April Moon (16 page)

He glanced up at the moon, pale and bright as it hovered over the glittering sea. “Aye, my love.”

She opened her lips under his, touching her tongue to his. The thrill of that tenderness spiralled through him, crown to foot, as did the ecstasy of knowing that she wanted him, that she loved him.

Freedom was at hand at last for him, after so long in a prison of his own making. He pulled her to him, framed her face in his hands and let the kisses go wild, let them grow fiery and mellow, as certain and hot in their power as the finest whisky on the tongue. Kisses like white fire, sinking straight to the heart, hot and powerful.

She sighed and rubbed his wrists where the scars marked the pain he could finally release. The
wound in his arm was forgotten already, its dull ache fading in a tapestry of caresses and kisses. Her hands soothed over his body, and his gentled over hers. He traced his lips along the sweet column of her throat, pulled her fast into his embrace, drank deeply of her with lips and with all of his senses.

Moving a little, he braced his back against cold, black rock, felt as if he could draw strength from the massive cliffside. The whisky still warmed his blood, but it was Jenny’s own natural fire that heated him, heart and soul.

She leaned with him, and he slid his hands to her waist and downward, cupping her behind and pressing her tighter against his hardness. He was more than ready for her, but he made himself go slowly, for he did not want to rush her, or rush this.

But she seemed impatient, for she slanted her hips into his boldly. “Do not stop now,” she whispered against his lips. “We have been apart so long, and no one can find us here. Simon,” she whispered, as he dragged his mouth from hers, “the moon is magic tonight, and the dawn will bring too many changes—please, love me now, while the world is far away, and our secrets are safe.”

He groaned, swept his hands over the curve of her back, flared over her slender hips. He pulled her against him and she tightened her arms around his neck and kissed him deep and slow and tender. He burned for her touch, ached for it, when he cupped
her breasts together, stroking the nipples to firmness. Moaning, she arched toward him, and her hands traced a path along his back and his arms, gently avoiding the wound she had tended for him.

Then he turned her with him, leaning her against the dark inner wall of the snug crevice that held them so intimately. He entwined her fingers in his and lifted her arms, held her captive while he kissed her, explored her with his lips, kissed her cheek, her throat, her breasts, a rain of all the kisses he owed her for his absence, flowing over her like hot stars.

She swayed with him, rocked against him, her hands straining under his. Then he released one of her hands to slide his fingers down her skirt, lifting the dark printed cotton, seeking beneath gauzy underclothing, torn for him, until he touched her inner thighs gently, where the open slit in her drawers emanated the warmth of her body. His heart beat faster, his body surged, and for a moment he thought of the search he had been forced to make of her earlier.

He would have killed any man who had touched her like this. Pausing, he closed his eyes, breathing hard. But she gave a moan like kittenish fire, sweeping herself against his fingers, pleading. His fingers discovered her, teased, delved into honeyed softness, so that she cried out, moving against his bold touch.

She fumbled at his waistband, pulled at his buttons, shaped the hard contour in his trousers, and soon she freed him, pulled him against her. Her gown rucked up between them, fabrics sliding, and they impatiently pushed at clothing, tugged, until flesh met flesh, and hearts and breath joined in a hard, fast rhythm. He lifted her slightly, her back against the rock.

The moonlight showed her clearly to him for a moment, her eyes closed in ecstasy, the pale oval of her face blissful. The sight made him wild for her, and he kissed her lips, deep and lingering, then lifted her a little in one arm.

She wrapped her legs around him, muscles firm and strong, and then she opened for him. A moment later, her heat sank over him so exquisitely that he groaned, but kept himself still.

Unable to bear it any longer, he moved with her, and she welcomed it with a moan. Slowly, surely, he went deeper, then began to thrust, until the power of his love for her, and his need for her, burst through him like the sea pounding the cliff rocks below.

Wrapped in his arms, she tossed her head back and began to cry out, shivering with him, and he kissed her into silence, taking her cry into himself.

F
AINT BUT DEFINITE
, the noise startled Jenny so that she jumped a little, resting in Simon’s arms. Held safe there, filled with a deep, blissful sense of comfort and love, she had nearly fallen asleep, as he had.

Now she heard the eerie, high-pitched scream she had heard hours ago, when she had first entered the sea cave. Shivers ran down her spine. Sitting away from the drowsy shelter of his arm, she looked around. “Simon, listen—the horse!”

“Aye.” Simon went to the inner split in the rock to look toward the passageway. “They’re moving her.”

Listening, Jenny heard the chink of iron shoes on stone, and heard the muffled low tones of the men’s voices. “Oh, God,” she said. “If they take her away and sell her off, we’ll lose the chance to free my father. We have to stop them somehow.”

Standing, Simon went to the opening in the cliff side to look over the half wall toward the sea. Re
moving a spyglass from his inner pocket, he extended it and held it to his eye.

Joining him, Jenny looked far out over the sea, where dark, gleaming waves were touched with a lacy froth. The moon, round as a silver coin, hovered closer to the horizon than before. Hours had passed, and all too soon dawn would brighten the sky.

And then her father would be led to the gallows.

“Damn,” Simon murmured. “Just as I thought. Look.” He handed her the sleek wood-and-brass tube. “A ship is approaching from the southwest. It’s not a cutter, which could belong to smugglers or the revenue board, but a lugger, by the set of the sails.”

She peered through the spyglass and found the dark shape skimming the ocean horizon. Square sails marked it as one of the small, blunt-nosed luggers often used for transporting cargo along the coastline of England and Scotland.

“Damnation,” she whispered.

Simon glanced at her. “Do you recognize it?”

“It looks like one of the ships that come across now and then from the Isle of Man,” she said. “My father and my kinsmen may have met that ship before. It’s heading toward this shore.” She handed the telescope back to him. “If it’s the ship and captain I’m thinking of, they regularly trade with France.”

He closed the spyglass and slipped it into his pocket. “Then that’s why they’re so busy this evening moving cargo down to the sea cave. They mean to meet this ship to trade those goods.”

“And the horse.”

“So it seems. They could easily sell the Connemara off to France, and no one could ever trace her. They only need to wait for the tide to pull out some to get her out there. And it’s already receding,” he added, leaning over the breast-high rock ledge to look down. “In another hour or so, the horse will be able to wade far out.”

“There’s a sandbar out there, where they can set a plank to bring the horse into the lugger.” Jenny laid her hand on his sleeve. “Simon, please—I know you’re an excise man now, and you gave up a good deal for my father’s sake once before…but please help him again. We must stop them from taking that horse away.”

He watched out to sea, his handsome profile clearly defined in moonlight and shadows. Behind them, in the passage, the horse neighed again, faintly heard through layers of rock. Simon turned his head to look down at her in pensive, grim silence.

“You know Jock is innocent,” she said.

“Aye.” He paused. “I sent Bryson and the dragoons to fetch reinforcements before I was shot, and fell into the caves. I was to meet them near the
cliffs. Even without me, they should spot the activities in the sea cave, and send men down there.”

“Felix was planning to come, too. We canna chance waiting.”

He nodded. “If we can escape by the landward passage, we’ll have plenty of willing assistance to stop MacSorley.”

“I wish we could bring the horse out, too—but they have her now.” Jenny sighed.

“Wait here.” Simon bent to enter the narrow gap. Jenny rushed to kneel there, and Simon reached out to touch her cheek. “I mean it, love. Stay here, where you’ll be safe. I’ll be back.”

“Simon—”

“I’ll be back for you, Jenny. Nothing could keep me away.”

“I know, love,” she murmured. “Your leaving doesna worry me. I just want to be with you, to help you.”

He touched her cheek for a moment, then turned to disappear into the shadows.

Once she heard his faint footsteps out in the narrow crevice, Jenny rucked up her skirts and slid through the gap.

S
IMON WAS
hardly surprised when Jenny came up silently behind him. He had not expected her to wait docilely—that simply was not in her nature. For good measure, he sent her a scowl, then lifted
a hand to keep her safely in the shadows behind him.

Leaning to peer out in the passageway, he heard the horse neigh, then saw the mare buck, tail sweeping the air, shoes ringing on stone. The men around her were preoccupied with calming her and moving her along.

Simon turned to Jenny. “Wait…please,” he whispered, and kissed her lips swiftly, feeling a sudden tender rush of love, desire and a hint of fear, as well, on her behalf. Seeing that the horse’s sidestepping had thoroughly distracted the smugglers, Simon moved into the passageway and dipped into the shadows.

“What was that?” One of the men turned, holding up a lantern. “I saw something.”

“’Twas naught—damn this devilish beast,” the older MacSorley answered as he struggled with the lead rope. “We’ve got to get her doon to the water, whether she wants it or nay. The
Jupiter
has been sighted—’twill soon be close to shore, and they’ll be expecting this fine cargo.”

“Aye, and that beast and Jock Colvin’s best whisky will fetch us a good price,” one of the men, a new arrival, said.

Hearing that gruff tone, Simon peered out from the shadows and saw Angus MacSorley.

“Though I wonder where the de’il that new gauger got to,” Angus said then. “I didna tell ye
to wound the man, just keep him away from the cliffs.”

“He ran off somewhere—likely to find himself a physician, and fetch more dragoons. We’ll take care o’ this cargo afore he returns.”

“Besides, by dawn he’ll want to stay in town to see Jock Colvin hang,” the eldest man said, holding the lantern high.

That was all he needed to hear, Simon thought. But one man and one woman could do little to stop them just now. He had to get out through the landward entrance to meet Bryson and the dragoons—and he had to get Jenny out of here quickly.

He peered past the out-thrust in the rock that hid him from sight. Not fifteen feet away, he saw the white horse, her lead held by the older man he had seen earlier. Four other men came from the direction of the storage cave, hoisting two casks of whisky each on their shoulders. They paused hesitantly, unable to make their way around past the Connemara, while the older MacSorley and another man struggled to tug her along.

“We’ll get her onto the lugger, and she’ll be sold off soon enough and no longer our problem,” the older man said.

Angus nodded. “Shame to give her up—she’s done well for us these months.”

“Aye, the legend—but we’ll find another white horse to continue it,” his cousin answered. “I wish
we’d thought of it years ago. It keeps the locals away, and the excise men, too.”

“Well, the beast will be off to France, and Jock will have his hanging,” the older man said, “and we’ll own the whisky trade along the Solway shore.” He gave a celebratory whoop, which echoed in the passage, and only startled the horse further. She kicked out, forelegs beating the air, her cries reverberating.

Simon glanced back at Jenny, who stood in dark shadows. He could see her wide eyes and angry, tightened mouth. She had clearly been listening, and took a step forward as if she meant to do something about what she had heard.

Simon held up a cautioning hand. Then he removed his coat, dropping it into the shadows, and reached upward to grasp the rock. Testing the strength of his left arm, he found it still painful but capable enough with the bleeding stopped.

Stealthily, bathed in shadows and unnoticed by the men, Simon swarmed up a toothy section of the rock wall.

J
ENNY NEARLY
gasped aloud when she looked up to see Simon balanced on a lip of the rock. Pressing close to the wall inside the narrow crevice, she watched him climb upward through the darkness. Glancing toward the passageway, she saw the elder MacSorley cousin pulling the horse along the
corridor. And she saw that Angus MacSorley was with them.

Wondering what Simon intended to do, she watched, biting her lip anxiously. Blending into the shadows high on the wall, he slowly stood, booted feet precariously balanced on a ledge about eight or ten feet above the floor of the cave. The smugglers, focused on the behavior of the restive horse, ducked to avoid her whipping hooves. None of them noticed the man who inched along the ledge above the level of their heads, hidden by darkness.

As one of the men yanked on the lead rope, pulling the Connemara down the corridor, the mare advanced a few steps, then whickered and stomped the ground.

Simon crouched and whistled softly, the sound reverberating eerily in the cave. Then he stepped out into plain air and dropped neatly onto the horse’s bare back.

Pandemonium erupted as the horse reared, pawing the air, and the smugglers staggered frantically out of the way. One dove down the corridor, and Angus stumbled to his knees while the eldest man fell over him. Those who carried casks dropped them hastily and ducked, so that kegs and men seemed to roll on the floor.

Heart pounding, Jenny watched, fisting her hand against her mouth to keep from crying out. One of
the smugglers fell near her and slid past with a grunt, knocking his head against rock.

She looked up again to see Simon winding the fingers of one hand in the horse’s mane. Reaching out with the other hand, he snatched at the headrope. The older smuggler still had hold of it, though he had been thrown back against the wall. Leaning forward, releasing his hold on the Beauty’s mane, Simon slipped the little knife from his belt, cut the taut rope and freed the horse from the smuggler’s hold.

Jamming the knife into his belt, he used the shortened bridle rope, the mane, the strength of his knees and sheer instinctive skill to control her as she bucked and whirled about.

“Jenny!” he called, as the horse kicked out, knocking over another man who began to rise to his feet. “Jenny!” He glanced over his shoulder, then turned the horse’s head.

Dashing into the corridor, skirting two men who lay dazed or unconscious on the ground, Jenny ran the few feet toward the horse. Whistling, cajoling, pulling with the headrope so that the horse was forced to circle and could no longer buck, Simon calmed the horse enough so that it stood, breathing heavily.

Leaning to stretching out his right arm, Simon beckoned urgently to Jenny. She ran toward him, leaping upward as he grasped her forearm and
pulled. A moment later she was seated astride the horse’s flanks behind Simon, holding on to his waist as he turned the horse again.

Leaning forward, he urged the Connemara down the corridor. Iron shoes echoing loudly against the rock, breath bellowing, the horse plunged into the darkness.

Jenny clung to Simon, bent low with him. Glancing back, she saw some of the men get to their feet and begin pounding after them in pursuit, their shouts reverberating from the walls.

As Simon guided the horse around the crazy turns in the maze of tunnels, Jenny kept her head low, as he did, too, for the ceiling heights varied from one channel through the rock to the next. As they turned down the short stem toward the landward exit, Simon turned to look at her.

“The door,” he said. “You’ll have to open it.” He slowed the horse, which stomped and snorted. While Simon soothed the Beauty with a stroking hand and a calm voice, he gave Jenny support as she slid from her perch, feet smacking on stone.

Stumbling to her knees, she rose and ran for the end of the tunnel and the ramp of rock that led upward to the stone that blocked the exit. Behind her, Simon brought the horse closer, dismounted and walked the animal the rest of the way.

Hearing shouts and stomping feet as MacSorley’s men came down the tunnel in pursuit, Jenny tugged
on the iron ring embedded in the stone door. She threw her weight back until the stone yielded and swung inward on its hinges.

Pushing it wide, she felt cool, fresh air and glimpsed moonlight above layers of earth and grass. The ramp in the tunnel continued past the stone slab to the level of the moor. The exit opened out of the side of a hillock amid a heavy cluster of boulders, screened by bracken and grasses.

She stepped aside to allow Simon to pass as he tugged the Connemara forward with the rope. Suddenly the animal snorted, sensing fresh outside air, and tried to barrel past Simon to escape. Holding the lead to avoid losing the horse once it got outside, Simon managed to climb out first, then turned to coax the horse through. Avoiding the dangerous hooves and the powerful flanks, Jenny helped guide the horse from behind.

Little cajoling was needed, for the Connemara gave a desperate neigh and clambered out quickly, if awkwardly, soon planting its four feet on soft turf, lifting its head to whicker in clear relief for a moment.

While the horse grazed a little, Simon reached down to help Jenny scramble outside. She fell to her knees in cool, dewy grass, then looked up. Bathed in moonlight, the moor seemed a magical, wondrous place. Jenny glanced around, feeling as
if she had never seen it before, or saw it with new vision.

Then, through the opened hole slanted into rock and earth, she heard the angry roars of men pounding along the tunnel. Simon dove for the slab and pulled on its iron handle, groaning with the effort as he yanked it closed on its hinges. Just as the smugglers streamed toward the door, he slammed it into place. Their shouts were suddenly muffled and then silenced.

Simon grabbed a nearby rock and jammed it through the handle for a makeshift lock. “That will hold them, but only for a bit,” he said. “Now where is that—” He turned where he stood, looking at the ground, walking in a circle around the concealed entrance.

“What are you searching for?”