To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (5 page)

Claire stirred as the rays of the sun warmed her face, but
instead of the gentle sound of the songbirds that woke her each morning, she
heard raucous shrieking.
What is that noise?
Am I late for Matins?
The cacophony of sound suddenly reminded her of her childhood in Lorient before
she’d gone to live at the convent.

Gulls.

Eyes still closed, she frowned.
Non. It cannot be gulls.
She inhaled, deeply, cautiously, smelling fish, and the unforgettable briny
smell of the sea.

She opened her eyes and the memory of the night returned.
Mon
Dieu!
Had all that really happened? She looked around the carriage,
realizing she’d been left alone.  Her captor had removed the blindfold and the
cloth that had been stuffed in her mouth.
Dieu merci!
She swallowed and
licked her dry lips, her dazed brain trying to make sense of her predicament.
Where
am I?

Realizing she was still wearing only her nightgown and
wrapped in the blanket her captor had thrown over her the night before, a wave
of shame rippled through her at the thought he and his men had seen her in such
a state.

Not
that she had been given any choice in the matter!
Anger surged through her veins at the memory of her abduction.
English
pirates!

She drew the blanket more tightly around her and pushed
herself into a sitting position. Through the open carriage window, she glimpsed
the sun glinting off the ocean, so bright she winced. White, puffy clouds
floated idly in the blue sky. A ship with sails furled was anchored just off
shore. On the beach, men loaded crates into a small boat. It wasn’t Lorient but
it might still be France. The nearby cliffs looking out on
la
Manche,
what these men would call the English Channel, told her it
was.

Had she been left without a guard? Might she escape? A shout
for help would only gain the attention of her kidnappers, but perhaps she could
work loose the bindings on her hands and ankles and sneak away before they were
aware. She reached toward the cloth around her ankles.

The door of the carriage swung open, a gown was tossed into
her lap and a broad-shouldered man filled the opening.

Claire’s jaw went slack while her heart kicked into a gallop
as if responding of its own accord to the first man to stir it from slumber.

“
Bonjour
, Mademoiselle Donet,” he said in French.
“Captain Simon Powell.” He bowed in a grand gesture. “Your humble servant with
something for you to wear.”

The golden one.
It had been nearly two years since
she had seen him, but she had never forgotten the night of the masquerade. She
had never forgotten him. Though the linen shirt stretched tight across his
broad chest and the leather breeches and boots he wore now were a far cry from
the shimmering costume he’d worn then, his amber eyes were the same.
Impossibly, he was even more handsome than in her faded memory. In the last two
years, he had never been far from her thoughts, for the night she’d first seen
him—and imagined a man’s pleasure—was the night Claire’s girlish dreams had
ended forever.

And now he’d returned to France and abducted her.

He leaned into the carriage and untied her feet, then her
wrists. The touch of his rough hands on her skin sent odd chills rippling
through her. She bit her lip, shamed by her body’s reaction to this stranger.
Her living temptation turned away for a moment, then faced her, a cup in his
outstretched hand. “’Tis only water,” he said when she was reluctant to take
it.

Too grateful to complain, she hastily brought the fresh
water to her dry lips and drank her fill.

“I’ll give you some time to dress,” he said not unkindly.
His eyes shifted to her blanket-covered nightclothes. “I wouldn’t want my men
to see you as you are.”

Claire felt her cheeks burn at the thought.

“The gown is modest enough to please even your nuns,” he
said. “Call me if you need… ah, assistance. I will be just outside.”

She fumed at his insolence, at his actions that had placed
her at his mercy. Though she knew he was English and a privateer, she had no
idea why he had taken her, and she would wait no longer to learn the truth of
it. “Why did you bring me here? Why did you take me from the convent?”

Leaning one arm against the frame of the carriage, he
regarded her intently, his eyes like chips of amber.

“You have your father to thank for that, mademoiselle. As
soon as he returns what is mine you will have your freedom.”

Claire blinked. “My father?” Her voice sounded to her like
the pleading of a feeble schoolgirl. She would not be cowed! She lifted her
chin, confident in his error. “What has he to do with this… this perfidy? Papa
is a man of business and letters, a man of some wealth. He has no need to
steal!”

His mouth twitched up in a grin, drawing Claire’s gaze to
his sensual lips, reminding her of a night when she had seen him use those lips
to good effect. She scowled, angry with the rogue and with herself for finding
him so attractive.

He shut the door of the carriage and peered in through the
open window. “Your father, mademoiselle, is a
pirate
.”

Simon left the stunned girl and walked a short distance
toward the shore to watch his men loading supplies into the skiff. Damn but she
had beautiful eyes, like the blue of the open sea on a cloudless day. The
Saint-Denis butcher had been right about that. But her beauty only complicated
matters. His men would take an interest.

He supposed he should not be surprised she was unaware of
her father’s surreptitious dealings. After all, Donet had hidden her away in a
convent where she’d been isolated from the world. She had no knowledge of her
father’s piracy or his part in a war that would determine if America would have
its independence. It seemed to Simon that despite England’s desires, such was
inevitable. Had not the Commons voted to end the war just a few months ago,
following the defeat at Yorktown? Yet the battles continued, and so did Simon’s
work on the sea and in Paris.

In London, they called it the American War, but Simon thought
it was more appropriately dubbed the French War. After all, the American
victory at Yorktown had only been possible with the aid of the French fleet.
The American army, too, was fed, clothed and paid by England’s enemy. And
France’s privateers, like Donet, had wreaked havoc on British shipping.

Jordan strode toward him across the sand, interrupting his
thoughts. “Soon as this load of supplies is on board, Captain, we’ll be ready
to sail.”

Simon was gratified to feel the wind rising. “The girl is
just getting dressed. I’ll bring her in the last boat.”

Jordan shot a glance toward the carriage. “How is she faring
this morning?”

“None too happy, but she’ll come—willingly or unwillingly.”

Jordan chuckled, his disheveled brown hair blowing about his
face. “Unwillingly, most likely.” At his signal, the skiff, now loaded with the
last of their supplies, shoved off.

Turning back to Simon, Jordan asked, “How will Donet know we
have his daughter?”

“I left a message for him on the girl’s pillow. I expect
I’ll soon have a reaction.”

“Like poking a stick at a shark, more like. But at least
your note will ensure the continued health of the
Abundance
’s crew.”

“My thought exactly. I imagine the good sisters will be in a
panic when they realize they’ve misplaced one of their students. The note will
at least tell them she is with me, though I doubt that will be of much
comfort.”

Simon heard the carriage door open. He wheeled around to see
the French girl’s long, black plait falling over her shoulder as she bent
forward to step down. He hurried up the beach to help her.

Not unexpectedly, she refused his hand.

The blue gown his men had procured from the local seamstress
in Rye fit her well, hugging tightly to her small waist. He’d guessed right
that if she was an older student, at seventeen or eighteen she would be taller
than the young girls and slim, and she was. The shift and the dress were enough
to render her decent even without a corset. But he’d not counted on her bosom
filling the bodice, which it certainly did. Casting his gaze over her slender
form, he suddenly noticed her bare feet peeking out from beneath the gown.

Damn.
He’d forgotten shoes.

“I expect you’d like some private time, mademoiselle, but do
not think to escape. One of my men will be watching where you go.” He raised
his brows in amusement. “They are probably hoping you will give them reason to
follow.”

Her only response was a frown as she turned and stalked off
in the direction of a dense cluster of bushes to one side of the carriage.

He strolled down to the water’s edge to watch for the return
of the skiff, determined to keep his mind focused on the task set before him.
Gulls scavenging along the waterline took to the air at his approach, wheeling
and screeching in protest. They quickly settled higher up the beach behind him.

A few minutes later, the flurry of screeching gulls alerted
him to the girl’s return. He turned to watch her. Bare-footed, she gingerly
picked her way through the shells left scattered in the sand by the outgoing
tide. He strode up the beach.

“I must apologize for your lack of shoes,” he said when he
reached her. “I’ll see you get a pair as soon as we anchor in Rye.”

“Rye?”

“’Tis the
Fairwinds
’ home port.” He did not mind her
knowing this. Even if Donet learned of it upon her return, the Frenchman could
not intrude there with any success.

Though she’d refused his hand, she now walked beside him as
he strolled toward the water. Shielding her eyes with her hand, tendrils of her
ebony hair blowing around her face, she looked toward his ship where his men
were scurrying up the rigging as they prepared to sail.

“You fly the American flag, yet you are British and would
speak to me of an English port?”

He couldn’t help the smile despite her haughty tone. How
little she knew of privateers. She held his gaze, waiting for an answer.
By
God, she is lovely
. “A necessary ruse when we are in French waters.”

A frown crossed her face. “I see.” She mumbled words in
French he was certain were not ones the nuns had taught her.

“These are perilous times, mademoiselle, particularly in the
Channel. One must be cautious.”

“Especially when one is kidnapping another man’s daughter,”
came her impudent reply. “You deserve to be hung, sir.”

His lips twitched, fighting a smile. “Notwithstanding how
you came to be among us, I will endeavor to make you comfortable while you are
my
guest
.”

“
Oui
, but even if you act the gentleman, Captain—”

“Powell,” he reminded her.

Her eyes, like deep pools of crystalline water, fastened on
him. “Even if you act the gentleman, Captain Powell”—giving him a look that
told him she very much doubted he would—“you will have ruined my good
reputation. Your ship is hardly a fitting abode for a future nun.”

His brows drew together involuntarily.
Nun? She expected
to become a nun?
“You will have to excuse me, mademoiselle, but you hardly
look the nun.” His eyes raked over her very feminine curves.
Definitely not
a nun
. “No matter your future, you need have no worry for your safety. I
left a message for your father assuring him you will be well-treated.” Inwardly
he corrected himself. In fact, his message to Donet had been rather vague on
that point. He wanted the Frenchman to be concerned enough about his daughter
to promptly surrender the
Abundance
and her crew.

The skiff returned and his men jumped out and hauled the
small boat onto the sand. He gestured her toward it. “Will you accompany me to
the ship?”

She balked. “No. I will not. I have no intention of leaving
France.”

“Well, then, allow me.” In one quick movement, he hefted her
over his shoulder.

She gave out a harsh shriek. “Stop! Put me down, you beast!”
This she shouted in English while pounding his back with her small fists.

His men laughed at the sight of their captain carrying the
French wildcat.

“You speak English quite well, mademoiselle!” Simon remarked
as he strode towards the skiff ignoring her attempts to injure him. “I’m
delighted.”

He drew near the skiff, his men looking on with avid
interest. It wouldn’t be the first time they had seen their captain carry a
woman so, though on prior occasions it had been for an entirely different
reason. Still, with her beauty, perhaps it was not a bad thing for his crew to
think he had claimed her as his.

He set the angry girl in the skiff, keeping his eyes on her
as his men shoved off and began rowing to the ship. The fiery rebellion in her
eyes told him if he but looked away for a moment, she would jump overboard in a
useless attempt to swim ashore.