April Moon (9 page)

Heart pounding, she nodded, aware that Bryson stood watching, his mouth hanging open, eyes intent. The dragoons sat passively on their horses, but their eyes were alive as well.

Taking her by the shoulders, Simon turned her so that her back was to the other men. The yardage of her long hooded cloak, tied at the throat, shielded her from the men’s leering glances.

But nothing would shield her from Simon Lockhart.

She stood motionless as he slipped his hands around her waist, skimming there, then tracing his fingers over her back, then her upper arms and gathered bodice. His touch was so featherlight that she scarcely felt it, yet tingles rushed through her, threatening to buckle her knees. Blushing, furious, she squeezed her eyes shut and stood in proud, motionless silence.

Far better that Simon Lockhart do this than Bryson, she thought. Although she had never been searched before, she knew women who had. Few had fared well in the officers’ keeping.

Simon dropped to one knee and slipped his hands under her skirt. She felt his fingers close around her left ankle, then slide upward over her drawers. His touch was warm, gentle, scarcely there, yet her heart leaped as he neared the top of her thigh. Moving his hands to the other leg, he skimmed downward.

She kept her eyes closed, wishing he would stop—and remembering the pleasures she had once known under his hands. Feeling a sharp and poignant longing, she fisted her hands, and knew that her cheeks were hot and blazing.

“Jeannie Simpson was a Highland widow,” Simon said, as he traced his palms over her hips, ruffling the fabric of her chemise, “who carried
whisky in bladderskins strung under her skirt. She transported the stuff every day, totalling gallons each month, riding past the excise man and greeting him as she went. She made a handsome income and kept her family nicely.”

“I am not a widow with a family to support,” she replied. “If I was, you can be sure I would have whisky bladders hanging under my skirt and flasks tucked in my bodice, and the de’il take the excise man.”

“I do not doubt it,” he murmured. His hands rounded over her behind, ran along the backs of her thighs. She took rapid little breaths. His touch still held magic for her, and she hated that fact. She wanted to shove him away as much as she wanted to feel his arms around her again, in another setting, in another mood. But that dream was not possible anymore.

He withdrew his hands, straightened her skirt hem and stood. She lifted a hand to slap him, but he caught it deftly in his and lowered it, concealing their joined hands in the folds of her cloak. “She’s carrying nothing,” he told Bryson. “She’s free to go.”

He guided her toward her cart and assisted her into the seat. All the while, her heart slammed, and she fought both her rising temper and the profound befuddlement brought on by his touch.

Simon looked up at her. “I apologize for the search,” he murmured.

“Sir, that is the least of your offenses with me,” she said, and snapped the reins.

“H
EY
,” B
RYSON CALLED
. “That lass is not headed home!”

“So I see,” Simon answered, already setting his foot into the stirrup to vault into his saddle. Taking the reins, he turned the black stallion’s head. “I’ll correct her direction. I want her out of the area tonight—something is afoot this evening.”

“Aye, those men we saw leading packhorses must be moving contraband somewhere. Bold rascals, to ignore a full moon. They dinna care if they’re seen.”

“We’ll need more men if we’re to do anything about it,” Simon said. “Ride back to Whithorn and appeal to the sheriff—I believe he’s still at the Tolbooth—for dragoons and rangers.”

“We can summon no more than ten or a dozen,” Bryson grumbled. “The shortage of revenue men is a problem here.”

“Do what you can.” Simon glanced toward the sky. “Those smugglers have something planned, and I mean to know what it is.”

“Aye, then. We’ll come back to the lookout point near the Kelpie’s Cave. Do ye know it?”

“I do,” Simon said, and turned the stallion’s head to ride after Jenny, while Bryson and the dragoons headed northeast.

The girl proved easier to catch this time, for her cart was proceeding at a more sedate pace. When Simon pulled up alongside once again, she glanced at him in surprise, then scowled.

“Have you nothing better to do, Sir Simon?”

“Miss Colvin, Glendarroch is to the north. You’re heading south,” he said pleasantly.

“It’s none of your concern where I’m going.”

“If you’re angry about the search, I don’t blame you. But Bryson was twitching to see what you keep under your skirts.”

“Then I suppose I should thank you for doing the gentlemanly thing,” she snapped, looking ahead as she drove the cart.

“You’re welcome. Now tell me where you’re going and why.”

“I’m going about my own business and you can go about yours.”

“I
am
going about mine,” he pointed out.

“Surely you have real brigands to catch. You needna prance after me all night.”

“Ah, Miss Colvin. Even more full of charm than I remember.” He reached out and took Sweetheart’s bridle again, slowing the cart and horse.
While Jenny stared at him, he dismounted, tied his horse’s lead to the back of the cart, and climbed inside to sit on the bench beside her. He took the reins from her hands.

“What is it you want?” she asked irritably.

“To escort you safely home. There are naughty men about in the night.”

“And you’re one of them. Hey, stop that—I willna go home,” she protested, as he snapped the reins to turn the bay’s head north for the hills that edged the Solway plains.

“I might be persuaded to escort you wherever you’re going, if you’ll tell me your business.”

“I doubt it.” She folded her arms.

“Trust me,” he said, leaning a shoulder toward her.

She flashed him a fuming glance in silence.

“Aye, well. You have a right to be perturbed with me.”

“I do. The way you left was…villainous.” She lifted her chin and looked away.

Simon glanced at her. In the moon’s pale glow, he saw deep hurt glimmer in her eyes, and he felt the blow of it in his own heart. Perhaps it was only what he deserved, but he could see that his intention of making amends would be a long road.

He watched her almost hungrily in the blue-gray light. God, how he had missed her, he thought. She took his breath with her simple yet uncommon
beauty. Delicately balanced features, eyes of a keen and lovely blue, the gleaming sweep of dark brown hair spilling over her shoulder in a single loose braid matched the memories he had kept close. She had changed only a little, leaner in the face, her form lush perfection. His quick search of her body earlier had proven that—and had nearly undone him.

Being with her nearly undermined the restraint and reserve he strived to keep about himself. For years, he had loved her and dreamed of her, and now he saw that her beauty and spirit had blossomed. The earnestness and honest intelligence he loved in her, the verve and strength he had always admired were still there. Her pride and temper still sparked, too.

In the past, he had also known her compassion and gentleness, and he had the knack of making her laugh when she was overly serious. But he would be hard pressed to coax a smile or a kind word from her tonight, he knew.

All he wanted, suddenly, was to see her smile again. Aware of the hurt he had dealt her, and knowing she was heartbroken and distressed over her father’s situation, he sighed.

“Jenny,” he said. “I did not mean for it to happen quite as it did. I had my reasons, but I can’t explain now, out here, with rascals about in the night.”

“I dinna want your explanation. I want—” She tossed her hands as if she had not yet decided.

“I think you want to be angry with me.”

“Aye, for now. And then I want to forget you.”

“I have not forgotten you.”

She was silent for a moment. “Why did you come back, Simon?”

“To gauge the whisky and count the copper coils in the hills, of course,” he said lightly. “To patrol the hills and cliffs at night, and stop rogues and smugglers from making tracks through the laws of king and Crown.”
And to find the friends and the winsome lass I lost,
he added to himself.

“You used to make tracks through the king’s laws yourself, and gladly.”

He shrugged. “I’ve reformed.”

“So have I,” she said. “I’m no longer a foolish wee lass eager to believe in bold, bonny Simon Lockhart.”

“I cannot blame you for that.”

“Then we agree on something.” She looked away, her gaze scanning the hills, black silhouettes against the purpling sky, with the luminous moon shining above a veil of clouds.

“Will you be collecting the copper coils wherever you can find them, to disable the stills?” she asked.

“Aye, some,” he said. “I will have rangers to assist me.”

“I expect you’ll offer to pay five pounds per coil, so that the locals will turn them in. Bryson and the other excise officer have done that here.”

“Aye, the revenue board wants that. Though I suspect that every man with a worn-out coil turns his own in, collects the fee, buys a new coil with the money and moves his still for good measure.” He lifted a brow.

“I have no idea,” she said, while Simon chuckled.

“Jane Colvin,” he said, using her christened name with mock sternness, “be honest, now. How many coils has Jock turned in?”

“Several every year from his own stills, which you will never find, for we willna cooperate with a gauger who is a traitor to us,” she said. “Is that honest enough for you?”

“Painfully,” he replied.

“Why did you leave without a word, without warning?”

“I thought you did not want to know why.”

“I’m just curious.”

“I’ll tell you, but…not yet.”
I left because I loved you that much, Jenny Colvin, and wanted to protect you,
he thought to himself.
And because I wanted to make a better life than smuggling for both of us.
But now he must make his way carefully into her heart again. Love had sent him away, and
so had pride. Though the love had sustained him, he battled the pride still.

“Will you be there?” she asked softly.

“Be where?” He glanced at her.

“When my father—when they—the gallows are ready for tomorrow morning.”

“I will be there,” he said. “I owe Jock that much. And you.”

She lowered her head in silence.

“I’m sorry, Jenny,” he said softly.
Sorry for Jock and sorry for all my secrets.

“’Tis wrong to hang a good man, even if he does a bit of free trading now and then. And he’s no horse thief.”

“Jock told me the same. The sheriff says differently. What the devil—” He pulled up on the reins, slowing the cart as he looked ahead.

A group of men rode toward them, ten or twelve in all, leading horses. Wondering if they were part of the group he had seen earlier, Simon put a hand beneath his coat to touch the polished wood-and-steel grip of his pistol.

“Those are my kinsmen,” Jenny said.

“Ah, Jock Colvin’s own. The Royal—what is it they call themselves?”

“The Royal Defiance Bladder Band,” she said. “They were angry with the king’s laws at the time they made that up.”

“And fou,” he drawled.

“Very fou,” she agreed, and when he chuckled, she did, too. The sound warmed his heart. “They’re rather fond of Glendarroch whisky,” she went on. “After all, ’tis the best in Solway, and perhaps all Scotland.”

“All four hundred ninety-nine gallons of it,” he drawled.

“Tax-free,” she agreed blithely. Simon rolled his eyes.

The man in the lead waved. “Jenny Colvin!”

“Uncle Felix!” she called. Simon halted the cart as the men came nearer.

“Jenny, what’s this? Ye shouldna be about in the moonlight. And what are ye doing wi’ my niece, sir?” Felix growled. He stepped forward, a large man with a craggy face and a dark beard.

Simon nodded. “Felix Colvin, greetings to you.”

“Lockhart! You’re back!” Felix grinned. “Alive, and returned to us! A miracle!” He turned to his kinsmen, cousins all, Simon knew, recognizing many of them. “Lockhart o’ Lockhart has come back at last!” Two or three smiled and greeted him, while the others frowned, unwelcoming and suspicious.

“Hey, lads,” Simon said, though the cool reception of some of his former comrades bothered him more than he cared to show. Well, he told himself, it was part of the price he must pay to come back to Glendarroch and the Solway shores again.

“Lass, take the cart home,” Felix said. “Simon, ye’ll come wi’ us, and tell us where ye’ve been, and join us this evening—”

“Hush, Felix,” Jenny warned.

“—we’re off for a wee bit o’ sport, as it were,” Felix continued.

“A ship coming along the coast?” Simon asked.

“Hush it, Felix!” Jenny said, more loudly.

“Aye, a lugger from the Isle o’ Man, keen to trade French goods for fine Scottish whisky—and we plan to—”

“He’s an excise man!” Jenny blurted.

“Nahhh,” Felix said. “Simon? Nah.”

“Actually, I am,” Simon agreed. “Chief Customs and excise officer, newly appointed to my commission.”

“What?” Felix set his hand warily on a hidden dirk.

“He’s not looking to arrest you,” Jenny said. “But do not be quick to share secrets with him.”

“Aye,” Felix said grimly.

Simon frowned. “If there’s a ship expected this evening, I’d like to know about it.”

“Ship?” Felix asked. “Who said aught about a ship?”

“Then what fine sport are you lads up to?” Simon asked.

“We’re off to visit wi’ Jock,” Felix said. “’Tis all.”

“Bringing him a hot toddy and a word of comfort, are you?”

“Sure,” Felix agreed. He glowered at Simon. “I want to know how ye became a gauger, when we tutored ye in the free trade. And I want to know what happened that night ye disappeared wi’ Jock’s cargo. That was a blow to all of us.” He glanced at Jenny.

“Circumstances,” Simon said. “One day I’ll explain.”

“I might want to hear it,” Felix said, “or not. ’Twill depend on what sort o’ gauger ye prove to be. Jenny—take the cart back to Glendarroch and stay there. Simon, if that’s yer horse tied there, I recommend ye ride out. Sir,” he added, resting a hand on his dirk.

“I’ll see Miss Colvin back to Glendarroch,” Simon answered.

“I can see myself home,” Jenny said.

“There’s rogues about,” Felix said. “Ye’ll go with Simon.”

“But Felix,” she murmured, “I have something else to do.”

Felix nodded, and a spark of awareness seemed to pass between uncle and niece. Simon was unsurprised that neither of them offered to enlighten the preventive officer.

Simon lifted the reins of the cart, about to bid Felix farewell, when a lanky youth ran toward
them, having dismounted while they spoke. Simon recognized him as Felix’s youngest lad and Jenny’s cousin, nearly grown to manhood. He approached the wagon, nodded shyly to Simon, and looked up at Jenny.

“Nicky, what is it?” she asked.

“Jenny, I wanted to tell you—” Nicky leaned toward her. “Walter and I saw the Beauty tonight! We came back and told Da, and he said none of us were to go near the cliffs tonight.”

“The Beauty!” Jenny looked at her uncle. “What did you see?”

“It was pale as the moon, running along the cliffs near the beach, just as high tide was coming in,” Nicky said. “I’ve never seen such a sight. A bonny horse, perfectly white—it near glowed with fairy magic. It reared up its forelegs, then galloped away and disappeared. Walter ran,” Nicky added. “But I stayed to watch. It galloped behind some rocks, and I saw it no more.”

“Nicky, that’s amazing,” Jenny said. “Are you sure?”

“Och, aye. A fine sight, but a bad omen.”

“The Beauty?” Simon asked. “That old legend?”

Jenny turned to him. “Do you remember the tale of the Beauty? A kelpie sort of creature, a white horse that sometimes appears out of the sea on the night of a full moon.”

“Aye, generally before some catastrophe strikes. But it’s not seen often, as I recall.”

“Not often,” Felix agreed. “But it appears now and again along our part of the Solway coast, and has for centuries. I’ve never seen it myself. ’Tis a poor omen indeed.” He glanced toward the full moon, nesting briefly in some high dark clouds. “Some poor soul will meet his fate this night. And it’s ill timing, too, what with the—well.” He stopped and glanced at Simon.

“I saw a large group of men traveling earlier this evening, north of here,” Simon said. “About thirty men and twice as many horses, many of them sturdy pack animals with panniers on their backs. Free traders, certainly, to walk out so boldly at night. Were you lads with them?”

“Them? Och, nay.” Felix shook his head. “That’ll be Cap’n MacSorley’s band. We worked beside them years back, when you were still wi’ us, Simon Lockhart—Sir Simon.”

“So I recall,” Simon murmured. Angus MacSorley was of an age with Jock and Felix, and Simon had been part of many smuggling raids involving the three smugglers and their men.

“MacSorley and his lot are more pirates than free traders these days. Jock and me have naught to do wi’ that band now.” Felix fixed Simon with a dark stare. “Do ye wonder if MacSorley had a hand in Jock’s plight? I’d say ’tis so.”