style="font-size:15px;"> She heard the cart topple, and her hands flew away from her eyes in wide-eyed panic. Blinded by the sudden light of the flare he carried, she couldn’t see beyond it to the face of the man who had discovered her hiding place.
A shout came from the street, calling into the alley. “Have you found the little barstard, sir?” It was the voice of the grocer, harsh and out of breath, yet Callie could not mistake his tone of respect when he spoke to the man with the flare.
The sound of his voice jolted her, so near, booming down at her, and it was a moment before she could grasp his answer to the grocer. “Nothing in here, man! Just an overturned dogcart!”
“Well, thank ye for your assistance, Mr. Kenyon. I wouldn’t want to trouble you further on my account. The little thief must’ve run the other way. I’ll get me goods back, don’t you worry, sir. No guttersnipe is going to get away with six pounds of me best wares. There ain’t another ham the likes of that one in all Dublin. It was brought in special for his Lordship, Magistrate Rawlings.”
“Good luck to you then,” her savior’s voice replied. It was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.
Now that the flare wasn’t being held directly in front of her, Callie was able to make a quick appraisal. His boots were knee high and polished to a shine. A gentleman’s boots. The light buff of his trousers clung to his long, lean legs, and the whiteness of his shirt showed in stark relief against the dark of his hair and the rich cranberry of his coat. But it was his face that held her attention: the lean jaw, the smooth wide brow. The kindness in his light-colored eyes. His finely drawn lips twisted into a wry smile, lending a suggestion of cruelty that contradicted the expression in his eyes. No, not cruelty, Callie amended. Rather a strength of character, a type of righteousness, a possession of authority. “Mr. Kenyon” the grocer had called him, she now remembered. He lifted the flare higher, drawing it away from her.
Byrch Kenyon stood transfixed by the sight of Callie crouching against the tavern wall, defending her stolen basket. He had expected to find a dirty-faced street urchin with hard, defiant eyes. Anything but this terrorized young girl with her bright clean face and much-mended shawl. She huddled like an animal who has heard the snap of the trap shut behind her.
The glow from the flare caught the red glints in her chestnut hair and lit her pale, unblemished skin. A pretty Irish colleen. Large, luminous eyes; a firm, softly rounded chin; cheeks a bit sunken as were all of Ireland’s children. It was her expression which struck him. Her full, child’s mouth was set in a pout, her sky-colored eyes meeting his in a wide, unblinking stare. He felt himself smiling, no, laughing at her spunk. Here she hid, a thief, and yet she was flashing her defiance, daring him to present her to the Englishman’s justice.
“Don’t try to appeal to me with your sweet expression, colleen,” he said sarcastically. “Regardless of how you plead, I’ll not turn you into the law.”
“If you think I’ll be thanking you, you’re sadly mistaken,” Callie sniped in her soft brogue. She wished her voice were more steady and that her body would quit its trembling.
“Oh, I can see that,” he told her, reaching to help her to her feet. “Gratitude would be too much to expect.” Despite her shrinking away from him, he grasped her by the elbow and raised her up. He was struck by the thinness of her arm and her diminutive height. “How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?”
Callie bristled at this affront to her womanliness. “I’m no child thank you, sir. I’ll be sixteen in a month’s time.”
“Oh, that old, are you? Pardon, madame. And where, may I ask, are you off to with your pilfered goods? Or do you plan to stay here and devour that entire basket here and now?”
Callie looked at him suspiciously. “And why would you be asking? So you could turn me in along with my entire family?”
“I merely asked because you’re not the only thief skulking around in the shadows of Dublin. You’ll be lucky to carry that basket two streets without it being stolen from you!” His hand still cupped her elbow, and he could feel the tremors running through her. “You’re shaking like a leaf in a storm.”
“Does that surprise you, sir?” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “I’ve just gotten away with my life!”
“Your bravado isn’t the mark of someone who has just escaped with her life. Not the way your eyes flash and your tongue bites. You’re a feisty young miss, do you know that?” He scowled, clearly annoyed.
“And what’s it to you?” Immediately she regretted her words. He had helped her, and here she was giving him lip. Her mouth always got her into trouble. What if she angered him into calling the grocer? Or worse, what if he dragged her to the patrolling constable? As usual, words of apology did not come easily to Callie James. To show him her regret, she smiled up at him.
“Feisty and charming.” He laughed easily, amending his earlier statement.
Callie could see his strong white teeth when he laughed, and she liked the way he threw back his head. He was tall, very tall, and his clothes were fine and well-tailored. He was a gentleman, no doubt about it. She understood why the grocer had spoken to him with respect.
“Will you tell me your name and what you’re doing about the streets at this hour?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Callie answered, bending to retrieve her basket. “How am I to know you won’t change your mind and turn me in?”
That seemed to strike him funny. “It’s evident we’re strangers. If you knew me better, you’d have no doubt of my opinions concerning the English Law we suffer. You’ll never make it through the streets with that heavy booty, you know. You may as well leave it here and get home with you.”
Callie drew herself up to her full five feet one inch, facing him brazenly. This was no time to back down. “I dragged it all the way here from the grocer’s, didn’t I? And at a full run, I might add. I’ll make it home, all right, or die trying. I’ve a family to consider.”
“A little thing like yourself with a family?” he questioned.
“Well, I do too! They’re my own brothers and sisters.”
“Come along, then. I’ll walk with you. Just to be certain the grocer and his boy don’t come back this way.”
Callie hesitated and saw his logic. He was right. She wouldn’t have to let him come all the way with her, just far enough to get out of this neighborhood. And if he tried anything with her, he’d be sorry. Her shoes were stout and their soles thick. He’d feel them where they’d hurt the most if he got any funny ideas in his head. “All right, I accept your offer. Seeing as how it means so much to you.” He laughed again, and she scowled. Callie ignored him and picked up her basket, falling into step beside him.
They’d not gone a block when she was panting with effort. The basket must have weighed thirty pounds. Breaking the silence between them, he said, “If I tell you my name, will you let me help you carry your hard-earned goods?”
“I already know your name. It’s Kenyon. Mr. Kenyon. However,” she turned and dumped the basket unceremoniously into his arms, “I’d be obliged if you carried it a bit of the way, Mr. Kenyon.”
“Byrch. Byrch Kenyon.” He looked for recognition of his name but none was forthcoming.
“Any
