Smuggler's Moon

by Cynthia Wright

  Julia hugged her basket closer and continued up the narrow lane. She was about to turn west at the top of the hill when Tristan rode up behind her on his spirited roan.

  “My lady!” he called. “I think that it is going to rain and you have a long journey back to Trevarre Hall. Since you came by the Polruan ferry—”

  “How do you know that?”

  Spots of color touched his handsome cheekbones. “I encountered Mixstowe and he mentioned it to me. However, that is not the issue. You may be caught in the rain, so I implore you to return to the Quay and request that Mixstowe take you across to Bodinnick, nearer Trevarre Hall. He will do it if you ask him.”

  “Whyever should he do such a thing? What would his other passengers think?”

  “He would do it because all of us are watching out for you in the absence of your husband.”

  It came to her that he would not stop arguing unless she pretended to agree with him. “Although I sincerely doubt that everyone is as concerned for my welfare as you imagine, I shall do as you suggest, my lord. I thank you for your concern.”

  He looked slightly suspicious. “I would take you myself but I must ride in the other direction.”

  Turning a charming smile up at him, she replied, “I am quite capable of seeing myself home, but I do appreciate your concern, and of course I understand that you are on duty. Goodbye, Lord Senwyck.”

  Julia waved and began to descend Lostwithiel Street, heading obediently in the direction of the Town Quay. When she stopped at the flower vendor to buy a bunch of blue and yellow irises, Mrs. Powell, the baker’s wife, came out of her shop with a half-dozen warm scones studded with currants.

  “Take these home for tea, my lady!”

  Looking back up the hill, Julia was pleased to see that Tristan and his horse were gone. While Mrs. Powell was occupied chatting about her daughter with Garth, the unmarried flower vendor, Julia slipped away down a narrow alley between two half-timbered houses. Soon she was hurrying along a path that threaded the green hills, headed in a southwesterly direction toward the cliffs above the English Channel.

  The wind was increasing. What had earlier been a sunny June day was turning gray and blustery, but wasn’t that part and parcel of living in Cornwall? Afternoon showers were the reason for the lush green meadows, woods, and gardens, and Julia secretly enjoyed being caught in them. The sensation of soft raindrops on her face felt almost decadent.

  Coming across the fields above Covington Woods, she saw that the English Channel was ruffled with whitecaps while the clouds overhead had gone lead-gray. A gust of wind nearly plucked away her flat-crowned straw bonnet, and she stopped for a moment to tie the ribbons tighter. Raindrops began to spit from the dark sky, but there was nothing soft and pleasurable about these; they stung when they struck her.

  It came to Julia that perhaps Tristan had been right. It was later than she had realized; dusk was gathering. She should have returned to Trevarre Hall, where a fire had doubtless been lit in the parlor and Mrs. Snuggs would have a pot of good strong tea brewing.

  How foolish she had been to strike out alone, imagining that the wicked smuggler’s ship would be dancing about on the channel for her entertainment!

  Rain had begun to fall in earnest by the time she came over the brow of the hill on the path that would lead her down to the beach at Coombe Hawne. Her thin summer frock clung to her body and she found her footing threatened on the increasingly muddy path. As darkness gathered amidst the storm, it became harder to see. Lifting her skirts to climb over a stile, Julia paused to look out over clusters of gorse and hawthorn shrubs, searching for a glimpse of the tiny stone cottage set back from the beach.

  The wind was blowing wildly as she clambered down the steep footpath. Waves were crashing against the rocks that jutted out from the sheltered cove. Then, in the midst of the gale, Coombe Cottage appeared like a beacon. When Julia reached it and opened the low door to its blessedly dry interior, Sebastian’s warning flashed in her memory.

  For God’s sake, promise me that you will stay away from Coombe Hawne!

  “But, what choice do I have?” she murmured aloud, pulling the door closed. “Isn’t this storm more threatening to me than a supposed ghost?”

  Julia stood in the tiny room and listened to the rattling of the raindrops against the loose windowpanes. As her breathing slowed, she became aware of the same pungent scent of tobacco she had noticed during her first visit to the cottage. Then she saw a corked bottle on the table where the books had been stacked before. They were gone now.

  Setting down the basket of flowers, scones, and the volume of poetry, Julia peered through the tiny window, glimpsing what seemed to be the flash of white sails just off shore. And what was that dark shape pushed up on the stony beach? Could it be a longboat?

  A cold chill skittered down her spine and her nipples stood out against the sodden fabric of her gown. She hurried to the door and laid the thick wooden bolt in place.

  It was growing very dark in the little cottage and it suddenly came to her that she had no source of light. At least she had food, though, thanks to Mistress Powell. And, in the bedchamber there were blankets. The thought of wrapping herself in one was comforting.

  Julia tried to calm herself as she turned the corner next to the bed. When had she ever let herself be frightened, especially by her own imagination?

  However, in the next instant, something dark, thick, and voluminous covered first her face and head, then all her body, and it seemed that her heart might explode with terror. She screamed and screamed, but the sound was muffled even to her own ears. Powerful arms lifted her into the air as if she were a feather, tossed her over what felt like a broad shoulder, and pinned her easily in place in spite of her violent struggles to free herself.

  Dear God, Julia thought wildly as raw fear coursed through her veins, am I going to die?

  In the next moment, everything went black.

  Chapter 25

  Warm, soothing sunlight poured across Julia’s face. It felt as if she were being rocked in a cradle and she let herself enjoy the gently rhythmic sensation, even though it made no sense. It was hard to remember the last time she had felt so blissfully relaxed.

  Slowly, she let herself become aware that she lay snuggled into a feather mattress, covered by soft, fresh sheets. But, it wasn’t her own bed at Trevarre Hall. Where could she be?

  With an effort, she opened her eyes a fraction. Just a few feet above her head were low beams, and next to her was a paneled wall. The plush, comfortable bed was narrow and completely unfamiliar, and it was swaying as if rocked by the currents of the ocean…

  Her heart leaped with fresh terror as she realized that she was on a ship!

  How had she gotten here? Whose ship was it? Fully awake now, Julia started to sit up, but halted as the covers slipped away and she saw that she was naked except for the eye ring which dangled from a thin gold chain around her neck. Looking around nervously, Julia clutched the sheet over her breasts in case someone was hiding in the cabin.

  Dear God, what had happened to her clothing? Perhaps she been taken by pirates—no, not pirates, smugglers! Of course! She had been kidnapped by the fiendish Captain Rogue and he was probably sailing off to sell her to a sultan’s harem!

  She wanted to yell, to demand her clothing and to be returned to Trevarre Hall, but quickly realized that such a course of action would be not only unwise, but probably ridiculous.

  As Julia threw herself back on the pillows, a new array of panicky thoughts chased through her mind. Who had undressed her? Perhaps she been drugged—and then raped in her unconscious state. She lifted the covers with a trembling hand and surveyed her own body. There were no bruises or scratches, and she had to admit that she felt fine.

  Her anxious self-examination was interrupted by a knock on the cabin door. “My lady?” called a hesitant male voice.

  Julia’s urge to find a hiding place was quickly overcome by the realization that she couldn’t go
very far without clothing. Instead, striving for a calm tone, she called, “Y-yes? Who is it?”

  The door opened and a slight, brown-haired young man peeked inside. His booted feet were spread wide to allow him to adjust to the motion of the ship without spilling the contents of the tray he held.

  “Good morning, my lady! Colvithick be my name. I do have yer breakfast here.”

  “You’ll pardon me if I don’t curtsy,” she said sharply.

  Colvithick advanced toward her with the tray and set it on a low, braced table built in next to the bunk where she lay. Julia felt her stomach rumble as she stared at the poached egg, ham, two scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam that filled a large plate.

  “Are you trying to fatten me up for the sultan?” she demanded.

  “The who?” Colvithick stepped backward, looking confused. “Do you be afraid, my lady? No need for fear. None of us do mean you any harm.”

  “Of course not. You just removed all my clothing.”

  A bright flush spread up the young man’s face as he blinked nervously. “That be the captain’s doing.” Then he bowed and hurried out of the cabin.

  As soon as he had closed the door, Julia wrapped the sheet around her torso, tucked the end between her breasts, and climbed out of the bunk. She wouldn’t let herself think about the fact that the horrible, leering smuggling captain had stripped her naked. Instead, she turned her attention to a solution. There had to be some clothing or weapons stored somewhere in this cabin! Looking around, she saw a chest, but upon further investigation, found it securely locked. There were some cabinets built into the bulkhead, but those were also locked. Then her gaze fell on a wooden box that looked promising, but inside there was only a lot of navigational equipment. In the midst of tools like fancy sextants and an elaborate compass, the only thing that might have been useful to her was a brass instrument with two long, sharply pointed arms. Could she possibly frighten an attacker with this object?

  “Blast,” she muttered. The sight of the breakfast tray just increased her frustration. How dare these villains leave her in such a vulnerable position and then try to break down her defenses with delicious food?

  Still, Julia reasoned, it would be wise to keep up her strength since terrible challenges must lie ahead. Climbing back onto the bunk, she hid the instrument with the two long points under her pillow. And then, feeling ravenous, she settled the tray onto her lap and poured milk and strong tea into a cup. She drank it down and filled it again. She spread buttery clotted cream onto a warm, currant-studded scone, added a dollop of jam, and bit into it with a sigh. Ambrosia! No doubt the smugglers had stolen this delectable food from an unsuspecting estate along the Cornish coast.

  When she had finished the breakfast and returned the tray to the low table, Julia found a chair containing a chamber pot hidden discreetly around a corner. Thank God this crew wasn’t completely barbaric! After using it, she crawled back into bed and was swept by another wave of fatigue. Vowing that she would only close her eyes for a moment, she curled up and immediately fell fast asleep, one hand under her pillow.

  * * *

  “A-hem!”

  Julia felt as if she were rising through deep water. When she opened her eyes, everything was a blur. Dimly, she made out the form of a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man, apparently the same one whose throat-clearing had awakened her. She blinked as he strode toward her, holding out a bundle of fabric tied with a ribbon.

  “I understand you are looking for these?”

  Julia rubbed her eyes in disbelief. “Sebastian? Is it really you?” He had changed. He wore a close-trimmed rakish beard and his black hair was caught back in a short queue, but there was no mistaking the familiar brow arched above compelling sage-gray eyes, the lines of his wide shoulders, and the faintly mocking tone of his voice. “Oh, thank God! You’ve come to rescue me!”

  “Have I? From whom, may I ask?”

  “From the smugglers, of course! Didn’t you see them when you came on board? How did you find me?” She scrambled to a sitting position.

  Sebastian sat down on the edge of the bunk. Never had he seemed more alive to her. When he reached for her and she went into his arms, the warmth of his skin through his linen shirt and the faint masculine scent of him made her giddy with longing.

  “Devil take it, Julia, you are the most aggravating woman—yet I have never wanted to kiss you more.” And he did just that, drawing her onto his hard lap as his mouth slanted over hers.

  Julia heard herself moaning shamelessly. She kissed him back, opening her mouth to him, and twined her arms around his strong neck. At length, she was able to murmur, “Oh, how I have missed you! It’s like a dream that you are here.”

  “Yes? And how are you feeling? I must say, you are looking better by the moment.” His eyes were dancing as they wandered over her sheet-draped form. “Quite lovely, in fact.”

  Her relief and joy culminated in tears. “Oh, Sebastian, I think they were taking me to a h-harem!”

  He laughed. “You’ve spent too much time in the minaret with Freddy, my darling.”

  “How can you jest at such a time? We must make haste and escape, before the smugglers return!” She tried to get out of bed to urge him along, but he easily pinned her down.

  “Not so fast. How did this happen? Were you at Coombe Hawne—even though I warned you to stay away?”

  “Oh, Sebastian, I am so, so sorry that I ignored your warnings—”

  “You mean, you broke your promise to me,” he said grimly.

  “Well, yes, and I am contrite, truly, but it was raining—storming, in fact, and growing dark, and I had to find shelter!”

  “And why were you near there in the first place? No, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  “Can we not talk of these matters later, after we are safely home at Trevarre Hall? We must not spend another moment chatting, or even kissing! I don’t know how you found me, but now that you have we must hurry. There isn’t a moment to lose. Those dastardly smugglers may burst in at any moment, particularly their leader, the one they call Captain Rogue.”

  His eyebrow had flown up again. “Is there really such a person?”

  “It’s what the fearful women of Cornwall call him. Now, please! Not only has he torn my clothes away after knocking me senseless, but I fear he would have no qualms about killing you outright.” Julia couldn’t understand how he could look so calm. She tried again to get off the bed, to no avail, and struggled in his arms.

  “Gad, my lady, you make this captain out to be the blackest of villains.”

  “How can you laugh? Don’t you understand what I said? There is an entire crew of despicable smugglers who would show us no mercy! We must steal their longboat. Why do you tarry?”

  Sebastian caught her wrists and held her still. “Because, my darling, we are the smugglers.”

  Her struggles ceased; she could only stare in shock. “I—I don’t believe you. You are in jest, again, at the worst possible moment!”

  “Not a bit.” Mischief glinted in his eyes as he leaned forward to kiss the soft curve of her shoulder, her neck, and the tender spot just below her ear. “It’s true. Not only are we the smugglers, but you are in the arms of the dastardly captain.”

  “You mean—” She broke off as his warm lips teased her ear and she felt the sheet come loose from her breasts. It was exceedingly difficult to think when so much sensation was stirring mutinously between her naked thighs. “Are you saying that you are the notorious Captain Rogue, who slips into the bedchambers of fine Cornish women?”

  “The only bed I have longed to slip into is yours, my love.” Sebastian kissed her, lingeringly, before rising on his elbows to regard her with a sigh. He brought the sharp brass instrument out into the sunlight. “But first I must remove this lethal chart divider from under your pillow. Were you planning to use it on me?”

  “Yes. I feared for my virtue! But that’s before I knew the true identity of the dashing Captain Rogue.
”

  He tossed the chart divider aside, shaking his head. “You do know that I have not been stealing into any houses along the coastline, don’t you? I am your husband and those rumors are nonsense. Of course, the Cornish women doubtless wish that Captain—what do they call me?”

  The corners of her lips twitched. “Captain Rogue. I assume it’s because smugglers are also called ‘roguers.’”

  “Of course, and with a name like that, they naturally dream that he would steal into their beds.” Then, in a more serious tone he continued, “But, more to the point, my crew and I are free-traders. I am making vast amounts of money by bringing in cargo from France, money that we desperately need. I’ve been able to provide the local fishermen with desperately-needed salt. The Pryces at Coombe Farm have a special underground room where we’ve stored most of our booty, and the beach cottage that you are so drawn to has more hiding places. It’s been my safe haven, as well.”

  “This is absolutely outrageous!”

  “Perhaps.” He smiled into her shocked eyes. “There must be something powerful between us, darling Julia, because you returned to that cottage as if it were a magnet, despite my warnings.”

  Torn between horror and heightened, thrilling arousal, she had a sudden thought. “Was that your cheroot that I smelled in the cottage?”

  “It was.”

  Dear God, how could it be? And yet, now everything made perfect sense and Julia wondered how she could have missed the signs. “But—what happened there last night? Was it you who took me?”

  “Yes. We had just hidden the last bit of a new cargo and were getting ready to leave when you came in. When I realized that the intruder was you, I couldn’t resist the temptation to have you with me. I have missed you.”