A Stranger's Touch. Anne Herries

of rum or brandy. The villagers will have them away before the militia gets here. Give me a hand and I’ll put him over my shoulder.’

      Like her brothers, Morwenna came from strong stock and she helped Jacques to hoist the unconscious man over Jacques’s shoulder. Going ahead of them, she held her lantern to show Jacques the way. Because this cove was nearer to the house than the main beach, they would be home in time to have the injured man in bed before the other men returned.

      Bess stared at them, shaking her head as they entered.

      ‘Now what have you done, girl?’ she muttered. ‘There’ll be trouble over this, you mark my words.’

      ‘We couldn’t leave him to die. We’ll take him up to the spare room.’

      She followed behind her brother, ignoring Bess’s grumbling. The bed was already made up and Morwenna pulled back the clean if slightly shabby sheets.

      Jacques soon had the stranger stripped of his wet things and his long boots, while Morwenna hurried back down to the kitchen and helped Bess to boil kettles. The stewpot was always kept bubbling away on nights like this, for they simply added meat and vegetables to what was left of supper to make a nourishing soup.

      When Michael came home the soup was ready for him and a couple of the men that crewed his ship; they’d helped on the beach and accompanied him home for some warming food as a reward. Morwenna ladled the nourishing soup into thick earthenware bowls. Served with chunks of bread baked earlier that day, it was a filling meal for men who had fought the sea.

      ‘I found one survivor in the inlet,’ Jacques said as he entered the kitchen, giving his sister a warning look. ‘He’s in the small guestroom upstairs. For the moment he’s unconscious, but I think he will recover—unless the fever takes him.’

      Michael glared at him. ‘What manner of man is he? Did you find anything on him of value—anything to tell you whether he’s worth a ransom? Any form of identity?’

      ‘He was wearing good breeches and boots,’ Jacques said. ‘He had nothing in his breeches pockets and the sea must have taken his coat. Yet by the look of him I would say he was of good family. If Morwenna nurses him, he will likely pay her well for her trouble.’

      Michael glared at him, then turned his dark gaze on her. ‘Are you willing, girl?’

      ‘Yes, of course. My mother would never have left anyone to die of neglect, whoever they might be. I care nothing for whether he will pay or not.’

      ‘Then you’re a fool. We work hard for what we have, girl, and he should pay if he can. There, I might have known what you would say. Your mother was never one of us,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not a murderer. I’ll allow you to keep your survivor—and don’t think I don’t know you two were in it together. Nurse him, but be careful. Remember he’s a stranger and keep a still tongue in your head. You tell no one anything that is family business. This is important. Listen to me, both of you—make one slip and we may all find ourselves in trouble. It won’t be just me they hang, it will be both your brothers, Morwenna—and if they think you’re involved you could find yourself in chains and whipped at the cart’s tail or in prison.’

      ‘I should never tell anyone even if I knew what you were doing—and I don’t,’ Morwenna said, a flash of fire in her green eyes. ‘You’re my brother, Michael. I don’t want either of you to hang.’

      ‘Well, remember that when this man starts to recover and becomes curious.’

      ‘I’m not a fool,’ she flared back. ‘I may have a different mother, but I’m a Morgan the same as you.’

      ‘Just remember that and we shan’t fall out.’ Michael finished his soup and nodded to Bess. ‘Very good. Away to your bed now. You, too, Morwenna—unless you need something for your patient, don’t come down again for a while. I’ve something to say to Jacques and my men, and it’s better if you don’t know, then you can’t tell.’

      Morwenna was smarting inside. As if she would tell even if she did know! She didn’t answer him, but simply filled a jug with clean water before following Bess from the room. Behind her there was silence. Michael was waiting until she was safely out of earshot before telling his men whatever he did not trust her to hear.

      She felt a little resentful and yet she knew that he probably thought he was protecting her. If she could truthfully claim she knew nothing of his darker activities, she might escape should he and the others be caught.

      Pray God it would not happen! She did not wish either of her brothers to die a cruel death or the men who sailed Michael’s ship—but Jacques was the only one she truly felt close to, the only one who ever took any thought for her. Michael took her service for granted, forgetting that she should have been waited on instead of waiting on them.

      She thrust the thought of Michael’s secrets to a tiny corner of her mind as she went into the room in which her patient was lying. He appeared to be peaceful, his eyes still firmly closed. Touching his forehead, she was relieved that he did not appear to be suffering from a fever as yet, though he could of course develop one in the next day or so.

      She poured some water into a bowl and dipped a cloth into it, then she bent over her patient and bathed the wound at the side of his head. It had bled quite a bit, but was not deep enough to have opened his skull. He had been lucky, because she’d seen men pulled out from amongst the cruel rocks with their heads cracked open and their brains spilling out. There was never any hope for them and if they still lived Michael despatched them with his knife. It was quick and less painful than seeing fatally injured men suffer a slow death.

      ‘You were lucky,’ she said as she bent over him, noticing that he was a fine-looking man. Jacques was right to say he looked like gentry. ‘If we had not found you, you might have lain there all night and died of cold.’

      For a moment his eyelids flickered, but they did not open. Morwenna poured some of her water into a horn cup and set it on the chest beside the bed. Then she took the salves she had stored in this room and a strip of linen and bound his head. Once again, his eyelids flickered, but did not open.

      ‘You are safe here,’ she said, though she was not sure he could hear her. ‘My brother Jacques brought you here and Michael has given me permission to nurse you. I’m not sure if you can hear me—but be careful, sir. My brother does not care for strangers. Do not go wandering about the house at night or you may find yourself in trouble.’

      The man gave no sign that he’d heard her.

      ‘I shall leave you and return later,’ she said. ‘I do not know who you are but be careful.’ Leaving him to rest, Morwenna went out and closed the door behind her.

      She hoped that Jacques had not helped her carry a spy into her home. It would not be the first time the militia had sent someone to try to discover the truth about her brother’s activities. If Michael discovered that this man was one of them, he would not hesitate to kill him—and that would be a shame, as well as dangerous for them all.

      Her brother claimed he was not a murderer, but if he acted in defence of his family he would not consider it murder. He had learned to be ruthless since their father died and he’d been forced to seek his living from the sea. Yet at times she could still see in him the brother that had carried her on his shoulder when she was too tired to climb the cliff to their home.

      Even so, she would not like anything bad to happen to the stranger.

      Morwenna smiled to herself. She was used to the company of strong handsome men, but she liked the look of the stranger and she would not have harm come to him if she could prevent it.

      Chapter Two

      Morwenna woke as a hand shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see that Bess was bending over her and struggled to sit up.

      ‘What is the matter?’ she asked groggily. ‘Have the Revenue men come?’

      ‘Nay, lass. ‘Tis the stranger you brought from the beach.