Fields of Fire (6 page)

“Ah, Captain, help me, please!” She spoke the words out loud, as if he could hear her plea of desperation. “You’re my only hope, even if you do think my family is involved with smuggling whiskey.” Heedless of the filth, she sank onto the dirt floor and buried her face in her hands.

* * * *

Taylor, accompanied by two guards, entered the offices of the magistrate where Colonel Hume Cahill immediately greeted him with a hearty embrace and vigorous handshake. “Thanks for coming, Hume, old friend.”

“I came as soon as I received word. I took the day off to visit my sister in Ballybrack, so my assistant forwarded your message to me there. Sorry for the delay.”

“I understand, but don’t fret. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“Bloody hell, a few minutes is far too long for the innocent to be locked in this stinking gaol, but a half-day is a crime in itself. Are you all right?”

“Aye, fine. Though I’m concerned about the lady,” he said, and gestured to his commander to take a seat in one of the varnish-thin wooden chairs facing the magistrate’s desk. From another chair, Taylor removed a dusty pile of books to the floor before he seated himself, and gave the colonel a brief account of the happenings of the last few days.

Taylor had barely finished his tale when the door opened behind him. This time it was the magistrate, who apparently had been eating when summoned, as a few crumbs still clung to the corners of his mouth and fat chin. The man rummaged through the scattered papers and clutter on his desk and noisily opened and closed drawers until he found what he wanted.

The magistrate addressed the colonel. “Is this the man who has been working for the Revenue Service on the distillery operation?” He paused, referred to a tattered legal book and read, “Captain Taylor Traynor, Lighthorse Regiment, Lough Erne?” The magistrate’s words barely preceded the belch he gave.

“Aye, aye, this is he. Now will you release him?”

“He’s free to go, but his companion stays until we can confirm her identity.”

Taylor gave the magistrate a look of disgust and swung his fist threateningly at the man. The idea of Jalene being left in prison was absurd. “I tell you, she’s an innocent victim, just as I am, and never should have been in this hell-hole in the first place. Release her to me. I’ll assume full responsibility for her.”

The magistrate pursed his lips and scratched his head. Indecision was plain on his face.

Taylor studied him for a moment when another, more serious problem occurred to him. “Besides, she’ll need protection. The men who slaughtered the dragoons will be searching for her and myself. We’ve both seen and learned too much. Until they’re captured, she, in particular, will be in danger.”

This was true, but in addition to uncovering Donnegan’s operation, Taylor also had orders to investigate a number of distilleries suspected for collaboration. He didn’t trust Jalene where her family and Blackwater Distillery were concerned. With the woman as his charge, he could offer her security and himself a means to keep her close at hand until he learned whether she or her family were involved in illicit activities.

Taylor watched the magistrate, who appeared anxious to get back to his meal. The man looked from Taylor to Hume while he wiped his mouth and rubbed his chin, causing the crumbs to at last fall.

“She’s free to go as your charge, but I don’t want to see either of you here again, unless you’re bringing in criminals—not being mistaken as them. You’ll need to sign some papers,” he said, before he hurried out the door.

Hume rubbed his forehead and released a heavy sigh. “Taylor, this is not my affair, and I’ve never interfered before, but what are you about, taking charge of this woman?”

“All I know for sure is that Donnegan will pursue her. She deserves protection, but she also just happens to be the bookkeeper for her family’s distillery. Her brother, James, manages the distillery—Blackwater Distillery.” He waited for Hume’s reaction.

Hume nodded in understanding. “Say no more. Do what you have to do, and report back to me periodically.”

They shook hands and Hume left.

* * * *

The guard ushered Jalene into the magistrate’s office. “Ye’re free to go with this one, to be sure,” he said and left.

Jalene rushed into Taylor’s arms and clung to him in an impulsive hug of gratitude and relief. “Oh, thank you— thank you. My message to Wil was never delivered, and after a while, I was afraid you’d forgotten me—that I’d be left here to rot in that filthy cell forever.” She rested her head against his chest. Her trembling subsided.

“I apologize for the delay.” Taylor’s hands moved lightly across her back in a comforting caress. “Colonel Cahill just left. Are you all right? Did anyone harm you?” He loosened his hold to see for himself, then pulled her close to his heart again.

“Aye, uh ...,” she hesitated, aware of her breasts pressing against his chest through his thin shirt, of the intimate position of their bodies. His warmth encircled her like the heat from the sun shining through a window on a wintry day. “Aye, ‘tis fine, I am.” With some reluctance, she pushed herself from the safety of his arms. The man was her enemy. She began to brush her riding habit vigorously.

“If you would please get a carriage for me, so I can procure my trunk at the Eye of the Swan, I’ll be on my way, and no longer a burden to you.” Disturbed over his comment earlier that day about Blackwater Distillery, she was anxious to return home, forewarn James, and question her brother.

“Jalene, you’ve been released to me.” He leaned against the magistrate’s desk in a matter-of-fact stance.

“You can’t be serious.” She stopped brushing her skirt and stood with her hands on her hips, staring at him in disbelief. “Whatever for?”

He cocked his head in puzzlement over her response. “The magistrate wasn’t going to free you until he confirmed your identity. I convinced him you’d need protection from Donnegan, and settled the matter by being held accountable for you.”

“That was kind of you, and I appreciate the gesture, but it’s unnecessary. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m responsible for you, and you’ll be going with me.”

His tone of voice left no doubt in her mind that he meant every word he said.

“Responsible.” She spat out the word like a curse and glared at him. “The only thing you’re responsible for is my being here in the first place. I feel like I’ve just experienced Satan’s worst nightmare, and now I learn I’m free only to be chained to you. Well, humph to that.” She abruptly turned. She had every intention of heading out the door, but she stumbled and fell over the pile of books he had set aside much earlier.

He made no effort to conceal his smile as he offered her his hand. She shoved it aside. With as much dignity as she could muster, she rose, and once again headed for the door.

He grabbed her tightly by the shoulders and spun her around to face him. “Listen to me. I’m certain Donnegan had every intention of killing us. By now, he has learned you lied to him about where Wil lives. He knows that we escaped from the cart. Don’t you understand? Rage alone will motivate him to find you, never mind what you know. He won’t stop until he has you. You know too much.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders.

“Just leave me be. Will you?” She backed away from him. “I know nothing except that I’m leaving for Sorrel House. I have family and friends who are missing me.” She folded her arms across her chest and haughtily raised her nose. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I’ll go get my own carriage.” She turned towards the door, but he blocked her path, his grey-blue eyes darkened with menace.

“You’re coming with me.” The timber of his voice suggested his patience was strained, and that she’d best fall in line and follow orders.

“Why are you doing this?” She stamped her foot, furious with him.

“I already told you why, but since you seem to want some say in the matter, let me put it this way—you have two choices. You can come with me, or return to your cell. All I have to do is call the guards and tell them I’ve changed my mind.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Care to test me?” he said. He waited for her reply.

She controlled the urge to beat her fists on his chest, though she gave him the most loathsome face she could produce. He acted as if he hadn’t seen it.

“I take it that your silence means you’ll be agreeable from now on, but I want to hear you say it.”

She ignored him, studying a lopsided painting on the wall. The messy office was luxurious compared to her prison cell.

“Jalene?”

“All right,” she said. She was only temporarily defeated. She needed to know if he still intended to go ahead with his investigation of their distillery. Because she didn’t want to appear anxious, she decided to ask some other pertinent questions first.

“Where are we going?”

“We’ll get refreshed at my family town house here in Dublin, then leave for my estates. I think you’ll like the area around Lough Erne, and you’ll be totally safe there.”

“What about my trunk?”

“I’ll have it sent ahead.”

“What about Blackwater Distillery?” she asked, hoping she sounded indifferent.

“Nothing’s changed. After I get you settled at Knights’ Head, I’ll pay a visit to your brother.”

Any response she made would undoubtedly bring him to some conclusion, so she carefully concealed her emotion. “I see,” was all she said, but she knew she would flee at the first opportunity, and warn James.

* * * *

Taylor’s family house was a terrace home located on Dawson Street. In the momentary absence of his manservant and housekeeper, he showed her to a guest room on the second floor where she could tidy up and rest. He held the door for her, but after she walked inside he remained in the entryway.

“I’ll have Biddy make us something to eat when she returns. In the meantime, get some rest. We’ve a long ride ahead of us.” He left, closing the door behind him.

Although the room was tastefully decorated, it contained just the basic necessities: a canopied bed, toilet table, chest of drawers, and corner chair. The room’s lack of personality led her to believe this truly was a guest room. She reached for one of the pillows on the bed, breathed in its lavender scent, and tossed it back in place. She was sorely tempted to succumb to sleep and forgo any plans to escape. She walked to the window, moved the heavy drapery and peered outside. She saw a neat row of attached houses, some of Dublin’s most elegant dwellings. The Protestant ruling class, or the “damned Ascendancy” as James always called it, favored these terrace homes while they were away from their country estates. She let the drapery fall back in place. A half-hour later, hoping Taylor was sound asleep, she tiptoed out the door.

She padded down to the ground floor and ducked inside the first unoccupied room, the library. Realizing it might expedite matters to be armed, she considered taking one of the swords that hung above the fireplace. Too bulky, she decided. Instead, she searched until she found a pair of dueling pistols. Although she had never used a firearm of any kind, she had held one once, and watched her father show her brother how to shoot. She had no intention of using the weapons. They were strictly to instill fear if she were confronted. She picked a pistol from its polished leather case and rolled it around in her hand to get the feel of it. The initials CT, etched on the brass handle, caught her eye. CT? If these were not Taylor’s ... For a moment, she considered the complications, but forced such thoughts aside. For James’s sake, she had best hurry.

With the pistol clenched in her hand, she stepped lightly past the dining room towards the back entry of the town house. Not a soul appeared to delay or question her. She reached for the doorknob. At the same time, the door swung open.

A well-dressed gentleman, his dark blond hair pulled back into a queue, towered in front of her. Beneath neat eyebrows, his grey-blue eyes glowed in a compelling manner. His smooth-skinned, virile countenance, and the strength of his presence gave her pause. Rather than raising her pistol, she held it at her side, concealed in the folds of her purple riding habit. The man smiled at her, revealing a deep dimple in his cheek. She resisted the urge to place her finger there.

“Did you want to say something to me, Jalene? Or, is there some other reason for your mouth to hang open that way?”

The familiar voice took her aback. Taylor? She eyed him more closely. Aye, ‘twas him. He had shaved off the bushy beard that had hidden most of his face and he had changed into the attire worn by gentlemen. His white shirt accented his broad shoulders and his breeches hugged his lean hips and well-muscled legs. Taylor’s transformation from a man of average appeal to the most desirable man she’d ever beheld nearly caused her knees to buckle beneath her.

“Captain?” she asked, needing to know it was really him.

“Aye.”

She backed away a few steps. When he moved towards her, she leveled her dueling pistol at his chest. He halted for a moment, then continued. She retreated further. With a badly shaking hand, she pointed the pistol at an object over his head.

“I’ll shoot you. Don’t come any closer.” She hoped she could convince him. Her sweaty palms made it increasingly more difficult to hold onto the pistol.

“I think not.” He stepped closer to her.

She jerked the pistol at him. It slipped in her grip. She squeezed the weapon to maintain her hold and accidentally pulled the trigger. It merely clicked. The shocked expression on Taylor’s face led her to believe that he had never expected her to shoot. She threw the pistol at him, lifted her skirts and sprinted in the opposite direction. She dashed back through the house and scrambled out the front entrance. She ran down the street as though Death himself was chasing her. She dared not look back for fear she would see the fiend.

Taylor wasted no time pursuing Jalene. His manservant Quinn, however, chose just the same moment Taylor was exiting the terrace home to enter it.

“Don’t move.” He placed his hand on Quinn’s shoulder to hold him still and scooted past.

“Where are ye off to like the devil be chasin’ ye?” Quinn shouted at him.