The Irish Devil by Diane Whiteside

another death.
    He spotted the two grooms, lying unmoving inside the carriage, and guarded now by Mickey, Black Kevin’s youngest brother. The men were probably still alive, since they were bound. No hope they’d be of help to him, though.
    William slipped onto the shop’s roof silently, ducked to avoid a broken window large enough for a bull, and found a very small, grimy window to look through. The scene inside on the second floor was as bad as he’d feared.
    Black Kevin paced the room, gesticulating with his knife, as he issued orders in barely intelligible English. His brother Red Padraig leaned against the doorway, grinning as he listened and idly kicking the manservant trussed up at his feet.
    The two women were bound to the bed’s iron headboard, the young one dressed only in underclothes from the waist up. “I didn’t ask for them,” she bleated, indicating the two thugs. “This was supposed to be my fantasy!”
    “Hush, child,” Lady Irene soothed. “As for you, sir, you forget yourself. Release us immediately and you won’t be arrested.”
    Black Kevin snorted derisively. “Who’s going to arrest Padraig and me? Nobody’ll give a damn about three more dead on this street.”
    The young woman wailed like a banshee at this.
    “Silence, bitch. Or you’ll be the one doing the bowing and scraping,” he snarled, and sliced one of her chemise’s shoulder straps. It flopped forward, barely preserving her modesty, and she cried louder.
    The manservant tried to roll toward Black Kevin. Red Padraig kicked him back against the wall, where the man gasped for breath.
    Black Kevin started to laugh as he tossed his knife from one hand to the other. “What shall I take next?”
    A growl vibrated in William’s throat. He slid back from his hiding place and silently headed toward the broken window. He’d have to rely on stealth and speed in the coming fight, given the difference in strength between himself and Black Kevin’s kin.
    Silently, he checked the dirk up his right sleeve, carried by his grandfather in the ’97 Rising, and the cut-down saber under his coat, little bigger than one of the new American Bowie knives. Then he quietly slipped into the building.
    He crossed the grimy sitting room and came up behind Red Padraig, whose attention was riveted on the hysterical women in the other room. William jumped the stout bully, throttling him with his forearm. A quick slash of his dirk opened the man’s jugular.
    Over Red Padraig’s shoulder, William saw the young woman scream and kick as Black Kevin tossed up her skirts and began to unbutton his pants.
    Lady Irene shouted, “They’ll hang you for this,” and desperately tried to cover the other woman.
    The blackguard roared with laughter, his attention totally focused on his female prey.
    Somehow keeping himself from rushing, William slid the lifeless body to the floor outside the bedroom.
    Some animal instinct must have finally warned Black Kevin of danger. He turned toward the door, snarling at the interruption. But the trussed manservant on the floor lashed out his feet and managed to trip the enemy.
    William seized the heaven-sent opening and swept the saber through the villain’s throat.
    Black Kevin stayed upright for an endless moment as horrified realization dawned in his eyes, then crumpled into a disjointed heap on the floor. The servant jerked out of the way as Black Kevin’s head came to rest against the wall.
    The half-dressed woman fainted, her body sliding down the headboard. Lady Irene gasped and hid her face.
    Silence finally filled the room.
    William crossed himself automatically and yanked a curtain down to veil the corpse. Ladies weren’t accustomed to a slum’s everyday sights. He cut the manservant’s bonds then went to rescue the young lady.
    “Irene, my love,” the man choked as he freed Lady Irene with Black Kevin’s knife.
    “Jocelyn, my darling,” she sobbed. They clung together, shaking and kissing