Chapter 46

Sean draped his coat over Moira, averting his eyes from her bruised flesh. “Colm, is he awake?” Sean shook his right hand a few times, trying to quell the throbbing in his knuckles from the punch he’d served to Declan’s jaw. The lad lay on the ground where he’d fallen.

“Nae, lad, the brute’s out cold.” Anger registered on the old man’s face, but pride shone in his gray eyes. “Ye see to Miss Doherty—take her over to me missus. I’ll make sure this one doesna move.”

Sean scooped Moira’s limp body in his arms. Her black hair was matted to the back of her head, but warmth from the blood seeping from the gash still trickled down his elbow.

Lord, have mercy on her. Save her.

Taking care not to press on any wounds, he sidled out the door and hurried to the Sweeny home.

“Peg! Peg!”

The door flew open. “Oh, Mhaidean! What’s happened?” She rushed to Sean’s side and brushed the hair from Moira’s forehead with a tender hand, then lifted one of the girl’s eyelids with her thumb. “Bring her inside. Ye can lay her on me bed.”

Sean obeyed, turning sideways as he crossed the threshold so as not to catch Moira’s foot or her head on the doorframe. He made his way to the back room and laid Moira as gently as he could on the ticking, rearranging his coat to ensure her modesty. Blood—Moira’s blood—slicked across his palm. Hair and dirt studded the crimson stain. Unbidden, trembles overcame his body, and his stomach roiled, threatening to deposit his breakfast on the floor.

“Oh, peata.” Peg’s warm hand circled on his back. “There’s some hot water on the stove. Go clean up and help yerself to a cuppa tea. I’ll see to Moira now.”

Sean stared at the older woman, her face blurred through his tears. “But Moira . . .” He extended his hand toward her, then withdrew it quickly. “She’s hurt. She’s so very hurt.”

“She’s in good hands now, love. It wouldn’t be proper for you to tend to her in this state.”

Sean nodded absently.

“There’s a good lad. Get cleaned up, have yer cuppa, and then ye can tell me what’s happened.” She gave his shoulder a compassionate squeeze and led him out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Sean stared at his hands, covered in Moira’s blood, knuckles burning, and rage boiling in his heart. Stomping to the kitchen, he grabbed the pot of nearly steaming water from the stove and poured it over his hands, ignoring the searing heat as it washed the blood of the woman he loved from his hands. Through the window above the washbasin, he could see the thatched roof of the halla. He stared hard at it as he scrubbed, his thoughts scattering this way and that.

He slapped his hands on his breeches and stormed out the door.

“Declan!” His voice thick with rage, he called the name again. Sean kicked the halla door open. “Declan O’Malley!”

Declan was propped up against a pile of hay, chin dropped to his chest, obviously still unconscious. Colm had tied Declan’s hands behind his back, and Sean relaxed some knowing the brute was subdued. One benefit of a lifetime of thatching was Colm’s ability to tie knots sure not to come undone in a hurry. “Ye’re a good man, Colm.”

Colm nodded, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oy!” Sean kicked Declan’s foot, pushing down the rising desire to pummel the man where he lay.

Declan stirred and moaned. Sean reached down and grabbed his face, shaking it violently. “Oy! Come on now, man.” He punctuated his words with a smart slap across Declan’s stubbled face.

Declan’s head bobbed from side to side before raising up to look at Sean. He clenched his eyes shut then open a few times and worked his jaw back and forth, wincing in pain. “What’s the meaning of all this?”

Incredulous, Sean paced in front of his prisoner’s feet. “The meaning? You abused a chaste and righteous young woman, ya chancer. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you then and there.”

Declan sneered. “You’ve got it all wrong, lad.” He licked his lips. “She lured me here and tried to seduce me. You should’ve seen the ways she tried to entice me.” A guttural laugh rattled his chest.

Sean’s fingers balled into a fist then opened, again and again.

“When I resisted, she went insane and attacked me.”

Sean lunged toward him, but Colm caught him before he reached his target. “’Tis not the time nor place, lad.”

Sean shot a glare at the old man. “Ya can’t be serious?”

“He’ll stand before the Gardaí for his crime.” Colm laid a strong hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Don’t heap guilt upon yourself by acting unwisely. Ye saved the gairl’s life, and you did right by her and yerself with what you did. Any more, though, and ye’ll be in the wrong as well.”

“Aye,” Sean growled, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “You can spin yer lies all ya want, Declan, but Colm and I know what we saw. And any man can look at the state o’ that poor girl’s body—” His voice caught in his throat. “Everyone will know what you did, and no one will buy that load of malarkey you’re sellin’.”

He reached down and grabbed Declan by the elbow, yanking him to his feet. Together, Sean and Colm dragged the prisoner to the Gardaí house.

When Sean and Colm burst through the Gardaí door with Declan, Tom Duffy scrambled to his feet behind his large desk.

“Cad a tharla?” The officer yanked his waistcoat into place. “What’s all this?”

Sean pushed his way past him and thrust Declan into the holding cell, slamming the door with a clang. “This . . . this rake is after assaultin’ Miss Doherty.” He paced the room, breathless.

Duffy’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked hard at Declan, who slumped onto a creepie in the corner of the cell, looking neither guilty nor innocent. “Tell me exactly what’s happened.”

Sean smoothed his hair back and splayed his hands on the desk. “Colm and I were heading out for a thatching repair when we heard a commotion in the halla. At first all we could hear was scuffling and muffled voices. Then we heard a scream—a female scream. A . . . terrified scream.” He rolled his lips between his teeth and took a deep breath, fighting to keep his rage in check. “We burst into the halla to find—” He closed his eyes and waited for the lump to leave his throat. “We found yer man there tryin’ to have his way with Miss Doherty. She was bleeding from her head, and barely conscious. He’d ripped her dress from her—it’s still on the floor of the halla. I pulled him off her and gave him a right hook across the jaw.”

Duffy rubbed his fingers across his jowls before resting them on his plump belly. He turned to Declan. “Was that the way of it?”

Declan shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know how these young, single teachers are, Duff. She lured me there and tried to seduce me.”

The officer’s brow furrowed, and he scooted up close to Sean. “Are ya sure it was as you say? You know, Miss Doherty’s been said to—”

Colm raised his palm up, signaling Duffy to say nothing more. He stepped closer to the officer and looked him in the eye. “We’ve known each other a long time, Tom. All our lives, aye?”

“Aye.”

“God as my witness, it happened just as young Sean here told ye. O’Malley assaulted that poor lass, and I won’t stand here an’ let ye use gossip to make an innocent gairl accountable for an attack that nearly stole her life. She lies in my house now, unconscious.”

Duffy looked back at Declan, who turned his palms up toward the ceiling as if to say, “You can’t blame me for trying.”

“Colm, of all the folk in Ballymann, I trust ye more than any—other than Father McGowan, o’course.”

Colm nodded.

“I’ll give yer wife some time to tend to the lass’s medical needs, and then I’ll need to talk to her meself.”

“Anything ya need.” Colm shook Duffy’s hand.

Sean nodded at the officer and leveled another glare at Declan before turning to head out the door and back to Moira.