Page 15 of A Fierce Wind

“At least I wear skirts. I’m told the women who fight with the royalist army wear men’s clothing. Henri used to speak of one named Victorine with great admiration.” In her mind, Zoé saw Henri’s angelic face framed by blond curls speaking of the valiant woman whose skill with a sword was the envy of his men. “My men call her ‘Captain Victor’.”

Her aunt shook her head. “Where will it lead? Women fighting with men, young men killed before they’re even wed and my own niece traveling the streets at night disguised as a peasant. I know you have taken a courageous path, dear, but I worry so.”

“I must do what I can while there is time. Surely you understand.”

“I do.” Her aunt nervously flicked a thick auburn curl over her shoulder. “Jean and I may not be your parents, but we raised you. Much as I would like it to be otherwise, you take after him more than me.” Letting out a sigh, she added, “It is my fate to love you both.”

Zoé laughed. “You must remember that Oncle Jean and I are both Donets and French. Therefore, we are stubborn, impetuous and given to moments of temper. But be cheered; we could not function without you.”

“You two keep me on my knees before God,” said her aunt.

“To show you how cooperative I can be, I will go with you and the princesse today for your shopping jaunt but, pray, let us order only the few gowns I will need in England. When I return to France, I must once again don a peasant’s skirts.”

Freddie endured an hour of instruction in the call of the tawny owl—something the spymasters in London failed to mention would be necessary when they enlisted him—before tromping off to the shore to practice.

The day was fair with a pale blue sky and sun dancing on the water. Shore birds skittered about on the sand in front of the gentle waves. Gathering his resolve and hoping no one could hear him, Freddie began. Though hampered by the sling and the pain in his shoulder, he managed to blow into his cupped hands through his slightly parted thumbs as he had been told to do.

First, he made the shrill “kew-wick” sound of the female owl. When he was satisfied he had mastered that, he moved on to the “hoo… hoo-hoo-hoo” of the male. By then, his shoulder was beginning to ache. Still, he thought he did well enough to rouse a Chouan from the forest if not the owl itself.

“What are you doing?” inquired an amused Jean Donet drawing up beside him with young Jack in tow.

“He’s practicing, Papa, though I do not know what.”

Freddie smiled his approval at the auburn-haired imp. The lad might only be seven but he was observant. “Just so, young Jack. ’Tis the call of an owl.”

“Ah…” Donet pursed his lips. “I recall it now.” Whereupon he gave a good imitation of the owl’s call but combined the two distinct sounds into one.

“Papa! You can do it, too!” Jack said excitedly as if his adored papa had made some incredible discovery.

Donet lifted his tricorne to his young son at the compliment. “I can at that.”

“Well, not exactly,” Freddie insisted, feeling obliged to correct Zoé’s uncle since, at this point, Freddie had invested more time than he cared to in learning about the owl and its mating habits. “To be precise, ’tis actually a duet. The ‘kew-wick’ sound is the female calling the male and the quavering ‘hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo’ is the male answering back and letting other males know the territory is his.”

“All the same,” put in Donet, “I recognize it from Shakespeare’s Loves Labour’s Lost.” He began to quote, “… when blood is nipp’d and ways be foul, then nightly sings the staring owl, tu-who; tu-whit, tu-who a merry note…”

Freddie was tempted to roll his eyes. “Very impressive.”

“One has much time to read at sea, Mr. West.”

Freddie gave up the fight to stifle a laugh. “Ah, yes. How could I forget? By the bye, I need to speak with you about a matter.” He darted a look at Jack, hinting the subject was not for little ears.

“Papa,” said Jack, tugging on his father’s cuff. “Don’t forget you promised me a cup of chocolate at Le Brun’s.”

“So I did. Here,” Donet said, taking a coin from his coat pocket and handing it to the boy. “You run ahead. Freddie and I will join you.”

Jack grabbed the coin from Donet’s palm and scampered off toward the bakery looking out over the harbor.

Freddie watched the boy for a moment and then began to walk toward the shops. “It concerns Zoé.”

Donet paused in his step, his forehead furrowed above his dark brows. “Is she in some trouble?”

“No. At least no more than usual, but I’m concerned she may be if you do not intercede.” Freddie took a deep breath, preparing for a conversation he would rather avoid. “Have you heard of the Chouans in Brittany?”

“I have heard of them, oui, and not a few times I have sought to aid them.”

“D’Auvergne tells me London is committed to helping them and the Vendéens who have joined them. He wants me to make contact with them to gather intelligence on their needs.”

Donet made a sound much like a snort. “A bit late, non? Where were your English friends when the Vendéens needed their help in Granville? They waited for the English as long as they could, until they had no choice but to flee south, where they faced Turreau’s muskets.”