Feeling winded by his recollection of his wife's death, he hovered just inside the concealed entrance to the cave, and rubbed his damp eyes for a moment.
He breathed in the crisp, clean sea air, and fought for composure as the torment engulfed him.
She had known the risks, just as he had. But she had been driven by her cause, had felt invincible, and had paid the price. Her and the child she had carried.
The recollection clutched at his heart like a fist milking the lifeblood out of him in long, agonizing spurts. He took a steadying breath, taste the salt of the sea and his own tears, and scanned the rapidly graying ocean once more while he cuffed his eyes with the backs of his sleeves.
As his vision cleared, he stiffened, and blinked. The sea was empty, but now a small figure appeared on the beach some distance away.
Normally neither man would have paid much attention, for there were often local people on the beach looking for mussels or gathering sea sticks to drag up the sand past the surf to leave there to dry. They would return several days later to glean them like so much kindling.
There weren't too many fishing coracles on this stretch of the beach, so it was a relatively quiet and secluded stretch of the Irish coastline, which was precisely why it had been chosen as the site of the planned French invasion.
There was some smuggling from here to France, but the Royal Navy had blockaded the French ports effectively for the past few years.
In any event, there were only one or two houses close enough to the shoreline for the moonrakers to hide their contraband, so that it really wasn't worth it in most cases to even try.
Most of the seven houses which made up the small hamlet of Ardmore were well away from the beach. The rutted roads were not the best for transporting heavy casks of brandy and other contraband goods.
Two spyglasses focused on the approaching figure. Both men adjusted their lenses to get a better look.
For she was certainly worth looking at. Worth possessing.
Long raven hair flowed over her shoulders, which were clad in a lovely white on white embroidered shawl. A straw sunbonnet protected her porcelain skin from the sun beating down.
Even though the full brim obscured most of her face, it was easy to see she was a beauty. She was elegant, tall, curvaceous, clad in a fine pale yellow muslin gown which was so light-weight as to be virtually see-through in the glow of the sun as the gown flattened against her lithe body body thanks to the gusting wind.
She could not be a local, each man guessed, for such pulchritude and refinement had seldom graced this isolated cove.
So which house had she come from? There were five to choose from according to each man's perspective, leaving out their own and the one of their colleague.
Each watcher began to try to work out the solution to the problem while she bent to remove her shoes and stockings.
Catching glimpses of her bare ankles and calves was more than they could bear. Each could feel his mouth go dry, his body harden with hot, urgent desire.
Then the lovely young woman ran down to the surf and began to kick and splash in the waves, her skirts up around her knees.
One man longed to go down from his cliff-edge eyrie and snatch her to him for a kiss. She was a lovely little filly, obviously high-spirited and the sporting type.
He could feel his loins tighten, his hands tremble with lust. Yes, to possess a treasure like that, especially if she turned out to be a sprightly young thing, would make this long tedious wait worthwhile.
The other man watched from his vantage point inside the secret cave. He focused his glass on her and saw her blue eyes, her rosy cheeks and velvety pink lips. Those were lips worth kissing. Full and sensual, soft and seductive. Oh, what he wouldn't give for one taste of that lusciously ripe mouth.
She was a lovely woman, lithe, spirited, and intelligent. He could tell from the spark in her eyes. For the first time since his wife had died, he felt desire burn in his loins, but told himself not to be foolish. Why would a woman like her ever take a second look at a man like him? Even if she did, she would hear his terrible family history soon enough, and flee in horror.
Against his better judgment, he slid open the concealing slab to the cave and stepped out to get a closer look at the gorgeous girl.
As he watched her sport and play in the surf, his heart hammered in his chest, a tell-tale surging of the blood which almost defied him to deny it.
Yes, to possess a rare woman like that, so chaste and pure, would be worth the risk. It might even make all the hell he had been through for the past few years worthwhile.
The man at the top of the cliff was so absorbed in watching the girl he never noticed the man standing on the beach below.
But he did see the storm approaching, the grey clouds scudding in suddenly from the west. Much as he wanted to go down and tumble the lissome wench, it would not do to be caught in the downpour. There would be too many questions if he did. So he raced back to his house, folding his spyglass as he ran.