A Season Beyond a Kiss

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Forget zhat for zhe moment,” Gustav commanded sharply. “I haf more important vork for yu to do now. Cooper Frye left here moments ago. He has become a hazard to our business ventures. I vant yu to . . . ah . . . How shall I say it? Put him out of his misery? Frye has a bag of coins on his person. If yu three lads do avay with him, then zhat vill be revard. Yu may share in it evenly or zeparately. It does not matter to me vhich vone of yu do it as long as Cooper Frye iz zilenced permanently. Yu understand?”

  COOPER FRYE STROLLED AWAY FROM THE WAREHOUSE, feeling very cocky with a thousand Yankee coins in his possession. It had been a while since he had had his mind clear of the dulling intoxicants he was wont to liberally quaff, and at the moment he was convinced that he could do no wrong. In fact, he had already planned his next venture to enlarge his wealth, possibly by as much as a few more thousand. It entailed arranging a meeting with an old acquaintance whom he had diligently been avoiding. This fellow was exceedingly more dangerous than the German, but if he kept his wits keen and clear, he had no doubt that he’d come out the victor. After all, this was his lucky day.

  It was a rare occasion indeed when Cooper Frye sauntered down Meeting Street to the best hostelry in town and crossed its threshold. It wasn’t that he disliked being in such a place. His reluctance to enter the establishment was simply due to the fact that he normally couldn’t afford anything that was worth having on the premises and that, when he came in, the manager, along with almost everyone on his staff, looked at him as if he were something tainted that had just been washed up from the sea. Previously he had always left the place feeling the throes of deep depression, which had only driven him to imbibe all the more. At least now, he had money in his purse, but sorrowfully not enough to abide overlong where the taste of luxury was so pronounced and far too tempting for him to ignore.

  A small bribe of a coin paid to a fetching maid, just slightly past her prime, left him reasonably assured that his note would be given to the occupant of the suite his acquaintance was letting. Even so, he followed covertly until well assured that the delivery had been made to the specified room. The maid had given the missive to the man’s steward and then bustled back toward the area in which she had been working, humming happily to herself until her breath was snatched inward in shocked surprise as a large hand clapped rudely between her buttocks. She whirled with eyes blazing and, before Cooper Frye could stumble back to a safe distance, clamped a hand to his crotch, catching his manly possessions in a fierce grip that made him soar to the tips of his toes.

  “Don’t e’er do that again, ye blackguard!” she hissed through gnashing teeth. “If’n ye do, I’ll tear ’em out, so help me I will. Do ye ken?” To make her point, she increased the pressure until Frye began to mumble all sorts of pleas and promises. “Do ye ken?”

  He nodded speedily, affirming the fact that he’d do anything if she’d just let him go. Finally she condescended to turn him loose and did so with a satisfied chuckle. Cooper’s breath left him in a relieved “whoosh” as she stepped back and dusted her hands, as if intimidating him had been all in a day’s work.

  “Bitch!” Cooper mumbled none too loudly and glowered after her as she pranced off with skirts swaying from stem to stern. His face contorted in a grimace as he twitched and tugged at his breeches, trying to right everything. What he feared most now was that he had been permanently shriveled.

  Frye gradually collected his aplomb and straightened his clothes, shoddy as they were. Assuming an air of one who had immense wealth, he returned to the lower foyer and strolled out into the crisp, late afternoon air. He had no doubt that his associate would keep the appointment; it was certainly in the man’s best interest to comply. Of course, Cooper Frye had been careful to arrange a meeting where the two of them would be well in sight of people. It was much safer that way.

  “DAMMIT, RHYS, YOU’VE GOT TO LET ME GO,” JEFF demanded hotly as he whirled to face the lawman, who, at the moment, was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on his desk. “By now, most everyone in Charleston knows I’ve been arrested, and that knowledge will surely mean danger for my wife. Whether it’s Gustav or the miscreant who attacked us, they’ll likely see her as a bird in hand while I’m conveniently locked up and out of the way.”

  “You’re not locked up, Jeffrey,” the sheriff pointed out, not unreasonably. He swept a hand toward the only occupied cell in the jail. Now that the doors were on both cells, he could even feel confident about keeping his young prisoner. “Olney is locked up. You’re free.” He indicated the wide area in which his guest was striding irately about, as if that one needed a reminder that he was roaming about the office unhindered and of his own accord. “In fact, if you don’t stop pacing about, you’re going to wear a damned hole through my floor.”

  “I’d like to wear a hole through that thick pate of yours, my friend. Maybe then you’d be able to understand what I’m talking about,” Jeff retorted, pivoting about. “Can’t you understand that my wife is virtually alone in Elizabeth’s house, with only her maid and a four-year-old boy to come to her aid if something happens? Gustav has already been there, pressing his case to have her for himself. And no telling what that hooded demon who attacked us might be tempted to do in my absence. I tell you, Rhys, you’ve got to let me go!”

  “Now, now, Jeffrey, I’ve got everything under control,” the sheriff assured him. “I’ve spoken to Elijah, and he’ll continue to watch over your wife. If anything happens, he’ll let me know.”

  “That’s not nearly enough to satisfy me!” Jeff argued. “Not now! Not while I’m in here!”

  Rhys heaved a sigh, growing a bit frustrated with the unyielding persistence of the man. “Look, Jeffrey, why don’t you just go lie down in your cell for a while and take a nap or something,” he suggested. “Maybe then you’ll calm down and see my point. If I were to let you go, then you’d likely be strung up, and what good would you be to your wife then?”

  Pausing, Jeff set his jaw thoughtfully aslant and considered his situation, giving Rhys justification to think that he intended to be more reasonable now. That supposition was served quick death when Jeff stated his deductions. “I could just as well walk out of here. You haven’t arrested me, and you know damn well that I’m innocent. So, I guess basically that leaves me a free man.” Seriously testing that theory, he grabbed up his frockcoat and strode toward the front door. “I’ll see you later, Rhys.”

  “Charlie!” Rhys barked, overturning his chair in his haste to get to the portal first. He did so, but only barely.

  “I’m here, Sheriff,” the deputy replied, shuffling in from the back room.

  Rhys met the glaring emerald eyes that were level with his own, and though he never wavered before them, just the same he felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. He faced a man equal to his own height and, though lighter by a couple of stone or more, was still very much in prime physical strength. Jeffrey Birmingham could be damned pleasant, as Rhys well knew, even easygoing, but there was no doubt about it, steel formed the core of his backbone. It didn’t take but a moment for Rhys to realize just why the Birminghams were considered dangerous men to rile. If those deep green shards couldn’t stab a person to the heart, then it would be the men who possessed them who’d continue the fight until the last foe and culprit was hung. “Handcuff Mr. Birmingham to his cot.”

  “What?!” Jeff cried in spiraling rage. “Dammit, Rhys, you’re not going to do that to me, not when my wife may be in danger!”

  The sheriff pushed a hand against the hard, muscular shoulder, trying to shove his friend back away from the door. “Get in your cell.”

  “No, dammit!” Jeff snapped, coming around with a clenched fist.

  It wasn’t much more than a tap on the head, but after his recent concussion, it was definitely enough to send Jeffrey buckling to the floor and into the realm of oblivion. Rhys beckoned for Charlie to come help him, and between the two of them, they managed to get the unconscious man into the cel
l where they stretched him out upon the cot.

  “That should keep Mr. Birmin’am quiet for a while, eh, Sheriff?” the deputy remarked with a rueful grin. “Ye still want me ta handcuff him?”

  “No, just leave him be. He’s going to be mad enough when he wakes up without adding mayhem to folly. We’ll just lock the door to make sure he stays in here once he comes around.” Rhys shook his head ruefully. “If we come through this thing with our hides still intact, Charlie, it certainly won’t be because Mr. Birmingham won’t be trying to skin us.”

  “Hey, Sheriff?”

  Rhys turned toward the occupant of the other cell. Presently the curly-headed rascal was lounging upon his cot, looking for all the world like he was enjoying himself. The young rogue took great delight in harassing him. Indeed, he just wouldn’t give up. “What do you want, Olney?”

  Scratching his chin, the scamp turned his head on his pillow and grinned back at the lawman. “Ye afraid o’ Birmin’am? If’n ye ain’t, ye sure act like it.”

  Rhys sighed heavily. “Be quiet, Olney.”

  COOPER FRYE WAITED AT THE PROVOST DUNGEON, AN old custom house which the British had used to lock up prisoners during the war, until half an hour past the time he had specified in his note. Considering everything, he had thought it a befitting place to meet, but he now decided that it would do him little good to stay around any longer. Obviously the man wasn’t going to come.

  Leaving Exchange Street, he turned north toward Market Street and, after entering that area, bought himself an apple to munch. He had just braced a shoulder against the trunk of a tree when an elongated shadow fell upon him and stretched out across the ground beyond him. In the next moment he felt a knife prodding in the area of his ribs.

  “Aftahnoon, Coop,” a husky voice greeted near his ear.

  “Morgan?” Cooper Frye tried to turn, but the point of the blade gave him another goading, reminding him to keep still. “What are ye doin’?”

  “Ye made Mr. Fridrich real mad this time. Me an’ the boys were sent out aftah ye, but I founds ye first, so’s I’m supposin’ that means I can keep the reward all ta meself.”

  “What reward?” Cooper’s eyes cut to the left as he strained to catch a glimpse of the man.

  “The reward ye’re carryin’ on ye. I’ll take it if’n ye don’t mind.”

  “I gots it in me shirt, but if’n I tries ta give it ta ye now, people’ll think ye’re robbin’ me an’ call the law.”

  Morgan thought about that not more than a moment. Fridrich wouldn’t like Sheriff Townsend involved in this matter, and neither would he. “Let’s go closer to the bay where there ain’t as many folks what’ll be around ta watch us.” As Frye hesitated, the blade nudged the flabby roll around his waist. “Get goin’ afore I lose patience wit’ ye.”

  Cooper Frye reluctantly complied. When they were well out of sight of witnesses, he began dragging off his coat. It was still attached to one hand when he brought it around with a vengeance, striking Morgan hard across the face and sending the knife flying and its bearer stumbling backward with eyes smarting. In the next instant Cooper scooped up the weapon and plunged into the soft paunch of his would-be assailant. When it was drawn out again, Morgan gave a gurgling sound and collapsed to his knees. Frye smirked in satisfaction for barely a moment as the man crumpled in a knot at his feet, and then he glanced about, finding the way entirely unencumbered with people. Lucky day, it was indeed, he thought as he made good his escape.

  BARELY HAD COOPER FRYE DOSED OFF THAN HE WAS snatched abruptly awake by a weird, low, caterwauling wail that sent shivers spiraling up his spine. His eyes popped open and warily he rolled them about their sockets until his gaze lit on something huge and monstrous looming above him. It had no face, only a loose blank mask of deep blackness from which sunken cavities served as eyes. At first, he was convinced that he was dreaming. His second conclusion was exceedingly more terrifying. He was a man with little conscience, that being a poorly stunted nubbin which had never troubled him overmuch. He did, however, have a vivid imagination and a deep dread of spirits, which he was still convinced had haunted his grandfather’s house where he had grown up, upon the property of which a later discovery had found a boarded up well filled with the skeletal remains of nigh to a dozen men. The shape that hovered above him now had all the same appearances of a specter from hell.

  “. . . G-ghost!” Frye screamed in a whisper, the best his constricted throat could issue forth. He thought of Morgan right away. After all, it had happened only two or three hours ago. Or was it some dreadful spirit from a past encounter during which he had deemed the taking of a life in his best interest? A whole host of names had long been forgotten from such incidents.

  Then, if the visitation wasn’t frightening enough, Frye’s fumbling brain fell upon a prospect that was far worse. Had the darkly cloaked form come to herald his death?

  Frantically clawing his way up against the headboard, he croaked, “Are ye’ a banshee? I thought I heard ye’ howl.”

  “Wake up, man. You heard nothing more than a tomcat yowling outside your window,” a cold voice jeered. A soft, merciless chuckle deepened Frye’s descent into a terror of the unknown. “Of course, there are some who’ve been led to think that I’m a messenger from Satan, and to be fair, I must allow that they have had just cause to think that way.”

  Even as Frye tried to sort this out in his sleep-dulled brain, a new panic surged upward within him, chilling his heart as a shaft of moonlight glinted on the length of a gleaming blade. A strangled sound emitted from his tightening throat as he felt its deadly edge press against his windpipe.

  “I suggest that you try not to shake overly much,” the apparition cautioned in a tone of exaggerated concern. “I have a remarkably steady hand, but even so, accidental slips have a way of occurring.”

  Frye croaked a response which amounted to little more than a hastily babbled agreement.

  The intruder chuckled again. “Tell me,” he urged, “have you any idea who I am?”

  Frye nodded frantically. Much to his sorrow, he knew exactly who was here with him, the very one who had first stabbed Nell.

  “And do you know why I’ve come?”

  “I . . . I left ye a note askin’ ye ta meet me, mate, but ye ne’er showed up.”

  “I’m not one of your sniveling mates, so don’t call me that again,” the abrasive voice snarled as the edge of the knife encroached menacingly.

  “Wh-What w-would ye like for m-me to call ye, milord?”

  “That’s better.” The knife was withdrawn ever so slightly. “How did you know I was here in the colonies and where I was to be found?”

  Frye could hardly think when his every thought was focused on the sharpness of the weapon grating against his whiskers. Though the constraint had eased to some degree, it still remained precariously close to a vital vein. “Please, I’ll tell ye if’n ye give me room ta breathe.”

  An evil, jeering hiss was emitted from the dark mask as the pressure lessened some slight degree. “Think before you speak, Frye. I will tolerate no lies.”

  “I know, milord. Well, for one thing, Nell was still livin’ when I found her in the stables. I helped ye out, I did, by finishin’ what ye’d started, but afore I did, Nell told me she’d come ‘pon a stranger whittlin’ on me niece’s coffer in Birmin’am’s bedchamber. I figgered it could only be one o’ three blokes interested in that ‘ere box. An’ since ye’re a man o’ taste, I decided ye’d be at the best inn in town. Then, too, I thought yer friends would be o’ a mind ta send ye ta take care o’ business, seein’s as how ye were the most . . . ah . . . efficient.”

  “Barrett’s daughter is not your niece, you uncouth bastard, so don’t put on airs with me. You’ll never be part of the nobility. You’re just a common tar who has a fair memory when he’s sober and once had the good fortune to become mates with the real Cooper Frye before he was swept overboard and drowned.”

  The aging seaman chortled. “Aye, you
ng Coop always liked ta talk ’bout his family, he did. Worked ta me advantage right nicely, too. I knew his stories ’bout his home an’ folks well enough ta fool his own sister, I did.”

  His lordship laughed caustically. “Yes, and much to our regret, you talked her into sailing here to the colonies.”

  “I al’ays had a hankerin’ ta settle down in this here part o’ the world, but e’ery ship I signed onto took me anywheres but where I wanted ta go. Convincin’ Lady Barrett o’ the merits o’ livin’ here wasn’t too hard, considerin’ the ridicule she an’ her daughter ‘ad fallen prey ta after Lord Barrett keeled o’er. ‘Twas certainly the best way I could think o’ ta get meself o’er here, so’s I pleaded poverty till she agreed ta loan me money for me passage.”

  “In so doing, you left me and my companions wondering if we could trust you. I decided forthwith that we couldn’t, so I followed. After all, I was the one responsible for letting the missive fall into Barrett’s hands. It was my fool luck that my servant mistook Barrett for the one he was supposed to meet, and it was Barrett’s greater folly to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, but, of course, it didn’t help that the courier to France had been delayed. But that is neither here nor there. Barrett is dead, thanks to you, and right now, all my companions and I have to worry about is the whereabouts of the information he sequestered in his resolve to present it at his trial. Considering all the transfers up the scale of individuals responsible for passing it on to the king, I suppose he had a right to feel wary of it falling into the wrong hands. After what we had done to the man, one could hardly blame him for being cautious, even about those who tried to help him. He refused to see anybody until you came along. Indeed, if not for your chicanery in claiming to be his wife’s brother, Barrett would have presented his evidence, and my companions and I would have been arrested. For that I must be grateful, but I can only wonder what you’re up to now. If you’ve found the message and intend to use it against us, be assured, I have ways of dealing with men like you. So I’ll ask you outright, what do you want from me?”