To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (16 page)

He let out a laugh, embarrassed by what she had seen, and at
a time when she was even more innocent than she was now. “Aye, well, would it
please you to know that we did no more that night and I’ve not seen her since?”

She settled into his arms. “It might, though I have no right
to ask. What I saw was very… shocking, and if I am truthful, absorbing.”

He laughed again and laid her back on the pillow. “That
wild-eyed girl who fell from the tree all tattered and torn has come to my mind
many times over the last two years. I should have recognized you, shouldn’t I?”

“I have changed.”

“Aye, I can see that you have.” Lying there, her head on the
pillow, her ebony tresses fanned out around her, she appeared the young
seductress, more beautiful, more alluring than when he’d first glimpsed her. He
wanted to press his lips to hers, to stroke her tender skin, to lift the thin
gown from the curves it hid and make her his. Instead, he took a deep breath,
gathered his resolve, and reminded himself she was not his to take. “Now, to
sleep with you.”

He rose to leave.

She stared up at him. “That night was the first time I saw
you, but I never forgot the golden eagle.”

Even in the faint light he could see her eyes fixed on him,
the same azure eyes that had captivated him that night in Saint-Denis.

“Sleep, and that’s an order.”

The sunlight was just slipping into his bedchamber when Simon
rose and left for the Thames. He had not slept well after leaving Claire’s
room, troubled by her intent to become a nun. As the night wore on, he had come
to a decision. He did not want to return her to her father, much less to a
convent. If he could recover his crew, perhaps he could persuade her to stay in
England. She could write her father a letter and tell him she’d chosen a new
life. His imaginings did not dwell on what that new life might consist of. But
one thing he knew: A convent was no place for her.

Once onboard his ship, Simon spotted Amos Busby, the first
mate from the
Abundance
, talking with Jordan. With a jerk of his head,
he summoned both men to follow him to his cabin.

He closed the cabin door as they entered and invited them to
join him at the table.

“You’re back already?” asked Jordan.

“My business in London is not yet concluded, but I have a
task for Amos and I want you to be aware of it.”

Simon could see from Amos’ eager expression he was anxious
for something more to do. He’d been in charge of the men watching Claire but it
was not enough for a man who’d been first mate. And, after a day or two in
port, his men were always impatient to sail.

“I’ve an idea to rescue the crew of the
Abundance
from Donet’s clutches before the exchange.” The two men leaned forward,
interested. “But for that I need to know where Donet is keeping them.”

Smiles broke out on the faces of the two men.

“Aye, Captain, ’tis a worthy idea,” said the burly Amos.

“My first thought,” ventured Simon, “was that the Frenchman
holds them in Lorient where he has resources, but he may have moved them to
another location. If I were him, I might have moved them closer to where I
expected the exchange to take place. We must know if they are still in Lorient
where I imagine he first took them.”

Jordan leaned back in his chair and ran one hand through his
curly brown hair. “Aye, ’tis logical, but the Frenchman has often done what we
least expect.”

Simon nodded. Indeed Donet had done some daring things in
taking his prizes and avoiding the Royal Navy’s frigates and cutters plying the
Channel. And Lorient was his domain. “Amos, how would you like to go hunting
for our men?”

“’Twould please me, Captain.”

“Good. Take some of the idle crew from the
Abundance
with you to Lorient—the most skilled at stealth, the ones who speak French and
can keep their heads when matters become difficult. You’ll need to move fast;
you don’t have much time.”

“I have just the men in mind, Captain,” said the burly Amos,
rubbing his rough hand over his dark stubbled chin. “We can leave this
morning.”

“Elijah and Giles may have learned something in Paris,” said
Jordan. “Might be they already know the place Donet wants the exchange to take
place.”

“I’m hoping they do,” admitted Simon, “but I would not wait
for them to return when Amos can be on his way to Lorient. It would be good to
know if the men are there. Amos, when you’ve learned what you can, return to
Rye, not London. By the time you’re back, Elijah and Giles will have returned.
I’ll meet you there.”

Amos grinned. “Yes, sir.”

“And, Jordan, I’ll be expecting you to arrange the guards
for Mademoiselle Donet for the few days we remain in London. She’s our
insurance for the return of our crew.”

“I’ll see to it,” his first mate said.

It was a crazy scheme, Simon knew. And its success required
much to go right if he were to find his captured crew before he had to meet
Donet. He could only hope his idea worked.

“Claire,” Cornelia asked as she finished the last bite of
roll, “would you like to come with me today? I’m to visit the American
prisoners.”

Her mind still on the captain and his words the night
before, Claire was not certain if she had heard correctly. “Did you say
American
prisoners
? In London?”

“Yes, though most are kept in the ports, like Plymouth and
Portsmouth, we have a small number here, most of them taken off privateers.”

She picked up her coffee and sipped. These were the men her
papa was fighting to free. “I’d love to go with you.”

Cornelia raised her palm. “Before you consent, you should
know it may be unpleasant.”

Claire frowned, puzzled. “Whatever do you mean?”

Her new friend let out a sigh. “Well, it was much worse
earlier in the war when they were half-starved and sick, their clothes hanging
in tatters with no blankets to keep them warm. They are better now, but the
conditions are not ideal.”

“Why were they treated so badly?”

“The British considered them mere rebels rising against the
king, pirates charged with high treason. They had no status to protect them
from harsh treatment. Then, too, the British never anticipated having to deal
with such large numbers of prisoners. And most of us knew nothing of it.”

“How awful.”

“It was. But that changed when correspondence between Mr.
Franklin and Lord Stormont, then our ambassador to the French court, made its
way to the
London Chronicle
. It revealed the plight of the prisoners in
graphic detail. Some of us in London formed a committee of relief with Reverend
Thomas Wren, a minister in Portsmouth. Thankfully, it was successful. We raised
over three thousand pounds.”

“What did you do with so much money?”

“We took the prisoners clothing, blankets and food. Medicine
when it was needed. They are so much better off now. Parliament finally
designated them prisoners of war, so they can be exchanged for British
prisoners.”

No wonder Papa had wanted Simon’s crew. Claire was relieved
the Americans were being better treated. That they had not been so at the
beginning of the war made her wonder at the British who claimed to be so
civilized.

“But what the Americans really love,” Cornelia continued,
“is news from the outside world, the war and a kind word. I still bring them
blankets, clothes and food. New prisoners arrive each week and have nothing
save what we give them. Sometimes, I write letters for them. It gives them
comfort to know their families have word.”

“They let you send letters for the prisoners?”

“The letters are read by the military, of course, but they
are generally allowed to go through. We send them to ministers in the main
American ports who can read them to the families.”

Claire’s sympathy rose for the beleaguered prisoners. “I
will gladly be by your side as you help them. I may not be able to write
English as well as you, but I can distribute clothes and blankets and speak to
them of the support France is giving them.”

“They like to see an American face, but I know a French
woman would be very welcome. They are well aware of France’s aid.” Then looking
at the gown Claire wore, she said, “You must wear your plainest gown. The blue
one will do nicely. The place they are being held is not in the best part of town.”

Not long afterward, Claire and her hostess left by carriage
for what Cornelia had described as a warehouse in a rough area of London near
the Thames. Two footmen accompanied them.

They arrived at the tall, wooden building, its paint peeling
with age, to see British soldiers with their red coats and muskets standing
guard outside the entrance. More waited inside the door as Claire followed
Cornelia into the darkened space.

“Lady Danvers,” a senior soldier greeted Cornelia, who was
obviously known to him.

“Good morning, sir,” Cornelia returned. When the guard’s
gaze shifted to Claire, Cornelia said, “I have brought a friend to assist me.”

The guard tipped his head and allowed them to pass.

Claire trailed Cornelia into a cavernous room, her eyes
adjusting to the dim light. Small windows at the top of the rough wooden walls
and lanterns posted around the edges provided the only light. Some of the
American prisoners lounged on pallets scattered around the dirt floor while
others sat at a large, central table, appearing to be playing games. She
counted about forty men.

The footmen who had followed them inside opened the baskets
and bundles to allow the guards to see what they had brought. Once the search
was complete, the footmen stood waiting for their mistress to direct them.

One of the Americans approached Cornelia, a broad smile on
his face. The guard behind them moved closer, hands on his musket. “Lady
Danvers,” said the handsome American in an accent much like Cornelia’s. “A
welcome sight you are!” His left arm was in a white linen sling, but the injury
did not appear to dampen his spirits.

“Mademoiselle Donet,” said the baroness, “may I present
Captain Thomas Field.”

Claire was surprised at the youth of the American captain.
“I am pleased to meet you.”

“Captain Field is a privateer for America, Claire, taken
captive a month ago. He’s the one I told you about who knows my brother, Sean.”

The face of the American, who appeared younger than Captain
Powell, took on a serious expression. “My sloop was outgunned by the British.
Lost half my men in that battle. ’Twas a sad affair.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Claire said respectfully. “I hope I can
bring some cheer to you and your men. I am here to assist Lady Danvers.”

“Your mere presence cheers me, mademoiselle. Have you
traveled from France to be with us?” His gray eyes hinted of interest and
mirth. In the candlelight, his clothes appeared fine but a bit threadbare, the
coat and breeches the color of nutmeg, his shirt a faded ivory. His hair, brown
and streaked with the sun, was neatly tied back at his nape.

“
Oui
,” she said. “You could say that. We French are
on America’s side, and also like you, I am a captive, held hostage for a
British ship and her crew.”

Captain Field directed his confused gaze to Cornelia.

“It’s a long story, Captain Field. Suffice it to say,
Mademoiselle Donet has traveled here from Paris and is currently our guest. She
was eager to join my efforts to help the American prisoners.”

Captain Field beamed at Claire. “No matter the
circumstances, I am pleased to find one of our allies in London. You are most
welcome among us.” He gestured into the room as if inviting her into a grand
home when it was no more than a dark and dingy warehouse. “Other than Lady
Danvers, we rarely get to see so beautiful a woman confined as we are. Most
days all we have to look at are the surly guards and these four walls.”

He pulled a face at the scowling guard who stood within
hearing distance and Claire had to laugh.

“Lady Danvers,” said the captain, “with your permission, I
will introduce Mademoiselle Donet to my fellow prisoners. Some of my men want
to send letters home. Others are anxious for word of the war. Did you happen to
bring a newspaper?”

“Alas, I forgot, Captain,” said Cornelia, bringing her
gloved hand to her breast, “but I can bring some tomorrow. Claire, why don’t
you go with Captain Field? I’ll distribute these blankets. When you’re done
with introductions, we can set out the food.”

“Gladly,” she replied, happy to be escorted by the handsome
American.

Claire followed Captain Field around the room as he
introduced her to his crew captured with him and others from different American
ships. None wore uniforms, he explained, since they were all crew from
privateers.

In response to her inquiries about their homes, families and
health, they were very polite. Many were injured, their white bandages beacons
drawing her attention and her sympathy in the darkly lit room.

The warehouse was dusty, the floor hard-packed earth. The
men’s clothes appeared soiled, their faces smudged with dirt, some of them
still bearing signs of battle. The smell of too many bodies crowded together
for too long rose to her nostrils. There was a stench of unemptied chamber
pots. She wondered how long it was since any had bathed.

The eyes of the American prisoners followed her as she
walked alongside Captain Field, but their stares did not make her feel
uncomfortable. Perhaps it was due to the presence of the guards or the
baroness, but they were all polite.

“It’s been a long time since these men have had proper
clothes,” he said, “though Lady Danvers and her friends come often. I owe what
I am wearing to her good charity.” He lifted the lapel of his coat. “I believe
this once belonged to Lord Danvers.”

“It looks well on you, sir,” she said with a small smile.

For a moment his gaze held hers. “You’ll have to excuse me
for staring. Never have I seen eyes such a vivid blue. They’re like the open
sea… and very beautiful, even in this place.”

Claire hoped he couldn’t see her blush. “Thank you, Captain.
It seems I am destined to be surrounded by sailors. You are not the first to
tell me my eyes remind you of the ocean. My captor, my father—who I have only
just learned has his own ship—and now you—all are privateers.”