The Irish Bride by Alexis Harrington

the fury mounting within him. From within, Kate
rebuked her customers with a string of colorful
obscenities.
    The cold night air, though laced with
the odors of river and fish, was clean and blessedly crisp compared
to the interior of The Rose and Anchor. Mounting his horse, a fine
black his father had grudgingly given him for the trip, he made his
way to a bridge that crossed the river, watchful for unseen threats
that might lurk in the shadows, ready to pounce on a well-dressed,
prosperous-looking man. He saw no one but an occasional doxy,
sidling along the narrow street. They called to him but he ignored
them and rode on.
    America. That bastard O’Rourke had
sailed for America and had taken Farrell with him. He had become
the focus of Noel’s wrath. He’d stolen Noel’s intended mistress,
the woman who had literally wriggled from his grasp and humiliated
him.
    If not for O’Rourke, he could have
smoothed over his father’s outrage. After a time, the whole fuss
would have died down and his life would have resumed its
comfortable routine. Instead he was faced with the twin
catastrophes of Michael Kirwan’s thievery and the escape of the
man’s killer.
    As Noel spotted the tall
masts of the Exeter , a burgeoning resolve grew along with his anger. He would
find Aidan O’Rourke and Farrell Kirwan, even if it meant sailing to
America himself.
    * * *
    “ I’m sorry, Mr. Cardwell,
but I’ve got cargo going to New York, and people there expecting
it. I can’t be taking the Exeter on a pleasure jaunt to New Orleans.” Ship’s master
Oliver Royce faced Noel over the worktable in his low-ceilinged
quarters. The cabin was tidy and clean, and decorated with
souvenirs from all over the world. Fragrant smoke from the pipe
clamped between Royce’s teeth scented the air. The table was
covered with a number of navigational charts and instruments. Royce
unrolled a map of America’s eastern coastline and gestured with his
pipe stem at the distance between his intended destination and
Noel’s. “You can see it’s a hell of a trek out of the way. His
lordship wouldn’t appreciate such a delay.”
    It had been easy to board the vessel
once Noel identified himself to the watchman. The Cardwell name did
open doors, he was pleased to note. But he resented the fact that
Arthur Cardwell’s name carried far more weight with the master than
did his own. Noel realized he might need to be a bit more
persuasive to achieve his goal.
    He smiled blandly at the reference to
his father. “This is not a ‘pleasure jaunt,’ Royce. It was Lord
Cardwell who dispatched me on this errand.”
    Despite a full,
neatly-trimmed beard, Royce was obviously a young man, perhaps even
younger than Noel himself. In contrast with James McCorry’s
derelict appearance and manner, Royce was sober and
earnest-looking, with a dignified loyalty to his employer that
irked Noel. “Well, I believe another ship, the Fortunate Maid , will be docking in
Cork within the next week. She sails to New Orleans from here and
you could be on your way.”
    Noel put both hands on the table and
leaned forward slightly. “As I already explained, I’m searching for
a man who has committed murder. He has a good day’s head start. I
must find him, and every hour counts. I can’t wait a week for
another vessel. I assure you, I can make it worth your while.” The
ship’s master eyed him but didn’t respond. “Do you have a family? A
wife, children perhaps?”
    His face brightened. “Aye, sir. Nell
and my three lads.”
    “ You must miss them when
you’re gone. And of course they miss you. Maybe Mrs. Royce would
like some small comforts for herself and the young ones. Something
to make their lives easier in your absence?”
    The man smiled, more to himself. “Oh,
she’s got it into her head that she’d like one of those fancy new
machines that sews stitches. I made the mistake of telling her that
I saw one in New York.”
    Noel straightened and held his hands
open