Sea Wraith

by Jocelyn Kelley

  She was in no hurry to go back to Bannatyne Hall. Constantine and Arthyn had returned from St. Gundred close to the same time this afternoon, but neither of them had spoken to her or to each other, for that matter. Both had gone to their private chambers and shut their doors. She heard the furtive whispers among the servants at the men’s increasingly strange behavior.

  During the past week, there had been a lot of whispers as everyone discussed Yestin Gillis’s murder. Already some claimed to have seen the wrecker’s ghost walking the cliffs, looking for his mates or maybe for his body buried in the St. Gundred churchyard. Even though the murder had happened in the middle of the village, no one owned to having seen anything. She had heard Constantine say more than once that if Arthyn had not stopped to check on what he had thought was an overly intoxicated man, the body would still be lying “unnoticed” in front of The Last Hope.

  Whether or not that was true, there had been no sign of the wreckers since Gillis’s death. They had made themselves scarce either because they had no one to lead them or they feared they might die next. A ship had sailed into the bay, but not a single soul, save possibly Gillis’s ghost, had gone to see it.

  Even Wraith had disappeared. That made no sense. Why had he not taken advantage of the other gang being in shambles?

  Wraith’s voice drifted through her mind. 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.

  Wraith continued to baffle her. He was a wrecker, yet he kept his men from committing murder. How could that be? Maybe, and she hated the thought, he had told her that flummery only to persuade her to come into his arms.

  She closed her eyes and sighed. She had thought Wraith would return to make love with her. Each night, she stood by the window and gazed out over the empty cliffs until she could no longer stay awake. Each night, she went to bed alone. Recalling that he had said they would meet again in another place, she had decided to go beyond Bannatyne Hall.

  Freed from the fear stalking the cliffs, the servants did not caution her to stay in the gardens. She had taken the time to make a few more sketches for the tallest section in the nursery’s main room . . . while she waited for Wraith to reappear. Finding a few shells had inspired her to add them to the mural to bring verisimilitude to the scene . . . while she waited for Wraith to reappear.

  Sian bent to pick up another shell as the wind gusted fitfully, warning a storm brewed over the sea. There was a large hole at the end of the shell. She tossed it back into the surf lapping the shore. Another shell caught her eye, and she squatted to examine it. Brushing sand from it, she sighed.

  Since Gillis’s death, Constantine had not tracked sand into the Hall. There was no reason for him to patrol the shore. He had said nothing, but she sensed his frustration. She knew he had watched Gillis closely. Now he had to wait until the wreckers chose a new leader and made their next move.

  “Gillis always claimed this section of the beach was the best hunting.” The voice came from above her.

  “Aye. ‘Tis where ye found that crate of froggy wine.”

  Two men. Talking about wrecking. The respite was over. The wreckers were making plans again.

  Standing at the base of the cliffs where she would be invisible from the top, Sian set the basket of shells on the ground. Their faint clicking could be the very sound that alerted the men above. She had heard two men. Were there more?

  She tilted back her head until her neck hurt and looked in both directions along the cliffs. The barrow was not far to her left. If she could reach it, she might be able to hide in the narrow space between the outer wall and the inner stones.

  But where were the men?

  There they were. About ten feet farther along the cliff, walking at the leisurely pace of men who did not want to be seen acting as if they were checking the bay. Their backs were to her, so she could not identify them. If they caught her spying on them, it would matter that she had not seen their faces. They would kill her.

  Bits of their conversation drifted to her. No words she could understand. She had heard enough already to realize that she needed to let Constantine know that the moment he had waited for was here.

  Wind pulled at her gown, and black clouds ate the blue sky. She did not want to get caught in another storm. The waves were growing higher as the wind pushed them before it.

  Sian waited fifteen minutes, counting off each second so she knew the time was close to accurate. With care, she inched out of the barrow. She scanned the cliff top. Nobody was there. The incoming storm must have hurried them away. She needed to do the same.

  Collecting her basket of shells, she went up the twisting path. Small stones clicked together beneath her feet, and she hoped the soft sound would not reach anyone’s ears but her own. The wind moaned against the cliffs, so she might be worrying needlessly. Below her, the waves frothed.

  She reached the top and froze. The two men were not far away. She could not continue toward the road, or they would see her. The open field offered no place to hide.

  Go back down the cliff? No, they could see her on the path. She had no choice. She must edge away and hope that they were so engrossed in their conversation that they did not catch sight of her. The rising wind would hide her footfalls.

  She took one step. Another. A third. Then one of the men looked toward her. Even across the distance, her eyes locked with his. A slow smile twisted his lips.

  It was her only warning before a shadow exploded over her. She had no time to whirl to see who stood behind her before pain seared her skull, and darkness enveloped her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Something crackled under Sian’s head. The sound seemed to ricochet through her brain. Had she tumbled off one of the cliffs, proving that everyone had been right when they warned her to stay away from them?

  No. She had been attacked. An image of the man’s knowing, cruel, anticipating smile was imprinted on her closed eyelids. She quickly opened them.

  And saw nothing in the twilight. How long had she been senseless? It had been the middle of the afternoon when she went to the beach.

  Turning her head was so painful she gave a soft sob. Fear compounded the agony as she recalled the stories of how Yestin Gillis had been attacked from behind and his head bashed in. Had someone tried to kill her too? If so, why was she still alive?

  Maybe whoever had whacked her head thought she was dead. Or dying. The person who hit her and the smiling man and his other companion could have left her here to die.

  But where was here?

  Sian pushed herself up to sit. The whole world spun wildly. She drew up her knees, propped her elbows on them, and cradled her head in her hands. Breathing slowly . . . steadily . . . shallowly, she was able to keep from becoming ill. She did not dare to raise her head, but she looked to her left and right past her fingers.

  Light flickered on rough stone. She had been lying on a surprisingly thick pallet. The air was damp and smelled of salt, but that described everywhere around Bannatyne Hall.

  She tilted her head back and scanned the small area that was lit by a single lantern set on a crate with the word Vin stenciled on it. She wondered whether any bottles of French wine were still in it. A glass of wine might help ease the anguish that had settled into a single spot on the back of her head.

  It must be a cave. She could not see the roof which was lost in the shadows, but the floor had been swept clean of the debris piled close to the walls.

  “Is someone here?” she called. The sound battered her aching head, but she repeated herself, louder this time. Her voice echoed back, the only answer she received.

  If whoever had brought her here had left, then she had to depend on herself to get to Bannatyne Hall. She stood, keeping her hand on the wall to steady her knees that wanted to buckle. She was pleased that her headache lessened once she was on her feet. Again she drew in a steadying
breath and released it.

  Why had someone left a pallet and a lantern in the cave? The walls had strange scratches down it. She recalled Arthyn telling her about the fogous scattered along the shore. Not simple caves, but ones primitive men had used before the Romans claimed Britain. They had been carved out to provide storage and possibly sanctuary. Running her hand along the incisions in the wall, she could not tell if they had been made by humans or by nature.

  “Time to leave,” Sian told herself. She could not let her curiosity betray her.

  Taking the lantern, she held it up in every direction. Two openings were at opposite ends of the cave. She turned her face toward one, then the other. From each direction, she sensed the movement of air. Both could lead to the surface. Testing each one again, she decided the air was fresher to her left. She would go that way.

  Her hopes raised when the walls grew farther apart. The tunnel had not come to a quick end, so it might be her way out. The lantern swayed with her steps. She walked as if she were as drunk as Gillis had been the night of their confrontation. A shiver rippled through her. She did not want to end up like the wrecker.

  Something flickered ahead. For a moment, she thought it was another lantern, but it was close to the floor. In a few steps, she discovered the truth. The light from her lantern reflected on water. She edged closer.

  It was not a stream she could cross, because the water stretched away into the darkness beyond the circle of light. When she scooped up a handful, she discovered with a single sip that it was briny. The sea! It whispered softly as it brushed the toes of her half-boots.

  She yanked them off and, raising the hem of her gown, stepped into the water. The ground dropped off sharply. She backed away. Was the tide rising or ebbing? Would there be a time when she could cross the water? She would not try to go farther until she checked the other opening in the cave.

  As she pulled her boots back on, Sian realized she was avoiding the most important question. Who had brought her here? The answer to why was simple. She had been seen by the wreckers. Were they going to hurt her or leave her here to die, or were their plans much simpler? If the word was spread that she was missing, a search would ensue. Constantine and Lord Pitchford were likely to help, keeping them busy so they did not ruin the wreckers’ plans tonight.

  No, that made no sense. The search, which Arthyn was sure to be part of as well, would center on the cliffs and the beach. The wreckers must not have anything planned along the shore. Another fire? Or striking out against the one who had killed Gillis? The members of the wreckers’ gang would be searching for the murderer. Or maybe not. She had heard there was no honor among thieves, so his men already might know who had killed him. If someone else had been in charge of the wreckers all along, Gillis’s men might be too frightened to avenge the murderer.

  Gillis’s methods are not mine. Whatever else ye believe about me, know that. Theft is one matter, but murder quite another.

  Wraith might have a skewed set of ethics for a wrecker, but what about his men? If one had a chance to slay their competitors’ leader, he might take it. What else had Wraith said? Something about trouble growing between the wrecker gangs.

  Ye know nothing of the coming war between the wreckers, the war that will be set off by the slightest thing. Maybe just a single crate washing ashore and both groups laying claim to it. . .there will be fighting, and there will be dying. That sounds like a war to me.

  Sian ran back toward the cave. She needed to get out and warn Constantine. Maybe he and Lord Pitchford could halt the battle before it got underway. And maybe when he heard her tell Constantine, Arthyn would take action, too. If he was Wraith. . .

  “Too many secrets, Wraith,” she panted as she reached the cave. “Far too many secrets. If you had been honest with me, trusting me as Constantine does, maybe none of this would have happened.”

  She did not slow as she went through the other opening. If the cave were part of a fogou, there should be another exit at its far end. Perhaps it came out near the ancient barrow as Arthyn had suspected. Or did he know? The frightening legends surrounding the barrow would keep good people away while allowing the thieves to come and go as they wished.

  The air grew thicker and more stagnant, but she continued to feel its movement against her face. When the first branch opened off the tunnel, she held up the lantern and peered down it. The passage twisted away, going deeper into the earth. She passed four or five more openings and went a short way down each one, sometimes taking another branch, but trying to keep in mind which way she had gone. Some tunnels ended where boulders had tumbled down. When the lantern began to sputter, she hurried back to the main tunnel. She had no time to explore side tunnels. It was not just the lantern. Her injured ankle had that heavy sensation that preceded pain, but she did not slow.

  The tunnel made a sharp turn. She gasped when she stared at a solid wall of stone in front of her. No! She slammed her fist against it. No! She had come too far for a dead end. She had been so sure this was the way out. Now she had no choice but to turn around and go back. No choice but to remain the wreckers’ captive, unable to escape whatever horrific plans they had for her. She pounded the wall until her hand hurt.

  Turning her back on it, she slid down the rough stone to hunker near the floor. She stared into the darkness. How far had she stumbled through the tunnel? She had been driven by the hope of finding a way out. She had explored several side tunnels. She did not want to admit it to herself, but, in spite of her efforts, she might be lost.

  She needed help. No one could hear her cries.

  No one alive!

  “Guardian!” she shouted. “Guardian of Nethercott Castle! Do you hear me? It is Sian, a daughter of Nethercott Castle. Can you come to me here? Can you help me?”

  She strained to hear the familiar mumbled response of, “Daughter of Nethercott Castle,” but heard nothing.

  Beside her the lantern dimmed more. Then it went out.

  Sian groaned and hid her face in her hands before realizing that no one could see the angry, hot, frustrated tears that burned her cheeks. She had never imagined darkness had weight, but it seemed to press down on her. Lowering her head, she rested her forehead on her arms which lay crossed on her drawn-up knees.

  “Why did you abandon me now, guardian?” Her voice broke into sobs.

  “Are ye giving up already?”

  She jumped to her feet and squinted through the black tunnel. She knew that voice which had filled so many of her dreams since she had reached Bannatyne Hall.

  “Wraith, where are you?” she called.

  “Right in front of ye.”

  “I know that. Show yourself.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she added, “Please.”

  Light flared, and she raised her hands to protect her eyes. Gloved fingers curled around hers and drew them slowly away. As she blinked, trying to adjust to the light from a dark lantern he held, he brushed her lips with a gentle, teasing kiss.

  He drew back, and she moaned in protest. She had waited so long to relish another of his kisses. She was not satisfied with such a small sample.

  “Come with me, sweetheart.” He took her hand and brought her to her feet. “Ye have wandered far.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Let me take ye to where we can talk more comfortably.”

  “Yes.” She had never been scared of the dark, but sitting for even a few dreadful minutes at the end of the tunnel had changed her mind.

  More quickly than she had guessed possible, they returned to the cave. He set the lantern on the crate where she had found the other one. It was low enough to the ground that, along with the domino, his face was cloaked in shadow.

  “Thank you,” Sian whispered, happier than she had guessed she ever would be to see the cave again. “How did you find me here?”

  “I brought ye here.”

  “You did?” She touched the back of her head. “You hit me?”

  He drew her hand down.
“Sweetheart, ye know I would never hurt ye apurpose. But I saw the cur who did, and I convinced him it would be wise if he found somewhere else to be. Like Bennath’s. I tossed him a few coins, and he gave ye to me. I brought ye here so ye would not wander off and get into trouble.” He smiled. “But ye did anyhow.”

  “Why didn’t you take me to Bannatyne Hall?”

  “And run the gauntlet of Gillis’s men, all of whom are eager to put a ball between my eyes?”

  “Did you kill Gillis?”

  “Do you really need to ask?”

  She sat on the corner of the crate. “No. I cannot believe you would kill a man by sneaking up behind him. But he could have been slain by one of your men in retaliation if you could not save them the night of the storm.”

  “The ghost’s warning came in time. I saved them, and none of them killed Gillis. I have told ye, over and over, sweetheart, that is not how we are.” He shook his head sadly. “Gillis’s bread was baked by one of his own.”

  She sighed and looked down at her clasped hands. “That is what Arthyn thinks too.” She raised her eyes toward his hidden face. “Mr. Trembeth. He believes Gillis was murdered because he failed his followers in some way. Or maybe he was in the way of someone else who wanted to gain control of the wreckers.”

  “Trembeth, the curate in St. Gundred?”

  “Yes.” She waited for him to go on. Did he see that she was offering him the opening to be honest with her?

  Sian watched in bafflement as he reached past her; then she realized he was closing the dark lantern until a thin line of light emerged from it. The circle of light had contracted until her toes were in darkness.

  “Has the new curate warned ye to remain away from the shore?” Wraith whispered, not far from her ear.

  She quivered as his breath caressed her. “Yes.”

  “Ye should have heeded him. If I had not come along when I did, that Hellborn hound might have done far worse than nobbing ye.” His hand curved along her cheek. “He might have relieved ye of yer virginity. He is not like that gentlemanly curate who wants ye, but is willing to wait for the banns to be wed.”