Authors: Christina Kendal
Saint Or Sinner
Saint or Sinner?
by
Christina Kendal
Text copyright © 2014
Christina Kendal
All Rights Reserved
Cover design by Fiona McLean
To family and friends for
all their support and encouragement.
Sarah sat bolt upright in bed, her palms clammy, her pulse
racing. The bad dream had returned several nights in a row now and yet still
she couldn’t recall the details, just the leering face of their ageing benefactor,
echoes of his malevolent laughter still reverberating inside her head. An icy
shiver trickled down her spine, and she sucked in a deep calming breath and
released it slowly. The nightmare made no sense: Sir Horace had been the soul
of generosity, taking her and her father in when they had nowhere else to go.
Her body still thrumming with tension, she scrabbled around in the darkness and
finally managed to light a candle, despite the trembling of her hands.
Flickering shadows danced over the walls as she rose from
the bed and wandered over to the open window, throwing back the heavy drapes and
filling her lungs with cool night air. The heady scent of roses wafted up from
the garden below and she took comfort in the reassuring familiarity of the
scene, her gaze lingering over the long sweep of perfectly manicured lawn which
tapered elegantly down towards the private cove. It was a beautifully clear
summer’s night, the trees and bushes standing out starkly in the moonlight, the
vast expanse of the ocean glittering far away on the horizon. She could hear
the sound of distant surf crashing against the rocks and smell the salt spray
on the light breeze.
And then she saw it. A light blinking somewhere far out at
sea, a series of three flashes with a brief pause in between, the same pattern repeated
several times over. Her heart began to pound erratically in her chest.
Smugglers! But making use of Sir Horace’s private cove?
She found that extremely
difficult to believe. Guessing it must be well past midnight, she dressed
swiftly and made her way on tiptoe down the back staircase and out of the
house, feeling a heady mix of excitement and trepidation at the prospect of
what she might discover. She knew it was reckless but as long as she remained
hidden what harm could befall her? And if she happened to spy a face she
recognised, so much the better.
Abandoning the relative safety of the grounds she wound her
way cautiously down the familiar path to the cove, pausing to drink in the heavenly
beauty of the Milky Way spread out like a fine gossamer veil across the velvet blue
of the night sky. The unexpected sound of a gruff male voice somewhere nearby
jolted her out of her reverie and she shrank gratefully down behind a rock, her
heart hammering in her chest. Just in the nick of time it seemed: seconds later
a group of men passed within mere feet of her hiding place, seemingly
unconcerned about the amount of commotion they were creating. Probably bribed
the local Excise men to turn a blind eye, she decided. She caught a glimpse of
several faces, their profiles brought into stark prominence by the moonlight,
but none of them looked even remotely familiar.
When she was confident it was safe once more she rose on slightly
shaky legs and began to cautiously retrace her steps, taking care not to lose
her footing. She was just wending her way through a patch of scrubby brush at
the top of the cliff when she was seized roughly from behind, a large calloused
hand covering her mouth to cut off her scream as she fought unsuccessfully
against her attacker.
“Well, well, and what have we here? A lass wandering
about on her own at this late hour?”
The accent was local, and a gravelly voice off to the left replied.
“Take her to the Saint, he can decide how to deal
with her.”
A gag of some kind was thrust roughly into her mouth and
then she was manhandled back down the path, kicking and struggling for all she
was worth, until finally they reached the beach and rounded a craggy outcrop,
halting outside the narrow entrance to a cave hidden within the towering cliff
face. A couple of lanterns illuminated the dim interior and as she was dragged
within she could make out piles of wooden crates and barrels, and a number of
shadowy men moving to and fro in the relative gloom.
One man stood taller than all the rest, issuing orders, his
mane of dark blond hair gleaming gold in the flickering lamplight. A mask
obscured much of his face but as she was shoved unceremoniously in his
direction she glimpsed a strong profile and a flash of silver grey eyes. He
crossed his arms, his countenance now in shadow.
“Well, now. This is a pretty present you’ve brought
me, lads.”
His accent wasn’t local, sounding more northern than southern to her admittedly
untrained ear.
“Found her lurking at the top of the cliffs, Sir.
No idea who she is or what she was up to.”
“Bring her closer.”
He lifted a lamp in order to inspect her face, and she heard
the note of surprise in his voice.
“Lady Sarah! What in the name of God are you doing wandering
around alone at this time of night? And more to the point, what are you doing here?”
He was very close now, removing the gag before pushing her
up against the uneven rock wall, his strong hands gripping her shoulders. She experienced
a curious mix of fear and excitement as she gazed up into those glittering eyes,
and her voice shook slightly when she spoke.
“Do I know you, Sir? It seems unlikely, as I have
no dealings with wreckers and smugglers to my knowledge.”
She stuck her jaw out defiantly and he pressed his hard body
even closer, pinning her against the cold stone, his lips inches from hers. His
voice was a low growl and she shivered as his warm breath caressed her cheek.
“Indeed? Fortunate for you that we are neither then,
my lady. This is some other man’s contraband, all we’re guilty of is liberating
it.”
He smiled mirthlessly, turning her around and pointing her in
the general direction of the cave entrance.
“Lads, I’m returning this precious package safely
from whence it came. You know what to do.”
There were general murmurs of assent and one or two ribald
comments as he offered her his arm in readiness to ascend the path. She shook
her head haughtily and strode purposefully on ahead of him.
“I can manage, thank you.”
Suddenly she found herself thrust back against the cliff
face, unable to move as he spoke low in her ear.
“You stupid, headstrong, stubborn woman. Just be
thankful it was my men you ran into or your virtue would now be a thing of the
past, and quite possibly your life forfeit also. Don’t you realise how
dangerous these cliffs are in the dark?”
She was shaking, partly due to fear and partly due to his close
proximity, and she tried to cover it with bravado.
“I saw the lights out at sea and thought maybe I
could discern a familiar face and report it to the authorities. I did not
expect to be discovered.”
He released her with a reluctant sigh.
“Beautiful women should not wander around alone in
the middle of the night. When I think what might have happened …”
He still had a hold of her arm, and she felt the shudder run
through him.
“Please allow me the honour of escorting you home,
my lady. I fear for your safety otherwise.”
He gazed down at her with those hypnotic eyes and a not
unpleasant shiver ran through her. Instinctively she felt that she could trust
him and curtly nodded her assent.
“If you must, then.”
She caught a flash of even white teeth as he grinned broadly,
favouring her with a brief incline of the head before offering his arm again.
This time she accepted graciously, attempting to match her shorter stride to
his much longer one and aware of him easing back when he realised she was
struggling to keep up. They walked on in silence for a while, but eventually
her curiosity got the better of her.
“Why do they call you the Saint?”
He glanced down at her and then back at the path ahead,
surprisingly sure-footed even when the moon vanished briefly behind a little wisp
of cloud.
“The locals came up with the name because we take
from the smugglers and redistribute the proceeds, bar a little to cover our
overheads and some remuneration for the men.
“Redistribute? To whom?”
“The poor, of course. There’s more need than ever
nowadays, what with unscrupulous businessmen exploiting the workforce at every
available opportunity.”
Her jaw dropped in surprise as she gazed up at his sculpted profile.
“So who is responsible for the smuggling then? One
man, or several individuals?”
He grimaced, pausing for a moment as if making a decision
before speaking again.
“One man, in the main. He has Customs and Excise in
his pocket but luckily I have a reliable network of informers even among those
he thinks are loyal to him, and we manage to intercept eight out of ten of his
consignments despite his best efforts to prevent it. He’s had to resort to
using his private beach tonight and we’ve still managed to lift the booty from right
under his nose. The men he paid to deal with it are all loyal to me, regrettably
for him.”
She heard the note of grim satisfaction in his voice,
gasping when she realised the implications of his words. They were approaching
the bounds of the estate now, and she whirled around to face him in some
confusion.
“But … surely you can’t mean Sir Horace? He was above
reproach, taking us in when my father fell on hard times and asking nothing in
return.”
He took her dainty hands in his and she didn’t pull away,
searching his eyes for confirmation. When he spoke again his tone was gentle.
“Ask yourself when your father’s fortunes first took
a turn for the worse, Sarah. And when Sir Horace became one of his close business
associates.”
She opened her mouth to protest further and then closed it
again, her mind racing as the doubts began to creep in. It seemed that subconsciously
she must have had her reservations about him all along, hence the disturbing
dreams. But if what The Saint said was true, how could they possibly remain
under the roof of the man who had deliberately set out to ruin her family? A
strangled sob caught in her throat. He pulled her into a tight embrace and she
didn’t resist, burying her face in his chest and taking comfort from his solid
bulk. His voice was gruff, his chin resting on the top of her head.
“I don’t know what his intent is where you and your
father are concerned but believe me, it’ll have very little to do with the milk
of human kindness. Tell nobody of this conversation, sweetheart. Behave just as
you did before. He must suspect nothing or you and your father could be in grave
danger. Can you do that?”
He took her face in his hands and she forgot to breathe,
unable to tear her eyes away from his intense gaze.
“Can you, Sarah? Trust me, it’s of the utmost
importance …”
She nodded dumbly, wondering why she didn’t doubt he was
telling her the truth even though she hardly knew him.
His eyes dropped to her mouth and time stood still for an
instant as she tensed, waiting. And then his lips were on hers and she yielded
instinctively to the demands of his kiss, her arms encircling his neck as he pulled
her close. His tongue slid over hers slowly, sensually, her soft body moulding
to his as her heart pounded erratically in her chest. After a long moment he
released her, whispering softly in her ear.
“Goodnight, my lovely.”
And then he was gone, swallowed up by the shadows, leaving
her breathless and weak-kneed. She blinked, touching her swollen lips, a secret
smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she made her way slowly in the
direction of the house.
Philip Hunt. Witty, amusing, arrogant … and devilishly handsome,
she had to admit. She couldn’t help but notice him at the first social event
she and her father had attended all those months ago, standing a head taller
than most of the other men, his dark blond hair curling attractively over his
collar. He had an expressive face with a ready smile and a full lower lip that
was just begging to be nibbled, but it was his eyes that made grown women
swoon, changing from brilliant blue to molten silver to soft grey in a matter
of moments and framed by insanely long lashes.
She’d watched him as he worked his way around the room,
charming the fluttering bevy of women who surrounded him constantly, hanging on
his every word. Sarah was determined not to be one of them despite his obvious
attractions and returned his witty asides with waspish remarks of her own,
irritated beyond belief when he showed signs of enjoying their verbal sparring
and sought her out ever more frequently.
She knew he was independently wealthy having been left a
fortune by his late father, and had immediately made the assumption that he was
an over-indulged playboy with all the intellectual capacity of a dry stone
wall. Recently, however, she’d had cause to revise her original opinion when
she’d overheard him in serious discussion with her father on more than one
occasion about local politics and the importance of social reform. Occasionally
she’d seen a brooding expression creep over that handsome countenance as though
he had much to occupy his mind, and she decided that the persona of debonair
flirt was just a facade. What she hadn’t worked out as yet was why he played this
role and she determined then to find out more about the intriguing enigma that
was Philip Hunt.
………..
The day after her late night encounter with the Saint she
was taking her regular morning ride along the beach when she spotted Philip
approaching at a canter. The weather was hot and sultry, the threat of an
imminent storm hanging in the air, and the gentle breeze coming off the sea
mussed his hair giving him an attractively dishevelled appearance. He smiled
and inclined his head, his stallion pawing at the ground nervously.
“Lady Sarah, what an unexpected pleasure! Out for a
spot of exercise? I always say nothing compares to a good hard ride.”
A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and she
coloured, knowing his conversation was always peppered with innuendos.
Just as she opened her mouth to retort, a dramatic fork of lightning
lit up the sky overhead closely followed by a resounding clap of thunder and
her mare reared in fright, ears pressed flat against her head, before bolting
in terror. Sarah clung on desperately around the animal’s neck as she flew across
the sand like an arrow, hearing nothing but the wind in her ears, all the
breath forced from her lungs. And then suddenly Philip was galloping next to her
on his big bay, leaning forwards in the saddle to grasp the reins, gradually pulling
back while talking soothingly and reassuringly to her mount.
“Whoa, there. Easy, girl … easy …”
Eventually the mare slowed to a shuddering halt, wide-eyed
and snorting, still pacing uneasily. Rain had started to fall in earnest now,
bouncing up off the rocks, and as he steered both horses into a nearby cave,
she realised it was the same one she’d encountered just the previous night.
Dismounting swiftly, he helped her slide out of the saddle,
holding her up when her legs threatened to give way and steering her to a
nearby flat rock where she sat shivering while he tethered their mounts. The
deluge continued just beyond the cave entrance as he seated himself next to her
and produced a hip flask from his jacket.
“Here, drink some of this, it’ll help.”
She gasped as the brandy hit the back of her throat before
coiling its way down into her stomach, grateful for its warming and soothing
effects. He took both her shaking hands between his own, his voice filled with
concern.
“Good God, you’re freezing. Come here, Sweetheart.”
A strong arm encircled her waist and she found herself
nestled against his broad chest, breathing in his clean masculine scent and
listening to the steady ‘thud, thud’ of his heart. It was not entirely unpleasant
she had to admit, snuggling in closer while he buried his face in her hair.
There was a slight tremor in his voice when he spoke again.
“Jesus, Sarah, I thought I’d lost you. You could
have been killed …”
A shudder ran through him and he lifted her into his lap, each
of them taking warmth from the other while they listened to the steady beat of
the rain at the cave entrance and the roar of the surf pounding against the
beach.
After a while he retrieved the hip flask and offered it to
her again before taking a good mouthful himself. She forced a shaky smile, the
barriers between them having been somewhat lowered by the circumstances.
“Are you trying to get me drunk and seduce me,
Sir?”
He rewarded her with a lopsided grin, and butterflies fluttered
in her stomach as he removed his jacket and placed it gently around her
shoulders.
“If I thought for one second that plan would
succeed I’d have fetched the whole bottle!”
The smile faded as the shock finally hit her, and she began
to shake and sob uncontrollably. Without hesitation he pulled her tightly
against his chest, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace as she
clutched desperately at his shirtfront. He stroked one reassuring hand up and
down her back, whispering tender endearments into her ear, rocking her until
she finally stilled in his arms, comforted by his nearness.
And then there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere as she came
to a gradual awareness of the hard male body pressed against her, shivering at
the touch of his fingers, conscious of his lips gently brushing her hair. He
tensed, sensing the spark of electricity flaring between them, holding her away
from him so that he could look into her tear-stained face, his expression
unreadable.
“The rain’s almost stopped now. Think you can make
it back to the house if we ride together? We can lead your mare.”
She nodded, getting unsteadily to her feet and following as
he led the horses from the cave. He lifted her up onto his big stallion and hoisted
himself up behind her, one strong arm holding her firmly against his body as he
steered them away from the beach. They spoke little, enjoying the enforced
closeness as she leaned back against his broad chest, secure within the protective
circle of his arms.
All too soon they arrived back at Sir Horace’s mansion, and Philip
leapt nimbly to the ground before helping her to dismount. It seemed to her
that he held her for just a tad longer than necessary before the groom appeared
from the stables to lead her mount away. Their gaze met and locked, speaking
volumes, and when she spoke her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Damsels in distress are my speciality, didn’t you
know? And I think you can call me Philip now we know one another a little
better.”
He smiled warmly, giving her a sly wink before remounting, and
she stared after his tall figure with a thoughtful expression on her face
before turning and walking unsteadily back to the house.