Traded Innocence

by Antonia Adams

  The only man Rebecca trusted was out there, somewhere amid the ruckus happening only yards from her hiding place. Would Morwenna be able to attract his attention? Rebecca, desperate to see what was going on, pressed herself against the rocky surface and dared to peer out.

  Not far along the beach she saw Jac fighting off two men. One shrieked, dropping to the sand while the other turned and ran, heading for inland and the cart track which looped around the coastline above the coves. Jac didn’t pursue him. She saw him scanning the sands. A man on horseback also surveyed the scene from his position a little away up the beach – a bulky man, too big to be Lord Geraint. Rebecca sighed with relief.

  The man on the horse turned, gathered his reins and began to canter towards the headland. Something or someone in the tangle of men must have caught his attention because he didn’t notice Jac hurtling across the crescent of sand. Half Moon Bay always retained that half circle. It made running easier. Or galloping. But the big man wasn’t galloping. Rebecca watched Jac launch himself on the horse and clutch at the rider. The animal reared, its front hoofs pawing at the moon. Its rider lunged at Jac then slid boneless to the ground. Jac slithered after him and stood, hands on hips, looking down at the still figure.

  Another shape loomed. How she’d done it, Rebecca didn’t know, but Morwenna’s arrival caused Jac to sprint towards her. He grabbed the witch’s arm, almost shaking her. She appeared to be trying to calm him. He let go of her as she pointed to something going on behind him, something beyond Rebecca’s view.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jac’s mare, instead of waiting where he’d left her, begin trotting across the sand towards him. With disbelief, Rebecca watched Jac grab the reins and help Morwenna leap into the saddle. The coppery coil of hair gleamed in the moonlight as the mare took off, heading up and across the beach towards the cliff path. Rebecca knew it would take more than the witch’s homespun magic to tackle that slope. Was she supposed to follow and climb the cliff too? All hope of escape crumbling, Rebecca saw a small group of men running towards Jac. Instinct drove her into the open and she ran towards him, propelled by fear and fury.

  Jac barred her way before she could hurl herself, big boots and all, into the knot of men.

  ‘Hold on, David. No fists, boy,’ he said, grabbing her roughly by the arm. ‘I fancy my lord Geraint wishes to speak with me.’ He made a mock bow. Rebecca, numb with fear, followed suit.

  ‘Two questions, Maddocks,’ said Geraint. ‘I want the truth as much as you want your uncle to wake up in one piece tomorrow morning. Yes?’

  Jac shrugged. ‘All right.’ He released his grip on the lad standing next to him.

  ‘Where is Rebecca Beaumont? And where’s Will Bevan?’

  Jac didn’t hesitate. He waved an arm in a vague gesture embracing the whole of the beach. ‘If you mean the red-haired gypsy girl who stole my favourite mare, I’d be grateful if you catch her for me. As for Bevan, I’ve seen him in the cove – where he has no business to be.’

  Rebecca gulped. Looked down and kicked at a pebble.

  Geraint turned towards his men. ‘You two – follow the coastal path and cut her off when she gets up the cliff. Bring her to me, with or without the horse. Tom, you stay with me.’

  ‘I’m surprised your lordship’s interested in Half Moon’s grubby goings-on,’ said Jac. ‘I notice most of your henchmen have turned tail. Though, aren’t you in the export business – not the import?’

  The sound of Geraint’s voice kept Rebecca’s head down. She reached her arm up to wipe her nose on her sleeve with a loud sniff. His lordship shot the lad in the cap a disgusted look. ‘Don’t play games with me, Maddocks. I don’t trust you and if I find you’ve had a hand in my business – I might just cut it off for you.’ He turned and set off towards the headland, where one or two men were gathered.

  Jac grabbed Rebecca’s arm. ‘Run towards the boat. Fast as you can.’

  Her feet pounded over the sand, borrowed boots chafing her heels. Soon she and Jac were splashing through the shallows. How could she travel alone?

  They were forced to wade. ‘What’s happening?’ She gasped.

  ‘Mary and Elizabeth couldn’t make it. David and Jac sail tonight in their place.’

  She stumbled on, shoulder-deep in freezing water. His grip tightened. ‘I hope you can swim the last few yards, my lad.’

  If there was anyone living in the vicinity of Half Moon Cove who knew its secrets better than Rebecca Beaumont, it was Morwenna. High above the beach and astride Jac’s mare, she trotted under cover of woodland, back-tracking towards the headland. She bent her head towards Sofia’s, saying, ‘Not long now, little one. You’ll get a good welcome from Dermot. I’m not so sure about mine.’

  Horse and rider proceeded without pursuit. Morwenna wondered if Geraint, in his fury, would have her cabin ransacked once Rebecca’s father raised the alarm. She’d amassed a treasure chest of trinkets and coins she’d hate to lose but something told her he’d be anxious not to infuriate a woman whose skills and knowledge allowed her access to people he never met even with his status.

  Sofia plodded on. Soon, Dermot’s sprawling old house loomed before them. The gate stood open, allowing for Jac’s return. As the mare trotted into the yard, Morwenna saw a man standing in the shadows. Sofia stopped, whickering softly in recognition.

  ‘Good evening, Dermot.’

  ‘Dear God, I thought at first you were Hugh Beaumont’s girl. What’s going on?’ The moonlight heightened the planes of his face, concern creasing his brow.

  ‘Jac’s alive. It might be better if you let me indoors where I can speak to you in private.’

  Dermot helped her dismount, ‘I didn’t think to be welcoming you to my house tonight,’ he said, leading the mare towards the stables.

  ‘It’s been a long time.’ Morwenna waited while he woke up one of his lads.

  ‘I could never tame you like I could tame a horse,’ he said.

  ‘You were still in love with Marion.’ She followed him in through a door leading into a dimly-lit passage.

  ‘You always could read my mind,’ he said. ‘Let’s go in here.’

  ‘This room looks no different from the last time I visited you,’ said Morwenna, looking round.

  ‘It still lacks a woman’s touch. Now, where’s my nephew got to?’

  Morwenna watched the only man she’d ever contemplated settling down with approach the table and pick up a flask of wine.

  She unfastened her hood and reached round to unpin the plait. ‘Plans sometimes go awry,’ she said as he handed her a filled glass.

  ‘Don’t tell me he’s been captured?’

  ‘Not unless you’re talking about his heart.’ She sat down.

  Dermot took his place in the big chair opposite. ‘It’s the girl, isn’t it? It’s Rebecca.’ He pointed to the lustrous plait lying in Morwenna’s lap. ‘You’d better explain everything. I’ll not get a minute’s sleep tonight if you don’t.’

  ‘And after I’ve told my tale, will you let me help you get a good night’s rest?’

  She sipped her wine, watched him catch his breath. Knew neither of them would sleep much that night. As she’d hoped, the old attraction already smouldered. The wine tasted sweet on her lips as she licked them. Gazed into his eyes. The nephew had been but an interlude. Jac had made his choice. Now she knew where she wanted to be. She began her explanation. Dermot listened in silence.

  At last, he sighed. ‘I might have known he wouldn’t listen to me. But I can’t help admiring the pair of them. She’s too beautiful to waste on Geraint. And what could be sweeter than passion reciprocated?’

  ‘Shall we find out?’ Morwenna got up and stood before him.

  He smiled up at her. ‘You’ve sampled youth. Why would you want me?’

  She coiled herself into his lap. ‘I always wanted you. But you’d put your emotions in a box. I’ve been seeking ever since. Sampling, yes but finding … no.’

  Their mouths
met. Morwenna felt a surge of love for this handsome, distant man. This was now or never. She was tired of woodland living. But she was surprised by the desire his kiss invoked.

  ‘Have you cast one of your love spells on me, Madam?’ His hands caressed her breasts.

  ‘Should I have?’ Her fingers stroked his groin.

  He groaned. ‘I’m not sure I can wait to get you upstairs.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that fur rug?’

  ‘The times I’ve dreamed of taking you in front of the fire. Feeling those long legs of yours coiled round me ...’

  She was unbuttoning his breeches. ‘Then stop dreaming and fuck me.’ She broke free from him. Stood up and unpinned her dark hair so it tumbled round her high-cheek-boned face. She swayed before him. Ripe. Beautiful. Awaiting him. Dermot joined her. They pulled at each other’s clothes like eager 18-year-olds. Half-naked, they stopped to kiss. She sucked on his tongue. He squeezed her breasts together, thumbs thrumming her nipples until she broke away, gasping. Tore off her skirt and drawers. He pulled off his breeches.

  They sank on to the rug. Fell into a favourite position. As Morwenna took his cock inside her mouth, she felt his tongue flick inside her witchy frills. In unison, like old friends singing together, each brought the other to ecstasy.

  * * *

  Biddy knocked and knocked on the bedroom door. Still her charge didn’t respond. Inside, she bent to shake Rebecca’s shoulder, only to recoil in disbelief.

  ‘Becca!’ Her yell echoed round the room. ‘Is this one of your tricks?’

  Deep down Biddy knew this was no girlish prank. She would check the rest of the house; trail around the grounds, calling, all the time knowing by the time Hugh Beaumont returned from his morning walk, she’d be forced to give him unwelcome news. Rebecca had disobeyed him. Run away rather than wed a man she didn’t love. Deep inside her, Biddy not only respected the girl, but envied her.

  Catrin appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s the matter?’ She stood there in her white nightgown, still befuddled by sleep. With Rebecca’s nuptials so near, her cousin was staying in the manor house again.

  ‘She’s gone,’ said Biddy.

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  Catrin rounded on her. ‘Why should I know anything?’

  ‘Her father will be furious.’ Biddy walked towards the window.

  ‘You sound very calm. Aren’t you frightened?’

  ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘Becca was in your charge.’

  ‘We all know she ran rings round us all.’

  Catrin shook her head. ‘It was only a bit of fun – keeping out of your way. I didn’t think she really meant to leave home.’

  ‘You know where she’s gone, don’t you? They’ll question you, Catrin. What will you say?’

  The girl squared her shoulders. ‘I’ll tell the truth. I have no idea where she is.’

  ‘I have,’ said Biddy. ‘She was desperate to get to the beach the other day. So I followed her. Oh, not down that steep path. But there’s nothing wrong with my eyesight. And I can count to two. She’s been meeting that young smuggler.’

  Catrin’s jaw dropped. ‘And you haven’t told Uncle Hugh?’

  ‘I’ve spent years wishing. How then could I spoil things for her? Nor could I encourage her.’

  ‘You really think she’s with Jac Maddocks? What will you say to my uncle and the toad?’

  Biddy smiled. ‘I’ll suggest she might have decided to join a nunnery. That should keep them off her trail.’

  Catrin gazed at the older woman in admiration. ‘I’ve been so selfish. I’m marrying someone I care for. I should have listened better to her. She’d be so pleased to hear you talk like this.’

  ‘You won’t betray my confidence?’

  Catrin put her arms around Biddy. ‘I swear on my mother’s life, I won’t say a word.’

  Chapter Seven

  Tumult

  LORD GERAINT RODE INTO the courtyard with the dawn chorus. Dermot, lying beside Morwenna, regretted leaving her perfumed warmth. Slipped from beneath the covers and pulled on an old pair of breeches. He closed the door quietly and padded downstairs.

  ‘You’re up and about early, my lord,’ he called from the back door. What can I do for you?’

  Geraint, prowling the stables, turned to face him. ‘I’ve come for my property,’ he snarled.

  ‘I wasn’t aware we were stabling one of your horses.’

  ‘Where’s Rebecca?’

  Dermot raised his eyebrows. ‘Rebecca who?’

  Geraint moved a step closer. Dermot stood his ground. He was bulkier than the other man. From what he’d heard, the girl had good cause to escape. He only hoped she and Jac were safe.

  ‘Your nephew has a hand in this,’ said Geraint. ‘And the witch. You used to sniff round her skirts, didn’t you? She’s led me a fine dance. Should I pay her a visit? Or do you prefer to give me the whereabouts of my bride and your murdering scumbag kin?’

  Dermot’s energy level should have been vastly depleted. The night before, he’d spent hours at the cove, supervising the unloading of sensitive cargo then helping his men eject usurpers from down the coast. His most trusted servant wasted no time in telling him how his nephew had narrowly missed being killed by Bevan. Jac was able to wrest the dagger from the big man’s hand and in the ensuing scuffle, he’d stabbed his adversary in self defence.

  Expecting Jac’s return last night, Dermot had been stunned to find his own past turning up on his doorstep. He’d been astonished to hear of Rebecca’s presence at the cove and of the plot to get her away from Wales. Even after passionate hours with Morwenna, he still felt like a young lover. Now, this odious fellow, noble only by title, stood before him, bad-mouthing the young man who meant as much to Dermot as any son. What’s more, my lord was threatening to harass the woman still slumbering between Dermot’s sheets.

  He lunged at Geraint and grabbed him by the throat, almost gagging at the smell of stale, brandy-soaked breath. But he didn’t lessen his hold.

  ‘Listen to what I say. You and your nasty ways are not wanted round here. You get off my premises and you don’t set foot here again. Understand?’

  Geraint’s eyes bulged but he said nothing.

  ‘Oh dear. Maybe you’ll understand this, then … my lord.’

  Dermot’s well-aimed kick despatched his visitor to the ground, where he lay writhing, moaning and clutching his groin in agony.

  ‘And if you dare interfere with Morwenna’s cabin, I have certain men around me – fathers who’d like nothing better than to send you swiftly to hell where you’ll no doubt end up anyway, one day.’

  Dermot stood glowering at the man he’d despised for a very long time. It had taken a momentous event to stir him to action but he believed he’d acted with justification. As soon as he tidied himself up, he’d visit another old friend. This time, to tell a few truths to Hugh Beaumont.

  ‘You’d best be off,’ he told Geraint. ‘Before I let my dogs out.’

  Rebecca dreamed she was on a boat. The sensation was real enough for her to feel the hammock beneath her. When her fingers found prickly fabric in place of fine cotton, she opened her eyes to a symphony of damp clothing, stale tobacco and fresh human sweat. Not to mention the all-pervading odour of fish.

  A man slept beside her on the floor of a cramped cabin, one arm flung across his makeshift pillow. Rebecca froze under her thick blanket. Was it Jac? Last night’s events flashed before her eyes, a kaleidoscope of excitement, fear and unreality. She’d launched herself on top of the water and swum the few strokes necessary to reach the waiting boat. Remembering Jac’s hands under her behind, shoving her upwards and into the calloused hands of a fisherman pulling her aboard, her cheeks grew hot. She’d swigged down a tot of brandy, the hot spirit making her splutter and cough. Jac had done the talking, explaining in a language she recognised as a sort of French.

  Rebecca had wondered how she’d survive even a sho
rt sea voyage, the only woman on board. But Jac introduced her as his younger brother and pushed her in front of him when the sailor led them below.

  ‘Get your clothes off,’ he ordered once they were alone.

  She’d stood there, teeth chattering.

  ‘I’m trying to keep you alive, sweetheart,’ he’d whispered.

  Her numb fingers couldn’t achieve much but he helped rip off her clothes, turning his back as she stripped naked. When she wrapped her bare body in a thick grey blanket he’d stood behind her, massaging her back and her limbs through the material, making her tingle as blood rushed to her extremities.

  He’d taken her hands in his. Held them to his lips and blown on them. Taken each finger in turn and pushed it inside his mouth, warming and revitalising her. The sensation disarmed her. Her nipples pushing against the coarse blanket spoke her arousal. At one point, the blanket fell away, revealing two fully-awoken breasts.

  She’d heard the gasp interrupt Jac’s breathing. ‘I need to remember you’re a lad,’ he’d said. His voice sounded hoarse from swallowing sea water. Or so he told her as he wrapped her up like a package. She’d brushed her lips against his cheek.

  He’d groaned. Shaken his head. Moved away from her as though she scalded him.

  When a cabin boy arrived, bringing bread, cheese and cider, she’d stayed, hunched against the wall, head turned away.

  ‘Mal de mer,’ Jac said.

  Rebecca had smiled to herself. If she was suffering from any form of sickness it wasn’t caused by ocean rhythms. When she’d devoured her share of the supper, Jac helped her into her sleeping place. Exhaustion and the drink she’d consumed provided oblivion.

  Now she pushed herself cautiously upwards but, unused to a hammock, she misjudged and toppled out, landing half-splayed across Jac’s blanketed body.