“With any luck, they’ll expect me to leave the boat now that I know they’ve spotted us on it.” Eyes narrowed, he stared at Loretta, seated in one of the armchairs. A lady’s traveling writing desk balanced on her knees, she’d been scribbling on and off since they’d settled in the sitting room.
She looked up, met his gaze. “That would be fortunate, given we have to halt at anchor every evening.”
They were presently at anchor in what Julius had described as a secure merchants’ basin off Duisberg. The town’s docks were some way away, back along the river, and the riverbanks were too distant, and the currents between too strong, to imagine any attackers swimming out to the Loreley Regina. In addition, the crew were on watch. Now they’d sighted the enemy—indeed, had had one board and then escape—they were very much on their mettle. Rafe knew their party was as safe as he could make them, yet still …
This, he suspected, lips twisting as he resumed his pacing, was one of the outcomes of that four-letter-word emotion.
Stifling a sigh, Loretta closed her writing desk and set it aside. She’d been trying to jot down ideas for her last Window on Europe vignette, but Rafe’s imitation of a restless, prowling beast was an irresistible distraction.
Standing, she turned down the lamp, then blew it out, plunging the room into moonlight and shadow. Rafe halted as she turned to him. Smiling wryly as much to herself as to him, she walked to him, took his hand, wound her fingers with his, and drew him to her room.
Shutting the door behind them, she turned and went into his arms.
They closed around her, his head bent to hers as she stretched up. Their lips met, brushed, touched, then they sank into each other’s mouths, into each other’s embrace, and let the moment have them.
Let the night enfold them, let passion rise up and sweep them away, knowing this night might be the last of their journey in which they were free to indulge. During which they were safe enough to indulge.
During which they could strip each other bare, join, and let the glory take them.
Unrestrained, unshielded.
During which they could with complete and utter focus concentrate on the other, on their wants and needs, on satisfying both, on reaching and seizing, then clinging to that ultimate glory.
It left them wracked, sated and limp, in a tangle in her bed.
Gently, with those reassuring touches only lovers could share, they disengaged and settled to sleep.
Boneless, at peace, Loretta slid into sated slumber.
Rafe held her close.
And listened to the night. To the occasional creak, the whistling of the wind. The almost silent slap of the river wavelets against the hull.
Physically sated he might be, but he was mentally too tense, too on guard, for sleep.
As the dark hours rolled on, his mind circled. To the start of his mission, to the start of this long journey. To his thoughts and feelings then. And how they’d changed.
Yet another outcome of that unnameable emotion.
He now had so much more to lose, something so precious he would give his all, even his soul, to protect it. She, her life, her love—they were inviolate, something he could not conceive of ever allowing to be harmed. But along with that bone-deep determination came a yearning, a hope beyond all other hopes, that he would live through the coming clashes and survive to join his life with hers. That he would live to have a chance to explore all he felt for her, long enough to learn how to cope, how to manage, how to acknowledge and admit to that too-powerful emotion, out loud, to her.
To say the words and admit to the truth that already lived in his heart.
That already invested his soul.
And that was one thing he’d been wrong about. Yes, with that emotion came vulnerability of a sort he, the warrior in him, hated to embrace, yet simultaneously, out of the hope, the yearning, and the determination it engendered, that emotion gave him strength.
A strength he’d never felt before, one he’d yet to test. But if its power was anything like that of the emotion that gave it birth …
The chances were he’d find out. Soon.
And alongside the new—his recently acquired hopes and dreams—ran the older imperatives: his loyalty to his friends, his duty to his country, and his devotion to seeing James MacFarlane avenged.
As the faint gray light of dawn seeped into the cabin, he held Loretta close, and with his cheek on her dark hair, thought of those things, his most prized possessions, his deepest vows.
Those were the things he would fight for, that he would face the Black Cobra and battle for. And of them all, the one he would give his soul to keep safe was his future with her. Reckless would never be reckless with that.
Sixteen
By the following afternoon, they’d left the main channel of the Rhine and were on the Lek, the arm of the river that eventually flowed past Rotterdam. Rafe stood on the bridge looking out at the passing riverscape. He’d come up to consult with Julius and his crew over what they might expect once they reached their destination. Although some miles from the open sea, Rotterdam was the biggest seaport in Europe; its many shipping basins played host to merchantmen and fishing fleets from all around the globe.
If anything, the river currents had strengthened and the Loreley Regina was running fast before a stiff breeze. Although they’d all helped mount a close watch on the numerous small town docks they’d whisked past, as well as on the surrounding river traffic, they’d sighted no more cultists.
With a nod to Julius, Rafe headed for the companionway. Descending, he walked into the salon to join Loretta, Hassan, and Rose, who were waiting in the armchairs about the small table they’d used to play whist.
“Julius says,” Rafe reported, dropping into the chair alongside Loretta’s, “that we’ll reach the port of Rotterdam tomorrow, in the late afternoon or early evening. Quite aside from the vagaries of wind and currents, we’ll soon have to slow to tack between vessels anchored in the river.”
“Will we halt tonight?” Hassan asked.
Rafe shook his head. “Apparently that’s unnecessary. Although to hear him describe it, the river will be an obstacle course, in these reaches all vessels mount running lights, and accepted practise is for vessels to keep moving until they reach their intended destination. Speaking of which, Julius agrees that putting into the usual passenger docks would be foolish. Because we’ll have to slow for the last stretches, it’s certain the cultists in Rotterdam will be warned of our arrival before we reach there. Julius predicts that the cult will have a welcome waiting for us at the Loreley Regina‘s customary dock.”
“What’s the alternative?” Loretta asked.
“The consensus is that we’ll all be better off if the Loreley Regina avoids all the basins set aside for passenger vessels and instead slips into one reserved for merchantmen. Apparently smaller craft occasionally put in there to unload cargo they’ve brought downriver. The crew consider it highly unlikely the cult will be patroling the trade docks—there are simply too many to cover, even with a small army.”
He paused, then grimaced. “I know why Wolverstone organized each courier’s route independently and so secretly, but I could wish that, at this juncture, I had some idea where the others are—and even more pertinently if they’ve recently passed through other embarkation ports on the Continent, like Calais, or Le Havre, or better yet further afield, and so have forced the Black Cobra to spread his available forces along the Channel coast. I’d love to know if any or all of them have already reached Wolverstone, or if they’re still in the field providing active distraction—which will mean the difference between us facing a thinly spread cordon of cultists, or instead running headfirst into a concerted force.”
“The other three were decoy missions.” Hassan shrugged. “Their reason for being was to draw the cult away from our path.”
“True, but …” After a moment, Rafe grimaced again. “I am carrying the original letter and it must get through. I think from no
w on we have to operate on the assumption that the Black Cobra will oppose us with all force at his disposal—and that that will result in a significant gauntlet for us to run.”
Silence fell as they digested that, considering, imagining, then he continued, “Our goal is to be in Felixstowe by the evening of the twenty-first—three days from now. On that evening, our guards will meet us at the Pelican Inn. Assuming we disembark in Rotterdam tomorrow—on the evening of the nineteenth—that gives us two full days to reach our rendezvous. According to Julius and crew, we may be lucky and find passage across the Channel immediately—in which case we’ll reach Felixstowe a day early and have to go to ground there—or, and they consider this more likely, we’ll need that extra day to find suitable passage. The trip across the Channel will take between ten and fifteen hours, depending on the type of vessel we take, the tides, and the prevailing winds.”
He glanced at the other three faces, all now familiar to him, even Rose. “Let’s assume Julius puts us safely off at one of the Rotterdam trade docks early tomorrow evening. What do we do next? How should we go on?”
“Finding passage onward is our primary concern,” Hassan said. “Perhaps Julius and his men can suggest what areas of the docks would be most useful for finding transport across the Channel.”
“Before we get that far,” Loretta said, “there’s another point we ought to consider.” She met Rafe’s eyes. “As you stated, we’d be wise to assume the Black Cobra’s men will be everywhere, searching for us. So before we even step onto Rotterdam’s docks, we should consider whether there’s any way we can shore up our disguise.”
He pulled a face. “After Dusseldorf, us traveling together will no longer afford us much cover. If they spot two tall men with two women, they’ll come sniffing closer.”
“Well, even if you leave us behind, they’ll still recognize the two of you"—Rose nodded at Rafe and Hassan—“perhaps even quicker, so there’s no point suggesting we separate from you.” The statement was a declaration of belligerent intransigence.
Loretta mentally applauded; she’d been about to make the same point, albeit more subtly. After studying Rose’s face, Hassan floated the idea of disguising himself and Rafe as sailors. Rafe allowed it might be possible, but questioned whether securing passage might then prove more problematic.
When, frowning, the other three fell silent, Loretta evenly stated, “There’s one thing we can do that will make us much less noticeable, especially if this fog also hangs thickly about the docks in Rotterdam.”
A certain stillness seized Rafe. He hesitated as if debating whether he wanted to hear her idea, but then he arched a brow. “What?”
“We can split into two couples and make our way separately.” She leaned forward. “Think about it—in the area about any docks, in the taverns and shipping quarters where we’ll have to go to find passage onward, other than groups of men, what’s the most common sight?” She answered the question herself. “A sailor with his woman for the night.”
Rafe’s lips quirked downward, but he didn’t argue. She was perfectly certain he wanted to, but in this instance, his mission had to come first.
To smooth his way to agreeing, she went on, “I concede that splitting into two couples will make defending against attack more difficult, simply on the basis of numbers. Against that, however, we’ll stand a much better chance of slipping past the cultists unnoticed—without having to defend against any attack at all.”
Sitting back, she raised her hands. “As I see it, that’s our only better option. Continuing all four together would be tempting fate—the cultists in Rotterdam will have been warned to look specifically for our party. And leaving me and Rose behind could well be the worst thing you could do.”
Neither Rafe nor Hassan argued. They exchanged a long glance, then after a tense pause, Rafe turned back to her. “Let’s say we split up on the dock—what then? Do we stay apart until Felixstowe?”
She nodded. “As two separate couples we have a much better chance of all four of us reaching the Pelican Inn.”
His eyes on hers, he said nothing for a full minute, then grimaced and nodded. “All right.” He glanced at Hassan. “We part on the dock and go our separate ways, each finding our own way across the Channel.”
Equally reluctantly, Hassan nodded—forced himself to nod. “If they realize we’ve separated, it will at least force the cultists to follow two separate trails.”
Rafe studied his henchman. “No heroics—under no circumstances are you to draw cult attention your way.”
Rose humphed. “You can rely on me to make sure he doesn’t.”
Her belligerence was still very much on show. This time Rafe seemed more comforted than confronted by it; he inclined his head Rose’s way.
“So assuming we part on the dock, what next?” Loretta reclaimed their attention.
“If we’re separating, then we should look for passage in different quarters—Julius and the crew can advise us on that. But we can also put another degree of separation into play.” Rafe looked at Rose. “Do you know England’s east coast at all?”
“A little. Not well.”
“Harwich lies across an estuary from Felixstowe—there’s a regular ferry that connects them. You and Hassan can make for Harwich, then get the ferry across. Loretta and I will make directly for Felixstowe.”
Leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees, Hassan nodded. “And then we go to the Pelican Inn. And then?”
“The men we’re supposed to meet are Christian Allardyce and Jack Hendon. On the evening of December twenty-first, they’ll be waiting in the inn’s taproom. You can trust either man implicitly, but don’t trust anyone else.”
“How will we recognize them?” Rose asked.
“I suspect they’re ex-Guardsmen.” Rafe glanced at Hassan. “You know the type.”
The big Pathan nodded. “Cavalrymen like you. Will anyone else, the cult, for instance, be able to guess those men—men with those names—will be the ones we will look for?”
“I doubt it.” Rafe considered, then shook his head. “I can’t see anyone of Wolverstone’s caliber being that indiscreet. If an Englishman of the right build walks up and introduces himself as either Allardyce or Hendon, you should be safe in trusting that they’re who they claim to be. But, and I can’t stress this strongly enough, don’t trust anyone else. We can’t tell what friends Ferrar might have rallied to his cause.”
After a moment, Hassan rose. “I will go and ask Julius and the crew about the different areas around the docks, and ask them to recommend different ways in which we might go to find passage to Harwich or Felixstowe. I will not tell them we plan to go separately.”
Rafe nodded and rose, too. “I’ll go and fetch the maps. I want to go over the dangers we may face.” He glanced at Loretta and Rose. “Let’s meet back here in half an hour.”
With Rose, Loretta nodded, stood, and followed Rafe down to the cabin deck. He went into his cabin. She led Rose to the stateroom. “We may as well start packing. I’ll speak to Julius about sending on my trunks.”
“I was thinking"—Rose followed her into the sitting room and shut the door—"that it might be best if we took … well, no bags at all. Nothing we can’t easily carry, and better if it looks like we’re not travelers.”
Struck by the suggestion, Loretta nodded. “You’re right. The less we look like travelers, the less likely the cultists will consider us too closely.”
She led the way into her cabin. “Let’s see.” Opening the armoire, she looked at her clothes, then regarded the twin trunks set against the wall. “If we squash everything down, we should be able to pack all my things and yours into the trunks, then I’ll carry my embroidery bag and you can take your knitting bag, not with embroidery or knitting but with just the things we’ll need for a few days.”
Loretta glanced at Rose, saw her nodding. “I’m sure that the ladies wherever we’re going will be willing to lend us some clothes.”
They returned to the salon half an hour later to find Rafe poring over several maps spread on the small table. Hassan joined them with a scribbled list of directions.
After some discussion, they agreed that Hassan and Rose would hire a cart and travel out of Rotterdam. Rose felt more confident about dealing with English sailors from the fleets of smaller craft that frequented the docks on the river’s lower reaches. Julius and the crew had told them of a dockside inn at which they would likely find a helpful captain from Harwich.
Rafe and Loretta would remain in Rotterdam and search for an English captain at one of several taverns Julius had suggested as more likely to be playing host to the crews of larger fishing vessels from the Felixstowe fleet.
With that decided, Rafe and Hassan speculated on the form of cult hurdles they might find themselves facing.
“We have to expect that Ferrar will have hired mercenary captains to patrol the Channel. All we can hope is that they’ll be stretched too thin to worry about fishing boats.” Rafe met Rose’s and Hassan’s eyes. “That said, we’ll need to take the captain we each hire into our confidence, at least to the extent of explaining about the cult and the possible dangers. We’ll need the support of captain and crew to avoid the cultists’ boats and, if necessary, to hide us from cult searches. They can’t help if they don’t know, so we’ll tell them. You know the tack to take—appeal to their patriotism, and"—he drew money pouches from his pockets—"pay them well. Half when you hire them, half on getting off the boat in England, with the promise of a sizeable tip if they get you there quickly, without fuss, and above all, in safety.”
He dropped a large pouch before Hassan, then a somewhat smaller one in front of Rose. When she looked up, surprised, Rafe said, “In case you and Hassan get separated. If that happens, you go on to Felixstowe and the Pelican Inn.” He glanced at Hassan, then at Loretta as he dropped yet another purse on the table before her. “If something happens and we’re forced to part, that’s where we’ll meet again.”
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