His obvious reluctance to go near the legal system raised an amused look from the judge. “I’ll look into that for you. If this Montague chit is being held for ransom, I want to know it. And you’re telling me this Black Jack is the most likely perpetrator. If he hasn’t committed a crime since June, but hasn’t collected the ransom either, he must be getting a trifle hungry. Do you think he can be tempted out of hiding?”
Watson looked relieved at Fielding’s quickness. “Yes, sir, I do believe so, sir. A word or two in the right place, and he’s bound to hear it. There’s no promise that another rogue or two might not make the same attempt, but I reckon Black Jack can be told from all the others. They say he has a gentleman’s ways, though he looks like something straight from hell.”
The judge nodded. “It’s still out of my jurisdiction. Find his fence and catch him there, and he’s ours.”
That was no easy task, but Watson had a few ideas along that route too. After exchanging a few final words, he bowed out with his hopes buoyed. No highwayman could resist a fortune in jewels, and jewels were so easy to trace.
***
Morgan carried in the last bucket of water to place over the fire and glanced to Faith’s blanket-clad figure standing beside the bed. His body tightened in a protest of denial. Her heavy hair fell in a wicked waterfall of russet curls over her bare shoulders and down breasts concealed by the rough wool. Small bare feet and a well-turned ankle peeped out from beneath the concealing blanket. It had been well over six weeks since he had enjoyed the pleasures she kept hidden, and he didn’t think he could last much longer.
Thinking of another time when she had come from bathing straight into his arms, Morgan felt the sweat break out on his brow. He didn’t know if she was well enough now to take him, but his vow to keep her safe restrained his lust. He would have her installed somewhere with servants before he put her through that hell again.
“If you have all you need, lass, I’ll be going down the road a ways for a while. Will you be all right here alone?”
Faith looked at him in surprise. She had wondered at his staying home this long. Now he asked her permission just to go down the road? Did this mean he had truly turned over a new leaf and meant to become a law-abiding citizen? If so, he had said naught to her about it.
She offered a tentative smile. “I’ll not be needing you to wash my back, if that’s what you ask. Do you think you could ask Mr. Whitehead if I might go back to my duties soon?”
“You’ll not be going back there. I have other plans, but you’ll have to wait. There’s plenty for you to do here, and we don’t need the few coins the bastard pays you.”
The small bundle of coins she kept wrapped in a handkerchief had become a bone of contention these last days. She had wanted to pay Morgan for some new shoes and a bit of cloth to replace the chemise that had been ruined. His refusal had been so adamant that it had left her shaken, but not shaken enough to accept his offer to buy the articles for her. Every time they turned around, they seemed to be stumbling over some new obstacle in their odd relationship. It had been easier when she had been his mistress.
Faith held back her anger. Morgan had done too much for her to snap at him for his hardheadedness, and he had been the soul of gentleness in her care these last weeks. She owed him much, and she raised a daring hand to his shirt sleeve. “Don’t let’s start on that, Morgan. Go have your ale and say hello to Toby for me. Tell him again he’s a fool for staying.”
Moving away from her hand, he nodded curtly. “I’ll leave you in peace, then. I’ll bring home a meat pie so you needn’t cook.”
Faith watched him go with aching heart. He no longer wanted her, that much was obvious. What were his plans, then? Perhaps he had found her a better position in a private house, but he was reluctant to let her go. That would explain much.
Giving up on second-guessing Morgan, Faith dropped the blanket and dipped her hair in the warm water in the basin. If ever she were rich, the first thing she would buy was a tub like she had heard of for bathing the whole body. A maid to wet her hair and rinse it would be lovely too. But Morgan’s dreams weren’t hers. She would never be rich.
***
Morgan rode to the Bull and took some solace in the all-male company. The new tavern maid wasn’t as saucy as Molly, although he’d heard her favors could be bought just as easily. He eyed her lissome figure from afar but kept his attention on the conversation around him. Faith would hear of it if he strayed, and he wasn’t seriously tempted. The maid didn’t look overly clean, and he had grown discriminating in his old age.
Toby’s vivid description of some jewels to be had for the taking flew by his ear, but the lad’s mention of the Montague name swung Morgan’s head around. He frowned fiercely and grabbed the lad by the collar. “Repeat that, but without the glory, boy. What jewels and what Montague?”
Toby looked surprised, but he obliged. “A fortune in emeralds, they say. The heir to the Montague fortune is to be betrothed, and they’re his gift to his future bride. The fools think they’re going to smuggle them right beneath our noses, but every thief in London knows about them by now.”
The damned arrogant, presumptuous Sassenach thought to marry and continue the line, did he? Morgan sat back in his seat and let his thoughts wander while he absorbed the details Toby spouted for all to hear.
The man had more money than was good for him, and he would deny Faith both family and fortune to keep it all for himself. That was typical Sassenach behavior, the kind of behavior that caused them to take all of Ireland for themselves and leave the other ninety-five percent of the population to starve. It was no comfort to know that they treated their own the same. The only comfort was in knowing that with Faith, he possessed the wedge to pry into that noble five percent. A bitter smile edged Morgan’s lips.
The Lord had provided this opportunity. It was the same as saying, “Here, my son. Take this wealth that belongs to your bride and make her happy with it.”
Perhaps it was sacrilege to put words in the mouth of the Lord, but Morgan was content with it. Just this one haul, and he could set Faith up in a terrace house in London, lavish her with gowns and servants, and persuade her to be his bride. He didn’t know which he wanted more: Faith in his bed or the shock on Montague’s face when he arrived with Faith on his arm.
But first, the emeralds. With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Morgan shoved himself from the table. “I don’t know about you lads, but the job looks a setup to me. If all the thieves in London know if it, someone has told them. And the one who’s told them has to come from the house itself. I wager the jewels are already gone, and someone wants us to take the blame. Give Molly my regards if you see her. I’m off now.”
He strode out, leaving a disappointed Toby behind. From up the stairs, Morgan caught the wail of a babe, and he hesitated for just a moment. He’d heard Molly had popped hers. It wouldn’t do to have Faith find out. The reminder would be too cruel.
Later that evening, Faith watched in trepidation as Morgan donned his frilled shirt and black coat and polished his boots to a gleam. Unable to watch without trying to stop him, she squared her shoulders and approached as he rose from the chair.
“Morgan.”
He turned as she rested her hand against his waistcoat. He said nothing.
Faith hid her grimace at his silence. A silent Morgan was dangerous. She slid her hand beneath the embroidered waistcoat to the fine lawn of the shirt beneath. “I don’t want you to go to London tonight, Morgan. Stay with me?”
She had never gone to him like this, not even when he had taken her to his bed nightly. She prayed she could sway him.
Morgan caught her chin and pressed a swift kiss to her lips. “Don’t, cailin, or we’ll both regret it. I’ll be back. Tempt me then.”
He caught his cloak and swung out of the house. The crash of something breakable followed him out, but Morgan didn’t turn back. His Faith was alive and well, and he grinned at the night. Soon he would make h
er a princess.
He had verified the story with his sources. He had checked for a trap. He hadn’t believed even the Montagues could be such fools as to carry a fortune in jewels by carriage without outriders. He was right. But it was easy enough to buy off the guards and have them far behind when the carriage reached the darkest turn in the road.
The driver and footman were armed, but Black Jack hadn’t earned his reputation by shooting innocent victims. He waited in the shadows of the trees, the well-trained stallion standing motionless as he wrapped the satin cloak to hide the gleam of his shirt. As the rumble of the approaching coach came closer, he raised the thin wire across the road. One for his faerie, he murmured as the coach came racing down the highway.
The driver screamed as the wire caught him full across the chest and he tumbled forward, loosing the reins. The guard at his side lost the blunderbuss he was carrying as the wire caught his arm and wrist. He grabbed for the weapon as he started falling, but the flash of silver and the wicked laugh from atop a great black beast bearing down on him made him flinch from his goal.
And then it was too late, the reins appropriated by the laughing highwayman, weapons gone, and the coach halted and vulnerable for whatever depredations awaited.
Cloak blowing in the breeze, the highwayman ordered his victim from the carriage. He hid his surprise behind his mask as a bulky figure garbed in gentleman’s clothes and wig awkwardly lowered himself from the vehicle. He had hoped for the dark-haired devil, but this broad giant made an interesting spectacle.
Black Jack grinned at the man studying him. “You aren’t afraid like the others. Are you waiting for some showmanship to convince you to release that pouch you’re carrying?”
The giant shrugged. “My life is worth more than gold. Have it your way if you will, but do not think you’ll get away with it. I’ll have you behind bars before day is done. I give you this warning in all fairness.”
The highwayman laughed, a deep laugh that echoed on the darkness. “A fair Sassenach, by all that’s holy! I thank you for your warning, and if it’s not entertainment you want, hand over the pouch and I’ll be disturbin’ you no more.”
The pouch was released and disappeared into the enveloping cloak. Before anyone could raise an alarm or move in any way, the black horse and rider reared and swung into the woods, blending into the surrounding nighttime like a wisp of smoke. Only the parting scream of the stallion from a distance gave away the fact that they had been robbed by more than a phantom.
Chapter 21
Faith paced the cottage floor, rubbing her arms and occasionally glancing toward the open window. This nervousness was just a reaction to Morgan’s unaccustomed absence, nothing more. She had grown used to his rising before her, lighting the fire, carrying in the water. He had been underfoot constantly these past weeks. It felt very strange not to look up and see those green eyes watching her, that dent beside his mouth forming as he laughed at some of her ways.
He had been quieter than usual since she lost the child, and his laughter didn’t come as easily. She rather missed the laughing, charming rogue, but this other Morgan had stolen what remained of her heart. She wanted to comfort him when the dark shadow passed over his face. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and weep on his shoulder and let him find the comfort they both needed. She wanted to hear his moan of pleasure again. She wanted to hear him laugh with joy. She wanted him.
Faith slapped her hands against her arms and strode determinedly outside to see to the horses. She loved him, with all her heart and soul, she loved him. But he thought only of his bloody revenge and the wealth he would accumulate by robbing the rich. She knew that and accepted it. Why romanticize what could never be? Morgan was an unhappy man despite his laughing charm. She wasn’t the cause or the cure for his unhappiness. She was beginning to believe only the gallows would end his memory of the past. But she couldn’t leave him.
She had to be there to see that he returned. He had to return to see that she was still here. They could grow to hate each other this way, but neither would know how to part.
But now that he had returned to his profession, Faith could see no reason why she shouldn’t return to hers. That thought struck blindly as she watched the foal romping in the paddock with his mother. She wasn’t confined to these yards by fences and stalls. Morgan could be gone for days. He hadn’t obeyed her wishes when he left. Why should she obey his?
Taking a deep breath of determination, Faith finished her tasks and went to pin up her hair. She would see if Whitehead would take her back. There might come a time when she needed to earn honest coins. She refused to think that the time might already have come.
Once at the inn, Faith glanced around the lobby and read the signs of disrepair with distaste. Whitehead had not hired help in her place; that much was obvious. When he hurried out at her call, she merely nodded and asked for her apron. He looked terrified, and she didn’t need to ask why. Morgan had been here, but he would soon learn that she had a life of her own. She had been the obedient little girl for too long.
The proprietor dubiously allowed Faith to return to her old tasks. The first day, he kept a nervous eye on the doorway, expecting Morgan to show up at any minute, breathing fire and waving his blade. But when Faith left alone at her appointed hour, he welcomed her return on the following day.
After that first day, however, Faith had doubts about returning. The cries of Molly’s infant had wrung her heart the first time she heard him. She had avoided the third-floor attic where Molly slept, but when the cries continued and she knew Molly to be flirting with the butcher in the kitchen, Faith had climbed the stairs to rescue the little fellow. Her heart had crumbled into a million pieces at the sight of him.
He was so tiny and helpless, so perfect in every way. Faith changed his wet cloth and wrapped him in the blanket beside the bed and lifted him from the box where he slept. He quieted instantly, and his big brown eyes tried to focus on her as if to ask who she was and what she was doing there.
Faith smiled, and his mouth formed a funny little grimace that tore her heart from her chest. She hugged him, and he babbled contentedly. Tears flooded her eyes, and an emptiness yawned in her center, big enough to swallow her whole.
It wouldn’t do. She couldn’t become attached to Molly’s babe. Faith carried the infant downstairs to hand to his mother for feeding. Then she returned to sweeping in the upstairs chambers. She wasn’t married. It wasn’t proper to have babies without a home and father and security. God had told her that when he took away Morgan’s child.
But it was impossible to stop thinking of the child they had lost when she listened to Molly’s babe crying and fretting or laughing and cooing. The sounds ate at Faith during the day, as their absence destroyed her at night.
Or perhaps it was just Morgan’s absence that destroyed her nerves. She couldn’t believe he would leave her alone this long. She knew now that London was only a few hours away. She also knew that London was just a euphemism he used when he meant to ride out, but she didn’t think Morgan would go far just yet. Not this soon. He would worry about her. She knew he would.
The emptiness of the cottage brought tears to Faith’s eyes every time she returned to it. If it weren’t for the horses and the babe, she’d be tempted to stay at the inn.
The nights were growing chillier, and the bed seemed colder than it had all last winter. Why didn’t Morgan return?
Her thoughts were like nightmares chasing around inside her head. She couldn’t get rid of them. Why didn’t he return?
When Toby rode in a panic to the inn door one afternoon as she was leaving, Faith felt the nightmare solidify.
“They took Black Jack,” he shouted. “They’ve locked him away!”
She heard his words in a daze that didn’t allow words. Terror flooded her. They couldn’t take him away. Not Morgan. He was too vital, too alive.
Images replaced feelings: images of Morgan riding his stallion, his black hair blowing back
from his face, streaming in the breeze as he laughed and reared the horse upward; images of Morgan lighting the fire and turning to her with open arms and need in the shadows of his eyes; images of Morgan holding a newborn foal, cooing words of love while the blood still dripped from his bare hands; images of Morgan with his heart in his eyes as he stripped away the sheets carrying his child.
Faith broke down, the sobs ripping from her soul as Toby’s arms closed around her. She couldn’t seem to stop. The tears that had never come since the day she lost the child now welled and spilled out in a waterfall that had no end. Not Morgan. She couldn’t lose Morgan. Morgan was her soul. He was what she could never be. They couldn’t take away his freedom, for it would mean his life. Caged eagles never lived.
* * *
Later that evening, Faith stood on the doorstep of a narrow house in the moneylenders’ section of London with Toby at her side. She pounded on the door, uncaring that her fragile dimity was the worse for wear after hours at the inn and their mad ride. Beside her, Toby kept a nervous eye on their surroundings, not understanding why she had brought him here.
A young girl answered the door, and a large man studied Faith and Toby from the shadows. But at the mention of Miles Golden, he ushered them in and left them in a front room. A moment later a lanky man in sober frock coat and clubbed hair came down the stairs, looked them over, and led them into a book-lined study inundated with papers and strewn books.
As he cleared off a chair, Miles studied the exhausted, tearstained face of the young girl, then watched the tight, set features of her companion, coming to instant conclusions without their having said a word. The lad had bitten off more than he could chew and was about to destroy his already shabby hat by twisting it in his fingers. He was out of his orbit here, terrified by what the books represented, unused to the room’s confinement, but determined to look after his companion.
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