Eye of the Storm

EYE OF THE STORM

LEE ROWAN

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EYE OF THE STORM

Book Three in the Articles of War Series

Copyright © J.M. LINDNER, 2009

Cover art by Kim Carpenter

ISBN Trade paperback ISBN 978-1-60202-178-5

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN 978-1-60202-179-2

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

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Linden Bay Romance, LLC

Palm Harbor, Florida 34684

www.lindenbayromance.com

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Linden Bay Romance publication, January 2009

In Memory of Bill Mitchell:  Seer, teacher, and friend

Chapter One

“Straighten your collar, Commander. And get your hand out of my breeches.”

William Marshall, Commander in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, choked on a laugh even as he reluctantly disengaged from a passionate, shockingly improper embrace with his dear friend and lover, David Archer. Davy was right, unfortunately. Their carriage was slowing as it reached its destination, and although fifteen minutes had not been near enough, it was more than he’d thought to ever have again.

“My love, I had to come home.”
Will had been close to tears at that simple statement. He did not deserve such fidelity; he had not expected it. For months he had ignored Davy’s letters, a deliberate severance of contact that had been meant to turn his lover away from this unsuitable, dangerous attachment. But it had been to no avail. Davy had refused to accept Will’s self-immolation, and rejected the notion that parting was better for either of them. As soon as he had recovered fully from the gunshot wound he’d received on their last mission together, he had set about answering the desire of Will’s heart rather than his head, and it was impossible to wish he had done otherwise.

As the doorman at the inn approached to lower the carriage steps, Will glanced once more at Davy, and even the meeting of eyes was like a caress. “Later,” Davy said softly. “I did not come all the way from Jamaica for just a carriage ride.”

The door flipped open. There was no time to say more.

Their host, who had played coachman to give them a little time along together, dropped from the driver’s seat and landed beside them, the capes of his greatcoat settling into neatly-tailored layers about his shoulders. From his sleek brown queue to his polished boots, he was every inch the gentleman spy. “Ready to go to work, Captain?”

“Indeed, Sir Percy,” Will said, his heart leaping at being so addressed. He saw that they were at the Spice Island Inn, an establishment generally too rich for his purse. “May I ask whether there are there any more surprises awaiting me?”

“You’ve had the best, I think, though I expect you’ll be pleased to renew Baron Guilford’s acquaintance.”

Will blinked, then realized that Sir Percy was referring to Davy’s cousin, Christopher St. John. “Absolutely, sir,” he said as they entered the inn. “What brings his lordship out on such a dirty night?”

“The pleasure of your company, of course.”

“How very sad,” Will said, feigning worry. “When did his judgment desert him?” He received a cuff from Davy, laughed, and followed Sir Percy inside, to a private dining room where Christopher St. John rose from the head of the table, hand outstretched to greet him. Will shook the hand gladly. He could never repay the kindness Kit had shown him and Davy back in Jamaica, giving them time and freedom to be together that they could never have had under any other circumstances.

“So you’ve allowed Percy to press you into service,” Kit said. “Splendid! Come, sit down.” He bore a strong resemblance to his cousin, but it was less striking than when they’d first met, years before. A comfortable, settled family life had filled St. John out a bit, while a near-fatal wound and months of convalescence had left Davy thinner and less robust. But both cousins had an irrepressible cheerfulness that made them pleasant company in any circumstance.

“For now, we have bread and butter and good Bordeaux.” Kit poured wine into Will’s glass and went on, “Supper will be up presently, now our party is complete. David offered us any odds you’d volunteer.”

“I hope you weren’t foolish enough to bet against him.”

“Of course not. Neither Percy nor I would hazard a penny. What sailor wouldn’t seize the chance? I know the sea takes you fellows like strong drink—you must have missed it terribly.” His smile said he knew what Will had missed—or rather, whom.

“I did, sir.” Will had been given the chair at Kit’s left hand, and David took the chair across from him. “But I can hardly complain about my fortunes, with so many of my shipmates set ashore penniless. My half-pay has met my needs, and no man ever died of boredom.”
Or loneliness
, he added to himself, meeting Davy’s eyes as a foot nudged his beneath the table. “Are you also a part of this new enterprise?”

“Only in a very minor role,” Kit said. “I no longer suffer from seasickness as badly as when we first met, but a voyage is no pleasure. I’m home to stay, I hope, though from time to time I shall offer such small assistance as I may.”

“It’s a great deal more than small assistance,” Sir Percy said, “but there’s no need to embarrass him by going into detail. Captain Marshall, how quickly could you find twenty trustworthy men?”

Will was given ample time to consider that question as servants entered the room with dishes whose aroma put even his longing for Davy into perspective. He had not eaten since early afternoon, and while Davy would no doubt stay delightfully warm all night long, that savory meat pie would cool if not dispatched with alacrity. For some minutes conversation was reduced to expressions of appreciation and “please pass the salt.”

When Will leaned back in his chair at last, his hunger was sated and his heart overflowing. With a feast before him, Davy restored to him, and a vessel waiting for his hand at the helm, he was in Paradise; he could ask for nothing more.

Well, that was not entirely true. He could wish that Sir Percy would wait until tomorrow to explain his new mission. True Paradise would involve retiring to a bedchamber with his lover and making extensive apologies for abandoning him to what Will had thought he should have—a normal life, a wife and family.

But duty before pleasure was the Navy way, so he forced his attention back to the business at hand, and learned that he was not going to receive orders, as such, when operating in His Majesty’s unofficial service. Instead, he was given a general picture of a web of clandestine transport and communication, operated by Sir Percy, that had been spiriting agents in and out of France since before King Louis’ execution. His own part in it would be as a courier, ferryman for the occasional English agent, and both sentinel and herald should hostilities break out unexpectedly.

His official title was to be Captain. His ship was the
Mermaid,
a private yacht under the ownership of David St. John, cousin to Baron Guilford who had decided to strike out on his own, speculating, in a small and prudent way, in fine gemstones. Although familiar with the sea, Mr. St. John had decided to hire someone to command the ship, leaving him free to attend to his business.

Davy himself was uncharacteristically quiet during the briefing. Though Will felt the lack of his conversation, he was grateful for the absence of distraction. It was hard enough to keep his eyes off Davy’s face and his mind on the job without the constant, inner awareness of that beloved body so near, a feeling like a compass needle seeking true north. By the time the briefing was half over, Will felt his head would burst from all the undigested information stuffed into it. He knew he would not remember all the signs and counter-signs. “There will be a signal-book,” he asked hopefully, “or something of the sort?”

“Oh, of course,” Sir Percy said. “I’ll deliver that myself, just before you sail. We never make a copy until the last possible moment.”

“Very good. Thank you.” Will found himself growing impatient with the briefing, and annoyed with himself for that impatience. But he knew that the hours were ticking away, and the long autumn night was nearly half-gone. Once he and Davy were aboard ship, they would have to maintain the strictest discretion. That carriage ride had not been nearly long enough.

“One last question,” Sir Percy said. “Do you have any business you must attend to before you leave?”

“Nothing that will delay me, sir. I should be able to sail in two days, if the men I have in mind are here in Portsmouth. I’m certain at least two are here, and they should be able to locate the others. Am I correct in guessing that hiring the right crew is worth a day’s delay?”

“Absolutely.” The dandified attire Sir Percy affected looked like the costume it was in contrast to that gentleman’s focused intelligence. “I meant to give you more time to make arrangements, but you managed to make yourself difficult to locate.”

“Had I known you were looking for me, and with such news, I’d have hired the town crier to call your name,” Marshall said in all seriousness. “I cannot thank you enough, sir.”

“Not at all, Captain. This is not the sort of job that could be handed off to just anyone. I recognize that the schedule presses you hard, but this message must be across the Channel by the end of the week, and that would put you in place for a rendezvous for which you are particularly suited.”

“What sort of craft is she?” Marshall asked, as though the answer mattered at all.

“Something you may not have seen before—a topsail schooner.  Some shipbuilder’s experiment, I think, and a very successful one.  She’s a sweet little vessel, less than 200 tons—a yacht, really. Four small guns, which I hope you won’t need. The
Mermaid’s
French-built, a fast courier taken as a prize toward the end of hostilities. Her papers show that she was bought into the service, then sold off when the treaty was signed. She’s not much of a fighter, but you shouldn’t be going into battle. You may need speed and maneuverability, and she’s got those in abundance.”

“I’ll have her across in time if we have to row ourselves,” Marshall promised. “And I can find my men if yours can see to the provisions. The Navy—”

“We shan’t be dealing with the Navy’s supply line. Just give me a list.”

That, of course, meant summoning the innkeeper to bring pen, ink, and foolscap so that Marshall could, with Davy’s assistance, compose a list of what he’d need for a cruise of six to eight weeks. Davy couldn’t be of much help with the proposed crew roster, since he’d only arrived himself, but there wasn’t much they could do about that tonight.

Tomorrow Will would visit Mrs. Quinn, settle his account for his lodging, and see if she could give him the direction of Barrow, who’d helped spirit Davy to safety at Kit’s estate in Jamaica. He’d seen some of the men who had served with him hanging about here in Portsmouth, hoping for work. They had all been set ashore when the treaty was signed, and they generally stayed as close as they could to the port, in case a ship might be in need of able seamen. There’d be no problem finding men—even the right men. It would just be a matter of time.

Once the list was written up, Sir Percy perused it. “Much of this is already aboard, I believe, and you’ll have the rest by the end of the day tomorrow. Will that do?”

David spoke up at last. “Of course it will. Gentlemen, it’s well past one in the morning. If Captain Marshall is to do his job, he must get some sleep. I don’t want him wrecking my lovely little yacht because he can’t keep his eyes open.”

“Your yacht,” his cousin scoffed. “You’ve taken to that role like a duck to water.”

“Of course—it’s my first honest employment in months.” He glanced sidelong at Will, eyes smiling. “Even better, I have at least the facade of command over this elusive rascal.”

“I hope you still remember how to work, after months of sloth.” Kit said.

If Will had not known how watchful Kit had been of Davy’s health and safety while his cousin convalesced at Kit’s estate in the West Indies, he’d have thought that an unkind jest. At the time, it had been no laughing matter. “Better you as owner than me,” he said. “No one would believe I had the nerve to risk my savings—or savings enough to risk. But Mr. Archer is right, gentlemen. I’ve so much to keep in mind, I’ll be lucky to remember my own name in the morning.”

“You’re not the one sailing under an alias,” David said. “It still seems foolish, now all that old business is squared away.”

“We’ve taken too many pains to establish David St. John’s existence,” Sir Percy said. “His ownership of the
Mermaid
is a legal convenience we shall all appreciate if the yacht or her owner finds it necessary to disappear.”

“There’s nothing easier to hide than a man who never was,” Kit agreed. “All joking aside, gentlemen, I am particularly grateful that you are the ones to undertake this mission.” He passed round the brandy bottle, and raised his glass. “Here’s to the
Mermaid
, her Captain and crew. Success to us, and confusion to Boney!”

They joined the toast with pleasure, and Kit took his leave without further ado. He had hired a house in town where his wife Zoe was waiting—they, too, had been apart for much longer than they would have liked. Sir Percy had other unspecified tasks to attend to, and did not seem surprised when Will declined his offer of a ride back to his lodging house.

At last, they were alone together. “Well, Captain Marshall,” Davy said cheerfully, “Do you think you would be comfortable sharing my room for what’s left of the night?”

“I really must,” Will said, feigning regret. “It would be too cruel to rouse Mrs. Quinn from her blameless bed at this late hour.”

“I see. Every consideration for Mrs. Quinn—but you don’t mind rousing me!” He took a candlestick and lit it from the branch on the table. “Come along, then, you inconsiderate lout. The room’s just down this hall.”

It was late and their neighbors were no doubt asleep, so Will kept his voice low, teasing. “Do you mean to tell me you would prefer not to be roused?”