Chapter Nine #2
“Actually, I’ve asked Tremayne and Ruan to escort Miss Doonan to yer wake.
” When Flaherty frowned at him, O’Malley hesitated, then said, “Kelly heard that she pulled ye out of the sea. Though we’ve proven to have the best interests of the locals at heart, there are those who do not share that opinion.
Some feel that we’re in league with the excise officials, and wouldn’t hesitate to turn them over if necessary.
And—” Flaherty started to interrupt, but O’Malley continued loudly, “And anyone who would rescue either of us must be in league with the excise man on his way to resume the empty post here in St. Ives.”
“What a crock of shite!”
O’Malley snorted. “Which part? That Kelly overheard someone speaking the truth, or that we’d fallen so low as to be in league with anyone from the bloody Excise Office after one of their own tried to hang me?”
Flaherty started pacing. “Now do ye see why it’s dangerous to have Ruan here?”
“I disagree. He won’t be alone—he’ll have a handful of his men guarding his back until he steps into the great hall. Two will remain inside the hall, while the rest add to our number guarding the perimeter.”
Flaherty sighed. “And ye agreed?”
“That I did,” O’Malley answered. “Now then, about Selkirk. Ye aren’t in any shape to go after the man. Ye need to heal first, else he’s likely to get off another lucky shot and crease the other side of yer skull.”
“He won’t know it’s me,” Flaherty insisted. “He thinks I’m dead.”
O’Malley sighed. “After yer wake, we’ll put a plan together for the two of us to take care of Selkirk—and before ye ask, no, ye cannot kill him.”
“But—”
“Ye gave yer word, same as I did, not to kill anyone.”
“Unless they pose a direct threat to His Grace or one of his family members. But ye know that killing me poses a direct threat to the duke—he’ll have one less guard protecting himself and his family!”
O’Malley tried to argue with Flaherty’s reasoning, but had to admit, if only to himself, that it was sound. “We’ll talk after yer wake. Tremayne and Doonan will be arriving shortly. I have no intention of being late to meet Ruan and his men on the cliffs.”
“I thought ye mentioned they were to protect the lass. How can any of ye protect her, if she’s not with ye?”
O’Malley sighed. “She’ll be with us.”
“Let me go in disguise. I need to be the one protecting the lass.”
“Nay. Ye’re supposed to be dead—as in half-yer-brains-fell-out-of-yer-skull dead.” Flaherty opened his mouth, but O’Malley held up a hand. “This plan has to work in order to draw out Judson and his men to eliminate the threat once and for all.”
“Ye just reminded me that neither of us can kill anyone while we are under oath to the duke.”
“That we cannot,” O’Malley agreed.
“Well then, what else does eliminate them mean if not to kill them?”
“’Twas a poor choice of words. I should have said capture them and transport them to London, where they will most likely hang from Execution Dock by the Prospect of Whitby tavern.”
Flaherty’s shoulders slumped. “Aye, if the Admiralty Court finds them guilty.”
“Which they most likely will with the list of crimes we’ve gathered, along with signed statements from witnesses. I’ll be handing the documents over to Tremayne to deliver to Captain Coventry in London—after Judson, Selkirk, Balfour, and Talbot are in custody.”
Flaherty grumbled, “And ye think to do it all without me help?”
“Aye. Ye’ve lost more blood than ye can afford between getting shot in the back, cracking yer head on the rocks, getting a new part in yer hair, and falling on yer head afterward. Did I leave any recent injury out?”
“Ye have.”
O’Malley frowned. “Why didn’t ye tell me? When and where were ye hurt?” Flaherty held up his middle finger, and O’Malley laughed. “I’m not Greek, nor Roman, so yer hand gesture only amuses me, cousin.”
Flaherty snorted, then slowly grinned. “Look closer, and ye’ll see the nick to me finger. Happened when I was sharpening me blade on me whetstone.”
O’Malley laughed. “Ye’re an arse, but faith, I’m fond of ye, Fenton.”
Flaherty grinned. “I know.” His smile faded as he asked, “Ye’ll give me yer solemn word to protect Eileen with yer life?”
“I’ll protect the lass with me life,” O’Malley promised.
“Don’t forget to leave the poteen and the whiskey jugs within easy reach.”
“We can’t risk someone seeing yer dead self swigging from a jug.”
“If ye have someone inside this room wailing like a banshee, then ’twill be easy to tell them I’ve convinced the Lord that I needed one last swig from each jug before I left this mortal plane.”
“Ye have a way with words, Flaherty, but ye’ll not be sipping, swigging, or pouring any poteen or whiskey down yer gullet until after the wake is over and the coast is clear.”
“Faith, but ye’re a right bugger when yer mind is set.”
O’Malley smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Flaherty growled, “It wasn’t.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do ye think me brothers will be coming to me wake?”
O’Malley’s eyes flashed with pain, quickly replaced by a neutral expression. “If it were one of me brothers, I’d ride like the devil to attend his wake.” He grunted. “And I’d be staying for the funeral.”
“No matter which brother had fallen?”
“’Twould be whoever killed one of my brothers—’tis his funeral I’m meaning.”
Flaherty’s soul-deep ache eased. “I would do the same if Seamus, Rory, or Dillon were murdered.”
O’Malley paused by the door. “Have I neglected to tell ye that Dillon arrived an hour ago?”
Flaherty shot to his feet. “Aye, where is he?”
“Speaking with Kelly and the others. We’ve got more than one plan in place to catch the bloody wreckers who ‘murdered’ ye.”
Flaherty staggered as a wave of relief washed over him. “Dillon will see to it me death is avenged.”
O’Malley rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t forget Simpson was one of the men Judson would call on when he wanted information on Buxton’s motives and movements in the name of the king.”
“How can ye even say that bloody official’s name without putting yer fist through the wall?”
O’Malley chuckled and slapped a hand to the stone wall. “’Tis a bit too thick, even for me fists of iron.”
Flaherty laughed. “If I had to die, me first choice would be in the duke’s name alongside one of me brothers, but me second choice would be—”
O’Malley interrupted, “Alongside one of the Garahans.”
Flaherty shrugged. “Ye know me too well—and ’tisn’t because I’m not fond of yerself and the rest of the O’Malleys.”
O’Malley shrugged. “Me brothers and cousins know how close the Flahertys are to the Garahans, but we’d give our lives to avenge the lot of ye just the same.”
Fenton put a hand over his heart and vowed, “Me brothers and I would do the same…along with the hardheaded Garahans.”
“We Irish protect our brothers, our wives and kin, and our freedom…and not necessarily in that order.” O’Malley put his fist to his heart. “Saoirse!”
The Gaelic word for freedom echoed in Flaherty’s head, resonating clear down to his bones. He repeated the word reverently: “Saoirse!”
With a nod, O’Malley opened the door, slipped through the opening, and softly closed the door behind him.
Flaherty was left with time on his hands, the knowledge that his brother Dillon had arrived, and the realization that he’d neglected to ask O’Malley if he’d confided their ruse to his older brother and the lass.
Bloody hell! Had they told Eileen yet? Just one more thread that needed to be woven into the fabric of the necessary deception to bring the murderous wreckers to justice.
He walked over to the cot and sat, letting his mind wander to the valiant and curvaceous woman who had rescued him. Her hesitation when he apologized and then proposed slid under his skin like a razor-sharp blade—he hadn’t felt it at first, but now that the wound was there, he hurt…bled.
“Why didn’t she say yes the first time I asked her to wed?”