by Bree Wolf
Captain Duret kept watching him closely, and Oliver could see the man’s indecision. On a whim, he said, “I promise you I will take good care of your daughter. No harm will come to her. You have my word.”
For a second, his eyes met Violet’s, and if his eyes did not deceive him, she seemed truly touched by his words. A soft curl came to her lips, and she held his gaze, the look in her eyes no longer resolute, but gentle instead.
In that moment, Oliver realised that the thought of anything happening to her, of her being harmed in any way, turned his stomach and sent agonising pain through his heart. How was this possible when he had not even known her a few hours ago?
“Violette,” Captain Duret said, turning to look at his daughter. “Would you mind stepping outside for a moment? There is something I need to discuss with Lord Cullingwood.”
Her eyes travelled from her father to Oliver before she nodded and then quit the cabin.
The moment the door closed behind her, Captain Duret stepped toward him. His eyes were hard as he approached. However, Oliver could see deep emotions behind them, could see the struggle of entrusting his beloved daughter to a stranger.
An English stranger no less.
“I cannot say,” Captain Duret began, measured strides carrying him closer, “whether or not it is wise to trust you. However, I do trust my daughter.” His dark eyes remained fixed on Oliver, and the calm authority that always hung about the captain’s person had turned threatening. “Nonetheless, I feel compelled to inform you that I expect you to treat her,” he commanded, “as though she were the breath of your body. If anything happens to her,” Duret’s nostrils flared and his lips turned into a snarl, “you will die. Think of it as a law of nature, comprenez-vous?”
Oliver nodded. “I will. I promise.” Despite the threat delivered to him, he could not help but admire the man, the family, the utter love and devotion that existed between them.
“If anything happens to her,” Duret stressed, determined to drive his point home, “I will find you and I will end you, even if it’s the last thing I’ll do. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Again, Oliver nodded. “I understand you better than you know. I would give anything to have my father think of me the way you think of her.”
For a long moment, Duret held his gaze, watching, assessing, contemplating. Then his features seemed to relax a fraction, and he nodded.
Seeing the captain’s acceptance of his sincerity, Oliver could not help but ask. “She’s not truly your daughter, is she?”
Duret held his gaze for a moment longer. “She is now,” was all he said before he stepped up to the table and gestured for Oliver to look at the map upon it.
Chapter Twelve – Sacrifices
Watching half their crew sail toward France on the merchant ship, Violette felt her skin crawl with dread as well as excitement. A part of her yearned to see her old home again, and yet, she feared that something might go horribly wrong. What if Lord Cul–Oliver betrayed her after all?
“I should have been on that ship,” Henri grumbled as he came to stand beside her at the bow. “I’m the captain’s second-in-command.”
Violette nodded. “I agree. You are a fool to let this slip through your fingers.”
Staring at her, he shook his head. “You didn’t truly expect me to return to France while you waltz into England on a suicide mission, n’est-ce pas?” Anger rang in his voice. Still, Violette knew that it masked a more unsettling emotion: fear.
“If you insist on it,” he continued, “then I’ll go with you, ensure that that man keeps his word.”
Violette shook her head, then placed a placating hand on Henri’s arm when he opened his mouth to protest. “If I am to have any chance of blending in, you cannot come. You look too…” A soft grin curled up the corners of her lips.
“French?” he asked with a snarl. Still, a spark of humour lit up his eyes. “And here I thought you were French as well.”
“I am,” Violette replied. “But I do not look it. I can hide in plain sight.” Sadly, she shook her head. “You cannot.” Yet again, she felt torn. A part of her wished to have her trusted cousin by her side. He would make her feel safe. He would give her the strength to do what she was setting out to do. And yet, another part of her argued that this was her adventure. Only hers. And she needed to do this alone. She needed to stand on her own two feet and face the past she thought she had left behind so long ago. But she never truly had, had she?
She had run from it.
But not dealt with it.
Now, the time had come when she could not run any longer.
“I still don’t understand why you feel compelled to risk your life for a woman you’ve never even met,” her cousin continued. His voice, however, had softened, and the look in his eyes was almost pleading. “After all, it’s not as though that woman’s life is in danger. She’s merely getting married.”
Violette scoffed, “Only men could ever think that. Tell me, cher cousin, how would you feel if you were forced to marry a woman old enough to be your grandmother? Would you welcome such a union? Or would you have objections?”
Henri swallowed, resignation coming to his green eyes.
“You’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?” Violette asked, peering into his downcast eyes.
Instantly, his gaze snapped up. “Of course, I would,” he assured her. “But…but you’re family. We’re family.”
Smiling, Violette slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. “We are now. Once, we were strangers. Things change.” She sighed, unable to explain the conviction she felt in her heart, the conviction that told her that she needed to do this. “I cannot help how I feel.” A wistful smile tugged on the corners of her lips. “Father told me once that it was as though an invisible hand guided him to our beach that night. He couldn’t explain it. He felt as though he was meant to find us there.”
Henri frowned. “Is that how you feel now? Do you think you will find your true love back in England?”
Violette laughed, “I doubt it. But it is as though this is the path I am supposed to walk.” Holding his gaze, she squeezed his hand. “Can you accept that? Can you give me your support? Your trust?”
Henri sighed. “Always,” he whispered, “although I must tell you that you’re asking a lot.”
“I know, but I’ll be fine.”
“You better,” Henri grumbled under his breath.
Violette smiled. “I love you, too.” Then she stepped back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to see to my fake husband.” Turning away, Violette saw her cousin grip the handrail more tightly as though he feared what he might do if he were to let go.
Before he could change his mind, Violette hurried under deck.
As she entered the cabin, she found her father and Oliver with their heads bent over one of the maps spread out on the table, their voices low as they spoke to one another.
Then her father glanced at her over his shoulder. “Come. Have a look.”
Striding over, Violette tried to ignore her jittery nerves and concentrate on the task at hand. If they were to be successful, nothing could go wrong.
“Welcome back, my lady,” Oliver greeted her, a touch of mischief in his eyes that Violette knew only too well from her cousin. If they had not been born on opposite sides of a war, they probably would have been best friends.
Rolling her eyes at her fake husband, Violette unceremoniously elbowed him out of her way. “Is this where your estate is?” she asked as her eyes travelled over the coastline.
“Here,” Oliver confirmed, pointing to a small dip of land reaching out into the ocean. Once more, he stepped closer to the table, his arm brushing hers as though by accident. However, the twinkle in his eyes suggested that it was not. “It is fairly deserted there,” he remarked, his voice teasing, and she could feel his gaze travelling over her.
“Good,” her father said, his voice a bit gruff as he fixed Oliver with a glare. Still, he did not utter another word on
the matter. Though, Violette could tell that he was fuming under this calm layer of indifference. “It should be fairly easy to take you ashore there.”
Violette nodded as she held her father’s gaze, a small, reassuring smile on her face. “How soon can we be there? Two days’ time?”
Inhaling a slow breath, he nodded. “I’ll have everything prepared,” he grumbled, stepping back from the table.
“One more thing though,” Oliver interjected from behind her shoulder.
Turning to face him, Violette saw the mischievous curl to his lips and thought that she would not like whatever he was about to say.
“While my servants will not be surprised to see me arrive without notice or in the middle of the night,” he began, casting a careful glance behind her at her father, “they will, however, think it odd if I bring a woman dressed in men’s clothing.” His gaze held hers for a moment before it slowly travelled downward. “Personally, I do not object.” His grin widened, and she felt the almost uncontrollable need to cuff him. “However, it might raise unnecessary suspicions.”
Glaring at him, Violette shook her head. “You must be insane if you think I–”
“Violette,” her father interrupted, his voice still calm and controlled as though none of this affected him.
Slowly, Violette turned to face him, knowing that he would not take her side. “You agree with him?”
He nodded. “If you are indeed serious about this,” he said, his dark eyes holding hers, trying to gauge her commitment to this task, “then you need to swallow your resentment and do what must be done. If you cannot blend in, this will be much too dangerous, and we might as well forget about it.”
Sighing, Violette relented. “Fine,” she whispered, suddenly feeling as though her feet had been knocked out from under her.
Deep down, she knew she was afraid what it would feel like to walk back into her old life, a life she had thought herself rid of for so long. It was not that she generally objected to wearing a dress. Not on the ship, of course, as it was far too impractical. However, back home in France, she occasionally wore dresses.
Still, this was different.
The clothes she wore on the ship had come to represent who she was, the life she had chosen and the strength she had gained. She felt like herself in them. What would it feel like to don a dress not because she chose to, but because it was demanded of her? Was this her first glimpse of the life she had left behind? A life where she would not have been allowed to choose her wardrobe freely?
Well, then, good riddance, Violette thought.
Still, until this task was done, she would have to swallow her pride and do what was asked of her to succeed.
And she would.
She had to.
For Juliet.
And for herself.
Chapter Thirteen – A Word Given
When the English coastline came into view, Oliver felt a new sense of adventure surging through him. Never in his life had he felt so alive, and he had come to look at the privateer’s attack as the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Glancing at the shore, he knew they would have to walk for a few hours before reaching his estate. Still, it was the safest way. The fewer people took note of them before Violet could be properly introduced as his wife, the better.
Beside him, two sailors were preparing a rowboat to be lowered down, when suddenly a hushed silence fell over the deck. Turning his head, Oliver caught a glimpse of golden locks as Violet climbed out of the hatch. Each step revealed more of the simple, pale blue day dress she had donned–much to her displeasure as proved by the scowl on her lips.
Beside him, Oliver noticed Captain Duret inhale a slow breath as he looked at his daughter, for a moment completely unaware of the way his crew as well as Oliver stared at her in open-mouthed fascination.
Unfortunately, the moment Violet became aware that she was the centre of attention, the scowl on her face darkened even more. Her eyes narrowed, and she returned the crew’s stares with a threatening one of her own, hurling French curses at their heads with her sharp tongue.
Oliver was awed. “She’s truly one of a kind,” he mumbled.
Captain Duret nodded, a soft smile on his usually so inexpressive face. “Just like her mother.”
Intrigued from the first by this rather unusual family constellation, Oliver had begun to collect every piece of information he had observed or overheard, vowing to find out how Violet had ended up with a life as unusual as hers.
As she approached them, Oliver held out his hand to her, offering to help her into the boat.
Anger burning in her eyes, she glared at him, then looked at his offered hand and shook her head, irritation coming to her eyes. “I’m quite capable of doing this on my own,” she snapped, then hoisted herself up onto the rail, swung her legs over and climbed into the rowboat, which was dangling from a pulley on the side of the Chevalier Noir. Once seated, she looked back at him, her voice daring. “Are you coming? Or do you need a hand?”
Oliver laughed, and if he was not wholly mistaken, he would have thought that Captain Duret, too, had a hint of an amused smile on his face. Climbing into the boat, Oliver took the seat next to her, noticing how she scooted away to allow some room between them. With a grin on his face, he leaned closer. “I never meant to imply that you couldn’t do this on your own,” he said. “I was merely trying to be a gentleman.”
Lifting her sharp blue eyes to him, Violet seemed to study him for a moment. “Whatever that means,” she finally said, and once again, Oliver did not know what to make of her.
After Captain Duret had joined them in the boat, it was lowered down to the water. Then the man grabbed the oars and began rowing them toward the shoreline.
“Father, I can help you,” Violet objected, beginning to rise to her feet.
Oliver pulled her back down. “No, if anyone should–”
“Quiet!” Captain Duret ordered, his dark gaze shifting back and forth between them. “And sit still.”
In silence, with only the sound of the lapping waves, the captain rowed them to shore, his breath even and his movements sure and practised. Once the boat hit ground, he jumped out and started pulling it to shore.
For a moment, Oliver felt at odds. He could not help but feel that he ought to assist the man. However, he was far from certain that he would be of any assistance. After all, as much as he had always dreamed of adventures at sea, he had hardly ever set foot on a boat of any size. Perhaps when this was over, he ought to change that.
Once the boat was resting securely on the beach, Captain Duret stepped around the side and held out his hand to his daughter. Without hesitation, she took it and allowed him to assist her out of the boat.
Oliver snorted, “So, he is allowed to help you?” he demanded, ignoring the annoyed way in which she rolled her eyes at him. Still, when she turned to her father, he thought to see the corner of her lips twitch.
In answer, his heart thudded faster in his chest, and Oliver heard Captain Duret’s words echoing in his head: Treat her as though she is the breath of your body.
Strangely enough, Oliver had never felt more alive, more excited, more daring than when she was around. There was something bewitching about her, and he dreaded the moment they would have to bid each other farewell.
Standing off to the side, Oliver granted father and daughter a moment alone as they stood close, the captain’s hands wrapped around Violette’s, his face tense as he looked down at her. Whispered words were exchanged, and then the captain pulled her into his arms. For a moment, the man’s careful mask slipped and utter pain over leaving his daughter in enemy territory was clearly visible on his face. Sheer willpower alone made him bid her goodbye. After kissing her forehead, he turned and walked back toward the boat.
As he came by Oliver, the men’s eyes met, and Oliver nodded in affirmation. “I shall watch over her. You have my word.”
Again, the captain nodded, then pushed the boat back into the
water and climbed in.
Oliver glanced at Violet as she came to stand beside him, her blue eyes wet with unshed tears as she stared after her father. Slowly, he vanished into the darkening sky, his contours barely visible as night began to chase away the day. Soon, it would be dark.
“We need to go,” Oliver whispered, feeling like an intruder. “If we don’t want to get lost in the dark, we need to leave now.”
Violet nodded, her eyes still fixed on the horizon.
Inhaling a deep breath, Oliver offered her his arm. Never in his life had he seen this much love as in the past few hours. It was truly humbling.
Tearing her eyes from the water, Violet looked up at him, a touch of hesitation in her eyes before she glanced down at his offered arm. Then she sighed, mumbled a rather annoyed sounding “Fine” and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.
Oliver could not help but grin, and yet, he could not deny that the feel of her did make his heart beat a little faster.
What a woman! Vulnerable and strong, and not afraid to be either.
Chapter Fourteen – Family History
With the sun dipping lower in the west guiding their feet, they marched across untouched fields, staying close to the shoreline so as not to get lost. The countryside was lush with tall-stemmed grass, wild growing bushes and a dense forest growing to the north-east. It was beautiful, and yet, it was nothing compared to the sea.
“How did you come to be at sea?” Oliver asked suddenly as though he had read her thoughts, his pale blue eyes suddenly dark in the fading light.
Violette felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Why do you ask?” she demanded, becoming more and more aware of her vulnerable position. At sea, she had been part of a crew. Here, she was all alone. What if he betrayed her? What if he was only waiting until they reached his estate to ring the alarm and have her arrested? Tried for treason, she would be no help to anyone.