Deirdre’s gaze narrowed on the man. “And you do?” She wanted to say more, to prod him along faster, but she didn’t dare. It would work best if he thought this was his idea.
Cofield nodded so vigorously it looked like it hurt. “Yes! I could sneak an entire garrison through those woods and he’d never know it.”
“Really?” Cat asked, disbelief evident in the lines on her face.
“Really, I can do it. I was a guide before Ainsworth made me do the things he did. And I was a good one.”
A pang of sadness worked at Deirdre, not for Cofield, but for all the lives Ainsworth had ruined in some way or another. She hadn’t known it was possible to dislike so intensely someone she’d never met.
“I don’t know about this. Snow will be covering the hills any day now,” Deirdre persisted.
Palms pressed together as if in prayer, Cofield held his hands up. “I’ll take you through this very moment if you wish. Just to the northeast of Ainsworth’s property, on the other side of the hill, is a rancher who I know would sell you timber. We could probably get three loads over the hills before the snow falls,” he said, so fast his words tumbled over each other.
Cat pretended to exchange a doubtful look with Rick. Cofield looked up at him. “And I’ll keep taking you so long as the weather allows.” His gaze shot back to Cat and he put on a pitiful look. “I only need somewhere to hole up for the winter, somewhere Ainsworth won’t find me.”
Rick let out a long breath. “We like Ainsworth even less than we like you. I suppose we have a hatred of him in common now. I have a small hunting cabin in the hills of me property. If you really can deliver, I guess we could hide you there for the winter,” he said.
Peering through his scraggly hair at Rick, Cofield asked, “Is it secluded?”
“Aye, ’tis nestled deep in the birch and hemlock. No one knows ’tis there.”
Head darting every which way to take them all in, a nervous grin split Cofield’s face. “We have an agreement then. I will do this for you and you will hide me through the winter. I’ll deliver, you won’t be disappointed.”
Fists clenched, Cat took a step closer to him. “I’d better not be, or we’ll turn you out for either the wolves or Ainsworth to get—and this time, I’ll be sure they finish the job. You know I’ll do it,” she said in a voice so chilly it made bumps rise on Deirdre’s arms.
The man looked to Deirdre, and she gave him a grin filled with dark promise. Cofield’s throat worked hard. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”
Leaves fluttered as Rick leaped down from his horse. He drew a large, curved hunting knife from his belt and approached Cofield. Breath coming in short gasps, the smaller man cowered. “We had better not be,” Rick snapped.
In one fast slash, he cut the bonds from Cofield’s wrists. The man’s eyes closed for such a long moment, Deirdre thought he might faint. Ignoring him, Rick handed the reins of his buckskin horse to Cat. She nodded. He helped her into the saddle, hand lingering on her leg as he gave her a meaningful look. Face going hard once again, he turned to Cofield, who had finally opened his eyes. “You’ll ride with me in the carriage. ’Tis best to keep you out of sight.”
The man’s eyes fixed on the shining blade of Rick’s knife as he twirled it while walking to the carriage. Twice, Cofield tripped and nearly fell, but he never took his eyes off that blade. Deirdre wished she could have been a fly on the wall of that carriage. Still, she couldn’t help but fear they may have made a deal with a demon to try and outwit the devil.
Chapter 13
Dylan put on his most charming smile as he rapped on one of the massive double doors of Ainsworth’s house. His scarred and calloused knuckles made a succession of loud booms that echoed through the quiet place. The patter of small, feminine feet soon sounded on the stone floor within. A moment later, the front door opened. In the open doorway stood a petite Hispanic woman wearing an apron. Her long, dark hair was swept up into a bun, and pretty eyes made Dylan fear she likely was expected to do more than just clean Ainsworth’s house.
“Can I help you?” she asked in impeccable English that held the barest hint of an accent. Of course, the bastard would have demanded no less from his help. Dylan struggled to hold his smile as his mind conjured up the horrors this woman likely had to endure at Ainsworth’s hands.
Not having a hat to doff, he instead dipped his head in a deep bow to her. “Most certainly, lovely lass. I have news for Mr. Ainsworth. May I speak with him?”
Her cheeks twitched as if she wanted to smile but couldn’t quite recall how. It was as he had feared; she wasn’t used to compliments. Sad as it was, that would make this far easier.
“I’m afraid he is out with the cattle. You’ll have to come back,” she said, reaching for the door.
Of course, Dylan had known he was out with the cattle, along with all of his ranch hands. It was precisely why he had chosen this moment. Frowning, he put on a fear-filled look. “Oh, well, you see, he told me to come straight away with this news. He’ll be angry as a badger if I don’t get it to him the moment he returns.”
A sympathetic look filled her eyes, and she nodded. “I understand. You can wait here on the porch.”
Dylan’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. “I’m afraid that’d be a bad idea. You see, Mr. Ainsworth doesn’t want anyone to see me delivering this news. Waiting in his study, so he is the first to see me, would be best.”
Again she nodded, adding a sigh as if this didn’t surprise her in the slightest. “Ah, that kind of news. In that case, right this way.”
Taking note of each hallway and door in the open layout of the sprawling cabin, he followed the housekeeper to Ainsworth’s study. Rugs woven in patterns favored by the Cherokee covered the polished wooden floor. It surprised Dylan to see them. On many occasions, he had heard Ainsworth express a dislike for any culture that wasn’t English. But then, he supposed, just like the young woman hunched in on herself walking before him, Ainsworth appreciated things he felt he had dominated.
Down a long hall, the housekeeper opened the second door to the left. Finely crafted bookshelves lined three walls, while a large window dominated the fourth. Sunlight poured through the glass to bathe a monstrosity of a desk that looked like it had been hewn from one solid piece of oak. A huge wingback chair with plush upholstery that resembled a throne sat on the far side of the desk, and a small, straight-backed chair sat on other. The housekeeper gestured to the small, uncomfortable-looking chair.
Still holding his smile in place, Dylan sat. “Thank you kindly, lass.”
Gaze cast down, the woman began to back out of the room. “You are welcome. I will bring tea if he has not returned at the hour,” she said.
“That would be wonderful, thank you.”
His gaze flicked toward the clock mounted on the wall above the window. Twenty minutes until the top of the hour. That should be plenty of time. The moment the door latch clicked closed behind the housekeeper, Dylan was on his feet. Not so much as a paperweight cluttered the top of Ainsworth’s desk. Keeping one eye on the pasture that sprawled outside the window, Dylan dashed behind the desk and pulled open the first drawer. Parchment, an ink pot, and two quill pens perfectly placed were all he found.
Mounted beneath the top drawer he found a pistol. Only half the chambers of the six-shooter were filled. He spun the cylinder so the bullets occupied the last three chambers. One never knew when one would need a head start. This was Ainsworth, after all. Nothing else of interest occupied the immaculately organized desk drawers. Dylan moved on to the bookshelves. He perused every single book carefully, even checking behind them to make sure nothing lay hidden. Still nothing.
A glance at the clock told him he had only ten minutes left before the housekeeper returned.
On a whim, he returned to the desk. The hollow sound of the floorboards beneath his boots drew his attention. H
e pulled back the blue-and-red woven rug. A small but distinct groove had been cut into one of the boards. Breath held, he lifted it. Several boards came up as one, a door of sorts. Beneath lay another door, this one iron, and boasting a complicated-looking lock. Dylan grinned. It had to be in there.
Lucky for him, he had a knack for unlocking things. As he reached for the lock, he heard Ainsworth’s voice raised in anger. A loud slap followed. Dylan leaped up, repositioned everything precisely as he had found it, and all but flew back to the chair on the other side of the desk. The chink of spurs accented the clip-clop of heavy bootheels coming down the hall. Heart pounding, Dylan relaxed back into the chair, rested the ankle of his right leg on the knee of his left, and crossed his arms over his chest. He slouched a bit and let his head hang as if he’d been catching a nap.
The door to the office flew open hard enough to slam against the bookcase behind it. Ainsworth strode in, lips pulled back from his teeth like a snarling animal. Dylan sat upright with a start, feigning grogginess. Some of the ire drained from Ainsworth’s eyes, only to be replaced by hunger.
“You have information for me?” he asked as he closed the door.
“I do.” He hadn’t wanted to divulge anything, but he’d also come prepared.
Ainsworth strode over and sat on the edge of his desk. “Well, out with it.”
“This Saturday O’Leary is taking the Quinn and MacMurphy woman on a shopping trip,” Dylan began.
Ainsworth’s dark brows pinched together, but a sinister interest darkened his eyes. “And why should this interest me?” he asked in a tone that made it clear he knew there was more to it.
“Because of the size of the wagon they’re taking.”
A languid, serpentine smile worked its way across Ainsworth’s lips. “One big enough to haul logs in.”
“That’s what it sounded like. They clammed up as soon as they knew I was within earshot.”
The humorless laugh that burped from Ainsworth made Dylan’s skin crawl. “Good work, Mick! Stay close, earn their trust. Find out all you can.”
Dylan nodded and kept his gaze on the ground, allowing his blond locks to fall down and hide the anger scorching a crimson trail across his cheeks. The racial slur was almost more than he could take, especially coming from an Englishman. But this Englishman had something he desperately needed. Until he had it back in his hands, Dylan had to play along. Lives depended on him keeping a cool head.
“I will.”
Laughing, Ainsworth turned to the shelf behind his desk that held a whiskey decanter. With the man’s mood having turned so good, Dylan decided to press his luck just a bit.
“About Victoria’s rent…” he trailed off.
Amber liquid sloshed into a glass so clear it had to cost a week’s wages. Dylan remained silent while Ainsworth smelled the whiskey, took a long, slow drink, and lowered the glass. All the while he fantasized about strangling the man with his own belt. It helped to keep the anger at bay.
“Consider it paid for the month,” Ainsworth finally said.
Relief pulled a long breath from Dylan, and he let Ainsworth hear it because he knew it would feed the man’s ego. “Thank you,” he answered simply, unable to debase himself any further than that.
Ainsworth peered at him over the top of his glass. “Keep the information flowing and the old bat will keep living rent-free.”
Lips pulled tight in the best semblance of a smile he could manage, Dylan nodded. Taking another long drink, Ainsworth turned to gaze out the window, effectively dismissing him. Dylan strode from the room as fast as would be considered polite. He couldn’t get out of the man’s presence fast enough. Ainsworth’s dark presence followed him like an oil on his skin he wouldn’t be able to wash off.
Chapter 14
The day spent shopping with Kinan and Sadie turned out to be far more pleasant than Deirdre imagined it would be. Kinan was insufferably proper and polite, as she feared he would be, but he was also gracious and thoughtful. In a surprising manner that went completely against her nature, Sadie took every opportunity to leave the two of them alone.
To Deirdre’s disappointment, Kinan’s gentlemanly manners remained flawless. Not even her scandalously low-cut bodice seemed to sway him. She had so been hoping it would. But his eyes never so much as strayed down to her cleavage. Though he took every opportunity to touch her hand or back while helping her in and out of the wagon, the gloves he wore made the touch far less intimate than she would have liked. And those touches never lingered longer than was proper.
Regardless, she had a good time. Their conversations on astronomy and exotic cultures stimulated and engaged her. Not only did he ask for her thoughts and opinions, but he leaned close when she answered, listening eagerly to her ideas. Throughout the day, he indulged their every whim, taking them to some shops they hadn’t even thought to ask to stop at, and he carried all their packages without complaint, never once asking their driver to do it for him.
He couldn’t have been more different from Deirdre’s late husband. Unless, of course, he accepted her secret and did not judge her for it. But that was a trestle over a gaping chasm she wasn’t sure she was willing to cross yet.
They stacked the huge wagon from boards to arched canvas cover with all manner of things: bolts of fabric, ribbons, thread, glassware, furniture, and presents for both the holiday and the wedding. Not an ounce of space remained when they set out to return to Goldenvale.
Beside Deirdre, Sadie reclined amid a bundle of blankets that cocooned her sleeping form like a butterfly in the making. Though she pretended differently, it was no longer exhaustion that made Sadie sleep, but rather yet another attempt to leave Deirdre and Kinan as alone as possible. She faked it rather well, even throwing in a little ladylike snore, but Deirdre knew better. The way Sadie stretched out forced her and Kinan to sit so close their legs and shoulders touched. His body was hot as warming coals placed beneath the covers on a cold night. The thought made her wish he’d slide beneath the cover that spread over her lap.
He relaxed against her, leaning over every now and then as they conversed. Each time he did so, her heart beat a little harder. Had his breathing sped up, or was her hopeful mind simply imagining it? As the first buildings of town rose up on either side of the road, he moved away a bit.
“Some think the patterns of stars can affect things just as the moon affects the tides,” Kinan said.
The concept fascinated Deirdre. “Do you believe such things?” she asked.
He nodded. “I do indeed. I believe there is much we can learn from the stars.”
Head tilting to the side as it did when something occurred to her, Deirdre said, “I think the people in your books and tapestries likely believed such things. They seemed enamored of the stars.”
Kinan’s eyes lit up and his expression became impassioned. The look tugged at something deep inside her. “They were. They believed you could learn many things from the stars, even divine the future from them. I have a book on the subject you may find interesting.”
She lay her hand atop his where they clutched the reins. His gaze darted about to the houses set back on either side of the road as if afraid someone might see. The road remained empty save for them for at least another quarter mile, and the few people working out in their gardens weren’t looking their way. At least not now, and Deirdre didn’t care if they did. She didn’t let go of his hand.
She decided it was time to be a bit more direct. “Are you so worried about what others think, about the proper rules of society and courtship?” she asked.
He stuttered and stumbled over his words for a moment before finally breaking into a large smile. “Actually, I just want you to know all about me before we start anything serious. Which, I would very much like to start,” he said, voice dropping an octave at the last part in a sultry way that resonated through her.
Could h
e possibly mean what she hoped he meant? “In that case, tell me all about yourself.” If confiding in her was all that held him back from being more amorous, then she wanted it done and out of the way. She could imagine nothing short of him having worked in a French whorehouse or fighting for the Rebels that would change how much she was drawn to him. And the likelihood of either was slim, even considering how close to Canada they were. That thought made her grin as she pictured him working in a French whorehouse.
“All right. Well, uh…I am…” his hesitant words halted.
At first, she thought him merely building the dramatic tension. The wide-eyed look of surprise on his face only made her think so more. She gave his arm a playful slap, hand lingering afterward. The swell of a biceps under her fingers made them explore farther down his arm. But when he didn’t go on, or look at her after a long moment, she followed his gaze.
Two men sat beneath the covered awning of the sheriff’s building that their wagon had just started to pass. The man with a friar-like bald spot that shone even in the muted sunlight was easily recognizable by the shining star pinned to the left breast of his coat. His arms crossed over his paunch, which spilled so substantially over his pistol belt that Deirdre didn’t think he’d be able to draw the weapon.
It was the second man that held Kinan’s fierce gaze. The intense look the other man gave them made her skin feel like bugs crawled across it. Long, spindly legs stretched out before the man as he lounged back in his chair, leather boots crossed. One hand held a cup to his lips, the other rested on the butt of a very large pistol. Calculating eyes stared at them from beneath the brim of a leather hat.
So intent was she on watching the second man, that the wagon coming to a halt took her completely by surprise. She jerked forward on the bench, stopped only by Kinan’s arm reaching across her. Thankfully, Sadie had been nestled into the bench so securely that it barely jostled her. Her head popped up from the bundle of blankets, eyes wide and fully aware.
Deirdre's True Desire Page 14
