Читать книгу Wild Conquest - Hannah Howell - Страница 7

“I want you to steal something for me.”

Pleasance gaped at her fair-haired sister. A month ago, when Letitia had demanded that Pleasance reject Tearlach O’Duine so that she could have the man for herself, Pleasance had decided that nothing else her family could do would shock her. She was not pleased to be proven wrong. She also felt she had done more than enough already for them; Letitia was appallingly audacious to ask for more now.

“Steal? Did you truly say steal something for you?” she asked Letitia.

“Aye.” Letitia pursed her lips in a sullen pout. “Why do you act so horrified? ’Tis not such a grand favor I ask of you. Why are you so reluctant?”

“Why? Because if caught, I would face hanging, the pillory, flogging, or virtual enslavement!” Pleasance paced her small, sparsely furnished bedroom before stopping to glare at her younger sister.

“I am well aware of the penalties for theft, Pleasance. There is no need to recite them,” Letitia grumbled.

“Yet you ask me to risk them.”

Pleasance frowned as she watched her voluptuous sister shrink down in her seat. Letitia always stood tall, straight, and proud—perhaps too proud, blatantly displaying the curves so many men ogled. Yet now she looked defeated and just a little afraid. Although instinct told Pleasance that it would probably cost her dearly, she felt her heart go out to her young sister.

“What is it you wish me to steal and why must I steal it?”

“Oh, thank you, Pleasance. Thank you!” Letitia immediately sat up straighter.

“Do not be so hasty. I have not yet said I will do it. I simply want to hear more about it. If your answers do not suit me, then I shall not risk it.” Pleasance moved to open a window, but it did little to ease the oppressive heat in the room, the late August night proving as hot as the day.

“I want you to steal some letters, some love letters.”

“What harm or threat can there be in a few innocent billets-doux?”

Letitia grimaced and ran a hand through her thick golden hair in an uncharacteristic gesture of agitation. “A great deal of trouble when they are letters, and rather explicit letters at that, which were written to a man other than the one I plan to marry.”

Nearly gaping, Pleasance sat down on her small bed. “You are to be married? Why have I heard nothing of this?” She feared her own agitation was revealed in the way she began to fidgit with a stray lock of her chestnut hair.

“Because it has yet to be announced. In truth, I have yet to be asked. But I shall be. I feel certain that Father has already been approached or will be within the next day or so.”

It was an arrogant assumption, but Pleasance did not argue. If Letitia said the proposal was coming, then it probably was. Nearly a dozen men had been lurking around waiting for some sign of willingness from her, for some hint that she would accept a proposal. Pleasance hated to ask, and dreaded the answer, but knew that the question hovering on her tongue was the only logical thing to say next.

“Who do you intend to marry?”

“John Leonard Martin.”

Surprise overwhelmed her relief, but was quickly followed by anger. John Martin had been their father’s original choice, but Letitia had repeatedly demanded the right to choose her own husband. Several of the young men courting her had eventually tired of her fickleness and had ventured toward Pleasance, only to have Letitia immediately regain interest and pull them back to her. In every case their parents had sided with Letitia, ordering Pleasance to give her sister precedence.

Letitia had claimed to feel both love and passion for Tearlach O’Duine, but only a few weeks after Pleasance had given him up, the fickle girl had lost interest in him.

“I see,” Pleasance murmured. “John—the man whom only a month ago you swore you did not want. The very man Papa wished you to marry from the start.”

“Well, aye, but I had to see his worth on my own.”

“Of course. And those torrid, impassioned love letters were not written to the most worthy John.”

“Nay, of course not, or why should I wish them back?”

“Why, indeed. Letitia, if you felt strongly enough to write such letters to a man, why do you wish them back at all? Why, in fact, choose to wed another man?”

“Because I finally see that John is worthy,” Letitia replied, staring up at the ceiling of Pleasance’s tiny room.

“And this other man is not?”

“Not in the ways that matter. I had to gain the maturity to see beyond fine looks and pretty words, and at last I have.”

“See beyond them to what?”

“To the future. To security and the manner of life I am most comfortable with. As I said, John is more worthy.”

And John is so worthily wealthy too, Pleasance thought, then sharply scolded herself. Letitia was spoiled and vain, but the girl had never been otherwise. The results of all the pampering Letitia had received since birth could not be allowed to annoy Pleasance now. As always she had stepped aside for her sister. She could not fully blame Letitia if her own life was not to her liking.

“Well, who has these letters then?” Pleasance asked.

“Tearlach O’Duine.”

Pleasance was not at all surprised, but she was dismayed. After she had turned Tearlach away, there had seemed to be something between Letitia and Master O’Duine. Pleasance hated to think that that something had gone beyond warm looks and pretty words. She also hated the idea of stealing from the man or, far worse, being caught as she attempted it.

“Have you tried asking him for the letters?”

“Aye,” muttered Letitia. “Fool that I was. That cruel man laughed at me. He told me it might do me some good to fret a little.”

That it might, Pleasance mused, but far worse than a few hours of worry for Letitia could result from those letters. Pleasance dreaded to think of the possible scandal. Letitia lacked the wisdom and foresight to temper her outpourings. When caught up in some fancied passion, she had even less sense than usual. If the letters became public, marriage with John would become utterly impossible.

Pleasance studied Letitia for a moment. She was probably not in love with John; Letitia was incapable of loving anyone but herself. With John, however, Letitia would have the society she craved and the wealth to become a leader within it. John would never trouble her to be any more than she was. Their father had clearly chosen the perfect match for her. Pleasance supposed it was a good thing that her sister had finally reached the same conclusion. The marriage might allow her to find her own happiness at last.

Pleasance quickly suppressed the unwelcome thought that she had lost her own chance for happiness when she had rebuffed Tearlach.

“You cannot expect Master O’Duine to be kind to you after you flirted so shamelessly with him only to toss him aside,” Pleasance said, frowning. “Just what do you consider wrong with the man? I know of no great lack in him morally and he is not without an adequate income.”

“He lives in the backwoods, far west of the Massachusetts colony, Pleasance, out on the fringes of civilization where there are only a few cabins and farms, mayhaps a small village.”

“You intended to change his mind about where to live, if I recall.”

“He is too stubborn. He insists that his home lies out there, and he wants no other. I am certain there are still wild, savage Indians there.”

“I believe the recent war between us and the French with their Indian allies ended what Indian problem there was. And I would be much more wary of the French myself.”

Letitia gave Pleasance a cross look. “He also has a sister. Did you know that?”

“Aye. A girl of but twelve or so, I believe. What matter?”

“He expected me to care for her.”

“That is hardly unreasonable of him.” Pleasance realized that Letitia’s main complaint about Tearlach O’Duine was that she had been unable to get the man to do exactly what she wanted.

“Pleasance, the girl is part savage. She is the spawn of the rape of her mother by some heathen,” Letitia whispered. “The woman survived the attack and kept herself alive until the babe was born. Why, I cannot say. Better to die and escape the shame than to live and bear the fruit of it. And Tearlach still keeps the creature, intends to raise her amongst civilized people. That man is not quite right in the head.”

“The girl is his sister,” Pleasance said. “They share a mother’s blood.”

Pleasance sighed and wondered why she even tried to explain such sentiments to Letitia. Her sister lacked the compassion to understand. Nevertheless, she felt a need to defend Tearlach. Before any further discussion could ensue, however—a discussion she knew would severely try her already waning patience—Pleasance forced her thoughts back to the matter at hand. She idly tugged on her full bottom lip as she tried to think of a less drastic, less criminal solution to Letitia’s problems.

“Perhaps if I speak to Master O’Duine,” she finally said.

“That will do no good. No good at all.” Letitia got to her feet and began to pace the cramped quarters. “He is angry—with all of us. There is something else as well.” She glanced nervously at Pleasance.

Unease rippled through Pleasance. “What?”

“I gave him a gift and that too must be returned.”

“What sort of gift?” Since Letitia received only a small stipend from their parents, the gift could not have been too expensive or improper.

“A lovely silver tankard.”

Pleasance gasped, astonished by the extravagance and the impropriety of such a present. “Wherever did you get such a thing?”

“From John. It was an heirloom of his family’s.”

For a moment Pleasance was too stunned to speak. Letitia was prone to doing things without thought, but this seemed too reckless and stupid even for her. It also presented a far greater problem than some ill-advised love letters.

“How could you have been so stupid?”

“It did not seem so stupid at the time. Tearlach much admired the tankard,” Letitia said, outrage tinting her voice.

“So you gave it to him and then thought of John. How is it that John has not yet noticed it is gone?”

“Well, I have had to make an excuse or two. I cannot keep doing that for much longer.” She fell to her knees before Pleasance, grasping her sister’s hands. “Please, you must get it back for me. If John should ever discover what I have done, all shall be lost.”

Staring into her sister’s tear-drenched blue eyes, Pleasance resisted the strong urge to slap that perfectly oval face. Such stupidity was beyond understanding. She was sorely tempted to let her sister sink into the mire she had concocted. Unfortunately, that mire could touch their whole family. What she did not wish to do she would be forced to do to protect her family from scandal. She had herself to consider too. Her own future was at risk.

“And you did not ask Master O’Duine for the return of this gift?” Pleasance asked, fighting and failing to keep the fury from her voice.

“Aye, I asked him. I explained that I had been overcome by a generous impulse. I also explained that the impulse had been in error. He said I was indeed generous, that it was a fine gift he would long appreciate. As for the error in giving him such a gift, he simply remarked that I seemed to be making a great many errors of late. He hoped I would soon have a better turn of luck, then he literally pushed me out the door. The man is impossible.” As Letitia spoke she rose to her feet and strode back to her chair to flop down in it, renewed anger evident in her every gesture.

“Oh, nay, Letitia. Master O’Duine is not the impossible one. ’Tis you. You insisted he was the man you wanted, even forced me to reject him. You flirted shamelessly with the man. He stayed on in Worcester far longer than he had planned because you gave him reason to believe that his interest was returned in full measure. Then you blithely cast him aside for John. You wrote Master O’Duine love letters. Now you want them back. You gave Master O’Duine a lavish gift which was not yours to dispense with, and now you wish that back as well. It would all make a fine comedy save that our family would be the butt of all the jests.”

“So you mean to give me no help?”

“I am sorely tempted to let you fall, face first, into the mire you have stirred up.”

“Pleasance, you cannot do that to me!” Letitia wailed.

“Nay, sadly, I cannot.” Pleasance shook her head in a weary gesture of utter disgust, with herself as much as with Letitia. “I find John a very dull stick of a man, but he and his kin have been friends of this family for many years. You have set the stage for a monstrous scandal which would surely touch John as well. He does not deserve that.”

“’Tis not all my fault.”

“Then there is our own family to consider,” Pleasance continued, ignoring Letitia’s truculent interruption. “You seem to have thought little of them in your recent foolhardiness, Letitia. Mother would be destroyed. She could neither bear the ill talk which would result nor the estrangement from society that such scandal always brings. I dare not even think how Papa would react. Then there are our brothers. They would feel honor-bound to defend each slur aimed at us, and I do not have to tell you what tragedy could result.”

“So you will do it?” Letitia said. “You are, after all, the only one who knows how to get into Tearlach’s locked room.”

“I truly regret the strange, unasked-for skills that I possess,” Pleasance muttered.

“If you had not been such a bad child, you would not have been locked in the attic so much. You learned to pick locks so that you could sneak out. I have never told Mama and Papa about the times you did so. Nor have I told them about the times you picked the locks on the pantry to steal food after they had ordered you to fast.” She looked at Pleasance meaningfully.

Pleasance ignored her sister’s subtle threat of blackmail. “If I did not have the skill, I would not be in the middle of all this trouble you have brewed. Instead I must now put myself at risk because you acted without thought.

“Nay,” she added when Letitia opened her mouth again. “I do not wish to hear any more excuses or explanations. Here is what you must do. Invite Master O’Duine to a little tête à tête in the garden for tomorrow night. Use any ploy you want but get him here and hold him here for at least two hours.”

“What if he will not stay?”

“Make him. If you do not then I shall be caught and we shall both be plunged into scandal. Now, just tell me all you know of where Master O’Duine is staying and where that cursed tankard might be.”

Well hidden beneath the voluminous folds of a large black cloak, Pleasance crept along the night-shrouded streets of town. The cloak was too warm, but it helped her blend into the shadows. She was already trembling with fright and the inn was only just now coming into view. With each hushed step she took, the urge to turn back grew stronger. She prayed she would be able to accomplish her goal before that urge to flee overcame familial responsibility. This was no time for cowardice. Letitia’s folly could ruin them all.

She slipped down an alley that ran alongside the large wooden two-story inn to which Letitia had directed her. Her heart was beating so hard and fast she feared the sound was echoing off the walls of the narrow passageway. Her palms were sweating and she wiped her unsteady hands on her skirts. She knew she had to conquer her fear or she would fail. If she did not stop shaking she would not be able to pick open the lock on the door to Tearlach’s room.

Pausing at the rear of the inn, Pleasance looked up the steep back stairs. She had crept in and out of the inn unseen once before when she had helped her brother Nathan play a jest upon his old friend Chadwick. That had been fun, with no threat of dangerous consequences if she were caught. The seriousness of what she was doing now seemed to add weights to her feet and she found it difficult to ascend the first step.

As Pleasance inched up the wooden outer stairway she became painfully aware of every creak, every groan. She had taken little notice of the inn’s state of disrepair before. Now it threatened her with discovery at every turn.

Another thing that slowed her advance was the knowledge of whom she would be stealing from. Tearlach O’Duine had received shabby treatment from her family. Letitia had toyed with him. She herself had rudely snubbed him, painfully reluctant though the snub had been. Her brothers had been indifferent—unintentionally so on Nathan’s part, but it was a slight nonetheless. Her mother and father, on the other hand, had made it abundantly clear that they hoped nothing would come of Letitia’s fascination with the man. All in all, Tearlach O’Duine had every reason to loathe the lot of them. Pleasance hated to give him yet another reason to feel ill treated.

She also hated to consider the implications of Letitia’s familiarity with Tearlach’s room at the inn. Pleasance dreaded finding out exactly how often her sister had been there, and why. She knew Letitia was far too free with her favors, but she loathed the thought that Master O’Duine was one of the many men who had taken advantage of her sister’s lack of moral rectitude.

Finally Pleasance reached the top of the stairs. After taking several deep breaths, she withdrew a long thin lockpick Nathan had had made for her and inserted it in the lock. Her first try resulted in utter failure. She cursed. Leaning against the clapboard wall, she forced herself to calm down. It took several more tries, but eventually she was successful. Slowly she opened the heavy iron-trimmed door, cursing every tiny creak it made. The minute there was enough room, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her. To her relief, the hall was empty, dimly lit by only a few wall sconces.

As Pleasance tiptoed down to Master O’Duine’s room, she firmly cleared her mind of all thoughts save that of getting the job done and returning home. Letitia had sworn to keep Tearlach away from his room by luring him to their mother’s garden, perhaps even attempting a little seduction, but Pleasance had little confidence in her sister’s ability to keep her promise. Although Letitia was an expert at keeping men beguiled, Pleasance doubted that Master O’Duine was in any mood to be trifled with. In fact, after all that had happened, she felt sure he would view any such attempt with extreme suspicion. She was surprised he had even agreed to Letitia’s pleas to talk. It would be gratifying to see her sister fail to hold a man’s attention, but Pleasance decided she preferred to savor that defeat from a safer distance.

Finding the door to O’Duine’s room securely locked, Pleasance cursed softly and set to work. In only a moment she had sprung the latch and was slipping into the room. She felt the usual twinge of pride tainted with guilt at her unusual criminal skill. Quickly but silently, she shut the door behind her, eager to leave the hallway where anyone might chance upon her. She crouched low and lit the shuttered lantern which one of Nathan’s customs-eluding friends had given her. It provided enough light with which to search but, she hoped, not enough to alert anyone to her presence. She could hear the din of voices coming from the tavern below and hoped it would also help disguise any sounds she might make.

Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she looked around with some surprise. Despite the fact that Tearlach’s room was located at the back of the building, where the steep slope of the roof made the ceiling low in places, the room was large. A big four-poster bed dominated, a linen-draped table beside it. A big chest had been pushed against one wall, a tall wardrobe filled one corner, and a small writing table and chair stood near the door. Rag rugs covered the wide-board floor. This was clearly one of the inn’s better rooms.

Next she noticed that Tearlach was a very tidy man. He was also more comfortably financed than she had thought. Few people could afford a bed to themselves, let alone an entire room. She knew that the landlord, Thomas Cobb, would have carefully ascertained the man’s ability to pay before letting him rent the room.

Sharply telling herself not to delay, she began her search. The first thing she found in a small stationery box on the writing table were the letters Letitia had written to him. Pleasance stared at them for a long moment before actually picking them up. She had tucked the letters into an inside pocket of her cloak before she finally lost the battle against her curiosity. Although a large part of her shrank from what she might discover, she took out one letter and began to read.

Two paragraphs were all she managed, and not just because of the near illegibility of Letitia’s flowery handwriting. Pleasance’s cheeks felt afire, she was blushing so deeply.

Torrid was the word for such prose. If Master O’Duine and Letitia were not lovers, it was certainly not for a lack of effort on Letitia’s part. Since Pleasance could not envision any man turning aside an eager and willing Letitia, she was convinced that the pair had indulged in a fierce love affair.

As Pleasance returned the letter to her cloak pocket, she noticed that her hands were trembling slightly. She sighed and shook her head. Her infatuation with Master O’Duine, which she thought had died, was clearly still strong. It hurt to think of Tearlach and Letitia making love. Foolish though it was, Pleasance had to admit that she still wanted the man herself.

“Well, Letitia had him, you idiot,” she whispered as she began to look for the tankard. “And once Letitia decided she wanted him, you did not stand a chance. Letitia always gets what Letitia wants. And why would you want him after Letitia has sampled him anyway?” she grumbled. Then she briefly forgot her grievance when she found the tankard tucked inside Tearlach’s carpetbag on top of the wardrobe.

It was no mere utensil but a work of art. She marveled that Master O’Duine had even accepted such a treasure. He had to have known it was worth too much to be a proper gift. He also should have guessed that no young woman could afford such a thing. It was unquestionably an heirloom, and that alone should have made him hesitate. Yet he had accepted the gift, and she could only wonder why.

There was no puzzle, however, she mused wryly, as to why he did not give it back. True, it was worth a great deal and was indisputably handsome, but Pleasance felt sure there was another reason. Revenge. The sad thing was, she had to admit the Dunstans deserved it.

“Hail and good evening, Tearlach. We had not expected you to return so soon.”

Master Cobb’s booming voice coming from downstairs pulled Pleasance from her dark thoughts. For a moment she stood frozen, in a panic-induced state of indecision. Apparently Letitia had not managed to hold Tearlach’s attention after all!

“I was sent on a wild-goose chase,” replied Tearlach. “’Twas not a complete waste of my time, howbeit, for I met Corbin on my way back here. So, Thomas, set out some ale for me and my friend. I need to go to my room.”

“Will do. You and Master Corbin can have the table near the window.”

“Thank ye kindly. I willnae be but a moment, Corbin.”

Those words finally drew Pleasance out of her dangerous state of motionless terror. She still had a chance to avoid capture. She put out the lamp and dove under the bed. It was an obvious place to hide, far too obvious for her liking, but she had no time and few other choices. The long bedcovers hung nearly to the floor and she hoped they would conceal her. She huddled beneath the bed, trying to make herself as small as possible, and struggled not to breathe as she heard the door open. Silently and fervently she prayed that she had left behind no telltale sign that she had been in the room.

Tearlach O’Duine was still chuckling over his friend Corbin Matthias’s jest as he strode into his room. That lingering amusement faded as he moved to light a lamp near his bed. Cautiously he sniffed the air, then frowned. There was the scent of a recently snuffed candle in the room, yet he had only just lit his lamp and that used oil. There was another scent as well—faint and far more pleasant. His frown deepening, he sniffed again, and grew angry as he recognized the delicate, enticing scent of lavender. He remembered all too well where he had smelled it last. In truth, his memory of it was a great deal more vivid than he might wish.

Acting as if he was still unaware of anything odd, he warily checked for two specific items. He took a quick peek inside the stationery box on the writing table and then into his carpetbag. It did not surprise him to find the items they had contained missing. The bird has probably flown already, he concluded, then immediately questioned that assumption. There was a chance his prey might still be present.

There was only one exit and one window and he felt confident he would have seen someone slip through the door if she had done so in the last few minutes. He moved back to the small wardrobe in the corner and looked inside, but found no one. In hopes of deceiving anyone who might be watching, he took out a shirt and walked back to the bed. As he carefully placed the shirt on the bed, he stared down at the plank floor, then narrowly eyed the space beneath his bed. It was a painfully obvious place for someone to hide, but it was the only place left.

“Ye will come out now, Mistress Dunstan,” he said.

Pleasance felt her heart stop. For a moment she forgot to breathe, then fought to do so without making a sound. How could he possibly know someone was there? How could he know it was her? She remained still and silent, the lantern handle slung over her wrist and the tankard clutched tightly in one hand, hoping he had just made a wild guess and would not pursue the matter. That hope was abruptly extinguished when a shaft of light penetrated the shadows under the bed as the hem of the coverlet was lifted and she found herself staring into Tearlach O’Duine’s frighteningly expressionless face. With a soft cry of alarm, Pleasance scrambled out from under the bed, hit Tearlach in the knee with the tankard to knock him off balance, and bolted for the door.

Tearlach leapt to his feet, bounded to the door, and slammed it shut just as Pleasance started to yank it open. He was startled by her speed. He also noticed with some surprise that, despite her panicked haste, she had made little noise. Miss Dunstan clearly possessed a few unusual skills for a gently bred lady, he mused as he grabbed her around her tiny waist and tossed her over his shoulder. Ignoring her struggles and the way she kept hitting him with the lantern and tankard, he carried her back to the bed and threw her on top of it. In the brief instant when she was too winded to move, he used his body to pin her to the bed. He yanked the lantern from her hand and studied it.

“A custom runner’s lantern, if I am not mistaken,” he murmured. “’Tis a strange implement for a lass to possess.” He looked down at her and saw that her fear had either been replaced, or was at least well disguised, by anger. Her wide eyes glowed with fury. “’Tis a useful tool for a thief though,” he added.

“I am no thief,” she replied, but the hard look on his dark face offered Pleasance little hope for mercy.

“Nay? Ye but crept in here to admire my tankard, did ye?” He looked at the tankard still clutched in her hand, which he held pinned to the bed.

“’Tis not yours, and well you know it, sir.”

“’Twas a gift to me.”

She wondered crossly how the man could be so many things at once—terrifying, irritating, and intriguing. “One that the giver requested you return.”

“Ah, but I have grown verra attached to it.” Easily keeping her slender form beneath him, he searched her cloak and was not surprised to find the letters Letitia had written to him. “These are mine as well,” he said.

Since she could not deny that, Pleasance just glared at him. She had no defense so she struggled to maintain an air of righteous indignation, prepared even to attack him if it proved necessary. She sincerely doubted that the big dark man pressing her into the coverlet would give her the time to come up with something truly clever, however.

“You were also asked to return those letters to their rightful owner,” she snapped. “I but came here to retrieve them.”

There was such mockery and sneering in his smoky gray eyes that she wanted to scream. “Did ye.” He almost smiled at her. “Weel, I dinnae wish them to be retrieved. They are mine.”

“Nay, they belong to Letitia.”

“Ah me, it seems we will ne’er agree.” He stood up, but with one large calloused hand wrapped around her delicate wrists he kept a firm grip upon her as he tugged her to her feet. “I think a neutral third party is required.” He began dragging her out of the room. “Dinnae let my tankard slip from your wee fingers,” he drawled. “I should hate to see it dented.”

Pleasance was sorely tempted to dent it on his head, but the way he held her prevented her from fulfilling that wish. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

“To see Corbin Matthias. Ye are in luck, Miss Dunstan. He awaits me in the taproom.”

The very last person she wished to face was the magistrate. Did Tearlach O’Duine plan to openly cry her a thief?

She tried to pull free, but his hold was firm. When she dug in her heels, he just yanked her along the hall. At the top of the narrow stairs leading down to the taproom, she hooked her arm around the stair post. Tearlach gave her a scowl of disgust, pried her arm free, and continued on. To keep from falling she was forced to stop struggling. The moment they reached the bottom she again tried to use the stair post to halt their progress, but he gave a sharp tug on her arm, causing her to slam into his body and putting the stair post out of reach. The door to the noisy taproom was now only steps away.

Pleasance inwardly cringed as Tearlach pulled her into the large room. Despite the dim light from the tallow candles, she recognized every man in the place. Far worse, they recognized her. Tearlach kept doggedly marching toward a table set before the front window. Corbin Matthias slowly stood up, his thin face revealing his surprise as Tearlach dragged her forward. Pleasance cursed softly when he shoved her toward Corbin and she barely stopped herself from careening into the young magistrate.

“Tearlach, what goes on here?” Corbin demanded.

“Miss Dunstan and I seem to differ in our opinion of ownership. The tankard she holds and these letters are the items in question. I say they are all mine. She says otherwise.”

Corbin nervously cleared his throat and studied both items. “The letters are addressed to you, Tearlach, so they are indisputedly yours. That is true of the tankard as well, I believe, for I know you have had this tankard for a while and to give a gift is to imply a transfer of ownership. You showed it to me when you first received it.”

“That settles that then,” Tearlach said before Pleasance could attempt a defense.

“Is that all you wished of me?” Corbin asked.

“Nay, Corbin. I demand that ye do your sworn duty. This lass is a thief. Arrest her.”

One look at Corbin’s face told Pleasance that the man would reluctantly do as Tearlach O’Duine demanded; one look at Tearlach O’Duine’s smug countenance and she felt the bite of rage. Before either man could stop her, before she could fully think through the consequences of her actions, she swung at Tearlach with the heavy tankard. Her aim was true and she hit him—hard—on the side of the head. He crumpled to the floor at her feet.

Numbly, Pleasance stared at Tearlach, blindly watching a trickle of blood run over his beard-shadowed cheek as Corbin grabbed hold of her. She had certainly solved Letitia’s problems, she thought ruefully. Even if the town crier read each of Letitia’s sordid love letters in the common at high noon, townspeople would be far more interested in the fact that Letitia’s spinster sister was about to be hanged for murder.

Pleasance winced as the heavy iron cell door was locked behind her. She kept her back to Corbin, maintaining the cold silence she had adopted since the scene at the inn. The only good thing was that Tearlach had not ridden in the carriage with them as they had traveled to Corbin’s house on the eastern outskirts of town. He had stayed behind to have his cut head bandaged by the doctor. The look of fury on his face as Corbin had led her away was not something she would soon forget. There would be no mercy from him.

“I will send word to your family,” Corbin said, nervously jingling his keys.

“Why trouble yourself?” She sighed as she finally turned to face him, knowing that he did not really deserve her anger. Besides, her brother Nathan would be sure to help her once he returned from his business trip to Philadelphia.

“Your family needs to know. They can help you. I know there is more to this matter than it appears.” He looked at her expectantly.

She had no intention of satisfying his curiosity. At first she had not wanted her family to be told, but she knew they must be. They might well be able to think of a way to free her without revealing the full truth. She felt a flicker of doubt and firmly suppressed it. After all, she had risked everything for Letitia. Her family could do no less for her.

“Mistress Dunstan?”

“Aye, you had better tell them, although they will not be pleased.”

“As matters stand now, aye. Howsomever, I think it would help if you would speak to me. I simply cannot believe I have been told the whole truth. While ’tis true that I saw you strike Tearlach, I do not believe you are a thief.”

“I suggest you talk to your friend Tearlach then. This is his doing.”

Corbin Matthias sighed and shook his head. “As you wish. I hope your stay here will be a short one.”

“So do I.”

As soon as he was gone, disappearing up the stairs to the upper part of the house, Pleasance sat down on the narrow rope-slung cot and surveyed her quarters. It was a small cell, the middle of three, and was separated from the others by sturdy iron bars. She was glad she was Corbin’s only prisoner, for her quarters provided no privacy. There was a small battered table in the middle and an unsteady chair. Her cot was placed beneath a tiny slit of a window with thick bars between her and the glass.

She gingerly pressed down on the mattress and grimaced. It was straw. The blanket folded at the end of the cot was made of scratchy homespun. She would find little comfort on this bed. She touched her fingers to the solid stone wall, which was cold from the seeping damp. She could not move the bed away from the wall, for it was chained in place. The coolness of the cellars was a welcome respite from the heat outside, but she knew the combination of the chill and damp could easily give her the ague.

She retrieved her lockpick from an inside pocket of her cloak. Tearlach had not searched her once he found the letters, and Corbin had been too polite to paw through her pockets. She went to the cell door and studied the lock closely. Nodding as she recognized her good chances for success, she slipped the lockpick into the mechanism, and an instant later heard the click of success. After briefly cracking the door open and shutting it again, she kept her gaze fixed upon the stairs as she practiced locking and unlocking the door again. She returned to the cot feeling in somewhat better spirits. If worse came to worst, she could always run away.

“Mistress Dunstan?”

Pleasance slowly sat up from her huddled position on the cot and looked out at Corbin. She had not seen him since he had first put her in the cell three days ago. Neither had she seen any of her family. When the first day had passed without sight of or word from them, she had kept up her spirits by telling herself they were making plans to help her. That excuse had not worked for long into the second day, and her hurt had grown. Now, at the end of the third day, she was forced to accept the truth—they had deserted her. The look on Corbin’s face as he carried her meal into the cell and set the tray on the table told her that she was right to feel abandoned. She suspected he had dreaded telling her, and that was why he had avoided her, sending his elder manservant to see to all her needs.

“You can tell me, Master Matthias. I will not crumple into a weeping, wailing mass of self-pity,” she said as she stood up and fruitlessly tried to smooth out her dress and tidy her hair.

“Tell you what?” Corbin nervously fiddled with her eating utensils.

“That my family has decided to throw me to the wolves.” She sat down at the table and gave him a weary smile.

“You cannot be certain of that.” He began to pace the cell as she ate.

“Oh, aye, I can, and you know it too. You sought them out, so you must have their reply.”

He stopped pacing and rubbed his hand over his chin. “It could be shock. They will come around soon, before the trial.”

Pleasance told herself she was glad he had not revealed exactly what her family had said. His words had confirmed her worst fears and that hurt enough. She ate the thick fish stew, but tasted very little of it, as she fought not to give in to her despair.

“If Master O’Duine insists upon pressing charges, then the trial will go on,” she said.

“Once the charges were made, ’twas mostly out of his hands.”

“Of course. And when is the trial?”

“In four days. There is yet time for your family to come to your aid, perhaps even to come to some agreement with Tearlach, or myself and the other magistrates.”

“The magistrates? I am to have a trial before just the magistrates? No jury? No one to speak in my defense?”

“Nay. That requires coin, you know.”

“And no one is willing to pay it.” Although she heard herself say the words, she found them hard to believe.

Corbin cleared his throat. “Well, the cost of your imprisonment is being paid.”

“I see. No help to free me, but they condescend to assure that I am properly imprisoned.” She pushed the bowl away, surprised to see that it was almost empty. “I guess I am to be left to hang.”

“We no longer hang thieves, Mistress Dunstan.”

“But you do a lot more I shall undoubtedly find uncomfortable. And I am not a mere thief. I also attacked a man.”

“Tell me what really happened, what the full truth is, and I can help you,” Corbin pleaded.

He sounded so sincere, she was tempted. Her family had deserted her and thus forfeited her blind loyalty. Two things held her back—her own sense of honor and a need to protect her brother Nathan from the scandal. She glanced toward her cloak draped over the end of her cot and thought of the lockpick. She would remain silent. If all else failed, she still had the option of escape.

“There is nothing to say,” she murmured, and concentrated on drinking her cider, thus avoiding Corbin’s look of frustration. “When is the trial?”

“I told you—in four days.”

Pleasance sighed. It would be a long wait, especially if her family continued to ignore her plight. Corbin left and she returned to her cot and laid down, finally giving way to the tears she had held back since her arrest.

She was alone, utterly alone.