Surrender The Night (33 page)

“What do you mean?” Alarm stabbed through him. There it was again. That hint of some disaster that had befallen her that had forever changed her. Why wouldn’t she tell him what it was? He caught her arm and pinned her gaze with his. He read only sadness through the hazy tears.

“Nothing. Please, just let me go.
...”
Her voice broke. She seemed fragile, and he’d never enjoyed smashing beautiful things, especially those he cherished. He released her.

‘ ‘Go, Katrina. But I want you to think as well. Love is too scarce in this world to throw away out of pride. Yours or mine. In the meantime I want to send you food. Please. Relieve me of that worry at least?”

She shrugged. “I have no objection, but John won’t feel the same. Let me speak with him when he’s better. You’ve been generous. We have enough for several weeks. Soon after that the Carrington crops will be ripe.” She didn’t admit that she feared being indebted to him, but Devon understood.

He’d change her mind about that, too. He knew a capital way to begin, but he only said, “That reminds me, Katrina. Stay away from Phillip Carrington.” Her drooping spine stiffened as she sent him a glare. He hid a smile and added, “It was foolish of you to go alone to his house. He’s a rake who will not hesitate to take advantage of you.”

“That must be why you’re such close friends,” she said.

“Birds of a feather flock together?” He rolled his eyes drolly.

“No, rakes of a mind sleep in kind.”

He pretended to be horrified. “Katrina! You of all people know better.”

A weary smile, but a smile nonetheless, stretched her face. “Warning taken, Devon. I hope you’ll take mine as well. Don’t go about alone and offer angry men more of a challenge than you already have.”

“Very well, my dear. Take care of yourself for me.” He turned to his curricle.

“The same to you, Devon.” Katrina hurried toward the cottage.

“You’ve only to send word if you need anything!” he called after her.

She nodded as she closed the door. Devon clicked to his restive team. He felt limp with spent emotion, yet stronger than ever before. Katrina loved him! A love so strong as hers could not stand much longer before the onslaught of their mutual need. He’d make her feel so cherished that she’d understand that in wedlock, or out of it, he would adore her and keep her safe.

If a niggling doubt still persisted, he squashed it. They’d found one another again. He’d not waste this chance God had given him, perhaps his only chance to win a worthy woman. If proving the measure of his regard in the many ways he’d planned was still not enough, then ... He left the words unspoken, even in his mind, but the image of Katrina, garbed in white with a long, flowing veil, haunted him as he made his way home.

After the hearty evening meal in which even Rachel partook, Katrina strolled outside. A full belly only made her mind more active. Now the basics of life were supplied, she could not stifle her longing for the intangible. She’d been too busy surviving these past years to think much about whether she was happy. Her most recent encounter with Devon had settled that question.

She could never be happy without him. She knew that now. Spending her life in good works, even sharing her sickness and health with a kind man like Will, could not compensate her for the pure joy Devon’s simple presence gave her. Sickness or no, when she was with him, delirium seemed an enviable state of mind.

Somehow, now that she’d admitted her love to him, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was glad he knew the truth. That lie was between them no longer, forsooth. At least she had the solace of knowing she’d reached for happiness with both hands.

Nevertheless, she knew they had no future. Even if he came to her, hat in hand, and begged for her troth, she could not wed him. His countess must be one thing above all: healthy, able to supply him the many heirs he both wanted and needed. Pain jolted her as she thought once again of the child they’d both lost, but the usual, searing anger toward Devon did not come. Yes, his overweening pride had driven her away, but her own pride had exacerbated her fate. Had she not been so sexually weak that night, or had she accepted his gifts, she never would have gone to that quiet little inn where Sutterfield had so effortlessly stolen her. She was not blameless, either.

A deep sigh escaped her. It was lost on the clean, summer breeze to become one with the earth it passed; in sympathy Gaea bestowed on Katrina a measure of her own serenity.

No, she could not wed him, but she could still be his love.

So simply pass the morals of a lifetime, Katrina thought fleetingly. She pictured her father’s beloved face, but somehow he was smiling. She knew his advice: It would be a graver sin to say those immortal vows to Will and mean them in her heart to another.

If she shared her thoughts, her dreams, and aye, her body, with Devon, but accepted only the same in return, did she really have reason to hate herself? Many would name her whore, but if he didn’t pay her earthly coin, then in her heart she would feel clean. That was all that really mattered. She needn’t worry any longer about the consequences. No innocent life would suffer the sins of the mother. If wrong it was to let a love so deep and true guide her, then for the first time in her life she would gladly embrace sin.

Katrina hugged herself, so happy that she took two steps toward Truro and the road to Devon’s manor before she caught herself. Of course, if she couldn’t allow Devon to help them any longer, then she had to find some kind of employment. When she had a working wage,
then
she could go to Devon.

Rubbing her elbows with her palms, Katrina stopped and looked up at the full moon. It was bright and clean as a preacher on Sunday. But clouds gathered in the west, and she smelled the scent of rain. A visit to Truro would have to wait until morning.

Katrina turned to leave the riverbank and go back to the cottage, but she froze. A stealthy figure exited the rear. As the man made his way to the front and turned south, Katrina recognized his silhouette and the way he walked. Jimmy. Judging from his direction, southeast toward the channel, he was leaving for a smuggling run. She wasn’t even aware he’d returned, but he’d apparently sneaked upstairs for his slicker after she left the cottage. Ellie was probably with her parents and hadn’t noticed.

Katrina started to call to him, but changed her mind. She stared after him thoughtfully, took one hesitant step to follow, and another, firmer one. Then, with a determined flick of her shawl across her shoulder, she hurried after him.

Katrina had heard stories about free traders for as long as she could remember. Those of Cornish smugglers were the most lurid of all. One West Country smuggler king was said to have cut off the heads of his enemies—usually excisemen—to drink their blood. Law-abiding Englishmen feared to visit a place where the land itself—all crags, muddied inlets, hidden caves, and rugged bays—abetted the dastardly intents of the wreckers and smugglers who therein plied their trades.

Having lived in Cornwall for over two years, Katrina discounted most of the stories. Smugglers were ordinary miners and fishermen, taking what chances they found to ease their desperate poverty. And if in so doing they could thumb their noses at English authorities, why, so much the better. After all, English law perpetuated their trade by setting unreasonable duties on goods every Englishman should be able to afford.

Katrina smiled to herself as she stayed just close enough to Jimmy to keep him in sight. She
had
changed in the past two years, many would say not for the better. In the space of one day she’d decided to consort with a man out of wedlock and to cheerfully break the law she’d always respected. If she would be allowed to.

The skies chose that moment to visit their wrath upon her; she hoped it was not a portent of the night to come. None of the smugglers would be happy to see her, Jimmy least of all. How on earth could she convince them to let her join them? Katrina was still debating when, at last, she saw lights beaming up ahead from the rocky point Jimmy had led her to.

This area of the coast, between Lizard Point on the south and Deadman’s Point on the north, by its desolation, made Katrina feel the same. She’d passed the last trees some distance back and knew not even the hardy Comish variety could survive on the gale-swept peninsula. Lightning flashed, and she spied a rough, rocky path leading down the cliffs to the beach. This, then, must be the landing. She wondered how many tiny harbors and sheltered bays the smugglers took advantage of, as had their ancestors before them. She’d never have known where to seek them out if she hadn’t followed Jimmy.

When Katrina turned her head again, Jimmy was far ahead. She ran after him, knowing he’d never hear her steps in the gale. She faltered when she saw where he was headed. The surreal light made a melodramatic backdrop for the cockeyed steeple perched atop a rotting pile of slats. This woebegone wreck, Katrina realized, had once been an Anglican church, apparently abandoned since Wesley brought Methodism to Cornwall.

She blinked in bemusement. Trust Jack Hennessy to choose this place to conduct his lawless business. As Jimmy opened the sagging door she ran the last few steps to catch the door before it could close behind
him

When Jimmy entered the church, the buzz of conversation halted briefly, then began again. Up front, Hennessy was arguing with a slight man wearing an expensive greatcoat and boots. They were too far away for Jimmy to understand what was being said, so he walked further up the aisle, unaware of the flash of gray serge behind him that disappeared beneath a row of benches.

Jimmy took off his slicker and shook off the rain, then he flung the coat over his arm and swaggered toward the cluster of men. His strut was spoiled, however, when his toe caught a loosened flagstone. He stumbled, bumping into the broad shoulders of the man in front of him. The man turned and glowered, then looked resigned as he steadied Jimmy.

“Evenen’, lad. Ded ’ee hear the news?”

“What news, Davie?”

“Our usual contact es poorly, and he sent hes brother to tell us where to land—’cept he can only speak that heathen French. Et’s not near Brest, at the usual place, es all we can figgur.”

“Why can’t he just guide us?” Jimmy had to smile as Jack moved toe to toe with the Frenchman and shouted into his ear, as if volume could penetrate where good English could not. The Frenchman sputtered back in a language equally incomprehensible to Hennessy.

Davie sighed. ‘ ‘That’s been goin’ on for the past hour. Ef we understand hes gesturen’, he esn’t goin’ back. He’s taaken on a job at one of the manors en Devon. We thenk he’s a cook.” Davie spat in disgust. “Stuped frogs. Senden’ a
cook
to do a man’s job.”

“Why not make him draw a map?” Jimmy suggested.

Davie looked thunderstruck, then he slapped Jimmy so hard on the back that he stumbled. “We’ll maake a smuggler out of ’ee yet. Ho there! Jack! Lesten to Jimmy here.”

Looking harassed, Jack ran a hand through his coarse hair and turned away from the red-faced Frenchman. “What?” he growled.

“Ah, why don’t you get him to draw a map?” Jimmy asked nervously.

Fingers rubbing thoughtfully at his scalp. Jack turned to the men closest to him. “Any of ’ee got paper?”

“Pshaw, Jack, what would we breng paper for?” asked a burly, red-capped fair trader. He guffawed. Others joined in at the ludicrous request. Most of them couldn’t even write.

Jack’s hand came down and bunched into a fist. He whirled on Jimmy. “Mister smart-mouth, does ye have paper?”

“Me?” Jimmy fumbled in his pockets, then shrugged. “No, but we could get him to draw in the dirt.”

“Might work. Damn Junot anyway for changin’ the landin’ and bein’ so havey-cavey about it.” Jack bent such a glare on the Frenchman that the little man’s red face paled. He cast uneasy looks about at the unfriendly ring of tough faces.

“Does ’ee thenk et’s a trap, Jack? Maybe Junot told the revenuers,” one man said quietly, stating everyone’s fears.

“Naw, Paulie. Junot stands to lose too much if we’re caught.”

“There’s others, ” Paulie said stubbornly. “Them at Gull Rock es just waiten’ for us to make a mestake so they can take over our run.”

After a long pause Jack muttered, “There’s only one way to find out. I’ve been wantin’ to get me a piece o’ frog for a spell.” He cracked his knuckles and turned toward the French
man.

The Frenchman had watched the byplay intently, and when Jack grabbed his arm, he protested,
‘ Non! Je ne
—”

“Oh, shut up!” Jack snarled, shoving the man so hard that he stumbled. The other smugglers moved back to give Jack room.

Jimmy said, “If they was settin’ a trap. Jack, they’d use someone who could speak English. Just get him to draw the map and let him go.”

“No, Paulie’s right. We got to be sure. If he’s part o’ a trap, he’s comin’ with us.” Jack caught the Frenchman’s collar and dragged him around. Face-to-face, Jack snarled, “Frenchie, this be your last chance. If ye really understand, ye’d best admit it and tell us why yer brother changed the landin’.”

The Frenchman cast a pleading look over Jack’s shoulder, but only Jimmy’s face was sympathetic, and he made no move to help.
“S’il vous plait, attendez-moi
—”