Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (10 page)

The opening of the front door woke Tillie from a light slumber. She sat up on the settee, confused for a moment as to where she was and the time of day. Long shadows crept along the swirling rose carpet. The sun hung midway down the tall parlor windows. Late afternoon . . .

Her hands began to throb, reminding her of the events of that morning. On the table next to the settee sat two cups of tea—one partially empty, the other untouched. Hers. She remembered now.

Rising, she eased into the hall to see who had entered. Captain Morgan lowered his hand from the hall tree, where he’d hung his cap. With his shoulders bent and his face lined with worry, he looked as tired and careworn as she felt, but the moment he spied her, he straightened and crossed to meet her.

“Good afternoon.”

“Hello, Captain.”

“Have you seen my brother?”

She motioned toward the parlor. “He was with me a bit ago. I’m not sure where . . .”

Perhaps it was the disorientation from having awakened to find herself alone, or perhaps it was a last vestige of the fear
she’d felt when she looked up and saw the wagon bearing down on her. Whatever the cause, a trembling started in her limbs she was helpless to control.

The captain moved toward her. “Miss McGrath? Are you all right?”

Reaching behind her, she felt for the wall and used it to steady herself. “I’m fine. A bit out of sorts is all.”

“Perhaps you should sit down.”

“No, I’m sure it will pass. I just need a minute to collect myself.”

Despite her assurances, she knew that to move from the wall would not be wise. Her knees felt as soft and unstable as melted butter. And strangely, the fact that the captain now stood beside her did not help the situation. He was like a massive oak, looming over her with his feet braced apart and his hand outstretched.

“Let me help you.”

The command felt warm and familiar. She placed her hand in his.

“Are you ill?”

Before she could answer, Cass appeared from the kitchen, a thick slice of Laverne’s freshly baked bread in his hand. “Tillie, you’re awake. Good. How are you feeling? Did the nap help?” He didn’t wait for a reply but turned to look at his brother. “So? How’d it go in town?”

Morgan only spared Cass a cursory glance before returning his attention to her. “So you
are
ill.”

She shook her head.

“Who? Tillie?” Cass lowered the bread. “I thought you were resting after . . .”

“After what?” Morgan demanded, his brows lowering.

“We . . . uh, we had a little accident,” Cass said.

“What!”

Though he ground the word out, he could have shouted for the reaction it spurred from Cass. He dropped the bread on the hall table and rushed toward them.

“She never left my side. I swear, Morgan. ’Twas an accident, nothing more. And she’s not hurt, besides a few scrapes and such.”

Morgan sucked in a breath as he shifted back to her. “You’re hurt?”

She swallowed and hid her hands in the folds of her dress. “Like Cass said, ’tis only a few scrapes. Nothing serious.”

Despite her assurance, the scowl on his face grew. He pointed toward the parlor, and even with the shaking of her knees, it did not occur to her to disobey. Or Cass either, it seemed. He followed behind her and then took the seat next to her on the settee.

“Tell me what happened—what you did, where you went—everything leading up to the accident.”

Morgan paced as he listened to Cass explain in detail the events of that morning. The unease Tillie had been feeling since she awoke blossomed into dread. The interest the captain displayed was inordinately intense.

Something had happened.

When Cass finished, so too did Morgan’s pacing. He paused at the window, his tall figure nearly filling the frame.

She rose and went to him. “What have you not told me?”

His eyes met hers, bluish-gray and as cold and roiling as a storm-tossed sea. “When you woke, you were afraid. Why?”

She bit her lip. “No . . . I . . .”

He turned so he was facing her and caught her by her shoulders. “Tillie, tell me.”

His use of her name caught her off guard, added an intimacy that absorbed every thought and action so that she forgot anyone else was in the room.

“I . . .”

His fingers tightened. “Aye, lass? Go on.”

“I don’t think I tripped.”

“What!” Cass exclaimed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said, then pressed on when the captain’s hands fell away. “Just before I fell into the street . . . I thought I felt someone push me. But it was crowded and we were walking along the outside of the sidewalk,” she added quickly, whether in defense of Cass or her wild claim, she wasn’t certain. “It could have been an accident.”

As she spoke, the captain’s eyes took on a fierce quality that at once frightened and enthralled her. He moved closer to bend over her as Cass had done, only with him the peace she felt was immediate.

“’Twas no accident, Tillie. Someone meant you harm, and it was only Cass’s quick action that prevented it.”

Someone wanted to harm her? Confused, she put up her hand and retreated a step. “No . . . that kinna be correct. Why would you assume such a thing?”

Cass had risen to stand, and though his face was pale, he did not look surprised by anything his brother had said.

Suspicion formed in her chest. “What is it the two of you know? What haven’t you told me?”

The brothers exchanged a look, and then Morgan crossed to a chair and indicated that she should resume her place on the settee. She did, for now that the trembling of her limbs had returned, she doubted she could have stood any longer. The captain sat in the chair closest to her.

“When you were aboard the ship, Tillie,” he began, “do you remember a man treating your . . . Braedon McKillop?”

He’d been prepared to say her husband. She swallowed a knot of shame, unable to look at either him or Cass. “The doctor? Aye, I remember him.”

“And had either you or McKillop met him before?”

She shook her head and looked up. “No. Why do you ask?”

It was the captain’s turn to look away. A muscle ticked near his jaw, and his fingers had curled into fists.

Cass spoke from his place near the window. “Tell her, Morgan. She needs to know.”

“Know what?” So dry was Tillie’s mouth, the words squeaked out with a sound akin to a door on rusted hinges.

She held her breath as the captain heaved a sigh and put out his large hand to cover hers. “First, you should know that my crew and I . . . that none of us had any idea what happened until just a few days ago.”

And she still didn’t. Her breathing quickened. “Go on.”

Captain Morgan appeared to chew the words. No, she realized a second later, he was mulling them, choosing with care the ones he would use.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” he said at last, his voice a rumbling bass that shook her insides. “There are no words to express how verra sorry I am to tell you that . . . Braedon McKillop’s death was no accident.”

Shocking as the news was, what followed left her even more dumbstruck.

“We believe he was murdered, and now . . . Tillie, I’m afraid you might be next.”

It took every ounce of self-control for Morgan to resist sweeping Tillie into his arms. Her dark hair curled around her pale face, and her lips were tightly clenched, but despite all of that, she stared up at him with a touch of defiance shimmering in her goldish-brown eyes.

“Murdered.” She blinked as she said the word, as though unable to process such a horrendous concept. Morgan tightened his hold on her hand.

“Just before Doc passed away, he called me into his cabin. I think perhaps he knew his end was near and he wanted to go to his Maker with his conscience clear.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘clear’? What did he have to feel guilty for? What had he done?”

Though he sought with all his might to find a way to soften the blow, there was none. He grit his teeth. “Doc was paid to kill Braedon, Tillie.”

Instantly she jerked her hands away as though she’d been bit. “What?”

Morgan gave a slow nod. “He poisoned him and then made it look as though he’d taken ill.”

“But . . . why would he do that?”

Cass drew near to her shoulder as they spoke. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and confused.

“Cass?”

Morgan’s heart gave a jolt. She looked to his brother? But he shoved aside the selfish thought and motioned for Cass to resume where he’d left off. If it was Cass she trusted, perhaps the rest would be better coming from him.

“Morgan went to see Doc’s cousin,” Cass said, “a man named James Finch. He told him that Doc had a family—a wife and adopted daughter, both of whom took ill just before Doc came to work for us—for Morgan,” he corrected, tossing an apologetic glance his way. Morgan dismissed the slip with a wave. Cass cleared his throat and resumed. “According to Mr. Finch, Doc was in desperate need of money.”

He placed his hand on Tillie’s shoulder, a move that made Morgan’s stomach tighten. Unable to watch, he stared at the floor while Cass went forward with what they knew right up until they’d returned to the boardinghouse.

“And that’s it,” Cass said when he’d finished. “That’s why Morgan came looking for you, and why we both felt it best we keep an eye on you, at least until we could figure out who paid Doc, and why.”

Morgan flexed his fingers. “Actually . . .”

“What?” Thankfully, Cass removed his hand from Tillie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

He’d hoped to share the news with his brother alone, but now that they’d told her the truth, he couldn’t see holding back. Indeed, ’twould be better if she understood the full extent of the danger. Morgan rose and crossed to his brother.

“It’s Donal, Cass. The police found his body floating in the harbor early this morning. I’ve already been by the morgue to identify him.”

“He drowned?” Disbelief rounded Cass’s eyes.

Morgan shook his head. “He was stabbed and his body tossed in the river.”

“Donal?”

He glanced at Tillie. Her features had gone unnaturally white, and for a moment he feared she’d faint, until he saw the determination blazing in her eyes. Just what was going on inside that head of hers? He turned to face her. “One of my crew.”

“Did he know Doc?”

“Only from working with him aboard the
Marie
. At least we think so.”

“So you dinna believe the deaths are related?”

He shook his head. “At this point we kinna be certain of anything beyond what we’ve told you.”

“Which is nothing besides the fact that my fiancé was murdered while on board your ship.”

Morgan drew back, surprised. Of course she’d be distraught. He even expected to receive a bit of recrimination. But anger?

Nay, not anger. It was stronger than that. Fury flashed from her eyes, her white lips, and her tightly curled fingers. She stood as he advanced a wary step toward her. She stood toe-to-toe with him, even though she had to look up to peer into his face.

“When were you going to tell me?” she asked.

“I’d hoped to have more to tell,” he said quietly.

Her head shook. “You had no right to wait. I could have been searching, asking questions—”

“Which is exactly what we wanted to avoid,” Morgan interrupted.

“What?”

“Without knowing who paid Doc, you would only be placing yourself in further danger by asking questions. It was far safer for you this way.”

“Obviously not,” she snapped, throwing both fists to her hips, “or I would not have been nearly killed today.”

“Tillie—” Cass began.

His gaze still pinned to Tillie, Morgan put up his hand to stop him. “Are you implying that what happened today was somehow my fault?”

“Not at all. What I am saying is that had you warned me earlier, I might have been on my guard.”

“All right. Say I had told you the truth; what would you have done differently?”

“I . . . I . . .” Her face flushed and she looked away. “I don’t know.”

Compassion softened his heart. It could not have been easy for her to admit her vulnerability, given the situation. He’d battled with it himself. But one thing he did know: letting word get out that she’d spoken with McKillop before he died was not a good thing.

“Tillie?” His mouth went dry as she looked up at him, a pained expression on her face. Swallowing, he continued, “You have no reason to believe this other than what you know of me, but I hope you realize that I acted to protect you. I had no other cause to keep the truth from you than that.”

To his relief, she gave a slow nod, a relief that flickered and died when next she opened her mouth.

“What will we do now? Keep trying to find out who paid Doc?”

“
I
will keep trying.” Morgan set his jaw against the resistance flashing in her brown eyes. “You will keep to your normal schedule and allow Cass to accompany you when you go out.”

“’Tis a sweet sentiment, but I hardly think so.”

Unaccustomed to having his orders disobeyed, Morgan could only stare, dumbfounded. “Miss McGrath—”

Her chin lifted. “You’ve already called me Tillie. I daresay ’twould be silly to revert to formality now, given the circumstances.”

Refusing to be distracted, Morgan nodded. “Fine. Tillie, then. I don’t think you understand what you’re up against.”

“Neither do you, seeing as you’ve no idea who hired Doc in the first place, ain’t so?”

“Aye, but—”

“What about this man Donal—how long has he been in your employ?”

If she thought he was going to give her even more information that could put her in further danger—

“Ten months. Maybe a little more.”

He glared at Cass, who lifted both hands and gave a sheepish shrug.

“Ten months . . .” she repeated.

He turned back to Tillie, who had begun pacing in front of the window, her index finger lightly tapping her lower lip.

He took a deep breath and braced both hands on his hips. “Now wait just a minute. Donal was a decent enough crewman, but he was also a firebrand who liked to gamble. We’ve no cause to think his death is tied to Doc’s. Could be he got himself into trouble over a game of cards and it wound up costing him his life.”

“Not likely, given what happened to Tillie today,” Cass said.

Resisting the urge to grab him by the collar, Morgan ground his teeth. “One more word out of you, little brother, and you’ll end up joining Donal in the river.”

“Except he’s not in the river; he’s in the morgue with Doc.” Tillie drew to a halt at the window and glared at him. “We need to find out why”—her hand flashed to her chest—“I even more than you since it was likely my fiancé’s death that caused—”

She got no further. Over her shoulder through the glass, Morgan saw a man standing, his arm raised. He didn’t stop to think, but flung himself at her and drove them both crashing to the floor. A second later, a blast shattered the window and sent broken glass showering over them both.