Surrender The Night (40 page)

Billy ducked, but the glass shattered on the wall behind him  and showered his clean clothes with brandy. His slower temper began to simmer. ‘ ‘Aye, and so have ye treated me—pat me on the head when ye’re happy, kick me when ye’re mad.” Billy propped his fists on his hips. “Well, ye got no one to blame for the mess ye’re in save yer own self, Devon Cavanaugh.”

With a garbled “Aagh!” Devon launched himself over the couch. Billy caught him in a bear hug and squeezed, but Devon jammed him in the ribs with an elbow. Billy dropped him. He barely dodged Devon’s fist, and he smiled grimly when Devon hit the wall instead.

Cursing, Devon cradled his bruised knuckles in his other hand. When he looked at Billy again, Billy braced himself.

Then, strangely, Devon collapsed like a burned souffle,
his legs buckled. He slid down the wall to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His voice muffled, he said, “Forgive me. I know you’d never betray me. It . . . just hurts so bad. She won’t wed me, Billy. And she won’t even tell me why. If you won’t tell me either, what in hell am I to do?”

So that was it. Billy slumped next to his friend. He asked cautiously, ‘ ‘What exactly did she say?’ ’

“She said some crazy nonsense about my past condemning our future. That she almost died because of me.” When Billy didn’t answer, Devon lifted his head. There was grim understanding in Billy’s face instead of mystification. He clutched Billy’s arm.

‘ ‘If you understand what she meant, in the name of God tell me!”

“Poor wee lass,” Billy whispered, shaking his head. The sorrowful sympathy in his voice made Devon flinch.

‘ ‘If she meant what I think, Devon, she probably will never marry ye now,” he murmured. When Devon shook his head in violent denial, Billy said even more quietly, “And if she ever does decide to tell ye what happened, lad, ye may wish ye’d never asked.” He patted his shoulder, rose, and exited.

Devon stayed where he was, Billy’s warning ringing in his ears. He had found Billy to be right in his predictions more often than not, but this time, he vowed, Billy was wrong. But uncertainty, all the more troubling for its rarity, haunted him as he ascended the stairs to dress warmly for the eventful night.

Unbidden, but somehow natural, a prayer came to his lips. The words were a bit rusty and garble
d but heartfelt. If the Bible were true, then God was always overjoyed to welcome a sinner back to the fold. Then surely He wouldn’t be so cruel as to take from him the woman who had led him there. . .

.

Chapter Thirteen

The cliff towered
above her. It would have intimidated her had she been less tired. As she carefully matched her steps to Davie’s Katrina reflected that an aching body helped soothe an aching heart. The crossing this time had been shorter because their landing on French soil had been closer, but lack of sleep and low spirits had left her exhausted. Too tired to brood over her bitter parting from Devon. He’d be back, she knew, when no flying rock would deliver her from explaining. Next time, however, she’d not be so vulnerable. He had her refusal now, and she’d not let herself get so emotional again. Stolen passion would have to be enough. For both of them.

Desolation at the thought made her clumsy. Her foot slipped on the crumbling ledge. One hand lost its grip. The sea crashed into the rocks far below, yawning black and hungry at her feet. For an instant she teetered literally on the edge of disaster, but then Davie grabbed her skirts, steadying her long enough for her to plant both feet again. She leaned her cheek against the cold, wet cliff face, almost dizzy with relief. Her harsh breathing disguised the muffled curse on the path a short distance behind her.

When she was composed, she said, “Thank you, Davie. I’m fine now. Though why you and Jack insist that I come along—”

“Jack says the letter he wants ’ee to translate es en the caave. ’ ’

Why hadn’t Jack brought the letter with him on the crossing? Katrina wondered irritably, following Davie again. In fact she didn’t understand why Jack had wanted her along on this trip. Her interpretation skills had not been needed, for they’d used their usual contact and agreed on the rate in advance. Maybe Jack had feared complications would arise.

Had she been less tired, the explanation wouldn’t have satisfied her, but now all she wanted was her bed. The sooner the better. Glowing light and warmth split the sheer wall, and gladly Katrina followed Davie inside the cave. Jack awaited, his hands held out over a blazing fire. He turned to meet them, his body backlit, his features indistinct against the brightness.

Katrina sat down on a rocky shelf to catch her breath. She saw a lone brandy tub and several bolts of cloth, plus some burlap sacks that she assumed held tea. She frowned. If this was one of their safest hideaways, as Davie had told her, where was all the contraband?

Her share from the last run had been considerably smaller than Davie had estimated, as had Jimmy’s. With two runs so close together this cave should be filled with contraband. Of course transporting fragile goods here would not be practical, but surely this would be a good place to store brandy and cloth.

Her instincts had been right, she feared. She put her hand in her cloak pocket, patting the tiny, reassuring crackle of paper. While the others had loaded the goods, she’d listed each item; five crates of rare French champagne and four crates of Limoges ware. If someone was stashing part of their haul for his own use, then she’d know soon enough. This time she was armed with numbers.

As Davie had kept a lookout on the French shore while the others loaded, Katrina had approached him and asked casually, “Why did we make a run so soon for such a small load?”

He’d shrugged, as if uncertain himself, then answered, “We rarely gets a chance at champaagne. Et fetches a dear price, as do the china.”

‘ ‘How much?’ ’ When Davie gave her a hard look in answer, Katrina pointed out, “I only ask because your last estimate of my share was too high. I’d like a reasonable guess as to what I’ll make this time.”

Davie sent a glance at Jack, then answered rapidly, “We usually gets about five pounds a crate for the wine, and twelve for each set of dishes.” And he’d hurried back to help his friends, as if regretting his loose tongue. Only Davie, Jack, Paulie, and two others had participated tonight because the trade had been so small.

Now, while she rested, Katrina made some rapid calcula
tions. Davie had told her that the man who distributed their haul usually took about half of the profit for him and his men. That meant that she and the others stood to make less than six pounds each.

Why risk a crossing with so little return? So soon after the last one? Katrina lifted her head to ask Jack, but something in his posture gave her pause. Instead she cleared
her throat. “I’m waiting. Give me the letter and I’ll read it to you. Who is it from?’ ’

“I’ll satisfy ye soon enough,” Jack rumbled. He jerked his head at Davie. ‘ ‘This be a private matter, man. Go on with ye. I’ll see the lassie hoine.”

Katrina’s peculiar unease deepened. She noticed a pile of blankets spread by the fire, and suddenly Jack’s odd behavior made sense. She sent a desperate look at Davie. The Cornishman was already eyeing his friend suspiciously.

Hoping she was wrong, she suggested, “If it’s so private. I’ll tell you its contents quietly.” She rose, but stopped at Jack’s bark of laughter.

“ ’Tis just as I would have it, girl—ye whisperin’ sweetly in me ear.” Jack came forward until the torches at the cave entrance lit his features.

“Oh God, not again,” Katrina muttered wearily. She backed away and looked about for a weapon, uncertain of where Davie’s allegiance lay.

Perhaps Davie wondered that himself, for he looked from Jack’s sharp, hungry features to Katrina’s pale ones. He hesitated, then moved to block Jack’s path.

“No, Jack, leave her be. Ee can’t tell me
he
wanted ee to try this.” Davie caught his friend’s muscular arm.

“Ah, he don’t scare me none. I’m only taken’ what he wants, what she gives to her fancy swell. Ye can share, after.” Jack shook him off and strode toward Katrina.

Katrina ran for the entrance, but a strong arm caught her dress and hauled her up short. She whirled, her hands bunched into fists, but found she didn’t have to use them. Davie, looking pained but resigned, tapped his friend on the head with a piece of firewood. Jack blinked and shook his head, then released Katrina.

Davie backed a pace. ‘That’s just a warning, man. Don’t maake me do more.”

“Since when did ye become her protector, Davie? Or has she give ye what I wants?” Jack stalked after his onetime friend, his features set with a different kind of lust.

Another long arm snaked around Katrina out of the darkness as she inched toward the entrance. She drew breath to scream, but a familiar voice whispered fiercely, “Come along, you foolish chit, while you still can.” She sent a last look at Davie’s sweating face, then let Devon push her in front of him up the path.

They’d gone a bare ten feet when an angry bellow echoed from the cave. “Stop this nonsense, man, she’s gettin’ away!”

“Let her go—” A crack cut Davie’s words off, then heavy boots pounded after them.

They hurried, but too much haste was dangerous in the thickening fog. Apparently Jack could see them. His feet sure from long practice, he quickly closed the gap.

Devon glanced over his shoulder, then bit off, “Go on. I’m going to hold him here. Run!” And he braced himself on the narrow ledge.

The fog had grown too thick for Devon to see what lay far beneath their feet, but Katrina knew. Sharp rocks and gravity were indifferent to good and evil. The picture of Devon lying broken like a porcelain knight was too vivid. She had to do something! She looked desperately around. Her gaze landed on the ledge they’d just passed. It was crumbling slightly at the spot where she’d slipped on the climb up.

Katrina gestured just past Devon’s feet. “Look! Stomp your feet!” Devon spared her a furious look for disobeying him, but he held tightly to the cliff, lifted one strong leg, and slammed down with all his might on the ledge. It loosened, rock flakes drifting downward.

“Go on, dammit!” he ordered, his boot pounding rhythmically. More sediment floated away, then one chunk of rock broke loose, and another. With a crunching sound that echoed oddly in the muffling fog, the ledge gave way just as Hennessy rounded the comer.

Simultaneously, Devon’s right foot lost its purchase. His arms flailed. He grabbed at the cliff, missed. Her heart leaping in terror, Katrina reached for him. God, he was heavy. For an instant his weight pulled her sideways. Then, bracing her legs, she swiveled from the hips and heaved on his left arm, pulling him back to safety.

She rested her cheek against his damp jacket, weak with relief. Then, her wits returning, she released him to hurry onward. After a glare at Hennessy he followed.

“Ye lily-livered coward. Why don’t ye stay and fight like a man?’ ’ Jack railed. He eyed the three-foot gap in the ledge. The distance wasn’t far, but the path was slippery in the fog, and the ledge was narrow at that point. . . .

“Come on, Jack. Prove your own bravery,” Devon jeered. “I’ll gladly fight you like a man when we reach solid ground.”

Jack hesitated, then shook his fist at them. “That time’s comin’, fancy pants.” He turned and sidestepped back to the cavern.

“Probably to get a rope,” Katrina said, her voice quivering with laughter. Her jubilance died when Devon sent her a look of unadulterated fury.

They made the rest of the descent in silence. When they reached terra firma again, Katrina turned toward the cottage, but Devon hauled her up short.

“Not so fast. You’ve some explaining to do.” He dragged her, protesting, to the closed carriage that was hidden some distance past the beach in a clump of tall gorse.

“You were there all along?” Katrina squeaked.

“I saw the whole sorry spectacle. I followed you from the cottage, then went and fetched my coachman while you were crossing in case we needed to get away quickly.”

Frowningly, she digested this. Love didn’t make her an imbecile who needed minding. Or did it? His next words took some of the sting away.

“Take me to the Tonkin cottage, Henry,” Devon ordered, vaulting lightly into the coach after lifting Katrina inside.

He lit the interior lantern, then jerked the curtains across the windows. Her relieved sigh only seemed to make him angrier. He flung a warm lap robe about her shoulders and drew it tight. He muttered through his teeth, “Don’t be too premature, my girl. If I don’t get the answers I want, I may still kidnap you again and take you back to my house, where you belong.” His hands dropped away, but he stayed poised on the seat edge so he could watch her face.

Sullenly Katrina settled into her cocoon. She stared over his shoulder, determined not to say a word.

“I’ll tolerate no more secrets ’tween us. Tell me why in the bloody hell you’ve taken it into your beetle brain to become a smuggler.” When he didn’t get a flicker of an eyelash in response, he added languidly, “It’s a crime in England, m’dear.” He patted her head.

That deliberate condescension did the trick. She threw his hands off and exploded.
“You
dare to lecture
me!
That’s a fine turn of events. Demon Devon moralizing. I’d laugh if I didn’t want to slap you senseless so badly.”

His handsome face lowered. “Go ahead, if it will make you listen to reason.” All his fears for her were bare in his pleading eyes.

Her anger collapsed, leaving her as lifeless as a broken fan. “You don’t understand, Devon. Never can, really, I suppose, through no fault of your own. Laws are made by men like you who know nothing of hunger. Only those like the Tonkins suffer for it. Yet if you check your own cellars, you’ll doubtless find a bottle of brandy or two.”

He made an impatient gesture. “You and the Tonkins won’t starve. I won’t allow it—”

Anger stirred again. She sat upright. “How generous of you!” She bobbed her head. “Thank ye, me lud. Such alms ye give to us poor folk—”

He caught her arms and hauled her to his chest. Neither of them noticed as the carriage jolted to a stop. “Yes, I want to be generous to you. Is offering you all my worldly goods, legally and morally, not enough?”

“No, it isn’t enough!” Katrina shouted. When he flinched and let her go, she sighed and caught his strong face between her hands. “Please, try to understand. I don’t want your largess, I want your love; I don’t want your refuge, I want your respect. And if I let you keep me I’ll have neither.”

Devon hauled her close again and groaned, ‘ ‘Ah Kat, I do respect you, and you know I love you. Why, why won’t you marry me?”

A soft finger covered his lips. “Shhh. Let’s not argue anymore. It serves no purpose, because I have no choice. Smuggling is the only work I could find.”

“You could have been raped tonight.”

There, it was out in the open.

She shivered. “I know. But Davie would have saved me, even if you hadn’t come along. I have friends among the smugglers, as well as foes.”

“Someday he may not be there. What do you plan to do about it?’ ’ He eyed her hopefully, but instead of giving him the words he obviously wanted, she gently pushed him away.

“Why, I’m going to learn to shoot.” She threw off the robes and reached for the carriage door.

His mouth gaped, then he sputtered, “Y-you twitter- witted . . . female!” He caught her hand. “What do you think that bastard will do if you pull a gun on him?”

“Leave me be, or learn how a sieve feels.” She pulled her hand away, shoved open the carriage door, and jumped down.

The bravado only seemed to make him angrier. He leaped down after her and uttered coldly, “Very well, do as you must, as shall I. The next time I see Hennessy, I’ll get him to tell me how a sieve feels.’ ’ When her eyes leaped to his face, he smiled nastily. “To satisfy your curiosity, of course. Anything to please a lady.”