“No, which makes it all a bit odd—them having that young beauty, their cousin, staying with them, and no other female in the house, but no doubt she has her maid with her …”
“Young female, you say?”
“Aye, flaming beauty she is … Miss Myriah White.” Stone sighed plaintively and added, “I am sure she doesn’t know what they are up to … an angel she is.”
Sir Roland hid his smirk—nothing could be further from the truth. An angel indeed—hiding out with a couple of bachelors? Just what was she doing?
“Can’t bandy about the Wimborne name though … there would be the devil to pay if m’superiors got wind of it. Wimborne is an old name in this area—carries quite a bit of weight.”
“Then it is surprising the present lord would mingle with a pack of … fishermen here at the inn,” said Roland, luring the exciseman into revealing more.
“That ain’t the heart of it, man—why a fellow would have to have his upper works out of order not to realize ’tis Wimborne himself that leads ’em across the Channel on their dirty business.”
“That, my good man is a very serious and dangerous accusation,” Roland cautioned, still baiting.
“Aye, that it is, and
that
is why I ain’t made it official. Already told you I ain’t daft. I ain’t the brightest fellow ever wore the uniform, but I’d have to be a dunce to go off half-cocked aiming a finger without the proof. I know what he’s up to … got all the reason in
the world, he does. Why he is up to his head in debt … has been dished this past year … maybe more? How else would he get the blunt to stave off the dunning?”
Sir Roland, no stranger to debt, was struck with a momentary feeling of pity for Wimborne. However, it soon passed. “I see.”
“Do you? No, how could you, being gentry yourself?” Stone sighed and took a long drink of his ale. “We nearly had him the other night—the young brother that is.” He shook his head. “We were so close.”
“Do you mean that you actually observed the brother in the act of landing a cargo?” Roland said in a startled whisper.
“Dash it, man … nearly! The young scalawag is in league with the devil himself, he is, for I am certain we put a hole in him! Knew it—saw the line of him, saw him slump over in his saddle, but then there he stood, hale and uppity as ever!”
“Hang it, Stone! Either you shot him or you didn’t.” Sir Roland frowned and began losing patience.
“That’s the point—the very tear in the tale. Can’t be sure anymore, for while my men could have sworn ’twas young Wimborne. We had the lantern up, and they thought they saw his face in its light … but then, there he was, no bullet hole to poke a finger at.” He shrugged. “And we did find his hat near the spot.”
“Devil you say—that seems proof to me.”
“Aye, so it did to me, but then came the lovely. She claimed, and I do believe her, angel that she is, that she lost the hat on her way to town to have it repaired.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Sir Roland said on a low thoughtful note. Now what did he have here? Enough to force her hand or ruin her—that was what!
* * *
Kit glanced over at his man, Fletcher, staunch as ever, peaked wool cap pulled low over his forehead and leaning up against the wooden door of the room he and his men presently occupied. No one was getting past Fletcher.
He smiled to himself as he brought their meeting to a close. “Well now, there you have it, lads,” he said, putting a hand through his air and setting a foot on the chair in front of him. “We cross tomorrow night for the last time—hopefully. Dibbs has come with the last of it, I do sincerely hope.”
A heavyset man, clothed in a dark wool shirt and a weathered dark jacket, pushed his chair back and eyed Kit with the only eye left to him, having lost the other in service of His Majesty some years ago. “Begging your pardon, m’lord—yah seen us through a fetch or two, and you’ve got
me
through more than I can count, and I’m thinking ye’ll see us through a good sight more without us getting twigged, and damn the blunt has been good, but I don’t like the sound of this last job.”
“Trust me, Fry. You always have, and you won’t be sorry this time either,” Kit said on an irritated note.
“Hold, m’lord.” This came from a young man in similar worn, dark clothing.
“Fry
here be in the right of it. We trust ye with our lives we do,
and coz ’tis so is why we vote to follow ye as we ’ave. I got four young brats wit their mouths open all the time, and another one cooking. ’Tain’t any way I can feed ’em without the ready, and this way be as good as any other, but this last … gives me a fear, it does.”
Kit shook his head. “Is that the way of it? After all these years—you don’t trust me to see you safely home? Even you, Fry?” He waited just long enough to allow Fry to expostulate before slamming his fist down hard. “Damnation! Yes, I saw you through a time or two. Pulled you out of hell, Fry—in the Pyrenees. Do you think I’d throw you into it this side of freedom? Hang me before I do! What do you all think—I’d leave you to fend for yourselves? What sort of paltry covey do you take me for? You, Bilkes, with your brats—when this is done, you’ll take care of Wimborne grounds, just as you did before we started this heathenish business—just as your father did before you. And you, Fry—you’ll work Wimborne stables just as I promised you when we sold out. All you damn fools will work Wimborne … just as you have always done! Stupid lot of brutes I’ve got for myself,” Kit said, grinning at them.
The man called Fry put a fist to his heart. “Aye, m’lord, ye be in the right of it, but what of the Winchelsea boys? They won’t like us pulling out when we do.”
“Those lads are a hard lot. They have always been smugglers … they always will be smugglers. Don’t think they were living on the thirty or forty kegs
we
passed from time to time! They went in with us for the money, but they got their own ken—their own galleys—and you needn’t give them another thought.” He scanned the faces. Satisfied with the results, he resumed his seat and drew up paper and quill. “So then, mates, let’s get
on with it. We’ll have to plan it to the minute, for our landing crew gets fidgety when we’re not on time.”
* * *
Myriah smiled up at Tabby, who came to relieve her in Billy’s room. She tucked Billy in, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. With a sigh, she left him to her groom and went to her own room.
It was late, and she was exhausted. She dropped her gown where she stood and climbed into bed, pulling the covers all around herself and allowing her mind to wander.
She had a major problem, and its name was Sir Roland. She rummaged for a solution, and finally found one, but oh, she thought, it was going to be tricky.
She didn’t know how long it was that she slept, as she couldn’t see the clock quietly ticking on the far wall and didn’t feel like getting up to have a look, but she could hear movements in Kit’s room. She glanced towards the door that stood between the rooms, between them.
She had removed the chair she had wedged there—it seemed an age ago—and she could see a dim light at the crack of air beneath the door. He was back … and it was more than relief she felt. It was much more—it was anticipation.
* * *
Kit was tired. Yet as he stood in his room and tossed his shirt across to a wooden chair, his heart spoke with need and his body tensed with desire. She was so close … just in the next room. He should go to her and tell her how wonderful he thought her. He saw her now as an angel. Hadn’t she appeared and saved his brother? Hadn’t she nursed him, stayed with Billy while he had no choice but to meet with his men? Who she was no longer mattered. What she was—only one answer to that: his! Damnation, but that was something he felt in his blood.
She was his
,
and he had made up his mind to it as he went to their connecting door.
He already knew it would be unlocked before he pulled it open, feeling like a boy without style or grace, feeling awkward and wanting to get it right. The door made a slight creak as the light from the candle on his nightstand at his back flickered over her fiery hair spread all about her face. She sat up, and her beauty literally stole his breath; all he could do was stand there and stare …
She smiled at him and whispered, “You are safely back … I am so glad.”
He went to her, knowing it was more than words he wanted to express. He had her in his embrace as he whispered her name, “Myriah …” It was all he could utter as his lips parted hers—as his tongue reminded them both of their last encounter.
He pushed her gently back against her pillow and stood for a moment to pull off his boots and then his breeches, and his heart swelled as she stared at his body and licked her lips.
He came to her then, took her hand, and put it to his hard, pulsating manhood. She stroked him enticingly, and he groaned as he broke away and climbed onto the bed.
He bent his head to her full breasts and whispered her name, just before he began to suckle and fondle there. She threw back her neck and closed her eyes. He looked at her and whispered, “No, my sweet. I want your eyes open … I want you to see me … watch me touch you …”
She opened them, and he was thrilled with what he saw in their deep blue-green recesses. He kissed a path over her belly to her thighs, spread them, lifted her legs, and began nibbling and licking her clit as he brought her to a scream of pleasure.
He was breathing hard. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way. He wanted her more than any woman he had ever known in his lifetime. More than that, he wanted to climb into her, be a part of her, and never let her go.
“Kit … you are … beautiful … all of you … your shoulders, your arms … this …” she said as she moved into position and took his cock, palming it with a motion that made him wild.
He rolled onto his back. Holding her by her small waist, he lifted her into position and told her hungrily, “Ride, love … ride it all you want, show me what you want from me, and I will give it to you … always …”
“What I want is … everything …” Myriah said, climbing onboard.
~ Ten ~
“ARR …” BILLY GROANED. He blinked at Myriah as she pulled away his drapes from the window and turned to smile brightly at him. “Hold there—what the deuce are you doing?”
“Cook is sending up a breakfast you will love … and I am going for a quick walk. ’Tis a glorious day!” she threw over her shoulder.
“Come back here, she-devil, and keep me company!” he called after her.
She turned and stuck her head back into the room. “I expect your brother will be doing that any time now.”
Some moments later, she stood on the front portico and breathed deeply. Indeed, it was a lovely day for so many reasons.
Kit’s lovemaking had gone on for an hour before they fell asleep in each other’s arms, and while he had not uttered the words she craved to hear, he had come close. He had told her she was his and never would be any other’s. He had said she made his heart beat. Imagine … such a pretty thing to say, but more than that, he had meant it.
Oh yes, everything seemed brighter, lighter, and perfect this morning. The gentle breeze brought the aroma of flowers that grew wild in the unkempt garden beds. The sun played saucily with the mist it was burning away, and the sky was a rich and cloudless blue.
Myriah stretched her arms heavenward—’twas a new day, and it held fresh hopes. She rounded the house and crossed the rear lawns past a rich meadow with grazing sheep. They looked like puffs of dirty rags sitting upon black footstools, and Myriah laughed when one picked up its head and
baaed
at her.
She came across a small wooden bridge that arched prettily over a steep dyke and crossed it, feeling as though she had entered some fairy tale land. She walked beside the dike, looking down into its dark waters, marveling at the glistening gems it seemed to hold, when all at once the sound of another lamb bleating piteously halted her.
“Oh, gracious, however did you get there, you silly?” she asked the poor thing that was entangled in a mesh of grapevines. Its struggles were plunging it deeper into the water.