Man Of My Dreams: Secrets Of Midnight Part 15

"Are you mad, woman?"

He yelled so loud that she jumped.

Donovan stood glaring at her. "You were just attacked by some b.l.o.o.d.y stranger wearing a hood, no idea who the wretch might be-nearly throttled, mind you,-and I'm to let you travel on by yourself as if nothing happened?"

She gulped, venturing the smallest nod, which was greeted by a scowl so deep that her heart sank.

"I haven't gone through this much trouble, Lady Donovan, to lose you now. Oh, no, one temporary bride is quite enough, thank you. I'll not be taking another, and that I b.l.o.o.d.y well swear."

His vehement words had stabbed her more painfully than she could have imagined. Corisande lifted her chin, knowing full well what he was going to say next. So well, in fact, that she beat him by saying, "You're coming with me, then."

"Exactly. I'm going to follow you like a shadow, woman, closer than a shadow, until this whole inheritance business is done. Crashing pilchard barrels, someone following you home, someone attacking you out here on the heath and nearly strangling the life from you-oh, yes. I'm not going to let you out of my sight."

But what would he do after he'd gotten his inheritance? Corisande was tempted to ask him. What would happen to her then when he wasn't around to accompany her? But she held her tongue, knowing he probably wouldn't think twice about her welfare once he was on his way back to Spain, which hurt even more. So much so that she refused to think about it further, wondering instead how she was going to get rid of him.

She knew he'd meant his words; she'd heard that imposing tone before. But she wasn't giving up, not yet. Resigned at least for the moment, she nodded, saying softly, "Actually I'd be grateful for your company. But you don't have to stay the whole night. It might not be pleasant-to hear the childbirth, I mean, the screams, the pain. Peggy has never had a very easy time of it-"

"That I'll decide."

As he went to fetch her horse, Corisande realized she'd more than meant she was glad she wouldn't be alone, the darkness all around them suddenly become a threat. Yet what was she going to do? If Oliver was back from France, he was the one who needed her help tonight, not Peggy Robberts. Silently she accepted Donovan's a.s.sistance as he gave her a leg up onto Pete's back, the horse pawing at the ground.

"Here, Corie, take the lantern."

Corisande reached out to oblige him, but the gelding pranced sideways, whinnying shrilly.

"I think you'd better hold it," she said as she drew hard on the reins and sought to soothe the horse. "Poor Pete was nearly struck three times by that lantern, at least until I fell off . . ." She didn't go on as Donovan's handsome face was once more transformed by a deep scowl. Instead she changed the subject altogether as he hung the lantern on his saddle and mounted, asking lightly, "What had you wanted to speak to me about tonight, Donovan? I'm sorry that I had to deceive-"

"You didn't have to deceive me, woman." His voice was harsh, although he seemed to make an effort to relax his tone as he brought Samson alongside her and Pete. "You could have told me the truth, Corie, and spared yourself, spared me-" He abruptly went silent only to meet her eyes, his expression grown serious. "I came to ask you for a truce. It's been a difficult week-"

"Only because you made it so difficult," she interrupted, eager for Oliver's sake to be on their way, yet wanting to hear what Donovan had to say, his sudden candor astonishing her. "You haven't been the most agreeable company, churlish, ill-mannered, I could go on and on."

"I know, and it's been wrong of me. I owe you a very great debt after all. I'm sorry if I've made you miserable."

"You haven't made me miserable," she lied, realizing that that was exactly how she'd felt and for reasons she had no wish to contemplate. "Just made me look a complete fool in front of the servants, is all, chattering to myself at supper each night like a dotty parrot while you've merely sat there-"

"Yes, you have been talking quite a bit lately."

Astonished even more to see a hint of a smile on his lips, Corisande flushed with warmth. "I don't see anything amusing here. And as for you owing me a debt, I imagine that's exactly what got you into so much trouble in the first place and why you're apologizing to me, too, implying you intend to act more the civil gentleman. My goodness, the lengths to which you're having to go to save your b.l.o.o.d.y neck!"

"What are you talking about? What trouble?"

"Your gambling debts, of course! That's all you've talked about since I've known you-how much you need the money. Well, unless it's a very grand lifestyle you crave back in Spain, my lord husband, I'd say you've probably wagered yourself into quite a deep hole with your fellow officers-"

"Good G.o.d, woman, is that what you think has brought me to Cornwall? Gambling debts?"

Corisande gaped at him. His voice had almost gone hoa.r.s.e with incredulity. But before she had a chance to reply, he looked away from her, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

"Of course that's b.l.o.o.d.y well what you think. Why would it be otherwise? You don't know a thing about me."

"What was that, Donovan?"

"I said you don't know a d.a.m.ned thing about me!"

"N-no. No, I don't," she stammered, struck by the wildness in his eyes as he'd turned back to face her. "Not much anyway. But it's not as if it really matters-given the circ.u.mstances, I mean. You said it yourself, Donovan, well, that soon this will all be over, and then we'll be free of each other's company forever. Remember?"

He was silent for so long that she began to think he had no intention of replying, but finally he murmured half under his breath and with a wryness that surprised her, "So now I'm a Don Juan with gambling debts. Amazing. b.l.o.o.d.y amazing."

She didn't know quite what to make of it, either, when he began to chuckle, and she shifted uncomfortably on her horse.

"Donovan, I think we should go. Peggy-"

"By all means, wife, lead the way! The poor woman needs your help! Lead on, lead on!"

Corisande did lead the way, setting off at a gallop almost gratefully as Donovan's chuckling became rich, full-throated laughter that incredibly enough made her feel like chuckling too. But she didn't know why she should be laughing.

He was a Don Juan with gambling debts, or at least he hadn't denied that's why he needed the money.

So why was he laughing?

Chapter 22.

Donovan was still chuckling when they arrived at the tiny cottage a few moments later, the ride requiring even less time than Corisande had expected. But she wasn't smiling, her heart battering at her breast as she quickly dismounted and ran to the front of the cottage, turning back with a small gasp to call to Donovan, "Give me one moment, will you? I don't want to startle poor Peggy with both of us beating down her door."

She spun as he gallantly bowed his head to her, thanking the heavens for whatever strange mood had come over him to make him so biddable. She knocked twice but didn't wait for a reply as she heard someone shuffling to the door, instead rushing inside the darkened two-room cottage so suddenly that she nearly knocked over poor Morton Robberts. His mouth hanging open, the russet-haired, freckle-faced tinner stared blearily at her as if he'd just stumbled into some bizarre dream.

"Don't look so startled, Morton, it's only me, Corie East-Corie Trent. And don't ask me any questions, I've no time! I need an enormous favor from you, from both you and Peggy-"

"Who is it, Morton?" called a sleepy voice from the pitch-dark adjoining room. At once Corisande grabbed a candle stub from the rough-hewn table and lit it upon the open hearth, then cupped the flame and hurried into the back where a very pregnant young woman no older than herself was already struggling to sit up in bed.

"It's Corie, Peggy, but I can't tell you much more right now than that I need a favor from you and quickly!"

"Corie?"

"Yes, yes-here, let me plump that pillow for you." Corisande fixed the candle to the windowsill, her voice softly pleading as she did her best to make the woman comfortable. "Don't excite yourself, Peggy, there's nothing wrong. Only my husband's waiting outside-"

"Lord Donovan's outside?"

"Yes, because I told him you were having your babe tonight, and that I had to come and help."

"But I'm not-"

"I know, Peggy, I know, but I can't explain everything now. I need you to moan, good and loud, too, just how you might if the babe were coming. Could you do that for me? I'll tell you more when I can" -she spun to face Morton, who was looking at her now as if she were half-mad- "and, Morton, you must say yes to anything Lord Donovan asks of you, could you please, please do that for me? Oh, dear, I know this is terribly strange, but if I told you Oliver Trelawny's behind my coming here, would it help?"

At once Corisande saw understanding flood the young man's eyes. It was common yet closely guarded knowledge among the tinners that the burly sea captain was a friend and benefactor to them all. Greatly encouraged, she rushed on.

"Suppose my husband asks if you came and threw stones at my window tonight to let me know that the babe was on its way-"

"I'll say, ais, milord, so I did, a good handful too."

"And suppose he asks if the babe's coming tonight?"

"I'll say, ais, milord, far's I can tell 'tes true, but my dear Peggy's the fairer judge than me."

"Thank you, Morton. That's perfect. Perfect!"

Relief and grat.i.tude spilling through her, Corisande took a moment to squeeze Peggy's hand, and then she raced for the door.

She wasn't surprised to find Donovan leaning just outside against the whitewashed wall. Hoping desperately that he hadn't overheard her speaking with the Robbertses, she beckoned for him to enter just as a terrible moan split the air, followed in quick succession by another. Donovan at once stopped in his tracks and looked at her doubtfully, glancing just as doubtfully inside the cottage as a third moan, this one even more pain-wracked than the last two, came spilling forth from the inner room.

"It's all right, Donovan, you can come in," she encouraged him, astonished that his swarthy face had seemed to pale. "Peggy and Morton were honored to hear you'd accompanied me-"

"No, no, I think I'll wait out here," he said, backing away as another moan shattered the stillness. "Go on, Corie. Do what you must."

"But it's going to be a long night, Donovan. Peggy's pains are just getting started." Corisande gestured to an uncomfortable-looking stool by the hearth. "You could sit there, or, well, are you sure you wouldn't rather come back for me in the morning? I fear it's bound to get worse, much worse. Peggy's always been a screamer, poor thing-"

"Oh G.o.d, enough."

He'd waved her to silence, but that didn't quiet the hoa.r.s.e moan crescendoing into a keening wail that seemed to burst from the back room, punctuated now by the cries of two young children awakened in the loft. Corisande had no sooner glanced over her shoulder as Morton rushed up the narrow wooden ladder to comfort them than she looked back to find Donovan had disappeared.

"Donovan?"

She raced outside, trying not to show how relieved she felt that he was already mounting Samson, clearly anxious to be gone.

"I'll be back for you in the morning, Corie."

She nodded, struck again by how unsettled he looked when another of Peggy's convincing moans carried out into the night. Men. It was a good thing they weren't the ones made to bear children. They'd never withstand it.

"Don't dare cross the heath without me. Do you understand? Wait until I can come for you. And if you must step outside for any reason, make sure Morton Robberts is with you."

She nodded again, rushing forward when Donovan held out the lantern.

"Here. You might need the extra light."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure we will. Birthing can sometimes be quite a mess."

He swallowed hard at that comment and was gone, disappearing into the dark as Corisande rushed back inside the tiny cottage.

But she wasn't there long. She waited five minutes, no more, encouraging Peggy to give a last few groans and moans for good measure, then Corisande, too, was galloping out into the black night, doing her best to force back her fear that someone who meant her grave harm might yet be lurking as she turned her thoughts to Oliver Trelawny and the Fair Betty.

"Ais now, Corie, you've lectured me enough for one night. I know 'ee were worried, but I'm safe an' sound, 'ee can plainly see, an' I've the finest cargo of French brandy moving ash.o.r.e that Cornwall has ever known! You'll soon see, too, that it was well worth it for me to wait those few days in Roscoff until I had the stuff aboard when the gold guineas start filling our pockets!"

"And the coffers for the poor, Captain Trelawny," Corisande reminded him with mock sternness, taking care to keep her voice down so it wouldn't carry across the deep cove to sh.o.r.e, although Oliver didn't seem concerned at all that he wasn't whispering. It was because the night was so dark, she knew, doubting herself that any king's excis.e.m.e.n would be straying about on such a bleak evening as Oliver threw a beefy arm around her shoulder.

"Ha! Those coffers will be filled to such overflowing 'ee won't know what to do with it all!" Laughing heartily, Oliver steered her to the cutter's starboard railing where his crew was hoisting eight-gallon kegs over the side into waiting rowboats. "Go on with 'ee now an' mind the landing, Corie, me brave girl! I want to be finished here in no more than an hour's time so I can sail home to my Rebecca."

Corisande hesitated at the rope ladder, wondering if she should mention to Oliver that someone had mimicked their signal to lure her into danger earlier that night, but he seemed so eager to be on his way to Porthleven harbor that she decided to wait. Instead she hauled her cloak and skirt between her legs and clambered expertly over the side and down the ladder, easing herself into a rowboat that she could see from the pyramid of kegs was quite full.

"No more, no more, we don't want to capsize," she warned the two dark-clad men who settled down at once to their oars. She signaled, and they pushed away from the sixteen-gun cutter, their small craft quickly replaced by others waiting to be loaded and then rowed to sh.o.r.e.

As the boat lumbered through the calm waves, Corisande peered at the black forbidding cliffs where she knew tinners armed with stout cudgels and muskets stood watch to give warning if strangers should approach by land or sea. In fact, everyone had been a.s.sembled and waiting at their places when she'd arrived at the secluded cove and saw that the Fair Betty had, indeed, made it back safely from Brittany.

Which had convinced her at once that the first lantern signal at ten o'clock had come from their own loyal men. But the second? Somehow her attacker had known she would leave the house upon seeing the signal, which meant, too, that he must know of her involvement in fair trading. So either there was an informer among them, G.o.d help any fool who betrayed their sacred trust, or somehow she and Oliver had been overheard at the inn . . .

Corisande's dark thoughts scattered as the rowboat came to a sc.r.a.ping halt upon the beach. She jumped out over the prow to keep her shoes well out of the water, having no wish to explain any suspicious salt stains to Donovan. Immediately a host of waiting hands unloaded the rowboat while Corisande hurried farther up the beach to where a line of thirty pack ponies waited patiently, two kegs apiece already strapped to their backs.

"Are you ready to go, John?" she whispered to the tall, lanky farmer standing near the lead pony.

She got a nod, no more, the man as reticent as a clam, which was a virtue in a smuggler.

"Head to Helston, then. Stanley Hawkins is waiting at the Golden Lion to take every last keg off your hands. We want top price for this load, though. Don't accept anything less, or we'll hear of it from Captain Trelawny. G.o.dspeed."

And so it went, Corisande rushing about the beach as more heavily laden rowboats were hauled onto land, the precious kegs first counted and then either strapped onto ponies or carried up and out of the cove along winding stone-strewn paths to where carts and wagons waited to convey the contraband throughout the Cornish countryside. At least half of tonight's shipment would be sold outright to innkeepers like Stanley Hawkins or local gentry friendly to the trade, while the rest of the kegs would be hidden in caves, down deep wells, or stowed away in cellars and then dispatched later as time and opportunity allowed.

"G.o.dspeed, Tobias. Take care with that load, now. Captain Trelawny says it's the finest brandy he's ever brought home from Roscoff. Top price, don't forget."

Then to another, "We'll be expecting to see you back from Falmouth by Thursday, Michael. G.o.dspeed."

And still another: "G.o.dspeed, Thomas. First, Squire Bellamy in Marazion, then on to Penzance and the White Horse Inn with the rest. G.o.dspeed!"

Corisande was nearly exhausted by the time the last of the kegs had faded with their silent bearers into the night, her legs cramped from running back and forth across the sand and up and down the narrow cliff paths so many times that she'd lost count. But she hadn't lost count of the kegs, oh, no.

There were six hundred forty-two, and she never lost track of the thirty different directions in which she'd sent them and how many kegs with whom. Add to that two hundred pounds of Dutch East Indies tea and six bales of Brussels lace, and her head felt crammed with places, names, and numbers.

Usually now she would make her way to the church and then neatly record everything in a ledger she kept under one of the altar flagstones, partly so she wouldn't forget and partly to relieve her mind and enable her to sleep. Oliver had long since turned the Fair Betty for Porthleven, the cutter never lingering after the hold had been emptied, but heading back to the safety of the harbor. In fact, he'd left a few hours ago; it always took three times longer to dispatch goods than to unload the ship.

But tonight Corisande had no wish to head for Porthleven even though she could have asked some of the tinners just now drifting home from their lookouts to accompany her. Yet then they'd all have to walk-most of the tinners had come on foot to the cove-and the sky was already beginning to lighten to the east. By the time she finished with the account book it would be light, and she couldn't risk Donovan arriving at the Robbertses' to find her gone.

She would just have to risk riding back to the cottage alone, although the prospect was daunting as Corisande untethered Pete from a stunted tree and mounted. She took a cautious look around her, but it was still so dark she doubted she would see any hint of danger until it was too late. That thought made her kick Pete at once into a gallop, her thighs so sore that it was difficult to grip his sides. Yet she urged him to run even faster. Surely if she rode hard enough, no one would dare try to stand in her way to stop her- "Oh, Lord."

Corisande's hands froze at the reins as she heard a second loud snort behind her, the sound only another horse would make. And she'd been the only one with a horse left at the cove, all the pack ponies and carts and wagons long gone. Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord.

She didn't glance behind her. She didn't breathe. Instead she kicked Pete into a full run and rode as hard and as fast as she ever had in her life, the gelding lunging powerfully beneath her.

Within moments, she'd made it to the Robbertses' tiny cottage, thinking it the most beautiful place imaginable as she slid from Pete's back and raced to the door. It was only then that she dared to glance behind her, her heart stopping at the distant dark shape on horseback cutting to the southwest and heading back as if to Porthleven.

G.o.d help her, why was she being followed? Who could wish her harm? If not Jack Pascoe as Donovan had said-and that snake of a mine captain made the most b.l.o.o.d.y sense of all!-then who?

Shaking with fear, Corisande ducked inside the cottage; she gasped to find the two small rooms lit brightly, a cheery fire crackling in the hearth, and candles glowing at windows shuttered against the night. And, as if he'd been waiting for her, Morton Robberts, with a shy grin on his face, sat at the table.

"The babe's come, Corie."