Page 64 of A Fierce Wind

Chapter 16

St Peter Port, July

When Freddie told Zoé he wanted to wait the few weeks until their wedding to bed her, he had no idea he would be waiting more than a month to meet her at the church. It was all due to his brother Richard, who being invited to the wedding had accepted but wrote them, “We must ask for a delay until after Parliament recesses in July.” And then they’d needed time to return to West Sussex and prepare to sail to Guernsey.

While Zoé and her aunt planned the wedding, Freddie made several trips to Jersey to meet with d’Auvergne to arrange for the weapons and supplies needed by the Chouan army. He convinced the captain to have the materiel sent to Jersey where Freddie would assume control and see it arrived safely in Brittany.

Zoé had agreed to their new mission, allowing Erwan to lead the effort to rescue the French émigrés. “What better way to serve those who wear the sacred heart patch than to equip their army?” she had said.

The fourteenth of July came and went without fanfare in St Peter Port. In France, fireworks would have exploded into the night sky above the rivers in celebration of the revolution as they did each anniversary of the attack on the Bastille. Not so on Guernsey, where the day was viewed with disdain.

“The next time I expect to see fireworks,” he told Zoé, “will be the day the war is over. That is, unless you were planning fireworks for our wedding.”

She had laughed. “What? And have people believe we celebrate the Republic of France? Never.” Thus, the subject of fireworks had been dropped.

Zoé stood on the quay, admiring the sleek schooner with the dark gray hull silhouetted against the waters of St Peter Port. Under the watchful eye of their new captain, the crew busied themselves getting ready to set sail.

“What do you think of the ship’s name?” Freddie asked her.

Weeks ago, he had showed her the ship he intended to buy but that was before any name had been painted on the hull.

She walked to the stern and gazed at the transom, then returned to where Freddie waited, a smirk on his face. “The Pigeon?”

His smirk became a smile. “I have always known when the day came to name my own schooner, it would be named after you.”

“That nickname you persist in calling me?”

He slipped his arm around her shoulder and led her toward the gangplank. “Did you never wonder how I arrived at the name?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“The first time I saw you the day you came to my family’s estate, I thought your gray eyes were lovely, the color of a dove’s wing. Even though you were a precocious child, trying my patience, your eyes held me captive. A pigeon, after all, is a dove.”

“Well, I suppose I cannot be angry about that.” She had to admit, if only to herself, that he had always said the name in a charming sort of way.

“’Sides, since pigeon is spelled the same in English and French, the name will not alert the French Navy to a foreign vessel in their waters.”

“Clever,” she said. “And I assume she carries many flags?”

“Of course.”

She followed Freddie aboard the ship just as Émile Bequel, standing at the top of the gangplank, inclined his head, “Capitaine West, mademoiselle.”

“Give the orders to set sail, M’sieur Bequel,” said Freddie.

“M’sieur Bequel is your quartermaster?” she asked, incredulous.

“Only for this trip, Pigeon.” He led her to the wheel, as the ship got under way. “Bequel and Gabe asked to accompany us and your uncle thought that since it’s our first voyage, they might help assess the crew. Though I handpicked the men for the missions we’ll be running, I welcome the opinion of one who has sailed with Jean Donet for so many years. I suspect Gabe is along to help protect you.”

This would be their first delivery of ammunition and muskets to the Chouans and Zoé was anxious to be about the task. Her uncle had suggested they use the port of St Malo instead of Lorient since it was only a few hours’ sail south of Guernsey. More importantly, he had many friends in that port, privateers he called corsairs, who he had alerted to the schooner’s pending arrival. “Protection from friends is to be prized,” her uncle told her.

“How many corsairs have a schooner named the Pigeon, do you suppose?” asked Freddie with a twinkle in his eye. The wind whipped his auburn hair beneath his tricorne. In his captain’s coat, he was very striking.

“Only this one,” she said with certainty. “A privateer would hardly name his ship after a dove.”

“My thought exactly. I am hoping Cadoudal received the message I sent him and will have no trouble spotting us.”

Several hours later, Freddie ordered one of the crew to run up the corsair flag as they neared St Malo.