Chapter 2

Anne's attacker swore and released his grip. Stomach churning, she scrambled out of his reach and crawled on hands and knees until a solid wall blocked her way.

"Stand away, lads," the stranger called.

Another Irishman. Anne's hope of rescue plummeted. Numb with fright, she got to her feet and braced her back against the crumbling bricks. She clenched her fists, preparing to sell her life dearly.

"Ease off, paddy," the Irish thief said. "Nob or nay, that's Limerick Town I hear in yer words. That makes us brothers."

"Not kin to you, by the grace of God." The newcomer moved closer. "I've no wish to shed your blood. Crawl down your rat holes, and I'll let you live."

Anne's heart thudded. Irish he might be, but he spoke with the cultured authority of a gentleman.

"There's three of us and only one of you!" The drunk laughed. "Not good odds fer a bloody gent."

"True enough. But I'll put a ball through your heart before you get close enough to make use of the advantage."

Anne's knees were weak. She didn't think she had the strength to run, but she began to inch slowly down the wall, closer to the shadow with the pistol. He might be as wicked as the others, but one devil was better than three.

"What's the trull to you?" demanded Cove.

"Bitch worth getting yer throat cut for?" The bubbling, distorted voice could only have come from the man with the smashed nose.

The reply rang with quiet confidence. "I'll ask you the same."

"Rush him before he reloads!" The lantern went out.

"He can't get all of us!"

"Gutter wisdom." The gentleman's scornful laughter echoed through the dark alley. "Your captain seems willing to allow one of you to take my second bullet."

Anne froze. She hadn't heard footsteps, but the gunman was directly in front of her, an arm's length away.

"Shhh," he whispered. "I've come to help."

Yes, she thought. But whom does he mean to help? She drew in a ragged breath as his coat brushed her hand. It was too dark to make out his features, but he was taller than the footpad with the crutch and had broader shoulders.

"I've no need to reload, lads. I've a single shot left. Who feels lucky?"

A bulky figure rushed out of the swirling fog. Anne stuffed her hand in her mouth to suppress a cry of fear as the men slammed together and scuffled. Fists and knees collided. Then came the thud of a dull blow, a groan, and a body slumped to the ground.

Anne shuddered.

"For shame." If her rescuer was out of breath, his mocking sarcasm gave no evidence of it. "One down, and I didn't need to waste my powder and shot. Who's next?" The metallic click of a pistol hammer echoed through the mist.

"If he had another bullet, he'd have used it!" the yellow-haired ruffian exclaimed.

Anne waited for what seemed an eternity. Then the silence was broken by receding footfalls as one thief fled back toward the water.

"Another time, Shannon." A crutch tapped away across the worn planks.

"Aye, Ty Cove. Another time."

Seconds passed.

"Are you all right?" Anne's rescuer's words were accented, but pleasant. He sounded like a man she could trust.

"Than—thank you, sir." Her tongue felt thick, her mouth dry. "I'll be on... on my way."

"Did they hurt you?" Hard steel lurked just beneath the surface of that lilting Irish veneer.

"No... not... No." She was bruised and shaken, her palms scraped and bleeding, but that wasn't what he meant. He was asking if she'd been violated. The thought made her stomach pitch.

Anne took a step. Something scurried beneath her foot. She yelped, stumbled back, and would have fallen if he hadn't caught her in powerful arms.

"Easy, colleen."

He smelled slightly of tobacco, oiled leather, and brandy. She could detect no hint of body odor on him or on his clothing. His touch was oddly reassuring. Still, she began to shiver violently.

"Hist, hist," he soothed, removing his coat and wrapping it around her quaking shoulders. "You're safe."

"Am I?" She didn't feel safe. The air around her seemed charged with electricity. "I don't know you. I don't even know your name."

Little flashes of exploding light sparked behind her eyes. She'd never fainted in her life, but she feared this might be a first. Once, when she was small, she and her father had been caught on the Chesapeake in a storm. Wind and water had churned a maelstrom, tossing the sailboat, making her certain she was going to die. She had closed her eyes and clung to her father.

She wanted to do that now.

"I'm Michael O'Ryan, late of Dublin."

A single tear welled up and spilled down her cheek. "I... I am Anne Davis of Gentleman's Folly." The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she realized how foolish she sounded. "On the Chesapeake—in Maryland," she finished lamely.

"You're a long way from the Chesapeake." He released her and she heard the scrape and click of a pistol being loaded.

"You—you were bluffing," she managed. "You didn't have a second shot."

"No."

The thief on the ground stirred and began to moan.

"You faced them down without any bullets in your gun." His bravery made even more tears spill from her eyes. This man, a total stranger, had risked his life for her.

He gave a small sound of amusement. "I've had a fair run of cards this night. I hoped luck was still with me."

"But if they hadn't believed..." She couldn't complete the thought. Her mind was jumbled—wild. She knew she had to get away from this awful place before her terror got the best of her—before she shamed herself by begging him to hold her again. "My sister," she said. "I'm visiting my sister."

"She lives near here?" He sounded doubtful.

"No. We were—She lives on Spruce. If you'd just point the way to St. John's Churchyard, I could find the house from there." O'Ryan's greatcoat slipped off one of her shoulders. "I'm grateful for your help, but I'm perfectly capable of—"

He cut her off brusquely. "What were you doing on the docks at this hour?"

"I—we—went to St. John's to meet... Sweet hope of heaven! Mary! My sister! She was still in the carriage when the horse ran away. She may have been injured. She may be dead!" The thought that she had been so concerned with her own welfare that she'd forgotten Mary cut through her like a whip. "I've got to find Mary."

"Like as not the horse has carried her safely home. At least she didn't have to contend with these dock scum."

"Do you think she's really all right?"

"I'll wager she gained control of the animal before the chaise tipped over. You'd have heard the carriage smash if she'd not rounded the corner safely." Then his voice dropped even lower. "You went to the churchyard to meet someone, a lover?"

"No!" The lie made her cheeks flame. "Yes," she whispered. "He was my betrothed. We were running away to be married. This was supposed to be my wedding ni—night." Her tears became a torrent as she dissolved in racking sobs.

Muscular arms enfolded her, and his act of compassion washed away her last reserves of caution. Shamelessly she pressed her face against his chest and told him how Stephen had seduced and betrayed her.

"Shh, shh," he crooned.

"He swore he loved me. I believed him, and now... now I'm lost. My father will disown me."

* * *

Anne's fresh burst of weeping pierced O'Ryan's reserve, and he was filled with the urge to protect her and kiss away her tears. Peggy was right. The ladies were his undoing.

What is stronger than a sword? demanded the lyrics of an old Irish ballad. And the answering refrain, A woman's tears are stronger than a sword, was as true today as it had been in the ancient days of Irish kings.

"I'll see you safely home, Annie Davis."

'His jaw ached where the river swine had landed a solid left before he'd rapped him on the skull with his pistol barrel. The blackguard's knife had sliced through his best pants and nicked his thigh deep enough to draw blood. The wound wasn't serious. He'd suffered far worse and lived to tell the tale, but a few inches to the right and he'd have lost something far dearer to him than a pair of good wool trousers. And broken saucy Peggy's heart, no doubt, he mused with black humor.

"...I can't let you—"

What was it the lass was saying? O'Ryan shook his head, impatient to be out of here before the thieves came back with reinforcements. "They may be out there in the dark, waiting for you. I'd not sleep this night if I didn't take you safely to your family."

"But—"

"Enough," he answered firmly. "By now your sister should have raised the alarm. We must get you back before the city is up in arms."

* * *

When horse and carriage clattered into the side courtyard, George Whitfield, Mary's husband, rushed out of the house, swearing so fiercely that she could barely explain what had happened.

"The ruffians have Anne," she sobbed hysterically. "They've murdered her—I know they have." Mary rocked back and forth, hands over her face. "It was awful. I didn't mean to leave her. The horse bolted—"

"And what purpose would have been served had you been kidnapped as well?" George waved her toward the house. "Go inside and leave this to me."

"We made a wrong turn in the fog. I didn't—"

"Not another word!" His mouth tightened. "I've been patient with you, Mary, more so because of your youth and childish nature. But this stupidity is beyond belief." He scowled. "A less patient husband would have taken you in hand well before this."

"Don't—"

"Well you might weep, wife. If we find your sister alive, she will never be the same. And you must share the blame for her ruin."

Mary's maids followed her into the house as George shouted commands. Menservants milled about, lighting torches, saddling horses, and arming themselves with staves.

Brandishing a musket in his left hand, George led his employees out the back gate and down a side alley. They turned onto Spruce, the main street that ran in front of the town house, just as O'Ryan and Anne rounded the corner.

"Step away from that woman!" George bellowed. "Reach for a weapon and I'll send you to your grave."

"No!" Anne called as they paused under a circle of lantern light. "I'm unhurt. This brave gentleman came to my assistance. Is Mary all right?"

"Unharmed, praise God," George replied. "No thanks to you!"

O'Ryan glanced down at Anne. "Your brother-in-law?"

"I'm afraid so." She laid her hand on his arm. "Thank you for saving my life. I hope you'll forgive me for behaving like—"

"You have nothing to be ashamed of. And you have my word that what you've told me will go no further," O'Ryan said. "I'll bid you a good night."

Still yelling, George jogged toward them.

"But you must come back to the house," Anne insisted. "My father will insist on rewarding you for your courage. He—"

O'Ryan's back stiffened. "Do you think I did it in hope of reward?"

"I didn't mean to insult you."

She tilted her face up to his in the lantern light, and he found her striking despite her disheveled hair and tear-swollen eyes. In the time it had taken them to walk from the docks, Anne had regained much of her composure. She was, he decided, a rare woman of pluck and good sense, despite her naïveté about gentlemen who promised marriage in exchange for favors.

"I will ask you for one thing," he said.

"Of course. Anything. I—" She gasped as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. Her protest died unspoken, and her lips molded to his, so warm and tender that his teasing caress became something more.

O'Ryan's heart slammed into his chest and excitement spilled through his limbs, making his toes curl in his boots. Vaguely, he was aware of her brother-in-law's cry of outrage.

Trembling, Anne pulled back. "Go," she urged. "Quickly, before..."

For an instant, their eyes met. Then he touched the brim of his hat in salute. "Good luck to you, Annie Davis," he murmured. "And try to stay away from dockside without an escort."

"How dare you!" George bellowed. "Stop!"

O'Ryan ignored the outcry. Thrusting broad hands into his pockets, he sauntered into the shadows, cut down a lane between two houses, and headed back toward Irishtown near the river. He had no wish to speak with Anne's brother-in-law tonight or to give further explanations as to why he had been near enough to the docks to come to her rescue.

He needed to think.

O'Ryan wasn't a man who believed in coincidence. Maybe stumbling into Anne's predicament was evidence that his luck had turned for the better. He'd not survived an English prison, cheated the executioner's noose, and escaped Ireland by ignoring his instincts.

By the time he climbed the stairs to the third-floor rooms he shared with wheelwright Sean Cleary, Sean's wife Nora, and their three small children, O'Ryan had reached a decision. It would take a greater fool than his mother had cradled to let fair Annie and her fortune slip through his hands.

He knew enough of society's ways to realize that she must wed someone and soon. Why not him? A smile creased the corners of his mouth. Marriage was a business arrangement after all—an alignment of families to ensure property and the protection of children. Nothing more.

Let poets and balladeers babble about true love between a husband and wife. He was no romantic. He'd seen enough of the trouble that following your heart could bring you. A sensible man depended on reason.

If a kiss was any measure, Anne Davis was a woman of fire and spirit, one that any sensible bridegroom would welcome to his bed. If giving his name to her fatherless babe would save her from disgrace and gain him the means to protect Kathleen...

"Is that you, Michael?" Sean called sleepily when O'Ryan pushed open the sagging door.

"Aye, it's me. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep." O'Ryan stepped carefully over a coughing child rolled in a blanket, felt his way around a table, and went into the narrow cell that served as a bedchamber. He didn't bother to light a candle but undressed in the dark and—still deep in thought—slipped into bed.

On the far side of the crumbling plaster wall, the Flynn baby was shrieking, and Joseph Flynn was cursing his wife. Grateful that the bully was too far in his cups to resort to anything worse than words, O'Ryan turned his back and tried to shut out the racket.

His sheet blankets were clean and the bare floor scrubbed spotless, thanks to Nora Cleary. But nothing could hide the odors that permeated the house, of urine, dampness, and humans packed too tightly together.

Seven families lived in a dwelling that his father wouldn't have considered fit to stable his hounds in. And that wasn't counting himself or the daft old man who slept in the attic without heat or a place to cook.

At home in County Clare, men said the streets of America were lined with gold. They boasted that any jack willing to work could become rich. Here, in the New World, he could hold his head high, own land, educate his children, and practice his religion beholden to none.

O'Ryan flopped onto his belly and tried to shut out the baby's wailing with his blanket. He hadn't come here by choice; he'd landed in this port because the ship he'd stowed away on was bound for America.

But honest Sean Cleary had sacrificed all he owned to make the journey. He'd left behind aging parents and grandparents, his job, a house and forge. And after six months in the City of Brotherly Love, all he'd gained was the taunts of little men who judged him by his accent and the place where he'd been born.

Sean was an artist with wood. He'd learned his craft as boy and man, but no shop would hire him. These pious Quakers claimed to be men of God, but they had small charity for those who spoke differently or worshipped in a different church. Sean was one of a flood of Irish immigrants looking for work—any work at all. And what little he earned unloading an occasional ship or knocking together coffins for potter's field barely kept his family fed and a roof over their heads. His good wife Nora was far-gone with child, but when her time came she'd have to depend on the charity of a neighbor or Sean's strong hands to bring her babe into the world. For even if they managed to scrape together the money for a midwife, none would venture to this part of town.

In Ireland, O'Ryan—a gentleman's son—and Sean Cleary the tradesman would have passed each other in the streets with barely a word exchanged. But twelve weeks on the Atlantic aboard a pest-ridden ship had changed all that. Sean Cleary had saved O'Ryan's life and become the brother that he'd never had.

Taking comely Annie Davis to wife might offer an opportunity to help Sean and his family. And it could be the only hope of bringing Kathleen and her babe to America before it was too late.

The problem now was how to convince the lady Anne that an Irish adventurer with a price on his head was the answer to her prayers.