Chapter Thirteen
Eileen’s mouth hung open as she watched three of Judson’s men walk over to where the Flaherty brothers stood by Fenton’s coffin.
As the wreckers drew closer, she watched the duke’s men form a semicircle around their brother, shift to a relaxed stance—feet slightly spread, arms loose at their sides—and wondered if they would be ready for the attack, because surely Judson’s men had arrived ready to fight!
She took a step closer, felt a hand settle on her shoulder, and sighed.
“Wait here,” Tremayne ordered her.
“But I—” The hard look the dragoon leveled at her had Eileen capitulating. Now was not the time to challenge him. “I’ll wait here.”
He nodded and stalked over to stand beside Doonan and two men she recognized from the village: Kelly and Simpson.
A moment later, she realized O’Malley had entered the great hall.
The four wreckers were only just realizing that while they faced the Flahertys, another band of men completed the ring of protection behind them, effectively cutting off their escape route.
“Kind of ye to attend me cousin’s wake,” O’Malley said.
Judson’s men shifted from foot to foot, and Eileen knew without seeing their expressions that they knew they were surrounded.
But what would they do about it? As the men started hurling insults at one another, she decided that she had waited long enough.
Someone needed to protect poor Flaherty’s body. It had been damaged enough already!
She took a step forward, only to feel a strong arm wrap around her waist from behind. She started to struggle.
“Mademoiselle,” Ruan murmured, “your père would not want you to get in the middle of the melee that is about to erupt. Come,” he urged.
“You are too close. Though I do not fear the men, I do not wish to have Flaherty’s family pounding on me with their fists should I let you get too close to the fighting. ”
Eileen had no other choice, though the only men tossing punches and elbows were the wreckers.
The other men were using words to incite Judson’s men to riot.
She didn’t want to move from where she stood, but Ruan’s arm slid from her waist, and he offered it to her.
“S’il vous pla?t, mademoiselle. Let me move you to a safer spot where you can watch the wreckers meet their doom. ”
She acquiesced to Ruan’s urging and let him lead her closer to the tables of food. A group of mourners had shifted to stand between the tables and the corner farthest away from the group of angry men.
“Bien,” Ruan rumbled. “Do not worry, we shall all have what we have been waiting for.”
“Oh?” Eileen said, slipping her arm free. “And what is that?”
“Vengeance.”
She shook her head and raised her voice to be heard over the men gathered by the coffin. “I’m waiting for something different.”
“And what would that be?” the smuggler asked.
She fought against the tears stinging the backs of her eyes and answered, “A miracle.”
Just then, a loud voice reverberated through the hall: “I was the one who shot him!”
A second voice shouted, “I shot him first!”
“Shut yer bloody mugs!” a deep voice commanded.
“Ah,” Ruan mused. “The truth has been revealed.” He glanced over his shoulder to speak to someone, but Eileen was transfixed by the commotion unfolding in front of them.
“So ye admit that ye killed our brother?” Seamus demanded, reaching out to grab Talbot by the throat.
He was the one who’d boasted that he’d shot Flaherty first. He held up both hands. “I only shot at him, but missed. Selkirk fired right after me and didn’t miss.”
“The coward shot Flaherty in the back!” her father boomed.
Rory moved toward Selkirk, and the man spun around to leave, but Tremayne blocked Selkirk’s retreat, grabbing Judson’s man by the front of his coat and lifting him off his feet.
“Tell them how ye waited in the dense trees near Penwith’s curtain wall until you saw Flaherty ride up the road,” Tremayne demanded.
Selkirk struggled to get free and almost managed it, but Rory grabbed the back of the man’s neck and held him in place. “Ye aren’t leaving.”
“And ye bloody well aren’t getting away with planning the murder of our brother! Ye bloody bugger, ye shot him twice!” Dillon growled, moving toward Judson, who struggled to move to the side.
“Judson was the one who ordered me to!” Selkirk yelled.
Eileen’s father was there to block Judson’s path. “It’s your turn to confess,” he told the man.
Judson pulled a knife from his sleeve and held it in front of her father’s face. “I’ll be leaving now.”
Before she could call out a warning, O’Malley kicked out, and the blade went flying toward the coffin. Seamus bent to pick it up. Straightening to his full height, he smiled at Judson. “Faith, ye’ve bollocks for brains if ye don’t realize that ye’re already a dead man.”
“Merde! Have you no respect for the dead, Judson?” Ruan turned to the man beside him. “Etienne, help the others escort les déchets outside to dispose of them.”
“At once, mon capitaine!”
Eileen’s heart raced at watching the scene in front of her, the truth that had been revealed before a dozen witnesses—the wreckers were responsible for killing Flaherty!
“What did you call us?” Judson barked.
“Offal, garbage, refuse,” Ruan translated smoothly.
The smuggler’s calm reassured Eileen that no harm would come to her while Ruan stood beside her, protecting her.
But the ache in her heart intensified, as she wished with all her might that it was Flaherty standing close to her, using his tall, broad-framed body to protect her.
In that moment, she realized that she had not only lost the chance for a lifetime of love, but her heart as well…
Flaherty had taken it with him when he died.
Numbness crept up from the soles of her feet to her belly at the realization of all she had lost. Could-haves, should-haves, and what-ifs roiled inside of her, wreaking havoc with the calm she fought so hard to maintain.
If she had not fought so hard against her attraction to the arrogant charmer, would he still have proposed to her?
Hurt slashed through her at the thought that, because of her pride, she would never know.
She shook her head to dispel the thoughts tormenting her and concentrated on Judson, the man who in all likelihood had ordered Flaherty’s death, and moments before threatened her father with a wicked-looking blade. Thank goodness O’Malley had taken action and disarmed the wrecker.
“Do not despair, Mademoiselle Doonan—Etienne and my men will aid O’Malley and the others. No harm will come to you or your père.”
Oddly touched by his assurances, she felt the hard edge of panic ease.
“Thank you, Ruan. I’m grateful.” She turned her attention to the commotion across from them.
The Flaherty brothers had tied up Judson and his men, and were handing them off to O’Malley, Etienne, and the others.
Her heart slowed to its normal rate as she followed their movement, until the door closed behind the prisoners being led away.
Finally, she relaxed enough to take a deep breath. She spun back around in time to see the body in the coffin move. Her breath snagged in her throat as she watched Flaherty sit up, unwind the bandage around his head, and greet his brothers. “Faith, ye’re a sight for sore eyes, lads!”
She blinked, but the vision did not change. Flaherty placed a hand on the edge of the coffin, jumped out, and started walking toward her. Her brain tried to process what her eyes were seeing, but couldn’t.
Ruan’s strong arm wrapped around her waist as her brain repeated what she had seen with her eyes earlier—Flaherty was dead.
She knew he’d been shot and bashed his head against the rocks the night she saved him from drowning.
Hours later, she’d been told he had been shot a second time, had fallen off his horse, and hit his head on a rock. The final blow to his head killed him.
He was dead—wasn’t he? Was she hallucinating? Dear God, was it because she hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to him?
“Mademoiselle, are you well?”
Ruan’s voice sounded muffled, indistinct.
“Mademoiselle?”
Her vision grayed at the edges as her heart tried to pound its way out of her breast. She watched the auburn-haired giant with the bright blue eyes stride closer. She willed her brain to come back to the present and stop imagining things that could not be. Wake up!
When the battered man she loved stood before her, she reached out to touch him, but let her hand fall at the last moment. If this was a dream, she did not want it to end.
Digging deep for courage, she rasped, “Am I dreaming? Are you real?”
“Ye’re not dreaming, lass. I could not tell ye of our plans. We feared that Judson would capture ye and pry the truth from ye.” Flaherty turned to the man steadying her. “Ye can let go now, Ruan. I’ll be taking care of me intended from this day forward.”
Disbelief was a fire in her blood; her temper rose and twined with the heartache she’d suffered, believing Flaherty was dead. Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides as she flared with anger she struggled to contain.
Ruan let go of her. “If you have need of me, you know where to find me.”
She must have murmured something in response, because Ruan inclined his head to her. Flaherty reached for her, but she did not trust herself not to take a swing at him. Shaking with desperate relief and raging anger, she drew in one breath and another. It did not help.
Flaherty leaned close. “Take yer best shot, lass.” The look in his eyes melted her heart, while volatile emotions exploded inside of her.
Shock held her immobile as the pain radiated from her hand to her wrist. Guilt swamped her. She’d actually punched him! Flaherty did not flinch, nor did he give any sign that he’d felt the blow.
The room fell silent as those gathered waited to see what the Irishman would do. “Well now, lass. I’m thinking ye’ve a fine jab, and the blow ye landed evened the score.”