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ELIZABETH FOUND MATTHEW between the stage and the tavern and in the midst of a crowd.
His back was to her. He laughed. Men slapped his back and pointed at Thomas stalking toward the gate.
Even from here, the fury swirled about Thomas like an angry fog. Was he more upset with her than she had realized? Or had he and Matthew exchanged words yet again?
Thomas slung the gate open and trudged toward William. Mac followed. They turned north onto Calvert Street, sharp curt words passing between the three of them.
Then, Matthew turned to her. He smiled. Men jabbed at elbows and pointed her direction. The crowd fell away.
A sudden desire to run for Thomas swept her.
But she could not. He would be gone tomorrow. She knew not how long she would be waiting for her father to come. Until then, she had to think with her head and not her heart. And she had to do so alone.
“Today, Elizabeth, you are mine.”
She frowned. “Matthew, we must talk.”
“What a lovely idea.” He stepped to her right side and held out his elbow. She had no choice but to press her fingers in the crook of his arm.
“’Twill be a while before they are back from the wedding. ‘Tis Catholic they are, and their weddings take forever.”
Her head fired hot. “I am Catholic. Or have you forgotten?”
“‘Tis true.” He winked. “But that can be changed.”
No. It could not.
“May I suggest we partake of cider at a table by ourselves?”
“And we will talk?”
“Yes, fair maiden, we will talk about anything you wish.”
She nodded.
He smiled.
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
He led her to an isolated table at the far end of the yard near the corner of the front and side fencing. He pulled out a chair. She sat. He left but soon returned with two mugs of cider.
I have to find my nerve.
She chugged the cider down. She slammed the mug to the table. “Matthew, I—”
“You should not be spending time with Thomas McQueen. He is a dangerous man.”
“Dangerous?” Her throat strangled.
“Have you not heard of the things he has done?” He draped his arm across the back of her chair. His fingers pressed into the back of her neck.
Her stomach burned. She stood. She lifted the chair seat and turned to face him. She sat back down.
His arm hung in the air. He worked his mouth right and left. The hand fell to his lap. He sighed. “I understand at one time he was a good man, but he sort of lost himself after the death of his wife and child.” He scooted forward. His knees touched hers.
His warmth, shooting through the fine navy fabric, sickened her.
“He kills easily, Elizabeth. He has been doing so for the past two years, and talk is he is only here for his brother’s wedding. He will return to the frontier and continue practicing violence. ‘Tis what he does, and he does it very well.” He grabbed her hand.
So now, he was to trap her?
“Such a man would think nothing of turning on someone even as innocent as you.”
I have been at war for two years now. It turns a man hard.
“Matthew, I have seen the man at his worst. I—”
“They say he slit the throats of children. That he burns people alive. The whole of Baltimore Town is in danger as long as he is around.”
“We are in a war, Matthew. And whatever he has done, he now regrets.” She was certain of this.
“It matters not. Violence is ever present with him and waiting to explode.”
She jerked her hand free. “I do not need your advice in choosing my friends.” She slipped her knees to the side, grabbed the chair seat, and pushed herself beneath the table. “I appreciate your kindnesses, but I wish no romantic attachment with you.”
He slumped into the chair. “Is it because you have a fondness for McQueen?” A stunned look wrenched across his face.
“Tomas leaves in the morning. I have no future with him.” The words twisted her heart. “And we have no future either, Matthew. My father needs me. When he comes, I will leave with him.” She forced herself to look at him.
The agitation filled his eyes. His lips flashed upward with disgust. Was he to come unhinged at her declaration as he had when she refused to marry him? Had he not changed after all?
He bit his lip. His face calmed into fine porcelain. He shrugged the dainty shoulders. “You could convince your father to stay. I would not mind making a home for him as well as you.”
“My father will wish to return to Nova Scotia.”
Matthew reached his hand to the table. He lifted a splinter upward. He pressed it flat. Back and forth he did so, and then the whole of it broke at the quick. He lifted his gaze to her. His pouty mouth worked this way and that. “Have I not shown you a number of kindnesses?”
His tone was odd. Strained.
And was his intent to insult her? Or God forbid, make her fearful?
He leaned forward. “I helped out your friends Meggie and Philippe.”
Her back stiffened.
“And Meggie works here this day.”
She gasped. “But she speaks no English, and she is heavy with a child.”
“She has been working on her English, and she understands enough to serve food.” Matthew imprisoned her good hand between his. “So you see, I have eased Mistress Swain’s burden on you.”
And what had he done to Meggie? Her English could not have improved in the three days since Elizabeth found her in the herb house. And Elizabeth was pretty certain Mistress Swain had scared the girl witless when she had taken the peppermint. So why would she now work here for even a day?
“I have lessened your workload this day and others as you sat with me. I am paying your wages this day even though you work not.”
The blood ricocheted between her ears. “But I did not ask for such favors.”
“I know, but I have chosen to do it for you out of my own good will. Now, what harm is done if you spend the day with me?”
“I am sure you can find other women who would love to spend the day with you. You could even gift them with the wreath. I would not object.”
“I do not wish to spend this day with them.”
“But you do not have a future with me.”
“’Tis no matter. ‘Tis only one day. And if I get such ideas after you have been so clear, ‘tis my own fault. Not yours. Besides, ‘twould be a shame if I was unable to get any more peppermint for Philippe. And Meggie?” He clucked his tongue. “She fears many things.”
A deep shiver coursed through her.
What had she done in asking for his help? How was she to free herself of him?
The day crawled along. The wedding party returned. Dinner was served and congratulations and toasts made. The dancing began.
All the while, Matthew locked himself at her side. The few times she saw Thomas, he stared at them both. He did not, however, make an effort to interfere.
That evening, as the sun lowered its way to its rest, she tried to sever the evening with Matthew. She spoke of being tired, and he suggested they sit for a time and rest. She wished to check on Meggie, but he changed the subject. She spoke of the need to check on Sarah who had taken to a bed in Alex’s house to rest. Mac, standing nearby, refused.
“Ye have already visited twice, Elizabeth, and I will not have her disturbed again.” He had picked up his fiddle and gone back to the stage.
“Please, Elizabeth,” Hardwin whispered. “A short walk? Then, I promise to take you back to your cottage.”
A quarter of an hour later, she and Matthew stood beside Baltimore Harbor. The waters shifted and swirled in the meager light of a quarter waning moon overrun by incoming clouds. The smell of rain flooded the air.
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder and up the street. The last cresset burned a block away. Others, beyond that one, were so far back they looked like fireflies. The dancing and singing from the tavern rolled toward her in whispers.
How had she come this far?
“Matthew, I really must tend my hand, and I wish to go to Mass in the morning.”
“You are not yet free.” He pulled her around to face him. His thumbs circled her shoulders. His eyes fasted on her lips.
The dread tossed into her gut.
She pushed at his chest. The pain pulsated beneath the bandage. “Matthew, I am tired.”
And afraid.
His arms tightened. In the distance, a dog barked.
His lips hovered above hers. She twisted her head to the side. Messy, chaotic music drifted toward them. The dog, still barking, came closer.
How could she ever free herself of his iron hold? And this far from town, no one was likely to hear her screams for help.
His lips trapped hers. His breath, laced with rum, floated down her throat. The nausea heaved from her belly like a gale-driven tide.
She hit his chest with her good hand. She pushed with her bad. She arched her back. She struggled to pull her lips from his.
His hold tightened.
The dog’s baying rose to a feverish pitch. Other dogs across town joined in the fray.
The beast hurled forward. Matthew jerked back.
She gasped for air.
Fingal burst between them.
––––––––
WERE IT NOT FOR FINGAL’S slow sweeping tail, like the pendulum of a well-oiled clock and that in the glow of a harried quarter moon, Thomas would nae have been able to see the dog.
He could not see Hardwin or Elizabeth at all.
He pumped his legs faster.
The last half hour had been the only time since returning from the Fottrell House and the wedding that Thomas had not had his eyes glued to her.
And what had possessed her to come this far alone with the boy?
Fingal growled low from his belly. Thomas had heard the dog utter that sound only a few times before. He lifted the lantern. In the circlet glow, Fingal stood between Elizabeth and Hardwin.
The boy was not pleased.
“Cu! Trobhad!” Thomas called.
The dog, for the first time ever, did not come. Elizabeth, however, did turn his way.
The fear ricked across her face in waves.
Thomas’ gut heaved tight.
“McQueen,” Hardwin said, “I earned the right to spend the evening with her.”
“Ye did, but the evening is done, and I heard her tell ye back at the tavern that she was ready to go to her cottage.”
Hardwin turned to her. He lifted his elbow outward. “Then I will escort you.”
Elizabeth backed away. The dog lunged at the boy’s knees.
“Fine.” Hardwin lifted his hands above his shoulders. “Just do not let the dog come after me.”
“Cu. Fuirich.” Dog. Stay.
Hardwin eased away, his steps more backward than forward. He reached the first cross street and stopped. The bonfire glow from the tavern lit a circle of light around him even as it masked his front in darkness. “Elizabeth,” he called, his voice even thinner in the warm night air, “do you not remember what I said about this man?”
What had he said?
“Surely you will wish me to take you back and not him.”
Thomas turned.
She showed no inclination to go with the boy.
“Hardwin,” Thomas called. “Fingal has not gone hunting in some time.”
The dog bayed.
“He would love a good chase, not to mention a lively catch.”
“Before this night is over, McQueen, you will regret interfering. I have resources at my disposal that could destroy you.”
Thomas swallowed the laugh before it burst from his throat. “I have fought worse enemies than you, Hardwin.”
“Maybe. But I daresay you have not fought us at the same time.”
Fingal started another series of barks and snarls. Hardwin turned and made his way up the road.
Thomas turned back to Elizabeth. He lifted the lantern upward.
She squinted.
“What possessed you to come this far out with him?”
“He promised after a short walk he would take me back to the cottage.”
“Why dinna ye leave him?”
She winced. Her lips locked tight.
“Are ye unable to act in a mean way at all, Lass?”
“’Twas not that.” Fire shot from her eyes. “I am not certain . . . he may perhaps . . . I need Meggie and Philippe to be safe.”
Thomas’ spine snarled into knots. “Has he threatened them?”
“Not in so many words.” She crossed her arms. “But maybe? ‘Tis a feeling I have? And I truly was here before I realized it. I was worried about Sarah and Meggie and Philippe. And you were right,” she whispered. “He agreed we had no future, but then he acted as he had never agreed to such a thing at all.”
An angry blush reddened her face.
His gut warmed at the sight. Behind them, a lively jig swung through the air. My, but he wanted the angst gone. He wanted to laugh and free them both from the burdens of lives they had no control over.
He set the lantern on the ground. He turned and held out his hand. “Miss Johns. May I have this dance?”
“How can we do a reel with two and not six?”
He winked playfully. “We can pretend.” He wiggled his fingers. “I will show ye. Come along now.”
She placed her hand in his. The shock tore up his arm.
I really should let her go.
But he could not.
If it were not for his sealed future, and hers, he would never let her go.
“Now, ye will see a couple there.” He pointed to his right. “And another there.” He pointed to his left. “So we are the center.”
She nodded to both sides, then smiled at him.
He lost most of his breath.
Beside them, Fingal whined.
He faked a frown at the dog. “Ye canna dance this time, old boy. And dinna try to steal my lass.”
The dog pushed his bottom jaw upward and rubbed a paw over his head.
Elizabeth laughed, and ‘twas the sweetest sound in the world.
Thomas bowed. She curtsied.
He clapped his hands three times.
She did the same but softer, more hesitant.
They shifted their feet and circled each other. They came together and back, together and back. All the while, their feet beat a rhythm to the music behind them.
Thomas crooked his hand against his hip. The lass’s fingers grasped the bend of his elbow. He led her in a circle, both of them pretending couples danced at their sides.
They pulled apart. Thomas offered the opposite elbow. Elizabeth reached for it with her bandaged hand.
His elbow moved too slow. Her fingers slipped and slid. She laughed.
Thomas’ right shoulder brushed against her left. They wove their hands at each other’s back.
His legs hardened to stone blocks. Wildfire spread through his veins. He needed to move the opposite direction, but he could not.
From somewhere up the street he heard the shouting of names, but he paid it no mind. He pulled her waist against his.
His mouth longed to work hers hard, until they were both weak and desperate to move to things even more freeing.
Footsteps thumped along the street.
His lips eased forward.
Fingal barked wildly. The other dogs in town joined.
Someone rushed them.
Thomas forced his feet back. His arms fell to his sides. He may as well have been cleaved in half.
Issy leaned forward, her hands gripping her knees, her lungs gasping for air. She stared at first one then the other. Her finger jiggered between them. “Were you . . . you were . . . or you were going to . . .”
“Issy!” Thomas barked. “What is it?”
“Mr. Watkins, from camp, wishes to see ye. And Sarah’s time is here.”
“And she is asking for me?” Elizabeth asked.
“Nae, she is hardly in her right mind,” Issy panted. “’Tis Mac. He wishes ye to come.”