Page 69 of Echo in the Wind

Donet promised to see the letter delivered. She did not doubt he had ways to see it done.

Chapter 17

La Rochelle, France

It had taken them two days sailing southeast in the Bay of Biscay to reach La Rochelle, a port near Saintonge. Jean stood in the stern, his mind filled with memories, both pleasant and bitter. Two decades had passed since he’d left Saintonge under a cloud. More than a decade since he’d lost Ariane. Soon, he would see again his family’s estate and confront the ghosts dwelling there.

They sailed into the harbor just as the sun was setting behind the tall buildings lining the quay. The golden cloud-filled sky gave the water the same glorious hue making it appear like a great river descended from Heaven.

Lady Joanna, her auburn hair tinged with the same golden light, stood amidships gripping the rail as she watched the activity in the harbor, her gaze fixed on the small boats and large ships.

Looking over her shoulder, she tossed Jean a smile, her enthusiasm for what lay ahead clearly outweighing her annoyance at his failing to return her to London.

On the deck beside her sat the ship’s cat licking his paw, unconcerned. “Ben”, as she called him, had become her constant companion, causing much speculation among his superstitious crew. While they worried for having a woman aboard—even more so one who had red hair—the constant presence of the black cat, a sign of good luck, had managed to neutralize their misgivings.

One day, he must return her home, but it would not be easy, for he had grown attached to the vixen. Dining together and sharing quips about the aristocracy and his life at sea had brought them together. Neither spoke of the kiss they had shared but, sometimes, when their gazes met over the table, she would lick her bottom lip and then it would take all of his self-control not to drag her to his bed.

Now that she had the gowns from Noëlle and Gabrielle to style her hair, she not only spoke like an aristocrat but looked very much like the earl’s sister she was. In the afternoons, she would venture on deck, drawing the eyes of his crew. Believing she was the capitaine’s woman, they did not openly leer, but their surreptitious glances told him much. Neither he nor Émile had let it be known she slept in his cabin alone with her maid.

Émile came up beside him. “Am I to join ye onshore, Capitaine?”

“Unless you would rather stay in La Rochelle with the ship, I would have you with me.”

“Then I shall come. Who knows what ye will face in Saintonge?” His quartermaster frowned. “Like as not, ’twill be a bunch of glowering servants who thought ye dead. ’Sides, I still have yet to see those vineyards ye boast of.”

Jean smiled as much to himself as to his friend. “Even I have not seen them for a very long time, mon ami.”

“Do we disembark tonight?”

“Non.” Jean had no desire to travel the roads by night. Though safer than some of England’s highways, he was not about to expose Lady Joanna to robbers lurking behind trees. “I think ’twould be best for the lady if we spent the night aboard ship and depart for Saintonge on the morrow.”

Émile nodded. “As soon as we dock, I’ll have one of the crew arrange for a carriage.”

Jean gave the orders that moored the ship at the quay where la Reine Noire joined a long line of merchantmen.

The province of Saintonge, France

The carriage bumped along on the dirt roads, which narrowed as they ventured deeper into the countryside. The rough jarring made Joanna glad she was nearly healed. Next to her, Gabrielle slept, leaning against the side of the carriage.

Out the window, Joanna glimpsed rows and rows of grapevines covering rolling hills as far as the eye could see. On the top of the vines, the sun turned the green leaves gold. The stalks bore long bunches of green grapes. Never having seen such a place, she was enchanted. So this is the land that produced the amber liquor all of England craves. The same land that produced Jean Donet.

Seeing the sun on the gnarled vines gave her a new appreciation for the brandy she and the villagers of Chichester smuggled into England. And a new appreciation for the man sitting across from her.

She sneaked a glance at Donet as he stared out at the vineyard, a melancholy expression on his handsome face. Was he remembering the past? For him, this was coming back to a home that had once rejected him. “Has it been very long since you were here?”

He turned to face her and, seeing the longing in his eyes, her heart reached out to him. “Oui, Mademoiselle, a very long time.”

“Has it changed much from what you remember?” She grabbed the strap and he braced his boot against the base of her seat as they swung around a curve. Gabrielle stirred and then went back to sleep.

“Non, not at all,” he said with thoughtful inflection. “The odd thing is that I had expected it to.”

“Perhaps that is because ’tis you who has changed in all the years that have passed.”

He laughed. “Well, that is certainly true.”

The nonchalant manner in which his body easily adapted to every curve in the road told her he did as well in a swaying carriage as he did on the deck of his ship.

“You did not expect to return,” she said. With all she knew of him, she believed it to be true.