“How’d you get in the house?” Brogan asked. “Is Doc done—?”
“Hollis picked the lock,” Móirín said. “An odd talent for a well-born gentleman, I must say.”
“Well-born gentlemen get bored,” Hollis said with a shrug. “How is Vera?” he asked Brogan.
“Hanged if I know. Doc tossed me out so he and Mrs. Simms could . . . sew her up and treat her burns and I don’t know what else.” He rubbed at his weary face.
Hollis clapped his hand to Brogan’s shoulder. “I’ll look in and return with a report.”
“Thank you.” He dropped onto a threadbare wingback chair.
Móirín sat in the spindle-back chair nearby. “In twenty years, Brogan, you’ve not once abandoned me in a battle. You’ve never once left me to fend for myself. Until tonight.”
Saints, he had abandoned her. “I . . . forgot you were there. I don’t know what— Vera was in danger. She was bleeding. I didn’t—”
Móirín set her hand on his where it rested on the chair arm. “’Twasn’t a complaint.”
“Then what was it?”
She smiled. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to be ready to build your own life. To reclaim your dreams without thinking yourself selfish for doing so. I’m seeing that in you lately. I see it more and more when you’re with her.”
He let out a breath. “I’m afraid for her, Móirín. She was too weak and wounded for even a single word all the way here.”
“I’ve come to know her a little these past weeks,” Móirín said. “She’s a fighter. Probably one of the reasons you’ve fallen for her, seeing as you’re a fighter as well.”
“A family trait.” He could smile, however briefly. “How far did the fire spread?”
“The print shop and the rooms above were destroyed. Some damage was done to the buildings on either side, but the neighbors saved the street.”
A spot of good luck there. “Vera will be pleased to know her fire plan worked.”
“And she’ll be pleased to know your arrangements with Captain Shaw played a part as well.”
“His men came through?”
She nodded. “And he was there, personally.”
“Any sign of Vera’s da?”
“No.”
He slumped in the chair, the weight of the day growing nearly unbearable. “I hope he’s keeping the children safe.”
“I’ve every confidence he is.”
Brogan closed his eyes and just breathed. It might have been a minute; it might have been ten. His mind slowly calmed, enough, at least, for continuing the discussion.
“Was the battle still raging when you left or did the fire distract the combatants?” he asked.
“After the Mastiff slipped away, Stone stepped up onto an empty cart and called out to the crowd. Told the roughs their leader had abandoned them, left them to be burned to death in a fire he’d set. Stone suggested they either slip off and leave the fray or put themselves to a useful purpose and help put out the fire.”
Brogan shook his head in amazement. “Stone is a force. The man is one of the smartest I’ve ever known.”
“A bit terrifying too,” Móirín said with a smile in her tone.
“Only because there’s no doubting he could accomplish whatever he put his mind to, and he’s not afraid of what people think of him.” Brogan opened his eyes and looked at his sister. “I’ve heard the same said of you.”
Móirín grew subdued, more contemplative. “Do you suppose Stone’s ever killed a man?” She almost never spoke of that chapter of her life.
“I don’t rightly know,” he said. “But I’m full aware that a person can have that mark on the ledger and still be an inarguably good person.”
“’Tis sweet that you think I’m a good person.”
He sighed. “And ’tis frustrating that you don’t.”
“I hope you mean to build a life with Vera,” Móirín said. “You two love each other and work well together. The both of you are happier when you’re together. I’ve waited years to see you happy again.”
“I left Ireland willingly,” he assured her. “And I’ve not for a moment regretted that decision.”
“You’d not have met Vera if you’d not left Dublin,” she said. “That’s one argument in favor. Don’t let her slip away, Brog.”
“If Doc doesn’t let her, I won’t either.”
The heavens, apparently, didn’t mean to leave him in suspense long. Hollis returned and said, “Doc says to go talk with him.”
Brogan let out a tight breath as he stood. ’Twasn’t a very reassuring report.
“All will be well,” Móirín said. “You’ll see.”
He left the library and made his way with heavy step to the sitting room. The door was open in anticipation of him.
His eyes fell first on the examination table. Vera was lying there, on her side, her head supported by a pillow, a blanket pulled up to her shoulders.
“She ain’t dead,” Mrs. Simms said abruptly. “Set your mind at ease on that score.”
“Thank you.” Brogan stepped up beside the bed and set his hand lightly and carefully on Vera’s shoulder. He looked to Dr. Milligan, standing nearby. “What are we facing?”
“She will live; I have no doubt about that.”
Brogan closed his eyes briefly, whispering, “Thank the heavens.”
“Her burns were not so terrible as I feared they’d be, but she was riddled with glass and wood. We’ve removed every bit we could, but I suspect, based on one particularly egregious wound, that there is something imbedded very deeply in her back. There is a possibility she has sustained damage to her spine. At the very least, to the muscles and ligaments surrounding it.”
“’Tisn’t terribly encouraging,” Brogan said.
“She’ll be in significant pain, perhaps permanently,” Doc said. “How much worse it might be, I can only speculate.”
Brogan nodded, his hand still resting softly on Vera’s shoulder.
“She’ll need a great deal of support as she navigates whatever this means for her future,” Doc warned.