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14
Kinsley, Ireland,
1844
“Look sharp!” an angry voice yelled from the muddy thoroughfare.
Liam glanced up from where he’d dropped a coin to see a sleek carriage pulled by two shining horses barreling toward him. He jerked back with a curse and landed in the mud.
“Bloody lackwit,” the driver barked as he pulled the horses to an abrupt stop. The carriage wheel missed Liam’s body by a hair’s width.
For a few stunned moments, all Liam could do was suck in air, grateful to still have his limbs intact.
“Giles, what is the holdup?” a man’s sharp, annoyed voice asked from inside the carriage.
“Nothing of concern, sir,” the driver said. “Just a peasant. We’ll be on our way directly.”
Margaret Brady’s husband peered out of the carriage. He had cold, black eyes without a spark of warmth or compassion, and a disapproving slash of a mouth. With his pallid complexion and sagging jowls, it was no wonder Margaret was always happiest when he was away on business. He looked down his craggy nose, sneering when he spotted Liam on the ground. “Next time don’t bother stopping, Giles. A moment of my time is more valuable than an entire lifetime of one such as this.”
A woman murmured something from within the carriage. Though it had been a few weeks since Liam had ended things with her, he still easily recognized Margaret’s low, throaty voice.
“My dear,” the old man said coldly, turning to face his wife. “Do not waste your concern. These peasants are like vermin. One may fall, but there will always be more.” He rapped on the ceiling, and the carriage shot off down the road.
Unfeeling rat bastard!Liam pushed himself to his feet. What if he hadn’t moved away in time? He could’ve been maimed, which would almost be worse than being killed. The last thing his brother’s family needed was an invalid. Another helpless mouth to feed. He slapped mud and dust from his clothes as the carriage turned on the corner and disappeared. Poor Margaret Brady. Even in his anger at being nearly run down, he pitied the woman. Her vile husband had a frozen wasteland for a heart, and Liam would take an eternity of digging in the mud and scrabbling for food over having to live with that devil’s spawn.
He glanced down at the single coin he clutched in his hand, then dropped it into his pocket, adjusted his shirt and continued toward the apothecary. It had been a bad week. His young nephew was sick again, and they couldn’t afford the dram of medicine he needed. His brother had twisted an ankle, making it difficult for him to work the field. Liam had taken over his brother’s share of duties, in addition to his own, which left him little time for schemes with Boyd and the Bricks. Exhausted and distracted, he’d almost gotten caught picking the pocket of a wealthy traveler who’d had too much to drink the night before at the Goose & Gander. Luckily, the Bricks had started a fight, and Liam had been able to escape before the man’s valet could catch him.
Now he stepped into the apothecary shop, determined to make at least one thing better. He put his only coin on the counter and nodded to the white-haired man hunched over a book. “Morning, Seamus. I’ll need some of that tea for a cough, if you’ve got it.”
The old man shuffled over to a line of glass jars and measured herbs into a paper sleeve. “Will this be for your brother’s boy young Jamie O’Connor again?”
“Aye,” Liam murmured, knowing he needn’t say anything further. If there was one thing old Seamus was good at, it was talking. He rarely required a response.
“Poor wee thing, with the coughing sickness. Make sure to tell your brother’s wife to steep it good and long, and to give it to the child just before sleeping.”
“I will.”
“Coughing ailment.” The old man clucked his tongue and continued to ramble. “Not an easy fix, that. Most unfortunate. Especially when you’re as young as wee Jamie. Some people are just born that way, you know, and there’s no doing for it. When my Jenny was alive, she used to always say it was in the bones, and the only true relief for someone with a lung affliction was the peace that comes from God’s grace in heaven after death.”
“Right.” Liam would be sure not to pass on that bit of information to his brother’s wife. He thanked the old man and left the shop, slowing to stare into the bakery window that was two doors down.
The warm, yeasty scent of fresh baked bread wafted onto the street. Liam’s stomach grumbled as he stared at the loaves stacked onto a tray beside a plate of currant buns in the window. He slid a hand into his pocket, now empty, but for the packet of his nephew’s medicine. In a different world, he thought hungrily, in a different life—were he a different man—he’d waltz right into that shop and buy up the entire window display. He’d carry all of it straight into his brother’s hut and toss armfuls of fresh bread and cakes onto the table, just to watch the little ones’ faces light up with joy. If only.
Liam tore his gaze away from the display and began to walk on, just as the door flung open, cracking him in the face.
“Oh! Goodness, I’m so sor—” A soft, feminine gasp. “It’s you.”
Liam stood stunned, rubbing his forehead. The sight of the beautiful Cora McLeod standing before him was like a dream. She looked out of place clutching a bakery bag to her chest against the backdrop of muddy streets. Today she was dressed in a prim, gray woolen gown, and her glorious hair was, unfortunately, bound tight and tucked under a bonnet. But nothing could dull her bright blue eyes, now looking at him with a mixture of surprised delight and concern.
It made him want to laugh from the sheer wonder of being this close to her again. “Why is it that every time we meet, I get injured?”
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, fluttering a hand and looking around. “Do you need to sit down? I should’ve paid better attention to where I was going. Nanny’s always reprimanding me for walking too fast. She says a lady should only take mincing steps and never rush anywhere because it rather denotes a lack of poise.”
“Nonsense.” Liam gave her a lopsided grin and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I think there’s something quite dignified about a sea captain dashing off in a hurry. No telling what kind of adventure awaits her.”
Cora raised a gloved hand to her mouth and giggled, her gaze alight with the same spark of mischief and amusement he remembered so clearly from their last encounter.
Liam had missed her so much since that night he’d crawled through her window. He’d tried—and failed—not to think about her because he knew it would do him no good. The very thought of ever speaking to her again had seemed nigh impossible, and yet here they were. He’d have endured far more than a crack on the face for a stroke of luck like this.
