Copyright © 2019
Behind the Light of Golowduyn by Deborah M. Hathaway
All rights reserved.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed by any part or by any means without written consent of the author.
Printed in the United States of America
Published by Draft Horse Publishing
©Copyright 2019 by Deborah M. Hathaway
© 2019 Cover Art by Cora Graphics
© Periodimages.com
First Printed Edition, May 2019
This book is a work of fiction. All character names and personalities are entirely fictional, created solely in the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-9851831-9-6
Table of Contents
Books by Deborah M. Hathaway
Pronunciation Guide
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books by Deborah M. Hathaway
Stand Alone Novels
A Secret Fire
When Two Rivers Meet
To Warm a Wintered Heart
A Cornish Romance Series
On the Shores of Tregalwen, a Prequel Novella
Behind the Light of Golowduyn, Book 1
For Lydia, Ethan, & Rachael—
My three shining lights.
May you one day discover a place
that brings you as much joy and peace as
Cornwall brings to me.
I love you.
Pronunciation Guide
Golowduyn – goal-oh-DEW-in
Dulatha – dew-LAH-thah
Tregalwen – treh-GAWL-when
Glastaish – Glass-STAISH
Pryvly – PRIV-lee
Chapter One
Cornwall, 1815
Perched at the edge of Dulatha Cliffs, Golowduyn Lighthouse towered high upon the earth. Wind from the Cornish sea blasted against the structure, but nothing hindered the tower’s light as the evening sun disappeared behind the dark clouds on the horizon.
Waves crashed against the jagged rocks at the base of the cliffs, spraying water high into the air. To the south of the lighthouse, the smooth sand of Golowduyn Beach thinned in the incoming tide. The ocean swirled—a warning to take shelter from the approaching storm.
But Abigail Moore heeded no such warning.
Standing between the lighthouse and the cliffs’ edge, she braced herself against the wind. Her dark red tresses flew out behind her, her hairpins long since removed.
She watched the storm with a fixed gaze, blue eyes steady, until a flash of lightning lit the clouds before her. Only then did she turn toward home.
She pulled her threadbare shawl tightly around her shoulders and ran her free fingers in a caress along the light brown stone of the lighthouse.
She craned her neck to see the steady light shining above her before she rounded the circular building. As the first raindrops began to fall, she reached the small house attached to the front and stepped inside, securing the door behind her.
She hung her shawl on the hook near the door, careful not to snag one of the many holes in the worn, brown fabric.
“Uncle Ellis?” she called out.
“In here.”
Abigail followed his voice down the short hallway, greeting her uncle with a smile as she entered the sitting room. Ellis Moore’s eyes remained on the pages of his book.
“The storm promises to be fierce tonight,” she said. Her boots thumped softly against the floor as she moved to the back of the room and opened a window. “We have certainly seen worse, though. And will in future, no doubt.”
“Indeed,” Uncle Ellis mumbled. His chin doubled as his head dipped toward the book in his lap.
Abigail knew better than to wait for more of a response. Her uncle wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Not anymore, at any rate.
She had once enjoyed their pleasant conversations that had, at times, lasted for hours on end. Now she was fortunate if she could get more than a few sentences out of her uncle throughout an entire day.
She returned her attention to the darkening ocean, forcing her mind away from her disheartening thoughts. Drops of rain speckled the floor’s distressed wood near her feet, but she didn’t close the window.
The scent of the sea and storm did much for the stale air in the room. Faded rugs, dusty furniture, and piles of old books had been causing the musty smell for months.
Abigail wondered when she’d be able to find the time to clean the room again.
“I secured the stable doors,” she said, only too aware that she was carrying on a conversation with herself. “With any luck, they will remain upright through the storm this time.”
Silence met her words again, but when she glanced to her uncle, she was surprised to find him watching her. So he was listening. But then, why did he say nothing?
“What is it?” she asked, noting his eyes focused on her unpinned hair.
“When I see you in such a state, I am reminded of when you first came to Golowduyn.” A hint of a smile curved his mouth to one side. “Windblown hair. Rosy cheeks. Still as reluctant to come inside.”
Abigail attempted to run her fingers through her wavy locks, but the knots—formed earlier by the wind—prevented her. Her mind traveled back to when she had first seen Golowduyn, when the sea, the cliffsides, and the lighthouse were new to her nine-year-old eyes.
She had explored the land freely, watched the churning ocean as it stormed, and swam in the depths of the sea in the sunshine. She missed those carefree days, before her work had taken over.
But she would not dwell on the things of her past. She was more than content to look after the ships at sea. Even if she had little time for anything else. She smiled at her uncle. “I would still be out there if the lightning had not started, I assure you.”
As if on cue, another flash lit the clouds. Rumbling thunder followed, and she was reminded again of the task before her that evening. “Would you like a cup of tea before I see to the lamps, Uncle?”
He shook his head. A deep crease stretched down between his graying eyebrows. “I wish I could help you.”
“I know.”
And she did, to her cost. Months had passed since Uncle Ellis had injured his knees in a fall, and still he could not climb to the top of the tower without acute pain. His spirits had steadily declined, while Abigail had assumed nearly all head keeper responsibilities. She loved Golowduyn and would do anything to keep it aglow. Though…she had grown weary with the amount of work required of her.
“There is a public assembly in St. Just next week,” her uncle said, breaking into her thoughts. “I thought I might attend.”
A memory sparked in her mind about a desire she’d had when she had first come of age—more than five years ago—to attend an assembly herself. She had imagined dancing the night away, then ending the evening with a proposal of marriage from a man who had fallen in love with her the moment he saw her.
But her way of life had quickly put an end to such silly dreams. She
had never attended a dance, and she certainly would be unable to now. But that did not mean her uncle could not go and enjoy himself now.
“That might be just the thing you need to raise your spirits, Uncle,” she said.
He looked down at the book resting in his lap. “I would offer to look after the light and suggest you go in my stead, but I believe we both know the answer to that already.”
“Yes, we do.”
He drummed his fingers along his cane that rested in its usual spot, on the settee beside him. “You might enjoy yourself, though.”
Abigail could not make sense of his words. He had never encouraged her to attend, not even before he was injured and she could have left the lighthouse in his care. So why the sudden change?
“All the same, I would rather not attend, Uncle,” she responded.
Her answer was mostly true. She felt far more comfortable in the safety of Golowduyn than in the midst of a room filled with strangers. She did not belong like her uncle did. He may be penniless, but he was a gentleman.
And Abigail? Abigail was merely a lighthouse keeper’s niece.
A cold wind blew through the room, splashing rain upon the front of her skirts. She closed the window and crossed the wooden floor toward Uncle Ellis.
“I hope you will attend, Uncle, and enjoy yourself to your heart’s content.” She placed a kiss atop his graying hair. “We may talk more about it on the morrow, if you wish to. Goodnight.”
Uncle Ellis picked up his book and held it before him, though his eyes remained stationary on the page. He grunted a half-hearted response.
Abigail ignored his crestfallen appearance and left the room. She had sympathy for her uncle, of course. To feel helpless was a miserable sensation, but she did not have time to commiserate. The waning light beckoned, and if she neglected it, lives would be at risk.
She moved down the hallway to where a thin passageway joined the small home to the tower. An iron, spiraled staircase stood at the back of a large circular room lined with old cots and a pile of wood. She paused at the bottom of the steps, one hundred and seventeen of them stretching ominously above her.
There was a time she had enjoyed the ascent. She would carry a tray of food while her uncle brought up a stack of books. And when they reached the top of the tower, she’d read aloud to him for hours as they kept watch over the stormy seas until the sun shone again.
But now, she had no one’s company but her own.
With a weary sigh, she raised her skirts and began her climb. But each step was a battle as she attempted to convince herself that she was prepared for another lonely night keeping the lamps of Golowduyn Lighthouse burning bright.
* * *
“Hold steady, men, courage!” Captain Gavin Kendricks called out as he walked across the main deck of the HMS Valour. “We have seen storms of smoke and fire, of enemy cannons and death. We will see through this wind and rain!”
Shouts of affirmation sounded from the sailors as they worked together to secure the halyards. Gavin’s eyes traveled the length of the masts to the yards. The white sails were pulled taut, curved and stretched in the fierce wind.
The sails would not hold for long. He and his men would soon need to wait out the storm by mooring the ship. His crew was impatient to reach land after months of being at sea, but he would rather keep them safe than risk their lives by pushing through an unpassable storm.
Gavin tapped a finger on his leg. His fifteen years at sea had taught him to be disciplined, patient. And yet, he felt even more anxious than the others to reach the port in Penzance. Perhaps it was the fifteen years that had caused him to feel restless on that voyage, or perhaps because he knew it was time—time for a change, for something more fulfilling than a life upon the sea.
He imagined the letter he would soon write to his brother—informing him of his safe arrival in England, of his plans to visit as he waited for his reassignment, to discuss his desire to request his leave from the navy once and for all.
But now was certainly not the time to think of what awaited him on land. He set aside his rambling thoughts and climbed the steps to the quarterdeck where the helmsman gripped the wheel.
“St. Ives lies behind us, Captain,” Mr. Clamp said.
“Excellent.” Gavin looked out over the ship. Lightning flashed in the clouds above, his men mere shadows as they moved across the main deck. They were making steady progress. Perhaps they would not have to lower the anchors after all. “We are nearing the end of our journey, Mr. Clamp. I should like to see it finish with—”
His words muffled as a wave crashed against the side of the Valour. Water washed over the starboard side, pouring across the upper decks and sweeping sailors from their feet.
Gavin reached for a nearby railing, striving to remain upright as the water reached midway up his stockings.
“Captain,” the quartermaster said next to Mr. Clamp, “we cannot run before the wind any longer, sir. She veers too greatly. We will be blown straight toward land.”
Gavin crossed the wooded deck to the port side, straining to see farther into the darkness. His eyes were drawn to a small, glowing light in the distance, and his insides grew cold.
Golowduyn Lighthouse.
His worrying should have been settled at the sight. After all, the light was meant to ensure that sailors kept away from the dangerous shores. But with his ship being pushed closer and closer to the cliffs that protruded into the water—the cliffs he knew had taken the lives of many sailors—he felt anything but comforted.
Still, he would not allow his men to meet with early graves right before the end.
He turned his back on the light and moved to the helm. “Stand by to take in mainsail!”
The midshipmen relayed his message across the main deck, their voices muffled as the Valour tossed violently back and forth. Seamen worked to furl the sails, but their advancement toward land continued.
“Captain, she will not lie to,” Mr. Clamp cried out.
Gavin’s jaw tightened. His hands fisted as he looked over his shoulder to see the flashing light of Golowduyn growing stronger. He could not risk them drawing any closer to the coastline. Not if he wanted them to have any chance of survival.
He stepped down onto the main deck before giving his next command. “All hands, bring ship to anchor!”
A few sailors ran to the starboard side, unfastening the anchor to dangle over the water from the cathead—a thick structure sticking out from the ship to aid in anchoring.
The boatswain, Mr. Perry, oversaw the thick cables being brought up from the orlop below, and the seamen wound the long rope in loops across the deck before securing the anchor to one end. Once fastened, they released the anchor, and it sailed through the air before plunging into the murky sea.
The cable fed through a hole near the side of the ship until it tugged securely on the beam. Still, the ship drifted with the waves.
Gavin’s heart raced. His eyes flickered to the lighthouse. Was his mind playing tricks on him, or did they approach land faster than before?
“Lower the second anchor!” he shouted.
The port side anchor was dropped into the water. Gavin moved to the ladder near the quarterdeck, grasping onto a step, his feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Brace! Brace!”
As the rope lessened across the deck—the anchor sinking deeper and deeper into the sea—Gavin watched with bated breath until they jerked forward, and the anchor caught.
The ship moved to one side. The waves battered the bulwark.
“Even her out!” Gavin called.
The midshipmen rushed to the edges of the ship, making way for more than a dozen brawny forecastlemen tearing their way across the Valour toward the capstan. Gavin watched as they wrapped their arms around the bars, using the weight of their large bodies to slowly turn the structure, shortening the first cable to position the ship between its two anchors.
At last, the Valour settled on the water, and cheers e
rupted from the men. Gavin’s mouth parted, a slow breath releasing from his lips. The tension in his shoulders lessened, and he climbed the steps to the quarterdeck.
But when another shout rose above the others, he stiffened.
“Fire! Fire on the gun deck!”
A flash of lightning lit the Valour, and Gavin swung around, eying the black plumes of smoke rising from the starboard side, a ghostly shape against the rain.
He cursed, jumping down and landing on the main deck with a thud. He flew toward the ladder to the lower decks, his mind spinning and anger pulsing through his veins. There could be only one reason a fire had started—one of the men must have had a lantern out during the storm.
Whoever it was, the sailor would be sorry, once Gavin caught him.
Footsteps pounded across the gun deck. Dark smoke filled the area, sliding along the ceiling. An assembly line had already formed, men seeing to the flames with buckets of water and wet blankets.
“Lieutenant Harris!” Gavin shouted, spotting his first lieutenant running toward him. “How fares the foremast?”
“It weakens, sir,” the man said, his face red from the heat of the flames. “The fire has already spread below. It will reach the powder magazine if it is not extinguished soon.”
Gavin released a frustrated growl, heading for the ladder. “Find the fool who has put us all at risk,” he growled over his shoulder. “I’ll throw him overboard myself.”
“Sir,” Lieutenant Harris said, following behind him, “I believe we already know the culprit.”
They reached the main deck, and Gavin whirled around to face him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness around them. A fire sparked in his chest, his blood burning.
“Where is Sanders?” he said, taking a step toward the lieutenant, his voice low.
“He’s still shackled below, sir,” Lieutenant Harris responded in a tone that matched the captain’s. “But he was calm, as if he wasn’t aware of what awaited him on land.”
Behind the Light of Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1) Page 1