April Moon (11 page)

MacSorley narrowed his eyes, shoving the flask into the pocket of his coat. “Ye’ll regret that, sir.”

“Good evening.” Simon turned his horse and rode off, leaving MacSorley staring after him. He could feel the bore of the man’s eyes and dark thoughts as he rode over a hillock on the moor.

Glancing about, he saw no one else, including Felix Colvin and his kinsmen, or Jenny with her horse cart. He hoped she had indeed headed home. There were far too many rogues about, despite the bright moon, and he did not want her on the moorland.

Nearing the cliffs, glancing about, he decided to wait by the cliffside to watch the sea for ships, and the moor for smugglers. Excise men often set themselves up for waits of several hours, and he would be no exception. Besides, he had told Bryson to bring dragoons back to the area of the cliffs, and the fellow could be back within the hour.

Dismounting, he led the black stallion toward a dense stand of hawthorn trees and gorse bushes, surrounding a large clearing. The place had long been used as a hideaway by smugglers.

As he led the horse inside the screen of trees, he noticed another horse already there—a bay mare. Nearby was a small pony cart, concealed by straw and dry branches.

Jenny.
He almost swore aloud. Tying his horse beside hers, he turned and went toward the cliffs. Where had she gone, and what sort of urgent business did she have here, alone?

She must be doing her father’s work for him, while Jock sat in prison. Cursing Jock for sending his daughter out alone on a dangerous task, Simon made his way along an outcrop of boulders that overlooked the sea and the beach below.

The moon was a bright silver coin in the sky, its light pouring over surging tides, the sands along the shore, and the black creased rocks that formed the high cliffs.

Leaning his elbows on one of the boulders, Si
mon took a spyglass from his pocket, opened it, and looked through it.

He could see the silvery sparkling waves, and far out, the black reef where wrecks sometimes occurred. Water frothed on the surface of the sea, delicate as lace. Above, in the purple dusk, the moon’s pale, mottled surface filled, for an instant, the circular window of the spyglass.

He might as well settle in for a long wait, he told himself. His mission for the customs and excise board involved the pursuit and capture of the smugglers who were running high quality whisky over the Scottish border and down along the coast. That in itself was not so unusual, but these particular rogues had a habit of killing men who balked at their high prices. And the whisky itself was of a very fine quality, mostly originating from Glendarroch.

Learning that in Edinburgh, he had volunteered for this post. If Jock Colvin and his men had resorted to the roughest means of making their living, then Simon wanted to be involved in their pursuit and capture. If they were innocent of those practices, he wanted to be involved in the proof of it.

And he had wanted to see Jenny again.

Training the glass along the shoreline, he watched the tides sweep toward the beach, creaming over sand, gushing in and out of coves and the sea caves that sprinkled the coast. He saw no one
at all—and certainly did not see a slim young woman intent on some foolhardy mission.

Where the devil had she got to? Surely not into the caves below, he thought—but every instinct, and the rising hairs on the back of his neck, said that she had done just that.

He slipped the spyglass into his pocket and straightened. Walking along the upper cliff edge, breeze blowing through his hair, he scanned the shore.

Then, behind him, he heard the muffled sound of horses. Turning, he hunkered down and moved toward the stand of trees where his horse and Jenny’s were hidden.

A sudden sound popped nearby, and he felt a tug on his arm, a sting like that of a bee. Looking down, he saw his torn coatsleeve, and with an odd, detached sense, realized that he had been shot.

Another pistol shot rang out, and Simon dropped to the ground, rolling as he landed. Strangely, the ground gave way beneath him, and he hit something hard, then tumbled down farther into blackness.

J
ENNY STOOD TREMBLING
in the darkness, but the eerie shrieking did not come again. She glanced toward the wide mouth of the cave, where the surging sea tide, rippled with froth and moonlight, was already higher. For a moment, she longed to run back toward the entrance and leave this frightening place.

The cave was haunted, they said, by the ghost of a long-ago piper who had lost his way, following the fairies deep into the maze of the caverns and tunnels beneath the cliffs. Haunted, as well, by the legendary sea kelpie that took the form of a graceful white horse, luring souls to their deaths in the water.

But she could not turn back. Her father had sent her here, and this might be the last favor she could ever do for him.

Drawing a breath, she forced herself to move onward. A narrow pass cut through the rock, and she followed it. The lantern’s glow revealed the brown
and rusty variations in the walls, and the stone felt damp and rough beneath her fingers.

Beyond the pool of lantern light, the blackness and silence seemed complete. The sea shushed in the main chamber behind her, the sound fading as she walked. Her footsteps crunched over gritty sand and broken shells, and her fingers touched slimy seaweed on the walls. So the tide came this far and this high into the caves. Shivering at the thought, she moved on.

Waving the light around, she saw crevices, caves and winding passages, just a portion of the honeycomb of tunnels and chambers beneath the cliffs. She would have to search until she found the caves where the MacSorleys stored their smuggled goods.

Turning down a wide, twisting channel, she noticed a sudden bloom of light, its source hidden. Then she heard men’s voices, low and urgent, and she stopped, heart slamming.

Quickly she shut her own lantern and ducked into a nearby crevice, hoping that it was deep enough to conceal her.

Three men came into sight, the leader carrying a lantern with an opened window. He muttered to the others, and they halted near a protrusion in the wall, behind which Jenny stood hidden.

Hardly daring to breathe, she waited.

The men came forward, and she glimpsed them just past the concealing edge of the rock. The man
with the lantern had a craggy face, harsh in the light. All three wore dark jackets and wide-brimmed hats, though she saw only the leader clearly.

“There’s someone here, I know it,” one of them growled. “I heard something.”

“Och, it could be the piper making his way through caves. They do say he still roams,” another said.

The leader snorted a laugh. “Ha! The full moon and the Beauty about in the night has made cowards out o’ you brats.”

“But the Beauty keeps us safe, here in these caves—we’re glad for that legend. No one comes near here,” one of the others said. “But I swear I heard footsteps and saw a light.”

“You heard the sea, or the birds escaping. And you saw moonlight or the lantern’s reflection.”

“Could be our own lads.”

“Aye, could be.”

They moved again, and Jenny feared that they would soon see her. Turning, she wedged into the crevice, which was deeper than she had first thought.

Crunching footsteps came closer, and the lantern light spilled over the hems of her brown patterned dress and dark gray cloak, though the fabrics blended with the rocky surroundings. She held her breath, standing in the blackness.

Then a strong hand covered her mouth from behind, and a hard grip took her by the waist. She was pulled, hard and fast, into the crevice.

S
HE STRUGGLED
in his arms, thrashing so much that Simon thought sure she would give them both away. Keeping his hand over her mouth, he lowered his head. “Be still, Jenny, for love of God,” he breathed. “It’s only me. Hush.”

She froze. Then her cheek moved softly against his own as she looked up him, wide-eyed. She quieted, but sank a well-aimed boot heel into his shin.

Grimacing, Simon tightened his grip around her waist, hugging her so that her back pressed against his chest, feeling her tense in his arms. The smugglers were only a few feet away, their lantern light spilling into the crevice. Simon held Jenny utterly still with him.

His left upper arm throbbed where the pistol ball had torn through fabric and flesh, though by some miracle it had not embedded. Every movement made it ache more fiercely. Although he had used his wadded cravat to staunch the bleeding, he felt a trickle down his arm and hand, and he realized that his blood was staining Jenny’s cloak. He fisted his hand as he gripped her, though the flexion brought a fresh wave of pain.

He wondered if one of the bastards standing just out of arm’s reach had shot him, or if MacSorley
or one of his men had followed him to plant a pistol ball. That question was one among many that he meant to have answered before long.

Resting his cheek against Jenny’s hair, he inhaled the scent of wildflowers in that silky coolness. Her slender body felt good in his arms, and he sensed the thud of her heart. She flooded his senses, filled his body with desire and gratitude just to be with her again, no matter the circumstances.

Four years ago, he had left his heart in her keeping, like some hidden treasure she did not even know she had. Now she was in his arms, but nothing was as he had imagined it would be. He had planned to take slow, measured steps to apologize, to confess his secrets, to win her love again and to regain the respect of all the Colvins, as well.

But Jock was sentenced to die, Felix and the others distrusted him and Jenny was angry and wary. Instead of careful wooing, Simon found himself hurtling headlong into danger with the very girl he had promised, however unwillingly, to let alone.

More than that, he was obliged as king’s officer to discover why she was here among rogues and thieves. He could only hope that Jenny Colvin was not enmeshed with the smuggling criminals he had been sent to find and quell.

Hearing low murmurs and more footsteps, he opened his eyes to see the light pass by the crevice. Long after the steps faded, Simon stood motionless
with Jenny, his heart pounding in rhythm with hers. Finally he let out his breath, and she did, too.

She turned. “You!” she snarled, and gave him a shove, so that his left shoulder thumped against rock. A stab of pain went through his arm, but he snatched her wrists, held them between her breasts and his own chest. “What the devil are you doing here?” she demanded. “Following me? Set on searching me again?”

“Should I?” he whispered. “Have you stuffed your drawers with bladderskins since last we met?”

“Insufferable gauger,” she muttered, and twisted in his grip. He let her go to spare his wounded left arm the effort. She turned in the narrow space, her body brushing his through layers of clothing, and leaned to peer outside.

He looped his uninjured arm around her to pull her back against him again. “Be careful,” he whispered.

“I’m not foolish,” she retorted.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he whispered. “I would not call that whip-smart, my lass.”

“You’re here, too, Simon Lockhart,” she pointed out.

“Aye, but I’m a rogue. I’ve the right.”

She made a little sound of disgust, then craned her head forward to look cautiously into the passageway. “They’re gone.”

“They could still be in the outer cave. Let me
see.” He eased past her, his body rubbing against hers in a delicious way as he leaned out to look.

A faint glow showed far down the passage, and he vaguely heard voices above the constant roar-and-shush of the entering tide. Simon glanced over his shoulder. Jenny’s face showed pale in the deep shadows, her blue eyes large, dark, so intent they nearly sparked.

“They’re in the main cave,” he told her. “Who are they?”

“The older man is a cousin of Captain MacSorley, but I dinna recognize the others. They’re all MacSorley’s men, I would say.”

“I met him with several of his lads out on the moor. They seemed to be quite busy tonight, too, though they denied it.”

“They’re all rascals, and I dinna want to be anywhere near them. But we canna stand here in this wee crevice all night.” She began to squeeze past him.

He took her upper arm. “You’ll stay with me.”

“Go about your business—whatever that may be—and I’ll go about my own.” She tried to twist past him, but he blocked her with one arm and the leverage of his body.

“Just what is your business in these caves, Jenny?”

The effusive light in the outer passage reflected on her face as she stared up at him, frowning. Her
eyes were two great dark gleams, and in sunshine, he knew, would be sapphire bright.

“My father sent me here,” she said bluntly. “He asked me to find something for him here. I canna tell you more than that. Why are you here?”

He shrugged. “I have my secrets, too.”

“You always had too many secrets, Simon Lockhart,” she whispered intently. “Well, now I have some, too. When I’ve found what my father sent me for, I’ll leave, and no harm to anyone.”

“That sounds just the thing to interest the excise man.”

“The de’il take the excise man,” she said between her teeth, her face angled close to his.

“He probably will,” Simon murmured.

God, he wanted to kiss her, suddenly, urgently. The feeling overwhelmed him, strong as the sea. He stood there, aware of her breath mingling with his own, feeling her taut arm under his fingers. His body flexed, heated, in response to her nearness. Gazing at her calmly, he fought the desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her as passionately and madly as he had done on the day they had parted, years before.

No, he cautioned himself. He had come back to woo her and win her. Snatching her up to kiss her with all the desperation and loneliness inside of him was neither wooing nor wise.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, treading carefully.

“Not a letter in four years,” she said. “Not a word.”

“I sent word, I told you, in the first month after I left.”

“We never got it. What about all the other months?”

“I was…busy,” he said.

“And now I’m busy. I must go.” Picking up her lantern, she slid open the shutter a little.

“No light,” he growled, and snapped the window shut. “Those men saw your light earlier, and heard the doves.”

“The what?”

“The rock doves,” he said. “When you came in, the birds flew out the entrance. I heard it, and so did the smugglers. Bonny little sentinels, sounding an alarm whenever strangers approach the seaward entrance. That may be why MacSorley uses this place.”

“That, and because people stay away for fear of seeing the Beauty, or the ghosts who haunts these caves.” She tilted her head to look at him. “How long have you been here? When I left the moor, you were riding out after MacSorley’s band. Yet you were in the cave before me, though I never saw you, nor saw any birds flying out of the cave when I entered.”

“I did not come by the seaward entrance.”

“There is no other,” she said.

“So I thought, too, until I fell through a hole and found myself in the Kelpie’s Cave. I made it this far down the passage before I saw MacSorley’s lads, so I ducked in here. You came along not long after.”

Jenny looked surprised. “There’s a landward entrance?”

“On the moor near the hawthorn grove where we left our horses. I saw Sweetheart there with the cart.”

She tilted her head. “Do you think MacSorley and his men know about it?”

“Quite possibly they dug the tunnel themselves. The opening was hidden by bracken and turf, and a stone at the entrance moved easily when I fell on it. Likely they use that access to move contraband in here when the tide is high.”

She frowned. “If they go out now and see our horses in the hawthorn clearing, they’ll realize we’re in here.”

“Aye, and there’s your wee pony cart filled with empty crates, all ready for transporting…what was it again?” he fished.

“Nothing a gauger need worry about. Go on about your preventive work and leave me be—but first tell me where to find that landward entrance.
’Twill be hours before the tide recedes, so I canna leave here as I came in, after I—” She stopped.

“Ah, your urgent matter of free trade.” He regarded her soberly, and lifted his right hand to press on his wound, which ached and still seeped.

“I told you I promised to do something for my father. Nothing much, but if he wants this…I will do it.”

“Whatever it is, Jock would not want you in here with smugglers about.”

“He wouldna want me in here with
you,
” she pointed out. “So just show me the landward entrance, and I’ll be fine on my own.” She neatly ducked past him to step into the passage.

“Ho, lass,” he said, snatching her arm and drawing her inside the narrow confine again.

“Let me go,” she whispered urgently, and smacked at him with a fisted hand. The blow caught the tender spot on his upper left arm that he had been trying to protect.

With a low, involuntary moan, he grasped at his shoulder. “Damn,” he breathed, as pain exploded in his arm and strange lights dazzled in front of his eyes.

Jenny clutched his forearm. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I just—did not expect to be pummelled,” he said, gathering his wits and straightening again.

“You’re white as chalk. I didna mean to hit you so hard.”

He laughed then, could not help it, and the sheer agony abated a little. He shook his head. “No, my dear. I’m pistol shot.” Sucking in a breath, he pressed his hand over his torn sleeve, where the blood seeped.

She gasped. “Let me see,” she insisted.

“It’s fine,” he said, shaking his head.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered. “I didna notice in the dark.” Her hands encircled his arm, and a little blood leaked through her fingers. “Oh, Simon! My God. That must be tended, and soon. But we must find some place better than this—we need light, and you need to sit down.”

“There’s a spot back there—I found it just before you came.” He tipped his head to indicate the darkness behind them. “It’s very well hidden. Come on.”

Taking her arm, he guided her farther into the narrow channel in the rock where they stood. The crevice appeared to end at a sheer rock wall, but a horizontal split in the rock leaked fresh sea breezes.