Fields of Fire

by Carol Caldwell

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 ho
w 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.

  He sighed. How the hell was he going to get out of this one? Thus far, he’d failed to come up with any possible solutions. Daybreak neared, and its coming would, no doubt, bring Donnegan.

  Moments later, the cottage door banged open, startling him from his thoughts. Donnegan stormed in with the early morning breeze, causing the rushes nearest the door to flutter about the room. He set a lantern on the table and tossed several blankets beside it onto the floor.

  “There’s been a change in plans,” he announced to his men, who immediately jumped to their feet at his noisy arrival.

  Donnegan walked over to Jalene’s sleeping form. The cad pulled her up into his arms. He ran his hand down the front of her bodice.

  “Leave her be! You sick bastard.” Taylor struggled to loosen his ties, although he knew it was useless.

  “I intend to, but not because you desire it. Unfortunately, something more pressing has transpired. It looks like I’ll have to forgo my sweet treat, but not before I have some fun.”

  Jalene stirred in Donnegan’s hold. He pressed her closer to him and kissed her mouth.

  Taylor watched helplessly, and when Jalene still didn’t respond, Donnegan slapped her. “Wake up!” He shook her hard by the shoulders, and tried to kiss her again. Jalene awakened with a start and jerked away. He grabbed her head, and kissed her violently.

  “I guess women find you so grossly offensive you have to tie them up and resort to force to receive their favors.” Taylor taunted Donnegan, hoping to distract him.

  “Shut up!” Donnegan shoved Jalene into the cottage wall and stood in front of Taylor. “I’d kill you now if I didn’t need you. Where you’re going you’ll be dead soon anyway.”

  He turned his attention to Jalene, who had managed to stand, leaning heavily against the wall for support. “Though your gentleman friend was unaware he was being followed, he managed to lose my man. A carriage crashed, caused a commotion, and separated the two.” He grabbed her jaw in his hand and squeezed. “Who is the man? If I think you’re lying, I’ll take it out on him.” He nodded in Taylor’s direction and released his grip so she might speak.

  “Don’t hurt him,” she said.

  “Never mind me ...”

  “He’s my cousin, Wil Somerville,” she answered, interrupting Taylor.

  “Where can we find him?”

  Taylor waited for her reply, wondering if she’d tell the truth and whether Donnegan would know the difference.

  With an unreadable expression on her face, she answered, “He lives in Dublin on Gardiner Street.”

  Donnegan grabbed her by the arms and squeezed tightly. “Did he mention anything to you about a map?”

  “Nay, he didn’t.” She squirmed and asked, “What’s this about?”

  “You’ll never know.” Donnegan unhanded her. “Truth or lie, we must be on our way. I don’t have the luxury of time to force the issue. Someone far more important needs my attention.” He dragged a chair over to the table, placed his pocket pistol on it, and sat down. He rested his feet on another chair, and said to O’Leary, “Untie them and clean the dried blood around that gash on his forehead. I want him looking presentable. You,” he told Henry, “hold your weapon on them.”

  When the task was completed, Taylor and Jalene, no longer bound, stood before Donnegan, who pulled a small silver flask from his boot. He took a swig of the liquid, sat back in his chair and leered.

  “Strip,” he ordered Jalene.

  “What?” she asked in disbelief.

  “You heard me. Off with your clothes. Just because I won’t be sampling your wares doesn’t mean I can’t take pleasure in viewing them.”

  “You disgusting low-life!” Taylor lunged at Donnegan, but Henry moved to block his path, and point his weapon at Taylor’s forehead. Taylor backed off and stood with his hands clenched at his side.

  “Hurry it up, woman,” Donnegan demanded.

  “You can’t be serious! This is depraved. I can’t. I mean ...,” she stammered, hoping Donnegan would come to his senses and change his mind.

  Donnegan stroked his cleft chin. “You can remove your clothing, or I’ll do it for you.”

  She bit her quivering lip as she struggled for control, fought hard to suppress the tears that pooled in her eyes.

  Her body shivered, yet beads of perspiration misted her lip and her forehead.

  She glanced at the other men in the room. The man called Henry made an obscene gesture at her, and O’Leary, his driver, grinned in anticipation as his eyes focused on her bodice. Taylor avoided staring at her and kept his head down, pretending to be studying his riding boots. Agonizing minutes of silence passed before Donnegan spoke.

  “Face me,” he demanded.

  Taylor looked up to see that she had turned away from Donnegan and unfastened her bodice. She moved to face the man. Her gown and petticoats dropped to the dirt floor. She fumbled with her corset lacing, finally freeing her breasts beneath her thin chemise. She paused and took a deep breath. A moment later, she pulled off her chemise and matching drawers. They fell to join the heap of clothing around her.

  Again, Taylor lowered his gaze to the toes of his riding boots. Bloody hell! Son of a bitch! He fought to control the rage within him. Then, as much as he hated Donnegan and what h
e was putting Jalene through, it occurred to him that she could be the distraction he needed to give him a moment’s advantage.

  When he raised his head to check on how preoccupied with Jalene his captors were, he, too, stared. He hadn’t meant to, but she stood still as a statue, her amber-colored eyes were blank, staring out into space. She was slim in build, yet curved in all the right places. She reminded Taylor of the Leanhaun Shee, the fairy mistress in Irish folklore.

  According to legend, it was the fairy’s beauty that was so dangerous. Her purpose was to make mortal men fall in love with her. Once a man was trapped in her embrace, she would draw the life from him until he gradually wasted away. The victim’s only escape was to find another man to take his place.

  Like the Leanhaun Shee, Jalene’s loveliness held everyone entranced. Oddly enough, it was the silence, the absence of movement and sound in the room that reminded him of the task at hand. O’Leary stood nearest to him and was so engrossed with her, he wasn’t prepared for Taylor’s swift kick that knocked the pistol from his hand and sent him sprawling. Henry jumped at the first sound of commotion, but before he could react, Taylor punched him in the stomach. Henry doubled over and dropped his pistol.

  Donnegan jumped over the table and grabbed Jalene. He held her to him, his own pistol jabbing into her side. “Stop.” Taylor halted in midstep while O’Leary and Henry retrieved their pistols and aimed them at him.

  Donnegan pushed her away from him. He walked over to Taylor and shoved the pistol barrel up under his chin. “You son of a whoremonger, I’m getting bloody damn tired of your antics. Too bad that I still need the likes of you.” He jabbed a vicious elbow into Taylor’s midsection.

  Taylor stumbled backwards, but the blow didn’t produce the effect Donnegan wanted. He reached for Taylor and slammed his fist as hard as he could into Taylor’s belly. “What the hell?” Donnegan stood back and stared at Taylor’s torso. “Take your clothes off.”

  Jalene hid her face in her hands. She had never seen a man’s unclothed body. She’d faced her own dilemma determined not to give Donnegan the satisfaction of seeing the extent of her humiliation. She had used every ounce of her concentration to build a mental wall around herself, pretending she was undressing in her bedchamber at Sorrel House. Now, she wondered what Donnegan was going to do.