He said he would be faithful, and she wanted to believe him. Perhaps she would feel better in a more conventional situation, where they could come to know each other at a leisurely pace. Where she could determine that their unusual circumstances weren’t all that prompted him to marry her. Once they’d rescued Juliet they could spend time together, and that would make her more easy about marriage.
Juliet. She groaned. She’d completely forgotten about Juliet. Tonight Daniel had created a cocoon for them where time halted, and she’d been perfectly happy to lie wrapped up with him in it. But in the morning, all of that would end, and they’d be back to dealing with Crouch and his cronies.
Poor Danny, to be raised by a man like Crouch. How had that come to be? Had he even known his parents at all, the ones who were hanged? She had a thousand questions for him, a thousand things she wanted to know before she gave her life and future into his keeping. But for now, it was enough just to be here with him in their cozy nest.
She turned back to sketching. She’d sketched out his entire upper body and was just beginning to put in shadow and refine shapes when she looked up from her sketch to find him staring at her. “Oh,” she said, startled, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He dropped his hands from behind his head, and she said, “Don’t do that! Don’t move!”
“Why? What are you sketching?”
“You asleep.” At his grin, she added, “Though now that you’re awake, I’ll have to change it to you looking very pleased with yourself.”
He laid his hand on her calf beneath the pelisse, then slid it slowly, sensually up to her knee. “I
am
pleased with myself.”
“Are you?” She returned to sketching him, wanting to get further along before he altered his pose any more.
“What man wouldn’t be pleased to find himself being sketched by a beautiful, half-naked woman?” He opened her pelisse, exposing her thinly clad form to his ravenous gaze. The dark glitter in his eyes made her suddenly conscious of the nearly transparent chemise and the lamplight falling on her barely concealed breasts.
She wished she could capture that look of his—the one that said,
I want you.
The one that always shot her through with hunger and need. She concentrated on her sketch, feeling the inevitable blush rise beneath her skin. “I thought you wanted to sleep.”
“I did. I take it you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Dare I hope it’s because you’re considering my proposal?”
“Yes.” She angled a shy glance up at him. “Although I was also…well, wondering about some things, too.”
He turned his face just enough to put it fully in shadow. “Like what?”
“You spoke of Crouch taking you to your first…fancy woman at fourteen. You went to live with him when you were nine, is that right?”
“That’s right.” His voice was decidedly wary.
“And how old were you when you went to the workhouse?”
“Why?”
“I just want to know. I want to know all about you. Should that surprise you?”
“I s’pose not.” He sighed. “I was six, I think. I don’t remember much about that first day, just that it was bitter cold and I was hungry. But then, I was always hungry after my parents were hanged. I was shuffled from relative to relative—nobody wanted me. They all feared my bad blood.”
“Oh, Daniel,” she whispered, dropping her pencil. “That’s awful.”
He shrugged. “The last one fobbed me off on the parish, and I was sent to the workhouse in Maldon. That’s in Essex, where I was born.”
“So you lived there three years until Crouch found you?”
“Yes. He happened to be in Maldon buying a cutter, and he needed an extra body to sail it back to Sussex. So he came to the workhouse and picked me out, paid them good money for me. I was large for my age, large enough anyway for what he wanted—someone to scurry up and down rigging—and I expect that Crouch found it amusing to have Wild Danny Brennan’s son join his gang.”
“The owners of the workhouse knew who your parents were? They told him?”
“Yes,” he said tersely.
“I suppose they thought nothing of sending you off with a smuggler,” she said, trying to imagine being sold like so much chattel. “Even though you were only a child.”
“They did me a favor, to be honest. Crouch treated me ten times better than the workhouse. Before I met Griff, I thought Jolly Roger the finest man I knew, because of how he took me in.” He shifted to lay on his side. “That’s why it’s so hard to think of him doing something like this—kidnapping Juliet. He’s a rascal, to be sure, but except for that fight between him and Griff, I never thought him a villain. This isn’t like him a’tall.”
“I suppose he must have
some
goodness in him to take an orphan of nine into his care.” She played idly with her pencil. “What about your parents? Do you remember anything about them?”
A wild, bleak yearning touched his rough features. “A bit. I have one snatch of memory that never leaves me. Mother used to always kiss the tip of my nose when she put me to bed. ‘There’s a brave boy,’ she’d say. ‘Brave as your da.’” His face hardened. “Yes, he was the bravest
man alive, wasn’t he? Tangling my mother in his reckless adventures, taking her to the gallows with him, not caring what might happen to his own son—that was right brave of him. Shows a great nobility of character, don’t you think?”
His voice blew like a frigid wind, as if the pain were so great that he could only speak of it in that cold, dead tone. It made her heart ache to realize how much he had suffered. “It was his fault that your mother was hanged?”
“Partly. She rode with him the night they were captured, y’see. But it wasn’t his fault she was caught. I had an uncle with a part in that.”
“An uncle?”
“My mother’s brother. He’s the one who betrayed my parents to the soldiers. I didn’t even know about it until a few years ago, when I went searching for information about my family. After I heard what my uncle did, I wanted to track him down and kill him with my bare hands.” Hot fury flashed in his face, reminding her for a moment of the murderous rage he’d shown toward Mr. Wallace.
Suddenly it faded, and he sighed. “But he’d drowned himself shortly after my parents were hanged. I s’pose he couldn’t live with what he’d done.”
“Oh, Danny,” she whispered, unable to keep the pity from her voice.
He glanced up and stiffened. “That’s my family in a nutshell. Quite a band of rogues, wouldn’t you say?”
She fumbled for an answer that would soothe his injured pride. “Well, you’ve beaten me, but not by much.”
“What d’you mean?” he asked warily.
“I have a scoundrel father, too, remember? I don’t have any scoundrel uncles, however, so your scoundrel relatives outnumber mine, two to one.”
He stared at her a long moment. Then a faint smile touched his lips. “If you count my mother, it’s three to one. But mine are all dead, and yours is still alive making trouble. I’d think one live relative beats out any number of dead ones.”
“Probably.” She shook her head and smiled sadly. “Oh, Danny, think of our poor children. We might as well hand them pistols and teach them deceit from birth, since their bloodlines will surely send them in that direction.”
He leaned forward, his eyes warming. “You give me hope, love, by speaking of children. Though I do want a better life for any child of mine. Let’s pray they take after you and your mother.”
“I wouldn’t mind so much if they took after you,” she said shyly. “At least a little.”
He chuckled. “So you don’t think I’m such a devil after all, do you?”
“I didn’t say that,” she teased. “But every child should have a bit of the devil in him.”
Catching her by surprise, he rose up on his knees to snatch her sketch pad, then toss it aside. “This particular devil is thinking he ought to live up to his image. Especially with a lass like you tempting him to devilment.” The blanket fell to reveal his “pego,” which seemed to thicken before her very eyes.
Her mouth went dry and desire pooled between her legs, despite the faint soreness there. “I have not yet accepted your proposal of marriage, remember?” she said, a warning both for herself and him.
It did not deter him in the least from sliding her pelisse off her shoulders. “Ah, but you will, love. You will.”
Young Seth glanced out the window of his house. At last: the light was out in the barn. He slipped out and
crossed to the barn door. Opening it soundlessly, he paused to listen, but could hear nothing except snoring. Although it was pitch dark inside, he figured he could find the horse by the sounds of its nickering and shifting in the stall.
For a moment, he reconsidered his plan. Mr. Brennan was a giant, he was, and could beat him senseless if he chose. Still, Mrs. Brennan was a nice lady, and he felt sure she wouldn’t let the giant beat him. Besides, he was only borrowing their horse, not stealing it, and he’d have it back long before morn. They’d never even know he took it.
And when would he have a chance like this again—silver in his pocket and his parents gone? A horse standing at the ready? It was perfect! Once Meg saw him swagger like a man into her parents’ taproom, order his own ale, and pay for it with his own blunt, she’d see at once that he wasn’t the mere boy she took him for. She wouldn’t be so quick to laugh at him the next time he tried to kiss her behind the inn.
He moved with utter stealth, grabbing the saddle and leading the mare from the barn, then closing the door an inch at a time behind them. As soon as he’d saddled the horse and was on the road to Sedlescombe, his mind filled with thoughts of lovely Meg’s red mouth. The moon was bright enough to see by, so he scarcely had to guide the horse along the tiny road from the farm.
He felt a twinge of guilt when he reached the main road to Sedlescombe and thought of his parents. His mother, who’d recently joined the Wesleyans, would certainly disapprove of him spending good silver to drink at the taproom when it could be better spent on the farm. Still, he hadn’t taken all the money—just enough to impress Meg and have a drink or two. The rest was for his
parents, who’d never know how much Mr. Brennan had given him anyway. He forgot his guilt as dreams of kissing sweet Meg resurfaced.
He was nearing the bridge over the Brede River into Sedlescombe when two hulking shapes appeared as if from nowhere, and a voice called out, “Stand to!”
Terror splintered his soft thoughts. Highwaymen? And so close to Sedlescombe? He’d heard tales of highwaymen from Father, but none from recent years and certainly none brave enough to attack within shouting distance of town. He jerked the horse around, meaning to flee, but a loud whistle pierced the night, freezing the horse so that it refused to budge no matter how much he urged it.
Rough hands pulled him off and pinned his arms behind his back. One of the black shapes in front of him lit a lantern, then shoved it up to his face. Beyond the lantern, he could make out only glittering eyes and a sullen mouth.
“Who are you, boy?” the sullen mouth demanded. “And where’d you get this horse?”
“I…I…”
“Speak up!” the man growled, and gestured beyond him to Seth’s captor, who twisted his arm hard behind his back and made him cry out. “This is
my
horse you’ve stolen—”
“I didn’t steal it! It was them what stole it!” he burst out, then cursed his quick tongue when a calculating smile twisted the man’s lips.
“Them? A big man and a crippled woman? Is that who you took it from?”
“I-I didn’t take it from them. I just…borrowed it. I swear!”
“And where are they now?” the man asked.
He swallowed. The last thing he wanted was to lead this mean bastard to his house, but he didn’t want to be beaten for borrowing a horse, neither. Or worse yet, taken to the gallows. Though he’d never have guessed the Brennans were thieves, he did remember how Mr. Brennan had been opening the door to the house when Seth had happened upon them. He wasn’t about to pay for
their
crimes.
“I didn’t know they stole it, or I would never have let them stay in our barn.”
“Are they still in your barn?” the man demanded.
He hesitated, then nodded. “They’re sleepin’.”
“Do they know you’re out with the horse?”
“No. I…I didn’t mean to stay out long.” He prayed that the man and his companions didn’t find the silver in his pockets. That was probably stolen as well, but no matter who the blunt had belonged to before, it was his now.
“Tell me where they are, where your barn is.”
Seth explained how to find the road to the farm.
The lantern was suddenly snuffed, and the man holding it spoke to someone lurking in the shadows to Seth’s right. “You heard that. Now go tell Crouch’s man Seward we’ve found them, and bring him back here. He says he won’t pay unless he sees Danny Brennan in the flesh. Go on, and be quick about it.”
Shame engulfed Seth. He’d heard the name Crouch before; this was not about stealing a horse, to be sure. This was some other dark work, having to do with the smugglers. And damnation if he hadn’t just turned over his hapless guests to them.
When I was awakened between six and seven
The guards were all around me in numbers odd and even.
“Whiskey in the Jar,”
anonymous Irish ballad
I
n his dream, Daniel was in the workhouse again, scrabbling with the others for a spoonful of extra porridge. One of the older boys kicked him down, then stood on his chest, poking him in the neck with a fork. “Go ’way,” Daniel mumbled and pushed against the fork. His hand met a blade of cold steel. That brought him abruptly awake to find a sword pressed to his neck.
Fighting off the fog of sleep, he blinked his eyes and lifted them to the man holding the sword. Wallace, with
his foot planted firmly on Daniel’s chest. Bloody hell. So much for putting the fear of God into the son of a bitch. And how had he found them so quickly? Judging from the dim light in the stall, it was barely dawn.
Wallace looked damned pleased with himself as he dug his heel into Daniel’s chest. “How does it feel to have the boot on the other foot, Danny Boy? Or shall we say, on the other chest?”