Fields of Fire (22 page)

Besides this, his own sense of honor concerning her welfare was starting to nag at him. Jesus Christ! Whether she had criminal intentions or not, whether her brother was a smuggler or not. Whether Blackwater Distillery was involved or not, she had put her trust in him to protect her against Donnegan and she was willing to even help discover the truth about her brother. Granted, it could be another performance. She needed his protection, and he needed to forget about all this for a time.

“Say!” He bellowed the single exclamation.

Taylor’s booming voice startled both Hug and Wylie, who had apparently taken his silence as an opportunity to converse amongst themselves.

Hug eyeballed Taylor with a puzzled expression. “What the hell! Have you lost your wits? Are you trying to scare us to death?”

“What I intend to lose is this pressure building in my loins? Shall we visit the twins?” he said to Hug.

“Aye, for sure.” Hug reached down and grabbed his crotch. “It’s been too damn long.”

“Off with ye then, ye hot-blooded mischief-makers.” Wylie made a shooing motion at them. “The King’s Arms is where you’ll be going?”

“Aye, don’t wait supper for either of us,” Taylor said.

“What about the lady?” Wylie asked.

“Keep an eye on her. Naturally, she’s worried about Wil and probably still feels responsible, but she’ll soon realize there’s naught to be done. She’ll be all right.”

“Aye. I’ll do it,” Wylie answered as the two exited, slamming the door to the drying house.

Taylor and Hug walked back around the bleaching green to the front of Wylie’s domain, where they had left the carriage parked. Each started to unhitch a horse to saddle. At times like this Taylor missed Aristotle, but this particular assignment called for other means of transportation, and he knew the grey-blue beast would be pampered by Quinn.

Hug mounted, and while he waited for Taylor to do the same, he asked, “What do you make of Wil’s running off?”

“I’m not sure, but I have to agree with Wylie. Something worried him. I’m hoping someone at the tavern saw him, even if it was merely his traveling down the road.” Taylor mounted and they both nudged their horses to a walk.

“Now what?” Hug asked.

“Tomorrow, we head in the direction we originally planned, and follow through with peddling the whiskey at a competitive price. This eve, however,” he wiggled his eyebrows up and down several times quickly, indicating something good was to follow, “Isabella for you and Annabella for me.” He sent his horse into a gallop.

“To the King’s Arms,” Hug yelled, raising his arm to the charge and following suit.

* * * *

“Where does the footpath around the bleaching green lead? I’d like to take a walk,” Jalene asked White Wylie, returning her empty tea cup to the tray. Thankfully, she had fallen asleep, but for only an hour. She felt as revived as if she had slept for eight hours, but the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach concerning Wil’s departure remained.

“Actually, ‘tis merely a circle, but you’ll come to another path along the way. If you take that, it will lead you to a bridge across the water into Enniskillen. It’s a fair distance though,” Wylie placed his cup on the tray, too.

“Thank you, but I doubt I’ll go that far.” Especially if that is where Taylor and Hug retreated to, she thought. “I think a walk will do me good.”

“The path is lovely, too,” his brows puckered in consideration before a gleam came into his eyes. “There’s a section of wood you’ll be passing. Right before it ends and opens into another clearing, if you scout about, you’ll find some of the best mushrooms hiding amongst the foliage.” Wylie abruptly ceased talking.

“And?” she coaxed.

“And nothing—just wanted to share that with you.”

“Would you like me to bring you back some mushrooms?”

“Ach, nay. I can’t have ye be doing that.”

“Why not? I’d be happy to do so,” she said sincerely. “Where’s a basket?”

“I don’t know if ...,” Wylie hesitated.

“Go on. Get me a basket.”

He gave it a second’s thought and shoved himself off the sofa in the drawing room where they both sat. Moments later, he returned and handed her a straw basket with a linen top, the perfect size, she guessed, to hold some forty-odd large mushrooms.

“I’ve had me taste buds set for mushroom fricassee for over a week now, but have had no time to fetch them.” Wylie licked his lips and closed his eyes as if he were savoring a mushroom in his mouth right then and there. She smiled. Something as simple as mushrooms coated in a seasoned flour and simmered in stock could make the man as happy as a child receiving sweets. It pleased her to be part of it.

“When I return, you’ll have plenty to make your fricassee. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, but I’ll return before it gets dark.” She swung the basket at her side and left the drawing room without her cloak, since the early evening air was still warm.

Once outside, she followed the path along the bleaching green farther out into the meadow. As she walked, she watched the tall grass gently sway in the breeze around her, and soon got caught up in their hypnotic effect. She raised her face to the sky, luxuriating in the beautiful hour of day. She could have enjoyed it more if only she’d known that Wil was safe somewhere.

Earlier, before her rest, she had tried to understand what might have caused him to leave in such a hurry while he was still hurt. Over and over in her mind she replayed their last conversation together. Nothing struck her as odd. All she knew was that Wil possessed a map that had something to do with James. In fact, Donnegan had said as much. James dropped it. Wil retrieved it. His men witnessed it, and Donnegan wanted it back.

After twenty minutes, the footpath began to traverse more hilly ground. At the top of a small knoll, she stopped to look behind her. Wylie’s residence, the bleaching fields, and outbuildings were farther away than she had imagined. She turned around and squinted at the sunlight that barely peeked through a grove of trees in the distance, perhaps a half-mile away. For her, this was easy enough since she often took three to five mile walks near Sorrel House, her home.

She was enjoying the day. It wasn’t until she approached the wood, where the temperature dropped considerably and the earthy smell assailed her, that she recalled her last tramp through an area similar to this. Dear Lord, who’d ever believe her if she told anyone that she had spent an entire day with a man in the woods wearing-nothing but a wool blanket. Hadn’t they experienced a difficult enough time convincing the dragoons?

She smiled at the ridiculousness of it, until she sensed movement. It occurred to her that she would be defenseless, if a dangerous animal or person—a man like Donnegan—that might be lurking in the brush. The hair on her arms rose at the idea. For a long while she stood listening to the breeze through the trees, alert for woodland noises that might not be normal. She was afraid to breathe, and wondered how she had let her imagination scare her. If Wylie had thought it was unsafe, he would have said so, and never would have allowed her to go alone.

She was no longer enjoying her journey. She hurried through the brief section of wood, concentrating on reaching the clearing on the other side. Her steps didn’t lighten until that instant when she reached the open land.

After she took a few moments to still her pounding heart, she studied the trees and foliage for likely mushroom grounds. She decided the section of field nearest to her along the edge of the wood looked as promising as any other. The rustling of her petticoats beneath her gown and the creaking of the straw basket as it rubbed against her side, were the only unnatural sounds she heard as she poked and peered in between the grasses.

The location she chose abounded with white-capped fungi. She busied herself filling the basket. When the last mushroom sat precariously atop the heap, she pulled the drawstring to close the linen cloth. At that moment she sensed she was being watched.

“Who’s there?” Her voice sounded foreign even to her in this natural setting. “I know you’re there. What do you want?”

Whoever or whatever didn’t answer, but she heard a rush of steps coming towards her. Dear Lord, she wasn’t going to wait and find out. With the basket in one hand and the hem of her gown in the other, she bolted from this unknown predator.

“Stop! I mean no harm,” a young-sounding voice called from behind her.

Intuitively, she halted and the owner of the voice instantly appeared at her side. Her heart jumped, then slowed in relief when she saw the lad.

“It’s not polite to stalk a person like that.” She scolded him and noticed that he was carrying a fishing pole over his shoulder. He appeared to be some thirteen years old, but he was tall for his age. His worn smock and threadbare breeches suggested that he lived in one of the neighboring cottages.

“I didn’t mean to stalk you,” he answered in a voice filled with trepidation and struggled to remove two large mushrooms from his smock pocket. “I was afraid to let ye know I was here—because of these.” He held the mushrooms out for her to examine. “You won’t be reportin’ me, will ye?”

“Report you? To whom and whatever for?” She couldn’t imagine what the lad was talking about.

“Because I took the mushrooms. Me da warned me not to take them anymore, but ‘tis only a few for fishin’.” He shoved them at her.

She pushed them back at him. “I’m sure a few mushrooms won’t be missed.”

She knew some landlords were strict about hunting, fishing, or taking anything from their vast properties. Others generously allowed their tenants to use the resources available to them—provided they weren’t wasteful, or that they didn’t desecrate the land.

The lad looked down at the mushrooms in his hand. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to scare ye, but I didn’t want to get caught. When ye started to run, I was afraid ye’d bring back others. I decided I’d take me chances with ye.” He kept his head down, apparently embarrassed by this last comment.

Although she had changed into a more conservative walking gown and had removed the shamrock patch, she: knew she still appeared somewhat unladylike with her dyed black hair hanging freely around her face. She smiled at the lad’s perception. “Do fish really like them?”

“Aye.” He raised his head like she chanted some magic words and all was forgotten. He shoved the mushrooms back into his pocket. “I slice ‘em up, then slip ‘em on me hook. Their shape and light color in the dark water attract the fish. Course, ye have to keep wigglin’ the line, but it works, it does.”

“I’ve never tried mushrooms.”

“By god, ye fish?” His mouth hung open for some seconds before he clamped it shut and bowed his head once quickly. “Sorry, ‘tis just that a lady, I mean a woman, I mean ...”

“You mean a person like me?” She offered without taking offense, but his recognizing her for a wanton, even at his young age, disturbed her. It was one thing to have seedy tavern men think her loose, but it bothered her that the lad did.

“Aye.” He blushed, though, apparently thankful for her assistance.

“I don’t fish anymore, but as a child I used to with my father and brother.” Sadness touched her heart, but she refused to dwell on it. “Where do you fish?”

“Off the stone bridge into Enniskillen, but I have permission to take the fish, honest, I do.”

“I believe you.”

The lad smiled before he blurted out, “Do ye want to come fishin’ with me?”

She hated to destroy his exuberance, but it was getting late and she didn’t want to worry Wylie.

“I’d love to, but I’m expected back before nightfall.”

Disappointment quickly replaced the lad’s enthusiasm. He looked pitiful, and she regretted that she caused him to.

“Won’t you be missed at home, anyway?”

“Me da gave me the time off to bring some dinner home.”

“Oh,” she said, but her decision remained. “I better go. It was nice to meet you ... what is your name?”

“Thomas.”

She offered him her hand. As he politely took it and bowed, she said, “I’m Mistress Jalene. Good-bye, Thomas.”

He reluctantly released her hand.

“Is something wrong?” Jalene asked.

“Can I walk with ye a ways?”

She paused. This request was bold, but he was young and she sensed he liked her. Yet, he also acted as if something troubled him. She was curious, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She answered, “All right, but only through the wood to the other clearing. You’ve fish waiting to be caught, and you don’t want to disappoint your family.”

“Promise,” Thomas happily replied.

They strolled side by side down the footpath, Thomas with his fishing pole over his shoulder and she with the basket of mushrooms hooked to her arm. Although she was certain it would be harmless to chat with the lad, she was aware that the less people knew about her, the safer she would be. So she directed the conversation from herself. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Two sisters and two brothers. I’m the oldest.” He proudly puffed up a bit.

Sorrow again clenched her heart at the memory of James. The pain must have shown on her face as it was the lad’s turn this time to ask, “Is something wrong?”

“Nay,” she said, brushing her disquiet aside. “I was thinking of my brother.” She wrestled with the idea about telling the lad James was dead, but thought better of it. He need not know about her grief.

Before he could inquire about anything personal, she asked, “Do you ever take your brothers or sisters along to fish with you?”

“Sure, but not usually so far from me home. Me friend used to go.”

His troubled frown surfaced again, but this time it appeared to suggest an inner struggle over whether to speak out or not. She encouraged him to speak. “Did you have an argument with your friend?”

They walked in silence a few paces before he finally replied.

“You’re not from around here, are ye?”

“That is correct.”

“I’ll say then, but only to help me friend—and if ye promise not to tell anyone I told ye.”

Whatever the lad planned to reveal, it was something that disturbed him, and she was afraid it would make her uncomfortable. She regretted prying into affairs that were none of her business, and couldn’t imagine how she might assist him—other than by listening. Perhaps that was all he needed.