Chapter 22

It was a garden of shadows. Cedars and boxwoods stood like sentinels in the wavering light of the hunter's moon as clouds drifted across the sky, first hiding then revealing the magnificence of the brilliant orange globe.

He had been waiting for what seemed like hours in the cold of the November night. He was chilled through and through, and his fingers felt like blocks of wood.

The house glowed with the light of hundreds of candles; laughter and voices seeped through the multipaned windows. Music from the house and barn mingled with the rattle of carriage wheels and the sound of horses' hooves against the frozen ground. From deeper in the garden came a woman's high-pitched giggle and the low timbre of a male voice.

Jamie's throat tightened. Lovers. He wondered if the woman was betraying another man by this secret rendezvous. Why else would they be meeting in the dark in this bitter weather? He let out a deep breath and pulled his cloak closer about his body. If he let his mind run on in this vein, he'd end up with his neck in a noose. It was stupid—no, worse than stupid—suicidal, to dwell on Charity when he had business to tend to.

A shadow detached itself from the brick wall of the house and moved across the lawn. There was a faint pad of footsteps. Jamie stood motionless, his hand resting lightly on the pistol at his waist.

The figure stopped six feet from where Jamie waited. "Captain?"

"John?" Jamie eased the pistol out.

"It's me." The man closed the distance between them. "They didn't recognize me, but they've got a warrant for your arrest. Actually"—his voice barely contained a chuckle—"two warrants. One for Brady and one for the captain." His hand tightened on Jamie's arm. "You've got to get away from here as quickly as possible."

Jamie swore under his breath. "How did they link the priest with MacKenzie?" He'd known the disguise of Father Brady was useless. That's why he'd used it to kidnap the sheriff. But MacKenzie? I must be slipping!

"The Negro woman. The wife of the man that was hanged. She gave your name and two others in an attempt to save him from the rope. Halifax was very grateful. He let her off with a lashing." John looked back toward the house. "There are at least a dozen soldiers out front and more inside. Don't try for your horse. Go across the field. I'll send someone with a mount for you."

"Anything else?"

"Wallace. But we already suspected that. He approached Tom Comegys and offered to carry part of their tobacco to Holland. Tom laughed in his face, then threatened to report him to the authorities. Halifax is being replaced."

"When?"

"As soon as the new man arrives from England. I gather his superiors are not pleased with his progress." There was a rustle of branches and the butler shifted nervously. "I may be able to learn more. Servants are invisible, you know."

"You keep on this way and you'll be able to hire your own butler soon." Jamie threw his arms around the man and hugged him. "You're a good friend, John. I know how much you're risking."

"No more than you." He cleared his throat. "You shouldn't have come, you know. She's not worth it." The contempt was plain in his tone.

"What's between... between Lady Beauford and me is a private matter," Jamie said quietly. "I'll take no advice... even from a friend." The threat hung in the air between them. "Besides, I had to be sure Halifax was safely out of the way."

"The transfer's tonight?"

Jamie nodded. "This night's work will cost the Crown a pretty penny and save a lot of Eastern Shore planters from foreclosure."

"Be gone with you. If they start to question Lord Beauford's guests, someone is sure to remember seeing you here tonight. Wait by the river for the horse."

"You're certain Bennett didn't recognize you?"

John scoffed. "Why should he? I was masked, and I didn't speak a word. In that fisherman's clothes I smelled like a refuse pit. Even my own mother wouldn't have known me." The scoff became a chuckle. "She had high standards. I doubt if she would approve of my occupation now."

"I wish we could have held him until the fleet sailed. But..." Jamie shrugged. "It was worth it. Even the planters who don't do business with us will have good reason not to pass on information. It would make them very unpopular with their neighbors. Actually, I think Francis Bennett may prove to be an honest sheriff and a good man for the Tidewater. If I wasn't afraid of doing serious harm to him, we could have held him a little closer."

The voices from the back of the boxwood garden came louder. John gripped Jamie's hand a last time, turned, and walked toward the house. Jamie waited until a man and woman appeared on the path and entered the back door of the house one at a time. Then he set off through the garden away from the manor house. He wished he'd worn more sensible footwear. It would be a long walk to the spot where he'd meet the boy with the horse.

John reentered the library just as the first shots rang out from the garden. Charity screamed as Captain Halifax lunged for the door.

"By God! What's going on here?" Harry demanded.

Charity ran to the window.

A second volley of shots followed the first. Charity covered her mouth with her hand and stared out into the garden. Men were running and shouting. Four soldiers rounded the corner of the house and ran down the path. Then shadows covered the moon, throwing the garden into darkness. Charity tried to open the window, but Beauford put a hand on her shoulder.

"Go upstairs, Caroline. Look to your child," he ordered gruffly. "You're not a servant to be peering from windows. You'll be informed as soon as I know what's happened. It may be that the smugglers have been shot."

She dashed from the room and up the steps, her eyes clouded with tears. Jamie! What if he'd been shot?

Nan looked up as she entered her chambers. "What is it, my lady? Did you hear the shooting?" She held a squirming Kat in her arms. The baby wailed and kicked furiously. "What could it be?"

Charity took the baby and motioned toward the door. "Go down and see what you can find out I'll stay with Kat. Let me know as soon as you hear." She laid the baby in her cradle. "Has she been fed?"

"Yes, my lady. The girl just left. She said you'd given her leave to go to the dancin' in the barn." Nan's cheeks were bright with excitement. "Do you want me to go to the barn? The common folk will know what's up if anybody does."

"Yes, go."

Nan curtsied and hurried from the room. Charity set the cradle to rocking and went to the window and opened it a crack.

Soldiers ran with torches to light the way for two more men carrying a third who seemed to be wounded. She heard Halifax's voice shouting commands. "...a physician. Brighton. You and Briggs check the stables. He can't get far."

Charity sank to her knees and offered a prayer for his safety. "Hail Mary, full of grace..." Her lips moved in the ancient ritual even as her heart chilled to ice. "Protect him," she begged. It was Jamie they were chasing; she knew it. Why didn't he go when he had the chance? Why—

"That's a pretty sight. How touching."

Charity whirled to see a figure in the doorway. "Jamie!"

He closed the door behind him and locked it. "Why don't you shout it out?" He held his leg as he came toward her. "Don't just stand there, damn it! Get me something to stop the bleeding." He reeled and caught the back of a chair for support.

"Jamie, you shouldn't be here." She got to her feet and ran to him. "I told you not to—"

"I didn't pick your bedchamber on purpose." He removed his hand and a dark stain spread down the white hose. "Get me a belt or a rope of some kind. I've got to make a tourniquet."

"You've been shot." She began to rip bed linens into strips.

"Bayoneted." Jamie sank into the chair and rubbed a hand across his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Does it hurt bad?" Charity stripped down the hose to reveal an ugly gash that oozed dark blood.

"No. It feels good!" he snapped. "Damn you, woman! Of course it hurts. It hurts like hell."

"You can't stay here. They'll find you." Her hands were trembling as she wrapped the wound.

"Afraid for your reputation?" he taunted.

"You don't understand. Beauford..." Her voice trailed off. How could she make him understand? "He's... he's very jealous," she lied. "He'll think the worst of me."

"Well, I certainly hate to inconvenience you." Jamie laughed wryly. "But it will be quite an inconvenience to me if they catch me at all. MacKenzie's not too popular here tonight." The cinnamon eyes darkened with pain. "Did you know they've got two warrants out for me?"

She nodded. "I didn't tell them, Jamie." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I swear it. I didn't say a word." She caught his hand. It was streaked with his own blood. "You must believe me. Whatever else you think I've done wrong... you can't believe I'd want you dead."

He took hold of her shoulders and pulled her close to his face. His eyes bored into her mercilessly, then his gaze dropped to rest on the plunging neckline of her green gown. "Having the baby didn't hurt your looks," he murmured. His hand slid up to cup her throat. "I don't know whether I want to kiss you or throttle you."

Charity jerked free, retreating safely out of his reach. Her breathing quickened as she struggled for control. "No, Jamie," she pleaded. "I'm married. There can't be anything between us." Salt tears welled up in her eyes.

"And just where did all this sudden morality come from?" He tried to rise, then fell back as a wave of agony knifed through him. The linen bandage turned from white to red. "Damn you, Charity. I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't for you. A kiss wouldn't be too much payment, would it? Considering what you've paid for all this." He waved to indicate the luxurious apartment.

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing." He forced himself to his feet, teeth clenched against the pain, and started for the door.

"Don't," she protested. "They'll search the house. They'll find you. I can help. There's a—"

The doorknob turned. "Caroline!" Harry rapped on the door. "Unlock it. It's me."

"Just a minute, my lord. I'm coming," she answered.

"What are you doing? Why is the door locked? Open it now!" He pounded on the door with the head of his walking stick. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she lied. "I'm... I'm on the pot, my lord." Charity's hand closed around a heavy silver candlestick. I hope you have a harder skull than the tanner. "I'm sorry, Jamie," she whispered.

He turned in time to see the blow coming, but too late to avoid its result.

* * *

Jamie awoke in total darkness. His head felt as if it had been kicked by a horse. He moaned, fingers going to the lump on the back of his skull of their own volition. Where am I?

He moved his limbs one at a time. His injured leg throbbed. Gingerly he touched the bandage. The blood was drying.

His face was against raw wood; he felt the surface of the boards and tried to remember. Fingers touched something soft—his wig? Taking a deep breath, he sat up and reached out. He touched a brick wall on his right, nothing on his left. Where the hell am I? Bricks. A floor of some kind. Sounds coming... coming from another room? From the left?

There was the heavy step of men's boots and the scrape of objects being moved. Jamie fought nausea. Waves of blackness threatened to drown him. Charity. Charity's apartments. She hit me. He swallowed hard. She hit me with a candlestick.

"Nothing here, sir."

"I told you there was no one here. Do you believe me a half-wit, Captain Halifax?" Charity's indignant voice. "Search for your smugglers in the woods or on the grounds. Not under my bed!"

"We had only your own safety in mind, Lady Beauford. Lord Beauford told us that you wouldn't or couldn't unlock your chamber door. I thought—"

"You thought! May a lady not have a little privacy in her own bedroom? Must I explain to you exactly what I was doing, Captain? Am I to believe that you too don't have physical needs of the body to administer to?"

There were murmurs of apology and the tramp of feet, followed by the slam of the door and Charity's low throaty chuckle.

Jamie inched across the floor until his hand met a solid wall. He tapped lightly.

"Be still," she hissed.

"Charity." He had reached the limits of his sanity. Blind. Trapped in some sort of a hole. I'll kill her. If it's the last thing I do on this earth... I'll kill her.

"Later. My husband's coming."

He heard the tap of a walking stick and the slow, measured step of an old man. Then the baby began to wail.

"Soldiers! Soldiers in my bedchamber!" Charity cried.

"Pawing through my undergarments. They frightened the baby half to death."

The infant howled. The little witch, Jamie thought. What's she doing to make it scream so?

"There, there, my dear." Harry patted the baby ineffectually. "Hush, lamb, hush. It will be all right."

"Oh, my lord. What's happening? Are the criminals in the house? Are we in danger? You told me to come to my room. You said everything would be fine. And then you send a company of foul-mouthed soldiers into my bedroom?"

"Now, now, sweet." The old earl wiped his chin. "What is it you want, darling? Don't be afraid."

Charity put the baby in her cradle, and Lord Beauford knelt beside it and rocked her. "Don't cry, sweetums."

Jamie's fingers scraped against the rough boards until a fingernail snapped, sending a shard of pain up his hand. "Damn you," he breathed.

Charity sniffed and wiped at her eyes. "There are still guests downstairs. What must they think?"

"You're right, of course, my dear. But we can't leave her in this state, can we?" Harry got to his feet, feeling slightly foolish. "You know I was thinking only of you. How did I know you weren't being held against your will?"

Charity looked at him through thick lashes and allowed a faint smile. "I know, my lord. You think only of our good. But I was so frightened. I thought... I don't know what I thought." She kissed his cheek. "I'll send Nan to care for Kat. We'd better go down and see to our guests. Perhaps Captain Halifax has news of the criminals. I'm certain Kat will be safe now." She laughed. "At least we know he's not hiding in here."

The door closed behind them, and Jamie was left alone in the darkness to plot the murder of a certain female.

* * *

Jamie blinked in the light as it flooded the small room.

"Are you all right? Is your leg still bleeding?" Charity went to her knees beside him. "Jamie?"

His hand closed on her wrist. He blinked again. "I'm not blind," he said stupidly. "I thought I'd gone blind."

Dawn streamed through the windows of Charity's bedroom. "Can you walk? I've got a little food here, and some hot tea. Are you cold?" Her concerned face was inches from his.

"I'm going to kill you."

"Don't be an ass, Jamie. I'm sorry I had to hit you. But Harry was at the door. I had to do something. There wasn't time to convince you." She tugged at him to pull him up. He pulled her down. "Don't be mad. I didn't know what else to do." She looked at him with wide innocent eyes. "I'm glad you've got such a hard head. I thought the wig would cushion the blow."

"What is this?" he stammered. "This place?" Anger washed over him in waves. Not why, but how. A dozen ways of murder surfaced in his mind. "Where am I?"

"I believe it's called a priest's hole. This is the old part of the house. It used to belong to a Catholic family. During the persecution, they hid priests in here. Jane Comegys told me a lot of the early Tidewater homes have them. She doesn't know about this one though. No one does. At least I don't think they do. I came home and looked for it after she told me about them. They were built—"

"I know how they were built. There's one at Widow's Endeavor," he said angrily. "What I want to know is why?" He shoved her to the floor. "What kind of game do you think you're playing?"

She struggled against his grip. "Let me up. Your breakfast will get cold. And if you don't stop yelling at me, you'll wake Kat."

"Who?" God, but she smelled good... like honeysuckle.

"My baby, Catherine. We call her Kat." Charity took a deep breath. "Stop acting like a fool and let me up. Do you always try to murder people who save your life?" The green eyes were amused rather than frightened. "You'd never have gotten out of the house and you know it. There are still a half dozen soldiers outside. They say you vanished without a trace."

Jamie loosened his grip on her wrists. "You conniving little witch." He rubbed at his aching head. "I don't know why..."

He broke off in bewilderment. "Why, Charity? If you care enough to..."

"Come out and eat. The tea will do you good, and you'll have to go back in the hole soon enough. The girl will be coming to feed the baby." She got up and pulled at his hand. "If you weren't hurt... if they hadn't almost killed you last night, I wouldn't let you talk to me like this. Sometimes I think you're ten years old, James Drummond." She dropped his hand. It was too dangerous to touch him. There were too many memories... memories that sent tingles of excitement under her skin. Memories that... She shook her head, sending the flaxen hair tumbling. "Come and eat, Jamie. Then we'll talk. We'll figure out a way to get you out of here safely." She led him out of the tiny room and into the larger one, then closed the panel.

Jamie stared at the paneled fireplace wall. If he hadn't just come out of it, he would swear there was nothing there but solid wall. The elaborate woodwork fitted together perfectly. He leaned against the wall for support and ran a hand over the raised panels. "How did you do that?"

"The catch is hidden. I'll show you." She demonstrated the maneuver deftly. "It won't open from the inside. The wall is the same thickness all the way across. It's almost impossible to find, unless you know what to look for." She went to the tea table and began to pour him a cup.

"I don't want your damned tea. I want out of here," he said stubbornly. Jamie rubbed gingerly at the injured calf of his leg. "This has got to be properly looked after. I don't want to end up walking on a peg."

"Why not? It would fit your pirate image."

The baby stirred and Charity rocked the cradle. "Hush, now," she murmured. "Sleep a little while longer."

Charity stood and brushed the wrinkles from her simple lavender gown. Her face was pale; dark circles under her eyes showed the lack of sleep. Her hair lay smoothly down the back of her dress, neatly brushed and secured with a matching lavender ribbon. Her only jewelry was Lord Beauford's betrothal ring.

"I see you traded the ring I gave you for a better one," Jamie observed. "God!" He spat. "What's in this tea?" Grimacing, he set the cup down on the polished cherry table. "Are you trying to poison me?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It's made of willow bark. It will help the pain and the infection." Charity's cheeks reddened. "Enough of this, Jamie. I'm risking too much to keep you here. I won't be insulted." The green eyes narrowed in warning. "You said we were partners once. We shared a great deal. For the sake of what we had, I'm doing this, nothing more. And I'll not be judged by you or any man!"

"Listen to you! You've played the part so long, you believe it," he taunted. "Charity Brown—the lady. You may have crossed the ocean, but you've not come very far from your own mother."

Her open palm cracked across Jamie's face. "Bastard!"

The red print of her fingers showed on his cheek as he raised a hand to deliver a retaliatory blow. "You bitch!"

"Bitch am I? I'll show you bitch!" The cup of willow tea flew through the air just missing his head, spraying tea across his shirt and arm. A half loaf of bread followed the tea as she cursed him soundly. Grabbing up the baby, she ran for the door then whirled on him, her face dark with fury. "Take a candle and blanket and whatever you need into your rat hole. I'll be back in five minutes with Lord Beauford. If there's any sign of you, he can damn well turn you over to Halifax, and I'll dance at your hanging!"

"You'll dance all right!" Jamie threatened. "If I hang, I'll take you with me."

"So be it!" she flung back and stormed from the room, slamming the heavy door behind her.

When the upstairs maid arrived to make the bed and do her daily cleaning, the room was quiet and orderly with no sign of the extra guest.

Downstairs at the dining table, Charity attempted to make polite conversation with her husband and Captain Halifax. She kept her eyes on her plate and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. Jamie wasn't making this any easier. Why should he?

"...sailed this morning." Lord Beauford waved to a maid. She poured him another cup of strong dark tea. "Caroline. Are you listening?"

"Yes, my lord?" The green eyes widened. "Oh, yes, my lord. I'm listening. You were saying?"

"Lord Beauford was saying that the tobacco fleet sailed this morning," Captain Halifax supplied. The strain of the past hours showed plainly in his face. He wore a fresh linen shirt and dark sober clothing in contrast to his; attire the night before. The coat was too tight for the wide muscular shoulders and Charity decided that he must have borrowed the clean clothing.

"Did you catch the smugglers?" Charity buttered a beaten biscuit, still hot from the oven. She smiled at Beauford. "It added quite an exciting note to our party, don't you think? At least today it seems exciting. Last night it was frightening. Are your soldiers inexperienced at such matters, Captain? If there were only two..."

"One, my lady," Halifax corrected. "Only the Scot was seen. But as Sheriff Bennett said, we believe the two may be one. This priest may be disguising himself as a sea captain."

"Disguise? It all sounds very romantic to me. The fellow must be quite clever." She nibbled at the bread daintily. "I'm not sure that I can imagine Father Brady dressing up in seaman's attire." She giggled and covered her lips with a well-manicured hand. "Are you quite certain?"

A maid carried away the half-eaten fish and brought the next course. The table could have fed twenty as easily as it fed the three who sat at it, Charity decided. She toyed with her food, her normal appetite dulled by the lack of sleep and the knowledge of the secret in her chambers. Getting Jamie out of her rooms might not be as easy as getting him in.

By the time the pies and sweet cakes were served, Charity had worked Captain Halifax into a cold rage. Her barbed inquiries into his mismanagement of the smuggling investigation and the capture of the criminal priest were devastating.

"But while you sit here at Avalon," she suggested, "the smuggler must be getting further and further away. He may even have sailed with the tobacco fleet to England."

"Ridiculous," the captain snapped. "He couldn't have gotten far. One of my men put a bayonet through him. We found a trail of blood leading toward the house. That's why we made such a thorough search of the house and grounds. If he's hiding, loss of blood will kill him or he'll be forced to come out and give himself up." He rolled his napkin into a tight ball. "It would be easier to deal with these criminals if the local populace didn't give them aid."

"Now, now," Lord Beauford soothed. "Don't let Lady Beauford disturb you." He patted Charity's hand. "Avalon is quite dull most of the time. I can assure you that we realize you're doing everything possible under the most difficult of circumstances."

Halifax frowned. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost think her ladyship's sympathies lie with this Brady."

Charity forced a merry laugh. "Me? Oh, goodness gracious!" She wiped her eyes with her napkin. "In favor of smugglers?" The laughter died away, and she looked serious. "Forgive me, Captain Halifax, if I have given that impression. I am a loyal subject of His Majesty, King George. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see you capture these villains and hang them from the nearest tree." At least one villain. Charity gave the captain her sweetest smile. "I am so grateful for your protection. I do hope you will make Avalon your headquarters as long as you think necessary," she lied. "You are most welcome, sir, both as a king's officer and as a gentleman."

* * *

In late afternoon, Charity returned to her chambers, leaving instructions with Nan and the wet nurse that she was tired and wished to rest. Kat must be cared for downstairs, and she was not to be disturbed for any reason—unless, of course, Lord Beauford required her attention.

Charity tapped at the panel wall. "Jamie. It's me. Are you all right?" No answer. "Jamie?" Still no answer. She pushed the release and opened the false panel.

Jamie sat in the far corner of the room, reading by candlelight. "I thought you'd gone away and left the rat to die."

"I should have." She motioned toward the larger room. "I have to change the bandages. I've brought a poultice for your leg. I can't bring a doctor. You'll have to settle for me."

With her help, Jamie got to his feet and limped to a chair. "I was wrong," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I deserved it."

"You did." She glared at him. He seemed strangely subdued. "Do you have a fever?" She laid her hand lightly on his forehead. Sparks of sensation ran up her arm, and she caught her breath.

Jerking her hand away, she busied herself with the medicines. "You're warm, but not too bad. I'll wash it out first." She knelt beside him.

"I am sorry. You saved my life, and I've been an ungrateful bastard." He touched her arm. "I still don't understand but..."

She unwrapped the bandage and Jamie winced as the blood-soaked linen tore away from the skin. Charity bathed it as carefully as possible, packing the wound with a mat of wool soaked in honey and goose grease.

Sweat rolled down his face as she covered the wool with a vinegar-saturated pad and wrapped the whole thing in a clean linen bandage.

"I've more willow tea. It tastes bad, but it will help heal the wound from inside, and it should help your fever." Touching him had been agony, bringing back memories of the days and nights she had tended him on the beach. She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.

"All right, I'll drink your bitter tea," he agreed, "if you promise not to throw the pot at me." He grinned. "The girl cleaned up the pieces, but you're missing a cup from the set now." He straightened the leg painfully. "How long will I have to stay in my dungeon?"

"Not a minute longer than you have to!" she flung back. Charity began to gather up the soiled bandages. "Until Halifax has given up waiting. I don't know when that will be." She pointed to a cloth-wrapped bundle. "I've brought food and wine. Is it warm enough in there?"

"Too warm. When the fireplace is going it's like an oven." He grinned again charmingly. "Would you say it's a foretaste of hell?"

"It may be." She stood up and backed away. "You'll have to go back in now. It's not safe. Lord Beauford may come up at any time."

"How convenient for you both," he said wryly. With a slight nod, he headed for the secret room. "Will you let me out tonight?"

"If I can." She poured the dirty water into the chamber pot. Her cheeks grew bright. "Are you in need of this?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Chuckling, Jamie carried the flowered china pot into his cell. "As you told the captain, there are certain body functions—"

Charity slammed shut the panel.