Fallon. He had to think of Fallon. Fallon by moonlight, ribbons of fiery red gleaming in her hair. Ciaran heard the door to the room open. Someone else to give an expert opinion how to wield the lash?
"Sergeant, what is going on here?" Redmayne's voice.
The soldier drew back, his jaw jutting out, defensive. "The men haven't been able to find a single one of the others what escaped. But he knows their names. Where they're holed up. I'll beat it out of him, I swear."
"Without your commanding officer's permission?"
The sergeant's face turned brick red. "You want that information's much's I do! I just... I assumed..."
"A dangerous pastime. I fear you're experiencing delusions of grandeur, assuming that you can read my mind." Redmayne heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. "Really, you need to use better judgment. How many times have I told you to think. Use that paltry mind of yours before you go charging in, flailing around like an imbecile. You could beat this man until doomsday, and all you'd get for your efforts is a damned tired arm. Flay the skin off his body a knife blade at a time and he wouldn't tell you the sky is blue. No. Mr. MacDonough is an honorable man. Sergeant, the rest of you, leave us. I wish to speak to the prisoner alone."
The soldiers fled the chamber as if their coattails were afire, the sergeant not even daring to cast Ciaran a mutinous glare.
"What... kind of game are you... playing, Redmayne?"
The Englishman had the gall to look injured. "You have a most suspicious nature, MacDonough. Haven't I always shown myself to be your friend? Not only did I release you the first time I held you here under suspicion, I single-handedly arranged your marriage to Miss Delaney. When my sergeant, here, would have beaten you, I took the lash from his hand."
"I like his methods better. At least they're honest. I know where he stands."
Redmayne's mouth curled in amusement. "But what is the sport in that? Surely, you didn't marry the beautiful Fallon because she was predictable."
"Leave my wife out of this," Ciaran snarled, fear thickening in his belly.
"I find that astonishingly difficult. She's the most extraordinary woman I've ever met." Redmayne drew something out of his pocket, a palm-sized figure of a queen. His fingers traced the carved features. Why was it Ciaran wanted to snatch the tiny woman from his hands? "One can never tell what she will do next. The only thing you can be sure of is that she will move with the daring of a master strategist, bold, quick, willing to risk all to gain victory. If only she could be taught to channel her passions, control them, she would be a most formidable opponent."
There was something in the Englishman's face that terrified Ciaran, as if Redmayne were attempting to peel back Fallon's spirit to see what lay inside—weaknesses, vulnerabilities, raw places where he could probe.
"Leave Fallon alone or I swear I'll—"
"I implore you, MacDonough, don't weary me rattling at your chains, hurling threats," Redmayne said, tucking the chess piece back in his pocket, something unreadable in his eyes. "I loathe such uncouth scenes. All I require from you at the moment are details regarding your villainous escapades. Something to include in my report to my superiors. The officer who preceded me was General Scargill's nephew, and he has taken a personal interest in seeing his murderer brought to justice."
Details? Ciaran gritted his teeth, realizing the flaw in his plan to play the role of Silver Hand. He didn't know the details of Hugh Delaney's missions. There was nothing he could give Redmayne. What if the Englishman wanted some sort of proof that he was the smuggler as he claimed? Would Redmayne be overly concerned about the guilt or innocence of the man he executed? Or would the allure of being the officer who delivered Silver Hand to the general be so appealing he wouldn't care?
"I've confessed to being Silver Hand. That's all you need to know. My deeds... speak for themselves."
"Why, oh why are you determined to make things difficult?" Redmayne asked with insufferable patience. "What would you say if I offered to make you a bargain? I am willing to let the rest of your ragged band go. Without you, your men will be rudderless, and if we make a proper example of you, they'll be far too afraid to ply a smuggler's trade."
"Why? Why would you do such a thing?"
Redmayne shrugged. "My explorations into the escapades of Silver Hand have revealed a good deal to me. A smuggler, not particularly brutal, rather eccentric, in fact, by all accounts. Hardly a big enough problem for the revenue cutters to trouble themselves with. In fact, he probably would have been left in peace forever if not for the unfortunate incident with General Scargill's nephew."
He flicked a bit of lint from his sleeve. "Others might wish to run about, sweeping up the dust that fell from your boots, but I see no purpose to it. You are prize enough. I am striving to be reasonable with you, MacDonough."
"I wouldn't trust you if you said your coat was red," Ciaran snapped.
"You would prefer I turn you over to the less civilized guardianship of my sergeant?"
"I don't give a damn what you do with me."
"That may be. But I would wager someone else cares. Your bride, perhaps?"
A timid knock at the door sounded.
"Enter," Redmayne said.
A young soldier poked his head in. "Begging your pardon, sir. But there are two people come to see the prisoner. Mr. Hugh Delaney and his sister."
Fear throbbed through Ciaran at the mere thought of Fallon anywhere near Redmayne. The look in the officer's eyes when he spoke of her filled Ciaran with dread. And Hugh—what was he doing here? Blast the man—there could only be one reason, Ciaran thought, considering the kind of man Delaney was. Ciaran was willing to give his life to keep them both out of this mess. Why couldn't they just stay away?
