Page 60 of A Fierce Wind

Chapter 15

Zoé gripped the rail, her attention fixed on the longboat in the distance making steady progress cutting through the choppy waters toward la Reine Noire. A wave of relief washed over her at the first sight of Freddie’s auburn hair blowing in the wind. All the men were sitting up. “Well, at least they’re alive,” she said to M’sieur Bequel, standing next to her.

“Aye, safest place would be the admiral’s flagship.”

As the boat drew closer, she said a small prayer of thanks when she saw no blood on either Freddie or her uncle. But that didn’t stop her from being miffed at their being in the midst of what had sounded like a tremendous battle. And Freddie had the nerve to scold her for taking risks!

His smiling face emerged above the gunwale as he climbed aboard the ship.

She stood resolute with arms crossed under her bosom, refusing to welcome him with a smile, though she was fighting back tears she was so happy to see him.

He came to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Except for the soot streaked across his face, no doubt from all those guns firing, he appeared well. More than well, he was excited. “Here I am, Pigeon, returned to you hale and hearty.”

“So you are.”

Her determination to stay angry withered away when he took her in his arms and held her. “I couldn’t wait to get back to you, mon amour.”

“Was it terrible?” she asked.

He held her away from him, meeting her inquiring gaze. “For the wounded and the dead, it was. Yet it left me wanting to live.”

He bent his head and kissed her, right there in front of her uncle, M’sieur Bequel and the whole crew. Not a light welcome-me-home kiss, but a passionate taking of her mouth, a kiss like he’d given her in the garden only days before. His tongue invaded her mouth and his arms crushed her to his chest. Swept away with his masculine yet tender assault, she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss.

A cheer went up from the crew, reminding her they stood on the open deck. Red-faced, she broke off the kiss, dropped her arms and looked around her to see the crew’s smiling faces.

“Aw, Pigeon, they’re just showing how happy they are about our coming marriage.”

M’sieur Bequel barked the order to prepare to set sail and the crew scurried to comply.

From amidships, her uncle grinned. “Back to work, Mr. West!”

The Isle of Guernsey

“They are calling it ‘the Battle of the First of June’,” Freddie said, reading the Gazette over a late breakfast of sausage and eggs accompanied by sweet oranges and coffee. “I must send a message to Zack Barlow on the next mail packet to let him know the Orion came through the battle with only minor damage.”

“He and Polly will be much relieved,” said Zoé, biting into an orange, the pleasing aroma filling the sunny room. She licked the juice from her bottom lip. Freddie tried to concentrate on what he had been reading but it was not easy. Returning his attention to the thin newspaper, he decided to tease her with news of England’s victory.

“Just think, Pigeon, Howe’s a celebrated hero in England. King George has presented him with a sword set with diamonds and a gold chain for a medal he’s to receive.”

“I suppose it helps to declare victory before the war is won,” Zoé muttered, picking up her coffee, “but Oncle Jean told me France, too, claims victory because the grain convoy slipped into Brest while the battle raged. That was Admiral Villaret’s objective was it not?”

“Yes, dictated by Robespierre himself.”

“I wouldn’t want people to starve, Freddie, even if it meant depriving England and her allies of an advantage. If they’d stopped the American corn, would it really have made a difference to ending the war?”

He set down the paper. “Of course, it would. A starving army cannot fight.”

Soft morning sunlight from the window fell across her skin making her appear a golden goddess even with the look of frustration on her lovely face. Soon, very soon, she would be his in all ways. Venus in my bed. The very thought brought a bulge to his breeches he could do nothing about. Patience.

Forcing his eyes back to the newspaper, he took a drink of his coffee and read on. “It says here the prisons in France are full, so the Convention has decreed witnesses are no longer required at trials and there are to be no acquittals. Thousands have been sentenced to death.”

“The situation grows worse,” she said, lifting the cup of coffee to her lips. “I wonder how long it can go on.”

He had the strongest desire to lead her into the garden for a morning kiss, to help them both forget about the situation in France and the war. Thinking about her work with the refugees, his protective instincts rose to the fore. Leaning across the table, he said, “Pigeon, since the flow of émigrés has slowed, I want you to leave the rescues to Erwan and his friends.”

“But Freddie—”

“You can help the émigrés once they arrive on the coast, but I cannot let you enter the towns to meet them. ’Tis too dangerous. Besides, our mission is changing. I have spoken to your uncle and he is agreeable to helping us get the needed weapons and supplies to the Chouans. Now that we have Cadoudal’s confidence, we can deliver supplies to him on the coast at the same time Erwan brings us any refugees he finds.”