To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (7 page)

At the sound of the topsail’s luffing, Simon tilted his head
back and gazed skyward. “Trim that sail!” he shouted to the crewmember working
aloft. The wind had risen and was now blowing fiercely in a southeast
direction. He would use it to his advantage as they sailed to Rye. He was eager
to leave the shores of France.

“Cap’n,” Nate said, coming toward him from the aft hatch,
“Mistress Donet would like a word with ye.”

“Oh she would, would she? And what does she want now?”

Suddenly finding interest in his shoes, Nate said, “She’s of
a mind to go back to the convent, sir.”

“Not likely,” Simon mumbled under his breath, the wind
stealing away his words.

“Sir?”

“I said ’tis not likely.”

“But she looked so pitiful when she begged me to ask ye.”

Begged?
Somehow he could not picture it in his mind.
Moreover, she had to know he could not grant her request no matter if she did.
Seeing the anxious look on his cabin boy’s face, Simon let out an exasperated
sigh. “All right. I’ll see her.” Spotting his first mate amidships he called
out, “Mr. Landor, you have the ship. I’m going below.”

At Jordan’s nod, Simon quickly descended the aft ladder
leading to his cabin. He suspected she’d want more than a word. Even though she
had reason enough to object to being kidnapped, he had hoped she would not be
much trouble. But remembering the fire in her eyes when he’d dropped her onto
his bed, he resigned himself to the confrontation his gut told him was coming.

He knocked once, unlatched the door and ducked his head as
he entered his cabin, his eyes focusing on the spot where he’d left her. The
bed was empty. A movement at his desk drew his gaze to where she sat in his
chair behind an empty tray. “I trust breakfast was satisfactory?”

“Quite satisfactory,” she replied. “We seem to share a
fondness for brioche, Captain.” Her tone was short, as if the concession was
grudgingly made.

The sun coming through the window cast a halo around her
dark hair though he was certain it was no angel he’d captured. “If not the
food, what is it that has you summoning me from the deck?” He knew, of course,
but he would hear it from her lips.

“We must discuss my… situation, Captain Powell. Before the
ship goes any farther, you must reconsider your plan and return me to the
convent. There has to have been some mistake.”

Apparently she had not understood him, or his resolve. Once
committed, he rarely altered course. Besides, in this case he had no choice.
“Alas, I cannot do that, mademoiselle, at least not until your father returns
my ship and my men.”

“Your ship?”

“My second ship, the
Abundance
. Along with it, your
father seized a large number of the crew. He now holds them prisoner, I suspect
to exchange for Americans.”

“What?” She shook her head in denial. “That is ridiculous.
Papa would not do such a thing! And he has no ship with which to capture
another.”

Simon chuckled to himself. She really knew nothing of the
man’s deeds. “I’m afraid he would and he does. It seems he’s told you little of
his life. I suppose you do not know of his brig-sloop
la Reine Noire
?”

“Papa has a ship?”

Remorse swept over him. In her bewilderment, his captive
suddenly appeared as vulnerable as a newborn lamb. He regretted being the one
to shatter the image of her “papa” but it could not be helped. “I could remain
silent and allow you to think what you will, but I believe it might help you to
know that I was telling the truth when I said your father is a pirate. Or,
rather, he was. I believe he now sails as a privateer under an American flag.”
Simon hesitated, regarding her curiously. The bewildered look in her blue eyes
told him she knew nothing of any of this.
Just how far removed from the
world was that convent of hers?

Perhaps he should start at the beginning. “Surely you know
of the American war with England and France’s support on the American side?”

“Of course I know of the war,” she snapped. “And I am aware
that France is aligned with America in its desire for independence.” With a
glare in his direction, she added, “At the moment England is friend to neither
country.”

He needed no reminder of the rivalry between his country and
France. “Your request to return to France is denied, mademoiselle, at least for
the present. And I’d ask you to stay in my cabin.” He turned on his heel and
departed. He did not want the girl wandering about his decks, parading her
beauty in front of his men. With that thought, he reminded himself to post a
guard as night fell.

Once he was topside, he went to the rail and stared into the
dark waters of the Channel. He couldn’t blame the girl for wanting her freedom.
She was a hostage in a dangerous game that had only begun.

He looked to his left and saw Elijah had joined him at the
rail. Despite the wind, the old seaman neatly patted tobacco into his pipe and
lit the bowl while strands of his gray hair, freed from his cap, whipped around
his face.

“Ye look a might disturbed, Cap’n,” he said letting out a
puff of smoke.

“The French girl is none too pleased to be my guest,” said
Simon. “And she’s all too free with her tongue.” His brow furrowed. “I thought
convent schools raised young women to be demure and well-mannered.”

Elijah chuckled and blew a ring of smoke into the clear air
only to have it swept away by the wind. “Not this one, Cap’n.”

Simon snorted. “She thinks she has the makings of a nun.”

Elijah took his pipe out of his mouth, leaned his arms
against the rail and smiled. It was the look of a man who had lived long enough
to have an opinion on almost everything. “Nay. I’m thinkin’ Claire Donet takes
after her father. Can’t see her makin’ a nun. More like she’s as wild as the
wind, that one.”

“Aye, I’m quickly coming to see that. But still I must deal
with her. She’ll be with us for a while.”

“There’s an art to catchin’ the wind to set a vessel on the
right course, Cap’n. Yer a master at it. I’m thinkin’ if anyone can tame
Donet’s daughter, ’tis ye.”

Claire could feel her anger simmering just below the surface
as Simon Powell’s words came back to her. Could her beloved papa really be all
the English captain had said?
Surely not!
A privateer was not so bad,
perhaps, but a
pirate
? Pirates did horrible things, like murder and
rape. Papa would never do that.

It was just an excuse for the English captain to hold her
prisoner for as long as it took to get what he wanted. The stark realization
that she was the pawn of a man to whom she had felt an attraction since the
first night she’d seen him had her biting her lower lip. For two years, she had
thought of him, longing to see him again while forcing his handsome face from
her mind. Now, here she was—his hostage!

Her anger boiled over.
Mon Dieu
, the audacity of the
man! Seeing a book on the edge of his desk, she had the sudden urge to hurl it
through the air. The urge grew. Perhaps if she was a thorn in his side, he’d
want to return her to the convent. With a swift reach of her arm, she lifted
the book and hurled it across the cabin. It struck the cabin door with a
satisfying thud. Throwing his book felt so good, it was worth the penance she
would suffer later.

Carefully making her way to the shelving, she freed the
strip that held the books and began tossing them to the deck. They cascaded
down in a waterfall of paper and bindings, and with each one that hit the deck,
Claire began to feel free, the spirit inside her, bound for so long, suddenly
released.

Once she began the destruction, she did not stop. A pot
clanged to the deck. A brass spyglass joined the pile of books. Crashes echoed
around the cabin as, with a vengeance, she tossed more of his things onto the
spreading mass of objects around her. The ship pitched and rolled and she had
to hang on to the bookcase to keep her footing but even that did not dampen the
exhilaration she felt at her effort to let the man know in no uncertain terms
she was not happy with her abduction. He would take her back or regret it!

The cabin door opened and young Nate peeked in, his eyes
widening as he looked around.

Claire straightened her shoulders and set her mouth in a
tight expression that she hoped would tell the boy, “
So there!
”

He slammed the cabin door shut, the sound of his feet
scampering down the deck toward the companionway fading as she lifted a wooden
box and thrust it into the midst of the debris.

“Cap’n!” shouted Nate.

Simon covered his ear. “Not so loud, lad. I’m right here.”
He turned from the rigging he’d been examining to his cabin boy. “What’s the
matter?”

“’Tis the French girl, Cap’n.” The boy’s face was flushed as
he took a deep breath. “She’s wreckin’ yer cabin!”

Simon frowned.

Nate’s face bore an expression of panic. “She’s thrown all
yer books to the deck.”

Simon’s frown deepened. “I’ll have no schoolgirl tempest on
my ship.” Stalking to the hatch, he took the ladder in three steps and flung
open his cabin door. It banged against the bulkhead as a brandy glass flew past
his face and crashed, shattering into a hundred pieces.

“What the hell is going on here?” he roared.

She stood speechless in the center of his cabin next to the
table, his books forming an untidy heap around her topped by his spyglass and
his chronometer. On her face was a crazed expression. Her black hair was in
violent disarray about her shoulders. She looked like a witch in the midst of a
storm unleashing her fury, nothing like the future nun she pretended to be.

He seethed at the unnecessary destruction before him.
Narrowing his eyes, he stomped toward her, shoving the debris aside with his
boot. Lifting his spyglass and chronometer to the table, he stepped closer to
her and grabbed her upper arms. Tightening his grip till she grimaced, he
demanded, “Well? Answer me!”

She squirmed and twisted. “I do not wish to be your
prisoner.”

“Do I look like your fairy godmother?” he asked in a cold
voice. “I care naught for your wishes!”

Jerking one arm free, she swung her fist at him, connecting
with his jaw. He seized her arm and twisted it behind her bringing her slamming
into his chest.

“I am not one of your crew to obey your every whim,” she
raged. “I am a
lady,
and I will be treated as such, even by a common
sailor like you!”

“A lady?” Still steaming, he looked down at her bow-shaped
lips, which in his anger tempted him beyond reason. If this was the only way he
could dominate the girl he would see to it.

He took her lips in a harsh, demanding kiss.

He expected her to fight all the more, which he would have
enjoyed given what she had done, but to his surprise, she softened. When her
mouth opened on a sigh, he took full advantage, plunging his tongue in to probe
her softness. Letting go of her hand, he wrapped his arms around her waist and
drew her tightly into the hard planes of his body. She moaned as the kiss
deepened, sending a message straight to his groin.

God, the taste of her is sweet.

Moments later, when he finally lifted his mouth from hers,
they were both breathing hard and his heart was racing. Her blue eyes were
glazed and her lips swollen with his kiss.

Remembering Elijah’s words, he whispered, “It seems I have
found a way to tame the wind after all.”