Angelfire

by Linda Lael Miller

  She rubbed her hands together in an effort to warm them; though it was near noon, the weather was still inordinately cold. Jamie, meanwhile, spoke quietly to both the horses, pausing to rub their soft muzzles and offer them lumps of sugar from the palm of his hand.

  Remembering the picnic basket Carra had so grudgingly provided at the farm that morning, Bliss felt a sudden and keen hunger. She found the wicker box and lifted it out of the wagon.

  “By all means, Duchess,” Jamie said, watching her with a laughing tenderness in his eyes, “help yourself.”

  Bliss felt her cheeks grow hot. It seemed to her that Mr. McKenna was forever pointing out some lapse in her deportment. She made no apologies—it was too late for that, after all—before opening the basket’s wicker lid and taking out a thick sandwich wrapped in a plain cloth napkin.

  “This Zate fellow—does he have any idea how much it’s going to cost to feed you?”

  Bliss did not appreciate this observation. She ignored it and took a bite from her sandwich, which contained cheese, butter, and sliced chicken.

  Jamie left the horses to join her at a little distance from the road, bending to lift a sandwich of his own from the basket. His eyes sparkled with quiet humor as he unwrapped the food. “A man’s got to take his food when he has the chance,” he observed companionably. “How you can eat like a prize bull and stay so skinny is beyond me.”

  Bliss nearly choked. “Skinny!” she cried, choosing to overlook the fact that she’d just been compared to a farm animal. “I am not skinny!”

  The azure eyes slid lingeringly down the front of Bliss’s ragged old coat and back to her throbbing face. “You’re not fat, either,” he returned, in a strange, husky voice that had a distracted sound to it. Having made this observation, he finished eating and shuffled Bliss toward the wagon just as she was unwrapping her second sandwich.

  Without so much as a by-your-leave, he lifted Bliss off her feet, fairly flinging her back into the wagon seat.

  “It’s time we were moving along,” he said, quite unnecessarily, as he climbed up beside her and took the reins into his hands.

  Bliss was just catching her breath, and embarrassed color mottled her cheeks. “It is,” she began, “most distracting the way you keep grabbing me up like a sack of beans and putting me wherever strikes your fancy!”

  He made a startling sound meant to spur the horses on and chuckled grimly at Bliss’s leap of surprise. “You’d be amazed at what strikes my fancy, Duchess,” he said.

  Bliss could think of no proper response to that, so she kept her peace and quietly consumed her sandwich.

  A pale sun was just setting over the sea when the inn came into sight. Bliss had been riding on that hard wagon seat for hours, cold to the very marrow of her bones, and she had a wild, soaring hope that Jamie would stop for the night.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, in sheer relief, when her escort guided the horses through the inn’s wide gateway.

  Two grinning stableboys appeared immediately to attend to the tired horses, greeting Jamie with simultaneous cries of, “Good evenin’, Mr. McKenna!”

  Ignoring Bliss for the moment, Jamie climbed down from the wagon bed and handed each of the grubby boys a coin. Even though he had to be almost as stiff and sore as Bliss was, he moved with his usual subtle ease.

  Presently, after a chat with the lads, he came to Bliss’s side of the wagon and extended his strong arms to her. She moved into them without hesitation, too weary to rebel.

  In the warm, well-lighted interior of the inn, other travelers, mostly men, sat at long tables, drinking ale and consuming succulent venison pies for supper.

  Bliss’s stomach grumbled, and she lifted her chin at the sound of Jamie’s chuckle. The man missed nothing.

  Once Jamie had guided her to a smaller table, not far from the huge fireplace, Bliss moved to take off her coat. Remembering the low-cut evening dress beneath, however, she hesitated.

  A heavy, lumbering man with coarse lips and a bulbous nose approached the table. He wore a stained apron over his broad middle, but his eyes were friendly as he glanced at Bliss and then greeted Jamie. “’Ello, mate, and welcome. Tea for the lady?”

  Jamie nodded, ordering a mug of ale for himself and two venison pies as well.

  Even though Bliss was ravenously hungry by that time, she resented Jamie’s blithe presumption in choosing her supper fare for her. “What if I’d wanted something different to eat?” she asked in a whisper, bending toward him.

  He smiled in the flickering light of the fire and the kerosene lamps. “Then you would’ve been out of luck, Duchess, because venison pie is all they serve here.”

  “Oh,” Bliss said, settling back as best she could. The truth was that the bench she was sitting upon was every bit as hard as the seat of Jamie’s wagon. It was a mercy, though, that it didn’t roll and pitch about; she couldn’t have borne much more of that.

  The tea was brought by a young woman with a lush figure and heavy brown hair that threatened to fall from its pins. Her full lips formed a pout as she inspected Bliss.

  “This your missus, then, Jamie boy?” she fussed.

  Bliss was about to interject a comment of her own when Jamie answered smoothly, “Aye, lass, this is me lovely wife. See we ’ave a good soft bed and a warm fire for the night, won’t you?”

  The “lass” was fuming as she walked away, but she was no angrier than Bliss.

  “How dare you introduce me as your wife and ask for a soft bed?” she hissed, her hand trembling as she reached out to pour herself a much-needed cup of tea.

  Jamie was unruffled. His ale had arrived with Bliss’s pot of tea, and he took a leisurely draft of the potion before replying, “These blokes aren’t the gentlemanly sort, sweetness. If they get the idea that you’re fair game, you and I are both going to have to fight for our honor.”

  Bliss felt a shudder move up her back as she risked a glance around the inn’s crowded main room. Now that she thought about it, it was odd that there were so many men about, considering how isolated the place was. “These men are—criminals?” she whispered.

  Jamie nodded solemnly. “Stay close to me, Duchess, and you’ll be safe enough.”

  Bliss was taking no chances. She didn’t look away from Jamie’s face as she lifted her teacup to her lips. “I’m not sharing a room with you,” she swore tremulously.

  Jamie grinned. The petulant serving girl, who said her name was Dorrie, had brought the meat pies, and their metal tins made a clanking sound as she slammed them down onto the table. She gave a little squeal and flinched, and Jamie’s grin grew wider as the cheap trollop giggled and scampered away.

  Despite the fact that Bliss had led a relatively sheltered life, she well understood what had happened, and she was furious. “You pinched her!” she accused, struggling to keep her voice low.

  Jamie only nodded, watching her in an insolent way that challenged her to protest.

  Bliss plunged her fork into the meat pie in front of her with a ferocious motion of her hand. “Libertine,” she muttered.

  Jamie shrugged and began eating his supper with zest. Too soon, the meal was finished and the simpering Dorrie was showing the way to their room. It was on the ground floor, toward the back of the inn; though small and cramped, and close to the kitchen in the bargain, it looked clean enough.

  Bliss eyed the one bed ruefully.

  “The bed’s real soft, gov’nor,” Dorrie was telling Jamie flirtatiously. “I’ve tested it meself.”

  “I’ll just bet you have,” Bliss interceded icily. “That will be all, and thank you very much.”

  Jamie handed the creature a coin and, after seeing her out, he leaned against the door and assessed Bliss with a flicker of mischief in his eyes. “Tired, Duchess?” he asked sympathetically.

  Bliss was exhausted, and every part of her body ached. “Yes. If you’ll just turn away, I’d like to get into bed.”

  After only a second’s deliberation, Jamie t
urned his broad back to Bliss and folded his arms. “Where am I supposed to sleep?” he asked reasonably.

  “In that chair, by the fire,” Bliss suggested, proceeding to tear off her coat and struggle out of the black silk evening dress beneath it. She was wearing only drawers and her petticoat, which she’d pulled up to cover her breasts, when she slipped into bed.

  She snuggled down beneath the covers and appeared to be sound asleep before her traveling companion could offer a reply of any sort.

  “God’s eyeballs,” Jamie muttered, looking grimly at the ladderback chair facing the fireplace. He was worn out, having spent much of the night before sitting straight up and all day traveling, and he’d been looking forward to stretching out on a mattress.

  Bliss shifted restlessly and made a crooning sound in her sleep, and Jamie went to the bedside and looked down at her. He felt tenderness, followed by a familiar, grinding ache in his groin, and he moved resolutely away. If he made love to the Duchess, he’d be no better than any of those bleeders out front, swilling ale and lying to each other.

  He considered visiting Dorrie—she’d taken pains to let him know where she slept and when she’d be through waiting tables—but immediately decided against it. Much as he might have wanted things to be different, he desired only one woman.

  One small, trusting, stubborn woman, misnamed Bliss.

  With a grin and a slight shrug, Jamie decided that one last mug of ale would serve to bring on a sound sleep. After glancing out the single window and taking one more look at Bliss, he left the room, closing the door and turning the key in the lock.

  Bliss was out of the bed and grasping for her clothes the moment she heard the click of Jamie’s key. The fact that she was locked in did not daunt her in the least.

  After buttoning her coat and snatching up her satchel, which Dorrie had brought in earlier, she hurried across the room. The window squeaked loudly as she raised it and climbed through the opening.

  Darkness greeted her as she leaped the short distance to the ground, and the smell of manure filled her nostrils. Making a face, Bliss crept around the corner of the inn and made for the road.

  Full of ale and ready to sleep standing up if he had to, Jamie hummed softly as he unlocked the door of the room he’d hired. The chill draft that struck him the moment he stepped inside told him everything he needed to know.

  Muttering a curse, he strode through the darkness to the window and slammed it closed. He knew the bed was empty without looking.

  Truth to tell, Jamie McKenna was tempted to let Bliss deal with her fate as it came to her. Whatever happened, it would serve her right.

  He was thinking these thoughts even as he checked to make sure his blade was still strapped to his side and snatched up his coat and hat. When he found Bliss Stafford, he vowed, he’d give her a talking-to she wasn’t likely to forget.

  If he found her.

  Not wanting to draw attention to himself and thus to Bliss’s disappearance, he left the inn through the kitchen, which was empty except for the two stableboys who’d greeted him on arrival. Neither of them dared question him.

  In the stable, he collected the fastest of his two horses, the sorrel, and helped himself to a saddle and bridle. He’d settle up with the innkeeper later, when Bliss was back at his side, safe and warm.

  For the first time since he’d left Ireland, Jamie McKenna permitted himself a silent prayer: Watch over her. Please, watch over her.

  It was cold and dark and the moon was a frigid sliver, high in the sky. Bliss looked back toward the inn with a certain longing, though only the faintest glow of its lights was visible now.

  With a sigh, she set herself toward Auckland and trudged on. She had only to think of America and the grand future she would have there; that would keep her going. For what seemed like hours, she put one foot in front of the other.

  In America, she promised herself, she would be happy. With her mother’s help, she would find a nice husband—a man she truly loved—and have children. Lots of children.

  Jamie McKenna’s handsome face loomed in her mind. By now he probably knew that she was gone; maybe, at that very moment, he was setting out to look for her.

  Bliss sighed. It wasn’t likely that Jamie would give chase. She’d been a trial to him from the very first, and he was almost certain to be glad that she was gone. He’d be happy enough to wash his hands of her, that he would indeed.

  A single tear, utterly unexpected, slipped down Bliss’s cheek, leaving a chilly trail. The wind was rising, and it nipped at her through her clothes.

  When she heard the horses in the distance, Bliss was relieved. Jamie had been worried about her after all. He’d organized a search party.

  The fact that the riders were coming from the wrong direction didn’t strike Bliss until she found herself face-to-face with a half-dozen bearded strangers. Their leader wore a hat low over his eyes and a sheepskin coat.

  Too late, Bliss realized what a terrible mistake she’d made by leaving the safety of Jamie McKenna’s side. She retreated a step, meaning to turn and run, but the man at the front of the pack had snatched her off the ground before she’d even completed the thought.

  She landed in the saddle in front of him with a painful thump, and her precious satchel toppled to the ground, forgotten.

  “You’d better let me go,” she warned, operating on sheer bravado. “My—my husband will come looking for me.”

  “Will he now?” the ringleader taunted, the smell of him filling Bliss with sickness and fear. “When he does, love, he’ll find you some the worse for wear.”

  Bliss knew it was hopeless to struggle. The stranger was holding her in an inescapable grasp, and he’d spurred his mount to a brisk gallop. Even if she managed somehow to free herself and jump, she would almost certainly be trampled to death by the horses following behind.

  Chapter 4

  THE MAN WHO HELD BLISS CAPTIVE SMELLED INCREDIBLY BAD. OF course, she reflected, the blighter’s personal hygiene was the least of her worries: she was being carried off into the night by a band of no-gooders, after all. She was cold, and she was weary.

  And she was scared—oh, so very scared. Even a lifetime of marriage to Alexander Zate would have been preferable to the experiences that probably lay ahead of her now.

  Unless she could escape.

  Too soon, the riders reached a camp, hidden away in what appeared to be a canyon. There was a fire burning, and shadowy forms encircled it. Gruff greetings were called out and the man who’d taken Bliss prisoner released her so suddenly that she slipped from the horse’s back to the ground.

  One of the murky shapes huddled near the fire solidified into a man. “What’s this? A lass?” He cupped a hand under Bliss’s chin and she twisted away from him.

  “Leave me alone!” she warned.

  All the wastrels laughed. “Spirited little bit o’ baggage, ain’t she?” queried the man who’d carried Bliss in front of him in the saddle. He reached out to rest a hand on her tumbledown, tangled hair, and she sidestepped him, angry as a hissing cat.

  “Don’t you touch me!”

  Again, the dark camp seemed to rock with harsh laughter, and Bliss felt a choking terror as the full scope of the situation came home to her. The only weapon she had left was bravado, and she wielded it with the last shreds of her strength.

  “Jamie McKenna will cut your livers out for this!” she cried in a loud and tremulous voice.

  There was an unexpected silence, broken at last by the head cutthroat, the smelly giant in the sheepskin coat. “Who?” he asked, almost politely.

  “My husband,” Bliss answered, her chin high. “Mr. Jamie McKenna.” All right, maybe Jamie wasn’t her husband, she reasoned to herself, but this was no time to be splitting hairs. The situation was desperate.

  “Shit,” said the man who’d come forward from the fire to look Bliss over so insolently. “I don’t believe this.” He strode over to the giant and gave him a push. “Out of all the women
in New Zealand, you’ve got to pick McKenna’s to carry off?”

  All of the sudden, the camp was in a flurry of activity. Men were gathering belongings, saddling horses, riding away. Incredibly, within the space of a few minutes, Bliss found herself standing beside the fire, abandoned. Forgotten.

  Had circumstances been different, she would have considered it an affront. After pacing restlessly back and forth for a few minutes, Bliss finally sat down on a log and held out her hands to the campfire.

  Jamie’s arrival was hardly dramatic. He simply appeared out of the darkness, rounding the log and sitting beside Bliss.

  “Some help you were,” she said, with an offended sniff. “If it had been up to you to save me, I’d be in a sorry state by now, wouldn’t I?”

  “I’ve been around for a while,” he answered evenly. Bliss sensed that a struggle was going on inside him, but she didn’t care to explore the matter.

  She wondered if he’d heard her claim him as a husband, but didn’t voice the question. Instead, she sighed and said, “Well, I guess we’d better be getting back to the inn.”

  Jamie made no move to rise from the log, and his voice was frighteningly quiet. “Do you ’ave any idea what those men were plannin’ to do to you?”

  Bliss gulped a mouthful of air. “Yes. But I’m safe now, aren’t I? No thanks to you, I might add. At the very least, Jamie McKenna, you might have rescued me.”

  Jamie spread his hands wide, and even though Bliss had at last found the courage to look directly at him, she could not read his expression in the flickering light of the dying campfire. “There were a dozen of them. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  Roundly annoyed, Bliss flew to her feet. The rapid motion made her dizzy, but even as she swayed, Jamie caught her by the hand and wrenched her downward, so that she was sprawled across his lap. For an instant, she was too stunned to react.

  She felt the cold through her petticoat and drawers as he flung her coat and the skirt of her dress up, and in that moment the awful truth struck her. She was enraged, and began to twist and squirm, making a furious sound in the depths of her throat.