“Henwyn has him, the treacherous—” Morwenna’s words ended in a groan.
“Then I can’t risk leaving them here, Tristan.” David used the man’s Christian name on purpose. “If you don’t kill her and the baby, you’ll get transportation. You can build a new life in New South Wales.”
David didn’t know that, but it sounded promising, hopeful, a reason to not commit another murder.
He took a deep breath to say his next words with emotion. “There’s no proof you killed my father or tried to kill me.”
“I could have had everything here.” Pascoe’s voice broke. “Morwenna, and with her, this land. No more being the baby brother to poke and prod and dismiss as unimportant. I took a degree from Cambridge, and they treat me like I’m an idiot. But not with my own land or money from my wife’s dowry for restoring these mines myself. I could have lived like a king.”
“And now you’ll live like a rat scuttling from the light and the trap.” David moved a fraction of a step closer. “You were bound to get caught with the wrecking.”
“The wrecking?” Tristan’s tone was dismissive. “I wouldn’t risk everything for the paltry income from wrecking.”
David staggered under the impact of the buffeting wind.
Morwenna gasped loudly enough to be heard over the roar of sea and storm. “Not a wrecker? But what about David?”
“My dear.” Tristan’s tone had grown affectionate. “You were the only prize I wanted—until I saw people trying to sell emeralds in Plymouth and realized they were your parents.”
David took advantage of the moment to move another step closer. “Let her go.”
“You go or she dies. And if she dies, the boy dies.”
Mihal might already be dead. His wails had ceased.
Checkmate, unless David did something daring or foolish—or both. “All right, Tristan.” He made himself smile in the hope of disarming the other man. “I’ll let you go so we can get her help. See, I’m even throwing away my weapon.” He made a show of tossing aside the useless and heavy pistol. He took a casual stance, hands in his pockets, and curled his fingers around Morwenna’s hairpin kept out of sentimentality.
Now a weapon—maybe.
He took a step back, then dove. With one hand, he grabbed Morwenna, spinning her away from the cliff. With the other, he drove the hairpin straight for Tristan’s eye.
With a scream, Tristan flung himself away from the threat to his face. He flung himself to the side. Rain made the rocks slick. With his head thrown back, he was already off-balance. When his foot slipped, he couldn’t save himself from plunging down and down to the white-edged blackness of the incoming tide.
CHAPTER 22
FOR SOME REASON, ALL THE IMAGES OF ANGELS MORWENNA had ever seen were of gentle females or fierce males. The one gazing down at her from beside the bed was certainly male, but anything other than fierce—now.
She smiled at him. “Good morning, David.”
“Morwenna, my lady.” He emphasized the “my” as he reached for her hand atop the coverlet and laced his fingers with hers. “It’s afternoon.”
“Then I’m not in my room?” She glanced toward the window, where sun slanted through the leaded panes of glass.
“You’re in the one beside mine.”
“Scandalous.” She drew his hand to her cheek.
“You’re not alone.” Mammik’s voice came from the far side of the chamber. “I’ve been a terrible mother, but not so much of one I will let you be alone in a bedchamber with a man to whom you are not married.”
Morwenna tried to sit upright. Her head swam, and pain shot through her side from hip to shoulder. “And speaking of terrible mothers, where is Mihal?”
“In his nursery.” David rested a hand on her shoulder, holding her still. “Your father has learned a few things about sneaking up on people from his travels and surprised Henwyn before she could do any harm.”
“And I thought her loyal to me.” Morwenna flung her arm across her eyes. “I suppose he paid her.”
“To help with the wrecking, to drug me too much to keep me senseless so I wouldn’t talk, to plant evidence of you being involved in the wrecking.”
“By whose orders if not Tristan’s?” Morwenna tried to make sense of it all, but her head felt as though someone had used it for a tennis ball.
“Nicca,” David said. “Henwyn was happy to talk for a promise of transportation rather than hanging.”
“But—” Morwenna couldn’t make sense of anything through her aching head and body. “Nicca is so quiet and . . . slow.”
“And big enough to make others obey him.” David caressed her cheek. “And Pascoe was persuasive enough to convince Henwyn and Nicca and other servants to help him get you to marry him.”
“By killing you.” Mrs. Chastain spoke up for the first time.
Morwenna twisted her head around to find the lady seated in the opposite corner of the room from Mammik. Apparently forgiving the Trelawnys did not come quickly or easily. Morwenna understood. They were her parents and in a corner of her mind, she admired them for chasing after their dreams. On the other hand, they had caused terrible trouble with their selfishness.
“I don’t die easily,” David addressed his mother. “Not when I have something to live for.” He didn’t look at Morwenna, but his fingers laced through hers, and she hoped.
“What’s happened to Nicca?” Morwenna asked.
“I’m afraid he disappeared before we knew to catch him,” David said.
“With the dogs,” Mammik added. “Of all things, he used them to hold the servants in their hall for Tristan, then escaped with the disloyal beasts the minute Tristan ran off with you.”
“Dogs are loyal to those who feed them.” Morwenna grimaced. “Greed for food like man is greedy for wealth without hard work. A good thing all younger brothers don’t behave like Tristan, considering you are a younger brother.” She tried to laugh at her own lame jest, but pain shot through her and she gasped instead.
David leaned closer. “Are you in pain?”
“Only when I laugh.” Morwenna moved her hand to her side. “He shot me, didn’t he?”
“Only a graze along your ribs. It wouldn’t have been much of a wound if I hadn’t thrown you halfway back to Bastion Point.”
Mammik approached the bed. “Would you like some lavender water? I was shot in India ten years ago and found it helped with the inflammation that causes pain.”
“Thank you.” Morwenna let David ease her to an upright position and sipped at the glass Mammik put to her lips. The water was cool, aromatic, a little bitter. She drank more deeply, then looked into her mother’s face. “You were shot?”
“I was. We thought to save a widow from being burned on her husband’s funeral pyre, but the villagers didn’t like it. Or maybe it was the guards.”
“The poor woman.”
“Nothing of it. We still got her away.”
“Bravery must run in your blood, my lady.” David drew her closer to him.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “And yours. I was so afraid he had killed you, and then you would go over the cliff with him.” She shuddered.
David held her more tightly. “It was worth it, if it spared you.”
“He must have been mad,” Mrs. Chastain said.
Morwenna fixed her own mother with a piercing stare. “He was greedy.”
“I think we were the greedy ones, and in that we are to blame.” Mammik lowered her head. “Perhaps one day you and your family can forgive us, Mrs. Chastain, Mr. Chastain.”
Mrs. Chastain crossed the room to stand before Mammik. “My husband and I have brought our children up to have faith in the Lord. We would be a poor example if I did not forgive you.” She smiled. “Besides, I think our families are going to see more of each other.” With a nod to David and a curtsy to Morwenna, she swept from the chamber.
“So is she a good example, David?” Morwenna ventured to ask.
“I must forgive even without her example.” His voice was a low rumble beneath Morwenna’s ear, the purr of a large cat.
Did he want to forgive her because his mother was right and he wanted to be a part of her family, or had her insistence in turning him away worked? Surely not. Surely not after the night before and what he had done for her.
“The Bible tells us to forgive if we want to be forgiven. And more . . .” He trailed off and released Morwenna to recline on her pillows. “With God’s strength, the hurt will fade.”
“I hope so.” Mammik wiped her eyes on a lace handkerchief. “We are devastated at what we brought about. But if you’re happy . . .”
Morwenna waited for David to speak up, but he remained silent. Too much silence remained.
“I don’t know what will be my future,” Morwenna spoke aloud to push aside the oppressive cloud of quiet. “I don’t know what the trustees will do with Penmara now.”
“I think,” David said, “they should sell the land and restore the mines to bring work to the miners.”
“Sell my son’s inheritance?” Morwenna couldn’t disguise her shock.
David’s features stiffened and he rose. “Of course not. I am forgetting you want to save every precious stone.”
“If I can.” She raised herself on her elbow.
“I believe your grandfather is advising the sale of Penmara after all the grief it has caused.”
That news hurt worse than the gunshot wound. Penmara and the dogs gone. Now Mihal was her only tie to Conan.
“Is Tristan—” Morwenna couldn’t ask the question she should have posed immediately.
“They found him at the bottom of the cliff.” David’s face was bleak. “There’s an inquest tomorrow.”
Morwenna reached out to him. “No one will blame you, will they?”
“Not for a moment.” Grandfather, Grandmother, and Tasik entered the room.
“We were just with the coroner. He found this on Pascoe’s body.” Tasik drew something from his pocket and tossed it to David.
It flashed in the stream of sunlight, and David caught it, then held it up to the light. “Isn’t this yours, sir?” He held out the blue and silver medallion.
“You earned it,” Tasik said. “You saved my daughter’s life.”
“And she saved mine.” David tucked the medallion into his pocket.
Silence settled over the chamber. Then Grandfather cleared his throat. “We have not done well by our children and grandchildren. In our efforts to not have you all follow in the miscreant steps I, and, yes, even Phoebe took in our youth, we tried to manipulate you all to our will using our wealth and the power it has brought. It’s come too close to costing too many of you your lives.” He sighed and looked like a tired old man.
Tasik gripped his father’s shoulder. “But it’s made us all independent.”
“Too independent.” Morwenna dashed a hand across her eyes. “If I weren’t always so determined to succeed without anyone’s help, this could all have been avoided. Even last night. I worked out that Tristan was who we were looking for, but I ran off without telling any of you.” She avoided looking at David in the event he had not yet made up his mind about her—or had and it was the opposite of what she wanted. “I have made amok of being alone and going my own way. Perhaps if we all work together instead of trying to bend one another to our will, we can build a better future for all of us, for this county, for our children.”
Mammik began to weep with silent tears and darted across the room to embrace Morwenna. “I never knew I loved you for more than because you’re my daughter until last night.”
Tasik joined her, surrounding her with bergamot and a hint of Grandfather’s pipe tobacco scents. “We’ve been beastly parents. But you’ve grown into a wonderful young lady without us.”
“Perhaps because you were without us.” Mammik laughed through her tears.
Morwenna wrapped her arms around both of them as best she could. “I think I rather like you, though. You and your adventurous spirits. I’d like to know more of your adventures . . . But you’ll be off to your emerald mine? No doubt you can get investors.”
“We think we will let someone else find that mine,” Mammik said. “It’s brought too much sorrow and grief.”
“We’ll sell the emeralds we have and invest in the Penmara mines,” Tasik added.
Grandfather cleared his throat. “If you weren’t full of so much stiff-necked pride, Morwenna, you could simply accept my assistance.”
Morwenna extricated herself from her parents and looked to her grandparents. “I was still angry about two years ago.” She held up her hand. “I know—because I was going to suffer on my own then too. But God blessed me with this family for a reason. It’s time I forgave the past and let myself be a part of it.”
“At last.” Grandmother wiped her eyes on a lace-edged handkerchief.
Grandfather rubbed one hand across his face. “Well then, much good has come from this. At least some of my sheep are back in the fold. Perhaps we can get Drake to come home before he gets himself killed.”
“I saw how important family was to David—” Morwenna broke off and glanced around. “Where is he?”
“He left a moment ago,” Mammik said.
“Why?” Morwenna started to get out of bed, realized a lack of dress, and beat her fists on the mattress.
“He’s a polite young man,” Tasik said. “He thought to leave us all alone.”
“Not necessary.” Unless he didn’t want to be a part of the family. “Do I have anything decent to wear here?”
Grandmother and Mammik shooed the men from the room and bundled Morwenna into a simple round gown over her shift without stays. Her hair was such a tangle, Mammik took a silver ribbon from her own hair and tied back Morwenna’s curls.
“You are so pretty, child, he won’t care if your gown is a bit rumpled and your hair is unkempt.” Mammik kissed Morwenna’s cheek. “I am blessed.”
Grandmother nodded. “I admit we weren’t always certain of that, but Morwenna has become a fine lady.” She opened the door to find Tasik and Grandfather waiting right outside.
“You may go in to see him,” Tasik said, “but we expect you to behave yourself.”
Morwenna hesitated on the threshold. “If-if this works out . . .” She fiddled with the bow beneath her bust. “He’s not of our society. I think he’s probably of a lower order even than Elizabeth wed.”
“Considering we thought Tristan good enough for you,” Grandfather said, “we have nothing to say about whom your heart chooses.”
“None of us does,” Mammik said, giving Tasik such a loving glance Morwenna’s heart melted toward them.
They might not stay in England as they claimed they would now. Tasik might wish to discover some other part of the world, and Mammik would go with him. But Morwenna took comfort in knowing how much they adored one another. If they didn’t have quite as much room in their lives for her as she might like, they still possessed the sort of love for one another she could use as an example. That was enough for her to feel they had given her a great gift as her parents.
If she hadn’t sent David away once too often with her planned or careless words, she, too, would have the sort of love her parents shared.
“And there is your dowry,” Grandfather pointed out. “Perhaps David will use it to build that merchantman for his brother to captain. I am more than happy to invest in such a venture.”
“Perhaps.” Shaking, heart racing, she turned toward his door, raised her hand to knock, then lifted the latch and simply walked in so he couldn’t refuse her entrance.
He was seated at the desk, pencil in hand, with the design spread out before him. At the click of the latch, he dropped the pencil and shoved to his feet. “Morwenna—um—Lady Pen—”
“Morwenna will do.” She closed the door and glided toward him, her hands outstretched. “David, I needed to come see you . . . I want to tell you . . .” She swallowed. She licked
her dry lips. She raised her eyes to meet his gaze and knew exactly what she needed to tell him. “I am not returning to Penmara. If the lands are sold, the mines can be reopened, but that is Mihal’s future, not mine. I’ll leave Penmara behind for the plovers and gorse and follow you to Cape Town or around the Horn of Good Hope or the Sandwich Islands to be with you.”
His eyebrows arched and a smile tugged at his lips. “Are you proposing to me?”
“Yes, I do believe I am.” She dropped her gaze and her hands. “I’m still a brazen wanton. Probably not good enough for you and your family.”
“You not good enough, my dear?” He stepped closer and nudged her chin up with his thumbs. “I am a poor boatbuilder with a Somerset accent. I wanted to offer to live with you at Penmara and help rebuild it—”
“But you build boats, not houses.”
“I’ll give up the boats for you. Perhaps, in time, I can learn to be the squire of an estate with a lord for a stepson.”
“You would do that for me?” She gazed at him in awe, her heart no harder than melted wax.
He caressed her cheeks with his fingertips, callused and scarred from his labor. “I’d do that for you.”
“You’d be bored.”
“Not with you for a bride.”
“You’d miss your family.”
“We’ll make one of our own.”
Her knees went limp and she grasped his lapels for support. “Penmara will be sold so you need not be a squire. You are a boatbuilder. And Mihal will do well having cousins—if your mother can bear to see a Trelawny around.”
“Mama told me we’re not leaving here without you.” He grinned. “And several cuttings from your grandmother’s garden. Of course, if she wants to expand the garden, we can’t expand the house.”
“Grandfather wants to invest in a brig for you to build and your brother to sail. With that and my dowry, we can build our own house.” Sobering, she lowered her lashes. “I want to start afresh without my past around to plague us. I want a future with—”
He drew her against him and kissed her before she got out the “you.” She gasped, then laughed, then opened her mouth under his, nestling against him as though she would never be parted from him starting that moment.
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