Chapter Seven
Eileen’s stomach churned, and her heart ached. The rumors running rampant through the village couldn’t be true. She could not—would not—accept that Flaherty was dead!
Hands curled into fists, she glanced over her shoulder.
She’d managed to slip away unnoticed, but took the time now to ensure she wasn’t being followed by one of her father’s men.
Hastening her steps, she made her way past the outskirts of the village, hiked her skirts to her knees, and ran as if the devil himself was chasing her.
She didn’t stop to catch her breath until she’d reached the cliff path.
Her eyes immediately spied what she’d been hoping to find—Ruan’s ship anchored in the deep water offshore.
She rushed down the path, slipping and sliding in her haste to get to the French smuggler before either MacManus’s or Rafferty’s sons caught up to her.
The dinghy was tied up where she expected it to be.
She loosened the rope from around the large rock and tossed it into the small boat.
Another glance behind her had her heart pounding with worry.
How soon before one of Da’s men realized where she’d gone and followed her?
A sharp shake of her head and she lifted her skirts again, stepping into the dinghy.
She sat on the bench, grabbed hold of the oars, and put her back into rowing to Ruan’s ship.
*
O’Malley had a few men posted on the lookout for Tremayne.
He expected Coventry’s man by midmorning, if he left Summerfield Chase immediately—if not, then a bit later in the day.
Either way, O’Malley could use the former dragoon’s help reminding Flaherty why it was imperative that he lie low in the hidden room in the tower.
They were in the process of setting the trap that would snare not only Judson—head of the wreckers—but his handful of men who had no regard for life.
The bloody bastards murdered before they pillaged the cargo of any ship that they managed to lure to the rocky coastline.
“Promise that ye’ll stay put this time, Flaherty. Else I’ll have no choice but to knock ye on the back of the head, tie ye up, and confiscate yer flask.”
Flaherty’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Nay! Ye wouldn’t deny an Irishman his only source of whiskey…would ye?”
“If ye do not listen to reason, ye’ll blow the entire plan out of the water. Do ye want Selkirk to kill ye this time? The bastard has no heart or soul, shooting a man in the back…and then the head!”
“Ah, so me instincts were spot-on. When were ye going to tell me it was Selkirk?”
“And have yerself, weak as a lamb, go after him?”
Flaherty protested, “I wouldn’t—”
“Ye would and ye know it,” O’Malley grumbled. “Faith, that lead ball grazing the side of yer head didn’t finish ye, but I just might if ye continue to fight me on this.”
Flaherty shook his head. “It’s killing me not seeing the lass. She was exhausted after pulling me arse out of the water, then cleaned me wounds and patched me up, until the doctor arrived.”
“I’ll speak to Doonan to see how Eileen is faring. Will that satisfy ye?”
“Having her tucked safely in this room with me is the only thing that would satisfy me.”
“Ye’re a randy bugger!”
Flaherty held up his hands. “Nay, ’tisn’t like that at all.
I’m worried about the lass. I never thought what I said without thinking I could be overheard.
’Twas me brain that froze the moment she turned her head away, ignoring me.
When she smiled at one of Judson’s men, me mouth started working before me brain. ”
O’Malley shook his head. “I’ll speak to Doonan. Try to remember ’tis for the greater good of the villagers, and the duke himself, that we clean out this nest of vipers.”
“Ye have the right of it,” Flaherty agreed.
“The lot of them are evil and would strike at anyone—man, woman, or child—if it earned them a handful of coins. I’ll do me best to remember that this situation, nor any of the ones we’ve found ourselves in since signing on to work for His Grace, is not about me.
We’re after protecting the duke, his family, and all the women who have fallen for a member of the duke’s guard. ”
O’Malley nodded, and Flaherty reminded him, “Don’t be forgetting Eileen, who will soon be joining the family.” As soon as he said the words, he rubbed a hand over his heart. “Did it hurt yer heart when ye were separated from Mollie?”
“Aye. Like a hammer blow.”
Flaherty nodded. “Feels just like that.” His expression darkened. “And bring Tremayne here as soon as he arrives.”
O’Malley snorted. “Ye’re a right determined bugger when yer mind is set.”
Flaherty’s chest puffed up. “That I am. Eileen Doonan will marry me—right after I return from the dead. Now, get going!”
*
As soon as the door closed behind his cousin, Flaherty got on his knees.
“Lord, please let it be Yer will that the lass marries me—and that we can bring the man who tried to kill me twice to justice.” He lifted his head and stared at the tiny window high on the wall.
Bright sunlight shone into the room. “Unless it be Yer will that I take matters into me own hands and wring the bloody bugger’s neck. ”
He waited for a moment, watching the sky for a sign. When a cloud passed over the sun, he sighed.
“Right then, Lord. We’ll do it Yer way and bring the man to justice.
Ye have me word I’ll not be taking it into me own hands.
” The cloud moved, revealing the bright sunlight once more.
“Aye, Lord. Yer way it is. And while I’m asking, could Ye send a sign that the lass is doing well and misses me? I’d be grateful.”
Two hours later the door opened, but it was not the raven-haired lass stepping over the threshold—it was Coventry’s dragoon, Gryffyn Tremayne.
“Flaherty,” the Welshman greeted him. “You’re looking well for a man reported to be dead.”
Flaherty snickered. “Reports of me death are premature.”
“So it would seem. I have news,” Tremayne said, “Which do you want first, the good or the bad?”
Flaherty braced himself, unsure if it involved one of his brothers or the lass. “Answer a question first, if ye would. Does the bad involve one of me kin?”
Tremayne’s expression masked his thoughts. “It does not.”
An inexplicable feeling of dread settled over Flaherty like a dark, dense storm cloud. He braced a hand to the cot and rose to his feet. “The bad centers around the lass.”
“Aye.” Tremayne blocked Flaherty from leaving. “You gave your word.”
“You’ll not keep me from me intended. I have to save her!”
Tremayne crossed his arms in front of him and grumbled, “You’re a stubborn arse, Flaherty. If you want to hear what I know about what happened, you’ll sit down and listen.”
The starch went out of Flaherty’s legs. He sat.
The dragoon nodded. “She’s taken matters into her own hands, slipped past the men her father had guarding her, and rowed out to meet with Ruan.”
Flaherty shot to his feet. “What in the bloody hell for?”
Tremayne slowly smiled. “Apparently, she believes that only the French smuggler has the power to avenge your death.”
Flaherty was reaching for the man’s throat, but stopped. “She thinks I’m dead?”
Tremayne raked a hand through his hair. “That was the plan, was it not?”
“Aye, but—”
“Well, it worked. O’Malley did not plan on the lass seeking help from Ruan. He thought she’d come to him, as he’s not only one of the duke’s guard, but your cousin.”
Before Flaherty could think what to say, Tremayne continued, “The wake’s tonight, and there’s been a slight change as far as that goes.”
“So me pine box’s built?”
“It’s a fine, sturdy one,” the dragoon said. “Doonan himself is going to be standing guard next to you, in the rear corner of the great hall.”
“Why Doonan?”
“He’s been proclaiming to everyone who will listen that you asked his permission to wed his daughter—which he gave—and feels responsible for not being able to prevent your death.”
“I see.” Flaherty didn’t really understand what Doonan hoped to gain by spreading the word of his daughter’s marriage to Flaherty. “Where is the lass now?”
Tremayne held his gaze for a moment before saying, “She’s still aboard Ruan’s boat.”
“Why hasn’t O’Malley gone after her, or told me, so that I could go after her?” Flaherty demanded.
“You’re dead,” Tremayne reminded him, “and your cousin has his hands full at the moment. Apparently Judson’s men have decided to wipe out the competition for any cargo that ends up on the beach.”
Flaherty sank onto the chair by the table. “O’Malley and I have enough men to hold them off—”
“You’re dead,” Tremayne said again. “I’m to act as emissary to speak with Ruan.
I met the Frenchman when O’Malley was being held by that bastard excise official.
Have you forgotten that I delivered the missive from His Grace?
We can trust Ruan not to harm Eileen, as Doonan and his men have a working arrangement with the man as well. ”
Flaherty scrubbed a hand over his face and winced, brushing against the stitches on his forehead—the same blasted side of his head where he’d been grazed by Selkirk’s lead ball.
He owed the bugger for that, and for the one that went clear through the back of his shoulder and out the front.
“What do ye expect me to do, sit on me thumbs while ye rescue me bride-to-be?”
“Aye. It’s what O’Malley expects too, though right now I believe he’s making the rest of the arrangements for your wake.” Tremayne grinned. “Mollie has enlisted the caretaker’s wife from the duke’s manor house—they’re baking up a storm and expect your wake to be well attended.”
Flaherty grunted. “Bollocks!”
“If the villagers didn’t have a soft spot for you and O’Malley, they wouldn’t have offered to help spring the trap on Judson and his men.”
He knew Tremayne was right, but it burned his arse to admit it. “But the lass—”
“Will be attending your wake tonight, most likely with Ruan and a few of his men.”