Her brother readjusted his pack on his shoulders. “Almost to tears, he was, the horses too, believe it. Of course, after proper greetings we had inquiries about your whereabouts, and that's when he told us of the tinkers.”

“We were near abouts where it happened,” Pierce said.

“Aye. And we jumped in and Finn rode us there, and sure enough if we didn't see one of them tinkers, sitting at the side of the road, as innocent as the day.”

“Finn was aiming to stroke him with his whip.” The redhead motioned with his arm. “But your brother had a better plan.”

“That I did. Finn told us about this tinker being a bit slowish and taking a liking to you. Orin remembered you well, and I asked him if he was looking to marry soon.”

“You did not do anything of the sort.” Clare folded her arms across her chest.

“And I told the poor fella that as your kin, I'd agree to it if he would only return the pigs as part of a fair trade. A dowry of sorts.”

“A fair trade, indeed.” Pierce smirked.

Seamus put his arm around Clare. “Overpriced if you ask me, but a trade offered nonetheless. So, sure enough, the fellow walks us right through the woods to a pen with all of Finn's lovelies, putting their noses in the air like they were seeing their mammy. Your man even helped us herd them and load 'em up.”

“What about the nasty tinker?” Clare asked. “The hard-spirited one.”

“Didn't see 'em,” Pierce said. “Which was disappointing as I had words to share with him.”

“As it is,” Seamus said, “your man is probably still waiting on the road with flowers in his hand, wondering when his bride will be coming around the bend.”

“As if I can believe any of that tale.” Clare withheld a smile, which would only encourage them further. But she did hope at least parts of their story were true, especially when it came to Finn reclaiming his pigs.

They turned a corner on the pathway, and it spilled out into the main vein of the city—a bustle of horse-drawn carriages, fruit wagons, peddlers, ladies wearing imported fashion sharing steps with the shadiest of street urchins and thieves.

“What now?” Pierce said.

They all froze, Clare feeling small against the frame of grandeur. None of them answered for a few minutes, and they took off their heavy packs, propping them against the wall of a three-story, brightly painted yellow building.

“We should probably split up in two.” Seamus took off his hat and ran his fingers through his black curls. “I'll go to the port to get the passages and you two can provision up.”

Clare didn't like the idea of being separated from her brother again. “Do you think this wise?”

“Seamus is right.” Pierce's eyes widened as he gazed at the activity of the bustling street, noisy with the trots of horse buggies and the shouts of vendors. “The longer we stay in the city, the more we'll spend what little we don't have.”

Pierce reached into his pack and pulled out a wallet. After fumbling through it, he pulled out several bills and extended them to Seamus. “My father said it should cost about ten quid per passage. Here's ten for me and a few more.”

“Well?” Seamus held out his hand to Clare.

She hesitated for a moment and then reached into her pack as well. Liam had given her the full treasury and made her promise not to leave it with her brother. But her father was not here and Seamus would need to be trusted at some point on the journey. It might as well start now.

She carefully counted out twenty-five pounds and handed it to Seamus, feeling as if she had just given him the air they would need to breathe. She looked back into her purse. There would be little for supplies, let alone something to hold them over when they landed in America.

“We'll need to be prudent,” she said to Pierce.

“We won't starve. My father gave me enough for there and back.”

“What's yours is yours,” Clare said.

“And what's mine is mine to do what I want with it,” Pierce said sternly.

“All right you two.” Seamus folded the bills in his leather pouch, which he tucked away in his tunic. “Pierce, you have my blessing to spend all of your pa's money on me. My sister's portion of your generosity as well. Now, where to meet?” He panned the marketplace. “There. Let's gather at the tavern across the way before sunset. Perhaps your dear father will pay for a pint while he's in the mood of generosity.”

With that, Seamus tipped his cap to them and then scurried into the crowd.

“Hey, you left your pack,” Pierce shouted after him. He turned to Clare. “Can you believe your brother?”

Clare smiled. “Ah. It's well he's traveling light.”

Pierce stumbled as he tried to hoist the two packs over his shoulder. “It's a fine thing for him, I'll say.”

Clare looked back in the direction where Seamus had disappeared, and her eyes sought out one last glimpse of her brother among the throbbing of disquieted humanity.

But he was gone and Clare's brows bent.

Chapter 9

Shamrock's Lair

In her entire life, Clare had never stepped into a tavern. An unusual feat considering how her father considered the pub an extension of home. But Grandma Ella always told her a lady shouldn't enter a place where drink eroded the character and restraint of men.

For Clare, it reminded her of all she detested in her father: his anger, his drowning in bitterness, and his cruelty to her mother and siblings. She found nothing amusing nor admirable in Seamus's antics, even though he wore his patronage of stout as a badge.

Yet upon entering the Shamrock's Lair, Clair was surprised to experience a surging spirit of adventure. There was something about being away from home in an establishment full of lost souls, villainous characters, and treasure-eyed travelers that gave her an odd sense of merry fellowship.