Chapter 9
The old cart rattled over the rutted road as the horse plodded patiently along, the twilight deepening into full darkness.
Rachel held the reins, her hands steady despite the cold twist in her stomach. Mary sat beside her, swaddled in Rachel’s cloak and bonnet, small hands clasped tightly in her lap. They spoke little on the journey—too much could go wrong. Silence was safer.
They reached the edge of the village without incident. No shadows in the hedgerows, no pounding hooves behind them. Rachel breathed a silent prayer of thanks.
Mrs. Rolf was still away visiting her sister, and Rachel’s father was spending the evening playing chess with Dr. Standish and wouldn’t return until late. She steered the cart toward Justin’s cottage, helped Mary down, and led her quickly to the door.
Inside, the little house was dark and quiet. Rachel lit a single lamp and turned to Mary, her voice gentle but urgent.
“Stay here. Don’t open the door unless it’s me, Justin, or Captain Somerville. No one else.”
Mary nodded, wide-eyed. “I’ll keep the latch down tight.”
“Good girl.” Rachel gave her hand a squeeze, then slipped out into the night once more.
She left the cart tied up behind the vicarage and made her way on foot to Normanton House. The path wound uphill, moonlight gleaming faintly on dew-slick leaves. At the rear of the house, the kitchen door glowed warmly in the dark.
Rachel knocked twice, then once more for good measure. A moment later, the door opened to reveal Bessie, one of the maids she knew from parish work.
“Miss Pendleton!” Bessie blinked. “You’ve come all this way?”
“I need a message taken to Captain Somerville. At once. Quietly.”
“Warm up here then, while you wait for the response.”
Rachel shook her head. “No response.”
Something in Rachel’s tone silenced any questions. The maid nodded, disappearing into the bustle of the kitchen.
* * *
The laughter around the Somerville dining table swelled like the tide itself—warmed by good wine, a lavish meal, and the crackling hearth. Robin had played his part well, sharing a naval anecdote or two, letting the weight of his smile carry through the evening.
Across from him, Lady Felicity Belvoir and Sir Westcott Twisden traded barbed witticisms, while Emma Tomkins charmed with a droll observation that drew chuckles even from staid Lord Langley.
Then the kitchen door creaked, and a footman stepped in, quietly making his way to Robin’s side, a folded note was discreetly placed at his hand. Robin’s brow twitched—but only slightly—as he opened it beneath the table.
Change of plans from Justin. It’s tonight’s tide. Urgently meet at his home.—Rachel
He didn’t blink. Didn’t let the corners of his mouth shift. But inside, a cold finger ran the length of his spine.
Tonight.
He glanced up slowly, calculating. Two and a half hours until the turn of the tide. That was both a blessing and a curse—barely enough time to prepare, but just enough to slip away unnoticed.
“Something amiss?” Lady Felicity’s voice was low but keen, her eyes narrowing just a hair. She’d seen it—the subtle shift, the way his shoulders had tensed for half a heartbeat.
Robin offered her a languid smile. “Merely a reminder I’ve left something undone. Nothing that cannot be mended.”
She raised a brow but didn’t press. That was Felicity’s gift—sharp as a tack, but generous with her silence.
The dinner wound down near ten. Guests staying at the house lingered over a final glass of port, while others wrapped themselves in cloaks and stepped out into the cool night.
Among those retiring upstairs was Felicity herself, and Robin caught her giving him a backward glance as she ascended, unreadable but knowing.
Once the house was quiet, Robin slipped out through the service corridor. The air had cooled sharply; dew already settled on the grass. He moved swiftly along the village path, cutting through a stand of oaks and down toward Justin’s cottage, his thoughts turning to the work ahead.
Their disguises were stored in the shed. The horses—sure-footed, dark-coated geldings —were stabled just beyond in the small barn. Everything needed for Captain Moonlight’s midnight theatre. Everything should be ready.
He arrived at the cottage and frowned. No lights. The front stoop was in shadow, the windows dark—but one curtain moved faintly.
He reached for the latch, paused.
The key—Justin’s spare, always left beneath the third floorboard just inside the stable—was missing.
Robin’s heart gave a cautious thud.
Someone was inside.
He stepped back, narrowed his eyes, and studied the front window. A silhouette moved behind the glass—slender, upright. Watching.
He whispered, “Rachel?”
A pause. Then a faint shuffle, and the door cracked open just wide enough to see her eyes in the dim light.
“Robin,” she breathed.
He stepped through, swiftly closing the door behind him.
“Curtains,” he said at once. “All of them. Now.”
“I left them open so I could see if anyone came,” Rachel said, already moving. She crossed the room quickly, drawing down the heavy fabric until the room was sealed from view.
Robin struck a flint and lit the oil lamp on the table, turning it low. The shadows grew steadier.
“No key in the stable,” he said quietly. “You have it?”
She nodded and pulled it from the pocket of her borrowed coat, handing it over. “I thought it best to keep it close. I wasn’t sure who else might come.”
Robin gave her a sharp look of approval.
“Well done,” he said. “We’ve got two hours before the tide turns. Get your breath while you can, Miss Pendleton.”
He went back outside, already shifting into the man he needed to become.
The fire in Justin’s hearth was low, casting soft golden light across the room.
Mary sat curled in the armchair, her frame still tense, but no longer trembling.
When Robin re-entered the front room from the shed—dressed now in the dark coat, scarf and tricorne hat—she looked up and gave a small gasp.
But then recognition dawned.
“It’s you,” she said softly. “Captain Moonlight.”
She glanced at Rachel, half-smiling. “I heard the stories but never really believed them to be true. Mrs. Timmons! And that Burgess got what was coming.”
Robin’s mouth quirked into a wry smile. “And now it’s your turn to be safe, Mary. You did well getting here.”
The girl’s relief faltered as she leaned forward. “But my father—Hall’s turned vicious. He says if Da doesn’t start keeping the ale flowing to his men and looking the other way, he’ll have him arrested for harboring smugglers. Or worse.”
Rachel stepped in, her face grave. “I’ve had no word from Justin. I expected him to meet us back here and ride with you but….”
She hesitated.
“He didn’t tell me the details of his plan. He asked Mr. Blunt for a boat. Which can only mean he meant to sail back against the tide.”
Robin exhaled slowly. He had no doubt of Justin’s ability as a sailor, but it added a complication he hadn’t counted on. If Justin was delayed, or worse—intercepted—it put them all in danger. Himself. Rachel. Mary. A house of cards that could come down with the lightest breeze.
He checked the time. Midnight approached.
Still no sign of Justin.
The original plan had been simple: intercept Hall after the contraband arrived. Catch him red-handed. But if Hall caught wind that his leverage—Mary—was missing, he might alter course. Or bolt. Or lash out.
Robin flexed his gloved hands. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He crossed to the door, fastened his cloak, then turned back to Rachel. “Secure the house after I leave. Don’t let anyone in until Justin returns. When he does—tell him everything.”
She stepped closer, her eyes luminous in the lamplight. “Robin... be careful.”
Their gazes locked.
Robin hesitated for the briefest of moments before cupping Rachel’s face in his gloved hands, his thumb brushing her cheek as though memorizing her with touch alone. The tension between them, taut as a drawn bowstring all evening, finally gave way.
He leaned in, slowly, giving her a chance to stop him—she didn’t.
Their lips met, soft at first, the world narrowing to just that moment, that breath. Rachel melted into the kiss, her hands gripping the front of his coat, holding him there as if by sheer will she could make time stand still.
When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the stillness.
“I was afraid,” Rachel whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “That you’d ride off and I’d never see you again.”
Robin’s smile was faint, but warm. “Not if I have any say in it.”
She looked up at him, her brows drawing together. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I know.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering. “But I have to do it anyway.”
Her lips parted, as if to say more, but she stopped herself. She understood. There wasn’t time—not for confessions, not for promises.
Robin kissed her again, this time tenderly, lingering a heartbeat longer.
“When this is done,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, “I’ll tell you everything. If you’ll still want to hear it.”
Rachel reached up and gently tugged his collar straight. “Just… come back. That’s all I want tonight.”
“I will.” He stepped back, his fingers slipping from hers like the last threads of something unspoken.
Then, in a swirl of cloak and purpose, he turned and vanished into the night.
Rachel stood in the quiet, her fingers still tingling from his touch.