"You thought! May a lady not have a little privacy in her own bedroom? Must I explain to you exactly what I was doing, Captain? Am I to believe that you too don't have physical needs of the body to administer to?"
There were murmurs of apology and the tramp of feet, followed by the slam of the door and Charity's low throaty chuckle.
Jamie inched across the floor until his hand met a solid wall. He tapped lightly.
"Be still," she hissed.
"Charity." He had reached the limits of his sanity. Blind. Trapped in some sort of a hole. I'll kill her. If it's the last thing I do on this earth... I'll kill her.
"Later. My husband's coming."
He heard the tap of a walking stick and the slow, measured step of an old man. Then the baby began to wail.
"Soldiers! Soldiers in my bedchamber!" Charity cried.
"Pawing through my undergarments. They frightened the baby half to death."
The infant howled. The little witch, Jamie thought. What's she doing to make it scream so?
"There, there, my dear." Harry patted the baby ineffectually. "Hush, lamb, hush. It will be all right."
"Oh, my lord. What's happening? Are the criminals in the house? Are we in danger? You told me to come to my room. You said everything would be fine. And then you send a company of foul-mouthed soldiers into my bedroom?"
"Now, now, sweet." The old earl wiped his chin. "What is it you want, darling? Don't be afraid."
Charity put the baby in her cradle, and Lord Beauford knelt beside it and rocked her. "Don't cry, sweetums."
Jamie's fingers scraped against the rough boards until a fingernail snapped, sending a shard of pain up his hand. "Damn you," he breathed.
Charity sniffed and wiped at her eyes. "There are still guests downstairs. What must they think?"
"You're right, of course, my dear. But we can't leave her in this state, can we?" Harry got to his feet, feeling slightly foolish. "You know I was thinking only of you. How did I know you weren't being held against your will?"
Charity looked at him through thick lashes and allowed a faint smile. "I know, my lord. You think only of our good. But I was so frightened. I thought... I don't know what I thought." She kissed his cheek. "I'll send Nan to care for Kat. We'd better go down and see to our guests. Perhaps Captain Halifax has news of the criminals. I'm certain Kat will be safe now." She laughed. "At least we know he's not hiding in here."
The door closed behind them, and Jamie was left alone in the darkness to plot the murder of a certain female.
* * *
Jamie blinked in the light as it flooded the small room.
"Are you all right? Is your leg still bleeding?" Charity went to her knees beside him. "Jamie?"
His hand closed on her wrist. He blinked again. "I'm not blind," he said stupidly. "I thought I'd gone blind."
Dawn streamed through the windows of Charity's bedroom. "Can you walk? I've got a little food here, and some hot tea. Are you cold?" Her concerned face was inches from his.
"I'm going to kill you."
"Don't be an ass, Jamie. I'm sorry I had to hit you. But Harry was at the door. I had to do something. There wasn't time to convince you." She tugged at him to pull him up. He pulled her down. "Don't be mad. I didn't know what else to do." She looked at him with wide innocent eyes. "I'm glad you've got such a hard head. I thought the wig would cushion the blow."
"What is this?" he stammered. "This place?" Anger washed over him in waves. Not why, but how. A dozen ways of murder surfaced in his mind. "Where am I?"
"I believe it's called a priest's hole. This is the old part of the house. It used to belong to a Catholic family. During the persecution, they hid priests in here. Jane Comegys told me a lot of the early Tidewater homes have them. She doesn't know about this one though. No one does. At least I don't think they do. I came home and looked for it after she told me about them. They were built—"
"I know how they were built. There's one at Widow's Endeavor," he said angrily. "What I want to know is why?" He shoved her to the floor. "What kind of game do you think you're playing?"
She struggled against his grip. "Let me up. Your breakfast will get cold. And if you don't stop yelling at me, you'll wake Kat."
"Who?" God, but she smelled good... like honeysuckle.
"My baby, Catherine. We call her Kat." Charity took a deep breath. "Stop acting like a fool and let me up. Do you always try to murder people who save your life?" The green eyes were amused rather than frightened. "You'd never have gotten out of the house and you know it. There are still a half dozen soldiers outside. They say you vanished without a trace."
Jamie loosened his grip on her wrists. "You conniving little witch." He rubbed at his aching head. "I don't know why..."
He broke off in bewilderment. "Why, Charity? If you care enough to..."
"Come out and eat. The tea will do you good, and you'll have to go back in the hole soon enough. The girl will be coming to feed the baby." She got up and pulled at his hand. "If you weren't hurt... if they hadn't almost killed you last night, I wouldn't let you talk to me like this. Sometimes I think you're ten years old, James Drummond." She dropped his hand. It was too dangerous to touch him. There were too many memories... memories that sent tingles of excitement under her skin. Memories that... She shook her head, sending the flaxen hair tumbling. "Come and eat, Jamie. Then we'll talk. We'll figure out a way to get you out of here safely." She led him out of the tiny room and into the larger one, then closed the panel.
Jamie stared at the paneled fireplace wall. If he hadn't just come out of it, he would swear there was nothing there but solid wall. The elaborate woodwork fitted together perfectly. He leaned against the wall for support and ran a hand over the raised panels. "How did you do that?"
"The catch is hidden. I'll show you." She demonstrated the maneuver deftly. "It won't open from the inside. The wall is the same thickness all the way across. It's almost impossible to find, unless you know what to look for." She went to the tea table and began to pour him a cup.
"I don't want your damned tea. I want out of here," he said stubbornly. Jamie rubbed gingerly at the injured calf of his leg. "This has got to be properly looked after. I don't want to end up walking on a peg."
"Why not? It would fit your pirate image."
The baby stirred and Charity rocked the cradle. "Hush, now," she murmured. "Sleep a little while longer."
Charity stood and brushed the wrinkles from her simple lavender gown. Her face was pale; dark circles under her eyes showed the lack of sleep. Her hair lay smoothly down the back of her dress, neatly brushed and secured with a matching lavender ribbon. Her only jewelry was Lord Beauford's betrothal ring.
"I see you traded the ring I gave you for a better one," Jamie observed. "God!" He spat. "What's in this tea?" Grimacing, he set the cup down on the polished cherry table. "Are you trying to poison me?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"It's made of willow bark. It will help the pain and the infection." Charity's cheeks reddened. "Enough of this, Jamie. I'm risking too much to keep you here. I won't be insulted." The green eyes narrowed in warning. "You said we were partners once. We shared a great deal. For the sake of what we had, I'm doing this, nothing more. And I'll not be judged by you or any man!"
"Listen to you! You've played the part so long, you believe it," he taunted. "Charity Brown—the lady. You may have crossed the ocean, but you've not come very far from your own mother."
Her open palm cracked across Jamie's face. "Bastard!"
The red print of her fingers showed on his cheek as he raised a hand to deliver a retaliatory blow. "You bitch!"
"Bitch am I? I'll show you bitch!" The cup of willow tea flew through the air just missing his head, spraying tea across his shirt and arm. A half loaf of bread followed the tea as she cursed him soundly. Grabbing up the baby, she ran for the door then whirled on him, her face dark with fury. "Take a candle and blanket and whatever you need into your rat hole.
I'll be back in five minutes with Lord Beauford. If there's any sign of you, he can damn well turn you over to Halifax, and I'll dance at your hanging!"
"You'll dance all right!" Jamie threatened. "If I hang, I'll take you with me."
"So be it!" she flung back and stormed from the room, slamming the heavy door behind her.
When the upstairs maid arrived to make the bed and do her daily cleaning, the room was quiet and orderly with no sign of the extra guest.
Downstairs at the dining table, Charity attempted to make polite conversation with her husband and Captain Halifax. She kept her eyes on her plate and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. Jamie wasn't making this any easier. Why should he?
"...sailed this morning." Lord Beauford waved to a maid. She poured him another cup of strong dark tea. "Caroline. Are you listening?"
"Yes, my lord?" The green eyes widened. "Oh, yes, my lord. I'm listening. You were saying?"
"Lord Beauford was saying that the tobacco fleet sailed this morning," Captain Halifax supplied. The strain of the past hours showed plainly in his face. He wore a fresh linen shirt and dark sober clothing in contrast to his; attire the night before. The coat was too tight for the wide muscular shoulders and Charity decided that he must have borrowed the clean clothing.
"Did you catch the smugglers?" Charity buttered a beaten biscuit, still hot from the oven. She smiled at Beauford. "It added quite an exciting note to our party, don't you think? At least today it seems exciting. Last night it was frightening. Are your soldiers inexperienced at such matters, Captain? If there were only two..."
"One, my lady," Halifax corrected. "Only the Scot was seen. But as Sheriff Bennett said, we believe the two may be one. This priest may be disguising himself as a sea captain."
"Disguise? It all sounds very romantic to me. The fellow must be quite clever." She nibbled at the bread daintily. "I'm not sure that I can imagine Father Brady dressing up in seaman's attire." She giggled and covered her lips with a well-manicured hand. "Are you quite certain?"
A maid carried away the half-eaten fish and brought the next course. The table could have fed twenty as easily as it fed the three who sat at it, Charity decided. She toyed with her food, her normal appetite dulled by the lack of sleep and the knowledge of the secret in her chambers. Getting Jamie out of her rooms might not be as easy as getting him in.
By the time the pies and sweet cakes were served, Charity had worked Captain Halifax into a cold rage. Her barbed inquiries into his mismanagement of the smuggling investigation and the capture of the criminal priest were devastating.
"But while you sit here at Avalon," she suggested, "the smuggler must be getting further and further away. He may even have sailed with the tobacco fleet to England."
"Ridiculous," the captain snapped. "He couldn't have gotten far. One of my men put a bayonet through him. We found a trail of blood leading toward the house. That's why we made such a thorough search of the house and grounds. If he's hiding, loss of blood will kill him or he'll be forced to come out and give himself up." He rolled his napkin into a tight ball. "It would be easier to deal with these criminals if the local populace didn't give them aid."
"Now, now," Lord Beauford soothed. "Don't let Lady Beauford disturb you." He patted Charity's hand. "Avalon is quite dull most of the time. I can assure you that we realize you're doing everything possible under the most difficult of circumstances."
Halifax frowned. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost think her ladyship's sympathies lie with this Brady."
Charity forced a merry laugh. "Me? Oh, goodness gracious!" She wiped her eyes with her napkin. "In favor of smugglers?" The laughter died away, and she looked serious. "Forgive me, Captain Halifax, if I have given that impression. I am a loyal subject of His Majesty, King George. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see you capture these villains and hang them from the nearest tree." At least one villain. Charity gave the captain her sweetest smile. "I am so grateful for your protection. I do hope you will make Avalon your headquarters as long as you think necessary," she lied. "You are most welcome, sir, both as a king's officer and as a gentleman."
* * *
In late afternoon, Charity returned to her chambers, leaving instructions with Nan and the wet nurse that she was tired and wished to rest. Kat must be cared for downstairs, and she was not to be disturbed for any reason—unless, of course, Lord Beauford required her attention.
Charity tapped at the panel wall. "Jamie. It's me. Are you all right?" No answer. "Jamie?" Still no answer. She pushed the release and opened the false panel.
Jamie sat in the far corner of the room, reading by candlelight. "I thought you'd gone away and left the rat to die."
"I should have." She motioned toward the larger room. "I have to change the bandages. I've brought a poultice for your leg. I can't bring a doctor. You'll have to settle for me."
With her help, Jamie got to his feet and limped to a chair. "I was wrong," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I deserved it."
"You did." She glared at him. He seemed strangely subdued. "Do you have a fever?" She laid her hand lightly on his forehead. Sparks of sensation ran up her arm, and she caught her breath.
Jerking her hand away, she busied herself with the medicines. "You're warm, but not too bad. I'll wash it out first." She knelt beside him.
"I am sorry. You saved my life, and I've been an ungrateful bastard." He touched her arm. "I still don't understand but..."
She unwrapped the bandage and Jamie winced as the blood-soaked linen tore away from the skin. Charity bathed it as carefully as possible, packing the wound with a mat of wool soaked in honey and goose grease.
Sweat rolled down his face as she covered the wool with a vinegar-saturated pad and wrapped the whole thing in a clean linen bandage.
"I've more willow tea. It tastes bad, but it will help heal the wound from inside, and it should help your fever." Touching him had been agony, bringing back memories of the days and nights she had tended him on the beach. She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.
"All right, I'll drink your bitter tea," he agreed, "if you promise not to throw the pot at me." He grinned. "The girl cleaned up the pieces, but you're missing a cup from the set now." He straightened the leg painfully. "How long will I have to stay in my dungeon?"
"Not a minute longer than you have to!" she flung back. Charity began to gather up the soiled bandages. "Until Halifax has given up waiting. I don't know when that will be." She pointed to a cloth-wrapped bundle. "I've brought food and wine. Is it warm enough in there?"
"Too warm. When the fireplace is going it's like an oven." He grinned again charmingly. "Would you say it's a foretaste of hell?"
"It may be." She stood up and backed away. "You'll have to go back in now. It's not safe. Lord Beauford may come up at any time."
"How convenient for you both," he said wryly. With a slight nod, he headed for the secret room. "Will you let me out tonight?"
"If I can." She poured the dirty water into the chamber pot. Her cheeks grew bright. "Are you in need of this?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Chuckling, Jamie carried the flowered china pot into his cell. "As you told the captain, there are certain body functions—"
Charity slammed shut the panel.
Chapter 23
Charity pulled the quilt over her head and put her fingers in her ears to shut out the tap-tap coming from the priest's hole. She'd as much as promised Jamie she'd let him out after the house was asleep, but now she knew better. If she opened that door... if she opened that door she wasn't sure she could remain true to her marriage vows.
He'd pleaded with her earlier to release the catch. She'd refused, telling him she didn't trust him. It was a lie. It was herself she didn't trust.
"Oh, Jamie," she whispered into the pillow. "I want you so much."
Rain intermixed with sleet beat against the windows. The temperature was dropping. Lord Beauford had predicted they'd have snow before morning.<
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Kat lay sleeping peacefully in her cradle. Charity had sent the wet nurse to sleep elsewhere, complaining that she snored. If Kat woke in the night, she'd have to call the girl to feed her. She'd drawn the cradle closer to the fireplace to be sure Kat was warm enough.
She was a happy baby who hardly ever cried. Charity couldn't help thinking what Jamie would say if he knew he was only a few feet from his own daughter. Would he be proud of her, or would he wish she'd never been born? At least no one could ever name her bastard. She had a name. A good name... even if it wasn't really her own.
She'd searched little Kat's features day after day looking for Jamie's stamp. There seemed to be nothing of her father in her face or coloring.
Her hair was gold; ringlets covered her head. Her skin was very fair, the eyes as blue as a Tidewater sky. Mam's eyes? Beauford swore they were his.
The tapping grew louder.
"Go to sleep," Charity hissed. Captain Halifax slept only a few doors down the hallway. It wasn't safe to let him out.
Charity sighed. It certainly wasn't safe. Memories of his lovemaking tortured her... the feel of his mouth on hers... the solid length of his body pressed hotly against her.
She shook her head to clear away the sinful thoughts. If she didn't have Kat... But she did. And because of Kat she had to do what was right. No, she thought. Not just for Kat. For herself and for Harry. She'd given her vows freely. A woman who would break her solemn vows of marriage deserved to bum in hell. There was much she had done in her life to be ashamed of, much to regret. But she was no cheat! She had promised Harry her body. It was his, whether he could make use of it or not. She could not betray him. You betrayed Jamie, the voice in her head reminded.
"That was different." Charity burrowed deeper into the bed. The sheets were suddenly harsh against her sensitive skin. An urgent need began to grow within her. "No. I won't think of Jamie. I'll think of something else."
Charity pushed her way from the covers and went to the window. The floorboards were icy against her bare feet. She laid her face against the panes and stared out into the bitter night, ignoring an impulse to open the window and let the cold rain beat against her face.
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