Page 93 of Counting on a Countess
“Never been there,” Kit answered. The beginnings of alarm tightened the hairs along his arms. “What’s wrong with it?”
The farmer shrugged. “It’s not a bad sort of village. Everything’s clean and kept up, but they hold to themselves in Newcombe, they do, especially since...” He glanced away and made a show of dusting off his hat.
“Since...” Kit prompted, trying as best as he could not to sound overeager.
The farmer lowered his voice. “There’s some dark dealings over there, I hear. Things that ain’t quite legal. ’Specially since their fishing catch dried up and taxes came and fair gutted the place.”
Kit frowned at that. “What sort of things?”
The farmer waved his hand. “Just the usual country gossip,” he said with a grin. “Not much to do around here except watch the barley grow and prattle about the neighbors. Why, last year some girls up in Ivybridge said they saw Old Joe Mann riding a flying cow all the way to Ugborough. Which is ridiculous because Joe Mann makes no secret of how much he hates Ugborough. Sooner see him flying to Ermington!”
“That’s perfectly logical,” Kit replied gravely. He looked through the open barn door to see the sky turning pale blue with the morning. “Time for me to recommence my journey.” He led his horse, Empress, out of the stall and then into the yard before swinging up in the saddle. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he added with a nod.
The farmer followed him out. “No trouble at all. And, uh, thanks for this.” He patted his jingling pocket, full of coins. “If you do go to Newcombe,” he added with a warning hand on Empress’s bridle, “keep a chary eye about you. Hate to see that fine head of yours crushed like a pork pie.”
Kit automatically fingered his temple. But he had a pistol and ammunition in his saddle, just in case anything happened. He was less alarmed for his own safety than he was concerned about Tamsyn. She’d spoken of her home as a place of unhappiness because of her relatives’ neglect, but as to the village itself, she’d talked fondly of it, never mentioning anything suspicious or dangerous about it. Perhaps the farmer was just spinning yarns, or maybe there was more to be learned—and secrets to uncover.
“Good day to you, my lord,” the farmer called as Kit urged his horse into motion. “Have a care for yourself. Could be some untrustworthy folk about.”
“I’ll remain vigilant,” Kit answered. He kicked his horse into a brisk trot, then moved into a steady canter.
Today, he’d see Tamsyn again. Today, they would make right the mistakes of their past. When he’d been fighting overseas, he’d awaken every morning not knowing what the day was going to bring. That same ambiguity dug at him now. Though the stakes were different, he still faced a battle. He had very little experience with this kind of conflict. Facing snipers’ bullets or cannon fire seemed familiar and almost comfortable by comparison. Would he win the day—and his lady’s heart—or would he falter and fail?
The only way to know was to move forward. Into uncertainty.
Chapter 23
The sun set over the golden mirror of the sea, and lightness filled her. How she’d missed this!
Tamsyn rode slowly along the cliffs, returning to Chei Owr from a meeting in the village. Turning her gaze to the west, she watched the sunset gild the waves.
The stillness of the ocean belied its danger. Men died out there, and the sea had claimed the lives of her parents. Death and the water were eternally linked, and she gazed at the ocean with a mixture of love and fear.
There were other dangers, too. Tomorrow night, Captain Landry would sail his cutter close to the shore, its hold full of brandy and lace. Bringing the cargo to land was perilous as she and the others fought the waves. The constant threat of the customs officers conspired to make each landing fraught with danger. There had been a few close calls, but the riding officers hadn’t caught anyone—yet.
Tamsyn rode to the cliff above the cove. The inlet formed a neat semicircle of sand and rocks. She’d played there as a child, and now relied on it to keep everyone in Newcombe fed, sheltered, and healthy.
Some of her happiest moments since her parents’ passing had been in that very cove, sharing in the communal effort and outwitting the customs men. The villagers had become her family, and they looked to her as their leader. She had a meaningful role. She meant something to someone.
If she couldn’t have a family by blood that cared about her, if her husband thought her merely a means to his own ambitions, she’d have to accept what she did have.
Yet she throbbed with loneliness.
“A beautiful maiden silhouetted by the setting sun,” a familiar masculine voice said. “A fine sight to greet a weary traveler’s eyes.”
Tamsyn turned in the saddle to see Kit slowly riding up the path toward her. For a moment, she doubted her vision. Yet he drew nearer, his familiar face and lean body coming into greater focus, and doubt vanished.
“What...?” She struggled to find words. “What are you doing here?”
He drew up so that his horse stood ten feet away. Though he wore his habitual smile, the way his horse tossed its head and shifted revealed that he held the reins tightly. A golden haze of stubble covered his jaw and cheeks.
Her husband looked impossibly handsome and a bit wild. Kit eyed her like a starving man desperate to feast on a banquet. Her body glowed to life, growing aware and sensitive merely by Kit’s presence and perusal.
The attraction between them hadn’t faded in the intervening time—it had only grown stronger. And her heart ached beneath the cage of her ribs, reminding her how much she had missed him, how she had come to need him in her life.
“Haven’t you heard?” he asked drolly. “London is passé and the outer reaches of Cornwall have becomeau courante. Within days, you should expect a monsoon of fashionable people clinging to the cliffs.”
She stared at him, still trying to comprehend the fact that her cosmopolitan husband had journeyed all the way to the rural, wild edge of the country. He appeared a little weary, a little tousled—and the sight aroused her on a deep, instinctive level. This was how warriors looked when returning home from battle.
