Devil's Lady

by Patricia Rice

  Mountjoy bowed his head. “She knows. My son wrote to her. I refused to acknowledge his letter or her pleas. I was not thinking of the child at the time.”

  Wesley frowned and returned his hat to his head. “We will find her, but the young woman does not belong here. I will not keep her from you, but I’ll see she has other alternatives.”

  Mountjoy ignored him, and taking this as dismissal, Wesley departed.

  ***

  Faith leapt down from her new sidesaddle, spread her green skirts and starched petticoats in an elegant curtsy, then stood up to offer a mischievous grin. “It is most ladylike, I’m certain, but I was growing used to riding astride.”

  Jack grinned. Her cheeks were twin spots of color in the brisk winter breeze, and her unruly hair was already escaping her prim braid to curl in wisps about her striking face. A child’s face ought to be round with baby fat, but hers was all angles and hollows, and only the wisps of curls softened it. He had the urge to cup her cheek and stroke the velvety texture of her skin, but he had already learned she shied away from even the most impersonal of touches.

  “’Tis a lady you’ll be someday, my cailin. I’ll not let you forget it. I’ll rub the mare down. You go play with your pots and pans.” Jack took the bridle from her hand.

  A shadow passed across Faith’s face. Not shying from his proximity as usual, she glanced diffidently to his horse. “Why do you not name the animals?”

  Jack’s fingers clenched the harness, but he did not allow his anger and hatred to spew over her innocence. He merely tugged one of her curls. “They’re all the same to me, lass. One’s worth slightly more than the other is all the difference. They go to market when the time is right. Someone else can name them.”

  Faith was slightly more perceptive than he gave her credit for. Daringly, she touched his knotted fist on the bridle, bobbed her head, and darted toward the cottage before he could misinterpret the gesture.

  In the month since she had been here, she had learned Jack to be a man of many complexities. She had never come to know another person so closely, and he fascinated her. It was a dangerous fascination, she realized.

  He rode abroad at night with sword and pistol at his side. No man did that without the stain of blood upon his hands. She never saw the coins or jewels he stole, but she knew that the food on their table, the roof over their head, and the clothes on her back came from his stolen bounty.

  She was living in sin as surely as if she had taken abode with the devil. She threw off her cloak and hung it on the peg and reached for the apron Jack had bought for her. Come warmer weather, she would have to leave. The memories of her icy tramp of a month ago were too harsh to try it again soon.

  The sun beaming through the window taunted her, but Faith resisted responding to the mockery. It could turn wet and cold at any minute, and she had no notion of how far away London might be, or where she would go when she got there. Sometime she would have to ask Jack.

  He came in just as she removed the heavy iron kettle from the fire. The first time he had seen her wielding those heavy pots, Jack had been tempted to take them from her. But she had a perverse pride in producing their meals without aid, and he was not one to add insult to injury. The pain in her eyes had dimmed, but seldom did he see the light of life either. He could only congratulate himself that she seemed stronger, and her hands seemed to be healing.

  Remembering his reasons for staying home, Jack grinned and threw off his gloves. “How would you like to go out tonight?”

  Faith set the pot down and gave him a curious look. “Go where?”

  He poured ale from the small keg he had brought home the previous week. “Go out. You have seen naught but my miserable face for this month or more. I thought you might wish to see others, although I cannot promise you other than more ugly mugs.”

  Faith stared at him in confusion. “Where would we go? I thought you had no neighbors. I thought...” She stumbled over the completion of that sentence.

  Jack knew the rest of her sentence and ignored its implications. “There’s an inn at the crossroads. Admittedly, it is not the kind of place for a young lady to visit, but ’tis the holiday season, and it seems a shame that you must spend it with just me. Perhaps there will be a coachload of interesting people on their way to London for the holiday. No one need know you. It will be harmless amusement.”

  Faith’s lips curved and she looked eager. “Is there no church hereabouts? I should think Christmas would be better observed in a place of worship.”

  Jack kept a grip on his patience. She was but a child. A tavern might appeal to the likes of him, but she knew naught of such things. “There’s nothing so holy in these environs, lass,” he admonished gently. “And I’m after thinking the church would not be liking the presence of a man like me.”

  “I should think if Jesus welcomed Mary Magdalen, he would welcome you. Have you ever been to a Wesleyan meeting?”

  That caught him by surprise, and Jack had the grace to grin. “Mary Magdalen, is it? I should turn you over my knee for such impudence. Cut me some of that bread before I starve.” He pulled up the barrel and sat down to fill his plate. “What do you know of Wesleyans? A ragtag lot of wailers is all I see.”

  “There is something wrong with expressing joy?” she asked. “Wesley is only trying to teach what the established church fails to make clear. It does little good to preach Oxford sermons to people who cannot even read. They need to bring order into their lives, find methods of salvation. They do not need the debates of John and Paul.”

  The father’s words tripped easily from the daughter’s tongue, Jack observed wryly, hiding his astonishment. Vaguely, he had known many of Wesley’s disciples were among the educated gentry, as was Wesley himself. He had just not associated this obviously very well-bred child with her precise speech and disciplined manners with the followers of that sect that were causing riots all across England.

  “You are very likely right, lass. I am not partial to the Church of England myself, but riots don’t seem to be a godly manifestation either.” Jack saw her face suddenly pale, and the knife of her pain twisted in his gut too. What on earth had he said to the child that could cause such anguish?

  She picked up her fork and stared down at the plate. “I think perhaps I should just stay here and pray. Do go without me, Jack. I’d not be in your way.”

  That was not at all what he wanted to hear. He reached across the table and forced her chin up until her watery gaze met his eyes. “I’d hear your reasons, Faith. I’ve not asked your story, as you’ve not asked mine. In this place, it is better not to know. But we have months of winter left to share, and I do not wish to watch you wither into an old crone before your time. You must get out or you’ll waste away. Why will you not go with me?”

  Faith shook her head from his grip. “It is not seemly to go about in public after a parent’s death,” was her only reply.

  His own church taught that, but it didn’t mean he had any faith in such niceties, any more than he had patience with a law that could steal from the poor and give to the rich. “You will go with me,” Jack commanded. “I have lost brother and sister as well as mother and father, but I will not pretend to be dead because they are.”

  Faith studied Jack, saw the ravages of old anguish in the subtle hues of his eyes, and felt their shared pain. It was an odd feeling, this sharing with a stranger what she had kept to herself. Something inside her reached out to him, and blinking away her tears, she nodded.

  Jack relaxed and returned his hand to his side of the table. “Will you tell me of your father?”

  “If you will tell me of yours.” Faith watched the sudden wariness leap to his eyes, then dissolve with his smile. Odd, the trust between them. Odd... but wonderful.

  “I’ll buy you an ale and we’ll weep in our cups tonight if you like.”

  The curve of his chiseled lips promised better than that, and Faith felt her spirits lift in anticipation.

  It would not
do at all to become enamored of a rogue like Jack, Faith thought some hours later as the thick atmosphere of the local taproom enveloped her. Her ire at being introduced to the company as Jack’s niece still rankled, but she had held her tongue still at the laughter that had ensued.

  It was apparent that many of these men were acquainted with “Black Jack,” as they called him. She did not wish to imagine what they thought of her. The square-necked gown and kerchief that Jack had bought for her covered her with all modesty. There was naught there to indicate she was more than a child.

  At Jack’s request she had pinned her curls beneath the scrap of lace he had presumed to call a cap, but she did not fool herself into thinking this made her look older. There were children in this room right now who were taller than she.

  So she sat politely silent at the planked table by the hearth where Jack’s friends and acquaintances came and went, and enjoyed the sight and sound of other people without thinking a single comprehensible thought.

  In truth, she felt almost numb from the barrage of sensations. The smoke-thickened air bore the odors of dirty hearth, ale, boiled beef, and unwashed bodies. The din of several dozen voices lifted in talk and argument bombarded her ears. Upon occasion, someone sawed on a fiddle or whistled through a mouth harp, and drunken song would erupt.

  She disliked the bitter ale Jack bought for her but savored the hot chocolate and meat pie he ordered later. She would have liked to recommend more onion, salt, and thyme in the pie, but the saucy maid who served them intimidated her.

  Faith watched as this “Molly” bent daringly over Jack’s shoulder to pour his ale. She could see straight down the odious servant’s loose bodice, and she averted her eyes to escape the sight of plump white breasts. Jack, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the view immensely, and she could have kicked him for his laughing chatter.

  Amusement still lit Jack’s eyes as Molly flounced away and he turned back to Faith. “Is there something the matter with your chocolate, lass?”

  Faith refused to respond to his charm. She lifted her cup and took a sip and watched the boy trying to pop chestnuts in the fire. “It is quite grand, thank you.”

  Her polite use of his usual demonstrative adjective made his eyebrows go up farther. “Grand, is it, now? Shall I call Molly to bring you another?”

  All manner of naughty things leapt to Faith’s tongue. She was horrified at the answer she almost gave, but the appearance of one of Jack’s friends halted her in time. When he slid onto the bench across from them, she merely set her cup down and donned a sweet smile.

  Jack gave her smile a suspicious look, then turned his attention to the curly-haired youth who beamed across at them. The red-haired sprout could not have seen his nineteenth year, but, a product of the city slums, he hid a worldly cynicism behind that deceptive smile. Jack frowned as the boy turned his beaming gaze to Faith.

  “Aiee, an’ it’s a piece o’ the sun ye ’ave, Jack! Where did sich a bounder as yerself find sich fairness?”

  Jack sent a scowl at the lad’s exaggerated accent but grudgingly made the introductions. “Faith, this imp from Satan is known as High Toby, and from the name alone you should know to avoid the scoundrel.”

  Startled, Faith gave the boy a second look. He couldn’t be much older than herself. Surely he could not... But she saw the flash of irritation in his eyes at Jack’s words and hastily revised her opinion.

  “The name’s Toby, miss, Toby O’Reilly. Pay no attention to Black Jack. He’s just jealous of my charms and talents.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. O’Reilly.” Faith sent a glance askance to Jack. They had never exchanged last names. There had never been a need to do so and several reasons why they should not. It seemed almost improper to know this boy’s name. In this den of thieves and rogues, surely it could not be wise.

  “You’ll hang for a tongue as loose as yours, O’Reilly,” Jack replied. “You should tell by her name that Faith’s none of us. She’s a proper lady, and I’ll see you treat her as such. Now, shut your mug and have a pint and pretend you’re a gentleman.”

  A lady! Not a child, but a lady. That comment alone took away Faith’s tongue. She knew Jack to be a man full grown, one with a vast amount of pride and confidence in himself. That he treated her with the respect accorded a lady made Faith sit a little straighter. He didn’t treat Molly as if she were a lady.

  “Ahh, she’s with you, Jack. If she ain’t peached on you, she’ll not peach on any of us. Give us a smile then, Faith, and don’t listen to this sod.”

  The situation made her uncomfortable, and she looked to Jack for guidance. Her parents had always protected her from the “unsuitable” elements, and she’d really never had much opportunity to talk with people her own age. She was much more comfortable in the company of adults, where she need only be silent and do as told.

  Jack’s attention was elsewhere, however. She followed his gaze to the tavern door, where a bull of a man swaggered in. As tall as Jack, but heavyset, he had the close-set eyes and pudgy features of a brute and a bully. There were other large men in this room, mostly scattered about at the far tables in the shadows, but none had the disturbing presence of this one.

  Faith glanced for the proprietor and found him nervously swiping glasses. With a room full of paying guests from the London coach, he had reason to be wary.

  “Who is he?” she whispered to Jack. Toby, too, turned to watch the new arrival.

  “An old acquaintance.” Jack lifted his mug and nonchalantly took a swig.

  The gesture seemed to rivet the bully’s attention on their corner, and to Faith’s dismay, he began elbowing his way across the room in their direction.

  “Well, now, if it ain’t my old friend Jack.” The enormous belly came to rest at eye level from where they sat.

  “You didn’t stay away long, Tucker. What brings you back?”

  “There’s the matter of a debt I owe. Want to step outside awhile so we can talk about it?” He leaned forward over the table, breathing heavily. His eyes narrowed at a glimpse of Faith hiding in Jack’s shadow. He grinned, revealing a missing tooth and several rotted ones. “Molly ain’t good enough for you anymore, you bring your own? Toby here can handle her while we talk.”

  Jack’s long legs brushed Faith’s skirts beneath the table as he leaned back and disdainfully lifted his mug again. “We have nothing to discuss, Tucker. This is my territory now. You’re trespassing. It’s Christmas and I’m inclined to be generous. Don’t push me any farther than that.”

  A flash of silver and Toby’s gasp clarified the situation. Faith stared in astonishment at the evil-looking dagger.The meat pie in her stomach churned and turned to lead. But then she felt Toby relax and grin, and she strained to see around Jack.

  It wasn’t until the innkeeper hurried toward them, and Jack shifted, that she saw the reason the bully had gone quiet.

  The huge black pistol in Jack’s hand was pressed against the man’s belly, while his finger rested on the trigger. Faith hadn’t known Jack wore the weapon. She gulped in fright and sank back into the corner. Nothing her parents had ever taught her could prepare her for this situation.

  “I don’t want no trouble,” the innkeeper intruded anxiously. “If you two would just carry the argument outside...”

  Jack’s pleasant response belied the black fury in his eyes. “There’s no argument, Nate. Tucker was just wishing us a happy holiday, weren’t you, my friend? He’ll be leaving now. It’s not sporting to make his wife a widow on Christmas.”

  “You’ll swing one of these days, Jack. Just see if you don’t,” the man spat angrily, returning the dagger to its hiding place.

  When he turned and strode out, Jack ordered another pitcher of ale just as if they had never been disturbed.

  But Faith had seen another facet of his character, one she had only suspected existed before.

  She shrank back in her corner and said nothing further. With her, Jack was all that was charming and kind, but
she had known a highwayman had to be ruthless. Until tonight she had not known what ruthless meant.

  Now she did. What would happen did he turn that hard side of his nature on her?

  She lifted her eyes to search his familiar face and found the icy glitter of his gaze staring back.

  Chapter 5

  “You will learn it or I’ll turn you over my knee and paddle some sense into you!”

  “I will not! Guns are horrid. Take that awful thing out of here.”

  Faith backed away from the long-barreled pistol in Jack’s outstretched hand. Ever since Christmas he had been rude and abrupt and impossible to talk to. Now he had come home with this new weapon and a determination to teach her its use, and she wanted no part of it. She could see anger in the taut pull of his jaw, but her fear of the gun was even greater than her fear of his anger.

  “I cannot leave you here alone with no way of defending yourself. You learn the pistol or leave. I’ll not be responsible for any more deaths.” Jack spoke curtly, throwing the heavy weapon down on the table between them.

  Faith turned terrified eyes to the sheets of white beating against the window. She couldn’t go out in that again. She was stronger now, but not that strong. Her gaze fell on the deadly weapon on the table, and she shuddered.

  The memory of what another such weapon had done returned crisp and clear: blood and death. Her gaze turned once more to the blinding snow and an equally unspeakable fate.

  Unwillingly, she faced the man holding the instrument of death. He loomed unnaturally large, forcing a decision, and with a whisper of protest, Faith slumped to the floor.

  Cursing, Jack caught her before she fell.

  She was still practically weightless in his arms, but she had added a little flesh in these last months. His hands closed over soft shoulders as he lowered her to the floor. In the interest of privacy, he had prepared a pallet for her in the loft some weeks ago, and he cursed the lack of bedding now. He grabbed a linen towel on the rack before the fire and folded it beneath her head.