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smile. How many of these ripe plums would slip away unnoticed by family and friends to meet with their lover in the woods for a more private declaration of joy? As a girl on the cusp of womanhood and with an eye to experience what had bordered on the forbidden, she’d done such a thing. Wills Hutchens, the handsomest boy in Kerrow, had thrilled Gwenyth to her toes as he led her into the copse of ash and elm, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Within the grove, she’d lost her virtue but found a magic beyond the mysteries of May. When Wills joined a merchant ship and sailed away, she was sorry but not bereft. She’d known before she took his hand that though he claimed her body, he didn’t claim her heart. And she already knew that love held no place in her future.
    She lifted the latch on the cottage. Surely, she could coax Rafe from his dark mood with hint of the feasting and dancing to be had at the need-fire’s edge. He stood at the window, looking out on the garden. Lost in thought, he didn’t seem to hear her enter. His eyes remained trained on the scene beyond the window ledge, his hair loose and ruffling in the breeze. Even in Jago’s borrowed clothes, he looked every inch the noble-born gentleman. His self-possession lying just beneath his skin like the currents and tides running beneath the surface of the sea.
    “I plan on leaving tonight,” he said, without turning around. “Jago says there’s a carter who hauls goods to Falmouth. He’ll take me as far south as I need to go and ask no questions. I’ll send you payment once I reach Polperro. It should be more than adequate.”
    His words hit Gwenyth like a blow. She’d purposefully avoided thinking about the day he’d leave. Walk out the door without a backward glance. It was the right thing to happen. For his good and hers. But a sting of disappointment still pained her. “I’m sorry to be hearing that. They’re lighting the Bel-fires on the headland tonight. I thought you might like to come.”
    He turned away from the window. “They still do that here?”
    Gwenyth hid her regret behind a smile. “Cornwall clings to a few of its mysteries yet, and Kerrow clings more tightly than most. Here we find ourselves caught between Wesley and the old religion’s White Lady.”
    Rafe chuckled. “Sounds awkward.”
    “They can make for strange bedfellows, but we manage.”
    His smile faded. “Do you manage as well as the others? Or do you find it difficult to fit in?”
    “I’m neither fish nor fowl, but I’m not minding. I’ve made my place.” She paused, knowing his question sprang from something deeper than idle curiosity and knowing she needed to place space between them. Return to the polite disregard of the early days. “You’ll find your place, Rafe Fleming.” Her voice was cool, even. The voice of the seer, not of the woman. “You’re no longer just the petted son of a noble house, nor are you wholly the free-trading smuggler captain of the Cormorant . You’re both of these men. In the same way you learned to navigate the shoals and reefs you’ll learn to find your way between worlds.”
    “You’re so damned sure of your choices. If I come to this celebration tonight, will I find the same confidence?”
    His voice held a husky tone, striking an answering note deep within her. She pushed this feeling down where she wouldn’t have to examine it too deeply. Rafe Fleming would leave tomorrow. He’d be no more than a small aberration in the tapestry. A smile upon her face when age softened the hard edges of memory and her dreams lost the power of warning.
    He crossed the room to stand before her, seeming to take up all the air within the small space of the cottage. Gwenyth’s skin prickled as if lightning danced across it, and warmth flooded her face.
    “If I come to this celebration tonight,” he whispered, taking her chin in his fingers and lifting her face to his, “will you be my queen of the May?”
    His words smashed