Fields of Fire (9 page)

The magnificent grey stallion’s coat glistened in the setting sun with a blue tint that resembled the intense grey-blue shade of Taylor’s eyes. To her surprise, on the horse’s thigh was a dimple like the one in Taylor’s cheek. The animal pranced unceremoniously alongside the carriage, unlike the horse pulling it, whose hoof beats sounded steady and acquiescent. She smiled. It was odd how often animals took on traits of their owners. She studied the handsome duo a moment longer, wondering what animal Taylor might associate with her, when the carriage stopped. She listened to the words of the driver.

“Sheep. Dumb as stumps they are. Don’t care what’s comin’ at them.”

“I’ll see if I can’t coax them to the other side,” Taylor answered.

She stepped from the carriage in time to see him dismount and walk leisurely towards the sheep blocking their path. Several more lingered near the side of the road and dotted the field behind. She watched him pet a lamb for a few moments before he placed the woolly babe under his arm and proceeded to carry it across the road. The mother quickly followed. As he bent to place the lamb on the ground, the ewe nipped him in the seat of the pants. He jerked upright and instantly guarded his backside with his hands before he bolted towards the carriage. The scene presented such a comical sight that she doubled over in laughter. Yet, she managed to stumble back into the carriage before he jumped inside after her.

“Christ! I’ve never had that happen before.” He tugged at the portion of his riding cloak that he sat on, and straightened it, making himself comfortable. “I’m glad I managed to entertain you, albeit briefly,” he said, and favored her with his virile dimpled-cheek grin.

She let out a melodious giggle. “I know it wasn’t polite to laugh at you, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“It was worth it to see that ravishing smile of yours.” The wistful look he gave her said more than his words and it excited her. Blushing uncomfortably, she looked away from his gaze. “Is it much farther to the inn?”

“Nay. Are you tired?”

“Nay.” She fidgeted, still uneasy with his eyes on her. She was about to ask him to stop staring at her when the driver tapped on the carriage door.

“Beg yer pardon, Captain, but are ye wantin’ me to continue.”

“Aye. Give me a moment first.” Taylor leaned forward towards her and rested his forearms on his knees. “I’ve been thinking about our stopping at the inn. It’s the only one for miles on the way to Knights’ Head. I can’t predict whether Donnegan and his men headed this way or not, but I think the fewer people who see us the better. What would you say to riding a bit further? There’s a linen mill about an hour beyond the inn that I subsidize. I’m certain the overseer would welcome us for the night.”

“If he won’t mind, that’s fine with me.”

“Good. I’ll inform the driver about our change in plans.” He left the carriage and remounted his horse.

An hour later, after dozing off and on, she watched as the carriage pulled into the drive of what she assumed was the residence of the overseer to the linen mill. To her right appeared a white one-story house. In a flat field across from the house, strips of cloth marked the ground between rows of intersecting water-filled trenches.

Taylor dismounted and came to the carriage door to assist her.

“Why is that field like that?” she asked.

“Have you never seen a bleaching green then?”

“Nay, for sure I would remember such a sight.”

He touched her elbow to guide her to the house. “In the summer months cloth is laid out to whiten slowly. It takes weeks under our infrequent sunshine and usual soft rain. Would you like to know more about it?”

“Aye. Sure.”

“Good, because White Wylie will tell you all about it whether you want to know or not.” Taylor spoke with a tone of fondness in his voice. “White Wylie can make it the single topic of conversation.”

She and Taylor had started up the short cobblestone path to the door when it flew open. A tall fair-haired man charged Taylor, grabbed his hand and vigorously shook it. “Master Taylor! What a pleasant surprise to be sure. What brings ye here so early in the season?” He spoke to Taylor, but regarded her. “And who might this pretty one be with ye?”

“It’s good to see you again, Wylie.” Taylor put his hand on her shoulder. “I’d like you to meet Jalene Somerville. She is a business associate of mine and will be staying at Knights’ Head as my guest for a while.”

Without delay, she managed to control her facial expressions so as not to reflect her astonishment at Taylor’s preposterous statement. She doubted that White Wylie would accept such an outrageous lie. But, to her relief, he did just that.

“Ach, if only me associates were as lovely.” He bowed and took her hand and in the most gentlemanly manner planted a kiss to the back of it. “’Tis a pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wylie,” she said, watching his bowed head slowly rise and thinking how appropriate his name was. White Wylie’s hair was as light blond as it could be without being actually white.

He patted her hand before he released it. “Wylie. Everyone calls me Wylie.” He turned towards Taylor. “You’re just in time for supper. Come along then.”

He led them to a corridor beside the windows in the front of the house. Opposite, and with only separating walls, were the drawing room, dining room, and a bedchamber. The entry itself divided this side of the house from another bedchamber that she had glimpsed when they first entered. She guessed the kitchen and scullery were in that section as well. Although she was curious about why none of the rooms possessed doors, common courtesy kept her from asking.

“Sit yerselves in the dining area there and I’ll be back in a minute.” He scurried from the room with his blond head bobbing.

Taylor helped her remove her cloak and he set it upon an extra chair. With his own, he did the same. “He’s a curious sort, isn’t he?”

“Aye. Does he live: here alone?” she asked while she smoothed back some strands of her hair and straightened the sleeves of her gown.

“Aye, except for the housekeeper who comes during the summer months when Wylie’s busy with the linen. But she apparently hasn’t arrived yet. Wylie fancies himself as good a cook as she is. You’re in for a real treat.” He winked at her.

She wasn’t quite sure if he meant that as a jest. However, a short while later when she tasted the superb meat dish he served, she couldn’t decide which tasted better, the meat with its rich mushroom sauce, or the steaming biscuits that sat on top.

As Taylor predicted, Wylie asked her what she knew about bleaching and when she told him nothing, he began telling her all about it. “After the local weavers around Knights’ Head spin and weave the flax into linen, Master Taylor has the cloth brought to me for bleaching. I soak the cloth in wood ash and in the next stage pour a hot acid lye onto it.” He paused a moment to eat a mouthful of his meal. With his eyes sparkling in delight he continued. “Cloth, in lengths of maybe thirty yards butted end to end to make a continuous strip the length of the field, is laid out on the grass to whiten in the atmosphere.”

“What about the trenches?” she interrupted.

“Ach, be patient. I’m getting to that.” Wylie blushed, extremely pleased with her interest. “The trenches are filled with water. When the weather is dry, the water is thrown on the linen daily.”

“Of course,” she exclaimed in sudden understanding. “That’s how the porridge color is removed from the flax. The water aids the sunlight in whitening. Right?” She looked to Wylie. He nodded an affirmative and she continued. “I remember when I was a child and saw the housekeeper sprinkling water on the bed sheets that she had hung outside. When I asked her about it, she explained that by doing so several times through the course of the day, the sheets would be nice and bright and retain their whiteness.”

“She was right,” White Wylie said. “Only it takes many days to get it white enough to be sold for bed linens and such.”

“Then it is dried and bundled?” she waited for Wylie to finish chewing and swallowing.

“Ach, nay,” Wylie replied. “The linen is taken to the wash mills where it goes through the process of beetling. This flattens the cloth to a soft smooth surface. Afterwards, the linen is hung on rails to dry.”

Wylie paused and gave Taylor a proud look. “Master Taylor sends the dried and folded cloth to the Linen Hall in Dublin where English buyers purchase it for sheets, shirts, and linings. And that’s all there is to it.” He smiled at her and chomped into a biscuit dripping with gravy. Quickly, he wiped the bit of gravy that dribbled to his chin.

“Wylie makes it sound easy, but if the truth be known the process is quite time-consuming, and I’d have no other man do it for me.” Taylor blotted his mouth with his napkin and pushed himself a little ways from the table. “You outdid yourself with this meal.”

“Aye, really delicious. Thank you,” she added and watched Wylie beam with pride. If he thought she was anything other than Taylor’s business associate, or if he was curious as to why no maid accompanied her, he gave no indication. Taylor may have been his employer, but he was also his friend.

“Ach, it was nothing.” Wylie rose from his chair and began gathering the dishes. “Have ye heard another lad is missing?”

“Nay. What town this time?” Taylor asked with concern.

“Right here, in nearby Enniskillen.”

“That’s the third lad to be reported missing around Lough Erne.” Taylor toyed with his fork while apparently reflecting on his own words.

“Does no one have a clue as to their whereabouts?” she asked, puzzled at how children could simply disappear.

Taylor’s lips formed a grim line and his eyes got a faraway look. Wylie simply watched him. For a moment, she thought neither Wylie nor Taylor were going to answer her when Taylor said, “All that is known is that the lads were all around the same age—fourteen or fifteen.”

“How dreadful. It has to be difficult for the families.” She sympathized with them.

“Aye, but let’s speak no more of it tonight. I’m tired.” Taylor addressed Wylie. “I know we’re unannounced. I hope we’re not too much trouble for you to put us up for the evening.”

“Nonsense. You know my home is yours. Mistress Jalene can have the north bedchamber, and you can stay in mine on the south side.”

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Taylor said, “but I’ll not have you kept from sleeping in your own bedchamber because I’m here. If you don’t mind, the sofa in the drawing room will suit me.”

“It’s up to you,” said White Wylie.

Once the sleeping arrangements were made, the evening ended. Taylor grabbed one of the candles from the dining-room table and escorted Jalene past the drawing room to her room. He set the candle on a five-drawer chest. “I’ll be on the other side of this wall. Give a yell if you need anything.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She watched him nod in agreement and start to leave. “Wait. I’m curious—why are there no doors in this house?”

“Wylie was in a fire when he was a young lad. The door to his bedchamber jammed. He almost didn’t make it out. When he came to work for me, that was his only request.”

“Oh,” she replied, understanding. She, too, had a childhood fear. “Good night.”

“Sleep well, Jalene.”

She listened to his activity on the other side before she focused on the candle. She was tired enough. Surely, she would be asleep long before it burned out.

With these positive thoughts, she let her hair fall loose and glanced around the room. A washbowl sat on a low, wide chest along one wall, and a narrow untestered bed rested against the opposite wall. She removed her petticoats, shoes and stockings, but nothing else. With no door and a mere wall separating her from Taylor, she was uncomfortable about being unclothed, even though they had tramped through the woods with only a blanket to cover them.

After finishing her toilet, she lay in bed for over an hour staring at the ceiling, her eyes as wide and alert as if it were daybreak. When she saw that the candle had burned low, she got up to search the drawers and the chest for another, but found none. She had to have a candle. She knew it was foolish, but ever since, as a child, she had been locked in the cellar, she feared the dark. Being outdoors at night didn’t affect her the same way.

She peered around the wall into the shadowed room to see Taylor’s sleeping form stretched out on the sofa. The sofa faced her. It sat on a floral patterned carpet in the middle of the room, with a tea table in front of it and two armchairs on the other side. Beyond the sofa was an escritoire with a candlestick and barely used candle sitting on it.

She tiptoed past Taylor to the desk and lifted the candle from its holder. On her way back, she paused to look at him more closely, as he lay shirtless in his breeches. She stared at his handsome face and admired his broad hairy chest. She reached to touch him there, but pulled her hand back wondering what had possessed her to act in such a bold fashion. But she continued her perusal. Her eyes moved further down to the bulge in his breeches. She held her breath and quietly released it as if this action would still the pleasant sensation that suddenly pulsed throughout her body. Dear Lord, this was no way for a lady to behave. She breathed again to calm herself, when she became aware that Taylor was watching her.

“You’re gawking. Is this another study in anatomy?” He rose to a sitting position, placing his bare feet on the carpet. “What are you doing in here?”

She stood motionless in front of him while her entire body from hairline to toes flushed hot. Unable to face him, she looked away, thankful the room was dark so he couldn’t witness her embarrassment. “I needed a candle.”

“You’re not going to find it on my person, unless that’s your way of suggesting ...”

“Captain Traynor! I was going to apologize for waking you, but now should slap your face instead.”

“And I should spank your bottom—that is, if I were your father.” He stood up. “But, it’s my good fortune I’m not.”

He stepped closer to her. She backed away. He looked like an animal stalking his prey, but she didn’t fear him— only the feelings he prompted in her. She moved another step backwards, but this time he pulled her roughly against him and kissed her long and hard. The candle slipped from her hand as if it were a signal. Her arms immediately wrapped around his neck. The more she tasted, the more she wanted. Her skirted hips pressed against him.