Fields of Fire

By Carol Caldwell

In 1770 Captain Taylor Traynor is assigned by the Revenue Service to find and destroy the numerous illegal distilleries along the Irish coastline. Jalene Somerville, bookkeeper for her family’s legal distillery, crosses paths with Taylor when he becomes suspicious of the Somerville operation. And then Jalene’s brother is murdered. Jalene struggles to learn the truth—while a dangerous attraction grows between Taylor and her. Historical Romance by Carol Caldwell; originally published by Pinnacle

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belgrave House
• Release date: Jan 1, 1995
• ISBN: 9781610845779

Book preview

Caldwell

Prologue

March 1770

Northwest Coast of Ireland

And you better bloody well not forget the consequences.

James Somerville ignored the threat from the man at his side and wrapped his cloak securely to protect himself against the chilly mist. He was thankful that the hood hid most of his face. He’d kept up his end of the bargain this night. Now all he wanted was to be left the hell alone.

As usual, they had picked a moonless night along an obscure section of rocky coastline to do the deed. He watched the casks being carried to six currachs that bobbed gently in the quiet inlet. The boats transported the goods from the shallow waters of the inlet to a fishing barge that waited far offshore. He didn’t know what happened to the whiskey then, but that didn’t matter to him—his part of it was over.

James turned in the direction of his wagon, positioned along a narrow passageway that led to the shore. I’m leaving.

Nay, ordered his companion. Wait until the currachs have cleared the inlet.

Is this truly necessary?

’Tis, and you know why, the man answered.

Aye. I suppose I do. James stared at the dark shapes in the water, paddling away from the shoreline. He thought of his father. He wondered if, during his thirty years at distilling, he was ever tempted to smuggle illicitly made whiskey. He’d loved his old da, but the man was highly opinionated. He’d had an answer for everything. If it were possible, his da would be telling him from the grave what he should have done. Well, it wasn’t possible, and as far as James was concerned, smuggling was the only way to survive in these hard times.

You know the next location. Be there, the man commanded as the last currach passed beyond the cliffs of the inlet. He walked to where his horse was tethered, and he mounted and galloped off.

James waited until he could no longer hear the horses’ hoof beats. Alone, he climbed atop the empty wagon and guided his two-horse team away from the secluded spot. It had been another successful night. Sometime tomorrow, he’d return to Sorrel House and Blackwater Distillery where his family, who were all that mattered to him, waited for his safe return from what they believed was yet another business trip.

Chapter 1

July 1770

Dublin, Ireland

Smuggling?

By God, lower your voice, Jalene. Wil Somerville nervously glanced around the Kilronan House dining parlor. It’s not a subject for everyone to hear.

It’s not a subject I wish to discuss at all, Jalene Somerville retorted, though she obliged him by speaking more quietly. The Blackwater Distillery is a reputable operation. James would never do anything to jeopardize our family’s business. She paused. A serving lass appeared at their table, placed a pot of tea and a plate of scones in front of them, and left.

How could you accuse my brother of smuggling? She angrily asked her best friend and distant cousin.

The usually jovial Wil shifted in his chair. His gaze implored her to believe him. Dark red curls poked comically out from beneath his black wig near his ears, as if to mock the troubled expression on his freckled face.

It’s only because I care for you that I tell you this. I’m certainly not about to confront James. We’re not exactly old chums. He reached for her hand. She pulled it away.

Wil was more serious than she’d ever seen him. She still had to defend her brother. Aye. From the time the two of you were lads playing pranks on each other, you never got along. It’s easy to believe the worst of someone, especially someone you have no liking for. You’re wrong, Wil. I’ll hear no more of it, she hoped her words would put an end to this discussion, although she was puzzled about why Wil would tell such a lie. He was her friend.

Yet, she as well had lied. James thought she was visiting their aunt in Dundalk. In fact, she had journeyed unchaperoned to Dublin to meet Wil. True, his cryptic note had said it was important, but that didn’t lessen her guilt for deceiving James.

Wil stood. I’ll take you back to the inn now.

I’d prefer to stay.

I’d prefer to leave, he said testily.

Then do so, Wil. I want to be alone to think.

You can think all you like when you’re back in your room. Now gather your belongings so we can go.

I won’t. Leave me be, Wil Somerville.

Mother Mary! I’ll not leave a lady such as yourself alone here. For the last time, get your cloak and packages.

For the last time, I’ll not be leaving with you, Wil. If you give me any more anguish over it, I’ll call for assistance from the proprietor.

Wil glared at her. After a few moments, he said, You win, dear cousin. I’ll pick you up at the Eye of the Swan tonight. Be ready to go at nine.

She stared at him, unable to reply.

It’s not good news, I know, but I’ll prove it to you. Be ready. He walked over to the side chair they’d set their coats on, and yanked his cloak from underneath hers. Her straw hat and the package of toffee she had purchased earlier from a street vendor fell to the floor. Wil set her belongings none too gently back on the chair. He stomped from the dining parlor.

With blurred vision, she watched Wil leave. Several tears rolled down her cheeks onto her gown. She searched her satchel and found a handkerchief. The cloth had a small black swan embroidered on one of the corners. She dabbed at her eyes. What if Wil was right about James? These past few months she had failed in her effort to balance the books; cost for supplies indicated there should be more stock in inventory than there actually was. When she asked James about it, he dismissed her fears as miscalculation on her part. He’d reassured her that eventually she’d discover the error. Now she wondered, but refused to doubt James. Will was mistaken.

More restless than hungry, she reached for a scone and was munching on it when a gentleman approached the table.

Beg your pardon, madam. I saw you were dining alone. I wondered if you might enjoy some company?

The gentleman was dressed in varying shades of grey, from the ribbon tied to the queue on his powdered wig to his silk stockings and silver-buckled shoes. He motioned to the chair across from her. He was not unattractive; his boldness, however, exceeded propriety. He’d made advances to her as if she were a loose woman. Though he deserved a sharp set-down in return, she politely answered, Thank you, sir. I am quite well on my own.

Surely you wouldn’t deny a lonely heart company. A lady alone in Dublin could only be after one thing. I am more than capable of remedying that, he boasted.

Sir! she said. I assure you, you’re quite wrong. She examined him more closely. His cleft chin looked cruel, out of place on his handsome face. His paunch caused his velvet waistcoat to fit snugly around the middle. When he moved to the chair across from her and sat down, his grey eyes held a challenge that sent a warning chill through her.

Please, sir, you mistake my character. If you don’t leave, I’ll scream this dining parlor down. She got up. He stood as well, grabbed her arm, and held it tightly.

Sit, he ordered, pointing to the chair. He reached inside his waistcoat, withdrew a pocket pistol and put it on the table.

Her mouth moved, but her voice failed to work. He released her, and they both sat back down.

Now let’s do this properly. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Cory Donnegan. What is your name? You’ve got the prettiest amber-colored eyes I’ve ever seen.

She tried hard not to show fear; although her heart pounded so fast she was certain it could be seen flapping beneath her gown. As long as they stayed in the Kilronan House dining parlor, she had a chance to escape him. She would think of something. She had to.

My name doesn’t matter, Mr. Donnegan, because I don’t care to know you. You can’t shoot me in public. You’d take a chance at getting caught, she said, more boldly than she’d meant to do.

Her words didn’t faze him. He settled in the chair and stroked his chin. His other hand covered the pistol. Look around you, my dear. Do you think the few people who are here would be fast enough to secure me, or help you? I think not. Give me your name, and no more nonsense. Whether you like it or not, I want to know you.

She scanned the dining parlor. He was right. What had happened to all the people who’d crowded the place just a half-hour ago? A few serving lasses chatted as they cleared tables near the back of the room. The only other people in the place were an elderly man and woman seated quite a distance from them. She lifted her cup to her lips for a sip of tea to calm herself. Donnegan, she decided wouldn’t hesitate to use his weapon.

Abruptly, he grabbed the pistol and hid it underneath the table. She knew it was directed at her. Your name, he said.

She jerked the cup she held and spilled its contents onto the table. Jalene Somerville, she blurted.

Somerville? Any relation to the Somervilles of Blackwater Distillery? he asked as though he were making pleasant conversation.

Aye, she said. Why?

Who is the gentleman you were talking to earlier? he asked, ignoring her question.

She didn’t want to say anything further, especially after what Wil claimed.

He stroked his chin. Naturally, I’m intrigued by a beautiful woman involved with the man who has information that belongs to me.

She was certain the smirk on his face was in response to a look of stupefaction on her own. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

Who is he? What’s his name? Donnegan demanded.

She was sure he would use the pistol if provoked. He couldn’t kill her, though, until he was satisfied the information she gave him was the truth. She replied, I don’t know. He approached me as you just have. He was more courteous when I declined his company.

He shoved his chair back with such force it toppled the one behind him. Get up. You’re coming with me. He stood. You’re lying, he said, but ‘tis no matter. My man and I observed your tête-à-tête from the back tables. My man followed your gentleman out the door. We’ll see how easily his tongue loosens when he learns we’ve abducted you. He reached into his wrist-frills and pulled out a large lace-trimmed handkerchief to conceal the pistol. Move.

Although chances of escaping him now were slim, she knew they would be less once she was outside. She stalled for time. She smoothed the skirt of her fawn-colored day gown, fluffed the ecru lace that trimmed its sleeves and stood. Perhaps if she screamed or dashed away, she’d escape the man. Nay, he’d shoot her—possibly kill her. With no recourse except to do as he said, she grabbed her cloak and the package of toffee from the chair. Donnegan motioned her towards the door.

As they neared the entryway, she stopped. Wait. I forgot my hat, she lied. She’d left it as an excuse to leave his side and run from him in the opposite direction as fast as her legs would carry her.

Leave it. He grabbed her elbow.

It’s my favorite. I must ...

Say no more, woman.

His grip tightened on her elbow. He shoved her forward. The few patrons who remained paid no attention to them or his rough treatment of her. For now, at least, her fate lay in his hands.

* * * *

Taylor Traynor stood concealed in the shadows of the buildings across the street, watching the door to the Kilronan House. The damned pillow he had tucked under his breeches and waistcoat so he’d appear pot-bellied was making him sweat. The fake eye patch cut his vision in half, and his all-too-bushy beard irritated the hell out of him. After days of following Cory Donnegan in and out of taverns, gaming rooms, and inns, he still had no clues as to whether the man was the ringleader of an illicit distillery operation. He was beginning to think that his government sources had misinformed him. If it had not been for Colonel Hume Cahill, who’d personally requested that he take this assignment, he would have been home at Knights’ Head, enjoying a brandy by the fire, or the company of a woman, or both.

He didn’t regret that he no longer served full-time as captain in the military. The occasional assignments that Hume, his friend and former commander, asked him to take were more than enough. Normally, he looked forward to the break from managing his estates, but this time his heart wasn’t in it. Smugglers peddled illegal whiskey just as fervently as they did linen and wool. Christ! Most of the coastline was a haven for smuggling. If the Revenue Service called on the entire military, it still couldn’t suppress illicit distilleries, or prevent smuggling. It irked him that the authorities concerned themselves more about the loss of revenue to the state than the social problems created by the great consumption of spirits, both illegal and legal.

Every class of society was affected; women as well as men imbibed. Cotter and gentry alike, more times than not, crossed over the dividing line from moderation to excess. The only difference was that the gentry could well afford it, while many a peasant’s family went hungry. Within each class, such behavior was tolerated by their peers—the gentry, because of who they were, and the cotters, because of who they were not. He heaved a tired sigh, and wondered if he should wait any longer or go inside Kilronan House. Then Donnegan stepped out of the establishment. To Taylor’s surprise, a comely lady now accompanied him. What captured his attention first was the fact that she wore no hat and her sparkling sandy-colored hair was pulled back in a simple knot at the nape. Most women in Dublin wore their hair in a more fashionable, more elaborate style, with extravagant ornamentation and ringlets arranged quite high on their heads. This woman also appeared stiff and unyielding, totally unlike the tavern women he usually saw hovering over Donnegan. He watched the couple travel down the street when he suddenly recalled Donnegan’s overbearing manner towards a female companion the day before. It occurred to him that this woman had been coerced into leaving with Donnegan. The idea that Donnegan might not interest the lady pleased him for some reason, but also made him concerned for her safety. He would have to find out if she was all right, and, if necessary, assist her.

* * * *

That’s it. Just keep walking.

Donnegan clutched Jalene’s arm with his left hand as he guided her down the street. His right hand rested on the pistol in his waistcoat pocket. My driver has the carriage parked around the corner in the alley.

Her mind raced, searching for a way out of her predicament. As they made their way along the street she nonchalantly dropped the package of toffee, hoping someone would notice her action, and be kind enough to return the parcel to her. She didn’t know what she would do next, but it would be her only opportunity to get help. The few people on the street failed to see her predicament. What had happened to the crowds who earlier strolled the streets? They most likely had returned to their homes after enjoying high tea, leaving her alone with this villain.

As they turned into the alley, she heard the scurry of footsteps behind them. Donnegan did, too. They both turned to see who approached.

I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to alarm you, said a tall, bearded man with a black patch over one eye. His blond wig contrasted with his darker beard. Huge-bellied though he was, the man showed no signs of breathlessness from racing down the street.

I believe this is yours, he told Jalene, handing her the package.

Donnegan put his left arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. At his touch, she stiffened and stared at the brown paper bundle, but didn’t take it. This man was her only chance. She had to stall for time and make him aware that she was being held against her wishes.

Thank you, sir, she said, hoping he could see well enough from his one good eye to read the distress in her face. Perhaps my friend should carry it for me, since I seem to be unable to hold on to it.

She held her breath while the stranger handed Donnegan the package. Donnegan didn’t reach to take it. Instead, he moved behind her with his right hand buried in his waistcoat pocket.

Certainly, my dear. Donnegan lifted his left arm over her shoulder and raised his open hand to receive the bundle.

The bearded man’s face took on a puzzled look. He clumsily fumbled with the package and dropped it at her captor’s feet. As Donnegan reached to pick it up, the stranger charged like a bull, head down, aiming at Donnegan’s midsection.

Donnegan fired his pocket pistol through the velvet material of his waistcoat. The shot grazed the bearded man’s shoulder, but failed to slow his attack. His head struck Donnegan in the stomach, knocking him flat on his back. The bearded man rolled Donnegan over onto his stomach, and shoved his nose to the cobblestones in the alley. He pinned Donnegan’s arms behind him. Then he half-leaned, half-sat against him.

It’s a bit late to be asking, but was this fellow bothering you? the man said, and grinned up at her.

She stared back at him in astonishment. His wig was tilted in a lopsided position on his head, and his enormous stomach looked like it had shifted underneath his overcoat. The white of his one good eye and of his splendid teeth sparkled against his dark bushy face. He was the most unlikely of rescuers. Just the same, she was happy he came along.

Aye, he threatened to harm me if I didn’t go with him. I’m grateful to you. Thank you. She gave him the best smile she could produce under the circumstances, and relaxed a bit, putting aside her fears as to what might have happened if he hadn’t come along.

One of my favorite pastimes is rescuing fair maidens from the hands of evildoers, he said, applying more pressure against the pinned Donnegan.

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 how 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