‘Biddy was grieving too,’ she said. ‘Rhys was her favourite. I know she has a soft spot for my father but my mother was always kindness itself to Biddy. She treated her as a younger sister rather than a maid.’
Rebecca spoke of Catrin’s companionship and how the spectre of Geraint and the pressure upon both girls of their forthcoming marriages had stolen some of the fun from their lives. Catrin, she said, seemed anxious for Rebecca to accept her father’s decision.
‘She seems to think I’m the luckiest girl on the peninsula,’ she said. ‘Why would anyone think fine clothes and jewels compensate for having to wed a man who makes my skin crawl?’
The weather was changing. There was a distant growl of thunder. Jac gestured to some nearby rocks forming a natural sitting place and Rebecca noticed something that had slipped her attention before. The tip of Jac’s forefinger was missing. Instead of sitting down, she reached for his left hand and took it in hers.
She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and recognised his vulnerability. She felt a torrent of tenderness. He was beautiful, this 21-year-old Irishman. She didn’t care about his chaotic lifestyle. All that mattered was the man. Slowly she raised his hand to her mouth. Her lips closed around the damaged forefinger and she began to suck. Gently and rhythmically her tongue licked Jac’s fingertip.
Chapter Four
Tide’s Turn
HE PULLED HER TO him, his need to hold her in his arms irresistible. Like a bell clanging in his ears he heard his uncle’s warning and cast a look around, satisfying himself there were no peeping toms. The first raindrops fell.
‘Quick, I think it’s only a shower.’ He took her hand in his and led her across the shingle, darting round outcrops of rock, towards the cliff face. There was a hidden cave he knew.
Entering the gloomy interior they ducked their heads. He pulled her down beside him onto a natural shelf. Gently he unfastened the clasp of her hood. Her eyes were so trusting. He shouldn’t do this. But he had to kiss her. There was no going back now. His tongue wanted to go where his finger had, and the roaring in his ears was more powerful than the timeless thump of the waves against the shore.
She seemed to be waiting for him, a tiny smile curving that lush mouth. Almost reverently, Jack put one hand behind her head, his fingers caressing her creamy neck and tilting her face towards his. She was so young and lovely, a girl instinctively acting like a woman, exciting him like no other female had before.
He must be gentle. Difficult, when his need was desperate. ‘May I kiss you? He whispered the question against her lips.
She parted her lips in response. Their mouths met.
Jac closed his eyes, tasting like a man hungry for honey after a long fast. Was this the first time she’d kissed a man? He’d discount childhood sweethearts. Hadn’t we all pretended? He wanted so much to be the first grown man to kiss her now she was a grown woman. Stopped wondering and started to fall in love.
When they broke apart, her eyes were still closed. He dropped a light kiss, first on one eyelid then the other. She opened her eyes again. Their likeness to dark brown velvet perfectly suited her copper locks. He watched in a hazy state of delight as her gaze dropped to his mouth. The tip of her tongue peeped between her lips and the buzz of desire thwacked him between the thighs, robbing him of breath and stealing his reason.
‘Rebecca,’ he said, holding her arms firmly, to create a safe distance. ‘This isn’t wise. You are a precious, beautiful young lady but you come with a price on your head. I’ll walk you back across the beach now. You must go home before your maid comes looking for you.’
‘Biddy knows better than that,’ Rebecca said quickly.
He saw the puzzlement in her eyes. She mustn’t know how much she affected him. He needed to keep that to himself. He’d never taken a virgin and he didn’t intend doing so now, even while he thrummed with longing. He’d better go for a dip in the sea before riding back. Otherwise he’d be tempted to seek out his uncle’s servant girl. Somehow he knew that wasn’t the right remedy for the way he felt.
‘Come on,’ he said, stretching out his hand to draw her hood over her hair. Even that proved dangerous. Brushing his fingers against that silken mass of curls dissolved his bones to jelly. He had to swallow hard. Take a deep breath. Then stand up, stooping to prevent bumping his head on a roof honed by countless high tides.
He heard her following him. Heard her boots crunch upon the wet shingle. Walking a few paces in front, he set off around the headland again. ‘Hurry,’ he urged, calling over his shoulder. ‘Tide’s coming in fast.’
Still she dawdled.
‘I mean it. You can be cut off on the rocks while you’re still trying not to get your feet wet.’
She started running. In the wrong direction. Wavelets splashed beneath his feet, a gentle warning of what was to follow.
He swivelled around and chased after her. His boot caught the edge of a pebble and he cursed, losing his balance, arms wind-milling as he sought to regain it. She was yards ahead of him. He set off again, heartbeat booming in his ears, legs pounding like pistons until he came close enough to grab her and scoop her up. Little minx. Once caught, she relaxed in his arms while he carried her round the headland, the incoming tide threatening not just his knees but his thighs. A whiff of her perfume rocked his senses. A blast of cold water at the junction of his trunk and thighs would be almost welcome.
He slackened his pace.
‘I’m not a child,’ she said, raising her head from his shoulder. ‘Please put me down.’
‘I’m very aware you’re not a child,’ he said. ‘That’s the reason I wanted to get you out of there. Before I did something I’d regret. Don’t play tricks like that ever again, Rebecca.’
Only when they reached firm sand did he lower her gently. She stalked ahead. Amused, he followed her. His horse waited patiently by the cliffs. Rebecca halted as the animal pricked up its ears and trotted forward.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ said Jac. He held out his hand to Sofia as she surged towards him, nostrils flaring, then stopped, waiting for them to approach her.
‘See? She likes you,’ he said. ‘She’d never wish to scare you.’
‘We’re the same colour, she and I.’ Rebecca raised a tentative hand to stroke the side of the mare’s tawny head.
Jac watched Rebecca mimic a motion he recognised as his own and wondered if she’d watched him. She was a box of sweetmeats all right. But not all of them were what they seemed. His breath caught in his throat at sight of two such beautiful creatures together. One was his to ride when he pleased. As for the other – deciding what to do about that one was the biggest challenge he’d faced in his life so far. Jac knew how to fight. He knew how to survive in unfriendly terrain. He knew how to kill, though hoped he’d never have to.
But did he know how to deal with love? Especially when he’d no business loving a woman whose body, mind and fortune were promised elsewhere.
Wild thoughts battered his brain. What price fortune? He could sweep Rebecca up in his arms again, throw her on the mare’s back and clamber into the saddle behind her. One click of his spurs and they’d be halfway to the headland. Despite the incoming tide they’d reach the far side of the other bay. Sofia was strong enough.
But was he strong enough to face his uncle’s fury? Jac was no coward but he was a relative stranger to Wales. If Dermot threw them out, where could he possibly take a woman used to a pampered life? With no money, no prospects, Rebecca would have no option but to creep home in disgrace. Her father would probably lock her in a nunnery. Dermot would send his nephew back to Ireland where Jac’s father would slam the door in his face too
The moment was gone. While he hesitated, Rebecca drew her cloak round her. ‘You’re right. I should go.’ Her tone was flat.
He ached for her and with her. ‘When’s your wedding day?’ How he hated himself for asking that.
She raised her chin. ‘The last day of the month, on the stroke of four.’
Dismay and frustration curdled his stomach. A wedding timed to allow for feasting and … ‘So soon?’ Even to himself it sounded a feeble kind of remark to throw a girl in distress.
‘Thank you for listening to me,’ she said. ‘At least I won the wager.’ She began walking quickly away from him.
He took a step forward. ‘Rebecca …’
Even if she’d heard, she didn’t turn around. He watched her making short work of the rocky outcrop beneath the belly of the cliff. Still he watched as she began climbing the path; her supple body leaning forwards so she ascended more swiftly. What was he supposed to do?
‘Stop, damn you,’ he yelled, fists clenched at his sides. The words floated on the breeze.
She was about to round the bend that would take her totally from his view. She halted. Yelled, ‘Damn you too – Jac without a K!’
In his desperation, he could think of only one option. ‘Give me two days. I’ll leave a message with Morwenna. You know who I mean?’
She nodded. Then she was out of his sight. But the scent of her, the feel of her body in his arms, stayed with him. Perhaps the witch could brew a potion to calm his body. As for that wager Rebecca mentioned, he’d no idea what the devil she meant.
Morwenna’s skills were sought by many folk living on the peninsula. Some, it was said, rode for hours to locate her cabin and procure a remedy for whatever ailment irked them. Regarded with a potent mix of respect and fear, she lived alone but was rumoured to take lovers.
Rebecca arrived in the clearing 48 hours after leaving Jac at Half Moon Cove. In front of a wood cabin, a woman, long dark hair water-falling down her back, stirred something in a pot suspended over a fire.
‘You must be Morwenna?’ Rebecca moved a little closer.
The woman appeared not to hear.
Rebecca cleared her throat. ‘I … I’m Rebecca.’
‘Hah,’ said the woman. ‘I told the smuggler a chit like you would never find her way. But he insisted you’d navigate a whale’s intestines. Let me look at you.’
In one silken movement, she rose from her three-legged stool and stood, hands on hips, eyeing her visitor. Rebecca gazed back. She saw a woman with clear, green eyes, an upwards slant at the corners giving her a feline appearance. Morwenna’s lips were fuller even than Rebecca’s, her skin far duskier, suggesting a rich lineage. The younger woman had no idea what age she might be.
‘So what are you after?’ Morwenna folded her arms. ‘You think you know all about my powers of sorcery. So, how about a love potion to lure pretty Jac? Or is that too late? Maybe you need something to empty your womb.’
‘Neither, thank you,’ said Rebecca, wishing her cheeks wouldn’t reveal her embarrassment. ‘Jac Maddocks told me to visit you so you could pass on a message.’
‘Not so much a message as a piece of advice. Come, sit down.’
Morwenna plucked a cushion from the cabin doorway and flung it on the ground beside her. Rebecca hesitated but sensed the woman did things her way. She sank on to the cushion and watched Morwenna fill two beakers with steaming liquid from the small cauldron.
‘Don’t be afraid. This isn’t a magic potion. I often prescribe it for apprehensive virgins.’
Rebecca took the drink and sniffed. ‘It smells delicious,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I don’t believe in magic.’
‘Then you are a fool, as well as a virgin desperate to escape her bridegroom. When Jac told me of your plight, I knew I must help you.’
Rebecca fingered her silver locket. ‘People keep telling me I should be pleased about marriage to Lord Geraint. He’s wealthy but he’s … he’s …’
‘A toad?’
‘Precisely.’ Rebecca felt a rush of relief. ‘Do you know him?’
‘I know far too much about him. For that reason, he hates me. If his lordship knew you were here, he’d probably insist your father locked you up until the hour of your marriage. I despise anyone who intimidates women – forces them into the beds of unscrupulous men.’ Her eyes flashed.
Rebecca groaned. ‘I can’t marry Geraint. I don’t care what happens to me as long as he doesn’t get his hands on me.’
‘Then you should care, Miss. There are worse fates, mark my words.’
Rebecca sipped her drink. The aromatic steam curled inside her nostrils, tangy and sweet. ‘I know. I shouldn’t have said something so stupid.’
‘I think you’re seeking drastic measures?’
‘Anything to get me away – even if only for long enough to exasperate Geraint so much that he seeks out another bride.’
‘You know Jac’s at his wits’ end? He can’t take you to his uncle. There are too many loose threads from the past. Unpick them and blood will be shed.’
Rebecca lifted her chin. ‘I’m willing to go further afield. If my father refuses to listen to me, so be it. Let the men do what they will.’
Morwenna raised an eyebrow. ‘You’d go to the continent? Would you sail to France, pretty Rebecca?’
Rebecca trembled. She reached once more for her drink, cupping the horn beaker in both hands, aware Morwenna watched every move. ‘I’d sail to France,’ she said. ‘But I have no chaperone. I’m afraid to confide in Biddy.’
Morwenna’s deep, rich chuckle disturbed two ring neck doves. Wings whirring, they soared above the trees, cooing a protest. She raised one slender arm, charm bracelets jingling, and the lovebirds glided to a branch, nestling together.
She looked at Rebecca. ‘A powerful symbol,’ she said. ‘Your destiny spelled out.’
‘Please, please don’t tell me it’s to be with that toad.’
Morwenna reached into a small leather pouch hanging from her belt. She took out a handful of small, shiny pebbles. Selected seven and handed them to Rebecca. ‘Choose one. Kiss it. Cast all of them on the ground between us,’ she said.
When Rebecca threw the stones, they scattered on the grass, two settling together with a tiny click.
‘Well, well,’ said Morwenna. ‘Two people against the world – means you will wait a long time for wealth if you follow my advice. But happiness can be yours if only you’re brave enough to fight for it.’
She pushed her hair back from her face and leaned towards Rebecca, bunching her long crimson skirts around her bare, suntanned legs. ‘This is what we must do.’
Rebecca’s brain should have buzzed with thoughts and images after her visit to Morwenna. Instead, possibly induced by the herbal refreshment, she felt calm, something that had eluded her over the previous few days.
She attempted to sneak through the side door, hoping to avoid the lord of the manor. Biddy often sat afternoons in a parlour leading off the hallway and Rebecca knew her father spent time with her most days, to discuss domestic matters. And, she suspected, address any perturbing issues posed by the daughter of the house. She ran straight into him as, dogs at heel, he loomed in the doorway.
‘Where have you been, Rebecca? Biddy was as elusive as sea mist when I asked her.’
‘That’s because she’d no idea of my whereabouts.’
Hugh Beaumont frowned. He reached to pluck a tiny twig from his daughter’s tawny tresses. ‘Walking alone in the woodland? Why is your cousin not with you?’
‘Catrin’s with my aunt again, Father. More wedding plans.’
He cast his eyes skywards. ‘May I remind you, my daughter, you too have a wedding approaching?’
Rebecca cast her eyes demurely to the ground. ‘I know, Father. Biddy has everything in hand. I’m to have a final fitting of my bridal gown tomorrow.’
She knew she’d surprised him and decided to surprise him even further by dipping a quick, graceful curtsey. ‘Shall I accompany you and the dogs on your walk?’
‘I think not. It would be courteous if you spent some time with Biddy, don’t you agree? Soon you’ll begin a new life.’ His face softened. ‘We shall all miss you, Rebecca.’
Then why make me leave you? Her unspoken words hung in the air between them. The question in
her eyes as she gazed at her father wouldn’t receive the answer she longed to hear.
‘But we live in unsettled times. I’m no longer young and strong. You need someone to take care of you, and who will give you children.’
‘You’re saying I need someone young and strong. Why then do you not allow me to find that someone?’
‘Stop it, Rebecca. Accept your destiny and be grateful. There is no more agreeable suitor than Sir Geraint. A younger husband would hunt too much, drink too much. Gamble the nights away with his friends. My lands would shrivel.’
‘How can you say that? Not every young man fits such a description.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Dermot Maddocks’ nephew isn’t like that.’ The words were out before she could stop them. The calming properties of that herbal potion had loosened her tongue.
‘What did you say?’ A muscle flickered in her father’s cheek. His words were barely audible but the look in his eyes doused Rebecca’s fire.
‘I didn’t mean … I only meant the servants say Jac Maddocks is a kindly, generous man. He helps old people and sick children.’
‘You are telling me a scavenger who deals in contraband goods is kind and compassionate because the servants say so? Will you tell that to your bridegroom? Will you say you’d rather wed a scoundrel who can’t keep his breeches fastened?’
Rebecca knew she hovered close to the abyss. But knowing what she did about the man her father had chosen for her husband, she could no longer contain her anger.
‘If that’s true then he has much in common with my lord Geraint. Though in the toad’s case, he drops his breeches not just for the young ladies but also for the gentlemen. I’m told so by someone who knows.’
Her father raised his hand. She recoiled, horrified at how he’d goaded her and how she’d reacted, horrified by Morwenna’s candid disclosures. The pair stood, glaring at one another. Her father’s favourite whippet whimpered. He bent to pet it.
‘Why do you never place a gentle hand on my shoulder, Father? Why will you not be guided by my mother’s spirit? I say again. Marion was not forced to marry a man she despised. You know full well, if she was still alive, I should not find myself in this position.’
Traded Innocence Page 4