The last thing on Hattie’s mind as she swam ashore the previous morning was to spend her time in Gibraltar as a tourist. Her parents and Peter had determined it best she remained at the guesthouse during their stay. Sightseeing was a frivolous waste of a young woman's time.

To her surprise and utter delight, Will had other ideas. He took on the role of amusing and engaging host with thinly veiled relish.

After purchasing supplies for the boat trip, including several books, Will hired a local guide to show them the sights. It was late afternoon when they finally reached Europa Point, the southernmost tip of the European continent.

“Our guide says be careful where you step, the donkeys don’t mind where they leave their fresh droppings” said Will.

Before she could say otherwise, Will had placed his hands either side of her waist and was lifting her down from the small cart which had brought them along Europa road.

On the trip up from the town, Will had given Hattie a quick lesson in the history of Gibraltar and the Rock.

“Pretty much everyone in this part of the world has ruled Gibraltar at some point. The Moors took control in the eighth century, finally being thrown out in the thirteenth. Between then and when the British took control last century, the Spanish fought amongst themselves to rule. The Spanish of course would like to have it back, but I can't see that happening any time soon.”

“What about the locals, what do they want?” Hattie replied.

Will paused for a moment, then answered. “To be honest, I think they are happy to keep things just as they are. That way they get the best of both worlds. The British spend money here with the naval military presence and shipping, while Spain is only a short distance away for food and supplies.”

Keeping up the pretense of being an engaged couple, Hattie slipped her hand into Will's arm and let him escort her across the short stony patch of ground from the cart to the edge of Europa Point.

The guide whom Will had hired in the town, stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the view out to sea. His donkey being less interested in the view wandered over to a nearby clump of wild jasmine and began prodding the leaves with its nose.

“Lo que es una magnifica vista,” the guide exclaimed.

Hattie and Will came and stood beside him. She nodded her agreement. It required no translation to understand what the ruddy faced man had said. The view spoke for itself.

Miles and miles of ocean stretched out before them on three sides. Far below them, the blue of the sea was broken only by the reflection of the hot sun as it shone a bright ribbon across the glass like surface of the water. Will pointed off into the distance, to where Hattie could see a line of mountains on the opposite side of the water.

“Those are the Rif mountains of Morocco. The tall mountain is Jebel Musa, otherwise known as one of the Pillar of Hercules. This is an ancient land. We are standing on the southernmost tip of Europe and over there is Africa,” he said.

Africa. The massive continent that had once held her future now lay in view across the thin stretch of water that was the Strait of Gibraltar. It was so close, that she felt she could reach out her hand and touch the mountains.

She looked down at her new boots. They were coated in the fine limestone dust of the Rock. Dust from the European continent.

When she looked back again across the water, she smiled. There was no pull in her heart to make the journey. The dark land did not beckon unto her to come into its embrace. And with that she let go of much of her fear.

She knew where she belonged. Home in England.

Will caught her smile and raised an eyebrow.

“At least you can say you have seen Africa, albeit from a distance. What do think?” he said.

“I think I would like to go home,” she replied.

They stood for a little while longer silently taking in the view. The only noise to be heard was the cry of seagulls on the wind and the occasional grunt from the donkey.

Finally, the guide spoke and Hattie turned. As she did her jaw dropped. Towering above them was the Rock of Gibraltar in all its magnificence.

From the town and the harbor, the pinnacle of the Rock had been hidden from view, but here at Europa Point, she had a clear view of the immense height of the limestone monolith.

“It's amazing. I've never seen anything like it before,” she said.

Will gave her an encouraging grin. He was not an easy man to discern. At times he was friendly and relaxed, like he had been since they left the town earlier. But at other moments, she sensed he was not by nature a happy man.

Watching as he bent down and picked at a small clump of seaside daisies, she considered him again. There was an inherent sadness about him, but she suspected it had not always been so. Perhaps he had suffered a terrible loss in his life, one which had left deep scars. She could not explain why she felt this about him, finally forcing herself to accept that it was only a hunch.

“Yes, the Rock is a true wonder of nature. Nearly one thousand, four hundred feet high,” said Will.

He handed her a small bunch of daisies which had pure white petals and golden centers. Hattie accepted them with a shy smile. She held the flowers close to her heart. It was lovely to receive such a spontaneous gift.

“We saw it from the deck of the ship as we came into the harbor, but it was early and with the low morning rain clouds we couldn't get a clear view. My father.”

Hattie stopped herself just in time.

She was about to tell Will how disappointed her father had been at his first sight of the Rock, when she realized what she was doing. The carefully constructed lie she had managed to maintain for the past day had nearly unraveled like a loose thread caught.

“Your father?” he replied.

The sunny disposition he had displayed moments earlier disappeared. His eyes became hooded, his face a study in wariness. She was reminded of the lion she had once seen at the Royal Menagerie in the Exeter Exchange. A dangerous wild beast ready to strike out at any moment and tear her to pieces.

Hattie looked down at the bunch of flowers in her hands, while frantically searching for something to say. Anything.

“Yes, my father. He has always wished to see Gibraltar,” she finally replied. The stems of the flowers bent in her tightly held hands.

One thing she had learned since meeting Will was to keep her lies small. Any embellishment appeared to present him with the irresistible challenge to try and poke holes in her story.

He did not believe her, of that much she was certain. She was at a loss to understand how he came to choose which aspects of her fabrication he would try to challenge. There was a strategy in play, but she could not see it clearly in her mind.

He had not pressed her regarding the major parts of her lie, yet he seemed intent to work at its inconsequential edges. Edges which she knew were fraying by the minute.

“Perhaps you shall travel here with him some time. Retrace the steps of your grand adventure. But first we must get you safely back to England,” he said.

The lion retreated.

As she looked at him, Hattie was possessed with an almost overwhelming desire to confess everything to Will. In many ways it would be so much easier if he knew. This continual game of trying to read one another's thoughts and emotions was exhausting.

She hated lying. It went against everything she believed in. But telling Will the truth of her situation would mean handing him total control. With nothing left to negotiate with, she would be at his mercy. Once again powerless to determine her own life.

“You said you had climbed to the top of the Rock,” she replied.

If he was able to read her as well as she suspected he could, Will would know she wanted to change the subject. He had succeeded in cracking open a little more of the door to her secrets, now he would be content to let her become comfortable once more. Then he would press her again for answers.

How long she could continue to play this game, she was not sure, but with luck by the time Will had finally put the pieces of the puzzle together she would have slipped from his grasp.

“Yes, I ventured up to St Michael's cave earlier in the week. It is a steep walk up from the town, but we can visit it on our way back down from here. I doubt we shall have time tomorrow. I have some business matters to attend to in the morning before we sail,” he replied.

Her mother had warned her about the monkeys that lived on the Rock. The wild Barbary monkeys were said to be dangerous and prone to attack without provocation.

“I am not certain if I should go. What about the monkeys?” she said.

He reached out and took hold of her hand. The look he had given her when he asked about why she had jumped from the ship reappeared on his face. It was a look so full of honesty, Hattie felt a tear spring to her eye.

“Yes, you should, and do you know why? Because years from now, when you are old and reflective of your life, you will look back upon your brief stay in Gibraltar and remember the choices you made. That you were brave. You will not be disappointed with the cave. I promise I won’t let the monkeys hurt you. Trust me.”

She pulled her hand away. Fear held her back. Many times, Peter Brown had shown her a small kindness only to then reveal it as nothing more than a means to bend her to his will. She would keep her own counsel.

And yet.

His deep grey eyes held the promise of warmth, of the strong bond of friendship and more. She was torn in a thousand directions as to what to do.

* * *

The guide brought the donkey and cart over to where they stood. Will could tell Hattie was unsure as to what to do.

“A short stay at the cave. If at any time you feel uncomfortable, you only have to say the word and we shall leave immediately. Agreed?” he offered.

“Agreed.”

He silently congratulated himself on having won her over, but knew he had to tread carefully. She was as skittish as a young colt this afternoon.

On the road back down from Europa Point, he did his best to make small talk.

“Did I tell you that the ship I have secured passage for us on board for our journey home is a sister ship to the Blade of Orion? It’s called the Canis Major, and while I am led to believe it is a little smaller than the ship you arrived in, it should still suit us fine.”

Having made up her mind to accompany him to the cave Hattie appeared content to sit quietly and take in the view out over Gibraltar Harbor. After rambling on about the Spanish and how goods travelled back and forth between Spain and Gibraltar, and getting little in return from her, Will decided it was better to say nothing.

At the cave of St Michael, the guide showed them the path. Will took hold of Hattie’s hand and led her up to the entrance of the cave. At the entrance a man sold them two tickets and a grass torch. Will lit it as he and Hattie walked slowly into the cave.

Her hand gripped his. He turned toward her, offering her a reassuring smile. The light from the torch was reflected in her eyes. She was afraid, but she was with him. He would keep her safe.

Several monkeys sat just inside the cave’s entrance. Will shooed them away. When it was clear than neither he nor Hattie had any food, the monkeys ambled away.

“Is everything alright?” he ventured.

Hattie looked away from the retreating monkeys and back to Will.

“Yes. I was just thinking of the monkeys. They are rather tame, aren’t they? I did see some at the Tower of London once, but they were quite aggressive,” she replied.

“Yes well, these ones can be nasty when the mood suits them. I would caution against attempting to pat any of them. Come let’s venture into the cave, then we shall go and find some supper. I am famished.”

He led her deeper into the cave. The torch soon became the only source of light. Hattie squeezed Will’s hand more tightly.

He lifted the torch and Hattie gasped as she beheld the whole subterranean world that spread out before her. She had never imagined that such a place could exist.

“Oh,” she murmured.

“That was my very same reaction when I saw the caves earlier this week,” he replied.

The roof of the main cave towered many feet over their heads. Huge spear like stalactites hung down from the ceiling, while stalagmites rose in tower like formations from the floor of the cave.

“It’s wonderous. How far back does this cave go?” she said.

“Well there are ancient myths that it is a gateway to the underworld, but I expect it goes back quite some way. No one has really made a concerted effort to explore deeper into the lower chambers for fear of never being seen again,” he replied.

Hattie released her hold of Will’s hand. Her fear of the monkeys and the cave were gone, she felt emboldened enough to explore a little on her own. The cave was empty of other tourists. Will was right, it was like something from Greek mythology. She half expected an ancient god or a monster to appear at the back of the cave

Reaching the nearest stalagmite, she put her hand against it.

“It’s wet!” she exclaimed, pulling her hand away.

Will laughed.

“The water from the roof has to go somewhere.”

He pointed toward the roof of the cave.

“The rainwater seeps into the limestone on the top surface of the rock outside and over many years makes its way down into the cave. That water you just touched could be thirty years old.”

Hattie looked at her hand, and shook the water from her fingertips. Will clapped his hands in delight.

“You look just like my youngest sister Caroline does when the cat has licked her hand. It is the funniest sight you will ever see,” he chuckled.

Hattie snorted. Her family cat Brutus was more likely to take a piece out of your hand than give you a friendly lick.

“So, do you have many siblings?” she ventured.

She knew she was treading on dangerous ground asking about family, but she knew enough of her former maid’s family history to be able to rattle off a few names without too much hesitation if Will decided to turn the tables and ask about her own family.

A wistful look appeared on his face.

“I have two sisters and one brother. Evelyn, who we call Eve, is in her early twenties. Caroline who is three years younger. And Francis who fits somewhere in the middle, though at six feet four he struggles to fit in anywhere. I am especially looking forward to getting reacquainted with them.”

The joy in his voice when he spoke about his family brightened Hattie’s mood. It had been a long time since her whole family had been together and exchanged kind words with one another. It was nice to hear of other people who still had loving family relationships.

Another group of tourists entered the cave and began to look around. The private moment between them was at an end.

The sun was sinking slowing in the west and the air rapidly cooling when they began to make the slow descent back down the mountain and into town. They had spent several hours in the cave walking around seeing the various limestone formations. Will had shown her one which had been cut across the top and had growth rings like a tree.

He was an excellent guide, warm and engaging. By the end of their time in the cave, Hattie felt a small tendre beginning to bud for Will.

The excitement which continued to course through her veins, had her quietly asking if they could walk back into town rather than take the cart. Will paid their guide and sent him and his donkey on their way as they left St Michael's cave

Hattie was exhausted when they finally reached the town square, but her soul felt alive. The day spent with Will was a world away from the strict and dull existence to which she had become so accustomed over the past few years.

“Let's find somewhere private for us to enjoy some more of the local cuisine. I don't know about you, but I am starving,” he said.

When he turned and looked at her, Hattie's gaze immediately settled on Will's lips. Only a matter of a day ago he had held her in his arms and given her that swoon worthy kiss.

A blush burned on her cheeks and she lifted a tentative finger to feel it's heat. Turning away, she hoped he had not seen her moment of temptation.

They found a tiny cantina a few streets away from their hotel. Stepping into the cool stone building, Hattie felt the exhaustion of having been out in the late afternoon heat descend onto her shoulders. She would sleep well tonight.

The walls of the cantina were painted white. A collection of mismatched chairs and tables filled the room.

“There is no one else here,’ she said.

“Most of the local population here will be resting in their homes until after sunset, we are just a little early. In an hour this place will be crowded to all four walls,” Will explained.

He ushered her over to a table in the corner. She thought it odd when he took the seat with its back to the wall, leaving her to take the one opposite. She knew enough of society's rules to know it was not the proper thing to do when out in mixed company.

While she pondered his behavior, Hattie watched as Will took a slow account of the room. His lips moved ever so slightly as he did so. Turning, she looked in the direction of his gaze.

She glanced briefly back at him before turning away once more. Had Will been counting the steps from the table to the door? She did a rough count herself and turned back to him, convinced of her theory. What sort of a man needed to know the exact number of steps from his seat to the front door; like herself, Will too had his secrets.

“No one stays in their homes in the evening here. They dress up and promenade. A bit like the five o'clock crush at Hyde Park in London during the social season. Have you ever been?” he asked.

“No,” she lied.

Only the upper crust of London society made the journey to Hyde Park in the afternoon. If she had said yes, it would have given him the perfect opening to ask whom she knew among the ton. She was not setting foot on that slippery slope.

The owner of the cantina brought them over a bottle of wine and some fresh olives before disappearing into the kitchen to cook the fish Will had chosen from the simple menu painted on the whitewashed walls.

Hattie took a sip of her wine. She had forgotten how much she used to enjoy the simple pleasure of a glass of wine at supper. Her brother Edgar had an expert nose for a good bottle of red wine.

She missed the nights when seated around the table with her parents and brother she had enjoyed the light heartedness and simple pleasure of their company.

“So?” said Will.

She looked at him and she saw a now familiar look appear on his face. His Spanish Inquisition look, she dubbed it. The relaxed Will of the afternoon was now replaced with the Will who was full of uncomfortable questions.

“Pardon?” she replied.

Whatever line of questioning Will was about to embark upon, she knew he was intent on tripping her up.

Disappointment that their easy friendship of the afternoon had been set aside stung her. She didn’t like people who played games, and it hurt to think that Will’s friendly demeanor in the cave had somehow been an act. An act to make her relax and trust him enough so that the next time he questioned her, she would slip up and reveal more of her truth.

“You were saying that your father considers wine to be the work of the devil. Yet you do not seem to share that same opinion. That must be an interesting tale to tell.”

Hattie stared down at her wine glass. What was she to say? That her father and mother had had a sudden conversion to a puritan sect of the church and had renounced all matters that they considered evil. Of the schism it had caused in the family, resulting in her brother and his wife severing all ties?

No. She would not betray what her parents believed in. Whether she fully agreed with their choices over the past few years, she still owed them some loyalty. The work they had done in saving lives and changing futures was beyond reproach.

“I don't think it is my place to tell my father's story,” she replied.

She lifted her head and straightened her back. Hattie had a capacity for stubbornness which her mother had oftentimes mentioned as being a serious fault in her character. Even Peter had noted that once they were married, she would have to put her willfulness aside and obey him.

Will slowly blinked as he sat back in his chair. His face showed no emotion. Under the table Hattie nervously cracked her knuckles. She hated the silent, guarded type of male. To her they were always harboring ill thoughts and wishes.

“Of course,” he replied.

When the tavern owner came over with a large platter containing a lump of goat cheese, fresh tomatoes and the cooked fish, Hattie sighed with relief.

The arrival of the food had the effect she hoped it would. Will immediately ceased his interrogation of her and picked up a tomato. He cut it in half and handed a piece to Hattie.

“Coffee that's what we need,” he said, waving the tavern owner back over to their table.

“Have you lived in this part of the world for long?” she asked as soon as the tavern owner had disappeared back into the kitchen.

She could swear she heard Will mutter touché under his breath. The tables were being turned on the inquisitor.

“Not long. I tend to travel about a bit,” he replied.

Hattie concentrated on the task of displaying a disinterested air, much the same as the one Will appeared to have mastered.

“Oh. So, what do you actually do Will?” she replied.

He slowed his chewing, but other than that, showed no outward sign of discomfort.

Hattie gritted her teeth. She knew enough of the Saunders family to know Will was most certainly not a man who dealt in any sort of trade. It took serious blunt to be able to be a member of the ton. And his uncle was the Duke of Strathmore.

Two can play at that game.

“I am in the very dull trade of import and export. I travel regularly to Spain to source goods,” he replied.

Hattie cracked the knuckles of her other hand. This was becoming a game of lies she knew she could not win. She looked at Will. He sat smiling at her, the challenge to continue to play written all over his mirth filled face.

She yawned.

“I am exhausted, it has been a long day out in the sun.”

Will nodded, and yawned as well.

“I suggest we eat and then get you back to the hotel. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

* * *

After returning to their hotel and seeing Hattie safely back to her room Will decided he needed to go for a walk. A long walk.

He took the path which led from the town further along the beach and down to Rosia Bay, one of the few places on the western side of the Gibraltar peninsula that had an accessible beach.

There he kicked off his boots, rolled up his trousers and walked in the cold sea water. The sun had long set below the horizon. A golden glow lit the coastline. Somewhere nearby a local band was playing. A chorus of singers accompanied the music. The night felt magic.

The day spent with Hattie had been one of constant revelations, both about her and surprisingly himself.

She had suffered at the hands of some rogue; her fear was real. What he could not grasp was why she was not prepared to trust him.

“Am I that much of wolf?” he muttered.

He stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket, unable to shake the nagging thought in the back of his mind. There was something else about her, something unexpected.

Staring out to sea, watching as the local fishing boats headed out with the late evening tide, he sensed the truth of the effect she had on him.

He had known her all of one day; he did not even know her real name. Yet desire stirred in his blood. Every time this afternoon he had looked at her, he had been gripped with an impulse to take her into his arms once more and kiss her senseless. To run his hands over her hips and pull her hard against him.

He let a whoosh of air out of his lungs, feeling himself go hard at the mere thought of her. How was he going to survive two weeks on the ship back to England with her? He could not stay locked in his cabin the whole time.

If he was not to go mad in that time, he had to uncover all that he could of the mystery woman he had pulled from the sea. Make her reveal all her deepest secrets to him.

First thing he had to do was to discover her real name.

Then he would make her his own.