Page 3 of A Rake's Redemption
Had the doe stopped by the patch so she’d notice it? Inis smiled at the thought. Maybe she should ask the faeries for help since she didn’t think any priest would intercede on her behalf regarding her upcoming marriage…or a magistrate, either. They were men. The Fae—at least according to legend—were ruled by a queen. Maybe she’d understand Inis’s plight. What could it hurt? Her mother had always said she was given to wild flights of fancy.
Inis slipped off the rock and splashed across the narrow burn, pulling a bridle polishing rag from her pocket as she approached the patch. She knelt, tied the cloth to a nearby bramble branch, and then let her fingers slide over the silky, soft rose petals. Feeling a little foolish, she looked around to ensure she was alone before she whispered her request.
Silence ensued. Inis rose, feeling even more foolish. What had she expected? A sudden mist to appear and something with gossamer wings to materialize out of it?
She made her way back to the rock and pulled on her socks and boots. There had to be some way to avoid this upcoming marriage. But how? She wasn’t going to persuade her uncle to change his mind. She was all too aware that she was two or three years past prime marriage age. Silas’s father had already agreed to the nuptials. Irish nobility, not unlike the English, were sticklers on marrying within the aristocracy, which Inis thought was a really stupid idea given what the results were when horses were inbred too much. She pushed that thought away, since she didn’t want to think aboutbreeding,especially not with Silas Desmond, whose soft, pasty white hands always made her think of bread dough.
As Inis started back on the trail to the house, a sudden breeze ruffled her red curls, and she thought she heard light laughter. She turned, thinking perhaps a child had followed her into the woods. It wouldn’t be safe to leave a tot alone out here, but she saw no one. She heard the sound again, like the tinkling of a small bell. Inis peered around once more. Nothing. Her imagination was working overtime. Flights of fancy indeed. She should be concentrating on how she was going to get out of marrying Silas.
Who could she go to? Being the niece of a duke, she couldn’t even seek asylum in a convent—not that she’d last twenty-four hours before breaking every rigid rule the nuns followed—because they’d turn her out once her uncle came looking. Who would take her side?
The wind ruffled her hair again, this time whipping strands across her face. Inis looked up at the trees. None of the leaves were even rustling. Where had the sudden gust come from? She took her cap out of her other pocket and stuffed her hair under it, the way she did when she rode to keep it out of her eyes. Keeping her hair tucked up also made it easier not to be recognized as a girl while riding astride across the countryside.
She started to walk again, then stopped and stood rooted to the spot momentarily. Women may have no rights, but men did. Inis looked down at the trews she was wearing. An idea began to form. By the time she reached the house, she knew what she needed to do.
…
Inis stood at the rail of the English brig as deckhands lowered its sails, and the big ship glided smoothly through the Thames toward the dock just past the Isle of Dogs. She breathed a sigh of relief as lines were tossed and the ship cleated off securely. It might not be long-lived relief, but she’d made it this far undetected. Her plan had worked. She tried not to grin.
Once they’d returned to Dublin after the disastrous conversation about marriage to Silas, she’d waited until the household was abed before slipping out her second-floor chamber with the help of a knotted rope tied to her bedpost. She’d used the rope before, as well as her disguise, when she wanted to explore areas of Dublin her uncle would have forbidden her to go. One of her favorite places was the quay where she could watch the tall ships leave and dream about what adventurous places they were bound for. She didn’t need her uncle to tell her the docks were dangerous places for girls, but dressed as a lad, she’d never been bothered. Besides, she carried a dagger in the side of her boot to show she was armed.
She’d left a note saying she’d decided to catch a post coach to Belfast. Her uncle might not find that suspicious since they had distant relatives in Ulster. In any case, he would search for her there first, which would give her time to get away.
She’d arrived at the wharf just as dawn was breaking and the tide was about to turn. From her past escapades, she knew if a ship didn’t have a full crew, many captains hired on extra hands at the last minute to take advantage of an outgoing tide. She’d pulled her cap low and joined a few other boys waiting to be hired.
As luck would have it—or maybe the faeries were helping—the cook’s assistant had broken his arm, and the quartermaster asked if anyone knew how to do more than boil water. Inis had raised her hand, not that she had any great talent or interest in preparing meals, but she didn’t think stirring together a stew could be too hard. The bonus for her since she’d have to be up before dawn to stoke the stove—and she was beginning to suspect maybe the Fae really were at work—was being allowed to sleep in a corner of the galley instead of the general quarters where the men slept.
The cook, a man of middle years with a softening belly that hinted he sampled a lot of his fare, now joined her on deck. “Well, here we are. What do ye think of London, laddie?”
He accentuated the wordladdieslightly, and she wondered if he suspected the truth. If he did, he hadn’t let on during their two-day trip. She could hardly tell him she’d been to London several years ago when her parents still had been alive. “I’d be thinkin’ ’tis a lot of buildings,” she replied, using a far West Irish brogue.
“Aye,” he said as the gangplank was lowered and crew began carrying large crates down to the warehouses. “We be near the East End. A lot of thieves and cutthroats make this area home, so ’twould be best if ye just stay aboard.” He pulled out a pocket watch. “The captain will want to leave at eight bells. ’Tis only a few hours.”
She hated having to lie to him about not sailing on. The cook had been kind to her. No one had complained about the stew, either. But in the close quarters of a ship, it wouldn’t take long before someone discovered she was a girl. Nor did she want to put the captain in jeopardy. She’d given her mother’s last name, O’Brien, instead of Fitzgerald, but if it were discovered the captain had hired the niece of the Duke of Kildare to work aboard his ship, he’d never be allowed a berth in Dublin again.
“I want to stretch my legs a wee bit,” Inis said.
“Don’t ye wander too far, lad.”
“I’ll be careful.”
She took a deep breath and descended the gangplank. This part of London was totally unfamiliar. It was the middle of the day, so it should be safe. She couldn’t see any carriages for hire waiting on the street, but this was a warehouse area. Passenger ships probably disembarked farther along on one of the other piers. She’d walk a bit until she could find a carriage to take her into central London, where she could find a clean boarding house. She touched the money pouch beneath her shirt. She had enough coin for several days’ lodging, and it shouldn’t be difficult to obtain a job at a livery stable until she could get her bearings.
Inis pulled her cap down farther, straightened her shoulders, and began to walk. She’d learned during several of her adventures in Dublin that looking straight ahead helped avoid a lot of trouble.
The row of warehouses ended abruptly, cut off by a small canal. Inis could see another pier farther down on the other side of the water. She rounded the corner of the warehouse, followed a narrow walkway along its wall, and then turned onto a side street that bridged the canal. It also paralleled the river and should take her to the next pier. She hoped. Crossing the bridge, she noticed the street was lined with empty stalls that were probably used to market vegetables.
She’d taken only a few steps past the first stall when the hair at her nape began to rise. She heard a rustle and then a footstep. Before she could reach for thesgian dubhin her boot, a burly arm grabbed her from behind.
“Well, well, what have we here?” a gruff voice asked.
Chapter Two
Inis forced herself not to panic as she turned to face her assailant. She wasn’t sure which smell was worse, his unwashed body or the whiskey reeking from him. She jerked her arm, but he held fast, and peered at her through bloodshot eyes. “Not so fast, boy. I ain’t gunna hurt ya.”
What kind of a fool did he think she was? She was about to bring her knee up hard, but then hesitated. He thought she was a boy. Maybe she could talk her way out of this. She willed her voice not to sound high pitched and adopted a western Ireland brogue. “What do ye want then?”
“Well, now. I saw ya leave the ship right quick. I figured a young buck like ya was wantin’ a doxie bad.” He gave her a leering grin that exposed several missing teeth. “For a guinea, I can take ya to a place where ya can have your pick.”
