Mary Jo Putney

by Sometimes a Rogue

  Rob placed the empty jugs and utensils on the tray and set it to one side. “You must have wondered about your life if your father had taken you instead of your sister.”

  “Mariah and I have talked about this,” she admitted. “Would I be her and she be me? I don’t think so, and neither does she. Though we’re very alike, we’re individuals and we have our differences.”

  “If your father had taken you instead of Mariah, you might be a duchess now.”

  “More likely Adam would have drowned because Mariah wasn’t in the right place to fish him out of the water. Even if I’d saved him, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him.” Sarah frowned. “Or perhaps I would. If I’d lived Mariah’s uncertain life, I might have been drawn to his steadiness the way she is. It’s a conundrum.”

  Rob smiled. “The sort of thing that could keep you awake nights if you thought much about it.”

  “But I don’t,” she said firmly. “The situation is as it is. I was the lucky twin. I was raised by my mother and I’m glad for it.”

  “You never did say where you were raised.”

  She grinned, feeling a pleasant haze from the ale, which was stronger than she was used to. “My mind is prone to wandering. I had a lovely childhood, apart from not having my father and sister. When my father ran off, my mother’s older brother, Lord Babcock, invited her to come live with him so she could be his hostess and run his household. Uncle Peter’s wife had died, and with four healthy sons, he felt no need to remarry. So I grew up in Babcock Hall in Hertford. My cousins and I were raised together and I was the cosseted little sister.”

  “I’m glad it worked out so well for you,” Rob said. “Your mother was fortunate that her brother didn’t resent having to support a sister and niece.”

  “He didn’t have to.” Sarah shook her head ruefully. “Ever fond of the grand gesture, my father signed the income from my mother’s inheritance over to her to prove that he hadn’t married her for her money. We were quite comfortable.”

  Rob’s brows arched. “That was quixotic and honorable of your father.” He hesitated. “Do you resent him for returning and claiming so much of your mother’s attention when you’d had it for so many years?”

  Sarah sighed and dropped her gaze, thinking that Rob was uncomfortably perceptive. “A little. Mama and I were very close. We still are, but—it’s different.” And lonelier. “Now it’s your turn to tell me about your life. Do you have a permanent home in London, or do you travel too much for that?”

  “I have rooms above a pawnshop near Covent Garden. My associate, Harvey, lives there and handles London business when I’m away.”

  In other words, there was no room in his life for a woman like her, though perhaps his tough, dangerous lady companion might have fitted in. She suspected that he was deliberately underlining the vast gulf between them.

  Made a little reckless by fatigue and strong ale, Sarah asked softly, “Have you wondered how things might be between us under other circumstances?”

  He became very still as she caught his gaze. His eyes were striking—a clear, pale aquamarine blue with a night black edge. Those eyes could be intimidating or threatening or kind. Now they were . . . bleak. “I’ve considered the question,” he said as the air thickened between them. “But we must play the cards life has dealt us.”

  So he also felt that thrumming attraction and recognized that their paths were too far apart to be bridged. The intimacy that was growing in these few intense days must end. Though she knew it was inevitable, she felt sorrowful to have her knowledge confirmed.

  Rob broke the mood by digging into his saddlebags and producing a pistol. “Since you were raised with boys, were you exposed to firearms? Some ladies shrink from such infernal devices.”

  She took the pistol and expertly broke it down. It was clean, well maintained, and currently unloaded. “Not just exposed but well taught by my uncle. I was a better shot than any of my cousins. Uncle Peter told me to always carry a pistol when traveling. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I needed a weapon when riding on my brother-in-law’s estate.”

  “A pistol might not have helped you against four men, but I’m glad you can shoot.” Rob handed her a pouch containing powder and shot. “This pistol is mine and it’s a nice little weapon. I’ll carry the pistol I acquired from one of your abductors since it’s larger and heavier. I suggest you keep this until we’re safely back in England.”

  She bit her lip as she regarded the weapon. “As I said, I’m a good shot, but I don’t know if I could kill a man. I wouldn’t even hunt game at Babcock Hall.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to shoot another person. But brandishing a weapon and perhaps shooting it over someone’s head makes a very forceful statement.”

  “Very well.” She accepted the pouch and practiced loading her new weapon. “Do you usually keep a pistol close at hand? I didn’t notice one when you rescued me.”

  “I was carrying this, but I prefer not to use firearms unless it’s absolutely necessary. The chance of seriously injuring someone in close quarters is too high. I use this fighting stick in such situations.” He reached under his coat and produced a polished wooden stick with knobs at both ends. When his hand closed over it, the knobs protruded on each side. “This adds a lot of punching power when you want to hurt, not kill.”

  “Oh, very nice! May I see?”

  Smiling, he handed it to her. “You have a surprisingly bloodthirsty look in your eyes for a well brought up young lady.”

  She locked her hand around the stick and made a few practice swings. The smooth wood felt good on her palm, though the stick was too long. “I was raised with boys, which meant a certain amount of rough and tumble when we were small and out of sight of our parents.” She handed the stick back. “I’d need one that was smaller for best effect, I think. Not that I expect to do much fighting, but this little adventure reminds me that sometimes a lady must defend herself.”

  “I hope you’ll never have such an adventure again!” he said fervently. “But it’s good to be prepared for whatever might come.”

  “Which means getting some rest so I can ride all day tomorrow.” She covered a yawn as she reached for a blanket. “I’ll sleep on the far side of the straw stack.”

  “I’ll sleep by the door so I can fend off dragons if any come for my lady,” he said in a courtly tone.

  “In other words, at a safe distance from me,” she said bluntly.

  “Exactly. You have a potent field of attraction, Sarah.” Wry amusement showed in his eyes. “It would be easier to fend off dragons.”

  She laughed, glad they could joke about this inconvenient attraction. Then she rolled up in her blanket, tucked herself into the straw against the wall, and slept.

  Chapter 12

  Sarah slept like a felled ox—and woke the next morning lying beside Rob, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. They both appeared to have moved and met in the middle of the yielding straw. Though they were still wrapped in their blankets like mummies, she was dizzyingly aware of his warmth and strength.

  She snuggled closer without conscious volition. His eyes opened and gazed into hers, mere inches away. First awareness, then sharp desire flickered through the aquamarine depths. Mesmerized, she brushed her fingertips across the lovely masculine prickliness of his unshaven jaw.

  If he’d closed those inches for a kiss, she’d have responded with an enthusiasm more dangerous than dragons. Instead, he gave her a rueful smile and rolled away. “Tonight we need to put a wall between us.”

  She sat up and brushed straw from her hair. “I’m not sure even that would do the job. A good thing we’re both sensible adults.” At least, Rob was. She wasn’t entirely sure about herself.

  Another long day of riding along back roads produced chafed skin as well as sore muscles. Sarah had abandoned all thoughts of cleanliness; it was no longer relevant. Reality was mixed rain and clouds and sunshine and changing gaits to keep the horses fit over long hours
of riding.

  There was no sign of pursuit. Once more as night fell they found a barn to berth in. Rob bought stewed crubeens for them to share. A week earlier she might have balked at pickled pig trotters, but now she dug in eagerly. They were quite tasty, too.

  Rob sent Sarah to sleep in the tack room with the door closed. That proved sufficient to keep them apart. Unfortunately.

  As they ate their basic breakfast the next morning, Rob said, “We’ve made good time because you’re such a skilled rider. We’re within reach of Cork today if we take the turnpikes. I’m told the one near here is not heavily traveled, but it will certainly be busier than the back roads we’ve been following. And any turnpike is more likely to have people watching for us.”

  “But we’d reach Cork quickly,” she said thoughtfully. “You’re the expert here. Do you think it’s worth the risk?”

  “I think so. The longer it takes us to reach a port and sail for home, the farther word will spread to be on the lookout for us. We don’t know how large Free Eire is, but it’s possible there are already men watching for us in every village in the southeast. If all goes well, we could be in Cork by early afternoon and maybe even sailing to England before the day is over.”

  Sarah’s heart lurched. She wanted desperately to be home and safe and clean, and most of all, to see how Mariah was, but she would miss her adventure. Or to be precise, she’d miss Rob. She wouldn’t find him so attractive if he was a real villain, but the combination of his rough and ready appearance with birth, education, and protectiveness was quite irresistible.

  But this odd idyll must end, and the sooner it did, the safer for both of them. She got to her feet and donned her hat. “Onward to Cork, sir!”

  It was only about half an hour’s ride to the beginning of the turnpike. Sarah’s nerves twitched as they halted at the tollhouse. The keeper lived inside the small building so he would be available day and night to lift the bar for travelers. A painted board on the wall declared that the keeper was a Mr. Diarmid Condon, and listed charges in English and Irish for horses, herds, and conveyances of different sizes. The toll for a rider on a horse was tuppence.

  She kept her head down and slouched in her saddle as Rob talked to the elderly gatekeeper in Irish. He and she were just two more muddy Irish travelers.

  Rob handed over a couple of coins and Condon moved to swing the long pole off the road. Then two men burst out of the tollhouse brandishing muskets: O’Dwyer and a weaselly man Sarah didn’t recognize.

  “Carmichael, you bastard!” O’Dwyer bellowed. “You’re passing for Irish! And our slut duchess is disgracin’ herself in britches! No wonder it’s been so bloody hard to track you.” He snapped a quick glare at Sarah while keeping his weapon trained on Rob. “Hands up, Runner! This musket is loaded with shot and I’d love an excuse to blast your heart out!”

  Rob raised his hands, his face impassive. Sarah could almost hear his mind racing as he considered how to react. But with two muskets aimed at his chest from point blank range, his choices weren’t good.

  All three men, including the unhappy-looking gatekeeper, were watching Rob and assuming Sarah was harmless. More fools they. She reached into the saddlebag behind her and found her pistol by touch.

  She was carrying it half cocked and loaded, which was risky, but she’d taken the chance because something like this might happen. She eased the gun out, checked that the loading was in place, then aimed it over the heads of the men and pulled the trigger.

  KA-BOOM!!!!!

  As the blast echoed from the hills, she shouted, “Stand and deliver!” because a shout seemed appropriate and she couldn’t think of anything better.

  Condon dived behind the gatepost while O’Dwyer and the weasel swore and swung around, looking for the shooter. Rob took advantage of their shock to yank out his fighting stick and dive from his horse.

  He crashed down on O’Dwyer and carried them both to the ground, Rob on top. He swung the striking stick at O’Dwyer’s temple, but the Irishman was large and thrashing violently so the stick struck his shoulder instead. The men rolled across the yard in a tangle of fists and knees and furious blows.

  As they fought, the weasel pulled himself together and aimed his gun at Rob and O’Dwyer. His barrel wavered back and forth as he tried to find a way to shoot Rob, but the men were too entangled.

  He was ignoring Sarah again. The fellow wasn’t very bright. As soon as she reloaded her pistol, she kicked Boru forward straight at the weasel. He shrieked and tried to dodge when he saw the pony bearing down on him, but he wasn’t fast enough. Boru sideswiped the weasel and Sarah wrenched the musket from his hands as he fell.

  As the weasel lurched backward, Sarah tucked the musket under her left arm and pointed her pistol into the man’s face. “Please don’t make me shoot,” she said in her most earnest young lady voice. “I don’t want to accidentally kill you, but I can’t allow you to interfere. Raise your hands, and you won’t be hurt.” She glanced at the gatekeeper. “The same for you, Mr. Condon. You’ll note that it was these brutes who started the trouble. All my friend and I want is to use the turnpike.”

  The weasel’s face paled as he looked down the barrel of her pistol. As he lifted shaking hands, Rob ended the fight with O’Dwyer by slamming the knob of the fighting stick into the man’s jaw with a sound of cracking bone. O’Dwyer groaned and went limp, a trickle of blood running down his chin.

  Rob vaulted to his feet and clamped a hand on the weasel’s neck, his fingers digging deep. The man’s eyes widened in horror before he folded to the ground.

  As Rob studied O’Dwyer with narrowed eyes, Sarah had the uncanny sense that she could read his mind. He was considering whether to kill the man. Not from anger or bloodlust, but as a cool, rational judgment that they’d be safer if O’Dwyer was dead.

  “Don’t,” she said softly. “He’s a horrible person, but I don’t want his death on my conscience.”

  “Very well,” Rob said after a pause. “Though we may come to regret it.” He turned to the gatekeeper. “How much traffic comes through most days?”

  “Not a lot, but steady,” Condon said warily. “There’s never too long between travelers.”

  “Shall we ride now?” Sarah asked, feeling anxious at the thought of strangers stumbling onto this untidy scene.

  “I want to give us more of a lead. Keep your pistol ready while I stash these fellows in the shed behind the house.” Rob moved to his horse and removed two pairs of handcuffs from the saddlebags. As Sarah’s brows rose, he explained, “No reason to make it easy to resume pursuit once they wake up.”

  “Rob, you are a constant source of education,” she said sincerely, assuming that he had plans for the toll keeper as well.

  He gave her a quick smile. “And you are remarkably useful in a fight.”

  As Sarah watched Condon, who was looking less wary, Rob dragged away O’Dwyer, then the weasel. When he returned, he said to the keeper, “There are two horses tethered in the shed. Is either yours?”

  “Nay, they belong to those two gents.” Condon frowned. “They said they were looking for two thieves who’d stolen something valuable. What do you say to that?”

  “They’re liars,” Rob said tersely. “They kidnapped my companion. I was sent to rescue her and bring her safely back to her family in England.”

  Condon examined Sarah’s face before nodding. “I believe ye, but I don’t want to get in bad with Free Eire. I’ll have to release them as soon as you leave.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tie you up also so their anger won’t fall on you. If you come into the house, I’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible.”

  Sarah uncocked her pistol and returned it to her saddlebag as Rob escorted Condon indoors. He returned a few minutes later. “I fed his dog at his request and tied him up on his bed so he’ll be all right. If the next travelers to come through are less than honest, they’ll pass on by and just be grateful there’s no keeper on duty.”

  Sa
rah was about to comment when they heard the sounds of an approaching vehicle. Rob tossed her his reins. “Get behind the house and I’ll tend the gate.”

  “You have many talents!” Sarah led their mounts out of sight just before a well laden wagon came round the bend. She dismounted and peered around the corner of the house, then watched as Rob took the toll and chatted with the driver as if he’d been doing the job for years.

  More travelers came through, a westbound man on a horse, and a pony cart heading east. It was a relief when the travelers left and the turnpike was quiet again.

  Rob returned, and led two saddled horses out of the shed. “We’re taking these horses. Not stealing them—they’ll be released down the turnpike. But I don’t want O’Dwyer and his minion to pursue us any time soon.”

  She was consorting with a horse thief. “Did you pay Mr. Condon four pence more for the additional horses?”

  Rob smiled. “Of course. Not paying tolls would be wrong.” Holding the leads of the horses, he swung onto his own mount and led the way out to the turnpike. He set off at a fast trot, Sarah beside him and the two other horses behind.

  A quarter mile down the road, when they were out of sight of the tollhouse, he reined his mount in. “Time to switch to their beasts, ride fast until they’re tired, then release them and get back on our own horses.”

  Seeing the sense of that, Sarah dismounted from Boru. “How long do you think it will be until they resume their pursuit?”

  “Hard to say. Anywhere from half an hour to half a day.” Rob moved to the smaller of the borrowed horses and shortened the stirrups. “It won’t be long until someone goes inside the tollhouse to find Mr. Condon. It will take longer to release O’Dwyer and the other fellow since I handcuffed them to iron rings set in the walls of the shed. But after the cuffs are broken, they’ll find new mounts and be after us with their tails on fire.”

  Sarah swung up onto her temporary horse. “Can we reach Cork before they catch up with us?”