‘Don’t fight me, Rebecca.’ His tone was weary. ‘You’ll marry Sir Geraint and there’s no more to say.’ Dogs running ahead of him, he walked out of the door but not before Rebecca noticed the tears misting his eyes.
She stared after him. She’d tried to make him change his mind. There was no other option but the promise of a new life in France. That was surely worth a hazardous boat trip. Anger consumed her as she wondered what obsessed her father. Why was he so blinkered that he couldn’t think straight?
* * *
‘What have you learned, Tom?’ Sir Geraint leaned back in his chair, squinting up at his young servant.
‘I followed her to the wood. She moves like a cat. I needed to be careful so she didn’t know I was on her trail.’
‘If you want your reward, don’t bother me with tiresome explanations.’
Tom nodded. ‘She went to the witch’s cabin, my lord. The witch was sat outside, brewing a spell.’
Geraint sighed. ‘Get on with it, boy.’
‘They talked a good while. The witch gave Rebecca a drink out of her cauldron.’
‘Tell me what you heard.’
‘I daren’t go too close. I didn’t fancy getting changed into a rabbit.’ He chuckled.
Sir Geraint thumped his hand on the arm of his chair. ‘So help me, I’ll skin you alive like one, unless you do better than this.’
The boy shuffled his feet. ‘I heard the witch talking about the Frenchman. The one that brings the onions. She asked Rebecca if she was a good sailor. But …’
‘But what?’
‘A rook cawed and I didn’t get the next bit. The witch got up and took Rebecca inside. They weren’t there long. I couldn’t get closer for fear of being found.’
Geraint pulled at his lower lip. ‘These blasted French onion sellers. They’ve started creeping back since the war ended.’ He opened the top drawer of a small table. ‘Here you are. Now off you go and not a word to anyone.’
Tom took the coin, muttered his thanks, and hurried from the room.
Geraint stared at a wall hanging, its vivid colours depicting a bloody battle. When at last he spoke, it was to the empty room.
‘So you think you can outwit me, my little shrew? Ay? Fancy a little voyage do you? We shall see about that. Should we kill Johnny Onions, do you think? Or should we advise your loving father to keep you prisoner in your quarters until your wedding day?’
He began to laugh. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Why spoil her fun? Why not let her think she’s getting away with it. A little dip in the water will cool her appetite for adventure. It’s that bitch Morwenna who needs following.’
He got up from his chair and strode to the open door. ‘Tom,’ he bellowed. ‘Come back here. I’ve another errand for you. Pick yourself a place near that hovel and stick like a leech. I don’t want to see you again till you’ve something to tell me.’
Biddy smoothed the sleeves of the gown. Rebecca’s creamy skin gleamed like fine porcelain against the sea green taffeta. She stood back. ‘It’s beautiful. You look every inch a princess.’
The girl turned slowly around. ‘Even from the back?’
Biddy smiled. ‘Yes, even from the back. Your mother would be so proud of you.’
Rebecca nodded. ‘Yes, Biddy. I think she really would.’ She turned away to hide the excitement she suspected shone in her eyes. After all she’d said; she could hardly expect Biddy to believe she looked forward to marriage.
‘Everything will turn out well,’ said Biddy. ‘You’ll learn to love your husband.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ said Rebecca. ‘Have you done with me then? I’d like to take a basket of food to Mrs Owen.’
‘You’re a good girl. I’ll help you out of your gown. Shall I walk with you? Catrin’s all but left us now. You must miss her.’
‘Of course, but I know her mother needs her help more than I do. My uncle isn’t well and they’ve animals to tend. If you want to walk with me, I’ll help you down the cliff path – and back up again.’ Rebecca held her breath.
Biddy shuddered. ‘I’ll come with you to the Owens.’ She looked down at her swollen ankles and wrinkled her nose. ‘But not down to the cove. Must you go so far?’
‘I enjoy the freedom. Don’t take that from me, Biddy, please. I shall lose it soon enough.’
Biddy busied herself with the heavy swathes of fabric.
Rebecca didn’t wait for an answer. She was pulling on a pale grey dress. Tying a ribbon around her unruly mop and reaching for her boots.
Biddy followed her downstairs. As the two women left the house the conventional way, Rebecca wondered what Biddy would think if she possessed the ability to read minds.
She linked arms with her companion. ‘I hope Mrs Owen likes what we’ve brought her today,’ she said. ‘Tell me again about your poor ankles.’
Biddy talked all the way to the cottage. Rebecca handed the basket over and admired the new born baby. Biddy wanted to hold the sleeping infant.
‘I’ll see you back at the house,’ said Rebecca. She wondered if Mrs Owen remembered what she’d seen in the cards but with Biddy there, the question remained unasked. Her head told her she was stupid to hope Jac might have fallen in love with her. Her heart told her their kiss in the cave was very special. Maybe Catrin was right. Maybe fortune tellers always said what they thought their customers wanted to hear. But now the sea voyage seemed a possibility and that resonated with Rebecca.
On her own, her nimble feet ate up the distance far more easily. Soon she was hurrying through the dunes. A bumble bee droned. A butterfly alighted on a pink flower. Tangled foliage brushed against her skirt and the ocean shimmered beneath. She began the steady climb down. Was he near? There was no arrangement. She was to deal with Morwenna now. But Jac invaded her thoughts.
How many times had she relived that kiss? How could anyone expect her to kiss Sir Geraint now she knew Jac’s lips? If she fulfilled her father’s wishes, she could say goodbye to clandestine meetings with handsome Jac. And if she took flight to France with Morwenna as chaperone, she’d likely never see him again.
In despair, she shielded her eyes against the sun. And there he was, riding towards her. A rushing sound in her ears owed nothing to the sound of the waves cresting on the shore. She didn’t hurry the last yards of the grassy slope although she wanted to get down and hurtle across the sand towards him. She wanted him to gather her into his arms and ride away with her. As to where, Rebecca didn’t know or care.
Jac too had slowed down. The mare trotted forward, tossing her head as if to say, I’m as beautiful as you are.
Rebecca held out her hand palm upward. She’d pulled a carrot from the manor’s garden.
‘You spoil her,’ said Jac, dismounting.
Rebecca looked up at him. ‘No more than you do, I fancy.’
He chuckled, eyes scanning the sands, examining the cliffs. ‘Let’s walk towards the middle of the beach. It’s easier to see if anyone approaches.’
‘I don’t think I was followed,’ she said.
He threw back his head and she watched the swell of his Adam’s apple, saw the crisp curl of his jet black hair flatten against his collar. The ache to touch him was a physical reflex. She curled her fingers so the nails bit into her palms. As much as she wanted to touch him, she longed for him to touch her.
‘What is so funny?’ She tried to look stern.
He took hold of Sofia’s bridle and they set off. ‘Funny is the thought of anyone being nimble enough to keep you within sight,’ he said. ‘You’re a little fox chasing through my dreams.’
She didn’t respond; didn’t dare confide her own dreams to him.
He looked sideways at her. ‘I thought I wouldn’t see you again. You were so angry with me last time. I didn’t mean to upset you but I needed time to think.’
‘I should apologise for being rude. I came today, hoping to see you and to thank you for talking to Morwenna.’
‘She has a good heart.
I knew she’d help if she could. Did she tell you she faced the same problem as you, years ago?’
‘She did,’ said Rebecca. ‘She escaped on her own, though. She’s far braver than me.’
‘I have no doubt you’re brave,’ he said quietly. ‘I knew that when you first came at me out of the shadows like a beautiful ghost. I wish I could sail with you but it’d create mayhem if you and I disappeared at the same time.’
She nodded. ‘Morwenna told me about her relatives in France. She likes to visit them when she can.’
‘That’s where you’ll stay?’
‘I’m to learn how to be a dairy maid. Earn my keep. After Morwenna returns, she has ways of finding out what happens. A message will be sent.’
She heard Jac’s sharp intake of breath. ‘Wagging tongues can be dangerous,’ he said. ‘I have a feeling your husband to be has fingers in many pies. He’ll want to get you back.’
‘Morwenna says the faster we move the better. If I stay here, the marriage will take place. If I go away, the dust can settle and with any luck, Sir Geraint will seek another bride. One that’s less trouble! He surely won’t suspect I’d leave the country in a French boat?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jac’s jaw tightened as Rebecca looked at him again. ‘But if anyone reports seeing us together, he’ll come looking for me. Not that he’ll learn anything. First he has to catch me and I doubt he can.’
She stopped walking. Put her hand on his arm. ‘I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt. Haven’t we been careful?’ She glanced up at the cliffs. ‘There’s plenty like Biddy who can’t even climb down the path.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ he said. ‘But I can look after myself. Thing are coming to a head between Dermot and Will Bevan. My uncle’s determined to push Bevan back down the coast. Each night a consignment’s expected is a big night. We never know when they’ll try their luck.’
‘Two days from now, Morwenna and I will sail,’ said Rebecca, trying not to visualise the scene, ‘with the evening tide.’ She swallowed hard. ‘If anyone asks, I’m the daughter of her friend, going to marry a French farmer’s son. My new life will begin. She’ll cut my hair when I join her at the cove – bring clothing for me to change into.’
He exclaimed, ‘Chop off your beautiful hair?’
They were almost at the headland. Jac stopped so suddenly, Rebecca’s foot skidded on a clump of seaweed and she fell against him. He pulled her into his arms and she felt his fingers smooth an errant curl away from her forehead. Gently he pressed his forehead against hers.
She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him, longing for him to press his youthful vitality against hers. Very much aware of the consequences. ‘Not so sure-footed now,’ she said. Her lips were a heartbeat away from his mouth.
‘My fault,’ he said. ‘I’m falling too. Can you stop me?’
‘No,’ she whispered.
The kiss began in her head. Jac’s mouth met hers, telling her it had begun in his head too. This time she was bolder, seeking his tongue with hers, excited by his groan ... his body hard against hers. His mouth moved to explore her neck. His lips found her left ear. She was hit by a torrent of sensation as the tip of his tongue circled her lobe and pushed inside. Tickling her. Sending ripples darting to her core.
‘Jac,’ she whispered.
‘Should I stop?’
‘Yes. No.’
‘Tell me what that wager was?’
‘Can’t you guess?’
‘Was it something to do with this?’
Intense and sweet, Jac’s next kiss deluged her. His hands cupped her breasts and it was her turn to groan. His thumbs drew swirls around her nipples. Each slow, steady movement took her one step closer to an elusive something she craved more than she desired breathing.
Each of them was panting when at last he released her. ‘They call Morwenna the witch,’ he said. ‘But you’ve bewitched me, my little fox.’
‘Would it be safer to go into the cave?’
‘Safer? For whom?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t take advantage of young women, Rebecca.’
‘But I like you kissing me.’
‘I like kissing you too, sweetheart. But I’m a big, bad smuggler. You’re an innocent young lady. You need to save yourself for the lucky man who’ll be your husband one day.’
‘Is that all you men can think about? Blood rushed to her cheeks. ‘Is that all we women are fit for? Why can’t I become a smuggler too? Would you marry me then, Jac Maddocks?’
Chapter Five
Secrets and Struggles
HE NEVER KNEW HOW he dragged himself away. Rebecca had posed a question so provocative, so painful he’d opted not to reply. Jac knew he’d hurt her. But he too was hurting. She’d catapulted into his life, all tumbling curls and frilly petticoats tugging at his heart, his mind and other places he daren’t contemplate, not when he’d such important business to deal with later in the cove.
‘She’s too young, Sofia,’ he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Too perfect for the likes of me. And what would I do with a wife?’
Despite his tattered emotions, Jac grinned as he pictured Rebecca the Smuggler – in tight breeches and tunic, firm breasts and rounded hips betraying her gender in the most delicious way. He gripped the reins tighter at the thought of her warm skin beneath his fingers. He’d followed the curve of her hips with his hands, delighting in the contours of her thighs. When she suggested visiting the cave, the thrust to his groin was instant and thrilling. How had he pulled himself back in time? She’d never know the agony of his decision.
‘She thinks I don’t care about her, Sofia.’ Jac flung the words into the breeze. The mare reacted to his movements and picked up speed, each lunge of her long legs distancing Jac from the woman he knew he’d give his life for. But he daren’t look back. She’d come to him for help. He’d set in motion a plan he’d never have devised, were it not for Morwenna. It was in the hands of the womenfolk now.
Maybe one day, when all this was over, he could discover Rebecca’s whereabouts and sail to France to visit her. No sooner had the thought emerged than he pushed it away again. No use wondering and wishing. If he let emotion cloud his judgement tonight, he’d be as much use to his uncle as a case of rancid butter.
He’d be better off finding that little serving girl and bedding her. As Jac felt the ground swell beneath Sofia’s hoofs and her pace slow to carry them safely on to the bridleway leading to home, he pondered the possibility. Maybe, he should let fate intervene – challenge himself with a wager of his own?
Aroused by Rebecca’s lush body, still seeing the desire in her eyes, could he satisfy his need by bedding another girl? If Mari happened to be in the courtyard when he arrived, should he claim a kiss and judge her reaction? That would place responsibility with her. He could also prove to himself he wasn’t beholden to one woman. Love wasn’t for the likes of Jac Maddocks. He’d been a fool to think so.
Sofia knew her way home. The mare cantered the last half mile of the journey while Jac tried to convince himself he could quench romantic fancies with honest lust. A hayloft romp suddenly seemed tempting.
When the mare’s hooves clattered against the cobbled surface of his uncle’s yard and he saw no sign of Mari, he wasn’t sure if he felt relief or disappointment. The young lad who cared for Sofia came running to grab her reins as Jac dismounted. The mare was led away and in the sudden silence, Jac heard someone singing.
He walked slowly towards the sound. Why deny himself pleasure if it could be his for the taking? One day, the fiery little fox would thank him for leaving her intact. He hesitated at the door to the barn. Pushed it open. Mari abandoned her song. Wordlessly she moved to the ladder. Placed one foot on the first rung. Jac too began to climb, eyeing the girl’s curvy hips swaying above him. This was what he needed, wasn’t it? Why then did he wish it was a certain flame-haired beauty leading him on?
Mari stood on the hay-strewn boards, looking at him. She tossed her hair back
from her face. Unlaced the top of her blouse. He feasted his eyes on the cleft. She was plump as top of the milk. What more could any man ask for? He pulled her down on the hay. Her pretty billows tasted sweet to his tongue. This was no virgin. She gave as good as she got. Her fingers were skilled and it was Jac who called out as she sought and found. Yet, there was a sense of futility. The love play seemed mechanical. Jac’s mind was engaged elsewhere. Flying above the fields and down towards the sea shore. He faltered.
‘Jac?’ Her voice was heavy with desire.
He knew his passivity must be a disappointment. Mari’s eyes were bright, cheeks flushed, lips parted as she looked at him. Taking her hand, he replaced it at his groin. This time he let her explore while he explored her folds, postponing the moment until he could stand it no longer. He heard her coo, seeing his pearl of moisture.
She turned herself around, sticking her lovely behind in the air, inviting him to enter her, needing him to fill her completely. Now he was totally aroused. Heard her moan with satisfaction as he entered. But as he began his rhythmic movements and took what he knew she wanted to give, it was Rebecca’s face painted inside his eyelids. If he could only make love to her, it wouldn’t be like this. It would be an act of beauty. Not this raw coupling in the hay barn. It was almost shocking when he heard Mari’s shrill voice beg him to speed up. Rebecca’s voice was very different. Low ... sweet. He closed his eyes and pretended.
And when he lay beside Mari, his heartbeat returning to normal, he wasn’t sure if he’d given his feelings away by calling out Rebecca’s name. Jac cursed himself for believing a quick tumble could cure his ache.
Sir Geraint’s boy, Tom, wandered the woods. In search of the witch’s cabin, he’d taken a wrong turning.
The witch also wandered the woodland in search of a particular herb. But she knew her whereabouts as well as her way home. The boy she saw ahead, blundering through the undergrowth, caused her not a little amusement. It didn’t take long for her to reach a conclusion. She’d suspected an eavesdropper the afternoon before when entertaining her visitor.
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