Home Is the Sailor (2 page)

He had to believe Barrow. The son of a carpenter himself, Barrow had gone to sea as a carpenter’s mate and eventually wound up as bosun aboard the
Valiant,
a two-deck man o’war that was the last ship on which Marshall and Davy had served together. Barrow had forgotten more about the structure of sailing vessels than Marshall had ever learned; if he said the
Mermaid
was safe for now, that was a load off her captain’s mind. The damage would slow their arrival at the rendezvous, but the weather looked to hold fair enough, and they had allowed time for such delays. They could not afford another close call. He would just have to hope that whoever had attacked them had expected to succeed, and not made plans for a second attempt.

Two of his men were wounded, as well—neither fatally, though he’d lose both the Owen twins if Joey Owen’s broken arm required he be set ashore. They’d no other family, and Jules would not leave his brother in such a pinch. If the
Mermaid
were a frigate, with a full complement of crew, that would be no problem; Joey could be put on light duty until he healed. The other seaman, Thorne, had a nasty cut across his side, but the oaken splinter had not gone deep, thank God. Marshall wished he had a surgeon aboard, and was grateful that the
Endymion
was waiting for them.

Once the damage to ship and crew was seen to, Marshall’s thoughts returned to his more serious concern. He was almost grateful for their passenger, who had been stowed in a hastily-slung hammock in the cabin that Marshall generally shared only with his lover. The man had appeared exhausted when he’d come aboard, and his presence in their sanctuary meant there was no place that would afford even a minimum of privacy, for conversation or anything else.

What are we going to do?
He saw that question in Davy’s eyes, too, when he returned to take the helm. “She’s all right for now,” he said. “We should rendezvous with
Endymion
by tomorrow evening, and beg help to fix ourselves up as best we can. Any sign of more trouble?”

“Clear as far as the eye can see,” Davy replied, waving a hand at a horizon occupied by nothing save a few seagulls. “Do you have any idea what all that was about?”

“Our passenger must not have been as clever or careful as he thought he was.” Will shrugged. “If this is peace, then give me a nice, simple war. At least when a Frenchman honors you with a broadside, there’s no question of his motives.”

His lover smiled wryly. “I suppose I ought to apologize for coming back up against your orders,” he said. “But honestly, I cannot be sorry.”

“I’d have done the same,” Marshall said. “It’s of no consequence.”

Davy gave him a sharp look. “We both know it is,” he said, “but there’s nothing to be done about it now. I’ll stay below if the situation arises again.”

Marshall nodded. “It had better not,” he said.

* * * * *

Their luck held good in making their rendezvous with
Endymion
, and Marshall’s poor
Mermaid,
and her crew, were sufficiently patched up to make the trip back to Portsmouth. The frigate escorted them a good part of the way home, and while the weather displayed all the usual charm of the season–grey, cold, and damp–they were spared any dangerous storms.

David Archer was glad of it. His mind was still in a turmoil, as he knew Will’s must also be, at the truth revealed to both of them in that brief skirmish in the Bay of Biscay. He had always thought Will was exaggerating his concern about their serving together—after all the battles they had been through, David had expected a return to the old habits of brothers-in-arms. But he had been mistaken. Will, once fearless in battle, seemed unable to detach himself from an anxious worry over his lover’s safety. Whatever might happen once they reached land, David knew one thing was certain: he would be leaving the ship. Leaving Will.

The very thought made him feel hollow inside. Granted, there had never been a guarantee that they would stay together—or live very long if they did—but once Will had attained the rank of Commander, he would have the right to choose his own Ship’s Master, and Archer was a qualified navigator. They
should
have been able to stay together, even though they might rarely have the chance to share their love in a physical way. At least they could be together…

No more.

The presence of their passenger was a trial. Mr. George (why could these cloak-and-dagger gentlemen not find less obvious pseudonyms?) kept mostly to himself, though during the meals he shared with Captain Marshall and Mr. St. John—David’s
nom de
temporarily suspended
guerre
—he was quite willing to share information about those parts of Spain through which he had traveled. George was pleasant enough, in an undistinguished way that probably served him well in his occupation. His discourse was interesting and potentially useful, but Archer found himself not infrequently wishing Mr. George to the devil. These last few precious days together, and their tiny refuge was crowded by that third hammock, slung between them like the cocoon of some invasive moth.

They stole a few kisses when George was on deck and they chanced to be in their cabin together. That was all they dared attempt. But they did not talk about the decision looming in their future, or much of anything else.

When at last Portsmouth came into view on the horizon, Archer felt able to breathe again. Since their roles of yacht-owner and hired captain were not official Royal Navy ranks, Will was not required to sleep aboard. They would be able to get a room somewhere together, if only for a night. And, like as not, spend it trying to decide how to explain to Sir Percy, the man who had recruited them into England’s secret service and who gave them their assignments, why it was that one of them, at least, would have to resign.

One of us…me, of course. It has to be.

As he had told Will months ago, David Archer felt no regret at the idea of leaving the Navy. The choice had been forced on him by circumstances; he had not yet attained his majority when his father had decided to buy him a commission in his brother’s regiment, and he’d had no other way to support himself. At the time, the Navy had seemed his only alternative, very much the lesser of two evils.

He knew that Will felt otherwise. Small wonder; Will was an orphan, with no family in England—no family at all, really. He had some cousins off in America, but the war of rebellion had apparently strained those family ties to the breaking point before Will was even born. The only connections he had ashore were intimately related to the service. For all practical purposes, the Royal Navy was Will’s family as well as his career.

David himself had family in abundance. With two elder brothers and four sisters, plus a growing number of nieces and nephews, he could hardly call himself solitary. And yet...apart from his mother and his sister Amelia, the only person who really mattered to him was Will. They had come so close to being parted last year, when Will’s fear and guilt had driven him away. Had Will been right? Was he only drawing out the inevitable ending?

The wind was blowing them inexorably home. Ships moored in Portsmouth Harbor were visible now, the buildings on shore growing larger, the antlike creatures scurrying about becoming visibly human as the
Mermaid
drew near. The signal crew was sending up flags, firing a salute...All the usual rituals of coming into port at the conclusion of a successful cruise were drained of meaning by his apprehension. He had never known so bleak a homecoming.

The hope of some time alone with Will was dashed as soon as they set foot on shore, where a messenger met them with a courteous but mandatory invitation to meet Sir Percy at the earliest possible moment.

* * * * *

It was a pity, it really was. If only the old fellow had not made the fatal mistake of being the firstborn son, this would not have been necessary. He could have played the squire dawn till dusk, and tended to all the tedious chores about the place. But the poor devil had been born first, so there was nothing to do but clear him out of the way.

And it was so simple, easier than he’d expected. That Frog Lepage knew what he was about when he designed the silex carbine. Beautifully accurate, a gentleman’s weapon. Merci, monsieur, and thanks to the luck of the battlefield in turning up such a prize. Now to trust to luck once more, and finish the job…

Chapter Two

“You gentlemen have made some enemies in high places,” Sir Percy said, once the landlord had shown the three of them to a private dining room and closed the door behind him. “Careless of you!”

He said it as though they’d tracked mud onto someone’s Aubusson, but Will knew that the frivolity was just a cover for a razor-sharp mind. “It was not as though we had much choice,” he replied. “The Beauchenes might have been arrested for treason if we had not brought them out of France with us.”

Sir Percy flipped open an elegant enameled snuffbox and offered it to his guests; both declined. After going through the sniff-and-sneeze ritual, he said, “Since Madame B means to marry one of our agents—
retired
agents, I should say—she would have had to depart in any case. And with his eyesight so poor, her son could hardly stay on alone. But you brought out a plum in his research. Of course that’s what has brought you such ill repute in Boney’s circles, and apparently even earned a price on your heads.”

“Are the Beauchenes safe, sir?” Will asked. He had inadvertently entangled the French civilians, mother and son, when he had gone ashore in France to meet what he had believed to be another innocent civilian, Davy’s uncle by marriage. But just as Étienne Beauchene had proven to be more than a nearsighted gentleman with a hobby of mathematics, Dr. Colbert had turned out to be far more than a strayed tourist, and they’d all had a narrow escape from Bonaparte’s secret police.

“As safe as we can make them,” Sir Percy assured him. “Monsieur Beauchene has declined to work for the British government against his own country, but we have offered him asylum as a way of preventing him from working
for
them. The Colbert home is under guard as well, so if Bonaparte’s agents investigate, it will appear that Beauchene is a very highly regarded prisoner.”

At this point two servants came in bearing their dinner, and they changed the topic of conversation to inconsequential matters until they were left alone once more with no other company than a decanter of brandy.

“What do you have in mind for us to do now, sir?” Davy asked. “It’s clear the
Mermaid
will need repair, but what then?”

“She needs more than repair,” Sir Percy said. “She’s going to have her rigging altered and her topsail removed. At present there aren’t more than half a dozen of those topsail schooners anywhere, and you can hardly undertake secret missions in a vessel that any landlubber could identify. As for the two of you—there ain’t a French agent anywhere this side of the Atlantic who would be fooled by your cover story.”

Will hated to ask. He’d only had command for about two months. On the other hand, he was not quite ready to say goodbye to Davy, either, and did not believe he ever would be. “Are we to be set ashore, then?”

“Not precisely. Your cover will be overhauled as well, and I’ve no notion what your new identities may be, assuming you’re not called back to duty. But while the Admiralty would spend your lives without a qualm, they have no reason to waste them, and Those Above have decided that you should play least-in-sight for a month or two and let our enemy squander their time looking for you. You’ll stay in Portsmouth tonight, certainly. But in the morning…the sooner you disappear, the better. It would be best if you could take your holiday away from Portsmouth. Do you not have family who would welcome a visit?”

“I’m sorry,” said Will. “There’s no one.”

“Of course we do,” said Davy. “Captain Marshall is welcome at my home, at any time—on my mother’s orders. But we’d have been better off putting in at Plymouth, as the family seat’s in Devon.”

Sir Percy’s brows drew together. “That should not be a problem. I took the liberty of holding a room for you here, and had your sea-chests brought from the
Mermaid
. I believe I’ll be able to arrange something in the way of transportation for you, come morning, and muddle your trail a bit in the process. Is there any other business here that requires your attention?”

Will glanced at Davy, who shook his head. “No, sir. Except to see to our crew. We had two men wounded.”

“I’ve sent a doctor to take care of them. The rest of your crew will be given a month’s wages, and I shall keep an eye on your bosun in case we need to find reliable men in a hurry. Is that satisfactory, Captain?”

Will breathed easier at the lifting of a load he had not realized he was carrying. “Better than I could have done myself, sir. Thank you.”

“That’s enough of business, then. Let us enjoy this brandy!” Sir Percy passed around the bottle with a smile. “I brought it over myself, but please do not ask me
precisely
how I got it out of France!”

* * * * *

The door was shut, bolted, and locked, a coat hung on the knob to block the keyhole. Even in his distracted state, Will observed the precautions necessary to protect them from the laws of the land they risked their lives for—laws that would see them hanged for loving one another.

That done, he met Davy’s eyes and, without a word, took him in his arms, gratefully breathing in the scent of his hair, allowing the weight of command to slip from his shoulders. For a little while they simply held one another, the sound of their breathing lost in the crackle of the fire and the wind nagging outside the shutters.