Chapter One

      1780

      The crowd melted away, making a pathway before Captain Marcus Carberry as he walked from Fowey Harbour with long, purposeful strides. Some turned to look again at the well-built figure of the tanned military man in his late twenties. His face was disciplined, strong, striking—and exceptionally handsome. He was conspicuous in his tight fitting-red jacket with its cross-belt of white which emphasised his powerful chest, and tapering white trousers above knee-length black boots emphasised long legs and muscular thighs.

      Having left the ship outside Fowey’s deep harbour, on its way to Portsmouth, and rowed to shore, he was eager to get home. Looking around the familiar bustling streets he felt his heart swell. For him, the war in America was over. Having served the ten years he had signed up for with the army, he had been on the point of extending his post, but the death of his father had brought him back to Tregarrick.

      Cornwall was in his heart, and he had always known he would come back. Everything he had ever cared about was here. Breathing deep of the salt sea air, he thought even the cloying stench of fish that hung over the harbour smelled sweet after five years of war.

      And then there was the family mine—Wheal Rozen, named after his grandmother. From the moment his father had taken him there as a boy he’d set about learning all there was to know about mining and everything connected with it, from anyone who was prepared to talk to him. The memory of the times he had spent at Wheal Rozen as a boy and then as a youth, listening to the noise and action of the great pump engine demonstrating its power, made his body tingle.

      Now, on his father’s demise, Marcus’s elder half-brother Edward had inherited the estate—which was the way of things—but his father had left Marcus one hundred per cent ownership of the mine, so all the decision-making would be up to him, and the freedom to explore for further mineral deposits was his priority.

      As soon as he had eaten at a hostelry he hired a horse and headed out of Fowey. The horse would be returned in due course. It was already dark. He knew it was dangerous to travel at night but, believing his uniform would protect him against anyone who might be tempted to waylay him, and eager to get home, he set out for Tregarrick.

      Thoughts of his brother brought a hardening to Marcus’s jaw and an ache to his heart, and as he covered the miles he was unable to stave off his anxiety as to how his homecoming would be received by Edward.

      Marcus knew better than to expect him to welcome him home with warm words. Spoiled and fawned over by an adoring mother, Edward was one of the most unprincipled men he knew. He and Marcus had led separate lives, meeting only when one or the other had come home from school, and later when Marcus came home from the military academy. After a lifetime of resentment Edward was unlikely to have had a change of heart towards Marcus. But if he had, Marcus would welcome that and hold out his hand.

      As brothers they should be able to forgive each other anything—shouldn’t they?

      Almost at the end of his journey, and seeing a flash of light out at sea, he dismounted and walked to the cliff’s edge. His eyes were drawn down to the beach, where dark figures moved and horses waited. From his vantage point Marcus knew he was witnessing the centuries-old Cornish tradition of smuggling.

      It was something he had grown up with, and he knew that to those involved in the trade it was a way of life. For the families with many mouths to feed times were hard, and smuggling was their way of trying to make ends meet—the ring-leaders often became rich on the strength of it. But those who got involved in this illegal trade did so at a high cost, for the penalty for smuggling would be found at the end of a rope...

      * * *

      Tonight the wind was blowing and the sea was choppy. Conditions were perfect for the run. The night was dark, with only a half-moon showing now and then between heavy clouds. Lowena didn’t like being on the cliffs after dark, but Edward had left her with no choice.

      Edward Carberry! The mere thought of him had the power to fill her with fear and hatred. It was hard to believe that a man of such high standing in the community, and indeed the whole of Cornwall, would involve himself in the illegal and highly dangerous practice of smuggling. But since taking up employment as a servant at Tregarrick, Lowena had come to realise that her employer was clever and as slippery as an eel—and notorious for his ruthlessness.

      It was as though smuggling gave him a much needed outlet for adventure, and the danger provided heightened his emotions. He also seemed to take great delight in cocking a snook at the Government in faraway London, for the exorbitant taxes imposed on the people of Cornwall to fund its wars and other schemes that did not concern the county.

      As soon as she had started work at Tregarrick, after Izzy’s death, Lowena had caught his eye. When she’d resisted his advances, he had taken a perverted delight in drawing her into his ring of smugglers. She had courageously stood up to him, and told him she wanted no part of it, but he had left her in no doubt that if she did not comply she would have to seek employment elsewhere.

      With no family to support her and nowhere else to go, Lowena had had no choice but to do as she was told.

      Had his brother Marcus been at home then things would have been different. In all the years she had known him Lord Carberry’s younger half-brother had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration. He had often come to see Izzy when he was home from school, to sample some of the wonderful appetising food that she’d put on her table.

      How he’d loved to talk! And how Lowena had loved to listen, with her eyes wide and nothing to contribute but her admiration of this handsome youth. Tenderness still shook her every time she thought of him. He would not have allowed Lord Carberry to use her in this manner.

      Her heart warmed as she thought of him now. Izzy had told her that Mr Marcus had all the characteristics his half-brother had always envied and resented. Lowena remembered that his features were quiet and intent, that they were also strong and noble—in all he was taller and significantly more handsome and manly than Edward Carberry. Edward’s features were fine—his eyes a watery blue, his hair ash-blond.

      It wasn’t the first time Lowena had been dragged from her bed when there was a run. She knew the routine. She was positioned at the highest point along this part of the coastline, and it was her responsibility to light the beacon of furze should trouble appear. Someone else was guarding the narrow track that ran down to the cove—the one that led to the high moor, which was dominated by a bleak, hostile landscape and where no one lingered longer than was necessary.

      The wind snapped at her hair and she shuddered as she looked down into the cove, unmoving, watchful, staring into the darkness, hoping and praying that all would go to plan so she didn’t have to light the furze.

      A cloud moved off the moon, shedding light on the small horseshoe cove. This was where, on a terrible stormy night, a ship had once found itself at the mercy of the wind, the sea and the rocks—where it had floundered and broken up. Wreckers had soon been drawn to the stricken vessel, before the customs men had appeared on the scene. They had looted the vessel, killing without mercy anyone who had survived.

      It was said