Her Irish Surrender (14 page)

She
paced again. “Think, Ada, think!” she said to herself. She walked the floor a few more times and stopped. “Finn.”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

She spun to the deputy. “Mullany’s Funeral Parlor, where is it?”

His eyes grew wide. “That’s a little pre-mature, don’t you think, ma’am? After all, he
is
your husband. Don’t give up so soon …”

“No, no! I need to find Finn
Mullany!”

“Finn’s probably out at the cemetery
, digging.”

“Where is it, where’s the cemetery?”

“Just outside town. Southeast, about a half a mile.”

Before he could say another word, Adaline shot
out the door. She didn’t even bother to grab her shawl. The only thing she knew was that if she didn’t find Finn and find him fast, Lorcan would come to harm. She felt it with every fiber of her being.

She ran down the street in the dire
ction the deputy said, and saw the Funeral Parlor at the edge of town. She went to the door in case Finn might have returned. 

Locked.

She breathed heavily and struck the door with a fist. Then she remembered it was St. Patrick’s Day. The Mullanys’ must have closed early, if they opened at all. Finn might be working extra to get caught up. She knew they’d been shorthanded.

Adaline took a fortifying breath
, lifted her skirts, and raced on. It wasn’t long before she caught sight of the cemetery, and saw Finn bent over a grave.  She fell against the gate to catch her breath, and fought the urge to sink to her knees in exhaustion. “Finn ..” she cried, her voice a pitiful rasp.  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and had to grip the gate’s decretive iron bars to hold herself up. “Finn …” she tried again, louder this time.

She pushed away from the gate and stumbled toward him.  He looked up, his face a mask of confusion, then suddenly, dead serious.  “Adeline!”
He threw down the shovel in his hands and ran to her.  “Adeline … I mean Miss Dermont …
Mrs. Brody!
” he cried and he caught her as she fell. What’s happened?”

“Lorcan …” she rasped. “He’s gone missing. I … I think … someone took him.”

Finn paled. “Great Mother of God … no …”

Adaline straightened, and took a deep breath.
“Finn Mullany! I know you two have been keeping something from me! This has something to do with that last fight, doesn’t it?”

Finn shook his head, speechless.

“I’m not some silly woman who doesn’t have eyes. No man gets that beat up and comes home without so much as a word to the Sheriff. There are fights, and then there are
fights,
the kind that go against the law. Even
I
know that.”

Finn swallowed hard, shocked at her tirade. But Adaline didn’t care. “Where is he?” She asked. “I swear, if he’s fighting, I’m going to kill you first, and then
kill him!”

Finn swallowed again “My fault, all my fault …” he mumbled.

“What are you talking about?
What
is going on?”

Fi
nn looked at her, his mouth open. He snapped it shut. “There was a man, an Englishman, he arranged the last fight. He forced Lorcan into it … and it was my fault. I took him there, told him Lorcan would fight.  Lorcan didn’t want to, so they took him anyway, and made him …”

Adaline’s eyes widened as she remembered the Englishman who rescued her from the advances of Herbert.
Were they one in the same? They had to be. How many Englishmen could there be in Oregon City? “Where is this man?”

“I don’t know. I …” Finn’s eyes rounded. “Oh my Lord, it’s St. Patrick’s Day …”

“Finn?” Adaline’s voice was laced in warning.

Finn’s fingers fumbled as he yanked out his pocket watch. “Oh no! It’s almost time!”

“Time for what?”

He looked at her,
eyes frantic. “The fight is in less than an hour!”

Adaline’s expression went flat. “What fight?” she pushed out through clenched teeth.

He stared at her and gulped. “I know where Lorcan is.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Adaline said, her jaw tight. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Two pairs of hands grabbed Lorcan by the arms and pulled him to his feet. They’d cut the ropes that bound his ankles, and roughly dragged him out of the stall to who-knows-where.  He heard a door open, then felt the cool rush of night air as he was pulled outside. He had no idea where he was, only a guess at the time. He could tell it was well past dusk, knew the scent, but had never focused on it before. He also knew the cool temperature that lingered after the setting of the sun, all of which let him know his three hours were up. It was time to fight, or in the words of Lord Philip Brennan, time to die.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Adaline screeched. “Ride! A man’s life is in danger!” She and Finn had raced back to the Sheriff’s office, and had
just caught their breath when the Sheriff came sauntering through the door.

“Now
ma’am, we don’t have no proof Mr. Brody was kidnapped. But don’t worry, we’ll check it out.”

“Then get on your horses, and get out to Herbert Walker’s farm!”
she said through clenched teeth. “They’re all out there, you’ll see. Hurry, before it’s too late!”

The Sheriff turned t
o her, a coffee pot in hand, and proceeded to pour himself a cup. “I know of these fights ma’am. I’ve broken up a few over the last year. Trust me, it’s best to go in after dark and surprise the scoundrels.”

She grabbed him by
the arm hard enough to send his coffee cup flying. “Don’t you understand? Why would this Brennan kidnap a blind man to fight? He’s going to kill him, I know it!”

The Sheriff looked at her, dumbfounded. His eyes darted to the door, and back again. “Sam, get your horse,” he said to his deputy. “We’re leaving.”

Adaline slumped against the desk. “Thank you.”

The Sheriff nodded. Finn came bursting through the door. “Adaline … I’m ready.”

She looked at him, and nodded. She turned to the Sheriff. “Let’s go.”

“What? You’re no
t going,” the Sheriff said tersely.

She stepped
up to the Sheriff, and got in his face as best she could, which in this case, meant standing on tip-toe. “I
am
going. That’s
my
husband out there and you are not going to stop me!”

The Sheriff glanced to his deputy, then to Finn. “Great Scott, she’s
sounds just like Mrs. Brody.”

“I
am
Mrs. Brody! Now lets go!” She stomped toward Finn, grabbing him as she went, and pulled him out the door with her.

The Sheriff and
deputy could only stare after her as she mounted a horse, skirts and all, and galloped off, Finn not far behind her.

The deputy put on his hat and whistled.
“What a woman …”

* * *

The
sound of men’s voices and raucous laughter was muffled by the wood wall separating Lorcan from the ring.  He was in a small room, a tack room judging by the heavy smell of leather, and forced to wait. A cheer went up and Lorcan heard footsteps over-head. He glanced up. If he was in a barn, then the hayloft must be above him.

“Bring him out!” a voice shouted.

The door to the tack room opened. Lorcan was yanked to his feet, then roughly pulled from the tiny prison. Wild shouting started the moment the crowd caught sight of him. They’d stripped his shirt off earlier, and removed his boots as well. He stood clothed only in his trousers. Someone cut the rope binding his wrists, and he rubbed them gingerly as the shouts and hollers around him grew louder.  He flexed his hands and arms to get the circulation going in them, and the men went wild. He moved his head this way and that, taking in the sounds.
Lord, help me out of this …

A gun went off, and the crowd quieted. “Gentlemen, welcome.”

Lorcan seethed at the familiar voice.
Brennan …

“Take note of the height, the well formed arms and chest, the powerful jaw …”

Lorcan spun to him, knowing he faced the madman
as he raised his head to the hayloft.

“And the swift reflexes …” he added in a bemused tone. “Now, let us meet the Irishman’s opponent.

Everything went silent, and Lorcan sensed the crowd’s anticipation. A door opened, and he could here the shuffle of feet on dirt.

“Unhand me you ruffians!” a man’s voice called.

The crowd burst into laughter.  Hoots and jeers surrounded Lorcan, and he wished he could see what the fuss was about.

“Mr. Walker,” Brennan chortled. “Meet your
ever-worthy opponent.”

Lorcan heard a man’s squeak of alarm
, followed by the sound of feet running past him, only to stop short. The crowd roared with laughter.

“It seems Mr. Brody, that Mr. Walker doesn’t want to fight you,” Brennan draw
led. “I think he’s afraid he’s going to lose.”

Walker?
Lorcan’s mind raced. Could this be the same fellow who had his eye on Addy? She’d mentioned he’d purchased a farm outside of town …

Lorcan began to put two and two together, and didn’t wonder if he was on that farm right now. He turned in the direction he thought Walker might be, and sure enough, heard a yelp of surprise near him.

“Let’s make the fight even, shall we?” Brennan called. 

Lorcan heard an object
hit the dirt somewhere between himself and where Walker stood.  There was movement, and Walker snatched up whatever it was that got tossed down. Was it a knife, a gun?  Probably a knife, it would make the fight last longer.

“Now, Mr. Walker, I thank you for the generous use of your lovely new home, and as I’m a generous man myself, wish to give you your heart’s desire. The hand of the Widow Brody.”

Lorcan’s head snapped to Brennan’s voice, his eyes, narrowed to slits.

“All you have to
do,” Brennan continued. “Is turn her into one.”

* * *

“There it is, Walker’s new farm,” Finn said as they reined their horses to a stop. He turned to Adaline and took in her determined face in the moonlight. “Where did ye learn to ride like that?”

“Private lessons,” she said, her eyes intent on the silhouette of a la
rge barn in the distance. Torchlight cast deep shadows around the structure, but it was easy to see the numerous horses and wagons surrounding it.  They waited a moment for the Sheriff and  others to catch up, and could hear the faint sound of men’s laughter coming from the barn.

“It’s started,” Finn said
.

Adaline closed her eyes. “Please Lord! Let him be all right!”

“He will be, I’ll see to it,” Finn told her. He reached over and touched her hand. “I promise.”

The Sheriff,
his deputies, and half a dozen men from town, came to a skidding stop next to them. “Doggone it, will ya look at that,” the Sheriff said as he took in the sight of the barn and what surrounded it. “That must be some fight.”

“Aye,” added Fin
n. “Now let’s put a stop to it before Lorcan gets killed.”

  The Sheriff turned to Adaline. “This is as far as you go, Mrs. Brody. No argument. When the shootin’ starts, and I’m sure it will, I don’t want you anywhere near it, ya hear?”

She gripped the reins and nodded.

“Good.” He turned to his men. “Let’s go.”

They kicked their horses into motion and took off. “Finn!” she cried.

He stopped and turned h
is horse to face her. “Aye?”

She swallowed hard, tears in her eyes. “Bring him back to me, or I swear I’ll …”

“Yeah, I know. Ye’ll kill me!” With that, he spun his horse around and took off to join the others.

* * *

The crowd shouted and jeered, and through the many voices, Lorcan discerned several languages other than English. There were shouts in German, French, and some he didn’t recognize. Where had all these people come from? He’d never heard of a fight attracting so many different men.

Lorcan pushed his curiosity aside as he dodged and lunged, but try as he might, he couldn’t quite get his hands on the slippery form of Herbert Walker. They
had
thrown him a knife, and the little bugger was using it! Lorcan was bleeding, from his back mostly, as Walker was too much of a coward to attack him from the front. Oddly, he could sense him, feel the man’s presence in the air around him. How, he didn’t know, he just did, and hoped his new found ability would keep him alive awhile longer.

Shots rent the air, and Lorcan froze as all thought left him.  There was a wild stampede of feet and shouting, then more shots fired. He turned as the sounds around him grew louder, and heard through the many voice
s, that of of Philip Brennan’s not feet away. “Lissa, get us out of here.”