29. Chapter 29

Chapter twenty-nine

Rowland took a hard drag of what had to be his fifth cigarette in the span of half an hour. His eyes followed his loyal men darting back and forth through the warehouse, loading crates of guns and ammunition disguised as bolts of fabric onto a truck. He gathered every man associated with the Crimson Devils in the city to help him. But his thoughts were with Iris. Was she all right? Was she afraid? Did she know he was coming for her? Surely, she knew he would not abandon her, even though they’d had a fight.

He would never let her go again. He inwardly promised her they would never have to get married, as long as she would be his. All he needed was her word, and that would be enough. He trusted her. And he would never break her trust again if they made it through this.

“Truck’s almost ready,” Ezra said, checking his watch. “Did you send a messenger?”

“I did,” Rowland replied, smoke billowing from his mouth. “Bishop knows I’ll be there soon.”

“You’re sure you want to go alone?”

“I haven’t got much of a choice, have I?” Rowland took another drag. “Besides, you lot will be along shortly.”

Ezra frowned. “I don’t like this, Row. It stinks of a trap.”

“If Bishop kills me, you have my permission to exact whatever revenge you deem appropriate. But I don’t think that’s what he’s after.”

“How do you mean?”

“He’s passionate about fighting the IRA, one truck won’t suffice. I think what he truly wants is to establish himself as a supplier for the Protestant cause.”

“You think he wants a deal?”

Rowland nodded. “He’s lost too many men to take me head on, otherwise he’d have tried this kidnapping business sooner. Perhaps with Jo or Claire or one of your children. But this…this is an act of desperation.”

In the hours since he’d gotten the ransom note, when he wasn’t thinking about Iris, Rowland reasoned it all out. Bishop must have realized, after losing that number of battles, there was no hope for winning the war. If he couldn’t beat the Crimson Devils, he would have to at least appease them to keep a place in Liverpool.

Unfortunately for him, his antics made Rowland rather disinclined to negotiate. And Rowland knew if he gave in now, he would be surrendering part of his control, something he swore to never relinquish, not until the last breath left his body.

He flicked his cigarette away and snuffed out the embers under his shoe.

“Everyone knows their roles?” he asked his brother.

Ezra nodded. “We’re still waiting on a few to arrive, but we’ll make sure they know.”

“And the coppers will stay away?”

“They’ve been given their orders, same as everyone else.”

“Good.” He whipped his pistol out of the holster under his arm to load bullets into the chamber before handing it to Ezra. “No interruptions today. Anything happens to Iris, I’ll burn the whole fucking city down.”

***

Iris had never wished so desperately for a window in her life. Without one, it was impossible for her to determine how much time had passed. Was it morning? Or was it still dark, and the minutes crept by because she had nothing to do and no one to talk to except for Bishop Goddard and his brutes? She overheard a couple of them whispering the things they would do to her once Bishop gave them the go ahead, and bile rose in her throat.

Her shoulders began to ache from the way her hands were tied, and her knees grew stiff the longer she went without being able to stretch her legs. She tried to stretch from her neck and her hips, but it was no use. She thought about using her body weight to break the chair, or damage it, but she could hardly move as she was, and the chair was a resilient metal.

She racked her brain for some way out of her bindings, but nothing came to her. Without something sharp, she was out of luck trying to cut the rope. She made one attempt to stretch it loose, but it was tied snug. All it did was rub her skin raw, adding another painful sensation to the growing list. With a sigh, she tried to let her head fall back, but her eyes met the harsh light of the warehouse and she looked forward again. As she did, Bishop re-entered the room, a note in his hand.

“Good news,” he said, waving it the way some pushy aristocrat mother might carry the latest gossip column. “Looks like Rowland’s on his way.”

“You have once again failed to surprise me, Mr. Goddard,” Iris replied evenly.

Inside her chest, her heart lurched. She trusted Rowland would come, and he was. He was proving himself, the way he had been the whole time they had known each other. Suddenly, the whole fight felt foolish. She should have let him explain. She should have stayed by his side. She should have told him she loved him ages ago.

Bishop’s eyes flicked between the note and Iris’s face. “If all goes well, perhaps I’ll get an invitation to the wedding.”

“You would sooner get an invitation from the Pope to visit the Vatican, Mr. Goddard.”

He chuckled, a low, broken sound, and shook his head. “I can see why Rowland enjoys you, my lady. At first I thought it was just the look of you, but you’ve got spirit. Unlike any I’ve ever seen from your class.”

“I imagine your interactions with people in my class are extremely limited. I hardly expect you to have an informed opinion.”

He stalked closer to her, bending until his face was within inches of hers again. He wrapped one of her golden curls around his finger, lifting it to his nose and taking a deep sniff. She recoiled, but she couldn’t get far enough to be out of his grasp.

“Yes, you are a fine woman,” he said. “Such a shame you’re wasted on a Fenian.”

She speared him with a glare. “Actually, before I met Rowland, I was considering joining a convent.”

“That so?” he said with a sneer.

“It was that or perhaps throw my support behind the IRA. I figured taking a Catholic lover was a more happy medium.”

His mouth turned down into a deep frown, and he raised his hand, swinging it toward her face before stopping it just before it struck her cheek. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink. Not even as a few strands of her hair moved across her brow bone.

“If you want to frighten me, Mr. Goddard,” she said. “You’ll have to be at least more creative than my ex-husband.”

She glowered at him through narrowed eyes, praying he couldn’t hear the way her heart hammered against her ribcage. She forced her quickened breath through her nose to keep her chest from heaving. There was no avoiding feeling the fear, but she would never let him see it. Especially now when Rowland was on his way to her. Her faith in him was stronger than any fear.

The smile snuck back onto Bishop’s face and he stepped away from her. “You won’t provoke me, Lady Iris.”

“Don’t be silly. I already have.”

The smirk faltered for a split second. He opened his mouth to say something more, but one of his men jogged over and whispered something in his ear. Iris strained to listen, to no avail. When his smile widened, her stomach dropped.

“You’re in luck, Lady Iris,” he said. “Your lover’s here.”