Page 77 of Beauty and the Thief

Finally, the hour came to meet MacDonald at the pub. She and Callahan arrived early, though he said looking eager was a bad strategy. She ended up wearing the only good dress she’d brought, a pale green one with blue embellishments. It was made of thin cotton, which meant she shivered under her coat. It was the only dress she’d brought that buttoned up the back, and Callahan had had to help her dress in it. And hadn’t that been an exercise in self-restraint? She’d wanted to turn and kiss him half a dozen times. Reminding herself that he was only doing this for the money and would be gone as soon as he claimed it kept her hands at her sides. She might want him, but she knew his kind.

In the end, he only cared about himself.

“Now this is interesting,” Callahan muttered so that only she could hear. She glanced in the direction he faced, and Aoife, not Sean MacDonald, was walking toward them, an umbrella over her head to protect her from the light drizzle that had been falling most of the morning.

She stepped under The Selkie’s tattered awning and lowered her umbrella. “Sean MacDonald couldn’t get away, but I’ll bring you to his home.”

“Is it far?” Bridget asked, raising her umbrella.

“It’s just down the lane, so it is,” Aoife answered.

Callahan offered his arm, and together they followed Aoife. Their destination was not just down the lane. Bridget felt they had walked through half of Dublin before they finally turned down a narrow alley, and Aoife knocked on a thick wooden door. Callahan leaned close. “She took us a long way. Made us walk in a circle. We’re not far from the pub.”

Bridget didn’t have time to ask how he knew such a thing because the door opened then and one of the men she’d seen with MacDonald at the pub stood there. He didn’t smile.

Aoife addressed him, hand on her hip. “We’re here to see Sean MacDonald, Michael, so move out of the way.”

Michael moved aside, allowing first Aoife then Bridget to enter. He put a hand out before Callahan could step inside.

“I have to search you for weapons.”

“Sure and I thought this was just dinner.” Callahan held his hands out, and Michael patted his chest and legs then reached into his boots.

“Go on then.” Michael cocked his head to the side.

Callahan followed Bridget into a room, this one furnished as a cozy parlor. The furnishings were worn but tidy, and MacDonald rose from a chair to take Callahan’s hand.

“And is this how you treat all your dinner guests?” Callahan asked. “Search them for weapons?”

“Just a precaution,” MacDonald said.

“Why do you need such precautions?” Callahan asked, still pretending ignorance.

MacDonald led him to a chair. “Stay awhile and I just might tell you.”

“Mrs. Kelly, will you help me in the kitchen?” Aoife asked.

“Of course, but call me Bridget.”

“Bridget then.” Aoife led her back to a small kitchen, which was still a far sight bigger than her own. Bridget had thought perhaps the other woman she’d seen in the pub might be there as well, but the kitchen was empty. On the stove a pot simmered, and clean vegetables and bread were laid out on the table.

When Aoife had explained what help she needed, and Bridget was cutting vegetables while Aoife added to the pot on the stove, Bridget gathered her courage. She was supposed to be working as an agent and gathering information about Innishfree. She wouldn’t find out anything if she didn’t ask.

But she couldn’t come right out and ask Aoife if she was a member of Innishfree or whether Sean MacDonald was the leader. Callahan had cautioned patience.

“Do you keep house for Mr. MacDonald?” Bridget finally asked. She hadn’t seen any sort of affection between the two. In fact, Sean MacDonald treated Aoife as more of a servant than a compatriot.

“I’m his sister,” Aoife said. “This was our mam’s house before she died.”

“I’m so sorry. It’s a lovely home.”

Aoife nodded and stirred. “She worked hard to keep it so. Our da was killed fighting for the British. We never received so much as a thanks. And not a penny for our loss.” She made a sound of disgust. “Irish lives don’t mean much to the queen and her parliament in London.”

Bridget’s impulse was to deny this was true. She felt the Queen very much cared for all her subjects, but the Irish had been treated poorly for hundreds of years. That couldn’t be argued. The potato crop had been particularly bad the last few years, and aid had been slow in arriving from the Crown. Aoife had every right to disparage a government that was a world away and seemed not to care a whit for her.

“No, they don’t.”

Aoife looked at her. “What was it like in London? Mr. Kelly says you lived there.”

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