Chapter Six
O’Malley followed the road out of the village, urging the horse he’d borrowed from Doonan toward Penwith Tower.
Why had the man lied and said he had no idea where Flaherty was, after the tale his cousin had recounted to him?
Fear was often a great motivator. Mayhap it had been behind Doonan’s false words.
The closer he rode to Penwith, the more the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The sixth sense he’d developed after his brush with death was warning him that danger was near, and more—something dire had happened. He urged the horse to a gallop.
Kelly’s fierce expression told him all he needed to know. It was bad…and it involved his cousin.
He leapt off the horse and handed the reins to one of the local lads they’d hired to care for their mounts. “It’s bad,” the young man rasped.
O’Malley nodded. “Flaherty?”
“Aye. He was shot off his horse!”
No cousin of his would ever willingly let go of his horse. “Where is he?”
Kelly strode over to meet O’Malley. “He’s inside. Your wife is tending to him.”
O’Malley’s hands curled into tight fists. “What happened?”
“A sharpshooter,” Kelly answered. “First shot missed him…”
“And the second?” O’Malley asked.
“Grazed his head.”
O’Malley paused to offer up a silent prayer, then said, “He’s not dead.”
“Nay. But the blood—”
“Head wounds bleed like a stuck pig,” O’Malley calmly replied. Turning to the stable lad, he said, “Take good care of the horse—it’s Doonan’s.”
“Eileen’s father?” Kelly shook his head. “Now there’s a man who wouldn’t trust his horse to anyone. What happened?”
“I don’t have the full story, but I did follow my nose from the two taverns in the village to Doonan’s cottage.” O’Malley was already halfway to the huge door to the ancient tower. “I have to speak to Fenton. Send Simpson to round up a few more men—two are needed to watch Judson’s men.”
Kelly’s expression shuttered, but O’Malley knew what the man was thinking. “Flaherty will recover and be avenged.” He met Kelly’s intense look with one of his own. “But let it be known that we are mourning the death of my cousin.”
“O’Malley, he’s not—”
“Do it! I’ve got to talk to Flaherty. I have an idea who tried to kill him.”
“He’s unconscious,” Kelly reminded him.
O’Malley’s expression was grim. “Not for long.” He stepped over the threshold into the massive hall.
Taking a moment, he inhaled the scent that never failed to bombard his senses whenever he entered Penwith Tower’s great hall and his wife was present—rain-soaked roses.
Mollie’s scent. Intent on his mission, he strode across the wide expanse of the great hall, placed his hand against the rocks in the massive wall, and lifted the hidden latch.
The quiet gasp had him saying, “Never fear, Mollie-lass. There’s but a handful of people I trust who know where to find the latch to open this door.
” He stepped inside the room and walked over to the bed where his cousin lay still as a stone.
“Faith, if ye look don’t look like a corpse.
” With a wink at his wife, he studied Flaherty before tugging on his foot.
“Rise and shine, boy-o, we’ve got work to do. ”
“Go away,” Flaherty grumbled. “Can’t ye see I’m in pain?”
O’Malley snorted. “Can’t ye see that yer bellyaching is paining me?”
Flaherty swung his arm out, but missed O’Malley by a foot. “Can’t a man die in peace?”
“Ah, so ye won’t be needing the special license after all. ’Tis a good thing ye didn’t pen that missive to His Grace.”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Flaherty grimaced. “Me head hurts.”
“It should,” O’Malley replied. “Ye’ve a new part in yer hair, but I see me wife has tended to the gouge and washed most of the blood out of it.” He waited a beat before adding, “Which of Judson’s men do ye think it was?”
With a sigh that could have felled a tree, Flaherty levered himself up and slid his legs over the edge of the bed. “Selkirk! Have ye come to tell me ye’ve apprehended the bleeding bugger who shot me? Blackguard thinks the lass has her eye on him instead of me.”
O’Malley hesitated, then asked, “So ye saw the sharpshooter?”
“Nay, but me money’s on him.”
“Well then,” O’Malley said, “are ye wanting me to stand yer casket—”
Flaherty stared at him for a few moments before saying, “Ye wouldn’t be planning me wake unless ye wanted me to pose as dead. Do ye think anyone would believe without seeing me lying in a coffin?”
“I’m thinking seeing is believing,” O’Malley replied. “Besides, ’tis the only way to flush out the man who thinks he’d killed ye. I’m guessing casket is too fancy a word for the likes of ye.”
Their gazes met and held and Flaherty snorted. “Aye. Ye know that a pine box ’tis what’s needed,” Flaherty said. “Neither of us would ever be buried in anything costly. A solid wooden box will do.”
“Fine then, coffin,” O’Malley agreed. “We’ll put ye in the corner tonight, or if ye’d prefer, I’ll lay ye out with a jug of the Irish at yer head and feet.”
Flaherty sat up straighter and frowned at his cousin. “The jug we only uncork for special occasions—like the birth of yer bonny babe?”
“Aye.”
“Finn, stop teasing Fenton,” Mollie interjected. “He’s in no shape to go a few rounds with you right now.”
O’Malley turned to slip his arm around her waist. “I’m not after fighting with me cousin. I’m after asking his preferences for his wake tonight. We haven’t had the time to plan our wakes in advance, and ’tis important.”
“Aye,” Flaherty added. “I’m thinking I’d like to be stood in the corner. Do ye think there’ll be time to build me the box to put me in? I’m not wanting to be wrapped in linens and tossed into me grave.”
Mollie shivered, and O’Malley pressed his lips to the top of her head. “We’ll be needing yer help to make it look like Flaherty isn’t breathing.”
She frowned. “There are only a few herbs that can be trusted to slow his heartbeat, or render him unconscious. But with his head injuries, it would be too risky.” Mollie eased out of O’Malley’s hold, walked over to the small table, and filled a cup with water from the pitcher.
Returning to Flaherty’s side, she handed it to him.
“Drink up.” When Flaherty stared at it, she said, “It’s only water.
” Watching Flaherty drain the cup, she asked her husband, “Could you lay the coffin on a stand in the corner and cordon it off, so no one can get close enough to see if he’s breathing? ”
“I’m liking Mollie’s plan better than yers, Finn,” Flaherty said.
“Given that I’ve been shot in the back of me shoulder, bashed me head against the rocks, and had it sewn together—and a short while ago had me skull creased by another lead ball—can ye not wrap a bandage around me head and eyes, covering them? ”
O’Malley slowly smiled. “I’ll do ye one better, boy-o.
We’ll use the bloody linens Mollie bathed yer head with and wrap them around yer head—covering yer eyes, too.
Everyone will think we’ve wrapped yer head to tuck yer brains back inside yer skull.
I’ll let everyone know that ye’ll be needing every bit of yer brains when ye stand before our Maker and answer for yer sins. ”
“You will do no such thing, Finn O’Malley!” Mollie said. “After I’ve spent so much time cleaning out his wound, I will not allow you to cover it with anything but clean, fresh linen.”
Flaherty snorted with laughter and immediately groaned in pain. “Don’t be making me laugh, Mollie. It hurts me head.”
O’Malley tugged on his wife’s hand and tucked her against his side.
“Well? What do ye think of me plan? Most of the men we know wouldn’t think twice about staring down at the face of a dead man…
but one that’s been shot to pieces and wrapped in bloody linens—er, fresh linens—is another thing altogether. ”
“’Tis a brilliant plan, Finn. Let’s do it—and don’t tell anyone.” Flaherty glanced at Mollie and rasped, “Best start crying, lass. Ye know ye’ll miss me now that I’m dead.”
Mollie surprised him by pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I shall miss you desperately, Fenton. Your heart is almost as big—”
O’Malley interrupted, “As yer mouth. We’d best see to having that pine box built. Try to remember that ye’re dead, Flaherty, and keep yer voice down.”
“Who am I going to be talking to once yerself and yer lovely wife abandon me to me crypt?”
O’Malley grunted. “’Tisn’t a crypt, but a secret room only a few of us know how to access. Now get some rest so ye can act the part of a dead man in a few hours.”
“Ye’d best be feeding me first!” Flaherty grumbled. As O’Malley opened the door, he murmured, “Shite!”
O’Malley turned back. “What?”
“If I’m dead, who will be protecting Eileen? I told her I’d marry her to protect her.”
“We could send for Tremayne,” O’Malley said.
“He was recently sent to the Borderlands after the unusual situation there involving a baron’s daughter masquerading as coachman to protect an earl’s daughter.
’Twould be easy enough for him to detour to Penwith Tower on his way back to London.
” When Flaherty didn’t immediately answer, O’Malley added, “We’ll need to tell Doonan—he’ll want to be involved.
Best to have him in the know, so he’s prepared to trust Tremayne with his daughter. ”
Flaherty flinched, and O’Malley continued, “He seemed to be taken with Doonan’s daughter when he was here a few months ago.”
Flaherty struggled to his feet, swaying, and growled, “I’m not agreeing to play dead unless I have yer word that Tremayne will stay clear of me intended.”
“Ye know as well as I that Tremayne is more than capable of protecting the lass, same as yerself.”
“Over me dead body!”
O’Malley snorted. “Aye, ye daft eedjit, that’s the plan. Now shut yer gob and rest while I send word via messenger to Summerfield Chase and London. Coventry will be needing to know that we need Tremayne for a few days.”
Flaherty was loath to admit he agreed with O’Malley’s plan—and he would have already if Eileen had not been at the center of it. “If he touches one hair on her head—”
“Faith, the man knows full well that ye have had yer eye on the lass from the last time he was here. He’s a man ye can trust, same as ye trust meself and any of the other O’Malleys and Garahans.”
Flaherty grunted. “He’s a man—that’s reason enough to turn the lass’s head.”
“Spoken like a man whose heart is spoken for. I’ll let Tremayne himself have a word with ye. He and Doonan will need to be in on the entire plan—not just the part he’ll be playing distracting Judson’s men.”
“All right, then,” Flaherty finally agreed. “Best send off the missives. We have a bit more planning to do, and a coffin to build.”
“Who do ye suggest should be digging yer grave?”
“I may have to play dead during me wake, but I’ll not be allowing ye to nail me coffin shut, lower it into me grave, and bury me!”
“Well then, I’ll have to tell Kelly he may dig the hole, but cannot put yer sorry arse in it.”
Flaherty’s fist was a hairsbreadth from connecting with O’Malley’s jaw when he lowered it and shook his head. “The lass has been messing with me mind since I opened me eyes and thought I was in Heaven staring up at an angel.”
“Leave off tossing punches, and I’ll be saying ye’re welcome.”
“Thank ye, Finn.”
“Faith, ye’re an arse, but welcome, Flaherty.”