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Aoife simply looked at her, eyes hard and cold. Bridget bustled about for another half hour then couldn’t stand Aoife’s eyes boring into her any longer. She yawned hugely, though she wasn’t the least bit tired.
“I think I will rest for a little while.”
Aoife shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Bridget lowered the lamps and climbed under the covers, turning on her side and pulling the sheet up to her nose to hide her face as much as possible. She didn’t think she’d sleep, but to make certain she pinched her leg every few minutes to keep alert.
Time seemed to pass slowly, and she must have been feigning sleep for at least two hours before Aoife finally rose and moved about the room. Suddenly, her nose itched and her back hurt, but Bridget didn’t move. She kept her breathing slow and steady as Aoife opened drawers and moved pots about quietly in the kitchen.
After a while, Bridget was aware of someone standing beside the bed. Everything in her screamed to open her eyes and protect herself. She could imagine Aoife looking down at her, knife poised to strike. What if that was her real purpose here—to kill Bridget?
No. She had to use common sense. If Innishfree planned to kill her, they would wait until Callahan had completed whatever task they’d set for him. If he refused, they might need her to use as leverage.
She remained still and continued breathing deeply until she heard the fabric of Aoife’s dress swish as she moved away. Bridget listened hard for the direction of her steps.
She was in the corner of the room with the privacy screen. Was she snooping back there? And then she heard the sound of the chamber pot being moved. The porcelain had a distinctive sound when it scraped on the floor. This was her chance! She scooted to the other side of the bed and rose silently. The screen was right there, and she stationed herself just behind the edge, hidden from view but within striking distance. She wished she had a weapon of some sort, but there was no opportunity to fetch one now. She had one chance.
Aoife finished with the chamber pot, and Bridget heard the sound of water poured in the basin. She could imagine Aoife’s hands splashing into the water and then see the woman drying them on the towel set out for that purpose. Her heart pounded so loudly she feared Aoife would hear, and Bridget held her breath to keep from panting with anticipation. Then Aoife moved. One step. Two. One more...
Bridget struck the moment she saw Aoife’s hair. Aoife faced forward, and by the time she caught sight of the movement, Bridget’s hand had come down. She struck Aoife hard on the back of the head, then pushed the screen so it toppled over her.
Now was the time for a weapon.
“You little bitch!” Aoife screamed, pushing the screen off her. “I’ll kill you!”
Bridget grasped the nearest object at hand, a chair at the table. She swung it down, intending to hit Aoife with it. Aoife had pushed the screen aside, though, and managed to roll and then catch the leg of the chair. Bridget wrenched it away and swung it again. Aoife gained her feet and jumped back, grabbing one of Bridget’s boots. She flung it at Bridget, and she dropped the chair in her attempt to protect her head. Aoife was on her, jumping over the chair and grasping Bridget’s hair by the handful. Bridget grabbed bunches of Aoife’s hair then howled when Aoife stamped on her foot.
Everything hurt now, and Bridget understood she was outmatched. Aoife clearly had vast experience with fisticuffs. But desperation had to count for something. With her head bent down to ease the pain of Aoife’s hold on her hair, it was difficult to see anything that might help her out of this. Her gaze slid to the tabletop, where her teacup had overturned, and the saucer teetered on the table’s edge.
Bridget released Aoife’s hair and pushed at her face. Aoife pulled Bridget’s hair harder, but Bridget ignored the pain and used the moment to reach for the saucer. She grasped it then swung it underhand to connect with Aoife’s chin. Aoife grunted and stepped back, releasing Bridget’s hair. Bridget raised her hand high and smashed the saucer over Aoife’s head. Aoife wobbled, and Bridget reached for the teacup. She threw it as hard as she could, knocking Aoife on the side of the temple. Aoife went to her knees, hand on her bleeding face.
Regretting nothing, Bridget kicked out, her bare foot landing in Aoife’s sternum and sending her sprawling onto her back. Finally! Bridget turned for the door then paused. If she left now, she could make it to the docks, but what about Callahan? He was imprisoned at Sean MacDonald’s. He wouldn’t know she was safe, and he could be hurting right now. What if MacDonald suspected them as Aoife did? Might he torture Cal to try and extract information? She had to go to him and free him, then they could return to The Farm together.
And that meant she couldn’t let Aoife come after her.
She turned back. Aoife had staggered to her knees and was using the table to lever herself up. Bridget kicked her back down again, wincing when Aoife’s head thunked on the floor. When Aoife didn’t immediately try and rise again, Bridget looked about for something to use to retrain her. She lifted one of her shifts from the wreckage of the screen and tore it into two long strips. She pushed Aoife’s face into the floor and grabbed her hands, wrenching them behind her back. Aoife fought her, and Bridget had a moment to wish she had trained in physical maneuvers. The agents made this look much easier than it was. But she’d seen enough training to remember that a knee in the back could help, so she applied the pressure of her knee and finally got Aoife’s hands tied.
Bridget ripped another two strips and stuffed one in Aoife’s mouth and tied the other strip around her head to keep it in place. Then, sweating and out of breath now, she ripped one last strip and used it to bind Aoife’s feet. Aoife was still fighting and managed to kick Bridget hard in the shin, but in the end, she secured her feet as well.
Bridget ran to her boots and pushed her feet into them, then buttoned her coat over her wrapper and nightgown. She quickly secured her hair into a tail. When she was done, she looked down and saw Aoife watching her. Bridget bent down beside her. “What were you saying about being in a position to forgive?” She patted Aoife’s head, and the other woman attempted to roar with indignation. Bridget smiled. “Don’t fret. I forgive you.”
And then she walked out the door and into the night.
***
“NO. YOU CAN’T DO IT. It won’t help anything.” Cal stared at the table across the room. The bottles of whiskey and gin still sat atop it, and the longer he lay on the cot, the louder they seemed to call to him.
He rolled to his side and stared at the wall, but he could feel the bottles behind him. He rolled back over.
“Sure and I should smash every single one of you.”
Sean MacDonald would be angry, but Cal half wondered if the man hadn’t left him here with the alcohol to tempt him. And it was powerful temptation. Cal knew if he succumbed now, he wouldn’t care about anything but that next drink. He’d blow up half of England if he had to for another bottle of gin.
He didn’t want to be that man. He’d made a promise to himself. He’d made a promise to Bridget. He intended to honor both of those promises because, for once in his life, he could see a future beyond poverty and thieving and running from the constable. He could see a future where he was a very different man, indeed.
Perhaps a future with Bridget by his side.
He looked about at the dark room where he was currently held prisoner. Maybe that future wasn’t so clear to him at the moment...
