Mary Jo Putney (7 page)

S
arah slept like a felled ox—and woke the next morning lying beside Rob, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. They both appeared to have moved and met in the middle of the yielding straw. Though they were still wrapped in their blankets like mummies, she was dizzyingly aware of his warmth and strength.

She snuggled closer without conscious volition. His eyes opened and gazed into hers, mere inches away. First awareness, then sharp desire flickered through the aquamarine depths. Mesmerized, she brushed her fingertips across the lovely masculine prickliness of his unshaven jaw.

If he’d closed those inches for a kiss, she’d have responded with an enthusiasm more dangerous than dragons. Instead, he gave her a rueful smile and rolled away. “Tonight we need to put a wall between us.”

She sat up and brushed straw from her hair. “I’m not sure even that would do the job. A good thing we’re both sensible adults.” At least, Rob was. She wasn’t entirely sure about herself.

Another long day of riding along back roads produced chafed skin as well as sore muscles. Sarah had abandoned all thoughts of cleanliness; it was no longer relevant. Reality was mixed rain and clouds and sunshine and changing gaits to keep the horses fit over long hours of riding.

There was no sign of pursuit. Once more as night fell they found a barn to berth in. Rob bought stewed crubeens for them to share. A week earlier she might have balked at pickled pig trotters, but now she dug in eagerly. They were quite tasty, too.

Rob sent Sarah to sleep in the tack room with the door closed. That proved sufficient to keep them apart. Unfortunately.

As they ate their basic breakfast the next morning, Rob said, “We’ve made good time because you’re such a skilled rider. We’re within reach of Cork today if we take the turnpikes. I’m told the one near here is not heavily traveled, but it will certainly be busier than the back roads we’ve been following. And any turnpike is more likely to have people watching for us.”

“But we’d reach Cork quickly,” she said thoughtfully. “You’re the expert here. Do you think it’s worth the risk?”

“I think so. The longer it takes us to reach a port and sail for home, the farther word will spread to be on the lookout for us. We don’t know how large Free Eire is, but it’s possible there are already men watching for us in every village in the southeast. If all goes well, we could be in Cork by early afternoon and maybe even sailing to England before the day is over.”

Sarah’s heart lurched. She wanted desperately to be home and safe and clean, and most of all, to see how Mariah was, but she would miss her adventure. Or to be precise, she’d miss Rob. She wouldn’t find him so attractive if he was a real villain, but the combination of his rough and ready appearance with birth, education, and protectiveness was quite irresistible.

But this odd idyll must end, and the sooner it did, the safer for both of them. She got to her feet and donned her hat. “Onward to Cork, sir!”

 

 

It was only about half an hour’s ride to the beginning of the turnpike. Sarah’s nerves twitched as they halted at the tollhouse. The keeper lived inside the small building so he would be available day and night to lift the bar for travelers. A painted board on the wall declared that the keeper was a Mr. Diarmid Condon, and listed charges in English and Irish for horses, herds, and conveyances of different sizes. The toll for a rider on a horse was tuppence.

She kept her head down and slouched in her saddle as Rob talked to the elderly gatekeeper in Irish. He and she were just two more muddy Irish travelers.

Rob handed over a couple of coins and Condon moved to swing the long pole off the road. Then two men burst out of the tollhouse brandishing muskets: O’Dwyer and a weaselly man Sarah didn’t recognize.

“Carmichael, you bastard!” O’Dwyer bellowed. “You’re passing for Irish! And our slut duchess is disgracin’ herself in britches! No wonder it’s been so bloody hard to track you.” He snapped a quick glare at Sarah while keeping his weapon trained on Rob. “Hands up, Runner! This musket is loaded with shot and I’d love an excuse to blast your heart out!”

Rob raised his hands, his face impassive. Sarah could almost hear his mind racing as he considered how to react. But with two muskets aimed at his chest from point blank range, his choices weren’t good.

All three men, including the unhappy-looking gatekeeper, were watching Rob and assuming Sarah was harmless. More fools they. She reached into the saddlebag behind her and found her pistol by touch.

She was carrying it half cocked and loaded, which was risky, but she’d taken the chance because something like this might happen. She eased the gun out, checked that the loading was in place, then aimed it over the heads of the men and pulled the trigger.

As the blast echoed from the hills, she shouted, “Stand and deliver!” because a shout seemed appropriate and she couldn’t think of anything better.

Condon dived behind the gatepost while O’Dwyer and the weasel swore and swung around, looking for the shooter. Rob took advantage of their shock to yank out his fighting stick and dive from his horse.

He crashed down on O’Dwyer and carried them both to the ground, Rob on top. He swung the striking stick at O’Dwyer’s temple, but the Irishman was large and thrashing violently so the stick struck his shoulder instead. The men rolled across the yard in a tangle of fists and knees and furious blows.

As they fought, the weasel pulled himself together and aimed his gun at Rob and O’Dwyer. His barrel wavered back and forth as he tried to find a way to shoot Rob, but the men were too entangled.

He was ignoring Sarah again. The fellow wasn’t very bright. As soon as she reloaded her pistol, she kicked Boru forward straight at the weasel. He shrieked and tried to dodge when he saw the pony bearing down on him, but he wasn’t fast enough. Boru sideswiped the weasel and Sarah wrenched the musket from his hands as he fell.

As the weasel lurched backward, Sarah tucked the musket under her left arm and pointed her pistol into the man’s face. “Please don’t make me shoot,” she said in her most earnest young lady voice. “I don’t want to accidentally kill you, but I can’t allow you to interfere. Raise your hands, and you won’t be hurt.” She glanced at the gatekeeper. “The same for you, Mr. Condon. You’ll note that it was these brutes who started the trouble. All my friend and I want is to use the turnpike.”

The weasel’s face paled as he looked down the barrel of her pistol. As he lifted shaking hands, Rob ended the fight with O’Dwyer by slamming the knob of the fighting stick into the man’s jaw with a sound of cracking bone. O’Dwyer groaned and went limp, a trickle of blood running down his chin.

Rob vaulted to his feet and clamped a hand on the weasel’s neck, his fingers digging deep. The man’s eyes widened in horror before he folded to the ground.

As Rob studied O’Dwyer with narrowed eyes, Sarah had the uncanny sense that she could read his mind. He was considering whether to kill the man. Not from anger or bloodlust, but as a cool, rational judgment that they’d be safer if O’Dwyer was dead.

“Don’t,” she said softly. “He’s a horrible person, but I don’t want his death on my conscience.”

“Very well,” Rob said after a pause. “Though we may come to regret it.” He turned to the gatekeeper. “How much traffic comes through most days?”

“Not a lot, but steady,” Condon said warily. “There’s never too long between travelers.”

“Shall we ride now?” Sarah asked, feeling anxious at the thought of strangers stumbling onto this untidy scene.

“I want to give us more of a lead. Keep your pistol ready while I stash these fellows in the shed behind the house.” Rob moved to his horse and removed two pairs of handcuffs from the saddlebags. As Sarah’s brows rose, he explained, “No reason to make it easy to resume pursuit once they wake up.”

“Rob, you are a constant source of education,” she said sincerely, assuming that he had plans for the toll keeper as well.

He gave her a quick smile. “And you are remarkably useful in a fight.”

As Sarah watched Condon, who was looking less wary, Rob dragged away O’Dwyer, then the weasel. When he returned, he said to the keeper, “There are two horses tethered in the shed. Is either yours?”

“Nay, they belong to those two gents.” Condon frowned. “They said they were looking for two thieves who’d stolen something valuable. What do you say to that?”

“They’re liars,” Rob said tersely. “They kidnapped my companion. I was sent to rescue her and bring her safely back to her family in England.”

Condon examined Sarah’s face before nodding. “I believe ye, but I don’t want to get in bad with Free Eire. I’ll have to release them as soon as you leave.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tie you up also so their anger won’t fall on you. If you come into the house, I’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Sarah uncocked her pistol and returned it to her saddlebag as Rob escorted Condon indoors. He returned a few minutes later. “I fed his dog at his request and tied him up on his bed so he’ll be all right. If the next travelers to come through are less than honest, they’ll pass on by and just be grateful there’s no keeper on duty.”

Sarah was about to comment when they heard the sounds of an approaching vehicle. Rob tossed her his reins. “Get behind the house and I’ll tend the gate.”

“You have many talents!” Sarah led their mounts out of sight just before a well laden wagon came round the bend. She dismounted and peered around the corner of the house, then watched as Rob took the toll and chatted with the driver as if he’d been doing the job for years.

More travelers came through, a westbound man on a horse, and a pony cart heading east. It was a relief when the travelers left and the turnpike was quiet again.

Rob returned, and led two saddled horses out of the shed. “We’re taking these horses. Not stealing them—they’ll be released down the turnpike. But I don’t want O’Dwyer and his minion to pursue us any time soon.”

She was consorting with a horse thief. “Did you pay Mr. Condon four pence more for the additional horses?”

Rob smiled. “Of course. Not paying tolls would be wrong.” Holding the leads of the horses, he swung onto his own mount and led the way out to the turnpike. He set off at a fast trot, Sarah beside him and the two other horses behind.

A quarter mile down the road, when they were out of sight of the tollhouse, he reined his mount in. “Time to switch to their beasts, ride fast until they’re tired, then release them and get back on our own horses.”

Seeing the sense of that, Sarah dismounted from Boru. “How long do you think it will be until they resume their pursuit?”

“Hard to say. Anywhere from half an hour to half a day.” Rob moved to the smaller of the borrowed horses and shortened the stirrups. “It won’t be long until someone goes inside the tollhouse to find Mr. Condon. It will take longer to release O’Dwyer and the other fellow since I handcuffed them to iron rings set in the walls of the shed. But after the cuffs are broken, they’ll find new mounts and be after us with their tails on fire.”

Sarah swung up onto her temporary horse. “Can we reach Cork before they catch up with us?”

“We might if we were going to Cork, but we’re not. We’re going to leave the turnpike and head to Kinsale, a small port south of Cork.”

She’d never heard of the town, but Rob hadn’t been wrong yet. “I assume you know how to find this place.”

“The farmer where we stayed last night told me of a track that intersects this turnpike and leads to Kinsale. It travels over rough high ground, but it’s manageable on horseback.”

“So even if they come after us quickly, we’re safe until they run into westbound travelers and ask if they’ve seen us.”

“Which won’t take long.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll make it home safely, Sarah. Not much longer now.”

He was probably lying through his teeth—but she was grateful for it.

 

 

Rob and Sarah crested a sweeping hill and looked down on a grand vista of sea, rugged coast, and a town nestled by a small harbor. “Kinsale,” Rob said, trying to keep the relief from his voice.

Though he’d been maintaining a show of confidence for Sarah, he was acutely aware of how many things could go wrong. Another lame horse would have been disastrous. “Half an hour and we’ll be at the harbor looking for a boat and captain to take us across to England.”

“We’d better find someone willing quickly,” she said, her voice tight. “Because we’re being followed.”

Rob turned, and swore when he saw half a dozen men just starting down the track on the ridge behind. Squinting, he recognized O’Dwyer’s burly figure in the lead. “They’re too bloody efficient! But they’re at least a quarter hour behind. That will give us time enough.”

The pursuers spotted them and a shout echoed off the hills as they spurred their horses to go faster. Rob’s mouth tightened. “Now we
ride
! Lead the way, my lady!”

Her delicate features set, Sarah plunged down the steep track toward the town, Rob close behind. He’d hoped they’d be able to escape Ireland without this sort of hot pursuit, but he’d husbanded the horses’ strength just in case.

He gave thanks for Sarah’s fine riding. They wouldn’t have made it this far if she weren’t a superb horsewoman. He’d told her to go first so she could set the pace, and she and her pony tore down the hill at a speed that he’d have been hard pressed to beat.

They reached the edge of the small town without ruining the horses, but when Rob glanced back, he saw that the pursuers apparently didn’t care if their horses survived. They were closing fast and near enough that he could see the vicious anticipation on O’Dwyer’s face.

Their mounts’ hooves clattering on the steep, narrow streets, Rob and Sarah slowed their pace so they wouldn’t run down any of the townspeople who drew back hastily. He swiftly assessed their choices. Trying to hide in such a small town when they were strangers would be difficult if not impossible.