Chapter Five
Secrets and Struggles

HE NEVER KNEW HOW he dragged himself away. Rebecca had posed a question so provocative, so painful he’d opted not to reply. Jac knew he’d hurt her. But he too was hurting. She’d catapulted into his life, all tumbling curls and frilly petticoats tugging at his heart, his mind and other places he daren’t contemplate, not when he’d such important business to deal with later in the cove.

‘She’s too young, Sofia,’ he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Too perfect for the likes of me. And what would I do with a wife?’

Despite his tattered emotions, Jac grinned as he pictured Rebecca the Smuggler – in tight breeches and tunic, firm breasts and rounded hips betraying her gender in the most delicious way. He gripped the reins tighter at the thought of her warm skin beneath his fingers. He’d followed the curve of her hips with his hands, delighting in the contours of her thighs. When she suggested visiting the cave, the thrust to his groin was instant and thrilling. How had he pulled himself back in time? She’d never know the agony of his decision.

‘She thinks I don’t care about her, Sofia.’ Jac flung the words into the breeze. The mare reacted to his movements and picked up speed, each lunge of her long legs distancing Jac from the woman he knew he’d give his life for. But he daren’t look back. She’d come to him for help. He’d set in motion a plan he’d never have devised, were it not for Morwenna. It was in the hands of the womenfolk now.

Maybe one day, when all this was over, he could discover Rebecca’s whereabouts and sail to France to visit her. No sooner had the thought emerged than he pushed it away again. No use wondering and wishing. If he let emotion cloud his judgement tonight, he’d be as much use to his uncle as a case of rancid butter.

He’d be better off finding that little serving girl and bedding her. As Jac felt the ground swell beneath Sofia’s hoofs and her pace slow to carry them safely on to the bridleway leading to home, he pondered the possibility. Maybe, he should let fate intervene – challenge himself with a wager of his own?

Aroused by Rebecca’s lush body, still seeing the desire in her eyes, could he satisfy his need by bedding another girl? If Mari happened to be in the courtyard when he arrived, should he claim a kiss and judge her reaction? That would place responsibility with her. He could also prove to himself he wasn’t beholden to one woman. Love wasn’t for the likes of Jac Maddocks. He’d been a fool to think so.

Sofia knew her way home. The mare cantered the last half mile of the journey while Jac tried to convince himself he could quench romantic fancies with honest lust. A hayloft romp suddenly seemed tempting.

When the mare’s hooves clattered against the cobbled surface of his uncle’s yard and he saw no sign of Mari, he wasn’t sure if he felt relief or disappointment. The young lad who cared for Sofia came running to grab her reins as Jac dismounted. The mare was led away and in the sudden silence, Jac heard someone singing.

He walked slowly towards the sound. Why deny himself pleasure if it could be his for the taking? One day, the fiery little fox would thank him for leaving her intact. He hesitated at the door to the barn. Pushed it open. Mari abandoned her song. Wordlessly she moved to the ladder. Placed one foot on the first rung. Jac too began to climb, eyeing the girl’s curvy hips swaying above him. This was what he needed, wasn’t it? Why then did he wish it was a certain flame-haired beauty leading him on?

Mari stood on the hay-strewn boards, looking at him. She tossed her hair back from her face. Unlaced the top of her blouse. He feasted his eyes on the cleft. She was plump as top of the milk. What more could any man ask for? He pulled her down on the hay. Her pretty billows tasted sweet to his tongue. This was no virgin. She gave as good as she got. Her fingers were skilled and it was Jac who called out as she sought and found. Yet, there was a sense of futility. The love play seemed mechanical. Jac’s mind was engaged elsewhere. Flying above the fields and down towards the sea shore. He faltered.

‘Jac?’ Her voice was heavy with desire.

He knew his passivity must be a disappointment. Mari’s eyes were bright, cheeks flushed, lips parted as she looked at him. Taking her hand, he replaced it at his groin. This time he let her explore while he explored her folds, postponing the moment until he could stand it no longer. He heard her coo, seeing his pearl of moisture.

She turned herself around, sticking her lovely behind in the air, inviting him to enter her, needing him to fill her completely. Now he was totally aroused. Heard her moan with satisfaction as he entered. But as he began his rhythmic movements and took what he knew she wanted to give, it was Rebecca’s face painted inside his eyelids. If he could only make love to her, it wouldn’t be like this. It would be an act of beauty. Not this raw coupling in the hay barn. It was almost shocking when he heard Mari’s shrill voice beg him to speed up. Rebecca’s voice was very different. Low ... sweet. He closed his eyes and pretended.

And when he lay beside Mari, his heartbeat returning to normal, he wasn’t sure if he’d given his feelings away by calling out Rebecca’s name. Jac cursed himself for believing a quick tumble could cure his ache.

Sir Geraint’s boy, Tom, wandered the woods. In search of the witch’s cabin, he’d taken a wrong turning.

The witch also wandered the woodland in search of a particular herb. But she knew her whereabouts as well as her way home. The boy she saw ahead, blundering through the undergrowth, caused her not a little amusement. It didn’t take long for her to reach a conclusion. She’d suspected an eavesdropper the afternoon before when entertaining her visitor.

Morwenna missed Jac’s regular visits. Missed following the magical path to erotic bliss. To her annoyance, her spells didn’t work on him. She’d tried to control him, first pushing him away then drawing him on, flexing her sexual muscles in every possible way. They were good together, recognising in each other a little of the other. He was a lot like his uncle, Dermot. The elder man had yearned for the unobtainable but yielded to Morwenna’s caresses on many an occasion. That was in the past. Now it was the nephew longing for what he couldn’t have. Until Rebecca quit the peninsula Jac’s mind was focussed elsewhere. Morwenna admired the girl’s feistiness but she had her own motive in helping her escape. Once my lady was on French soil, Jac would come round again. Looking for solace, wouldn’t he come trotting back once Morwenna returned from her visit to Brittany? Or, besotted as he was, would he follow the love of his life?

Morwenna enjoyed power. She didn’t need magic in order to cook Rebecca’s goose. In the meantime, a young man not bright enough to suspect a trap might provide an hour or two’s romp. The better to direct him, she pushed down the neckline of her blouse, exposing the valley dividing her two melon breasts.

Tom fell into her hands like a frightened fawn. Morwenna almost felt sorry for him. She knew who’d put the boy up to this quest. Well, she’d make the young man earn whatever reward the reptilian lord had promised.

‘You seem lost, young sir,’ she said in her husky tones.

He whirled round, cheeks reddening; eyes wary. ‘I must’ve taken a wrong turning,’ he stammered.

‘I know these paths well. Tell me where you’re heading and I’ll guide you.’

‘I seek the woman they call Morwenna. I … I need her advice for my master.’

She watched his eyes rove over her breasts. At once she clasped her hands beneath, pushing them so they spilled above her neckline. ‘Then follow me and we’ll see if she’s at home.’ She gestured to their right. ‘You’re almost there.’

He fell into step. He was eager, blond and smooth-skinned. Broad shoulders filled out his shirt to perfection. He smelt not bad. Geraint didn’t tolerate unwashed servants. One thing in his favour …

Moments later, they arrived at the cabin. Morwenna walked to the closed door and rapped with her knuckles. Put her ear to the wood and tapped again.

She turned to the boy, frowning. ‘She’s not there. I’m a friend of hers. Do you want to come in and wait?’

She loved the way he hesitated, loved the feeling of anticipation, allowing her eyes to move lazily down, taking in the length of his youthful frame. Morwenna pushed open the door and stepped inside. The boy hesitated upon the threshold.

She held out her hand. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘It’s cool in here. I’ll find something to quench your thirst.’

She knew he was hers already. Bewitched by a woman old enough to be his mother but beautiful enough to appeal to a youth who squirmed in his bed at night, dreaming of long-haired temptresses with fire in their veins.

Morwenna poured liquid into a cup and offered it. ‘An infusion of woodland herbs will invigorate you. This is the best one Morwenna makes.’

‘Aren’t you having some?’ He accepted the drink and sniffed suspiciously.

She took the beaker back and sipped. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Now you know it’s safe to drink. Tell me, what is your name?’

‘Tom,’ he said, first sipping then taking a deep swallow.

‘I’m Thalia,’ she said. ‘Come and sit here with me, Tom.’

He sat beside her on a bunk disguised by a colourful patchwork quilt. His eyes wandered to the ceiling. Festoons of dried herbs and flowers hung from wooden struts. A crescent moon, woven from willow, swung beside dangling strings of beads. Swathes of silk and velvet transformed walls and surfaces. Morwenna watched Tom’s gaze take in the purples, the crimsons, the silvers and the gold. Watched his eyes widen in awe. Watched his eyes glaze with desire as she placed one tapering fingernail on his knee and stroked slowly, oh so slowly, towards his groin. The bulge held promise. Her hand began unfastening his breeches and he leapt to meet her.

She chuckled softly. Bent her head. He moaned. His hands gathered her breasts, squeezing them, rubbing them. He was panting. Morwenna liked this. Liked playing the temptress. She wouldn’t tease and torture this one, one so young and eager.

‘I’ll teach you how to please a woman,’ she said, lying back. ‘Learn from me. Make me wet for you. Then you shall have me.’

She felt him shudder. His manhood rivalled that of the smuggler. My lucky day, she thought. At first he was too tentative. She whispered to him, making dirty words sound like satin and silk. Tom seemed eager to learn. He rewarded her handsomely … she liked things to happen in threes. She mounted him, sliding him inside her, dipping and tugging at him, using all her witchy skills. Only when they were both sated and sweat-soaked did she allow him to learn one more thing. And watched dismay chase across his face as she enquired, ‘Now, Tom. What was that question your master wanted to ask me?’

‘You’ve tricked me,’ he said, jumping to his feet. ‘You’ve bewitched me with your magic. I’m still dazed.’

‘If you’re dazed, it’s because you’ve jumped the hurdle three times. Now, listen to me. You were sent to spy on me – yes?’

He regarded her sulkily then nodded.

‘As a reward for pleasuring me, I won’t tell his lordship what happened here today. In return, I need you to feed him some information I shall give you.’

‘How do you know I’ll do what you say?’

She regarded him with amusement. ‘What else will you tell him? That I have a heart-shaped mole at the top of my left thigh? That I’m kinder in bed than he is?’

Tom blushed scarlet again.

‘If you don’t want a beating, you’ll tell him what I say. And remember, now I have you in my sights, we are linked, you and me. Betray me and you’ll regret it.’

* * *

Geraint poured himself a tankard of ale. ‘What did you find out? You were gone long enough.’

Tom nodded. ‘It was a while before anything happened. The two girls arrived together.’

‘Lady Rebecca and her cousin?’

‘Yes. The little fair one stayed outside while my lady went into the hut.’

Geraint thumped his tankard on the table, spilling beer over the side. ‘Cunning little piece! The witch must have put her up to that. Did you hear anything at all?’

‘After a while, my lady came out and the two girls set off together.’ He hesitated. ‘I know you told me to stay there but I thought if I followed them, I might hear something.’

Geraint sat back in his chair. ‘And did you?’

‘Before they left the wood they sat down on a log. It was easy for me then. I hid behind a tree trunk. Heard everything they said.’

‘Then tell me!’

‘She leaves tomorrow night. She boasted how easy it was to creep out of the house and get down to the cove. Morwenna’s meeting her on the beach. They sail just before midnight.’

Geraint’s eyes narrowed. There was a huge consignment expected the following evening. Bevan’s men planned to muscle in on Dermot Maddocks. ‘Which cove, you whelp?’

‘Firefly.’

Geraint relaxed. ‘Nicely out of the way – I don’t want to set foot on Half Moon. Not with blood being spilled.’

‘The onion seller will be paid well. All he knows is these two women, Mary and Elizabeth, want to get to France. He likes the idea of helping a young girl to rendezvous with her sweetheart. And he likes the idea of the extra reward the witch might give him in return for a safe journey.’

‘That lascivious bitch. I shall enjoy watching two treacherous cats frozen with fear at the thought of being thrown overboard!’

Tom frowned. ‘Won’t that be dangerous? The current could sweep them out to sea.’

‘Good riddance to the witch. As for my young bride – she’ll be vastly relieved when I rescue her from a watery death.’ He smirked. ‘You shall head my raiding party, Tom. Aren’t you honoured to be so trusted?’ He half-closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, gripping its arms.

He guessed Tom was gazing at him in horror. Geraint was well aware of his young servant’s dislike of fighting. The two coves were not far distant from each other. To reward Tom with a poisoned chalice made him feel an anticipatory frisson. And the thought of outwitting Rebecca aroused him intensely. He longed to put her in her place. To make sure her wedding night was one she’d always remember.

Rebecca gazed at her room, knowing she might never see it again. Sitting in those familiar surroundings made her feel more and more as though she was playing a part. Panic seized her as she imagined what would happen should she be caught. Probably she’d be locked up with Biddy until it was time to prepare for her wedding day. If only Biddy wasn’t lovesick over Rebecca’s father. Things might be very different. Life in a foreign country, living among strangers who didn’t speak her language, would be difficult. She hardly knew any words of French.

Everything had happened so swiftly since Jac consulted Morwenna. Her fingers curled around the note the witch had handed her when Rebecca visited her in the cabin. What Morwenna said on that occasion conflicted with the instructions she’d written. But Rebecca realised the importance of keeping her plan secret. She’d longed to confide in Catrin but knew her cousin would be so horrified she’d likely run straight to her mother or even Rebecca’s father.

How strange to know Jac wasn’t involved now and Morwenna was. Somehow Rebecca had hoped he might work some kind of miracle. Whisk her away to a safe place. Somewhere with trustworthy people around and pleasant countryside. Maybe somewhere on the English border, where, one day, news would arrive that Lord Geraint had taken a bride and her father, anger spent, pined for his only child’s safe return. Jac figured in this fantasy though how he’d be transformed into a worthy suitor wasn’t clear.

The house had been quiet for an hour or more. Rebecca’s few belongings were tucked into a tapestry bag. She’d already parted with precious jewellery to pay her passage. Other pieces were rolled inside a scarf. Poised to escape and wearing her cloak, she sat on her bed, in which a bolster slumbered peacefully, blankets tucked around its sightless head.

So many times had Rebecca relived Jac’s last kiss. If she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself, she could see his dark eyes, full of tenderness as his mouth sought hers. His beard grew silkier the longer it grew. She wriggled as she remembered caressing the back of his neck where the hair curled over his collar. Tried to stop thinking of him before her fantasy sent her hands roaming her breasts as his had done that last occasion. He’d never taken the liberties with her she craved. He was a true gentleman. Why, oh why could her father not see that?

She jumped as she heard the signal, even though she’d anticipated the sudden, soft hoot of an owl. It was time to set off. Morwenna would continue making her way to the beach. Each would walk alone. Taking one last look around the room she’d slept in since childhood, Rebecca picked up her bag and tiptoed to the door.

At the head of the stairs she halted. Listened, unsure whether her father sat in his study or not. Moonlight silvered the way to the massive front entrance. But Rebecca’s route took her into the sitting-room. For some few years, she’d used this method of leaving and entering the house. If she climbed on to the window seat, she could release the casement catch, slide over the sill and land on the lawn.

The night air felt cool to her cheeks. Without looking back, she melted into the shrubbery, keeping close to the wall until she reached that gate so overgrown no one remembered its existence bar her. She slipped through, closed it carefully and began walking down the lane.

At Half Moon Cove, Jac kept watch, poised to pick up any small disturbance, any unfamiliar presence. From his vantage point on horseback, he could see every one of his uncle’s men, each of them personally known to him. People living in the vicinity knew to stay indoors on nights when the cove played host to a harvest you couldn’t trawl for with fishing nets.

Men heaved. Shoved. Lifted and rolled. Older ones stopped now and then to get their breath back or rub their aching backs; sometimes shooting envious glances at the younger ones working tirelessly. Much of the booty was on the beach. The French boat, having sought an Irish haven en route to Wales, rested at anchor in the bay.

Also on the beach was Morwenna. Jac could see her hooded figure, yards away from him. None of the men questioned her presence. They knew he had her in his sights and that was good enough for them.

He hoped Rebecca was on her way. If someone had heard her leaving the manor and followed her, there’d be hell to pay. He wouldn’t put it past Geraint to position a man in the manor grounds with his prize so near. One of the obnoxious lord’s men would be no match for Jac. Rebecca, though spirited, couldn’t be expected to fight off an assailant pouncing from behind. He cursed himself for not thinking of this before and tried to reassure himself Morwenna’s ruse must have worked and a welcome party was gathered at Firefly Cove, now cut off from Half Moon by deep, treacherous water.

His eye snagged a movement. His heart seemed to miss a beat. As he’d glanced back at the beach, Rebecca must have rounded the curve. Her feet would touch the sand before he knew it. In the shadow of overhanging rock clusters and beneath the sheltering cliff face, Morwenna would transform Rebecca. Within the hour, the woman he couldn’t stop dreaming about would be out of his life and on a voyage to the continent. Every part of him yearned to go with her.

He watched Morwenna come forward to claim Rebecca. Their dark shapes disappeared behind a towering rock. His vigilance hardly seemed necessary but as he wondered whether to go and help unload the remaining goods, an influx of men spilled like a swarm of bees down the lower reaches of the grassy slopes and towards the beach.

‘Curse Will Bevan for this!’ Jac was always prepared for trouble but tonight was different. The raiders weaved their way among his uncle’s men, making it clear they weren’t only interested in contraband goods. He smelt jealousy. He smelt violence. He should be at Dermot’s side, helping him see off these unwelcome visitors. A nip with a sword tip, a swift sharp slice of a dagger could sometimes work miracles as a man thought better of what had seemed an exciting escapade with the chance of coins jingling in his pocket.

But abandon Rebecca and Morwenna? He couldn’t carry both of them on his horse at once. The only solution was to get them on Sofia’s back and guide his precious cargo to the waiting boat, still discharging spoils. Would there be time? He needed to move quickly if this was his plan. But Dermot would wonder what the devil his nephew played at.

Torn between heart and head, Jac hesitated. The struggle on the sand intensified each moment he remained an onlooker. Bevan wouldn’t expect to smell a female’s scent tonight. But if the women stayed where they were, they might be fair game for a gang master hungry for power. Especially if Jac lost the fight. The decision was made.

Beyond a headland up to its waist in water, Lord Geraint sweated and fretted at Firefly Cove. He and his small party of men stood on the shingle with their horses; scanning the sea for a vessel Geraint suspected was never destined to arrive. Further infuriating him were the sounds of unrest drifting on the night breeze from Half Moon.

He swung round to address Tom. ‘The witch made mincemeat of you, didn’t you? Wound her legs round you and made you forget you had a mind of your own, let alone a tongue in your head? Didn’t she?’

‘I told you what she said to tell you, my lord.’

‘Of course you did. I should have known better than trust you with such an errand. More fool me.’ He flipped his gloved hand against Tom’s cheek. ‘No time to punish you now. We need to ride along the track to Half Moon.’

One of his men touched his shoulder. ‘Shall I try and get round the headland, my lord?’

‘Yes, numbskull. If you want to feed the fishes. I need every one of you. Not only have I been duped but I’ll have to show my face. Will Bevan needs help. And I want that girl. If the witch or a Maddocks gets in our way, you know what to do. Come on!