Smuggler's Kiss (20 page)

Will then seemed to dismiss the matter from his mind. ‘By God, I’m hungry,’ he remarked. He yawned and ran his good hand through his hair. It had come untied from its black silk ribband and had bits of hay sticking out of it. I grinned at his tousled appearance, picked up his ribband and held it out to him.

‘You need to tidy yourself,’ I told him. ‘Honestly, look at us! If anyone were to walk in now, they’d get
quite
the wrong impression.’

Will’s eyes twinkled. ‘If anyone thinks I’d be in the mood for tumbling in the hay with a bullet wound and customs men chasing me, they must be mad. Your turn to be maid and valet,’ he said, nodding at the ribband and passing me a comb from his pocket. ‘I can’t do this with only one good arm.’

It felt strange to comb Will’s hair free of hay for him and tie it back. It was smooth and silky in my hands. I rested one hand on his shoulder for a moment when I was finished. ‘What are we going to do now?’ I asked.

‘The light is fading,’ he said. ‘As soon as it’s properly dark, we’ll move on. We’ll need to take one of the ponies. Neither of us can walk as far as we need to go.’

‘I’m famished,’ I told him. ‘We’ve eaten nothing since this time yesterday.’

‘There’s nothing we can do about that now,’ said Will with a shrug. ‘I really need to sleep another hour. Will you keep watch?’

He lay back and was asleep in moments, his usually glowing face pale and drawn. The light faded gradually in the high window on the west side of the barn. I watched Will anxiously as I waited for the hour to pass. I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the dark lashes against his cheek. I could never study him this closely when he was awake.

How strange, I thought, that he should have fair hair and yet dark lashes and brows. Strange too the way he usually disguised himself when he came ashore in England. Why? The other men never did so. He seemed more afraid of being recognized than they.

It was odd to think I’d once hated him so much. I didn’t dislike him now; or at least only when he was provoking me. He was a handsome young man, I decided. High cheekbones, a clear forehead, delicate lips. I looked away and blushed, and then laughed at myself softly for blushing when there was no one here to see.

I looked back, and tried to imagine Will in gentleman’s clothing, instead of his rough smuggling garb. Mentally I put him into a smart waistcoat, a fine coat and a powdered, long-bottom wig, the grey curls tumbling down over his shoulders. Yes, he would look very fine indeed. I frowned slightly in an effort of memory. It was strange, but when I pictured him like that, it was almost as though he was familiar to me; familiar from my previous life as a young lady of fashion. I shook my head. That couldn’t be. I would have remembered if I’d met him before.

I was just wondering whether I could bear to wake Will when he was so tired, when he stirred, yawned and sat up. He stretched and then winced. ‘Time to go,’ he said.

‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s Christmas Eve.’

‘I know that,’ I said, although to tell the truth, the days had become a little hazy in my mind.

Will directed me to put the bridle back on the strongest pony. ‘Now, would you open the barn door for me while I lead this fellow out?’ he asked.

I limped to the door and opened it. Will swung himself up into the saddle and rode out past me while I fastened the door again behind him. When I turned, he was holding a hand down to me; his good arm. He kept the other cradled close to his chest. ‘We’re both going to ride the same pony?’ I asked uncertainly.

‘He’s strong enough,’ said Will. ‘Come on.’

‘What is this obsession you smugglers have with walking for miles, chasing around the country on horseback and climbing up and down rigging?’ I asked, looking up at him. ‘You are the least restful crowd of people I ever met.’

Will looked back down, a smile in his eyes. ‘And look how much good it’s done you,’ he retorted. ‘When you came to us, you were a pale, puny weakling who squeaked and threw tantrums at the mere thought of physical exertion.’

I scowled. ‘I was a refined and delicate young lady. And what am I now? A rough, coarse criminal.’

‘Not at all. You are active, healthy and stronger than you have any idea of,’ replied Will. ‘And you quite possibly saved my life last night.’

I didn’t know where to look suddenly. ‘Come, Isabelle. Are you riding or walking?’ Will asked, holding his hand down to me again.

I gave him my hand, put my foot on his and he pulled me up behind him, drawing my arms around his waist. ‘Are you comfortable?’

In fact I was sore almost everywhere from the previous night, but I told him that I was fine, and we set off at a brisk walk. Will avoided the roads, and took us across heathland and downs, sometimes following quiet tracks, at others cutting across country. I clung on tight, my face pressed into his warm back.

It seemed a long, weary time in the cold evening air until we reached a village that Will didn’t skirt. We rode straight into it, the pony’s hooves clopping on the stones of the road. Small, grey, stone cottages were gathered around a central green that was home to both a well and a duck pond. Its tranquil charm had something idyllic about it. An old church tower rose up behind the furthest cottages.

We pulled up outside a small cottage. It looked neat and tidy, but very small, with a diminutive garden in front. No sooner had we halted, than the door was flung open and candlelight spilled out onto the front porch. A huge, burly figure appeared.

‘Is that you, lad?’ asked a gruff voice. ‘We’ve been worried sick! Is that the lass you’ve got with you?’

‘It is,’ replied Will.

The figure strode forward and I found myself lifted down from the saddle and enveloped in a huge hug. ‘Welcome, Isabelle!’ said Jacob.

I was overjoyed to see him safe and sound. He led me inside and introduced me to his wife, a tall, smiling older woman dressed in plain rustic garments. Her hair was grey and simply dressed, her face lined and her hands rough. She welcomed me kindly, however, and showed me to a seat by a bright fireside in a small kitchen.

I was happy to see the fire and glad of the seat. I sat down and stretched my fingers to the blaze while she bustled around, apparently preparing a meal. Jacob had disappeared somewhere with Will; to see to the pony, I imagined. The savoury smells of cooking made my stomach rumble.

By the time Will and Jacob returned, I’d been taken into the cramped front bedroom, which was the only other room on the ground floor, given a bowl of water for washing and been lent a rustic gown by my hostess, whose name, she told me, was Ann. It wasn’t a garment I would have chosen to be seen in, and much too big for me, but infinitely more fitting for a Christmas meal than breeches that had been ridden in, rolled in mud, buried in hay and slept in.

I was sitting by the fire once more, a glass of hot punch in my hand, when Will joined me. He’d also washed and changed into a borrowed shirt.

He sat down opposite me, guarding his bad arm from any knocks, accepted a glass of punch from Ann, stretched out his long legs and grinned at me. ‘So,’ he said. ‘What do you think of spending Christmas with Jacob and Ann? They wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

‘I’m overwhelmed,’ I said frankly, smiling across at Jacob. ‘It’s so kind! I expected to be almost alone aboard
The Invisible
in a port somewhere.’

‘And me,’ nodded Will. ‘And here we are by a glowing fire, waiting for one of Ann’s fine dinners.’ He sipped his own punch and sighed contentedly. ‘It’s a bright light in a dark world, this little cottage.’

I nodded, not thinking his words strange, for they fitted my thoughts too. I had been feeling keenly that I had nowhere and no one to go to. Ann batted Will playfully on his good shoulder as she passed him and shook her head at him. But she was smiling and pleased, I could tell.

‘You’re looking very … housewifely, Isabelle,’ said Will, looking at my apparel. I shifted a little in my seat, uncomfortable in the clothes I’d been lent, but knowing it would be rude to say so.

‘I could wish I had my gown from
The Invisible
with me,’ I told him. But Will shook his head.

‘Not at all,’ he replied wisely. He lowered his voice and spoke for my ears only as Ann and Jacob set the table behind us. ‘You would be out of place here in that. Ann would be uncomfortable and would treat you like a grand lady rather than a guest and friend. And it could come to the ears of the customs officer or constable that some wealthy lady was staying in the village.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ I admitted ruefully. ‘But my own gown isn’t
that
fine, you know!’

‘By comparison, it is. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to fit the hoop through these doorways or sit down on the chairs,’ added Will mischievously. ‘By the way, while we’re staying here, I’m Nick and you’d better be Janet.’

I pulled a face, but could see the sense of it.

Christmas passed merrily in the humble cottage. I tried hard not to think of previous Christmases and not to wonder more than a few times a day how my own family were doing.

Will spent a couple of days with a slight fever, but then improved quickly as his arm healed. He seemed cheerful. The constraint that he’d shown after I told him my story had lessened after the night-time chase. He treated me in a friendly, teasing way, almost as though I were a younger sister.

Our hosts were generous and thoughtful and offered us plain but tasty fare. For our Christmas meal, we had goose, roasted potatoes, vegetables and gravy. Ann had made the best plum pudding I’d ever tasted. It was filled with smuggled dried fruits and laced liberally with contraband brandy she told me proudly. French wine and cognac were in abundance, naturally. I attended church with Jacob and Ann on Christmas Day. Jacob whispered to me during the service that both the parson and his sexton were good customers of the trade, and regularly hid shipments of brandy in the church tower and the vaults. I giggled and then thought perhaps I ought to be ashamed of myself for behaving so improperly in church.

To my disappointment, Will wasn’t well enough to come with us to church. In fact he refused to leave the cottage at all during daylight hours, even once he was better. There was one night, however, when he disappeared altogether. He was gone at supper and slipped back into the kitchen when the rest of us were halfway through breakfast. When I asked Jacob and Ann where he’d gone, they merely said he was ‘on business’. I refrained from prying.

In the cottage, I slept under the rafters in the tiny, freezing-cold attic room that was the upstairs of the cottage. The couple slept in the downstairs bedroom and Will had a bed made up on the floor in the kitchen each night. He said he had the best of the bargain, as it was the warmest room in the cottage.

At the end of a week, I found him packing his few belongings into a bag. ‘Are we leaving?’ I asked. I was beginning to feel a little restless.

‘Jacob and I are,’ he replied shortly. I stared at him, an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I sat down on the chair by the fire and tried to speak calmly.

‘And what about me?’ My hands were shaking.

Will looked up at me, hearing the hurt in my voice.

‘It’s bitterly cold,’ he said. ‘It’ll be worse at sea. Dangerous too, if we get winter storms. Won’t you be more comfortable here with Ann? She’d love to have you.’

‘No!’ I half-cried out.

Will sat back on his heels and looked directly at me, brows raised. ‘And there was me thinking it was your aim to escape us.’

I calmed my voice. ‘Not for a long time now. You know that. I’m happy on board. You’re all my … ’ I paused and glanced out of the small kitchen window, ‘ … friends,’ I finished awkwardly.

Will’s eyebrows rose still higher. ‘Criminals, labourers, illiterates, farmers. Gentlemen of the night. You can bring yourself to call us friends now?’

I nodded silently, a lump in my throat. I thought of the skipper’s lined and cheerful face, and Harry with his aromatic stews in the galley, and Fred the pilot and the way he could read the water. I would miss them all if I were to be parted from them. It was strange, but it was the truth.

Will’s face was unreadable. He didn’t take his eyes off me. I tried to meet that clear, penetrating gaze, but my eyes fell before his. ‘Stay with Ann for three weeks,’ said Will at last. ‘We have a couple of particularly dangerous runs to do. And Ann gets lonely in these darkest months. There is a job you can help us with here besides.’

My heart lightened at once at the prospect of joining them again. ‘What is it?’ I asked at once. ‘Not lace smuggling again, I hope.’

‘Not that, though the skipper does plan to trade more lace if you rejoin us. But we need a living signal; someone who will walk the cliff for us at a certain time of day if the coast is clear. Do you remember that red cloak I bought?’

‘I do.’

‘Ann has it. We’ll need you on the cliff at Kimmeridge Bay. We’ll get you a message with the date and time, but it’ll be later in January. If there are excise men around, you stay out of sight, and we know to do the same. Can you do that for us?’