Silence picked up Mary gently. She’d always hated bloodletting, ever since she was a little girl and had had to be bled three times for some childhood illness. If she could save Mary’s tender skin the sharp scalpel, she’d offer her own arm, but this must be done. She knew that.
The doctor had been watching her and now he nodded at her approvingly. “Can you hold the cup for me?” he asked Fionnula.
The maid stepped forward and took the cup.
“Easy,” the doctor murmured, and with quick efficiency, lifted Mary’s chemise and made a cut high on her thigh.
Mary flinched but made no sound.
Bright red blood flowed from the wound.
It seemed to take forever before the doctor murmured, “I think that will do it.”
He pressed a clean cloth to the wound and wound a strip of linen around Mary’s leg, tying it off neatly.
“Now then,” the doctor said as he wiped and put away his lancet. “A little broth will help enormously, I believe. Take a small piece of chicken and boil it with a sprig of parsley and two of thyme. Strain the broth and add a spoonful of white wine, the finest you can find. Serve this broth to the child thrice daily, making sure she drinks a full teacup if possible.” He glanced at Silence sharply. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, stroking Mary’s hair.
“Good. Good. I also have this elixir.” He produced a small blue glass bottle. “My own concoction and I fancy a very effective one. A spoonful in a small cup of water before bedtime. Now”—he picked up his bag and stared severely at Silence and Fionnula—“should she come out in spots or vomit up bile, you are to call for me at once, yes?”
Silence nodded again, her lips trembling. “I will.”
The doctor laid his hand on Mary’s head and turned toward the door without another word. Mickey O’Connor turned and silently followed him, pausing before he exited. “Do ye have all that ye’ll be needing for her?”
Silence bit her lip to stop it trembling. “I believe so.”
His hesitated and for a moment she thought he was about to say something, but in the end he left without a word.
“WE’LL STORM HIS cursed palace and take her out by force if need be!” Concord Makepeace declared ferociously the next day. “Bad enough that she’s ruined her own reputation, but to sully the good name of the home is too much!”
Concord’s graying hair was coming down from his queue and he looked rather like an aging Samson.
A hotheaded, aging Samson who’d not fully thought through the consequences of an attack on an armed pirate stronghold.
Winter sighed to himself. He’d known the drawbacks to informing his brothers of Silence’s plight, but he couldn’t in all conscious let them remain in the dark.
Even if Concord’s undirected anger and worry were giving Winter a headache.
“The palace is a fortress,” Winter pointed out calmly. “And we are only two. If we—”
“Three,” came a voice in the doorway of the home’s kitchen.
Winter met the green eyes of his brother Asa, his own eyebrow slowly raising. Although he’d sent word to Asa’s rented rooms, he hadn’t expected him to actually show up. Asa hadn’t been heard from in nearly a year. For all Winter had known, his middle brother had sailed overseas.
Yet here he was, as brawny as ever. Asa had the shoulders of a bull and a mane of tawny hair like a young lion. The last year had given him a few differences, however. His scarlet coat was intricately embroidered at the cuffs and skirts, and his shirt, while plain, was of fine linen. Winter’s eyes narrowed. Interesting. However his brother made his living, he was apparently doing quite well for himself.
“What are you doing here?” Concord, never tactful, asked aggressively. “You don’t respond to letters, you don’t bother to make an appearance at Temperance’s wedding or the christening of my new daughter, or when Silence lost her husband at sea, and yet you think you can simply trot back home?”
Winter winced and murmured quietly, “We do need his help, Concord.”
“Ha!” Concord folded bulging arms across his chest. Like Winter, he dressed plainly in black and brown, his hat round and uncocked. “We’ve done just fine without him for the last year.”
“That was before Silence went to live in a pirate’s house,” Winter pointed out drily.
Asa, who’d propped one massive shoulder against the door frame, straightened now. “What pirate? You said in your letter to me that Silence was in dire danger. You never mentioned a pirate.”
Concord snorted.
“Mickey O’Connor,” Winter said quietly before Concord could go off on another tirade.
“Charming Mickey O’Connor?” Asa asked incredulously. “What is Silence doing with him? Did he kidnap her?”
“No.”
Asa pulled out a kitchen chair and sat, planting his elbows on the table. “Then why?”
“Last year a baby was left on Silence’s doorstep,” Winter explained. “Silence named the child Mary Darling and brought her here to the home. This was after Temperance married Lord Caire and was no longer managing the home with me. Silence took her position. She cared for all the children, of course, but she made Mary Darling her special pet.”
Concord stirred. “The baby was like her own. When William died, I think the child gave her comfort.”
Winter nodded. “I returned home from a trip to Oxford several days ago to find Silence gone. When I confronted her at O’Connor’s palace—”
“You went to Mickey O’Connor’s house by yourself?” Asa interrupted.
Winter met his eyes. “Yes.”
For a moment a startled look crossed Asa’s face, and then he slowly nodded. “Go on.”
Winter inclined his head. “She seemed quite as usual. She was dressed in her own clothes and frankly did not appear to be overly happy that I’d come to her rescue. She said that Mickey O’Connor was Mary Darling’s father—”
Asa swore and Concord glared at him.
“—and that O’Connor had brought her and the child to his home to protect them from his enemies. I could not persuade her to leave so I came away again. Now, however, there are questions being asked about where exactly Silence is. If the truth that she’s living with a notorious pirate becomes known…”
Winter shrugged. He didn’t need to tell his brothers what such information would do to the home’s good standing—and the money it needed from its patrons and donors. One whiff of impropriety and the fickle aristocrats would find some other charity to amuse themselves with.
“You should have picked her up and dragged her out bodily,” Concord growled.
Winter arched an eyebrow. “Past O’Connor and a half dozen of his men?”
Concord grimaced.
Asa rolled his eyes. “Trust you to advocate a near-suicidal action based on moral outrage.”
Concord half rose from his chair, bellowing incoherently. Asa rose as well and for the next several minutes the kitchen was filled with loud masculine rage.
Winter sighed and closed his eyes, raising one hand to gently rub his temple. He’d had a lifetime to observe the strained relations between his elder brothers. There were times when they could almost make it through a family meal without resorting to shouts, but those occasions were rare and becoming rarer. Concord dealt with the tension by assuming an unyielding line: He was entirely correct and by contrast everything Asa espoused was entirely incorrect. Winter had once overheard Temperance muttering under her breath that their brother should’ve better been christened Discord.
Asa’s response to this ceaseless state of friction was to disappear. It was a constant worry for their eldest sister, Verity. She feared—and Winter privately concurred—that someday their brother would go away and simply not come back.
His brothers’ voices died.
Winter opened his eyes to find both Asa and Concord scowling at him.
He raised his eyebrows. “Might we continue this discussion now?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Asa’s wide mouth. “We might.” He sobered. “What I don’t understand is why Silence trusted this pirate to speak the truth about his supposed enemies. Has he seduced her, do you think?”
Concord banged a hard fist on the table. “How dare you question our sister’s virtue?”
Asa looked at Concord coldly. “I find that people are capable of many different things. How do you know Silence wouldn’t fall under Mickey O’Connor’s spell? He’s rumored to be quite pretty.”
Concord opened his mouth, but Winter beat him to it. “We know because we have watched Silence in the last year,” he said quietly, but pointedly.
A ruddy flush lit Asa’s cheekbones.
“Silence might be as susceptible to sin as any other female,” Winter said, “but she would never be seduced by O’Connor. You know her history with him. What you may not know is that after William’s cargo was returned, relations between he and Silence were… strained. He perished on his last journey at sea and Silence blamed her confrontation with O’Connor for the sorrow in her marriage before William left.”
For a moment none of the men spoke. Winter looked at his brothers and wondered if they felt as helpless as he. He’d wanted to break things—to kill O’Connor—when he’d seen Silence after her night with the pirate. He hadn’t of course. Such violence would not have helped their sister.
That hadn’t stopped him dreaming of blood for weeks afterward, though.
“So you see,” Winter said quietly, “Silence must truly think that there is danger for the child. She’d never consent to be in the same building with him otherwise.”
“Then that presents an additional problem,” Asa said.
Winter arched an eyebrow in inquiry.
“Besides the difficulty of getting into the palace and rescuing her,” Asa said, “we will also need to have a place where we can safely bring both her and the child. A place that neither Mickey nor his enemies can find.”
Winter nodded slowly. “I believe your assessment is correct. She will never leave willingly unless she knows we can keep the child safe.”
Concord leaned forward placing his massive forearms on the table. “In that case it’s obvious who we should bring into this.”
SILENCE WAS TEARING her heart out over the child.
Two mornings later Mick stood over Silence’s bed and watched her sleep. There were smudges of exhaustion and fear under her eyes, her brown hair was coming down from a plait, and she clutched the sheet in one fragile fist like a little girl afraid of night terrors.
She slept as if dead—she’d not moved as he’d entered her room. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. Her breath didn’t even hitch.
Mick sighed and straightened. It was not yet dawn—still dark out. She’d spent the last two nights and the day in between nursing the child. He’d stayed away, but he’d had Fionnula report the happenings in the sickroom three or four times a day.
The child was growing thinner, her little body lit from within by a fire that would not die. If the fire consumed her—
Mick clenched his jaw and turned away from the bed. He left without glancing in the direction of the child’s cot, crossing through his own room and out into the hallway.
Harry looked up as Mick closed the door quietly behind him. Mick nodded at the guard and turned to stride down the hall. If the babe died, Silence’s heart would be torn from her chest as surely as if a wild animal had savaged her. He had no heart himself, but he’d heard they were delicate things and easily broken. Mick growled low under his breath as he made his way to the front of the house. He knew how to protect Silence from knives and fists, from poverty and want, but he had no idea how—or even if—he could protect her from her own soft heart.