CHAPTER SIX

The journey home passed in a blur of frigid wind and overly warm hearths. At the fork in the road which would lead him home, or to Jeffreys, he stopped his horse. “Go home and warn the abbey we have arrived.”

“I’ll not let you face Jeffreys alone.”

“Are you more afraid for me? Or for Jeffreys? Go home. Prepare for Bridget’s return.”

Fortunately, his uncle argued only a few minutes before he agreed to ride on ahead and warn the abbey of their coming. And Sean took the fork that led to his enemy.

“Congratulations on winning a wealthy bride, McCarthy.” Jeffreys was surprisingly amenable to him when he interrupted the man’s dinner. He did not call him Blarney, of course, as the name still rankled Jeffreys after almost 4 decades.

“I’ve come for Bridget.”

“Ah. Yes, that unfortunate matter. I’m sorry to pull you away from the wedding festivities.” He glanced behind Sean, as if expecting to see someone else. “Did your lovely bride not come with you?”

Sean had no intention of making a pretense of civility with this man. “Have you hung her already?” he asked bluntly.

“Where is that vaunted silver tongue, McCarthy? Have you left it with your bride in England? Or did they strip it from you as a bride price?”

Sean did not answer with words, only a glare that promised bloodshed if he was not answered.

Jeffreys sighed, and answered as if Sean should have known without asking. “Of course I haven’t had her hanged.” The sanctimonious man smoothed his mustache before he added nervously, “I was within my legal rights—“

Sean had no interest in the questionable legalities of Bridget’s situation. “Where is she?”

“Not so fast.” Jeffreys held up a hand, and then indicated a chair with a wave of his hand. “Sit and discuss the matter with me.”

Sit? While Bridget’s life hung in the balance? Was the man mad? “I want to see her.”

Jeffreys frowned. “You will, as soon as you and I come to terms.”

Terms? What lunacy had possessed the man? “There are no terms; she is a twelve year old child.”

Jeffreys shook his head. “She tried to push Jamie over a cliff.”

“What did he try to do to her?” The question had been a stumble in the dark, but Sean’s gut clenched when Jeffreys’s gaze skittered toward the biscuits arranged on the platter by his right side.

The man blustered, “He did nothing but rescue our property from her possession.”

Had Bridget stolen something? It didn’t seem in her nature. But perhaps he had been away so long he no longer knew her nature. “Your property?”

Jeffrey’s smoothed his fingers down the glossy tails of his mustache before answering. “It seems your sister has discovered an illuminated manuscript hidden within the castle walls.”

A book? Sean cared nothing for a book. But, he realized, Jeffreys did. And like his ancestors before him, he didn’t want a McCarthy laying claim to anything at Blarney Castle. So perhaps this was the concession Jeffreys wanted from him before he released Bridget. Sean tried to judge how important the book was to Jeffreys. “No doubt hidden during the time a McCarthy lived there.”

The man straightened in his chair with an alacrity that suggested he would have much rather launched himself at Sean for a good scuffle to settle the matter. “The castle is ours, and has been for two centuries. The manuscript is ours.”

“So you wish me to drop any claim to an old book, and in exchange you will not press these ridiculous charges against Bridget?” He was tempted to refuse. But he wanted to see Bridget first. He was uneasy that Jeffreys had refused his request to speak to his sister.

“You have no claim to anything upon the castle grounds—whereas several of my men saw your sister struggling with Jamie on the cliff and are eager to testify so.” There was a shadow in the other man’s eyes. Almost as if he did not relish the idea. Odd, considering how prickly he had been to Sean’s family since the king had granted them the title.

Sean’s father had said that the Jeffreys were simply afraid the king might take it upon himself to give back the castle. When Connor had said he should, Sean’s father had merely laughed. “What need have we of a ruined castle? Let us build new and be glad no Englishman will ever have his boot on our necks again.”

The money had been thin, though. Connor had spent almost all they’d had for the land and the gifts he’d used to curry favor with the king and convince him to reward Sean’s father with a title.

Despite the grand plans of his uncle, the abbey had yet to be made entirely comfortable, and some said it was not even truly habitable, though Sean thought of it as home.

Infuriated that his sister would be made vulnerable for Jeffreys’s greed for possessions, Sean stood. “Blast your greedy English heart—two hundred years on Irish soil hasn’t made you an Irishman, or you’d know that book belongs to me and mine.”

Before the man could protest, he added, “I will make no claim for the book if you release my sister to me immediately and we never speak of this again. Is it agreed?”

Jeffreys pressed his lips together, unhappy to be rushed. “I must have your solemn word.”

“Would you take it?” Sean asked with a snarl of displeasure.

Jeffreys hesitated only a moment before dipping his head in assent. “If you give me your word, I will hold you to it, rest assured.”

“I give you my sworn word, on my mother’s grave, if you need. Now release my sister.”

But Jeffreys’s was not yet satisfied. “It is agreed that, owing to my good will, and my son’s pleas on your sister’s behalf, that I will give you one more chance to rein in the girl. She is wild. Jamie could have died—and I assure you, if he had, there would be no saving her.”

Thank God, the man was not determined to see her dead. His heart eased, though his blood boiled as he said mildly, “Perhaps, given that the boy has turned thirteen and has grown bigger and stronger than Bridget, you might remind him not to wrestle a lady.”

Jeffreys’s color grew high. “My son was protecting himself from a madwoman, not a lady, I assure you. Perhaps if you were home more, rather than pursuing your useless course to win the favor of those in London, you would know that.”

The blow had struck too accurately, and Sean reined in his temper just barely. “Where is she?”

Jeffreys rose and rang for a servant. “I shall have her sent to your carriage.”

So. He was to be dismissed, was he? “I have no carriage, Jeffreys. I will wait no more than a minute for her. If you are playing some game…”

“I play no game. I will see she has a mount.”

“Do not bother, she can ride with me.” Sean turned his back and strode away before he gave in to the temptation to murder the man.

He had barely reached his horse when he saw two cloaked figures approaching, one of Jeffreys’ carriages following a slight distance behind them.

The taller figure pushed back her hood and he recognized the stolid features of one of Jeffreys’s maidservants. The other, he knew by the graceful movement, was his sister.

Glancing at the carriage, and the nervous driver, his blood boiled more furiously as he realized that Jeffreys had been prepared to have his maidservant flee with Bridget should Sean have tried to free her with violence. But he forced his emotions into tight rein. His father’s favorite proverb ran through his mind: “Is fear rith maith na drochsheasamh.” This was truly a bad stand, and his sister needed him to get her to safety. He had no time for anger as he examined her, searching for any signs that she had been afraid for her life—or that she had been harmed. He had not forgotten Jeffreys’s discomfort earlier.

Jeffreys’s voice carried in the crisp winter night. “As promised. Your sister, alive.” At a gesture from Jeffreys’s, the maid pulled at Bridget’s hood, revealing her face. Sean was shocked by her appearance. Bridget was neat and clean, virtually expressionless, and her hair hung smooth and plaited where normally there would be wild strands escaping and a wide smile or a tight frown on her face. She did not look at him, but followed the maidservant who led her to his side and then scurried back behind Jeffreys, eyes downcast.

Sean had not missed the momentary fear in the maidservant’s eyes as she glanced at him before turning away and dread curled in his belly as he asked, “Are you well, Bridget?”

Her green eyes focused steadily on his. “I am.” But there was no fire in her, none of the usual lilt to her words. Her voice was as unnaturally smooth and tame as her hair.

“Then let us return home.” He contented himself with holding out his hand to her, knowing that she would not welcome the crushing urge to hug her tight to him that pressed at his chest. His sister did not like to be touched, confined, held captive. Damn Jeffreys.

To his surprise, she came into the half embrace of his upraised arm and buried her head in the wool of his coat. “I’m sorry, Sean.”

“No need for that, mo cridhe.” He enfolded her fragile frame in a full embrace, but she stiffened and pulled away, lifting her hand to brush away an uncharacteristic tear from her pale cheek.

Sean saw the bruises on her wrists as she moved, purple finger marks that spoke of brutality on her pale flesh. Fury filled him as he turned back to Jeffreys. “What have you done to her?”

The other man’s eyes narrowed and his words were sharp, but he took a step back from Sean and Bridget. “My men were a bit rough perhaps, when they intervened to save Jamie.”

Jeffreys didn’t look him squarely in the eye and Sean grew cold inside. What had they done to her? She was just a child, just a little girl… “A bit rough?”

Jeffreys said, with a chilling hint of apology that was worse than any attack he might have launched. “Under the circumstances, McCarthy, you’re fortunate they didn’t leave her for dead—they witnessed what certainly appeared to be her attempt to murder my son.”

He understood, now, why Jeffreys had not allowed his son to be present at the meeting. “You said the boy made a plea on her behalf, why would your men—”

“They saw the attack, McCarthy.” Jeffreys’s voice was firm, although his gaze refused to alight on Bridget, despite the fact that she stood at Sean’s side. “Boys will lie gallantly at times. He was not to be believed and they knew it.”

Sean looked down at his sister’s pale face and gently took her hand, lifting it, exposing the bruises that went all the way up as far as he could see under her sleeve. “Where are they?” He would kill them. No one put hands on his sister.

And then he was struck by another suspicion. “Bridget, did Jamie do this to you?” The boy had been the same size as Bridget last time Sean had seen him, but that had been nearly a year ago.

“I told you what happened, McCarthy.” Jeffreys said angrily.

Bridget said nothing, just shook her head almost imperceptibly.

“Jamie did not do this to you?” Again, she shook her head.

“I told you what happened.” Jeffreys sounded impatient, but there was an undertone of guilt there, too. “I’ve already disciplined them.”

Disciplined them? Sean could guess the indifference in such a punishment. “What did you do? Take away their biscuits?” English justice had always been lacking, always been biased against those who’d been here for more than a few centuries and didn’t relish bowing to any English king or queen. “Or did you beat them as badly as they’ve beaten her?”

Jeffreys bristled in indignation. “I’ve done what needed to be done.”

“Where are they?” Sean was amazed at how calm he sounded. Inside, his guts were churning with fury.

“They are far away. I’m not fool enough to leave them around here to suffer an ‘accident’.”

The maid’s expression flickered and it seemed for a moment she would disagree with her employer, but then she lapsed into silent misery, staring in fascinated horror at Bridget, who stood unmoving and stiff beside Sean.

Sean knew that he was moments away from true murder himself, unlike his sister. “I want the names of those cowardly—”

Jeffreys tugged sharply at a pistol at his waist. “I am at the end of my patience with you. If you didn’t let the girl run around like a wild animal, she would not have gotten herself into this mess.”

Sean heard the sound of boots in the hallway. “Your son—“

Jeffreys interrupted coldly. “You have one minute to leave with your sister before I change my mind and see that your sister pays the full price for her folly—and she will, I promise you.”

Sean’s finely honed sense of self preservation told him he should save this battle for another day. But Bridget, hurt, was more than he could bear. “She—“

Jeffreys interrupted brusquely. “Either this matter rests, here and now, or I will bring charges of murder against your sister, as I should have done in the first place. If it weren’t for her tender age—”

“Her tender age didn’t stop your men from beating her as if she were a man hard bitten by life.”

Against his will, Jeffreys glanced at Bridget and then quickly glanced away. “She’s alive. And perhaps she’s learned a lesson. Take her back to England with you. Let those who know how to bring nations to their knees try to civilize the wild creature you’ve let her become.”

Sean put his arm around her shoulder, as if to protect her from the harsh words, but she gasped and flinched away. London was the last place he would take her now. “Why should I force her to live in a land entirely populated by those who don’t believe she’s worthy of justice—isn’t it bad enough that there are too many of you over here?”

As he stared, feeling helpless with rage, he wondered what further damage was hidden by the cloak. He wanted to kill someone. Anyone. Jeffreys would make a good start.

The man he wanted so badly to kill stared at him impassively. “Well, your time is nearly up. Should I take her into custody again?”

“Remind your son, for me Jeffreys. Fillean meal ar an meallaire.” Evil returns to the evil doer. He felt little satisfaction at Jeffreys’s slight flinch. Sean lifted the slight burden of his sister into his arms and sat her in the saddle. He did not look behind him once as he swung himself behind her and rode away. Damn the English. All of them.

Connor met him at the door, his eyes darkening with the same fierce anger reflected in Sean’s gaze as they stared down at Bridget, who lay limp and unresponsive in his arms. Two serving maids, who had served as rough governesses since the last had gone flouncing off, took her into their care, clucking and moaning softly into her neck as they led her docilely away.

“Shall we kill him, then?” Connor asked.

“Not unless we wish to see Bridget hang for the crime of attempted murder,” Sean answered bleakly.

“You can’t take her back to England with you now.”

“Just as well I’m not going back, then, isn’t it?”

Connor couldn’t muster a grin, his anger still strong in his blood. But he nodded, a glint of approval in his eye. “About time you knew where you belonged.” A glimmer of worried practicality surfaced. “What will you tell—“

“Have no fear, uncle. I’ll not kill the golden goose. I’ll only leave her on a string—a long string that stretches across the sea.”

He rummaged through his desk for paper and took a deep breath to clear his head and relax the tight muscles in his hand—a hand that longed to hold a weapon more satisfying than a pistol or rapier. A broadsword would be more fitting for the iron grip of his fingers right now. Instead he settled for a pen. The words came surprisingly easily to him.

My Dearest Wife,

I fear I have been delayed. My sister’s illness is worse than can be told with mere words. It is well you did not accompany me, or I would have to worry for your safety, too.

Know that I dream only of you, and that I will return to you as soon as my duty here is acquitted.

May you always have these blessings…A soft breeze when summer comes—A warm fireside in Winter—And always—the warm, soft smile of a friend.

Dream of me until I shall be with you again.

He signed with a flourish and blotted the lies dry before he had time to change his mind. Or even to regret the destiny he now embraced. His Katie was a quick young woman, but even she would take a while before she realized her bed was destined to be forever empty of him.

***