Fields of Fire (2 page)

* * * *

“That’s it. Just keep walking.”

Donnegan clutched Jalene’s arm with his left hand as he guided her down the street. His right hand rested on the pistol in his waistcoat pocket. “My driver has the carriage parked around the corner in the alley.”

Her mind raced, searching for a way out of her predicament. As they made their way along the street she nonchalantly dropped the package of toffee, hoping someone would notice her action, and be kind enough to return the parcel to her. She didn’t know what she would do next, but it would be her only opportunity to get help. The few people on the street failed to see her predicament. What had happened to the crowds who earlier strolled the streets? They most likely had returned to their homes after enjoying high tea, leaving her alone with this villain.

As they turned into the alley, she heard the scurry of footsteps behind them. Donnegan did, too. They both turned to see who approached.

“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to alarm you,” said a tall, bearded man with a black patch over one eye. His blond wig contrasted with his darker beard. Huge-bellied though he was, the man showed no signs of breathlessness from racing down the street.

“I believe this is yours,” he told Jalene, handing her the package.

Donnegan put his left arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. At his touch, she stiffened and stared at the brown paper bundle, but didn’t take it. This man was her only chance. She had to stall for time and make him aware that she was being held against her wishes.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, hoping he could see well enough from his one good eye to read the distress in her face. “Perhaps my friend should carry it for me, since I seem to be unable to hold on to it.”

She held her breath while the stranger handed Donnegan the package. Donnegan didn’t reach to take it. Instead, he moved behind her with his right hand buried in his waistcoat pocket.

“Certainly, my dear.” Donnegan lifted his left arm over her shoulder and raised his open hand to receive the bundle.

The bearded man’s face took on a puzzled look. He clumsily fumbled with the package and dropped it at her captor’s feet. As Donnegan reached to pick it up, the stranger charged like a bull, head down, aiming at Donnegan’s midsection.

Donnegan fired his pocket pistol through the velvet material of his waistcoat. The shot grazed the bearded man’s shoulder, but failed to slow his attack. His head struck Donnegan in the stomach, knocking him flat on his back. The bearded man rolled Donnegan over onto his stomach, and shoved his nose to the cobblestones in the alley. He pinned Donnegan’s arms behind him. Then he half-leaned, half-sat against him.

“It’s a bit late to be asking, but was this fellow bothering you?” the man said, and grinned up at her.

She stared back at him in astonishment. His wig was tilted in a lopsided position on his head, and his enormous stomach looked like it had shifted underneath his overcoat. The white of his one good eye and of his splendid teeth sparkled against his dark bushy face. He was the most unlikely of rescuers. Just the same, she was happy he came along.

“Aye, he threatened to harm me if I didn’t go with him. I’m grateful to you. Thank you.” She gave him the best smile she could produce under the circumstances, and relaxed a bit, putting aside her fears as to what might have happened if he hadn’t come along.

“One of my favorite pastimes is rescuing fair maidens from the hands of evildoers,” he said, applying more pressure against the pinned Donnegan.

She smiled again at her rescuer and asked, “What are you going to do with him?”

“I’ll make it worthwhile for you to set me free,” Donnegan interrupted. “I’m a wealthy man. I can compensate you for your trouble. I’ll not bother the lady again. You have my word.”

“Your word and your money mean nothing to me,” her rescuer replied, “but your social graces do. An overnight stay in Dublin’s Newgate jail should give you time to reflect upon the error of your ways.” He maintained his hold on the man and addressed her again. “We need something to tie his hands before we find a constable who can take him. I hate to spoil your gown, but the lace would work quite nicely.”

“Aye, that’s a grand idea,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind him. A man, dressed as a coachman, stepped quietly out of the shadows, and pointed a blunderbuss at him. “Now release Master Donnegan, so I can tie ye together myself.”

The stranger reluctantly did as he was ordered.

Donnegan jumped to his feet and jerked the blunderbuss from his driver. “O’Leary. Where the bloody hell have you been?”

O’Leary stepped backwards and raised his arms over his head in defense. “Sorry I am, sir, and it won’t be happenin’ again. I nodded off for a wee bit. I came as soon as I woke, figurin’ ye might be needin’ me.”

“Enough! Just get them tied so we can leave. Tear those lace strips, my dear, and be quick about it. If you,” Donnegan aimed the blunderbuss at her would-be emancipator’s chest, “make one move I don’t like, I’ll blow you to pieces. Now, get moving.” He shoved the man in the direction of the carriage parked a few yards down the alley. She hurried to his side to avoid the same treatment.

Once they reached the enclosed carriage, O’Leary tied their hands behind their backs and secured their legs at the ankles and knees. Donnegan lifted her inside the vehicle and dropped her none too gently on the seat. She bit her lip to prevent a cry of pain from escaping.

“Get her satchel. We’ll dispose of it later,” Donnegan yelled to O’Leary. He turned to point a wicked finger at her. “You’ll pay for the trouble you caused me. Try anything else, and you and your gallant will suffer.”

Never more frightened in her life, she struggled with the queasy feeling his words produced, until a loud thump distracted her. She peered outside the carriage to see Donnegan kick the prone figure of her would-be rescuer. A few seconds later, O’Leary dumped the bearded man’s limp form onto the seat across from her. Concern for the man chased away her sick feeling. His chest moved slightly, so he was still alive. He was just unconscious. She saw no blood except for a small, half-dried patch on his shoulder and was reminded that he’d been wounded when Donnegan fired the pistol.

The carriage jerked forward. She leaned sideways against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Her heart ached with regret. She was responsible for this man’s condition. He could have been killed. Worse yet, he still might die because of her. Thinking only about herself, she had failed to consider the consequences of getting someone else involved. Now, this man’s life was in danger too. This knowledge distressed her more than her fears of what lay ahead.

Chapter 2

The carriage moved at a brisk pace along the narrow streets of Dublin. Most of the traffic—from coaches, horse-drawn carts, and riders on horseback, who earlier had struggled for space—was gone. Jalene watched the shopkeepers’ signs flash by the carriage window. Feeney and Son Draper, Smith Booksellers, High Street Pastries, Murphy’s—Dealer in Spirituous Liquor, Hogs Head Tavern—Est. 1701. Earlier that day she had strolled down the same street knowing exactly where she was going. Now, half the day later, her future was uncertain.

She stared in remorse as the man in the seat across from her began to stir. He lay cramped in the small space available for his tall frame, and his cheek pressed against the carriage seat in such a way that it forced his un-patched eye shut. She watched him try to move his hands and legs before he realized they were tied. He struggled to lift his head and turn it in the restricted amount of space.

“Where’s our amiable host?” he asked her when his eye opened, and he saw her watching him.

“He’s riding horseback behind us. I am happy to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“My body is tied, crumpled and smashed in to fit the seat. The lump on my head hurts like hell. My shoulder is stiff, and I haven’t the slightest idea where that madman is taking us. How do you think I feel?” His sarcastic tone was a bleak reminder that their situation was all her fault. He paused, then continued more calmly. “I apologize for taking my discomfort out on you,” he said. “I’ve dealt with enough criminals to know a man like Donnegan wouldn’t be alone. I’m not blaming you.”

“You’re kind to say so; however, I am to blame,” she protested shamefacedly. “I dropped the package hoping someone would return it, and present me with some opportunity to escape from Donnegan. I meant no harm or danger to anyone else. I am sorry, and wish it had never happened.”

“Nay, don’t worry yourself anymore about it. My business with Cory Donnegan brought me to your side.” He managed to sit upright despite his restraints. “I’m Captain Taylor Traynor.” He lowered his now wigless head in an exaggerated bow. Long strands of dark blond hair fell loose around his face and briefly stuck to his darker beard when he raised his head. “Who do I have the pleasure of facing across the coach?”

“I’m Jalene Somerville,” she said, and smiled at his formal manner, considering their situation.

“Tell me, Mistress Jalene, what is a lady such as yourself doing alone? Wandering the streets of Dublin unescorted, even along a better street like Fitzwilliam, is not wise. Your father would have to be daft to allow such a comely young woman to travel alone.”

In one sentence he managed both to compliment and to insult her. She addressed the insult. “My father is dead, and I do as I please. I traveled to Dublin to meet someone. I appreciate your trying to help me; my affairs, however, are none of your business.”

He studied her for a moment before he said, “I see, a tryst. A little amour on the side, and you wouldn’t want your husband to find out.”

“Sir! You twist my words,” she said in a huff.

“My apologies.”

She wasn’t quite sure he meant it, but let it be. “Apology accepted.”

“Any idea how long we’ve been driving, or where we’re going?” he asked.

“We passed the River Liffey shortly before you sat up. We’re heading north.”

“That would put us still on the outskirts of Dublin.” He looked out the window at the sky. “It won’t be dark for several hours. Donnegan might want to stop before night. Now, turn around so I can see your hands.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do as I say.”

She did as he ordered, and in a moment Taylor’s head bumped lightly against her lower back. When his warm breath touched her bare forearms and cold hands, she shivered and wiggled away.

“Be still. I’m trying to loosen these lace ties with my teeth. Your squirming and the bumps in the road don’t make it any easier.”

“I can’t help it. Your beard tickles.”

In a few minutes, Taylor quit gnawing at the ties and turned around, so they sat back to back and hand to hand.

He finished working at the lace with his hands. His fingers were as warm as his breath had been.

“There, now untie me,” he said. Her hands were free.

Her heart raced as she fumbled with the knots. If Donnegan rode up and peered into the window ... she didn’t want to think about it.

The carriage made a turn, prompting Taylor to glance out the window. “Damn it woman, hurry.”

“You needn’t curse at me. I’m doing this as fast as I can.”

Before she could finish, the carriage came to an abrupt halt, knocking them both against the seat. She fell sprawled across his back. The carriage door burst open before they’d had time to adjust.

“I wondered how my guests were enjoying their trip,” Donnegan said, surveying the scene inside. His eyes narrowed and his mouth puckered in anger. He pulled her from Taylor’s back and shoved her out the door. She braced herself for the fall and managed to keep herself from tasting the dusty road.

“O’Leary!” Donnegan yelled, and thumbed towards Jalene. “Get Henry out here, then take this bitch and her damned friend inside the cottage.”

She cringed in fear as Donnegan turned his attention to Taylor. “I warned you not to try anything.” He grasped Taylor by his waistcoat and threw him from the carriage. Taylor hit the ground with a bounce and rolled in the dirt. Donnegan gave him a swift kick to the stomach. “God, you’re soft as a babe.” When he lifted his booted foot, a curious indentation in Taylor’s stomach remained. Donnegan struck him another brutal blow across his forehead, temporarily stunning Taylor, before Donnegan retied his hands and legs more securely.

When O’Leary returned with Henry, Donnegan said, “Make sure they don’t try anything else, and don’t touch the wench. I’ll be back later to question her and enjoy her myself.” He mounted his horse and left.

* * * *

Donnegan’s men had deposited them in a thatch-roofed cottage which consisted of a single room with a wooden table and two chairs. Taylor leaned against the wall closest to the fireplace although no turf burned there to offer any comfort against the chilly July night. The meager scattering of rushes over the earthen floor gave little protection against the dampness. So much for country hospitality, he wryly thought.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Taylor spoke quietly to her.

“I’m cold and scared. How can I possibly rest, not knowing what will become of us?”

The look on her face tore at his heart. “Don’t be worrying yourself. Everything will work out.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I don’t know yet, but we’ll be all right. Move closer to me. Our combined body heat will help keep us warm.” He wanted to put his arm around her; however, tied up as they were, all he could do was watch her reluctantly scoot next to him. Inwardly, he cursed his helplessness. “Rest your head against my shoulder and close your eyes, at least.”

She did as he suggested, and despite what she told him, she slept fitfully.

He remained awake well into the early morning, watching the thugs that Donnegan had left as guards, until they were both snoring. Wherever Donnegan planned to take them must be some distance away, since they’d stopped overnight. Bastard. Such a man was used to doing and getting things he wanted, no matter the cost. He still had no proof, but he was certain Donnegan was involved in the illegal distillery operation Colonel Hume had commissioned him to investigate.