Fields of Fire

by Carol Caldwell

“I would like that.” She answered quickly, trying to forget the pleasing touch of his strong fingers and smooth lips on her hand. “Who are they?” she asked, and rested her back against the bench.

  “A neighbor on our west side lost her husband in a carriage accident about six months ago. She has no children to keep her busy. Conversation would be welcome to her. I also asked a comrade of mine.”

  “I look forward to meeting them.” No sooner had the words left her mouth, when it occurred to her that it wasn’t proper to be at his estates alone. Would his guests think her—promiscuous? “On giving it more thought, perhaps I’d best not attend supper this evening.” She stared at some potential rainclouds gathering over the lake in the distance. “After all, it’s not right for an unmarried lady to be staying with a man unchaperoned.”

  The dimple in his cheek deepened. “If it’s your reputation you’re worried about, there’s no need. Neither guest is of the nature to spread rumors, and both ...,” he paused, “let’s say both haven’t always followed conventions.”

  She turned her gaze from him and flushed, recalling her own wanton conduct. “I’m sure their private lives are none of my concern, but I’m much relieved to know they’d be less apt to prejudge me.” She turned her head to see his face. “Will your comrade be bringing any news about Donnegan?”

  “I’m counting on it. Someone had to see him or hear something about his operation. Christ! They couldn’t disappear so fast.”

  He flipped through the pages of the poetry book. “What have you been reading?” He thumbed a few more pages before he stopped where a scrap of yellow ribbon marked a place.

  “Through rising smoke and silence of the dead, so fair an image did appear, oh sweet, oh sweet Desire, Rise Up! Escape these fields of fire.’’

  “Hm.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. “I would have thought you might prefer something more flowery.” He slammed the book shut. “You know, those verses where botanical locution is a metaphor for love. Dew-tipped petals. Swelling buds. The stamen of life.”

  She snatched the book from him and stood up, determined not to be drawn to where this conversation was leading. Dear Lord, the man had a one-track mind. “I can see you have no appreciation for the arts.”

  “That’s not so. I know a poem. Listen.” He rose to his feet, shoved one hand in between the buttons of his waistcoat and assumed the stance of orator. “There once was a man with pluck, who many a lady did ...”

  She rushed to clamp his mouth shut with her hand. “You’re impossible.”

  Laughing, he tugged her hand away. “‘... past hope, past cure, past help!’ ”

  “Shakespeare? Really, Captain, you don’t seem the type.”

  “Oh? What type is that?” He made an awkward attempt to walk and sway his hips, stopped, withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, and finally dabbed at his nose.

  She laughed to see him try, and fail, to move his manly physique in a feminine manner. “You know what I mean,” she said.

  His grey-blue eyes hinted mischievously, and the dimple in his cheek deepened as his smile widened. He handed the book back to her. They continued to stroll back along the path.

  “When I was a young lad, my mother read me some poetry, but mostly Shakespeare—before she tucked me into bed at night. Although I didn’t understand it at first, the rhythm relaxed me. She hoped that if she introduced me to it when I was young, I would enjoy it as I grew older. She was right, but I must confess this is the first time I’ve quoted Shakespeare to a lady.”

  She considered the expression on his face and decided he was serious. “We all act in ways that later we reflect upon and wonder what possessed us.” Images came to mind of the last time she’d lain in his arms. His charming ways and extreme good looks made a persuasive, if not a dangerous combination where she was concerned. Dear Lord, she didn’t love the man. Yet she responded ardently to his advances. How could she react so passionately to a man whose mission was to prove her brother and herself smugglers who operated their family distillery illegally? She glanced at Taylor who was indulging in his own reflections. It was a physical attraction—pure and simple.

  “You’re so quiet,” he said, breaking the silence. “What are you thinking about?”

  “About this evening—what I should wear and how to do my hair. Women things,” she blurted out, careful not to let him see her face. It wouldn’t do for him to have any inkling that her mental labor concerned him.

  “Are such decisions so difficult to contemplate that they cause you to pout and to furrow your brow?”

  His question made her realize that he had been watching her. She smiled and said, “Imagine what would happen if I gave politics a serious thought.”

  “Ach, the idea is definitely frightening.” He pretended to be alarmed.

  “Lest I scare you, I’d best get back.” Having spontaneously mentioned the matter of attire for this evening, she decided she truly wanted to dress her best and needed to prepare at once. She lifted her skirts and started to run down the path.

  He kept up the pace at her side until the path narrowed, and he and Tyrone obligingly fell behind. Minutes later, they reached the clearing in front of Knights’ Head and halted at the sight of Quinn approaching.

  “Master Taylor,” Quinn called and waved. He didn’t speak again until he stood before them. “This came by courier for the lady. I didn’t mean to interrupt your outing, but the messenger said it was to be delivered immediately.” He handed a letter to Jalene and marched back off in the direction of the vegetable garden.

  “For me? But, nobody ...” She hesitated, remembering the letter she sent to Wil when she first arrived at Knights’ Head.

  “Damn it!” He clenched one fist and angrily punched the palm of his other hand. “Don’t you know what you’ve done, woman?”

  “I’ve done nothing,” she said, and cringed at the murderous look on his face. Quickly, she scanned the letter and tucked it between the pages of the poetry book. “It’s merely a friend checking on me.”

  “Who is it from?” he grabbed for the book.

  She stepped back, holding the book tightly to her chest, away from his reach. “A friend, I said, Captain.”

  “You disobeyed my orders.”

  She stared at the dusty toes of his boots, feeling as if she were about to be court-martialed.

  “Does anyone else know you’re here? Look at me when you answer.” He roughly forced her chin up.

  “Nay.”

  His brow wrinkled in doubt, but inquired no further.

  “I hope to God you’re not lying,” he said with a sneer before he turned and stalked away, leaving her to stare after him.

  * * * *

  On the last step of the staircase Jalene paused at the sound of Taylor’s laughter reverberating through the passageway that led to the drawing room. Though he sounded in fine humor, she wondered if he was still angry with her. She nibbled on her bottom lip. Too bad if he was. Surely, he hadn’t really expected her to go off to his estates with him—a man she knew little about—without informing anyone of her destination.

  Having reaffirmed that she had acted judiciously, although against his orders, she proceeded to the drawing room. Cautiously, she peeked around the door. A sofa and two matching oval-backed chairs were cozily grouped around a tea table, all arranged for both comfort and conversation. A mahogany long-case clock stood in one corner. Numerous portraits and paintings in a variety of sizes covered most of the walls, enhancing the hospitable appearance of the room.

  Taylor sat with his back to her, unaware of her presence, but his companion, a barrel-chested man with a brown wig and red beard, noticed her and stood. At this, Taylor, with a brandy in his hand, turned and rose from his chair. He jovially introduced the gentleman as Hugh Hawksworth.

  Relieved that Taylor no longer was angry with her, she offered her hand to his gentleman friend.

  Hug, as he requested to be called, kissed the top of her hand. His curly beard t
ickled and she was reminded of an earlier time when another beard did the same—when smooth warm lips kissed her so passionately she almost ... She flushed and turned her attention back to Hug.

  “At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but now that I’ve touched you, I know you’re real. You are lovely, my dear.” He finally released her hand.

  She smiled at the man’s flirtatious manner, but became irritated when she saw the questioning expression Taylor wore. Was it so unbelievable that Hug would find her attractive?

  “Thank you.” She lowered her head and posed provocatively. “I must say you look rather dashing yourself, Mr. Hawksworth—Hug. The olive green and black brocade of your waistcoat are a striking contrast to your red beard.”

  “Thank you. I ...”

  “Stop!” Taylor clanked his brandy glass down on the tea table. “Spare me this sweet display. You can spend the evening swelling each other’s heads with compliments another time. I, for one, fear my appetite is waning.”

  “Maybe you should skip dinner, Captain.” She moved to stand closer to Hug and gave Taylor a quick exaggerated smile. “I’m sure Hug and your other guest— Unity is it?—wouldn’t mind.”

  “Ach, he’s jealous you’re favoring me over him.” Hug slapped Taylor on the back. “Is it ornery you’re going to be, then?”

  She expected some reaction from Taylor, but his feelings remained masked. Still, she was sure that if Hug hadn’t been a close friend, he would have been suffering from severe bodily injury by now. She didn’t contemplate that idea further, because Quinn announced the arrival of Unity Nolan.

  Taylor quickly walked up to meet her, gave her a brief embrace and a kiss on the cheek. He led Unity to where she and Hug were standing.

  The graceful, raven-haired woman exchanged greetings first with her and next with Hug. Although she was dressed in a drab black gown of mourning, Unity was beautiful. Hug kissed Unity’s hand in the same manner he had Jalene’s. However, he refrained from any flirtatious comments. Jalene was certain Unity’s being in mourning discouraged such actions.

  “Let’s sit,” Taylor suggested, and motioned with his hand to do so.

  The foursome seated themselves around the tea table. Jalene sat next to Hug on the sofa, and Unity and Taylor in the oval-backed chairs across from them.

  “How do you like it here around Lough Erne?” Unity asked Jalene. “Have you ever been to this part of Ireland before?”

  “This is my first time this far to the northwest. We never traveled beyond my aunt’s home in Dundalk. It’s so scenic here compared to the meadows where I grew up.”

  “I know what you mean,” Unity said. “I’ve lived here for only a few years. My husband, John, inherited the property next to the Traynors after his father died.”

  Jalene noted her faraway expression as she continued. “I miss him terribly, but Taylor has been a great friend and source of comfort.” Her smile indicated her fondness for him. She reached over to Taylor and patted his arm.

  “Aye, I’m sure he has,” Jalene answered sincerely, yet she was a bit disturbed by her last statement and unsure why.

  Hug leaned back against the sofa in a comfortable manner with a puzzled expression on his face. “Why is it I never met Unity before today?”

  “You know I’m not much for entertaining, and neither is my father. Your visits to Knights’ Head these past several years have been infrequent—due to your own interests and the assignments we received that have taken us elsewhere. Need I go on?” Taylor asked his friend.

  “Nay, that about covers it,” Hug answered, in good humor.

  “Taylor tells me you’re staying here for refuge,” Unity addressed Jalene. “If I can be of assistance in any way, please feel free to call on me.”

  “Thank you, that’s very kind.” Jalene managed to respond in a civil manner although she wanted to attack Taylor verbally. The nerve of the man getting angry over her sending out one note when he told Unity and who knew who else the circumstances for her residency at his estates. She glanced from Unity to Taylor, now understanding that their relationship was closer than she realized. She didn’t know what bothered her more, that observation, or his confiding in the woman.

  Her expression apparently hinted at her thoughts, for Unity interrupted them and said, “I assumed Taylor told you about me. You needn’t worry. I care very much for him.” She reached for his hand and held it a moment. “I wouldn’t do anything to endanger either of you, and didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Of course.” Jalene shrugged, indicating that no further discussion was necessary. This woman’s actions appeared sincere. Why blame her for Taylor’s shortcomings? “I understand you may have information,” she said, turning to Hug.

  Hug fidgeted in his seat and glanced in Taylor’s direction. “Nothing too much.”

  “You can speak in front of the ladies,” Taylor assured Hug. “Unity is completely trustworthy and Jalene has a right to know anything about Donnegan.”

  “The Colonel,” Hug eyed first Unity and next Jalene at his side, “that’s our commander, Hume Cahill. Well, he attended a grand ball at Dublin Castle where he met a Lord Tidwell. The man talked to the colonel about visiting with friends in Enniskillen. The subject of children arose, and one topic lead to another. You see, this Lord Tidwell has six children and ...”

  “Would you get to the point, Hug?” Taylor interrupted.

  Hug breathed deeply. His barrel-chest expanded to alarming proportions. “While Lord Tidwell was in Enniskillen, a lad was reported missing. It turned out the boy ran away like Taylor’s tenant’s son.” He paused to sip his brandy. “It seems this last lad was seen with a woman, Nelly Lambert—the same woman our old friend Donnegan rescued from the dragoons.”

  Taylor frowned and leaned forward, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair. “Are they positive she is the same woman?”

  “As much as they can be. The witness described her quite frankly. From what I understand she was rather well endowed for someone so petite in stature.”

  Taylor blatantly stared at Jalene’s chest before he grinned and addressed Hug again. “Her gown indicated as much.”

  “What?” Hug asked, clearly confused.

  “Never mind, it’s not important. Was the lad’s association with Nelly simply a coincidence, or is there a connection?”

  “That’s all we know.”

  “It doesn’t make sense that they would risk visibility so soon after she escaped questioning.” Taylor turned his attention to Jalene.

  “Aye, you think they would lie low for a while,” Hug said.

  “Perhaps it was an error in communication—an accident,” Jalene added, emphasizing this last word to Taylor. She knew Taylor’s bold gaze at her chest had been intended to remind her of Nelly’s gown and how she came nowhere near to filling it. She glared at him and hoped her expression warned him that he might meet with an accident himself, if he continued along this vein.

  Taylor choked in the middle of sipping his brandy, trying to conceal his mirth, but neither Unity nor Hug picked up on the cause of it.

  “At least you now have a starting point,” encouraged Unity. “Will you both be going off to Enniskillen?”

  “Only to ask a few questions. I’m sure if Donnegan was there, he left by now,” Hug said.

  “Do be careful, won’t you? That man sounds so dangerous.” Unity turned to Taylor at her side.

  “Don’t worry,” Taylor said, and winked at Unity.

  A nauseous wave of dismay passed through Jalene at his gesture and the obvious display of affection he held for the woman. Momentarily, jealousy tugged at her heart before she shooed it away, as ridiculous. She was on a mission—no matter that she hadn’t the slightest clue or idea where to begin to achieve it—to find James’s murderer and prove Blackwater Distillery legitimate.

  “Let’s eat.” Taylor broke into her thoughts. “Biddy mentioned earlier that any time after Unity arrived we could begin supper. I doubt she meant t
o wait this long.”

  “Jalene,” Hug stood up and offered his arm to her. She looped her own through his, and they followed Taylor and Unity into the dining room.

  Once they’d seated themselves, the serving lass whom Biddy had solicited to help with the evening meal, magically appeared carrying a tray with bowls of wild celery soup. Additional assorted plates soon followed. She tasted portions of Dutch cheese, deviled crab, chicken with onions, grilled salmon, fillets of veal, mushrooms, carrots with cream, and leeks in cream sauce. Yet she saved enough room for the almond cream dessert.

  “Salmon doesn’t get better than what you fish out of Lough Erne.” Hug neatly folded his linen napkin and placed it in front of him on the table. “That, along with Biddy’s preparations, makes an unbeatable combination.”

  “Aye,” Jalene agreed and set her silverware atop her plate. “I can’t remember any fish as delicious as this coming from the Blackwater River.”

  “The Blackwater River?” Hug’s face showed surprise and what skin his beard didn’t hide, paled almost as fast. “Is that near the Blackwater Distillery?”

  “Aye. What is the matter?” Jalene asked, concerned that Hug should react so strangely to her words.

  “’Tis nothing,” he said and immediately contradicted those words and glanced over at Taylor. “I must confer with you privately.”

  “Ladies, if you’ll excuse us for a moment.” Taylor’s face was expressionless as he followed Hug out of the dining room.

  Jalene glanced at Unity, who shrugged and shook her head, clearly as perplexed by Hug’s behavior as herself.

  “Don’t fret.” Unity leaned across the table and patted Jalene’s hand. “The brandy has fuzzed his senses.”

  Jalene absentmindedly traced the rim of her water glass with her finger as the two sat in silence before she spoke up.

  “It was when I mentioned the Blackwater River and distillery that Hug changed. Did I say something wrong?” Jalene asked.

  “Not as far as I’m concerned, but I’m sure we’re about to be told.” Unity nodded in the direction of the door.

  The bewildered expression Hug wore, coupled with the somber countenance of Taylor as they reentered the room, warned Jalene something was amiss.