finished burrowing.
She was awakened by a banging noise and the feel of a cold weight around her bare ankle. In fact, one leg was chilly up to the knee. Sleepily pushing herself to her elbows, she was surprised to see Flannery, his hair flame bright in the barren gray room, hammering at something on the floor at the foot of the pallet. "Whatever are you doing?" she mumbled. Flannery kept pounding without looking up. She flopped back down, too sleepy to stay upright; then dim realization dawned. She bolted up, clutching the quilts under her chin as he applied the final blows to a long pin fitted through the hasp of a leg-iron around her ankle. Attached to it was a short chain and a ten- pound ball of shot. "Oh, no. . . even he . . ." Her voice was a soft, strangled cry.
He finally looked up into eyes that were black and too bright. Her face was bloodless. "I'm sorry, girl, but there's more. Ye'll have to sit up." Catherine obeyed in a kind of stupor, holding the quilts tucked under her arms. When he brought the collar out, her eyes slowly filled with tears. She lowered her head as if baring her neck to an executioner's ax. As he fitted the iron band about her throat, Flannery saw the childlike tendrils at her nape, the narrowness of her shoulders, how small she was, how desperately young. He rammed the bolt home. He left her staring across the cell, head held unnaturally high as if it would topple off her neck if she moved it. She looked like an effigy on a tomb.
Sean looked up as Flannery filled the library door. "Well, is it done?"
"Aye. 'Tis done."
He quizzically eyed Flannery as the redhead lumbered toward the desk. "Your tone could sink the British fleet. Didn't the English's new jewelry suit her?"
"She didn't say. Personally, I'd say it didn't suit her."
Sean deliberately misunderstood. "Oh? Does that mean it didn't fit? Or that she kicked you?"
"Oh, that thrall collar's a perfect fit," Flannery replied flatly, "exactly right for a woman or child." His tone hardened. "We haven't had slaves in Ireland for four hundred years, and I haven't been fightin' beside Culhanes for nearly fifty to bring 'em back."
Culhane started to interrupt, but Flannery waved him to silence. "In all these years, I've never known ye to do a stupid thing, but if ye parade that girl in irons, ye'll regret it. Every time a man who was on the cliffs last night sees her weighed down with chains, his gorge is goin' to rise. They're not laughin' at her now, y'know." His big hands gripped the desk edge. "Ye had twenty mounted men armed with pistols and sabers to take a girl on foot cartin' a pair of antiques. I've not seen many men who could face cold steel that well."
"Think, man. She knew I wouldn't have her killed. She figured I'd send one or two men at her. If she could make a brief show and keep her skin in one piece, she'd have the lot of you on her side. Little Miss Nobility Braveheart. It worked beautifully. She even fooled you, and I would have wagered your rock of a heart couldn't be dented with a pickax."
Flannery shook his head. "She was ready to die and ye knew it. I think that's why ye went out to her yerself, to keep another man from hurtin' her."
Culhane came to his fteet. "That's enough, Flannery."
"I'm thinkin' it is, but shacklin' that bit of a girl is too much. I'll keep takin' yer orders for Liam's sake, but don't ask me to lay a hand on her again."
Long after sunset, two handsome whores in brazenly low-cut dresses strolled into Catherine's cell; the taller girl was a sultry-eyed brunette with flaring cheekbones and a wide mouth, the other a flaxen blonde with magnificent breasts and a confident strut. With hands on her hips, the dark one, dressed in crimson, surveyed the prisoner's slight body curled up among the quilts. "Faith, she's not much to look at!"
The blonde nodded. "Give a man too much to eat, and he's more interested in meat on his plate than in his bed. But, Jaysus, this wouldn't even pick his
She was awakened by a banging noise and the feel of a cold weight around her bare ankle. In fact, one leg was chilly up to the knee. Sleepily pushing herself to her elbows, she was surprised to see Flannery, his hair flame bright in the barren gray room, hammering at something on the floor at the foot of the pallet. "Whatever are you doing?" she mumbled. Flannery kept pounding without looking up. She flopped back down, too sleepy to stay upright; then dim realization dawned. She bolted up, clutching the quilts under her chin as he applied the final blows to a long pin fitted through the hasp of a leg-iron around her ankle. Attached to it was a short chain and a ten- pound ball of shot. "Oh, no. . . even he . . ." Her voice was a soft, strangled cry.
He finally looked up into eyes that were black and too bright. Her face was bloodless. "I'm sorry, girl, but there's more. Ye'll have to sit up." Catherine obeyed in a kind of stupor, holding the quilts tucked under her arms. When he brought the collar out, her eyes slowly filled with tears. She lowered her head as if baring her neck to an executioner's ax. As he fitted the iron band about her throat, Flannery saw the childlike tendrils at her nape, the narrowness of her shoulders, how small she was, how desperately young. He rammed the bolt home. He left her staring across the cell, head held unnaturally high as if it would topple off her neck if she moved it. She looked like an effigy on a tomb.
Sean looked up as Flannery filled the library door. "Well, is it done?"
"Aye. 'Tis done."
He quizzically eyed Flannery as the redhead lumbered toward the desk. "Your tone could sink the British fleet. Didn't the English's new jewelry suit her?"
"She didn't say. Personally, I'd say it didn't suit her."
Sean deliberately misunderstood. "Oh? Does that mean it didn't fit? Or that she kicked you?"
"Oh, that thrall collar's a perfect fit," Flannery replied flatly, "exactly right for a woman or child." His tone hardened. "We haven't had slaves in Ireland for four hundred years, and I haven't been fightin' beside Culhanes for nearly fifty to bring 'em back."
Culhane started to interrupt, but Flannery waved him to silence. "In all these years, I've never known ye to do a stupid thing, but if ye parade that girl in irons, ye'll regret it. Every time a man who was on the cliffs last night sees her weighed down with chains, his gorge is goin' to rise. They're not laughin' at her now, y'know." His big hands gripped the desk edge. "Ye had twenty mounted men armed with pistols and sabers to take a girl on foot cartin' a pair of antiques. I've not seen many men who could face cold steel that well."
"Think, man. She knew I wouldn't have her killed. She figured I'd send one or two men at her. If she could make a brief show and keep her skin in one piece, she'd have the lot of you on her side. Little Miss Nobility Braveheart. It worked beautifully. She even fooled you, and I would have wagered your rock of a heart couldn't be dented with a pickax."
Flannery shook his head. "She was ready to die and ye knew it. I think that's why ye went out to her yerself, to keep another man from hurtin' her."
Culhane came to his fteet. "That's enough, Flannery."
"I'm thinkin' it is, but shacklin' that bit of a girl is too much. I'll keep takin' yer orders for Liam's sake, but don't ask me to lay a hand on her again."
Long after sunset, two handsome whores in brazenly low-cut dresses strolled into Catherine's cell; the taller girl was a sultry-eyed brunette with flaring cheekbones and a wide mouth, the other a flaxen blonde with magnificent breasts and a confident strut. With hands on her hips, the dark one, dressed in crimson, surveyed the prisoner's slight body curled up among the quilts. "Faith, she's not much to look at!"
The blonde nodded. "Give a man too much to eat, and he's more interested in meat on his plate than in his bed. But, Jaysus, this wouldn't even pick his
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