To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (20 page)

“Or even abducted?” She could not hide the sarcasm in her
voice. “As you know, I have journeyed that road before.”

Ignoring her comment, he said, “In addition to that, some of
my men now think you are a French spy.”

“A spy? But why?”

“I should think that was obvious. You were on the wharf
asking about the
Abundance
, my ship your father holds. And you have
observed my comings and goings these past weeks. For all I know you may have
learned things. Things I’d rather not have your father know.”

“Do
you
think I’m a spy?”

“No, I think you too innocent to be a spy, but my men do
not.”

“May I have a brandy?” she asked, spotting the decanter at
the edge of the room.

He gave her a curious look but did as she’d asked and poured
her a small glass of the amber liquid that was nearly the color of his eyes.

She took a large swallow, forcing the grimace from her face,
grateful for the distraction provided by the burn in her throat. “It’s been a
difficult day.”

His harsh glare softened. “You may rest tonight.” Then his
jaw clenched. “We leave at first light.”

With one look at his face, a face that was now precious to
her, she set down the glass and turned to leave. “I’ll be ready.”

The next morning Simon was waiting when Nate arrived, a small
bundle over one shoulder and a note in his hand. Still disturbed by Claire’s
antics the day before, and the fear he’d felt when he’d learned she’d left the
house, Simon accepted the note and lifted the seal.

Three Frenchmen in hold. Not talking. We sail with the
tide. –J.

He looked into the lad’s anxious eyes. “Thank you, Nate.
Wait here.” He headed toward the stairs. “I will return shortly.”

Just as he raised his hand to knock on Claire’s door, it
opened and Cornelia came bursting out, her silk skirts rustling and her cheeks
tear-stained.

“I will sorely miss her,” said the baroness, dabbing at her
eyes with a handkerchief, “as will our friends who, even in the short time she
has been here, have come to love her.”

He held Cornelia’s gaze for a moment, then passing her,
entered the bedchamber. He well understood what it would be to miss the French
girl. He dreaded the moment when he must let her go. Though he knew it was
inevitable, the prospect hung over him like a black cloud.

Claire stood in front of the bed, a portmanteau at her feet.
“Lady Danvers loaned me her case.”

She was wearing the simple blue traveling gown he had given
her in Dieppe, the one she had worn for her jaunt to the wharf the day before.
It only made her eyes, now filled with tears, a brighter blue. He steeled
himself against the emotion he ached to allow himself. He had been concerned
when he’d learned she had gone for a walk in Mayfair and angry she’d somehow
slipped through his net, but to discover she’d been at the wharf! An innocent
like her, alone on the quay, surrounded by purse-cuts, thieves, hard-faced
doxies and the scum of the world’s oceans. The mischief that might have
happened to her gave him a chill of fear but her role in it made him angry.

He reached into his pocket and thrust a box at her. “Here,”
he said roughly. “Put it on.”

She took the velvet box and opened it. Inside was the ring
he’d had a footman procure for him, a wide gold band of excellent workmanship.

She looked at the ring and then up at him. “A wedding ring?”

“Aye. You will pose as my wife. It will spare us questions
and delay.” He dropped his eyes, muttering, “…and it might keep you safe.”

She slipped the ring on her finger. “How long will the
journey take?”

“Two long days of travel with an overnight at a coaching
inn.” She looked up in question. “Trust me, by tonight you will be glad for a
rest from the constant jarring on the uneven roads. It’s not like the gentle
roll of a ship.”

“I’ve traveled by carriage before, sir. I know what to
expect.”

Her stubborn insistence made him smile. She was still
angry—they both were. “I can see that you do.”

She asked no further questions. By now she had to know
something of his privateering and was well aware of the threat from her
father’s men so close in London.

He picked up the case and gestured her to the door. “We must
go.”

She gathered her cloak and stepped into the corridor, her
shoulders back and her face set in determined fashion. Among the things he
admired most about Claire Donet was that she did not engage in unnecessary
prattle. She would walk bravely to her fate. Or perhaps she knew him too well
to argue.

A short while later, they were seated across from each other
in the carriage headed south to Sussex. Nate had asked if he could ride on top
next to the coachman. When Simon saw how fascinated his cabin boy was with the
heavy, old blunderbuss the coachman had stashed beneath the seat, he agreed.
Simon himself carried a pistol in his coat and a knife in his boot, mindful
that lurking highwaymen still presented a danger on the well-traveled roads.

He gazed across the carriage at the woman who had vexed him
the first night he’d encountered her in Saint-Denis. As a girl of sixteen,
she’d been bewitching. At eighteen she was a dazzling beauty and more sensual
than she knew. What would she be in her twenties when she came fully into
womanhood? Even as an older woman, he was certain she would carry herself with
grace and dignity.

“You would stare, sir?” she said, raising her chin
defiantly.

“I would look my fill,” he said in a low voice, holding her
gaze. In truth, he could not look away.

The blush that spread across her face rendered her fair skin
a warm pink, making him smile. Aye, he would like to look at that face and hear
her sharp tongue for the rest of his life.

Looking off the stern, Elijah stuffed his pipe into his coat
pocket and shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun shooting through the
clouds as the
Fairwinds
glided out of the Pool of London, heading toward
the mouth of the Thames. He was relieved to be leaving London and its busy port.
Rye Harbor was more his kind of place. There, he could lift a tankard with his
mates at the Mermaid Inn and swap stories of their days at sea.

He lifted the spyglass to his eye to survey the ships on the
river to see if any followed in their wake. He expected the Frenchie was there
somewhere, lurking. Peering into the distance, he ignored the smaller ships.
Suddenly a sloop flying a British merchant flag sallied forth as nice as you
please.

Crossing the short distance to the helm, he handed the glass
to the first mate. “’Tis a sloop followin’, sir. Ye might take a look. I’d bet
good coin ’tis the Frenchman.”

Jordan took up the spyglass and leveled his gaze on the
approaching sloop. When he lowered the spyglass, handing it back to Elijah,
there was a deep scowl on his face. “You might be right. I’ll do a few
maneuvers to see just how closely she sticks with us.” He turned and took the
wheel from the helmsman.

The Thames was crowded with ships as it always was, but
Elijah admired the first mate’s nimble handling of the wheel as he tacked,
testing the invisible tether that seemed to be tied between the two ships. The
sloop fought to keep her sails billowing out as she tacked around the ships in
her path to keep up with the
Fairwinds
.

No doubt remained in Elijah’s mind. They were being
followed. “Aye, ’tis the pirate hisself.”

“He knows what he’s about, that Frenchman,” conceded the
first mate, his hands steady on the wheel.

His gaze fixed on the sloop, Elijah silently agreed. No ship
would take such risks unless her captain was determined to overtake the
Fairwinds
.
And few were as good as Donet in navigating the ship-clogged river.

“A new set of clothes,” said Jordan, “but still the same
French privateer intent on rescuing his daughter. Appears the captain had the
right of it in when he took his captive over land to Rye.”

Elijah watched the sloop cutting smoothly through the waters
like a dolphin and wondered how long they could stay ahead of it. The waters of
the Thames were rough this day. The tide was running hard and there was a stiff
counter breeze.

The sloop drew closer. Elijah lifted the spyglass to his
eye. “She carries as many guns as we do, sir.”

“I noticed that myself. I’ve no intention to become Donet’s
target in the Channel.” With that, the first mate called “Ready about!” and
turned the wheel hard to port.

The sloop made its own course change bearing down hard upon
them. She was closing fast.

Elijah raised the glass and saw Donet striding the deck, his
black hair blowing in the wind. “That’s one persistent Frenchie,” said Elijah,
raising his voice to be heard above the wind.

“She may overtake us,” said Jordan. “Or she may just dog our
heels until we are in the Channel and then use her guns. Either way, I’ll not
allow the crew to join those from the
Abundance
. We’ll fight if we have
to. Have men stand by the guns.”

“Sir, ye might want to reconsider,” Elijah cautioned,
lowering the glass. “The Thames is no place for a game o’ touch-and-go.”

The first mate glanced over his shoulder at the sloop
dogging them. “All right then. How about a game of hide and seek?”

Elijah grinned. He approved of Jordan’s intended action.
“Might jus’ work, sir.”

Jordan spun the wheel and the
Fairwinds
slanted away, cutting across the river to intersect a lumbering collier working
its way upriver. The nimble schooner crossed in front of the slower ship and
ducked behind her bulk. A smart move that, thought Elijah.

The first mate spun the wheel again, dodging between another
collier and an anchored hulk. He spared another glance behind and grinned. “We
got lucky.”

To avoid a collision, the Frenchman was forced to tack away.
Then, when he'd tried to tack back, his ship became mired in the snarl of the
oncoming ships, falling hopelessly behind.

When it was clear Donet’s sloop had been cut off by the
collier, Elijah shared a smile with the first mate.

Elijah glanced aloft at the sails as the first mate spun the
wheel again, threading their way through the armada of colliers to the clear
flow of the river and out to the Channel beyond.

“That there was some fancy sailin’,” he said to the first
mate.

“’Twas more luck than skill—and it was close.”

“Oh!” Claire braced herself against the window as the
carriage hit a rock nearly sending her flying off the seat.

Simon reached his arm out to steady her. “Are you all
right?”

“Yes, I am now.” The carriage was nothing like the ones
she’d ridden in around Paris. For one thing, it lacked the springs she was used
to. And the roads there were not so rutted. Still, despite the bouncing and the
rough going, she could not tear her eyes from the handsome captain whose
penetrating gaze was making her feel as if she were disrobed.

How was she to spend two days and a night with him?

She twisted the ring on her finger. His eyes darted to her
hand. On his face was the beginning of a scowl.
He thinks I resent it and
would take it off.
He was wrong. She wished the ring were not a ruse, but
real. To share his life of adventure was only a dream, but one she cherished.

He turned his face to the window and the verdant countryside
beyond. Looking at him now she wondered, what did
he
want? Surely it
wasn’t only the return of his men. But he’d made clear their feelings did not
matter. But not speaking of them did not make them any less real. While she had
not asked to love him, she could not deny the truth of it. She wanted nothing
more than to remain by his side.

She had thought her vow to Élise right, even noble. But
since she’d fallen in love with the captain, she now doubted her intended
course. If she were honest with herself, guilt and good intentions did not
amount to a calling to the habit, nor did it follow that her chosen course was
God’s
choice for her. The Reverend Mother had been right. Claire sighed with the
realization. She was trying to live another’s life. When she allowed herself to
dream of her own future, her thoughts were of an English privateer, not the
cloistered life.

Turning to gaze out the window at the green countryside, she
watched rolling hills covering the landscape dotted with small farms and copses
of trees. It was not unlike the countryside of Northern France, which she had
always thought romantically bucolic.

He had braced himself with his boot pressed into the base of
her seat, his strong thigh muscles flexing beneath his tight breeches. She held
on to keep from being jostled about, though she was not entirely successful.
The constant bouncing was jarring.

They stopped more than once to change horses and to allow
themselves a chance to take the air on solid ground and find some refreshment.
Though the stops were only brief respites, the coachman had managed at each
stop to accept a mug from one of the tavern girls.

In no time, they were back on the road. A sigh escaped her
as she sank into the padded seat. The long silence between them had grown
uncomfortable. She found that she could not make herself stay angry with him,
not when it was obvious his main concern had been for her safety. So she
decided to make use of the hours stretching before them by asking the captain
about his youth.

“What made you choose a life at sea?”

His amber eyes turned from the window to focus on her. He
hesitated as if deciding what he would say. “’Tis what any lad growing up in
Dartmouth would think of. Merchant ships with their tall masts and bulging cargoes
captured my interest from the time I was a boy. When the opportunity came to
join the crew of a merchantman sailing to the Caribbean, I took it.”

“And you liked it.”

“I was good at figures, so learning navigation came easy.
Before too many years, I was first mate. Aye, I liked it.”

“And now you are a captain. You were good at more than
figures.” She thought he was better than good. From the words of his crew, he
might be the best. When his hands took the wheel of his schooner, it was
something to behold. “And you chose what you were to do.”

“You did not choose the convent, I take it.”

“No, my papa chose for me. But I am not sorry for it. I
stayed longer than most of the students, of course. And because the Mother
Superior took an interest, I learned much the other students did not. Unlike
some girls of the aristocracy, I learned more than how to manage a home. I
studied the world of literature and so much more. I am grateful for their
instruction.”

“Confined as you were, considering the result, I’d say they
did you a good turn.”

She couldn’t resist a smile at his offhanded compliment.
“They are very learned and very wise. It’s a teaching Order, you see.”

“Yes, I remember what you told me. And of your friend who
died, the one who wanted to teach the children. Do you also want to teach
children?”

The glint in his eyes hinted of amusement and more. Was his
question aimed at her desire to teach the children at the convent, or interest
in teaching children of her own? For some reason, she thought it might be the
latter. “Why yes, Captain, I love children.”

She looked out the window, thinking of the younger students
at the convent. For a long time after Élise had died, the youngest of them had
reminded her of the frail blonde girl, but no longer. The nightmares had
stopped and she had begun to think of her young friend as being in Heaven. Did
Élise teach children there? The idea brought a smile to Claire’s face. If there
were children in Heaven, and she was certain there were for death in infancy
and disease had claimed many, then that is what Élise would be doing.

She returned her gaze to the captain, who was now watching
the countryside go by. Her eyes lingered on his face, the high forehead, the
strong nose, the determined jaw. A man whose very countenance told her he had
faced his demons and overcome them. A man she respected. A man she loved.

Toward evening, the carriage slowed as they entered a
village, finally stopping in front of a three-story, red brick inn. The sun
still lingered in the sky reflecting off the gold lettering of the wooden sign
that read The Rose & Crown. The coachman opened the door, pulled down the
few stairs for them to alight and quietly informed the captain, “We have
arrived in Tonbridge, sir.”

The captain leaped out, turned and offered his hand. She
took it, allowing him to help her down. An unexpected weariness washed over her
when her feet touched the ground, making her glad for his strength. “You were
correct, Captain. I will be most happy to have a night’s rest in a bed that is
not moving.” He, on the other hand, did not even look tired, much less weary.
“I envy your energy after so long in that bouncing conveyance.”

He chuckled. “I don’t mind the long carriage ride even if it
is difficult to sleep or read for all the bumps. But it would have been slower
had we taken the public coach. And just imagine the journey with the elbows of
strangers in your ribs.”

She cringed at the thought. “It was most kind of you to
arrange for a private carriage.” She knew it had to be costly.

“I would have preferred the ship.”

Knowing the reason they did not take his ship to Rye, she
said nothing. She had no desire to remind him that her papa had followed them
to London and that she had tried to find him there.

“A ship is not so bumbling and rough, not so dusty,” he
continued.

“And not so many bruises,” she said, feeling the effect of
the carriage’s last encounter with a rock.

Nate climbed down from atop the carriage and caught her
portmanteau as the coachman threw it to him. The captain gently cupped her elbow
and guided her into the inn, his case in his other hand.

Her legs still wobbly, she was glad for the captain’s
support.

Nate followed them with his own small bundle and her
portmanteau.

Inside, lighted only with lanterns and a small fire burning
in the fireplace, the inn was dim until her eyes adjusted. She waited with Nate
while the captain handled the business of securing them rooms. In the
background, she heard the noise of many people and wondered if they were eating
in the common room. She was hungry after their long day of travel.

“Nate,” the captain announced above the noise of the inn
upon his return, “I’ve secured a chamber for Mrs. Powell and a private sitting
room for our meal; see about some food while I take my wife upstairs.”

Claire was startled at the name and the status he’d bestowed
upon her, but Nate didn’t blink an eye. He merely nodded, handed her
portmanteau to the captain and headed for the common room. The cabin boy must
have been forewarned that she traveled as the captain’s wife. How silly of her
not to have anticipated the name when he’d given her the wedding ring. While
the deception bothered her, the idea of being Mrs. Powell did not.

The captain took her arm and led her up the stairs. The room
he opened with the key he took from his pocket was large though sparsely
furnished with a four-poster bed, a round table and chairs. Since it was summer
the green bed curtains were drawn back and tied at the posts. On a side table
under the one window sat a flowered basin and pitcher of water. At least all
appeared clean.

“I’ll give you some time to freshen up. I’ll send Nate up to
escort you to dinner. I want to talk to the coachman before I meet you in our
private sitting room.”

“Is your room next door?” She wanted to know if he was close
should she need him—or his protection.

“Closer.” He grinned. “I’ll be sharing the room with you.”

Shocked he would even consider such a thing, she spit out,
“You will not!”

“Aye, but I will. The innkeeper would think it most unusual
should a husband and wife have more than one room when many guests, even
strangers, share beds.”

“But I must protest.”

“’Twill do you no good. I assure you it is necessary. You
needn’t worry for your virtue.”

“But—”

He turned and left, leaving her staring at the closed door,
wondering how she was to manage a whole night in the same room with him. He
might have his reasons, but she was not pleased. He had just assumed it would
be fine with her. It was not. She might have shared his cabin on the ship, but
not while he was in it!

Claire’s look of incredulity when he’d told her they’d be
sharing a bedchamber was nearly worth the agony he would experience spending
the night in that same bedchamber unable to touch her. He must be one of her
Catholic saints to even think it possible.

After a word to Nate, he left the inn to speak to the
coachman. He found the man in the stable instructing the groom on the proper
care of his horses. At his approach, the coachman waved off the groom.

“These are fine animals,” Simon told the coachman as he ran
his hand down the glistening, reddish coat of one gelding. In truth, he’d not
seen finer horseflesh.

The coachman beamed his approval. “I’ve been on this route
for several years and deal only with inns that keep good horses.”

“I came to discuss tomorrow’s travel. We start early, aye?”

“Dawn if you like, sir.”

“Dawn it is. I’d like to be in Rye as soon as your fine
horses can get us there.”

He left the stable walking slowing back to the inn,
reminding himself to ask the innkeeper to prepare some food for their early
departure. The long day on the road suddenly caught up with him and he felt the
protest of muscles that had not been used in a while. Keeping one’s balance on
a moving deck required very different muscles than a jarring carriage ride. But
the thought of a good beef steak with potatoes, plum pudding and a hunk of
Cheshire cheese revived his spirits and quickened his step. A dinner with
Claire would be just what he needed.

He had just stepped into the entry when he heard a loud
commotion coming from the common room off to one side. Striding towards the
noise, a foreboding gripped him.
What trouble has arisen now?
He hoped
Nate and Claire were tucked away in the private sitting room.

The sight that met his eyes in the busy common room had him reaching
for the knife in his boot as he stalked toward the object of his ire. On the
other side of the room Claire was pressed against the wall by a brigand, filthy
from the road, who was running his grubby hand over her soft flesh.

Struggling against the man’s greater strength for all she
was worth, Claire shouted, “Let me go!”

Simon surged across the room, a primitive rage rising in his
chest with each long stride. Reaching the brigand, he forced the edge of his
blade against the man’s neck. A trickle of blood ran into his collar. He froze.

In a too calm voice, Simon said, “Unhand my wife or you’ll
not see tomorrow.”

Behind him, chairs screeched loudly as people rose from the
tables and backed away. He could hear their intake of breath as they glimpsed
his knife.

The brigand released Claire, raised his hands in the air,
and slowly turned, sidling away. “Meant nothin’ by it guv’ner. Just out for a
bit o’ fun. Thought she were a kitchen girl or one o’ the wenches.”