Readers - I've been inspired by you and the idea of writing Rebecca and Alistair's story, so here is a very short, quick tease. But please let me know what you think. Interested in more? xx -Windflwr

Chapter 1 – First Meeting

Rebecca Reynolds ran from the room and didn't stop running until she was standing on the edge of the cliff above the rocks. It was her place of refuge. The ocean waves were small, dark and distant from the shore at that time of night—correction: early morning, by the last chime of the Ormolu clock above the hearth in the great room she recalled hearing—but she didn't care. The wind and waves didn't judge, they didn't belittle, they didn't scold. They simply were. They gave her room to breathe, a much needed respite from the cloying and humid air of the ballroom, thick with the pungent mix of aromas – a desperate attempt by both men and women to cover the stench of their nervous perspiration as they played the game of trying to impress one another. It was the first public dance of the season, and already (not surprisingly) she'd had enough.

Her younger sister, Isabella, would have scolded her for giving up so soon. Little did she know the magistrate's arrogant son was currently coddling an extremely sore shin in the upstairs closet after dragging her there with him against her will. As if she'd be interested . . .

Rebecca grimaced. He likely wouldn't say a word, but one more rebuff from her and she didn't trust what he would do. Money and authority gave men too much power over women. She smiled. She'd gotten in a good kick, at least. Her un-ladylike penchant for climbing the cliffs had, over the years, toned and strengthened her slight frame to an extent that would surprise most men who thought all women weak and frail and preferred them that way. Of course they did. It gave them even more power.

For that reason, Rebecca knew she'd end up a spinster. This dance, or a dozen more, would make no difference. At twenty-six, she was already considered on the shelf, in any case. One man tonight had actually caught her attention—a new face—but he'd disappeared soon after making his entrance and she'd not seen him again. Too bad. His eyes had held a rare mixture of intelligence, strength, and vulnerability. They'd spied each other from across the room and she'd felt a spark of . . . what? recognition? Surely not, for she'd never seen the tall, dark-haired stranger before in her life. No doubt she imagined their connection and he was off playing cards in the back room with the rest of the men. No, marriage was unlikely to be in her future, although what she wouldn't give to meet a man with whom she could share her thoughts and hopes and dreams for the future. It felt impossible.

If only she'd been born a man, her intelligence and courage would be considered strengths and not met with horror and scoffing.

She sighed and looked toward the north. There it was again. That deep, lonely howling sound. She'd thought it a trick of the wind. The beach and rocks along the coast were living, breathing things to her – especially at night – filled with critters of all kinds that only came out in the dark. She should be afraid. A wild boar or worse—smugglers—could be taking refuge in the caverns beneath the precipice on which she stood. She'd certainly discovered enough bones in the caves to believe it was possible. The local children thought there was treasure to be found there, too, but she wasn't so gullible. The only treasure was the peace and acceptance she found from the sea. A broken necklace or coin found along its banks only spelled tragedy to her.

Again, that sound. That was not her imagination. Something—or someone—was hurt. Without thinking, she gathered the heavy folds of her overskirt and knotted them high above her bloomers. It would be pointless to attempt to climb down the side of the cliff with them dangling around her ankles. Pointless and extremely foolish. And Rebecca Reynolds was no fool.

A dozen questions flooded her mind as she made her way carefully down the rocky overhang. With courage and a recklessness that would have horrified her quiet, barrister father no end, she dropped the last five feet to the pebbled sand below and narrowed her focus. The hunt was on . . .