Meet headstrong and passionate Rosalind, who will do anything and everything to protect the one place she calls home …

Don’t miss the first book in this captivating new series – coming summer 2021!

Chapter One

Rockwood Castle, Devonshire, May 1839.

‘Wait for me, Bertie.’ Nine-year-old Rosalind Carey stumbled over the rocks in the cove as she tried in vain to keep up with her elder brother. The moon had gone behind a bank of clouds, throwing the beach into a sea of shadows, and a south-westerly had blown in from the Atlantic hurling waves onto the shore. All Rosalind could see were the white soles of Bertie’s bare feet as he scampered towards the cliffs, leaping across pools of salt water like a mountain goat. Suddenly he was gone and she was alone in the darkness with the waves crashing on the foreshore as the incoming tide swallowed up the strand. She could hear the shouts of men riding the waves in a small boat as they prepared to leap out and drag it onto the shore. There were flashes of light from oil lamps in the mouth of the cave that had been carved into the red sandstone by centuries of high tides, where local men prepared to receive the bounty from the sea. It had been her brother’s idea to catch the smugglers red-handed, but she realised now that it had been the foolhardy boast of a twelve-year-old boy, who should have known better.

The voices were getting closer and she could hear the keel of the boat grinding on the pebbles as it landed on the crest of a wave. She glanced over her shoulder and the clouds parted, allowing a shaft of moonlight to reveal the men dragging kegs and tubs onto the beach.

‘Bertie,’ she cried on a sob. ‘Where are you?’ But her brother had disappeared into the scrubby foliage that grew at the base of the cliff and she knew that she was on her own. With a last burst of energy, but hampered by her wet skirts she tried to follow him. If she could reach the cliff path that led to Rockwood land she would be safe. Then the sudden staccato report of a gun being fired from the clifftop was followed by the barked orders of the preventive men. Rosalind made a grab for the branch of a thorn bush, but it snapped, sending her tumbling backwards onto the hard-packed sand and stones. Stunned and winded, she lay there gasping for breath.

‘Don’t make a sound.’ A hand clamped over her mouth and she was pinned to the ground by a warm body. His face was close to hers and he smelled of the sea. ‘I’ll take my hand off your mouth if you promise not to scream.’

She nodded vigorously.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Keep very still or they’ll see us.’