Devil's Lady

by Patricia Rice

  He rubbed his fingers over blurry eyes and tried to focus his wandering thoughts. He had spent years honing his instincts to acknowledge mindless shrieks. He had never regretted it before, but he was regretting it now. At the moment, he would rather die than raise his head.

  The shrieks worsened, however, and Morgan forced his head up again. The darkened tavern was not a pleasant sight to see or smell. The gorge rose in his throat, and he staggered to his feet in search of a basin. He hadn’t disgraced himself since he was a lad first in service.

  Morgan staggered toward the door. The shrieks of warning were satisfied with this direction, so he caught the jamb and swung into the brightly sunlit street on unsteady feet. The fresh air nearly bowled him over, and he leaned back against the building, gasping at this new assault. Water. He needed water.

  Every tavern yard had a pump somewhere. He gingerly carried himself down the alley to the pump and pail, and applied the cold water to his disheveled hair and unshaven face. The splash liberated his eyes, and he gasped as he doused the remainder of the pail over his head. This would teach him to indulge in excess again. By all the saints, how had his father stood himself the next day?

  That question dislodged the panic that had driven him out here. Father. Faith. His son. He was going back to Ireland. Without Faith.

  He was letting the one woman he had ever loved walk out of his life. For what? For a demolished castle on barren, bog-filled lands? For the people who had once lived in those lands? They were there no longer.His family was dead. His friends and neighbors no longer knew him or cared. He had worked all these years for what? To rescue a memory?

  But Faith deserved the wealth, respect, and family he could not provide. Why did that thought sound so hollow in the morning light?

  If he loved her, he should be willing to sacrifice himself for her sake. That thought jarred Morgan’s logic off its pedestal. He had left Ireland to make things better for his family. He had left behind all he had known and loved, and they had died because of it, because he hadn’t been there to protect them, to help them, to love them. Had he not learned his lesson?

  Cursing, Morgan strode toward the street. Faith had a grandfather who had disowned her father and a grandmother who had taken twenty years to find her. What in hell kind of protection would they be? And what kind of love would she find there?

  Morgan groaned aloud. How could any one man be such a fool? She loved him. Possibly the first person in all the world to do so. Why, then, did he do all in his power to destroy her love?

  Because he was an arrogant, proud fool. Morgan’s ran in the direction of the stables housing his stallion.

  The cry of his restless stallion loosed an equal cry inside his soul as he reached the stable. Without bothering to saddle the beast, he slid the bit into the horse’s mouth and threw himself onto its back. Morgan reared the horse backward and then gave him his head.

  The black beast stormed out of the stable as if the devil were on its tail. Toby stepped backward just in time to avoid being trampled. He gazed in astonishment at the disheveled highwayman clinging to the animal’s back.

  Jack never rode out without cloak and ruffled linen, the picture of immaculate elegance. This stranger sported the shadow of a beard, wild black hair escaping the ribbon on his queue, shirt opened to reveal an equally barbaric wedge of curls, coat and waistcoat gone, and shirt sleeves billowing with the force of the wind. But the eyes were the worst. They gleamed like emerald lanterns, fiery mad in a dark face of fury.

  Faced with a visage like that on a dark night, Toby would have surrendered his valuables too. But in the broad light of day, he kept his courage. Without hesitation, he dashed into the stable to help himself to the most likely-looking nag available.

  ***

  “Lord Stepney—”

  “Edward. Call me Edward. We’re family, you’ll remember.”

  Faith couldn’t bring herself to call this imposing man anything so familiar, so she nodded and continued before her courage failed her. “I don’t think I can go through with this. It is very kind of you to come all this way to find me, and I truly wish to meet my family, but it would be better if you just conveyed my appreciation for now and left me here. Please ask the driver to let me down. I can find my own way back.”

  Edward smiled genially. “It is something like wedding-night dithers, is it not? One does not know what to expect of this stranger you must spend the rest of your life with. Do not let your fears rule you, Faith. We will do all in our power to make you happy.”

  Faith shook her head fiercely. “It is not the same. I felt no fear in marrying Morgan. I wanted to marry Morgan. I don’t want to go to England. You can’t be Morgan, and I can’t be happy without him. Let me go, I beg of you. I must find him. He’s doing this out of pride; I know he is.”

  The urgency and panic in her voice startled him, but Edward’s concerned look was interrupted by a frightened cry from the driver.

  “The crazy fools—!” The driver jerked on the reins to bring the ambling horses to a halt.

  Faith’s heart jumped at the sight of the cloud of dust billowing around a trio of horses, but it took only a glance to realize none of the riders was Morgan.

  Miles reined his pony beside the wagon, glancing nervously at the disreputable strangers blocking their path. Faith sent him a questioning glance, and he shook his head.

  The man in the forefront raised a long-barreled pistol, and as the dust settled, his features became recognizable.

  Edward grunted and muttered, “Your husband doesn’t keep his bargains very well, if this is any indication.”

  Faith stared at the stranger a little more closely, finally recognizing him as the man Morgan had knocked to the floor the day before. She shivered at the malevolent look of triumph on his face, but oddly, she felt no fear, only curiosity. “Cousin Thomas?” she inquired.

  The men on horses looked startled by her question, but Thomas merely gestured with his gun. “I would suggest that you step down, dear Faith. I have a quarrel to settle, and there is no need for you to come between.”

  Miles leaned over to help her, but Faith didn’t move. She eyed the intruder with disfavor. “You cannot settle a quarrel at the point of a gun, Thomas. My father died by a bullet, but it did not halt his work from going on.”

  Thomas sneered. “No, it did not. That convenient little tome helped us to find you. But it was not his work that I wished ended; it was his life. Now, step down, dear Faith, and let me put period to the only other obstacle in my way.”

  Edward cursed beneath his breath, then gave Miles a quick look. “Get her out of here, at once.”

  Not a horseman by nature, Miles glanced nervously at his placid mount, then back to Faith’s obdurate figure. Morgan would have swooped down and hauled her out of the seat and ridden off into the sunset, or the dawn, or whatever. Miles would do well to climb from the saddle and tug her to the ground. Get her out of here, indeed.

  “Give me George,” Miles said.

  Stunned by her cousin’s revelation, Faith did not listen to Miles but questioned Thomas. “You killed him? You killed my father?”

  The men behind Thomas looked dubious at the scene. Thomas ignored their impending defection. “Not I, my dear. What would I do in a bloody awful place like Cornwall? But there were those willing to accept my encouragement. Money has so many uses, does it not, Edward? But now is not the time to discuss it. Get down, fair cousin, or I will not be responsible for what happens.”

  Had she a gun in her hand, Faith would have used it. As it was, Edward shoved her from the seat and Miles reached for her just as Thomas raised his weapon and cocked the pin.

  Morgan, riding like a madman through the brush, had time only to see the weapon raised in Faith’s direction and to realize his sword and pistol could not save her in time. Terror, despair, and self-loathing filled him. He kicked his stallion into a flight directly between the wagon and the weapon.

  Faith screamed as the coatless
rider careened toward them. Despite the dust clouds beneath the horse’s hooves, she had no doubt as to his identity. When his raised sword flashed in the sun’s light, her screams of protest froze every man there save one. The madman with the pistol already cocked merely grinned and pulled the trigger.

  The explosion of sound and sulfur polluted the early- morning calm, sending pigeons flapping into the air and gulls into squawking flight. The smoke and dust filled her eyes, but Faith saw the bright splash of red against white, and she screamed.

  Miles grabbed at the reins of his panicky horse, trying to prevent it from trampling her as she ran heedlessly to the crumpled figure in the dusty road. Another horse galloped into the fray, as the two miscreants who had stood behind Thomas turned their mounts in chase after his fleeing figure.

  Ignoring the confusion, Faith knelt beside the man in the road, tears streaming down her face as she pulled his head into his lap. “Morgan! Morgan, don’t go! You can’t die. Please, Morgan, I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll never quarrel with you again. You can’t go like this. I love you. I’ll always love you. Can’t you see? Oh, Morgan, damn you, where’s your coat? Why aren’t you wearing your coat? Of all the times...” She lifted her head and cried to the men clattering to the ground, “Give me your handkerchiefs, your cravats, something! He’s bleeding!”

  As she applied the linen to the growing splash of red in Morgan’s shirt, his black lashes lifted, revealing a glittering green and gold. As she applied the compress, a quirk turned his lips upward and a whiskey-smooth voice asked. “Anything? You’ll do anything I say?”

  Faith cried in relief and began to rain kisses on his unworthy head. “Anything. You’re a madman, but you’re my madman, and I dare you to deny it.”

  “Oh, I’ll not deny it, lass. ’Tis yours I am. Let me hear that part about love again, just to be certain ’twas you and not the angels singing in my ears.”

  “Angels, my foot and eye! If anything, ’twas the devil breathing in your ear. Damn you, Morgan, if you ever do this to me again...”

  A brown hand pulled her head closer. “I need to teach you a few new swear words, my cailin,” Morgan whispered. “You’d think in all this time you’d have learned something more original. But it’s a start.”

  There was nothing weak about his kiss, and Faith succumbed to the power of it, reveling in the touch of his lips against hers. But then, hiccuping, wrenching back her sobs of joy and fear, she pushed away and wiped at her eyes. “Bloody, blithering idiot,” she managed incoherently. “Miserable, rotten, scoundrelly, mangy cur. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never!”

  By this time Miles and Edward had positioned themselves near enough to hear their exchange. They stared in bewilderment as Morgan grinned. With none of the weakness of a dying man, he grabbed a handful of his wife’s curls and dragged her closer,

  “You always were a quick student, cailin alainn. Never is a long time, but I’m willing to accept the challenge. Give me a lifetime to teach you to love me again, and I’ll rest easy.”

  His eyes closed, and she felt him slipping away. Panicky, Faith cried, “I’ll not ever forgive you if you die on me, Morgan de Lacy!”

  Dark lashes lifted again, and a smile formed. “I love you, Faith, and I’ll always love you from wherever I go. You needn’t fear for me, lass. That’s all I need.”

  Hot tears rolled down her face and splashed against his chest as his eyes closed. As the men lifted Morgan from her arms, Faith whispered for his ears alone, “I go whither thou goest, my love. Keep that in mind.”

  Miles grunted at the smile on his wayward client’s face as he helped lift him into the wagon. It was the first time he had ever seen a gunshot man go grinning into the next world.

  Chapter 38

  The late-afternoon sun didn’t reach the wine-velvet-draped room with its gilded trimmings, marbled mantel, and luxuriously carpeted floor. Upholstery in gold brocade adorned heavily carved walnut furniture. The crystal glass enclosing unlit lamps shimmered when someone drew back a curtain. The light danced over the ornate marquetry of a writing cabinet and glimmered along a baroque gilt console table against the wall.

  The bewigged gentleman in the wide chair beside the mantel looked singularly at one with this richly garnished environment. Deep eyes glared from a face adorned with the crevasses of time and the carved angles of a beaked nose and square, obstinate chin. The thick glossiness of his wine-colored coat and gold brocaded waistcoat seemed chosen to match the interior of the chamber, but he appeared oblivious of his own person as he studied the delicate female occupying the room’s center.

  The object of his attention wore her russet curls pulled simply to the back of her head. Blue silk fitted to a sweetly curved bosom enclosed in lavish lace. She stood with hands clasped in front of her, silver eyes boldly returning his stare. “Your offer is very welcome, my lord, and I thank you, but I cannot accept it.”

  “Cannot accept it! You cannot refuse, you little twit! The child will be named my son’s heir. He has a place in society to uphold.” The man in the chair was slowly turning purple at this obstacle to his plans.

  “He will uphold it elsewhere, my lord,” Faith insisted. “I cannot accept your hospitality and I will not leave my child. It is unfortunate that our families were separated, and I would heal the breach were it in my power, but not at the cost of my child’s happiness. We will be returning to the colonies as soon as practicable.”

  Mountjoy turned to another occupant of the room. “Tell her she can’t leave. Explain this the way women do.”

  The slight woman on the only delicate piece of furniture in the room smiled at her beleaguered granddaughter. “You are quite right to wish your child’s happiness, my dear. I only wish I had considered your mother’s more, and possibly none of this would have happened. But what’s done is done. Can you not think of any circumstance that might persuade you to find happiness here among us?”

  The man leaning against the draped windows did not need to see the rebellious look in Faith’s eyes to know what she was thinking. Crossing his arms over his chest, wincing only a little at the movement, he intruded for the first time in this argument. “Do you really wish to number an Irish highwayman among your family? I think not. Faith, you needn’t be polite with these people. They’ll not listen to anything but their own wishes.”

  Mountjoy pushed up from his chair, brandishing his fist before falling back with a grimace of pain from his gouty foot. The curse he emitted caused the woman in the corner to blanch, but Faith only smiled at this almost- human reaction from the gargoyle she called grandfather.

  “Damn your moldering Irish hide to hell, de Lacy!” he roared. “Were it not for you, she’d be happy to stay here.”

  The flash of fury in Faith’s eyes was easily detected, but before she could reply, still another voice intruded. The languid figure lounging across the settee lifted a hand of dismissal. “Were it not for him, you’d have neither granddaughter nor heir. He took the bullet meant for me. He took Faith in when no one else would. And he is the father of young George, if you’ve not forgotten. I’d say you were obliged to listen to the man.”

  Mountjoy settled back into his chair, growling. “I still cannot believe Thomas—”

  Edward spoke more sharply. “Believe it. Your handsome nephew had the soul of Satan. Had he succeeded in removing me, he would have hurried your demise too. And do you think he would have allowed Faith to walk off with half the wealth? I cannot be sorry he broke his fool neck falling from that horse. It saved us all a great deal of trouble.”

  While this argument continued and drew attention away. Faith allowed her shoulders to slump wearily. Before she could give in to despair at the bickering, Morgan arrived at her side, strengthening her with his arm, leading her to a seat near her grandmother. Lady Carlisle sent him a grateful look and patted her granddaughter’s hand comfortingly.

  “They do this all the time, my dear. It is their way of showing affection, I suppose. They can
not live together, but they cannot live apart either. They really are not very bad men, just thoughtless. Can you ever see it in your heart to forgive them?”

  Faith offered Lady Carlisle a weary smile. Of all the people she had met since returning to London, this woman was the warmest and most honest. She would be delighted to keep her company and claim her as family if it were not for the querulous Montagues. In the weeks of their voyage, she had learned to admire Edward’s intelligence and feel sympathy for his lonely state, but he was not the kind of man one warmed to. And his father... She shook her head and returned her attention to the loud voices on the other side of the room.

  “So he’s an earl! Why should I waste good money on some Irish bog just so he can call himself lord? By Jove, Edward, I think you’ve lost your wits this time. Did you not hear him say it? He’s a blamed highwayman! Let him go back to the colonies and raise his bloody horses. There’s nothing but thieves and doxies there anyway.”

  Faith drew a scandalized breath, but once more Edward overrode her fury. “In that case, I think I’ll buy some land over there myself. I was quite struck by the fertility of the soil. There’s a fortune to be made in the colonies. You won’t object should I take an extended leave to see the property properly placed into production?”

  “Bigawd, and where do you think you’ll get the funds from? You’ll not see a single cent until I’m dead!”

  Edward buffed his nails against his coat and admired them. “Oh, I think I shall be quite all right in that. Gambling is rather a boring pastime, really, but when the proceeds are invested wisely... It’s quite amazing what one can do. Morgan, we’ve talked of this before. Do you not think I have sufficient to adequately establish a plantation?”

  Standing protectively over Faith’s chair, Morgan gave a wicked grin. “Indeed, I would, Stepney. And I have a couple of animals I would be delighted to see set to breeding stock. It’s a damned good place for horses, from what I’ve seen, almost as good as the emerald shores of home.”