Once Upon a Winter's Eve (Spindle Cove #1.5)(5)

“It’s all right.” Violet laid a tentative touch across the man’s broad shoulders. “He’s wounded and confused. It’s only natural that he’d cling to the one person who understands him a little.”

“Whether you understand him or not…” Rycliff shook his head. “I don’t trust him.”

I’m not sure I do either, Violet thought. But she wasn’t prepared to abandon him. Not until she learned more.

“Do you mind him being in here, Papa?” Susanna asked her father. They’d all migrated to the library of Sir Lewis Finch. It had been the nearest room to the great hall with a fire in the hearth.

“Not at all, not at all,” Sir Lewis answered. “You know I collect curiosities of all sorts. But we might send in some footmen with a tarpaulin.” He cocked his head and surveyed the growing puddle beneath the dripping man.

“And dry clothing,” Susanna added. “He ought to fit something of Bram’s.”

Just then, Rufus Bright and Aaron Dawes entered the room, breathing hard with exertion. When the stranger had disrupted the ball, Lord Rycliff had dispatched some militiamen to assess the situation in the cove.

“Did you see anything?” Rycliff asked.

“No ships,” Rufus answered, huffing for breath. “And all’s clear at the castle.”

“But when we took the path down to the cove, we found the remnants of a small boat,” Dawes added. “Wrecked and washed ashore.”

“This is bollocks.” To the side of the room, Finn Bright spoke up. “Can’t believe you lot went down to the cove without me.”

“Of course we did,” his twin said, unapologetic. “We had to run.”

Finn didn’t argue. He just punched the floor with his crutch.

Violet hurt for the youth. Everyone did. Finn was fifteen years old, full of energy and cleverness. And since an accident a few months ago, the lad was missing a foot. For the most part, Finn masked his frustration with a brave face and his characteristic good humor. But the fact that he had an able-bodied twin in Rufus—an exact copy of himself who could still run, march, climb, and dance with ease—had to make it more difficult.

“A boat, you say?” Susanna peered at the man in Violet’s lap, dabbing his scraped temple with a moistened cloth. “Perhaps he’s a fisherman who drifted off course and met with an accident.”

Rycliff was clearly skeptical. “A fisherman from Brittany, blown all the way off course to Sussex and washed up in our cove.” He shook his head. “Impossible.”

“Not impossible,” Susanna said. “But I’ll admit, it seems rather unlikely.”

“He’s a smuggler, I’ll warrant.” This declaration came from Finn. “Separated from his mates when the Excise come calling. My father consorted with enough of the rogues. I should know.”

“A smuggler. Now that I’d believe,” Rycliff said. “Good thinking, Finn.”

“Glad I’m still good for something.” Finn crutched his way over from the corner. He gave the intruder an assessing look. “Take care with him, my lady. You’d wake tomorrow to find him gone, and all Summerfield’s silver with him.”

Rycliff said, “I’ll send for a magistrate in the morning. But in the meantime, we can’t rule out other possibilities.”

“What other possibilities?” Violet asked.

“He’s from France,” Rycliff explained, as if it should be obvious. “He could be a soldier or a spy, scouting possible invasion sites.” He lowered his voice. “He could be listening to us right now.”

Was he listening? Violet looked down at the man in her lap, wondering if he truly were insensible. To test, she gave his earlobe a surreptitious pinch.

No reaction.

Well, that was reassuring.

Or was it suspicious?

Violet couldn’t honestly say. She’d never pinched an unconscious man’s earlobe, and she had no idea what reaction to expect. Neither did she know the expected reaction of a man who was merely pretending to be unconscious. And if he were any good at pretending, he would do the exact opposite of the expected reaction. Whatever that was.

Lord, she was a ninny. An earlobe-pinching ninny. So much for her deductive powers on that score.

“Bram, you’re overreacting.” Susanna shook her head. “Napoleon’s certainly not invading here, if even one rowboat cannot land without splintering on our rocks.”

“Nevertheless, we must be prepared.” Lord Rycliff turned to Rufus Bright and Aaron Dawes. “The two of you will escort the ladies back to the rooming house. Then you’ll patrol the village the rest of the night.”

Once the two left, Rycliff addressed the remaining militiamen. “The rest of us will march to the castle. There’s a reason the Normans set the heap up on those cliffs. They’re the best place to be in case of attack.”

“I’m going with you,” Finn said.

Rycliff put a hand to the lad’s shoulder. “Not so fast. You’re staying here.”

“Staying here?” Finn’s voice was edged with frustration. “I’m a militia volunteer. You can’t just leave me behind, my lord.”

“I’m assigning you to Summerfield. Fosbury will stay too. Next to Dawes, he’s biggest, and a tavern-keeper’s handy with unconscious men. This is an important duty, Finn. The two of you must guard the captive and—”