Never Broken (7 page)

Rory rose from the bench. He understood Colm’s anger, but he was also realistic—and more than a bit fearful. “We can’t. William holds all the power and the purse strings. He can cast us out—”

“Let him,” Colm retorted. “I’d rather live with my dying kinsmen then spend one minute on English soil.”

“Then death is what we’ll have if he turns us out.” He huddled inside his wool coat, knowing that the garment was more than many of the villagers had to keep warm. If William forced him and Colm off the estate, how would they survive? Would they be left with only the clothes on their backs? “We are worse off now than when we came here,” he muttered, swiftly losing hope.

Colm shook his head. “You are wrong on that account.”

Before Rory could press Colm about his cryptic response, the sound of soft footsteps against the flagstones on the garden path grabbed his attention. He looked up to see Sara emerging from the surrounding dead rose bushes into the square.

“Forgive my lateness.” Her dress was wrinkled, and flyaway strands of hair lay against her face. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her equanimity. “I had to sneak out of my room. William posted a guard by my door.”

“Has he gone completely mad?” Colm asked.

“How did you manage to escape?” Rory added.

A sly smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “I haven’t forgotten my tree climbing skills completely. Remember how the three of us used to chase each other through the valley? I would shimmy up an old oak tree, and you and Colm wouldn’t be far behind.”

“Aye,” Rory said, relaxing a bit at the pleasant memory. He grinned. “You were always as fast as lightning, both going up and coming down.”

“Thus the trellis outside my window came in rather handy. Although, I’m afraid the winter roses attached to it didn’t fare so well.”

“Sara,” Colm said, his voice gentler than Rory had heard it in a long time. “I’m sorry William is doing this to you.”

“Thank you, Colm. Would that you and Rory were my true brothers.” She touched his cheek. “Would that many things were different.” She cleared her throat. “I have something for you both.”

She turned, facing away from them. Rory saw her reach inside the bodice of her dress for something and averted his gaze.

When she turned back around, she held two short, thick envelopes in her hands. Her skin blushed pink. “Not a very ladylike way to carry parcels, but I didn’t know where else to put them.”

Colm chuckled. “Aye, but resourceful, lass.”

Sara smiled back. “Mother would have a fit if she knew, but at the moment her and William’s opinions are hardly my concern.” She handed Rory and Colm each an envelope. “These are from Father. He gave them to me the night before he died, and he made me promise to get them to you. He was desperate about it. Now I understand why.”

The dread in Rory’s stomach formed a sickening lump. Although he had pretty much known what William’s intentions were all along, to have them confirmed made it all too real. “William will be casting us out, then?”

Moisture shone in Sara’s eyes. “Aye. I believe as soon as he finds you, he will have you escorted off the estate as soon as possible.”

“Bloody…” Colm muttered.

Tears coursed down her face. “But Father provided for you, as he always did. He gave you enough money to go to America.” She wiped her eyes. “I must go now before they realize I’ve left.” She walked into Rory’s open embrace. “I shall miss you both so much,” she sobbed against his chest.

Rory held her tight. They had grown closer during the past few weeks. He couldn’t imagine life without her. She was the only family he had left that cared anything about him.

When he released her, she ran into Colm’s arms. Rory watched as his brother buried his face in her neck.

“Come with us, Sara,” he pleaded as he pulled away. “We don’t have to go to America. I own a plot of land outside Ballyclough.”

“You do?” Rory asked, shocked.

“I’d been saving for years while working odd jobs here and there. I signed the papers a few months ago.”

“I never knew,” Rory said, looking at his brother in amazement.

“Because I didn’t want you to.” He glanced at Rory, then looked at Sara again. “I’ll build a modest cottage, and we can make our home there, the three of us.”

“Nay, Colm.” Sara wiped her nose with the back of her hand in a rather unladylike fashion, all decorum seemingly forgotten in her pain. “I cannot—I will not—cross William, for he would search for me and blame you and Rory for my perfidy. I will be safe in England. I’ll get used to it.”

“But he would wed you to a man you barely know. I can’t allow that.” Colm’s eyes sparked with frustration.

“Oh, Colm.” She reached up and touched his cheek again, her palm resting on the reddish stubble on his chin. “You sound more like my father than my cousin. But no matter. William is my… protector, now,” she said, choking out the words. “Only promise me you’ll go, that you’ll leave Ballyclough.”

“Nay.”

“Colm, she’s right,” Rory said, moving closer to them both. “Ballyclough is done for. We’ve but one chance to escape. We need to take it.”

“Shut it, Rory,” Colm said.

Sara backed away. “Please, do not fight. I couldn’t take it if you were at odds with each other.”

“When are we not at odds?” Colm muttered. At Sara’s pleading look, he turned to Rory. “Sorry.”

Rory nodded as Sara backed away. “Good luck, my cousins. And Godspeed.” She disappeared into the sparse hedge of bushes, the muted tap of her slippers against the flagstones fading away as she fled back to the manor.

Colm turned to Rory. “We have to do something. We can’t leave her like this.”

Rory gripped the envelope. Even in death their uncle had taken care of them. They had an opportunity for a brighter future, and Rory wasn’t about to walk away from it, regardless of the circumstances. “Sara will be fine in England,” he said quietly.

“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

“Lady Jane loves her daughter. She won’t allow William to make her miserable. I’d stake my life on it.” But even as he spoke, he wasn’t sure Sara would have her mother’s protection. What use would he and Colm be? Sara was right, William would blame them for any rebellion on her part and would tighten his control of her. “You must listen to reason, Colm. Sara is better off in England, and we are better off away from Ireland.”

Colm stepped close to his brother, his green eyes narrowing. “There are always other paths to take, my brother. As usual, you choose the easiest one.”

After waiting until William and Lady Jane
had retired for the night, Rory and Colm left for Cork. They traveled the road on foot and in stony silence. Although Rory believed they had made the best choice, he wasn’t at peace with the decision. There were no guarantees that their lives would be any better when they reached America. He’d heard conflicting stories about Irishmen settling in New York and Boston. Some carved out a successful living while others were treated with contempt.

Colm’s accusation niggled at him. His brother made him sound like a coward. Which he wasn’t. Or was he?

He pushed the doubt away. Colm rarely looked at things objectively. It was always through a cloud of anger or disparity.

Thoughts of Sara worried him, but Rory convinced himself that she would do well in England. She would be safe, she would live in the style she was accustomed to, and she would be well cared for.

Despite the logic of these internal arguments, one question nagged him. Would Sara be happy? Would she find peace living in London? He doubted it, especially if she were to marry a stuffy Englishman. She loved the freedom and the wildness of Ireland, and while she worked hard at maintaining a proper English façade, whomever she married would have to tame that spirit or allow her to be free.

As for himself, he thought happiness was overrated. And for an Irishman, in times like these, it was unattainable.

That night the O’Leary brothers rested at an inn paid for with Uncle Edwin’s money. In silence, they ate a small bite for dinner, prepared for their repose, and finally extinguished the light. The night seemed to drag on. Rory tossed and turned on the lumpy mattress, trying to settle his emotions. He closed his eyes and instantly thought of Shannon. He should put her out of his mind for good, knowing he would never see her, or possibly Ireland, again.

Forgetting Shannon was not easy, though, as he found himself thinking about her often. And each evening, when slumber claimed him, she filled his dreams.

A few hours later he awoke with a start, his gut telling him something was amiss. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then moved to relight the candle. Rory’s eyes searched the room. Colm’s makeshift bedroll on the floor in front of the still smoldering hearth was empty. Rory bolted out of bed and discovered a short scribbled note lying on a tangled blanket.

Rory, I will not leave my people nor my country behind. Good luck to you, brother. And though you may not believe it, I will miss you.

Rory let the paper float to the floor as a heaviness settled inside his heart. He was truly alone.

The dawning air was
cold and crisp as Colm crept about the grounds of Gormley Manor. He lifted the collar of his coat high around his neck and shoved his cap low on his head so as not to be recognized. He avoided the mass of people in proximity to a fire in front of the manor gates. It had been a familiar sight for far too long, yet never failed to fill him with resentment and helplessness.

He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. All those weeks spent in the village, witnessing sorrow and loss ate at him, devouring his heart and spirit. But he had to press on, in the same way that he had to leave Rory and return to the manor. He couldn’t leave Sara to her fate, and he certainly wouldn’t allow William to force him from his homeland.

Sneaking around the perimeter of the manor, Colm searched for the trellis Sara had used to escape her confinement. Finding it, he gripped the white, wooden slats and hoisted himself up.

He thought again of Rory and wondered if his brother was still sleeping, or perhaps had already found the note Colm had left. Would Rory come back to the manor? Probably not. He knew exactly what his brother would do. He would continue to America, precisely as Sara had instructed him. Precisely as Uncle Edwin had wished. Precisely as the good O’Leary son always did.

Easing his body up the trellis, he came to Sara’s window. Quietly he rapped on the glass, once, then twice. Finally, he heard movement from inside the room.

The curtains parted, and Sara peered out, wearing a white linen nightgown bedecked with ribbons, her blonde hair hanging in a long braid over the front of her shoulder. Her mouth formed a small o shape, and her eyes grew wide. She flung open the sash. “Colm! What are you doing here?”

He grinned, happy to see her, even though he’d only left a few hours ago. “Let me in, Sara,” he said in a loud whisper, “’tis difficult for a man to hang on the outside of the manor.”

“You’re a bloody fool,” she said, helping him inside. Then realizing her ribald language, she clapped a hand over her mouth. When Colm laughed, she grimaced. “Do not make light of this. What if you’re caught?”

He strode across the room, turned, then calmly faced her. “I won’t be.”

“At least take off your boots before someone hears you stomping about.”

He pulled off his boots. “I thought you’d be glad to see me again.”

“I’m not… I mean I am… Argh!” She went over to him and eyed him squarely. “You’re a madman for coming back here. You know that, don’t you?”

“Aye,” he said, winking at her. “I do have a reputation to keep up, after all.”

Sara ignored his comment. “Where is Rory?”

“On his way to Cork, I reckon.”

“Which is where you should be.”

He gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “I can’t leave. Don’t you understand? I’ll be seein’ this plague through with my fellow Irishmen.”

“Many of your fellow Irishmen won’t make it through winter.” Her lower lip trembled. “Especially after…” She turned her head away from him.

“After you leave? Sara, I don’t blame you for what your brother’s doin’. ‘Tis all the more reason I need to help the villagers, isn’t it?”

She tilted her head as she looked at him. “Who knew under that brooding façade such a tender heart lay?”

The mixture of compassion and pity in her eyes stirred his emotions.

“I fear for you if you stay,” she said.

“If you’re worried about William, don’t be. I can handle him.”

“But what if you can’t? I dread what he will do to you if he finds you here.”

Colm let his hands drop from her shoulders. “I’ll stay in the stables. He rarely enters them. He detests getting the bottom of his calfskin boots dirty.”

She sat on her bed, letting her head fall into her hands. “It’s so unfair, all of it.” She looked up at him. “You shouldn’t have to sleep in the stables like a servant. You are part of this family. My father knew that. I don’t understand why William and Mother can’t accept it.”

“Because they’re English snobs? Because they think they’re above everyone else? Because—”

“Colm,” Sara’s voice tinged with warning.

“Sorry, lass. Can’t help myself.” He sat next to her, sinking into the plush softness of the feather-ticked mattress. “I miss Uncle Edwin, you know. We were never close, not like he and Rory. But he always treated me well.”

“He loved you like a son, just as he loved Rory.”

A knock sounded at the door, causing Colm and Sara to shoot up from the bed.

“Sara, why is your light still on? Are you ill?”

Sara let out a tiny gasp. “Mother,” she whispered.

Sara grabbed Colm by
the arm and pointed to the curtains by the window. He dashed behind them, the voluminous folds of royal blue velvet easily hiding his slender frame.

“Sara?” Her mother called. “Darling, I’m beginning to worry.”

“Coming, Mother.” She took a deep breath. At the last minute, she spied Colm’s boots and swiftly kicked them under the bed. She cringed at the noise the heels made as they bounced against the polished wood floor.

“What was that?” Mother asked.

“Nothing,” she said, forcing a cheerful tone, despite the churning in her stomach. She glanced at the window and let out a long breath. Colm was sufficiently camouflaged.

When Sara opened the door, her mother quickly entered the room. The flame of the single candle Mother held flickered as she moved. She turned to Sara. “Sweetheart, are you sure you’re feeling well? It’s not like you to be up this early in the morn.”

“Just a touch of insomnia.” Sara forced a yawn. “I am tired now, however, and was about to put out the light. I thought I could catch at least an hour or two of sleep before breaking the fast.”

“I see.” Instead of taking Sara’s obvious cue to leave the room, her mother perched on the brocade dais opposite Sara’s bed, her expression strained. “I suppose you know your cousins have left the estate.”

Sara didn’t answer right away. Was this one of Mother’s tricks to learn if Sara might reveal something about her cousins? It broke her heart to know she couldn’t trust her mother.

“I can see by your hesitation that you already heard the news. Tell me, did they say goodbye? Did they express any gratitude for what we’ve done for them all these years? Or did they disappear once their money trail was at an end?”

Sara cast a furtive glance at the velvet draperies. Colm could hear everything, and she expected him, angered by the insulting words, to bolt from hiding at any moment. She thought she saw the curtains move a bit—or maybe she imagined it. He appeared, somehow, to keep his temper in check.

She focused her attention on her mother again. “Colm and Rory are gone. You should be happy enough with that.”

Mother glanced down at her lap. “I am.”

“Is something wrong?”

She lifted her gaze to Sara, and for the first time Sara noticed sadness in her eyes. Odd because she had been stoic since Father’s death, barely shedding a tear at the funeral. Forgetting about Colm for a moment, Sara sat next to her. “Now you have me worried.”

“It’s nothing.” She glanced away. “Only that…” She turned to Sara again. “I miss him,” she whispered. Her lower lip quivered.

This was the last thing Sara expected. Her parents had long ago ceased to express outward affection toward each other. But perhaps a remnant of love always remained between them, one Sara hadn’t been privy to, one that now came to the surface because of her father’s death. Fighting tears, she put her arm around her mother’s shoulders, drawing in a breath when Mother leaned against her.

“I’ve been pacing the halls,” Mother admitted. “I know I should be thrilled about leaving this horrible country, but all I can think about is Edwin.” She rose from the dais, keeping her back to Sara. “I treated your father horribly these past years, yet he indulged my every whim.” She cleared her throat, still refusing to look at her.

Sara came up behind her mother, unsure how to comfort her. She had pity for her mother’s grief, but a part of Sara wanted to shake her. Now she was sorry? Why couldn’t she have told her father these things when he was alive? Or when he was languishing on his deathbed? She had barely visited him, instead choosing to spend most of her time with Priscilla in the drawing room or her master suite.

Her mother turned around, eyes glistening with unshed tears. They pierced Sara’s heart, for she’d never seen her mother this vulnerable. “I’m sure he understood,” Sara said, trying to steady her voice.

“I’d like to think so.” She took Sara’s hand. “And I’d like to continue your father’s work here. It would be a betrayal of his memory not to.”

Sara nearly gasped, not daring to believe her mother’s words. They were too good to be true. “Are you saying you want to stay in Ireland?”