He liked, too, the feel of her hand at his waist, and her shoulder tucked beneath his arm—for a while, at least, he could feel as if Jenny truly cared for him.
“WHERE ARE WE?” Jenny asked, grasping Simon’s hand as they hurried along in the darkness. They had stumbled past black and slimy walls to turn down dark tunnels that ended abruptly, and they had peeked into several cavelets that had yielded neither exits nor stored contraband. Jenny still carried the tin lantern, its shutter raised just enough to provide a dim light.
“We’re deep under the cliff by now,” Simon answered. “There’s a passage to the right that may circle around. Come on.” He led her along, his hand firm over hers. “I came here often as a lad, but I’ve never explored the whole of it. The caves are like a labyrinth, reaching for miles under the moor, they say.”
“They also say this place is haunted.” Jenny shivered, remembering the eerie screams she had heard earlier. Glancing around in the looming darkness, her step slowed. She was suddenly very glad for Simon’s presence. She had not really wanted to explore the caves alone. “Do you know the way?”
“Not really, but I remember some of this from years ago. I used to come here with my father—he may have been a local magistrate, but he took a hand in the free trade, too.”
“I remember,” she said. Simon’s father had died fifteen years earlier, and Jock Colvin had taken Lockhart’s young heir under his wing in the smuggling trade, but for the few years that Simon had spent away at school and university. A provision in Lockhart’s will had gained his son an education in the law, although Simon had returned to Glendarroch afterward to remain three years more, until his disappearance.
Simon strode so fast that Jenny hurried to keep up. “I hope we willna see the ghost of the piper, or meet the sea kelpies,” she said, meaning to make a jest, but her voice trembled nervously.
“What is it…are you frightened?” He glanced at her and squeezed her hand.
“Of course not.”
“We’re in more danger from MacSorley’s rogues. They have goods hidden in here somewhere.”
Jenny nodded, thinking of the cargo she must find for her father, if it was here at all. She slowed to peer into a low cave, but it was very black inside, and she saw no shapes of crates or casks, smelling only damp stone and seaweed.
“Simon, is that why you came down here? To look for contraband?” she asked as they walked on.
“Not intentionally—I fell like a rabbit down a hole. But if I find illicit taxable goods and a bonny lass in the bargain, then it’s worth it.”
“Worth a pistol shot?”
“Almost,” he said. Stopping suddenly, he stretched out his uninjured arm to block her progress. “Shh—there’s a light.”
She saw it then, a faint golden spill on the rocky sheer ahead of them, where the walls soared to a high natural vault. Simon moved forward furtively, and Jenny followed, silent and alert. All she heard was the grit of their footsteps on sandstone, and the quiet power of the sea far behind them.
As they came cautiously around a bend in the channel, she saw a lantern, its flame fluttering, hung from a protrusion in the rocky wall. Nearby was the rough arch of a cave opening, its interior dark but for the wash of lantern light.
Inside the cave, Jenny glimpsed movement—a pale shadow shifted, ghostlike and eerie. She heard the clap and ring of metal on stone. Gasping, she clutched Simon’s shoulder.
“A ghost!” she whispered.
He motioned for her to stay back, but she went with him. A few discreet strides brought them near the chamber’s entrance. Simon flattened against the wall, keeping Jenny behind him as he peered into the chamber. “What the devil?” he murmured.
“What?” she whispered fervently.
“There’s your ghost,” he said. Slipping his arm around her, he let her look past him. Beyond the pool of light, the pale shadow took form.
Jenny gasped. The ghost flicked its tail and whinnied, stepping backward nervously. It turned its great, beautiful head and gazed at her with soft, dark eyes.
“A horse?” She looked at Simon in disbelief. “Here?” Pale as milk, huge in a cave the size of a large stall, the horse swung its head and whickered anxiously. It backstepped, iron shoes ringing on stone.
She stared, dumbfounded, realizing that the scream she had heard earlier had been the horse neighing.
Simon smiled at her, his eyes vivid blue in the strong play of light and shadow. “Here’s your Beauty, my lass. I suspect this is the legendary beast that scared the wits out of Nicky Colvin earlier tonight.”
“The Beauty? The sea kelpie that rides out under a full moon to warn of danger at sea? But this is a real horse. The other is a vision, or a magical creature.”
“A real horse, my dear, and likely used by MacSorley and his lads to warn others away from these caves on nights when they plan to move smuggled goods.” Simon frowned, watching the horse.
Whickering again, the animal stepped sideways, tail flashing like sea foam in the darkness. Jenny noticed that the Beauty was tethered by a headrope to an iron ring embedded in the wall. A trough of oats and another of water sat within easy reach, and the floor of the natural chamber was covered in straw and smelled of muck. Jenny wrinkled her nose.
“Easy, my love,” Simon crooned.
Jenny glanced at him quickly, heart leaping unbidden, but his attention was focused on the horse. “Easy, bonny lass,” he repeated as he moved into the cave.
He whistled softly, a soft and easy sound, as he stroked the mare’s muzzle, then patted her broad neck. Jenny joined them, the horse blinked at her with disinterest and blew into Simon’s palm. He laughed softly and glanced at Jenny.
“You always had the touch for horses,” she said, smiling. “Mares especially loved you, as I recall.”
Taking the headrope, he led the horse toward the entrance arch, coaxing her into the pool of light. He checked her bite and her ears, murmuring gently, then dropped to one knee and ran his hands gently down her forelegs, then stood to trace his hands over her back and withers. Jenny noticed that he kept his left arm close to his side much of the time.
“Is she healthy?”
“She’s fine. But I’m puzzled about something…ah. Look at this.” He held out his palm, which was chalky white.
“Is that powder?” She touched the horse’s back, and brought her own hand away whitened. She sniffed it. “Limestone chalk.”
“Aye. She’s been made to look white.” He rubbed a spot vigorously on the horse’s shoulder. “See, her skin is dark, and her coat is dappled—she’s actually a gray, with a white mane and tail. Not much work to make her look like the legendary Beauty.”
“But why?” Jenny asked. She patted the horse’s muzzle. “They wanted to keep people away from the sea caves, I suppose.”
“Aye, so that they could move their goods about undisturbed. But there’s another reason.” He smoothed a gentle hand over the horse’s neck, and the mare snuffled affectionately at him. “This is a Connemara, about three years old,” he said. “I recently read a description of a horse like this one. Dappled gray, with one dark foreleg. I think we’ve found the magistrate’s missing horse.”
Jenny looked at him, stunned. “The horse my father is accused of taking?”
“I read the sheriff’s report, and this horse matches that description.”
“Oh!” She reached out to touch the mare’s muzzle in awe. “Then this proves my father’s innocence! Oh, Simon—”
She surged toward him, looping her arms around his neck in an impulsive and joyful hug. Though surprise registered on his face, he circled his uninjured arm around her waist and leaned close, accepting the embrace.
As she looked up at him, he turned his head, and in that moment, his mouth accidentally brushed her cheek. He touched his mouth to hers tenderly, his hand at her lower back pressing her against the hard planes of his body.
Her breath faltered, her knees went weak, and in that one swift
, blessed moment, Jenny felt hurt and resentment melt a little under the deep magic of his kiss, the comfort of his arms. Joy bloomed in the space between one breath and the next.
And then the barriers fell back into place, slamming down like iron gates. Jenny broke the loop of her arms and stepped back, blushing. “I am sorry,” she said.
“I am not,” he replied softly, watching her. “Not for that.”
She looked away, flustered and stunned by the surprises of the last few moments. The simple kiss still lingered on her lips. Do not be a fool, she told herself. Do not let him charm you again.
“Are you sure,” she said, gulping, “that this is the magistrate’s horse?”
“Aye. She’s a Connemara—see the proud shape of her, and the height? By her teeth, she’s three or so. And she’s a gray. Just how many three-year-old female Connemara grays are there along this coast, do you think?”
“Perhaps just one.”
“Aye, then.” He looked at her sharply. “Jenny Colvin, be honest with me, now. Did Jock take this mare, and stash her here? Is that why you’ve come to the caves? To find the horse?”
“No!” She folded her arms in sudden, indignant anger.
“Hush,” he cautioned. “Our comrades will come running to join our little celebration.” He cocked a brow.
“No, he did not steal the horse,” she hissed, “and no, he did not hide her here, and no, I did not—”
“Fine,” he said curtly, holding up his palm. “The question remains, who did, and what do we do with the horse now?”
“We take her to the magistrate, of course, before they take my father to the gallows in the morning for—” She stopped.
“I agree this might keep Jock from a hanging, but I wish it were guaranteed. And how are we to get her out of here?”
“Oh, the tide!” She frowned, then began to pace back and forth. “If we wait until the MacSorleys leave the cave—do you think the Beauty could swim in the sea far enough to get out of the cave to the beach? Some horses can.”
“I won’t risk it,” he said. “And we’ve no boat for us, even if she could swim alongside it. The tidal pull in the Solway basin is treacherous, especially under a full moon. I might see you both go down, and…I couldn’t live with that.”
She sent him a sharp glance. “You let years go by without knowing what became of us,” she pointed out.
He sighed, his arm still resting on the horse, and regarded her. “I knew,” he said quietly. “I always knew.”
“How?” she asked.
“I have my ways, love, and my secrets, too.” His voice, quietly heard in half shadows, sent a thrill through her. “I worked as a solicitor for the Customs and Excise Board in Edinburgh. I read the reports from the Solway officers. I knew when your kin were sighted, when they were questioned or fined, when goods were confiscated. And I knew when your father was arrested. I came back…to do what I could, if he was innocent of the charge.”
“He is.” Tilting her head, she watched him, heart beating hard. She remembered that sudden, heart-melting kiss. Her thoughts and emotions tumbled, and she suddenly wanted to know what had happened to Simon. Until then, she had clung desperately to her anger. Now she felt it beginning to dissolve a little.
Yet there was no time for questions. “Simon—we must get the horse out of here quickly. But the tide will not pull out for hours yet.”
He took the headrope and led the horse back to the troughs. “There, my bonny. We’ll get you home to your owner somehow,” he murmured. He stroked her again, whistling that same gentle tune, and the horse snorted with contentment.
Simon looked at Jenny. “We may be able to take her out through the landward entrance.”
“Is it possible?” Hope flashed within her, and she smiled, but resisted the urge to give him another hug. That, and the kiss, had aroused strong, insistent feelings in her that left her head and heart whirling.
He must have felt it, too, for his gaze was hungry and intent on hers. In the silence, she felt something powerful pass between them, as strong as a tide, as mysterious as moonlight. A blush heated her cheeks, and she glanced away.
“We must find that other exit soon, before MacSorley’s men come back for the horse,” she said quietly.
“We’ll need to wait a bit before we take her out. I want to know what MacSorley’s men intend to do with her.”
“They mean to ensure that my father hangs, that’s what.”
“They might mean to sell her down to England, or over to Ireland or France. Felix Colvin mentioned a ship coming in tonight.” He strode toward the entrance, grabbing Jenny’s hand as he passed, tugging her with him into the corridor. As they went, she took up the lantern she had set down, and followed.
CHAPTER SIX
“MY FATHER NEVER used these caves,” Jenny said. “That proves that he did not take the magistrate’s horse.” She held the lantern as they walked and he took her other hand, his grip strong. Although the cave was chilly, she was troubled by the distinct coolness of his fingers. He was paler, too, she thought, glancing at him. A trickle of blood ran over his left hand.
“Dear God, Simon. Your arm—you must let me tend to it again.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, jamming his hand in his pocket. “Jenny, finding the horse could help Jock, but the authorities already have enough quarrel with him for distilling and trading illicit whisky.”
“But horse thieving is the hanging crime. He’ll be saved from that, at least, if we can get the horse to the sheriff in time, before the morning—”
“We’ll have to prove someone else took her. Jock could have put her there himself.”
“He never comes to these caves. He’s afraid…of sea kelpies and ghosts, though he would never admit it.”
“I never knew that.” He smiled faintly. “We’ll watch what MacSorley means to do with your Beauty. If we can catch them about to sell her or ship her off, that will be proof enough.”
“We canna wait.”
“How can we walk out of here leading that horse? There’s smugglers all about. Here, this way.” He tugged her along a narrow artery through the stone where the walls were clearly marked with traces of chisel work. “It looks familiar now…I think we may find the landward exit. Aye, there,” he said, as they reached a fork in the corridor.
He pointed toward a short, third spur off the two routes. At the end of that tunnel, raised a little above the level of the floor on a ramp of stone, Jenny saw a smooth slab fitted into the rock wall.
As large as a door but rounded, the slate was fixed with an iron pull-ring and iron hinges, the whole neatly set in the shadowed recess of the back wall. On a side wall, two iron hooks protruded from the stone, ready to hold lanterns or other gear. A shovel and an axe leaned in a dark corner.
“I came through there by accident,” Simon said. “I happened to fall through the brush that conceals the hatch on the moor. It opened easily enough when my weight fell against it.”
“I think we can bring the horse through there,” Jenny said. “It looks large enough. Let’s go get her.” She turned.
“Not yet.” Simon grabbed her arm. “I’ll wait here to see what they intend to do with her. You go through there, and home,” he ordered, turning her toward the short tunnel.
“Oh, no,” she said, rounding back. “I told you I’m staying.”
“You’ll not,” he said, taking her shoulder to turn her.
“I will,” she said firmly, and shrugged off his hand, stepping away. “Thank you for showing me the exit.” Swinging the lantern, she strode back toward the horse’s cave.
“Stubborn lass,” he muttered as he followed.
She smiled and glanced over her shoulder.
He caught up to her, and as they passed the horse’s cave in silence, Jenny took Simon’s arm again, a gesture of compromise as much as a bid for simple comfort in the gloomy, eerie recesses of the underground labyrinth. At a turn in the tunnel, Simon held out his right arm to ke
ep Jenny behind him.
She glanced around. Behind them lay the horse’s cave, and several yards in front was the little crevice where they had hidden earlier. Beyond lay the great hall cave, open to the sea. From that direction, a faint light washed over the walls.
“They’re coming this way,” she whispered.
“Shut the lantern,” he growled. She did so, and he looked at her. “I’ll go ahead to see what they’re doing. There’s a wee cavelet just here—wait inside, lass, and do not move.”
“But you—”
“Jenny, listen. If I do not return for you soon, go back to our little moonlit balcony. You’ll be safe there.” He gave her a gentle shove toward the low mouth of the small cave just behind her. Then he sprinted away, quick and quiet.
She eyed the low, dark opening dubiously. Earlier, she and Simon had peered into the small cave, which had seemed unremarkable. Ducking, she stepped inside.
Once past the low-hanging entrance arch, she found with surprise that she could stand upright in the blackness. The space seemed higher and larger than she had thought. Tracing her hand over cold stone, she moved deeper into the cave, following the curvature of the wall. A moment later, she knocked her shin against something hard, and bumped her hip against some other object. Reaching out, she felt a wooden object under her hand, and groped around to find several more, all of similar size and shape.
Opening her lantern, she saw casks neatly stacked all along the walls, and more kegs and wooden crates on the floor. Moving around, she saw round iron-banded wooden kegs in the small and portable size that smugglers, including her father, often used. Shifting one of them, she heard liquid slosh inside.
Whisky casks. She had found the smuggler’s cache of goods.
Then light infused the entrance and she heard footsteps. Sliding the lantern shut, she crouched behind a stack of boxes next to the wall. Long shadows fell across the entrance, and she heard voices as several men entered the cave.
Curled behind the boxes, she waited silently. Glancing through a narrow space between crates, she saw six men in all, including the three she and Simon had seen earlier.
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