I clamped my teeth together and waited. After a long second, Ailish tipped her head at me. “She be Jane.”
A hearty laugh came from deep in his chest. “That’ll do for me, Jane and Sally Duggan.” He removed his hat and bowed at the waist. “Seamus MacCabe at your service. Farmer, weaver, and friend o’ drifters and runaways.”
I frowned at his description. “We’re not vagabonds.”
Seamus grinned at me. “Don’t fret, me lass. These be trying times in Ireland, and you’re not the first to leave a bad situation behind.” Replacing his hat, he jabbed the pipe toward the back of the cart. “Hop in, and I’ll get you as far as Balliniry. I’ve a farm just east, though it’ll be nightfall when we arrive.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ailish said, clearly pleased by the offer. “That be more than I’d hoped.” She bobbed another curtsey and started at once for the back of the cart.
Indecision tugged at me. The man was a complete stranger. How could Ailish trust him so readily? He didn’t look dangerous, but neither had Calhoun at first sight.
The grin all but vanished from his mouth. “You can leg it if you want,” he said softly. “But me hag will buy more distance from whoever’s chasing you.”
My chin edged upward. “You presume to know a lot about our situation.”
He shrugged. “No more than what’s obvious. You’re a lady, by the looks and sound of it, and a rare beauty, if you don’t mind plain speaking.”
Blood warmed my cheeks from the rather forward compliment. Even so, I refused to look away.
“Me guess is that you was being forced into a bad marriage, and made a run for it afore your da could drag you to the altar.” He tilted his head toward Ailish, who was busy climbing into the cart. “And that one be your maid, because you’re sure as not sisters.” With a satisfied look, he returned the pipe to his mouth.
This version of events sounded infinitely better than the truth. So much in fact that I opted to let the story stand and remained silent as he drew air through the pipe’s bowl.
“Take it or leave it, Jane Duggan. There’s eight miles yet to go, and I’ve a wife and children anxious for me return.”
Ailish peered over the cart rail. “What you waiting for, Jane? Wexford won’t be coming to us, you know.”
I sighed. So be it. Seamus appeared trustworthy, and measures could always be taken if he proved otherwise. Besides, my feet hurt from the too-tight boots. Trudging around the cart, I hoisted the bags over the low rail, where they landed on the floorboards with a loud thump. My arms ached as I scrambled over the side and sat opposite Ailish. The cart was empty except for two wooden barrels in either corner behind the driver’s seat, and what looked to be a pile of gunnysacks.
Seamus emitted a loud whistle. The horse responded, and we were soon moving at a respectable trot.
I leaned against the rail and eyed the saddlebags with loathing. “Why am I carrying those?”
Bemusement shadowed Ailish’s face. “Because they belong to you, that’s why.”
The bags I’d brought from London had been borrowed from Cate’s stables. I couldn’t recall anything special about the design, only that they weighed significantly less than these. “Did you take them from the Sea Witch?” If so, she’d probably grabbed those belonging to one of the others.
Ailish nodded. “When you supped with the captain. While I was poking around, I found a rock chock-full o’ Brigid’s fire. Thought it be useful, so I put it in with your other stuff.”
My heart skipped a beat... Cate’s altar. Posing as Saint Brigid’s finger this morning had sorely taxed my gift, but the subsequent stunt in the woods had taken more power than all the folks in Dunmore combined.
“How did you know which bags were mine?”
“They had shifts and gowns for starters.”
I grimaced at her reasoning. The stolen altar would already have Justine in a rage, the last thing I wanted was to be inadvertently responsible for the theft of her clothing and other personal effects. Then again, she might well be too busy subduing Captain Lynch to worry about anything more.
Pulling the saddlebags closer, I unbuckled the flap and rummaged through the contents. “For both of our sakes, I hope you took the right ones.”
“Course I did.”
Sure enough, the clothing was mine. “How could you be so sure?”
“Because everything smelled like you.”
In the other side, my knuckles grazed against the altar stone. Digging deeper, my stomach sank when I reached the leather bottom. “My knife’s gone.”
“Weren’t in there. I searched through all your stuff,” she admitted unabashedly. “Found a lovely hairbrush and a pouch o’ pins, but no knife.”
Damnation. Cate was going to kill me. Which I wholeheartedly deserved for losing the one way any of Brigid’s descendants could kill the wretch without equal reprisal.