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“No, it doesn’t.” Sarah noticed that his arm was around her and her head was resting on his shoulder. How had that happened? She ought to draw away, but she was so comfortable. “I hope you wouldn’t go after dragons though. If there were dragons.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it has often seemed to me that the dragons were just minding their own business. Devouring the occasional sheep or cow, yes. But what else are they to eat? Wolves do the same. And did the dragons demand that virgin sacrifices be left for them? How would they have done so? They don’t seem to talk. Wasn’t this an invention of frightened townsfolk?” Sarah bit her lip. She shouldn’t have saidvirgin. That verged on the improper.
“Do you have some affinity for monstrous scaled creatures?” her companion asked, his tone amused.
Sarah’s embarrassment dissolved into laughter. “I am fond of all sorts of animals.”
“Some of which are more, er, cuddly? Kittens perhaps?”
“Of course kittens. Dogs. A teacher at my school had a pet crow. Very intelligent. I loved him.”
They began to compare their varying histories of family pets. Gradually, the remarks grew further apart, and after another stretch of time, they drifted off to sleep.
The tide peaked and began to recede, sounding much the same in both directions. In the depths of the night, the floor of the cavern started to clear, but the pair did not see it as they slept, nestled together like the illustration of a fairy tale.
The night passed. The water reached its low and started the endless cycle of returning. The salt-laden air brightened. Gulls cried in the distance.
Kenver woke with his arms around a young lady, her body pressed to his, her head on his shoulder. He’d opened his eyes in a willing woman’s bed a few times in London, but this was different. It wasn’t just that he was fully dressed in sodden clothing and was cramped from his curled position. It wasn’t the odd surroundings or the pain of his injured rib. It was the girl. He looked down at the top of her head in the growing morning light. She was unprecedented in his experience, with an odd quirky charm. Last night, they’d talked so easily and openly. Not like acquaintances or even friends; more like…kindred spirits. And the warmth of her against his side in the murmuring darkness had been so comforting. It was as if, with the talk and the silences and the shared warmth, a bond had knit between them. He still felt its sturdy strands. He couldn’t even see her face, yet the connection remained strong.
There was a glimmer of sun on the water below them. The low water. The tide had turned and receded. In fact, it was starting to come in again. They had to hurry. He sat straighter, suppressing a grunt at the twinge in his side, and pulled his coat off the two of them.
His companion—Miss Sarah Moran, he remembered—blinked and looked around as if wondering where on earth she was.
“The sea has gone down,” he told her. “We must leave at once.”
“Oh.” She pushed away from the stone wall. “Oh, yes!”
Kenver put on his coat, ignoring the pain that came with each movement, and scooted over to slide off the ledge. Landing in ankle-deep water, he reached up and caught Miss Moran by the waist as she followed him. For a moment, they stood chest to chest on the sand, her curvaceous body pressed against his. A hint of desire passed through him. That was unacceptable. He turned and moved away.
They waded out of the cave to the place where they’d fallen, and Kenver examined the cliff in the growing light. A wave splashed against the rocks, wetting them again. There were cracks and crevices visible all the way up. He should be able to climb even with his injury. “I’ll go and find help,” he said.
He was about halfway up when he realized that Miss Moran was clinging to the rock face just below him. “What are you doing?”
“I can get up this,” she replied. “Now that I see where to step.”
She’d knotted her skirts and petticoats about her midsection, leaving her lower legs bare. Her very shapely legs. A little shocked, Kenver looked away and climbed on.
He scrambled over the top of the cliff, avoiding the slab that had teetered under him yesterday, and turned to help his intrepid companion up the last few feet. She blushed as she untied her skirts and let them fall. He felt he ought to say something about the curiously tender night they’d shared, but he couldn’t think what.
They made their way through the winding crevice, Kenver wondering how he was to get her home. He supposed his horse was still here. The poor beast would have been tied to a bush all night. Unless someone had stolen him.
They emerged into an open space beside the ruined medieval castle. Despite the early hour, it was not empty. In fact, there seemed to be quite a crowd of people milling about. Briefly, they all turned and stared at them. “Sarah!” an older woman cried. She rushed forward, started to enfold Miss Moran in her arms, and hesitated at the wet and sandy state of Sarah’s garments. “What has happened to you?”
In that instant, Kenver saw his companion with a parent’s eyes. Miss Moran’s dress was torn in several places and streaked with dirt and green algae. The wet cloth clung to her form quite improperly. There was a green smudge on her cheek as well. Her hair straggled about her shoulders with no sign of a bonnet. She was wet and disheveled. She looked…ravaged. The other people here were eyeing her, and him, with sly speculation.
“What have you done to my daughter, you blackguard?” A middle-aged gentleman ran toward Kenver with his walking stick raised to strike.
“Papa, don’t,” Miss Moran responded, fending off the lady who must be her mother. “We fell over the cliff and the tide rose…”
“We?” the man interrupted. “What we? Where did you meet this man? How did he lure you away from us?”
“He didn’t…”
“It was a chance encounter,” Kenver began. “An accident.”
“Accident! You call my daughter’s ruin an accident?” The older man—Mr. Moran, without doubt—looked furious.
