Willing Love

by Mary Jean Adams

  Prudence ducked behind an ancient oak to listen. Would Mr. Malone, the real stable master, be up and about still? She peered around the rough, musty-smelling tree trunk. Shadows moved within, but she couldn’t tell if they were made by man or beast.

  “I got a pair of kings,” a young male voice called out.

  “That’s good, Billy!” said a voice she recognized as Malone’s.

  “What does my hand have?” an even younger voice asked.

  “Let’s see here…”

  Prudence crept toward the open door. For years an old ship’s lantern had sat on the shelf just to the left of the door. The former stable master had kept it filled and a flint nearby so it would be available at a moment’s notice to signal a ship coming into a cove at night. If it were still there, she would make use of it tonight. Her grandmother had made certain she knew the code used by generations of Ashcroft men.

  Not that she knew exactly which men Evan had with him, but in the small, tight-knit Newport community, there was a good chance they would be Ashcroft regulars. They would know the signals, too, even if Evan hadn’t found time to learn them yet.

  She crept forward, listening to the sound of young voices laughing and joking with the stable master as he instructed them on the finer arts of playing poker. She should have known Evan wasn’t the stable master as soon as he said he didn’t play cards. Every stable master she had ever known had been an expert at poker. One had even tried to teach her to play but had given up while grumbling something about “leading a lamb to the slaughter.” She had held three aces in her hand at the time, so his complaint had made no sense to her.

  Prudence leaned against the door and peeked around it. Mr. Malone and the two boys sat cross-legged on the floor about ten feet away. She longed to lean in farther to get her bearings and to make sure the lantern still sat on the shelf, but she didn’t dare.

  Thankful she wore a brown tunic that would blend with the rough pine instead of some frilly dress, she reached around the door. Her fingertips found the shelf with ease. Holding her breath, she walked them forward until they touched cold tin. Her hand crept upward to a smooth flat pane of glass until she reached the pyramid-shaped top that had been perforated to let in air. She ran her hand over the small bumps until she found the handle. With the greatest of care to keep it from squeaking, she lifted the lantern from the shelf.

  “Gotcha!” Mr. Malone shouted.

  Prudence froze, her heart pounding so hard she thought she might choke on it.

  “No, you don’t!” one of the boys squealed. “I have a full house.”

  “By golly, so you do,” Malone said.

  Prudence slowed her breathing and willed her heart to a normal pace before she withdrew, unlit lantern in hand. Once she was certain the card players were focused on their game, she darted her hand in and grabbed the flint from the shelf.

  The warm light of the stables faded, and the air grew cooler as Prudence neared the beach. She shivered in her thin tunic. If only her former schoolmate had been so kind as to leave a cloak by the side of the pond.

  Putting her discomfort aside, Prudence stepped toward the edge of the cliff and surveyed the dark, seemingly endless expanse of water. She glanced up at the moon, already low in the sky. If her instincts had served her well, a ship would be coming into sight within the next few hours.

  Prudence eyed the long shadow that stretched out from the heels of her slippers. Waiting on the beach would be wiser than standing on the cliff, her slender form outlined against the night sky. Dark as it would be once the moon set, while the moon was still out, she might easily be mistaken for a spy—or worse, an employee of the customs office. Even at night, a random assortment of villagers, thieves, and ruffians could be found roaming about, and most of them held the same generally low opinion of the king and his revenue collectors.

  As an Ashcroft, she would be safe, but dressed like a man, she might not be given the opportunity to prove her identity. With the increased restraints on trade, many of her fellow Rhode Islanders seemed a bit too eager for a fight lately. Picking off a customs officer and claiming a case of mistaken identity could turn an ordinary man into a hero at the local tavern.

  Prudence picked her way down the steep trail, sliding her back against the rocky wall to stay out of sight. Thankfully, the moon’s glow lit the path, and she did not need the lantern. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about from the locals, the lantern’s yellow light would signal the shore patrols long before she had a chance to warn Evan.

  Once on the beach, she sat down, her back against a massive boulder, to wait for the moon to set. She reached into a pocket sewn into the tunic to ensure she still had the flint. She withdrew it, rubbing it between her thumb and index finger, taking comfort in the smooth feel of the cool rock. She tucked it back into her pocket then hugged the lantern to her chest as though it were a life raft.

  Click…click…click, click, click.

  Prudence turned in the direction of the sharp little sounds, her pulse racing.

  A stone rolling down the cliff? Probably. But had it somehow begun the journey of its own accord, or had it been kicked by a human foot?

  She squinted into the growing darkness, not daring to breathe, and tried to make out shapes. With the moon setting, the shadows had grown long, and with what little light remained flickering off the waves, it seemed as if everything around her moved.

  She heard the intruders long before she made out their forms descending with painful slowness down the trail, at first blending into the shadows then standing out in stark relief as they stepped into a shaft of soft moonlight. The voices, muffled by the surf, grew more distinct as the two men drew nearer.

  “You won’t have long to wait now.”

  Prudence held her breath and tried to steady the pulse pounding in her ears. She didn’t recognize the gruff voice, but from the slight tremor, she guessed it belonged to an older man. He had a solicitous tone. Not that of a servant. More of an underling. Or perhaps a hired man.

  “Whether tonight, or tomorrow night, or the next, it makes no difference.”

  The whine in the second speaker’s voice made her blood run cold. This voice, she recognized.

  So she had guessed correctly. Someone had told Simon about the Smuggler’s Moon. Perhaps that same someone had told him about the cove, too. How else would he have chosen this particular one from the hundreds that peppered the shoreline around Newport?

  Of all the landing sights, Smuggler’s Bay was perhaps the most favored. The shoals were so treacherous that none but the best captains could pilot a ship through to the deep waters closer to shore. Something inside her told her this would be the place her husband chose to test his new ship.

  Had Simon made the same assumptions about Evan? Or did Ashcroft have a traitor in their midst?

  Prudence peered around the safety of the rock to try to get a better view of Simon’s companion. Two men stood on the beach, one scanning the horizon while the other kept his gaze trained on the younger man’s face.

  They were no longer coming toward her, but they stood so close she could easily make out their words. Their faces were harder to discern.

  In profile, she could see the older man’s bulbous nose, short, nearly nonexistent neck and rounded shoulders. He looked to be wearing a knit cap, the top of which reached only to Simon’s shoulders. From the curve of his back, Prudence guessed he had once stood much taller.

  Simon, on the other hand, stood out like a parrot among pigeons. In the dark, his clothing faded to black, but the cut of his clothes and the silver buckles that caught the occasional flicker of moonlight suggested he still wore the same richly embroidered suit of purple velvet, silk stockings, and bright red shoes he had worn earlier.

  Prudence bit her lip. A rather ostentatious if not inappropriate choice for daywear, it was surely unsuitable for a midnight walk along the shore. She could just imagine trying to take a stroll along the beach in shoes that sank into the sand with
every step.

  “You could be out here all night, every night, and see nary a trace of the ship you’re looking for—unless, of course, I tell you she’ll be here.”

  The man had stooped shoulders, one slightly higher than the other as though he had sustained a back injury. She couldn’t see his face clearly with the moon dipping below the horizon, but something about the tilt of his chin or the way he spoke seemed familiar. Was he an Ashcroft man?

  “And how do you know who will be where?” Simon’s contempt for his companion was obvious.

  Prudence held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  “I have my sources.” The man seemed unperturbed by Simon’s high-handed treatment.

  “Well, so do I,” Simon said. “Although she may not think she’s a source, I can read her like a book. I know he’ll be here—or at least he will if you were right about the drop point.”

  “Oh, aye, sir. This is the spot he’ll choose for his first voyage. It’s deep, and it’s relatively calm. The shoals are narrow, but that won’t mean a thing if he’s as good a captain as they say he is.”

  “Good. I didn’t come back to this God-forsaken colony to be denied.” Simon spoke more to himself than his companion.

  The older man sucked on his teeth. “‘Course, that don’t mean he’ll be hauling tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s his first voyage. If all he’s doing is testing his crew, why would he bother with cargo?” Prudence could practically sense Simon’s animosity from her hiding place behind the bolder, yet the older man spoke as though he had nothing to fear.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Simon said after a long pause that had Prudence breaking into a cold sweat. “I will have that women’s head or her body, perhaps both if I find disfavor with her. Right now, I would be equally satisfied with either.”

  Prudence shivered and hugged her arms. Was he talking about her? She had only a moment to consider it before the older man spoke up again.

  “There she is, just as I said she would be.”

  “Where?” Simon asked.

  Prudence scanned the horizon. She saw nothing from her vantage point, but then, crouching behind her shelter, she was lower than the two men and could only peer south. If it were Evan, he would more than likely sail from the north. Steadying herself against the rock, calves and thighs burning, she straightened just a little.

  “Rounding the point, sir.”

  After clearing the point, he’d have to find the channel that meandered through the rocky shoals into the deeper water of the bay. Unless one knew the shoreline well, navigation would be difficult. In addition to the deep water, the natural protection of the shoals was one of the reason smugglers had favored the cove since her grandfather’s time.

  “Can you tell what ship it is?” Simon asked.

  “No, sir. Looks like a schooner, but not one I’m familiar with.”

  Ashcroft had plenty of schooners, but none of them new other than Evan’s. The Cythraul had been in dry dock until this morning according to Richard. Even if the man had turned traitor only recently, it was possible he wouldn’t recognize it.

  Prudence’s knees ached from crouching for so long, but she forced them to straighten. She froze in a half-crouch when one knee popped, but neither man seemed to hear it.

  Keeping one eye on the men, she straightened fully and peered over the rock to scan the point.

  There. A dark shadow against the dark sky. Prudence knew most of the ships in the Ashcroft fleet. She did not recognize the little vessel any more than Simon and his companion had, but even in the dark, she could see this was no ordinary schooner. When they were children, Richard had taught her many of the basics of ship design, at least enough to recognize a vessel built for speed.

  With full sail and a light breeze, this ship looked as if it could outrun any other vessel in the fleet and probably the British Navy as well. Which was, after all, the point of such a ship.

  “No lights, sir. Very little sail. I’d stake my reputation she’s a smuggler.”

  “Of course, she’s a smuggler,” Simon said. “No need to stake something of so little value on it.”

  The man whistled through his teeth, ignoring his companion’s touchiness. “She’s a beauty. Don’t think I’ve ever seen her like.”

  The ship’s bow turned toward the shore.

  Prudence gasped as reality hit her with the force of a blow. If the dark shadow gliding across the horizon was Evan’s ship, danger awaited him. She had to warn him not to land tonight, not while Simon lay in wait on the beach. If he did have cargo, it most likely wasn’t pots and pans bound for Boston.

  But how could she warn him? Simon and his companion stood no more than twenty feet away. Even if they didn’t hear her strike the flint, they’d see the light from the lantern as soon as she lit it.

  The ship sailed nearer the secluded cove. Under minimal sail, she rode the waves, threading the currents past the sharp rocks that lay just below the water’s surface.

  Prudence could see men on deck, no more than dark, vaguely human figures, looking over the bulwark to the water below. In the distance she heard a voice. Probably the leadsman calling out the depth.

  Prudence held her breath. A schooner such as this would have a draft of five feet or so, provided she weren’t heavily laden with cargo. This one rode high in the water. Still, on such a dark night, an inexperienced crew could easily find their ship grounded.

  No sooner did the thought come to mind than a sharp screech echoed across the water.

  Prudence gasped.

  “Who’s there?” Simon turned toward her.

  Like a startled deer, Prudence froze.

  “Looks like a boy, sir,” the older man said.

  “Who are you, boy?” Simon’s words sliced through the moist night air like a sword. “Speak up if you know what’s good for you.”

  Prudence took stock of her options. The men stood between her and the trail leading up the cliff. She might easily slip by them on the sandy beach, but staying ahead of them on the trail was another matter. Even with Simon’s absurd shoes, he would have much better footing on the gritty path.

  Running the other way was a fool’s choice. She would have to climb the face of the cliff, and Simon and his man could easily just take the trail themselves and wait for her at the top.

  Prudence eyed the small schooner. It was still some distance out, but not so far. If she rode one of the currents between the shoals…

  “I said, who are you, boy? Answer me.” Simon took a step toward her.

  Could Simon swim? She didn’t remember him swimming with the rest of the boys at the academy. He had always been the one on shore who refused to take off his shoes lest he soil his silk stockings. She doubted he had changed his aversion to dirt since then.

  Prudence sprang into action. Throwing the lantern at the two men, she dashed around the side of the boulder and headed toward the waves breaking along the shore. Behind her came the sound of startled oaths. Once she reached the water, she chanced a look back over her shoulder. The men still stood by the rock. What had made them give up so easily?

  With the sharp crack of a pistol, she had her answer. She dove into the cold water, just as a ball whistled past her ear.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Sir, I think someone is shooting at us from the beach.”

  Evan joined a young sailor at the bulwark. He strained his eyes, but all he saw were the dark, hulking shapes of the cliffs and the even darker shadows beneath.

  “Are you sure, Peter? I don’t see anything.”

  He tried not to sound accusatory. Peter couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, and he had eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. Growing up a fisherman’s son, he seemed to know the currents between the shoals better than anyone. Evan had already made up his mind that despite his youth, Peter would become an important part of his crew.

  “I think that’s what it was.” Peter didn’t sound so sure anymore.
“I saw a flash, and I think I heard a report.”

  “Well, unless it’s a cannon, and I’m pretty sure you would have been able to tell if it were, they can’t hit us from the beach.” Evan strained his eyes. “Still, we’re in no hurry tonight. Let’s drop anchor here and see if anything else arises, shall we?”

  “Sir?” Peter asked as though he were afraid to voice his thoughts.

  “What is it, Peter?”

  “I think someone’s swimming toward us.” Peter’s reluctance to voice this new opinion was obvious.

  “Swimming?” Evan scanned the dark water.

  The idea of someone taking a swim, in the dark of night, in the cold Atlantic where the riptides could pull the best of swimmers out to sea, was insane. Whoever it was, he was clearly not of sound mind.

  “There.” Peter pointed.

  In the distance, Evan saw flashes of white that could easily be mistaken for the breaking of small waves upon a submerged rock, but as he watched, they drew closer. Eventually, he made out slender arms, so fair they almost glowed in the moonlight, alternating over and over, as the swimmer made his way toward the ship. The swimmer stopped as he reached the side of the Cythraul and bobbed in the waves, pale arms sweeping back and forth just beneath the surface of the water.

  Evan grimaced. He had been right. Clearly not of sound mind.

  “Lower the ladder at once,” Evan told Peter.

  “Yes, sir.” Peter signaled to one of his shipmates to help him unfurl the rope ladder over the side of the ship.

  Evan waited for Prudence to scale the rope, but she seemed to be having a challenge with her grip. Her foot slipped, and he steeled himself to dive into the cold water, but she managed to find purchase at the last moment. At last, she came within reach, and he hauled her onto the deck like a fisherman pulling in his nets.

  “S..s…s..ank youuu,” Prudence said through chattering teeth as she hugged herself.

  “Are you crazy?” Evan removed his coat and threw it around her shoulders. “What possessed you to go for a swim in the middle of the night?”