Chapter Seven

C HEVERLEY THRUST THE stick he carried ahead of him and limped forward with shoulders hunched. The path to the village widened at the end of Pensteague land. Fields of low grass stretched out on either side, sloping down toward the hollow that sheltered fishermen's cottages from the worst ravages of the sea.

With rough-spun dirty clothes that covered his muscle tone, he'd appear little different from the other men left in the village.

"I must hand it to you," Emmaus's well-worn boots dug into the gravel with a rhythm matching his sailor's gait.

"Hand what to me?"

Emmaus flashed a sideways glance. "You look every inch a beggar, Captain."

"Captain Smith," Chev corrected. "I'm not your captain."

Emmaus stopped walking. "Not anymore you're not."

Chev stopped as well, not truly surprised. "How long have you known?"

"Since you turned a shade of violet when first I mentioned Anthony's intention to wed your wife."

Chev looked out to the horizon, leaning heavily on his stick. "Emmaus."

The name was neither a request nor a reproach, but an invocation, as if Chev could somehow reach certainty on his friend's integrity alone.

"I cannot tolerate your deception indefinitely. I expect you, at least, to pay me the courtesy of revealing your intent."

"I should not have deceived you." Chev squinted. "Trust I have my reasons, will you?"

"Do you think I would have gone along this far if I did not trust you?"

Chev shook his head no. Not Emmaus. Emmaus always did as conscience, not man, directed.

"Do you think they'll recognize me in the village?" Chev asked.

"I don't know," Emmaus replied. "You were already weathered when we met. I assume you looked quite different before your years at sea."

Chev nodded. "Right."

So, possibly he'd be recognized. But possibly not.

And every additional day he spent the risk he'd be revealed increased.

"You went to Ithwick last evening," Emmaus said.

Chev swallowed. "I delivered Thaddeus home."

"She saw you, you know."

Chev stopped breathing.

"That is to say she saw a man with Lord Thaddeus crossing into the gardens."

He exhaled.

"Did she ask pointed questions?"

"Just the usual," Emmaus replied. "But she will. She misses little."

Chev bristled. "How well do you know my wife?"

"Well enough." Emmaus raised his brows. "Better than you, if you believe either of us would betray you—or if you truly believed Anthony's assertion she wishes to wed."

"I apologize to you," Chev replied. "As for Anthony—I heard her court my cousin with my own ears."

Emmaus snorted. "He that hath ears let him hear."

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Quote scripture?"

Chev had meant see through him, actually. He nodded anyway.

"It's how I learned to read." Emmaus shrugged. "Now that you're here—"

" I am not here."

"Which brings us back to your intent, does it not? Why exactly are you here and not here? "

"I don't yet know if I can stay, even if I wished to." Chev sighed roughly. Not only was he a different man, he wasn't certain he'd ever be able silence the pirate's whispers. Not without hunting her down. "I—I have unsettled debts. But"—he fixed Emmaus with an even gaze—"something is wrong, here. And I don't intend to leave until I am sure Penelope and Thaddeus will be safe."

"I've felt something was wrong since I first met Lady Cheverley at the trial." Emmaus nodded slowly. "Later, she told me Anthony had gone white when he found out about your amended will."

"It's Pensteague he wants? Why? It's worth a fraction of Ithwick, barely self-sustaining."

"Perhaps," Emmaus replied, "he just wants Lady Cheverley."

Chev considered, and then shook his head. "He values his bloodlines too much. He wants something more—something worth the sacrifice of marrying a farmer's daughter."

"A farmer's daughter whose son will one day be a duke."

"My father insisted on family guardianship—I'd rest easier if Thaddeus's fate were not in Lord Thomas's hands—what do you know of his intentions?"

"Not much." Emmaus shrugged. "He's shown special interest in the widow staying with the vicar. Beyond that, he appears to be content to be included with the bacchanal celebrations. Do you think you can pry answers in the village?"

"No. Any direct question asked in these parts isn't likely to be answered. And the person probing would be lucky to leave with teeth intact." He chewed on his lip as he thought. "When I was a boy, smugglers ruled this village. My father gave his blessing...and his permission to use the tunnels that led from the sea to Ithwick Castle's ruins. Even His Grace—scion to the leadership of the House of Lords—was opposed to paying one hundred and twelve percent tax on his tea. But the smuggling ended when the tea tax was repealed."

"What makes you think the smuggling stopped?"

"Dwindled, is perhaps more accurate. The duke closed the tunnels by setting off explosions within the entries. You've got to be pretty determined to climb up those cliffs, especially when there are easier ports of entry in Kent. And the profits can't be nearly be as high."

"Might I remind you we are at war? Demand for French brandy hasn't exactly disappeared."

Chev lifted his brows. Of course.

"Dwindled, is definitely more apt," Emmaus continued. "And, don't you think I cannot see what you are speculating, Captain. I'm not a part of any smuggling operation. Those insular villagers wouldn't allow me within their ranks if I wished to join them. Just to be clear—I do not."

"Because you respect tax laws?"

Emmaus grinned. "Because I don't respect their navigation skills."

Chev snorted.

"In all seriousness," Emmaus continued, "you can't possibly learn very much by simply sauntering through the village."

"I'm not going to ask questions—I'm going to observe the militia, and whatever stragglers happen to be left."

Emmaus nodded. "You won't like what you see. I imagine they're paid well to be at the wrong place at the right time."

"I haven't liked anything I've seen so far—Pensteague excepted. I'm not expecting that to change. If there's time, I'd like to see if I can find what's left of those tunnels."

"I can't help you there," Emmaus replied. "This is the first I'm hearing about them."

They resumed walking in silence, and then the fishermen's cottages came into view, squat and tidy and tucked up into the crags as if they, too, had been formed by the sea. The houses were empty, of course. The men were out on the water. As for the women, today was washing day—they were all by the stream.

Apart from the militia, only the loafers, the old, and the lame remained.

As they stopped at the fountain in the village's center, a herd of goats appeared around the bend.

The goatherd's eyes narrowed on Emmaus. "I say! Didn't I tell you you weren't welcome here?"

"You did." Emmaus did not move.

"Then what are you doing here?" the goatherd asked.

"The fountain," Emmaus replied, "exists for the benefit of all, travelers and residents both old and new."

"This man," Chev added, "has as much right as any to be here. More, in truth. He fought to defend our shores."

"Pah!" the boy scoffed. "And who are you—beggar-man? We don't welcome the likes of you here, no matter what welcome that crazed harpy at Pensteague hands out. Mr. Anthony's going to empty her madhouse of cripples one day. He says we must leave the weak behind."

Chev's rage—always at a slow burn—flared. In his mind, he grabbed the boy by the throat and squeezed until he spoke no more.

No. He inhaled deep. No matter what the lessons of war, death could not "win" over death.

"Silenced you, didn't I?" The boy jeered.

Perhaps just push him down...

Chev glanced to Emmaus. Emmaus's returned glance did little to hide his accusation— this is what happens when you shirk the duties of leadership.

Chev gathered remnants of remembered calm. He met Emmaus's gaze, gauntlet accepted. If he didn't want his family in danger, he must work to find the danger's source.

"Anthony will fail." Chev surprised himself with his even tone. "You cannot leave others ‘behind.'" What did ‘behind' even mean? "If Anthony doesn't want beggars, he must ensure work with adequate pay."

The goatherd stepped back. "What's this? Are you a beggar or a bloody MP?"

"Where are you taking those goats?" Cheverley demanded.

"I don't have to answer you."

Chev lifted his stick and pressed it to the center of the goatherd's chest. "Your elders are due your respect."

Goatherd's hostile gaze moved between Emmaus and Chev. "To Ithwick, of course," he replied. "Anthony pays good money. Gold, if I bring enough."

Gold. The only accepted currency among smugglers.

"I suggest you get on, then," Cheverley said.

"I'm going." The goatherd lifted his chin. "But only because I cannot bear your stink." He nodded to Emmaus. "His either."

The animals brayed as the goatherd moved them away.

"He'll take the ocean route," Chev said. "Let's return to Pensteague through the woods. I think it's time I paid my cousin a visit."

Emmaus smiled. "I couldn't agree more."

~~~

Mrs. Renton groaned and folded her arms, her eyes fixed on the lawn below. Penelope looked up from her reading.

"What game are Anthony, Thomas, and their guests playing now?"

"They've set goats loose in the courtyard. Anthony and Thomas appear to be judging a race."

"Goat against man?"

She glanced back. "Hard to tell the difference between the animals and the men."

Penelope smiled. "Well, it's a change, anyway. Those weighted disks leave crevices in the earth. I've nearly tripped a dozen times."

"And just what do you think those goats are leaving behind?"

Pen snorted. "We've a competent gamekeeper, remember? Emmaus will round up the goats when he comes."

Mrs. Renton frowned. "Do you trust that man?"

"With my life." Penelope set aside her book. "He was one of Cheverley's crew. He went with the privateer they captured, and if it was not for him, I'd know little about Lord Cheverley's last hours." She'd only wished she'd met Emmaus sooner than at the recent trial.

"But how do you know he sailed with Lord Cheverley?"

"Really, Mrs. Renton. Emmaus accurately described the buttons on a shirt I had given Cheverley before he went to war."

"I apologize." Mrs. Renton sighed. "These days I just do not know who I can—" She stopped abruptly, leaning toward the window. "What is Anthony about, now?"

Penelope went to the window.

Thaddeus, arms crossed, had arrived at the edge of the courtyard. Anthony and Thomas were motioning to have him join the revelers. Still scowling, Thaddeus joined the fray to raucous applause.

"Thaddeus took charge last night," Penelope said. "They've changed tactics and are trying to placate him."

"I don't like it," Mrs. Renton breathed.

"Neither do I." Penelope pursed her lips.

Thaddeus took a seat at a table apart from the others. He glanced back toward the forest and then broke into a wide smile.

Pen leaned forward, following Thaddeus's gaze. "Can you see who he is looking at?"

"Emmaus, most like," Mrs. Renton replied.

"I'm not sure." Thaddeus respected Emmaus, but that smile... She'd never seen that smile.

"There he is!" Mrs. Renton exclaimed.

Emmaus was, indeed, heading toward Thaddeus. But Thaddeus's smile had been for the man by Emmaus's side—the captain. As he came into view of the other guests, he began to limp.

"Anthony," Penelope said, "isn't the only one up to something."

Thaddeus motioned Emmaus and the captain to his table. After a brief discussion, they all sat. Then, the group caught Anthony and Thomas's attention.

"I can't hear what they are saying," Penelope said.

"Open the window," Mrs. Renton suggested.

"They'll know right away why we opened the window," Pen replied. "That won't do. I'm going down to the conservatory."

However, by the time she reached the conservatory, Thaddeus's table had been overturned. Emmaus was restraining the captain and Thomas was restraining Anthony. As for Thaddeus...his expression was pure glee.

Silently, Penelope opened the door.

"Homeless vagabond," Anthony sneered.

"I used to be rich," the captain replied.

Deep, rough and somehow familiar, the captain's voice sent shivers to Penelope's toes.

"Your fortune, too," he continued, "may change. Why do you complain? The others are unconcerned that this young man invited us to share his food."

"Easy for them," Anthony replied. "They give of the wealth I gave to them."

"And what of you? Whose wealth do you give?"

"Get out!" Anthony roared.

He tossed his chair in the captain's way.

Behind Penelope, Mrs. Renton gasped.

"Go!" Anthony commanded again.

"Only His Grace or His Grace's heir can order me to go. What do you say, Lord Thaddeus?"

Thaddeus bowed heads with the captain, speaking in low tones. The captain listened and then nodded.

"Until we meet again." Mockingly, he bowed to Anthony without looking down.

Fire-filled challenge emanated from his gaze.

"Mrs. Renton," Penelope reached behind her for the housekeeper, "go out the back and stop them before they leave. I must meet this captain. I must meet with him at once. "

~~~

Pen swiveled as the door to the kitchen gardens opened.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "It's you."

Emmaus chuckled. "You wound me, Lady Chev."

"I am sorry, Emmaus, it's just that for a moment..." For a moment what? She'd thought something miraculous had happened. "I am a fool."

Emmaus took her hand. "You are far from foolish."

"I—I had hoped to meet the captain, he's..." She frowned, "...singular."

"That he is." Emmaus cocked his head. "Would you like me to deliver the message he gave me?"

The hope that had deflated catapulted her heart back into her throat, fluttering like a fledgling. "Yes, please."

"He did not acquiesce to your summons because he did not wish to cause more trouble with Anthony and Thomas at this time."

At this time?

"However," Emmaus continued, "The captain would like to meet you."

"Where? When?" Now, thank you.

"I suggested fairy rocks—a place quiet and private that would not threaten your reputation. I will escort you there, and stay close enough to hear your call, that is, if you wish me to stay."

The thrashing continued. "Do you trust the captain?"

Emmaus pursed his lips. "I do." He turned. "I will await you by the stables. Make sure you bring your knife. Not for the captain, but for any other threat that might linger in the night."

With that he left.

She gazed after him in stunned amazement.

Emmaus trusted no one.

Just who was this mysterious captain?

How had he so quickly captured the imaginations of Emmaus and her son?

And how was she to ensure that the same did not happen to her?