Stormfire (102 page)

Catherine drew Brendan's battered monkey out of the makeshift sling on her shoulder. "Some of the teeth marks are mine from his delivery; the others are from his teething. It's still his favorite plaything, although he sleeps with this because it's softer." She produced a grubby stuffed rabbit.

Sean fitted the rabbit into Brendan's arm, then ran his thumb over the monkey's dents. He pulled Catherine into his arms and held her tightly. "I have to go topside. Get some sleep. I'll be back as soon as I can."

She hesitated. "I suppose women aren't allowed on the quarterdeck."

"It's my quarterdeck." He kissed her lightly, then thoroughly until she was all soft in his arms. "That's to keep your powder dry."

Her fingers brushed his groin and he caught his breath.
"That's
to keep you primed for firing," she murmured.

As they mounted the quarterdeck,
Sylvie
cleared the
creek
mouth. The rocky coast of France spilled away on
both
sides of the stern, the sea molten silver below a lunar
haze
that faded the stars. The night was hardly prime for eluding coastal patrols. The longboat slacked alongside, unloaded, and was hauled aboard.

Shannon saluted. "She's all yours, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Shannon." With an eye to the sails, Sean gave the wheel a twirl and dictated orders to the first mate. The man took off to quietly relay the number and order of sails to set. In virtual silence, the sails ran up on heavily greased capstans, bellied out with a dull rumble, then snapped taut. The
Sylvie
heeled to the wind, spray fanning over her bows.

"Under full sail, she must be even faster than the
Megan!"
Catherine breathed in awe at his shoulder.

"She has to be fast. We don't carry the guns to fight a pitched battle."

Two men, each with a telescope strapped to his shoulder, scurried up the masts. While the lookouts scanned the horizon for ships, Sean and Shannon conferred over tidal changes in the local shoals, adjusting reckonings by the softly called depth soundings of a sailor -perched at the bowsprit. Finally they were clear, and Shannon relaxed slightly as Sean signaled all sail to be set. Once the treacherous shoals were passed, the crew settled into routine while, above them, the masts with their tiny human
sil-,
houettes spiked the dwindling moon. At last, the coast of France merged into the glittering wake behind them. At the wheel, Sean curled Catherine into the curve of his arms.

"Now that you have your lady love," Catherine teased, "I wonder how you'll manage me. The convent was no cure; I'm still unruly."

"I mean to be forthright, ma'am. The only way for a sensible man to have any peace with an independent female is to love her and be ready to catch her borrowed breeches when they drop."

"Oh, you!" She tried to squirm out of his arms; then her lips began to curve in a slow, appreciative grin. "Kiss me, you cocky mick, while I filch your belt as well."