Jess turned a slow circle and considered the best route out. Neither end of the tiny bay looked better, so she went with instinct and took the one beyond the foaming rocks she had battled to swim around. The initial boulders were worn smooth by the sea, allowing her to climb tentatively up several feet before the ragged, smaller rocks above stalled her pace. Although considerably less slippery, they were sharp and chiselled nicks in her skin if she stepped on one incorrectly. She didn’t dare look down, or up, or even side to side, knowing that focusing on the solid wall in front of her was the sight least likely to send her head spinning and her stomach lurching. Using her small hands wedged between the crevices or the occasional tenacious clump of coarse foliage, Jess was able to take some of the weight of her body from her feet, but not much. The saltwater dripping from her sodden breeches infiltrated the cuts and added to the pain. She ignored it. Onwards and upwards towards better things.
Midway, well past the ominous waterline, she paused on a flattened ledge and risked a brief gaze out to sea, making sure her eyes never dipped down. Still no sign of the frigate or Lord Flint. Either he had yet to discover she was missing or they had taken the direct route to land and were miles shy of her position. Perhaps God had heard her prayers and had sent the powerful currents to save her? Both things made her smile and as a reward Jess allowed herself five minutes of rest which then gave her a burst of physical and mental strength to continue upwards.
She could do this!
The final stretch was steep but easier, thanks to a thick blanket of grass which covered the rock that now gently tapered to form a hill rather than a sheer cliff. The ground beneath her feet was now reassuringly solid again.
Another blessing in a life sadly devoid of them. Finally, her time had come to escape and it felt marvellous. The cuts on her feet would heal, the scars on her heart would fade and maybe one day she would know what it felt like to not be terrified all the time. A staggering possibility that was becoming reassuringly more real, despite the dreadful height, with every laboured step.
As she left the sea behind, it appeared she had found the most deserted bit of England to land on. A narrow spit that jutted out to sea, completely devoid of buildings or even a path to suggest somebody occasionally visited. Another of today’s fine blessings that she didn’t have time to enjoy, but one day in the future she would venture back here with a picnic and simply sit and take in all the spartan beauty properly. The only signs of life not plant based were the many sea birds that swooped along the shore line and nested in the cliff.
Jess was all alone and free.
For the first time in years!
That giddy realisation caused a tiny bubble of laughter to escape her throat. She’d done it! Against all the odds and solely using her own wits and sheer damned stubbornness, she had escaped both Saint-Aubin and the British Navy. The laughter wouldn’t stop, so she took herself well away from the terrifying edge and threw her head back, allowing it free rein. A minute of indulgence. Surely she had earned that?
‘There she is!’
The shout from above caused her heart to stop. Ce n’est pas possible! But it was.
Lord Flint crested the top of the hill and was closely followed by most of the crew from the ship. The tears came then as her throat closed with the pain of defeat, like the hangman’s noose choking the last vestiges of hope and all of her foolish dreams. What did God have against her? Could he not see this was all so unfair? Or did he not care? Was her soul indelibly stained with the sins of her mother and her own weaknesses despite her best efforts to make amends? Just once, she wished that God would help her. But, of course, he didn’t. Because she was on her own.
Always had been.
Her wits returned in a whoosh to counter the blind panic, her head whipping from side to side to find the best escape route. She had got this far without help and she was not dead yet! Jess wouldn’t allow it. The sea of grass and gorse and sailors was the only way out, unless she threw herself over the rocks behind her.
‘Fan out, men! We have her cornered!’
Sadly true, but Jess had come too far to give up all hope now. Like a banshee she launched herself forward. If she could just get past them...
She used her shoulder, hunched low, to barrel into the first man, then simply kept on running, darting sideways to avoid the grasping hands of another. Like sheep, they began to herd together and follow her, closing the distance with each stride of their legs, yet still Jess ran. Her lungs burned and she could hear nothing over the sounds of her rapid heartbeat.
Someone grabbed her collar and tugged, pulling her backwards on to the ground. The strong smell of cabbage announced her assailant better than words. For him, her capture would be intensely personal. Jess twisted in an attempt to loosen his firm grip a split second before the back of his meaty hand cracked across her jaw and stars exploded behind her eyes. After that, despite all her best efforts, she could barely keep them open.
There were shouts.
Just one man shouting.
He was angry.
Livid.
‘You bastard!’
Jess heard another crack, then a dull thud. Through a fog she saw the toothless sailor lying flat on his back next to her, groaning.
Faces.
Many faces. From the past and from the grave. Her mother. Her long-forgotten father. The innocent men she had unintentionally sent to their slaughter...but only one pair of eyes. Green like the grass she lay on. Very green.
Gentle hands brushed over her forehead.
‘Jessamine? Can you hear me? Can you...?’ Jess felt another tear leak out of her eye and drizzle down her cheek. She didn’t have any fight left to stop it.
It was all so tragically unfair, but maybe fully deserved.
Her dark eyes had fluttered open and she stared into his briefly before she passed out. A bruise already marred her perfect cheek and a tiny trickle of blood oozed from the cut on her lip. Both piqued his rage and made Flint want to pummel the toothless sailor for daring to take his hand to a woman. Then he had momentarily lost control, something he rarely did, and sent the fellow flying before rushing to her aid.
Now, with her dark hair fanned out on the snowy white pillowcase and her face pale, those fresh bruises stood out in stark relief alongside the dark shadows he now saw beneath her closed eyes. In slumber, Lady Jessamine looked nothing like the calculating traitor or the confrontational termagant who had showered him in stale bread. She looked vulnerable and alone and painfully delicate.
Except she wasn’t delicate. Far from it.
It took physical and mental strength to swim close to two miles of the English Channel, fight the current and crashing waves and then scale a small cliff barefoot and, God help him, a large part of him admired her for that. She was desperate to live and who could blame her? Were he facing a date with the hangman, Flint would doubtless react in a similar manner and would fight for his life till his dying breath. Hell, he’d even swim the channel to get back to safety if push came to shove.
The utter devastation on her face when they found her again was not something that he could easily forget either. Guilt had been his first reaction before he’d ruthlessly corrected his emotions, but the weight of that guilt still lingered and plagued him. Obviously misplaced. After all, Flint had a weakness for a pretty face and a sultry pair of eyes. Lady Jessamine had both and used them mercilessly to get her own way.
Those emotive eyes had tricked him once already. The more he thought about it, the more her initial escape from the boat seemed gallingly like a preamble. During questioning, she must have spotted the only unguarded route of escape in his cabin and then what followed had been a contrived way to get back in that cabin and be left all alone.
‘I