Fields of Fire

by Carol Caldwell

  “I’ve learned an interesting fact that you might want to know, sweetness, but then again this may be old news to you,” Taylor said, sarcastically.

  “What? What has happened?” Jalene rose to her feet, the prickly sensations of fear stabbing at her skin.

  “A shipment of illegally made whiskey was recently confiscated near Sligo.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Jalene flustered under his scrutiny.

  “The casks carried the Blackwater Distillery markings and weren’t on the register for export,” Taylor answered.

  “You think my brother had knowledge of this before he was murdered, or that I do. Well, you’re wrong.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m sure the casks were either stolen, or the smugglers forged the markings.”

  “Each and every cask that carries these markings is expertly carved and stained with black and red dye,” Taylor countered. “No smuggler would bother with those details himself, but he would more than likely pay a fair price to use the casks. If the casks were inspected, their authenticity wouldn’t be questioned.”

  “If the goods were confiscated, someone questioned it.” Jalene pointed out.

  “That’s because the casks were found concealed.”

  “Why would we agree to take such a risk—to put ourselves and our livelihood in jeopardy?” It didn’t make sense to her.

  Taylor responded with impatience. “There is no great risk. Manpower is limited, and in tough times, it’s easy to pay someone to close their eyes. Yet, for practical purposes and for that remote chance of getting inspected, appearances must be kept.”

  “That doesn’t prove we were involved.” She confidently spat the words at him.

  “Nor, does it prove you weren’t.” He snapped back at her.

  “Now, Taylor,” Hug intervened. “I only mentioned it, so you would be aware of it, not because I think the lady is guilty. Hell, if she hadn’t mentioned the Blackwater River, you never would have known about this particular shipment.”

  “Don’t let her innocent appearance fool you. I’ve seen such a facade all too often—for who would suspect a lady of quality—one of the supposedly gentler sex—as a criminal?”

  Instantly, Jalene reached for her dessert plate and attempted to crack it over Taylor’s head. Taylor swiftly grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she released the plate into his other hand.

  When he released her wrist, she ignored the pain there, stepped back from the table, and deeply inhaled several times to regain her composure. She was furious. How dare he question her integrity! With her shoulders back and head held high, she said, “I can forgive your narrow-mindedness, and even your presumption of my guilt. It can’t be helped when your brain is the size of a pea.”

  She faced Unity. “I’m sorry. Perhaps we’ll meet again under more pleasant circumstances. Good evening.” She marched from the room without sparing another word or glance to either man.”

  Chapter 9

  At midnight Jalene quietly turned the doorknob and poked her nose out from behind her bedchamber door into the vestibule. Nothing stirred. The entire household, including the Captain, had at last retired for the evening. She slipped out, closing the door as silently as she had opened it. If Taylor caught her, it would be another incident to make her appear guilty. So be it. At the moment, Wil’s coming to Knights’ Head worried her more than how Blackwater Distillery whiskey came to be confiscated as illegal.

  In his letter, Wil had asked her to meet him at ten in the morning by the waterfall at the village of Belleek, some five miles away. If she failed to meet him, he would assume she was being held against her wishes, and it would leave him no recourse but to come to her aid. He, too, was worried and needed to see for himself that she was unharmed.

  She grabbed the cool, smooth railing with one hand and lifted her skirts with the other. Then she tiptoed carefully down the staircase in the darkness. When she reached the passageway leading past Taylor’s library, she noticed a stream of light from a crack under the door and froze. He was still awake. What if he chose this moment to open the door? She ignored the chill that swept over her and swiftly passed the room, silently cursing the rustling of her skirts. They sounded unusually loud in the otherwise quiet of bedtime. At an adjoining passageway, she scampered around the corner and paused, waiting for the click of the library door and footsteps sounding in her direction. When all remained silent, she hurried out a door in the rear of the manor house.

  Once outdoors, she calmed herself, relieved to have gotten thus far. Although she feared dark enclosed places, she was not especially afraid to be outdoors at nightfall— unless she let her imagination run wild. Determined to conquer the night noises and visions of a headless apparition chasing her, she hurried to the stables. Damn, Will. Why couldn’t he have sent news by courier?

  Fortunately, Tyrone recognized her immediately and refrained from barking. Instead, he whimpered in delight, pleased by her late night visit.

  “Sh, Tyrone,” she whispered, scratching the beagle’s neck. “No one must know I’m here.”

  A nearby horse whinnied. She squinted into the darkness in that direction. Dear Lord, I’m not sure I can do this, but I have to try. She rubbed her arms to warm herself a bit against the shivering. The same horse whinnied again, and when she approached, she saw Taylor’s stallion, Aristotle. The brief experience of sitting upon the animal with Taylor’s arms around her convinced her to ride him.

  She remembered watching James and her father saddle horses, but the technique was too vague in her mind to attempt to do so with Aristotle. However, putting a bridle on him seemed easy enough. She searched the stable, found a bridle, and nervously shoved the bit into his mouth and looped the reins over his head and neck. With the help of an oversized pail, she awkwardly mounted the horse, bareback. After pausing a moment to calm herself, she leaned forward over Aristotle’s neck and tightly gripped the reins before tapping her heels into his side, sending him into a trot in the direction of Belleek.

  Every muscle in her body tensed as she bounced along on Aristotle’s back, trying to remain seated. No moon shone to guide her way. Instead, a soft rain misted her face, and Aristotle’s coat soon became slick, compounding her difficulty in staying astride the swiftly moving animal. In desperation, she clung to the stallion’s neck. Belleek was less than an hour’s ride, yet after only minutes on horseback, she was dangerously close to falling.

  “I’ll never make it this way, Aristotle.” She lifted herself upright and scooted back at the same moment the horse took a stride. Instantly, it occurred to her that if she moved with the horse’s rhythm, her ride would be smoother, and she’d be less apt to fall off. She put her idea into practice and soon fell into rhythm with Aristotle. Her confidence soared, enabling her to encourage Aristotle to go faster, and she raced towards Belleek.

  * * * *

  After what Taylor considered an excellent theatrical exit on Jalene’s part, Hug had left to escort Unity home. Both had questioned him as to whether he might have been too rough on Jalene. This fueled his already irritable mood.

  Now, too disturbed by the evening’s events to sleep, he hid himself in his library with the intention of doing some much neglected paperwork. He sat behind a great mahogany desk and leafed through a stack of papers, but found his thoughts drifting back to earlier that day when Jalene had received the letter. After his initial feelings of anger and distrust had subsided, he decided that the letter was probably insignificant. If he had been in her situation, he more than likely would have taken the same course.

  He pulled out the rent rolls of the family holdings and began analyzing them. Bewitching amber eyes and a dazzling sensual smile flashed before him. He closed his own eyes and recalled the soft feel of Jalene in his arms.

  “Christ!” he cursed aloud at the stirring in his loins and slammed his fist down on the desk. Fool, he mentally scolded himself.

  Determined to temper his desire for her, he concentrated on t
he latest developments. Earlier, he had unwisely given her the benefit of the doubt, but not this time. The Blackwater Distillery was involved. After hearing about the confiscation of whiskey with the Blackwater markings, he surmised that the letter Jalene had received contained news about the shipment, and that it also served as a warning for her. Had he acted too harshly with her? Bloody hell, he should have been more forceful, demanding she hand over the letter.

  Having come to this conclusion, he tossed the rent rolls back on the desk and walked over to a leather-upholstered chair near the fireplace. He retrieved his waistcoat from the chair and started to search the pockets for his timepiece, and stopped midway. What matter the time, or if the wench was already asleep? If she’s innocent, she’ll have nothing to hide. If she refuses—by God, she’d better not. With that thought, he walked back to his desk, snuffed out the brass lamp and hurried out the door to Jalene’s bedchamber.

  * * * *

  At the edge of Belleek, Jalene slowed the horse to a stop and studied the thatched dwellings along the village street. Perplexed, she pursed her lips. Wil had told her to meet him at the waterfall, but at this hour he would be asleep at an inn.

  She urged the horse on again, examining the structures on either side. At the end of the row, she heard laughter coming from around the corner. She directed the horse towards it until she finally stopped in front of a tavern with rooms above. Rowdy voices penetrated the night air. She slid down from Aristotle’s back and tied the reins to a post. For a moment she paused, wondering whether it would be wise to enter the tavern. The thought of Wil confronting Taylor pushed her through the door.

  Inside, stale ale and dank smoke assailed her nostrils. A slovenly dressed man, who sat at a nearby table, raised his tankard at two of his friends while he recited some bawdy lyrics. She flushed with embarrassment, but pretended not to hear. The man noticed her presence, shouted a coarse greeting and gave a gesture for her to come sit on his lap. A tremor of fear ran down her spine. She ignored the man and scanned the small, cramped room.

  “’Ey, Luvey,” came a male voice from behind her. “Ye lookin’ for me?”

  She spun around towards the voice and recognized the man’s garb as that of the innkeeper. He stood beside a table where several men playing dice had stopped their game to listen. “Aye,” she answered, ignoring his rude form of address, but not surprised by it. Proper ladies didn’t frequent taverns. “I’m looking for a gentleman named Wil Somerville. Is he by chance staying here at this establishment?”

  “Forget it chums.” The innkeeper turned to the men who had gathered behind him. “This ‘ere one seems to be taken.”

  The innkeeper’s remarks produced a hail of gibes among the men.

  She was flustered from being the brunt of their jokes, but remained persistent. “Please, is Wil Somerville here?”

  “Aye, he’s upstairs in the second room on the right.” The innkeeper pointed towards steps partially hidden behind a side wall.

  “Thank you.” She hastily departed and followed the wooden steps to the first-floor landing.

  The plain, narrow vestibule, dimly lit by a single lantern that hung at the far end wall, offered entry to three doors on either side.

  She padded down the flimsy carpet to the middle door to her right and softly tapped on it. “Wil, it’s me, Jalene.”

  A key rattled a moment before the door flew open, exposing the shocked, freckled face of Wil. He stood barefoot and shirtless in his breeches, gaping at her.

  “My God,” he finally spoke, and gave her a brief embrace. “What are you doing here? We were supposed to meet at the waterfall tomorrow morning.” He looked both ways down the passageway before he hurried her inside.

  “You’re here, alone, at this hour. My God. ‘Tis not safe.” He embraced her again then grasped her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  She looked up at him and smiled. His red curls hung loosely about his shoulders as they had years ago, when they were both children.

  “I’m fine, really. I came tonight, because I don’t want anyone to know you’re here.” She moved away from him, to sit on the edge of the narrow bed. Taylor might suspect her, but she didn’t need to involve Wil. “Now that we know we’re both fine, you must return home at once.”

  Wil quickly donned his shirt in her presence, and asked, “What’s the hurry?” He approached the bed and stood above her where she sat. Concern was etched on his freckled face. “We need to talk. What happened to you in Dublin? Who is this Donnegan you warned me about? Aren’t you even curious as to why I didn’t attend James’s funeral? I can’t leave—not until we’ve talked.”

  He tucked his red locks behind his ears and continued. “I was worried about you. What was I to think? You disappeared. I learned about James’s unexpected death, and the next word I received is that you were at some gentleman’s estates on Lough Erne called Knights’ Head—a person and place you’ve never previously mentioned to me.” He sat next to her on the bed, and took her hands in his. “How could I sit and wait for you to contact me? Your message was so mysterious.”

  She removed her hands from his. “You’re right,” she said, deciding it was best to address some of his inquiries. “I know my letter was vague, but I can’t go into the details now. Whatever kept you from attending James’s funeral must have been important to you, otherwise, you would have paid your respects. What concerns me is this man Donnegan. He thinks you have a map that belongs to him. He is quite dangerous. You must somehow get word to him that he is mistaken.”

  “Jesus, Mary, Joseph.” Wil abruptly stood and paced the floor in front of her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you remember what we argued over when we met at the Kilronan House dining parlor?” He stopped pacing to wait for her to respond.

  She nodded. “You accused James of smuggling? How could I forget?” She had refused to believe it then and didn’t want to hear it now despite her growing doubts.

  Wil continued with both his pacing and his talking. “Did I not say I had proof?”

  “The map,” Jalene said in surprise, suddenly understanding. She took a deep breath to fight the nausea that suddenly washed over her.

  “After I learned of James’s death, I felt that showing it to you was no longer necessary, but after what you told me—I must explain.”

  He attempted to sit back down on the bed next to her, but she stood. “None of this matters anymore,” she said, not wanting to learn anymore than she already had. Later, when Wil was gone and safe, she would think about the implications of what he said and what to do, especially where the Captain was concerned. For now, Will needed to leave.

  “James is dead,” she said. “Let’s put it behind us. What is important is for you to go.” She grabbed his waistcoat from a nearby chair and flung the garment at him. “I promise to explain thoroughly about Dublin to you later.”

  He must have sensed her urgency as he merely nodded and began buttoning his waistcoat. She was grateful.

  She found his traveling bag and started to throw his belongings inside, when a knock sounded loudly against the door. She glanced at Wil. He shrugged his shoulders, and put a finger to his lips, motioning her to be silent.

  “Are ye in there? I’ve brung ye and yer lady some ale.”

  “It’s only the innkeeper,” he whispered to Jalene. “I recognize his voice. I’ll send him away.”

  The innkeeper’s sudden arrival struck her as odd, but before she could stop Wil, he opened the door, and a sizeable man shoved his way inside past the scurrying innkeeper.

  “Relax yerselves,” the intruder said, “That is unless ye want me to use this.” He waved his pistol in the air.

  Wil raised his hands and stepped backwards. She caught her breath, recognizing Donnegan’s man, Henry, and followed Wil’s lead.

  “That’s better.” Henry’s grin met his ears. He eyed her breasts and hips, making it clear that he remembered her, too. “We’re gonna take a short w
alk to the room across the way. There’s someone been lookin’ for ye.” Henry motioned to Wil with the pistol. “And, won’t Master Cory be surprised to see ye,” he said to Jalene, “an added prize.”

  She knew who he meant and turned to Wil. In a voice fraught with regret, she answered, “Wil, I’m afraid I’ve involved you in some of my own problems.”

  “Nay, I am sorry. If I hadn’t come here, this wouldn’t have happened. They were following me, and I thought I’d eluded them. Instead, I led them directly to you as well.”

  “Shut yer faces with this useless chatter and be movin’,” Henry said.

  The three walked across the passageway to the door opposite Wil’s room. She noticed the innkeeper peering around the corner and shot him what she hoped was a venomous look. He responded by removing himself from her sight. As Taylor had warned her earlier, Donnegan was looking for Wil, and his men had traced him to Belleek. Donnegan hadn’t been expecting her. Won’t he be pleasantly surprised? She inwardly chuckled in disgust.

  Henry banged on Donnegan’s door. “I have someone ye might be wantin’ to see.”

  The door opened a crack to expose the end of a musket. “I left word that I didn’t wish to be disturbed. This better be important,” came Donnegan’s harsh voice from beyond the door, sending a chill through her, clear to the bone.

  Quickly, the door swung wide. First surprise, and next delight, registered on Donnegan’s face. “Well, what do we have here? Last I heard, you were in prison for killing some dragoons.” He gave a hearty laugh before he briefly examined Wil who looked incredulously at her, clearly confused by the statement.

  Donnegan grinned at her, and said, “Your Dublin gent was a far better specimen.”

  She watched Wil. He wasn’t so startled by Donnegan’s revelation that he hadn’t heard the man’s insult. “See here you ...,” he moved towards Donnegan, who responded with a swift wallop across the jaw.