A Stranger's Touch

‘I shall do my best for you, sir. As you know, I have a small talent for sketching and I shall let it be known that I have come to draw and paint the charm of the Cornish coast.’

‘Charm?’ Lord Henry shook his head impatiently. ‘In my opinion ‘tis a god-forsaken place, but I dare say the excuse will make a good cover for you. I wish you well, Melford. If you discover anything important, get word to me as soon as you can.’

‘I shall make arrangements for my men to travel independently and if there is anything to report one of them will bring word to you at once.’

‘Then all I can say is God keep and save you. His Majesty is in your debt, sir.’

‘I ask for no reward,’ Rupert replied and grinned, his blue eyes dancing with humour. ‘In truth the mission is reward in itself, for I was bored and restless.’

‘I heard that you lost the lady you were to wed. I am sorry for it, Rupert.’

‘The marriage was arranged when we were born,’ Rupert replied and a cloud passed across his face. ‘I loved my sweet Jane, but the fever claimed her before we could marry. I am sorry for it—and no doubt it is a part of the reason I felt I needed something more in my life. Had I not received your letter, I would have been on my way to France tomorrow to visit my cousins.’

His true reason lay deeper, but was not one he wished to discuss for it was a festering hurt that lay buried deep inside him; one he had tried many times to dismiss, but which returned to haunt him when he least expected it.

‘Then I was fortunate to find you in England. I shall bid you good day, sir—and good luck.’

Rupert nodded. He was thoughtful as he left Westminster Hall and began to make his way through the streets of London. His ship was provisioned and waiting for him. He would travel to his destination by way of the sea rather than on horseback. His trusted men could take the land route and establish themselves in the area quietly. If dealing with smugglers, it might be useful to have his own ship close at hand just in case.

For a moment he thought of Jane Follet, the young woman he had been betrothed to since they were both little more than children. As fond as he’d been of Jane, it had not been a raging passion. He had wanted to wed her, to give her the care he sensed she needed, because the children they would have might fill the emptiness inside him. Fate had decreed it was not to be and he had accepted it. He had promised he would marry a girl of good family for the sake of the family and in time he would keep his word, but as yet he had not been able to bring himself to offer for any of the young women brought to his attention.

An oath left his lips, for the matter was one that troubled him, though he tried to ignore it. He’d given his word and must keep it, because of that dark happening in his past. Not yet! He was not ready to take a wife. It was too soon after poor Jane’s death.

Rupert had his mistress, a feisty dark-haired wench he visited when the need took him. Since he would be away for some weeks, perhaps longer, he might call on Mollie and make certain she had enough money to tide her over until she could find a new protector—just in case he did not return.

Mollie was the only one who would miss him. The only one who would care—and perhaps she only cared because he kept her in luxury?

Was it possible to find love? To find someone who would make his heart sing and his body throb with needy passion? Mollie satisfied his basic needs, but not this inner loneliness. It was too strong a word and yet since he was a young boy and his elder brother had died there had been this empty place inside him.

He frowned. It was foolish to think of the past or of the aching regret that still lived with him day and night.

Rupert had work to do and he would do it well, even if it meant risking his life. After all, it hardly mattered if he lived or died.

Chapter One

‘There’s a ship in trouble in Deacon’s Cove.’ Morwenna Morgan looked up as her elder brother, Michael, entered the kitchen where she sat with her younger brother, Jacques, and her servant Bess, eating her supper. ‘I’m going down to see if I can help the survivors.’

‘I’m with you …’ Jacques leaped to his feet, closely followed by Morwenna and Bess, and the kitchen became a hive of activity as they gathered ropes, hooks, grappling irons, lanterns and their weapons.

A shipwreck would bring the villagers to the beach and sometimes fights broke out over the spoils. It needed a firm hand to control them and on occasion, Michael had been forced to fire a musket over their heads.

‘Not you, Morwenna,’ Michael said as she reached for her shawl. ‘There’s no need for you to come.’

‘I shan’t be in your way, Michael.’

‘Do as you’re told,’ he snarled. ‘Stay here and make yourself useful. We’ll need hot food and drinks when we get back.’

Morwenna’s hand dropped to her side. She saw Jacques glance at her and smile, giving him a proud look in return. Waiting until the sound of the men’s voices had gone, she picked up her shawl and wrapped it over her head.

‘Where are you going?’ Bess asked. ‘You heard what Michael said. He wants you here for when they return.’

‘I’ll be back in time to help,’ Morwenna said. ‘I can’t just stay here while people out there are in trouble. Michael doesn’t own me even if he thinks he does.’

‘You know his temper, girl. Your brothers will do all that is necessary.’

Morwenna tossed her head and went out, ignoring the dark look from Bess. It was bitterly cold as she made her way down the cliff towards the cove. She could see that the main beach was teeming with people. A ship had been driven on to the rocks and foundered. She could see figures in the water. Men were swimming out towards the wreck. She knew her brothers would be amongst the first, ropes tied to their waists that were held by others on shore. It was true that she was not needed on the main beach, but, as she knew from experience, sometimes men were carried by the tide round a spur of rock to another smaller cove. Turning aside, she scrambled down a path towards the inlet. As she’d known, no one else had thought of the cove and the tiny beach was deserted … apart from a man stumbling up the beach.

From his manner, she could see that he was injured. As she ran towards him, he fell to the ground and slumped forwards to lay face down on the sand. She threw herself down on her knees and rolled him on to his back. The moon was bright and she could see a nasty gash on his head, which was bleeding. His eyes were closed and for a moment she feared that he might be dead, but then he moaned, his eyelids flicked and he looked up at her.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Morwenna Morgan and I’ve come to help you,’ she said. ‘Your ship was wrecked, sir, and the current brought you towards this cove.’

‘Mor …’ He groaned again. ‘My head hurts … I can’t … I can’t remember …’

His eyes closed and she knew he had lost consciousness again. She would need to get help if she wanted to take him back to the house. Standing, she was preparing to run to the next beach when she saw a man coming towards her and knew it was Jacques.

‘I knew you would be here,’ he said as he came up to her. ‘This is where you found the others. Is he still alive?’

‘He was conscious for a moment, but I think he has passed out again.’

Jacques bent over him. ‘Help me get him up, Wenna. I’ll carry him over my shoulder. Did he have anything with him?’

‘Yes, there is a bag just at the water’s edge. He must have dropped it,’ she said and ran to retrieve what was possibly all that had survived of the stranger’s possessions. As she rejoined her brother, she nodded at the unconscious man. ‘He’s had a nasty bang on the head, Jacques. He will need nursing or he may die.’

‘He’s lucky you found him then,’ her brother said. ‘Most of the men they’ve pulled out are already drowned. One is badly injured and may not last the night—but there were no women or children that we could see. There was some cargo, a few barrels of rum or brandy. The villagers will have them away before the militia gets here. Give me a hand and I’ll put him over my shoulder.’

Like her brothers, Morwenna came from strong stock and she helped Jacques to hoist the unconscious man over Jacques’s shoulder. Going ahead of them, she held her lantern to show Jacques the way. Because this cove was nearer to the house than the main beach, they would be home in time to have the injured man in bed before the other men returned.

Bess stared at them, shaking her head as they entered.

‘Now what have you done, girl?’ she muttered. ‘There’ll be trouble over this, you mark my words.’

‘We couldn’t leave him to die. We’ll take him up to the spare room.’

She followed behind her brother, ignoring Bess’s grumbling. The bed was already made up and Morwenna pulled back the clean if slightly shabby sheets.

Jacques soon had the stranger stripped of his wet things and his long boots, while Morwenna hurried back down to the kitchen and helped Bess to boil kettles. The stewpot was always kept bubbling away on nights like this, for they simply added meat and vegetables to what was left of supper to make a nourishing soup.

When Michael came home the soup was ready for him and a couple of the men that crewed his ship; they’d helped on the beach and accompanied him home for some warming food as a reward. Morwenna ladled the nourishing soup into thick earthenware bowls. Served with chunks of bread baked earlier that day, it was a filling meal for men who had fought the sea.

‘I found one survivor in the inlet,’ Jacques said as he entered the kitchen, giving his sister a warning look. ‘He’s in the small guestroom upstairs. For the moment he’s unconscious, but I think he will recover—unless the fever takes him.’

Michael glared at him. ‘What manner of man is he? Did you find anything on him of value—anything to tell you whether he’s worth a ransom? Any form of identity?’

‘He was wearing good breeches and boots,’ Jacques said. ‘He had nothing in his breeches pockets and the sea must have taken his coat. Yet by the look of him I would say he was of good family. If Morwenna nurses him, he will likely pay her well for her trouble.’

Michael glared at him, then turned his dark gaze on her. ‘Are you willing, girl?’