Rescuing Mr. Gracey (3 page)

“Oh Lord, ye’ve let yer Irish tongue bounce out.” Lily jerked her arm free. “What in the name of St. Patrick has put ya in such a temper?”

Mary huffed, her arms pumping. “Those men! Those strangers intended us dishonor. And they’re no’ our kind.”

“’Cause they’ve a wee bit o’ money? There’s no sin in that.”

“Who has food in these terrible times?” Mary stomped her foot, then sped up her pace. “Orangemen and English invaders come t’ tumble our homes or spy on our lives or arrest us for trespass, that’s who!”

“What a lot o’ blarney.” Lily shrugged. “Orangemen ain’t goin’ to share cheese o’ wine neither.”

“Ahhhh… Lily!” Mary inhaled several deep breaths to regroup toward proper English. As if giving direction to a small child, she spoke slowly. “We can’t trust anyone lest they are known to us as allies. Especially strangers we’ve chanced upon. You have to be cautious for your own safety.”

“Ye’re too cautious ’cause of yer da…”

“Shhhh…” Mary looked about, then lowered her voice. “Danger has increased because people of all faiths are trying to return rights to the natives. The Orangemen are mad as hornets this year.”

Lily held her hands over her ears. “I don’t have book learnin’, but sure an’ I hate it when ya lecture me. I know me own bitter history.”

Mary whispered, “
Ta spiairi I gach ait
.”

Lily laughed. “Those men are no’ spies.”

Mary hushed her friend. “Even if that’s not true, did you not hear how Mr. James talked to you?”

“What do ya mean? Ya talks just as good as da gentlemen when ye’re not in a temper.”

“No. That’s not my meaning.” Lily’s ignorance exhausted Mary. She tried to rephrase. “Did you not hear Mr. James insult us?”

“Oh, Mary. If ya look under the rug, ye’re goin’ to find dirt. I say, stop lookin’.”

Mary sighed, defeated. Lily had never lived with a father who secretly worked to free Catholics from religious and political oppression. Lily did not hear about the arrests and the spies. She did not worry about knocks on the door or thumps in the night. Those burdens belonged to Mary.

In a way, she envied Lily’s ignorance. Her friend could still believe in happy endings for the Irish native.

“Givin’ back food was no’ smart, Mary Smyth.” Lily wagged a dirty finger as they exited the forest. “And rushin’ me off afore I had me fill of cheese is mighty irritatin’ too.” Folding her arms, she scowled. “When ya gonna eat like that again? Never!”

“If I waited for you to be full, we would be there until next Christmas.”

“Ha. What a funny lass.”

“And inviting them to the dance was
no eolach
. There’ll be people there that need protecting.”

Lily heaved an impatient sigh. “Mark me words. Mr. Alexander ain’t no British spy nor Orange neither. He’s tinkin’ of a wee Irish lass what loves swimmin’ in icy water.”

Mary’s hand oddly trembled, irritating her all the more. “There’s no need to fear the wind if the haystacks are tied down. I’ll have nothing to do with him.”

Lily tossed a final taunt as she scurried away up a hill. “I wouldn’t be so grieved if he chased after me skirts. He could catch the moon. Aye, with just a wee smile and a blue-eyed glance, he could.” She laughed before calling back one final taunt. “Sure an’ that would be worth losing a wee bit of hay for.”

~ 2 ~

“In the memory of King William,

 
on that bright and glorious day…”

At first impression, Mr. James Bender appeared comical. His large, bulbous nose, thick freckles, and reddish hair that spread about as if in chaos from misdirection, were the first things one noticed. Short legs rolled rather than bent, and his vest strained to hold a bulging belly.

Unfortunately, his appearance was the only amusing thing about him.

“Your future has been well planned, but your reluctance could undermine all our hopes,” Bender insisted.

Alec fervently regretted releasing the private coach. Now he must walk the mile back to Castlewellan while pretending to listen to Bender’s diatribe.

“Your introduction at Dublin Castle to meet Viceroy Clarendon was very successful,” Bender reminded Alec. His voice, like a swarm of whining, threatening wasps, made Alec want to cringe. “Within the month, you will be elevated to a household name in County Down. A symbol of hope, a beacon of educated light, just as we planned. Though your schedule has been grueling, ’twas necessary to introduce you. Now you are sure to win the by-election and replace the dead MP.”

Slinging the jacket over his shoulder, Alec puffed out a disgusted sigh. He needed a long soak, a change of clothes, a meal, and a good Irish whiskey.

Bender continued the one-sided dialogue. “As I have said numerous times, what is lacking is engagement of your heart.”

His scowl slipped. Alec refused to engage his heart in the cause. For the last eight months, Alec had been the prisoner of lectures, rallies, boring conversations with influential people, and flirtations with overweight, underdressed women.

Resisting the urge to roar, he gazed out over the rolling green beauty of the hills. The best he could offer was pretense, fake smiles, and agreeable nods. Ever since MP Charles Everstone had died in a suspicious accident and the Earl of Roden, Lord Robert Jocelyn, had determined that Alec was to be his next political puppet, the squeeze and pretense began.

That effort cost him daily.

“…and absolutely avoid anything that may hinder or destroy these strategies,” Bender said.

Alec rolled his neck, willing his strangled muscles to loosen. Shifting his eyes toward the fat cloud drifting over the hill, he let his thoughts wander. Only ten months ago, life was perfect—studying for a doctorate in agricultural science, working side by side with top botanists and farmers, experimenting with cures for crop disease and nutrients for better yields—he’d enjoyed an honored reputation.

Now his future twisted, around and around like a strangling rope, leading him unwillingly toward the polluted streets of London.

Bender speared Alec with an icy-green glare. “Clearly, you will not attend the dance at Dolly’s Brae.”

Slumbering embers sparked, threatening to flare. He longed to shout,
You dare to tell me what to do and when to do it. I belong to no one.

But that was a lie. Powerful people owned him…or rather, they owned his father. Alec was bound as thoroughly as a prisoner of war. His warden—a slovenly, arrogant snake—tortured him daily.

“I’m going to the dance.” Alec’s startled heart thudded. Had he spoken out loud?
Retract the challenge.
Do not draw the line here.
His legs hurried down the lane as he analyzed the possible ramifications.

Of all the ridiculous mutinies.
Why would he risk so much for so little? She was but a shoeless little elf in an abysmally ragged dress that concealed any hint of a feminine figure. Even her delicate hand had been badly disfigured by blisters and cuts.

Huffing alongside, spit drooling from his mouth, Bender protested, gesticulating wildly with his arms. Used to his rampages, Alec shuttered the lecture and pondered further upon why the idea of going to Dolly’s Brae still intrigued him.

One hour ago, exhausted from the day-long travel from Dublin, Alec was distracted by a girl atop a hill, dancing, twirling, and singing. Enchanted, he watched her joy cascade down the steep hill like a refreshing waterfall. As they approached the last bend, he allowed his imagination to rush up the hill with the girl, sweeping her into his arms and dancing away into the forest.

Then, right before him, she tumbled from the path and disappeared from view. He jerked forward and banged on the roof to get the driver’s attention. But the carriage had already careened around the corner. They were going too fast and could never stop in time. He was sure the girl would be crushed.

Some miracle had saved her from catastrophe, but forcing the carriage to stop to make assurances, he saw her hobble away. Worried they had caused her injuries, he insisted on following her. Any gentleman would do the same…

At least, that was what he told himself as he sent the vehicle ahead. Of course, James complained bitterly but refused to leave without him.

He found her, floating like a water nymph with the sun haloing her frame and reflecting shimmers of cinnamon, gold, and red from her hair, and all excuses and purpose deserted him. For one stunned and blissful moment, he forgot his name, his purpose, his duty.

His destiny.

But was that rare reaction worth a little rebellion?

“Sir!”

Alec twisted his head toward the rude little man. Blinking, he wondered where the conversation had strayed. “You are overcautious.”

Bender wheezed. “The Catholic stench from Dolly’s Brae would overwhelm. Even I know that, and I am not Irish.”

Ah yes. Dolly’s Brae, the tiny hamlet at the top of a steep passage just a mile from his home of Castlewellan. Last year, a huge number of organized Protestants, as was their yearly practice, marched toward that little village, waving their Order of Orange banners, chanting their anti-Catholic songs, tossing rocks or fire sticks.

However, to everyone’s surprise, they did not manage to make it to the hamlet. Instead, a few hundred illiterate, hungry, uneducated, and very Catholic rebels lined the crest of the hill and, using only rocks, pitchforks, and a few old guns, managed to terrify the marchers sufficient to scatter them back to Castlewellan, the Protestant home to most.

Like a war drum, the Catholic victory, however inconsequential to events of the day, awoke Robert Jocelyn, Earl of Roden, and he roared to life.

“How could you even consider this?” Bender demanded. “I insist you stay far from that dance.”

Familiar tension tightened Alec’s neck. Closing his eyes briefly, he allowed himself a moment of brutal honesty. Upon orders from Roden, and under the training and supervision of James Bender, the third son of a British earl, his duty was to win the by-election as a conservative in the House of Commons. Once elected, Alec would be the earl’s puppet.

To do otherwise meant the ruin of his family’s fortune.

Since last summer, Alec had managed to preserve only scraps of independence. Bender and the earl owned the rest.

Alec pursed his lips. Something webby and difficult to analyze continued to seed within his heart. Mary Smyth triggered something lost. What? Perhaps seeing her so frightened had awakened his protective need to bundle her like a small orphan, take her home, and, well, feed and shelter her.

Oddly irritated, Alec shook his head. Protective impulses did not justify the huge risk of walking into enemy territory to attend a dance. Tilting his head down and slightly to the side, he maintained a bored expression while trying, once again, to analyze his compulsion to attend the dance.

Bender’s sharp tone cut through Alec’s scattered thoughts. “Well? What say you?”

He smiled, realizing he enjoyed defying the man. “I am going.”

Panting and gasping, Bender flushed a sweaty red. “I demand to know why.”

His stomach tightened.
Admit you want to see her again.
“I owe myself a diversion.”

Desperate, winded, Bender screeched like a rusty hinge. “This girl…this twig…with eyes too big for her face, is nothing less than atrocious.”

Alec lifted one brow. Was the man blind as well as ridiculous? Miss Smyth’s wide oval eyes were her best feature. Neither blue nor green, the delightful and expressive orbs reflected light and thoroughly captivated. Of course, he must never share this observation with Bender. “’Tis entertainment for one night,” he said, shrugging.

“Sir, where is this reported intelligence? Consider the ramifications.”

Alec despised the conversation. “’Tis harmless entertainment for one night.”

“Harmless? If you are discovered, given your family name, I shudder to think of the potential deadly outcome. A riot may follow. To think otherwise means that she’s cast a witch’s curse, or you’ve misplaced all common sense!”

Perhaps he was bewitched. Her features—oval pixie face, delicately sculpted cheekbones, small upturned nose, and charming dimples that popped out with the slightest smile—were definitely contrary to his usual attractions. Her lovely lips, however…

“Shocking! Wasting your charms and talents on native trash.”

With supreme, highly refined effort, Alec mastered all emotion. “They are my charms and talents to waste.”

“Do not mock me, sir,” Bender snarled. “The mood in Ireland grows more hostile. Traitorous Protestants, including the one you replace, think Catholics need a legislative voice.” His harsh barking tone sounded like a mad dog. “As if England would allow that. ’Tis the very reason we shore influence through the election. If you attend the dance, you may well ruin Ireland’s future.”

Alec wanted to roll his eyes. Yet, still arguing within his own reason, he said aloud, “You place too much value on me while exaggerating the danger of a simple dance. I assure you, no one of my acquaintance will identify me there.”

“Of course not!” Bender’s jaw clenched. “Why would any of our acquaintances attend a Catholic function?” Flapping his arms, he looked like a fat bird trying to fly. “Yet the rebels may recognize the resemblance of you to your father.”