"Thank you. See? Didn't I say you were really very nice?"
He grunted and sat down on the edge of the bunk. "I wouldn't count on it if I were you." His gaze met hers, and she was suddenly, tinglingly conscious of his proximity. He was so close that his hip brushed her thigh. She could see a small nick in his chin where he had apparently cut himself shaving, and smell the faint aroma of soap. His gray eyes ran over her from head to toe. "Think you could turn over and let me button your frock? We need to be ready to go when James gives us the word."
"You can't button my frock for me." Despite everything that had passed between them, Claire was genuinely scandalized.
He looked amused. "Why not?"
"Because," she said firmly. Her instinct, her upbringing, her notions of propriety all shouted it: Gentlemen never buttoned ladies' frocks. It just wasn't done.
His brows rose. "Another of your becauses, hmm? Let me tell you, my girl, many more of those out of you and you're going to drive me stark, staring mad. Now turn over and stop being ridiculous. Unless you want to stay on this ship until your hair turns gray."
Thus adjured, Claire swallowed her protest and rolled over, careful to hold the revivifying damp cloth in place as she presented her back to him. He did up the remaining buttons on her frock in the same efficient manner as he had dealt with her shoes. The intimacy of what he was doing was not lost on her despite the continued distraction of her uneasy stomach. Having a man do up one's buttons was shocking, but then, so much that had happened to her since being dragged from her carriage was even more shocking that this, despite her instinctive protest, was a mere bagatelle. In any case, such an intimacy from Hugh did not feel wrong. Try as she would, she could not summon up so much as an ounce of shame.
"Feeling better?" He fastened the last button, then with a hand on her shoulder turned her gently onto her back again. He was leaning over her, close now, a hand on each side of her body, and there was something that was not quite a smile in his eyes as he looked down at her.
"No." She said it with such conviction that he laughed. She held the damp cloth to her forehead as if it were her only hope of salvation, although, warmed now to the temperature of her skin, it no longer provided much in the way of relief. But remembering the way she had felt before he had provided it for her made her loath to give it up. At that point she was prepared to embrace anything that would keep her from being sick again.
"You look better. You're a rather interesting shade of pale now, rather than being white as a snail's belly."
She eyed him darkly. "Flatterer."
He grinned, clearly finding her tartness amusing.
"I meant, of course, as white as the most precious of pearls." The smile faded from his face, and his eyes grew suddenly intent. "All right, enough nonsense. I need you to listen to me for a minute. This is important."
Eyes widening, Claire nodded. Seeing that he had her complete attention, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled a pistol from it, which he held up so that she could see it readily.
"I'm going to give you this. I want you to keep it by you, and if anything happens, if anyone should try to grab you or harm you in any way, shoot him. Don't think twice about it. You've gotten caught up in something that is more dangerous than you know, and you have to be prepared to defend yourself if necessary. And for God's sake, this time if somebody comes at you pull the trigger. The object is to make the person you're shooting unable to do you any harm, and the best way to do that is by making him dead."
Claire stared at the pistol with some distaste. It looked very much like the one she had held on him the night before. In fact, she realized, it was the one she had held on him the night before: She recognized the intricate design of the silver.
"You're lucky I didn't follow that advice with you." Recalling the preceding night's debacle, she made a face. "Of course, even if I had pulled the trigger it wouldn't have done any good: When I held it on you, it wasn't loaded."
All her remembered ire was in her voice.
His mouth turned up at one corner in a crooked smile. "Well, it's loaded now. It even fires properly. I tested it myself this morning on deck."
There was a quick knock, and then, before either of them could answer, the door opened. James stepped inside the cabin, a long black garment hanging over his arm. He closed the door, then paused as he spotted them. With a deepening frown he glanced from Claire lying supine on the bunk to Hugh sitting so close beside her. His expression made his disapproval of their posture as clear as if he'd shouted it aloud.
"Did you get it?" Hugh asked.
"I did." James nodded at the garment over his arm, his expression as sour as his voice. He moved toward the bunk, his gaze openly condemning as it touched on Claire before returning to Hugh again. "It seems the bloke with the slippers is taking home a whole trunk full of pretties for his sweetheart. This cloak here cost you half a crown."
Hugh grinned. "You've unexpected depths, James. I had no idea that purchasing ladies' garments was numbered among your many talents."
James grimaced by way of reply, then managed to look more disapproving than ever as he came to stand beside Hugh. He glanced at Claire, hostility in his eyes.
"We're getting ready to dock," James said to Hugh. "If you want to be quick off the ship, we'd best be moving."
"I do." Hugh passed the pistol to James and looked at Claire. "Just keep thinking about dry land, angel eyes."
As the endearment registered, James looked like he was choking on words he didn't quite have the nerve to say, while Hugh, ignoring his henchman entirely, reached over and removed the cloth from Claire's forehead, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it in the direction of the washstand. Then he stood, caught her hands, and pulled her into a sitting position and then to her feet. Her head began to swim as soon as she was upright, and her stomach threatened fireworks, but she forced herself to ignore the disturbing sensations as best she could. The thought of getting off the ship at last was as potent a medicine as any tonic. If that was to be her reward, she thought, she could endure at least a little while longer.
"All right?" Hugh was holding on to her hands still, steadying her. He was standing very close, looking intently down into her face. The concern she saw in his eyes warmed her.
She nodded resolutely.
"That's my brave girl," he said, and let go of her hands. She stood there on her own two feet, trying not to so much as look at the swinging lantern, as he took the cloak from James, shook it out and dropped it over her shoulders, then tied the strings beneath her chin for her as if she were a small child in his care. Despite her worsening distress, the thought made her smile. Seeing her smile, he grinned and chucked her under the chin in an avuncular fashion that made James look outraged. Hugh then completed James's consternation by plucking the pistol from his hand and giving it to Claire.
"Keep it by you," he said, while James's eyes widened in liveliest alarm. "And try not to let anyone else see it."
"Master Hugh— she… what…?" James sputtered, staring at the pistol, obviously aghast.
"In case she feels like shooting one of us," Hugh said, straight-faced. James looked horrified.
"He's teasing, of course," Claire said to James, giving Hugh a reproving look as she pulled the cloak more closely about herself. It was of thick, serviceable black wool with a faintly musty smell that spoke of having been kept too long in a trunk. Obviously it had been made for a far larger female than she, but under the circumstances that was all to the good. Its folds were more than ample enough to conceal the pistol if she held it in one hand and kept it close to her side, which was her intention. If Hugh thought she needed to be armed, then she meant to hang on to the weapon for dear life. Since yesterday, she'd learned all too well that the world could be a dangerous place. Now more than ever, she had no wish to die.
"I am Lady Claire Lynes, you know," she added, speaking directly to James. "And that is the truth. I swear it. You need have no fear of me."
James looked unconvinced. Hugh's eyes twinkled and he shook his head at her.
"You'll never convince him— he sees calamity behind every door." He reached out and pulled the cloak's hood over her head, adjusting it so that it all but hid her face. Claire looked a question at him. "You're too pretty by half, puss. There's no point in attracting more attention than we have to."
James looked grim.
"Thank you for the cloak," Claire said to James as Hugh moved away from the pair of them. She gave him a little smile, hoping to win him over. Being regarded as a light-skirts/traitor/potential murderess was disheartening, to say the least. "And the slippers too. It was kind of you to go to so much trouble for me."
"'Twas not for you I did it." James nodded at Hugh, who appeared to be checking the powder of a second pistol by the light of the swaying lantern. "He told me to get what ye lacked if I could, and that's what I did." James's gaze met Claire's. There was no mistaking the hard suspicion in his eyes. "I'll tell ye straight, miss: Without him, ye'd be dead now. Ye owe him your life. I only hope ye remember it."
Claire was taken aback, but before she could reply, Hugh rejoined them.
"All right, let's go. We want to get off the ship as quickly and quietly as possible."
"Aye." James crossed to the cupboards, extracted a pair of saddlebags, and slung them over his shoulder. Then he looked up at Hugh. "Do ye think there'll be trouble?"
Hugh shrugged. "Who's to say? Claire, you stay between James and me."
As Hugh called her so casually by her true name, Claire caught her breath. Then she smiled at him, a sweet and charming smile that made his eyes widen. James, watching, looked as if he had just swallowed a mouthful of brine. Then Hugh caught Claire's hand and headed for the door. Moments later the little party was making its way through the surprisingly busy hallway and climbing up the companionway along with sailors who by ones and twos were bearing various burdens toward the open deck.
Chapter 17
France, at least from Claire's perspective as she followed Hugh down the gangplank to the rickety wooden dock, seemed to be composed largely of a muddy beach clawed by sloshing fingers of tide and crowds of people and pigs. Its darkness was lit by smoky torches and the air smelled of fish and burning wood. The
Nadine
was tied up next to a small armada of dilapidated-looking fishing vessels. Steep banks covered in tall clumps of marshy grass rose to shield the beach on three sides, while on the fourth, behind them, the sea hissed and growled like an angry cat. The wind was cold, but for that Claire was thankful. From the moment she had emerged onto the open deck and filled her lungs with the brisk night air, she had begun to feel better. She was still not quite herself, but she no longer felt in imminent danger of casting up her accounts.
"Stay close."
Hugh's warning, given over his shoulder in a low voice as she instinctively paused to glance around, was unnecessary. She had no intention of moving so much as an unneeded inch away from his tall form. Funny that this man whom she had mortally feared less than a day before should now be her bastion of safety, but so it was. In this strange and hostile environment— France!— she would be terrified and utterly lost without his protection.
And he would protect her to the best of his ability, she knew.
They reached the end of the gangplank, the three of them, staying close together as they turned and headed toward the darkness at the far end of the dock. They were moving rapidly, Claire thought, without seeming to give the appearance of hurrying at all. Hugh was in the lead, with Claire as close as a shadow behind him and James, a grim-faced rear guard, following. The echo of their footsteps on the wood planks was thankfully lost in all the commotion around the dock.
Claire saw that Hugh was holding his pistol close against his side as though he did not wish to call attention to it. There was a wariness about the way he moved, an alertness in the way he glanced around, a tension in his hand holding hers, which made her heart beat faster. The fact that he felt it necessary to actually have a weapon in hand told its own tale, and James was similarly armed. Her fingers tightened nervously around the grip of the pistol Hugh had given her. It was heavy and carrying it was awkward, but under the circumstances she was glad to have it. She glanced down to make sure it was still concealed by the heavy folds of her cloak. It was, as far as she could tell, and the darkness provided its own cover.
Although surely she wouldn't really need to shoot anyone; Hugh was undoubtedly just being cautious. No one seemed even to be looking their way. Everyone she could see— and there were dozens gathered around the docks— was busy with his or her own affairs.
Still, she could not help but be apprehensive, and was, as a result, keenly sensitive to her surroundings. Glancing around for the umpteenth time, she saw a village of thatched-roof cottages clustered on a ridge overlooking the beach. All the houses appeared to be dark. The village inhabitants, though, seemed to have turned out in full force to greet the arrival of the ship. Even as she watched, more newcomers flocked onto the beach to join those already there, murmuring among themselves, watching the goings-on with interest. A surprising number of pigs rooting around at the edges of the gathering drew a puzzled frown from Claire. Seeing her expression, Hugh explained that a herd of them had been driven down to the beach when the ship's signal had been spotted so that all trace of the loading and unloading of cargo would be obliterated by the next day. Indeed, the
Nadine
's crew was hard at work, wresting iron-bound barrels down the gangplank and unloading various gunny sacks and wrapped packages and wooden chests onto the carts and drays and other assorted vehicles drawn up to the dock to receive them. Goods were being unloaded from the vehicles as well and taken aboard the
Nadine
, with locals working busily alongside the sailors. The night was dark, with no stars at all and the merest sliver of the moon, which was constantly obscured by blowing clouds. The whole business was conducted by torchlight, in near silence despite the large number of assembled people, and swiftly. It was obvious even to one as unversed in such matters as Claire that she was watching a clandestine, if familiar and well practiced, operation.