Chapter Fifteen

Though Red's head thudded a little, he was certainly nowhere near as ill as he had been once they boarded the mail coach late on Thursday evening. They were the only travelers for which he was grateful as it meant he could spread his legs and get comfortable. A little achiness resided in his muscles and his voice was hoarse. However, Hannah's diligent care had meant he'd recovered well enough to continue their journey.

"Do you have the stone?" she asked, removing her bonnet and placing it on her lap.

"Of course. I'm not a fool."

"I was only checking. You have been very tired these past few days."

"It's there." He nudged the object with his foot.

"Good. Hopefully we shall make Plymouth by tomorrow evening."

"As long as no other disasters befall us."

"I am sure all will be well. You can hardly blame the stone for your illness. That was entirely your fault."

"Oh yes, I summoned the rains, did I not?"

"You could have taken the time to dry yourself or change your shirt, but you were too busy trying to be a man." She dropped her voice for the last part, imitating some kind of manly tone. He chuckled.

She laughed too, and the sound warmed him from the inside out.

"Well, I have learned my lesson though I shall admit, it was not all terrible being nursed back to health."

She lifted a brow. "Oh?"

The coach began to move, and she gripped the window ledge to prevent her from rocking forward. Red could not help putting out his arm and pinning her back against the seat until the motion had steadied.

Though it was growing late, the day had decided to bless them with a stunning sunset. Orange and pink streamed across the sky, broken up by a few thin lines of grey cloud. The colors lit the interior of the carriage, allowing him to look directly into Hannah's eyes. He held her gaze for a moment. Perhaps because he was unable to do anything else or perhaps because he simply enjoyed looking at her. It had become somewhat of a habit, observing her. Yes, he had done it throughout their acquaintance, but his sickness had taught him to look closer.

While he had been abed, she had begun copying the script from the stone. She would sit with her lips pursed, a tiny crinkle between her brows and lead stains on her fingers. If she touched her face, she left a mark, and he would long to reach forward and rub it off. Hannah St. John was more intriguing than he could have ever imagined.

He broke the look and settled back into the seat before he got himself in trouble.

"You were an excellent nurse," he said.

"Really? I do seem to recall you saying I was a terrible nurse."

He grinned. "You said I was a terrible patient."

"You were. You are. I stand entirely by those words." She straightened her back, but a smile teased her lips. "The worst patient I have ever nursed."

"Well, you may not have enjoyed nursing me, but I will not complain. You can be very tender, Hannah."

She peered out of the window at the sunset, seeming to take a moment to enjoy it. When she turned to eye him, the golden color skimmed her cheek, smoothing her features to a beautiful perfection.

"You seem surprised that I have a tender side."

"Not surprised." He flicked a curl out from behind her ear. "The light makes your hair shiny."

She batted his hand away. "Do not change the subject, Red. Do I seem so very heartless?"

"Not heartless as such but..."

"But?"

"You subscribe to logic."

"I do."

"In my experience, people like yourself—those who care mostly for intellectual pursuits—cannot summon up much empathy for the sick."

She shook her head. "You really do think me heartless."

"I never said such a thing, and besides, I knew from the beginning you were not or else you would not risk trekking across the country for your father."

"I wanted to ensure the stone was safe too."

"You cannot tell me you would do the same for just any man."

She pursed her lips. "I suppose not."

"See? Wrapped in that bluestocking exterior is a sweet, caring woman, and I am honored to have met her."

Hanna narrowed her eyes to slits at him. "If you think I will take bluestocking as an insult, you are wrong. I am happy to be classed as one."

"I did not mean it as an insult." He sat back again, drawing his hat over his face. "If you will insist on taking everything I say the wrong way, I think I shall give up."

Her exasperated huff made him smile, but he managed to pinch it into a bored expression and close his eyes. Teasing her was far too much fun. He suspected they could go on for days. Hannah would never let herself be defeated. Better to let her stew for a little while before continuing.

He did indeed manage to drift off but awoke when they stopped to feed and water the horses. The night had taken over the sky and left it star speckled. He peered up at it out of the window and stared until he could see no single patch of black sky without spotting yet more stars.

Hannah stirred beside him. "Are we there yet?"

He smiled at her sleepy expression. "Not yet. Go back to sleep."

"It's a beautiful night," she mumbled before resting her head against his shoulder.

"Yes, it is," he agreed, watching her eyes close and face relax.

She slept, even as the horses were tethered and they started on their way again. As light from several cottage windows stole into the carriage, Red took the opportunity to study Hannah's relaxed expression. What a conundrum she was—all complex intellect and demanding courage combined with what he suspected was a bit of a silly sense of humor and a great deal of softness. Only a caring woman would go as far as she did for her father.

He contemplated this—and why it intrigued him—until he fell asleep, still none the wiser. When he next awoke, the scent of sea salt teased him awake, and he could hear the squawk of seagulls. He eased open one eye, then the other and bright light broke through his sleepiness. He grimaced. When he tried to move, his neck gave an almighty crack. Likely once he attempted to move the rest of him, every other joint would behave in a similar fashion.

He was bold enough to twist his head to view Hannah but winced as his muscles screamed in protest. Having been ill combined with sleeping on a chair designed for anything but had left him feeling about eighty.

She turned a smile toward him. "You're awake."

"I believe so," he grumbled.

"We are here, I believe."

He nodded and peered out at the passing scenery. The road was no longer lined with tufts of grass and the occasional rock and tree. Instead they passed fishermen's cottages on one side and a long, black railing on the other. The sea spanned to the horizon behind that railing, speckled with a few ships. Sunlight glinted off white tips that rolled with a little too much aggression for his liking. They were under a rare patch of sunshine. It looked as though direr weather was rolling in off the coast. He twisted his head to eye the clouds farther away and nodded to himself. A large grey band loomed aggressively, as though chasing them.

The carriage took them deeper into the cobbled streets of the town. The hour was early, but merchants and seamen were already awake, readying themselves to bring in and sell the catch of the day. Most of the cottages were painted white though some had shutters painted in more flamboyant colors—pink, blue, even a mint green. It was not dissimilar to home, but they were a mere hop across the estuary from Devon.

The mail coach came to a stop outside the mail house. Red had paid for their journey upfront so let the men get on with their duties and concentrated on ensuring Hannah and the stone were safely removed from the carriage. She tied her bonnet tight around her head and hefted her bag into her arms.

"You have the stone?"

"Of course."

"There is no need to be snappish," she scolded lightly. "You're not a morning person, are you, Red?"

He hefted the artifact into his arms. "Is anyone?"

"The morning can be a wonderful time. At home it is the most peaceful time of day. I prefer it for working."

Red snorted. "I prefer it for sleeping." He scowled at her. "For a well-bred lady, you certainly seem to enjoy working far too much. Why do you not take a moment to enjoy a rest or whatever it is that young ladies do to relax?"

She gave him a sour look. "You know very well what young ladies do. They embroider or play piano or share gossip with their friends."

"And you would rather bury yourself in the history books or stare at some old, dusty object," he finished for her.

"Precisely." She beamed.

He nodded down a tightly wound alley. "The driver said the ferryman is down this way."

Hannah strode ahead, affording him a view of her from behind. There was something oddly enticing about her funny little walk. She moved with purpose, but not being tall, she could hardly take the biggest steps. It was a walk designed for the simplest of purposes—to move from point a to point b—with little thought as to what anyone watching might think. There was no subtle sway of her hips or delicate arch of her back. He had to admit, he rather liked that. She was quite adorable and utterly clueless to it, and thus, became even more adorable.

He sighed to himself as they emerged from between the buildings and out onto the harbor side. If his friends could hear his thoughts...well, they would think he was due a stay at the lunatic asylum. Adorable, honestly. What sort of an earl-turned-smuggler even uttered such words let alone dwelled on it?

Red took another glance at the sky and then at the great distance the boat would have to cover to get to the other side. On a fine day, he would have no concerns, but the tide was high and the water had already become choppy.

"Hannah," he called, stopping her before she reached the sign that had been awkwardly chalked with ‘Ferri'. "We may have to consider going around."

An old man, and most certainly an ex-fisherman, eased himself up from his position on one of the wooden poles that lined the harbor side. He moved with all the stiffness of a man with the sea in his joints. A tuft of white hair flared from beneath a worn cap, and when he smiled, he was all gums and a few yellow teeth.

"You want the ferry?"

Hannah nodded. "Yes, please."

Red closed the distance and took a step in front of Hannah. "The weather is coming in."

The old man made a dismissive sound. "I have gone through far worse and in a boat that was only suitable for driftwood. I'll get you to the other side. If you can pay, that is."

"Of course we can," Hannah said.

Red's gut tightened. He didn't like the look of this one bit. "The crossing is getting choppy."

The fisherman straightened, releasing a crack that made Red's early body woes seem like nothing. "Now see here, sonny, I've got more experience of the sea in my finger than you have in your entire body."

Red tugged Hannah aside and leaned in. "I have a bad feeling about this."

She eyed him, one brow lifted. "If he thinks all is well, I would be more inclined to believe him. I am sure he has no desire to drown any more than we do."

Jaw tight, he shook his head. "We should go around. I'll arrange a carriage."

"And how much time will that add onto our journey?"

He considered the distance to the nearest bridge. "A day and a half."

"We cannot have any more delays. I must get this to London. Think logically, Red. Why would this man risk death for a few coin?"

"I think this old man doesn't care what he's risking. He's not far off his deathbed anyway," he hissed. "I am telling you, Hannah, I have a bad feeling about this."

She ran her gaze up and down him. "Quite frankly, logic trumps your gut feeling. We must take the ferry."

"And if I choose not to?"

"I will go without you. I shall find someone on the other side willing to carry the stone, I'm sure. You are no longer the only physically capable man around, and no one here believes in any silly kind of curse."

Red pinched the bridge of his nose. Was he really going to risk drowning for this irritating woman and her bloody stone?

Apparently yes.

"Fine, have it your way. But I shall haunt you in the afterlife if I drown."

"We shall be fine." She smiled at the fishermen. "We would like you to take us across please."

The old man unpeeled one bony hand. "Payment up front."

"In case we drown and he does not," Red grumbled to Hannah.

She nudged him with an elbow, and Red paid the man. Red aided Hannah into the unsteady boat and flung down his bag to her. She caught it with an oof and narrowed her gaze at him.

He smiled innocently. "Careful. Don't want my belongings going overboard. An earl cannot wander around naked, you know. It is not good manners."

"I was not going to drop it, but you might have thrown it more gently."

He stepped in awkwardly, terribly aware that if he or his luggage fell in, Hannah would not be bothered one jot, but if the stone went in, there would be hell to pay. He cradled it close as he settled on the bench opposite her with his back to the fisherman.

The vessel rocked unsteadily while the old man positioned himself and lifted the oars. They were crossing at one of the smaller parts of the estuary, but it was still at least a half an hour boat ride by his reckoning—perhaps more if the state of their captain was anything to go by.

Waves rolled under them, making each minute of the journey a heart-wrenching experience. He focused on the other side and willed it to draw closer whilst keeping an eye on the clouds above, the steel band of grey invading ever closer. The first raindrop made his stomach tighten. The sudden gust of one hundred more had him gripping onto the side of the boat.

"Seen worse," the fisherman shouted over the heavy din of drops on wood.

Red turned his attention to Hannah, whose fingers were curled just as tightly around the seat beneath her. Her gaze reluctantly locked with his, and he saw her fear there. Had he not felt the same, he might have taken a little delight in the fact that there was also an unspoken message there. Perhaps, just perhaps—because Hannah would never admit these things with ease—he was right.

He longed to take her into his arms and hold her tight, but he dare not move for fear of destabilizing the boat. He was powerless to do anything but hold on and pray that the boat did not tip and Hannah did not go overboard. If she did, he would go in without hesitation, but he doubted either of them would survive. The murky green sea would swallow them whole.

Swiping the raindrops from his face, he focused on the other side. A glimmer of sunlight still lit a strip across the beach that awaited them. The grey harbor wall was set back from the long stretch of sand and farther still were all the cottages. Everything seemed too far away.

A wave hit them, rocking the boat and its contents to one side. Hannah screamed. Red darted forward and thrust forward an arm to prevent her spilling into the water. The boat shifted back, sending their bags rolling. Before Red could prevent it, Hannah's bag seemed to take a suicidal leap into the water. He snatched for it but it was too late. The sea gulped it down, leaving no sign of it.

Neither of them could do anything but sit and hold on tight while further swells rocked the boat, each one threatening to tip more than their luggage into the sea. The rain soaked under Red's collar, and he had no doubt Hannah was wet to her chemise. Inside the boat, the wood was wet and slippery—perfect for sending them all to their doom. For several more minutes, the old man battled them through until the rain eased away to droplets and then vanished.

The sea clung to its anger for a little longer until the estuary grew shallower. Red finally released his death grip on the boat and reached over for Hannah. She grasped his hand gratefully, no doubt aware of how close to death they had been.

Relief coursed through him when the boat hit sand. The old man jumped out, and Red followed him, keen to get them to shore as quickly as possible. His boots protected him from most of the water though some sloshed over the edges as they hauled the boat up the sand.

"Told you I'd seen worse," the man said, cracking a grin.

Red somehow did not unleash the torrent of words that were burning inside him on the old man. At least they were here, in one piece, and alive.

Red grabbed the stone and his bag, mindful of the fact they were one bag lighter. Hannah kept her head lowered, but he saw her bottom lip drawn under teeth and he heard her sniffle. The torrent of rain had eased to a patter, but her bonnet was a wilting mess. They trudged up the beach to the harbor wall and climbed the stone steps. He grimaced when he spotted her shaking shoulders. She was likely frozen through.

"W-where are we headed now?"

She wasn't cold. Well, she likely was, but that was not causing the shaking shoulders. He heard the tremor in her voice and understood it well enough.

He took her shoulders in his hands. "Hannah?"

She kept her face lowered, but a sob broke her. He pressed her hard to his chest and another sob bubbled from her. Her cold body shook against his, and he rubbed a hand up and down her back.

"W-we nearly drowned," she spluttered out. "It would have been all my fault. We could have died. H-how could I have been so stupid?"

"I should never have given in. I knew it was dangerous. I'm meant to protect you. It was my fault, Hannah."

She peered up at him and drew in a long sniffle. He smoothed the damp curls from her cheeks and held her face in his hands. "I left you with no choice, I know that. I'm so stupid and stubborn and..."

"Enough."

He brought his mouth down on hers. She squeaked and fell silent. He was so absurdly grateful for the warm taste of her, for the knowledge that they had both survived. He had gone through many a heart-stopping moment what with the excise men and a dangerous profession but never had he really thought himself close to death. Worse was the idea that he might have lost Hannah.

She softened into him like butter melting in the sun. Her hips bumped into his, her breasts pressed against his chest. He pushed the kiss deeper and held her firm against him with his palms either side of her head. Her hands swept up his back. He kissed her until he felt warm and alive again, and then kissed her some more. When he drew back, the tears had vanished and a warm flush was on her cheeks.

"We both made a mistake there," he told her. "But I should never have agreed to do it. I should have flung you over my shoulder and taken you to the nearest carriage for hire."

"I am sorry," she said, tucking one plump lip beneath her teeth again.

"No apologies."

She nodded. "What now?"

"Let us find an inn where we can warm by the fire and have some food. Then I shall inquire about a carriage."

She held out a hand to his bag. "Shall I carry that? Seeing as I have nothing to carry now."

He shook his head. "Do I look like I need a woman to carry my belongings?"

"I was just..." A vulnerable look swept across her face again. He supposed she was so damned used to always being right, it had to be hard to have made the wrong decision. But what he'd said was true. He should never have given in to her. He'd been too weak and foolish. Hannah had quite the ability to beat down his defenses. He would have to be more careful from now on.

"Was there anything valuable in your bag?"

"Not really. A little bit of jewelry, but I do not travel with valuables. I regret losing my blue muslin though. And I certainly regret having only one dress for the rest of the journey."

Red had already considered how they would sort out a new wardrobe for her. This town would have a dressmaker, but there would be no chance they could put together something quickly enough. They would stop in Exeter shortly—a much bigger town. Perhaps they could find something there.

"Come, let us find some food and warmth." He could not bear her standing about shivering like a little girl who had just lost her stuffed toy.

She nodded, mournfully glancing at the sea that had swallowed her belongings. The stone tucked under his arm seemed to grow heavier. Never in his life had he experienced such bad luck. He could not wait to be rid of the blasted thing.

Still, he was not sure he could say the same about Hannah.