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

by Walker, Regan

  Rising, he fixed his steely eyes on her. “And what might the captain’s passenger be doin’ struttin’ down the London quay and askin’ questions about it?”

  “Excuse me,” she said, turning to go.

  “Not so fast, mistress.” He stuck out his hand to restrain her and her heart stopped. “The cap’n will be wantin’ to know what yer about. Spyin’ on the ship fer yer father, are ye?”

  “No…” she stammered. He clenched her arm in a vise-like grip. “No I was just—”

  “Come this way,” he directed, as he pulled her behind him.

  “No! Let go of me!” He did not let go, nor did he lead her to the ship. Instead, he yanked her around the building toward the rear of the tavern.

  As he neared the back door, a man stepped into his path. He was garbed as an ordinary seaman but with a difference that spoke of France. The scarf about his neck, the color of his open waistcoat and something about his short dark beard told her he might be one of her papa’s crew.

  “I’ll be seeing the mademoiselle to her papa,” he said in a decidedly French accent as he reached for her.

  He is French—and knows Papa!

  The Frenchman latched on to her arm and tugged, but the bos’n’s mate did not let go. Instead, he gripped her arm more tightly. “Nay, the woman is comin’ with me.”

  Caught between the two men, she was being torn asunder. “Stop! You are hurting me.”

  The man from her papa’s crew let go of her arm and swung his fist into the jaw of the English sailor. Claire lurched back, avoiding the two men now engaged in an all-out brawl in the alley. She thought of running away but the back door of the tavern swung open and men from the Fairwinds’ crew rushed out.

  One of them pulled the Frenchman off the bos’n’s mate. It took two of them to hold the French crewmember, so violently did he struggle.

  “He’s one of them Frenchies,” said the bos’n’s mate wiping the blood off his mouth. Gesturing to her, he said with a swagger, “See what I caught in the net.”

  “The captain’s lady,” said a man she recognized as Mr. Anderson, the one who had guarded her door on the Fairwinds.

  “Saved us the trouble of tracking down yet another French spy,” said one of the others.

  The Frenchman looked at her with regret in his eyes. “Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle. I have failed. The capitaine will be most displeased.”

  Her heart sank. “I have failed, too, m’sieur, for I thought to find my papa, but as you see, we are both now captives.”

  The men from the Fairwinds led them into the small back room of the tavern, a storage room piled high with casks of ale. They forced the Frenchman onto a stool and tied his hands behind him.

  Mr. Anderson turned to her. “What might ye be doin’ here, mistress?”

  “You’d never understand if I tried to explain,” she said with a frustrated sigh.

  “Find Mr. Landor,” he said to one of the men. “The first mate will know what to do. Don’t think he’d be wantin’ us to take her aboard.”

  They escorted her to one side of the room where she gratefully slipped into a chair.

  A few moments later, Mr. Landor appeared, frowning his disapproval.

  “Mademoiselle Donet…”

  She rose. “Oui.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story, Mr. Landor. You may not believe me, but I was trying to help.”

  “I doubt very much the captain would want you involved,” he replied. “In fact, I’m quite certain he will be furious when he learns you are here. The wharf is not a place for a lady by herself. And he does not want you seen at the moment.”

  Mr. Anderson spoke up. “We’ve another one of Donet’s crew, Mr. Landor.” An explanation followed. In response, Mr. Landor whispered more orders and the French crewmember was escorted out of the room.

  Mr. Landor faced the bos’n’s mate, standing guard next to Claire. “Get me a hackney. I’ll take her back myself.”

  The ride back to the Danvers’ mansion was a long one since Mr. Landor had directed the coachman to take a circuitous route. Claire sat stony-faced, angry with herself at botching her one chance to gain the captain his missing crew without having to let her go.

  A gloomy silence hung in the air.

  As the hackney jounced over the cobbles, the first mate studied her thoughtfully from the opposite seat, his green eyes boring into her. Finally, he spoke. “Seeking your father’s men, were you, mademoiselle?”

  “I was,” she confessed. “When I learned my papa might be in London, I thought to persuade him to free the captain’s men.”

  “Even if you had found him, it would have been a useless effort. Your father would not release our men unless we had you to exchange.”

  “But why? I would have been free.”

  “Because there is more to this than just your freedom, mademoiselle. Your father wants English prisoners to bargain for Americans. He wants both you and the crew from the Abundance. ’Tis why he attacked the Fairwinds on the Channel.”

  She sank back against the padded seat, a feeling of defeat washing over her. “I see. Then there really was no hope for what I did.”

  “No hope at all, and putting yourself in danger will not please the captain.”

  He was right, as Claire learned when they returned to the Danvers’ home. Mr. Landor left her in the entry hall and the butler escorted her into the baron’s study. Having apparently received word of her impetuous action, Simon was there, arms crossed as he leaned against the desk, a scowl on his face as he waited to hear her explanation.

  “Well?” he demanded, his anger palpable. “What were you thinking by doing something so foolish? Did you plan to escape?”

  She took a deep breath. “I only wanted to help. When I heard Nate say my papa’s ship might be in London, I thought if I could find him, I could persuade him to set your men free.” And to let me stay with you.

  “Naïve, mademoiselle. Very naïve.”

  Instantly her temper rose at his criticism. “Perhaps, Captain, but I had to try.”

  “You might have been harmed.” There was concern in his eyes. She hoped it was because he cared for her. But perhaps he only wanted to retain his hostage.

  “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 ret
urn 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 th
e 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.”

  Chapter 16

  “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.