by C. C. Wiley
Hope swelled and nearly knocked her to her knees. The captain grabbed her elbow and steered her past the brigade. He motioned for one of his men to help the mistress get to the lodging safely.
Ensconced in the cart, they rattled off to the cottage by the harbor. Her heart filled with joy. She would apologize to James for losing her temper and promise never to lose it again. She would smother him with kisses, tell him of her love.
“Stop here,” she called out.
The ship’s mate reined the horses in and helped her out. Terrwyn waited for him to drive out of sight before heading to the cottage. She recalled the cadence of knocks. When no one responded she tested the door and found it unlocked.
Wearily she sat at the table. The empty cottage grew grimmer as the day wore on. Her hopes plummeted. The captain was wrong. James was not here. Nor was Drem. The loneliness without James was unbearable. Tears began to fall. She feared she’d made a terrible mistake in leaving the harbor fire.
Panic began to build. She would make her way back to the ship. Mayhap more news would be available.
The door secured behind her, she slipped out of the gate and walked swiftly down the road. Memories of the nights with James filtered into her thoughts. Each memory gave her strength to move on. She searched the buildings, the people passing by, praying she would see his wonderful smile, his stormy eyes. With every person she passed, the fear she would never see him again burrowed into her hope. What if that lone soul they pulled from the fire was James?
Following the sounds, Terrwyn entered the tavern nearest the ship. Conscripted to house the injured, the building was filled with both common men and soldiers. Their thirsts quenched, the burns bandaged, they sat at a table, their faces gaunt with fatigue.
Terrwyn pushed her way through, all the while scanning the room for those she loved. She scoured the faces of everyone in the room. The stench of sweat and smoke pulled at the breath in her lungs. Her eyes stung.
She approached a familiar-looking man sitting at the table who had bandages covering most of his head. A young serving wench appeared none too happy with him.
“Lord love you, Millie, I’m fine,” Drem said over the din. “Just a bump on my noggin and a burn here and there. There’s others hurt worse than me.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” the young miss said sternly. “Just look at your poor hands.”
The words lodged in Terrwyn’s throat. She tried again. Her mouth moved, but nothing came.
The grimness in his face intensified. “God’s bones, Terrwyn—” He started to rise and Millie brusquely pushed him back in the chair.
Terrwyn rushed to her brother. “I feared I lost you.” She brushed her lips on an undamaged portion of his cheek.
“Here, miss,” Millie said, pulling out a bench. “You need to sit down before you fall over.”
Her brother held out his bandaged hand. “Aye, sit, sit.” Assured the blood was not her own, he settled back in his chair. “Thank God, you are all right. Poole—”
“James,” Terrwyn said, fighting back the tears. “Where is he?”
Drem wiped his mouth with his sleeve before meeting her gaze. “I don’t know.”
Her heart pitched. “But you were with him—”
He shook his head slowly. “He left with Simon.”
“Simon?” Her heart pitched again.
“Then the explosion—”
“Explosion.” Terrwyn leaned forward, gripping her brother’s forearm. “You and James were on the ship?”
“Aye. And Simon.” He took a pull of the ale in his mug. “The lad confessed he found himself in too deep with Poole. Convinced James he desired to set matters right and could lead him to where they intended to set the fire.” Emotion choked his next words. “Led him off like a sheep to the wolves.”
The room blurred. Terrwyn swiped at the burning in her eyes.
He covered her head with his bandaged hand. “God’s blood, Terrwyn, I should have demanded to stay with him. But your James would hear none of it. Said ’twas my responsibility to protect the king if they did not get there in time. And I knew he was right.”
“But you didn’t see him? You haven’t seen him since?” Terrwyn asked, determined to cling to hope.
He winced where her fingers dug into his wrist. They both ignored Millie’s clucking concern. “’Tis true I haven’t seen him since. The explosion ripped through the deck below Henry’s chamber. It knocked me to my knees. Poole caught me off guard when he ran by, cracking me on the head with his cudgel.” His eyes lit. “The cottage. I wager he returned to the Swans’ cottage and is waiting for you there.”
Despite the trembling quakes running through her body, she shook her head, her voice barely discernable. “I’ve already been.”
“Aw, Terrwyn, I cannot tell you how saddened I am.”
“Nay.” The single word came out in defiance. “It cannot be as you say.”
She turned, mindless of the feet she stepped on, the injuries she bumped, and ran out of the tavern.
Once again, Terrwyn stood at the docks. The fire out, repairs had already begun on the ship anchored in the harbor. Her steps faltered as she drew nearer to the destruction. The wooden planks were littered with soot and bloodied bandages. Two soldiers guarded a lone body covered in the portion of a canvas sail. James’s vow to his liege echoed in her ears. He would protect the king or die trying.
She shivered and took a step toward the soldiers. “Please. I would see the soul you have there.”
“Halt.” Their pikestaffs blocked her path.
“Please, can you at least tell me his name?”
“By order of King Henry, we are not to let anyone near.”
“But I would know this man under yon canvas,” she pleaded.
One of the soldiers shifted forward, giving her false hope that he might let her draw near. “Then I suggest you take up your grievance with the king. ’Tis certain he would be curious about your interest in this man.”
At a loss, she turned to look over the buildings’ roofs, wondering which one held Edgar Poole’s lifeless and decaying body. Mayhap James had gone to retrieve her and the ring. The slightest glimmer of hope began to build, scorching out despair.
She searched the skyline of Southampton, recalling the path she ran to reach the harbor. She marched forward, toward the building where she was certain she’d left Poole. Night was moving in, but she did not care. Finding James was all that mattered.
She pulled the cloak close as a man stumbled down the road. He was covered in soot. Her stomach knotted when he redirected his path. She braced for his assault, suddenly aware she had forgotten to tuck her knife into her belt.
“Terrwyn,” he bellowed in her ear. “Through God’s blood, you are alive.”
“Sir Nathan…” She hugged him tight, thankful he was well. She gripped his sleeve, fearing the knight’s answer. “James? Have you seen him?”
He pointed toward a cobblestone path that led to a small shed.
She heart lurched as she ran toward the shed. “James!” she cried. “James!”
The most wonderful sight she had ever seen stepped to the doorway. The light behind shone around him in a halo.
“Terrwyn,” he called. He met her in the middle of the path. Lifting her into his arms, he held her as if he would never let her go. He buried his face into her shoulder and wept. “Ah, God’s mercies! I didn’t know what to think, my love. There’s so much blood.”
“And I feared you dead.” Breathless, she pulled away. “And Simon? What of him?”
James cupped the back of her head. “You were right, you know. Deep down, he had a good heart. He could not live with the disgrace to his family and gave his life so that Henry might escape the ship. Said he did it for Gilly’s. He did not want his greed to tarnish his niece’s future. Terrwyn, your father—”
“Dead?” she whispered. Though it pained her to think of him no longer in her life, she’d come to accept that was the way it mu
st be.
“Nay, ’tis said that he hides with Owain Glyndwr.”
“How long will his luck continue?”
James kissed her forehead. “The man no longer has the love and respect of his family. If you ask me, his luck already left him.”
Terrwyn nodded and gently caressed his cheek. Burn marks littered the heavy leather gambeson, one hole exceedingly too close to his heart. A film of smoke and dried blood coated his hair. “You’re hurt.”
“’Tis only a scratch, my love. I’ll heal faster with you in my arms.”
Aware of how close she had come to losing him, Terrwyn covered his mouth with hers and drank of the life flowing through his veins.
Knowing his injuries caused him more pain than he let on, she lifted his arm and gently placed it on her shoulder for him to lean on. “Let’s go home, James, my love.” She looked up at the gray sky. “’Tis certain to be a bright and lovely tomorrow.”
James stopped and turned her to face him. His lips lingered over her mouth before he lifted his head. “Now, will you be mine and marry me?”
“I’ve always been yours. I just didn’t know it.”
Shouts of good cheer rang out in the dingy cottage by the seaside. Soon the fleet of ships would be sailing to France. Word had come that Simon of Norwich had given his life while trying to stop the fire. Although Edgar Poole succumbed to his mortal injuries, the Knights of the Swan continued their search for the others who had plotted against the throne.
Young King Henry tipped his glass to the band of men he trusted to keep him alive and his throne safe. He looked at the couple kneeling before him. “Rise. I give you a toast to carry with you.” Lifting his mug high overhead, he said, “May there be someone to hold ’til the wee hours of the morn. Someone to love us despite our faults. Someone to care whether we live or die. And may that someone be ours to love throughout eternity.”
James folded Terrwyn in his embrace and she knew that, aye, her life was blessed with love. As her lips touched his, she saw their laughing children and knew her vision was a gift indeed.
About the Author
Growing up on a farm in the Midwest, I learned to escape the never-ending chores by storytelling. I’d slip off to the barn or the fields and settle into a book that would take me away. Before long, I started creating my own stories to keep myself entertained. Eventually, adult responsibilities took over and I put away my storytelling, but never my love for reading.
One year, during an exceptionally long Wisconsin winter, my fascination with historical romance blossomed from reading them to needing to write them. I just couldn’t get the dream out of my head. I had to write. I began the arduous task of learning all I could about writing a story. Those lessons continue every day.
I believe there are wonderful courageous characters waiting for someone to tell their story. When I write, my goal is to capture a moment in time, where the threads of history, adventure, hope, passion and love, sweep the reader away.
To learn more about C.C. Wiley, please visit www.ccwiley.com.
After one daring act, two worlds collide
A Reason to Rebel
© 2009 Wendy Soliman
Duty has always been Estelle Travis’s byword. But every woman has her limits, even a recently widowed one with few prospects. Her father’s coldly calculating plan to force her into another marriage is the final straw. In an act of rebellion, she takes up a position as companion to Lady Crawley. She soon realizes she may have just exchanged one peril for another, in the guise of Alexander, Viscount Crawley.
Alex is beguiled by the aura of mystery that surrounds the beautiful new governess. Her air of vulnerability brings out his protective instincts in spades. He discovers her well-hidden reckless streak when her sister goes missing and, rather than do what’s expected and return to her father’s austere household, Estelle embarks on her own search.
Amid a thickening cloud of suspicion and whispers of murder, what choice does a gentleman of honour have other than to offer his assistance? Then there’s the allure of her company, even if it exposes him to dangers that have little to do with her sister’s plight…
Warning: This title contains a Regency heroine who abandons conventional behaviour, breaches the social divide and renounces her inhibitions.
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Reason to Rebel:
Early the following morning Alex assisted Estelle into his luxurious coach and four. His mother looked very small and full of concern as she stood on the front steps and waved them off to town. He experienced a pang of guilt at being the cause of her anxiety. Aware of Estelle regarding him with a quizzical expression, he waited for his two liveried tigers to scramble up behind and gave his coachman the order to drive on.
“I feel most ungrateful,” Estelle said, “deceiving Lady Crawley in such a monstrous fashion.”
“And your way would have better served your conscience?” He raised his arm to his mother for a last time before putting up the window.
“No, of course not, and I would not have you think I do not appreciate your intervention. It is just that I cannot help regretting the necessity to play her false.”
“Then let us hope that our business might be speedily concluded.”
“Indeed, but if we are so fortunate as to recover my sister I do not see how I can return to Crawley Hall. I shall have Marianne’s welfare to consider as well as my own and can hardly foist another deserving cause upon Lady Crawley.”
“So what do you intend to do?”
“I cannot say with certainty. In fact I own I have not thought that far ahead. Devising a means of discovering Marianne’s whereabouts and taking her to safety has occupied all my thoughts since learning that my father is no longer looking for her.” She paused, nibbling at the end of her gloved index finger, a contemplative expression filtering across her lovely countenance. “Perhaps we are both destined to become governesses after all. We are amply qualified to fulfil such a role thanks to our tenure at Miss Frobisher’s Academy for Young Ladies.”
“I daresay.” Alex chuckled at the vision this conjured up. He glanced out of the window as they approached the outskirts of the village. “I say, look out!” He clasped her shoulder and in one fluid movement pulled her head towards his lap.
“What is it?” The alarm in her voice was apparent even though it was muffled by the close proximity of her lips to his thigh.
“We are passing through the village, past the inn where you father has put up. I can see him talking to his coachman at the archway to the mews. No, no, keep down, he is looking this way.”
“Has he recognized you?”
“He can hardly have failed to do so. But do not be alarmed. He will only have observed me sitting alone inside my carriage.”
Winthrop broke off his conversation with his man and turned to glare at the passing carriage. His features were cold and full of suspicion. He lifted his head to ask a question of the inn’s ostler. Presumably he wanted to know whose carriage it was bowling past them at such a cracking pace. Alex assumed a bored expression and looked straight through the man.
“He will suspect something nonetheless.”
“It will get him nowhere.”
“No, I suppose it will not.” Estelle sounded far from certain as she twisted her head sideways on his thigh, presumably because she found it uncomfortable speaking to the fabric of his breeches. Alex stifled a groan. He was finding it uncomfortable too, but for a very different reason. “But he will now know that you are not at home and will very likely try to gain access to Crawley Hall and to your mother.”
“Pray do not concern yourself. He will not get past the gatehouse. And by now my mother will be in the curricle, on her way to Lady Jacobs’s party, where she will remain until I have returned and can collect her myself.”
“But he will not give up, even then.” Alex could hear renewed anxiety in her voice and had to suppress the almost overwhelming urge to comfort her in the manner which spontaneously s
prang to mind. By some extreme effort of will he resisted taking such an improper course, making do with stroking her slender back, soothing her as though she were a fractious child. “He will undoubtedly set about quizzing your staff, or more likely get his man to do so.”
“And what will he discover?” Alex lifted his shoulders. “That I have removed to London, that is all, and there is nothing remarkable about that. I visit the capital on a regular basis.”
“But he might also learn that you were accompanied on your journey by a lady who has been a guest in your house.”
“Perhaps, but only if there is someone in my employ who values his position so little that he is prepared to reveal that information. I have given specific orders that your visit should not be mentioned to anyone and I seriously doubt that those orders will be disobeyed. But even if he does somehow gain that intelligence, what then?”
“Well, he might look for me in your London home.”
“Where he will have no better luck than he did here.” He transferred his attention from her back to the trembling shoulder resting on his knee. “Have courage, Estelle. I know you are fearful of him and I comprehend your anxiety. But take comfort from the fact that he cannot get near you or force you to do anything against your will when you are in my company.”
“And when you are not with me?”
“I shall not leave you unprotected until this matter is resolved.”
“That is not what I meant.” She popped her head up, only for him to push it sharply back down again. The only sounds inside the carriage as they passed through the outskirts of the village were the wheels gliding over the rutted road and Estelle’s anxious breathing.
“It is all right,” he said after a moment or two more during which no words passed between them. “We are beyond the village now and it is safe for you to get up.”
“Thank goodness!” Bonnet askew and face drained of all colour, she lifted her head, her insecurities on plain view as she gazed at him through trusting eyes.