Mick ignored the man, going to sit on the clean straw pallet he’d purchased at an exorbitant sum, his head in his hands. After a bit he no longer heard the gaoler’s voice, so the man must’ve grown weary of taunting a prisoner who wouldn’t respond.
But that didn’t matter to Mick. All that mattered was Silence and what he might’ve done to her.
Mick closed his eyes again and did something he hadn’t done since he was thirteen.
He prayed.
THE STREETS WERE still dark, the dawn only an hour away when Silence made her way to Newgate prison.
“This’s barmy,” Bert growled. “Sneakin’ about the streets in the dark. ’Imself will ’ave our ’eads.”
“Don’t think even ’Imself can ’ave us punished, where ’e’s now,” Harry said soberly.
“I need to see him, Bert,” Silence said. “Don’t you understand? I love him. I can’t just let him go to his—”
She cut herself off with a choked sob. No, not now. There would be time afterward to weep and wail. Now she had to be strong for Michael. She hadn’t seen him in over month. Winter and Temperance hadn’t wanted her to visit him in Newgate Prison during the trial. Only with his death sentence had they relented, admitting that it might be best for her to see him one last time.
Harry patted her shoulder awkwardly. “We do understand, ma’am. Like a fairy story it is, yer love for ’Imself. And we’ll make sure ye see ’im afore…”
Harry broke off and gulped.
The two guards might be stoic about it, but Silence had seen their faces on the day the news of Michael’s sentence had been announced. Harry’s big ugly face had sagged into permanent lines of sorrow, while Bert had surreptitiously swiped at his eyes when he thought no one was looking.
The men kept close to her as they neared the prison. Silence held the lantern so they might have their hands free should anything untoward happen.
Silence shivered and pulled her cloak more firmly about herself as Newgate Prison loomed suddenly in the dark, hulking and ominous. The ancient gate spanned the road, but next to it was the slightly newer prison. A guard with a light was dozing by the big double doors. He woke and glared at them as they approached.
“We’re ’ere to see Mickey O’Connor,” Harry said pleasantly.
“No one’s to see the pirate,” the guard snapped.
Harry tossed a coin at the man, which the guard caught easily.
The guard looked at the coin and sneered. “A shillin’?”
Bert bristled. “A shillin’s quite fair!”
The guard started to say something more, but Harry sighed and gave him another coin.
This time the guard smiled. “Ye’ll be gettin’ closer.”
“ ’Ighway robbery is what this is!” Bert exploded, advancing on the guard.
“All right! All right!” the guard said, backing a step. “I’ll let ye see ’im, but I’m makin’ a special deal jus’ for ye.”
Bert muttered something rather offensive about “deals” and the guard’s parentage, but fortunately the guard didn’t seem to hear. He opened the big door, leading them inside a gloomy corridor. It was still dark and so the inmates of this place were mostly asleep. But here and there could be heard the sounds of humanity: sighs, mumbles, snores, and coughs.
The guard led them through a courtyard with sleeping forms and up a series of steps. On the upper level were barred cells to one side of the corridor and a locked door at the end. The guard opened it to reveal a small anteroom and a dozen or more armed soldiers, standing or dozing in chairs.
The guard went to the cell door at the back of the room and scraped his huge key ring across the window bars, making them clang. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, peering, and shouted, “Oi! O’Connor! Ye got—”
An arm shot out from the dark cell and caught the guard by the throat. Michael stepped forward, still holding the guard, and looked at Silence.
His inky hair was down about his shoulders. He was in his shirtsleeves, despite the chill of the prison, the fine lace at neck and sleeves incongruent with the surroundings. Thick chains rattled when he moved for he had leg irons on both feet. But his cell was surprisingly clean and furnished with not only a pallet, but a chair and table with quills, ink, and papers on it as well. A small brazier glowed near the pallet. Michael looked, on the whole, as arrogant and strong as the first time she’d seen him sitting on his throne. Not even prison, it seemed, could daunt Michael O’Connor.
Something inside Silence rejoiced at his brutal power.
His black eyes glittered in the lantern light. “Bert, take this vermin and fetch the prison chaplain.”
He let go of the guard who fell back several steps, gasping. The soldiers had risen at the interruption and one approached. “What’s this then, Mickey?”
Michael shook his head. “Nothin’ that need bother ye, George. Seems I’ve visitors.”
George the soldier frowned heavily. “The captain won’t like that.”
“He’s not here to care, is he?” Michael asked him, but his eyes were on Silence. Absently he twisted off the moonstone ring from his finger and tossed it to the guard.
He was looking at her as if trying to memorize her every feature.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing at the thought. She must be strong.
“I prayed ye’d come,” Michael said low to her.
The soldier, apparently satisfied that Michael wasn’t trying to escape, pocketed the ring, and stepped back along with Harry.
Silence came closer. “Is there any way to get you out of here?” she whispered. “I could have Harry and Bert bring the rest of your men.”
He shook his head a faint smile on his lips. “No one escapes from this part o’ Newgate Prison, darlin’. Besides, they fear me so much that they’ve brought in dragoons to guard me. A rescue try would only lead to me men dyin’ without me gettin’ free.”
“Dear Lord.” Silence stared at him, not knowing what to say.
“I’ve had a bit o’ time to think in here, love, and I wonder if ye might do me a very great favor,” Michael said softly.
“You know I will.” Silence searched his dear face.
His wide mouth quirked. “There ye go, agreein’ to things without knowin’ what they might be.”
She sighed and touched his shoulder with a trembling hand. “I’d do anything for you, Michael, you know that.”