The innkeeper's wife had looked out at the sound of their wheels on the cobbles. She recognized Phyllida and came forward, beaming, wiping her hands on her apron. Without waiting for assistance, Phyllida jumped down. In seconds, she and the woman were discussing what sounded like the recipe for some poultice.
The innkeeper stuck his head out; Lucifer waved him away, tied the blacks to the rail, then settled to observe.
Laughing, Phyllida gestured to an opening in the worn stone wall. The woman nodded and smiled; together, she and Phyllida strolled through. Lucifer trailed after them. Stopping in the gap, he leaned against the wall.
Beyond lay the remnants of a garden, stunted by the sea breeze whipping across the open fields. A vociferous crowd gathered around Phyllida, greeting her shrilly; she laughed, patted heads, tweaked braids. Then she sat on a stone bench in the sun and the children pressed around her.
He couldn't hear what she asked, how they answered. He didn't bother trying to hear. Instead, he drank in the sight of Phyllida with the children like fairies surrounding their queen, all eager for her blessing.
She gave it unstintingly with smiles, laughter, and an effortless understanding. With sincere interest and a deep caring. It glowed-in her eyes, like an aura all about her. The children, the woman, basked and drew it in; Phyllida simply gave.
He was sure she didn't realize-she certainly didn't realize how much he could see.
Finally, after much teasing, she stood and the children, made to mind by their mother, let her go. She strolled toward him, still smiling softly, her gaze on the path. As she neared, she looked up. He kept his expression impassive. "Did they see anyone?"
She shook her head. Looking back, she waved, then, side by side, they headed for the curricle.
"They were out on Sunday morning. It was glorious weather, if you recall. They play out there most of the time. The chances of anyone slipping by and being missed by all those sharp eyes…"
He handed her up to the seat. "So we've accomplished what we set out to do-we've confirmed no visitor, no one from outside, rode into Colyton on Sunday, at least not from the east."
Phyllida was silent as he set the blacks in motion and turned them out onto the road. "Now where? I'm ravenous. We need a place to do justice to Mrs. Hemmings's picnic."
She pointed south. "Down to the coast. It's wonderful on the cliffs."
The road took them down through the village of Axmouth, then wound up onto the cliffs. She directed him along a rutted track that led to a stand of scrubby trees. "We can leave the horses here. It's not much further."
Carrying the basket, he followed her onto the windswept cliff. The view was magnificent. He stopped to drink in the majestic sweep of the cliffs westward. The Axe spilled into the sea virtually at their feet, distance miniaturizing the houses of Axmouth. The estuary itself was peaceful, but beyond the breakers the Channel swell ruled, surging powerfully.
The gray-green sea stretched to the horizon; the cliffs dominated on either side. Phyllida stood watching a little way ahead; when his gaze reached her, she smiled and beckoned with her head. She led the way around a hillock; a patch of grass lay protected by the hillock, large boulders, and trees. It was a pretty spot, partly sheltered yet still open, still blessed with panoramic views.
"Jonas and I found this place when we were children." Phyllida drew the rug from the basket, then spread it on the grass. As she straightened, Lucifer's hand appeared before her. She hesitated, then put her fingers in his and let him hand her down to the rug. He placed the basket beside her. She busied herself unpacking and arranging their feast.
He lounged on the other side of the basket and reached for the bottle wrapped in a white napkin. Sliding it free, he rummaged for the glasses. When she finished laying out their repast, he had a glass ready to hand to her.
"To summer."
She smiled and clinked glasses, then sipped. The wine slid down her throat, cold and refreshing; a tingle slithered down her spine. A whisper of anticipation echoed in her mind while a pleasurable warmth spread through her.
They ate. He seemed to know her needs before she did, offering her rolls, the chicken, pastries. At first, she felt unnerved; then she hid a self-deprecatory smile. He wasn't deliberately trying to rattle her-he wasn't even aware he was. Such attentions were simply second nature to him.
Not so to her. No other man treated her like that-ready with a steadying hand, a protective shoulder, not out of any intent to impress her but simply because she was she.
It was unnerving, and rather nice.
"Does the Colyton Import Company bring its goods ashore near here?"
She waved to the west. "There's a path to the beach a little way along. It's easy to find; there's a knoll beside it. If we need to light a beacon, we put it up there."
"How dangerous is it along this stretch?"
"Not too bad if you know it. But there are reefs close."
"So the Colyton men go out and bring the goods in?"
"They've been sailing these waters since they could stand. There's very little risk for them."
She repacked the basket. The wind was freshening, tugging at napkins, but it was still pleasant beneath the screened sun. She'd left her parasol in the curricle and was glad she had. She couldn't have used it in this wind.