Eye of the Wind (28 page)

Wondering why this subject should be of any more interest to James Chenoweth than the one so abruptly dispensed with, Melissa merely smiled politely. Taking another sip of her wine, she glanced at him over her glass and caught his expression as he hung on her aunt’s words. Evidently she was mistaken.

As her aunt continued to give her opinion of the classic Greek look, Melissa’s thoughts strayed to Gabriel and the voyage ahead. 

Chapter Twenty

‘You got everything?’ Sarah whispered as Melissa stepped out of the back door into the night.

‘Yes.’ Melissa hefted two baskets packed with food. ‘Be sure you lock up as soon as I’ve gone.’ Her coat and breeches were covered by a calf-length driving coat her brother George had left hanging on a peg near the back door.

‘You take it,’ Sarah had advised. ‘Be glad of that you will, ’specially if it do come on to rain.’ She had also covered her mistress’s cropped curls with a man’s soft-brimmed round hat. ’Tis always cold on the water.’

With Sarah’s anxious warnings to take care ringing in her ears, Melissa quickly skirted the house. Walking on the grass at the edge of the drive to deaden the sound of her booted feet she made her way to the park, climbed over the fence, and hurried down to the footpath at the bottom.

Turning away from the yard and the village, she followed the path along the lower edge of two fields, then round the mouth of an old stone quarry that had taken a great bite out of the hillside.

Now her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness it was easier to make out the path winding between gorse, bramble bushes, and spiky blackthorn that snagged her coat as if to hold her back. The breeze had strengthened, and she could hear the slap of waves breaking on rocks sheltered by the overhanging cliff.

Above her, an inky sky was sprinkled with stars, and the moon played hide-and-seek behind fast-moving clouds. Her brother’s top boots were a size too big and felt awkward, but they were far more suitable. Her own, shorter and laced up the front, would instantly betray her sex. She walked fast, anxious not to be late, knowing they must get away as soon as possible.

The dinner party had seemed endless. By the time it broke up, her nerves were stretched to breaking point. When the last goodbyes had been said and Lobb finally closed the door on the departing carriages, she had felt totally drained.

Waiting for her upstairs, having shrewdly guessed the state her mistress would be in, Sarah had helped her out of her dress, then made her sit down. Bathing her forehead and the back of her neck with lavender water, she had insisted Melissa swallow a small glass of brandy. Quarter of an hour later, much revived, Melissa was pulling on a pair of buckskin breeches.

The neckcloth seemed an added complication, and she was about to toss it aside when an image of Gabriel, his neck swathed in bandages, changed her mind. A length of muslin might prove useful and, easier to wear than to carry; it would be instantly accessible.

The path grew steeper and twisted as it wound down through thorny bushes to the inlet. With both hands full she could not steady herself and kept slipping on the loose earth and stones. Her footsteps sounded deafeningly loud, and beneath the two coats her shirt clung to hot, damp skin.

At last she reached the bottom and picked her way across the rocks toward the boat, held fast by ropes tied to trees that leant out over the water. She couldn’t see Gabriel and assumed he must he stowing something in the sail locker in the bow. But as the moon reappeared, illuminating the inside of the boat, Melissa’s mouth dried. He wasn’t there.

She gazed round, frantic, and whispered his name as loudly as she dared.

‘Here.’ His voice came from behind her. She whirled round, almost losing her footing. ‘I heard someone coming and thought it best to stay out of sight until I was sure … I didn’t recognise you in those clothes.’

‘Did you expect me to turn up in a dinner gown and feathered headdress?’ She was trembling from a combination of shock and anxiety, and reaction to both.

‘No.’ Taking the two baskets from her, he jumped down into the boat. Her anger dissolved as fast as it had erupted, and she flushed. Pulling off the enveloping coat, she rolled it into a bundle and tossed it in after him. Then, grasping his extended hand, she leapt down onto the deck.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need to be. I understand perfectly. A difficult evening?’

She nodded, perilously close to tears, and swallowed hard. There was no time for weakness. She cleared her throat. ‘What do you want me to do?’

His fingers tightened on hers, and she felt his strength flowing into her. ‘Stay there for the moment.’ He released her hand. ‘I’m going to set the staysail and jib. They’ll catch enough wind to get us under way. Then I’ll come back and take the tiller while you release the mooring ropes.’

‘How do I –?’

‘Just pull the short end, the knot will come undone, then you coil the ropes inboard. Do you understand?’

Swallowing, Melissa nodded. A few minutes later, the boat was heading silently out into the creek. ‘What shall I do now?’ she croaked, her throat dry.

‘Take the tiller while I hoist the mainsail.’ As she caught her breath, steeling herself to remind him she hadn’t sailed before, he continued, ‘Just hold her as she is. Remember, you push the tiller away from the direction you want to go. Watch. See? The tide’s still high so we don’t have to worry about channels or mud banks.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ Melissa groaned. ‘There’s already far too much I
do
have to worry about.’

Taking her hand he clamped it onto the tiller, his fingers warm and strong over hers. ‘When the main goes up, the wind will take her and you’ll feel her come alive.’ She saw his teeth flash and realised he was smiling. How could he? ‘You’ll enjoy it, truly. See the headland over to the right? Keep the bow pointing to the left of that. All right?’

Teeth chattering, perspiration clammy on her back, Melissa nodded again. His hand was still holding hers to the tiller, and she dreaded the moment when he would remove it.

‘Nervous?’ he murmured.

She nodded jerkily, not daring to speak.

‘After all you’ve accomplished in the past two months?’ he mocked gently. ‘Compared to all that, this is easy. Trust me.’ Pressing her fingers lightly he let them go and crossed to the mainmast.

Melissa gripped the tiller as though her life depended upon it. Gabriel loosened the halyard and began hauling on the rope. Blocks squealed; the wooden rings holding the canvas to the mast rattled as the huge sail climbed higher and higher. Even though he had warned her, the boat’s sudden surge forward as the wind filled the rectangular sail took her by surprise. She seized the tiller with both hands and peered so hard at the darker shape of the rocky headland that her eyes began to water.

‘You all right there?’ he called softly. ‘If you are, I’ll put up the gaff and jib topsails.’

‘Yes.’ It emerged as a squeak, and she felt an overwhelming urge to giggle as hysteria bubbled in her chest and rose in her throat. She could feel the wind pushing them like a giant hand, and he was putting up more sails.

The breeze snatched at her hat and instinctively she put up a hand to grab it. Pulling it off, she bent awkwardly and stuffed it behind one of the baskets. The tiller pressed against her hand. She grabbed it and pulled. The boat swung.

‘Gently, Melissa.’ His voice floated back to her.

How could he sound so calm? Biting her lip, she eased the helm up slowly and felt the boat respond. Suddenly, what he’d said made sense, and as she moved the tiller toward her, then away again, feeling the wind press harder on the sails, then more lightly, a smile spread across her face.

She loosened her desperate grip and the painful tension in her shoulders eased. A few minutes later, he was beside her once more. He released another rope to let the boom out a foot or so. As the boat heeled over a few degrees and picked up speed, Melissa lurched sideways, grabbed for a handhold, missed, and stumbled against him.

‘I’m s-sorry.’ His arm encircled her shoulders to hold her steady while she regained her balance. She blessed the darkness, for her face was on fire. To be held thus was utterly improper, yet it was so comforting. She felt protected and safe.

‘My fault, I should have warned you.’ He sounded strained. ‘The movement takes a bit of getting used to. But the wind is in our favour and we’ve made a good start. However, there’s a long way to go and you’ve had a tiring day. It would be a good idea for you to get some sleep.’

‘I couldn’t possibly –’

‘You must try.’ There was an edge in his voice she didn’t understand. Then it occurred to her that he too would need to sleep sometime. That meant her taking charge of the boat. Fear tingled unpleasantly through her limbs. She fought the sick feeling. Once they were far out to sea all she would need to focus on was keeping the boat pointing in the right direction.

‘How do you know which way to go?’ she blurted.

‘I have a compass. I’ll show you how to use it later. But now –’

‘I know. I should sleep.’

‘There are blankets beside the water cask. Wrap them and your coat around you.’

‘Where should I –?’

‘Try the sail locker. There isn’t a lot of room, but you’ll be shielded from the wind and spray.’

She looked round blankly. ‘There isn’t any spray.’

‘Not yet. We’re still in the Roads.’

Resolutely ignoring images of stormy seas she had watched from the solid safety of the land, she crawled into the cramped space under the half deck and curled up on the spare sails. The smell of wet wood, musty canvas, and seaweed was very strong. Pulling the blankets up, she buried her nose in them, certain she would never sleep.

Though the water hissing against the outside of the hull was only inches away, it was oddly soothing. The blankets smelled faintly of wood smoke and of the salves she had given Gabriel for his wounds. There was a hint of soap and the subtle male musk unique to him. She breathed in deeply, and her mind threw up random images of Gabriel as she had seen him during the past weeks. Her limbs relaxed, grew heavy, and she felt herself drift …

She woke with a start, not knowing where she was, felt panic squeeze her lungs. Then, as all her senses came alive, she heard the creak of timber and snap of canvas, smelled salt and seaweed, felt the dip and rise of the boat beneath her, it all came back with a rush. She sat up, and cracked her skull against the overhead decking. Her muffled cry won a terse “
Quiet!
” from Gabriel.

Pushing aside the blankets and coat, she crawled out of the sail locker and grabbed the boat’s upper side. As she clung to it, trying to get her balance, the deck seemed to be sloping more steeply than she remembered. She looked toward the stern, the wind blowing in her face. Licking her lips, she tasted salt. Seeing Gabriel seated in the stern, she realised the dark blue of night had paled to grey. It was almost dawn. She had slept for hours.

Following his pointing finger, Melissa caught her breath. Though they were crossing the wide wake and the ship was already some distance away, it still appeared huge as it creamed through the swell, tiers of taut sails set at an angle on each of the three masts. Dropping to the deck boards, Melissa crawled to the stern, wedged herself in the upper corner beyond his feet, and hugged her knees.

‘British warship,’ he said softly, ‘a two-decker, carrying between 64 and 80 guns. She’s probably one of the Channel Squadron. Better if they don’t notice us.’

Opening her mouth, Melissa shut it again, working out the answers for herself. Without any lines, nets or bait they could hardly say they were fishing. Nor would it be easy to explain why they were heading for the French coast with her aboard dressed as a man. Turning onto her knees, she started to crawl away.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m hungry,’ she whispered over her shoulder. ‘And thirsty. Do you want something to eat?’

‘I’m starving,’ he answered frankly.

They made a meal of bread and cheese, some slices of cold chicken, and a raspberry tart. Melissa pulled the cork from the stone jar and held it up. ‘Would you like some lemonade?’

‘After you.’ She took several mouthfuls. It was cold, sharp, and deliciously thirst-quenching. She lowered the jar reluctantly, but did not dare drink more. She felt up her sleeve for a handkerchief, realised she didn’t have one, and started to pull out one end of the neckcloth to wipe the top.

‘Don’t concern yourself.’ His voice, close to her ear, made her start. ‘I could take no ill from you.’

‘It seemed only polite.’ She glanced up as she handed him the jar. ‘Ridiculous, aren’t I, in the circumstances.’

About to speak, he stopped and shook his head, then drank deeply before passing it back. When she had replaced the basket, she dipped one end of the neckcloth in a handful of fresh water from the cask and wiped her face and hands. Then, refreshed, she crawled back to the stern. After showing her how to use the compass, he stood up, adjusting his balance to the boat’s rise and swoop.

‘If you see anything that worries you, call me at once.’

As she nodded, he started toward the bow. Suddenly he stopped and half turned, but instead of looking at her, he scanned the horizon with narrowed eyes. ‘By the way, so you may be comfortable, there is a canvas bucket under the seat.’

Despite her blush, she felt a great wave of gratitude. For though she had tried hard not to think about it, the slight discomfort she had noticed on waking had become a matter of increasing urgency, and embarrassment at the prospect of having to ask had increased in proportion to her need. She watched him crawl as far as he could beneath the half-deck. He pulled the blankets over him, leaving only his booted legs exposed.

She thought she heard him groan, and grew tense. But when he didn’t move she dismissed it as the creaking of the boat and relaxed again. She waited a little while longer, and when his stillness convinced her he was asleep, she took advantage of the only privacy she was likely to have until she reached home once more.

She checked the compass, then sat back and watched the eastern sky turn from oyster to pearl and then to primrose. Towering billows of cloud blown by the north-west wind changed from purple-grey to gold then flame as the sun rose in a burst of fiery light that turned the sky apricot, and the sea from black, to blood red, and finally to brass.

Watching the birth of the new day, Melissa shivered at the awesome spectacle, for this was an angry sky. Surrounded by a vast expanse of heaving water, every minute taking them further from land, the boat that had seemed large and strong now felt frighteningly small.