Sister of Rogues Page 5

  Determinedly, Fiona wiped away her tears. Crying would do no good. She had to figure a way to resolve this situation herself. If she couldn’t get Kier alone and make him listen to reason, she needed another plan. Drawing a ragged breath, Fiona looked out the window at the courtyard below. All four wings of the castle opened to it. Somewhere, there had to be at least one other door.

  She would find it.

  Her face showing her disproval, Ada gestured three of them into a smaller dining room near the kitchens for the midday meal. The room was nowhere as grand as where they’d dined last night. White-washed walls held no paintings or other adornments. The table was roughhewn oak, the wooden chairs straight-backs, and the dinnerware simple pewter bowls and cups. Still, Kathleen swept by the matron with her nose in the air, lifting the misshapen shift as though it were a silken ball gown. Dulcee followed slowly, oblivious to the matron’s finger snapping. Fiona eased into a chair opposite Kathleen. Neither Lona nor Kier were present and Fiona knew better than to ask about Kier. “Where is Lona?”

  Ada smirked. “She was sent for this morn.”

  For some reason, her remark drew nervous glances from Dulcee, who dropped her spoon. Fiona noticed the comment also caused Kathleen to take a sharp breath. “Sent for by whom?”

  By the sideboard, Erin and Brena stilled. Dulcee stared at the spoon she’d retrieved as though it were a foreign object and Kathleen tightened her lips.

  “The warden sent for her,” Ada replied. “She needed a purge.”

  Dulcee’s face chalked and even Kathleen’s robust colour turned pale. Fiona frowned. “A purge?”

  Ada snickered. “Ye will find out about those soon enough.”

  Before Fiona could question further, Seamus entered, half-dragging a limp, listless Lona with him. He pushed her on to a chair from which she promptly fell sideways. With a grunt, he caught and righted her. “Best to bind her,” he said.

  “Just…sleep…please,” Lona whispered weakly, her face as ghostly white as the specters she supposedly saw.

  “Ye would like that, wouldn’t ye?” Ada said as she went to the corner of the room to gather a coiled rope she then wrapped it around the girl, securing her to the chair. “I’ll not be lettin’ ye dream of them ghosts again.” She slapped Lona’s face as the girl’s eyes closed. “The purge has cleaned ye and ye will stay awake.”

  Fiona’s hands coiled into fists beneath the table and she looked down at her plate lest the matron see the anger rising inside her. Her Highland blood made her itch for a sgian dubh. What had they done to Lona at the asylum? Fiona recalled the chilling sounds she’d heard the first day when she’d been in the warden’s office. She also remembered Shane telling her brothers—he hadn’t known she was listening behind the curtains in the library—what had happened to him at Newgate gaol. Prisoners, some of whom weren’t even criminals, were horribly tortured for no reason. Was that was what was happening at the asylum as well?

  With downcast eyes, Erin and Brena served the stew. Fiona doubted she could swallow a mouthful, as knotted as her stomach felt. Something had to be done. Yet never had she felt so helpless. And where was Kier? Could he have stopped the warden from taking Lona up there?

  In silence, the meal dragged on with the slowness of oxen pulling a cart with broken wheels. Poor Lona was given only water to drink because, as Ada said, food would upset her body’s humours. Fiona slipped her portion of bread into the one pocket her shift had, determined somehow to get it to Lona later.

  Fiona forced herself to appear calm, although she was seething. The English still thought the Scots barbarians—and probably the Irish too—yet it was the English who controlled Dublin society and the Dublin Lunatic Asylum as well. Whatever the warden’s minions had done during Lona’s purge, it had left her a mere shell of the chattering person from last night, and she was weak as a newborn kitten.

  For once, Fiona would have been glad to go to her room, but all of them were escorted outside to the courtyard for their appointed hour of exercise, which consisted of walking single file in a circle around the small yard. Since the day was damp and cool and none of them had coats, no one complained about moving about. Dulcee lagged behind as did Lona, who stumbled frequently, barely able to shuffle.

  “Faster.” The matron gave Lona a harsh shove that sent her to the ground, and she then kicked her. “Get up.”

  Fiona fairly flew across the short space, pushed Ada aside and knelt beside Lona. “Let me help ye,” she said and reached to assist the woman. Then she felt herself yanked back hard as Seamus forced her to rise. He twisted her arm behind her, but Fiona managed to kick back with her heel and land it just beneath his kneecap as her brothers had taught her. The man grunted in surprise and then raised his fist to cuff her.

  “Halt!” Kier strode into the courtyard, his Hessian boots a staccato beat across the cobblestones, his face lined in fury. “What the blazes is going on?”

  “That one…” Ada pointed to Fiona, “…pushed Lona to the ground. Seamus was stopping the fight.”

  Fiona gaped at her and then looked around for someone to tell the truth. Dulcee’s expression was empty, although she whispered to herself, and Kathleen’s eyes fixed on a piece of shrubbery. Why didn’t someone speak up? Ada smiled at her and Fiona realized they were all scared of the woman. She controlled the urge to spit in Ada’s face.

  “Release Mrs. MacLeod,” Kier demanded and then bent to help Lona stand. “What happened?”

  She looked nervously to Ada and then at Fiona. “I…I fell. It just looked like Fiona pushed me.”

  Ada’s face darkened. “Ye are lyin’. I saw with me own eyes what happened.”

  What little colour Lona had drained completely and she swayed. “I…I…”

  “I did push her,” Fiona interrupted, realizing punishment would be swift and cruel for Lona if Ada didn’t get her way. “I didnae mean to though. I was walking too fast since ’tis cold out here.”

  Kier frowned, seeming to notice for the first time that all four women were clad in nothing but muslin shifts. “Where are your shawls?”

  Nobody answered and he raised a brow, turning to Ada. “Why were the women not given shawls?”

  Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “It felt warmer earlier.”

  “Well, it is not now. Everyone needs to go inside.”

  “Wait,” Fiona said as they all turned toward the door. “I would like to apologize to Lona first.”

  Kier smiled. “I think that would be good.”

  Fiona moved toward Lona, hugged her with one arm about the shoulders and deliberately blocked Ada’s view with her body. With her other hand, Fiona slipped the chunk of bread into the pocket in Lona’s shift. “’Tis truly sorry I am if I hurt ye.”

  Lona’s fingers slipped over the pocket. “May the faeries help ye,” she said.

  Kier ran his fingers through his hair and contemplated what to do. He had been out all morning visiting businesses, covertly asking questions to determine how willing Irishmen were to protest the Act of Union. He was to meet with Finley this afternoon in the tower. Now Kier had another problem.

  Fiona MacLeod sat across the desk from him, her slanted eyes impelling. She looked sane—not that sanity was at the top of his to-look list since everything about her was beguiling, including the shapely curves that even the knapsack of a gown couldn’t hide—but what she said didn’t make sense.

  “I saw Lona on the ground. You admitted you pushed her. Now you are saying you did not? Which is it?”

  “Aye. I mean, nae.” Fiona twisted her fingers together and sighed. “’Tis what I had to say.”

  Kier raised a brow. “Had to say?” He hoped she wasn’t hearing voices. Bad enough that Lona thought she saw ghosts and Dulcee muttered to invisible angels.

  “’Twas Ada who pushed her.”

  “Why would she do that?”

&
nbsp; “Lona was nae walking fast enough. She was verra tired from the purge, so—”

  “Wait. What purge? I saw no orders for that.”

  “I doona ken about orders. The warden sent keepers to take Lona to the asylum this morn.” Fiona’s grey eyes looked at him accusingly. “’Tis torture they do there.”

  As if he didn’t know. Damnation. If the orders—or the warden’s minions—came when he was here, he was sometimes able to dissuade them from taking one of the women, but he couldn’t stay home all the time. Kier didn’t believe in purging, emetics or bleeding. In his estimation, the only reason those remedies made a patient submissive, was because the person was too debilitated to do anything else. Usually, those treatments were followed by a fasting diet, which kept the victim weak as well. He should have known by Lona’s pallor something like that had occurred. Still, Kier needed to get to the bottom of this situation.

  “Why had Seamus grabbed you then?” Even as Kier asked the question, he felt his fury rise again as it had when he’d seen Fiona’s arm twisted behind her back and her face contorted with pain. He’d used every ounce of willpower not to rip the guard’s hands off Fiona and throttle the man to within an inch of his life.

  Fiona shrugged. “I pushed Ada away from Lona.”

  Kier groaned. If the matron filed a report of assault with the warden, things would not go well for Fiona. “Violence is not tolerated.”

  Her eyes turned stormy grey. “Ada started it.”

  “Be that as it may, you cannot attack a matron of the asylum.”

  Lightning flashed from Fiona’s eyes. “’Twas nae an attack. I dinnae even have a weapon. If I had my sgian dubh, I could have taught the woman a wee lesson. My brother’s claymore would be even better.”

  Kier held up his hand. “Say no more.” He didn’t want to think of Fiona as violent. The idea of her brandishing one of the huge Scottish swords was ludicrous. Could she even handle a knife? Kathleen threatened to murder her cheating husband on a regular basis—a feat Kier thought her capable of, but Fiona? She looked too delicate, like a wood sprite, not that they existed except in Irish children’s tales. Was Fiona fantasizing about swords and knives? Kier didn’t know which was worse—Fiona actually being violent or believing she could handle weapons.

  “Ye doona believe me?”

  Fiona’s gaze was intense and Kier wondered how she’d read his emotions. He had long ago learned to keep his face impassive. “I… This conversation is not about weapons, although I wonder why you—”

  “To defend myself,” Fiona answered before he could finish his question. “My brothers, Ian and Jamie, taught me.” She gave Kier a hopeful look. “Can ye send them a post? They’ll come get me—or they will send my cousin, Shane. He owns a shipping line. Ye can ask for ransom—”

  “You have not been abducted, Mrs. MacLeod.”

  “I have. I doona ken why I am here.”

  “Your father—”

  “That mon who brought me here is nae my father. Please contact my brothers.”

  Her brothers. Kier remembered something in the report Mr. Kelly had sent. According to her father, in not accepting her husband’s death, Fiona’s mind had turned and she thought her brothers-by-marriage were her blood kin. It would not be too much of a leap for her to think they were her protectors as well. Since they weren’t here, it could explain why she thought she could handle weapons. He wished he could believe Fiona, but the idea was so far-fetched, the warden would be thinking Kier insane next—and he’d learned his lesson in trusting too easily and too soon from Lady Jane Clare.

  “Perhaps you should rest, Mrs. MacLeod. You have had a very stressful day.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened. “Ye doona believe me. If ye will lend me a sword, I will spar with ye in the courtyard and place a wager on my winning.”

  In spite of himself, Kier smiled at the imaginary picture. “Swords have very pointed tips, Mrs. MacLeod. I can hardly allow one of my guests access to one.”

  Fiona considered him for a moment, then arched a slim brow. “I suppose ye will nae let me throw a knife either?”

  Kier’s grin widened and he shook his head. Oddly enough, he was enjoying the bizarre conversation, although what a pity that such a beautiful woman was delusional.

  She stood suddenly and walked to the door, turning around as she opened it. “I am nae the one who is barmy,” she said and slammed the door behind her.

  Kier stared at the door, stunned. Fiona had somehow read his mind again. How did she do that?

  He tapped his fingers on the desk, wondering what he should do. Should he try to establish contact with these brothers of hers? When he first accepted inmates, the warden had warned him not to believe anything they said, since illusions were part of the illness. If these relatives-by-marriage existed and the cousin was the one who brought Fiona to Ireland by ship, that pretty much testified to the fact that these relatives wanted nothing to do with her.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to send a post. The warden’s notes said Fiona came from Carlisle. He could send letters to her brothers there. Taking a piece of parchment from a stack on his desk, Kier dipped his quill in the inkwell and began to write.

  Chapter Five

  Well, she’d had her chance to talk to Kier alone and it had done no good. Fiona plopped down on the hardback chair she’d dragged over to the window that overlooked the sloping street behind the structure. Probably when this castle had been built—it looked as old as some of the ones in Scotland built after the Viking raids—the street had been a grassy hill with flat fields beyond. Now, brick buildings of assorted ages lined its crooked descent.

  What in the world had made her talk to Kier about swords and knives, let alone ask for the weapons? Even if he thought her sane, which he obviously didn’t, no man south of the Scottish Borders would understand that Highland women often trained for defense against invaders. The tradition dated back to Boudicca, the warrior queen who’d inspired the Romans eventually to build Hadrian’s Wall—a story told many times in front of warm hearths on cold winter nights. Fiona’s brothers made sure she and both her sisters could protect themselves, but Kier would probably think Fiona even more of a lunatic if she tried to convince him of that. She’d already learned in London women weren’t supposed to have knowledge of much other than planning balls and dinners.

  She should have used her time, even with Seamus standing guard in the hall, to tell Kier her side—again—of the wildly fabricated story that had brought her here. But how could she make him believe her when she could not prove anything?

  Fiona lost track of time as she sat deep in thought. Dusk was falling when she heard the key turn in the door’s lock. She tensed, expecting Ada in retribution mode, but it was only Erin with a plate of bread and cheese.

  The maid set it on the table. “The master wanted to make sure ye had food.”

  Fiona eyed the plate and then looked at Erin. At least the girl wasn’t hurrying away. “Thank ye. Please doona be afraid of me.”

  Erin tilted her head to one side, studying Fiona as she might a strange bug and then she smiled. “I saw ye give the bread to Lona. I don’t think ye are crazy.”

  Fiona wished she could hug the girl. “’Tis a relief to hear ye say that. Am I being kept in my room because of what happened this afternoon in the courtyard?”

  Erin shook her head and went to the door. “The master gave orders that all ye lun—er, guests—be kept in your rooms this eve.”

  Probably wise of him. Lona would still be weak and Fiona had no wish to exchange words with Kathleen again, to say nothing of confronting Ada. Fiona’s sister Shauna always advised when tempers ran high, to give everyone time to calm down. Fiona’s own nature was to tackle problems head-on, but she now saw the wisdom in Shauna’s remarks. Time flattened harsh waves after stormy seas, although Fiona suspected what was brewing here was more than just troubled
waters.

  “May I ask ye something else?”

  Erin hesitated, her hand on doorknob. “What?”

  “These purgings…do they happen often?”

  “Often enough.”

  “’Tis hard to believe Mr. O’Reilly approves them.”

  “He does not. That’s a fact.”

  Fiona frowned. “Then why does he allow it?”

  Erin peeked out the door to check the hall and then whispered her reply. “He tries to stop it, but when he leaves, Ada sends word to the asylum and they come for one of the lun—guests.”

  “For nae reason?”

  Erin shrugged. “They say for healing.”

  “Did it look like Lona was healed today?”

  “Lona made Ada angry over seein’ the ghost the other day.” Erin hesitated and then dropped her voice so low Fiona had to strain to hear. “Ye made the matron mad today too. Ye must be careful.” With those parting words, the maid turned and hurried out.

  Fiona had no doubt she’d made the matron mad today, although she was pretty sure the irony of the word mad was lost on Erin. Whoever Walter Avery was, he had concocted a story that only made Fiona’s protests corroborate the theory that she was insane. The warden at the asylum would be no help, since he was well paid for Fiona’s care. Ada held power at the castle and she was wily enough to use it only when Kier was away—and Fiona had wasted her chance to get Kier to listen to her side.

  The really dangerous lunatics weren’t the one who were locked up.

  What could she do besides bide her time and be alert for any means of escape? Fiona sighed and looked out the window and then blinked.

  Two shadowy figures seemed to materialize from the castle wall and then disappear into the darkness of the street below.

  “Ye seemed a wee bit distracted tonight,” Finley said after Kier and he had met with several Irish businessmen wanting to know how the O’Connell’s trip to France had gone without alerting the English to their interest. “Is there a problem?”