Smuggler's Glory (3 page)

“
I’ve got to go this way,” Hugo said, drawing his horse to a
stop and motioning across the fields toward Padstow. He hated
parting from Simon while there was so much discord between them.
Until tonight he had considered Simon’s aversion somewhat funny,
and hadn’t thought it important at all. The whole team had
considered it a strange eccentricity of his – a bit like not liking
fish for dinner, but now he knew differently. Something far deeper,
far more painful was causing his friend’s reluctance, and he could
only hope a few weeks in a village like Much Hampton would be
enough to help him banish some of the past.

“
Bye,” Simon said, eager to be on his way.

“
So? Are you going, or do I have to court martial you?” Hugo
knew he wouldn’t ever court martial any of his men. They sacrificed
enough of their lives on a daily basis. Anything they did could be
explained. Well, almost anything. He had every faith in all of
them; their abilities and the type of law-abiding and honest,
hard-working soldiers they were.

Several
long minutes of silence passed. Hugo shifted uncomfortably in his
seat as cold air began to bite, and studied his friend.

Simon
sat astride a huge, black horse that showed no colour whatsoever.
Even the whites of his eyes were covered by the long, flowing mane
that hung in shaggy disarray around his long equine face. The beast
was huge, with large hooves and long, heavily muscled legs. It was
perfect for running over challenging ground and would eat up any
distance without even breaking into a sweat. It was undoubtedly why
Simon had chosen such a perfect mount. It matched him perfectly
because Simon was equally as dark. Hugo didn’t need to see beneath
the dark cloak to know that Simon was wearing a plain black,
serviceable shirt and black long trousers that ran into his black
leather riding boots. He looked so dark and menacing that it
brought the hairs up on even Hugo’s neck, and he had knew both
horse and rider well.

A strong
gust of wind swirled around them, rustling the leaves on the trees
lining the side of the road. Hugo shivered and snuggled deeper into
his cloak, his thoughts drifting to the gentle curves of his wife
lying in the soft, warm bed at home. His gaze strayed to Simon and
he studied his friend while he waited. He had known Simon Ambrose
for many years and had fought through the most desperate situations
with the man by his side. He had thought he knew him, but now he
wasn’t so sure. Neither man nor horse moved. Nobody twitched, and
as far as Hugo could tell, neither even blinked. Clearly, although
Simon was physically standing in the middle of a small country lane
staring off into the distance, mentally he was miles away, clearly
visiting ghosts of the past that had been resurrected by the news
of his latest assignment.

Simon
stared into the distance, and wondered if he should just ride in
that direction and keep going, heading into the distance without a
backward glance. But he knew that if he did crest the rise on the
horizon, there was just be more of the same, empty road awaiting
him. He had no home; nowhere that he really needed to be. So what
was so bad about staying for a short time in a small village? It
was hardly occupied by the old hags in the village he had grown up
in, and if bringing the entire village to justice for treason
helped to protect his friends who were fighting for king and
country, then he owed it to the men from the Star Elite to just get
on with the task at hand. After all, he was a soldier. He had faced
worse enemies than the ghosts of his past, and survived. Besides
which, ghosts couldn’t hurt you – could they?

“
So?” Hugo said, beginning to grow alarmed at just how still
and silent Simon had become.

“
It looks like I don’t have a bloody choice, does it?” With
that, Simon reined his horse around and disappeared.

Hugo
opened his mouth to speak, only to watch Simon vanish like a
spectre into the woods beside them. He sat and waited for several
minutes but could hear nothing. No hoof beats, no cracking of twigs
to indicate Simon’s horse was moving around in there. Nothing. It
was as though Simon had simply vanished.

Simon
was tall, and powerfully built. He drew many a woman’s attention
wherever he went, which proved a boon on some occasions and a pain
in the arse on others. Tonight though, dressed entirely in black,
with his black, hooded cloak, sitting astride his black horse, he
looked like the grim reaper. Hugo could sympathise with the tavern
wench who had stumbled upon him outside, and the old man on his way
to the pub, who was probably a devout non-drinker by
now.

Shaking
his head, he reined his horse around and headed toward home and his
beloved wife. Until now, Simon was the one member of the Star Elite
who had never argued against any order he had been given, no matter
how much personal sacrifice it caused him. The fact that the man
had argued and threatened to quit if forced to go, testified to a
deep-rooted problem Hugo had been forced to resurrect and he
bitterly regretted the discord that now lay between
them.

“
Good luck,” Hugo murmured, nudging his horse into a steady
trot, his mind turning toward the delectable thought of his wife
and home.

Simon
watched Hugo disappear down the lane. He studied the village for
several moments, assured that nobody was following before nudging
his horse into a steady walk. Keeping to the shadows, he slowly
followed his friend.

Although
he would never admit it, he envied his boss. Not only did he have a
beautiful wife, but he had a home to go to, somewhere he could lay
down his cloak and declare his. In contrast, Simon had a small room
above a busy coaching inn in Launceston that was a bed for the
night, for this week at least. The meal he had consumed hours ago
had long since left him hungry, and his solitary bed held little
appeal. There was no warmth, no comfort, and meals were in scant
supply. With no prospect of securing either on a more permanent
basis in the near future, he faced a dismal few weeks anyway. What
did it matter if it was in Launceston, or Much Whatsit, or anywhere
else?

He
wondered if spending his life in the shadows was now an ingrained
part of him. He couldn’t conceive of caring about anyone else
enough to spend the rest of his life with them. The warmth of
hearth and home was something out of a dream; something that
belonged to someone else. His life was darkness and shadow;
harshness and cruelty. He had no place in a life of home and
expectation – either his or a wife’s.

Oh, he
was tall, and reasonably good looking. But with jet black hair and
piercing blue eyes, and a face that had grown more angular as he
matured, most people took a step back at first sight. Although he
drew women’s attention, and had used it to his own advantage on
more than one occasion, he had never found anyone who he considered
a ‘keeper’. As a result his association with women had been
confined to the bedroom. As brief an association as possible
ensured that both of them expected little other than a good
time.

Keeping
one eye on Hugo’s back, while surreptitiously checking the
surrounding area, Simon turned his thoughts to Much Hampton. He had
never heard of the place, but knew enough about the people of
Bodmin to know that the place was shrouded in secrecy. There were
untold stories of snarling beasts, strange ghosts and unearthly
presences. It would be enough to send any religious person into a
fit of the vapours. Story-telling aside, if it was a small village
– it couldn’t be that bad – could it?

Scenting
the sharp tang of sea air, Simon reined to a halt. He sat perfectly
still and watched Hugo turn into the driveway of his house with a
pang of restless envy that didn’t sit well on his shoulders.
Reining his horse away, he settled back in the saddle, and began
the long journey to Launceston. If he was lucky, he would be back
at the coaching inn for breakfast. He could catch some sleep and
then head out to find Much Hampton after lunch.

If there
was a God in heaven who liked him, he wouldn’t be able to find the
place and would have to give it up as a bad job. With any luck, he
would get lost on Bodmin Moor and become one of the unearthly
beings that were reputedly sighted on a regular basis, wandering
around the moor forever in search of a village that didn’t
exist.

If God
hated him, he would get there without a problem.

“
God hates me,” Simon groaned later the following afternoon.
His cloak billowed out behind him, dragged along by the stiff
breeze that swirled around them. Billie, his horse, shifted
restlessly as though sensing his master’s disquiet but Simon’s
attention was locked on the group of houses about half a mile
away.

Cold blue eyes stared dispassionately at the assembled
buildings that made up Much Hampton, and he cursed his luck that
the wretched place had proven
that
easy to find. Even from a distance Simon could see
people scurrying in and out of each other’s houses. It seemed that
nothing much changed in rural England between the north of the
country and the south; gossip was rife wherever you
lived.

Despite
the cold, blustery wind and grey clouds threatening an icy deluge,
Simon eased his cloak open to reveal the heavy pistol strapped to
his hip. It made him feel more secure knowing it was within easy
reach, only he wasn’t sure who he should be looking at using it on
first, the spies, the gossips or himself.

The road
he was standing on meandered haphazardly through the village. Even
from a distance the ribbon of road held a busy combination of
people going about their daily business, mingling with a seemingly
constant flow of carts heading in all directions. There were more
houses in the village than he had thought. Although he had no idea
what he had been expecting, the bustling hive of activity was the
very last thing he had considered, especially here, right in the
middle of Bodmin Moor. At first glance, it seemed considerably
busier than the small sea port of Padstow and he shook his head at
the thought of just what business people could need to conduct so
far away from the larger towns of Launceston and Bodmin.

Simon
frowned and studied the scene before him. Although the village
looked a picturesque scene of rural tranquillity, his gut instincts
warned him that there was something wrong. The small hairs rose on
the back of his neck, and he felt the familiar surge of awareness
sweep through him. Scanning the rolling hills around him revealed
nothing untoward. The rolling green expanse of moors was empty of
life, except for the occasional bird swooping through the skies
high above. The village was a bleak but picturesque picture of
rural England. Nothing wrong there, but his gut instincts warned
him to be on guard, and not be fooled by first appearances. The
place seemed almost too busy, and somewhat frantic. As though
everyone was trying to get as much done as possible while they
could – but why?

“
Come on, Billie, let’s descend into the bowels of hell,” Simon
muttered, nudging his horse forward. As sure-footed as mountain
goat, Billie began to descend the narrow road that would take him
down the gentle ridge toward the village. There was no village sign
to indicate where he was. If it hadn’t been for the excellent
directions a travelling salesman had given him several miles back,
Simon knew he would most probably never have found the place, or
could have considered he had found the wrong village. Strangely,
although there were several carts going here and there, he hadn’t
passed a single one on the road leading into the village. So where
were they all going? Again, a thin shiver of awareness swept
through him and he felt the familiar thrill of anticipation at the
thought of unravelling the mystery that lay before him.

A steady
drizzle began to settle on his shoulders, but Simon ignored it,
studying each house carefully as he slowly meandered past the first
few low-slung buildings on the very edge of the village. The
further into the village he went, the more plentiful the houses,
until he soon found himself in what appeared to be the thriving hub
of the village.

Sitting
astride the familiar comfort of Billie, he drew to a stop and
quietly studied the milling people around him. A few looked upon
him suspiciously as they passed. More often than not their eyes
slid away from his before he could affect a greeting, and they
increased their pace, eager to be on their way. One or two did
venture a quick greeting, but despite the joviality in their
voices, Simon was well aware of the glint of suspicion in their
gazes.

Eventually the main road crossed with a second road that
seemed to run out of town to the east and the west, although there
were no road markings to say where the roads went. Pausing at the
crossroads for several moments, he carefully studied the buildings.
A bakery, a buttery, a blacksmith, several houses as well as a
church all lined the street facing him.

“
Excuse me,” Simon called, sighing deeply as the old woman he
hailed paused and stared at him with large round eyes, before
tugging her shawl around her shoulders and glancing frantically
around her, as though deciding which way to run. Determined not to
let her vanish until he had answers, Simon edged closer, trying to
appear relaxed and at ease. “Can you tell me where I can find the
tavern, or some place to stay?”