They walked along the cliffs, the wind howling louder now, full of both rain and the smell of brine. They could hear the waves crashing against rocks below them.
James suddenly saw the flash of a lantern, then another. The rain was lessening, thank God, and a bit of moon was shining through the bloated black clouds. James saw two boats pulled up onto the beach and at least six men in a line from the boats to the cliff where they stood.
He cursed.
A deep voice came out of the darkness, “Now what have we here, I wonder?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JAMES TOOK CORRIE’S hand and squeezed it as he pulled her tightly against his side.
“We are here by chance only,” James said toward the dark voice. “We’re merely trying to find a farmhouse or a fishing village to pass the rest of the night.”
“Not much night left.”
“I don’t have a watch. I don’t know.” James had one bullet left, no more.
The rain stopped and more moon shone down.
A man stepped out of the shadows, a gun in his hand and a black mask over his face. He was wrapped in a many-capped greatcoat.
This wasn’t good.
He looked them both up and down, and Corrie could imagine his eyebrow going up behind that mask. “What the devil happened to you, my dear? Did your handsome gallant here promise you marriage then ravish you?”
“Oh no,” Corrie said. “He would never do that, I daresay he’s never thought of ravishment. And why would he have to? I’ve known him all my life, very nearly. I saved him from three very bad men who’d kidnapped him. We’re trying to go home. We don’t mean anyone any harm. If you’re smuggling in diamonds for the new king, why, we could help you. We don’t care, truly we don’t.”
“You saved him?” The man laughed, actually laughed, which meant he surely wouldn’t shoot them in that instant, didn’t it?
Corrie nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. I jumped on the tiger’s perch on the back of the carriage and then I climbed onto the cottage roof, covered the chimney with a blanket, and rode a horse into the cottage armed with a pitchfork.”
The man was staring at her, and James knew even without seeing his face that his look was one of pure disbelief. The man said slowly, “You are making that up.” He straightened. “I am no longer amused. No lady would dare such things as you’ve described. Why are the two of you here, in this exact spot? In the middle of the night? Looking like you’ve been rolling in a ditch?”
“She told you the truth. We’re only trying to get back to London,” James said. “Nothing more. But you’re right, she’s not a lady-she’s my sister.”
“Your sister, is she? Now that’s a lie that won’t hold more than two drops of water. And since that’s a bald-faced lie, then the rest of it must be as well. Come along, now. I must decide what to do with you.”
“It was worth a try,” she said against his neck as they walked in front of the man. The path was treacherous, steep and winding, a good thirty feet down to the beach. A half dozen men were carrying crates from a cave to two big longboats at the shore.
“Sit,” the man said.
They sat. The man whistled and a young boy came running up. He handed him the gun. “Keep an eye on them, Alf, especially the girl.” He laughed. “You wouldn’t believe how very dangerous she is.”
He walked away.
“I am dangerous.”
“Don’t alarm Alf,” James said.
“Oh, all right. At least we can rest for a while.” She leaned against him, and to James’s astonishment, she fell asleep.
“Lawks,” the boy said. “That girl jest fell over, she did.”
“She’s had a hard night,” James said, put his arm around her and pulled her close.
He didn’t fall asleep. He hadn’t known there was still smuggling into Britain. Why, for God’s sake? He remembered his father saying that French brandy was much better when it was smuggled in. There was something about the danger of it, the risk involved, which wasn’t all that great, he’d admitted, that gave it an extra dash of heat, right to the belly.
One thing he was sure of: These scoundrels weren’t out to kill his father.
The man with his very smooth, very educated voice was suddenly standing over them. James realized that he must have nodded off after all.
“Tired, are you?”
“The nap helped,” James said quietly, not wanting to awaken Corrie.
The man, still masked, came down on his haunches beside James. “This girl-she’s wearing a ball gown and you’re dressed in evening clothes as well. You’re obviously a gentleman and she a lady. It’s also obvious that you haven’t been dancing all night given where you are and your appearance. I’m inclined to believe that you were kidnapped and that perhaps she played a part in the rescue. But here’s the problem. If I leave the two of you here, you’ll tell Bow Street, and I wouldn’t like that at all.”
James said, “I don’t understand why you’re smuggling. The war with France has been over for years upon years. I didn’t even know smuggling still went on.”
The man looked amazed. He stood up quickly. “I’m going to take the two of you with me, no choice, so I don’t want any arguments from either of you. I’ll put you ashore near Plymouth. Would you like me to guess your names, or will you tell me who the devil you are?”
“I imagine you already know who we are, don’t you? Now, there’s no reason to take us to Plymouth. If I went to Bow Street, what would I tell them? I don’t even know where we are, exactly. I don’t even know how long it’s going to take us to get back to London. I have no idea who you are, and I haven’t a clue what you’re smuggling.”
The man cursed. He tapped his booted foot on the sand. He looked back toward the men who were nearly finished bringing the wooden crates out of the cave, making their way toward the two boats that were already loaded down. “No, there’s no choice, I can’t take the-”
James kicked the man hard in his belly, knocking him backward. James was on him in a flash, his fist slamming against his jaw, hard, and he fell back unconscious. James grabbed his gun and took two steps back and gave his hand to Corrie, whose mouth was suddenly so dry she couldn’t have spit on the wretched man if she’d tried her best. They heard shouts, saw the men running toward them, guns drawn.
James shouted, “All of you, stop right there or I’ll shoot your leader!”
The men stopped dead in their tracks, then began talking amongst themselves.
The man twitched, his arm snaked out to grab James’s hand, but Corrie was faster. She kicked his arm, then fell on him and shoved her knee against his throat. He stared up at her, saying nothing because he couldn’t breathe, and because he didn’t know what to say. She drew back her knee just a bit. “Now you know how dangerous I am,” Corrie said, leaning down close to his face. “You’re not a very competent villain, sir. James and I bested you without much effort at all.”
James yelled out, “All of you, throw your guns into the boats! I’m not going to leave you defenseless, but I don’t want you shooting at us either.”
James looked down at Corrie, her knee still pressed against the man’s neck, he, no fool, still lying perfectly still, and said, “Well done, Corrie, now back away from him. That’s it.”
Once Corrie was clear, James said to the man he would very likely recognize, “Now, I’m not going to take off your mask which means if I went to Bow Street I couldn’t give them a description of you. Truth is, I don’t want to know who you are or what you’re smuggling. I want you to get up and walk toward your men. When you reach them, I want you to get all of them in the boats. Go, now, or I’ll have to shoot you and you won’t have to worry about anything at all, ever again.”
“The two of you,” the man remarked as he rose slowly to his feet, gingerly feeling his throat that had so recently enjoyed Corrie’s knee. “I hadn’t appreciated how very good you are together. It is a pity that-well, never mind.” He turned and trotted down t
he beach toward the boats and his men. The man was standing at the bow, looking back at them. He cupped his mouth in his hands and yelled, “I ask only that you keep out of the cave!”
Within minutes the men were shoving the boats out into the water, then jumping in.
The man raised his hand in a salute.
“There’s a ship, James, I can see it now,” Corrie said, pointing.
“Yes,” he said. “I wonder what they were smuggling.”
“Maybe they left something in that cave. Let’s go look.”
James thought about it as he kept his eyes on the retreating boats. The sea was choppy, the wind rising.
“You know what? I don’t give a good damn what’s in the cave, if anything. Let’s get out of here instead.”
She looked disappointed, but nodded, taking his hand, and together they walked back up the path to the top of the cliff.
As they stood on the edge of the cliff, looking out toward the two boats, far distant now, nearly to the ship, the sky began to lighten.
“It’s nearly dawn,” Corrie said, wonder in her voice. “It seems more like three weeks have passed.”
“Amen to that,” James said. “I would swear there was something familiar about that man.”
“I think you’re right. It’s probable we do know him or at least know who he is.”
“A gentleman smuggler.”
“He moved well. Of course he wasn’t good enough to take the both of us.”
James grinned, shook his head at her. “At this point I don’t care who or what he is. I saw you shiver. Don’t do that again. You don’t want to get ill from this, all right? Just keep thinking how excellent you feel, how warm you are in my coat. Let’s go, Corrie.” She stretched a moment, then shivered again, a good shiver. “Actually, I am feeling excellent since that short nap. I must say too that when I put my knee on his throat, I remembered that was what I did to Willie Marker, and it made me feel even better.”
“Poor Willie, and all he wanted was a kiss.”
She shuddered.
“Now, I want you to keep that coat real close. Just keep thinking how good you feel. No illness, Corrie. That’s one thing we can’t afford.”
The coat was wet, but she pulled it close. It was better than nothing. She looked at James, his white shirt damp, the wind slicing through it, making the sleeves billow.
It started drizzling again.
They didn’t see a single living creature until after the sun was up. They heard cows mooing.
“Glory be, I don’t believe it,” Corrie yelled. “Where there are cows there have to be people to milk them.”
Hand in hand, they ran in the direction of the mooing. There was a farmhouse, the back of it facing the sea, the front bordering a narrow road, and on the other side was a good-sized pasture and beyond the pasture, a forest of elm and maple trees. The house was built of gray stone, a hulking ugly house with a barn attached. At the moment, it was the most glorious structure either of them had ever seen.
“Oh, there’s smoke coming out of the chimney. That means it’s got to be warm in there.”
They ran to the front of the house, panting, and James called out, “Is there anyone here? We’re in need of assistance!”
From behind the closed door, an old voice said, “I don’t give no assistance to no one. Go away.”
“Please,” Corrie said, “we mean no harm. We’ve been walking all night and are very wet and cold. Won’t you please help us?”
“Yer rich coves, from the sound of ye.” The door opened a crack, and a very old face, seamed deep by years in the sun, and eyes a bright, intelligent blue, peered out at them.
“Wot’s this? Oh my, ye’re both a rare mess, ye are. Come in, come in now.”
The door went wide, and James and Corrie walked into the house, James ducking before the lintel would have knocked the top of his head off.
It smelled like vanilla inside.
“Oh, how wonderful,” Corrie said, sucking in that wonderful smell, turning to the wrinkled old woman, swathed in a huge apron that covered nearly all of her. “What a delightful house you have, madam. Thank you so much for letting us in. And it’s so very warm.”
“Please, ma’am,” James said. “We’ve been in the rain all night and I’m very worried about Corrie.”
“Aye, I can see that,” the old woman said. “I’m Mrs. Osbourne, me man is out there wi’ the cows. Our milk is the best in the district. I’ll give ye a cup o’ milk, all nice and warm, that’ll make ye jig again. Now, ye’re both wet, let me find ye something to wear.”
Mrs. Osbourne disappeared into another room, and James realized that behind the door past the kitchen was indeed the barn.
“Corrie, I want you to hang my coat over that chair and get yourself close to the fireplace. We’re nearly home.”
When Mrs. Osbourne came back after only a few minutes carrying a pail of milk, she said to Corrie, “Aye, little dearie, let me pour ye some nice fresh milk, then we’ll get ye into some nice dry clothes.”
Corrie drank the warm milk gratefully then handed the mug to James, who finished it off.
She followed Mrs. Osbourne into an old-fashioned bedchamber with a lovely big bed and a huge trunk at its base. Mrs. Osbourne left Corrie there to change into a long shapeless gown of indeterminate gray with a high neck and not a single ruffle or flounce. Corrie thought it was a lovely dress. She was humming as she stripped off her wet clothes and laid them all spread out on the floor, careful not to let them touch Mrs. Osbourne’s blue rag rug. She could hear Mrs. Osbourne speaking to James, but couldn’t make out her words.
She toweled off her hair and untangled it as best she could with her fingers. She was warm, her belly filled with the lovely milk, and she was more than ready to take on more kidnappers. Or smugglers. What an amazing night it had been. And James was all right. She’d seen to it.
She walked back into the sitting room. “Your turn now, James.”
When James took the men’s clothes into the bedchamber, Corrie said, “I thank you, ma’am. Lord Hammersmith was kidnapped. We both escaped and have been walking in the rain nearly all night.”
“A lordship is he? Well, I suppose he should have a title attached to that beautiful face of his. I don’t think Mr. Osbourne’s clothes will fit him well, but at least they’re dry. Would ye like to buy some milk?”
Before Corrie could laugh or reply, James came out of the bedchamber dressed in Mr. Osbourne’s clothes. Corrie knew that beauty would have to be in the eye of a very biased beholder. The breeches, old and baggy, came only to his ankles. The dark brown cotton shirt didn’t quite meet over his chest, which made him look very manly indeed, what with chest hair poking out. She didn’t think she’d seen James’s chest since he was sixteen. Should she tell him that he would look magnificent indeed if he’d take off those ridiculous clothes?
Probably wise not to say that. She didn’t want to hurt Mrs. Osbourne’s feelings.
“You look very natty, James.”
“I’m warm and dry, as you are, Corrie. Thank you, Mrs. Osbourne and Mr. Osbourne as well. Once Corrie and I are home again, I will have the clothes returned to you.”
“So ye’re Lord Hammersmith, the young lady tells me. Ye’ve the look of a ducky lad. I believe that Mr. Osbourne had the look of ye afore the years wore on him and knobbled his knees, and all those dratted cows kicked him in the head too many times.” And Mrs. Osbourne curtseyed to him. “I’ll feed ye. Mr. Osbourne can sell all the milk this morning. Goodness, I already hear the wagons coming down the road.”
After the most delicious porridge and eggs and toast either Corrie or James had ever eaten in their short lives, they both felt too tired and stupid to do anything except sit at that table and try to stay upright.
“Tired, are ye? Well, that’s no problem. How about a short nap afore Mr. Osbourne sees that ye get at least to Malthorpe, our village five miles down the road.”
James was so grateful that he n
early fell over his feet as he rose from his chair. He walked to Mrs. Osbourne, picked up her hoary hand, and kissed her knuckles. “We are very grateful for your kindness, ma’am. If you don’t mind, I would very much like for Corrie to rest a while. So much has happened.”
“I’ll have her in my own bedchamber, my lord, tucked in right and tight.”
“Thank you, ma’am. If I can perhaps assist Mr. Osbourne with the cows-” He stood there, the words barely out of his mouth, smiling his beautiful smile, when suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, hitting the edge of the table on his way to the floor.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CORRIE HAD NEVER been so frightened in her life. Riding on the back of a carriage for three hours on the tiger’s perch, the wind whistling up her wide sleeves, was nothing; climbing up on a rickety roof with a blanket-well, the list was long. But this was James. And he was sick.
Mr. Osbourne left his milking to strip James of his own clothes and put him into bed. He was still unconscious, his breathing heavy, and he was so very pale. Corrie couldn’t bear it. She’d taken his coat and left him in his shirtsleeves. She said to Mrs. Osbourne, “Is there a physician nearby? I must have a physician for him. Please, Mrs. Osbourne. I can’t allow anything to happen to James. Please.”
“Well now,” Mrs. Osbourne said, lightly laying her gnarly old hand on James’s forehead, “there is old Dr. Flimmy, over in Braxton. Don’t know if he’s still alive, but he birthed my three boys, and all of them survived, their mama included. Elden!”
Mr. Osbourne stuck his head in the bedchamber.
“Send little Freddie over Braxton way to fetch Dr. Flimmy. Our beautiful boy here is nearly pale as a corpse.” She saw Corrie’s face blanch. “Sorry.”
“Fever,” Mrs. Osbourne said, shaking her head. “I know fevers, I do. Little Lemon, that’s what I always called him when he was a boy cause his skin was this pale yellow color; did that boy ever have the fevers, one right after the other.”
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