Fields of Fire

by Carol Caldwell

  She sighed.

  “My feelings precisely, sweetness.” He hugged her to him.

  She savored his closeness and allowed herself the luxury of feeling secure and right in his arms before sleep captured her.

  * * * *

  “Hush, lass. Don’t cry. We’ll have you out in no time.”

  “Hurry, Poppy. ‘Tis so dark. I can’t see. Poppy, ‘tis coming at me, again. Nay! Nay! Get away!”

  Jalene’s eyes blinked open with the same words from the same reoccurring dream ringing in her ears. For a second, she feared she was hearing her own voice. When she heard the wail once more, she realized that it was the toddler, Jonathan. She quickly glanced at Taylor. To her relief, he still slept.

  Sometime during the night, they’d turned and separated, and one of the fur coverings found its way over them. Now, in the light of morning, she rolled to her side, seizing the opportunity to stare boldly at him.

  He lay on his stomach with his face buried in the furs. Part of his leg and fuzzy bottom peeked out from beneath the coverings. Her stomach did a flip-flop as she reflected on their lovemaking the night before. He had finally taken her, and she didn’t regret a moment of it. How this would affect their future relationship—she didn’t know. But after last night she was certain—she loved the man.

  At what exact moment it had begun, she couldn’t say. But with all her heart she vowed it was true. Of course, she’d never make such a confession to Taylor. She didn’t need to be reminded that he’d predicted she’d be asking him to make love to her. Did he foresee that she’d lose her heart as well?

  She rolled from her side to her back and instantly noticed on the ceiling of the wagon a carving that wasn’t visible by lantern light at dark. A tiny man—nay, a leprechaun was beckoning to a man—a mortal, to follow him across a swift and dangerous stream. The man appeared uncertain. Surrounding him were objects that represented everything that was safe and sure. Across the stream, where the leprechaun stood, were all the mortal man’s hopes and desires. Underneath this carving were the words, “Follow your dreams.”

  What if one had no dreams to follow? The most she could hope for was that Donnegan would be found and brought to justice, and her brother would be proven innocent. She’d go her way, and Taylor his. Yet, how would she cope with never seeing Taylor again? The idea caused a lump to form in her throat. I mustn’t think of it. I should try to enjoy the time I have with him, all the while remembering that one day he will have to leave. She decided it was better to have loved briefly, than to have never loved at all. In the days ahead, she would take what she could and deal with his departure when the time came.

  Taylor stirred, and she glanced in his direction.

  He turned on his back and slowly opened one eye. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Not long.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Any regrets?”

  “None. Though I hope I’m not in a family way now.”

  “Don’t worry. I’d see to your needs.”

  His simple answer left her believing that he did not take her seriously. Though this saddened her, she determined to love him as much as she could before they parted.

  He scooted closer to her and pulled her into his arms. “You’ve made me feel like I never have before. Let me love you again now.” He kissed her deeply and moved her until she rested atop him, her hips pressed against his.

  “Christ, I can’t get enough of you,” he said when a thump sounded on the wagon.

  “Sorry for disturbing ye,” Lem’s voice sounded through the closed rear door. “Our clear weather last night has fast changed to a cloudy morn. Looks like we’re in for a storm.”

  “Damn!” Taylor said and kissed her. “One day I’m going to love you all night and again the following day.” He gently eased her off him. “Thanks, Lem. We’ll be out momentarily.”

  Taylor unashamedly scrambled into his clothes. He started to unlatch the rear door, returned to her, planted a kiss on her forehead and in a flash left the caravan.

  She touched the warm spot on her forehead where he’d kissed her. Would she truly be able to love him when she knew he’d one day leave forever? She must. It was all she had.

  Quickly, from the far side of the wagon she retrieved her crumpled blue gown and undergarments, and dressed. Moments later she stepped out into the morning mist.

  “Top of the morning to ye,” Lem waved to her from the site of the campfire the eve before.

  She waved back and walked over to where everyone was gathered. She was wondering if last night’s lovemaking showed on her countenance. Taylor winked at her, and warmth immediately spread from her neck through her cheeks. She smiled and glanced at Jonathan who was sitting on Twyla’s lap eating an oatcake—apparently what he had been crying for earlier. While he ate, Twyla picked at the crumbs that fell from the flat, hardened cake to the toddler’s clothing.

  Lem’s ma stood next to Hug, wearing her toothless grin. If she got any closer, she’d knock him down. Jalene was reminded that to Lem’s ma Hug was not the younger man she knew him to be, but a man the elderly woman’s age. Inwardly, she laughed. It must have been an interesting night for Hug—old grandda, fending off grandma’s attentions. That, coupled with the tension between the three of them yesterday ought to make him as cantankerous as a stubborn mule, or at least that’s what she expected until he addressed her.

  “Good morn, Jalene. It’s a fine day, is it not?” Hug’s barrel chest expanded as he spoke. He closed his eyes and raised the tin cup in his hand towards the heavens to emphasize his words.

  Surprised by this attitude, she glanced at Taylor for some indication as to what he was about. He shrugged and shook his head.

  “Aye,” she answered, “if you like the misty spray on your face and the dark ominous clouds.” It threatened to pour within the hour, so she wondered if he was even referring to the weather.

  “We need to try to make it to the next town before it storms,” Taylor warned.

  “I’m ready. Step on my toe, I’m ready to go,” Hug said, and grinned. “I’ll go hitch the horses and prepare the wagon.” He fairly skipped away.

  Again, Jalene glanced at Taylor, and again, he shrugged.

  “At least have some tea with us before ye go. ‘Tis me ma’s special brew.” Lem slicked back his hair. “The only problem—I think ma made his tea a tad too strong.” Lem nodded at Hug’s departing back. “Sometimes, if she thinks a person is sad, or too grouchy, she’ll brew them a cup of her special tea. It usually sets them right.”

  “What’s in it?” Jalene asked.

  “I can’t tell ye that. I said it was a special brew. If I told ye, it wouldn’t be special. ‘Tis nothing harmful, though.”

  “What happens when the tea wears off? He won’t be sick, will he?” Taylor asked.

  “Nay. He’ll get a bit sleepy, but that’s all.” Lem rubbed his chin. “Well, maybe there’s one more word of warning.”

  “What is that?” Taylor waited patiently for Lem to put his thoughts to words.

  “Pardon me for speaking of such in the presence of a lady, but, well, the tea makes you whiz.”

  “Whiz?” Jalene scrunched up her face, unable to understand what was so offensive in what he said.

  “He’s referring to relieving himself,” Taylor informed her.

  “Oh,” she croaked out the single word, trying not to show her embarrassment.

  “I’ve warned Ma that she shouldn’t fool with people that way, but there’s no stopping her. This here,” Lem held up a pot of the brew, “’tis really quite tasty. Sure ye don’t want to try some.”

  “Thank you, but we must ready ourselves to leave,” Taylor said.

  “At least take some bread with ye.” Lem took a cloth from Twyla and placed several pieces of dark, brown bread into it, and handed the small bundle to Jalene.

  She thanked him, “You are very generous to spoil us so. I’ll go put the bread in our wagon and get my cloak.”
>
  She turned to leave when Lem’s ma stopped her. She watched as the elderly woman took off the amber-colored ring, pointing from it to Jalene’s eyes as if to say they matched. Next, she showed Jalene that the oval stone on top the ring was actually a hinged lid that opened to display a powdery substance. In mime, the old lady told her that the powder would make one feel good, but too much could cause sleepiness.

  “That’s what she puts in her tea—her own secret recipe of herbs,” Lem said.

  Lem’s ma nodded and handed her the ring.

  “Oh, I couldn’t take it,” she said and pushed the ring back at the woman.

  The elderly woman shoved the ring back at her.

  “She wouldn’t give the ring to you if she didn’t want you to have it,” Lem encouraged Jalene. “It’s her way of saying thanks for saving us from the highwaymen.”

  Jalene glanced around at the others who nodded in agreement.

  Hesitantly, she reached for the ring and placed it on the index finger of her right hand.

  Lem’s ma beamed in delight at her, and she was now glad she’d accepted the gift.

  “Thank you,” Jalene said. “I’ll go get my cloak now.”

  A few minutes later, Taylor checked on the highwaymen one more time. Then he, Hug, and Jalene said their farewells to the tinker family. As soon as the wagon wheels started to roll, Hug started whistling “The Road From Here to There.”

  “You certainly are more cheerful this morning than you were yesterday.” She spoke to Hug, but gave a knowing smile to Taylor.

  “I’m a different man today. I spent some time thinking about how I’d feel if our scheme failed and either of you became hurt, or ... Anyway, I brought a lot of grief to myself by making groundless assumptions.” Hug fidgeted next to her and abruptly changed topics. “How’s my face powder? It wasn’t so awful wearing it to sleep as I imagined. Say, where did you get that ring?” He pointed to her hand.

  “It was a gift from Lem’s ma.”

  “Pretty,” Hug replied, and in the next instant he addressed Taylor, “Hey, hey, stop a second. I need to visit the roadside.” Taylor chuckled to himself.

  She grabbed his hand when he stood to jump down. “We care about you, too. I’m glad we’re still friends.”

  “Aye, I’ve kept you from trouble for too many years for you to call it quits on me now,” Taylor added.

  “You with me! I beg to differ,” Hug countered.

  Taylor laughed heartily.

  Hug jumped to the ground, and Taylor yelled after him. “You better hurry. This wagon leaves in three minutes.” Hug ignored his idle threat and scampered off.

  With Hug’s departure, Taylor fell silent and an awkwardness crept over Jalene. Was he regretting their love-making the eve before? Did he still think she was involved in smuggling? After all, she was the sister of a man he suspected of illicit dealings. The situation hadn’t kept her from losing her heart, but she’d heard men were different. They were expected to bed different women, even take a mistress once married. His attitude towards her today was polite, but perhaps he was acting from a sense of duty. Did he now feel obligated to her because he’d taken her virginity? What if she had become pregnant? She wanted someone who loved and cared about her enough to marry her. She’d never agree to be his kept woman. Nay, none of these thoughts appealed to her. Nor did she wish to dwell upon them.

  “Do you suppose it’s the tea talking, or Hug?” she asked, referring to Lem’s ma’s mentioning that the tea would make Hug happy.

  “I suspect both. The tea made it easier for him to say what he wanted to say.”

  “He’s more like the old Hug, and I like him better this way.” She scanned the horizon at the dark clouds that drifted nearer to them. “How far is the next town?”

  “It’s only ten miles to Donegal town, but if the tea does what they say it does, we’ll be making several more stops,” he said and smiled at her.

  She laughed, feeling a bit more comfortable. “That doesn’t sound too promising as far as arriving in town before the rain.”

  “Nay, we’ll probably get soaked.”

  “What’s this about getting soaked?” Hug clambered up into his seat next to her. “I wasn’t gone that long.” She watched him briefly study the sky. “Ach, we’ve plenty of time,” he assured them.

  Hug was wrong, but only because he didn’t know about the tea. They made three more stops, but it was at the second that the rain crashed down in torrents upon them. The road soon became muddy, making it more difficult to travel in the heavy wagon. Still, their spirits remained high, and when they finally arrived at Donegal town, they rushed into the Deer’s Head Tavern laughing at each other’s bedraggled appearance.

  “I’m starving,” Taylor said.

  “We never did get a chance to eat the bread the tinkers gave us.” She twisted her hair to wring the wetness from it.

  Hug tugged at his clothing in a futile attempt to keep the drenched garments from his skin. “I’m tired. Handling this weather is hard work.”

  Taylor laughed and handed Hug a damp handkerchief. “If you blot your face, the powder should blend together.”

  Hug quickly performed the task, and the powder did indeed blend to cover the splotches caused by the rain.

  She shook her head in amazement. The day, from all indications, was going to be in direct contrast to the previous one. She’d gladly take it, or so she thought, until a voice spoke out from the dark recesses of the tavern, and sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

  “It’s about time you got here.”

  Chapter 20

  “Who the bloody hell are they?” Hug asked.

  Jalene didn’t need to know. She immediately recognized the voice of Donnegan and trembled. Dear Lord, would the man recognize her in return?

  “I’ve recently sustained an injury, so I have to move a bit more slowly,” Donnegan stood and stepped out from the shadows leaning heavily against an ivory handled cane. A buxom, pretty woman quickly appeared at his side, and Jalene guessed that this was Nelly. Henry, the man who had burst into Wil’s room in Belleek stood at his other side.

  “My sources tell me you’re selling fine whiskey at unbeatable prices.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Who wants to know?” Taylor acted like they’d never met before and confidently walked away from the man to take a seat at a nearby table. Hug followed.

  Feeling even more conspicuous in her disheveled wet state, she hurriedly trailed after them. Donnegan had never met Hug, and Taylor no longer wore a full beard or dressed in drab clothing as he’d done when he’d first met Donnegan in Dublin. Was dying her hair black and wearing garments in the style of a fallen woman, enough to fool Donnegan?

  The test was to come, for without invitation, just as Donnegan had done in Dublin, he sat down at their table while Nelly and Henry remained standing huddled around him.

  “If you’re worried that I’m a Revenue Agent, I tell you I’m not,” Donnegan said.

  A small, semi-suppressed giggle escaped from Jalene, and she immediately pretended to clear her throat. He wasn’t a Revenue Agent—that struck her as funny with two military officers working as Revenue Agents sitting across from the man. She fought to control what threatened to be a laughing seizure all the time wondering what possessed her to act so foolishly when their very lives depended on Donnegan’s acceptance of them. Her only explanation for such behavior was nervousness.

  Donnegan gave her a curious look. “Have we met before?”

  “What’s on your mind?” Taylor spoke up. In a casual gesture, he rested his hand on his thigh before he brushed at his wet breeches and quickly slid it over to Jalene’s thigh. Like an agitated sea crab, he pinched her hard, as a warning.

  She bit back an “ouch” and fought the urge to rub her injury.

  “Where did you get the whiskey you’re peddling?” Donnegan asked.

  “I never said I was peddling whiskey,” Taylor replied.

&nbs
p; “I can understand your being cautious, but I know who you are. My sources have described all three of you perfectly, so let’s quit the pretense.” Donnegan waved to the tavern owner. “Give us a round of ale, would you?”

  “And some cut-up apples, ham slices, and soda bread or whatever you’ve got,” Nelly added, and sat down. She leaned towards Donnegan to give him a quick embrace. “You don’t mind. Do you? A little something for all of us to nibble—I’m hungry and besides food always makes everyone more relaxed.”

  The proprietor hesitated. Donnegan nodded in approval and said, “You heard the lady.”

  Donnegan was dressed fancily and sported a powdered black wig. Yet, if he seemed of out place, the tavern owner—wearing a heavily powdered wig with sausage curls above the ears and a soiled white apron—was, with his pompous attitude, utterly ridiculous. It was fashionable for the Ascendancy or Protestant gentry to wear wigs, especially when in Dublin, but most country folk did without. If the tavern owner wanted to stand out, he achieved his purpose.

  A smile started to form on her lips only to be immediately suppressed by the remembrance of Taylor’s bruising pinch and the danger of their situation. Their lives would be in serious jeopardy if Donnegan discovered who they really were. He’d kill them. That sobering fact coupled with the thought that Taylor would be gone from her forever, prompted her to settle down into her role.

  “What if I am selling whiskey?” Taylor began. “What’s it to you? I can peddle to whomever I like.”

  “Me boss doesn’t like yer competing with him. These are our customers ye’ve been peddling yer whiskey to,” Henry said, still standing at Donnegan’s side.

  “That’s tough luck,” Hug blurted out. “The proprietors didn’t seem to mind.”

  “Nay, but I do,” Donnegan said, rubbing his cleft chin. “We’d like you to deal directly with us and then we’ll in turn sell the whiskey to all the taverns along the coast.”

  “You’re talking about monopolizing trade in that area.” Taylor waited until the tavern owner served them the ale and food and left. “Why should we agree? What’s in it for us?”