Smuggler's Lair

by Virginia Henley

  “It is indeed a coincidence.”

  “I do not believe in coincidence. Rather I believe that you once owned the ring I am wearing and something compelled you to recreate it. Our past shapes our present.”

  “Since I am passionate about history, I believe it to be true that our past can shape our present.”

  “Except there is no past, present, or future; they are all one.”

  “That is an interesting concept that most would find difficult to imagine.”

  “But not difficult for you, Sir Peregrine.”

  He smiled and changed the subject. “Are you hungry, Victoria?”

  “Yes. Lunch is a most welcome suggestion.”

  He took her down to the dining room and seated her across from him. He poured her wine, then carved some slices from a cold leg of lamb and allowed her to choose her own vegetables.

  “Do you remember the raw oysters, followed by winkles when we dined at . . . I’m so sorry, that was Falcon. I can’t separate you.”

  “Did he look so much like me?” Peregrine asked, bemused.

  “You are physically identical, but he was often lewd and occasionally rather coarse, and reckless beyond measure.”

  “You don’t think me capable of lewdness or recklessness?”

  “Perhaps all men are capable of such things, but I would hope not every day and night of your life,” she teased.

  “You will have to get to know me better to learn the answer.”

  “Tell me, do you own a matched pair of officer’s belt pistols?”

  His eyebrows arched in surprise. “How did you know?”

  Tory shrugged. “I thought you might. When we’ve finished lunch, I’d like to show you something in the courtyard.”

  “You know more of Bodiam Castle’s secrets than I know.”

  “I warrant I do and perhaps I know your secrets, too.”

  Amusement danced in his eyes; Tory knew he enjoyed her company.

  After lunch, the pair strolled out to the grassy quadrangle that was the castle courtyard. “One day I asked Falcon if he would teach me how to shoot. He brought me out here for target practice. He was a marvelous shot and put out the flames of two candles at twenty paces. He gave me his right-handed pistol and warned me of the dangers of going off half-cocked. I was hopeless, though I tried many times. I gave up when my lead ball hit the castle wall and chipped one of the stones. Let me show you the spot . . . it’s right over here.”

  Sir Peregrine ran his fingers across the rough stone. “I never noticed it before, but it looks like it was done with a ball.”

  “Yes. When it happened, I knew it would be there for all time.”

  He grinned at her. “Did you leave anything else behind, Tory?”

  Apart from my virginity? “The day before I left, we dropped some wooden cases wrapped in oilskins into the moat. They contained cacao beans that were grown in Portuguese Guinea. That was a hundred years ago. They’ve likely disintegrated by now.”

  “Most probably,” he agreed. “You shivered. Let’s go inside, you need a warm cloak today.”

  “Edmund didn’t bring me a cloak, which is just as well. The garments he did bring are all hideous.”

  “I think the dress you are wearing is most fetching.”

  “Falcon would have found it retching! Female fashions in 1737 were absolutely exquisite. I’m certainly going to miss the clothes. The chamber below yours in the round tower was furnished for a woman and its wardrobe was crammed with gowns and female frippery. He told me they belonged to his sister, but of course I knew they had belonged to a mistress who had slung her hook.”

  “The things you say fascinate me, Victoria. Let’s go up and you can show me the chamber.”

  They went inside and climbed the spiral staircase of the round tower. The chamber she had thought of as hers was empty now, save for dust and cobwebs.

  “The walls were covered with medieval tapestries that depicted mythical beasts. I had a huge curtained bed, a mirrored wardrobe and even a slipper bath that was hand-painted with roses.”

  Sir Peregrine took two steps that brought him close to her. “We could re-create the chamber, if it would give you pleasure.”

  His closeness made her feel breathless. “That is certainly within the realm of possibility.”

  “What are these secrets you hinted that you know about me?”

  She put her head on one side and glanced up. “Though I have never seen you without your shirt, I warrant you have tattoos.”

  His dark eyes widened. “Would you like to see me without my shirt, Tory?”

  She caught her breath. “That’s not necessary. You have peregrine falcons tattooed on your forearms.”

  “Damn, everything you say lends credence to your story of going back in time. Yet how can such a thing be possible?”

  She looked up at him and raised her fingers to stroke the birthmark on his cheek. “When I first met Falcon, his cheek was unmarred. Later, he received a sword slash that opened his cheek from ear to chin. I was the one who stitched it. I knew it would leave a livid scar, but it did not detract from his looks.”

  He captured her hand, holding her fingers against his cheek and looked into her eyes. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you, Victoria?”

  “Falcon was a pirate and a smuggler. . . . How could I not fall in love?” she whispered.

  Peregrine bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. Then his mouth took complete possession and he kissed her passionately, unleashing the desire that had been riding him since the day weeks ago when he had first glimpsed the water nymph.

  CHAPTER 11

  Tory closed her eyes and felt the kiss all the way to her toes. She was in Falcon’s arms, pressed close against Falcon’s heart, her mouth fused to his so perfectly, she wanted it to last forever. When she could think as well as feel, she was reluctant to open her eyes for fear the spell would be broken. She summoned the courage and lifted her lashes.

  He is still Falcon! Her heart swelled at the realization that physically Falcon and Peregrine were the same man. Their touch, taste, and scent were thrillingly identical. His dark eyes looked deeply into hers and it seemed as if their souls touched. We’ve known each other forever.

  “We haven’t just met recently, Tory. I feel as if we have known each other intimately for years.”

  She smiled happily. “I feel that way, too.”

  “Good. Come upstairs, we have much to discuss and many decisions to make.”

  When they arrived in his chamber, Peregrine sat her down before the fire and took the other chair.

  “Tell me honestly, do you believe the things I’ve been telling you? Do you think it possible you are Falcon, Lord Hawkhurst?”

  “The honest answer is: I don’t know. Tell me about him.”

  “He told me that one day he was unpacking a shipment of tea he’d taken from an East Indiaman. He lifted the lid of one of the boxes and there to his amazement was a leopard kit. He decided to call her—”

  Peregrine held up his hand to stay her words as a long forgotten memory stirred his imagination. “Pandora. . . he called her Pandora, I think.”

  “You do remember! Oh, this is wonderful!”

  Peregrine shook his head. “It could have been a lucky guess. Everyone knows the mythological story of Pandora’s box.”

  “Think hard. . . . do you remember having a leopard for a pet?”

  “From the dim recesses of the past, I can vaguely picture her.”

  “In what setting do you see her?” she asked quickly.

  “Swimming in the moat.”

  “Exactly! She did it every night at sunset.”

  “This Falcon was rather a flamboyant character. You said he was a pirate and a smuggler. Did such things not trouble you?”

  “Not the smuggling. He didn’t do it for his own benefit. He did it for the villagers of Hawkhurst, who were poor fishermen. They lived a hand-to-mouth existence and the money they made from their midnight
treks with contraband made their lives easier.”

  “So, he had a compassionate heart for those less fortunate than himself. But what about his pirating?”

  “It troubled me constantly. I begged him not to go and tried my damnedest to keep him at Bodiam on moonless nights. But it was in his blood. He craved the marauding and couldn’t help himself.”

  “Yet in the history books no such lawless deeds were attributed to Lord Hawkhurst of Bodiam.”

  “Isn’t that amazing? Captain Drudge, head of the militia, suspected him, but when he came to arrest him, Falcon was already dead from a bullet that had torn into his lung the day before. When Drudge ordered his man to arrest me, Pandora lunged at the captain and I warrant she tore out his throat.

  “Lord Hawkhurst had a loyal manservant called Mr. Burke. I know he would do his utmost to see that no scandal was attached to Falcon. Burke was most efficient and completely trustworthy.”

  Peregrine scrutinized her face. “So Falcon died?”

  Victoria spoke softly. “He died slowly, losing more and more of his essence. Death was a thief that moved into our chamber and there was nothing we could do about it. It ate away at my heart. At first I prayed that he would not die, but he suffered so much that before the night was over, I began to pray that he would.”

  “So your only escape was to jump from the tower?”

  Tory nodded. “It was either death or travel back to my own time. I don’t remember choosing. In fact, it didn’t much matter to me. I didn’t want to live without Falcon.”

  “So Fate chose for you and I am very glad that you came back.”

  “You believe my story?”

  “A part of me believes you. That isn’t of paramount importance, though. You are here and what happens next is what is vital.”

  Tory leaned forward to emphasize her words. “Just before he died, Falcon said: Love is more powerful than death. I’ll find you no matter where you are.”

  “If he had not died, you would not have come back, would you?”

  “No. I would have stayed with him forever.”

  “So, Victoria, you need me to be Falcon?”

  “I know you are Falcon!”

  “If I were not,” he held up his hand and added, “just for argument’s sake, would you consider marrying me?”

  “I would consider marrying you, Peregrine, because in my heart I am sure you are Falcon.”

  His smile held a trace of regret. “That isn’t the answer I hoped for, but I will accept it, Tory.” His eyes again searched her face. “You are not agreeing to my proposal because your mother said that you must, are you?”

  “There are no scandalous accusations Mother could throw at me that would induce me to wed a man I did not wish to marry. I am also accepting because I believe with all my heart that you have a tendre for me. Whether you come to believe you are Falcon or not, I am sure we are well suited to each other, Sir Peregrine.”

  “Falcon is a far more masculine name than Peregrine.”

  “But he, too, was christened Peregrine.”

  “Yes, but he had the courage to change it.”

  “Would you like me to call you Falcon?” she asked eagerly. “It would please me above all things.”

  “Then by all means address me as Falcon. I’m sure I could easily become accustomed to such a romantic name.”

  “You truly are open minded.” We are halfway home, Falcon, my love!

  “I have much to take care of... a ring, for one thing. I want you to be wearing my betrothal ring before you return home.”

  Tory sighed. “Must I return home, Falcon?”

  “I’d much prefer to keep you with me, if you are willing.”

  Tory threw him a saucy look. “I’m willing and eager. We need to become intimately acquainted.”

  Falcon swept her into his arms and brushed his burning lips against her temple. “Lord God, how you make me quiver.”

  “Let’s be married soon. I’d like my brother Edmund to perform the ceremony.”

  “That would be perfect. You had a marvelous adventure, Tory, but the last hours were heartrending for you. We’ll marry whenever you feel up to it. I’ll be back soon—rest while I’m gone.”

  * * *

  Sir Peregrine went downstairs and asked Mr. de Burgh to help him find a rope and a grappling iron. They found them in the stables, and then Peregrine led the way to the moat. “Let’s drag along here. I’m searching for some oilskin-covered crates.”

  He and de Burgh took turns dragging the grappling iron, but their search seemed in vain. Then suddenly the iron hook caught on something that lay deep on the bottom and it took both of them to haul it up. Fuller knelt down to examine their find. The oilskin was intact, but when he cut it open with his knife, the wooden crate had fallen in upon itself and rotted along with its contents. It was impossible to identify what the oilskin had held by looking at the crumbled mass, but the aroma that rose up was unmistakable. The smell was indisputably chocolate.

  “Thank you, de Burgh. I’m going into town for a while.” Peregrine needed to be alone. He wasn’t often given to introspection, but he had a lot to think about and much self-searching to do. Victoria was convinced that he had lived before at Bodiam Castle, a hundred years ago. I am starting to believe such a thing is possible. Am I losing my grip on reality?

  He saddled Bess, rode beneath the portcullis, and headed toward Ashdown Forest. The trees had turned color but had not yet shed their leaves and the golden canopy above him captured and held a mystic sense of timelessness because it had looked the same for centuries. He knew the secret paths through the forest so well that he often imagined he’d ridden them on moonless nights to smuggle contraband tobacco and brandy.

  He could imitate the hoot of the owls perfectly and whenever he did it, long-forgotten memories stirred in the deep recesses of what? His imagination? His heart? His soul?

  The impressions that came to him most vividly were those of Victoria. Deep in his bones he was sure he had known her before, in another time, yet in this same place. They had laughed together, ridden together, sailed together, and they shared a passion for Bodiam.

  When she had gone missing, Peregrine had assumed she had run off to London. Life with her mother was extremely restricting and he thought she had taken the risk for a chance at freedom. It had saddened him that she had felt she needed to escape from him also. His heart overflowed with joy now that she had returned and he knew he must not risk losing her again.

  I truly feel as if I loved her before. Nay, I never stopped loving her. . . . I love her still. She thinks of me as Falcon.... Am I ready to admit that I think of myself as Falcon?

  A hare crossed his path and for a brief instant he wondered if it were a magical shape shifter sent by the Celtic goddess Brigantia. He smiled, knowing he’d read about it in a book of myths. Tory would enjoy that book; I must find it for her.

  His mind moved on to another book he’d read and words that the wise Solomon had said formed clearly in his mind: The thing that has been is the thing that shall be; and the thing that is done is that which shall be done: There is nothing new under the sun.

  He thought about how Falcon had died. Apparently, a lead ball had torn into his lung and he had suffered a painful death. A few times in his life, during particularly cold winters, Peregrine had come down with pleurisy. Liquid gathering in the lung made it difficult to breathe and brought on coughing. The pain was often excruciating. We have too much in common not to be the same man.

  He threw back his head and laughed. I entered the forest as Peregrine and I shall leave it as Falcon. He turned Bess around and rode toward the Port of Hastings, where he knew there was a fine goldsmith’s shop.

  Falcon knew which ring he would chose for his bride the moment he saw it. The emerald surrounded by diamonds stood out from the other rings as if they were set with glass. It was expensive and he bargained hard with the goldsmith for a price he deemed fair. Then he headed home to Bodiam Castle and the
woman he loved.

  * * *

  Tory was watching for him from the tower windows. The moment she saw him she ran down the spiral staircase to greet him. “I’m so glad you are back; I missed you.”

  “What a lovely homecoming. Will you always welcome me home so eagerly?” He placed his fingers under her chin and raised her face so he could look into her eyes. “Will you call me Falcon?”

  Her smile was radiant. “Oh, I will, I will!”

  “I smell food. Are you hungry?”

  “Ravenous,” she declared happily.

  “Then let’s go and eat. I warrant that appetites should be satisfied whenever possible.”

  “There are many different kinds of appetites. It would be rather decadent to satisfy them all.”

  He cocked a dark eyebrow. “I can only try, sweetheart.”

  Tory blushed. Anticipation for the night that was yet to come filled her with excitement.

  Hands clasped, they made their way to the dining room, where a fire had been laid. Brilliant autumn leaves stood in a large pewter jug on one side of the hearth, and a cast-iron holder stacked with logs sat on the other.

  Falcon poured them port wine. “Perhaps you prefer French brandy?” he teased.

  “Since it’s no longer illegal, I don’t. Contraband always tastes sweeter.”

  “Taking risks makes life sweeter.”

  “Damnation, we are birds of a feather!”

  “A falcon and a dove?”

  “That would make you a predator and me your prey. I would prefer to be something small and beautiful like a merlin.”

  “Merlin is most apt. You have cast a magic spell on me.”

  “I believe we each have a spiritual core.”

  “More and more you make me aware that we share a psychic resonance.”

  Falcon carved a wood duck with chestnut dressing and let Tory serve herself with roast potatoes, leeks, and braised carrots.

  “This wine gravy is divine. Is Mr. de Burgh a French chef?”

  “Bodiam’s majordomo is a man of all trades. He has made life considerably more comfortable for a bachelor like myself.”