Page 31 of A Season Beyond A Kiss (Birmingham #2)

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G USTAV F RIDRICH STRODE DOWN THE STREET , oblivious to anyone who was foolish enough to get in his way. Although his shining, round face had become a mottled scarlet from his exertion, and his breath wheezed harshly from his stout chest, he never once considered slowing his pace. Pausing to rest would have been a weakness he despised almost as intensely as the world in which he found himself.

His upper lip curled derisively as he observed the relaxed passage of several elegantly garbed couples on the street. “ As if zhey haf no care in zhe vorld ,” he mentally jeered. “ Fools! Veak, despicable fools!”

In his opinion, Charleston was a cesspool of languid self-indulgence and careless gaiety deserving only his contempt. Despite the fact that his many smuggling exploits and business affairs in the city and the surrounding area had made him a very wealthy man, he loathed the populace. People here seemed much more interested in enjoying the simple pleasures of life and being hospitable to their friends and neighbors rather than striving and working hard in a serious quest for fortune. He especially disliked its sheriff. If not for Rhys Townsend, he’d still own Raelynn. Possessing her would have served as sweet succor for his useless arm. He had never had a woman the likes of her before, and he was gut-wrenching tired of the jaded strumpets who eagerly bellied up to any man for a coin or two. Those he had attempted to ride after his shoulder had been shattered had left him writhing in shame and frustration. He had sent them fleeing in wide-eyed trepidation before the lash of his savage tongue and his bellowing

rage.

But with Raelynn, it would be different, he consoled himself. The merest thought of bedding her kindled that part of him which the harlots, with all their knowledge and experience, hadn’t been able to stir from its limpness. Enchantingly beautiful, well-bred, and elegant, not to mention sufficiently young to be easily held underneath his thumb, Raelynn would have proven a delectable morsel in his bed.

It didn’t help knowing that his insatiable desire for her had already resulted in a horrible impairment, one which grieved him unmercifully. Now he couldn’t even bear to look at his own reflection, the girth of which was growing with each month’s passing. The dead weight of his useless arm, much like the one in his crotch, was a constant reminder of why he utterly loathed Jeffrey Birmingham. The constant awareness that the sheriff hadn’t yet seen fit to arrest the man for Nell’s murder only served as another sharp, nettlesome thorn in his flesh.

Dwelling on his grim musings, Gustav turned crisply into an alley to take advantage of a shortcut to the area where he had left the livery waiting. Oblivious to the two sailors, who, after exchanging a nod, followed him into the narrow lane, he strode angrily on, absorbed in his own violent musings and hatred.

Of a sudden, his good arm was seized, and he was shoved face-first against a wall, causing him undue pain as the force of the impact nearly broke his nose. He tried to look behind him, but a stout forearm wedged up close against the back of his neck.

“Here now!” Gustav barked. “Vhat iz zhe meanin’ of zhis outrage!”

A chuckling breath left him gasping in a cloud of fetid stench as a hoarse voice rasped near his ear. “Give o’er yer money, gov’na, or I’ll cuts yer throat here an’ now.” To emphasize his willingness to perform such a deed, the sailor pressed a large blade to his victim’s stout neck until a thin trickle of blood oozed from a newly inflicted cut.

The other sailor wasn’t up to wasting time with mere threats to get what he wanted. Kneeling beside the German, he started rifling through his pockets. When he could find no suitable amount of coin, he began searching upward underneath their victim’s coat. A bulge around the man’s waist made him whisk out his own gleaming blade. He made short work of the man’s suspenders, and soon he was dragging the trousers downward over taut hips. Once free of the ham-like buttocks, the pants dropped forthwith around Gustav’s ankles, leaving naught but the tails of his coat and long underwear covering his heavily muscled legs. The ties of the money belt were severed, and soon it was slung over a brawny shoulder.

“This should tide us o’er for a winter or two, mate,” the fellow boasted with a chortle and clapped a hand upon his companion’s shoulder.

“What do we do wit’ him?” the latter queried, looking to his companion for guidance.

“Slit his gullet, what else?”

Accustomed as he was to inflicting rather than being a casualty of fear, pain and death, Gustav was literally paralyzed by fright at the thought that he’d be murdered by a pair of lowly tars. His heart thudded against the inner wall of his rib cage, and his harsh breathing was now reduced to sharp gasps. As much as he loved money, he gave no tiniest thought to it at the moment. What loomed before him was his life in retrospect, the men he had ruined, the ones whose deaths he had arranged for his own gain, the women he had used in the foulest way possible, the elderly he had swindled and left to beg on the streets, the children he had kicked out of his way or the beggars he had backhanded and sent flying. A few of his victims had been pawns in his climb to wealth and power, others useless entities he had trod upon without regret after reaching the lofty height to which he had once aspired. Now, as he balanced on the precarious precipice between life and death, the faces of his victims came back to haunt him,

at the forefront of which loomed Nell. Hadn’t he promised a thousand Yankee dollars to see Jeffrey Birmingham removed as an obstacle between himself and Raelynn? And what had followed but the death of the young mother!

Not my fault! I didn’t know! his mind screamed to the black-shrouded judge whose skeletal visage towered above him. The gavel came crashing downward. Guilty, by all intents and purposes! The sentence is death!

Not having prayed since the tender age of six, Gustav struggled to remember just how to go about it when a groan suddenly broke from the tar who held the knife wedged against his throat. The other sailor raised his arm with a gleaming knife clutched in his hand, but abruptly gasped in surprise. A long, bloody blade slipped free of his gut, and then, quite slowly he doubled over with a muted groan.

“Ye can pull up yer breeches now, Mr. Fridrich,” a familiar voice informed him. “These here tars ain’t never gonna do ye no more hurt.”

“Olney?” Gustav struggled mightily to drag his trousers up over his long underwear.

“Aye, it’s me all right.”

Facing the younger man, the German finished tugging the waistband up over his buttocks and began buttoning the flap as he settled a glower upon the scamp, totally dismissing from mind the fact that Olney had just saved his life. “Vhere haf yu been? I expected yu back veeks ago.”

“I’ve been tryin’ ta save me arse. Me arm was busted an’ I had ta wait till it healed afore I dared come outa hidin’. If ‘tweren’t for Birmin’am’s hired men snippin’ at me heels an’ the sheriff trackin’ me wit’ his men, I’da’ve been able ta get some rest here and there. But they nearly drove me inta me grave tryin’ ta escape ’em. Me temper got plumb sour, it did. I ain’t had me a real bath or bedded a wench in o’er a month. Considerin’ everythin’ I’d been through, I decided I had enough o’ runnin’ through the swamps an’ woods an’ could just as well hide out at that there cat house where I found Ol’ Coop the last time. Yes, sir, I’m gonna have me a taste o’ them fancy women they’ve got there. In fact, that’s where I was headin’ when I seen ye an’ yer friends here turn inta the alley.” He canted his head curiously.

“What’s happenin’ wit’ Birmin’am, anyway? He been arrested yet?”

“Nein! Zhat stupid sheriff refuses to do anyzhing about Nell’s murder! Yu killed her for nozhing!”

Olney laughed caustically. “I didn’t kill the li’l wench! Birmin’am did! I saw him do it!”

“Yu’re lyin’, Olney. Yu took her out zhere, promisin’ to make trouble for Birmingham. Zhen I hear she vas killed. Vhy vould he bother to murder Nell vhen he has such a beautiful vife?”

The curly-headed man lifted his brawny shoulder. “Maybe Birmin’am flew inta a rage after Nell went into his house durin’ his fancy ball an’ threatened to expose him afore all o’ them friends o’ his. She said she was gonna tell ’em he were the one what filled her belly wit’ that ‘ere li’l bastard she whelped. The ways I figgered it, Birmin’am didn’t want ta suffer the shame o’ his friends thinkin’ he’d knocked up the li’l twit an’ then sent her packin’. Some men are like that, carin’ more ’bout their reputations than they do ’bout keepin’ themselves respectable an’ safely wit’in the law. O’ course, the two o’ us don’t e’er have ta worry about that none, do we, Mr. Fridrich?”

Though he sensed the question was spoken in derision, Gustav ignored the insinuation to his life of crime as he considered the viability of his foe being a murderer. “As much as I vould like to have it so, I haf trouble believin’ Birmingham vould be so foolish,” Gustav muttered. “Perhaps yu vere mistaken, Olney. Maybe yu saw zhe real murderer an’ just thought it vas Birmingham.”

“I’d almost be willin’ ta swear afore a judge that it were Birmin’am himself, but that ain’t hardly gonna happen, ’cause the minute I show me face, the good sheriff’ll arrest me. Huh! He’ll probably tell all kinds o’ nasty things ta the jury just to see me locked up for the next brace o’ years. A measly thousand dollars ain’t worth the trouble I’d be gettin’ meself inta, so if’n that’s what ye’re expectin’ me ta do ta get it, ye can be keepin’ what ye promised me.”

The ice blue eyes narrowed calculatingly as Gustav considered what would tempt the rogue. “Vhat about zhree zhousand?”

Olney snorted. “The only way I’d do it is if’n ye give me the use o’ yer lads ta spread the news that I’m back in town an’ that I saw Birmin’am kill Nell. Yer men would have ta go ’round town, stirrin’ up the people against Sheriff Townsend an’ accusin’ him o’ bein’ partial ta his friends. Then they’d have ta follow me ta the sheriff’s office, along wit’ the people they riled, an’ be ‘ere ta heckle Townsend when I turns meself in.”

“I can haf my men do zhat easily enough. Vhen do you vant zhem to start?”

“I’ll need a bath, a couple of hours with a wench an’ ten thousand up front.”

“Zen zhousand! Yu must be mad! I vill never pay yu so much!”

Olney lifted his shoulders, blandly unconcerned. “Suit yerself, Mr. Fridrich, but I’m not doin’ it for anythin’ less. I may have ta spend a few years in prison, an’ I wants a nice tidy sum ta invest afore I’m taken in so’s I can live like a Birmin’am once I’m set free.”

“Vhat yu ask iz highway robbery!”

A derisive chuckle came from the younger man. “Well, me grandpa was a highwayman, so’s it must be in me blood somewheres, but if’n ‘ere’s a thief betwixt the two o’ us, Mr. Fridrich, then I’m lookin’ at him. Ye pay me wages, remember? I’m an honest, hard-workin’ gent who knows how ta barter when the time’s right. Three or more years in prison is too long a time for me ta even consider the measly pickin’s ye’re willin’ ta dole out. In short, I ain’t acceptin’ anythin’ less’n what I asked for.”

Gustav peered at him narrowly. “Yu guarantee Birmingham vill be arrested if I agree?”

“I guaran tee .”

“Zen zhousand zhen for his arrest. If yu fail, yu vill be found in zhe river vith yur throat cut. Zhat much I promise yu.”

“G OOD AFTERNOON , S HERIFF .”

Rhys Townsend spun around in quick reflex, his hand reaching for his pistol. He hadn’t been able to forget that voice, not by any stretch of the imagination. It had haunted him night and day through all of his efforts to figure out just where that wily rat, Olney, had lit out to. He surely hadn’t expected the scamp to come prancing himself across the threshold of his office like some dandified gent in garb that could’ve crossed one’s eyes. But there Olney stood, big as life, leaning cockily against the doorjamb and wearing a loudly checked frockcoat, a red shirt, and the bottoms of his tan trousers stuffed into overrun, deer-hide boots that had seen better days.

“What the devil are you up to, Olney?” Rhys barked, flicking his gaze out the window at the crowd of people collecting in front of his office. His hackles fairly prickled. Something was up all right. He could feel it in his vitals.

Making no effort to curb his grin, Olney sauntered forward with an air of a man who had the world by the tail with a downhill pull. His thick shoulders came up in a casual shrug. “I just thought it were time I came ta pay me respects, Sheriff. Any objections?”

As the younger man ambled past him, Rhys wrinkled his nose and turned his face aside in sharp repugnance as if he had just gotten a strong, downwind whiff of a polecat. “You smell like a perfume factory, boy.”

Olney threw back his head and loudly guffawed, snatching awake the deputy who had been dozing in a nearby cell. The older lawman stumbled to the bars and stared bleary-eyed through the barrier as he mumbled sleepily, “Wha’s happenin’?”

“Go back to sleep, Charlie,” Rhys bade tersely, sending the deputy tottering back to the bunk. Rhys cocked a brow at the sly, young fox who was doing everything but swishing his tail across his nose.

“Don’t ye like me new duds, Sheriff?” Olney inquired, tossing back a taunting grin.

“A bit gaudy for my taste, Olney, but then, I’m not you. How’d you get the money from Fridrich to buy them?”

“There ye go again, Sheriff, always supposin’ me integrity’s for hire.”

Rhys scoffed in rampant amazement. “What integrity?”

“Don’t ye worry none ’bout that, Sheriff,” Olney retorted hotly, coming around in a huff and thrusting a forefinger beneath the lawman’s nose in an effort to dismiss his jeer. “I gots meself plenty o’ that.”

“Yeah? You and who else?”

Olney sighed heavily and shook his head as if sorely lamenting his visit. “Here I be, ready ta help ye solve a murder ye can’t unravel, an’ ye ain’t even willin’ ta be nice ta me.” He flung a hand toward the thickening throng milling about in front of the sheriff’s office. “I’m sure all o’ ’em folks out ‘ere would be eager ta hears what I has ta say on the matter o’ Nell’s murder, even if ye ain’t.”

Rhys strode thoughtfully to the barred window and gazed out. He had a good memory for faces, and some of the men he saw looked very much like the same ones who had been in Fridrich’s warehouse the night he and a whole host of friends and deputies had barged in with guns blazing. “I don’t know why it is, Olney, but I have a gut feeling that your friends out there already know what you’re about. In fact, I think you’re just itching to tell me the name of the man you claim is a murderer. Would you like me to guess the one you’re going to blame?”

Tugging on an earlobe, Olney mauled a smile as he considered the sheriff’s offer. “I suppose I can allow you one guess.”

Rhys jerked his head toward the street. “Considering all those people you’ve brought with you on your mission of goodwill, no doubt with the idea of forcing my hand, I’m of a mind to think that you’ll be naming none other than Jeffrey Birmingham as the murderer.”

Chortling softly, Olney scrubbed a forefinger beneath his nose. “Ye know, Sheriff, at times ye plumb surprise me. Ye don’t seem nearly as daft as I’ve been led to believe.”

“Thank you, Olney,” the sheriff rejoined dryly. “I’d accept that as a compliment, but I must consider the source.”

“I seen Birmin’am do it, Sheriff! I ain’t lying!” the brigand insisted irately.

Rhys’s gaze skimmed the rascal’s gaudy attire. “I assume from your new clothes that Fridrich has already paid you for submitting yourself to my authority so you could reveal this information to me.”

“Ye might say that, Sheriff, an’ ye just might be right. Knowin’ how eager ye’ve been ta lock me up, I wouldna’ve even considered wanderin’ o’er here if’n I hadn’t gotten enough booty ta make it worth the time I’ll have ta waste in jail. As it stands now, I can looks forward ta something real nice when I gets outa prison. When I told Mr. Fridrich what I seen, he thought I’d give meself o’er ta ye just ta let justice have its due.” Olney snorted derisively at such a farfetched notion. “That’ll be the day, for sure. Took ten thousand ta make me cross yer threshold today. So, here I am, Sheriff, ready ta confess all, my sins as well as those o’ yer friend’s.”

“You know, Olney, I can usually tell when a body is lying. I get this funny feeling in my gut that just won’t settle down until I finally come to the realization that I can’t swallow what’s being told me. Some people lie for the sheer pleasure of it ’cause they’ve got this black rot eating ’em up inside. Preachers might be wont to say that’s the devil taking hold of ’em. Now, we know that the devil has you already tied up and in his bag and is looking for another sucker to catch. What I’m getting at, boy, is if you have any hope of fooling me in this matter for very long, you might want to save your breath, ’cause eventually it’s not going to do you one bit of good. I’ll be catching the murderer in due time with or without your help.”

“I knows what I seen, Sheriff,” the scalawag stated flatly, his eyes purposefully dull as he fixed a level stare upon the sheriff. “An’ it’s the truth whether ye wants ta believe it or not. Now, are ye gonna lends an ear ta hear what I has ta say? Or should I go inform those people out ‘ere that ye don’t want ta listen ta anything mean an’ ugly ’bout yer rich, precious friend?”

“Oh, I’m not against hearing your version of the story, Olney. But know this, I’ll reserve my judgments about Birmingham until I have better proof than your word. Just consider this, if you would. Your conclusions may well be the truth in your opinion, but that may not necessarily be the way things stack up in the long run. Now, if you would, I’d like for you to tell me one thing before you give your eye view of what happened. Can you positively identify the man who chased you out of Birmingham’s stable that night after you witnessed Nell’s murder?”

Olney gaped back at the sheriff in surprise. “How the devil did ye know ’bout that?”

“I’ve got my sources,” Rhys assured him with a bland smile. “You stole Birmingham’s mare to get away from the murderer, didn’t you?”

Olney’s jaw had fallen slack with awe, but sudden suspicion made him squint at the lawman. “Birmin’am say anything ta ye ’bout that?”

“I haven’t talked with Birmingham about this matter since the day after Nell’s murder.” Dropping his gaze to the floor, he contemplated the brigand’s scruffy footwear and smiled wryly. “You left tracks in the paddock outside Birmingham’s stable that were as obvious as a plodding cow’s. If you haven’t noticed before, Olney, you’ve got very wide feet and you have a habit of running your boots over on the sides. There’s no mistaking your footprints.”

Wary skepticism still troubled the face of the curly-headed rogue as he continued to eye the sheriff. “So how do ye knows I was chased out there?”

“Another set of prints made from smaller, fancier boots followed yours at a run, scuffing up your tracks in the paddock. Yours stopped in the spot where you hauled yourself astride the mare. From there, you took the mare over the fence to get away. The other footprints turned back and reentered the stables. You saw Nell’s murder all right, Olney, and then you lit out on the mare as if your tail had been scorched. Elijah said the mare threw you off in the woods, which left you afoot for a while. You did a lot of stumbling around, like you were in a lot of pain.” His eyes raked the younger man. “Obviously the mare crippled you in some fashion.”

Olney had thought he’d have the upper hand once he faced the sheriff, but the bloke had turned the tables on him. It was evident the man relished lifting the hair off his nape by telling him what he had seen and done, as if he had been a mouse in a corner of the stable that night. It was damned disconcerting to be the one now standing with jaw hanging aslack.

Olney shook himself, managing to flatten only a few of his hackles, and finally muttered, “Yeah, I took the mare. Damn near killed me, too, she did. Tore me arm out o’ the socket when she scraped me off’n her. Later I found Birmin’am at Red Pete’s place. He an’ his missus were ‘ere all by their lonesome till I come upon ’em. Forced him ta fix me arm, I did. He tried ta tell me it weren’t him what killed Nell, even said she’d been knifed three times.” The scamp scoffed. “I only seen her stabbed once.”

“Birmingham wasn’t lying to you, Olney,” Rhys informed him. “Nell was stabbed three times.”

“Then he must’ve gone back ta finish her off, ’cause I only seen him do it ta her once.”

The sheriff sought to confirm in his own mind what Olney was telling him. “If the murderer actually returned to stab her twice more, then you’re saying it happened after you had lit out on the mare.”

“I’m sayin’ that, all right.”

“Did you happen to see the murderer’s face clearly at any time before your departure?”

“I seen meself a man what were all duded up in fancy evenin’ clothes an’ more’n a half head taller’n me.”

“And though you never saw his face, you can swear without a doubt that you can identify him?” Rhys pressed.

“I’da’ve known him anywhere, Sheriff. It were Birmin’am, hisself,” Olney answered emphatically. “He nearly scaredt the livin’ daylights outa me, comin’ after me the way he did. He almost caught me too, he did. If not for that fool mare bein’ there when I needed her, I’da’ve been a goner just like poor Nell. I ain’t ne’er seen me a man what runs that fast, an’ here I be, ’bout ten years younger than that ‘ere bloke.”

Rhys shot him a glance that was a mixture of surprise and dawning perception. “You say the man was very tall?”

“Yeah, I say the man was tall, ’bout as tall as Birmin’am hisself,” Olney rejoined acidly, growing vexed with the lawman’s dogged persistence. “About as tall as ye an’ that other fancy friend o’ yers, the one what makes ladies’ dresses.” He curled his lip contemptuously. “Guess he likes frilly clothes so much he had ta start makin’ ’em so’s he could hides out in his fancy ‘partment whilst he’s wearin’ ’em.”

Rhys settled an incredulous stare upon the balmy fellow. “Lest you continue in your foolish assumption about Farrell Ives, boy, let me inform you that he not only retired an undefeated boxer, but for the last ten years running he has also been the best marksman in this area. At sixty paces, he could blow your eyeballs out of their sockets without fluttering your lashes.”

“Ye sure are defensive ’bout yer friends, Sheriff,” the rapscallion challenged with a sneer. “ Now , are ye gonna hear what I have ta say ’bout Birmin’am or not?”

“I’ LL GET THE DOOR , T IZZY ,’’ R AELYNN CALLED TO THE back of the house where the young black woman had gone to bathe Jake. “Just continue what you’re doing.”

“Yas’m, Miz Raelynn.”

Raelynn stepped first to the window and cautiously looked out to make sure the visitor had a friendly face. Upon espying the sheriff, she hastened to pull open the door in some surprise. “Rhys, what are you doing here?”

Then her eyes swept past him to the street in front of the house and widened perceptively as she saw the people who had gathered there, at the forefront of which was Olney with his wrists shackled. Of a sudden, she knew why the sheriff had come. Olney had finally come forth to accuse her husband.

“Jeffrey didn’t do it, Rhys,” she declared, not even pausing to debate the question in her own mind anymore. She was now firmly convinced that Jeff couldn’t have done such a horrible deed. He was just too upright and noble to kill anyone in such a dastardly fashion. “I know he didn’t!”

“I’d like to talk to him, Raelynn,” Rhys said in a solemn tone. “Is he here?”

“Yes,” she replied reluctantly, drawing the door open all the way and stepping back to admit the large man into the hallway. “Jeffrey had another bad headache a few hours ago, and I gave him some laudanum in his food to make him sleep. It should be wearing off by now.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell him that I’m here?”

“Come in and have a seat in the parlor,” she invited reluctantly.

“Thank you, Raelynn.”

Once he had entered the house, Rhys glanced around. “Is anyone else here?”

“Just my maid and Jake. Elizabeth and Farrell got married this afternoon, and they’re spending the night at his apartment.”

A wide grin spread across Rhys’s lips. “I’m happy to hear that. They should’ve done that long time ago.”

“I’ll get Jeffrey up. You may have to wait a few moments before he comes down. He’ll need to get dressed.”

“I don’t mind, Raelynn. I’m not going anywhere.”

By the time Raelynn arrived at their bedroom, Jeff was already up and splashing water on his face. As she came in, he threw a thumb over his shoulder toward the front window, from which he had drawn the heavy draperies aside.

“What’s going on out there?” he asked, drying his face. “What are all those people doing in front of the house?”

“I think if you’d care to take note more closely, my love, you’ll find that one of them is Olney Hyde. Rhys Townsend is waiting downstairs to talk with you. Though he hasn’t said as much, I’m afraid he has come to arrest you.”

Jeff sighed wearily and tossed down the towel. “I’d better get some clothes on.”

She swept her gaze down his long, naked body, but her eyes lacked the usual twinkle of admiration. “I think you’d better. Rhys wouldn’t be unduly shocked if you came downstairs that way, but Tizzy certainly would.”

“Can you have her make me some coffee? I’m still feeling a bit groggy.” He scrubbed a hand across his brow, as if seeking to banish a lingering stupor. “I don’t know why I’m sleeping so much lately.”

Raelynn dared not reveal the reason. “I learned how to make coffee while working for Ives’s Couture ,” she informed him quietly. “I’ll make you some just the way Farrell likes his. Strong.”

A few moments later Jeff came downstairs suitably attired in shirt, trousers and ankle-length boots. He entered the parlor where Rhys awaited him and exchanged a brief greeting with the man before facing his wife who was just emerging from the dining room with a tray upon which resided a china coffee service and two brimming cups of coffee sitting atop daintily flowered saucers. Feeling in great need of the coffee’s stimulant to clear his muddled thoughts, Jeff stepped forward and helped himself to a cup from the tray. The coffee was still scalding hot, and he had to sip it slowly as Raelynn moved past him to the sheriff.

“Would you care to have some coffee, Rhys?” she asked graciously, presenting him the tray.

“I drink mine black, just like Jeffrey,” he announced, taking up the remaining cup and saucer before leaning back in his chair.

Jeff settled on the settee, an arm’s length away, and silently patted the cushion beside him as he caught Raelynn’s eye. Giving him an answering smile, she placed the tray on the narrow table in front of them and settled into the seat beside him.

Rhys took a sip of the brew and then bobbed his head in approval. “Good coffee. Just what I needed.”

“Thank you,” Raelynn murmured, forcing a smile. It was difficult to appear relaxed when in another few moments she might well be facing Jeffrey’s arrest. “Elizabeth taught me how to make it.”

Rhys glanced up with a grin. “You two can make coffee for me anytime. In fact, I just might bring you both over to my house so you can instruct my Mary. She makes it too weak to my way of thinking. She’s always trying to save a coin here and there, no matter how weak the coffee may taste afterwards. The frugality of her Scottish blood can leave a man vexed for want of a darker brew.”

The tense silence of the Birminghams made it evident that they were waiting for him to state his purpose for being there and that no amount of easing into the subject could ease their qualms. Rhys cleared his throat and finally got down to the foul business that had brought him. Peering at his friend, he jerked his head toward the street. “I assume, Jeff, that you’ve seen the crowd outside,” he ventured and took another sip of coffee, loathing the task he was about. “Olney made sure of his reinforcements before he ever came to see me. He swears you were the one who killed Nell ...”

“I know what he thinks , Rhys, but he’s mistaken,” Jeff protested. “I didn’t kill Nell. I told you what happened, and it was the truth.”

“Jeffrey couldn’t possibly have killed that girl, Rhys,” Raelynn stated once again with conviction, evoking her husband’s amazement. Readily yielding her hand to the larger one that reached out to clasp hers, she pressed on with unswerving dedication. “You’ve been acquainted with him longer than I have. You ought to know better than anyone that he’s just not capable of such a thing.”

Rhys raised a hand to forestall them. “Please, Jeff, Raelynn, let me finish. Let me assure you both that I have another suspect in mind, but to keep you safe from that mob out there, Jeff, I’ve got to take you with me. If I don’t arrest you, those people out there might decide to lynch you. Fridrich’s men have incited them to the point that they’re firmly convinced that I haven’t been doing my duty merely because you’re my friend. Now, what I’d like for you to do at the moment is to tell me if you noticed anything at all about the man who attacked you and your wife. We both know that he’s tall, fast, and if he was able to knock a man of your size into a lamppost, he’s obviously very strong. Can you think of anything else about him that may have slipped your mind? Did you happen to notice his feet?”

Jeff stared at his friend as if he had taken leave of his senses. “You asked me the same question about Olney’s feet, and the answer is still no. I was trying to stay alive and keep that butcher from killing my wife.” He frowned at the lawman curiously. “Was there something noteworthy about his feet that gained your attention?”

Rhys lifted his heavy shoulders. “I never got that close to him. I was just wondering if you might have noticed whether or not he had small enough feet to wear your boots.”

Jeff leaned back against the settee, a look of wonder sweeping over his face. “You mean the muddy boots that Cora found in my bathing chamber while you were there looking into Nell’s murder?”

“Exactly.”

“Why would the man who murdered Nell try to kill me?” Jeff asked, unable to think too clearly even yet. “It seems more likely that someone killed her to implicate me.” In growing frustration, he scrubbed a hand alongside his temple. “I’m sorry, Rhys, but I’m having trouble putting all this together. I’m beginning to think that blow on my head has left me permanently impaired.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry yourself about that, not while you’re being given laudanum. That blame stuff can make a body nigh sense ...” Rhys halted abruptly, realizing what he had just spilled. Grimacing over his blunder, he met Raelynn’s worried gaze and silently begged her forgiveness.

Jeff wasn’t so confused that he missed the visual ex change between the two. In response he turned to his wife. “You gave me laudanum?”

Beneath his incredulous stare, Raelynn scrunched her shoulders, very much like a child drawing into a tiny shell of herself. “I had to do something to ease your headaches, Jeffrey. They were making you nauseous.”

“But I told you I didn’t want to take that stuff,” he pointed out. “I prefer the headaches over the lameness of my brain. Right now, I can’t even think clearly enough to consider everything that is being said.”

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” she promised, lifting soulful eyes to his.

All of Jeff’s exasperation rapidly dissipated before his young wife’s obvious contrition. “Lord, madam, you could steal the heart from the devil himself,” he murmured in awe. Locking an arm in a fierce embrace about her shoulders, he pulled her close against him. After agonizing through the weeks of their lengthy separation, the last thing in the world he wanted now was to cause her more anguish. Dropping a kiss upon her head, he whispered against her sweetly scented hair, “Don’t fret now, love. Please, I can’t bear it.”

Rhys didn’t even attempt to curb a grin as he considered the pair. He did, however, help himself to another cup of coffee. “I suppose this means that everything is all right in your home camp, eh, Jeff? I mean, other than the fact that I’ll have to arrest you for a time.” His gaze dipped to the gentle fullness beneath Raelynn’s skirts, which in all the excitement the other night he had overlooked. “I see you’re going to have your hands full as new parents next year. My Mary and I will be busy in the same way, but I rather suspect ours will be coming before yours. First thing you’ll know, Jeff, we’ll be having grandchildren.”

“Whoa!” Jeff cried, and gave a brief laugh. “Let me enjoy siring a few more before marrying off this one, Rhys. I’m not that old yet.”

“No, I guess you’re not, considering you’re two years younger than I am. Mary has her heart set on having a large family, but she’ll either be having one every year for the next eight years, or I’ll still be siring them into my fifties. But then, Mary will always be young, at least in my eyes.”

“Let’s get back to the man who attacked us the other night,” Jeff urged. “I’m wondering what you may have learned about him since then and why you think he may have murdered Nell?”

“Olney said the man who chased him out of the stables was very fast, and it caused me to recall my own amazement over how quickly your assailant left me behind. Of course, I can’t rightly say for sure if there’s any connection between the two incidents, but it seems mighty peculiar the way Olney and I were both awed by the swiftness of the men with whom we had each come in contact, the murderer whom Olney saw, and the man who attacked you the other night. Now, I know you’re no slowpoke, Jeff. I remember the races we used to run as boys, and you won your fair share of them, but you never impressed me as being overly fast, I mean, to the point that you’d leave people agog. I can only think ... and hope ... that the man who murdered Nell is the same one who attacked you. If it is, that would definitely make my job a lot easier. Then I’d only be searching for one man instead of two.”

“But as yet, neither you nor Olney have a clue what he looks like,” Jeff pointed out. “Olney was under the misguided idea that it was me, but that assumption might have come about because the murderer brought Nell out after she had gone into my bedroom supposedly to have a talk with me. Olney said the man was tall, dark-haired and dressed in evening garb, which at the time fit my description. How are you going to find a man like that among all the people living here in Charleston when I can’t even tell you which of my guests matched that report that night?”

Rhys pursed his lips and blew out a long breath as he pondered that question. “That, Jeffrey me dearie, as our friend, Farrell, would say, is a matter that would snarl any cat’s tail.”

A knock on the door prompted Rhys to lift a hand to urge Raelynn back into her seat. “No doubt that’ll be Charlie wanting to tell me those folks out there are getting a little anxious to see me do my duty.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he moved from his chair and went into the front hall where he opened the door. “Yeah, Charlie?”

“Sheriff, Olney is gettin’ those folks out there riled up. Ye want me ta gag him or somethin’?”

Rhys muttered a curse beneath his breath and, in an impatient tone, bade, “Tell ’em to hold on to their shirttails, Charlie. Mr. Birmingham and I are coming out shortly.”

Returning to stand beside his chair, he faced Jeff directly. “We’d better be going now or Olney will have that crowd out there storming this place.”

“Why in the devil did you bring that scamp along with you, Rhys?” Jeff asked in vexation. “You should’ve known he’d make trouble.”

“Well, as usual, Charlie took his own sweet time about repairing a few things around the office. This time it just happened to be the new cell doors that were supposed to be put on several days ago. He’ll have to get that chore done as soon as we get back so we won’t have Olney disappearing on us again. As long and as hard as I’ve been chasing after that rascal, I don’t want him slipping through my fingers again.”

Leaving the settee, Jeff approached the sheriff and reluctantly stretched forth his wrists. “Those people out there will expect to see me in shackles, Rhys. You’d better do your duty.”

The lawman snorted. “I’ve got news for ’em, Jeffrey me boy. They’re not going to see it, at least not while I’m sheriff.”

“I’ll get my wrap,” Raelynn choked, struggling hard not to break down as she moved around the table.

Jeff faced her and shook his head, causing his wife to look at him in stunned disbelief. “I don’t want you to come out with me, Raelynn. There’s no telling what that crowd may be tempted to do once they see me, and I don’t want you getting hurt. Please, for my sake, just stay in here where you’ll be safe.”

Her eyes grew bright with brimming tears in the midst of their doleful pleading. “But, Jeffrey, I want to be with ...”

“No, my love, I cannot allow it,” he stated, his own voice fraught with emotion. “You’re staying here inside the house where you’ll be safe, and that’s final.”

Rhys cleared his throat uncomfortably as Raelynn, blinded by the wetness welling upward over her lashes, stumbled toward the dining room. Jeff muttered a curse, annoyed by the whole situation, especially by the fact that he had to leave his wife alone in the house with no greater protection than Tizzy and Jake. He followed her to the adjoining room and, as he came up behind her, laid an arm around the small of her back as he swept her far beyond the door to a spot where Rhys couldn’t see them. Turning her about to face him, he crushed her to him as his lips plummeted down upon hers. Her lips tasted salty from her tears, but they parted eagerly beneath his ravaging mouth and questing tongue. She answered him with a zeal to match his own, and soon she was straining up against him as if beset with a desire to become totally merged with him in both body and spirit.

When Jeff finally drew away, Raelynn’s limbs were shaking uncontrollably and seemed incapable of providing her support. Weakly she leaned against him and squeezed her eyelids tightly closed, causing tiny rivulets to spill freely down her soft cheeks. His lips pressed against her brow for a long moment until he heard her sniff, and then, with a tender smile, he stepped back and fished into his trouser pocket for a clean handkerchief. Like a father with a child, he dried her eyes and gently bade her to blow her nose. She complied and looked up at him through a blur of fresh tears.

“I’ll get your coat,” she muttered thickly. “It has turned nippy outside.”

Some moments later, Sheriff Rhys Townsend escorted his lifelong friend down the front walk, out through the white gate and toward the waiting wagon. Most of the rabble were strangers to both Rhys and Jeff. If their clothes were an indication, then they were from the poorer section of town, which left open the possibility that at least some might have been paid to come out as part of a vigilante group. They harassed the sheriff in sneering tones, accusing him of favoring his rich friends and taking sides against an ordinary working man like Olney. As for Jeff, they were not above calling him names like “child-molester” and “filthy murderer” and spitting at him as he passed. Beneath their hateful, jeering slurs, even his deeply bronzed face darkened to a ruddy hue.

Raelynn stood at the window, making no effort to restrain the flood of tears streaming down her cheeks and along the pale column of her throat. Well over a month ago she had been dismayed by the sheriff’s lack of action in arresting her husband. Now she was filled with a burgeoning resentment that he had allowed this particular situation to occur. He had literally been forced to arrest Jeff in spite of the fact that he believed him innocent of the crime.

When Jeff reached the wagon, Olney was already sitting in its bed under the watchful eye of the deputy who perched on a side rail. Although Jeff sought to join Olney in the back, Rhys promptly summoned him to the front of the buckboard, a seating arrangement that gained more sneers and catcalls from the crowd.

“Ye gonna let him go as soon as ye get him outa town, Sheriff?” a deep voice heckled from the crowd as the sheriff climbed into the buckboard.

At this taunting, Rhys slowly turned to scan the faces of the people who were closing in around the conveyance. He met many eye to eye. “You think you’ve forced my hand to arrest a murderer,” he rumbled, gaining their silence. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m merely making sure Jeffrey Birmingham comes to no harm from you or others like you. I don’t think he’s guilty of Nell’s murder ...” Sudden jeers prompted Rhys to lift a hand to halt the interruption. Though some were still muttering, he continued speaking, forcing them to fall silent. “In time, you’ll be able to recognize that what I now say is true, but until then, mark my words well. If you should cause anything of a violent nature to happen here in this neighborhood or anyplace else in this city tonight, I’ll be coming after you. I’ve seen your faces, and I’ll hunt you down to the last man if need be. I won’t abide a lynch mob taking control of either this

city or this matter. I’ve already sent for reinforcements from neighboring towns to guarantee that law and order is respected here.” His gaze swept the uplifted faces. “You think you’re right, but I know you’re wrong, and I’m going to make every effort to prove that in the next several days. Until then, I’d suggest you take my warning. My friend, Jeffrey Birmingham, has never killed anyone ...” Rhys allowed the silence to drag on a lengthy moment for emphasis before he smiled tersely and completed his statement, “... but I have.”

As Rhys sat down beside Jeff on the front seat and took the reins in his hands, Charlie settled into the bed of the wagon beside Olney. He had no complaints with the sheriff; he had learned years ago that people were better off not getting into a squabble or trying to butt heads with Rhys Townsend. The man had his own way of doing things, and for some strange reason, they always seemed to turn out right.