Dangerous Magic (7 page)

“Are you mad, woman?” Jago tossed back his beer before slamming the cup on the table. “What can you be thinking to make such a bargain?”

Gwenyth braced herself to weather the storm of Jago’s anger. If she could withstand his fury now, she knew he’d eventually come around, and, if not approve of her idea, at least accept it.

“You know what I’m thinking. I want this child like I’ve never wanted anything before.” She avoided Jago’s penetrating gaze by checking the fish roasting in the basket spit. If anyone could see through her lies, it was her brother. “It’s no small thing I’m asking of him, but Captain Fleming has agreed. If it means following him to his home, so be it.”

Jago snorted. “Of course he’s agreed. You’ve given him any man’s dream. He can take his pleasure from you while you’re finding him a bride. And once you grow fat with his bastard, he can cast you off and turn to a new woman.”

Gwenyth wrinkled her nose at Jago’s coarse turn of phrase, though it wasn’t as if she hadn’t already thought of that. But she’d live with it. She had to.

Repositioning the griddle over the fire, she took a deep breath before facing her brother. So much of Jago’s resistance to her plans stemmed from a past she couldn’t change and a frustration running deeper than Rafe Fleming’s bargain with her. “Is that what you’re thinking happened with Ma and Lord Mark? You think she got the bad end of the bargain with His Lordship when she had us?”

Jago picked at the rough wood of the table with one fingernail, eyes downcast. “You think I’m mad to worry over my beginnings, as if knowing whether Lord Mark Chynoweth or Juan Agee the tinker fathered me would make a difference.” He looked up, and Gwenyth caught the self-doubt in his eyes.

She rose and took his hand in her own. “I can’t tell you any more than I have.” Without letting go of his hand, she settled onto the stool opposite him. “There’s a bond between the Chynoweths and the Killigrews. I feel it when I’m near Rosevear or see the young master riding the hills on that big gray horse of his, but whether it’s a bond between Ma and Lord Mark, an older, deeper bond, or one yet to be, I can’t see.”

Jago gave a half-hearted chuckle. “What’s the use of such gifts as this family possesses if they can’t answer me even that?”

Relieved to see the uncertainty in his eyes disappear, Gwenyth patted his hand before she poured him out another cup of beer and one for herself. She took a sip, watching him over the rim of her cup. “Jago, I ask myself that question at least once a day.”

Jago harrumphed and took a long swallow of the bitter, dark brew. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he shook his head. “And so you’re set on following Captain Fleming? You really think he’ll give you the child you want and let you go without a by your leave?”

“When he returns from Falmouth in two weeks’ time, I journey to Hampshire,” Gwenyth answered. “The when and what of my return is in hands other than mine.”

Gwenyth took another swallow of her drink, her hand shaking as she set her cup upon the table. Jago’s gaze fell to her trembling fingers. He covered them with his callused palm. She noted the gold hair on the back of his hand and a silver scar arcing from his index finger to his wrist.

“Is a child all you want from Rafe Fleming? Or is there something more, a yearning in your heart for love as there is in mine for belonging?” His voice held none of his usual bluster, and when Gwenyth met his eyes, deep worry burned in their gold-brown depths.

She willed her hand beneath Jago’s to calm. If he felt half the trepidation within her, he’d bind her to her bed before he let her leave with Rafe. She attempted a smile. “Keep to predicting the weather and the tides. You know the last thing I need is a husband.”

Jago released her fingers and pushed his stool back from the table as he stood. “It may be the last thing you need, Gwenyth m’girl, but I’m thinking it may be just the thing you want.”

Rain lashed the surface of the water. Above the roar of the sea, the ship groaned against the reef as each push of the waves ground her against the rocks. Salt water filled his mouth as a wave broke against him, and he struggled to see as rain and wind sent salty spray into his face. Disoriented, he swung around, hoping to gain purchase on the rocks, but the wreckage stood in his way. He heard cries and curses above the roar of the surf. A cold slithering line drifted past him, then another. He twitched with each brush of the submerged rigging and pushed himself to try once more for the fallen mainmast. No more than fifty feet away, it bobbed upon the water, tangled lines the only thing anchoring it to the rest of the ship. Against the current, he made little headway, and each stroke left him breathless and more fatigued. As he reached for a line just beyond his fingertips, his feet tangled in the sheets lying below the surface. He kicked away, but the ropes held him fast. He reached out as a wave broke on him. Blind, he flailed for the masthead. His fingers would not respond. He sank. Kicking once, he reached the surface, but the lines and sheets tangled round his waist. With a crash heard above the storm, the ship broke and slid crab-wise into the sea. The lines grew taut as the decking fell back into the water—deeper, deeper. He shouted. He cursed. Breath squeezed from his lungs as the lines tightened around him. He gathered what air he could and descended, swallowed by the deep…

Gwenyth heard the shout of terror and knew it came from her own lips. Her heart raced as she dragged in great gulps of air. Cothey mewed his worry as he jumped upon her bed and stepped into her lap. The other cats merely watched, the crescent moon’s glow from beyond her window reflected in their eyes. She stroked the big tabby with shaking hands, willing her nerves to settle.

She crossed to the hearth. Feeling the kettle, she sighed with relief. Still warm. She rooted within the cupboards until she found the tin she sought. She spooned the mixture of rosemary and lemon balm, celery seed and valerian root into her cup and added hot water. Pulling a stool close to the fire, Gwenyth sank upon it. The tea soothed her jittery nerves, but still her lover’s death played itself out over and over in her mind. Did she tempt her fate by leaving with Rafe Fleming? Was she mad to choose, of all people, a seagoing man for such a purpose? The flames could tell her nothing, though she stared into them long and hard.

Reclaiming a place among the fancy lords and ladies of his past would mean giving up the sea and a life made upon the water. She was far safer with Rafe than choosing among the men of her village. Each could suffer the fate of the man in her dream when the winds backed and the storms swept unwary boats onto the shoals and reefs surrounding Kerrow harbor.

And with the village men she knew she ran the risk of betrayal. They watched her with a possessive eye. She knew they wagered on who would be the one to coax the cold, mysterious Witch of Kerrow to their bed. But would the man she chose be satisfied with what she offered? Or would he pressure her into something more than she was prepared to give? And worst of all, would he lay claim to her child?

She sipped at the tea, letting the snap of the flames and the whisper of the spring wind wash her fear away. With Rafe she ran no such risk. He’d give her what she needed and make no demands. Despite his connection, the child would be hers alone. A daughter to carry the wisdom of the Killigrew women forward.

Beyond her window, a door closed and a dog barked. A crunch of footsteps sounded upon the road, and the murmur of a man and woman in conversation. They paused at the edge of her garden. The man mumbled something. The woman laughed and whispered a soft invitation back to her companion. Gwenyth heard the man’s moan deep in his throat and knew he pressed himself against the woman in a breathless kiss.

As if Gwenyth stood in the circle of the man’s arms she felt the press of his fingers upon her back and the stubble of his beard against her neck. She put a hand to her breasts, feeling the way her nipples tightened in anticipation. She felt an ache between her legs and remembered Rafe’s hands upon her, his mouth seeking out the most sensitive places upon her body until she arched into him, needing him closer and closer, feeling as if he could never come near enough to quench her raging passion.

Her gaze rested once more upon the fire, but this time she did see something—a man and a woman, their bodies joined in love. Gwenyth watched them twist and writhe within the flames until a gust of wind down the chimney smothered the vision, and the lovers vanished back into the blaze.

A rattle of stones and the couple outside her window laughed and moved off down the road. Gwenyth was alone. She placed her cup upon the table and looked around the cottage. When had her home become so quiet? When had she felt so isolated and lonely for the warmth and company of others?

Her gaze fell upon a half-whittled piece of ash left lying at the edge of the hearth. Bending, she plucked it from the floor. The answer to her questions lay just beneath her hand. Rafe Fleming would marry another. She would find him a bride, and she would be satisfied with her decision. There was no other way.

Angry, she flung the wood into the grate. Flames licked at the carving as Gwenyth rose, returning to bed. The ache remained, but now it was an ache of regret for things impossible.

Nathan Triggs gnawed on one sausage-like finger as he explained the situation. “We’ve laid the
Cormorant
up for repairs. That blasted revenue cutter tore through the gunwale, and her sails are so full o’ holes she whistles when the wind blows.” He swiped his bald head with an enormous red handkerchief and gave Rafe a yellow, gap-toothed grin. “But she’s a right soldier, she is. We gave as good as we got, Captain Fleming, that we did. Took a fat chunk out of the revenuer’s foremast with our swivel-gun. That Tom Vingoe is gettin’ to be a crack shot. Why I’ll bet he…”

Rafe ran a finger around the rim of his whiskey before glancing around the taproom. Nathan was the best of his crew and knew his business inside and out. His only flaw was a loose tongue after a few too many drinks.

The Heart of Oak perched at the harbor’s edge, a meeting place for sailors, fishermen and occasionally a press-crew looking for recruits. Tonight, three men sat by a guttering fire, their laughter and raucous conversation an indication of their state. No worries there. Two others hunkered in a corner by the door, but they were engaged with three of the tavern’s finest. The girls wiggled and simpered. As Rafe watched, the men grew redder in the face and leaner in the wallet as they bought round after round for the waterfront doxies.

“…And sleek as a seal. I’d say she carried seventy-four guns, though Rory bet me she held no more than sixty—”

“I’m handing her over, Triggs.” Rafe interrupted the man in midsentence.

Triggs’s forehead wrinkled, and he squinted his red-rimmed eyes. “Her, Captain?”

“The
Cormorant
. I’m passing the captaining of her over to you. I’ve already made arrangements to sell off the cutter and the other two luggers. The shares in the others I’ll hold onto for now. I’ve spoken to their captains already. I saved you for last. You and I have been together a long time.”

Triggs blew his nose into his handkerchief. “Since Captain Trebell’s death, sir. Eight years.”

“And a prosperous eight years it’s been, but I’ll be leaving Polperro at the end of the week. The payments can be made to the bank like we arranged. She’ll be paid off stem to stern after a few good runs, and you’ll never have to worry about seeing me again.”

Triggs gnawed on his finger again. “Not see you again? But, Captain, you can’t just pull up your anchor like that. The boys…the customers…I—”

Rafe’s grip tightened around the glass. “This shouldn’t come as a surprise. You knew I’d be leaving by the end of the year. I’m simply hastening the timetable. I’m done with this life. Captain Fleming is dead.” When Triggs flinched at the force of his words, Rafe softened his tone. “The men trust you, Triggs. They know you and they know the ship. As for the other, you’ve been in this business longer than I have. Don’t tell me you aren’t champing at the bit to have a go at running things your way.”

“Why, I will say I’m giddy at the prospect, but truly, I never thought you’d go through with it. Didn’t think when it came right down to it, you could give up the sea life just like that.” Triggs gulped his ale to the bottom of the tankard and thumped it down on the table. Wiping his hands across his greasy vest, he laughed, his round stomach jiggling. “Well, you’re a fine man for taking me by surprise. Shocked, I am. Shocked!”

Rafe smiled. “But pleased?”

“As punch, Captain. Though I’ll be sorry to be seeing you leave us.”

Rafe put out a hand. “Then it’s settled.”

Triggs enveloped Rafe’s hand in his beefy grip. “You’re one of the finest men I’ve had the pleasure of serving with, and one of the best seamen. Watching that ship of the line heading up the Channel, I thought of you. You’d have looked mighty good in gold braid, Captain. Mighty good.”

Rafe managed a taut smile. “I threw that chance away a long time ago. I don’t think it’ll come my way again.”

Triggs cleared his throat and wiped again at his brow. “Yes, well I—”

“Buy us a drink, lads?”

Rafe glanced up into the heaving breasts of a buxom yellow-haired whore. She smiled as she settled herself into a seat beside him. Her hazel eyes skimmed over Triggs before settling on Rafe, raking him up and down with an appraising gaze.

“A gin for the lady?” She held out her empty cup.

Triggs dug into his pockets, but the woman’s eyes never wavered from Rafe.

“I’ve rooms upstairs,” she purred, motioning in the direction of a rickety stairwell. “Neevie’s my name. How’s about it, sir? I’m worth it at twice the price.” Sliding her fingers up his leg, she brushed them across the lap of his breeches, resting them at the top of his thigh. She leaned forward, allowing him a clear view of her rice-powdered breasts, the nipples peeking from her gown, rouged and puckered with excitement.

Triggs was as red as his handkerchief watching Neevie’s salesmanship, but Rafe merely smiled as he plucked her hand from his leg. “I’m an unemployed sailor with no coins left in his pocket, but Triggs here…”