7

Though she wasn’t tall enough to peer over Eoghan’s shoulder, Ana still managed a glimpse of the shadowy figure that materialized from nowhere into their path. Misty breath plumed from his nostrils. Moonbeams bathed his face in pale light. On one cheek, a jagged scar snaked from his chin to his left earlobe. But his black eyes . . .

“Hamilton, Kilarny would like to speak with ya. Sends his apologies for the way the last meeting ended and says he has a matter he thinks you might find interesting. You coming?”

Ana shuddered and lowered her eyes. Only then did she realize that Eoghan was still clasping her fingers. And he stood defensively between her and the forbidding stranger, his broad back blocking her from sight.

“I’ll come. I’ve got business to finish up here first,” Eoghan said.

“Making your confession, are ya?”

“Not if Kil wants to speak with me tonight.”

Ana glanced up sharply. The jest sounded forced to her ears, but the scarred man laughed.

“The pub. One hour. He’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll be there.”

Gradually the man’s footsteps faded, freeing Ana to breathe normally. Eoghan released her fingers, but instead of moving away, he clasped her face in both hands.

“Are you all right?”

She shuddered. Not with him towering over her, his hazel eyes searing her soul and her heart pounding double inside her chest. “I’m fine,” she croaked.

“I don’t want you and Tillie walking home alone. When she gets back, I’ll take you.”

Ana’s glance followed the direction the stranger had taken. How they got home was of little consequence under the circumstances. “Who . . . was that?” she stammered, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cooling temperature traveling her spine.

Eoghan’s hands fell away, leaving behind a curious chill. He grimaced. “An old friend.”

“He didn’t look like a friend.” Ana frowned. “And what was he doing prowling around like a cat after a canary?”

The church door swung wide and Tillie stepped out, her scarf looped gracefully around her neck. “Who was prowling? What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” he said before Ana could answer. His head dipped close and he whispered, “Don’t be wandering around asking questions, Ana, especially when it comes to people and things you know nothing about. It isn’t wise. Do you understand?”

She didn’t, but she nodded and beckoned toward Tillie anyway. “C’mon. We’d best be getting home before Amelia starts to worry.”

“I’ll fetch my coat—” Eoghan began, but Ana cut him short with a wave.

“No need. Tillie and I are well acquainted with the way.”

“Ana—”

“He’s a friend, remember?” she interrupted. “Besides, by the sound of it, you’d best not keep him waiting.”

Before he could respond, Ana grabbed Tillie’s hand and almost dragged her down the path to the sidewalk. In three quick strides they’d slipped through the gate and were headed down the street.

Tillie craned her neck to look back. Certain Eoghan was still watching them, Ana kept her gaze trained directly ahead.

“What was that about?” Tillie said, skipping to match her gait. “Ana, slow down. What happened back there?”

Uncertain whether she was running from the stranger or from Eoghan, Ana reduced her steps to a more reasonable pace. “I’m not sure.” At Tillie’s frown, she struggled to explain further. “A man appeared from nowhere and said someone wanted to meet with Eo—Derry,” she corrected quickly, though why she felt the need to keep the truth from Tillie was a mystery. “Derry claimed he was an old friend, but somehow I didn’t believe him.”

“And no wonder. What kind of friend would ask to meet at this hour? Did he say where he was going?”

Tillie stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk, sparing Ana from an immediate answer. She steadied her with a hand to her arm and then gave her a squeeze. “Are you all right?”

“Clumsy as ever.” Tillie scowled at the mud that had splashed onto the hem of her skirt. “What a mess, and washing day not until Saturday.”

“You can borrow one of mine,” Ana said, urging her along with a tug. Despite her brave words to Eoghan, she couldn’t help but check the shadowed street behind them and was glad when the lights from the boardinghouse came into view.

She scrambled up the steps, fumbled with the knob, and then finally managed to get both herself and Tillie inside and the door secured behind them.

The foreboding continued its tenacious hold much later when she kissed the pocket watch on her bedside table and climbed into bed. Not one given to prayer, she still couldn’t resist breathing a simple request before turning down the lamp.

“Please . . . keep Eoghan safe,” she whispered.

The pub was crowded for a Monday evening, the faces of the patrons shadowed by a handful of greasy oil lamps that spewed more smoke than light. Eoghan swallowed the discomfort wrought by remembering his last visit and wound his way toward the back of the pub where he figured Kilarny was waiting.

“You’re late.”

Eoghan jumped at the unexpected voice, behind him and to his right. Ach, but he’d gotten careless working at the church. He hoped it wouldn’t cost him.

Pasting on a wry grin, he turned and gave a brief nod to his onetime comrade. “Sorry, Kil. Couldn’t be helped.”

Kilarny measured him through guarded eyes and then tipped his head toward a seat at an empty table. A single candle burned at its center, a pool of wax collecting at the base. “Where ya been, Eoghan, me lad? We’ve missed ya.” He yanked out a chair and sat heavily down.

“Where you left me,” Eoghan replied, resisting the urge to scowl. “Bruised ribs take time to mend, especially with empty pockets. You could’ve at least left me enough to eat on.”

Kilarny gave a bark of laughter that cut through the noise and brash music rising from a battered piano. “Ach, sorry about that. ’Twasn’t my idea to work you over, ya know. Just doing what I’m told.”

Told?

Eoghan narrowed his eyes and took the chair opposite Kilarny. “And? What are your orders now? Why’d you send for me?”

“Straight to the point, eh?” Kilarny motioned for a barmaid, who brought two large mugs of ale and set them down with a thud. When she left, he lifted one of the mugs, took a deep draught, then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his tweed coat. Finished, he glanced at the other mug and then at Eoghan.

“None for me,” he said firmly, jabbing the mug away with two fingers. “I’ll be keeping a clear head tonight.”

To Eoghan’s amazement, he read a glimmer of appreciation in Kilarny’s steely gaze. The man took another drink and then leaned his chair back to balance on two legs. “How long have you and I been knowing each other, do you reckon?”

The question was unexpected, perhaps designed to keep him off-kilter. Eoghan shrugged. “Since we were lads growing up in Derry.”

“Long time.”

“I guess so.” Where was the man headed with these questions?

“And what year was it you took up the Fenian cause?”

His gut tightened as he sat forward to prop both elbows on the table. The room was no less crowded, but it had grown quiet. Too quiet. Eoghan lowered his voice. “I was eighteen, same as you. We joined the cause together, to fight for something we both believed in.”

Kilarny nodded and rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. “You, me, and Sean Healy. Three of a kind, eh, Eoghan, me boy? Lofty dreams, all of us. Brothers committed one to another—or so I thought.”

Recalling the events leading up to Sean’s death, Eoghan tensed. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” Kilarny said, abandoning all pretense, dropping the chair to all four legs, with the resulting thump making those nearest their table flinch and look away, “is that you are no longer the only one who thinks Healy acted foolishly by taking matters into his own hands the night Daniel Turner was killed. He was rash, thinking he could force Turner’s vote by threatening his life. The cause has suffered for his arrogance ever since.”

“I’ve suffered some because of it myself,” Eoghan said dryly. “Remember? Blamed for his murder, forced to go into hiding, hunted by the Fenians and, until recently, the Turners?”

Kilarny’s thin lips parted in a smile. “Mayhap that explains why certain people are inclined to give you a second chance . . . let you prove yourself, so to speak. That is, if you’re still interested.”

Eoghan’s heart rate quickened. What matter were a few bruised ribs if the Fenians were willing to take him back? He’d done nothing but try to prove himself since the day he left home to join the group ten years ago. Doing so again would be no different.

Curling his fingers into fists, Eoghan met Kilarny’s gaze head-on. “All right, Kil, I’ll bite. What do I have to do?”