Free Patricia Rice by Devil's Lady Page A

touched his arm and gave in.
    “I will try to learn, for your sake. But you must
remember, if it were not for you, I would not be alive today. Whatever
may happen in the future, you have given me more time than I would have
had otherwise.”
    That was true, and Morgan tried to comfort himself with that, but somehow it was no longer enough.
    Strange, to develop a conscience at this late date. He shrugged and showed her how to load the pistol.
    ***
    “The girl escaped, you say?” The gentleman leaned
back against the rough tavern wall and sipped at his tankard of ale.
Sated by the hours in the wench’s bed upstairs and having just finished a
full meal, he was inclined to be genial. “Didn’t know there was a girl.
Old bastard never tells us anything.”
    The rough-looking character seated across from him
shrugged and buried his unshaven face in his own tankard, drinking
deeply of the dark brew. Coming up for air, he wiped his mouth on the
back of his tattered sleeve. “Women don’t count for much. Ain’t likely
she’ll get far in this weather.”
    “Quite true. But her father’s dead, you say? You’re
certain of that? I’ll not be having another obstacle placed in my way
when the time comes.”
    “Aye, he’s dead, right enough. Bloody great hole
where his heart should be. Shoulda heard the likes of what he was
preachin’. Bloke deserved to be killed, if you ask me. Weren’t no
trouble at all.”
    “Ahh, well, he always was a puffed-up bastard.
There’s a certain justice in ridding the world of troublesome creatures,
don’t you agree?”
    His rogue companion nodded agreement and signaled
for another round. He let the subject drop and eyed the approaching ale
with hunger.
    Despite his relaxed attitude, the gentleman
considered the complication of a female Montague. If she had friends,
she might show up in London at any time. Despite his companion’s
opinion, there was some difficulty in having a female claim to this
family.
    He wondered how old she was. A mere child was easily dealt with. A young woman—that was another matter entirely.
    He would need more information. Turning his cool
gaze back to the drunkard across the table, he let his thoughts play
over the possibilities.
     A young girl of marriageable age could very well suit his plans nicely. And if not, he could always have her killed.
    ***
    The unusually bad winter kept Morgan in more often
than usual, or so he told himself. But by the beginning of February it
was time to try one of his more audacious plans. It could easily take a
fortnight to carry out, and he had need to carry it off while Faith was
still here to look after his horses. She had some rudimentary knowledge
of guns now. He could not protect her more than that. When he came back,
he would have to start his search for her kin. It would not do to keep
her here much longer.
    He ignored his reasoning for that as he strapped on
his scabbard and watched the pale gleam of round bare arms as Faith
scrubbed at the ancient kettle. The bit of chemise ruffle at her elbow
was worn and patched, but she somehow managed to keep it white and
starched, as she did his shirts. Miraculously, she had cured the holes
and frayed edges of all his linen, saving him the necessity of returning
to the tailor anytime soon. He would miss her housewifely attentions,
but it was dangerous to both of them to have her linger.
    She looked dismayed, then resigned when he explained
the length of his absence. Ever obedient, she offered no word of
complaint or protest. Morgan almost wished she would, so he could feel
irritation or anger at her nagging presence. Instead, he felt a cloud
upon his soul with his departure.
    He left her with more than enough fuel and
provisions for a fortnight, but fire and food could not feed her soul.
Faith pressed her face against the window and watched Morgan go, his
cape billowing around him in the breeze as the stallion galloped into
the night. His