A Stranger's Touch Page 4

  ‘No, I should go away.’

  ‘You would be best with your aunt. I’ve told you so a hundred …’

  Morwenna put a warning finger to her lips and then went to the door, wrenching it open swiftly. As she had suspected, the stranger was standing there.

  ‘How long have you been there? Were you listening, hoping to learn something?’

  ‘Why should I spy on you, mistress?’

  Morwenna felt her cheeks heating. ‘Forgive me, sir. I should not have accused you.’

  ‘I heard nothing. I came to speak with your brother Michael—is he here?’

  ‘No, he has gone away. Jacques is out fishing with other men from the village. What did you wish to speak with Michael about, sir?’

  ‘I thought I might hire a horse somewhere.’ He frowned. ‘Will Michael be long?’

  ‘He has gone away on personal business for a few days. I do not know why. He does not discuss his affairs with us, sir.’

  ‘Will you not call me Adam, as I suggested?’

  ‘It is not your name, so why should we?’

  ‘So you prefer sir?’ He smiled oddly. ‘Have it your way, mistress. Since your brothers are not here perhaps you would show me the way down to the inlet where you found me—if you have the time?’

  ‘Why did you wish to go there? You have no need to leave for a day or so. With Michael away no one else will bother you.’

  ‘I think I shall go straight to London when I leave here. However, would you allow me to stay here a little longer? I’d like to try my hand at some painting, perhaps it will help me to recover my memory. I can repay you from the money you found in my bag and still have sufficient for my journey.’

  ‘Have I asked for money?’

  ‘No, you have not. I would like to explore the inlet. If I can find anything that belongs to me there I might recall my name at least, and then I might find a way to be of assistance to you.’

  ‘I told you earlier, I need no help from anyone. However, I’ll take you down there myself. The way is steep, but it’s easy enough once you know how. I doubt you’ll find anything. If the sea brings anything of value ashore the villagers take it. The living is hard here, sir. You cannot blame them, for they live by the bounty of the sea. There is little work other than on the land or in the mines, but they often close if the copper runs out.’

  ‘Do they not have silver or gold in their mines?’

  ‘Very seldom and only in small amounts. No, the living comes mostly from the sea for local people. They may have some sheep on the common or a cow, but little else. What comes to them from a shipwreck is seen as a gift of God.’

  ‘Perhaps it is—but not if they lure ships in to their doom.’

  ‘Do you think that is what happened to your ship? I should be sorry to think it. My father was always against it and so are my brothers. My father was seen as the law in these parts and he would have punished anyone who was caught wrecking.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it, Mistress Morwenna.’

  Morwenna looked at him proudly, then reached for her shawl and pulled it around her shoulders. The storm might have blown itself out, but it could be cold on this part of the coast, especially now it was autumn.

  ‘Follow me, but tread carefully,’ she instructed as she went out. ‘In the dark the path is difficult to find unless you know it, but it is easy enough to follow in daylight.’

  The stranger followed behind her, though she did not turn her head to look at him. ‘What made you think of looking in the inlet when everyone else was on the main beach?’

  ‘I found some survivors there after a different ship was wrecked last year and took them to the house. It was a woman and child. We cared for them until they were well enough to leave us—but she knew who she was.’

  ‘How fortunate for her.’

  Morwenna concentrated on the descent, resisting the urge to glance back at him. He made her angry and yet he intrigued her. Something in his manner told her that he must be more than the itinerant artist she had thought him for at times he was arrogant, as if used to being obeyed.

  Who was he really and why was he here? Had he truly lost his memory?

  The inlet was tiny and belonged to Michael, though it was no use for anything and normally the sole province of sea birds and small crabs that lived in the shallow pools and were not nice to eat. Sometimes the villagers took mussels or limpets from the rocks. Michael allowed them to take what little harvest there was, because he and Jacques set their lobster pots out further in the bay. They normally caught enough fish to sell in the village or further inland, besides what they brought to the house for use at table.

  Apart from a few pieces of driftwood the beach looked clear. Obviously, someone had been here before them and it was unlikely that her guest would find his possessions even if anything else had been there to find. He walked down to the water’s edge and stood looking at some rocks, then, seeing something in the water, bent down and picked out a piece of drift wood.

  ‘Have you found anything interesting?’

  ‘It looks as if it came from a rowing boat,’ he said and showed her what was in his hand. ‘The tide must have dashed it against the rocks.’

  ‘A rowing boat?’ She saw some lettering on the wood, though not enough remained for her to be able to read the name. ‘It must have broken free of the ship when it foundered. I doubt anyone would have been foolish enough to try to come inshore in a small boat last night. It was obvious what would happen; he wouldn’t have stood a chance.’

  ‘No, I’m sure you’re right,’ he replied and smiled. ‘There is nothing to see here. Thank you for showing me the way. I can find my own way back if you have something else to do?’

  ‘I’ve done most of my work for the day.’ Morwenna shaded her eyes and looked out to sea. ‘There’s a ship out there. It’s safe enough on a day like this. I wonder what it is waiting for?’

  ‘What makes you think it is waiting for anything?’

  ‘Well, it appears to have anchored. I don’t think it’s moving, do you?’

  He looked towards the horizon. ‘I expect they just want to admire the view for a while.’

  ‘It can’t be fishermen. I cannot imagine that a merchant vessel would anchor off shore just to admire the view.’

  ‘Perhaps it is a spy waiting for dusk,’ he said, a teasing note in his voice.

  ‘Or waiting to take a spy off again once he’s done his business.’ Morwenna threw an accusing look at him. ‘Just why did you come here?’

  ‘The sea brought me,’ he replied. ‘What would a spy want with you or your family, Mistress Morgan—unless you have something to hide?’

  She turned from him. ‘I have nothing to hide and my brothers, well, they can speak for themselves. If you question them you may wish you hadn’t, sir. If you’re at all worried, I advise you to leave now before you wish you had not become involved.’

  ‘If only I could.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I do not know where to go,’ he said. ‘What else should I mean? Since it is obvious I shall learn nothing here I may as well return to the house.’

  ‘No, stay and search for whatever you hope to find. Sometimes things get caught there.’ She pointed to the jutting rock. ‘There is a little pool round the bend and the tide takes things there. It’s slippery, so take care, but the villagers do not bother to look there because the tide can be treacherous. You might find what you seek.’

  ‘Thank you for the advice. The name of the ship might help me—should I find the rest of this.’ He indicated the piece of driftwood, which must have come from a rowing boat.

  He walked away across the beach in the direction she had indicated. Morwenna watched for a moment, then began the steep ascent back to her home.

  Had he truly lost his memory? Could she believe him? Or was he here for the reason she dreaded? Michael might have a terrible temper, but he was her brother and she did not wish him to come to harm. She ought to send the str
anger away before he could discover something that might lead to her family’s destruction.

  If only the look in the stranger’s eyes did not make her feel as if she wanted to melt into his arms.

  Adam walked the length of the beach, searching for anything that might have been washed ashore at the same time as the sea drove him this way. There was nothing to see. The villagers must have taken even the driftwood to keep their fires going through the winter. He could understand their need, yet felt a sweeping despair that he would find no clues here to help him rediscover his life.

  It seemed that he must return to London as soon as he was able to travel and hope to trace his last movements at the gaming hall. He could not even be sure that he had meant to come here—his ship might have been driven off course by the storm.

  Had he been travelling on his own ship? He was not sure why the thought should occur to him, but the sight of that ship out in the bay had made him wonder if at some time he’d been the owner of a vessel similar to the one they’d seen.

  It was no use. Try as he might, he could not lift the curtain of mist in his mind.

  He should return to the house, discover the nearest hostelry and hire a horse. There was no help for him here and yet he had a feeling that he had indeed come here for a reason. Besides, he was oddly reluctant to leave this place too soon.

  Why? Surely he could not be thinking of remaining here longer because of Morwenna?

  True, she was beautiful. Even her name sounded like music on his lips. He felt something each time he saw her, but could not place what emotion was uppermost in his mind. She infuriated him with her accusations. Clearly, her brothers were involved in some kind of nefarious business. Smuggling was rife on this coast and it was likely Michael Morgan was off on some such business—if nothing more serious.

  Now where had that thought come from? What else might Michael Morgan be doing?

  He shook his head. It was as if he were reaching for something—an important fact that lay just behind that damned curtain.

  No, he should not speculate. It was not his business and yet something was nagging at him, telling him he should use the time while Michael was away to discover all he could.

  Discover what? It was no good, his mind was confused—blank at times and at others teeming with pictures that did not make sense. Faces flitted through his mind. An older woman and another, pretty, but not his wife or his lover. Who were they?

  Morwenna had said he’d cried out thinking her his mother when in his fever. Was his mother still living? Did he also have a sister?

  Somehow that seemed right. He felt instinctively without knowing that he had a family, but no wife. Were his family worried about him?

  He shook his head and pushed the thought away. It was not his family that taunted him, trying to burst through the fog in his mind. For the moment something else was more important, but he did not know what it was.

  He turned back towards the path that led up the cliff. He would be wiser to leave and return to London, but something was holding him here. There was something about the wild-eyed Cornish woman, something that turned his guts soft and made him burn with a need he recognised. His memory might be missing, but his instincts were intact. He wanted to lie with her. He wanted to know her body, to touch that soft white flesh and kiss those full lips. Whether she knew it or not she had a pure, clear sensuality that called to a man of his nature, arousing the hunting instinct. He wanted her and knew he would stay until she sent him away. Perhaps he might persuade her to go with him. She obviously did not have much of a life here.

  She was a fool to let the stranger get beneath the guard she normally kept on her senses. Morwenna frowned as she chopped roots and onions to add to the stewpot. It had been simmering for two days now, fresh meat and vegetables added each day so that the gravy was very thick and the flavour intense. Morwenna had cooked oatcakes, fresh bread that was flat and hard on the outside, soft within. She had butter, pickles, cheese and cold ham as well as a dish of neeps and a large piggy pie that Bess had made to an old Cornish recipe.

  It was a hearty meal, the kind her brothers relished, but the stranger was to join them at table that night and she wondered if he would think it plain fare. Neither of her brothers had a sweet tooth and though she liked curds and custards herself, she scarcely ever bothered to make them. Michael called them pap and turned his nose up at such trifles. Yet if the stranger were an aristocrat, as she suspected, he would be used to finer dishes.

  After his return from the beach she’d asked if he would join them in the kitchen for supper. He’d hesitated for a moment, then inclined his head. Something told her that he was not used to eating in a kitchen with the servants, but she had no time to set out the huge table in the large hall. It was seldom used these days and her brother Jacques would have thought she’d gone mad had she done so. Her father and mother had held dinners and feasts there for special occasions, but Michael did not bother. Often enough the brothers ate at different times, coming in to the kitchen to snatch what they could find before disappearing again. She hoped that Jacques would sit down with them that night, but there was no telling what time he would return from his fishing trip.

  * * *

  As the church bell tolled the hour of six down in the village, her brother entered the kitchen. She was pleased to see that Jacques had made an effort to dress as befitted a gentleman’s son instead of his usual jerkin and breeches.

  However, she frowned at him as he snatched at one of the freshly baked rolls and began to eat.

  ‘You might wait for our guest,’ she reprimanded.

  ‘You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,’ Jacques said with a grin. ‘Your guest will have to take us as we are, dear heart. It’s too late to change us now.’

  ‘Mother would turn in her grave if she could see you …’ Morwenna began, the words dying on her lips as the kitchen door opened and the stranger entered. He was wearing the clothes she’d given him, but somehow he made Jacques look disreputable. He wore his pride like a velvet cloak, so obviously a gentleman that she felt a moment of shame for the way her brothers usually behaved at table.

  ‘Forgive me for being late to table,’ he said. ‘The food smells good, Mistress Morgan. I believe I am hungry.’

  ‘You spent a long time walking on the cliffs and in the village today,’ Jacques said. ‘What were you looking for?’

  ‘I was admiring the scenery,’ he replied. ‘It appeals to my senses. I think I may be an artist, for my fingers wished for some charcoal that I might sketch what I saw.’

  ‘An artist, are you?’

  ‘If you would permit, I could try my hand after supper. I might sketch Morwenna—or any of you if you care for it. At least we would know if I have any talent.’

  ‘A bang on the head often renders the mind hazy for a while,’ Jacques observed. ‘If you feel you can draw a person’s likeness, your memory may be returning.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said and his eyes moved to Morwenna. ‘I must have had a reason for coming here, though as yet I cannot recall it, or my own name. I have asked that I be called Adam for the time being.’

  ‘As you wish, Adam. What will you do next?’ Jacques asked. ‘You can stay here until you feel able to leave, but Michael would not be pleased to find you still here when he returns.’

  ‘Your elder brother is averse to strangers?’ The stranger looked up as Morwenna ladled stew into the bowl in front of him. ‘Thank you, mistress. I am sure it will taste as good as it smells.’

  ‘Morwenna is a good cook. She needs a husband, someone to keep her in the manner to which she is accustomed,’ Jacques quipped, but his smile faded as his sister glared at him. ‘Sorry, I know you shouldn’t be waiting on us the way you do. It was merely a jest, dear heart.’

  Morwenna made no reply. She finished serving the others and then took her own place at the far end of the table.

  ‘I think I shall find somewhere else to stay tomorrow,’ the strange
r said. ‘I wonder if I should stay here in the cove for a while in case someone comes to look for me. News of the shipwreck will have reached London by now, I dare say, and my family—if I have one—may look for me here.’

  ‘What makes you think they will hear of the wreck? Do you come from London, then?’ Jacques asked, his gaze narrowed.

  ‘I do not know if I have a family, but I must have friends, people who know me. I think it is in London that ships are registered when they founder. I feel that I may have come from there—just as I feel I may be an artist. I cannot know anything for sure, which is why I perhaps ought to stay close until someone comes who can tell me who I am and whence I came.’

  ‘There is no need to leave for a few days. Michael will not return for a while. Stay here in case your fever returns. He has no need to leave, has he, Morwenna?’

  ‘He may stay until Michael returns if he pleases.’ She kept her gaze lowered. ‘It is no trouble to feed an extra man.’

  ‘That is kind. It would suit me to stay—if I may?’

  ‘We shall not hear of your leaving for a few days, until we are sure you have recovered,’ Jacques said. ‘‘Tis a pity the sea took your papers, for you might have known where to begin your search. If you feel you came from town, why not return to London when you are completely well and be seen there? If you are known, someone will hail you and you may find your family sooner.’

  ‘That was my first thought.’ The stranger glanced at Morwenna. ‘I feel I owe your family something, because your sister saved my life. Once I regain my memory I may be able to repay her in some way.’

  ‘Morwenna wants for nothing. She does not need your money, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps there are other things more important to Mistress Morgan. I may know people who would sponsor her in town so that she could find a husband best suited to her needs.’

  ‘She has a suitor if she wants one.’ Jacques threw him a challenging look. ‘Captain Bird would be happy to oblige, would he not, Morwenna?’

  ‘I will thank you not to discuss me at table—any of you.’ She glared at her brother and then at the stranger, surprising a look that might have been concern or sympathy in his eyes.