The Irish Bride (20 page)

“
You say you know where I
can find Aidan O’Rourke?” he prodded, eager to move the
conversation along and be done with this doughy-looking oaf with a
nose like a boiled, squashed beet.

“
While we were playing
cards, he said he’s staying at the Grand View Hotel. It’s just down
the street.”

Noel nodded. He’d passed it during his
odyssey to the various pubs.

“
You say you know other
things about him?”

Now Fitch turned coy. “I
do.”

God, how much would it cost
him to find out, Noel wondered, and would the information be
accurate? Doing his own investigating was tedious. It required him
to visit places he wouldn’t see even in his nightmares. Only one
thing kept him from turning for home, regardless of his father’s
edict, and that was Noel’s ultimate prize: Farrell Kirwan. He
craved her in a way he’d never wanted anything or anyone before.
He
had
to have
her. But if he could hire someone to do the dirty end of this job,
he certainly would.

Noel clenched his jaw. If he could
hire someone . . .

Suddenly an idea came to
him.

“
Fitch, how would you like
to work for me? I could use a good man like you, someone who knows
the city. And now you know what O’Rourke looks like, as well, which
would give you a great advantage. You’re not married are
you?”

“
Well, not exactly. I have a
pretty little slave gal, Silky, who keeps house for me, and, well,
you know.”

Noel liked the way these ignorant
colonials thought. Farrell Kirwan would have no recourse in a place
such as this when she came to know the weight of her master’s hand.
She would have to do as he commanded. The pictures that flashed
through Noel’s mind heated his blood and made him shift on his
chair.

“
Perfect, then. You are a
free agent, so to speak.”

The man goggled at him. “I don’t know,
your lordship, I’ve been with Mr. Thibodeaux, the owner, for six
years. I don’t know that he could replace me. My job overseeing the
slaves and the plantation is very important.”

Noel refrained from pointing
out that anyone, absolutely
anyone
could be replaced, from kings to chimney sweeps.
“Yes, yes, I’m sure it’s an important position.” He leaned a bit
closer and lowered his voice to confidential tone. “But what if I
told you I’ll double whatever he pays you, and give you bonuses for
special assignments?”

Fitch snuffled again and swallowed.
“What did this O’Rourke do that you want him so bad?”

Noel sat back and tapped the brandy
cork on the tabletop. “A fair enough question, Fitch. I’m the owner
of a large estate in County Cork in Ireland.”

“
Oh!” Fitch leaned closer
and whispered in a confidential tone, “That’s where O’Rourke said
he was from.”

Hoping that Fitch was smarter than he
seemed, Noel nudged away second thoughts about his employment offer
and continued. “Yes, I know where he’s from. On that estate, I have
tenant farmers who pay rent. At least they’re supposed to pay, but
the lazy bogtrotters are always whining about failed crops and
being hungry.” Noel sniffed. “Naturally, I don’t deal with them
directly.”

“
Naturally, sir.”

“
I hire a rent agent who
collects the money and keeps track of the accounts. If a tenant
doesn’t pay three months in a row, he and his family are evicted.
It’s a harsh system, I suppose,” he threw in regretfully, “but I’m
not running a charity. Any rate, when the rent agent went to evict
Aidan O’Rourke’s family, O’Rourke killed the poor man, right there
in the yard before a dozen witnesses. Then off he ran in the middle
of the night and boarded a ship for America. I have followed him
all this way to bring him back to pay for his crime. Murder is not
countenanced in Great Britain.”

“
Well, I can tell you they
don’t like it here, either, your Lordship.”

The blatant toadying might get
tiresome later on—but then again, maybe not. Right now, it soothed
Noel’s vanity like the strokes of a warm, soft hand. “Then what do
you say, Fitch? Will you help me bring this killer to justice, and
stick with the job until it’s done, however it must be
finished?”

“
Double my current pay, your
Lordship?” the man reaffirmed.

“
With bonuses.”

“
I’m your man, sir.” Fitch
extended a hand with dried blood on it. Noel hesitated for the only
a heartbeat, then shook it.

CHAPTER TEN

“
Farrell! Wake up, for God’s
sake!”

Farrell did wake up to feel Aidan’s
hand shaking her shoulder, none too gently. Rudely jerked from a
sound sleep, she was startled and disoriented. She sat up, and saw
him moving around the room, grabbing their belongings to stuff into
a burlap bag she’d never seen before.

“
God, what’s wrong
now?”

“
We’ve got to leave this
place.”

“
What, tonight?”

“
Right
now
. Get out of the bed, will
ye?”

She had no idea what time it was, but
she clambered out, her hair falling around her in long, loose
strands because she’d fallen asleep before she could braid it.
“What’s happened? Is there a fire?”

“
Cardwell is here in New
Orleans. Just down the street at the Lass of Killarney.”

Her heart began thundering in her
chest and her throat seemed so dry, she couldn’t swallow. “Oh, dear
God, are you sure?”

“
I talked to him face to
face. He says he intends to bring me back to Ireland for murder.”
He looked around the room, obviously searching for anything else
that might belong to them. Turning back to her he demanded,
“Christ, aren’t ye dressed yet? We’ve got to go!” Worry had drained
the color from his face, and that frightened her even more. Aidan
never
looked
worried.

She made frantic grabs for her
clothes. “Yes, but where to?”

“
Another hotel for the
night, maybe. Then before daybreak, we’ll slip off to catch a boat
upriver to St. Louis. There’s a stagecoach station up there that
can take us west.”

“
Have we got the money to
go?” She turned her back to him and shimmied into the dress she’d
worn earlier.

“
I’ve got six hundred
dollars. Enough to get us there and give us a little
start.”

“
Six hundred!” The amount
was almost more than she could conceive. “Did you steal
it?”

He spun her around, and she
saw true anger in his features. “Damn it, woman, have a little
faith in me, will ye please? I won that money in a card game, and
if you’re thinking it was just a romp across a field, think again.
It was hard, gut-twisting work, and dangerous to boot. Men
don’t
like
losing
that much. Even before Cardwell appeared, I was worried about
whether I’d have my throat cut in the street before I got back
here.”

“
I’m sorry,” she said,
properly chastised.

He gave a short nod, acknowledging her
apology.

“
How would he know where to
find us? Cardwell, I mean.” She hopped around on one foot, trying
to put on her stockings with no thought of sitting to do it. “Did
he follow you here?”

“
I don’t know, but there are
others in the pub who know we’re staying at this hotel. He’ll learn
one way or another.”

Slipping her feet into her worn shoes,
she buttoned her bodice at the same time.

He looked at her. “For the love of
Mary, hide your hair. Even in the dark it’s like a red
flag.”

She grabbed her shawl and draped it
over her head and shoulders like a Skibbereen widow. He threw two
dollars on the desk along with the room key. With one last look
around for any forgotten belongings, he picked up the burlap bag,
grabbed her hand, and led her to the door. He opened it slowly,
just a crack, and looked into the hall.

“
All right,” he whispered.
“Down the back steps. Quick and quiet.”

Down the back stairway they went and
out the hotel’s alley door into the steamy New Orleans night. They
stayed close to the buildings, hiding in the shadows.

It wasn’t until they were rushing
along the sidewalk that Farrell realized her left and right shoes
were reversed.

Neither of them saw the figure that
stepped from alley after them.

* * *

The riverboat trip from New Orleans to
St. Louis would have been enjoyable had Farrell not been so keenly
worried that Noel Cardwell, that thoroughly despicable blackguard,
might be chasing them up the Mississippi River. Aidan tried to calm
her fears but she could see the concern in his face as well. Often
during that steamy journey, he put a hand on her shoulder and drew
her against his hard, lean frame.

“
God’s with us, Farrell,” he
whispered again and again. “It’ll be all right. Trust
me.”

Farrell wanted nothing more than to
toss her cares to the wind that moved so sluggishly along the
expansive ribbon of water, but that was more easily contemplated
than actually done. She and Aidan were in great peril, and only a
child or a fool could believe otherwise.

When they finally reached St. Louis
two days later, Farrell’s nerves were frayed and she was exhausted.
Aidan led her from the docks to a dingy boardinghouse, recommended
to him by a deck hand. After a quick, unspectacular supper, they
adjourned to their room, with Farrell once again ensconced on the
bed while Aidan took his rest in a chair.

Dawn came in feeble fingers of murky
light that shone through the dusty curtains and striped the soiled
gray walls with silver. Her skin damp with sweat, Farrell quickly
straightened her clothing and made ready to catch the
stage.

“
There’s no rush,” Aidan
reminded her. “We’ve two hours yet.”

She glanced up and blinked. He smiled
slightly and closed the space between them. With a gentle brush of
his fingertips, he moved the hair from her eyes. Then he tried to
tidy her tangled locks,

“
Have ye a hairbrush?” he
asked.

“
You know I don’t. I can
manage,” she protested.

“
Aye, I know ye can. Did it
never occur to you, then, that I might enjoy doing for
you?”

Farrell could think of no response to
that, and she was still pondering the revelation when they sat down
to breakfast in a bustling eatery up the street. He enjoyed doing
for her? This took her by great surprise. No one had ever “done”
for her, and his admission made her feel warm and jumpy inside, a
sensation that was as unsettling to her as it was
pleasant.

Over the next few days as they began
the arduous stagecoach journey west, Farrell had reason to recall
those words of Aidan’s countless times. He remained close to her
side, protective, and made it known by his presence that she was
his wife, not to be trifled with.

The ocean voyage had
only
seemed
like
hell. The stagecoach must surely be an affliction sent by God to
give people a better taste of the true hell, Farrell thought. If it
wasn’t, she could offer it up for her sins. She and Aidan ought to
be able to avoid purgatory altogether in exchange for
this.

The roads were rough, but
even worse were the conditions on the coach. Eighteen people,
counting the drivers and those passengers seated on the roof, all
squeezed onto the four-wheeled vehicle, was most certainly worse
than the miserable conditions aboard the
Mary Fiona
. Day after day they bumped
along, stopping every ten or fifteen miles to change horses at the
stage, the place from which the mode of transportation derived its
name.

The dust was constant, as were crying
children and vomiting passengers—the ride was as nauseating as a
ship’s at sea—rain, suffocating heat, vile food, exhaustion, and a
myriad of discomforts that Farrell had never once imagined. Two
hundred dollars bought a ride, not a seat. If a passenger got off
at a stop to answer the call of nature, chances were good that when
he returned, he would have lost his place to one of the
unfortunates consigned to the roof and be forced to take that
person’s place until the opportunity came to steal another seat
inside. The passengers on the opposite side of the coach sat so
close, their knees bumped those across from them. A fat man sitting
beside Farrell fell asleep with his head lolling on her shoulder
until Aidan reached across and pushed him off.

Aidan. He was Farrell’s only solace,
his strong shoulder providing a cushion for her cheek when
exhaustion claimed her, his work-muscled arm steadying her when the
coach pitched violently, which it did more often than not,
sometimes bouncing her off the seat entirely. During the brief
stops, it was Aidan who escorted her to a private place and stood
guard with his back to her so that she could take care of personal
business. It was also Aidan who made certain that their seats
weren’t taken, which would have consigned them to precarious
perches on the roof. It was Aidan who urged her to eat when she
grew so weary she could barely put the food to her mouth, let alone
swallow.