Once outside, she followed the path along the bleaching green farther out into the meadow. As she walked, she watched the tall grass gently sway in the breeze around her, and soon got caught up in their hypnotic effect. She raised her face to the sky, luxuriating in the beautiful hour of day. She could have enjoyed it more if only she’d known that Wil was safe somewhere.
Earlier, before her rest, she had tried to understand what might have caused him to leave in such a hurry while he was still hurt. Over and over in her mind she replayed their last conversation together. Nothing struck her as odd. All she knew was that Wil possessed a map that had something to do with James. In fact, Donnegan had said as much. James dropped it. Wil retrieved it. His men witnessed it, and Donnegan wanted it back.
After twenty minutes, the footpath began to traverse more hilly ground. At the top of a small knoll, she stopped to look behind her. Wylie’s residence, the bleaching fields, and outbuildings were farther away than she had imagined. She turned around and squinted at the sunlight that barely peeked through a grove of trees in the distance, perhaps a half-mile away. For her, this was easy enough since she often took three to five mile walks near Sorrel House, her home.
She was enjoying the day. It wasn’t until she approached the wood, where the temperature dropped considerably and the earthy smell assailed her, that she recalled her last tramp through an area similar to this. Dear Lord, who’d ever believe her if she told anyone that she had spent an entire day with a man in the woods wearing-nothing but a wool blanket. Hadn’t they experienced a difficult enough time convincing the dragoons?
She smiled at the ridiculousness of it, until she sensed movement. It occurred to her that she would be defenseless, if a dangerous animal or person—a man like Donnegan—that might be lurking in the brush. The hair on her arms rose at the idea. For a long while she stood listening to the breeze through the trees, alert for woodland noises that might not be normal. She was afraid to breathe, and wondered how she had let her imagination scare her. If Wylie had thought it was unsafe, he would have said so, and never would have allowed her to go alone.
She was no longer enjoying her journey. She hurried through the brief section of wood, concentrating on reaching the clearing on the other side. Her steps didn’t lighten until that instant when she reached the open land.
After she took a few moments to still her pounding heart, she studied the trees and foliage for likely mushroom grounds. She decided the section of field nearest to her along the edge of the wood looked as promising as any other. The rustling of her petticoats beneath her gown and the creaking of the straw basket as it rubbed against her side, were the only unnatural sounds she heard as she poked and peered in between the grasses.
The location she chose abounded with white-capped fungi. She busied herself filling the basket. When the last mushroom sat precariously atop the heap, she pulled the drawstring to close the linen cloth. At that moment she sensed she was being watched.
“Who’s there?” Her voice sounded foreign even to her in this natural setting. “I know you’re there. What do you want?”
Whoever or whatever didn’t answer, but she heard a rush of steps coming towards her. Dear Lord, she wasn’t going to wait and find out. With the basket in one hand and the hem of her gown in the other, she bolted from this unknown predator.
“Stop! I mean no harm,” a young-sounding voice called from behind her.
Intuitively, she halted and the owner of the voice instantly appeared at her side. Her heart jumped, then slowed in relief when she saw the lad.
“It’s not polite to stalk a person like that.” She scolded him and noticed that he was carrying a fishing pole over his shoulder. He appeared to be some thirteen years old, but he was tall for his age. His worn smock and threadbare breeches suggested that he lived in one of the neighboring cottages.
“I didn’t mean to stalk you,” he answered in a voice filled with trepidation and struggled to remove two large mushrooms from his smock pocket. “I was afraid to let ye know I was here—because of these.” He held the mushrooms out for her to examine. “You won’t be reportin’ me, will ye?”
“Report you? To whom and whatever for?” She couldn’t imagine what the lad was talking about.
“Because I took the mushrooms. Me da warned me not to take them anymore, but ‘tis only a few for fishin’.” He shoved them at her.
She pushed them back at him. “I’m sure a few mushrooms won’t be missed.”
She knew some landlords were strict about hunting, fishing, or taking anything from their vast properties. Others generously allowed their tenants to use the resources available to them—provided they weren’t wasteful, or that they didn’t desecrate the land.
The lad looked down at the mushrooms in his hand. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to scare ye, but I didn’t want to get caught. When ye started to run, I was afraid ye’d bring back others. I decided I’d take me chances with ye.” He kept his head down, apparently embarrassed by this last comment.
Although she had changed into a more conservative walking gown and had removed the shamrock patch, she: knew she still appeared somewhat unladylike with her dyed black hair hanging freely around her face. She smiled at the lad’s perception. “Do fish really like them?”
“Aye.” He raised his head like she chanted some magic words and all was forgotten. He shoved the mushrooms back into his pocket. “I slice ‘em up, then slip ‘em on me hook. Their shape and light color in the dark water attract the fish. Course, ye have to keep wigglin’ the line, but it works, it does.”
“I’ve never tried mushrooms.”
“By god, ye fish?” His mouth hung open for some seconds before he clamped it shut and bowed his head once quickly. “Sorry, ‘tis just that a lady, I mean a woman, I mean ...”
“You mean a person like me?” She offered without taking offense, but his recognizing her for a wanton, even at his young age, disturbed her. It was one thing to have seedy tavern men think her loose, but it bothered her that the lad did.
“Aye.” He blushed, though, apparently thankful for her assistance.
“I don’t fish anymore, but as a child I used to with my father and brother.” Sadness touched her heart, but she refused to dwell on it. “Where do you fish?”
“Off the stone bridge into Enniskillen, but I have permission to take the fish, honest, I do.”
“I believe you.”
The lad smiled before he blurted out, “Do ye want to come fishin’ with me?”
She hated to destroy his exuberance, but it was getting late and she didn’t want to worry Wylie.
“I’d love to, but I’m expected back before nightfall.”
Disappointment quickly replaced the lad’s enthusiasm. He looked pitiful, and she regretted that she caused him to.
“Won’t you be missed at home, anyway?”
“Me da gave me the time off to bring some dinner home.”
“Oh,” she said, but her decision remained. “I better go. It was nice to meet you ... what is your name?”
“Thomas.”
She offered him her hand. As he politely took it and bowed, she said, “I’m Mistress Jalene. Good-bye, Thomas.”
He reluctantly released her hand.
“Is something wrong?” Jalene asked.
“Can I walk with ye a ways?”
She paused. This request was bold, but he was young and she sensed he liked her. Yet, he also acted as if something troubled him. She was curious, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She answered, “All right, but only through the wood to the other clearing. You’ve fish waiting to be caught, and you don’t want to disappoint your family.”
“Promise,” Thomas happily replied.
They strolled side by side down the footpath, Thomas with his fishing pole over his shoulder and she with the basket of mushrooms hooked to her arm. Although she was certain it would be harmless to chat with the lad, she was aware that the less people knew about her, the safer she w
ould be. So she directed the conversation from herself. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Two sisters and two brothers. I’m the oldest.” He proudly puffed up a bit.
Sorrow again clenched her heart at the memory of James. The pain must have shown on her face as it was the lad’s turn this time to ask, “Is something wrong?”
“Nay,” she said, brushing her disquiet aside. “I was thinking of my brother.” She wrestled with the idea about telling the lad James was dead, but thought better of it. He need not know about her grief.
Before he could inquire about anything personal, she asked, “Do you ever take your brothers or sisters along to fish with you?”
“Sure, but not usually so far from me home. Me friend used to go.”
His troubled frown surfaced again, but this time it appeared to suggest an inner struggle over whether to speak out or not. She encouraged him to speak. “Did you have an argument with your friend?”
They walked in silence a few paces before he finally replied.
“You’re not from around here, are ye?”
“That is correct.”
“I’ll say then, but only to help me friend—and if ye promise not to tell anyone I told ye.”
Whatever the lad planned to reveal, it was something that disturbed him, and she was afraid it would make her uncomfortable. She regretted prying into affairs that were none of her business, and couldn’t imagine how she might assist him—other than by listening. Perhaps that was all he needed.
“Aye, I promise,” she said.
Relief washed across his face. “The authorities think me friend is missin’, but I know he met this woman who convinced him to leave the area. I was sworn to secrecy, but when I saw how upset it was makin’ his family, I started to feel guilty and to worry that he was in danger as everyone believed. I didn’t want to betray me friend, and I was afraid to say anythin’, until now, when I saw ye.”
“I don’t understand. Why did he go without telling his family and worrying them so?”
“Ah, he wanted to tell them all right, but the woman said the work was secret. That no one could know about it. Me friend didn’t know what it involved except that she said he’d earn more in a month than what his ma and da could earn in a year. I know he hated to worry them, but if he ever was to make it easier on them, he said that he had no choice but to go.”
“Why did he tell you all of this?”
“He was late meeting me for fishin’—because of her. And he didn’t want me mad at him.”
“Wasn’t he concerned about what the task involved— that it would pay so much?”
“The woman told him it was all within the law.”
“Did he say anything about this woman’s appearance or mention anyone else?”
“Nay, all I know is that he was headin’ north to the west coast. That’s all he said he could tell me.”
She pondered this information. It was strange and made her wonder if any of the other missing children were lured away the same way. Unsure as to what she’d exactly do, she asked, “How do you expect me to help you?”
“I don’t know except I hoped you could talk with the authorities and pass along what I told ye, without mentionin’ me name.”
“I’d be happy to help, but we need something more substantial to pass along. Can you think of anything else he may have said?”
“Nay,” the lad answered with a new peace about him.
She wished she could have experienced the same tranquility. They reached the clearing at the end of the wood toward White Wylie’s.
She held her hand out to Thomas. “I’ll mention this to a friend who might help. Don’t worry yourself any longer.
You did what you thought was right. Good-bye, Thomas.”
“Thank ye. I’ll remember yer kindness. Will ye ever be this way again?”
“I doubt it, but if I am I’ll make sure I go for a walk.” She smiled at him.
He blushed and turned to follow the path he came from. She watched him a few moments when he abruptly turned around and ran towards her.
“It slipped me mind earlier. Me friend called her by name once. Nelly. Madam Nelly was what he said.”
Chapter 15
Taylor struggled to wake himself as he realized that the soft warmth pressed against his back came from Annabella’s breasts. One of her legs rested possessively across his leg while her hand played with the muscles of his thigh. Earlier, when they had first slipped under the covers, Annabella’s soft caresses had brought him sleep rather than the expected relief from the pressure in his loins. Apparently, these last days had been harder on him than he’d imagined.
Now, with an hour or so of rest behind him, he was still unaroused by the wench. As if to call him a liar, his manhood swelled to life when her hand dipped down to stroke him. It was purely a perfunctory reaction that somehow displeased him. He wanted more. A wholeness. A feeling like ... Jalene. He conjured up her presence in his mind. The mere thought of her nakedness entwined in his arms stroking his ... Damn it! Memories of the sweet bitch were hindering what used to be a pleasurable experience for him. He tossed Annabella’s hand aside and popped up from bed.
“Yer body seems to want me, but I think yer mind is elsewhere?” Annabella sat up in bed, exposing her breasts as readily as she would her hand.
“Aye.” He bent over and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re a plum, Annabella and a perceptive one at that.” He gathered up his strewn clothes from all about the room.
“There’s another woman, isn’t there?” Annabella asked.
Taylor slipped his bright green breeches up over his hips and returned to sit on the bed. “Annabella, there’s not another like you. You’ll always hold a special place in my heart, but ...”
“Ye’re in love,” Annabella interrupted in surprise.
“Jesus Christ! Nay.” He jumped up like she bit him. While buttoning his pinkish shirt, he spared her a glance. “Damn it. What do you find so humorous?” he asked, and snorted in disapproval, before turning his back.
“Whoever this lucky lady is, she certainly has affected yer tastes concerning fashion. I believe those are the gaudiest clothes I’ve ever seen,” she said, and giggled.
“I told you there was no woman, and there is a reason for this garb.” He fastened the last of the buttons on his copper waistcoat.
“Where are ye goin’, love?” Annabella reached for her silky dressing wrapper and slipped into it.
“Downstairs. Hug’s probably waiting on me.”
“He is if Isabella was luckier than me.” She threw a bed pillow at his departing back.
He turned and scowled at her.
“Just teasin’. I understand more than ye know.”
He gave her a half-smile and tossed the pillow back at her before he shut the bedchamber door.
* * * *
“You needn’t see me inside, Wylie. I’ll be fine,” Jalene insisted.
“Nay. When I see for myself that you’re in Taylor’s or Hug’s good hands, I’ll leave—and not before.” Wylie reached for her hand to assist her from the phaeton. She freely gave it.
Although it wasn’t his place to be disagreeable, White Wylie had been adamant about riding with her to the King’s Arms. It was no place for a lady alone, at nightfall, he had argued. She smiled inwardly to herself at what he had said. Neither was a tavern a place for a lady, but she guessed Wylie knew she’d have come with or without him as an escort.
Once again, to fit the occasion, she had changed back into the emerald green gown and accompanying black shawl. The shamrock patch was replaced on her cheek. As Wylie wielded her inside, she pointed to a table where Hug, no longer dressed as grandda, conversed with an attractive redhead.
“Look, there’s Hug. You can leave now.”
“Nay. From the looks of it, I’m not so sure Hug wants to be bothered.”
Another red-haired woman, who looked like the one with Hug, approached Wylie and herself.
“Look here missy, this here’s me sister’s and meself’s tavern. We won’t be needin’ the likes of ye.” She pushed past her to Wylie. “Ye, however, can stay.”
Wylie sputtered. Jalene broke in, “I’m not here to solicit. I’m searching for someone. In fact, that’s him over there.” She pointed to Taylor who was playing cards with several men a few tables behind Hug. Neither noticed her.
“For sure, and what business would ye be havin’ with him?”
“That’s between the gentleman and myself if you don’t mind.”
“Well, I do mind. I’ve been with the man all afternoon and happen to know he doesn’t want to be disturbed,” the woman said.
A pang of jealousy, fierce and fiery, rushed through Jalene and settled to form a knot in her stomach. He’d been with this woman, but why should she care? She had no claim upon him. She placed her hand over her stomach, assuring herself that the sudden discomfort was due to skipping supper.
“She’s a friend, Annabella.” Hug materialized at her side. His gaze was critical as he waited for some explanation from Wylie.
“I know what you’re thinking, but she’d have come here without me. The least I could do was see that she arrived safely. Now that I have, and with your permission, I’ll be leaving.”
Hug glanced at her.
“It’s true,” she affirmed. “Don’t be angry with Wylie. He tried to discourage me, but I’d have none of it.”
“Thank you for escorting me. You’re a dear.” She kissed Wylie’s cheek.
Even in the dimness of the tavern, she could see him blush.
He nodded.
You did right. Hug patted him on the back. “Don’t worry yourself any more.”
“Aye,” Wylie answered, and shuffled his way out the door.
“We’ll visit over here,” Hug told Annabella. He led Jalene to a table on the same side of the room as Taylor, yet in view of him.
Jalene wondered what had happened to the red-haired woman who had been with Hug, but when she sat down, she noticed the two look-alikes standing at the bar watching her curiously. Identical twins, she thought, while staring back at them. So close were their physical features, she couldn’t tell which one had greeted her. She averted her eyes when Hug asked, “Jalene, what are you doing here?”
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