Fields of Fire (15 page)

“Don’t lie to me, you bastard! My man saw you on the quay.” Donnegan jumped to his feet, but the sudden movement caused him to grab his side. “Son of a bitch,” he said, and slowly strode across the room to stand before Wil.

“It’s almost three weeks now, but the doctor said the wound would take time to heal,” Henry reminded Donnegan. “Ye must not move too quickly.”

“Goddamn coach driver,” Donnegan muttered before glaring into Wil’s face. “It’s pure luck that you managed to elude us these past few weeks, but the tides of fortune have swiftly changed for you. My man watched the exchange from across the street. He saw a piece of paper slip from the book. Only, you got to it first. Now, where is it?”

She saw perspiration break out across Wil’s forehead. He was visibly nervous. She feared for his life. “Wil, if you have the map, please give it to him.”

“What difference does it make? He’s going to kill us both anyway.” Wil rose. Donnegan shoved him back down on the bed.

“The difference is that I can make you suffer or put an end to your life quickly.” Donnegan roughly pulled Jalene to her feet. “Or, maybe you’d like to watch me have my way with the lady.”

“Please, don’t,” Wil pleaded. “I honestly don’t have the map.”

Donnegan pushed her to the floor. She fell, out of breath, yet watched in horror at Donnegan fumbling with his breeches above her.

“Wait! Stop!” Wil said. “What I mean is—the map is hidden.”

“Where?” Donnegan demanded. He adjusted his breeches and faced Wil.

“I buried it in the cemetery near the church in Sligo by the gravestone with the name Looney.” Wil hesitantly walked over to Jalene and helped her to her feet.

“We’ll leave at once.” Donnegan began gathering up his few essentials from the room. “I doubt she would have told anyone what she was about, but someone will eventually discover her gone. I don’t want to be anywhere near here when they do. Besides, by the time we get Nelly and arrive at the cemetery, it will be daytime and a more normal hour for visiting a graveyard.”

When he finished packing, he spoke to Henry. “Pick up his possessions from the other room. Go and ready two horses. The lady will ride with me.”

Henry frowned. “What about this bloke? I don’t want him ridin’ with me. Where would he be ...?”

“He won’t be coming with us. We’ll dispose of him before we leave. Now get your arse moving,” Donnegan commanded, clearly annoyed that Henry would question him.

She saw the fear in Wil’s eyes before he masked it. His chalklike face revealed his feelings. His freckles appeared to have whitened, and with his red hair, he took on a ghoulish appearance. Mercy! Wil was on the verge of losing his life because of her. Taylor had been right. She never should have told anyone of her whereabouts. If she’d sent a brief note of warning to Wil about Donnegan, and exercised more patience in learning about Wil, she could have avoided this crisis.

Dear Lord, how she wished this was all a bad dream. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fought back the fear. Donnegan would kill Wil and abuse her. When he lost interest, he would easily snuff out her life as well. I’ll not stand meekly by and let this happen, she told herself. Better to die fighting than to suffer under his torment, but what about Wil?

She knew that to save Wil, she had to act before they left the inn. Although Donnegan was apparently weakened from a wound, he and his man still carried weapons.

“Not a word from either of you,” Donnegan warned as they were ushered out the door towards the back stairway.

In single file, the four approached the steps. She led the way, with Wil behind her. Donnegan followed, with Henry last, both pointing their muskets.

She wondered what Taylor would do in such a situation and took slow, short steps in an attempt to delay the inevitable and allow her more time to come up with a solution. However, halfway down the dimly lit staircase, Wil let out a roar like he was possessed by demons. Instantly, she turned to see Wil with his arms around Donnegan’s throat, causing the man to drop his musket. Just in time, she moved aside as best she could in the narrow space. The two lost their balance and fell the rest of the way down the stairs.

Wil started chanting. “Hold fast to him, hold fast to him.”

Henry, obviously stunned to see Wil, the refined gentleman, act like he’d lost his wits, brushed passed her and followed them to the landing. He simply stood open-mouthed watching the scene before him.

Henry had momentarily forgotten about her. Feeling totally helpless and unsure what to do next, she retreated to the top of the staircase and cautiously peered around the corner to watch Wil wrestle with Donnegan. Wil held his grip around Donnegan’s midsection.

“Hold fast to him, hold fast to him,” Will repeated the words loud enough for her to hear, as if he were oblivious to all else.

She placed her hands over her mouth to smother a cry. Wil was no match for Donnegan, yet with the man’s recent wound, Wil had some advantage and held onto him. She knew Wil was using all the strength and concentration against Donnegan he could muster.

“Get this bloody bastard off me.” Donnegan, apparently weakened from pain, hopelessly tugged at Wil’s legs, which were entwined around his.

“But, ye’re moving’ about so much. I can’t be sure I won’t shoot ye,” Henry explained, coming out from his stupor.

“Not with your pistol, you fool. Pull him off of me.”

Short of breath and in a raspy voice, Wil strained himself to speak. “Go ahead ... it doesn’t matter ... she’s ... gone by now.” He released Donnegan, and collapsed on the floor.

* * * *

Jalene fumbled with Aristotle’s reins before she gave them a snap, sending the horse abruptly forward. She leaned close over the animal as every part of her body shook in fear. Fly-away strands of hair stuck to her cheeks and caught in her mouth, but she ignored the bother for now. Any moment, she expected the door of the inn to bang open and the boom of a shot to follow.

When it didn’t immediately come, a few tears of hope rolled down her cheeks. With all her determination and strength, she guided Aristotle through the darkness, urging the horse to an even faster pace.

It wasn’t until those last precious seconds when Wil spoke that she understood he meant for her to escape. While she was thinking of a means by which to save Wil, he had planned and acted on his own solution. Weaponless, and no match against two, Wil still proceeded to attack.

She swiped at the hair sticking to her face. By the time she reached help, he would most likely be dead. The fact stabbed her like a dagger. If she had listened to Taylor, Wil would be home, safe in Dublin. Now, she would never see Wil alive again.

Dear Lord, what have I done? She jerked backwards into a more upright position on Aristotle and stared off into the blackness of night, totally consumed by guilt and regret. Instantly, she lost rhythm with the horse, bounced and allowed the reins to fall from her hands. Seconds later, with a muffled cry, she slipped sideways off Aristotle and tumbled to the ground. Everything went black.

Chapter 10

Taylor gave the door another rap. “Jalene, it’s me.” When she still didn’t answer, he flung the door open and entered her bedchamber. His eyes adjusted to the darkness within, and he saw that the bed and room were empty.

After this evening’s miserable conclusion, she probably was restless herself. He sank onto the mattress. Perhaps she stepped outside for some fresh air, or went downstairs to get something to eat or drink.

He sat in speculation, tapping his foot on the floor several minutes when an unwelcome realization came to him. The answer to Jalene’s whereabouts had to be in the letter she received earlier.

“Damn it to bloody hell,” he cursed aloud and kicked her trunk at the foot of the bed. He had been right about her. While this knowledge assured him that he hadn’t lost his touch at judging a person’s character, her actions sorely disappointed him. Perhaps he had hoped he’d be wrong. Her physical attributes notwithstanding, she was a likeable woman, but now, now she was probably off planning her next shipment of whiskey.

“Son of a bitch!”

He lit a lamp and started rummaging through the chest of drawers—scattering frilly corsets, petticoats, and undergarments haphazardly about the polished hardwood floor. Normally, he would have taken pains not to reveal his presence. Now, he didn’t care. He carelessly lifted the linen eyelet scarf atop the chest, tumbling aside the once neatly placed combs, jewelry, ribbons, perfume and other seemingly important feminine necessities. A delicately carved ivory-topped box caught his eye. He opened it and set it back down in disgust.

“Bloody hell! Where did she hide the damned letter?” He searched the writing desk and when he found nothing, paused at the bookcase and decided to forgo searching it. Instead, he stomped to the wardrobe. He threw gowns to the floor as quickly as he yanked them out. Dissatisfied, he kneeled down by the trunk at the foot of the bed and did the same with everything he found in it. Maybe she took the letter with her. Nay. What reason would she have to carry it on her person? More likely, she’d burn it rather than keep it with her.

Burn it? He sprang to his feet and eyed the fireplace. No peat had glowed there, for it was a warm July night. He investigated just the same by sifting through the ashes with his fingers, but found no trace of the missive. After rubbing his hands together to remove the soot, he stood up. His boot heel caught in the fringe of the carpet placed in front of the fireplace. Frustrated, he kicked the fringe off and continued to search under the pillows, bed linens, and mattress—all of which proved futile.

“Jalene Somerville,” he uttered her name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “When I find you ...” He didn’t know what he’d do, but she would never pull a prank like this again. He hurriedly left the room, unsure of his destination except that he’d saddle Aristotle.

Taylor stepped outdoors and slammed the door to the manor. He angrily strode towards the stables. The air smelled damp and the ground was wet, but no rain fell and that would be in his favor, he noted. At the sound of a vehicle approaching, he stopped short of unlatching the stable door. He turned in that direction, ignoring the friendly whimpers of Tyrone, and saw Hug driving a phaeton with Aristotle in tow by a bridle, but with no saddle. With Jalene’s flight, he completely forgot Hug’s eventual return from escorting Unity home—but what the hell was his horse doing with Hug?

Hug brought the phaeton to a halt and limberly leaped down to stand beside him. “Even in the dark I can see that impatient look of yours. I don’t know how Aristotle got out, but I found him galloping towards me on the way back from Unity’s.” He scratched his red beard with both hands. “What the hell is going on?”

Taylor took several deep breaths to relax the tightness that formed in his chest. Concern replaced the anger he held for Jalene.

“The lady whom you favored as so innocent earlier at supper left Knights’ Head after you and Unity. She must have ridden Aristotle. She doesn’t ride, so wherever she was going had to be urgent and of utmost importance to her.” He walked the few feet to untie his horse from the phaeton. “I fear she’s in trouble. Inexperienced as she is with riding horses, she may have fallen off Aristotle, especially without the use of a saddle.”

Hug frowned and pulled his wig off, ruffled his flattened short-cropped hair, and replaced the wig. “The horse was coming from the direction of Belleek. That’s where she may have been headed.”

“That’s a start.” Taylor turned to take Aristotle inside the stables. “I’d like you to come with me, Hug.”

“I had every intention of doing so,” Hug replied. “Let me see to the phaeton first, and I’ll come saddle my own horse.”

As Taylor passed through the stable doors, Tyrone whimpered and excitedly pawed him. Taylor snubbed him and lit a lantern before he continued on to the stall where his saddle hung. He then gave the beagle a quick pat and led Aristotle to a stall to remove the bridle and give him a rubdown before he prepared one of the other horses to ride. “Why didn’t you warn me, Tyrone?” he scolded the beagle.

“Why didn’t he bark and alert you?” Hug asked, passing Taylor on his way to the stall where his own horse stood.

“Tyrone’s become quite fond of her. He doesn’t bark at someone he knows and particularly likes.”

The two fell silent while each saddled their horse. A short time later they mounted and proceeded at a gallop towards Belleek.

About a mile down the road, the forests surrounding Knights’ Head gradually changed to hilly fields of open spaces. Hug slowed, and Taylor followed.

“This the area?” Taylor asked.

“Aye. It was around here.”

Together, they scanned the next two miles on either side of the road, and as much of the distance beyond as was possible to view in the dark. At one time when the moon floated behind the clouds, they passed a low misty spot in the road, and Taylor speedily dismounted to check a conspicuous black lump. The lump turned out to be nothing more than shadows. His eyes were playing tricks on him.

Taylor remounted and they continued as before. About a mile and a half from Belleek the countryside became more wooded. “Let’s take it slow through here,” Taylor suggested.

“Aye,” Hug answered, “it’s a lot more difficult to see with the shadows of the wood, but listen. Do you hear it?”

Taylor brought his horse to a halt and sat perfectly still. “Aye, you’re right. Someone’s coming.”

“What shall we do?”

“There’s no time to hide.” Taylor glanced from one side of the road to the other. “Let’s conceal our weapons, but have them at the ready. We’ll meet whoever is coming at us.”

Taylor and Hug resumed their pace and a few moments later, as expected, a lone rider came into view.

“Follow my lead,” Taylor told Hug and started singing in a drunken manner. “I left me love in County Clare, fol dee, fol doe.”

“Fol dee, fol doe, fum dee lum,” Hug chimed along with Taylor.

Taylor watched the approaching rider ease his speed, apparently taken aback at the sudden noisy merriment that bellowed through the otherwise still night. Taylor slumped over and gave his horse’s neck an embrace and sang, “I chose the jug over a maid so fair, fol dee, fol doe, fum de lum.”