To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (21 page)

Claire rushed into Simon’s arms. She was shaking and a sob
escaped her throat.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he said, drawing her close with one
arm while holding his knife in the other and freezing the brigand with his
harsh glare.

The serving wench, holding a tray of tankards, passed the
brigand. “Told ye she were taken, ye dolt. Did ye not see her ring, her clothes
or this fine gentleman who brung her in?”

The brigand slowly lowered his hands, his face pale beneath
the dirt. “I see… now.”

Simon was still deciding what to do with the man when, out
of the corner of his eye, he caught movement across the room. There in the
corner, Nate struggled in the arms of a rough looking character covered in dust
from the road. Likely the partner of the one who’d assaulted Claire.

“Let go of the lad,” Simon bellowed, “or I’ll be sinking my
knife in your gut.”

The man’s gaze shifted from Nate to the knife still in
Simon’s hand. He loosened his hold on the cabin boy just as Nate sank his teeth
into the man’s hand. With a curse, the man backhanded the boy, sending him flying
across the room where he fell to the floor hitting his head on the edge of the
hearth. Blood seeped from beneath his temple to the wooden floor.

Claire shrieked and ran to kneel by the lad, lifting his
bleeding head into her lap.

Simon shoved his knife in his boot, stomped toward the man
who’d hit Nate and sent his fist into the dirty face. The man lumbered away
from the punch. His companion, who’d been standing their gaping, grabbed his
companion by the jacket and, without a word, hauled him toward the door leading
from the common room to the inn’s entry.

Simon followed, his only thought to punish them for touching
Claire and hurting Nate.

The innkeeper, apparently summoned to the room by the
commotion, rushed to Simon’s side, apologizing profusely. It did not slow
Simon’s advance on the two brigands who were hastening to the entrance to the
inn.

The innkeeper kept pace with him, urging him to let the
miscreants go.

Reaching the front door just before Simon, the two brigands
took one look at Simon and fled.

The innkeeper shouted after them, “Yer business is no longer
welcome! Stick to the highway where ye footpads belong.” Then to Simon, “Sir,
they won’t bother ye again.”

Concerned more with Claire and Nate than the two fleeing
cowards, Simon turned from the door and hastened to where Claire knelt at
Nate’s side. He watched as she gently wiped the blood from the boy’s temple
with a cloth the serving wench handed her.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“I think he’s just knocked out,” she said anxiously. “He’s
breathing and the cut is not too bad.”

Simon knelt and brushed back the hair from Nate’s face to
examine the rising lump on his head. She was right; the cut was not deep though
he’d have a bad headache from his head hitting the stone. “He’s a good lad, and
he’s strong. He’ll recover.” He hoped it was true. The boy was like a younger
brother to him.

“He should not be left on the cold floor,” she said.

“Aye, you’re right.” Lifting Nate into his arms, Simon rose
and carried him through the crowded common room toward the stairs.

Claire picked up the boy’s hat from the floor and followed.

The innkeeper stepped into their path. “Sir, ye need not
take him to yer room. I’ve a room in the back where ye can lay the lad. ’Tis
warm and private. He’ll be comfortable there.”

The room the innkeeper led them to was just down the
corridor from the common room. There, he found a small bed, some crates and
sacks of flour. After opening the door for Simon, the innkeeper lit a candle
and placed it on the small bedside table. “I’ll see the leech is fetched. We’ve
a good ‘un in the village.”

Claire looked up at Simon from where she had perched on the
edge of the bed, holding Nate’s hand. Her caring for the lad touched Simon.

An hour later the village healer had come and gone and Nate
had awakened, his color returning to his cheeks.

Concern filled the boy’s face as his eyes fixed on his
mistress. “Are ye all right?”

Claire nodded and smiled. “I should be asking you that
question, Nate. How do you feel?”

“There’s a poundin’ in my head, else I’m fine.” Nate’s hand
rose to where he now had a large lump on his head and his gaze darted to Simon.
“They were waitin’ fer us when we came into the common room, Cap’n. ’Twas my
fault. I shoulda seen ’em.”

“It was no fault of yours, Nate. I should have stayed with
you both. But I did not expect such a villainous act in The Rose and Crown.”

The innkeeper, who’d been hovering outside, had apparently
heard the comment. He hastened into the small room. “Yer right, sir. And ’twill
not happen again. Why not let the lad rest and ye and yer lady have yer meal?
Yer private dinin’ room’s close. Tonight ye’ll eat at me own expense. And I’ll
see food is brought to the boy.”

Simon studied Nate trying to judge for himself how the lad
fared.

“I’ll be fine, Cap’n.”

“I don’t think we should leave him alone,” said Claire. “I
can stay; I’m not very hungry.” Simon was struck by what a good mother she
would be, caring and sympathetic. But she needed to eat. His cabin boy would be
well-tended while they were in the private room.

“Truly, mistress,” urged Nate. “I’m all right. I’ll just
have me supper here. ’Tis not often I’m the one served.”

“Are you sure?” Claire asked the boy. “I would be most happy
to dine with you.”

The cabin boy looked at Simon, then back to Claire. “Nay, you
go.”

“All right,” she said with apparent reluctance.

Simon touched her shoulder and she rose.

“We won’t be long,” he assured Nate.

He put his arm around Claire’s shoulder as they walked from
the room, only to offer comfort, he told himself, happy she was safe.

They walked the short distance to the small, but
well-appointed private room where he pulled out a chair for her and poured them
both some of the red wine delivered by the innkeeper himself.

Soon after, a servant brought them their long delayed supper.

Staring into her plate, Claire shuddered at the memory of the
horrible man pawing her. She could still feel his rough hands on her breasts
and smell his foul breath. Thank God Simon had rescued her. It seemed she was
ever running into the captain’s arms—the one place she felt safe.

Adventure was all very well and good but it had its
consequences.

From the time she was a young girl in Lorient, she had
longed for adventure, inspired by stories her mother had read to her of an
Englishman shipwrecked and imprisoned in a place called Lilliput, a land of
tiny but aggressive people. She wondered now if she hadn’t stumbled on to that
very place.

Perhaps she’d had quite enough adventure. But upon
reflection, she admitted to herself her adventures had brought her to Simon,
her golden one, to her friends among his crew, and to Cornelia, the baron and
Captain Field.

And her adventures had brought her love.

Looking into Simon’s face as he ate his dinner, his golden
hair more streaked by the sun than when she’d first met him, she knew she could
ask no more of life than to remain by his side for as long as she could. The
only adventures she wanted were with him.

She had learned one thing: People were just people.
Everywhere there were good ones and bad ones, no matter they were poor or rich,
common or noble. Whether they be French, American or English. While she hoped
to meet no more bad ones, she knew life was not always a smooth road. More
often it was bumpy like the road they’d taken from London.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he said, setting down
his two-pronged fork. “I should not have left you and the lad alone.”

She looked into his worried gaze. “It was… awful until you
came. You were like a storm sweeping away the terror. But when the other man
hit Nate, I was so worried the boy was hurt badly.”

“I would have killed that stinking oaf had not the innkeeper
intervened.”

“It was good he did. I’d not want to see you hauled off to
face a magistrate, or worse.”

“The lad likes you, you know,” he said, changing the
subject, “more than a little.”

“And I like him. He’s like the younger brother I never had.”

“He’d be most disappointed to hear you call him a brother,”
he murmured to his food. His eyes shifted to her still full plate. “Aren’t you
hungry?” he asked, stabbing another slice of his beef steak with his fork. He
ate as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Claire glanced at the mushy vegetables and potatoes lying on
her plate alongside the too large portion of meat. “Not very.”

“You’ll need your strength for tomorrow,” he urged. She
could see he was worried. He wanted a sign she had recovered from the distress
she had experienced at the hand of the pawing clod in the common room.

“Very well.” She would not allow him to worry needlessly.
She speared a small potato on her fork. It was highly seasoned with pepper but
tasty. It reminded her of McGinnes’ stews.

After a few more bites of potatoes, washed down with wine
and accompanied by a small chunk of the yellow cheese, she felt full and was
glad to see her efforts brought a smile to his face.

He reached out and squeezed her hand. “It will be all right,
you’ll see. After a good sleep, you and Nate will feel much better.” His hand
lingered over hers, sending warmth flowing through her. She would have been
content for him to leave it there. Alas, he did not.

“Nate was very brave, you know,” she said as he lifted his
hand from hers. “He tried to protect me.”

“The lad has a strong heart. And perhaps he is overly fond
of you.”

She smiled at him and the potatoes.

Once the captain had finished his pudding, he rose from the
table. “We’d best check on Nate and then get some rest. Another long day awaits
us tomorrow.”

Nate seemed to be recovering well, stuffing his face with his
dinner, when Simon looked in on him, Claire following on his heels. The
innkeeper told them the room was Nate’s for the night, which pleased Claire.

“How do you feel?” she asked him.

“’Cept fer my head, I feel good,” Nate said with a mouth
full of his supper.

Simon looked around the small room. It was warm and clean.
“You’re all right here, lad?”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Taking Claire’s hand, Simon bid the boy goodnight and led
her upstairs to the room they would share. He shut the door behind them as they
entered. Doffing his coat and hat, he turned his back to her and removed his
waistcoat and boots. “I’ll not watch as you disrobe, though I’m tempted,” he
said with a chuckle.

“Don’t you dare turn around, Simon Powell, till I tell you
I’m ready.”

He waited for some minutes, then smiled as he heard her
climb into the bed. Not waiting for her assent, he turned to see the fetching
innocent curled up on her side, staring at him.

“Somehow I knew you would do as you would,” she said.

“I’ll take the floor,” he offered. He was certain with
Claire so close, he would not sleep anyway.

“That is the least you can do considering how sinful it is
for us to share a room. Here”—she handed him a pillow—“take this and the extra
blanket.”

“If you wish,” he said accepting both the items and her
criticism. Likely a convent-raised girl would consider the temptation presented
to be the work of the devil. What did it matter if the hell he’d experience
this night from being so close to her but unable to touch her was as hard as
oak planks?

He blew out the candle and stretched out on the blanket he’d
laid on the floor next to the bed, punching the pillow into an acceptable
shape. Eventually, exhausted and with a full stomach, he drifted off to sleep.

When the small feminine cries of panic awoke him, he was not
even surprised. But it was not the ghost of the French girl, Élise, who stalked
Claire’s dreams this night. From her muffled cries, he could tell it was the
brigand who’d attacked her at the inn.