Sister of Rogues (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

“Ye had best be careful,” Lona whispered to Fiona as they moved about the courtyard for their exercise period several days later. “The witch likes ye even less than she does me.”

“I ken.” Fiona didn't have to ask whom Lona meant. It was becoming increasingly evident that the matron had taken an active dislike toward her. Not only had Ada curtailed the amount of time Fiona could work in the garden—she wasn't quite bold enough to forbid it outright and risk Kier's wrath—but the woman made sure tools for digging in the earth went missing, forcing Fiona to use her hands. The gloves had suddenly developed holes in them as well. Fiona didn't mind getting her fingers dirty in the moist soil, nor was she particularly bothered by the cold, wet days when Ada left her in the garden for longer periods. Scotland was cold and wet this time of year also, and being outdoors was better than being caged in a room.

What she did mind though, was Ada's not-so-casual remarks about her owing a favor for not reporting Fiona's violent behavior to the warden. Those remarks, coupled with the fact that Seamus seemed to be spending more time near Fiona, watching her, made Fiona's skin prickle.

Worse, she didn't dare mention her misgivings to Kier. She had no proof of Ada's intentions and the woman would just deny everything. By this time, Fiona had no doubt as to how devious and cunning the matron could be, and Fiona couldn't risk retaliation. More than once, her fingers had itched to carry the club the leprechauns had given her, but any real act of violence would get her put in the asylum for sure.

If only she could speak to Kier alone, she could tell him who Walter Avery really was and why she'd been brought here. The opportunity didn't present itself since Kathleen stayed as close to Kier as she could whenever he joined them. Fiona had a suspicion that Ada had egged her on. Kier himself remained polite but aloof to Kathleen's intentions, not that he singled Fiona out for attention either.

She desperately needed to escape.

“Do ye ken where the doors in these walls lead?” she asked Lona when Ada moved farther away to take shelter from the cool wind.

“Hallways like ours, most likely.”

Fiona supposed that made sense. The castle was built in a square around the courtyard. The back wing that contained their rooms had hallways running the length of the first and second floors with stairwells at either end by the towers. Once on the ground floor, there was a door leading into the courtyard that they crossed to get to the dining room in the front wing. She eyed the doors on the side wings. “I wonder if either of those hallways leads to the towers.” Fiona hadn't seen any access to the back towers from their wing. “There has to be a way to get into them from some place.”

“There probably is, but we are not allowed to go there.”

Not allowed
was a relative term that Fiona rarely heeded. Her brothers insisted she'd given them grey hairs from all the times she had not listened to them. Perhaps her nose for adventure might come in handy now. That hidden passageway had to lead somewhere. If it led to a tower, she wanted to know which hallway presented a way out.

Perhaps the faerie would know. Aware that Ada watched, Fiona strolled leisurely over to the bench near the faerie's plant and sat down. Ever so casually, she bent over to sweep a non-existent pebble from her shoe, brushing her hand against the leaves as if by accident. Nothing stirred.

“She is gone.”

Startled, Fiona looked up at Lona who had followed her. “What?”

“The faerie. She is gone. Off with the leprechauns somewhere.”

“I…see.” So Lona knew about the wee folk.

Or did she? After all, Lona not only saw ghosts, but also the devil in a book… Fiona shook her head to clear it, wondering if Lona was sane or she herself was the one going slowly mad?

Ignoring the paperwork that lay on his desk in preparation for Daniel O'Connell's meeting two nights hence, Kier picked up one of the three volumes of Sir Walter Scott's
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border
that he'd taken off a high shelf in the library. Blowing the dust from the cover, he wondered if perhaps Fiona would like reading the set as well. Her father had said they were from Carlisle. Perhaps reading more about the border would jog Fiona's memory.

At least, that's what he told himself. In truth, he wanted to give her something that would bring her pleasure.

By St. Patrick. Kier put the book down. Why could he not stop thinking about Fiona? Yesterday, he had observed her in the courtyard from the arrow slit in the tower room. She had been talking to Lona and then she'd gone to one of the stone benches and bent down to take a pebble from her shoe. Kier had been intrigued by the show of a trim ankle until he realized Fiona was actually fiddling with the leaves of a plant as though she were searching for something. He couldn't imagine what she might have dropped, but the look of disappointment on her face when she sat up had been the catalyst in his search for more of Scott's books.

He'd gone to the courtyard today to ask her if she'd like another book, but ironically, Fiona had asked if she might visit the library again. Like some besotted youth, he'd practically stuttered his assent.

He should be working on replies he'd received to the carefully worded missives Finley had sent out, instead of waiting for Fiona's appearance. Kier walked over to the table where a map of Ireland was spread out. The O'Neills from Meath as well as the O'Briens of Connacht had responded in coded words of support that would seem benign if the letters fell into the wrong hands. Keir was still waiting to hear whether the majority of men from Leinster and Munster would rally to the cause. He picked up the smaller map of Dublin. Christ Church Cathedral was a safe meeting place as long as they didn't use it regularly and the group didn't get too large. He'd have to think about other viable places to meet as well.

The big clock encased in wood and glass gonged the hour and, as if by magic, his library door opened and Fiona stood in the doorway, an ethereal vision in pale muslin and flowing black hair, a soft light glowing around her. Kier blinked at how otherworldly she looked and then realized that Seamus held a torch high behind her, causing the silhouette and hiding her facial features. Kier shook his head at his own foolish thoughts. If he didn't curb his fantasies, he'd be believing in Finley's wee folk next.

“Please come in.” Kier put the map down and then frowned as Seamus followed Fiona inside. “You can wait in the hall.”

“My orders are to accompany the inmate.”

By all the saints. He was tired of orders. “This is my home and I will decide if one of my guests needs watching.”

The guard looked sullen, but he stepped outside and closed the door none too gently behind him.

“Thank you,” Fiona murmured.

Two small words, and yet they seemed so much greater—so heartfelt. Kier took in the lovely features of her face, those unusual silvery eyes holding his gaze. “You are more than welcome.” He gestured her to sit and took his own chair.

“Ye doona ken how much it means to be free of him.”

Kier frowned. “Has Seamus bothered you?”

Fiona shook her head quickly. Almost too quickly. Kier felt a surge of rage rise in him that he hadn't felt since his mother died. “If he has touched you—”

“No. I…I just meant, 'tis uncomfortable to be watched all the time.”

Kier felt guilt wash over him as he thought of how many times he'd watched her too, from the safety of the tower, albeit it for a different reason. “I cannot banish the guard, but I can tell him to keep a proper distance.”

Fiona shook her head again. And again, too quickly, Kier thought. Before he could ask if she was afraid of Seamus, she changed the subject.

“I ken who Walter Avery is.”

“Ah. So the book helped.”

She looked confused. “The book?”

Kier pointed to the book she'd laid on the desk when she'd first sat down. “
The Lay of the Last Minstrel
. Since the poem is about a woman who lost her husband, I thought it might help you remember your own.”

Fiona gave him an irritated look. “I have nae husband. I told ye that.”

So the story hadn't helped her remember. Perhaps she wasn't ready. “Well, at least, you remember your father.”

Now she looked at him as if he'd gone mad. “Of course, I remember my da. He was killed in a carriage wreck, along with my stepmother, when I was young.”

Fiona had mentioned that once before. Maybe he should go along with her story for now. “Then who do you think Walter Avery is?”

She started talking so fast, Kier had a hard time comprehending all of it. Or maybe he didn't comprehend because it all sounded so unreal. Something about a man named Wesley Alton, who was really Walter Avery, and who had abducted not one but two of Fiona's sisters by marriage. Her brothers—the ones he doubted existed—had rescued both women and married them. Not only that, this Walter/Wesley person was suspected of killing an earl's wife, who had been his mistress. To top it all off, the man had been taken first to Newgate and then to Bedlam, from which he had escaped.

“And that is why the beast abducted me,” Fiona concluded breathlessly.

Kier frowned, hesitant to ask Fiona to explain further. None of it made sense and he didn't want to upset her even more. Still, he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Why would someone who escaped Bedlam want to abduct you?”

Fiona's expression turned incredulous. She took a deep breath and then spoke slowly as though Kier had only half his wits about him. “He. Wants. The. Titles. Of. Earl of Cantford. And. Marquess of Newburn.”

Kier was more perplexed than before. “Those are English estates, are they not? You are from Scotland.”

Fiona looked heavenward as though praying for assistance from the saints, and Kier got the feeling she truly did think him a dolt. Then she began talking rapidly again. He tried to focus, but this story was even more incredible than the first. One of her
Scottish
brothers had inherited an
English
title and married a marchioness to boot, while the Walter/Wesley person had returned from
France
where his father had sent him after discovering the boy was having an affair with his stepmother and wanted to claim his father's title—Kier thought it was the marquess, but he wasn't sure—as well. And…

Kier became aware of total silence in the room. Fiona sat quietly, staring at him.

“Ye doona believe me.”

“I find it hard—”

Fiona jumped up. “Ye doona believe me! I ken it sounds barmy, but I am nae the one who is mad.” She turned and rushed from the room before Kier could gather his thoughts to reply.

Kier slammed his fist on his desk. He was a bloody fool to be lusting after another man's widow and one whose memory was not intact at that. Fiona had spun an incredible yarn worthy of someone who'd kissed the Blarney Stone. He had to admit she had an extremely creative imagination and she'd looked so earnest in the telling of it. But then, Lady Jane Claire had looked earnest too when she'd explained the investment she had for him…before she took his money and ran away. Had he not learned his lesson in falling for beseeching looks and pleas?

Kier grimaced, knowing he was not doing Fiona justice. She was not Lady Jane Claire Litton, but the tale Fiona told was totally unbelievable, from beginning to end.

Wasn't it?

Fiona lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling as the daylight faded into dusk. She hadn't moved since she'd returned from the fiasco in the library earlier.

How could she have been such a fool? Blethering on like that. If Kier had not thought her a madwoman before, he surely would now. He'd even admitted he found it hard to believe her. Not that she could blame him exactly. The whole thing sounded as fantastical as the story about a mad scientist that Mary Shelley had written this past summer. When Shane had returned from France and told Fiona people were talking about it, she'd thought it utterly ridiculous. No one could create a monster. She still didn't think a human could create one, but a monster certainly had been born—his name was Walter Avery.

But how could she make Kier believe her?

If only she hadn't nattered on. Now Kier probably thought her the worst of the lot. Dulcee talked to angels and Lona saw ghosts. Kathleen might give herself fine airs in keeping with an imaginary lord husband, but Fiona had just topped all three of them with her insistence that a madman escaped from Bedlam had arranged for
three
abductions and murdered the wife of an earl. Worse, she'd mentioned her brothers again, and Kier thought they didn't exist.

Fiona had meant to stay calm and present the facts of her abduction in a logical way. Instead, she'd gone all soft and mushy inside when Kier had asked if Seamus had touched her. The flash of anger in Kier's sapphire eyes had sent a corresponding flare of heat coursing through her. She'd let herself think he cared, maybe even wanted to protect her. Then she'd seen the look of disbelief on his face and known he had only been thinking about his responsibility to his
guests
.

He hadn't even tried to stop her when she'd run out. What more proof did she need that he took no personal interest in her? And she needed to stop thinking about him.

For now though, she would cease trying to convince Kier of the truth, lest he think she was slipping deeper into the madness he believed her to have. She would have to be careful not to exhibit any strong emotions either, but behave in a ladylike, submissive manner. Fiona tried to smile, thinking how her brothers would laugh at the idea of her being submissive. It was a quality not in her nature, but she needed to survive and would be wise to remember it.

Fiona sighed. If only she had been able to snag a candle. Who knew when she'd be getting to the library again?