Immogene turned, hurrying back up the stairs, and Jessie raced through the corridor, into the dark kitchen. Pushing open the back door, she found a man standing upon the back steps.
It wasn’t Christian.
The look he gave her made her wrap her cloak more firmly about her.
“Ma’am. Name’s McCarney,” he told her, his thick brogue made more prominent by drink. She could smell his fetid breatheven from where she stood. “I’ve come ta fetch ye for Ben, lass. He’s hurt.”
“What do you mean hurt? How?”
The man’s gaze shifted nervously.
“Has it something to do with the fire?”
He seemed to hesitate a moment, then nodded. “Aye,” he yielded at once. “The fire.”
“Dear God!” Jessie exclaimed, turning and starting back into the house. “Please, Mister McCarney, wait while I fetch my Uncle.”
“Nae, lass!” Without warning, he seized her by the cloak, jerking her backward. He pressed a whiskey-steeped hand against her lips and nostrils.
Jessie choked, and opened her mouth to scream, but he shoved his fingers down her throat, gagging her as he forced her into the concealing shadows.
The door slammed shut as she struggled free of him. Twisting away from him, she ran back toward the safety of the house, opening her mouth to cry out for help, but suddenly the sound of shattering glass rang in her ears. Something wet and sticky trickled down the side of her face. Jolted by the blow, she wavered and fell back into his arms. The last she heard was an indecipherable Irish curse.
“McCarney,you whoreson! What the blue blazes have you done to her?”
“She wouldna come,” he said without remorse. “She was aboot t’ go and tell her uncle—couldna let her do that, now could I?”
“You didn’t have to strike her so damned hard!” Taking Jessie into his arms, Christian shoved McCarney away.
“I dinna draw blood!”
“God’s teeth!” Christian snarled. “She’s dead to the world. What’d you hit her with?”
McCarney frowned. “Ma whiskey flask, and y’ can well believe I was no’ too pleased o’er wastin’ good whiskey, either—paid good coin fer it, damn it all!”
“You’d bloody well better pray she wakes up!”
“She’s breathin’, ain’t she?”
Christian eyed him speculatively as he placed Jessie gently down within the skiff. Her cloak was twisted wildly about her—damned, if she didn’t look like an Indian corpse being readied for a burning. Untying the cloak, he carefully unraveled it, and removed it.
“Christ!” he muttered, dropping the cloak over her at once to shield her from McCarney’s greedy eyes. He turned to fix McCarney with another glare as he came to his haunches beside her. “What the devil did you do, McCarney, take her from her goddamned bed?”
McCarney shook his head, his eyes flashing insolently. “Nay! She came t’ the door just so!”
Damn her, Christian cursed silently. “Let’s get out of here.” It was a wonder they’d escaped at all. He shook his head in disgust. Someone had cost him dearly this night—damned if he wouldn’t find out exactly who. First Jean Paul—Christ, if his father died...
He forced his thoughts away from that possibility.
And then Ben.
Now Jessie?
He couldn’t bear it.
Within moments the boat was launched and gliding soundlessly down the Cooper River, toward the shadowy harbor.
Jessie groaned, placing a hand to her head, and relief surged through him as he watched her revive. And then she lifted that beautiful green gaze to his, and he had the sudden urge to toss her overboard, so much revulsion was evident there.
