SWEPT AWAY is an action-packed adventure set in Regency England. A half-naked man has washed ashore. He is badly beaten, with no memory of who he his or how he came to be there. Is he a spy or a traitor? Is he working for the English, or is he in Napoleon Bonaparte’s inner circle of conspirators? Who tried to kill him and why is there an assassin trying to hunt him down and kill him before the English can find him and arrest him for treason?
Annaleah Fairchilde has been sent to the seaside as punishment for refusing to marry the man her parents have chosen for her. Her great-aunt’s house is filled with oddball characters, and Annaleah is far from bored, especially when she goes for a walk on a lonely stretch of beach and finds the body of a man about to be swept away on the outgoing tide.
A brief excerpt of SWEPT AWAY:
“The vicar,” Florence was saying, “is naturally anxious to speak with you.”
“So anxious,” Althorpe said carefully, “that he has left me here, in your care, instead of taking me home?”
“When we first found you on the beach, we had no way of knowing if anything had been broken, most particularly your head. We all agreed it would best not to move you too soon.”
“And that is the only reason?”
Florence’s face remained admirably blank. “Whatever do you mean?”
Emory drained his fourth glass of cider and set the empty goblet carefully aside. “I mean...I may have lost my memory, but I have not lost my sight or my wits. You both look as if you are sitting on broken glass, wary of my asking a wrong question or venturing onto a subject you would prefer not to broach. And this room. It is under the eaves, is it not? Rather a peculiar choice of accommodations if I am, as you say, an old family friend. Furthermore, since I have been here, there has been a guard on the door.”
“Broom? Why, Broom is hardly--”
“I can only assume he was put there for one of two reasons: either to keep me in, or to keep everyone else out. And since he is a fairly large brute, and wears a proportionately large pistol tucked in his belt, I am inclined to believe it is the former.”
“We are not holding you prisoner in this room, Emory. You are free to come and go as you please.”
He searched Florence’s face for the truth, then the dark eyes flicked in Anna’s direction. Obviously not as skilled at concealing her reactions as her aunt, she could feel the heat flooding up her neck again but it was too late to look away. He had laid his trap well, for she could not have broken his hold if she had wanted to. Moreover she was left with the distinct sensation that he had climbed right inside her thoughts and had a thorough look around before he finally relented and turned back to her aunt.
“Fair enough,” he murmured. “If I am free to come and go as I please, you have no objections if I borrow a horse and ride over to Windsea? Perhaps if I see my old home it will jog some memories clear. For that matter, a ride into Brixham, or Paignton, or Torquay might accomplish the same thing. If, as you say, I spent a great deal of time on the docks and in the harbor, someone there might know what happened to me three days ago. I could post a notice, or offer a reward for information.”
The side of Florence ’s mouth curled down the same measure of distance that her eyebrow inched upward. “All things considered,” she said on a sigh, “I doubt that would be
your wisest course, Rory dear. I should not think you could offer as high a reward as the King’s Bench has posted for information concerning your whereabouts.”
He studied her without moving for several long moments, then slowly folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the window casement. “Have I committed some crime?”
“You have been accused of committing one,” Florence conceded. “There has been no proof offered, however, and quite frankly, without absolute proof I cannot bring myself to believe any of the charges laid against you.”
“Any of the charges?” he asked softly. “Implying there is more than one?”
Florence waved a hand with some impatience, sending one of her gold rings flying off her finger. “All unfounded, so far as your brother has been able to determine. On sheer rumor and speculation alone they are claiming you conspired to help the enemy, committed treason, even that it was your ship that assisted Napoleon Bonaparte in escaping his prison on Elba .”
Emory had started to lean over to retrieve the ring, but at the mention of Bonaparte’s name, he froze. His hands rose to his temples and his fingers squeezed until the veins in his arms stood out like thin blue ropes.
He lowered the spluttering length of fuse to the touch hole and watched the small puff of powder explode against the charge. A split second later the huge cannon reared back in its carriage, the breeching tackle straining against the force of the shot as it was expelled in a huge cloud of white, acrid smoke. He had covered his ears, as had every other man in the gun crew, but the concussion rocked the deck under his feet and shook every bone in his body, and after more than a dozen such horrendous impacts, he could feel blood beginning to trickle down the sides of his neck. Already the men were loosening the tackle lines, reeling the heavy gun back on board. At his shout of encouragement, one man was there waiting to swab the smoking barrel, another to load fresh powder and packing, a third to ram the charge in place while a fourth lifted a thirty-two pound ball of lead into the muzzle. It was a dance they had done many times before, practising and drilling with precision until they could fire two deadly rounds per minute.
“What is it Emory?” Florence ’s anxious voice cut through the smoke and haze. “What is wrong?”
He opened his eyes. He was on his knees and Annaleah was beside him, her arm stretched out across the front of his shoulders preventing him from pitching forward onto the floor. Her face was only inches from his and without thinking, he reached out and took it in his hands, staring at it, focussing on her eyes, the soft bow of her mouth.
“Emory?”
He heard Florence’s voice, but he dared not take his eyes off Anna’s face, dared not lose his only link with reality.
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