Uncovering the Merchant's Secret

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  ‘You’d be caught at the same time,’ Blanche growled. ‘You can’t increase your wealth from inside a cell or on the gallows.’

  She regarded him scornfully. He was greedy, but cared more about his name and reputation at the end of the day.

  ‘You agreed to work with me, Jagu, and to let me lead as Bleiz Mor. You trusted me to plan carefully and I have never failed us. Listen to me now—de Larrion might turn his face from our ships, but he has no time for wreckers. My hands are free of that blood, but the consequences for you would be dire.’

  Ronec released her arm and sat back, waving an arm carelessly.

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. A man finds it easier to keep his friends when trouble appears, never forget that. A husbandless woman has no one to speak for her.’

  ‘Do you have the box?’ Blanche asked through gritted teeth.

  ‘Yes, I do. How much do you want it?’

  ‘Stop playing games,’ Blanche said. She stood and smoothed her sleeve. ‘If Jack’s memory comes back, he will have no reason to stay. I don’t want him here any more than you do. Every moment we spend trying to keep things from him increases the risk of him discovering what we do. It will be spring soon and the campaigns will begin again. I want to be ready.’

  ‘If you just killed him it would end the problem, memory or not,’ Ronec pointed out.

  ‘I honour the laws of hospitality even if you don’t,’ Blanche said scornfully.

  Ronec sat back in his chair. ‘I hate a woman who thinks she can talk sense.’

  Blanche hid her triumph at this admission that she was talking sense and he agreed. He wasn’t going to make it easy, though.

  ‘You still owe me two nights in my bed. You can have the box in exchange for a third.’

  ‘It isn’t worth that,’ Blanche said. ‘Goodbye.’

  She walked to the door without looking back. At least she had not mentioned the purpose of her visit to Jack. To have the prospect of his box within his grasp only to have it snatched away was too cruel. Jack would not expect that sacrifice of her, though. No one would.

  ‘A kiss,’ Ronec called after her.

  She paused and looked round.

  ‘Bring the box.’

  He motioned her to wait, but she followed him out of the room and waited in the entrance hall. She did not entirely trust him to stop at a kiss and had no intention of getting trapped with no escape. He laughed when he saw her and held the leather satchel out, then withdrew it.

  ‘Payment first.’

  She sneered. ‘Do you think I’m a child on my first trip to market? I’ll see what I’m buying, thank you.’

  Ronec opened the satchel and drew out the box that Jack had been guarding so carefully that, even through all he had suffered, he had not loosened his grip. It was plain and unassuming, something that could easily be overlooked. The wood had long gouges in it and the lock had been forced.

  ‘You opened it?’

  She reached out, but Ronec stepped back.

  ‘It might have contained gold or jewels, but there were just papers,’ Ronec said. ‘I put them back, don’t worry.’

  Blanche concealed a smile. Ronec was a poor reader. For all his wealth and cunning he struggled to write more than his own name. He would have been unable to read the contents. It was one of the reasons he agreed to help Blanche. Her intelligence balanced his brute strength. They complemented each other. If only he was content to be partners in name only, the arrangement would have been perfect.

  He stuffed the box back in the satchel. ‘If you want it, I’ll take my payment now.’

  Blanche nodded. Papers were more useful to Jack than treasure. Her mind flitted to the cross and chain that she had kept from him and her conscience jerked. Ronec squared up to her, looming close. He didn’t touch her, but he was closer than he had ever been. She recoiled in distaste, remembering his hands roving across her naked body and wishing in that moment that she had never gone to him for help.

  He took her face between both hands and held her still while he brought his mouth over hers and wriggled his tongue between her lips and inside her mouth. She kissed him back, feigning enthusiasm, knowing he would not be satisfied with passivity. She tried to pretend he was someone else. Someone she liked. That had worked in the past, when she had been able to invoke the image of Mael and make the grim deeds endurable. Now she tried to bring Jack to mind, but as soon as she managed to fix his image in her mind she dismissed it. The tenderness he had exhibited as he held her should not be sullied by something this base and lacking affection.

  Ronec released her and held out the satchel. She took it from his hand. Ronec seized her, fingers tight around her upper arm. He pulled her round to face him.

  ‘It would breach no laws of hospitality if I kill your friend. Remember that.’

  He released her and she ran with his laughter ringing in her ears. She didn’t stop running until she reached the stables and mounted her mare. She rode at a gallop, satchel slung across her back, until she reached the road that led home. Then she slowed to a walk and led the mare along the cliff edge to avoid the village. She rode past the turning. Until she had bathed and rid herself of the taste of Ronec, she didn’t want to see anyone, and she knew where best to restore her equilibrium.

  At the end of the headland beyond the fort were a dozen large boulders known as the Maiden Stones that had been dragged into a rough circle some time so long ago no one living knew how they had come to be there. Blanche secured the bridle to the shortest and made her way on foot to the turning that led down to the small inlet where her ships were moored. The path was almost concealed behind the thick gorse bushes that grew wild. Everyone in the village who needed to knew of its existence, but to a stranger it would not be obvious.

  The tide was in and the ships at anchor bobbed up and down, rigging creaking gently. The sight soothed Blanche’s heart. She had a sudden longing to be on board White Wolf, following the tide and the wind, not to attack or harry any other ship but for the simple pleasure of feeling the surge of the sea beneath her.

  The ships were cogs, low and flat bottomed with single masts where the sails emblazoned with the Sea Wolf’s colours were currently furled. White Wolf was her favourite, even though the two ships were almost identical. They had been cargo vessels before being repurposed and a faint scent of spices still imbued White Wolf’s hold which made Blanche think of winter nights and hearty dishes.

  She put a hand on White Hawk’s prow. She needed a different captain to Ronec, but where to look, and how to rid herself of him, was too much to think about now. She tucked her skirts up and climbed the ladder on to the deck of White Wolf. There she sat on the raised platform in front of the aft tower with Jack’s box beside her.

  The urge to open it and read what the papers said was almost irresistible. She wanted to know who he was almost as much as he did. She lifted the lid. There was a leather wallet, tightly wrapped around something that looked like a book. With a careful fingertip she lifted that. Beneath it was a similar packet and beneath that were loose letters. She left the packages untouched, her conscience already biting for prying this much. At least Ronec had not destroyed the contents.

  Blanche sniffed. The thought of him brought back the memory of his tongue between her lips and his hands on her face. She could even smell him from here. With the grime from the cellars and the taint of Ronec on her, she felt truly filthy. She had privacy in this cove as no one came without her permission so she climbed on to the harbour and peeled off her clothes. Naked, she plunged off the end of the dock and swam out. She gulped a mouthful of seawater, swilling it round her mouth and spitting out the taste of Ronec. The sea was bracing and goosebumps rose all over her flesh. She swam back to the jetty and heaved herself out, invigorated and feeling cleaner, but planning a hot soak in a tub when she returned home to warm her through. Now, at least, she felt able t
o face the world with a show of strength. She rubbed herself down with her shift and dressed quickly before the cold made her teeth chatter and her legs shake, thinking how nice it had been to ease into the warmth of Jack’s arms for a moment of comfort and how different he was from Ronec and almost every man she had known.

  Mael had been her first love and she had mourned his passing deeper than the more recently deceased Yann. She had been fond of her second husband, but marrying him had been the choice of her head, not her heart. Mael had been a youth himself, with the reckless exuberance of a young man with no imminent responsibilities and their time together had been full of laughter, whereas Jack was older than Mael had ever lived to be and possessed an air of maturity. He was a few years younger than Blanche, but she had not felt a gap between them. She gazed at the box, knowing that once she gave it to him he would have no reason to stay. She was torn between hoping for his sake that his memory returned and selfishly wishing it never did. She shook herself from the reverie, wondering where this uncharacteristic sentimentality had come from. She wanted rid of him. He was an inconvenience and the sooner he was gone, the sooner she could concentrate on wreaking havoc on the French as she had said to Ronec.

  She made her way up the steep path cut into the cliff side and arrived at the top hot and sticky, with burning legs and lungs, and was glad to let her mare take the strain of the return journey. She arrived home in a better mood than she had begun that particular journey. She left her horse to be stabled and walked into the courtyard. Jack was nowhere to be seen, but a neatly stacked pile of logs told her he had been hard at work. She was thankful he wasn’t there because she didn’t want to present him with the box without a prelude. She would find a quiet moment that evening. She summoned Marie and ordered the bath to be filled, then sent the maid with instructions requesting Jack to join her for dinner that night.

  * * *

  Blanche lay back in the warm water and closed her eyes. After chopping logs Jack would be as much in need of a bath as she was. She contemplated inviting him to join her in the deep wooden tub and taking turns sponging away the dirt and doing what would naturally follow once they were both clean and crushed together in the tub. She moved her hands languidly over her body, imagining they were Jack’s and wondering when she had passed from detesting the idea of a man’s hands on her to craving the touch of one in particular, until a fresh picture arose of Jack simply holding her while she embraced him in turn. She hugged herself as a wave of loneliness killed her pleasure.

  The sooner he was gone, the better it would be, and she would be spared such distracting, dangerous thoughts.

  * * *

  Jack ate at the same table he had the night before. The household was smaller now Blanche did not have company. This time, rather than sitting silently, Jack found himself included in the laughter and joking by the men of the house he had bathed with that afternoon. He caught Blanche’s eye as Andrey was comically miming Jack’s efforts with the net and she gave him a grin. When the meal was ended and people started to leave, he found her at his side.

  ‘I am staying here for a drink. Will you come join me, please?’

  Jack followed as she led him to the end of the hall, past the table and behind the screen. Two carved chairs with low arms and high backs were in front of the fireplace. They had thick, padded cushions on the seat and additional cushions to rest on and looked inviting. A low table stood between them with a carafe and two wine cups decorated with an intricate pattern of leaves.

  Blanche held her hand out. ‘Please sit.’

  Jack moved to her chair and drew it back, motioning for her to sit first. She smiled round at him and dropped gracefully on to the seat.

  She reached past him to take the brass jug. As she leaned in, a sweet floral scent washed over Jack. The hairs on his arms stood to attention. He hadn’t noticed her wearing this before, yet for some reason it was as if the scent had gone straight through his nose and into his brain, picking at his memory and stroking his senses as it did. She noticed him watching and drew her arm back.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  A small line appeared between her brows and it pained him to think she was troubled by anything he did. He leaned in close.

  ‘That scent,’ he murmured. ‘It is familiar. What is it?’

  Blanche hesitated, then held her arm out again. Jack leaned in close to her wrist, his hand hovering beside hers.

  ‘May I?’

  She nodded. Jack rested her wrist in the palm of his hand and lifted it. After resisting touching her, this slight contact was enough to send the blood racing through him. Her skin was so pale as to be almost translucent and the fine network of veins wove a pattern. Jack’s pulse sped and he had to fight to resist the urge to press his lips against the delicate skin and see if Blanche’s heartbeat matched his own.

  She held still and allowed him to inhale deeply across the velvety skin, though quite what she must have thought of his action was anyone’s guess. He knew she was still a little suspicious that he was lying and must have thought his actions those of a madman. When he raised his head, he found her eyes full of curiosity.

  ‘I know the scent,’ he said. He ran his thumb across the mound beneath her thumb and looked at her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Narcissus from Glénan. A local plant, crushed in oil to release the perfume,’ she said. ‘It is not flowering yet.’

  ‘Why are you so familiar to me?’ he asked. ‘Were you wearing it the night you found me on the beach?’

  Her eyes became guarded. She tugged on her arm and Jack opened his fingers to release her. She pulled her sleeve down to cover her wrist. The haughty look appeared in her eyes again, but this time Jack understood that it was not stand-offish but cautious. She was keeping her own secrets.

  ‘I believe I might have been,’ she admitted.

  ‘Then when you found me I must have smelled it.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She sat forward on her chair. ‘You are starting to remember more things.’

  ‘I don’t remember exactly,’ he said.

  The scent of the flowers, mingled with Blanche’s skin, reached to the part of his brain that controlled his desire, the result of which was pure, unbridled lust. He flexed and stiffened his fingers and looked around. No one else was at their end of the room. They were completely private, concealed behind the screen that kept the draughts away from the fire.

  ‘What happened on the beach?’ he asked.

  Blanch poured a little wine into her cup and filled Jack’s. ‘I told you.’

  She held the cup to him, but Jack shook his head and folded his arms, refusing to take it.

  ‘Everywhere I turn I feel secrets. I think you are hiding something from me.’

  Blanche replaced the cup and sat back, folding her arms to mirror Jack’s pose. ‘I thought you were dead. I leaned over you. You moved.’

  Her cheeks coloured and her eyes filled with a determined glow. She licked her lips swiftly. The pink tip of her tongue darting in and out across her scarlet lips sent Jack wild with the urge to kiss her.

  ‘And then what?’ he prompted.

  She looked him in the eye. ‘Then you kissed me.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Jack wasn’t prepared for that answer and the shock burst through him like lightning spearing a dry tree. Blanche pressed her lips firmly together, waiting for his reaction. He steepled his fingers and put them to his lips, pressing firmly in an attempt to stop the desperate urge to press his mouth to hers and once again taste the sweet lips that tormented him.

  ‘You must forgive me,’ he said. ‘I have no recollection of that in the slightest.’

  ‘I assumed as much.’

  Jack took his cup and gripped the stem tightly to stop his hands from trembling. He was aware of turmoil stirring his belly. He had kissed her. This beautiful woman whose lips had commanded his attention at
every opportunity. Who drove him wild and who he fought daily to resist. How could he have lost the memory of something he had been burning to do almost since they had met? The slight brush of their lips in the courtyard could hardly be called a kiss. He gave a soft laugh tinged with bitterness.

  ‘It is amusing?’ Blanche asked. She raised her head, her eyes cold. Jack wanted more than anything to see them soften.

  ‘Not in the slightest,’ he said. ‘Alas, it is one more reason to curse this loss of memory. That is one memory I would very much like to regain.’

  Blanche blinked and he feared he had crossed the line between hospitality and rudeness.

  ‘My apologies, that was too frank.’

  She reached forward and rested her hand on top of his, causing his pulse to drum.

  ‘No pardon is necessary. You were almost insensible. I thought you were about to die. Perhaps that is why I permitted it.’ She looked into his eyes and the faint lines at the corner of hers deepened.

  ‘And why I kissed you back.’

  ‘You kissed me?’ The revelation was astonishing. Devastating that he could not recall it. ‘You told me you want no man.’

  She shook her head. ‘I told you I shall be submissive to no man and that is true. I did not say I want no man. If, and when, I choose to take one, I do it on my terms.’

  There was a challenge in her eye. Jack felt his determination to ignore his growing feelings melting like ice in the sun.

  ‘When you kissed me this morning, did it waken anything?’

  Jack said nothing, acutely aware of what sensation it had caused to spring to life within him. Had it done the same for her? He searched Blanche’s face for signs of admission of the fact and found them in the crinkling of the skin at the side of her eyes.

  ‘Any memories, I mean?’ Blanche added. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and he knew she was thinking the same thing.

  ‘No memories, I’m afraid,’ he said with a sigh. He lifted his eyes to hers. ‘Though I’d barely describe that as a kiss if I’m perfectly honest.’