A Season Beyond a Kiss (60 page)

“What?!” Jeff cried in spiraling rage. “Dammit, Rhys, you’re not going to do that to me, not when my wife may be in danger!”

The sheriff pushed a hand against the hard, muscular shoulder, trying to shove his friend back away from the door. “Get in your cell.”

“No, dammit!” Jeff snapped, coming around with a clenched fist.

It wasn’t much more than a tap on the head, but after his recent concussion, it was definitely enough to send Jeffrey buckling to the floor and into the realm of oblivion. Rhys beckoned for Charlie to come help him, and between the two of them, they managed to get the unconscious man into the cell where they stretched him out upon the cot.

“That should keep Mr. Birmin’am quiet for a while, eh, Sheriff?” the deputy remarked with a rueful grin. “Ye still want me ta handcuff him?”

“No, just leave him be. He’s going to be mad enough when he wakes up without adding mayhem to folly. We’ll just lock the door to make sure he stays in here once he comes around.” Rhys shook his head ruefully. “If we come through this thing with our hides still intact, Charlie, it certainly won’t be because Mr. Birmingham won’t be trying to skin us.”

“Hey, Sheriff?”

Rhys turned toward the occupant of the other cell. Presently the curly-headed rascal was lounging upon his cot, looking for all the world like he was enjoying himself. The young rogue took great delight in harassing him. Indeed, he just wouldn’t give up. “What do you want, Olney?”

Scratching his chin, the scamp turned his head on his pillow and grinned back at the lawman. “Ye afraid o’ Birmin’am? If’n ye ain’t, ye sure act like it.”

Rhys sighed heavily. “Be quiet, Olney.”

  
  C
OOPER
F
RYE WAITED AT THE
P
ROVOST
D
UNGEON, AN
old custom house which the British had used to lock up prisoners during the war, until half an hour past the time he had specified in his note. Considering everything, he had thought it a befitting place to meet, but he now decided that it would do him little good to stay around any longer. Obviously the man wasn’t going to come.

Leaving Exchange Street, he turned north toward Market Street and, after entering that area, bought himself an apple to munch. He had just braced a shoulder against the trunk of a tree when an elongated shadow fell upon him and stretched out across the ground beyond him. In the next moment he felt a knife prodding in the area of his ribs.

“Aftahnoon, Coop,” a husky voice greeted near his ear.

“Morgan?” Cooper Frye tried to turn, but the point of the blade gave him another goading, reminding him to keep still. “What are ye doin’?”

“Ye made Mr. Fridrich real mad this time. Me an’ the boys were sent out aftah ye, but I founds ye first, so’s I’m supposin’ that means I can keep the reward all ta meself.”

“What reward?” Cooper’s eyes cut to the left as he strained to catch a glimpse of the man.

“The reward ye’re carryin’ on ye. I’ll take it if’n ye don’t mind.”

“I gots it in me shirt, but if’n I tries ta give it ta ye now, people’ll think ye’re robbin’ me an’ call the law.”

Morgan thought about that not more than a moment. Fridrich wouldn’t like Sheriff Townsend involved in this matter, and neither would he. “Let’s go closer to the bay where there ain’t as many folks what’ll be around ta watch us.” As Frye hesitated, the blade nudged the flabby roll around his waist. “Get goin’ afore I lose patience wit’ ye.”

Cooper Frye reluctantly complied. When they were well out of sight of witnesses, he began dragging off his coat. It was still attached to one hand when he brought it around with a vengeance, striking Morgan hard across the face and sending the knife flying and its bearer stumbling backward with eyes smarting. In the next instant Cooper scooped up the weapon and plunged into the soft paunch of his would-be assailant. When it was drawn out again, Morgan gave a gurgling sound and collapsed to his knees. Frye smirked in satisfaction for barely a moment as the man crumpled in a knot at his feet, and then he glanced about, finding the way entirely unencumbered with people. Lucky day, it was indeed, he thought as he made good his escape.

  
  B
ARELY HAD
C
OOPER
F
RYE DOSED OFF THAN HE WAS
snatched abruptly awake by a weird, low, caterwauling wail that sent shivers spiraling up his spine. His eyes popped open and warily he rolled them about their sockets until his gaze lit on something huge and monstrous looming above him. It had no face, only a loose blank mask of deep blackness from which sunken cavities served as eyes. At first, he was convinced that he was dreaming. His second conclusion was exceedingly more terrifying. He was a man with little conscience, that being a poorly stunted nubbin which had never troubled him overmuch. He did, however, have a vivid imagination and a deep dread of spirits, which he was still convinced had haunted his grandfather’s house where he had grown up, upon the property of which a later discovery had found a boarded up well filled with the skeletal remains of nigh to a dozen men. The shape that hovered above him now had all the same appearances of a specter from hell.

“. . . G-ghost!” Frye screamed in a whisper, the best his constricted throat could issue forth. He thought of Morgan right away. After all, it had happened only two or three hours ago. Or was it some dreadful spirit from a past encounter during which he had deemed the taking of a life in his best interest? A whole host of names had long been forgotten from such incidents.

Then, if the visitation wasn’t frightening enough, Frye’s fumbling brain fell upon a prospect that was far worse. Had the darkly cloaked form come to herald his death?

Frantically clawing his way up against the headboard, he croaked, “Are ye’ a banshee? I thought I heard ye’ howl.”

“Wake up, man. You heard nothing more than a tomcat yowling outside your window,” a cold voice jeered. A soft, merciless chuckle deepened Frye’s descent into a terror of the unknown. “Of course, there are some who’ve been led to think that I’m a messenger from Satan, and to be fair, I must allow that they have had just cause to think that way.”

Even as Frye tried to sort this out in his sleep-dulled brain, a new panic surged upward within him, chilling his heart as a shaft of moonlight glinted on the length of a gleaming blade. A strangled sound emitted from his tightening throat as he felt its deadly edge press against his windpipe.

“I suggest that you try not to shake overly much,” the apparition cautioned in a tone of exaggerated concern. “I have a remarkably steady hand, but even so, accidental slips have a way of occurring.”

Frye croaked a response which amounted to little more than a hastily babbled agreement.

The intruder chuckled again. “Tell me,” he urged, “have you any idea who I am?”

Frye nodded frantically. Much to his sorrow, he knew exactly who was here with him, the very one who had first stabbed Nell.

“And do you know why I’ve come?”

“I . . . I left ye a note askin’ ye ta meet me, mate, but ye ne’er showed up.”

“I’m not one of your sniveling mates, so don’t call me that again,” the abrasive voice snarled as the edge of the knife encroached menacingly.

“Wh-What w-would ye like for m-me to call ye, milord?”

“That’s better.” The knife was withdrawn ever so slightly. “How did you know I was here in the colonies and where I was to be found?”

Frye could hardly think when his every thought was focused on the sharpness of the weapon grating against his whiskers. Though the constraint had eased to some degree, it still remained precariously close to a vital vein. “Please, I’ll tell ye if’n ye give me room ta breathe.”

An evil, jeering hiss was emitted from the dark mask as the pressure lessened some slight degree. “Think before you speak, Frye. I will tolerate no lies.”

“I know, milord. Well, for one thing, Nell was still livin’ when I found her in the stables. I helped ye out, I did, by finishin’ what ye’d started, but afore I did, Nell told me she’d come ‘pon a stranger whittlin’ on me niece’s coffer in Birmin’am’s bedchamber. I figgered it could only be one o’ three blokes interested in that ‘ere box. An’ since ye’re a man o’ taste, I decided ye’d be at the best inn in town. Then, too, I thought yer friends would be o’ a mind ta send ye ta take care o’ business, seein’s as how ye were the most . . . ah . . . efficient.”

“Barrett’s daughter is not your niece, you uncouth bastard, so don’t put on airs with me. You’ll never be part of the nobility. You’re just a common tar who has a fair memory when he’s sober and once had the good fortune to become mates with the real Cooper Frye before he was swept overboard and drowned.”

The aging seaman chortled. “Aye, young Coop always liked ta talk ’bout his family, he did. Worked ta me advantage right nicely, too. I knew his stories ’bout his home an’ folks well enough ta fool his own sister, I did.”

His lordship laughed caustically. “Yes, and much to our regret, you talked her into sailing here to the colonies.”

“I al’ays had a hankerin’ ta settle down in this here part o’ the world, but e’ery ship I signed onto took me anywheres but where I wanted ta go. Convincin’ Lady Barrett o’ the merits o’ livin’ here wasn’t too hard, considerin’ the ridicule she an’ her daughter ‘ad fallen prey ta after Lord Barrett keeled o’er. ‘Twas certainly the best way I could think o’ ta get meself o’er here, so’s I pleaded poverty till she agreed ta loan me money for me passage.”

“In so doing, you left me and my companions wondering if we could trust you. I decided forthwith that we couldn’t, so I followed. After all, I was the one responsible for letting the missive fall into Barrett’s hands. It was my fool luck that my servant mistook Barrett for the one he was supposed to meet, and it was Barrett’s greater folly to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, but, of course, it didn’t help that the courier to France had been delayed. But that is neither here nor there. Barrett is dead, thanks to you, and right now, all my companions and I have to worry about is the whereabouts of the information he sequestered in his resolve to present it at his trial. Considering all the transfers up the scale of individuals responsible for passing it on to the king, I suppose he had a right to feel wary of it falling into the wrong hands. After what we had done to the man, one could hardly blame him for being cautious, even about those who tried to help him. He refused to see anybody until you came along. Indeed, if not for your chicanery in claiming to be his wife’s brother, Barrett would have presented his evidence, and my companions and I would have been arrested. For that I must be grateful, but I can only wonder what you’re up to now. If you’ve found the message and intend to use it against us, be assured, I have ways of dealing with men like you. So I’ll ask you outright, what do you want from me?”

“I did find the message, gov’na, just as ye thought, an’ after takin’ a looksee at it, I can understand why ye were so afraid o’ what ye’d loose if’n it fell inta the wrong hands, yer life at the very least. No doubt, it would’ve served England’s enemies well, what wit’ it reportin’, amonst other things, the weaknesses in his majesty’s military defenses. Too bad it bore the signatures o’ ye an’ yer two companions. If not for that, ye needn’t have gone ta so much bother tryin’ ta get it back.”

“Such knowledge could bring about your death, Frye,” the gravelly voice warned.

“Oh, aye! I knows that for sure, gov’na. That’s why I haven’t talked ta another soul about it until now, milord.”

“You certainly took your own sweet time getting the news to me. Nell has been dead for over a month.”

“I had ta work up me courage, gov’na, seein’s as how I left London wit’out tellin’ ye, an’ all. I was afraid ye’d cut me up wit’ that knife o’ yers, but I finally decided ta take me chances an’ tell it ta ye outright, like the honest man that I am.”

Lord Marsden laughed disparagingly. “Somehow I just can’t believe you, Frye. You know as well as I do that you’re not very honest at all.”

“Now would I seek ye out if’n I didn’t mean ta give ye the parchment?”

Though his lordship was suspicious of an ulterior motive, he was nevertheless curious. “Where did you find the missive? In Barrett’s personal coffer as I had once thought it might be?”