Fields of Fire

by Carol Caldwell

  “What about you and this Wil person that Donnegan was asking you about? Is he a beau, or really your cousin?” He scratched his bushy beard and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

  “Aye, he is my cousin. We’re very close.” She sighed, knowing how distraught Wil must be right now. “At least he’ll be safe from Donnegan.”

  “So you did lie about where Wil lived?”

  Jalene nodded. “I know I took a chance, and that you would have been the recipient of Donnegan’s anger if he doubted me, but I had to protect Wil.”

  “It wasn’t myself I was concerned about. He’d have harmed you regardless,” Taylor said and frowned.

  “You’re probably right, but all that is over.”

  “Not ... we’ll talk more later,” he said. A coach appeared on the road below. “Let’s be off.” He offered his hand to help her stand.

  She accepted and was soon struggling to keep pace behind him. He stopped and said, “We need to go more quickly. I’ll have to carry you.” He moved towards her.

  “Nay.” She backed away and hugged the blanket wrapped around her.

  “Don’t be arguing with me now. We’ve no time. Besides, it’ll give your feet a rest.”

  She considered her sore feet for a moment and agreed.

  As he carried her along in his arms, she was conscious of his overpowering strength and his manly scent. The combination made her sigh with pleasure.

  He eyed her curiously. “Did you say something?”

  She knew her face turned a deep shade of red. “Nay,” she replied, trying to hide from his gaze.

  “Hmmm,” was all he said.

  She was relieved when he finally set her down and they were both standing in the road facing the oncoming coach. People didn’t usually stand in the middle of the road clothed merely in woolen blankets. Consequently the coach, with two militiamen in the drivers’ seat, immediately stopped. One jumped down and, almost before his feet landed, pulled a saber from its sheath. He pointed it first at Taylor, then at her, and then back at Taylor again.

  “Ye’re both under arrest for murder,” he said as a greeting. His gaze wandered up and down Jalene’s body.

  “What? You can’t be serious,” Taylor said.

  “We’ve harmed no one! We are victims ourselves,” she added.

  “Aye, and me cousin is King George. I know all about ye two,” said the dragoon, his saber not having faltered in his hand the entire time.

  “This is absurd. Where are our weapons? Why would we be waiting for you, only to get caught? Does this woman look like she’s ever even fired a weapon?” Taylor asked incredulously, losing patience by the second.

  With his eyes fixed on Jalene’s face, the dragoon said, “Nay, but a gentleman witnessed the killings.”

  “What gentleman? What are you talking about?” Taylor demanded, quite annoyed. They should have been well on their way to Dublin by now.

  “Playing dumb ye are, but I’ll humor ye. A gent traveling down the road heard shots, so hid himself from view. He saw what happened. Ye two killed me fellow dragoons, and the driver as well, so yer partner could save his mistress from questioning.”

  “You fool!” Taylor barked in frustration at the man. “Think a minute, for God’s sake. Why would we take such a chance? The man lied.”

  “It seems to me the only fool is ye, since I’m holding the saber. I’d watch what names ye be callin’ me.” He waved the saber menacingly before Taylor.

  Jalene cast Taylor a pleading glance.

  Taylor calmed himself. “What did this man look like?”

  “None too tall, none too short. Looked like most men.”

  “Did he have an irritating habit of rubbing his chin?” Jalene asked.

  “Nay, ‘twas nothing’ unusual about him.”

  “It had to be one of Donnegan’s men,” she told Taylor.

  Taylor nodded.

  “Listen to me,” Taylor said to the dragoon. “I’m Captain Taylor Traynor. I’ve been working for the government under Colonel Hume Cahill, investigating the man who killed your friends. You spoke to his cohort who fabricated the details.”

  “Maybe ye are who you say and maybe ye’re not. We’ll just have to wait and see until ye are brought before the magistrate. I just catch ‘em. I don’t judge ‘em.”

  “I’ll gladly talk to the authorities to clear this matter,” Taylor said.

  “Aye, ye’ll talk to the authorities for sure. First, let’s get ye both properly dressed. Our prisoner escaped with help, whether it was yours or not. Lucky for ye,” he grinned at Jalene, “She left her trunk in the coach.”

  Momentarily ignoring his suggestion, Taylor asked, “Who was the woman? What had she done?”

  “Ye’re startin’ to get on me nerves. Maybe I’ll just do away with ye to shut that mouth of yers.” The dragoon held the saber dangerously close to Taylor’s throat.

  “Please,” Jalene intervened, concerned that Taylor had angered this man beyond rational thought. “I’d really like to get to Dublin to clear up this whole affair. Can we just be on our way?”

  “Mac,” the dragoon yelled to the other man, who silently sat watching the scene below from atop the coach. “Take that trunk down for the lady.” He gave her a gentle push toward the trunk. He bobbed the saber at Taylor. “I brought extra clothes for meself. You can wear them. The breeches will be too short on account of ye being taller, but the shirt and waistcoat should do ye fine.”

  Jalene shut the window door on the coach and changed into the simplest garment she found in the trunk, a purple cloth riding habit ornamented in gold braid. The bodice sagged pathetically, but after the scratchy woolen blanket, it was gratifying to be wearing something soft and feminine. Her spirits rose. She was confident the government would see this as all a mistake and release them. She adjusted the window open again and peeked through it to see Taylor dressed in short woolen breeches, waistcoat, and a cotton shirt with shabby wrist frills.

  “Get inside with the lady,” the head dragoon ordered Taylor. “I’ll be close at hand, ready to shoot if ye try anything.” He turned toward the rear of the coach, untied one of the extra horses, and mounted.

  Taylor heavily dropped into the seat opposite her. “What the hell do you think you were doing?”

  “What are you saying?” she asked, wondering if those kicks to the head from Donnegan had affected his brain.

  “I’m totally capable of taking care of myself and have been doing so for a good many of my thirty-five years. Your interference may have cost me some valuable information. Next time leave me to handle it.”

  “Forgive me,” she replied sarcastically. “I lost my wits for a moment. I should have known that some stupid bit of information was more important than keeping our heads from being blown off. You over-bloated, bushy, mop-faced ape.” She paused at the surprised expression in his eyes, then continued her tirade just the same. “Next time you will handle it, because I’m going to be far away from the likes of you.”

  She stared out the window. None of this would have happened had she left the Kilronan House with Wil. Dear Lord, when would this nightmare end? She crossed her arms under her bosom and caused the excess material of the ill-fitting bodice to pucker and form a pair of points. She stole a glance at him.

  He burst out laughing.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me! Danger may be normal, in your life, but it’s not in mine.” Hard as she tried, she couldn’t control the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks.

  “Jalene, I wasn’t laughing at you.” He sat beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t touch me.” She twisted her shoulder away from his hand as if it were diseased.

  Obviously determined to explain to her, he pulled her onto his lap. She wrestled a bit to get away, but soon became too weary. She rested her head against his shoulder and drooped in defeat against the muscled arms that encircled her.

  “Jalene, look at me.”

  “Nay.”

/>   He touched her chin, and gently turned her face up to his.

  She’d expected him to use force, so she was unprepared when his grey-blue eyes locked onto hers, sending chill bumps down her skin.

  “Now that I have your attention.” He removed his hand from her chin and spoke in a sincere voice, “I admit to treating you unfairly, but I wasn’t laughing at you. You just gave me a well-deserved tongue lashing. It was just ... well ... your determined attitude was such a contrast to your attire. The owner of that gown was apparently a bit more ...”

  She let him struggle for a moment longer before she supplied him with the proper word. “Endowed,” she said, and smiled in understanding, feeling much better now.

  His gaze moved to her mouth. “Aye.” His tongue stumbled over the lone word.

  Suddenly shy, she studied her folded hands in her lap, fully aware she was a woman in the arms of a man. Dear Lord, whatever was she doing? No lady would ever sit so intimately on a gentleman’s lap. Of course, no lady should ever experience what she recently had. Why shouldn’t she take comfort from the man who had experienced the same danger as she had? She sensed him watching her, and after a while she risked a glance at his face.

  He brought his head down and kissed her on the lips. The gentle caress of his beard against her face and the taste of him on her mouth made her light-headed. She wanted him to hold her closer—to care for her just for now so she could, just for a moment, forget the nightmare of the last day and a half. She swayed against him and placed her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He responded in turn. She shifted in his arms. Through her skirts she could feel his manhood pressing against her hip, both frightening her and exciting her. She stirred against him.

  He moaned and whispered, “Ah, sweetness, you’ve started a fire inside me.” He pulled her to lie down on top of him.

  His words, his passion, however, alarmed her. She pushed away from him, knowing she had let this moment of intimacy go too far. “I shouldn’t have done that.” She hastily retreated to the opposite seat.

  “Why not? You can’t deny you were enjoying yourself,” he asked, looking pained.

  She smoothed down her gown and brushed back her hair that had long ago come loose from its twisted knot. “I’m not normally a wanton woman.”

  “Perhaps not, but your body apparently wishes otherwise.” His lips formed a slow and easy smile.

  She flushed. “Just leave me alone. Would you please?”

  “I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman the rest of this trip. You have my word,” he said, and whispered, “for today.”

  “What?” He didn’t answer her, so she didn’t pursue it. Instead, she changed the subject to the first thought that came to her mind. “That’s an unusual ring you’re wearing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

  “You never will, either.” He held his hand out for her to admire the silver ring on his little finger. Embossed on the smooth band of the ring were two Knights’ heads, positioned face to face. “This was my grandfather’s. He had it made by a silversmith in Scotland before he and my grandmother came over to Ireland to settle Ulster plantation. He called our estate’s castle Knights’ Head, after our family coat of arms. Grandfather gave the ring to my father, who decided to give it to me while he was still living.”

  “Where is Knights’ Head?”

  “Knights’ Head is on the west end of Lough Erne about a day and a half ride northwest from Dublin.”

  “What about your family? Where do you live?” He tossed the questions at her.

  “I live south of Kells near the Blackwater River. When my parents died in a carriage accident, my brother, James, took charge of Sorrel House and Blackwater Distillery, the family business. He and my sister-in-law have seven month-old twin sons. Other than an aunt in Dundalk, they’re all the family I have.”

  He frowned. She wondered what she said to make him so suddenly distant.

  “The distillery has been in operation about thirty years, right?”

  “Aye, that’s correct.”

  “Have you hired any strangers lately?”

  “Nay, our workers have been with us for years.” She now recalled the accusations Wil made about her brother, James, being involved in smuggling whiskey. Although he hadn’t specifically said he was a revenue agent, Taylor had said that he was working for the government. She became uneasy with his questioning. Perhaps this same man who saved her from one enemy might be an adversary of a different sort, if in fact her brother was in trouble.

  “I said,”—he raised his voice and repeated the question she’d missed the first time—”Who keeps your books?”

  “I do.” She watched his eyebrows rise in surprise and responded, “Women are quite capable of doing more than breeding heirs.”

  He gave her a thoughtful look, but didn’t reply.

  His silence rattled her, increasing her worry over the distillery’s unbalanced books. “Well?”

  “Blackwater Distillery is on my list as a questionable business.”

  “Questionable for what? You’re not suggesting we’re doing anything illegal?” She imagined smacking him in the mouth with her fist and smiled in satisfaction.

  He caught her arm. “You think this is all a joke? We’ll see who has the last laugh.” He shoved her away from him.

  She rubbed her arm where he had squeezed it. After all she’d been through, it would be so easy to break down and sob her eyes out, but she’d be damned, Lord forgive her, if she’d let him see it. “You’re despicable,” she said, before she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes to the beast, willing herself to sleep, willing the time to pass quickly so that she might be rid of him.

  Taylor remained awake long after Jalene. The scenario was always the same. A nice so-called legal operation was a front for an illegal one. Her being with Donnegan was much too coincidental. Yet she didn’t know the man, and she certainly had acted the innocent, especially when Donnegan had inquired about a map. Whatever connection she had with illegal activity, he meant to find out, but he’d have to change his approach.

  He shifted sideways on the coach seat in order to stretch his legs, and smiled. She wasn’t adverse to his touch, though she’d never admit it. A bit of charm towards her and a lot of restraint on his part might produce favorable results. After all, weren’t sweets more tempting when they were forbidden?

  Chapter 4

  Breathing was difficult, because the air in the filthy prison cell filled Jalene’s nostrils with the stink of old urine and bodies that hadn’t been washed in months. She reached for the hem on the skirt of her riding habit, covered her nose and mouth with the soft material, and breathed through it deeply several times before she patted it back down in place. She gingerly stepped toward the center of the cell when she heard scratching and movement against the far wall. She squinted into the darkness, but saw nothing. She glanced upward, where her vision proved better. A lone window, frosted with years of grime, offered some light, but not enough to see the corners of her cell, and perhaps that was just as well. A slimy substance glistened on the wall nearest to her. She covered her mouth before she could gag. Dear Lord, what’s to become of me? Something brushed over her foot and retreated to the dark shadows along the damp wall. ‘Just stay away from me!” she screeched at the thing. She shuddered before moving further away from the walls. At least she wasn’t in total blackness. She silently comforted herself, knowing bleak darkness would present a problem for her.

  The length of time she stood finally took its toll. Her knees began to wobble in weariness. She carefully placed herself on the dirt floor and crossed her legs. A chill ran up her spine at the thought of the lice and other vermin that might be crawling beneath her. She gathered her skirt about her and tucked herself into as neat a package as possible.

  “Not to worry,” Taylor had told her when the guards dragged her off in one direction and him in the other. That was hours ago, and she was beginning to worry. She stared at her
folded hands in her lap as if they held the answer to her predicament.

  At the clinking sound of keys, and footsteps approaching, she scrambled to her feet.

  “ ‘Ere you go, luvy.” A guard opened the slots on the door and handed a bowl of gruel with two pieces of brown bread balanced atop through to her. “It’ll be easier to eat if ye don’t look at it.”

  “Thank you.” She set the bowl on the cell floor and addressed the guard before he could leave. “Wait,” she said, before the guard closed the slots. “Has the courier returned from delivering my message?” She’d been allowed to contact one person. She’d considered sending word to James, but decided against trying to explain her situation, when he thought she was innocently visiting their aunt. Instead, she wrote to Wil, stressing the importance of his speedy arrival.

  The guard gave her a toothless grin. “I’m sure your gent friend’s message got through, but yers is another tale. The head jailer took a likin’ to ye. That’s why ye’re receiving special treatment—being in a cell by yerself and all. Me guess is that the courier received a pretty price for not delivering your message.”

  “Dear God!” she pressed against the solid door and peered through the slot opening. “That message meant my freedom. This is not right, not fair.” She protested, unable to believe the cruel twist fate had dealt her.

  “Aye, but nonetheless, ‘tis so.” He slammed the slot shut, leaving her to contemplate his words in a daze.

  She retrieved the bowl she’d placed on the floor and lifted one of the pieces of bread balanced on top to her mouth. Just as she was about to bite down, a beetle-like bug scrambled off the end across her hand. She screamed and flung the bread and bowl of gruel away from her.

  “Ah, Captain, help me, please!” She spoke the words out loud, as if he could hear her plea of desperation. “You’re my only hope, even if you do think my family is involved with smuggling whiskey.” Heedless of the filth, she sank onto the dirt floor and buried her face in her hands.

  * * * *

  Taylor, accompanied by two guards, entered the offices of the magistrate where Colonel Hume Cahill immediately greeted him with a hearty embrace and vigorous handshake. “Thanks for coming, Hume, old friend.”