Chapter Twenty-Eight
“T here’s been no Kingsbury on this land in fifteen years. Why should I believe you?” the woman challenged.
Malcolm sighed. He supposed this was his fault. Why should they believe it? He held out his hand to show off his signet ring.
The woman stepped forward and peered up at him. “Suppose I can see it. You’ll have to come with us.”
One of her compatriots said, “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, if Kingsbury is here, it’s time to move on. I don’t need to explain my decisions to you two.” She turned back to Malcolm and pointed a finger at him. “Why are you here?”
“I don’t need a reason to come to take possession of my own house, to walk around on my land,” Malcolm replied. “Who the hell are you? Why should we go anywhere with you?”
She shook her head impatiently like she didn’t have time for questions. Then she pulled a pistol with a long, slim barrel from the pocket of her skirt. “Come with me,” she repeated as she cocked it, pointing it at Adeline.
Malcolm pulled Adeline behind him with one arm. “What the hell? Who are you?” he repeated.
The woman nodded. “That’s what I thought, a man who protects what’s his. Je suis Marielle. Come with me, Lord Kingsbury.” She waved the pistol and began walking toward the cliff’s edge. The two men crossed their arms over their chests and waited for him and Adeline to follow.
Malcolm glanced down at Adeline.
She shrugged. “I admit my curiosity is piqued.”
He grabbed her carpet bag off the ground. With his other hand he grasped hers, and they followed the mysterious Marielle.
As they made their way to the cliff’s edge, he saw where stairs were carved into the cliffside. The rocky pathway down to the beach was steep and treacherous. He had forgotten about them. As children they had been expressly forbidden to climb the ancient stone steps. But now, attached to the rock by metal clasps was a railing made from thick rope that would allow safer passage to the water below.
Marielle looked back over her shoulder at them. “Hold on as you descend. I don’t want you dying. Yet.”
Malcolm balked at the top but felt the distinctive press of a metal barrel in his back. “Get movin’, guv,” one of the men growled.
Malcolm looked at Adeline. “Can you do it, darling?”
She glanced down the steep stairs her brow furrowed with trepidation. Marielle maneuvered with practiced ease down them.
Adeline’s shoulders straightened, and she nodded at him. “If she can do it, I can do it.”
Brave girl.
“You go ahead of me. Grasp your skirts with one hand, and don’t let go of the rope with the other.” He wasn’t going to let her be prodded by these two thugs behind him. And if she slipped, he could grab her around the arm and keep her from plummeting to her death.
He slung the strap of her carpet bag across his chest and grabbed hold of the makeshift railing. They began to slowly make their way down the cliffside. It turned out to be not as difficult as it looked as long as they held on to the rope. As they reached the bottom, the sounds of men calling out to each other and the dull thuds of wooden boxes being stacked registered. He had been so focused on Adeline as they climbed down that he hadn’t even glanced at the beach. A half dozen small skiffs were pulled up onto the sand, and men hauled crates out of them and passed them down to more men who carried them farther down the beach.
Shit, he recognized a smuggling operation when he saw one. Fucking smugglers on Kingsbury land. And no bloody wonder with nobody living here. It wasn’t as though the Dorset coves hadn’t been used by smugglers for decades. He’d left his family’s land rife for criminals to set up shop.
A dark-haired man set down a large crate and strode toward them. “What have you got here, Marielle?” The man stopped in his tracks as he recognized Malcolm.
Malcolm cursed under his breath again and grabbed Adeline by the waist, pulling her close. Treave Haddonfield, a slippery bastard he had almost arrested thrice.
Haddonfield’s ugly face split into a cruel smile. “Well, well, Commander Iveson. What are you doing in our cove?”
“You mean in my cove,” Malcolm replied. He would have to do plenty of posturing if he had any chance of getting Adeline out of here alive. He gripped the handle of her bag as he slid the strap off his shoulder. Damn it, they should have left it in the inn. How could so many things go wrong in one short morning?
“Il est Kingsbury,” Marielle said.
“No.” Haddonfield pointed a fat finger at him. “He is a bloody exciseman. He’s shut down countless ships. Terror of the Channel.”
Adeline caught his eye. Terror of the Channel? she mouthed with one eyebrow arched.
Malcolm couldn’t help grinning. He hadn’t heard that moniker. Rather liked it though.
“He has the ring.” Marielle held up a hand when Haddonfield opened his mouth. “This is a matter for Bretton. Where is he?”
The cur glared daggers at Malcolm over Marielle’s shoulder. “He’s on board. Be in on the last skiff.”
Marielle nodded. “Allez. Get back to work.”
Haddonfield grunted but turned and stalked off.
The lady obviously was in charge along with this Bretton fellow. Perhaps Malcolm could talk his way out of this den of thieves after all.
“Follow me.” The lady waved her pistol and headed down the beach. The sun was starting to climb higher in the sky, shining directly into their eyes. He held tight to Adeline’s hand. A hundred feet down, they passed a narrow opening to a large cave. Torches were lit within, and Malcolm could make out the hulking shapes of stacked crates.
But Marielle kept walking down the beach. She rounded a large outcropping of rock, and on the other side, they came upon a small, secluded horseshoe section of beach. “You two sit.” She pointed her gun at Adeline.
Malcolm led them to where she indicated and was surprised to find a smooth, flat rock they could sit upon.
Marielle turned back to her thugs. “Jacob, go get an accurate tally of what’s been brought in. Hank, go wait for Bretton. Tell him to come see me when he steps foot on land.”
“You sure, boss?”
“Yes, Kingsbury won’t try anything, will you, knowing I will shoot your lady first.”
The men departed, and Marielle pocketed her pistol. She walked over to a large rock and pulled a bottle of liquor and three glasses from behind it. “Care for a drink?” she asked politely as though she was offering them morning tea.
“No, thanks,” Malcolm said.
“I’ll have one,” Adeline replied.
He pulled back to stare down at her. What?
She squared her shoulders. “It’s not every day one receives an offer to share a drink with a real-life criminal. Plus, it has been a rather eventful morning. Can you believe I climbed down that cliffside and did not fall to my death?” She accepted the glass of brown liquor. “I think it is my biggest accomplishment to date.” Her words seemed to rush out of her in a rather hysterical stream.
Marielle looked over at him, and he held out a hand. “Why the hell not? What is it?”
“Brandy, mais bien s?r.”
For the first time, he focused on her French accent. She was tall for a woman, with long russet hair that cascaded down her back and was held back from her face by an emerald green silk scarf. Her clothes were plain, dark wool skirt and vest over a white, men’s shirt with billowy sleeves. She poured herself a glass and took a deep draught before pouring more to replenish it.
Malcolm took a sip, the excellent brandy smooth and smoky on his tongue. He gave Adeline’s shoulders a squeeze. “Drink slowly, darling.”
She took too large a sip, and her eyes went round as saucers as she swallowed. Blinking rapidly for a moment, she smiled wide. “I like it. Quite potent but smoky and a bit sweet.”
Malcolm chuckled. He took another swallow himself. “It is excellent.”
“We bring in the best.” Marielle waved a hand in the air. “That is what you toffs want. Only the best.”
He tilted his head. “You are not going to shoot us, are you?”
“ Non. He would not appreciate that.”
“Who? Bretton?”
“ Oui , yes. He is not going to be happy, but it’s for his own good.”
That was cryptic. Malcolm exchanged a glance with Adeline.
But Marielle kept talking. “You are here to take up the land, yes?”
“It is far past time for me to pay attention to Bridestone.”
“So, we will have to go find another place. It will take a couple of weeks at least,” she muttered.
Then she strode off toward the water’s edge, sipping her brandy and talking to herself, her words getting lost on the breeze.
“How long do you think we will have to wait for this Bretton fellow?” Adeline asked.
Her answer came almost immediately as a man strode around the outcropping. “Marielle! What the hell is going on? Treave said you brought a bloody naval commander right down into the middle of operations.”
Marielle walked over to him, her hands outstretched. “And what kind of way is that to greet me?”
The man took her into his embrace and kissed her. Then he stepped back to look down at her. “What is going on, ma chérie ?”
Tall and broad-shouldered, he dressed simply in wool pants, a white shirt, and a plain, brown jacket. He had a bandanna tied over his hair and sported a full beard.
“I found them on the cliff right above us.” She pointed over to them.
Malcolm stood. There was something so familiar about this man. Had he arrested him before, perhaps?
The man turned. A pair of piercing green eyes widened in shock. “Malcolm?”
No. It couldn’t be. Malcolm stumbled backward, fell over the rock they had been sitting on, and tumbled sideways into the sand. “Paul?”