by Sophie Dash
Time was running out.
“I do not have to shoot her,” said the merchant, so self-satisfied, so self-assured. “You won’t come after me, not when you’re trying to save her.”
It was a splinter in time, a fractured second when Isaac held Ruth’s gaze, when they both knew what would happen and were incapable of stopping it.
Ruth stood no chance at retaining her balance, for she was too close to the edge. Griswell shoved her with all his might and her hands couldn’t find a purchase on him, failed to drag him down too. One second she was there, the next she was gone.
Then Isaac heard the shot, felt it almost as though it had pierced his own flesh.
Lottie screamed – at her own actions, at the weapon she held, the one Isaac had abandoned – and at the red spot that began to blossom upon her father’s shirt. Griswell groped at his chest, mouth slack, before he too toppled over the edge. Whereas he was most certainly gone from this world, there was still hope for Ruth.
“I didn’t mean – I didn’t – he pushed her – I didn’t,” said Lottie, while Isaac ran to the cliff edge, hesitating only for long enough to scan the foaming edges.
“I think she missed the rocks,” said Isaac, as he dragged off his jacket, with Lottie close behind him, clawing at him.
“She cannot swim. Oh God, Ruth cannot swim.”
“I know,” said Isaac, steeling himself, before he plunged down after her.
***
The ocean punched the air from Isaac’s lungs. It was deafening, along with the blood rushing in his ears, skin smarting from the fall. Disorientation seemed to last for an eternity, while pockets of air coiled around him, spiralling upwards, telling him the way to go. He followed them, kicking hard and finding the cold shock of the surface. He pulled in deep breaths as he sought Ruth, pawed through the water, and found nothing.
How long had she been underwater? How much longer could she last?
“Isaac.”
He heard his name, saw her face for a second, found her clinging onto a rock before the swelling sea crashed into her and stole her away. Isaac went after her, plunging down into the murky ocean, straining to keep his eyes open, reaching out into the unfathomable blue – before he found her. The material of her dress had billowed up and he grasped it – and her – pulling her up when her hand found his. It was a slow slog, his lungs were straining, his energy was dwindling and Ruth’s hold on him had slackened.
Do not let me lose her.
At last, after an age, their heads made it above the water.
Ruth was limp in his arms. Isaac pulled her with him, kicking against the tide, guiding them to shore while the swell continued to edge them closer to the rocks. It was a battle to get them onto dry land, for their clothes were saturated with water, his muscles felt weak and stretched, and Ruth was unresponsive. Dead? When they were far enough from the waves, Isaac sank onto his knees, beside his wife. She was pale, her hair in a ragged mass around her face, lips parted, lifeless.
“Don’t do this to me,” he begged, hoarse, exhausted, lifting her up against him and holding her tightly. “Don’t you dare leave me, Ruth.”
After everything, how far they’d gotten, it wasn’t fair for it to end now. Not like this.
“All I have done is ruin your life. I don’t want to have taken it as well.”
A sudden, choking cough fell against Isaac’s neck. His despair left him as he rubbed Ruth’s back and gave her space enough to clear the salty water from her airways, though he longed to touch her, embrace her.
“I thought I had lost you,” confessed Isaac, smoothing her wet hair back from her face when at last her coughing fit had settled.
Tired and drained, Ruth pushed against him, nails hard on his skin.
“Let go,” she ground out. “Let go of me.”
Isaac did not obey her at first, worrying he’d hurt her, that there was an injury he could not see. His attentions distressed her more and she fought him and shoved him back further, scrabbling in the sand, the heels of her boots leaving grooves amongst the shells.
“Don’t you touch me, Isaac Roscoe.”
“Ruth, what’s wrong? Tell me.”
“What’s wrong?” She laughed at him, though there was no heart in it. “How can you ask me that?”
“You cannot still think I killed that man?”
“No,” she replied. “You’re a liar, not a murderer, but I knew that when I married you. And yet I stayed. I hoped it might be different. I thought you had changed.”
“What is this about?” Isaac did not have the strength to stand and neither did she, both half-collapsed on the shore, staring one another down. “I thought I had lost you, Ruth.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted, to be rid of me, to be free of the wife you never wanted?”
Those words were achingly familiar for they were his own.
“I heard you talking with Griswell at the assembly rooms,” she explained. “About how much it cost you to be with me. Trust me, I want nothing more from you.”
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough,” she spat.
There was a siren’s fury in her eyes, a hardness to her clenched jaw.
“And all the rest I confessed to?”
“I didn’t want to hear it then and I don’t now.”
“Yes, you do, for those first flippant remarks are not the truth. There’s far more,” he said, shifting towards her, reaching for her though she backed off.
“No more lies, Isaac.”
“No more lies,” he promised. “I am not a man who comes easily to love, but I know I love you, Ruth.” Could she not see that? Did she not believe it? “You saved me when I was beyond saving.”
“Then we are even now,” she said quietly, though her features had softened. Like him, she had lived without light, without another to guide them through. “You need not pretend any longer.”
“There is no pretence.”
Ruth looked small, sad, solemn, her mind made up. “I have had enough of putting my faith in the wrong people and being hurt because of it.”
“I will never hurt you again. I will never risk losing you.”
“You already have,” she said softly.
“I cannot believe that. I am tied to you – body and soul – and no sharp words, no hard actions, no barbs could ever cut that cord. I did not mean those vows when I first spoke them.” In that cold church on that hopeless day, when he had been unable to see what was before him. “I mean them now, I truly do. In sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live, if you’ll have me?”
Ruth hung her head, knees drawn up to her chest, dress in sodden heaps around her. When she looked up, after an age, there was new moisture on her cheeks. Isaac did not dare to move, waiting, willing her to accept him and hoping that one day he would be worthy of her.
“I need you, Ruth.”
“I need you too,” she said.
Isaac could taste the sea on her lips when he kissed her relentlessly, as desperate as she was. They were alive, more so than they’d ever been, with sand sticking to their skin and a new day dawning.
“Remind me to teach you how to swim,” he said, as the pair stayed slumped with their limbs across one another’s. “Just in case.”
“Teach me how to throw a punch first,” she responded, no more than a whisper, head on his shoulder.
Waves rose and fell upon the sand, a comforting, gentle lull that promised a safety it could not deliver. Clothes stuck to goose-pimpled skin as the warming sun found them. The little creatures that lived upon the shore scuttled and scurried nearby, undisturbed by the pair who were too spent to move.
Their peace did not last.
Captain Gibson called out to them, the words shapeless due to the distance. There were men with him and they were all armed, making their way closer. There were no escape routes and Isaac did not have the strength to run. They would surely capture him and they would take him back to whatever ‘justice’ awai
ted him.
Let them.
Bones heavy, with salt water dripping from his hair and down his face, Isaac pushed himself onto his feet with a weary sound. Every muscle ached and screamed at him to remain still. There was a pounding in his skull and he could not remember when last he’d slept.
Ruth was there at his side and she held him back, her hand in the crook of his elbow – as wrecked as he was. “What about Griswell? If he’s gotten away, they won’t believe you.”
“He didn’t get away,” Isaac assured her with a grim look. “Trust me, he didn’t get away.”
Isaac stood in silence, waiting for the armed figures to approach and showing no hostility, not wishing to push Ruth into further danger.
A light touch, a hand on his cheek, had him turn towards her. Eyes pressed tight, she held her mouth against his, but he wouldn’t close his own eyes. He didn’t want to miss a moment. Isaac tried to memorise the way she felt, her heat against him, the tangle of her hair in his fingers. Their foreheads rested together, as though they breathed one breath, were one person, and nothing else existed.
“Stop thinking,” he told her, feeling her shiver from the cold. “Whatever will come, will come.”
“There’s Griswell’s jacket. I saw it on the hillside. It’s covered in blood. That’s surely evidence enough to release you?”
“The man they’d convict is now gone.” At least until his body washed up along with the driftwood. That could take weeks and would prove nothing.
As the band grew closer, Isaac saw Lottie was with them. The woman broke into a run when she spied Ruth, arms wide and ungainly, as she pulled her friend into a hard embrace. Never had she looked so unlike herself.
“I thought you were dead. I thought you were both dead and it was all my fault,” she babbled, holding on to Ruth and bursting into a new set of tears. “I told them everything, well, almost, and they have my father’s jacket. There will be questions, I know, but it will be all right now, won’t it?”
The disbelief was thick in Ruth’s voice. “You did that?”
“Of course,” said Lottie. “You are my dearest friend, you are my true family – and oh, God, I thought you were dead.”
Isaac kept his attention on their approaching company. They still had a minute or two before the captain was on them. “There was a man with me; he was injured.”
“Yes.” Lottie nodded slowly. “I saw him. He was quite unwell, but they took him away.”
“He was alive?”
“I think so.”
When Captain Gibson found them, Isaac did not struggle when his hands were bound behind him. Lottie did her best to protest, using all her womanly wiles, but there were rules and further proof had to be sought. It was a precaution, they were told, and neither Ruth nor Isaac had the energy left to fight it.
“I will be seeing you soon,” said Isaac softly, caring little for their audience or all the eyes on them, as the rope bit into his wrists. “I love you, Ruth. You do know that?”
“I do,” she answered, managing a smile for him alone.
Isaac was led away, across the damp sand that turned to hard soil. By the time the midday sun had reached its peak, he was a free man. Lottie’s explanation, along with one from the coachman, liberated him. There was no mention of William and Isaac knew better than to ask.
In the days to come, they learnt of the man’s fate.
Chapter Four
Ruth
A trial was to be held for William Darwick when the harvest festival was through, on the last day of September. Although Isaac had not spoken of his plans, Ruth knew them. Cider and celebration, lax guards and a busy town were opportunities too good to miss. Almost everyone was in attendance, with servants given the night off and the high-born mingling with the low. Even Colin had been seen talking to Simms of all people – seeking advice on peacock rearing – for rules were forgotten tonight.
The bonds between the two branches of the Roscoe line had been all but mended. A decision had been made to hand the farmhouse over to Isaac, both by Lady Mawes and Colin. Although Isaac had not been fully reformed, for he could always find trouble if he wished, he was a good man, and all for the love of a good woman. With no heir to Trewince Manor, Isaac stood to inherit. Though it took some persuasion to get him to accept, the matter was settled.
But it was hard to be happy while Death waited on the doorstep.
The air smelt like spices as twilight fell on the Cornish scene of celebration, harkening back to an older time, with ancient beliefs and half-forgotten rituals. Autumn had claimed the landscape and Ruth felt it in the mists that rose each morning and saw it in the copper leaves that danced their way down from the trees. The garden was breathing its last, but next year there would be honeysuckle growing up one side of the house and lavender by the gate, as she had always wanted.
Ruth and her husband gave half-hearted greetings to neighbours, congratulated the organisers on such a grand event and then, when privacy could be sought in an empty doorway, Ruth tried to speak. Isaac beat her to it.
“I am honour-bound to help William, for he would do – and has done – the same for me.”
“And if you fail?”
“I would rather fail than see him hang,” said Isaac, and she knew he was right, as much as she hated it. “I have made arrangements with Lady Mawes; you will be cared for.”
After all they had done and all they had survived, to have it end this way felt like defeat. But she loved him and she trusted him and would forgive him anything.
“I will not let you go alone.”
“Ruth.”
A cheer rang out from the tavern across the road. Its door was wide open and strung with decorations, and sounds of merriment drifted from it. One familiar voice, however, was louder and more jovial than the rest.
Ruth met her husband’s incredulous gaze. The pair rapidly crossed the lane and were hit by the warmth of assembled bodies and a large fire. There, in amongst a crowd of Navy boys, was William.
The moment he saw the two Roscoes, he lifted his cup and slurred what would have been a toast, had he been able to talk with any eloquence. Watts, the man Ruth had encountered at the harbour, told them everything. About how the charge had been overthrown hours ago following a new investigation, communications from London, and testimonies from other sailors. Naturally, William had intended to tell his concerned friends, but had promised to have at least one drink with those individuals who had played a part in his newfound freedom. One drink had turned into many.
“Honestly, if he carries on like this, he’ll drink himself into the early grave he’s just escaped,” Ruth found herself saying, a large grin in place. Her knuckles brushed the back of Isaac’s hand. “Go on, keep him out of trouble.”
Isaac needed no further encouragement as he joined the sailors, who had begun to sing a lewd song that only the seafarers knew. Stood to the side, content, Captain Gibson soon approached Ruth. He seemed slightly nervous, as though something else was on his mind.
“Thank you,” she said to him, finding herself oddly placed. Gradually, she had become the one who others went to, sought out, spoke to at parties or events. The one who could be relied upon, her quiet, stoic nature no longer a disadvantage now that she had found people who appreciated it.
“Justice was served. I did nothing.”
“You acted far better than many others would in your position, without pride or malice.”
Captain Gibson nodded in thanks, before he asked, “Tell me, how is Mrs Charlotte Pembroke?”
Ruth did her best to keep her features neutral. “She is as well as can be expected.” The mourning process was rather distressing to Lottie, for she loathed black and hated to miss a party. The knowledge that everyone she knew was out and about celebrating tonight had tied her up in knots. And she had so wanted to dance with the captain again.
“Would you let her know that she is being thought of?”
“I shall.”
Ruth leant
back against the uneven cob of the tavern wall, eyes closed, listening to the merriment. If time could stand still, she would have this moment. Lock it in amber, keep it for ever, to revisit whenever she needed. Tonight was almost perfect. Almost. She felt, rather than saw, Isaac approach. A clumsy kiss, laced with cider, was planted on her lips.
“You’re drunk.”
His hands found her waist, mouth against her cheek. “And you’re not, Mrs Roscoe.” A devilish smile broke down any resistance in her. “Can I tempt you with a drink?”
“Yes, sir, I believe you can.”
He did not move away or break their contact, not yet, as he studied her.
And she loved him, as foolish as he was, as stubborn, as fearless and reckless.
Gentle words left him, a confession. “I worked so hard for so long, took so many risks, all to find a place to call my own, to have a real home.”
“I know.”
“You don’t understand,” said Isaac, leaving a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I had already found it long ago, only I was too much of a fool to realise it.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s you, Ruth,” he said. “It’s always been you.”
If you loved To Wed a Rebel, turn the page for an exclusive chapter from Sophie Dash’s debut novel
Unmasking of a Lady
Chapter One
A pistol snapped in the night, a glimmer in the darkness. A horse was covered in a sheen of sweat as it ploughed onwards, hooves hammering on the ground with such a force as could summon thunder. The cool air crept up the rider’s sleeves and under the collar of her ill-fitting jacket, nipping at any exposed skin, as Harriet Groves fled.
She had not meant tonight to go as it had. The mayor’s carriage should have been an easy target, but there had been a man waiting for her, waiting for the highwayman who haunted the Wessex roads.
It begun as it always did – protests, shock, fear and overdressed aristocracy forced to part with their jewels and finery. It was her maidservant, Mary, who sounded the alarm, before a stranger’s weapon was fired. Harriet felt the shot pass between inches of her concealed face, burying itself into a tree trunk at her side with a heavy thud. She turned to the man who had fired it, movements fast, catlike. No one had ever tracked her down before.