Irish Linen (28 page)

“What ya gonna do with’er, Micky?” the unkempt man said as he glared across the room at Meghan.

“Oh, I’ve plans for me Meghan.” Rafferty leered at her, and Meghan shivered. “Plans that will make us rich!”

“What kind of plans, Micky?” Ned Wiley looked at the Irishman stupidly.

“Be quiet, fool! I’ll tell ya later.” His green gaze raked Meghan with a wicked look from head to toe. “I wouldn’t want to ruin me surprise, would I?”

“Ye’re a bastard, Rafferty O’Connor,” Meghan spat. She was tied to a chair at her hands, waist, and ankles. She’d never had a chance to run from her former fiancé, for there had been another man with him—the slow-witted Ned Wiley, who asked questions incessantly. From what she’d heard from the two men’s conversation, there was apparently a third man.

“Now, Meggie love, what would yer da say?”

She struggled against her bonds, trying to rise. “He’d kill ye if he were alive!” She had seen that Raf-ferty’s hand was burned, and she knew that it had been him who’d started the fire at Patty’s. But she kept silent.

“Well, darlin’, your da’s not alive, is he? So I’ve nothin’’ to worry about.” Rafferty turned to Ned.
“Keep an eye on her, Neddie boy. Don’t touch’er and don’t let anyone else near’er. Got that?”

Ned bobbed his head vehemently. “I got it, Micky.”

“Good boy,” Rafferty said, and the “boy” beamed.

“Rafferty,” Meghan called as he started to leave, but he ignored her. “Rafferty O’Connor, I’m not finished with ye!” she shouted.

He stopped near the door, stiffening before turning around. “Apparently ye were finished with me, weren’t ye,
love?
Ye wouldn’t speak to me these last weeks. And then when ye finally did, ye wouldn’t listen!”

She glared at him as if unafraid, but she was frightened of Rafferty O’Connor. He wasn’t the same man from the County of Cork. He wasn’t the man she’d known as her father’s friend.
He may have tried to murder me!

Meghan was relieved when her former fiancé left. What did he plan to do with her? As she studied her dim-witted guard, she recalled Rafferty and that naked woman.
Oh, Da, what’s happened to him?

Ned Wiley sat at a table and was shoving bread into his mouth faster than he could chew it. Meghan watched him with disgust. The man caught her staring and paused with half-chewed food hanging from his lips to offer her a hunk of his bread. Although she was hungry, she eyed the bread in Ned’s dirty hands and then she shook her head, deciding that she’d rather die than eat the man’s offering.

The man shrugged, uncaring whether she ate or not, and went back to eating his simple meal, washing the bread down with a tankard of ale.

Meghan closed her eyes, believing she was safe for now. Ned was obviously stupid enough to follow Raf-ferty’s instructions to the letter, so she had nothing to fear until Rafferty or that other man—whoever he was—returned.

Her thoughts went to Lucas. He would have found her note by now. Was he furious with her? Hurt?

Oh, God, she’d never meant to hurt him! She loved him, and it’d been foolish, she realized, for her to leave. She’d braved more difficult trials in her life than meeting Lucas’s family. Why hadn’t she stayed and married the man she loved?

Trapped in a run-down building with an idiot guard and her hands tied, Meghan decided that it no longer was important whether or not Lucas returned her love. He was a man of his word. He would have married her whether or not his parents approved of her, whether or not anyone approved, because he wanted her.

She recalled the tenderness in his expression when he gazed into her eyes… the sweet caress of his fingertips against her skin. He had looked at her with something in his gaze… even if he didn’t love her, he had cared.

Why didn’t I stay?

Keeping her gaze on Ned, Meghan worked to break her wrist bonds, but she was unable to free herself, only rub her skin raw.
God, please let Lucas come… even if it’s to get angry with me. Please let me see him one more time.

The door to the room burst open, and Meghan gasped. The third man in Rafferty’s little group of hoodlums was none other than Mathew Phelps. Meghan began to pray harder.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the weaver, Meghan McBride, ” he said ‘with a sneer. “Thanks to you I lost my job. I sure hope I find that you’re worth it.” He approached her, his eyes gleaming wickedly, his intent plain.

“Touch me, and you’ll be sorry,” she cried.

But Phelps only laughed and reached out to fondle her.

“Phelps!” Rafferty barked as he came through the door. “Hands off till I have her first!”

Meghan breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes. She prayed that she’d escape before either man could lay a hand on her.

Lucas had searched Philadelphia for two days with no sign of Meghan. He would have given up the notion that she had come here long ago, if not for the Gar-ritys, whom he’d stopped to question on his way to the city. Their small house was located off the main road, and Lucas had gone to the door with little hope—after so many unsuccessful attempts with others—that the Garritys would have seen Meghan. But to his surprise, Mr. and Mrs. Garrity had not only seen his Meghan, but they’d taken her in for the night. Mr. Garrity had expressed his concern for the young woman. She’d been worn out and clearly unhappy with—he suspected—no real place to go.

“She said she was going to visit a friend,” Mrs. Garrity said. “Bridget, I believe the lass’s name was, but I’m afraid I can’t remember her last name.”

Lucas had searched his memory. “Cleary,” he murmured. “Bridget Cleary.”

“Oh, so there really is a friend then,” Mr. Garrity said.

“But I don’t think she knows where Bridget lives,” Lucas replied after he’d nodded. “But I’ll find her. If there’s a God in heaven, I’ll find her.”

“We’re glad to know that someone is looking for Meghan, but may we ask the reason why?”

“She’s my betrothed, Mrs. Garrity,” Lucas said, “and I love her. I’m afraid she may have thought I didn’t care, but I’ll make sure she knows,” he added with determination. “I want her home with me.”

The couple looked relieved to know that someone cared for Meghan McBride, and they wished Lucas God’s blessing for success in finding the young Irishwoman.

But now after two long days of asking questions about Meghan and whether or not anyone knew the Clearys, Lucas was frightened and at his wit’s end.

“Meghan, love, where are you? Think of me… let me know.”

Then it suddenly occurred to him that he looked out of place in some of the seedy parts of the city. He stopped a poor-looking soul on the street and offered the man coin and his own clothes in exchange for the ragged garments the man wore.

The man stared at the shiner in Lucas’s hand and then at the well-dressed gentleman, and when he realized that Lucas was serious, the fellow was quick to agree.

The stranger left with Lucas’s good clothes, a grin, and a gold eagle in the pocket of his new waistcoat, the ten dollars more money than he’d ever possessed at one time. Lucas headed into the bowels of Philadelphia, wearing smelly old clothes that were a size too small for him.

“Slavery!” Meghan gasped.

“Aye, love, I’m afraid since ye didn’t want me to husband, ye’ll be pleasing other men for the rest of yer dear sweet life.” Rafferty smiled. “There’s a white slave trader who specializes in female goods… and although I’ve yet to experience how good ye are, I could, at least, assure him that ye are a female—and a lovely one at that.”

“Bastard!”

His grin became a scowl. “So ye’ve said, and yer name calling’s beginning to get tiresome.”

Anger made Meghan dare to taunt him. “Why are ye here, Rafferty O’Connor? What happened? Did yer employer find ye with yer trousers down!”

“Bitch!” Rafferty drew back his hand and slapped her hard across the face. Meghan’s head reeled from the impact as he addressed Phelps. “Hold in yer tongue, lad. Ye can have a taste of her soon after I’ve tried her.”

“I told ye I’ll not let ye lay a hand on me!” she vowed, shaken.

Rafferty laughed, and his cohorts chuckled with him. “Now, lads, how de ye suppose she plans to stop us with her hands tied?” He looked away, dismissing her. “Matt, I need ya to come with me. We need to make arrangements to leave this city as soon as we get our money.” He shot Ned a look. “Watch her, Neddie boy, but don’t touch her.” And then Rafferty left with Phelps, confident that Ned would obey his order.

“Ned,” Meghan called softly after the two men had gone. “Would ye untie me hands? They hurt me.”

Ned stared at her and then shook his head. “Can’t touch.”

“Just the rope, Ned.”

He hesitated as if deciding. “Nope.”

Meghan cursed beneath her breath as she closed her eyes. It’d take a miracle for her to escape her present predicament.

Lucas waited in the shadow of a brick building and watched the old grogshop across the street. According to Slim-Eye, a pickpocket he’d caught trying to lift his pouch of coin, there were three men and a woman holed up in the room above the shop. One of the
fellows was an Irishman. Slim-Eye had seen the woman go in several days ago, but he’d never stayed to see if she came out.

He knew he was crazy to follow such a pathetic lead, one given to him by a petty thief, but Lucas was desperate. He’d watch every building in Philadelphia if he had to—he loved Meghan that much.

It had been four days that he’d wandered the city, looking for his beloved, and at times—like now—he wondered if he’d ever find her. He asked himself whether or not she could still be alive, and then he’d thought that he’d surely feel it if she were dead.

His family must be frantic, he thought. Although he’d managed to send word to his aunt’s telling her that his “business” had delayed him, his mother would be beside herself that he wasn’t there.

If he didn’t find Meghan by morning, he’d have to seriously consider going home. He had some affairs to be put in order, before he came back and continued his search for Meghan.

The door next to the shop entrance opened, and Lucas tensed. Two men exited; one was an Irishman and the other—
Good God, Mathew Phelps!
The Irishman spoke to his friend, and Lucas strained to hear. He couldn’t make out the words at first, until the men began an argument, and the Irishman’s voice rose along with his temper. Then Lucas heard the one word he’d wanted so badly to hear.
Meghan.

Dear God, he’d found her. Or at least he’d found Rafferty O’Connor, he’d wager. The man was middle- aged with Irish features, sandy brown hair, and a stocky build. The same description had been given to him by his friend, Robert Somerton, Michael’s brother.

His heart began to beat faster as he waited for the two men to disappear down the street. “Thank you, Slim-Eye,” Lucas murmured as he hurried across the
road toward the building. He was actually glad now that he’d let the thief go, that he hadn’t punched the man senseless as he’d threatened.

The shop, it appeared, had been closed down for some time. Lucas stared at the groggery before pushing open the door beside it. The action didn’t make a sound, which was a miracle, Lucas thought, considering the deplorable condition of the wood.

There was a narrow corridor with a long flight of stairs to the second floor. Lucas studied the steps and decided that they appeared solid enough. He set his first footstep carefully, his breath quickening as he wondered what or who he was going to find above.

He stopped on the second to the last step and listened. Lucas heard voices, one of them Meghan’s.
Oh, love, thank God!
He stuck his hand in his pocket and slipped out the weapon he’d confiscated from Slim-Eye, the knife that the thief had attempted to turn on Lucas when the man was caught. Lucas cradled the knife handle in his palm and stepped onto the top landing, grateful when the floor didn’t squeak beneath his worn boot heels.

“Ned, please. I promise I’ll behave if ye untie me arms.” Meghan bit her lip. Her cheek throbbed where Rafferty had struck her, and she had to relieve herself. Although her need wasn’t urgent, she didn’t want to wait for Rafferty’s return and the embarrassment of his amusement as he stood guard over her and watched. “I’ve got to use the necessary.” She blushed, because it was true.

“Can’t,” Ned said. “Can’t touch.”

“But I have to relieve meself!” she cried on a note of desperation. “Would ye rather I go here… in this chair?”

The idiot regarded her with alarm. “No. Ya must wait. Micky will be back soon.”

“His name is Rafferty. Rafferty O’Connor!”

“Micky,” Ned insisted. “Said to call him Micky, so I call him Micky.”

“Do ye do everything he tells ye to do?”

The man nodded.

“Why?”

He looked surprised by the question. “Because Micky said to. And Micky knows a lot.”

“Micky doesn’t know everything, Ned,” a deep male voice said.

Meghan’s heart leapt as Lucas stepped into the room. She offered God a silent prayer of thanks.

“Love,” Lucas said, his ebony gaze roaming over her hungrily. His expression grew dark with anger when he saw her bruised face. “Are ye all right?”

She nodded, tears pooling to blur the wonderful sight of him.

“Ned, untie her,” Lucas said with authority.

Ned had risen, and he regarded the stranger warily. “Can’t. Micky said.”

“Ned,” Lucas boomed in a loud, angry voice, “I said to untie her. Micky sent me. I’m in charge now.”

Meghan saw Ned’s confusion and then finally his understanding.

“I have to touch her,” Ned said, looking uneasy.

“Just her hands, Ned,” Lucas warned.

The man nodded. “Just her hands,” he promised.

Meghan exchanged looks with Lucas, and she saw that he was startled by how easy it’d been to manipulate Ned.

Still, they had to get away quickly, before Rafferty and Mathew Phelps returned.

Ned freed her hands within seconds, then he started to untie her waist.

“Ya from the slave shop?” Ned asked innocently.

After a startled look, Lucas stared at the slow-witted man and silently fumed. “Slave shop?” he said. He nodded. “Yes.”