There will be some very unhappy French mademoiselles in Saint-Brieuc tonight. Sorry, chaps.
Gus held up his hand. “I know we often stay the night and sail for home with the morning tide, but circumstances have changed. And as much as I would like to see each and every one of you sharing the bed of a pretty and welcoming lady of your choosing, we cannot stay.”
The grumbles continued for a moment. To his credit, Gus let the crew voice their annoyance. When the men fell silent once more, he continued, “Sir Stephen will oversee the loading of the brandy onto the ship, while I manage the transport of the crates from the château. Let us work quickly and with care. We have new enemies, and they mean business.”
While the crew set about readying the yacht for docking, Stephen pulled Gus to one side. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come to the château with you? Another pistol might be worthwhile having.”
Gus gave a quick glance around, then leaned in close. “I don’t want a gun fight. If we can get in and out without those limp pricks from Lamballe knowing about it, I would be more than satisfied.”
His friend was clearly not telling him the whole story, but now was not the right time to challenge Gus over the truth. Stephen had a job to do and that was to protect the boat and the shipment. Once they were safely on their way back to England, then he would have a quiet word with his fellow rogue of the road.
A welcoming party was waiting for them as theNight Winddrew up alongside the small jetty below the bluff on which Château-de-La-Roche sat. Stephen and Gus each gave a friendly wave to Armand La Roche. When a second figure stepped out onto the wooden pier, the smile on Gus’s lips died. “Damn,” he muttered.
Evangeline La Roche stood beside her uncle; a long shotgun draped across her arm. Bridget might well think herself handy with a pistol, but Stephen had seen the French noblewoman in action. She was a deadly aim.
Pity the fool who went up against her in a gun fight.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Gus sighed. “If Evangeline is carrying a loaded weapon, it means that there has been more trouble. We might have just sailed into a large problem. One we may not be able to easily handle.”
At the dock they were greeted by a worried looking Armand. “I am glad but not pleased to see you, my friends. The Lamballe scoundrels have been causing more strife. We might have to do a short load this trip and then get you away as fast as possible.”
“Marec’s men have been seen in the woods nearby this morning. You shouldn’t have come, it’s too dangerous,” Evangeline said more bluntly.
Stephen observed the silent argument that quickly took place between Evangeline and Gus, at the end of which she gave a resigned huff. “Well, you are here now. Your trip shouldn’t go to waste. Let’s get this done.”
While Gus followed the La Roche's up the steep hill toward the château, Stephen checked his weapons. Taking up a vantage point on the deck, he scanned the horizon for any sign of unexpected and unwelcome visitors.
The first cart full of crates of French brandy arrived shortly after. As the crew hurried to offload them, Stephen kept his gaze on the small thicket of trees at the top of the hill. If they were going to come under attack, that would be the likely direction from which their assailants would approach.
They were a good third of the way into unloading the second stack of crates an hour or so later, when the sound of gunshots rang through the air. A dust cloud appeared at the top of the rise. There was shouting and more gunfire.
And then a deathly silence.
The crew all stopped what they were doing and every single one of them turned to Stephen. He caught the expression on their faces and the look in their eyes. Fear. Uncertainty. Silent pleas for someone to step in and save them.
He cocked his rifle. “Forget about the rest of the brandy—get on board the yacht!”
Crates splintered and glass shattered as the contraband was quickly abandoned. Heavy footsteps rattled on the gangplank. Captain Grey bellowed orders to make ready to sail.
Stephen’s attention and rifle were now firmly focused on the road. As the sound of an approaching horse reached his ears, he settled over the gun sights.
A tall, slim rider with long fair hair trailing in the breeze rode into sight.
Evangeline.
She didn’t spare her mount, riding at breakneck speed down the slope. When she finally reached the jetty and pulled hard on the reins, Stephen’s blood turned to ice. Behind her on the horse, head slumped against Evangeline’s back, was Gus.
“He has been shot!” she cried.
Stephen handed his rifle to the nearest crewman and dashed along the gangplank. Reaching the horse, he managed to catch Gus as he toppled and fell.
“We were ambushed,” said Gus. The dark patch of red on the front of his shirt had Stephen swallowing down a bout of nausea. He had never been great with blood but seeing it on his friend made it doubly worse.
“You have to get Augustus to a doctor in England, and I must go back and find my uncle. We have to fight the Lamballe gang, or we will never be rid of them.”
Evangeline dug her heels into the side of the horse, and it kicked away.
