Cupping her hand to her mouth, she yelled his name again.
But the misty air blunted the sound as effectively as a damp blanket dulls the roar of a fire. Defeat tasted bitter in her mouth.
She swallowed it back and pressed on, desperate. An insane chase were she of a right mind, yet nothing was right about this day—nor ever would be again, now that her father was gone. She drove Jenny across the ridge and reined her to a halt at the rocky trail disappearing over the cliff, the one Isaac had warned her about. She leaned as far as she dared without tumbling from the saddle, trying to catch a glimpse of the man. He was right. The path was narrow, jagged, and altogether foreboding. But down a ways, it flattened out before it hooked into a switchback. She’d go that far, and no farther, whether she glimpsed him or not.
Clicking her tongue, she gripped the reins until her fingers ached. Jenny’s nose jerked up and her ears twitched, but she moved on. Leaning back for balance, Helen held her breath as the horse picked her way along the thin route and didn’t release it until Jenny made it to the rocky landing.
This time Helen didn’t dare to peek, so treacherously did the ground give way beside her. Don’t look. Don’t look! She forced her focus along the snaking trail. As Isaac had said, it plummeted at an alarming slope, nearly down to the rocky beach, then turned and disappeared into the mist. If Isaac had come this way, he was out of sight.
She frowned. He’d never admitted this was a smuggler’s trail, yet she couldn’t help but wonder. What was left of her heart sank to her stomach. Surely Isaac was a man of his word. He said he’d given up such thievery. But why disappear down to the coast on a foul day such as this? La! What was she doing out here? She’d heard of the grieving committing strange acts, but she never expected to yield to such behaviour.
Nor would she. She’d wait for him at Seaton Hall. Pulling on the left rein, she attempted to turn the horse. “Let’s go, Jenny.”
But Jenny’s rear hoof slipped. The horse panicked.
And Helen plunged.
She hit the ground at the same time Jenny’s hoof smashed into her ankle. The horse galloped down the trail. Helen groaned, reaching for her foot.
But the rocks of the path gave way.
Helen bounced down the side of the cliff like a rag doll tossed from a coach window. Sky and ground blended together. Rocks cut. Scraping, scratching, ripping fabric and skin.
Then the world stopped.
How long she lay there, God only knew. Long enough to hate the pain, the drizzle, the hopelessness throbbing with as much agony as her bruised body. Most of all, she hated herself. What a reckless thing to have done.
Weary to the bone, she rolled over and pushed up. But when she tried to put weight on her ankle, a cry tore out her throat, and she dropped to her knees. Walking was out of the question.
Lifting her head, she scanned the immediate area. Nearby, a gaping hollow opened onto the beach—not a cave, really, but shelter enough to get her out of the spitting rain.
Crawling in a wet skirt sapped the small store of strength she had left. Once inside, she stretched out her legs and leaned back against the rocks, weary beyond measure. Oh, to quit breathing, just like Father, but her body wouldn’t oblige.
“God,” she whispered, “what am I to do?”
Only the crash of wave against rock answered.
She lifted her voice, hurtling her words as viciously as the sea. “I cannot bear this. I cannot!”
Rage, sorrow, torment, all tore out her throat in a ragged cry. Was this how Jesus felt before He died, broken by a grief so great that He committed His spirit to God?
Committed His spirit to God.
The words played over and over in her head, cresting with each swell of the sea until suddenly it made sense.
Her head dropped, and she closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, she surrendered instead of pretending.
“Your will, God,” she murmured. “Your will.”
Isaac vaulted off his horse, his heels barely digging into the sand before he took off at a lope. To his right, a wall of fog crept closer with the tide. On his left, a cliff, pitted and gouged from the rockslide. And ahead …
Oh God.
It wasn’t much of a prayer, but it was the best he could muster while speeding past one wagon and sliding to a stop at the back of another. Hawker squatted next to Rook, who propped himself up on his elbows, one of his legs trapped. A pace past Rook, Tegwyn lay insensible, the left side of his body hidden by the same boulder crushing Rook’s leg.
Isaac crouched next to Hawker. “Hang on, Rook. Hawker and I will have you and Tegwyn out of here in no time.”
“Aye, Master Seaton. No doubt ye will.” Rook’s brave words traveled on a groan, the pain distinguishable even above the crashing waves.
Rising, Isaac yanked Hawker up along with him and pulled him aside. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”
“Davey musta run off when I come get you, the blackguard. He were gone by the time I got back.” Hawker swiped his nose then averted his gaze. “No one else come.”
“Do you mean to tell me you attempted this with only four men? Of all the incompetent, foolhardy—” He clamped his jaw shut. Hard. No sense berating Hawker. The man could hardly count to ten. Tegwyn must’ve been the brains behind this scheme—and now suffered the consequences of it.
Isaac sighed. “Come on.”
Leaping over several scattered crates yet to be loaded, he dashed to where the rowboat was grounded. The bow was secure, hauled up on slippery green rocks, but the stern floated higher than when it had landed. Much longer and the sea would take it.
Leaning over the gunwale, Isaac grabbed the two oars and tossed one to Hawker. Not much daylight remained, and even that a poor gruel. Still, he strained to examine the top of the ridge for any flash of redcoats. Farris was out here, somewhere.
He sped back to the injured men.
“We’ll have to wedge this boulder upward. We won’t be able to move it much, but a little may be all we need.” He crouched, searching for the best angle to drive in the oars, then shouted up at Hawker. “Cram an oar, paddle end down, in here.”
Leaving Hawker behind, Isaac searched for the right size rock to use as a hammer. Big enough for powerful strokes, but not so big that he couldn’t hold it, and—there. He scooped up a great, craggy chunk and ran back.
He nodded at Hawker. “You hold the oar, I’ll pound it in.”
Hefting the rock, Isaac whaled on the wood. Each strike juddered up his arms. Slowly, the oar sank, wedging the boulder up by hairline increments until—crack! The oar tip broke.
Hawker swore.
Isaac merely dropped his rock and grabbed the broken wood. A small space had opened where the paddle had sunk deep, and he crammed the shortened piece of oar into it.
Hawker frowned as he grabbed onto it, and Isaac didn’t blame him. Now that the oar was shortened, if Isaac were to miss his aim, he’d snap the man’s arm in two.
Praying for a good eye, Isaac threw all he had left into driving the rock against the oar. Sweat stung his eyes. His muscles screamed. But the wood inched earthward. When there was nothing left to pound, he met Hawker’s gaze and nodded. They yanked Tegwyn free first. He didn’t wake, but at least his crushed arm was still attached.
Rook screamed when they pulled him out. His boot stuck but his leg pulled free, a bloody pulp at the end of his smashed foot, leastwise what was left of it. He’d need that foot attended to immediately or risk losing it. Even then, there were no guarantees.
With Hawker’s help, they hefted Rook up and heaved him into the back of the wagon. With his elbows, Rook scuttled over and propped himself against a crate.
They raced back to Tegwyn. Isaac grabbed the man’s feet, Hawker his shoulders, and together they hoisted the fellow up next to Rook, then closed the wagon’s back gate.
Isaac turned to Hawker. “Get these men out of here.”
The mist ran rivulets down Hawker’s face. “Bu
t the rest o’ the load!”
“These men need help. Now!”
Ignoring him, Hawker stared at the goods, eyes transfixed as if nothing else in the world existed.
A growl rumbled in Isaac’s chest. The dull-witted fellow was so focused on the goods that he couldn’t see the need of his friends. If Isaac drove the injured men himself and left Hawker on his own, the scrawny man would no doubt struggle long to load the big crates and likely end up being drowned by the rising tide or caught by the redcoats.
“Blast!” he shouted at Hawker, the tide, the sky—and the frustration of the whole situation. “I’ll see to the last crates and meet up with you. Go!”
It was all he could think of to get Hawker to move. But was it enough? Did the man even hear him?
Thankfully, it worked. Hawker rounded the side of the wagon and hiked his bones up into the driver’s seat. With a snap of the reins, he got the two horses going—though truly it wouldn’t have taken even that, so eager were the animals to escape the water lapping closer and closer.
Soaked by sweat, sea spray, and anger, Isaac loaded the last four crates into the second wagon. All the while, he scanned from an ever-narrowing beach up to the top of the cliff, keen to spy any hint of scarlet. By the time he finished, white foam licked his heels. He retrieved his own mount, for the horse had shied off to higher ground, then he tethered the beast to the back of the wagon. Crawling up to the driver’s seat, he barely grabbed the reins before the workhorses set off.
He drove the length of the beach to where the sand cut away between an archway of rock. Passing beneath, he tensed. This road would likely be where he’d run into Farris—if indeed the man haunted this stretch of coast. It ascended to Isaac’s left, fresh ruts ground in the earth by Hawker’s wagon. To the right, the treacherous trail leading to Isaac’s own lands, wide enough for only one horse—the horse bolting toward him. A flash of reddish-brown mane flew past him.
Isaac yanked the reins of the workhorses, heart dropping to his boots. Jenny. That was Red Jenny. Sidesaddle attached.
And riderless.
He jumped to his feet and stared as far as he could see along the narrow path.
“Helen!” he shouted.
No movement. Just mist and mud, rock and fear. Why would her horse be out here, unless she’d—?
Blast!
A rising tide. A missing woman. And a revenue man only God knew where with Hawker and two injured men hauling a load of contraband. Isaac roared along with the crashing waves and jumped down from the wagon.
There was only one thing to be done.
Chapter Ten
Jerking upright, Helen startled awake. Or was she? Darkness surrounded her. Her bones ached, her ankle throbbed, and dampness soaked her backside. But none of that mattered as much as the swell of cold water lapping at her feet. The rising tide. Soon it would reach in and drag her out to sea.
And she couldn’t swim.
Fear unhinged her jaw, and she screamed, then held her breath, listening. Were this a dream, there’d be no echo—but the remnants of her cry hung in the darkness like a living thing. Indeed, this nightmare was very real.
“Helen!”
Her name was a lifeline, but did she only imagine Isaac’s voice? Was the call of a loved one the last thing one heard before death?
“Helen!”
Did it matter?
“Isaac!” She crawled to the edge of the rocky recess, hands and legs submerged. “I’m here!”
Booming surf drowned her voice. She waited, listening for the break between waves, then invested everything into her next bellow. “Isaac!”
The silhouette of a man on a horse, black against the night, splashed close and stopped in front of her. Isaac sprang from his mount and swept her into his arms.
“Thank God.” His breath warmed her brow.
“Oh Isaac! I was so—”
“There’s no time.”
He hefted her up into the saddle, and she sat sideways, allowing him to swing up behind her.
“Hold on, tightly,” he directed.
Wheeling the horse about, he spurred the animal on. The rain had stopped and the sky had cleared, but sea spray broke over them with shocking force as they tore along the beach, drenching her already damp clothes. Knee-deep water hampered the horse’s pace.
Isaac took a hard right, steering them onto a steep incline. Instinctively, Helen leaned forward against the horse’s neck. Isaac’s chest pressed against her back as he did the same. Hooves scrambled for purchase of earth, the horse frantic for a foothold. Were it not for Isaac’s strong arms cocooning her, she’d surely fall.
Another turn, and the slope lessened. The narrow track widened and eventually changed into a road. The slap of waves shushed the higher they climbed. Finally, the track evened out, and Isaac stopped the crazed pace, slowing the horse to a walk. Hard to tell where they were, for shadows painted the landscape with an inky brush. But once they passed beneath the bower of a great brambly hedge, the ground flattened onto an open sward. Her eyes adjusted, and she could now see a road bathed in starlight. She had no idea where it went, but apparently Isaac did, for he clicked his tongue and swung the horse to the left.
He crooked his head close to hers. “Are you well?”
The question was too big to consider. Of course she wasn’t well, not when Father lay cold in a bed. But the words were too awful to say, so she settled for a lesser pain. “I’m afraid I hurt my ankle. Jenny threw me.”
“Then we shall get that attended to as soon as we reach Seaton Hall. What were you doing on Jenny in the first place? Why are you out here?”
“I …” Her tongue lay fallow in her mouth. Too many emotions wrestled for first place, and to her shame, the strongest one was to turn her face and rest her cheek against his. Shoving down the desire, she blurted out, “My father is gone.”
He reined the horse to a stop, and before she drew another breath, he cradled her in his arms and pressed his lips against the top of her head. “Oh, my sweet Helen, I am so sorry for your loss. Would that I could take your pain.”
Her throat closed, the compassion in his words breaking and mending at the same time. She leaned against him, allowing his strength to shore her up. “This is why I sought you,” she murmured.
He pulled back, the horse shifting beneath his sudden move. “But how did you know I was out here?”
“I saw you riding off, and I didn’t think. I simply followed.” She peered up at his dark shadow of a face, his eyes unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. “What are you doing out here?”
Wide brown eyes stared into Isaac’s soul, searching for truth. Though he wore layers of soggy garments, he felt as exposed as the day he’d graced the world with his first cry. “I’ll answer you as we ride. You’ve got to get out of that wet gown, and I have yet one more engagement to attend to.”
With pressure from his heels, he prodded the horse on toward Seaton Hall, where he’d deposit Helen with his sister for the night. Sleeping alone in a cottage with her deceased father was beyond a grievous act.
She faced forward, her loosened hair brushing against his chin as she turned. “Thank you, but all the same, I should like that answer now.”
A grin stretched his lips. Even while suffering loss, she remained as determined as ever. “Mr. Farris asked me to help ferret out some smugglers. Seems there was a shipment running late, and he had his suspicions.”
She quirked her head, like an owl listening for the slightest rustle of undergrowth. “After working with young charges the past five years, I’ve developed a knack for discerning deception. You are not telling me the full truth, I think.”
His brow fairly raised the brim of his hat. “Are you really a governess or an interrogator for the Crown sent here to bedevil me?”
“If you are bedeviled,” she glanced over her shoulder, “then I suggest it is your own conscience wreaking such turmoil.”
His gaze landed on her lips. A slow burn ignited i
n his gut. How well she molded against his chest. How right the feel of her in his arms. What would her response be if he acted on such rising desire?
Instant remorse punched him hard, for he ought not feel such things toward a grieving woman. Even so, he couldn’t purge the huskiness from his voice. “On that account you are entirely wrong.”
She turned forward again, and for a while, they rode in silence, the horse’s steady plodding sucking up mud.
“I think that before you intended to meet with Mr. Farris,” she said at length, “you were warning those smugglers, were you not?”
“Not warning, helping.”
She jerked back to face him. “You promised you were done with thievery!”
The look of admiration in her eyes vanished, replaced by cold shadows, and the loss cut deep and bloody. He shook his head. “I have not broken that promise. A few of the men were in trouble, caught beneath a rockslide at Blackpool Cove. I went to free them—and a good thing I did, or I’d not have seen your horse running loose.”
Her shoulders sagged, the rhythm of the mount’s gait dipping her head—or was it due to her disappointment in him?
She blinked up at him. “It seems once again I am in your debt.”
Her words taught him to hope. The scent of the sea clung to her, every bit as pungent as the loamy smell of the wet earth his horse trod upon. A lock of dark hair drooped on her cheek, as wild as on that first ride they’d shared. He reached for it and tucked the strand behind her ear, wishing for all the world there weren’t a barrier of leather glove between his skin and hers. She shivered, from a chill or from his touch?
Oh, hang it all. He yanked off his glove and swept his fingers over her cheek, cupping her face in his hand. She did not pull back. “You are wrong, you know. It is I who owe you. I am a changed man since your arrival. Your candor has caused me to think about my actions, that the end does not justify the means. For so long I’ve been bent on revenge, thinking I was right by taking back what Brannigan had taken from me, but I’ve come to see that none of it was mine in the first place. It’s always—only—been God’s. You helped me see that.”
Ladies of Intrigue Page 7