Fields of Fire (12 page)

Hurriedly dressing, she glanced around the storage shed and confirmed what she now knew for fact. She had spent the night alone while Taylor slept outside with Quinn. The pallet of blankets was arranged in such a way that only one person could possibly have slept comfortably on it. To her dismay, she formed her own conclusions without giving Taylor the chance to speak. Her spirits plummeted. She wanted to hide her head under those linens and say some magical words that would take her back in time—a time before she ever met the man. “Dear Lord,” she murmured towards heaven, “he brings out my irrational side.” It was becoming increasingly apparent to her that she lacked control over her conduct and emotions when the overpowering Captain Taylor Traynor was concerned. Donnegan needed to be found soon.

Chapter 8

Over the next two weeks, Jalene heard Taylor leave Knights’ Head early each morning and return late at night, but she never actually saw him. When she inquired about him to Biddy or Quinn, she was told he was out fulfilling his obligations to the military. Neither found it odd that he had suddenly deposited her at his home, only to leave and ignore her.

In the interim, she kept busy by helping Biddy, or by reading poetry from Taylor’s mother’s library. Every afternoon before high tea, she walked the grounds around the estate. After several days, it became a ritual to stop at the stables for Tyrone to accompany her. Her friendship with the beagle had grown steadily since the day at the storage shed. Together, they wandered through the forests surrounding Knights’ Head, or traveled a footpath along Lough Erne. Often, she sat down on one of the wooden benches that overlooked the lake, and simply watched the wildlife.

Today was one of those days when she relaxed on the bench, and as usual Tyrone jumped up beside her to receive his massage behind his ears. Nearby, a fish splashed through the surface of the lake, flipped in the air, and plunged below the water. She wondered if it were one of the salmon or trout that Biddy said were plentiful.

She glanced down at Tyrone, whose eyelids had become droopy from the massage. “You’d let me do this all day, wouldn’t you?” She gave him a final pat.

A cool breeze, carrying the scent of pine, blew across the lake and rippled the water. She breathed in deeply, thinking how perfect the setting was for poetry. She opened her book and began skimming over some favorite passages when a soft rustling sound disturbed the silence. She looked up to see Taylor walking towards them. Tyrone bounded from the bench to greet his master. Immediately, he rolled onto his back at Taylor’s feet and offered up his belly for a rub.

“How’s my ferocious attack dog today?” Taylor crouched down, obliged Tyrone with a few strokes and left him to sit beside Jalene on the bench. “I understand from Quinn that my dog has become quite fond of you.”

“Aye. He reminds me of my dog, Abigail, who is the same breed, but mainly black in color. I’ve never seen a grey and white like Tyrone.” She stared at the shoreline across the lake, admitting to herself that she’d felt a rush of emotion at Taylor’s approaching because she’d missed him.

He abruptly changed the topic. “I haven’t been the most attentive of hosts.”

She mentally agreed with him, but she was at fault, too. She lowered her head and dared not look at him. Shame and embarrassment from their last encounter were still too fresh in her memory. Was this his way of apologizing?

Compelled to offer the same, she stuttered a moment, paused and tried again. “Well, I haven’t given you much reason to be so. I’m afraid I owe you an apology for my accusations.” To avoid discussion over it, she continued, “Besides, you’re on assignment, Captain.”

“Aye, but I didn’t have much I could follow through with or check.”

“You have an estate to manage. A lot of people depend upon you.” She didn’t want to quarrel with him, although she did think it was rude of him to leave without one word.

“Spring planting has already been done, but my workers usually see to that anyway.” He reached over and touched her cheek, so she would face him.

“Well, I’m sure you ...”

“Damn it!” His voice boomed throughout the otherwise tranquil woods. “I’m trying to apologize to you. Must you make it difficult for me, woman?”

She accidentally knocked the poetry book from her lap. He retrieved it, but didn’t hand it back.

“Let’s just forget all this.” She turned towards him and offered her hand to shake on it.

Instead, he leaned over and placed a surprisingly intimate kiss in her palm. “All forgotten,” he said, and sat back against the bench facing the lake. “I thought you might enjoy some company, so I invited a few guests for supper.”

“I would like that.” She answered quickly, trying to forget the pleasing touch of his strong fingers and smooth lips on her hand. “Who are they?” she asked, and rested her back against the bench.

“A neighbor on our west side lost her husband in a carriage accident about six months ago. She has no children to keep her busy. Conversation would be welcome to her. I also asked a comrade of mine.”

“I look forward to meeting them.” No sooner had the words left her mouth, when it occurred to her that it wasn’t proper to be at his estates alone. Would his guests think her—promiscuous? “On giving it more thought, perhaps I’d best not attend supper this evening.” She stared at some potential rainclouds gathering over the lake in the distance. “After all, it’s not right for an unmarried lady to be staying with a man unchaperoned.”

The dimple in his cheek deepened. “If it’s your reputation you’re worried about, there’s no need. Neither guest is of the nature to spread rumors, and both ...,” he paused, “let’s say both haven’t always followed conventions.”

She turned her gaze from him and flushed, recalling her own wanton conduct. “I’m sure their private lives are none of my concern, but I’m much relieved to know they’d be less apt to prejudge me.” She turned her head to see his face. “Will your comrade be bringing any news about Donnegan?”

“I’m counting on it. Someone had to see him or hear something about his operation. Christ! They couldn’t disappear so fast.”

He flipped through the pages of the poetry book. “What have you been reading?” He thumbed a few more pages before he stopped where a scrap of yellow ribbon marked a place.

“Through rising smoke and silence of the dead, so fair an image did appear, oh sweet, oh sweet Desire, Rise Up! Escape these fields of fire.’’

“Hm.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. “I would have thought you might prefer something more flowery.” He slammed the book shut. “You know, those verses where botanical locution is a metaphor for love. Dew-tipped petals. Swelling buds. The stamen of life.”

She snatched the book from him and stood up, determined not to be drawn to where this conversation was leading. Dear Lord, the man had a one-track mind. “I can see you have no appreciation for the arts.”

“That’s not so. I know a poem. Listen.” He rose to his feet, shoved one hand in between the buttons of his waistcoat and assumed the stance of orator. “There once was a man with pluck, who many a lady did ...”

She rushed to clamp his mouth shut with her hand. “You’re impossible.”

Laughing, he tugged her hand away. “‘... past hope, past cure, past help!’ ”

“Shakespeare? Really, Captain, you don’t seem the type.”

“Oh? What type is that?” He made an awkward attempt to walk and sway his hips, stopped, withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, and finally dabbed at his nose.

She laughed to see him try, and fail, to move his manly physique in a feminine manner. “You know what I mean,” she said.

His grey-blue eyes hinted mischievously, and the dimple in his cheek deepened as his smile widened. He handed the book back to her. They continued to stroll back along the path.

“When I was a young lad, my mother read me some poetry, but mostly Shakespeare—before she tucked me into bed at night. Although I didn’t understand it at first, the rhythm relaxed me. She hoped that if she introduced me to it when I was young, I would enjoy it as I grew older. She was right, but I must confess this is the first time I’ve quoted Shakespeare to a lady.”

She considered the expression on his face and decided he was serious. “We all act in ways that later we reflect upon and wonder what possessed us.” Images came to mind of the last time she’d lain in his arms. His charming ways and extreme good looks made a persuasive, if not a dangerous combination where she was concerned. Dear Lord, she didn’t love the man. Yet she responded ardently to his advances. How could she react so passionately to a man whose mission was to prove her brother and herself smugglers who operated their family distillery illegally? She glanced at Taylor who was indulging in his own reflections. It was a physical attraction—pure and simple.

“You’re so quiet,” he said, breaking the silence. “What are you thinking about?”

“About this evening—what I should wear and how to do my hair. Women things,” she blurted out, careful not to let him see her face. It wouldn’t do for him to have any inkling that her mental labor concerned him.

“Are such decisions so difficult to contemplate that they cause you to pout and to furrow your brow?”

His question made her realize that he had been watching her. She smiled and said, “Imagine what would happen if I gave politics a serious thought.”

“Ach, the idea is definitely frightening.” He pretended to be alarmed.

“Lest I scare you, I’d best get back.” Having spontaneously mentioned the matter of attire for this evening, she decided she truly wanted to dress her best and needed to prepare at once. She lifted her skirts and started to run down the path.

He kept up the pace at her side until the path narrowed, and he and Tyrone obligingly fell behind. Minutes later, they reached the clearing in front of Knights’ Head and halted at the sight of Quinn approaching.

“Master Taylor,” Quinn called and waved. He didn’t speak again until he stood before them. “This came by courier for the lady. I didn’t mean to interrupt your outing, but the messenger said it was to be delivered immediately.” He handed a letter to Jalene and marched back off in the direction of the vegetable garden.

“For me? But, nobody ...” She hesitated, remembering the letter she sent to Wil when she first arrived at Knights’ Head.

“Damn it!” He clenched one fist and angrily punched the palm of his other hand. “Don’t you know what you’ve done, woman?”

“I’ve done nothing,” she said, and cringed at the murderous look on his face. Quickly, she scanned the letter and tucked it between the pages of the poetry book. “It’s merely a friend checking on me.”

“Who is it from?” he grabbed for the book.

She stepped back, holding the book tightly to her chest, away from his reach. “A friend, I said, Captain.”

“You disobeyed my orders.”

She stared at the dusty toes of his boots, feeling as if she were about to be court-martialed.

“Does anyone else know you’re here? Look at me when you answer.” He roughly forced her chin up.

“Nay.”

His brow wrinkled in doubt, but inquired no further.

“I hope to God you’re not lying,” he said with a sneer before he turned and stalked away, leaving her to stare after him.

* * * *

On the last step of the staircase Jalene paused at the sound of Taylor’s laughter reverberating through the passageway that led to the drawing room. Though he sounded in fine humor, she wondered if he was still angry with her. She nibbled on her bottom lip. Too bad if he was. Surely, he hadn’t really expected her to go off to his estates with him—a man she knew little about—without informing anyone of her destination.

Having reaffirmed that she had acted judiciously, although against his orders, she proceeded to the drawing room. Cautiously, she peeked around the door. A sofa and two matching oval-backed chairs were cozily grouped around a tea table, all arranged for both comfort and conversation. A mahogany long-case clock stood in one corner. Numerous portraits and paintings in a variety of sizes covered most of the walls, enhancing the hospitable appearance of the room.

Taylor sat with his back to her, unaware of her presence, but his companion, a barrel-chested man with a brown wig and red beard, noticed her and stood. At this, Taylor, with a brandy in his hand, turned and rose from his chair. He jovially introduced the gentleman as Hugh Hawksworth.

Relieved that Taylor no longer was angry with her, she offered her hand to his gentleman friend.

Hug, as he requested to be called, kissed the top of her hand. His curly beard tickled and she was reminded of an earlier time when another beard did the same—when smooth warm lips kissed her so passionately she almost ... She flushed and turned her attention back to Hug.

“At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but now that I’ve touched you, I know you’re real. You are lovely, my dear.” He finally released her hand.

She smiled at the man’s flirtatious manner, but became irritated when she saw the questioning expression Taylor wore. Was it so unbelievable that Hug would find her attractive?

“Thank you.” She lowered her head and posed provocatively. “I must say you look rather dashing yourself, Mr. Hawksworth—Hug. The olive green and black brocade of your waistcoat are a striking contrast to your red beard.”

“Thank you. I ...”

“Stop!” Taylor clanked his brandy glass down on the tea table. “Spare me this sweet display. You can spend the evening swelling each other’s heads with compliments another time. I, for one, fear my appetite is waning.”

“Maybe you should skip dinner, Captain.” She moved to stand closer to Hug and gave Taylor a quick exaggerated smile. “I’m sure Hug and your other guest— Unity is it?—wouldn’t mind.”

“Ach, he’s jealous you’re favoring me over him.” Hug slapped Taylor on the back. “Is it ornery you’re going to be, then?”

She expected some reaction from Taylor, but his feelings remained masked. Still, she was sure that if Hug hadn’t been a close friend, he would have been suffering from severe bodily injury by now. She didn’t contemplate that idea further, because Quinn announced the arrival of Unity Nolan.