Miranda Jarrett - Christmas Wedding Belles - The Pirate's Kiss / A Smuggler's Tale / The Sailor's Bride

There was a deep frown on Owen Chance’s forehead. The sort of frown, Lucinda thought, that a man might well wear when he had failed to capture a notorious pirate. Nevertheless, his expression lightened when he saw her, and he reined in, removing his hat and bowing with a flourish.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Melville! I trust you are well?’ He looked around. ‘Miss Saltire does not accompany you on your walk?’

Lucinda smiled at the transparency of his interest. It was clear that the poor man was as besotted with Stacey’s dark prettiness as she was taken with his charm and dashing character. It was only a shame that the whole affair could come to nothing.

‘Not today, I fear,’ she said, and saw his handsome face fall with disappointment. ‘I am going to the cove,’ she continued, with determined cheerfulness. ‘Are you travelling from that direction, sir?’

Owen Chance frowned again. ‘I am, ma’am, but I would urge you against such a walk today. It will be dark within a couple of hours, and there is talk of the smugglers being out tonight. If you could take word back to Kestrel Court and ask them to lock all the doors safely at dusk…?’

Lucinda’s heart jumped. Could the smugglers be Daniel’s men? She had no illusions, and knew that Daniel’s shady business would necessarily involve him in smuggling as well as piracy and goodness only knew what other nefarious activities. And Chance had almost caught him the previous night. If he planned a trap tonight then he might achieve what he had singularly failed to do before and take Daniel prisoner. She could not, for the life of her, repress the flicker of apprehension that ran through her body at the thought.

She cleared her throat. ‘How vastly frightening,’ she said, hearing the false brightness in her own voice and hoping that Owen Chance would ascribe it to excitement rather than nervousness. ‘I expect they are a desperate bunch?’

‘Criminals,’ Chance said contemptuously. ‘They deserve to hang.’

Lucinda’s heart battered against her ribs. ‘I am sure you are correct,’ she said. ‘There was once an infamous privateer in these parts, was there not? I suppose he is long gone, though.’

‘You suppose incorrectly,’ Owen Chance said. His voice was cold. ‘He still smuggles with the worst of them, and spies for France. It will be my great pleasure to bring him to justice.’

The cold crept along Lucinda’s neck and slithered down her spine. Surely he must be speaking of Daniel? Could it be true? She could hardly condone smuggling, for it was against the law—even if half the gentry in the county turned a blind eye and Justin Kestrel himself cheerfully admitted to buying French brandy. But spying for the French was another matter. Had Daniel turned traitor during the long years of the war? Was it all a matter of money to him, and patriotism counted for nothing? She felt sick even to think of it.

‘I think I will go back, as you suggest, sir,’ she said, aware that her voice was not quite steady. ‘And I will warn them up at the house. Good wishes for your hunting.’

Chance touched his hat and cantered away up the path, and Lucinda stood for a moment alone beneath the pines. She did not wish to return yet to the stuffiness of the overheated house. Owen Chance’s words had disturbed her deeply. She could not believe that it was true. Yet what was it that Daniel had said the previous night?

‘We both made our choices…Mine to be wild and irresponsible…’

But a traitor? She did not want to believe it of him. And yet she did not know the man he had become. He might well consider that his country’s secrets were just commodities to sell, like brandy or French lace.

In her agitation she realised that she had left the main path and plunged off down a narrow track to the right. It forced its way through the trees, downwards towards the river. No doubt in summer it was completely impassable, but now the grasses and bracken underfoot had died back a little, and Lucinda thought that if she followed the path down to the water’s edge she could walk back to Kestrel Court that way. She knew there was a very pretty trail that followed the course of the stream until it reached the gardens.

Nettles brushed Lucinda’s skirts, and thorns clutched at her as she passed. Overhead the chatter of the birds had died away, and the pale winter light barely penetrated, but then she caught the flash of water ahead of her. The trees were thinning now, and suddenly she was on the edge of Kestrel Creek, with the water still and dark before her. She had come out further along the stream than she had intended, almost out in the bay—precisely where she had promised Owen Chance she would not walk. She had better turn for home at once.

The tide was ebbing. An oystercatcher pattered across the mud, leaving little footprints, then, as it saw her, it rose into the air, giving its piping call.

Lucinda smiled and wrapped her cloak more closely around her against the salty breeze. She could taste the tang of the sea here, but she knew she should not linger.

She went on, coming to a place where there was a sharp turn in the creek, and then she stopped, drawing back instinctively into the trees. The creek had widened into a deep pool and there, beneath the overhanging trees, hidden from the open river and the sea beyond, lay a ship at anchor. Lucinda’s breath caught painfully in her throat as she took in the snarling dragon figurehead on the prow and the name: Defiance.

All night she had lain awake, knowing that Daniel was nearby, imagining his ship riding at anchor out in the bay, perhaps, but never thinking that he was so close by, in this hidden mooring deep in Kestrel Creek. Suddenly the truth of his identity and his whole way of life hit her anew with the force of a blow. He was a criminal, a wanted man, very likely a traitor. The Daniel de Lancey she had known was gone for ever. There was nothing for her here.

She turned to go, stumbling over tree roots in her haste, and in the same moment a figure stepped out onto the path before her and a sack, thick and suffocating, was thrown over her head. She struggled, felt her arms pinioned to her sides, and then she was picked up as easily as though she were a sack of flour, thrown over the man’s shoulder, and carried off.

It was Daniel. Lucinda could tell from the feel and the scent of him, and from the disturbing familiarity of his hands on her body. He held her impersonally, and yet she burned with awareness. It made her angry to be at his mercy. She managed one well-placed and satisfying kick that landed somewhere soft and caused him to swear, and then his arms tightened about her so painfully that she could scarcely breathe, let alone move.

Being upside down completely disorientated her. There was the sound of voices, she was passed from hand to hand like a parcel, and then, finally, she was placed back on her feet and the sack pulled roughly from her head. She stood there, panting and glaring about her.

‘What were you doing spying on my ship?’

Daniel’s voice, measured and hard, snapped Lucinda’s attention straight back to him. She was standing in a well-appointed cabin that was lit by the rays of the sinking sun. The refection from the water outside made patterns on the wooden panelling and she could hear the gentle slap of the water against the stern of the ship. Daniel was sitting at a fine cherrywood desk and was toying with a quill between his fingers. A book lay open on the top of the desk, and a half-finished letter beside it. It was so peaceful, and so utterly removed from what Lucinda had expected, that for a moment she could not speak. The pristine cleanliness was a far cry from the smelly darkness she had anticipated, with a roaring drunk crew knocking back the rum and dallying with quayside whores.