Still she was nervous, twitchy. Since she’d taken over, her band had run five cargoes, all successfully. Her band. At first, the responsibility had scared her. Now, each time they came off safely, she felt a thrill of achievement. But tonight was a special cargo. An agent, Nolan, had met them in Lynn last night. For the first time, she’d joined Noah for the negotiations. Just as well. She’d intervened and driven their price up-because Nolan was in a fix. He had a schooner with twenty bales of lace and no one to bring it in. They were his last resort. She’d already heard of the Revenue raids about Sheringham and, for some reason, the Hunstanton Gang had refused the run. Why, she didn’t know-which was the root cause of her nervousness.

Everything, however, was going smoothly. The night was dark, the sky deepest purple. Beneath her, Delia peacefully cropped, undisturbed by an owl hooting in the trees behind them.

Watching the orderly way the men swiftly unloaded the boats, Kit smiled. They were not unintelligent, just unimaginative. Once she showed them a better way of doing things, they caught on quickly.

Suddenly, Delia’s head came up, ears pricked, muscles tensing. Kit strained her senses to catch what had disturbed the mare. Nothing. Then, far to the left, another owl hooted. Delia sidled. Kit stared at the great black head. Not an owl? She didn’t wait for confirmation. Pulling Delia around, she set the mare onto the path down to the sands.

In the trees on the cliff top, two riders met a third.

“Spotted them,” Matthew murmured, as Jack and George came up, walking their horses over the thinly grassed ground. He pointed to where ten ponies were being loaded with the consignment of lace they’d refused. As they looked, a mounted figure all in black broke from the shadow of the cliff and raced across the sands. “Gripes,” muttered Matthew. “What’s that?”