Tide and Tempest (Edge of Freedom Book #3) (22 page)

“Fine.” Her fingers drummed against the fabric of her skirt. “Come up with something.”

“I will.” He crossed his arms smugly.

Silence, broken only by the ticking of the mantel clock, stretched for several seconds.

Tillie lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”

Heat flared on Morgan’s face. “Well what?”

“Have you thought of something?”

“I will.”

“I’m sure.” Grasping her skirts, she spun and made for the door.

“Bah! Arguing with you is like fighting with the wide ocean,” he called after her retreating back, though she gave no indication she’d heard him.

Women!

If he’d learned anything from Moira, it was that there was no understanding them. Or reasoning with them, for that matter. Hadn’t Tillie just proven as much? Ach, indeed she had, and far better than Moira could have, for though she had been persistent in her own right, she’d never shown an inkling of the stubbornness he’d witnessed in Tillie.

He snorted. And to think he’d fancied himself in love with her—with any woman after that first time. Striding to the stairs, he craned his neck and peered upward just in time to catch a glimpse of Tillie’s hem as she disappeared into Cass’s room.

Well, he’d not be making that mistake again. Falling in love was out of the question, especially with someone as bullheaded and willful as Tillie McGrath.

Men!

Arrogant and overbearing, every one of them. Well . . . one of them.

Tillie snapped the door closed behind her. It was just like
Keondric Morgan to think he could order her about like one of his crew. And to think she’d fancied herself in love with him.

Both Rourke and the doctor looked up at her entrance. Seeing the concern on their faces, every ounce of irritation left her in an instant. She took a hesitant step forward. “How is he?”

At the doctor’s nod, Rourke left the bed and crossed the room to grasp Tillie’s hand. “I wilna lie, his situation is dire. He’ll need watching, and plenty of rest. Is Morgan downstairs?”

Tillie managed a nod.

“All right, I’ll find him. Will you sit with Cass?”

“Of course,” she whispered, her eyes settling on Cass’s waxen face.

Behind her, the door closed and Rourke’s tread faded. Remorse settled over her like a cloud. How could she have thought of anything but Cass right now, especially after what he’d done to save her life? Of course Morgan would be resistant to her idea. Hadn’t he just suffered through almost losing his brother? And to lay more concern on his shoulders . . .

She felt selfish and spoiled.

Her cheeks burning, she eased to the doctor’s side. “Is there anything I can do?”

“There will be soon enough,” he said, pushing a lock of peppered hair from his wrinkled forehead. “That wound will need to be kept clean and fresh bandages applied regularly.”

She nodded.

“Also, it will be crucial that someone sit with him for the next few hours, just to make sure no fever sets in. If it does, send someone after me right away.” He motioned to several small vials on the nightstand next to the bed. “I’ve left something there for the pain. The larger bottle is to help ward off infection. Mr. Turner knows the dosages.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Dismissing her thanks with a wave, he bent to retrieve a black leather bag from the floor next to his feet. “Don’t thank me. He’s a lucky man. If that bullet had struck any lower, he might have lost a lung.”

Perhaps not luck, but grace. Tillie bowed her head and breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

The doctor glanced around the bedchamber. Spotting his coat thrown over a chair near the window, Tillie fetched it for him and held it aloft.

“Is this what you be searching for?”

“Just so. Thank you, my dear.”

As she helped him into it, she asked, “Will you be coming back soon?”

The doctor patted his pockets, then peered at Cass over his spectacles. “Indeed, I will. I’ll check on him first thing in the morning. The medicine I gave him should help him rest comfortably till then.” He gave his pockets one last pat before turning for the door. “Don’t forget to send for me if his condition worsens.”

After assuring him that she’d keep a watchful eye, Tillie thanked him again and saw him to the door.

Moments after he’d gone, a low moan sounded from the bed. Tillie hurried over in time to see Cass’s eyelids flutter open. Though overly bright and slightly confused, ’twas a relief to witness the brilliant blue of his eyes. She released a sigh and sank onto a crushed velvet chair that someone had pulled near the bed. “You’re awake.”

“Tillie?”

“Aye, lad, ’tis me.”

He ran his tongue over his lips. “Where are we?”

“Rourke Turner’s house.”

“Why? What happened?”

She reached for his hand, sorrow gripping her. “Do you not remember anything?”

He started to shake his head, and then his features went even more ashen. “Someone attacked us.”

“Aye, that’s right.” She squeezed his fingers. “You were shot trying to protect me.”

His eyes drifted wearily shut. “How . . . ?”

“Jacob Kilarny. He and his men showed up in the alley. One of them fired off a couple of shots, but the rider escaped.”

Seeing his throat work, Tillie retrieved a pitcher from the nightstand and poured him a cup of water. “Easy now,” she said, holding it to his lips. “Just a sip or two.”

He managed to lift his head, but after a moment fell back against the pillows with a groan. She waited while he gathered his strength, then dipped the end of a washcloth into the glass and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“I’m so verra sorry, Cass. Would that it had been me who was hurt instead of you.”

At this, his eyes locked on hers, vivid and piercing. “I would do anything for you, Tillie. Surely you know that.”

Her heart constricted inside her chest. Laying aside the cloth, she caught his hand and pressed his fingers to her lips. “Aye, my dear, brave lad. I know you would. I only wish I were more worthy of your defense.”

Once again he struggled to lift his head from the pillows. “You are worthy, Tillie. One day you’ll realize that. Until then, I vow to do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

“All right now, lie back down,” she urged, pushing gently against his shoulders. “The doctor said you are to rest.”

“I mean it, Tillie. I was serious when I said I loved you.” He clasped her hand, surprising her with the strength of his grip. “And I would do anything to keep you from harm.”

For several nerve-rattling seconds she could do nothing
but sit, transfixed by the pleading in his eyes. Then concern washed over her, and she laid her palm against his forehead.

“Tell me there’s a chance, Tillie. Tell me that one day . . . maybe . . . you could love me, too.”

The whispered plea was so soft and low, she doubted she would have even heard it had she not been so close. Consumed by pity and feeling more than a wee bit beholden to him, she let her hand fall from his brow to cup his cheek.

“Cass . . .”

“We’re already closer than most friends, aye? Would it be such a stretch to imagine yourself feeling something more?”

“More than what I would feel for a beloved brother?” she asked gently. “For that is how I see you, Cass—how I’ll always see you. Tell me I’ve not misled you into thinking it was anything more.”

“A brother.” He grunted and dropped onto his pillow. After a moment, his face brightened. “So you agree, we are more than friends. That must mean you feel something, ain’t so?”

She laughed. “Aye, lad, I suppose.” Sobering, she cupped her hand to his cheek. “I do love you, Cass. I’ll never forget what you did for me today.”

“Ach, well, I suppose that will have to be enough. For now.”

Bending low, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, relieved to feel the coolness of his skin against her lips. No fever. Perhaps now he’d be able to rest.

Indeed, his lashes fluttered down to cover his eyes as she straightened. Behind her, a rustling sounded from the door. She turned her head, but not in time to see who stood there. All she caught was the briefest glimpse of someone’s hand before the person whirled and pulled the door shut.

Dawn’s dazzling rays tugged at Morgan’s eyelids, luring him from a fitful sleep—and fitful it had been, his dreams plagued with worry for Cass and longing for Tillie. Grimacing, he rubbed a crick from his neck. Perhaps he should have accepted Rourke’s invitation and made use of one of the guest chambers upstairs instead of acting as sentry while he waited for Tillie to emerge from Cass’s room.

Rising from a stuffed leather chair, he exited the parlor into a wide hall. Sounds of stirring emerged from the kitchen as members of the household staff began preparations for breakfast. Already the yeasty aroma of baking bread tweaked his nose. ’Twas not a fragrance he was accustomed to savoring at sea. This was a fragrance enjoyed by those on land, like Rourke. And Cass.

He glanced up the stairs. Cass was in love with Tillie. Not only had his actions proven that out, he’d voiced it last night. And while she did not now currently return his affections, it wouldn’t be long before his charm won her over. That had always been the way of things back in Ireland. A wink of those blue eyes, the disarming smile . . . Tillie was as good as his.

Morgan grunted and turned to pace the hall. Aye, and
wasn’t that best for them all? The sea was no fit place for a woman. He had no hope of winning her for himself, not that he’d even try. It wouldn’t be fair to her. But Cass . . . Cass was free to do as he pleased. Likely Morgan would be leaving New York one deckhand short.

“Two short,” he said, his thoughts flashing to Donal. Three, if he counted Doc.

“Excuse me?”

He wrenched his head up. Tillie slipped out of Cass’s room and eased the door closed behind her and then glided down the stairs.

Morgan shrugged. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.” He gave an upward tilt of his chin. “So? How be the patient?”

She rubbed her back wearily. “Resting. Finally. I promised him I’d stay until he fell asleep, but that turned out to be well after midnight.”

“You could have fetched me. I would have sat with him.”

A slow grin melted over her lips. “I dinna mind.”

He looked away. Her smile, her eyes, even the way her tousled curls made her look, all sleepy and childlike, were not his pleasures to enjoy. Those belonged to his brother, or soon would, whether he relished the idea or not.

Ducking his head, he veered toward the stairs. “Think I’ll sit with him a bit, just in case he wakes before the doctor arrives.”

She nodded, her dress rustling as she moved toward the kitchen. “I’ll have the staff bring you a pitcher of fresh water so you can wash up.”

Shooting her a wry grin, he rubbed the scruff on his cheek with the back of his fingers. “Do you happen to be implying something?”

“Not at all, Captain.” She laughed and lifted her hand to smooth her unruly curls. “You’ve no more need for the basin than I do myself.”

She turned then, her skirt swishing saucily as she walked down the hall. In spite of himself, he watched until she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. His hand clutching the banister, he dragged himself up the stairs. So that would be the way of it then—he always pining for something he would never have and she being happily oblivious to it.

Ach, and was it any different than before, when he’d given up his dream of owning a farm and working the land to produce something good?

Aye, he thought, scowling as he stormed up the stairs. He wrenched the knob and entered Cass’s room. It was different. Now it was Tillie he’d be giving up.

A moan came from the bed and all of Morgan’s anger fled. Dark curls clung to Cass’s temples, and a flush colored his skin. Were it not for the stubble on his cheeks and chin, he could have passed for a young lad.

“Dinna be deceived. You’re not giving her up,” he whispered quietly to himself. “You kinna surrender something that was never yours.”

Cass roused, his dark lashes fluttering. “Morgan?”

He sucked in a breath. “Aye, lad, I’m here.”

Cass inhaled and moved as if to stretch, grimaced, and then lay still again.

Morgan smiled and pulled up a chair. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Painful.”

“You were lucky. The doctor said had the bullet entered any lower, you might not be lying here at all.”

“Aye, well, thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cass cracked open an eyelid, then two. “Do I look as bad as you do?”

“Worse.”

“Doubtful, Cap.”

Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Careful. I’m not above slugging a wounded man.”

Cass laughed, moaned, then laughed softer. “All right, all right. Mercy.”

Oh, but his brother’s laugh was a good sound. He shuddered to think of how easily it might have been snuffed out. Settling against the back of the chair, he laced his fingers across his stomach.

“What?” Cass asked, peering at him through slitted lids.

Morgan shrugged.

“I know that look, big brother. What’s going on inside that thick skull of yours?”

For several seconds, Morgan said nothing. He didn’t regret helping Tillie. It wasn’t brave or noble, just right. But Cass . . .

“I was wrong to involve you in any of this. ’Tis my fault you were hurt.”

Cass struggled to rise. “Are you daft? How is any of this your fault?”

“I could have left things as they were. Maybe if I hadn’t told Tillie the truth, she wouldn’t be in this danger. And you . . . you wouldn’t be lying there with a hole in your back.”

“Right,” Cass said. “You honestly believe whoever is after Tillie would have left her alone once they found out about the ring?”

Morgan raised his chin obstinately. “Maybe.”

“Bah.” Cass snorted. “Even if that were true, I know you. You could never have hidden the truth from Tillie. It isn’t like you to lie.”

Both heads turned as Tillie entered the room carrying a tray laden with a pitcher and clean towels. She set the tray down on a little table in the corner and then straightened to glower at them both.

“I would appreciate it if the two of you would stop debating
about what is best for me and allow me to figure that out for myself.”

“Couldn’t hurt, I suppose,” Morgan said, “considering that everything
we’ve
tried has been a miserable failure.”

Cass smiled weakly and nodded.

“Well, what do you have in mind?” Morgan asked her.

Tillie pointed at the pitcher. “Wash up. When you’ve finished, I’ll come back and help Cass.”

“I can see to him,” Morgan said. After all, his brother was his responsibility, even if he hadn’t done a very good job of looking after him thus far.

Tillie sized him up, then gave a determined nod. “Fine. I’ll fetch Rourke. We’ll talk up here, if Cass thinks he be up to it.”

Shifting in the bed, Cass pushed upright. “I’m up to it. Takes more than a stray bullet to stop me.”

Despite his bravado, his lips were white-rimmed, and beads of sweat dotted his brow.

Once Tillie had gone, Morgan stood and rested his hand on Cass’s shoulder. “Easy there, brother. No sense killing yourself trying to impress Tillie. She’s impressed enough, trust me.”

Cass’s mouth twisted in a crooked grin, but he sank against the pillows and didn’t argue when Morgan pulled the covers up over his chest. Soon enough, he was dozing and hardly stirred when the doctor returned to check his wound.

“Looks good,” the doctor declared. He rubbed his spectacles against his shirt as he straightened. “He’ll need a day or two more of bed rest, then maybe a week of light activity before he fully heals.” He motioned to the bottles on the nightstand. “See to it that he continues with the prescription for infection, however. It’s not unusual for a fever to flare up in patients who aren’t properly attended.”

Morgan had no intention of allowing that to happen. He
gave a little bob of his head and then showed the doctor out. A short time later, one of the maids appeared bearing a bowl of broth and toast for Cass, and a platter of thick-sliced bread and eggs for Morgan. He saw to Cass before devouring his own breakfast and had just laid aside his napkin when the door opened and Tillie and Rourke entered.

By their faces, Morgan knew the discussion had begun without him. He tensed and motioned for the hall. “Perhaps we should talk outside.”

Cass wrestled to sit up. “No. I’m fine, Morgan. I’m part of this. I want to hear.”

Aye, he was part of this, a fact for which Morgan still berated himself. Grudgingly he motioned the two closer but cast a warning glance at his brother. “You start to feel tired, or if I catch even a hint of you running a fever, I’m tossing everyone out, whether you agree with me or not. Understood?”

“Aye, Morgan. Understood,” Cass grumbled, shooting a wink at Tillie.

Morgan’s scowl deepened. “I saw that.”

Turning his attention to Rourke and Tillie, he waved them toward a carved wooden bench situated beneath the window. It had a high back and arms, and on the sides a gleaming oak crucifix had been scrolled. Most likely the bench was a castoff of some church. He found it fitting that Rourke Turner should own it. The man looked quite at ease seated on the end nearest the bed. Tillie, however, chose to pace the length of the room.

Her fingers worked her bottom lip as she walked. “Rourke and I have been discussing my conversation with Jacob. We’ve decided we can no longer sit idly by hoping for clues to turn up. It’s far too dangerous, especially after last night.”

“I agree,” Morgan said warily.

“Good.” She glanced at Rourke, who encouraged her to
continue with a nod. Crossing to stand next to him, she clasped both hands at her waist and drew in a deep breath. “We’ve come up with a plan, an idea for figuring out who has been behind the attacks on Cass, me, even Jacob.”

Morgan looked from Tillie to Rourke and back again. Her fingers twisted restlessly, and twice her tongue ran over her dry lips. Even Rourke refused to meet his eyes. But it was something else that warned him he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.

Tillie stepped toward him, her stiff posture challenging him to disagree. “Rourke and I believe there is only one way to ferret out the information we need—to find out who among the Fenians is behind everything that’s happened.”

He almost didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know what addlepated scheme Tillie and Rourke had concocted in the wee hours of the morning, and yet he had to know. The words left his lips before he could even think of drawing them back.

“So, what is the ‘one way’ you came up with to get the information?”

“We need to send in a spy, someone with ties to the Fenians so as not to raise suspicion. Jacob has agreed to help so long as the person is someone he too feels he can trust.”

“And that person is . . . ?” Morgan pressed.

Tillie lifted her chin and stared at him eye to eye. “That person is
me
.”