The Smuggler and the Society Bride (21 page)

Within moments she reached the hut, and dismounted as an eager Eva ran up to her. Reins in one hand, Honoria gave her a one-armed hug. ‘I'm taking you home,' she said urgently. ‘It's not safe here.'

Distress on her face, Eva was signalling that she must stay, when the door of the hut opened and John Kessel emerged, stopped short and stared at them.

‘Here now, brat, what are you doing?' he growled, ignoring Honoria. ‘Get back to your post!'

‘She's not going back,' Honoria said evenly. ‘She's going with me.' With difficulty, cognizant of how dangerous the man
could be, she refrained from telling him exactly what she thought of him involving a child in his illegal operations.

‘Just what right do you have to interfere, missy? Her mother knows she's here and will be happy to have the blunt I'm paying her. Happy, too, I'll wager, that someone finally found a way for her idiot daughter to be useful. If the revenuers do appear, they won't be able to get much information out of her, will they?' he asked, with a bark of laughter.

His speech containing too many points with which she disagreed to begin rebutting them, she simply said, ‘It's not safe for a child here. Find someone else to stand your lookout. I'm taking Eva with me.'

His levity vanished beneath a menacing frown. ‘This be none of your business, girl. You just ride that pretty little mare home to your aunt's and go back to your tatting. And if you know what's good for you, if you encounter any riding officers along the way, you'll forget what you seen here.'

A rising fury burned away all caution. In John Kessel's determined face she saw another evil man bent on accomplishing his own selfish plan, uncaring of the innocents he harmed. English law was harsh, too harsh, probably. Children not much older than Eva had been transported for less than the capital crime of smuggling, and Honoria was not about to let Eva become another helpless victim.

‘I'm sorry to be disobliging, Mr Kessel, but Eva cannot stay here. Let's go, Eva,' she said calmly and coaxingly to the child, who stood regarding them both, confusion and anxiety on her face. ‘You shall ride behind me on my beautiful horse. You'll like that, won't you?'

With a snarl, Kessel grabbed Eva's hand and yanked her back toward the hut. ‘And I says you're taking her nowhere until she's finished here. You understand me, girl?'

‘Or what?' Honoria snapped back, almost quivering with fury. ‘You'll beat me? Strike an unarmed woman smaller than you, like the great loathsome bully you are?'

With a growl, Kessel dropped Eva's hand and strode toward Honoria. She was backing away, ready to tell Eva to make a run for it as she desperately scanned the area for something she might use as a weapon, when the first shot rang out.

O
verwhelmingly anxious to be back in Cornwall after foul weather and breakdowns of the coaches delayed his arrival by nearly five days, Gabe rode the horse he'd hired in Penzance back into Sennlack. Before taking the lathered beast to a well-deserved rest at the Gull's Roost stables, however, he'd ride by the harbour and check on the
Flying Gull.
With the unanticipated delay in his return, and the details of their next run to France already nearly complete when he'd departed almost two weeks ago, he knew he'd probably be taking her to sea immediately.

Though before he left, he would somehow carve out the time to visit a certain lady. He had a tale to relate he knew she'd find interesting, though until he tracked down the Gypsy—a task that, maddeningly, he would have to leave until after this next voyage—he wouldn't be able to offer her the full story.

How would she react when she realized he knew the truth, all of the truth?

How would he, facing her again now that he knew it?

He'd ruminated over their next meeting for most of the long, boring, frustrating journey from London. He was no closer now to deciding how to handle the situation than he'd been in the shocked few moments after first discovering her identity.

Pulling up before a vista of the harbour, chopping waves under a sky of scudding grey clouds, Gabe mulled it over yet again.

Should he maintain a polite, respectful distance, as befitted a lowly younger son addressing the daughter of an earl? Sweep her into a passionate embrace as demanded by a man who'd been invited to her touch, revelled in her taste, had her voice and scent and essence too deeply imbedded into his soul to let her go?

Once she knew he knew, would she return that embrace or slap his face for effrontery?

Gabe was frowning over the possibilities when it dawned upon his distracted senses that the
Gull
was not at her customary anchorage. Shaking his head free of the distracting Miss Foxe—no, Lady Honoria—he leaned forward and peered through a patch of drizzle, but that space remained empty.

The
Flying Gull
wasn't in the harbour.

Fury raged through him as he wheeled his mount and guided it in the direction of the inn. Who had dared take his ship to sea without him in command? Given his unexpected delay in returning, the answer that bubbled to the top of his consciousness added to his rage—and a sense of betrayal.

That foreboding was only enhanced when he leapt from the saddle at the Gull and no stable boy appeared to take the reins. His ire burned hotter when he stalked into the stable to find it, too, deserted.

That state of affairs not being the poor nag's fault, he delayed long enough to remove the saddle and give the animal a quick brush-down before continuing into the inn.

Which, as he'd feared, was also deserted.

Though there were normally few customers during the middle of the day, there could be only one reason for the establishment to be totally empty. Pacing behind the building to a narrow platform that overlooked the cove, he found Old Jory sitting in his accustomed corner, smoking his pipe as he gazed with mostly sightless eyes out to sea.

‘Where are they landing it?' he demanded, too incensed for an exchange of civilities.

‘Flatland about four miles south of town,' the old sailor replied. ‘There's a tunnel cut from the cove to an old stone hut. You'll see the craggy tor that marks it on the moors as you ride in.'

From the location and description, it sounded like Eva's cave and tunnel, Gabe thought with a jolt of unease.

After a quick thanks, Gabe hurried to the stable, glad there was at least one fresh horse left.

Some half hour later, he was approaching the summit of a rise, the craggy tor in the distance, when he heard a sharp, popping sound that, after years as a soldier, he recognized as musket fire, as surely as he knew the whine of the wind in the
Gull's
rigging when it was time to come about.

Spurring the job horse to greater speed, Gabe topped the hill and reined in to reconnoitre the scene below. Only a green recruit rode hell-bent into battle without first taking the measure of the ground.

His resolve to honour that timeless wisdom shattered, however, when he saw in the distance a slender figure in a deep blue riding habit, crouched behind the small stone hut which was indeed the structure concealing the opening to Eva's secret tunnel. In the shock of that instant, he also recognized the fleeing horse as Aunt Foxe's mare. And beside Miss Foxe cowered a child who could only be Eva Steavens.

In face of the danger threatening her, whether she ultimately received him with passion or disdain mattered no more than the adage of analyzing the field. Kicking his horse into motion, Gabe descended the slope at a full gallop.

Pushing his mount to cover the ground as quickly as possible, Gabe wished he was on his old cavalry saddle, a pair of pistols primed and ready in their holsters and his sword in hand. As it was, he carried only a small pistol that gave him a single shot.

After reviewing his weapons, he noted that there appeared to be only four or five revenue agents firing at the men driving the loaded farm wagons. They must not have received word of the landing in enough time to summon the troop of infantry garrisoned nearby to assist them.

He also thought he could make out, leading the group, the zealous young revenue officer he'd pulled half-drowned out of Sennlack Cove. Perhaps the revenuer was so keen to be avenged for his previous dunking—and failure to seize that particular cargo—he had chosen not to wait on reinforcements.

It required no reflection at all to determine who would be foolish, and arrogant, enough after that first near-disaster to call for another daylight landing.

Hadn't he warned Dickin about his brother's recklessness? And how could his friend have allowed John to order the
Gull
to sea—his ship, his crew—in his absence?

Now that he was closer, Gabe could hear the shouting of the free-traders, those nearest the structure running their tubs into the stone hut and doubtless back into the tunnel. Once there, they could close and bar the exit door behind them, making it nearly impossible for the revenuers to break through and trail them back to the beach.

The customs agents must have realized that, too, for they concentrated their fire on the men engaged in loading goods onto the carts. Those individuals had taken cover behind their wagons, some frantically pulling out an assortment of blunderbusses, muskets and pistols to return fire, while others wielded picks, clubs and shovels, ready to defend their cargo.

Gabe noted approvingly as he approached that in the mêlée, Miss Foxe had grabbed Eva and dragged her away from the hut, sheltering with her behind a nearby outcrop of rocks. If he could work his way behind the hut with the revenuers still concentrating their efforts on the cargo wagons, he might be able to lead them back along the cliff edge to a position where he could safely mount them on his horse and send them out of danger.

Then he could return and confront the Kessel brothers.

He glanced back toward the wagons. At the moment, the struggle between the revenue agents and the free-traders seemed a stalemate, the King's officers possessing more firepower, but the free-traders having superior numbers and better cover.

As Gabe returned his attention to the stone hut, John Kessel himself stepped out the doorway and peered around the structure to gage the progress of the struggle over the cargo. Spotting him, the revenue officer Gabe had saved wheeled his horse and headed for the hut at a gallop, levelling a pistol as he approached.

Less than a hundred feet more, Gabe thought, pressing his skittish mount, who was not at all happy about heading toward, rather than away from, the firing. Then to his horror, as he watched helpless to do more than utter a furious curse, before he could reach the woman and child, Kessel sprinted to the rock and grabbed Eva. Pulling the child in front of him, he forced her back toward the stone hut, using her as a shield between him and the revenuer's pistol.

‘You've only one shot, whoreson,' he shouted at the man. ‘Take it and you hit the brat.'

The revenuer pulled up his horse, irresolute, his pistol still levelled at Kessel. Though the child struggled, Kessel held her easily, keeping her thrust before him. ‘I suggest you ride away before my men turn on you.'

At that moment, Laurie Steavens, a livid bruise on her cheek, emerged from the hut. ‘Let her be!' she screamed, running toward her sister.

While the revenue agent looked about wildly, unwilling to fire upon the child or the girl, Gabe leapt from his horse and raced over. After jerking Eva away from the distracted Kessel and shoving her toward her sister, he tackled the smuggler, knocking him to the ground.

‘Take her and run!' Gabe shouted at Laurie as he untangled himself from Kessel. While the girl scrambled away, her sister
in tow, still on his knees, Gabe looked up at the revenuer. ‘Let the females go. You've no quarrel with them.'

At the far side of the stone hut, numbers were winning out over firearms. As the revenuers ran out of ammunition, small groups of free-traders advanced, wielding clubs and sticks. They circled behind the revenue agents and then laid into them. One agent had been cornered against a wagon and was being beaten about the head and shoulders by two of the smugglers.

On this side of the hut, their leader aimed his weapon at Gabe, then at Kessel, his face contorted in anger.

‘Don't do it,' Gabe urged. ‘You only have one shot. I've been a soldier; trust me—you haven't enough men. Save your weapon to get your troopers away, before fools drunk on power and free whiskey—' he jerked his chin in the direction of the men attacking his agent ‘—cause a serious injury.'

After another fraught moment, with a roar of impotent rage, the leader kneed his mount and charged the wagon where the knot of smugglers were abusing his man, firing his one shot into the group. While the smugglers scattered, the leader pulled the injured man onto his horse. In the confusion, the four other King's men backed away to find their mounts and rode off, the free-traders jeering and shaking fists at them as they retreated.

Gabe scrambled to his feet and ran over to Miss Foxe. ‘Are you all right?' he asked anxiously, his eyes scanning her for possible injury.

‘I am fine!' she assured him. ‘How can I thank you and Laurie enough for intervening? If you hadn't distracted Kessel, he might still be holding Eva. But what of you, sir? You are bleeding!'

Gabe glanced impatiently down, noting the scrapes and cuts on his hands where he'd hit the rocky soil when he knocked Kessel down. ‘'Tis nothing. Take my horse, please. Deliver Eva home and then get back to Foxeden. If you hurry, you should manage to arrive not too long after your aunt's horse and spare her worrying that you've been thrown to your death.'

She'd been about to protest, he could tell, but at this, she checked. ‘You are right; she will worry when Mischief returns riderless. But I did so wish to speak with you! There's so much I need to tell you.'

‘And I, you. A very great deal!' Now that the danger had passed, he allowed himself a moment to gaze hungrily at her lovely features. ‘But here is not the time and place. I've a reckoning to settle with Mr Kessel.' His gaze narrowing, he glanced toward Dickin's brother, who had hauled himself to his feet and was hurrying over to join the cheering men at the wagons. ‘Will you come to the school tomorrow?'

‘Tomorrow?' she echoed, dismay and disappointment in her tone. ‘Y-yes, I suppose I can wait until then.'

He permitted himself one final pleasure—pressing her hand, a contact that immediately submerged the sting of his assorted cuts and bruises in a tingling warmth. ‘Good. Eva will need comforting, I suspect, before you take her home.'

‘We'll bring her back to the vicarage first,' Father Gryffd's voice interrupted him.

Gabe blinked, startled to see the clergyman leading his horse toward them. Apparently he'd missed the vicar in the confusion, for Miss Foxe did not look at all surprised by his presence. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, Father,' she said, confirming Gabe's impression.

‘'Twas a brave, bold thing you did, lass, getting the child away from Kessel,' the vicar said. ‘I just praise the Lord you're both unharmed.'

Holding her sister's hand, Laurie joined the group. ‘I tried to stop him from taking her, Father,' she said, tears choking her voice. ‘But he wouldn't listen.' She laughed, a touch of hysteria edging the bitter sound. ‘He never listens to any but his own counsel now. Dickin argued against transporting the goods by daylight, but John called the men out anyway.'

Unconsciously she fingered the bruise on her cheek. ‘I…I'm going back home with Eva. He said he'd kill me if
I tried to leave, but I don't care any more. I won't go back to him.'

Father Gryffd nodded, his gentle eyes lighting with compassion and a fervour that, on another man, might have been rage. ‘You must both stay at the vicarage. Yes, and your mother, too. Eva can continue her schooling and you'll be safe, until you decide what you want to do next.'

Laurie's eyes widened, hope lightening them for a moment before it dulled. ‘No, it wouldn't be right. 'Tis powerful kind of you, Father, but I can't involve you in my quarrel.'

‘You are one of my lambs; it is my quarrel,' Father Gryffd replied softly. ‘Besides, you think John Kessel would dare to attack a man of God?'

Gabe didn't doubt it. Apparently Laurie didn't either, for she said, ‘I believe he thinks he is above God.'

‘No one is above God, and all our fates lie in His hands,' the vicar said. ‘But since the Almighty also helps those who help themselves, let me assure you that there's no Cornishman alive who can best a Welshman when his ire is up. I wasn't born a priest, you know. I insist that you stay. For the child's and your mother's protection, if nothing else. You know John Kessel, may the Lord yet rescue his black soul, would think nothing of threatening them to force you to his will.'