A Stranger's Touch (4 page)

There was only one man who would ask her to marry him, but she disliked the man who was in charge of the local militia. Captain Bird was waiting for his chance to ask for her hand, but she would rather be single all her life.

Captain Bird was a Revenue Officer, but he had struck up an odd relationship with Michael. Although he told her nothing, Morwenna knew that her brother was involved in smuggling goods from France. The local gentry paid him well for brandy and silks that had never paid a penny in tax. That alone would see Michael hang if he were ever taken, but somehow he always seemed to know when the soldiers were coming and he was never in the house. It was Morwenna who had to fend off their questions—and yet Captain Bird never made more than a perfunctory search of the house before leaving them in peace.

Why should he be so accommodating? Did he and Michael have some understanding?

It would not be unusual for money to change hands in such business. If Captain Bird took bribes, he was little better than the smugglers he was supposed to arrest when he found them.

Morwenna was frowning as she began to rub beeswax perfumed with lavender oils into the
solid oak furniture. She had drifted from one day to the next, vaguely unsatisfied with her life, but unsure of what to do to change it. Now she was aware of feeling restless. Unless she went to live with her aunt she really had little choice, for she knew that it wasn’t enough to be willing to work hard. She wasn’t as innocent as the stranger imagined and knew what might await her if she went to London or one of the big cities to ask for work. She would find herself being forced into a profession that would shame her.

‘H
e says he feels much better,’ Bess said when she entered the kitchen later that day carrying a tray. The food had been cleared from the pewter platter and the tankard was empty. ‘He asks your indulgence for one more night and says he will go in the morning.’

Morwenna hunched her shoulder, feigning indifference. ‘He must stay until he is better. I would not grudge him a bed or food.’

‘I’ve told him so, my lovely. Jacques went in to see him before he left to go fishing. Michael asked me about him and I said he was still tied to his bed. He went off on some business of his own before you finished cleaning upstairs.’

‘We must hope the stranger is well enough
to leave soon—before Michael decides to throw him out.’

‘Your brother said he might be away for some days.’

‘Michael has gone away—to France?’

Morwenna knew that from time to time her brother had some business in France. Whatever he did there was secret. He did not even tell Jacques what he did when he was away for days at a time. She supposed he must be dealing with merchants or some such thing, but when she’d asked once he’d flown into a temper and told her to mind her tongue.

‘He did not tell me. He said only that I should tell you not to expect him home until you see him.’

‘Then he has gone somewhere on his own business. It is useless to ask for he tells us nothing.’ Morwenna felt the relief sweep over her. ‘If Michael has gone, we need not be too anxious, Bess. Jacques will not mind the stranger resting here for a while. He has his own work with the fishing fleet and only answers Michael’s call when he must.’

‘Jacques speaks of leaving Cornwall and finding a new life elsewhere. I think he does not like what his brother does.’

‘He should go sooner rather than later. I sometimes fear that Michael will bring trouble on us all and I would not have Jacques hang as a smuggler.’

‘And where would that leave you? You wouldn’t live here with Michael without him.’

‘No, I should go away.’

‘You would be best with your aunt. I’ve told you so a hundred …’

Morwenna put a warning finger to her lips and then went to the door, wrenching it open swiftly. As she had suspected, the stranger was standing there.

‘How long have you been there? Were you listening, hoping to learn something?’

‘Why should I spy on you, mistress?’

Morwenna felt her cheeks heating. ‘Forgive me, sir. I should not have accused you.’

‘I heard nothing. I came to speak with your brother Michael—is he here?’

‘No, he has gone away. Jacques is out fishing with other men from the village. What did you wish to speak with Michael about, sir?’

‘I thought I might hire a horse somewhere.’ He frowned. ‘Will Michael be long?’

‘He has gone away on personal business for
a few days. I do not know why. He does not discuss his affairs with us, sir.’

‘Will you not call me Adam, as I suggested?’

‘It is not your name, so why should we?’

‘So you prefer sir?’ He smiled oddly. ‘Have it your way, mistress. Since your brothers are not here perhaps you would show me the way down to the inlet where you found me—if you have the time?’

‘Why did you wish to go there? You have no need to leave for a day or so. With Michael away no one else will bother you.’

‘I think I shall go straight to London when I leave here. However, would you allow me to stay here a little longer? I’d like to try my hand at some painting, perhaps it will help me to recover my memory. I can repay you from the money you found in my bag and still have sufficient for my journey.’

‘Have I asked for money?’

‘No, you have not. I would like to explore the inlet. If I can find anything that belongs to me there I might recall my name at least, and then I might find a way to be of assistance to you.’

‘I told you earlier, I need no help from anyone. However, I’ll take you down there myself. The way is steep, but it’s easy enough once you
know how. I doubt you’ll find anything. If the sea brings anything of value ashore the villagers take it. The living is hard here, sir. You cannot blame them, for they live by the bounty of the sea. There is little work other than on the land or in the mines, but they often close if the copper runs out.’

‘Do they not have silver or gold in their mines?’

‘Very seldom and only in small amounts. No, the living comes mostly from the sea for local people. They may have some sheep on the common or a cow, but little else. What comes to them from a shipwreck is seen as a gift of God.’

‘Perhaps it is—but not if they lure ships in to their doom.’

‘Do you think that is what happened to your ship? I should be sorry to think it. My father was always against it and so are my brothers. My father was seen as the law in these parts and he would have punished anyone who was caught wrecking.’

‘I am glad to hear it, Mistress Morwenna.’

Morwenna looked at him proudly, then reached for her shawl and pulled it around her shoulders. The storm might have blown itself
out, but it could be cold on this part of the coast, especially now it was autumn.

‘Follow me, but tread carefully,’ she instructed as she went out. ‘In the dark the path is difficult to find unless you know it, but it is easy enough to follow in daylight.’

The stranger followed behind her, though she did not turn her head to look at him. ‘What made you think of looking in the inlet when everyone else was on the main beach?’

‘I found some survivors there after a different ship was wrecked last year and took them to the house. It was a woman and child. We cared for them until they were well enough to leave us—but she knew who she was.’

‘How fortunate for her.’

Morwenna concentrated on the descent, resisting the urge to glance back at him. He made her angry and yet he intrigued her. Something in his manner told her that he must be more than the itinerant artist she had thought him for at times he was arrogant, as if used to being obeyed.

Who was he really and why was he here? Had he truly lost his memory?

The inlet was tiny and belonged to Michael, though it was no use for anything and normally
the sole province of sea birds and small crabs that lived in the shallow pools and were not nice to eat. Sometimes the villagers took mussels or limpets from the rocks. Michael allowed them to take what little harvest there was, because he and Jacques set their lobster pots out further in the bay. They normally caught enough fish to sell in the village or further inland, besides what they brought to the house for use at table.

Apart from a few pieces of driftwood the beach looked clear. Obviously, someone had been here before them and it was unlikely that her guest would find his possessions even if anything else had been there to find. He walked down to the water’s edge and stood looking at some rocks, then, seeing something in the water, bent down and picked out a piece of drift wood.

‘Have you found anything interesting?’

‘It looks as if it came from a rowing boat,’ he said and showed her what was in his hand. ‘The tide must have dashed it against the rocks.’

‘A rowing boat?’ She saw some lettering on the wood, though not enough remained for her to be able to read the name. ‘It must have broken free of the ship when it foundered. I doubt anyone would have been foolish enough to try to come inshore in a small boat last night. It was
obvious what would happen; he wouldn’t have stood a chance.’

‘No, I’m sure you’re right,’ he replied and smiled. ‘There is nothing to see here. Thank you for showing me the way. I can find my own way back if you have something else to do?’

‘I’ve done most of my work for the day.’ Morwenna shaded her eyes and looked out to sea. ‘There’s a ship out there. It’s safe enough on a day like this. I wonder what it is waiting for?’

‘What makes you think it is waiting for anything?’

‘Well, it appears to have anchored. I don’t think it’s moving, do you?’

He looked towards the horizon. ‘I expect they just want to admire the view for a while.’

‘It can’t be fishermen. I cannot imagine that a merchant vessel would anchor off shore just to admire the view.’

‘Perhaps it is a spy waiting for dusk,’ he said, a teasing note in his voice.

‘Or waiting to take a spy off again once he’s done his business.’ Morwenna threw an accusing look at him. ‘Just why did you come here?’

‘The sea brought me,’ he replied. ‘What would a spy want with you or your family,
Mistress Morgan—unless you have something to hide?’

She turned from him. ‘I have nothing to hide and my brothers, well, they can speak for themselves. If you question them you may wish you hadn’t, sir. If you’re at all worried, I advise you to leave now before you wish you had not become involved.’

‘If only I could.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I do not know where to go,’ he said. ‘What else should I mean? Since it is obvious I shall learn nothing here I may as well return to the house.’

‘No, stay and search for whatever you hope to find. Sometimes things get caught there.’ She pointed to the jutting rock. ‘There is a little pool round the bend and the tide takes things there. It’s slippery, so take care, but the villagers do not bother to look there because the tide can be treacherous. You might find what you seek.’

‘Thank you for the advice. The name of the ship might help me—should I find the rest of this.’ He indicated the piece of driftwood, which must have come from a rowing boat.

He walked away across the beach in the direction she had indicated. Morwenna watched
for a moment, then began the steep ascent back to her home.

Had he truly lost his memory? Could she believe him? Or was he here for the reason she dreaded? Michael might have a terrible temper, but he was her brother and she did not wish him to come to harm. She ought to send the stranger away before he could discover something that might lead to her family’s destruction.

If only the look in the stranger’s eyes did not make her feel as if she wanted to melt into his arms.

Adam walked the length of the beach, searching for anything that might have been washed ashore at the same time as the sea drove him this way. There was nothing to see. The villagers must have taken even the driftwood to keep their fires going through the winter. He could understand their need, yet felt a sweeping despair that he would find no clues here to help him rediscover his life.

It seemed that he must return to London as soon as he was able to travel and hope to trace his last movements at the gaming hall. He could not even be sure that he had meant to
come here—his ship might have been driven off course by the storm.

Had he been travelling on his own ship? He was not sure why the thought should occur to him, but the sight of that ship out in the bay had made him wonder if at some time he’d been the owner of a vessel similar to the one they’d seen.

It was no use. Try as he might, he could not lift the curtain of mist in his mind.

He should return to the house, discover the nearest hostelry and hire a horse. There was no help for him here and yet he had a feeling that he had indeed come here for a reason. Besides, he was oddly reluctant to leave this place too soon.

Why? Surely he could not be thinking of remaining here longer because of Morwenna?

True, she was beautiful. Even her name sounded like music on his lips. He felt something each time he saw her, but could not place what emotion was uppermost in his mind. She infuriated him with her accusations. Clearly, her brothers were involved in some kind of nefarious business. Smuggling was rife on this coast and it was likely Michael Morgan was off on some such business—if nothing more serious.

Now where had that thought come from? What else might Michael Morgan be doing?

He shook his head. It was as if he were reaching for something—an important fact that lay just behind that damned curtain.

No, he should not speculate. It was not his business and yet something was nagging at him, telling him he should use the time while Michael was away to discover all he could.

Discover what? It was no good, his mind was confused—blank at times and at others teeming with pictures that did not make sense. Faces flitted through his mind. An older woman and another, pretty, but not his wife or his lover. Who were they?

Morwenna had said he’d cried out thinking her his mother when in his fever. Was his mother still living? Did he also have a sister?

Somehow that seemed right. He felt instinctively without knowing that he had a family, but no wife. Were his family worried about him?

He shook his head and pushed the thought away. It was not his family that taunted him, trying to burst through the fog in his mind. For the moment something else was more important, but he did not know what it was.

He turned back towards the path that led up the cliff. He would be wiser to leave and return
to London, but something was holding him here. There was something about the wild-eyed Cornish woman, something that turned his guts soft and made him burn with a need he recognised. His memory might be missing, but his instincts were intact. He wanted to lie with her. He wanted to know her body, to touch that soft white flesh and kiss those full lips. Whether she knew it or not she had a pure, clear sensuality that called to a man of his nature, arousing the hunting instinct. He wanted her and knew he would stay until she sent him away. Perhaps he might persuade her to go with him. She obviously did not have much of a life here.

She was a fool to let the stranger get beneath the guard she normally kept on her senses. Morwenna frowned as she chopped roots and onions to add to the stewpot. It had been simmering for two days now, fresh meat and vegetables added each day so that the gravy was very thick and the flavour intense. Morwenna had cooked oatcakes, fresh bread that was flat and hard on the outside, soft within. She had butter, pickles, cheese and cold ham as well as a dish of neeps and a large piggy pie that Bess had made to an old Cornish recipe.

It was a hearty meal, the kind her brothers relished, but the stranger was to join them at table that night and she wondered if he would think it plain fare. Neither of her brothers had a sweet tooth and though she liked curds and custards herself, she scarcely ever bothered to make them. Michael called them pap and turned his nose up at such trifles. Yet if the stranger were an aristocrat, as she suspected, he would be used to finer dishes.