Page 50 of Barely a Woman
Meanwhile, Jack grabbed Steadman’s upraised hand and pumped it repeatedly. “It’s an honor, Sir Steadman. You should have just told us from the beginning who you were.”
Steadman kicked aside his shock at the strange turn of events. He released the handshake and lifted his palms for silence. “I will answer all questions in time.” Then he raised his voice. “For now, let me advise my associate to lower the pistols so we might have a civil parley, like gentlemen. But also, to remain in place to watch for the approach of others.”
Hoping Morgan would follow his advice after so effectively ignoring his previous instructions, he put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Why do you so admire me?”
Jack rolled his head back and forth. “Because you take from the rich and give to the poor. Just like ol’ Robin Hood.”
“Good. If you must admire me for anything, it should be that. So, do you know why I am here in Broad Chalke?”
Jack shook his head, and the other men mumbled curious uncertainty.
“I have come here to right a wrong. A rich man stealing from common men and in doing so, imperiling the lives of the poor.”
A look of umbrage seized the gang leader’s features. “Who? What rat is doing this?”
“You are.”
Jack’s features locked in confusion before his eyes widened with epiphany. “Dunwoody lied to me.”
“He did, and not just him.” Steadman briefly relayed Lord Atwood’s plan to corner the wheat market with unfair contracts in order to make an immense profit, denying subsistence to the poor who could ill afford such prices. As he explained the plan, Jack’s chin drooped lower and lower. The gang members industriously avoided Steadman’s gaze while studying the dirt beneath their boots. When Steadman finished explaining the details, Jack raised his eyes.
“We meant not to hurt the poor. We are poor men ourselves.” Sorrow and regret dripped from his voice. “How can we make amends?”
“Glad you asked, for I have a plan.”
The big man’s eyes lit with hope. “Yes?”
“I have secured a new location for this wheat. Tomorrow night, we will meet here with wagons and men, take every last bag, and move it from here in a single trip.”
A smile split Jack’s face. “Steal from Lord Atwood? And that Dunwoody rat?”
“Yes.”
“You may rely on us.” Then he swept his eyes over his men. “Hear that, lads? We will be joining the Beau Monde Highwayman himself in relieving Lord Atwood of his illicit wheat stores to help feed our friends and families.”
The men whooped and shouted affirmation at the notion, renewing the slapping of Steadman’s shoulders. He acceptedtheir accolades for only a moment before returning his attention to Morgan. She still stood in darkness with pistols raised.
“Now, if you will excuse me,” he said, “I must attend to my associate before he shoots someone. He is exceptionally accurate at thirty paces, or so I hear.”
***
Morgan lowered her pistols only as Steadman approached. Her hands shook violently from the effort of maintaining the heavy pistols level and the abject fear of facing down an armed gang. The fury on Steadman’s face didn’t help. As he swept past her, his iron grip fell on her wrist and yanked her into motion. She lurched into a stumbling trot to keep pace with his determined stride. As they walked, he relieved her of the pistols one by one, carefully lowered the hammers, and stuffed the weapons into his belt. She waited for his upbraiding, but he continued dragging her away from the barn without saying a word. What had she been thinking? To put on her suit and follow him against his wishes was one thing. To charge into the midst of a brewing conflict with pistols raised and no plan whatsoever was quite another. Why had she done it? But how could she have stood aside to watch Steadman be beaten or killed?
Her mind remained chaos even as Steadman halted abruptly before the small chapel. He paused before towing her inside and slamming the door shut. He clutched her upper arms, one in each hand as if driving a team of mules. The light of a dozen candles exposed the flare of his nostrils and the clench of his jaw.
“Just what were you thinking? Barging into the middle of a street brawl?”
“I wasn’t really…”
“Of course, you weren’t thinking! Only your unmasking of my identity saved us when it should have killed us both. Beyond that stupefying stroke of luck, you are supremely fortunate they failed to see through your disguise or recognize your voice.”
His incensed diatribe against Morgan instantly raised her ire. “And yet my disguise fooled you for a week and in remarkably close quarters. If the talented Sir Steadman was unable to see through my façade, then how could a mob of rustics hope to do better?” She spat a derisive laugh. “They never looked past my suit, pistols, and false bravado. Men rarely look deeper than their first impression.”
Her biting response appeared to blunt his attack. He narrowed his eyes, his lips a tight line. “Nevertheless, your maneuver was foolhardy. Imagine what those brutes would have done to a woman like you?”
She expelled an explosive breath. “A woman like me? A woman like me, you say? Ha!” She clenched her jaw while gathering words. “I am barely a woman, or so I have always been told. Too sturdy, they say. Too spirited, they say. Too contentious. Too independent. Too plain. My father made it clear since my childhood that no man would have a wife with such unpleasant qualities. And the one time a man showed even a fleeting interest in courting me, my father made certain he knew I was plain as mud and twice as intractable before he sent him away.”
Steadman stared at her, his expression an enigma. Her eyes spilled their banks, and tears began trailing down her cheeks. Her voice broke as she finished.
