April Moon (12 page)

“Climb through,” he whispered. “There’s a little cave on the other side.”

Jenny slid quickly through the crack in the rock and out the other side, while Simon followed, ignoring the burst of pain in his arm.

He emerged to stand in a small natural balcony
formed by a pocket in the massive black rock of the cliff face. The little terrace was open to air and light and provided a magnificent view of sea and sky.

Jenny stood looking out over the sea, where breakers creamed like lace and moonlight spangled the water. Twinkling lights showed all along the black line of the hills beyond the shore.

Simon crossed to join her in two or three steps. The sea air felt good as it wafted through his hair and fluttered his shirt and jacket. He stood beside her and breathed in the freshness, resting his right hand over the aching wound. The indigo sky sparkled with stars, and the round moon glowed like a white fire, casting its pure light over the sea.

“It’s beautiful here. So peaceful.” She smiled up at him in the moonlight.

“Aye,” he agreed softly. “And it’s safe here. No one will find us—providing we’re quiet.”

“Good. Then I can care for that wound properly. Sit, you,” she directed, steering him toward a low protrusion in the wall that could serve for a bench, “and take off your coat.”

E
ASING OUT OF HIS COAT
, Simon sat, brightening the lantern to cast a golden wash of light in the moonlit interior of the little hidden terrace. Jenny turned her back to him, and he realized that she was tearing a length of cloth from her chemise.

Coming toward him, she set to work, neatly—and rather heartlessly, he thought—ripping the length of his bloody sleeve to the shoulder.

“That was good lawn,” he muttered.

“And will make a fine bandage,” she said. Her touch was soothing as she wadded his torn sleeve to clean his bared arm. Then she pressed with both thumbs on the wound.

“Ow!” He sucked in a breath.

“There’s no pistol ball in there,” she pronounced.

“I knew that,” he rasped. “You had only to ask.”

She dabbed at the wound, a deep gash through skin into muscle that bled freely. “Oh, my dear…it needs cauterizing.”

“Bandage it tightly. We’ve no time.”

Quickly she wrapped fabric around the taut muscle of his upper arm. In the moon’s blue light, he studied the pale grace of her profile and the gleaming sweep of her hair.

Closing his eyes briefly, ignoring the searing pain in his arm, Simon smelled the copper tang of his blood, the salt air and the faint sweetness of wildflowers in Jenny’s hair. He felt comforted by her fragrance, by her gentle touch.

He still loved her, always had, always would, no matter if she returned it. The blend of fire and gentleness in her, together with her serene beauty and graceful shape, still captivated him. Memories of her had sustained him through two years in a dreary prison cell, and through two more years while he worked off the rest of his sentencing and strived to improve his circumstances, all the while planning to return a new man in her regard—and in his own.

“Who shot you?” she asked in a tight, low voice. He saw her frown.

“I do not know.”

“You said you spoke with MacSorley out on the moor. Did you see guns on his men?”

“No guns, but they would not be so foolish as to show them to a preventive officer. Clubs and blades are one thing—pistols are regarded as wholly another. Then the law would be after them
for rebellion and treason over smuggling. Most free traders respect that as too great a risk.”

“My father’s lads never carry them, but MacSorley and his pirates might well have them.”

He nodded as she tied off the bandage and drew the remnant of his sleeve over the wound. “That will do for now. But you must see a doctor and have that cauterized, or it will continue to seep.”

“Later. Thank you, lass.” He eased back into his coat with her help, and stood. A wave of pain and dizziness passed quickly enough. “We cannot stay here.”

“But you said we couldna be found here.”

“We’re well hidden, aye, but as cozy as our little secret place is, we must go. I intend to get you back home to Glendarroch as soon as possible.”

“I willna leave the caves just yet. I told you so.”

“Jenny Colvin,” he said sternly, “these sea caves will soon be filled with the worst smugglers on the Solway shores, and I do not want you here.”

She leaned toward him. “Show me where that landward entrance is, and I’ll see to my errand and be gone before the rest of MacSorley’s ruffians come around. And you can tend to your work and then go find yourself a doctor.”

“You haven’t changed.” He glared down at her. “Still as stubborn as a stone.”

“And a good thing,” she retorted, “or I might
have crumbled, years ago, when someone I once loved betrayed me and mine.”

He deserved that, he knew, but it still hurt.

Jenny crouched and slid through the horizontal gap. Watching her slender bottom wriggle through, followed by her neatly shaped limbs and booted feet, he lifted a brow and enjoyed the sight.

Her hand stretched toward him. “Come on!” she whispered.

Following her into the narrow crevice, he eased past her to peer out into the passageway. Seeing a faint light moving over the walls down toward the main cavern, he frowned.

“They’re still there,” he whispered. “We’ll have to go the other way to avoid being seen. Some of these passages loop around—we may be able to find the land exit this way.”

Tugging her along, he hoped he was right. When he had fallen through the opening, he had been stunned by the pistol shot and was disoriented in the caves at first. Even now he did not feel quite himself. He willed the dizziness to pass.

Her arm came round his waist to support him, and he let her think he needed it. Better to have Jenny Colvin’s tender regard than her temper, he knew.

He liked, too, the feel of her hand at his waist, and her shoulder tucked beneath his arm—for a while, at least, he could feel as if Jenny truly cared for him.

“W
HERE ARE WE
?” Jenny asked, grasping Simon’s hand as they hurried along in the darkness. They had stumbled past black and slimy walls to turn down dark tunnels that ended abruptly, and they had peeked into several cavelets that had yielded neither exits nor stored contraband. Jenny still carried the tin lantern, its shutter raised just enough to provide a dim light.

“We’re deep under the cliff by now,” Simon answered. “There’s a passage to the right that may circle around. Come on.” He led her along, his hand firm over hers. “I came here often as a lad, but I’ve never explored the whole of it. The caves are like a labyrinth, reaching for miles under the moor, they say.”

“They also say this place is haunted.” Jenny shivered, remembering the eerie screams she had heard earlier. Glancing around in the looming darkness, her step slowed. She was suddenly very glad for Simon’s presence. She had not really wanted to explore the caves alone. “Do you know the way?”

“Not really, but I remember some of this from years ago. I used to come here with my father—he may have been a local magistrate, but he took a hand in the free trade, too.”

“I remember,” she said. Simon’s father had died fifteen years earlier, and Jock Colvin had taken Lockhart’s young heir under his wing in the smug
gling trade, but for the few years that Simon had spent away at school and university. A provision in Lockhart’s will had gained his son an education in the law, although Simon had returned to Glendarroch afterward to remain three years more, until his disappearance.

Simon strode so fast that Jenny hurried to keep up. “I hope we willna see the ghost of the piper, or meet the sea kelpies,” she said, meaning to make a jest, but her voice trembled nervously.

“What is it…are you frightened?” He glanced at her and squeezed her hand.

“Of course not.”

“We’re in more danger from MacSorley’s rogues. They have goods hidden in here somewhere.”

Jenny nodded, thinking of the cargo she must find for her father, if it was here at all. She slowed to peer into a low cave, but it was very black inside, and she saw no shapes of crates or casks, smelling only damp stone and seaweed.

“Simon, is that why you came down here? To look for contraband?” she asked as they walked on.

“Not intentionally—I fell like a rabbit down a hole. But if I find illicit taxable goods and a bonny lass in the bargain, then it’s worth it.”

“Worth a pistol shot?”

“Almost,” he said. Stopping suddenly, he
stretched out his uninjured arm to block her progress. “Shh—there’s a light.”

She saw it then, a faint golden spill on the rocky sheer ahead of them, where the walls soared to a high natural vault. Simon moved forward furtively, and Jenny followed, silent and alert. All she heard was the grit of their footsteps on sandstone, and the quiet power of the sea far behind them.

As they came cautiously around a bend in the channel, she saw a lantern, its flame fluttering, hung from a protrusion in the rocky wall. Nearby was the rough arch of a cave opening, its interior dark but for the wash of lantern light.

Inside the cave, Jenny glimpsed movement—a pale shadow shifted, ghostlike and eerie. She heard the clap and ring of metal on stone. Gasping, she clutched Simon’s shoulder.

“A ghost!” she whispered.

He motioned for her to stay back, but she went with him. A few discreet strides brought them near the chamber’s entrance. Simon flattened against the wall, keeping Jenny behind him as he peered into the chamber. “What the devil?” he murmured.

“What?” she whispered fervently.

“There’s your ghost,” he said. Slipping his arm around her, he let her look past him. Beyond the pool of light, the pale shadow took form.

Jenny gasped. The ghost flicked its tail and whin
nied, stepping backward nervously. It turned its great, beautiful head and gazed at her with soft, dark eyes.

“A horse?” She looked at Simon in disbelief. “Here?” Pale as milk, huge in a cave the size of a large stall, the horse swung its head and whickered anxiously. It backstepped, iron shoes ringing on stone.

She stared, dumbfounded, realizing that the scream she had heard earlier had been the horse neighing.

Simon smiled at her, his eyes vivid blue in the strong play of light and shadow. “Here’s your Beauty, my lass. I suspect this is the legendary beast that scared the wits out of Nicky Colvin earlier tonight.”

“The Beauty? The sea kelpie that rides out under a full moon to warn of danger at sea? But this is a real horse. The other is a vision, or a magical creature.”

“A real horse, my dear, and likely used by MacSorley and his lads to warn others away from these caves on nights when they plan to move smuggled goods.” Simon frowned, watching the horse.

Whickering again, the animal stepped sideways, tail flashing like sea foam in the darkness. Jenny noticed that the Beauty was tethered by a headrope to an iron ring embedded in the wall. A trough of
oats and another of water sat within easy reach, and the floor of the natural chamber was covered in straw and smelled of muck. Jenny wrinkled her nose.

“Easy, my love,” Simon crooned.

Jenny glanced at him quickly, heart leaping unbidden, but his attention was focused on the horse. “Easy, bonny lass,” he repeated as he moved into the cave.

He whistled softly, a soft and easy sound, as he stroked the mare’s muzzle, then patted her broad neck. Jenny joined them, the horse blinked at her with disinterest and blew into Simon’s palm. He laughed softly and glanced at Jenny.

“You always had the touch for horses,” she said, smiling. “Mares especially loved you, as I recall.”

Taking the headrope, he led the horse toward the entrance arch, coaxing her into the pool of light. He checked her bite and her ears, murmuring gently, then dropped to one knee and ran his hands gently down her forelegs, then stood to trace his hands over her back and withers. Jenny noticed that he kept his left arm close to his side much of the time.

“Is she healthy?”

“She’s fine. But I’m puzzled about something…ah. Look at this.” He held out his palm, which was chalky white.

“Is that powder?” She touched the horse’s back,
and brought her own hand away whitened. She sniffed it. “Limestone chalk.”

“Aye. She’s been made to look white.” He rubbed a spot vigorously on the horse’s shoulder. “See, her skin is dark, and her coat is dappled—she’s actually a gray, with a white mane and tail. Not much work to make her look like the legendary Beauty.”

“But why?” Jenny asked. She patted the horse’s muzzle. “They wanted to keep people away from the sea caves, I suppose.”

“Aye, so that they could move their goods about undisturbed. But there’s another reason.” He smoothed a gentle hand over the horse’s neck, and the mare snuffled affectionately at him. “This is a Connemara, about three years old,” he said. “I recently read a description of a horse like this one. Dappled gray, with one dark foreleg. I think we’ve found the magistrate’s missing horse.”

Jenny looked at him, stunned. “The horse my father is accused of taking?”

“I read the sheriff’s report, and this horse matches that description.”

“Oh!” She reached out to touch the mare’s muzzle in awe. “Then this proves my father’s innocence! Oh, Simon—”

She surged toward him, looping her arms around his neck in an impulsive and joyful hug. Though surprise registered on his face, he circled his unin
jured arm around her waist and leaned close, accepting the embrace.

As she looked up at him, he turned his head, and in that moment, his mouth accidentally brushed her cheek. He touched his mouth to hers tenderly, his hand at her lower back pressing her against the hard planes of his body.

Her breath faltered, her knees went weak, and in that one swift, blessed moment, Jenny felt hurt and resentment melt a little under the deep magic of his kiss, the comfort of his arms. Joy bloomed in the space between one breath and the next.

And then the barriers fell back into place, slamming down like iron gates. Jenny broke the loop of her arms and stepped back, blushing. “I am sorry,” she said.

“I am not,” he replied softly, watching her. “Not for that.”

She looked away, flustered and stunned by the surprises of the last few moments. The simple kiss still lingered on her lips.
Do not be a fool,
she told herself.
Do not let him charm you again.

“Are you sure,” she said, gulping, “that this is the magistrate’s horse?”

“Aye. She’s a Connemara—see the proud shape of her, and the height? By her teeth, she’s three or so. And she’s a gray. Just how many three-year-old female Connemara grays are there along this coast, do you think?”

“Perhaps just one.”

“Aye, then.” He looked at her sharply. “Jenny Colvin, be honest with me, now. Did Jock take this mare, and stash her here? Is that why you’ve come to the caves? To find the horse?”

“No!” She folded her arms in sudden, indignant anger.

“Hush,” he cautioned. “Our comrades will come running to join our little celebration.” He cocked a brow.

“No, he did not steal the horse,” she hissed, “and no, he did not hide her here, and no, I did not—”

“Fine,” he said curtly, holding up his palm. “The question remains, who did, and what do we do with the horse now?”

“We take her to the magistrate, of course, before they take my father to the gallows in the morning for—” She stopped.