To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (23 page)

Standing next to him on the quarterdeck, Jordan must have
read his thoughts. “Elijah tells me there’s been no word of our men sent to
Lorient.”

It was time to face the inevitable. “We sail tomorrow with
the tide whether Amos makes an appearance tonight or not, else we’ll be late to
Calais.”

“Aye, Cap’n. She’s ready.”

Simon knew his first mate referred to the ship, but he had
to wonder. Was Claire ready to return to her father? He had steeled himself for
what must be done, but he was none too happy. He’d long known that life
sometimes required sacrifices, but this was one he was loath to make. Letting
Claire Donet return to France was going to kill him.

Lorient, France

Jean Donet set aside his copy of the
Journal de Paris
and picked up his
café au lait
to gaze out the large window overlooking
the harbor in the room where he took his
déjeuner
when he was at home in
Lorient. The article on the pending negotiations for peace that he’d found
waiting for him upon his return had been most interesting. The people of France,
increasingly unhappy with the king, were wondering what they might gain in the
final treaty. Few knew just how much the American war had cost France, too much
if the government’s money woes were known. The war must end and soon.

His eyes focused on the harbor’s cerulean waters where half
a dozen ships and smaller boats were taking advantage of the strong onshore
breezes. Though the sun was shining in a blue sky in the west, to the north
dark clouds were dropping a curtain of rain. Was it raining where Claire was?

Impatience for her return made him anxious for action. He
had waited long enough for this game to end. He must have his daughter back! He
hoped she was still the Claire he remembered, the innocent daughter he loved.
He had never stopped thinking of her in the time she’d been gone. Now he was
desperate to know she was well.

Grudgingly, he acknowledged a growing respect for the
English captain who held her as ransom for his men. Though Powell’s spies sent
to Lorient had quickly become known to Jean, and thus easily captured, he had
to admire the Englishman’s bold action in pursuing what he wanted. It had
become like a game of chess, each stealing the other’s pawns, a few knights
captured and the queen threatened, the tension rising with every move. Still
the game proceeded apace. What would be the English captain’s next move?

He’d gained little from Powell’s crewmembers and he would
take no harsh measures to pry their story from them. He may have been a pirate
but torture was not something he engaged in. He’d seen enough blood from
battles at sea to be sickened by gratuitous pain. Besides, he knew why Powell
had sent them. The English captain was searching for his men. Each held
something the other wanted.

But was Claire safe in Powell’s hands? Jean’s men sent to
Paris to negotiate the exchange had assured Émile she was unharmed and in good
health, but the quartermaster had expressed his doubts, mirroring Jean’s own
thoughts. A girl as beautiful as Claire, alone with so many men, could hardly
be out of danger. He would not turn over Powell’s crew until he assured himself
she was unharmed.

As for Powell’s spies, what should he do with them? He could
make a special gift of them to M’sieur Franklin, but perhaps it would be best
to wait. After all, Powell had three of Jean’s own crew. He was glad the
Englishman had not captured all those Jean had sent to watch the
Fairwinds
.
Those that remained had brought him word when the English captain made ready to
sail. Losing Powell’s ship in the congestion on the Thames had been a great
disappointment. Had Claire been aboard? So close, yet still out of reach.

The repairs on
la Reine Noire
, made necessary by his
tangle with Powell in the Channel, were nearly completed. He had been told that
he would have his ship to sail to Calais. The sloop he had sailed to London was
not the ship he wanted for the exchange. He wanted his own ship. He might need
her sixteen guns to redeem his treasure.

There was still François de
Dordogne to see to. Jean
had managed to put off the young lawyer with the excuse of having Claire’s
wedding gown readied. It was not a lie. In truth, he had commissioned a gown of
ivory satin embroidered with flowers from one of the finest modistes in Paris.
But when Jean had made the excuse, Dordogne had not argued, saying Vergennes
was keeping him busy drafting treaty provisions to be offered up to the
British. Jean was glad Claire’s betrothed remained unaware that she was being
held prisoner by an English privateer. Her betrothed might reject her if he knew
the truth.

All must believe she was with the good sisters in
Saint-Denis.

Dordogne was young, ambitious and anxious to make a name for
himself in serving Vergennes. That suited Jean. He wanted a man of good
reputation for his daughter. But until he had Claire back, he could arrange no
wedding.

Behind him
his valet,
Vernier,
spoke. “M’sieur Bequel has arrived.”

“By all means, show him in.”

His quartermaster burst into the room with an
uncharacteristic smile on his face. “Good news,
Capitaine
. The repairs on
la Reine Noire
sont terminées
.”

Jean rose, wiped his mouth on the napkin and set it aside
“The guns?”

“All sixteen blackened and ready.”

Jean slipped into his coat
Vernier held open
for him.
“The new figurehead?”

“
Très bien
.
She
looks more like the Queen of France than before and she wears the costume of a
shepherdess as you requested. All await your inspection.”

“
Bien
, let us be at it.” He cast one last glance
through the window at the ships in the harbor whose sheets were filled with
wind. “It’s a good day to sail.”

Rye Harbor

It was the morning of the day they would set sail for Calais.
Simon stood at the helm with his first mate, watching vessels moving in and out
of the harbor while listening to his men attending their duty stations. The
familiar sounds soothed him.

The anchor detail at the capstan winched in the cable,
singing as they heaved against the bars. The sail handlers at their halyards
were forming lines to be ready when the orders were given to haul away and set
sail.

The deck had been swabbed, the guns blackened, the lines
coiled and ready. And still there was no sign of Amos Busby or the men who had
traveled with him to Lorient. Hard though it was, Simon had to face the
unpleasant truth that even should they arrive before the
Fairwinds
sailed, it was too late to have any effect on what must now occur.

He was out of time.

With a heavy heart, he shouted, “Put the sails in their
gear! Stand by to make sail!”

Jordan shouted the orders that would see the tasks done. In
response, men scrambled aloft, halyard crews hauled their lines, and the
Fairwinds
slipped out of Rye Harbor heading into the Channel.

Calais

Through the window of the captain’s cabin, Claire glimpsed
the golden rays of the setting sun reflected on the waters of the harbor as
they arrived in Calais. Dozens of ships were tied up to the wharf, their bare
masts testimony to the fact they were safely in port. Only one ship slowly
sailed toward shore, its topsail unfurled and full of wind.

Nate had come to tell her of Simon’s request that she wear
the gown he had procured for her in London, the one she had yet to wear. She
had managed to dress herself, as she had done many times. Anxiously, she
smoothed the copper silk of the skirt, then lifted her hand to the pale
blue-green satin brocade of the bodice, the same fabric that cascaded in a
panel down the front of the copper silk skirt like a waterfall carrying with it
small, black embroidered flowers. It was the most beautiful gown she had ever
seen, much less ever possessed. And it fit her perfectly.

She took one last look around the cabin, her gaze pausing on
the things she had come to treasure. His books, the ship’s log, his spyglass,
his favorite tankard. The things that would forever remind her of their time
together. She slipped the wedding ring he had given her from her finger and
placed it on his desk.

A knock sounded on the cabin door. She went to open it,
thinking how ironic it was that just when she was leaving, she had finally
gained her sea legs. The door opened before she reached it and Simon ducked his
head to enter, coming to a sudden halt, his eyes roving over her. Was it regret
she saw in his amber gaze?

“The gown is lovely,” she said, suddenly caring that he
liked her in it. “Thank you.”

His eyes appeared to cloud with emotion. “I would not send
you to your father in anything less than the finest silk, mademoiselle.”

So, it was to be like that. He would put distance between
them. A tear escaped her eye to carve a track down her cheek. She brushed it
away, embarrassed to have allowed it, knowing the courage she must find to face
what lay ahead.

Their situation was hopeless.

He had persuaded her that Mother Superior’s words were true.
She must live her own life; she could not live another’s. But in changing her
life’s course, he had opened her heart and called forth love. His kisses had
awakened her to the passion between a man and a woman. The life she now wanted
was with him and no other.

She must tell him before they parted, never to see each
other again. “I do not want to go, surely you must know that.”

He clenched his jaw, a reaction she had seen often enough to
know his mind was set on a course he would stubbornly pursue no matter the
cost. “I cannot sacrifice my men, and even if their faces were not always
before me, your father no doubt has in mind a better life for you than one with
a bastard sea captain. The convent might be preferable.”

She stared at him, her love so bittersweet, the urge to run
into his arms so strong, she dared not speak lest she lose control and beg him
to let her stay. His circumstances of birth mattered naught to her. To share
his life was her dream, a dream that could not be.

“Mr. Landor has made the final arrangements for the
exchange. I wish you well, mademoiselle.” He turned to leave. She watched his
tall frame step through the cabin door and listened to the sound of his steps,
taking with them her heart.

Alone, she broke down and sobbed.

Eventually, Nate came for her. “Mistress,” he said with sad
inflection, “Mr. Landor awaits ye on deck.”

She wiped away the remaining tears and raised her head. “The
captain?”

“He asks that ye fergive his absence.”

She knew why he had given his first mate the task of
accompanying her. Simon might not be able to do it himself and in that, she
took heart. Though he had never said the words, she knew he loved her. She had
seen it in his eyes when he’d left.

“I will miss you, Nate.”

“I’m sorry to see ye go, mistress.” He meant it, she knew.
They had become good friends in the time they had spent together. And they
shared their love for the captain.

She followed Nate to the companionway and took a deep
breath, summoning her resolve for what lay ahead, before carefully ascending
the ladder.

The minute she stepped on deck, her searching gaze found
him. He stood at the starboard rail, looking into the sunset, away from his men
assembled on deck and away from the wharf where a crowd had gathered. The
orange and yellow light from the sun’s rays cast a glow over his face rendering
him the golden eagle he would ever be to her, now remote, and soon to be lost
forever.

Her heart torn asunder, she ran to him and reached up to
kiss him once more. It was a brief kiss, but in it was her whole heart. “I will
never forget you.”

His eyes were filled with unshed tears as he looked at her.
Then he returned his gaze to the setting sun. “Go!”

She forced herself to leave him, to walk to where the first
mate awaited her, his elbow offered in gentlemanly fashion, a kind look of
sympathy in his green eyes peering at her from beneath the brim of his
tricorne. She took his arm and they walked down the gangplank and across the
wharf to where her papa, dressed in black coat, breeches and boots, a sword at
his side, stood waiting with an anxious look. Behind him, a half-circle of men
stood guard with their legs spread, their hands clasped behind them. Some of
them looked familiar. Had they known her before? Had they just witnessed her
display?