Wild Conquest. Hannah Howell

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      Well hidden beneath the voluminous folds of a large black cloak, Pleasance crept along the night-shrouded streets of town. The cloak was too warm, but it helped her blend into the shadows. She was already trembling with fright and the inn was only just now coming into view. With each hushed step she took, the urge to turn back grew stronger. She prayed she would be able to accomplish her goal before that urge to flee overcame familial responsibility. This was no time for cowardice. Letitia’s folly could ruin them all.

      She slipped down an alley that ran alongside the large wooden two-story inn to which Letitia had directed her. Her heart was beating so hard and fast she feared the sound was echoing off the walls of the narrow passageway. Her palms were sweating and she wiped her unsteady hands on her skirts. She knew she had to conquer her fear or she would fail. If she did not stop shaking she would not be able to pick open the lock on the door to Tearlach’s room.

      Pausing at the rear of the inn, Pleasance looked up the steep back stairs. She had crept in and out of the inn unseen once before when she had helped her brother Nathan play a jest upon his old friend Chadwick. That had been fun, with no threat of dangerous consequences if she were caught. The seriousness of what she was doing now seemed to add weights to her feet and she found it difficult to ascend the first step.

      As Pleasance inched up the wooden outer stairway she became painfully aware of every creak, every groan. She had taken little notice of the inn’s state of disrepair before. Now it threatened her with discovery at every turn.

      Another thing that slowed her advance was the knowledge of whom she would be stealing from. Tearlach O’Duine had received shabby treatment from her family. Letitia had toyed with him. She herself had rudely snubbed him, painfully reluctant though the snub had been. Her brothers had been indifferent—unintentionally so on Nathan’s part, but it was a slight nonetheless. Her mother and father, on the other hand, had made it abundantly clear that they hoped nothing would come of Letitia’s fascination with the man. All in all, Tearlach O’Duine had every reason to loathe the lot of them. Pleasance hated to give him yet another reason to feel ill treated.

      She also hated to consider the implications of Letitia’s familiarity with Tearlach’s room at the inn. Pleasance dreaded finding out exactly how often her sister had been there, and why. She knew Letitia was far too free with her favors, but she loathed the thought that Master O’Duine was one of the many men who had taken advantage of her sister’s lack of moral rectitude.

      Finally Pleasance reached the top of the stairs. After taking several deep breaths, she withdrew a long thin lockpick Nathan had had made for her and inserted it in the lock. Her first try resulted in utter failure. She cursed. Leaning against the clapboard wall, she forced herself to calm down. It took several more tries, but eventually she was successful. Slowly she opened the heavy iron-trimmed door, cursing every tiny creak it made. The minute there was enough room, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her. To her relief, the hall was empty, dimly lit by only a few wall sconces.

      As Pleasance tiptoed down to Master O’Duine’s room, she firmly cleared her mind of all thoughts save that of getting the job done and returning home. Letitia had sworn to keep Tearlach away from his room by luring him to their mother’s garden, perhaps even attempting a little seduction, but Pleasance had little confidence in her sister’s ability to keep her promise. Although Letitia was an expert at keeping men beguiled, Pleasance doubted that Master O’Duine was in any mood to be trifled with. In fact, after all that had happened, she felt sure he would view any such attempt with extreme suspicion. She was surprised he had even agreed to Letitia’s pleas to talk. It would be gratifying to see her sister fail to hold a man’s attention, but Pleasance decided she preferred to savor that defeat from a safer distance.

      Finding the door to O’Duine’s room securely locked, Pleasance cursed softly and set to work. In only a moment she had sprung the latch and was slipping into the room. She felt the usual twinge of pride tainted with guilt at her unusual criminal skill. Quickly but silently, she shut the door behind her, eager to leave the hallway where anyone might chance upon her. She crouched low and lit the shuttered lantern which one of Nathan’s customs-eluding friends had given her. It provided enough light with which to search but, she hoped, not enough to alert anyone to her presence. She could hear the din of voices coming from the tavern below and hoped it would also help disguise any sounds she might make.

      Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she looked around with some surprise. Despite the fact that Tearlach’s room was located at the back of the building, where the steep slope of the roof made the ceiling low in places, the room was large. A big four-poster bed dominated, a linen-draped table beside it. A big chest had been pushed against one wall, a tall wardrobe filled one corner, and a small writing table and chair stood near the door. Rag rugs covered the wide-board floor. This was clearly one of the inn’s better rooms.

      Next she noticed that Tearlach was a very tidy man. He was also more comfortably financed than she had thought. Few people could afford a bed to themselves, let alone an entire room. She knew that the landlord, Thomas Cobb, would have carefully ascertained the man’s ability to pay before letting him rent the room.

      Sharply telling herself not to delay, she began her search. The first thing she found in a small stationery box on the writing table were the letters Letitia had written to him. Pleasance stared at them for a long moment before actually picking them up. She had tucked the letters into an inside pocket of her cloak before she finally lost the battle against her curiosity. Although a large part of her shrank from what she might discover, she took out one letter and began to read.

      Two paragraphs were all she managed, and not just because of the near illegibility of Letitia’s flowery handwriting. Pleasance’s cheeks felt afire, she was blushing so deeply.

      Torrid was the word for such prose. If Master O’Duine and Letitia were not lovers, it was certainly not for a lack of effort on Letitia’s part. Since Pleasance could not envision any man turning aside an eager and willing Letitia, she was convinced that the pair had indulged in a fierce love affair.

      As Pleasance returned the letter to her cloak pocket, she noticed that her hands were trembling slightly. She sighed and shook her head. Her infatuation with Master O’Duine, which she thought had died, was clearly still strong. It hurt to think of Tearlach and Letitia making love. Foolish though it was, Pleasance had to admit that she still wanted the man herself.

      “Well, Letitia had him, you idiot,” she whispered as she began to look for the tankard. “And once Letitia decided she wanted him, you did not stand a chance. Letitia always gets what Letitia wants. And why would you want him after Letitia has sampled him anyway?” she grumbled. Then she briefly forgot her grievance when she found the tankard tucked inside Tearlach’s carpetbag on top of the wardrobe.

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