Smuggler's Glory Read online

  Smuggler’s Glory

  The Star Elite

  Book Two

  By

  Rebecca King

  Smuggler’s Glory

  Rebecca King

  Copyright 2013 by Rebecca King

  Smashwords Edition © Rebecca King 2013

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  He stared hard across the table, his tankard held suspended half way to his mouth. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He carefully lowered his watered beer onto the table as his temper began to build. It was either put the tankard down, or hurl it across the room in a blaze of fury before pounding the man seated opposite. Bracing his elbows on the table, Simon Ambrose leaned menacingly across the battered wooden table toward his boss.

  “You what?” Although his voice was quiet, the cold ring of menace hidden within the husky growl was clear warning to the man sitting opposite, who instinctively leaned back in his seat.

  Hugo wasn’t scared of Simon Ambrose, far from it. He would trust the man with not only his own life, but his wife’s. It was just that over the past several years, he had seen Simon’s ruthlessness first-hand on more than one occasion and, more often than not, had been entirely grateful for it. But he had never been on the receiving end of his legendary temper before, and it was a little unnerving, even for a battle-scarred warrior such as himself.

  Hugo glanced casually around the room, giving Simon a few minutes to absorb his latest news and rein in his temper, in the vague hope that the large man wouldn’t launch across the table and go for his throat. He had spent a lot of the ride over contemplating how he was going to break the news to one of his best men. By the time he had reached the tidy tavern in the middle of a nondescript little village near Bodmin, he had almost got his speech ready – almost, and had been prepared for the storm that was to come.

  “I want you to go to a small village called Much Hampton, and stay there to observe.” Hugo’s voice was soft but held an underlying hint of steel that did little to penetrate the rising tide of fury within Simon.

  “Observe what?” Simon’s voice was laced with impatience. He had no intention of carrying out the new set of orders, and his curiosity in no way mollified his temper, but a tiny part of him was curious anyway to know why Hugo had chosen him to go.

  “The villagers,” Hugo muttered, knowing Simon’s temper was going to get a lot worse before the night was over.

  “All of them?” Simon snorted disparagingly at Hugo’s nod. He had no intention of ever finding out just how big Much Hampton was but it was bloody impossible to keep an eye on the entire village, and Hugo knew it.

  “Where is it?” Simon snapped impatiently. He wasn’t going to go, but it would give him some idea of who to suggest was sent instead.

  “It is in the middle of Bodmin Moor.” Hugo mentally winced, carefully ignoring Simon’s soft curse. Although Simon was still talking to him, he wasn’t convinced that the battle was over – yet.

  “Why can’t one of the others go?”

  “Because they are all busy, Simon,” Hugo sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “I know you don’t like small villages – well, any village really,” he amended ruefully. “But there is really nobody else.”

  “Archie?”

  “Stuck in Port Isaac watching the new arrivals.”

  “Stephen?”

  “Busy in London, trying to find who the weak links are.” Hugo shot his friend a sympathetic look. “Everyone else is already on assignment and it is too dangerous to pull them out now. We will lose too much valuable time and information that we just cannot afford. Word of Pierre’s capture will soon surface when nobody can make contact with him. Although we can hide his mother’s death, we can’t hide the fact that Pierre is missing. We don’t know how far the spies have infiltrated the halls of government, and until we do, we have to assume that someone will come looking for Pierre. When they do, they will think that we have him. The men are working on extracting the information that we need from Pierre, but you know the situation. Until he recovers from his injuries, there isn’t much more we can do. Everyone else is already either embedded deep undercover, or working on assignments. You are the only one who is available.”

  “Shit,” Simon sighed, glaring across the table. A horrible sense of foreboding was beginning to build and he hated it. It made him feel distinctly uncomfortable, like he wanted to fidget in clothes that were too small. He knew it wasn’t Hugo’s fault, but couldn’t find a way through his growing anger to be malleable with the man he considered his closest friend.

  His dislike of villages and even the people that lived in them was bone deep. He had no intention of spending any time in such places. He hadn’t stayed in a village overnight since he had left home all those years ago, and he wasn’t about to start now; not even for king and country. “I quit.”

  “No, you don’t.” Hugo’s voice was sharp. He heaved a sigh, fighting to keep the surprise from his voice. Simon’s reaction was to be expected given how averse he was to, well, people really. He had considered that knew his friend well, but he hadn’t expected him to make such a bold pronouncement. It gave him some hint to how averse to the new set of orders Simon really was; and the battle that now lay before Hugo just to get him to agree.

  In reality, Hugo knew that he could just order the man to go, but hated to pull rank on his friend. The men of the Star Elite had fought many battles together, both during their time on the battlefields serving in various regiments before being conscripted into the elite task force formed to protect English borders from invasion. Although Hugo was the highest ranking officer, he didn’t consider himself any better than the men he worked with and classed them as friends and colleagues rather than soldiers and associates. He had absolutely no intention of forcing any of them to do anything they didn’t want to. Simon just needed a little persuasion, even of the heavy kind.

  Hugo had no idea where the aversion to village life came from. Although they had spent many hours together there was a part of Simon’s past he refused to divulge, in spite of the most persistent and careful questioning. There was something in his past that he had not managed to lay to rest, and it still affected him deeply, especially if he was prepared to quit rather than face old ghosts.

  “This isn’t bloody funny,” Simon growled defiantly at the growing smile on Hugo’s face, and fought the urge to punch the man squarely on his nose.

  Hugo tried to smother his smile, but couldn’t. “I didn’t think I would ever see the day that one of my best men would be scared of a few old women.”

  “I am not scared,” Simon snarled, his eyes shooting sparks of fury. “I quit.”

  “No, you don’t. You are not a quitter. You have never walked away from anything in your life, and won’t start now. You are a fighter, and while we have the work we have, we cannot afford to walk away.”

  “I’m not going to Much bloody Hampton.”

  “There is nobody else,” Hugo argued. This was far harder than he had thought.

  Sighing deeply, Hugo eased the tankard out of Simon’s fierce grip and placed it at the edge of the table. Something inside him wanted to apologise to the man, but a stern voice reminded him of the perils that awaited them all in their present situation.

  England was at war with France, and the country was being invaded by a small, and very
ruthless army of French spies that were gathering information and smuggling goods in and out of the country, aided and abetted by people who were not altogether loyal to king and country, and would undoubtedly sell their own grandma for a few extra shillings. Not that Hugo could entirely blame them, money was short, for everyone. If someone came along and offered an amount of money large enough to make life more liveable, most people would at least be tempted. Unfortunately for Hugo and the men from the Star Elite, the ruthlessness and efficiency of the spies that were entering the country had taken the lives of more than one good soldier, and had to be stopped as soon as practically possible.

  “Look, we have followed the trail to Much Hampton. We need a man in the village who can watch what is happening. You know how it works; follow leads, observe people, check out who is trouble, and who is just living life. It shouldn’t be too difficult, even for you.”

  Simon glared at the sarcastic aside and remained silent.

  “Find out who is taking the spies in and giving them false papers, and where they go after that. Once we have that information, we will know who the contacts are in London. We know they go somewhere around Much Hampton before taking up their new lives, but we don’t know who they meet. The forger is in that village somewhere, we just don’t know who it is yet. We need to know who is setting them up with the papers, and who is shipping them out of the village with their new identities.”

  Simon heard everything Hugo was saying, and fully understood why he needed to go to the tiny village in the middle of nowhere. He just didn’t agree with it. If there was one thing Simon hated more than anything in the entire world, it was small villages and the people in them. They were full of row after row of small houses, where nothing much ever happened without curtain twitchers, and gossiping old busybodies who had nothing to do but run in and out of each other’s houses, spreading their bilious news about other people’s lives.

  He hated people who took great delight in denigrating others, especially when they weren’t there to defend themselves, and he liked nothing less than the pious nit-pickers who simply waited to pick fault with anything they considered out of the ordinary, or offensive, and took the greatest delight in announcing it loudly to anyone and everyone. It was always the nastiest who were the ones who came forward to shout the loudest, as though it excused their own offensive behaviour. He hated it, and hated them for being so ignorant.

  Did he want to live amongst them, even for a little while? No, he did not. The assignment Hugo wanted him to go on was worse than being sent to the darkest, dingiest, hell-hole to fight single-handedly against a marauding pack of enemy soldiers. He quickly closed that thought off as the dark shadows of memory began to swirl hauntingly before him.

  Slowly shaking his head, he glanced across the table, his mind racing with possibilities.

  “Why can’t you and Harriett go? You know, take a bit of a honeymoon?”

  Hugo slowly shook his head, a delighted smile sweeping across his face. “Harriett is in no condition to travel right now.”

  Simon’s brows shot skyward and his chiselled lips split into a grin. “God, you didn’t waste any time. Congratulations.” He liked Harriett. She was calm and unflappable, but not some squealing brainless half-wit who cowered and quivered at the first sign of adversity. As the perfect match for Hugo, she had been accepted by the whole team without question. Having faced her own near-death traumas, she had earned her place there too.

  “Thank you.” Hugo took a sip of his watery brew, aware that Simon was trying to change the subject. “Don’t be lulled into a false sense of security, Simon. This village may be quiet and out of the way, but it is a dangerous place.” His eyes met and held Simon’s, and he watched the humour vanish from his friend’s face regretfully. Now that he came to think about it, he didn’t see Simon relax enough to smile very often. It was a shame to see the almost sombre look sweep the joy away.

  “Oh? Do the biddies have a penchant for using their knitting needles for other purposes these days?”

  “Not all old ladies are vicious, you know,” Hugo chided, ignoring Simon’s curse.

  “The ones I’ve met are. Mean by mouth and mean by nature.”

  Sighing deeply, Hugo huffed a disbelieving snort and shook his head. He wanted to bang his head against the table with frustration. “If you can get your mind off a village full of old people, and concentrate on the operation for a moment, do you want me to tell you the rest?”

  “If it means going to Much Hampton, no I don’t,” Simon argued. “You seem to think that if this village has much going on, the village gossips will know all about it. The smugglers probably chose the blasted place because half of the population are half-dead already, and nothing much happens. If the place is the same as every other village in this country, gossips will rule with an iron fist and nothing will happen without everyone knowing about it.” The words landed like pebbles on the table between them, accompanied by the fierce glare from brilliant blue eyes that stared defiantly at the bearer of bad tidings.

  “So how did the French spies get a base set up then? Why risk the villagers getting wind and gossiping about it?” Hugo argued.

  “Because most of the old people don’t venture out at night, especially on Bodmin Moor for God’s sakes. That is when the spies operate, remember? At night, under the cover of darkness? I have spent so many nights up and about over the past few months that I am starting to get prison pallor and have the eyes of a bloody bat. I am very aware that they operate at night when most people are in bed.” Simon paused, considering the possibilities. His eyes rose and met Hugo’s watchful gaze. “The villagers are involved in it?”

  Hugo knew Simon would figure it out eventually and was slightly relieved that his interest was piqued. “We don’t know who, or how many, but something like this doesn’t go on without most, if not all, knowing about it. Old people might be in bed at night, but they go to the tavern early and see things. They also gossip about it the following day in the village shops, around people’s houses. This is a lucrative business, Simon. Anyone with enough money would be able to buy these people’s silence.”

  “An entire village? I doubt it,” Simon spat, fighting the urge to get up and leave. He leaned across the table, until his face was inches from Hugo’s. He couldn’t believe that Hugo had nearly got him so easily. “If you think for one second that I am going to spend any time gossiping with a bunch of old biddies, then you are seriously an apple short of a full barrel. Go to hell,” Simon snorted, shoving away from the table and snatching his coat up, only to pause and lean over Hugo one last time. “Most of the villages on Bodmin Moor are tiny, you know that. What if it is all of the villagers involved? What then? Are you going to arrest the whole bloody village? Even if anyone, and believe me Hugo, it certainly won’t be me, but even if anyone can get wind of any gossip, how do you expect them to get it back out to tell you about it? Their movements are going to be watched so bloody closely they won’t be able to cough in bed at night without it being noted by half the village. How do you seriously expect anyone to successfully infiltrate a tiny village that has so much it needs to protect?” His eyes met and held Hugo’s. He hated to be at odds with the man. They had spent so much time working together that it was a shame to see their friendship damaged, but this was one job that Simon was definitely not going to be landed with.

  “I’m not going to Much Hampton, and that’s final,” Simon declared flatly, draining the last of his tepid brew and slamming his tankard on the table. He did it with such force, driven by his burning disgust, that the chatter of the other patrons stopped and everyone turned to stare at him. Simon straightened his back and glared at them. His towering height and broad shoulders were enough to ensure that nobody made any protest. After several long, silent moments the chatter resumed, leaving Simon free to stalk out of the tavern with long, ground-eating strides.

  The door banged closed behind him with a reassuring thump. Even this small tavern was in a tiny
, nondescript village in the middle of nowhere. Simon suddenly had the urge to visit London, with its bright lights and high populace. He needed people, lights, music, good food and fine wine. He would also have incorporated a visit to his mistress, but he had already set her free months ago. Having been unable to visit her for months at a time, it seemed a ridiculous expense for very little reward. Still, there were other women in London. Women he had no doubt would be able to meet his needs, even for a short time.

  One thing was for certain, he was sick of being out in the dark, in the middle of the night, in the bloody freezing sea breezes. He was thoroughly fed up with small stone cottages, and suspicious villagers, French spies and practically everything else.

  Although he hadn’t heard the door open behind him, he knew Hugo was standing in the doorway, watching him.

  “I could pull rank you know, and order you to go.”

  “I’m not a soldier in the bloody army now, and you know it.”

  “But I am still your commanding officer,” Hugo sighed, not wanting to go down that route, especially with one of his closest friends. “We have got a job to do, and we all have to play our part. I really want to be at home, sitting in front of a roaring fire with my wife, rather than drinking that dishwater in a smoke-filled tavern, but we all have to make sacrifices.”

  “This is one sacrifice too far,” Simon sighed, glaring balefully at Hugo. He knew Hugo could pull rank and order him to go, and Simon would either have to go or face military arrest for failing to carry out his orders. Defeat weighed heavily on him. He was tired. He was hungry. He was so sick of being in the dark, and was so cold that he doubted he would ever be warm again.