Her gaze rested once more upon the fire, but this time she did see something—a man and a woman, their bodies joined in love. Gwenyth watched them twist and writhe within the flames until a gust of wind down the chimney smothered the vision, and the lovers vanished back into the blaze.
A rattle of stones and the couple outside her window laughed and moved off down the road. Gwenyth was alone. She placed her cup upon the table and looked around the cottage. When had her home become so quiet? When had she felt so isolated and lonely for the warmth and company of others?
Her gaze fell upon a half-whittled piece of ash left lying at the edge of the hearth. Bending, she plucked it from the floor. The answer to her questions lay just beneath her hand. Rafe Fleming would marry another. She would find him a bride, and she would be satisfied with her decision. There was no other way.
Angry, she flung the wood into the grate. Flames licked at the carving as Gwenyth rose, returning to bed. The ache remained, but now it was an ache of regret for things impossible.
Nathan Triggs gnawed on one sausage-like finger as he explained the situation. “We’ve laid the Cormorant up for repairs. That blasted revenue cutter tore through the gunwale, and her sails are so full o’ holes she whistles when the wind blows.” He swiped his bald head with an enormous red handkerchief and gave Rafe a yellow, gap-toothed grin. “But she’s a right soldier, she is. We gave as good as we got, Captain Fleming, that we did. Took a fat chunk out of the revenuer’s foremast with our swivel-gun. That Tom Vingoe is gettin’ to be a crack shot. Why I’ll bet he…”
Rafe ran a finger around the rim of his whiskey before glancing around the taproom. Nathan was the best of his crew and knew his business inside and out. His only flaw was a loose tongue after a few too many drinks.
The Heart of Oak perched at the harbor’s edge, a meeting place for sailors, fishermen and occasionally a press-crew looking for recruits. Tonight, three men sat by a guttering fire, their laughter and raucous conversation an indication of their state. No worries there. Two others hunkered in a corner by the door, but they were engaged with three of the tavern’s finest. The girls wiggled and simpered. As Rafe watched, the men grew redder in the face and leaner in the wallet as they bought round after round for the waterfront doxies.
“…And sleek as a seal. I’d say she carried seventy-four guns, though Rory bet me she held no more than sixty—”
“I’m handing her over, Triggs.” Rafe interrupted the man in midsentence.
Triggs’s forehead wrinkled, and he squinted his red-rimmed eyes. “Her, Captain?”
“The Cormorant. I’m passing the captaining of her over to you. I’ve already made arrangements to sell off the cutter and the other two luggers. The shares in the others I’ll hold onto for now. I’ve spoken to their captains already. I saved you for last. You and I have been together a long time.”
Triggs blew his nose into his handkerchief. “Since Captain Trebell’s death, sir. Eight years.”
“And a prosperous eight years it’s been, but I’ll be leaving Polperro at the end of the week. The payments can be made to the bank like we arranged. She’ll be paid off stem to stern after a few good runs, and you’ll never have to worry about seeing me again.”
Triggs gnawed on his finger again. “Not see you again? But, Captain, you can’t just pull up your anchor like that. The boys…the customers…I—”
Rafe’s grip tightened around the glass. “This shouldn’t come as a surprise. You knew I’d be leaving by the end of the year. I’m simply hastening the timetable. I’m done with this life. Captain Fleming is dead.” When Triggs flinched at the force of his words, Rafe softened his tone. “The men trust you, Triggs. They know you and they know the ship. As for the other, you’ve been in this business longer than I have. Don’t tell me you aren’t champing at the bit to have a go at running things your way.”
“Why, I will say I’m giddy at the prospect, but truly, I never thought you’d go through with it. Didn’t think when it came right down to it, you could give up the sea life just like that.” Triggs gulped his ale to the bottom of the tankard and thumped it down on the table. Wiping his hands across his greasy vest, he laughed, his round stomach jiggling. “Well, you’re a fine man for taking me by surprise. Shocked, I am. Shocked!”
Rafe smiled. “But pleased?”
“As punch, Captain. Though I’ll be sorry to be seeing you leave us.”
Rafe put out a hand. “Then it’s settled.”
Triggs enveloped Rafe’s hand in his beefy grip. “You’re one of the finest men I’ve had the pleasure of serving with, and one of the best seamen. Watching that ship of the line heading up the Channel, I thought of you. You’d have looked mighty good in gold braid, Captain. Mighty good.”
Rafe managed a taut smile. “I threw that chance away a long time ago. I don’t think it’ll come my way again.”
Triggs cleared his throat and wiped again at his brow. “Yes, well I—”
“Buy us a drink, lads?”
Rafe glanced up into the heaving breasts of a buxom yellow-haired whore. She smiled as she settled herself into a seat beside him. Her hazel eyes skimmed over Triggs before settling on Rafe, raking him up and down with an appraising gaze.
“A gin for the lady?” She held out her empty cup.
Triggs dug into his pockets, but the woman’s eyes never wavered from Rafe.
“I’ve rooms upstairs,” she purred, motioning in the direction of a rickety stairwell. “Neevie’s my name. How’s about it, sir? I’m worth it at twice the price.” Sliding her fingers up his leg, she brushed them across the lap of his breeches, resting them at the top of his thigh. She leaned forward, allowing him a clear view of her rice-powdered breasts, the nipples peeking from her gown, rouged and puckered with excitement.
Triggs was as red as his handkerchief watching Neevie’s salesmanship, but Rafe merely smiled as he plucked her hand from his leg. “I’m an unemployed sailor with no coins left in his pocket, but Triggs here…”
Neevie harrumphed her displeasure, but she was not so easily dissuaded. She pulled her chair closer to Rafe. Placing a hand upon his arm, she whispered into his ear. “Take me to your bed. I choose you.”
Gwenyth’s words echoed in the mouth of this port whore caused Rafe’s heart to flounder in his chest. With a lurch, he tore himself from Neevie’s grasp. Behind him he heard her huff of anger and Triggs’s confused apologies, but he didn’t stop. Instead he staggered out the door into the night. Raised his face to the wind, breathing deeply, willing away the cloying scent of Neevie’s perfume.
Could he do it? Could he beget a child on Gwenyth Killigrew and turn away never to know the outcome? Never to see the babe’s face or know its name? He’d told himself over and over since agreeing to it in Goninan’s garden that it was a small price to pay for surety in a bride.
As the fresh air blew away the whiskey fumes, Rafe leaned against a piling and stared out into the inky water of the harbor. Gwenyth’s face swam before him—eyes holding a wisdom beyond her years, lips soft as silk and tasting of cider and strawberries, freckles dotting her sun-browned nose. Forget the frustrating search for a bride he could trust. He had the woman already.
He dismissed the idea almost as soon as it sprang to mind. Gwenyth Killigrew’s presence could be borne while she aided his search. But no one would be shocked when he sent her packing back to Cornwall, their supposed engagement broken. And no one would ever know that at the edge of the sea lived a child carrying his blood in its veins. He rubbed at the back of his neck and blew out a sigh of frustration.
No one but him.
Chapter 9
Rafe sat across from Gwenyth. It was hard to believe this fashionable creature was the same woman who’d welcomed him into her cottage in a threadbare shift. She stared out the inn’s window, her eyes wide as a child’s at Exeter’s busy streetscape. The gown she wore fitted her like one of her abandoned gloves resting on the seat beside her, just next to the discarded bon
net. The creamy white muslin highlighted the bronze tone to her skin, and the low neckline teased him with glimpses of silky flesh. Three other such gowns were packed within their baggage, a mixture of style, elegance and daring, compliments of Mrs. Triggs, who with ten guineas in her purse and a firm deadline, whipped together a wardrobe to see Gwenyth Killigrew at least until Bodliam.
“I’ve gone farther away from home than ever before,” she mused, turning back to face him.
“And I come ever closer,” he answered, expecting to feel some sort of excitement or anticipation, but experiencing only a thickening dread.
She cocked her head as if considering him, gray eyes swimming with unspoken questions.
“You haven’t asked me anything about my home or family,” he offered. “What you’ve gotten yourself into.”
She dropped her eyes to her untouched plate. “I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself into, Rafe Fleming.” A tremor passed through her body, but when she looked back up, it was with a bright, teasing smile.
Was she as nervous as he? The unflappable Gwenyth Killigrew? He thought nothing touched her. Nothing broke through the stony façade she’d built around herself. He corrected himself. He’d pierced her armor at least once. There was a way. But that path led to treacherous ground. This was a temporary arrangement. He didn’t want more. So, perhaps her reserve was a good thing.
He cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. “My eldest brother holds the title now. Edmund is—”
“Title,” she mouthed. Her smile faded, and Rafe suddenly realized how nervous she really was.
“You knew my family’s station. My past.” He wanted to erase the worry in her face. Do whatever it took to coax back that smile. “We don’t have to stay with them if you don’t want to. I can rent a house. We can stay there alone—”
Instead of easing her fears, horror leapt into her eyes, stopping his words. “No,” she snapped. “Not alone.” She squared her shoulders, her napkin clutched in fisted hands. “I’ll do what I’ve said I will. And part of this was to accompany you home. But, Rafe,” she shook her head, “you play with fire by bringing one such as me with you. They’ll be none too happy. And I wouldn’t say I’d blame them. They’ll be wanting you to themselves and to show you to their friends like a prize.”
“No doubt,” he answered dryly. “But if they’d have me, they must have you.”
And he began to think he meant it.
Gwenyth felt Rafe just behind her as they climbed the stairs to their chambers at the inn. Felt him in the warmth that melted through her body. In the tug of her heart that told her to simply lean back into his arms, to let him wrap himself around her as he’d done in Goninan’s gardens. His hand steadied her at the turn, and she almost jumped out of her skin at the slight contact.
Keep calm. He was just a man. He put his breeches on one leg at a time like any other. And took them off the same way. She squeezed her eyes shut to block the tantalizing image. Why did this one man punch through every wall she erected when most never even scratched the surface?
At her door, she paused hand on the knob. Did she invite him in? Every sense yearned for his touch.
He leaned against the jamb, his tall, muscled frame almost blocking her escape. His face only inches away, the invitation in his eyes almost irresistible. He leaned forward, and without her knowing how it had happened, their lips met in a kiss that vibrated through her insides and left her wanting more.
She reached a hand up to bring him closer. But instead of the short, braided queue, she brushed thick, close-cropped hair. Fashionable. Sophisticated. Everything she wasn’t. Even if fate hadn’t warned her of what it meant to give her heart to this man, their future was an impossibility. Wealth and witchcraft didn’t mix.
She backed away, drawing a breath that was almost a sob. She knew she ought to ignore her body’s reactions and bring Rafe to her bed. Get this devil’s bargain over with as fast as possible. But she needed time to prepare. He was far too close already. “I can’t do this. Not tonight. I’m…I’m over-tired, and it’s late.”
His eyes held a glazed and uncertain look. They stood heart to heart, his body thrumming with unspent energy. She felt it running hot beneath her own skin.
“Are you ill?” Rafe struggled.
That was an excuse that would do. She grasped at it. “Aye. I’m not feeling myself.” Her voice shook. He was near. So near. “A night’s rest after such a day will have me back to rights.”
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, confusion marring his features. “We’ll leave after breakfast. I’ll come for you—”
But she’d already closed the door.
“Come with me.”
Instead of turning toward the inn’s yard where the coach awaited, Rafe took Gwenyth’s hand, steering her in the opposite direction.
“And where do you think you’re taking me?” she asked, laughter in her eyes.
He threw her a rakish smile. “Honestly? No clue. But one full day wedged into that coach and I’m ready to explode.” He shuddered. “I feel closed in. I can’t breathe.”
She gave him a long, assessing look. “The scars of your imprisonment run deep.”
He pulled away, his gaze sharp as a spear point. What did she see? A time he wanted only to forget. A part of him he’d locked away. “Leave it alone,” he said.
She nodded solemnly. “’Twas a guess, nothing more.” She placed a tentative hand on his forearm, her voice low. “I’ll not steal your memories, Rafe.”
And he knew she spoke the truth. He relaxed. He was safe. Gwenyth wouldn’t pry where she wasn’t wanted. Which made her pledge to find him a wife all the more special. Her desire for this child must be extraordinary. What would it be like to have her want him with the same intensity? To know that kind of all-encompassing love?
He shook off his thoughts. Took her arm. “You say you’ve never been this far from home. Let’s explore. My family’s waited twelve years to see me. One more day can’t hurt.”
Exeter’s High Street was crowded. Shoppers and hawkers vied for space upon the narrow sidewalks, and the street itself bustled with drays and wagons, coaches and carts. After the quiet of Kerrow’s narrow lanes and wooded tracks, the city felt loud and stifling.
But Gwenyth’s enthusiasm soon infected him. Her smiles and friendly nods at passersby, her stifled giggles upon seeing the starched and ridiculous macaronis in their over-high shirt points and skin-tight pantaloons. The warmth in her gaze as she watched a mother and child seated together on a park bench.
They passed into North Street and strolled from window to window, pausing now and then to admire or inspect. “It’s curious,” he said, standing in front of a confectioners, the shop’s bowfront full of trays laden with sweets, “but when I had nothing in my pockets but holes, every window held something I wanted.”
“And now?”
“I’ve wealth enough to buy it all. And see nothing to even spark my interest.”
“Isn’t that always the way.” She laughed, dragging him on down the street. “Come. Together we’ll find you something to waste your money on.”
They rounded the corner, and Rafe stopped dead in his tracks. There it was. A gown in the sheerest of white silks, the deep revealing neckline beaded in silver. His gaze traveled from the window to Gwenyth and back. He’d gladly spend any amount to see her in that. “What do you think?”
Gwenyth looked it over with a critical eye. “Leave it to a man to fancy a frippery so delicate, you couldn’t sit without ruining it.”
“Well, it’s not exactly what one would wear herb-gathering, but in the right setting…with the right music…”
She fought a laugh. “I’ve told you before. I’m not seeking riches or the trinkets that go with them. I’m content with my life as it is.”
“Are you?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Truly?”
Her eyes went flint-hard. “Aye. And now it’s your turn to be leaving it alone.”
; He put up his hands. “We’ve both tested the boundaries. We both know the limits. Friends?”
Her lips curled in the barest of smiles. “Very well, Captain. Show me this gown of yours.”
Coming in out of the sun, Rafe squinted against the sudden gloom of the shop.
“May I be of assistance?” A girl appeared from the back through a heavy green curtain.
“The gown. The one in the window,” Rafe began.
Her eyes softened. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? Madame’s best work.”
“Is she here? I’d like to speak with her about—”
“Rafe,” Gwenyth interrupted. “Outside. It’s him.” She pointed out the front window.
“Who?” Rafe followed the track of Gwenyth’s finger, but the sidewalk outside held too many for him to pick anyone out from the rest.
“The man from the village. He watches. I can feel his questions. His haste.” She faced him. “His dislike.”
Unease slithered across his shoulders. He’d not actively made enemies, but he hadn’t sought friends, and there were many in the trade who’d resented his skills and his luck and the rewards that came with them. “I’m going to end this right now.”
He tore out of the shop, Gwenyth at his heels. “Where? Which way?”
She wheeled in a circle, eyes scanning the crowds. “I can’t see him. I’m not even sure what he’s looking like. I can only feel him. The way he stalks you. The purpose behind his watching.”
“Then we’ll lose him. Easy enough in this madness.” He grabbed her roughly, pulled her along as they crossed the street, dodging traffic. Down Fore Street, they hurried. Never looking back. Never slowing their steps.
Dangerous Magic Page 8