To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (24 page)

“Claire!” her papa exclaimed when she reached him. Taking
her into his arms, he warmly embraced her. It was a small comfort and one much
needed.

She smiled up at him. “Hello, Papa.”

“You are well?” he asked.

“I am, Papa.” He would note her red eyes and tear-stained
cheeks but she would assure him she had been well treated. “They treated me as
a guest.” Turing to the
Fairwinds
’ first mate, she offered her hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Landor, for your many kindnesses.” Her voice was stilted as she
fought back tears.

He bowed over her hand. “It was my pleasure, mademoiselle.”

“Mr. Landor,” said her papa, “there will be a few more men
returned to your captain than he might have expected.” Then with a wry smile,
he inclined his head. “Am I correct in thinking you sent some of yours ahead to
Lorient?”

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Landor said with apparent reluctance. “Are
they here?”

“Indeed they are, with the others just there.” He looked
behind him to a group of assembled men. “And as I recall, you snatched a few of
my crew in London.”

Mr. Landor grinned. “We did. A full exchange, then?”

“My intent exactly,” said her papa.

The first mate bowed over her hand before tipping his hat.
“I’ll see your men are released immediately, M’sieur Donet.” He turned and
joined the line of men now walking past them toward the
Fairwinds
. Some,
she noted, were in a bedraggled state. From the happy words they exchanged in
English, it had to be Simon’s crew from the
Abundance
.

Shouts from the men lining the rail of the
Fairwinds
brought wide smiles to the faces of the English crew filing by, their eyes
fixed ahead.

She looked beyond the men ascending the gangplank to the
deck of the schooner, seeking the one who held her heart. But Simon was lost in
the crowd of cheering men.

Turning back to her papa, she had to ask, “Why did you never
tell me?”

“I wanted to protect you,” came his reply. Claire could not
fault him for that. She knew he loved her. She might have done the same in his
place.

A man wearing a worn military uniform beneath which was a
white linen shirt, open at the neck, strode toward them. She recognized Émile
Bequel. She had met him years ago, never knowing he sailed on her papa’s ship.
Often, when her papa had visited the convent, M’sieur Bequel had been with him,
often wearing the same attire. Looking at his harsh features now with fresh
eyes, she wondered: had this man, too, been a pirate? He could well have been.

M’sieur Bequel doffed his tricorne, his rough face breaking
into a wide smile, softening his features. “Welcome home, little one.”

“Thank you, M’sieur Bequel.”

Her papa reached for her hand and slid a ring on her finger.
The feel of the cool metal drew her eyes to her hand. It was her moonstone
ring, his birthday gift to her more than a year ago.

“Sister Augustin gave it to me to return to you.”

“Thank you, Papa.” There was no reason not to wear it now.
She would take no Ursuline vows. And since Simon Powell was lost to her, she
would comply with her papa’s wishes. What did it matter who she was to wed if
it could not be the one she loved?

M’sieur Bequel and the men who had stood behind her papa
walked away, leaving them alone for the moment. Her papa gave her an assessing
look, his dark brows drawn together in a frown. “Are you all right? They
assured me you were unharmed, and you assured me you are well, but I must ask
again.”

“I am fine, Papa. Truly.” Tears welled in her eyes as she
looked back over her shoulder to try and glimpse the captain for the last time.
For a brief moment she thought she saw his golden head but then it was gone
from her view.

When she returned her eyes to her papa, his face was lined
with concern. “What is it Claire? Surely you are not sad to be leaving the
English ship where you were held prisoner for so long?”

“And if I were? Would you let me return to Captain Powell?”

“I cannot believe you would entertain such a preposterous
notion.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I saw your gesture bidding him
farewell, the kiss you gave him.” His dark eyes flashed. “Was it merely
gratitude at their good treatment or do you have feelings for this man?”

She looked into the face she had loved all her life. He was
a handsome man, her papa. And he had once been her age. Perhaps he, of all men,
would understand. “Do we really have a choice in the person to whom we give our
heart, Papa? I have thought much about it in recent days. Sometimes, when we
least expect it, we catch a glimpse of someone, a face, perhaps only a smile,
and our heart latches on and will not let go. It may not be love at first, but
soon and for always.” The tears welled in her eyes blurring his image. “Captain
Powell is such a one to me, Papa.”

“He is English, Claire! And no doubt a Protestant.”

She gazed down at the worn planks beneath her feet,
gathering her courage once more. Then she returned her gaze to his fathomless,
dark eyes. “I have learned the heart cares nothing for such things. It can give
itself away with no consideration for country, religion or wealth.”

“I would never give your hand to such a man.” His voice
sounded like the steel in the sword at his side.

A small smile came to her lips. “I think he is not unlike
you, Papa.”

“You are young,” he said dismissively. “You will forget
him.”

“Did you forget, Papa? When your own father, le comte,
forbade you to marry Maman, did you forget?”

He pressed his lips tightly together and looked away, the
wind blowing strands of his long, black hair from its queue to stream across
his face.

She had her answer. But then she hadn’t really needed to
ask. He had defied his father, turning his back on his noble heritage, to marry
the woman he loved. A woman his family had deemed unsuitable. Claire’s
sympathies reached out to him at that moment, as a greater understanding came
to her. He had done what Simon’s father had not done. And he had paid a price
for it. No doubt, he’d become a pirate to feed his wife and child.

“Come,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and
drawing her close. “We will have supper and speak no more of this. Your future
lies in Paris, Claire, not in England, nor at the convent in Saint-Denis.”

He paused as if allowing her time to object.

Nodding her assent, she conceded the truth of his words.
“You are right, Papa. My future is not in Saint-Denis, not anymore, nor, it
seems, does it lie in England.” Perhaps the will of God might be revealed in
the will of her father. Or perhaps the marriage he had planned for her would be
her penance, long delayed and now due.

They started to walk away when a shout was heard above the
noise on the wharf and the sounds of the English ship making ready to sail.

“
Une frégate anglaise
!
” An English frigate!

Jean’s attention was drawn to the north, his gaze reaching
beyond Powell’s schooner to the ship bearing down upon the harbor. “He betrayed
us!”

“No, Papa. Captain Powell would never do that!”

“We will see.”

Émile rushed up to them from the edge of the wharf. “You
must get away,
Capitaine
! A carriage awaits.”

“
La Reine Noire
?”

“She is safe. After I unloaded the English prisoners, I hid
her well. Once you and the little one are gone, I will take the men who are
here and sail to Dieppe. By the time you reach Paris, I will be there.”

“Very well.” He looked at his daughter, sheltered beneath
his arm. “Come, Claire. This may not be pleasant and I would spare you.”

Simon lifted his spyglass to scrutinize the approaching
frigate. “Eden!”
Damn the man
. This could only be his doing.

“What’s going on, Simon?” asked Wingate.

“It’s Eden, my contact in London. He must have sent the
frigate hoping to capture Donet. I knew he was up to something, damn him.”
Simon anxiously looked toward the shore. “I must block the frigate’s access to
the harbor so Claire and her father can get away.”

“You would aid Donet?”

“’Tis a matter of honor—my own. And there is more, but I
have no time now to explain.” Leaving Wingate with a perplexed look on his
face, Simon strode to the helm, yelling as he moved aft, “All hands on deck!
Stand by to make sail!”

“Right now, sir?” queried his first mate as he passed him.

“Yes, damn it—now!” Then to his crew, “Ready the mainsail
halyard! Ready the foresail halyards! Stand by to cast off moorings!”

Confusion reigned for only a moment, then quick as lightning,
his crew not already at their stations rushed to their places.

From amidships, Jordan shouted, “Mooring lines manned and
ready! Halyards manned and ready.”

Simon bellowed, “Cast off the bow line! Cast off the stern
line! Haul away the halyards! Haul away smartly, men!” His heart pounding in
his chest as the frigate moved closer, Simon shouted, “Fill those sheets with
wind!”

As the sails went up, the mooring lines splashed into the
water and the
Fairwinds
slanted off the wharf, heading straight for the
incoming frigate.

Taking the wheel from the helmsman, Simon gripped the
spokes, staring intently at the looming warship, alert to any change of course.
The frigate drove on, straight toward the
Fairwinds
. Half a dozen
startled faces popped up above the frigate’s rails.

Simon grinned and held the wheel steady.

From the frigate came a shout. “Bear off! Bear off, you
grass-combing lubber!”

“You bear off, you slab-sided scow!” Simon barked back.

“Damn you, sir. Damn you for a pig-headed… ” The bellowing
voice of the frigate captain broke off cursing and rose again in a volley of
commands. “Hands to the sheets! Let fly the headsails! Let fly, I say!” The big
triangular jibs sagged and spilled their wind. The frigate veered off the wind,
slowing as it turned, like a lumbering wagon with a broken wheel.

As soon as he heard the shouted orders, Simon spun the wheel
hard to port and held his breath. The nimble schooner turned on a shilling and
shot past the frigate with mere feet to spare.

Above the rail of the frigate’s tall quarterdeck, a
red-faced captain wearing the familiar blue frock coat with a gold epaulette on
each shoulder shook his fist in the air.

Simon laughed and gave him a wave as the
Fairwinds
caught the wind and flew away, gathering speed as she left the harbor behind.

As the euphoria wore off, Simon’s heart sank at the grim
realization of what he’d left behind in Calais: His heart and the azure-eyed,
French girl who held it in the palm of her hand.

From the top of the hill where the carriage waited, Claire
gazed back at the two ships in the harbor. “Papa, look! The English ship is
stalled.”