Anne Herries - A Stranger's Touch

Who was he really and why was he here? Had he truly lost his memory?

The inlet was tiny and belonged to Michael, though it was no use for anything and normally the sole province of sea birds and small crabs that lived in the shallow pools and were not nice to eat. Sometimes the villagers took mussels or limpets from the rocks. Michael allowed them to take what little harvest there was, because he and Jacques set their lobster pots out further in the bay. They normally caught enough fish to sell in the village or further inland, besides what they brought to the house for use at table.

Apart from a few pieces of driftwood the beach looked clear. Obviously, someone had been here before them and it was unlikely that her guest would find his possessions even if anything else had been there to find. He walked down to the water’s edge and stood looking at some rocks, then, seeing something in the water, bent down and picked out a piece of drift wood.

‘Have you found anything interesting?’

‘It looks as if it came from a rowing boat,’ he said and showed her what was in his hand. ‘The tide must have dashed it against the rocks.’

‘A rowing boat?’ She saw some lettering on the wood, though not enough remained for her to be able to read the name. ‘It must have broken free of the ship when it foundered. I doubt anyone would have been foolish enough to try to come inshore in a small boat last night. It was obvious what would happen; he wouldn’t have stood a chance.’

‘No, I’m sure you’re right,’ he replied and smiled. ‘There is nothing to see here. Thank you for showing me the way. I can find my own way back if you have something else to do?’

‘I’ve done most of my work for the day.’ Morwenna shaded her eyes and looked out to sea. ‘There’s a ship out there. It’s safe enough on a day like this. I wonder what it is waiting for?’

‘What makes you think it is waiting for anything?’

‘Well, it appears to have anchored. I don’t think it’s moving, do you?’

He looked towards the horizon. ‘I expect they just want to admire the view for a while.’

‘It can’t be fishermen. I cannot imagine that a merchant vessel would anchor off shore just to admire the view.’

‘Perhaps it is a spy waiting for dusk,’ he said, a teasing note in his voice.

‘Or waiting to take a spy off again once he’s done his business.’ Morwenna threw an accusing look at him. ‘Just why did you come here?’

‘The sea brought me,’ he replied. ‘What would a spy want with you or your family, Mistress Morgan—unless you have something to hide?’

She turned from him. ‘I have nothing to hide and my brothers, well, they can speak for themselves. If you question them you may wish you hadn’t, sir. If you’re at all worried, I advise you to leave now before you wish you had not become involved.’

‘If only I could.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I do not know where to go,’ he said. ‘What else should I mean? Since it is obvious I shall learn nothing here I may as well return to the house.’

‘No, stay and search for whatever you hope to find. Sometimes things get caught there.’ She pointed to the jutting rock. ‘There is a little pool round the bend and the tide takes things there. It’s slippery, so take care, but the villagers do not bother to look there because the tide can be treacherous. You might find what you seek.’

‘Thank you for the advice. The name of the ship might help me—should I find the rest of this.’ He indicated the piece of driftwood, which must have come from a rowing boat.

He walked away across the beach in the direction she had indicated. Morwenna watched for a moment, then began the steep ascent back to her home.

Had he truly lost his memory? Could she believe him? Or was he here for the reason she dreaded? Michael might have a terrible temper, but he was her brother and she did not wish him to come to harm. She ought to send the stranger away before he could discover something that might lead to her family’s destruction.

If only the look in the stranger’s eyes did not make her feel as if she wanted to melt into his arms.

Adam walked the length of the beach, searching for anything that might have been washed ashore at the same time as the sea drove him this way. There was nothing to see. The villagers must have taken even the driftwood to keep their fires going through the winter. He could understand their need, yet felt a sweeping despair that he would find no clues here to help him rediscover his life.

It seemed that he must return to London as soon as he was able to travel and hope to trace his last movements at the gaming hall. He could not even be sure that he had meant to come here—his ship might have been driven off course by the storm.

Had he been travelling on his own ship? He was not sure why the thought should occur to him, but the sight of that ship out in the bay had made him wonder if at some time he’d been the owner of a vessel similar to the one they’d seen.

It was no use. Try as he might, he could not lift the curtain of mist in his mind.

He should return to the house, discover the nearest hostelry and hire a horse. There was no help for him here and yet he had a feeling that he had indeed come here for a reason. Besides, he was oddly reluctant to leave this place too soon.

Why? Surely he could not be thinking of remaining here longer because of Morwenna?

True, she was beautiful. Even her name sounded like music on his lips. He felt something each time he saw her, but could not place what emotion was uppermost in his mind. She infuriated him with her accusations. Clearly, her brothers were involved in some kind of nefarious business. Smuggling was rife on this coast and it was likely Michael Morgan was off on some such business—if nothing more serious.

Now where had that thought come from? What else might Michael Morgan be doing?

He shook his head. It was as if he were reaching for something—an important fact that lay just behind that damned curtain.

No, he should not speculate. It was not his business and yet something was nagging at him, telling him he should use the time while Michael was away to discover all he could.

Discover what? It was no good, his mind was confused—blank at times and at others teeming with pictures that did not make sense. Faces flitted through his mind. An older woman and another, pretty, but not his wife or his lover. Who were they?

Morwenna had said he’d cried out thinking her his mother when in his fever. Was his mother still living? Did he also have a sister?

Somehow that seemed right. He felt instinctively without knowing that he had a family, but no wife. Were his family worried about him?

He shook his head and pushed the thought away. It was not his family that taunted him, trying to burst through the fog in his mind. For the moment something else was more important, but he did not know what it was.

He turned back towards the path that led up the cliff. He would be wiser to leave and return to London, but something was holding him here. There was something about the wild-eyed Cornish woman, something that turned his guts soft and made him burn with a need he recognised. His memory might be missing, but his instincts were intact. He wanted to lie with her. He wanted to know her body, to touch that soft white flesh and kiss those full lips. Whether she knew it or not she had a pure, clear sensuality that called to a man of his nature, arousing the hunting instinct. He wanted her and knew he would stay until she sent him away. Perhaps he might persuade her to go with him. She obviously did not have much of a life here.

She was a fool to let the stranger get beneath the guard she normally kept on her senses. Morwenna frowned as she chopped roots and onions to add to the stewpot. It had been simmering for two days now, fresh meat and vegetables added each day so that the gravy was very thick and the flavour intense. Morwenna had cooked oatcakes, fresh bread that was flat and hard on the outside, soft within. She had butter, pickles, cheese and cold ham as well as a dish of neeps and a large piggy pie that Bess had made to an old Cornish recipe.