Skies of Fire (3 page)

Christopher and the others sprinted toward the barn, fighting off the enemy as they ran. The nearest wall had no door, and dashing around the barn looking for an entrance gave the enemy far too many chances to shoot them.

So Christopher ducked his head and, shoulder-first, rammed through the wall. Planks shattered around him. The barn itself shuddered from the impact but stayed upright.

He barreled ahead, allowing the marines to follow through the hole he’d made. Two of the marines fanned out, quickly setting up a perimeter. The other three entered the barn behind him, then they too joined the perimeter and fired back at the enemy. One covered the hole in the barn Christopher had just made.

He surveyed the barn. A set of stairs led to the second floor. He heard the footfalls of the British agent above. Whoever he was, he did the intelligent thing by taking a higher firing position. The footsteps were lighter than Christopher expected. Perhaps the agent was a young man, or of slight build.

A pair of feet appeared at the top of the stairs. They wore a woman’s buttoned boots, scuffed from use.

The agent walked cautiously down the steps.

Christopher’s gaze traveled from the hay-dusted hem of her skirt, up past the slim curve of her waist and the hands that held a rifle.

He cursed.

A pointed chin. Wide-set hazel eyes framed with dark lashes. Dark brown hair tumbled over a high forehead. He knew exactly what that hair felt like, its sandalwood fragrance as it spread across his pillow, remembered how pain had lanced him when the scent faded. And the sharp stab he felt now was born of pure, unadulterated shock.

“Hello, Christopher,” Louisa said.

Chapter Two

L
OUISA SHAW STARED at the man she once knew as well as her own heartbeat. It had been three years since she’d seen him. Her last glimpse of him had been as he’d sprawled in bed, asleep. She’d taken one final look—he would have awakened if she’d tried to kiss him—and had slipped noiselessly out of his flat. Out of his life. Forever. Or so she’d thought.

His transformation startled her. Word had reached her that he’d become a Man O’ War. She’d met other men who’d undergone the transformation. But none of those men had ever been her lover. None of them had touched her body—or her heart—intimately.

Christopher had been a lanky man. Long legs, long arms. A body more lean than bulky. She used to amuse herself by tracing her fingers along the shapes of his ribs until he could no longer hold back his laughter. Never would she have anticipated a decorated naval captain to be ticklish.

He was bigger now, thicker with muscle. His wide shoulders filled the blue wool of his coat, and his thighs pulled tight against his breeches. God, he’d even gotten taller. She had to tilt her head back further to look him in the eye. The size of him, the strength that radiated from him—judging by the crash and the splinters of wood on his coat, he’d just
run through
a heavy wooden wall—she could hardly believe he was the same man.

His face hadn’t changed, though. Still had the same aquamarine eyes, the same angular jaw, the reddish blond hair, now cut very short. The same mouth she remembered kissing for hours. When Christopher smiled, his grin was enormous, dazzling. Now, his lips pressed thin as he looked at her.

She would deal with his hatred later. Right now, she needed to survive this firefight and complete her mission.

The marines that accompanied him were already spread out around the barn, defending their location. Gaps showed in the old structure’s walls, just the right size for a rifle’s barrel. The report of their guns filled the barn with noise and smoke.

“The Admiralty never told me you were out here.” His voice held the same low, gravelly rasp; only when he spoke now, his words were taut. Certainly not flirtatious remarks or husky murmurs of seduction.

“Operatives’ missions aren’t divulged. Especially when their mission entails going undercover.”

“Just what
was
your mission?”

She nodded toward the opening he’d ripped in the barn wall. “We need to get out of here.”

“I’m not going to risk your life by running that gauntlet without a plan.” He paced through the barn, gaze alert and assessing. “There’s a way to get you safely out of here. I just need to find it.”

“Command wouldn’t send me into the field unless I could handle myself.”

“They might be comfortable putting your life on the line.” He peered through a gap in the wooden wall. “
I’m
not.”

“You aren’t in charge of my mission. The decision isn’t yours to make.”

He prowled toward her. She fought the impulse to back up.
It’s still him
, she reminded herself.
No matter what kind of metal has been implanted in his body. No matter if he has the strength of three men or has the means of powering an airship.

Granted, even the Christopher she had known probably wasn’t very fond of her.

I made a decision. It’s over and done. All that remains is surviving. Moving forward.

“Tell me about this covert mission.”

Though enemy troops ringed the barn, with gunfire everywhere and heavy guns being rolled into position, speaking with him proved to be the most unsettling thing of all. She told herself it was simply because his presence here was unexpected, as was the alteration in his appearance, but she knew all these cloaked the real reason behind her disquiet.

“I’d been undercover for months, getting close to a rumored splinter faction within the Hapsburg regime. There are those within who want this war and bloodshed finished, even at the cost of their country’s victory. Finally, I received word that a contact would meet me here and give me vital information. So I came to rendezvous with him. And that’s when we learned we had been betrayed.”

“Where is he?”

She nodded toward a corner of the barn. Christopher swore when he saw the bullet-riddled body sprawled in the hay.

“The troops showed up just after he gave me the intelligence. Surrender isn’t an option, so I tried to fight them off as long as I could.” She held up her pistol. “Thought I was going to have to save one bullet for myself. Then I saw the British airship. A damned lucky break, I thought. It was my best chance of getting out alive.” What she hadn’t known was that Christopher was the ship’s pilot. And power source. Perhaps it hadn’t been as lucky as she’d first surmised.

His expression darkened. “You don’t need to save a bullet for yourself. I’ll get you out of here.” He moved to the improvised doorway, edging away the marine guarding it, and pulled a snub-nosed gun from inside his coat. Instead of firing the gun at the surrounding enemy troops, he discharged it into the air. A streak of light shot from the barrel. “Our escape route will be here in a moment.”

He was only doing his duty. He’d come to her aid without knowing who she was. Their history had nothing to do with his present actions. Yet she was grateful, all the same. It was a cold, rueful gratitude, but there.

“Enemy’s field guns are in position, sir,” one of the marines said. “They’re sighting us in.”

Louisa’s stomach clenched. They didn’t have much time.

A humming sound followed by the rapid pop of artillery snared her attention. It didn’t sound like the enemy’s guns. She darted around him and took up a position by the hole in the wall.

“Appears our ferry has arrived,” she murmured when Christopher joined her. He stood at her back, peering over her shoulder. This close, she felt the tremendous heat radiating from him, and caught the scent of hot metal. Evidence of how much he’d altered.

A jolly boat flew over the treetops. At the prow of the boat, a marine manned a swivel gun, firing it at the enemy. Christopher used his rifle to take down two soldiers, and the boat altered its course, steering closer to where he’d taken his shots. Unable to advance further, the boat landed just beyond the tree line, with the enemy forming an obstacle between the small vessel and the barn. Half of the troops turned their attention toward the jolly boat. The marine piloting the boat quickly took up his rifle and held off soldiers advancing toward the small vessel.

The distinct clank of cannons being made ready rang out.

“We’re cutting a path to the jolly boat,” Christopher said to Louisa and the marines. “That outbuilding”—he pointed to a small stone structure that stood midway between the barn and the tree line—“will block some of the troop movements. The enemy will be closing in on us, so we’ve got to be lively.”

A huge boom sounded. Louisa crouched as the barn shook. Shattered wood rained down.

Rising up from her defensive stance, she saw a huge hole in the ceiling. Through that hole, she noted that half of the second story was gone.

“Fall out,” Christopher called to the marines.

They did as he commanded, one of the marines taking point as Christopher ushered her and the others through the improvised doorway. With his warm hand at her back, Louisa ran full out toward the waiting boat, firing her pistol at the blocking troops as she sprinted. Her peripheral vision caught glimpses of Christopher shooting at the enemy with astonishing speed.

She and the others fired as they ran. As Christopher had planned, the small outbuilding kept the troops from fully closing around them. The gunner in the jolly boat provided assistance. With bullets whining all around her, taking bites out of the earth as they narrowly missed, she kept all her attention focused on holding back the enemy. It wasn’t the first time she’d been fired upon, and it would not be the last. She hoped.

They held off the soldiers just enough to slip through the barricade. She followed Christopher as he sped through, aware at all times of the enemy’s nearness. The boat was just ahead. Almost there.

The line of soldiers closed behind them. She ran at top speed, Christopher right beside her. He could run faster. She knew it. Yet he was deliberately slowing his pace to stay with her.

Moments before they reached the waiting boat, two enemy soldiers rushed out from the nearby woods. A marine shot one down, but the other was faster and reached Christopher.

Before Louisa could react, he planted his fist in the soldier’s jaw. The man soared back as if a battering ram, not a man’s fist, had hit him.

Suddenly the ground disappeared under her feet, and a band of iron wrapped around her waist. Then she was bodily thrown into the boat as if she weighed no more than a grenade.

Only for a moment did she allow herself to lie in the bottom of the vessel, steadying her spinning head. As she did, Christopher appeared at the edge of the boat.

“Get up,” he snapped, “and get yourself strapped in.”

She scrambled upright and sat on one of the benches and secured the harness. As she fastened the buckle, his hands brushed hers out of the way to finish the job.

“These need to be good and tight.” His tense words were at odds with the gentleness of his touch. It had always amazed her that a man with such large, calloused hands could be gentle, and it surprised her even more now. Not only was he still deeply angry with her, he’d also become an amalgam of man and machine. Yet instead of squeezing the breath out of her, he carefully adjusted the harness until she was secure.

As he did, the marines continued to shoot at the advancing troops.

Unfazed by the gunfire, Christopher bent close in order to adjust the buckle. She saw how his skin had darkened in the intervening years, a consequence of being on the deck of an airship, and the small lines that radiated out from the corners of his eyes. Their gazes caught and held. Drawing air became difficult.

She never forgot his eyes, blue and warm as the Aegean. Those waters were chill now. Impossible to swim in them.

But at the heart of those depths, she caught the gleam of remembrance. And longing.

It was gone before she could look closer. He pulled away, and took up position at the tiller. “Josephson, stay on the gun.”

The marine at the swivel gun nodded. She was about to offer that she was also trained on such weapons, but the hard set of Christopher’s jaw made her decide against it. He was captain, and challenging his command in any way would undermine his authority.

“May I?” she asked, reaching for the ether rifle at Josephson’s feet. At his nod, she picked it up and opened the bolt to ensure it was loaded.

She glanced up to find Christopher watching her. “I only had three bullets left.”

He gave her a clipped nod. “Everyone secure?”

“Aye, sir,” the marines answered, all of them firing at the enemy.

She took aim and shot, pinning the enemy down for the boat to make its escape.

“Aye,” she said, then couldn’t resist adding, “Kit.” That had been her name for him in private, when they’d done relentlessly pleasurable things to one another.

Heat flared in his gaze. Just as quickly, the heat disappeared. He drew his revolver and fired at the enemy troops. One soldier screamed and dropped his rifle to clutch his injured hand.

She could not help but stare. It had been an amazing shot, deliberate and precise as a surgeon’s scalpel. But Christopher had simply acted, and seemed well used to performing such incredible feats.

As the enemy troops neared, he steered the boat straight up into the sky.

S
HE HAD BEEN on airships before, but never one as small or maneuverable as this jolly boat. Her stomach gave a flip of protest as the boat shot up and turned sharply. The ground fell away. Air and bullets rushed past. She crouched low, her legs locked against the bench, the rifle gripped in her hands, as the marines returned fire.

Christopher kept his hand upon the tiller, his eyes in continuous motion, his expression steely. He looked confident, determined. Difficult to say whether her heart pounded because she flew through the air with Hapsburg troops shooting at them, or because Christopher was
here
, and more devastating than ever.

She would have to puzzle that out later. Right now, she had to defend the boat and help get everyone to the safety of the airship. The intelligence she had gathered needed protecting, as well.