Morwenna missed Jac’s regular visits. Missed following the magical path to erotic bliss. To her annoyance, her spells didn’t work on him. She’d tried to control him, first pushing him away then drawing him on, flexing her sexual muscles in every possible way. They were good together, recognising in each other a little of the other. He was a lot like his uncle, Dermot. The elder man had yearned for the unobtainable but yielded to Morwenna’s caresses on many an occasion. That was in the past. Now it was the nephew longing for what he couldn’t have. Until Rebecca quit the peninsula Jac’s mind was focussed elsewhere. Morwenna admired the girl’s feistiness but she had her own motive in helping her escape. Once my lady was on French soil, Jac would come round again. Looking for solace, wouldn’t he come trotting back once Morwenna returned from her visit to Brittany? Or, besotted as he was, would he follow the love of his life?
Morwenna enjoyed power. She didn’t need magic in order to cook Rebecca’s goose. In the meantime, a young man not bright enough to suspect a trap might provide an hour or two’s romp. The better to direct him, she pushed down the neckline of her blouse, exposing the valley dividing her two melon breasts.
Tom fell into her hands like a frightened fawn. Morwenna almost felt sorry for him. She knew who’d put the boy up to this quest. Well, she’d make the young man earn whatever reward the reptilian lord had promised.
‘You seem lost, young sir,’ she said in her husky tones.
He whirled round, cheeks reddening; eyes wary. ‘I must’ve taken a wrong turning,’ he stammered.
‘I know these paths well. Tell me where you’re heading and I’ll guide you.’
‘I seek the woman they call Morwenna. I … I need her advice for my master.’
She watched his eyes rove over her breasts. At once she clasped her hands beneath, pushing them so they spilled above her neckline. ‘Then follow me and we’ll see if she’s at home.’ She gestured to their right. ‘You’re almost there.’
He fell into step. He was eager, blond and smooth-skinned. Broad shoulders filled out his shirt to perfection. He smelt not bad. Geraint didn’t tolerate unwashed servants. One thing in his favour …
Moments later, they arrived at the cabin. Morwenna walked to the closed door and rapped with her knuckles. Put her ear to the wood and tapped again.
She turned to the boy, frowning. ‘She’s not there. I’m a friend of hers. Do you want to come in and wait?’
She loved the way he hesitated, loved the feeling of anticipation, allowing her eyes to move lazily down, taking in the length of his youthful frame. Morwenna pushed open the door and stepped inside. The boy hesitated upon the threshold.
She held out her hand. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘It’s cool in here. I’ll find something to quench your thirst.’
She knew he was hers already. Bewitched by a woman old enough to be his mother but beautiful enough to appeal to a youth who squirmed in his bed at night, dreaming of long-haired temptresses with fire in their veins.
Morwenna poured liquid into a cup and offered it. ‘An infusion of woodland herbs will invigorate you. This is the best one Morwenna makes.’
‘Aren’t you having some?’ He accepted the drink and sniffed suspiciously.
She took the beaker back and sipped. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Now you know it’s safe to drink. Tell me, what is your name?’
‘Tom,’ he said, first sipping then taking a deep swallow.
‘I’m Thalia,’ she said. ‘Come and sit here with me, Tom.’
He sat beside her on a bunk disguised by a colourful patchwork quilt. His eyes wandered to the ceiling. Festoons of dried herbs and flowers hung from wooden struts. A crescent moon, woven from willow, swung beside dangling strings of beads. Swathes of silk and velvet transformed walls and surfaces. Morwenna watched Tom’s gaze take in the purples, the crimsons, the silvers and the gold. Watched his eyes widen in awe. Watched his eyes glaze with desire as she placed one tapering fingernail on his knee and stroked slowly, oh so slowly, towards his groin. The bulge held promise. Her hand began unfastening his breeches and he leapt to meet her.
She chuckled softly. Bent her head. He moaned. His hands gathered her breasts, squeezing them, rubbing them. He was panting. Morwenna liked this. Liked playing the temptress. She wouldn’t tease and torture this one, one so young and eager.
‘I’ll teach you how to please a woman,’ she said, lying back. ‘Learn from me. Make me wet for you. Then you shall have me.’
She felt him shudder. His manhood rivalled that of the smuggler. My lucky day, she thought. At first he was too tentative. She whispered to him, making dirty words sound like satin and silk. Tom seemed eager to learn. He rewarded her handsomely … she liked things to happen in threes. She mounted him, sliding him inside her, dipping and tugging at him, using all her witchy skills. Only when they were both sated and sweat-soaked did she allow him to learn one more thing. And watched dismay chase across his face as she enquired, ‘Now, Tom. What was that question your master wanted to ask me?’
‘You’ve tricked me,’ he said, jumping to his feet. ‘You’ve bewitched me with your magic. I’m still dazed.’
‘If you’re dazed, it’s because you’ve jumped the hurdle three times. Now, listen to me. You were sent to spy on me – yes?’
He regarded her sulkily then nodded.
‘As a reward for pleasuring me, I won’t tell his lordship what happened here today. In return, I need you to feed him some information I shall give you.’
‘How do you know I’ll do what you say?’
She regarded him with amusement. ‘What else will you tell him? That I have a heart-shaped mole at the top of my left thigh? That I’m kinder in bed than he is?’
Tom blushed scarlet again.
‘If you don’t want a beating, you’ll tell him what I say. And remember, now I have you in my sights, we are linked, you and me. Betray me and you’ll regret it.’
* * *
Geraint poured himself a tankard of ale. ‘What did you find out? You were gone long enough.’
Tom nodded. ‘It was a while before anything happened. The two girls arrived together.’
‘Lady Rebecca and her cousin?’
‘Yes. The little fair one stayed outside while my lady went into the hut.’
Geraint thumped his tankard on the table, spilling beer over the side. ‘Cunning little piece! The witch must have put her up to that. Did you hear anything at all?’
‘After a while, my lady came out and the two girls set off together.’ He hesitated. ‘I know you told me to stay there but I thought if I followed them, I might hear something.’
Geraint sat back in his chair. ‘And did you?’
‘Before they left the wood they sat down on a log. It was easy for me then. I hid behind a tree trunk. Heard everything they said.’
‘Then tell me!’
‘She leaves tomorrow night. She boasted how easy it was to creep out of the house and get down to the cove. Morwenna’s meeting her on the beach. They sail just before midnight.’
Geraint’s eyes narrowed. There was a huge consignment expected the following evening. Bevan’s men planned to muscle in on Dermot Maddocks. ‘Which cove, you whelp?’
‘Firefly.’
Geraint relaxed. ‘Nicely out of the way – I don’t want to set foot on Half Moon. Not with blood being spilled.’
‘The onion seller will be paid well. All he knows is these two women, Mary and Elizabeth, want to get to France. He likes the idea of helping a young girl to rendezvous with her sweetheart. And he likes the idea of the extra reward the witch might give him in return for a safe journey.’
‘That lascivious bitch. I shall enjoy watching two treacherous cats frozen with fear at the thought of being thrown overboard!’
Tom frowned. ‘Won’t that be dangerous? The current could sweep them out to sea.’
‘Good riddance to the witch. As for my young bride – she’ll be vastly relieved when I rescue her from a watery de
ath.’ He smirked. ‘You shall head my raiding party, Tom. Aren’t you honoured to be so trusted?’ He half-closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, gripping its arms.
He guessed Tom was gazing at him in horror. Geraint was well aware of his young servant’s dislike of fighting. The two coves were not far distant from each other. To reward Tom with a poisoned chalice made him feel an anticipatory frisson. And the thought of outwitting Rebecca aroused him intensely. He longed to put her in her place. To make sure her wedding night was one she’d always remember.
Rebecca gazed at her room, knowing she might never see it again. Sitting in those familiar surroundings made her feel more and more as though she was playing a part. Panic seized her as she imagined what would happen should she be caught. Probably she’d be locked up with Biddy until it was time to prepare for her wedding day. If only Biddy wasn’t lovesick over Rebecca’s father. Things might be very different. Life in a foreign country, living among strangers who didn’t speak her language, would be difficult. She hardly knew any words of French.
Everything had happened so swiftly since Jac consulted Morwenna. Her fingers curled around the note the witch had handed her when Rebecca visited her in the cabin. What Morwenna said on that occasion conflicted with the instructions she’d written. But Rebecca realised the importance of keeping her plan secret. She’d longed to confide in Catrin but knew her cousin would be so horrified she’d likely run straight to her mother or even Rebecca’s father.
How strange to know Jac wasn’t involved now and Morwenna was. Somehow Rebecca had hoped he might work some kind of miracle. Whisk her away to a safe place. Somewhere with trustworthy people around and pleasant countryside. Maybe somewhere on the English border, where, one day, news would arrive that Lord Geraint had taken a bride and her father, anger spent, pined for his only child’s safe return. Jac figured in this fantasy though how he’d be transformed into a worthy suitor wasn’t clear.
The house had been quiet for an hour or more. Rebecca’s few belongings were tucked into a tapestry bag. She’d already parted with precious jewellery to pay her passage. Other pieces were rolled inside a scarf. Poised to escape and wearing her cloak, she sat on her bed, in which a bolster slumbered peacefully, blankets tucked around its sightless head.
So many times had Rebecca relived Jac’s last kiss. If she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself, she could see his dark eyes, full of tenderness as his mouth sought hers. His beard grew silkier the longer it grew. She wriggled as she remembered caressing the back of his neck where the hair curled over his collar. Tried to stop thinking of him before her fantasy sent her hands roaming her breasts as his had done that last occasion. He’d never taken the liberties with her she craved. He was a true gentleman. Why, oh why could her father not see that?
She jumped as she heard the signal, even though she’d anticipated the sudden, soft hoot of an owl. It was time to set off. Morwenna would continue making her way to the beach. Each would walk alone. Taking one last look around the room she’d slept in since childhood, Rebecca picked up her bag and tiptoed to the door.
At the head of the stairs she halted. Listened, unsure whether her father sat in his study or not. Moonlight silvered the way to the massive front entrance. But Rebecca’s route took her into the sitting-room. For some few years, she’d used this method of leaving and entering the house. If she climbed on to the window seat, she could release the casement catch, slide over the sill and land on the lawn.
The night air felt cool to her cheeks. Without looking back, she melted into the shrubbery, keeping close to the wall until she reached that gate so overgrown no one remembered its existence bar her. She slipped through, closed it carefully and began walking down the lane.
At Half Moon Cove, Jac kept watch, poised to pick up any small disturbance, any unfamiliar presence. From his vantage point on horseback, he could see every one of his uncle’s men, each of them personally known to him. People living in the vicinity knew to stay indoors on nights when the cove played host to a harvest you couldn’t trawl for with fishing nets.
Men heaved. Shoved. Lifted and rolled. Older ones stopped now and then to get their breath back or rub their aching backs; sometimes shooting envious glances at the younger ones working tirelessly. Much of the booty was on the beach. The French boat, having sought an Irish haven en route to Wales, rested at anchor in the bay.
Also on the beach was Morwenna. Jac could see her hooded figure, yards away from him. None of the men questioned her presence. They knew he had her in his sights and that was good enough for them.
He hoped Rebecca was on her way. If someone had heard her leaving the manor and followed her, there’d be hell to pay. He wouldn’t put it past Geraint to position a man in the manor grounds with his prize so near. One of the obnoxious lord’s men would be no match for Jac. Rebecca, though spirited, couldn’t be expected to fight off an assailant pouncing from behind. He cursed himself for not thinking of this before and tried to reassure himself Morwenna’s ruse must have worked and a welcome party was gathered at Firefly Cove, now cut off from Half Moon by deep, treacherous water.
His eye snagged a movement. His heart seemed to miss a beat. As he’d glanced back at the beach, Rebecca must have rounded the curve. Her feet would touch the sand before he knew it. In the shadow of overhanging rock clusters and beneath the sheltering cliff face, Morwenna would transform Rebecca. Within the hour, the woman he couldn’t stop dreaming about would be out of his life and on a voyage to the continent. Every part of him yearned to go with her.
He watched Morwenna come forward to claim Rebecca. Their dark shapes disappeared behind a towering rock. His vigilance hardly seemed necessary but as he wondered whether to go and help unload the remaining goods, an influx of men spilled like a swarm of bees down the lower reaches of the grassy slopes and towards the beach.
‘Curse Will Bevan for this!’ Jac was always prepared for trouble but tonight was different. The raiders weaved their way among his uncle’s men, making it clear they weren’t only interested in contraband goods. He smelt jealousy. He smelt violence. He should be at Dermot’s side, helping him see off these unwelcome visitors. A nip with a sword tip, a swift sharp slice of a dagger could sometimes work miracles as a man thought better of what had seemed an exciting escapade with the chance of coins jingling in his pocket.
But abandon Rebecca and Morwenna? He couldn’t carry both of them on his horse at once. The only solution was to get them on Sofia’s back and guide his precious cargo to the waiting boat, still discharging spoils. Would there be time? He needed to move quickly if this was his plan. But Dermot would wonder what the devil his nephew played at.
Torn between heart and head, Jac hesitated. The struggle on the sand intensified each moment he remained an onlooker. Bevan wouldn’t expect to smell a female’s scent tonight. But if the women stayed where they were, they might be fair game for a gang master hungry for power. Especially if Jac lost the fight. The decision was made.
Beyond a headland up to its waist in water, Lord Geraint sweated and fretted at Firefly Cove. He and his small party of men stood on the shingle with their horses; scanning the sea for a vessel Geraint suspected was never destined to arrive. Further infuriating him were the sounds of unrest drifting on the night breeze from Half Moon.
He swung round to address Tom. ‘The witch made mincemeat of you, didn’t you? Wound her legs round you and made you forget you had a mind of your own, let alone a tongue in your head? Didn’t she?’
‘I told you what she said to tell you, my lord.’
‘Of course you did. I should have known better than trust you with such an errand. More fool me.’ He flipped his gloved hand against Tom’s cheek. ‘No time to punish you now. We need to ride along the track to Half Moon.’
One of his men touched his shoulder. ‘Shall I try and get round the headland, my lord?’
‘Yes, numbskull. If you want to feed the fishes. I need every one of you. Not only have I been
duped but I’ll have to show my face. Will Bevan needs help. And I want that girl. If the witch or a Maddocks gets in our way, you know what to do. Come on!
Chapter Six
David and Jac
‘HURRY,’ COMMANDED MORWENNA’S SMOKY voice. Already halfway out of her day dress, Rebecca took her new clothes from the witch’s outstretched arms and Morwenna helped her into them.
‘My hair?’ Rebecca held her hands to her head.
‘I’ll cut through the plait so you can pull your cap on. Bend your head and be thankful you’re tall for a woman. You’ll make a fine boy.’
Rebecca closed her eyes as Morwenna sliced through the thick auburn braid. Saying goodbye to a coil of hair and dressing up as a boy was nothing compared to what she felt about leaving Jac. As she wondered whether he was still close by, she realised the rumble and thump of cargoes being manhandled on to carts was now replaced by yells, curses and the neighing of startled horses.
‘What’s going on?’ She jammed a woollen cap on her head.
‘Trouble for sure. Here, take these boots.’
Rebecca used the rock to lean against. ‘My father? How could he possibly have found out?’
‘My guess is, either Will Bevan wants in on the action or my lord Geraint’s discovered I bamboozled his spy. Either way, it’s not good. If the crew take fright and haul anchor before we’re on board … you stay here while I find Jac.’
Morwenna was wearing Rebecca’s discarded green cloak. She’d covered her dark hair with the hood. The bright plait lopped from Rebecca’s head was pinned so it rested on one shoulder.
Rebecca knew better than to protest. Morwenna was risking her life for her but this was no time for questions. She ached to follow but finished doing up her laces. She wriggled her toes into emptiness and prayed the knots would keep the boots on if she had to run. Already her heart pounded as though it would burst. She touched the place where her plait had hung and felt rough-cut ends pushing below her cap. Everything was changing. Everything and nothing. Her fate still lay in the hands of men, whether noble lords puffed up with power or scavenging ruffians. It seemed she must cower behind this towering rock and see what Morwenna had to say on her return.
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