Sister of Rogues (23 page)

She doubted any of the women would be allowed in the dining room after what had happened, but when Erin came for the breakfast tray, somehow Fiona would persuade her that she had to talk to Mr. O'Reilly.

She waited. When her stomach began rumbling, signaling lunch, she began to wonder if the meal was even going to be brought. Just as she thought Ada might be withholding food as a means to get Fiona to slip that damnable paper under the door, Erin arrived with bread and cheese. She looked worried.

“Kathleen is telling lies and Ada is angry at ye.”

“I ken.” Fiona knew the real reason Ada was angry didn't have anything to do with Kathleen, but it wasn't something she could share with Erin.

“I will come back for the plate later,” the maid said, “and let ye know what is being said.”

“Thank ye. I appreciate that.”

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows down the crooked road behind the castle when finally the lock turned and Erin appeared in the doorway. Her face was flushed as though she'd run up the steps, her eyes wild as a spooked horse and she gestured haphazardly.

Fiona rushed to her side. “What is it? What is wrong?”

Erin gasped, trying to take in air. “I…they…it…”

“Slow down,” Fiona rubbed Erin's shoulder lightly. “Tell me what's wrong.”

Erin looked at her tearfully. “The warden's downstairs with two guards. Mr. O'Reilly is yelling—I never heard him do that before—but I think…I think the warden's come to take ye away.”

Kier was not particularly surprised when Warden Kelly was ushered into the library late that afternoon. He'd expected to have to make a report on the incident since Ada had gone to the asylum an hour ago, but he hadn't thought two guards would accompany the warden. The hair at the nape of Kier's neck bristled.

“Please sit down,” he said, gesturing to a chair on the other side of the desk and then glanced at Seamus and the other guards. “You can wait in the hall.”

Seamus looked as if to argue but then thought better of it, nodded and took the other two men with him.

The warden glanced at the paper he'd brought in. “I understand Fiona MacLeod threatened to kill Kathleen Butler this morning.”

“I believe that is an overstatement,” Kier said. “An altercation took place earlier in the garden that included name-calling. Kathleen followed Dulcee Donnan inside and grabbed hold of her.”

The warden frowned. “I don't have that in my notes.”

“Well, I have it in
my
notes. Mrs. MacLeod intervened to prevent serious injury to Mrs. Donnan.”

“No one witnessed Mrs. Butler attacking Mrs. Donnan,” the warden said. “Why would you believe Mrs. MacLeod's story?”

“Because I have no reason
not
to believe her.”

Warden Kelly glanced down again. “According to the matron, Mrs. MacLeod has a history of violence since she arrived, which includes pushing Ada as well as throwing water at Mrs. Butler. On another occasion, Mrs. MacLeod jabbed Mrs. Butler and tried to initiate another fight.”

Kier felt his temper rising at Ada's obviously one-sided version, but he kept his voice calm. “Those facts are somewhat distorted. Mrs. Butler tends to provoke such incidents. In any case, their privileges were taken away when the incidents occurred.”

Mr. Kelly gave him a stern look. “That does not excuse pushing the matron. She is in authority of the inmates.”

Kier bit back a retort, although anger was steadily building. “Since this is my home, I am the one in authority.”

“To a degree. Mrs. MacLeod is a ward of the asylum.” The warden sat back and observed Kier. “Ada mentioned that you seemed to take a personal interest in Mrs. MacLeod. I'll admit the woman is lovely, but don't let her charms dissuade you from upholding your duty.”

By St. Patrick. Kier's fists balled beneath the desk. What kind of lies had Ada been spreading? He clenched his jaw and then forcibly loosed it. “My
duty
is to keep each of my guests safe.”

Kelly looked skeptical. “Mrs. Butler was almost strangled today.”

“Because she was about to smash Mrs. Donnan's head against the wall!”

“According to Mrs. MacLeod. No one else witnessed that part.”

“Hellfire and damnation. According to one of the maids, Mrs. Donnan's arms were bruised. Is that not proof enough?”

“Even so, it seems violence has been erupting since Mrs. MacLeod was placed here.” The warden folded his notes and stuck them inside his shirt. “I have decided it would be better for everyone involved if Mrs. MacLeod were transferred to the main building. We have a bed available.”

Kier lowered his brows. “No.”

The warden raised his. “No?”

“No. Mrs. MacLeod is not leaving here.”

“With all due respect, the matter is out of your hands.” Warden Kelly rose and went to the door. “My guards will escort her now.”

“They will not! You and your guards need to leave.”

Kelly turned in the doorway. “Regardless of how you think of her, Mrs. MacLeod is an inmate committed to the Dublin Lunatic Asylum, and I am within my rights—it is my responsibility—to ensure she doesn't harm others. Unless you want to be arrested for interfering with my duty, you will allow me to proceed.” The warden didn't wait for an answer, only gestured to his two guards to follow him while Seamus led the way toward the stairs.

Seething, Kier followed them, feeling as powerless as he had when he found his mother dead. Short of physically striking all four men down, which wouldn't help Fiona, there wasn't anything Kier could do at the moment. He'd have to let her go. Tomorrow morning, he would hire a solicitor to plead his case and he'd send another post to the MacLeod clan at Carlisle. Maybe the other letter had gotten lost. If her brothers existed, he could use their help.

Lost in how he would word the letter, he nearly bumped into the warden coming out of Fiona's room. The man narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

“Where is she?”

Kier frowned. “What do you mean? She's confined to her room.”

“She is not here.”

Kier pushed past him into the room. The room was empty. Fiona was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Fiona slipped out the postern door of the locked tower room and stood near the castle wall, breathing in the damp air that threatened rain. For the moment, she was free.

She looked down the narrow street leading away from the castle and tried to remember its placement on the map. The convent was to the west of the castle, which meant she needed to turn right, but there wasn't a road in that direction. She'd just have to take the first intersection she came to. Fiona glanced up at the windows along the back wall. She wasn't sure if Kathleen's chamber faced this direction, but she prayed no one was looking out just now. Pulling her shawl over her head, Fiona began walking.

A part of her wanted to look back. She was leaving Kier, and that thought filled her with sadness even though she knew she had no other choice. Erin had said he'd shouted at the warden, which meant Kier was not able to keep her safe any longer. Turning around to look would be folly though. Someone might be watching. Straightening her shoulders, Fiona hurried on, sticking close to the shadows the buildings lent the road.

As she walked, she thought about the offer Erin had made to help her. The maid had said she'd leave the door unlocked and make sure the door leading out of the kitchens was open as well. She'd even tried to give Fiona the small leather bag of coin she kept in her pocket—her salary, no doubt. Fiona had handed it back, along with thanks, but told Erin that they must trust Mr. O'Reilly to work this out. Fiona couldn't tell Erin about the passageway and the last thing she wanted was for the maid to be blamed for helping her escape. Fiona was all too aware of the revenge Ada would take.

After several blocks, Fiona came to a wider street that intersected the one she was on. Several public houses opened onto narrow sidewalks and the smells of roasting meat and cabbage soup wafting out reminded Fiona she'd only had bread and cheese earlier, but she had no time to tarry. In any event, there were several men standing about as well.

Fiona pulled her shawl forward, hiding more of her face. The blue gown she'd quickly changed into was tattered, but it still looked like a fancy ball gown. She wished she'd had something more plain to wear so she could blend in with the people, but her only alternative was the asylum shift, and that would clearly have given her away.

“Eh, lady! Aren't ye a bit far from Fownes Street?” one of the men asked as she passed by.

Fiona ignored him and picked up her pace when another man laughed.

“Maybe she's trying to strum up more business,”

“Looks to be a right pretty thing,” a third man piped up. “How much do ye charge?”

A hand shot out, grabbing Fiona's arm. “If ye don't want to go all the way back to the brothel, we can get a room here.”

A chorus of ayes accompanied the notion, along with comments of who would be first. Fiona wrestled her arm away and reached her other hand under the shawl for her club. Before the man knew what she was about, she'd swung backhanded and connected with the man's groin. He gave a muffled squawk before falling to his knees. Fiona jumped back, assuming the stance her brothers had taught her during swordplay and held the club ready.

One of the men leered and another snarled as they stepped forward, trying to flank her. Fiona took another step back, her eyes shifting only slightly to keep both men in view. She tightened her grip on the club, muttering desperately that the leprechauns who'd given it to her were nearby to trip her attackers.

It didn't happen of course, but the tip of the club began to glow with a strange light. A light that grew and extended, reaching out. The men stopped, stumbling over themselves as they backed away.

“Witch!”

“
Sidhe!
”

“What the devil is going on out here?” the proprietor of one of the public houses came out followed by a plump woman wearing an apron.

Both men started jabbering as the third one slowly stood. “She's a witch! Fae! The devil's mistress.”

“Have ye all gone daft?” The plump woman bustled over to Fiona. “'Tis just a young lass.” She glowered at the men. “'Tis too many tankards of ale ye've had.”

“Get along with ye then,” the proprietor said, waving a beefy arm.

The men glanced once more at Fiona holding what now appeared to be a normal club and turned, bumping into each other as they ran.

“There, there,” the woman said to Fiona after they'd gone. “Why do ye not come in and have some tea?”

Fiona shook her head. “Thank ye, but I need to get to the Sisters of Charity.”

“'Tis a far walk.” The woman looked over Fiona's gown. “Dressed as ye are, and as pretty as ye are, ye'll no doubt get accosted again.”

“Why do ye want to go to the convent?” the man asked.

“I…I…” Fiona hesitated, thinking what to say. “I—”

“'Tis not our business,” the woman said, jabbing the man in the side. “If ye need to go to the Sisters, my husband will take ye.”

He gave his wife a surprised look. “But ye need help with the evening meal.”

“The barkeep can help until ye get back,” she replied. “We cannot let the lass wander about alone.”

“I would be glad to pay ye,” Fiona said.

The woman shook her head. “'Tis no need. Just light a candle and say a prayer for us, if ye will.”

“I will be happy to do that,” Fiona said, realizing now that the danger was over, her knees were beginning to shake. Kier had been right. The streets were no place for a woman alone, even if the leprechauns had enchanted her club.

And then her mind swept back to her conversation with Dulcee.

Perhaps there were real-life angels after all.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I do not know how Mrs. MacLeod could have escaped.” Kier tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice as he looked at the warden seated across from his desk. He needed to be questioning his staff and he needed to be out searching for Fiona, not sitting here repeating what he'd already said a dozen times. “I don't know where she went either.”

The warden looked skeptical. “You are not hiding her then?”

Kier threw up his hands in frustration. “Why would I suddenly decide to hide one of my guests? I had no idea you were going to try and take Mrs. MacLeod away.”

“I will take her away,” the warden answered, “for her safety as well as the rest of the inmates. Violence cannot be condoned.”

As if violence didn't occur at the asylum in the form of torture. Kier bit back the retort. The warden would only tell him they called it regulated correction—for the sake of the patient, of course. “I will take the appropriate measures here to make sure such an episode does not reoccur.”

“That is well and good,” Warden Kelly replied, “but this is not an isolated incident. Mrs. MacLeod has established a pattern of such behavior. I might add that the last time I spoke with her father, he felt having her housed at the asylum would be a better alternative than this arrangement.”

Kier managed to set his mouth in a tight line to avoid gaping at Kelly. What kind of a father—what kind of a
man—
would prefer his daughter live in an asylum and be subject to prolonged discipline and punishment? Kier couldn't fathom it, but his determination grew. He'd posted a letter to Arthur Wellesley, reminding the duke of their brief meeting and asking for help, but he couldn't wait for a response.

“I have told you everything I know, so allow me to show you out.”

“I would like to search the castle first.”

“I have already instructed Ada and Seamus to do just that,” Kier said with a brittle smile. “I will be sure to let you know if they find Mrs. MacLeod.”

As if on cue, Ada appeared in the doorway. Her sour expression told Kier the search hadn't been successful. In an odd way, he felt relieved, even though thinking about Fiona alone on the streets made him anxious.

“No luck then?” the warden asked as he rose.

“Nothing.” Ada looked around the library as though Kier might be hiding Fiona in plain sight. “I questioned Brena and Erin too.”

Kier raised a brow. Ada's questioning techniques left a lot to be desired. “What did you ask?”

“Just when was the last time they'd seen the luna—Mrs. MacLeod.”

“And?”

The matron shrugged. “Brena hadn't seen her at all. Erin said the Scot was in her room when she went to get the lunch tray.”

“And the maid locked the door behind her?” the warden asked.

“Aye. Erin gave me the key when she brought back the dishes, but I always double-check, just in case.” Ada narrowed her eyes. “How could the woman just vanish into thin air?”

It was a question Kier asked himself as well, once he'd finally gotten rid of the warden and sent Ada to check on the other women. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and let himself into the unlocked room. The window remained nailed shut, its glass panes intact. Ada and the warden had already checked under the bed, behind the chamberpot screen and in the armoire on the initial search. Fiona had not been hiding anywhere. Had she overpowered Erin and slipped out when the maid came for the tray? Erin had not sported any bruises, nor had she mentioned an escape.

Kier walked over to the armoire and peered inside again. There was nothing except the extra blanket and Fiona's crumpled inmate shift. He frowned. She must have changed into the blue ball gown she'd been wearing when she first arrived. By St. Patrick. A woman couldn't just waltz through the halls and down the stairs in an evening gown without being noticed. He turned toward the window again, nearly tripping on the small rug bunched up on the floor. Reaching down to straighten it out, he saw part of it was under the armoire. Why in the world…

Comprehension dawned like the sun bursting through morning mist, lifting the fog that had clouded his thinking. Kier pulled on the rug and the armoire slid along with it as though it weighed no more than a child's toy, revealing the passageway behind it. He'd known it was there, but he'd assumed the armoire was too heavy for a petite lady to move. Besides, why would she even think to look for a secret stairwell?

He'd been wrong on both counts. How Fiona had discovered the passage, he didn't know, but she'd been clever enough to use the rug to aid her. Not only in moving the chest away from the wall, but in tugging it closed again. Very, very clever.

But these passages only led to the tower room. While the hallway door on the first floor was bolted from the inside, he didn't think Fiona would try to leave during daylight since she'd have to pass by the courtyard and kitchen.

Which meant she was probably hiding in the off-limits room.

Very, very clever.

Kier stepped inside the passage, turning to tug the armoire to the wall again so no one else wouldn't stumble onto it. The pitch blackness didn't bother him since he knew the steps well, but he slowed his procession, giving himself time to think what he'd say to Fiona. First of all, he'd swear to keep her safe, even if it meant keeping her hidden in the tower room until other arrangements could be made.

And then…then he would kiss her until neither one of them had any sense left.

The mother superior adjusted her spectacles, tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her habit and looked at Fiona seated on a straight-back chair in front of the utilitarian desk used by the nun.

“You say you were abducted and brought to Ireland against your will?”

“Aye. I only just managed to escape.”

The woman looked past Fiona to where Erin's aunt Ailis—Sister Ruth—stood quietly by the door. “You say you believe her story?”

The other nun nodded, although Fiona had to turn to see it, since silence was a virtue at the convent and words were used minimally. She breathed a sigh of relief.

When Mr. Delaney, the public house proprietor, had escorted her to the gates of the convent, the novice who'd met them had been hesitant to allow her inside. Mr. Delaney had explained Fiona had been accosted on the street and needed safe haven. He had no idea of how true that was since she could hardly explain from where she'd escaped. The novice had glanced at the low-cut neckline of Fiona's gown and looked even more skeptical. Finally, an older sister had come out and gently rebuked the novice.

“Our doors are open to those in need,” she'd said.

The novice had given Fiona a look that was none too charitable, but she'd bowed her head and turned away.

Sister Ruth had been summoned. She looked so much like Erin, save for the wimple hiding her hair, that Fiona almost cried at the comfortable familiarity. Sister Ruth had taken her to a tiny cell with a straw pallet on the floor for a bed and a crucifix the only adornment on one wall. Fiona had just sat on the lone chair next to a small table when another novice brought hearty vegetable stew, warm bread with melted butter and a cup of cold milk. Sister Ruth had smiled when Fiona's stomach rumbled and insisted she eat before she talked. The meal was simple, but it tasted as delicious as a feast.

And then Fiona had poured her heart out. On the carriage ride to the convent, she had thought about what she would say and how much detail to mention. She'd thought about concocting a story of being lured to Ireland under false circumstances—which had a wee bit of truth to it—and then being left to fend for herself. She could say she'd met Erin at the farmer's market and the girl had directed Fiona here. If she mentioned the asylum, there was the possibility the Sisters of Charity would alert the authorities and have her returned. In the end, Fiona decided on the truth. Lying just didn't seem the right thing to do in a house of God, and she'd never been good at lying anyway.

Sister Ruth had listened in almost absolute silence, her face as impassive as a faro player's. Fiona hadn't been sure Erin's aunt believed any of it until she had asked Fiona to accompany her to the mother superior's office.