Patricia Rice (7 page)

Faith shook her head from his grip. “It is not seemly to go about in public after a parent’s death,” was her only reply.

His own church taught that, but it didn’t mean he
had any faith in such niceties, any more than he had patience with a law
that could steal from the poor and give to the rich. “You will go with
me,” Jack commanded. “I have lost brother and sister as well as mother
and father, but I will not pretend to be dead because they are.”

Faith studied Jack, saw the ravages of old anguish
in the subtle hues of his eyes, and felt their shared pain. It was an
odd feeling, this sharing with a stranger what she had kept to herself.
Something inside her reached out to him, and blinking away her tears,
she nodded.

Jack relaxed and returned his hand to his side of the table. “Will you tell me of your father?”

“If you will tell me of yours.” Faith watched the
sudden wariness leap to his eyes, then dissolve with his smile. Odd, the
trust between them. Odd... but wonderful.

“I’ll buy you an ale and we’ll weep in our cups tonight if you like.”

The curve of his chiseled lips promised better than that, and Faith felt her spirits lift in anticipation.

It would not do at all to become enamored of a rogue
like Jack, Faith thought some hours later as the thick atmosphere of
the local taproom enveloped her. Her ire at being introduced to the
company as Jack’s niece still rankled, but she had held her tongue still
at the laughter that had ensued.

It was apparent that many of these men were
acquainted with “Black Jack,” as they called him. She did not wish to
imagine what they thought of her. The square-necked gown and kerchief
that Jack had bought for her covered her with all modesty. There was
naught there to indicate she was more than a child.

At Jack’s request she had pinned her curls beneath
the scrap of lace he had presumed to call a cap, but she did not fool
herself into thinking this made her look older. There were children in
this room right now who were taller than she.

So she sat politely silent at the planked table by
the hearth where Jack’s friends and acquaintances came and went, and
enjoyed the sight and sound of other people without thinking a single
comprehensible thought.

In truth, she felt almost numb from the barrage of
sensations. The smoke-thickened air bore the odors of dirty hearth, ale,
boiled beef, and unwashed bodies. The din of several dozen voices
lifted in talk and argument bombarded her ears. Upon occasion, someone
sawed on a fiddle or whistled through a mouth harp, and drunken song
would erupt.

She disliked the bitter ale Jack bought for her but
savored the hot chocolate and meat pie he ordered later. She would have
liked to recommend more onion, salt, and thyme in the pie, but the saucy
maid who served them intimidated her.

Faith watched as this “Molly” bent daringly over
Jack’s shoulder to pour his ale. She could see straight down the odious
servant’s loose bodice, and she averted her eyes to escape the sight of
plump white breasts. Jack, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the view
immensely, and she could have kicked him for his laughing chatter.

Amusement still lit Jack’s eyes as Molly flounced
away and he turned back to Faith. “Is there something the matter with
your chocolate, lass?”

Faith refused to respond to his charm. She lifted
her cup and took a sip and watched the boy trying to pop chestnuts in
the fire. “It is quite grand, thank you.”

Her polite use of his usual demonstrative adjective
made his eyebrows go up farther. “Grand, is it, now? Shall I call Molly
to bring you another?”

All manner of naughty things leapt to Faith’s
tongue. She was horrified at the answer she almost gave, but the
appearance of one of Jack’s friends halted her in time. When he slid
onto the bench across from them, she merely set her cup down and donned a
sweet smile.

Jack gave her smile a suspicious look, then turned
his attention to the curly-haired youth who beamed across at them. The
red-haired sprout could not have seen his nineteenth year, but, a
product of the city slums, he hid a worldly cynicism behind that
deceptive smile. Jack frowned as the boy turned his beaming gaze to
Faith.

“Aiee, an’ it’s a piece o’ the sun ye ’ave, Jack! Where did sich a bounder as yerself find sich fairness?”

Jack sent a scowl at the lad’s exaggerated accent
but grudgingly made the introductions. “Faith, this imp from Satan is
known as High Toby, and from the name alone you should know to avoid the
scoundrel.”

Startled, Faith gave the boy a second look. He
couldn’t be much older than herself. Surely he could not... But she saw
the flash of irritation in his eyes at Jack’s words and hastily revised
her opinion.

“The name’s Toby, miss, Toby O’Reilly. Pay no attention to Black Jack. He’s just jealous of my charms and talents.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. O’Reilly.” Faith sent a
glance askance to Jack. They had never exchanged last names. There had
never been a need to do so and several reasons why they should not. It
seemed almost improper to know this boy’s name. In this den of thieves
and rogues, surely it could not be wise.

“You’ll hang for a tongue as loose as yours,
O’Reilly,” Jack replied. “You should tell by her name that Faith’s none
of us. She’s a proper lady, and I’ll see you treat her as such. Now,
shut your mug and have a pint and pretend you’re a gentleman.”

A lady! Not a child, but a lady. That comment alone
took away Faith’s tongue. She knew Jack to be a man full grown, one with
a vast amount of pride and confidence in himself. That he treated her
with the respect accorded a lady made Faith sit a little straighter. He
didn’t treat Molly as if she were a lady.

“Ahh, she’s with you, Jack. If she ain’t peached on
you, she’ll not peach on any of us. Give us a smile then, Faith, and
don’t listen to this sod.”

The situation made her uncomfortable, and she looked
to Jack for guidance. Her parents had always protected her from the
“unsuitable” elements, and she’d really never had much opportunity to
talk with people her own age. She was much more comfortable in the
company of adults, where she need only be silent and do as told.

Jack’s attention was elsewhere, however. She
followed his gaze to the tavern door, where a bull of a man swaggered
in. As tall as Jack, but heavyset, he had the close-set eyes and pudgy
features of a brute and a bully. There were other large men in this
room, mostly scattered about at the far tables in the shadows, but none
had the disturbing presence of this one.

Faith glanced for the proprietor and found him
nervously swiping glasses. With a room full of paying guests from the
London coach, he had reason to be wary.

“Who is he?” she whispered to Jack. Toby, too, turned to watch the new arrival.

“An old acquaintance.” Jack lifted his mug and nonchalantly took a swig.

The gesture seemed to rivet the bully’s attention on
their corner, and to Faith’s dismay, he began elbowing his way across
the room in their direction.

“Well, now, if it ain’t my old friend Jack.” The enormous belly came to rest at eye level from where they sat.

“You didn’t stay away long, Tucker. What brings you back?”

“There’s the matter of a debt I owe. Want to step
outside awhile so we can talk about it?” He leaned forward over the
table, breathing heavily. His eyes narrowed at a glimpse of Faith hiding
in Jack’s shadow. He grinned, revealing a missing tooth and several
rotted ones. “Molly ain’t good enough for you anymore, you bring your
own? Toby here can handle her while we talk.”

Jack’s long legs brushed Faith’s skirts beneath the
table as he leaned back and disdainfully lifted his mug again. “We have
nothing to discuss, Tucker. This is my territory now. You’re
trespassing. It’s Christmas and I’m inclined to be generous. Don’t push
me any farther than that.”

A flash of silver and Toby’s gasp clarified the
situation. Faith stared in astonishment at the evil-looking dagger.The
meat pie in her stomach churned and turned to lead. But then she felt
Toby relax and grin, and she strained to see around Jack.

It wasn’t until the innkeeper hurried toward them, and Jack shifted, that she saw the reason the bully had gone quiet.

The huge black pistol in Jack’s hand was pressed
against the man’s belly, while his finger rested on the trigger. Faith
hadn’t known Jack wore the weapon. She gulped in fright and sank back
into the corner. Nothing her parents had ever taught her could prepare
her for this situation.

“I don’t want no trouble,” the innkeeper intruded anxiously. “If you two would just carry the argument outside...”

Jack’s pleasant response belied the black fury in
his eyes. “There’s no argument, Nate. Tucker was just wishing us a happy
holiday, weren’t you, my friend? He’ll be leaving now. It’s not
sporting to make his wife a widow on Christmas.”

“You’ll swing one of these days, Jack. Just see if you don’t,” the man spat angrily, returning the dagger to its hiding place.

When he turned and strode out, Jack ordered another pitcher of ale just as if they had never been disturbed.

But Faith had seen another facet of his character, one she had only suspected existed before.

She shrank back in her corner and said nothing
further. With her, Jack was all that was charming and kind, but she had
known a highwayman had to be ruthless. Until tonight she had not known
what ruthless meant.

Now she did. What would happen did he turn that hard side of his nature on her?

She lifted her eyes to search his familiar face and found the icy glitter of his gaze staring back.

“You will learn it or I’ll turn you over my knee and paddle some sense into you!”

“I will not! Guns are horrid. Take that awful thing out of here.”

Faith backed away from the long-barreled pistol in
Jack’s outstretched hand. Ever since Christmas he had been rude and
abrupt and impossible to talk to. Now he had come home with this new
weapon and a determination to teach her its use, and she wanted no part
of it. She could see anger in the taut pull of his jaw, but her fear of
the gun was even greater than her fear of his anger.

“I cannot leave you here alone with no way of
defending yourself. You learn the pistol or leave. I’ll not be
responsible for any more deaths.” Jack spoke curtly, throwing the heavy
weapon down on the table between them.

Faith turned terrified eyes to the sheets of white
beating against the window. She couldn’t go out in that again. She was
stronger now, but not that strong. Her gaze fell on the deadly weapon on
the table, and she shuddered.

The memory of what another such weapon had done
returned crisp and clear: blood and death. Her gaze turned once more to
the blinding snow and an equally unspeakable fate.

Unwillingly, she faced the man holding the
instrument of death. He loomed unnaturally large, forcing a decision,
and with a whisper of protest, Faith slumped to the floor.

Cursing, Jack caught her before she fell.

She was still practically weightless in his arms,
but she had added a little flesh in these last months. His hands closed
over soft shoulders as he lowered her to the floor. In the interest of
privacy, he had prepared a pallet for her in the loft some weeks ago,
and he cursed the lack of bedding now. He grabbed a linen towel on the
rack before the fire and folded it beneath her head.

Before he could wonder what to do next, Faith
jerked, grabbed his arm, and wailed “No!” in a cry that set Jack’s
hackles on edge. It was useless to hold her down. Instead, he scooped
her into his arms and let her struggle against his chest, where she
could not hurt herself.

“Hush, lass,” he crooned softly. “I’ll not harm ye.
Be still now. It’s all right.” He felt her violent shudders against his
chest.

Had his sister suffered these nightmares before she
died? Had her world become such a torment that she shut it out rather
than face it? Remembering the small child he had last seen when she was
but four, he could very well imagine it.

What chance had a girl-child against the world with
no man to protect her? He had not been there to save Aislin. Had he been
given Faith as a second chance?

She wept into his shoulder, her slight frame shaking
with the force of her sobs. In these months since she had been here,
she had never once cried, although her unhappiness had always been just
below the surface. Perhaps it was a good sign that she let it out now.

He crossed his legs and held her in his lap and let
her cry. It was rather like holding a soft kitten, and he smoothed her
hair down her back as he would stroke a pet.

When the sobs broke down to hiccups, Jack lifted her
chin so he could see into her tearstained face. “I think it’s time you
tell me your story, lass. I’ll not be made to feel such a bully again.”
He lifted a corner of her kerchief and carefully swabbed at her eyes.

“It leaves such an awful hole,” she gulped incoherently. “I cannot do it. I cannot.”

Not one to look at words metaphorically, Jack didn’t
try to translate. He shifted her to a more comfortable position, and to
his startlement, his palm brushed against a curve where he had expected
none. She was still too lost to sobs to notice, and he carefully
avoided repeating the gesture. Molesting children was not one of the
crimes he intended to indulge in.

“What leaves a hole?” he questioned gently. “What do you fear, my
cailin
?”

“They shot him,” she whispered in horror. “Shot him! He did nothing but speak, and they shot him! How can they do that?”

The image her horrified words painted was an
unsettling one. Jack wrestled with his conscience and reluctantly pried
some more. “Your father? Someone shot your father?”

A quick hard nod was his reply, before those wide
gray eyes turned up to his, and he could read the terror in her soul
that she had kept trapped there all these months. “They said there had
been a riot, that some of the ruffians got out of hand. But rioters
don’t hold pistols, do they? He was only speaking. He had nothing. Why
would they want to shoot him?”