Sea Wraith

by Jocelyn Kelley

  “You have other matters to distract you.” She drew off her apron and hung it on the back of the chair where she sat when her ankle hurt too much. She could hobble around without the cane as long as she did not go too far.“As you were distracted when you walked away in the midst of our conversation.”

  “Did you give credence to the thought that I needed to check to see if anything remained of my house?”

  “You had already done that.”

  He stood and walked toward her. “All right. The truth is that I did not want to argue with you.”

  “You wanted to avoid the argument.”

  “Didn’t I just say that?”

  She shook her head. “I do not want to get into a brangle now about something that happened days ago.”

  “Then why did you even bring up the subject?”

  “Because I had hoped it would be possible to clear the air, but I can see it is useless.”

  He scowled. “I could say the same. Sian, when I met you in London, I thought you were a sweet miss with whom I could have a pleasant conversation. I can see my first impression was wrong.”

  “Why? Because I have a mind and I am not afraid to speak it?”

  “You know how dangerous an unwisely uttered word is right now.”

  “Yes, I do, but again you are turning the conversation to your work when I wish to speak of our friendship. Maybe I was mistaken when I thought we were friends.”

  Emotions swept over his face so quickly she could not interpret a single one. “I thought so as well. Have you changed your mind?”

  “I do not know.” She picked up her cane and held it with both hands. “I respect how you are focused on completing your duties, but you have made it clear that anything and anyone else in your life is secondary to that. Thinking otherwise will ruin whatever chances remain of salvaging our friendship.”

  “I had hoped we might have more than friendship.”

  Her eyes widened, then she turned away. “Do not say such things, Constantine, when you know I was right when I said your duty comes first.”

  “Not always.”

  “Enough.” She did not look at him as she added, “And that does not leave enough for me.”

  * * * *

  She should have been asleep hours ago.

  Sian knew that, and she could not blame her inability to lose herself in dreams on the wind rattling the windows and the rain battering the glass. Her mind taunted her as it repeated the conversation in the nursery. Constantine had not joined her and Arthyn for supper, and she had no idea if he had left Bannatyne Hall. She had had chances to ask, but did not. Her curiosity was not as strong as her resolve to keep from wasting more of her life waiting for Constantine to keep his promises. Instead, she had enjoyed Arthyn’s company, which required little from her but pleasant conversation and the occasional laugh.

  And didn’t that make sense? She yearned to be with Wraith, and, if Arthyn was the masked wrecker, she should delight in the time she spent with him. He could not be the dynamic, seductive man when he did not wear the domino, but Arthyn’s heated kiss on her hand as he bid her a good evening suggested the desires he kept tightly restrained. She wished he would be honest with her—if, of course, he was Wraith.

  She sighed, deciding that even if he was Wraith, she would not be any better off. Both men put their work first. There was little difference between them . . . except she was in love with Wraith. It made no sense, but her feelings were stronger than simple lust. Yes, she wanted to be with him, letting him initiate her into the pleasures a man and a woman could share. But it was more. She thought often of something that she was sure that if she shared it with Wraith, it would make him laugh.

  A wave of rain struck the window, and Sian jumped back. She laughed shakily. The wind wanted to tear the windows out of Bannatyne Hall.

  Helen said from behind her, “Yer nightgown be ready when ye are, Miss Nethercott. I ‘ung it by the fireplace so it be warm.”

  “That is thoughtful of you.” She started to face her maid, then stopped. A flash of light outside was shattered by the rain. She squinted and pressed her hands against the window.

  There it was!

  A light. Flashing on and off. A dark lantern! Someone was opening and closing it. As if it were a warning light aimed at the sea.

  “Oh, my!” she cried. “Wreckers!”

  Helen rushed to the window and peered out. “Are ye sure?”

  “No one would be out in this tempest otherwise!”

  “Come away, Miss Nethercott. If they discover ye watchin’, they might do something ‘orrible.”

  “They already are doing something horrible!” She pushed past her maid. “Find Lord Lastingham!”

  Helen nodded and raced from the room.

  Remaining by the window, Sian paced back and forth. Five minutes passed, then ten. A lifetime. She pushed away from the window. Pausing to get her black cloak from the dressing room, she flung it around her shoulders as she rushed down the stairs. Pain tweaked in her ankle. She paid it no mind.

  She saw a footman by the door. “Have you seen Lord Lastingham?”

  “Nay, Miss Nethercott. Not here.”

  “Did Helen come this way?”

  “Aye. She said ye might come this way, and that she would bring word to you in the solar.”

  Thanking him, Sian went into the room where the tall windows were laced with rain. Again time moved slowly. She paced, weaving between the chairs. Where was Constantine? Was he already sneaking up on the wreckers? Where was Helen? Had everyone disappeared?

  She could not endure waiting alone. She strode toward the door, but stopped when Mrs. Jenkin appeared in the doorway.

  “Where are ye bound, Miss Nethercott?” She crossed her arms in a pose that announced she had changed from housekeeper to defender of Bannatyne Hall.

  “I am not sure. Helen—”

  “Is waiting in yer chambers.”

  “Lord Lastingham—”

  “Left before dinner,” announced Oates as the butler moved next to the housekeeper and mirrored her stance.

  “Stay in the house, Miss Nethercott,” added the housekeeper.

  “Ye should return to yer rooms,” Oates went on, “and ask Helen to draw the draperies in the seaside windows.”

  “And pay no mind to what is happening out there?” She flung her hand toward the windows. “People could be dying out there.”

  “It is too dangerous for ye to go out there,” Mrs. Jenkin argued. “Even if ye avoid the wreckers, ye could fall to your death off one of the cliffs. Between the dark and the storm, ye may not be able to tell where ye are going.”

  “Or ye could be swept out to sea,” added the butler. “The waves will be higher on the beach than ye can imagine. We are sorry we have to frighten ye. We know the folly of venturing out on a stormy night near a new moon. Ye will be safe within these walls. Tibbet and the other lads are watching at the doors.”

  “Thank you for the warning, Oates,” she said, “but I truly do not want to go out there tonight.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, abruptly cold. The thought of seeing Constantine and Wraith facing off across swords or pistols was more than she could bear.

  Wraith! Where was Arthyn?

  When she asked the butler that question, he said, “Mr. Trembeth retired to his bedroom where he plans to read and asked not to be disturbed.”

  Was that good sense, or was it a way to persuade the servants not to knock on his door and discover he was not there?

  Too many questions. Too few answers.

  Sian went up to her room. She limped more on each step and was relieved to reach her door.

  Helen rushed to help her to the chaise longue. The damask draperies, Sian noticed, had been closed.

  “I am sorry, Miss Nethercott,” she said, taking the cloak and carrying it into the dressing room. As she returned to the bedchamber, she added, “I could not find Lord Lastingham. I did speak with Mr. Trembeth, who was not plea
sed to be bothered, and he believes Lord Lastingham has sought his own room.” The maid went to the hearth, then walked toward the bed. “‘Tis evil ‘ere,” she murmured as she placed the rewarmed nightgown and Sian’s dark blue dressing gown on the bed.

  Sian frowned. “Do you speak of Bannatyne Hall?”

  “Ye know I mean those out in the storm who are doin’ only ‘eaven knows what.”

  “I doubt heaven has much to do with them right now.”

  The maid shivered again.

  “Go to bed, Helen. I will ready myself.”

  “If ye do not mind, I would like to sit with the other servants in the kitchen. They gather there on nights when ‘tis unsafe to be abroad.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. You will need to use the door to your room, because I intend to lock every door in this room.”

  Helen nodded. “I will lock my own after I come back upstairs. If ye be wantin’ anything, Miss Nethercott, ring, and I will return.”

  “I am fine.” She glanced toward the closed draperies and shuddered. “I wish I could say the same for everyone out there.”

  Bidding Sian a good night’s sleep, even though both of them knew it was unlikely, Helen took her leave.

  Sian rose and crossed the room with care, locking both the door to the hallway and the other to the dressing room. She looked at the warmed nightgown and comfortable bed. It was tempting to burrow into the pillows, pull the covers over her head, and forget about anything but sleep. She had done that when the guardian ghost from Nethercott Castle last tried to appear. Would he ever come to speak to her again?

  “Stop fussing about matters that you can doing nothing about,” she chided herself as she pulled the dark dressing gown over her pale gown and then blew out all the lamps.

  She would not go down to the cliffs, but she could not pretend nothing was happening either. Shouldering aside one section of the heavy drapes, she put her hands on either side of her face and pressed her forehead to the glass. At first, she saw nothing, then her eyes adjusted to the darkness, broken only by the steady flash of lights from the cliffs.

  She looked beyond and moaned. A ship was being driven onto the rocks by the vicious waves. The deck was tilted at a steep angle, so steep that lanterns on the rails hung almost perpendicular. Somehow, a few people hurried across the deck. She could see their lanterns moving. One fell and slid toward the water. His light went out. Was he still alive?

  No! Rain on the window obscured her view. The man must be safe. He must be! She had to know for certain. She reached for the latch closing the windows. The wind tore one from her fingers and slammed it toward her. She jumped back and stared at the broken glass.

  A hand reached from behind her and closed the windows. “I wondered how long it would take ye to try to slip away.”

  “Wraith!” she cried as she whirled to see him stepping from the deepest shadows beyond the draperies. As he waved her to silence, she whispered, “How did you get in here?”

  He smiled coolly. “Ye can thank whichever Bannatyne ancestor built these odd roofs. Climbing them is child’s play.”

  “In this storm?”

  “It has only been storming for the past hour or so.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Keeping ye from going out there.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the lights flickering along the cliffs.

  “I was not going out! I know the danger.”

  His voice became as unforgiving as the stormy night. “Good, but I had to be sure. And while I made sure ye did not slip away, I had an excellent vantage point to watch the shore.”

  “But there are people injured down there,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the wind swirling through the room.

  “They do not want yer help or mine.”

  “Not the wreckers. The people on the ship—”

  “Are past our help.”

  She reeled back a step, for his words had the power of the wind. “No!”

  “I know ye do not want to believe me.” He grasped her by the shoulders and drew her closer. “The wreckers are already putting out their lights.”

  “What?” She thought of the sailor who had disappeared with his lantern into the sea.

  “Do I need to be more blunt? Killing them.”

  Horror burst out of her in a gasp. “They must be stopped!”

  “No one in the village or here in Bannatyne Hall is stupid enough to try to.” Suddenly he cursed and pushed past her to the window. He grabbed the broken window before it could bang into the wall again. “Do ye have something to tie this shut?”

  “The latch—”

  “Is not strong enough now that the wind has gotten inside the Hall.”

  Sian tore a length of cord off the wall. It was used for holding back the draperies, and later she would have to find a way to explain the damage. She handed the cord to Wraith.

  “Well done, sweetheart.”

  At another time, her heart would have soared at the endearment, but the thought of the dead and dying on the beach below the cliffs weighed heavily on each beat.

  He lashed the windows shut. “Better. Any sound can alert the wreckers and bring them to investigate. They do not like witnesses.”

  “You would know that better than I would.”

  “Something ye should keep in mind, sweetheart.” He drew her past the draperies. His finger boldly stroked her shoulder beneath her dressing gown’s collar.

  Heat swirled through her, and she was awed by how easily he gained control of her senses. She must end this. When she tried to step past him, he did not move aside. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the whole room.

  Again he reached out a single finger. It drifted along her collar and up her neck. Billows of desire surrounded her when it settled beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. She turned her face away as he bent to kiss her.

  “Ye have never shied away from me before,” he whispered. “Why are ye now when I only want to tell ye how beautiful ye are?”

  “Do not say things like that.” Her voice threatened to shatter on each word. She wanted to hear him speak these compliments to her as he held her, but not now. Not when death stalked the beach.

  “Why not? Do ye want me to tell ye how lovely ye are or show ye how much I want ye? Just as ye want me. Ye do, don’t ye?”

  She almost said, “Yes.” She halted herself as she edged past him. “You should not be here.”

  “Don’t ye think I know that? But if I had not come here, ye would be risking yer life for men who would see ye dead for interrupting their crimes.” He sat her on the chaise longue.

  “Can’t you halt them? You said you feared a war between your men and Gillis’s. If your men—”

  “My men are not there. All the ones on the cliffs are Gillis’s.” He sat on the end of the long chair.

  She shivered as she thought of her one encounter with the cruel man. If Gillis’s behavior was that horrible in the village, she did not want to think how cruel he would be to his victims on shore. But she could not keep from thinking of it. Tears filled her eyes, and her heart ached for the families of the dead. She tried to push them down. It was impossible.

  When Wraith turned her toward him, she leaned against his chest. The raw scents of salt and sweat surrounded her, comforting and dangerous at the same time. They drew her nearer and warned her away, a tug-of-war within her.

  Save for tonight when she should think only of the useless deaths.

  With a gasp, she pulled away. How could she be in the arms of a man who offered no more mercy than the thieves down on the beach?

  “Why are you spying on them?” she asked, trying to close her heart to him. “In hopes of learning something new about murder and thievery?”

  His voice grew hard. “Gillis’s methods are not mine. Whatever else ye believe about me, know that. Theft is one matter, but murder quite another. There are ways of taking a cargo without killing everyone aboard the ship.”

  “R
eally? How do you do such a thing?” She gave him a cold smile. “I thought a cargo could be claimed only if the crew was dead.”

  “Like all rules, there are ways around that one. But now is the wrong time for this discussion. Ye need to promise me that ye will remain in the Hall, where ye shall be safe.”

  “You tell me there is nothing I can do to make any difference.” Tears filled her eyes. It was all wrong. The good should triumph while the evil was stamped out. Wasn’t that the way it was supposed to be? But nothing seemed right now when the villagers who had spoken to her so kindly were on a murderous spree.

  “Aye, that is true. Stay here.” He stood and opened the draperies. “I must return to where I can have a better view of the cliffs.”

  “You must not!” She ran to him.

  He released the heavy panel, and the draperies surrounded them in a damask cocoon. “Sweetheart—”

  “Listen to me, Wraith! By now, Oates has armed the footmen. If you are seen, they may shoot.”

  “Then I shall not be seen. I can—”

  “Let me create a diversion.”

  “Sweetheart—”

  “Listen to me!” She blinked back more tears as she realized how many wanted him dead. She could lose him if he left now. Lose him forever. Never to see him again. . .Never to have him hold her. . .Never to taste his kisses. . .She choked on a sob, but said, “I can create a diversion. They will not fire on a woman.”

  “Even one who interrupts everything anyone else says?”

  She stared at him, then did something she had not believed she could do that night. She smiled. Then she laughed. She laughed so hard she could not stop.

  He put his thumbs beneath her chin and tilted her head back. When he whispered her name, she heard it with her ears and deep within her heart. She wanted to speak his name, but words were no longer possible. Just actions.

  She curved her hands around both sides of his face, savoring his skin and the damp fabric above it, and brought his mouth to hers. The warmth of his laugh caressed her before his lips seared into hers until she wondered why the rain falling through the broken window did not turn into steam. When his hand rose to cup her breast, she moaned into his mouth. She reached beneath his cloak and arched her arms up his back.