Behind the Light of Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “Ask me, Abigail, if I feel such a way.”

  She turned away, but he stood in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “Ask me.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why? Why do you fear telling me about your past?”

  She drew in a shaking breath, staring at the sand as it swirled around the water in which they stood. “Because I could not bear your disappointment…nor could I bear the thought of you leaving.”

  Gavin took a step toward her. She ducked her head, but he reached out, cradling her face in his hands and urging her to meet his eyes.

  “Have I not proven my devotion to you, Abigail?” he asked, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “I could never leave you. I will never leave you.”

  Abigail stared into his deep brown eyes, and finally, she believed him.

  He wrapped his arms around her, and she clung to the back of his shirt, silently crying against his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered as he held her securely amidst the storm. “I’m sorry for everything.”

  When her cries softened, Gavin helped Abigail return to the lighthouse. His heart had broken as she revealed her true fears to him, and he was determined even more to prove his dedication to the woman he loved.

  After changing into dry clothes and ensuring the light still glowed above, they sat down together in the sitting room. The storm still raged outside. The sun hidden behind the clouds caused the room to darken, though the fire cast a warm glow around them. They huddled near one another on the settee, a thick blanket across their laps. Gavin held Abigail’s cold hands, feeling them tremble in his grasp as she began her story.

  “In truth, I am surprised my secret has been kept from you for this long,” she said, her blue eyes darkened with shame. “I am not certain, but I believe there are a few individuals around St. Just who are aware of my past. Most of them have kept the information to themselves. But I’m sure I may safely assume you heard word of it from Mrs. Stedman.”

  “In a way,” Gavin said. He recounted what he had heard from Mrs. Rennalls, and Abigail’s shoulders sunk further.

  “I should like to tell you the full truth now so this secrecy between us may come to an end.” She drew a deep breath. “My father was Mr. Norman Moore of Grinston Hall in Staffordshire. When he was eighteen years old, his father died, leaving him in control of the estate. As master of the house, he was not discouraged when he took interest in the young, lower maids of the house. He did as he wished with them and removed those who protested or spoke of his behavior.

  “He met my mother, a scullery maid for his estate, when she was fifteen. And he pursued her. But when she discovered she was with child, his child, he sent her away. She had nowhere to turn. No family, no friends. So she took refuge and found work in a…a house of ill repute. And it was there, I was born.”

  She winced, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “Only a few women knew of my existence. I was kept there secretly for five years until my mother could no longer afford to keep me. That, or she no longer wished to keep me. She woke me early one morning for a promised walk in the sunshine. I was thrilled to be out of doors, even for the hours-long journey we took. She brought me to the servants’ entrance of a stately home I had never seen. She handed me a letter addressed to the lady of the house and left me with a kiss to my brow, promising to return when she could better keep me. I watched her walk away for the last time that day. As I would discover later, she was killed by a man she…”

  Her eyes dropped, and Gavin nodded his understanding. He struggled to come to terms with her words, imagining all too well the sight of a young Abigail, alone and abandoned.

  “After she left, I was brought into Grinston Hall before the mistress, Mrs. Moore. She called for her son, my father, though I was not aware of who they were at the time. I saw his eyes focus on my hair—the same shade as my mother’s—and with an emptiness in his eyes, he left the room without a glance back.

  “In what I suppose was an effort to avoid a scandal, or perhaps as some evidence of guilt, my grandmother, knowing of her son’s rampant debauchery, sent me to the boarding school in Cheshire. I was far enough away to have no connection with her, beyond the monthly payment she sent for me to continue living there.”

  Her lip slanted down. “I preferred my other living to the boarding school. I did my best to be obedient. But I discovered that nothing stopped the scolding and beatings from teachers and students alike. I was there to be punished. Not for my own choices, but for my parents’.”

  Understanding and compassion swirled in Gavin’s mind. Words Abigail had said to him before, things she had done, all of it made sense now in the revelation of her history. It was no wonder she feared he would leave her. Everyone else in her life had. No one, especially a little girl, especially his Abigail, should have to have suffered in such a way.

  “After four years,” she continued, “I was told that Mrs. Moore had died. My time at the school was to be terminated. I would be sent to the local parish before being assigned to hard labor elsewhere. The day I was set to leave, I sat on a large chair outside of the schoolmaster’s office, waiting to meet my new master. The door opened, and I was met instead by a man with blue eyes.”

  When she paused, he spoke. “Your uncle.”

  “Yes. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around me. ‘I am your Uncle Ellis,’ he said, ‘I am going to take you away from here and bring you to a new home.’ He promised to never leave me, like everyone else had in my life. I did not trust him, of course, and pushed out of his embrace. But after he berated the schoolmaster for my treatment, and then proceeded to fill me with many pies and pastries, I became less wary of him.”

  A hint of a smile touched her lips.

  “Did he bring you directly to Cornwall?” Gavin asked.

  “Yes, and I was allowed for the first time in my life to explore the world around me.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Instead of carriages on cobblestones, I heard the roar of the sea’s waves and herring gulls calling overhead. Instead of the black, iron fence that confined me at the boarding house, I was surrounded by rugged cliffsides and pink wildflowers. And instead of being forgotten, I had a family. I had a home. I had Golowduyn to always watch over me.”

  Gavin had known all along that the lighthouse meant a great deal to Abigail, but he never truly understood why until that moment. How happy he was that he had been able to help her save this place that meant so much to her.

  The fire crackled in the silence between them. Abigail seemed peaceful, and Gavin hesitated to interrupt her thoughts, but his questions refused to cease.

  “Why did your uncle not bring you to Cornwall earlier?” he asked softly. “Or at least remove you from the school?”

  “He did not know of my existence until then,” she replied. “Apparently, his mother revealed the truth about me on her deathbed. And he immediately set out to find me.”

  “And your father did not?”

  “No. I know very little of the man. Only that he was very wealthy before he lost it all to gaming.”

  Of course. Gavin pressed a hand to his temple. No wonder Abigail disliked playing cards so greatly. The obsession with gaming ran thickly through her family.

  “Uncle Ellis often spoke of his disapproval of his brother tarnishing the family name with his immoral behavior,” she said. “He knew of my father’s gaming habits, so he used his living to build Golowduyn and left Grinston Hall and his brother’s reputation behind.”

  “Did he ever see him again?”

  “Not after their mother’s death. A year after I was brought to Cornwall, we received word that my father ended his own life, but not before losing his entire fortune and estate.” She sniffed with derision. “My uncle claimed to be different, said he would never fall like his brother had. But I suppose he was wrong.” Her eyes hardened before she glanced to Gavin with a sigh. “So, there you have it. The noble history of the Moores. How pleased you must be to have married into
such disgrace.”

  Her shame was apparent. She clearly thought very little of herself, and of her past. But Gavin could no longer allow it to continue.

  He sat forward, facing her squarely. “Abigail, you are far more than your family’s choices. You choose to be strong, when you could easily be claimed as a victim of your childhood. You choose altruism in being a lighthouse keeper, when you could be selfish.” He peered into her eyes, speaking with sincerity he hoped she believed. “I hope you will one day realize, that no matter your history, no matter who did or did not raise you—no matter where you were brought up—your own selfless decisions reveal just the sort of remarkable woman that you are.”

  A tear dropped from her eye, leaving a path of moisture trailing down her cheek.

  “You must simply believe that you are more,” he whispered. “Because to me…you are everything.”

  Their eyes met. Love swelled in his heart. The words settled at the tip of his tongue.

  But a loud blast rang through the air, and the sound of glass shattering far above them made Gavin pull Abigail down to the floor and shield her body with his own.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Stay low,” Gavin commanded, hunching down beside Abigail.

  “Was that a gunshot?” she questioned.

  “Yes.”

  “I heard glass breaking,” she continued, “but the windows here…”

  Their eyes met, worry passing between them before Gavin ran low across the floor, peering up through the window.

  “The light,” he said, “it is not shining.”

  Together, they ran through the room, securing the latch at the front door before sprinting up the spiral stairs.

  “This is Myles’s work,” growled Abigail ahead of him. “I’m sure of it.”

  Gavin’s stomach churned. He feared the boy was the cause, as well. “I spoke with Lieutenant Harris this morning. He said Myles returned to St. Just last night.”

  “You see? It was him.”

  “Focus on reaching the lamps,” Gavin replied, breathing heavily as they rounded curve after curve. “We will deal with him later.”

  “They should already be relit, Gavin. We both know better than to leave the watch room during a storm.”

  “I know.” He could say nothing further to soothe her worries. He had already thought the same.

  Their pace slowed as they climbed the tower, neither of them saying another word until they reached the watch room.

  Slowly, Gavin poked his head into the lamp room. The refractors still rotated, but most of the lamps had gone out from the swirling wind in the room. A single window pane was shattered nearby, broken glass on the floor lying beneath it.

  He relayed the news to Abigail, who stood below in the watch room.

  “Is he still out there?” she asked.

  He peered past the windows to the ground below and then to where the cliff stood nearly eye-level with the lamps. The sky was darkened due to the storm, but he could still see the land clearly before him. There was no sight of the boy.

  “I cannot see him. He must have left after firing.”

  He heard her groan in frustration. But he could not dwell on the Myles. He needed to relight the lamps.

  “Have we a replacement for the window?” he asked.

  Her footsteps crossed the floor, objects being shuffled aside before she returned, handing him a small pane of glass and a jar of strong putty.

  Working quickly, Gavin cleared the remaining shards of glass from the pane before holding the new glass in place with the putty.

  “Is it secure?” Abigail asked, her head sticking up through the latch door.

  “I believe so.”

  “I will help you light the lamps then.”

  “No, please, stay below.” He could not risk her getting injured. “Look to the sea instead.”

  She hesitated before moving down the steps.

  Gavin worked swiftly to relight the lamps before he joined her in the watch room. Together, they stood at the window, looking out over the storm.

  “No ship sighted?” he asked.

  “Thankfully, no.”

  They remained silent for a moment before she continued. “Will he fire again, do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Gavin answered honestly. “But in this storm, it would not be wise to go after him now.”

  Her arms crossed over her chest. He placed an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him. “We will alert the constable as soon as the storm permits. I’m certain Lieutenant Harris will help us, too. But for now, focus on what we can do. The light still shines, and the storm will pass.”

  Abigail rested her head against his shoulder, her arm reaching around his back. He placed a kiss to the top of her head, and together, they stared out at the storm-ridden sea.

  * * *

  Within a few hours, the skies had cleared; Abigail and Gavin rode for St. Just the moment the sun pierced through the clouds. After posting a letter to Trinity House—alerting them of the destruction that had taken place to their property again—they enlisted Lieutenant Harris and the constable to help keep watch over Golowduyn that evening.

  Knowing they had eyes on the lighthouse helped to ease Abigail’s concerns, but how long could they last in such a way? And how long would they be tormented by the boy?

  Despite her concern over the growing threat, Abigail could not deny the weight and shame that had lifted from her soul after telling Gavin of her past.

  The fact that he remained with her, listened to her every word and still expressed his feelings for her, made her great love for the captain grow in such a measure, she could hardly bear keeping it to herself.

  At nightfall, with the lighthouse aglow, Gavin agreed to stay in the watch room while Abigail remained below, listening at the door for any news from Lieutenant Harris or the constable.

  Even as the night progressed uneventfully, Abigail found it difficult to rest at all. The threat of danger loomed heavily upon her mind. When she heard Gavin come downstairs for the first refilling, she jumped out of bed, anxious for a distraction.

  She met him at the front door when he returned with his pail of oil. They had both remained dressed to be ready should anything occur, but Gavin’s shirt hung open at the top, his braces holding his breeches and stretching over his broad shoulders.

  “All is well, I assume?” she asked, holding out a candle to light their faces as he closed the door behind him.

  He nodded. “Have you been able to sleep at all?”

  “I find I am not so tired.” A yawn escaped her mouth, betraying her words. In truth, she was exhausted.

  “Are you worrying?” Gavin asked as they made for the circular room, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “A little. Are you not?”

  He set the oil on the first step and peered down at her. “A little,” he repeated.

  They stared at one another, the candlelight flickering shadows across Gavin’s face. His dark eyes focused on her, and she wondered what he was thinking.

  No doubt worrying over Myles, the lighthouse. Her own mind was filled with the very same.

  But also, something else. Something she longed to share with him. She feared expressing her love, but then, she could not keep her feelings to herself any longer.

  “Gavin…”

  A muffled noise sounded nearby. She paused, directing her attention to the front door. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “I thought…” The sound occurred again. “There, someone is calling out. Is it the lieutenant?”

  Gavin darted down the hallway. “Stay inside.”

  “Take care, Gavin,” she called after him.

  He looked over his shoulder. With a lingering stare in her direction, he nodded and left the house.

  She secured the door behind him and raced to the sitting room. Peering through the window, she saw him just before he vanished into the darkness.

  “Captain!”

>   Gavin moved toward the sound of Harris’s voice. His fists clenched in preparation for the struggle that was about to ensue. Harris had found Myles. He was sure of it. And the boy would be putting up a fight.

  He ran through the darkness, focusing on the small light in the distance on the pathway leading to Golowduyn.

  “Harris?” Gavin called out, running toward him, anxious to give aid to his friend.

  But as Gavin neared, he saw Harris hunched toward the ground. “What has happened?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Harris replied. “I discovered him only moments ago.”

  Confusion settled on Gavin’s brow.

  Discovered who? His footsteps slowed, his eyes honed in on Harris, and only then did Gavin see Myles’s body spread out across the ground.

  He hesitated. “Is he…”

  “No, but he is badly hurt.”

  The light of Harris’s lantern cast low shadows across the boy’s bloodied and bruised face.

  “Help me bring him inside,” Gavin directed at once.

  They worked together to lift Myles’s unconscious body off of the ground, carrying him to the lighthouse.

  “Abigail!” Gavin called out. She opened the door to their home moments later, holding a lantern aloft. “Ready my room!”

  She left the door open and disappeared inside. Gavin and Harris maneuvered through the hallways with sidesteps before placing Myles on Gavin’s bed. Abigail had stripped it bare, save a single sheet.

  She placed extra candles near the bed and lit a fire in the hearth before disappearing from the room.

  The light revealed a large gash on Myles’s brow, blood trickling from his forehead, both nostrils, and his right ear. Gavin’s stomach clenched. “Do we know who could have done this to him?”

  “I’ve no idea, sir. I saw his figure in the darkness stumbling toward Golowduyn. I wasn’t certain it was him until I approached, and he merely fell to the ground before me.”