The Irish Bride (32 page)

Then he turned and stumbled back to
the other bedroom where he’d been sleeping. In a few moments, she
heard him snoring.

She rolled onto her side and wept for
them both.

* * *

“
They’ve parted? You know
this for certain?” Noel stared at Fitch across a table in the Linn
City saloon that had become their meeting place.

“
Yes, your lordship, that’s
the story going around. Richards has seen O’Rourke with his own
eyes at Kelleher’s every night, putting away the better part of a
bottle. Servants’ chatter says that Farrell O’Rourke has been
staying with the McLoughlins.”

This was working out better than Noel
could have hoped for. He’d imagined Farrell and Aidan O’Rourke to
be a happily married, parvenu couple in the new home that must seem
like a castle to people accustomed to living in a thatched-roof
hovel. But apparently there was trouble in their fool’s paradise,
and that would make things so much easier for Noel. Once he’d had
O’Rourke disposed of, he could step in as a magnanimous,
kind-hearted old acquaintance, ready to take Farrell back to
Ireland. Thank God this miserable odyssey was almost over. She
might even be glad to see him, after all was said and
done.

“
Richards has turned out to
be a valuable asset, for all that he’s a drunken sot. All right,
then. Wait right here, Fitch. I’m going to write a message for you
to deliver to O’Rourke.” He rose from the table to walk back to his
room, then turned. “And Fitch—good job.”

The man beamed and bobbed like the
well-trained lackey that Noel had made of him. “Yes, sir. Thank
you, sir.”

* * *

“
Mr. O’Rourke?” Tom
Fitzgerald knocked on the door to Aidan’s office and poked his head
inside, letting in the din of the mill beyond. “Someone to see you,
sir.” Aidan noticed that Fitzgerald had been a bit happier since
he’d been promoted to mill foreman. He’d taken Farrell’s words to
heart about how his men felt. What good would it do if they
despised him? He’d come to realize what he’d always known—a
resentful, unhappy worker wasn’t likely to produce much. Fitzgerald
was a good man, and Aidan was willing to reward his
efforts.

Aidan signaled to him to let the
visitor in. He looked up from his account books and found himself
face to face with Seth Fitch, who closed the door behind
him.

“
I have a message for you
from an old acquaintance.” He threw an envelope on top of the open
ledger. He didn’t trouble to hide his cold hostility, and Aidan
knew his instincts about the man were right.

Aidan looked at the paper where it
laid. “Oh? And who would that acquaintance be?”

Fitch gave him a lizardlike smile and
walked out again. Aidan picked up the envelope and opened
it.

O’Rourke—

You and I have some
business to attend to. Meet me at your sawmill Saturday night,
eight o’clock, if cowardice does not overcome you first.

Cardwell

So Cardwell was the special client
Fitch had mentioned. Astonished and furious, Aidan wadded up the
note. Had Cardwell really come this far, all these thousands of
miles, just to confront him for the death of a man he knew Cardwell
cared nothing about? If he had, he was stark, raving mad. Meet him,
hell, Aidan thought.

Then, reconsidering, he smoothed it
out again and put it in his pocket. He was sick to death of Noel
Cardwell, that foolishly decorated popinjay, following him around
the world. And fop or no, he was a dangerous man with enough hired
lackeys to do his bidding. Maybe it was best to get this over with
once and for all.

He looked at the note again. The
arrogance of this bastard, he thought. Aidan decided that he would
meet him at the appointed time, for good or ill. In the back of his
mind, all this time he’d worried that Noel would take him back to
Ireland to face murder charges. But he’d finally come to recognize
that Noel had no authority in America. Even if he had, Aidan had
never run from a fight in his life, and he was going to run from
this no longer.

He looked up at the wall clock. It not
quite five, and if he moved quickly, he’d still have time to run an
errand in town before the stores closed. He might be willing to
meet Cardwell, but he wouldn’t walk into a possible trap
empty-handed.

He closed the ledgers and locked them
in his desk. Then put on his coat and strode out into the chill
winter evening, determined to be ready for whatever fate brought to
him next.

* * *

Farrell stared morosely into the
flames of the fire she’d lighted in the parlor. The clock had just
chimed seven o’clock and she didn’t know if Aidan would come up
from the mill or not. She had seen him this morning in the kitchen,
and he’d looked terrible. Oh, he’d washed, combed, and shaved, but
plainly he’d been paying for his drinking. Beyond the obvious signs
of his dissolute activity, she thought she saw a yearning in his
eyes, an aching, silent appeal to her that had been so strong,
she’d almost gone to him to rest his head on her shoulder. But he’d
turned and left for work, and aside from the most painfully polite
of greetings, they had not spoken. How could she stay here under
these circumstances? Yet there were things that she sensed were
going unsaid, and without talking to him first, really sitting down
and talking, she didn’t feel as if she could go.

She couldn’t speak that morning at the
grave. She’d been so overwhelmed with grief, she could think of
nothing else. But strangely, the visit had comforted her too. She’d
begun to believe that she might heal from her loss, with the help
of St. Brigit. But what she really wanted was Aidan’s
help.

The idea of going back to Ireland
frightened her. The trip over here had been bad enough, but she’d
had him with her. To go alone, to be stuck down in steerage, would
be miserable. And where would she go? What city? She didn’t know
anyone outside of Skibbereen. Both sides of her family had spent
generations there and none had ventured to other places. Would she
end up working for a man like Noel Cardwell, in a big house where
she would be as inconsequential and open to abuse as a dog in the
yard? It wasn’t that she feared hard work—she never had. And she
didn’t crave special privilege or esteem—she hadn’t even liked
having a housekeeper. But such a life would be so dreary, and worse
than farming in Skibbereen. Still, she didn’t know how to do
anything else but keep house and work the land.

Most important of all, she loved Aidan
O’Rourke to distraction and it would tear out her heart to leave
him. Sighing, she left the parlor and went upstairs to straighten
the room where he slept. Standing in the doorway, she surveyed the
mess. At first, she’d been unhappy enough to let him stew in his
own rubbish—the dirty dishes, the rumpled bed, the pile of clothes.
But she was still his wife and she would see to his
needs.

She went to the window and opened it a
crack to air out the stale smells. It was then that an odd glow of
light caught her eye. What was that? A lamp? A torch.

Her eyes flew open wide. The end of
the house was on fire. She ran downstairs to find the back porch
and the side wall engulfed. Flames crept to the ceiling and smoke
filled the kitchen. She reached for the bucket of water that stood
by the doorway to the hall. But when she threw it on the wall, it
made no difference.

Driven out of the room by smoke and
heat, she ran to the front door, wondering what to do next. At the
rate it was burning, the entire house would be ablaze unless a
miracle occurred.

* * *

Inside his coat, Aidan clutched the
Colt Navy revolver he’d bought in town. The shopkeeper where he’d
gotten it had loaded it for him and given him a general overview of
how to fire the thing. Aidan had never held a gun in his life. The
English did not permit Irishmen to own firearms, but if it came
down to it, he’d figure it out quickly enough.

He stood in a doorway to the mill.
He’d set a lantern on a barrel next to him. It was the best place
he could think of to watch for Noel and Fitch—sure, he’d bring
Fitch, and perhaps Richards too. Aidan would see them coming and
have the advantage of a bit of cover if he needed it. He didn’t
know what might happen after that, but as far as he was concerned,
this whole thing would be settled tonight.

Aidan heard the murmur of voices in
the distance. Out here, there was no possibility that they could be
simply passing travelers. There was nothing else here but the house
and the mill. He had shut down the operation early to make certain
that no one was left behind who wasn’t involved with his meeting
with Noel.

Out of the darkness, just one man
revealed himself, and that was Noel Cardwell.

“
So, O’Rourke, I’ve found
you at last.”

Aidan had hoped to never see those
dead blue eyes again. “What do ye want, Cardwell? If you’ve
followed me all these thousands of miles over the accidental death
of Michael Kirwan, I’d say you’re not right in the head. Given the
chance, I think you’d kill a man”—he searched the darkness beyond
where he thought he saw Fitch—“or more likely, have a man killed,
without a much thought beyond what the cost might be. So what is
this about?”

Cardwell laughed softly.
“For one, you deprived
me
of the satisfaction of doing in Kirwan. No doubt
you’ve heard that he was stealing from the Cardwell estate. My
father was extremely unhappy to learn about that.”

Aidan’s smile was grim. “Ah, yes, I’m
sure he was. So you must answer for your rent agent’s
thievery.”

“
In part, yes. He sent me to
America to find you and bring you back. Of course, I’m not about to
do that. I’ve read a term on proclamations posted about this
uncouth wilderness that I believe fits aptly: wanted dead or alive.
I don’t need to bring you back, just some physical evidence of your
death. An ear, perhaps, or knowing my father, your head in a
basket.”

Aidan adjusted his grip on the gun
handle. He’d been right earlier—Cardwell was insane. “I can tell
ye, that won’t be happening, either. What’s the other part of your
complaint? That I’m far away from Ireland and not bothering you or
anyone else?”

Noel’s eyes narrowed. “You took
something I want, and she is the one who will return to Ireland
with me. Now that you and Farrell will be separating, gaining her
trust should present less of a problem. Poor soul, a stranger in a
foreign country with no husband or other friends. I’m sure she
won’t mind posing as the grieving widow if I rid her of
you.”

Aidan’s heart froze in his
chest. So, now they had come to Cardwell’s true purpose. Farrell.
God, this changed everything. How much did this viper know? More
than he should, it would seem. “Ye know I won’t let you do that,”
he said, his voice deadly quiet. “I’ll drop you where you stand
before I see her carried off by you. She is my wife and we are
bound, now and forever.” He made this announcement not only to
Cardwell and any of his toadies who might lurk in the darkness, but
to himself and the world. Farrell and he were
meant
to be together. He would not
give her an annulment, and he must have been out of his own mind
with grief when he’d suggested it. He loved her, and he’d fight for
her to the death if he had to. “If I hadn’t left Ireland, I would
have broken
your
head on a rock for what ye did to her. I saw her the night she
ran home, her dress torn from neck to waist, you filthy
degenerate.”

Noel took a step forward. “As I said,
you can easily be gotten rid of, and in the doing, I’ll accomplish
two deeds at once. I’ll regain my father’s favor, and I’ll bring
back a very handsome mistress.” His eyes looked like black, empty
sockets under the shadow of his brow bone.

“
And since you seem to know
everything, if she and I have separated, where d’ye think she
is?”

“
I know she’s with Doctor
McLoughlin. A very nice man, but his serving girl is better at
providing information.”

Aidan kept his expression carefully
blank, one of the most valuable skills he’d learned from card
playing. At least Cardwell didn’t know where Farrell really was,
safe at home.

From the far side of the mill, Aidan
picked up the scent of wood smoke. He dared not look away from
Noel, but he lifted his nose to sniff the wind.

“
Yes, that’s smoke you
smell. Jacob Richards had a score to settle with you as well, so we
let him set the fire. While I’m about getting rid of you, I decided
I’d destroy this little empire you’re trying to build as well. That
has always been your trouble, O’Rourke. You’ve never recognized
your place in the social order, as Fitch does. It was an
outstanding stroke of luck that he lost money to you in New
Orleans. He’s almost as hungry for your blood as I am.”

Seth Fitch stepped out of the shadows
with a shotgun, which he threw to Cardwell. God, what was that in
Fitch’s other hand? It looked like a snake that he uncoiled. But
one crack across Aidan’s arm corrected his misconception. The
pistol he held went flying into the darkness.

It was not a snake that Fitch held. It
was the kind of weapon a former plantation overseer would
own.