An adult stories – Orphan Ch. 05-08 by Alex De Kok,Alex De Kok And here is the second part of this opus. As always, feedback is welcome, very welcome.
OrphanChapter 5
It was about a half-hour further riding to reach St. Clair, and the few people they encountered, although obviously curious, did nothing else but greet them. The inn, a modest affair on the outskirts of St. Clair, was quiet, and their request for a room was met with smiles.
“Your best room, if you please,” said Gilroy. “We have been married but a few days, and a little luxury for my lady is a pleasant treat before we must resume our labours.”
“Indeed, and perhaps a meal, before you retire for the night?”
“Excellent,” said Gilroy. Roxane glanced at the clock on the wall, a rare sight in rural France, perhaps less so here in a small town. Scarce six of the clock, she thought, and fought both blush and giggle. He must think we seek our bed in an unseemly rush. But first, before the meal, a wash, perhaps. The ride had been but short, yet she felt a little travel-stained.
“Cher Henri,” she murmured, “might we refresh ourselves a little first, before we eat?” She had spoken quietly, ostensibly to Gilroy, but she knew the innkeeper had heard. He gestured towards the stairway.
“Permit me to show you to your room, and I shall have my wife bring hot water for you.”
The room was medium-size, dominated by the large bed. Roxane avoided Gilroy’s eye, certain that she would flush if she caught it. The innkeeper was hovering anxiously.
“The room? It is satisfactory?”
“It is. We’ll take it. My dear, you rest here, while I fetch our bags.”
“Merci, Henri.”
Alone, Roxane kicked off her boots, discarded her riding jacket, and lay on the bed, fully clothed. Hmm, quite comfortable. She looked around the room. A dresser, some hooks for clothes, but nowhere obvious for Gilroy to sleep. We must share the bed, Roxane thought, it is the only way he’ll get any sleep. She flushed. But what if he touches me during the night? How do I respond? Part of her, a wicked side she hadn’t allowed to surface before, said, touch him in return, but her modest, normal self, said, ignore it, unless it is deliberate. And if it is, then what? There was a knock at the door.
“Madame? I have the hot water for you.”
“A moment.” In stockinged feet, Roxane opened the door. The innkeeper’s wife, she assumed, smiled at her, and held up a large stone jug.
“Hot water. Let me put it on the dresser for you.”
“Thank you.”
A moment later, Gilroy came in with their bags. The innkeeper’s wife gave him a measuring look, then glanced at Roxane, who could almost read the woman’s mind. No, she thought, he won’t. She startled herself with the sudden regret she felt. Composing herself, she smiled at Gilroy.
“Thank you, Henri. We have hot water, and I must refresh myself.”
“If you will excuse me,” said the woman, “I have your meal to finish preparing. Perhaps twenty minutes? Is that sufficient?”
Gilroy looked at Roxane. “My dear?”
“It is, madame. Quite sufficient.”
The woman nodded and went out, and Gilroy closed the door, looking around. He turned back to Roxane.
“A little smaller than I’d hoped. I might find it awkward to make a place to sleep.”
“Not a problem. You must sleep in the bed, it is the only way you can be sure of a decent night’s sleep, and you must be fresh if we are to try to find your contact tomorrow.”
Gilroy regarded her gravely. “Are you sure, my dear Lucille?”
“Quite certain.” A smile quirked Roxane’s lips for a moment. “I shall borrow your dirk and if I find you doing something you ought not, why then I will prick you with it to remind you.”
Gilroy laughed, reaching to his boot where the dirk hilt showed. He withdrew it, flipped it to hold the blade, and offered it to Roxane hilt first.
“An excellent idea. Please, take this. I’ll feel safer if you have it.”
“You will feel safer?”
“Perhaps easier would have been a better choice of word. But know this, dear Lucille, do not hesitate to prick me with it if I trespass.”
“Thank you, I will,” said Roxane, taking the dirk, and laying it on the dresser. “But now, as we have the water, I must wash.”
“Do you wish me to wait downstairs for you?”
“Not so. I shall be but a moment. Only my face and hands.”
The meal was simple, sustaining, and they made short work of it, and the surprisingly tasty rough, red wine that accompanied it. Finished, they did not tarry but returned to their room.
“We leave early tomorrow, I’m afraid. So best we retire early, too.”
Roxane smiled. “As we are supposed to be newly-weds, I think some below were surprised we came for a meal.”
“Aye, and weren’t lacking with a comment or two as we came upstairs.”
Roxane flushed. “A little too blunt, some of them.”
“Take no notice.”
“Easier said, than done, I think. But you’re right, I shall endeavour to ignore them.”
Gilroy turned to the door and locked it. He gestured, embarrassed. “I fear we must share this chamber pot if we feel the need. The privy is outside, beside the stable, and I do not want you out there alone at night.”
Roxane shuddered. “Indeed not. Fear not, Henri. If we need it, it is natural, and no embarrassment is needed.” She grimaced. “I ask only your discretion.”
“You have it.” Gilroy gestured. “You wish to change?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “My nightdress is not designed to titillate, but to envelop. Once I am wearing it, you may look.”
“I’ll turn my back while you change.”
“Thank you. Now?”
Gilroy nodded, and turned his back. “Tomorrow?”
“What about tomorrow?” asked Roxane as she began to remove her skirt.
“My contact lives a half-day’s ride or so away. Make sure you leave nothing behind that might identify you as Roxane Harrison.”
“Of course.” Roxane was down to her shift now, and wriggled to let the top fall, so that she could don her nightdress. Breasts bare, she fought a giggle. If Gilroy should see me like this! Or touch me, she thought, feeling her nipples harden until they almost hurt her, surprising herself by almost wishing it was so. No! she thought, that cannot be. Quickly she donned her nightdress, and let the shift fall, picking it up and folding it neatly onto her pile of discarded clothes.
“Henri? You may turn now. I am decently covered.” She moved across to the bed and sat, pulling her feet up and making sure that her nightgown safely covered everything except her toes.
Gilroy turned, smiling at her. “You look very fetching, my dear Lucille.”
“Thank you, husband. Will you join me in our bed?” She flushed, and gave him a wry smile.
“Most urgently, dear wife. I fear that I do not have a nightshirt, but I think my shirt and drawers will cover me sufficiently to retain my modesty.” Roxane fought another giggle, and this time lost. Gilroy gave her an amused glance. “Time for you to turn away, dear Lucille.”
“Oh, of course.” Roxane adjusted her seat so that her back was to him, hearing the sound of cloth against skin, against other cloth. She felt the bed move, and he was beside her.
“Into the bed, my dear. Once you’re settled I’ll douse the lamp.”
Roxane quickly wriggled into the bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Beside her, Gilroy blew out the lamp, then settled down beside her. They lay silent for a while, then Gilroy spoke, his voice pitched low.
“Goodnight, dear Roxane.”
“Goodnight.”
They settled down, and Roxane fought a giggle. Here she was, unmarried, and sharing a bed with a man. Heavens! Whatever next?
It was the faint light of dawn that woke her, that, and an unaccustomed arm around her. In his sleep, Gilroy had moved closer; she could feel his breath tickling the hairs on her neck. She wondered, should she move his arm? No, she decided, somehow I feel safer that way. She closed her eyes again and lay, content, drifting into sleep again.
A hand on her shoulder shook her gently. She opened her eyes. Gilroy, dressed, save for his jacket.
“Good morning, wife. I’m going to go down and see if I can get some hot water for your wash. Lock the door behind me.”
She nodded, and sat up, wriggling around to swing her legs out of bed. Her nightgown had ridden up a little during the night and she was conscious of the flash of bare leg that Gilroy might see, but he affected not to notice, and she let the nightgown slide down as she rose.
“I should only be a minute or two,” he said.
“Very well.” She stood by the door while he went out, then locked it behind him. Turning, she caught sight of the chamber pot. Best I use it, she thought. She’d only just finished when there was a tap at the door.
“Just me,” Gilroy’s voice called. He’d brought a large jug of hot water. She took it, and poured some into the basin on the dresser. She glanced back at Gilroy. He smiled.
“I’ll turn my back,” he said, and did so.
Quickly, she washed between her legs, and then her face and hands. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Gilroy still facing away, and she quickly stripped off her nightgown and donned her shift, then her blouse, drawers and riding-skirt. Her stockings were the work of moments and she quickly tied the garters above her knees.
“It’s safe to look now,” she murmured, and Gilroy relaxed, turning, smiling at her.
“I suspect I missed a lovely sight.”
“Henri! How could you say such a thing?” She laughed, arching her brow, smiling. “Yes, you did.”
His laughter warmed her. Captain Alexander Gilroy was without any doubt a very attractive man. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing her fingers. “Are you ready to break your fast, dear wife?”
“I am, husband.”
“You have your pistol?”
“In my saddle-bag, yes.”
Gilroy nodded. “We must devise a way for you to carry it on your person.”
“You think so?”
He grimaced. “I fear the necessity, but yes, I would feel safer if you had something, some weapon, with which you might defend yourself.” He shrugged. “For now, we but go to break our fast. I think it safe enough.”
They were the only two breaking their fast. Simple fare again, with a rough cider to drink. They didn’t linger over the meal, and within the hour, the modest bill paid, they were on their way again.
“We should make contact with our agent today, Lucille. His last known location is in St. Pierre, and we should reach there shortly after noon, if we do not tarry. However, I think we must pause somewhere and see if we can devise something to allow you to carry the pistol.”
“I have an idea, although I do not know if it is feasible.”
“And your idea?”
“My travelling cloak is lined, to the waist. I believe it might be possible to stitch a pocket into that lining, one just big enough for the pistol. That would put the pistol at just above waist height, and should make it easily accessible. For balance, if we were to include a matching pocket at the other side, and perhaps weight it with a stone? That way, the cloak would not be unbalanced. What think you?”
“I think, dear Lucille, that your intelligence manifests itself again. Save only one thing, we do not have the means to accomplish this task.”
Roxane laughed. “Oh, but we do! I have needed to make simple repairs many a time in the past, so that I have begun to carry a small pouch with scissors, needle and thread, whenever I am away from home overnight. Find us somewhere to bide a while, and I feel sure I can contrive the necessary pockets.”
“When we near our nooning, we shall search for a place of concealment.” Gilroy smiled. “Pray that you do not need the pistol before then.”
“Indeed so, Henri.”
* * * * *Chapter 6
They rode easily, for there was no urgency this day, and Roxane found herself enjoying a comfortable rapport with Alexander Gilroy. She discovered that he was a little younger than she’d thought, twenty-seven years old to her own nineteen. She found, too, that she was attracted to him as a man, although she was careful to conceal the fact. Time enough when this mission is concluded, for we want nothing to divert our attention, she reasoned.
Shortly after noon, they were following the road across heathland, uncultivated, and Gilroy drew her attention to an outcrop of rocks, some hundred paces or so from the road.
“See there, Lucille? That outcrop? Perhaps if we rest there while you weave your magic with your needle? Anyone seeing us will think we rest, or perhaps share a modest repast.”
Roxane nodded. “Lead the way!”
They found that they were not the only ones to have used the outcrop as a resting place, for there were some hoof marks, some boot marks and traces of a fire, but nothing that seemed recent. A toppled boulder made a convenient seat and Roxane was able to work on her cloak in comfort. They had picketed the horses, which grazed contentedly on the heathland grass. There was enough material in the lining of her cloak to form the two pockets, and the task was soon accomplished.
She took the pistol case from her saddlebag, and opened it. Gilroy leaned forward, curious. He gave a startled gasp.
“Roxane, may I examine your pistol, please?” He took it from her, examined it and uttered an expression of delight.
“Lucille, I am astonished. The bore is bigger than I’d expected.”
“Uncle Silas told me it had been modified to take a larger ball, yes.”
“Not just that, my dear wife, but it has been modified to take the newfangled percussion cap. It is scarce five or six years since it was invented. I had worried about how you might keep the priming from falling out while you rode, but you do not have that problem with the percussion cap. Whoever modified this pistol knew what he was about.”
“This is good?”
Gilroy grinned. “Very! How many spare caps do you have?”
“A moment, while I check. Um, I seem to have another eight or ten.”
“Excellent, although let us pray that you do not even need one.”
“Amen to that!” Roxane gave Gilroy a wry smile. “I do not look forward to the possibility that I may need to fire at a fellow human being.”
“Indeed not. Now, put it in the pocket, with your cloak on your shoulders, and see how accessible it is. I think you’ll find that the stone there – yes, that one – will be an adequate balance weight.”
A minute or two later, Roxane stood with her cloak on her shoulders, assessing the extra weight. Noticeable but not excessive, she thought.
“Try to get the pistol out. Concentrate on smoothly, rather than quickly.” Gilroy smiled. “The drape of the cloak looks fine, no difference obvious to the eye.”
“I feel a difference,” said Roxane, with a quick smile for him. “Very well, here goes.” Being right-handed, she’d sewn the pistol pocket on the left, and she reached in. She’d sewn the pocket so that the butt of the pistol protruded, and it was close-fitting enough that the pistol wasn’t likely to move. She grasped the butt and drew the pistol easily from its impromptu holster. She levelled it, carefully not pointing it at Gilroy. “Bang!” she said, and laughed.
Gilroy grinned. “Fast enough, I think. Now, is it loaded?”
“Not yet.”
“Very well. Fit a percussion cap, and return it to the pocket. Then draw it out, cock it, and pull the trigger. The cap should be detonated, although of course as it is not loaded, it will not fire.”
“Now?”
He smiled. “I think so, yes.”
Roxane returned the pistol to the pocket, drew, cocked and fired. The percussion cap made a satisfactory noise, and Gilroy smiled.
“Now, load it. I won’t ask you to fire it, as you only have a finite number of caps.”
She frowned. “I sincerely trust that that was the only cap I use on this mission.”
“As do I. Now, I have some bread and cheese, and some of that cider in my saddlebag. Luncheon, madam?”
“Why, thank you, sir. I should be delighted.”
They rode on after a relaxing hour. Gilroy was a good raconteur and entertained Roxane about his exploits in earlier days, making her laugh several times. He was also good at drawing responses and she found herself telling him about the horror and despair of losing her parents in the shipyard fire. When she’d finished he reached out and took her hand in his as they rode.
“Roxane, my dear, I owe you an apology. At your uncle’s house, before dinner, when I brought up the subject of the fire, when I knew it distressed you, well, that was unforgivable. I can only beg that you do not think too ill of me.”
She shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. “No, Captain Gilroy, I do not. I am slowly appreciating the risks you take venturing into France, when Napoleon’s armies would destroy you as soon as they could. I only hope that I do not hinder you.”
“Not so, Roxane. Do you not remember, last night, at the inn? We will be remembered, yes, but as the couple who had not long been married and could not wait to leave the table after dinner to get to their room, and their bed.”
Roxane giggled. “Perhaps we should have tried harder to make the bed squeak.”
Gilroy laughed. “Perhaps we should. Tonight?”
“What about tonight?”
“If I manage to make contact with our agent, we may not get to a bed at all, but instead we may have to ride, and ride hard, to get back to where we can rendezvous with Le Bon.” Gilroy grimaced. “It depends on what news he has.”
“If we have to ride, then we ride,” said Roxane.
“Indeed. Now, see ahead, there? The cottage next the road?”
“I see it. What of it?”
“I should be able to get news of our agent there.” Gilroy looked around. “It might be better if I seem to be alone. See yonder copse of trees?”
“Yes?”
“Wait there for me.”
Roxane frowned. “Must I? I’d feel safer with you.”
Gilroy frowned, pondering, then brightened. “If you hold the horses, out of clear sight. Not hiding, as such, just not easily visible. You can do that?”
Roxane smiled. “I can do that, yes.”
“And check that your pistol is ready, that the percussion cap hasn’t fallen off.”
Roxane nodded. “A moment, then. Um, yes, all is well.”
“Good, then let us be off. Be vigilant, Roxane. For what, I do not know, I just feel uneasy at this stage.”
It was only a two or three minute ride to the cottage, and Gilroy drew up out of sight of its windows, dismounting and handing the reins of his mount to Roxane.
“Stay mounted, Roxane. That mare of yours stands her ground well, and while she doesn’t move, my bay seems content to stay close. I shall be as quick as I can.” He gave her a tight smile and moved towards the cottage. No sign of life, but a trickle of smoke from its chimney.
Roxane watched anxiously as Gilroy moved cautiously towards the cottage, pausing for a moment, looking around, then knocking at the door, a coded signal, three, pause, two, pause, three. The door opened a crack and there was a hurried conversation with someone inside, out of sight.
Roxane looked around, checking the road in both directions. A hint of dust to the north caught her attention, and she strained her eyes to see, wishing that she had a telescope. She could almost swear that she saw the glint of metal, but it was too far to be certain. One thing she was sure of, there were several riders. Gilroy needed to know.
She almost smiled, for what she was about to do was most unladylike. She put two fingers between her lips and whistled, remembering childhood games with Mickey Killane, the son of one of her father’s craftsman, and of the patient way he had taught Roxane to whistle.
At the sound, Gilroy’s head came up and he looked towards Roxane. She pointed north, and held up both hands, fingers spread. He looked, and nodded, spoke quickly to whoever was in the cottage and hurried back to Roxane, mounting, and pointing west.
“We go back to the sea, Roxane. The mission is aborted; our agent has been betrayed. He was executed yesterday, and I have no way of knowing how much he was forced to reveal. We dare not try to rendezvous with Le Bon. Our only chance is to steal a boat and try to meet up with him at sea, or better, with the Pelican. I’m sorry, dear Roxane, but I seem to have involved you in more danger than I ever imagined.”
She nodded. “I understand, but no apologies for the moment. Now? Now we make good our flight from France.”
Gilroy smiled. “Indeed we do. Thank goodness the lanes are narrow and the hedges thick. Those riders, and I suspect French soldiers, may not have seen us go.” He smiled suddenly. “Wherever did you learn to whistle like that?”
She laughed. “When I was seven or eight, I used to play with the son of one of my father’s craftsmen. It was he who taught me.”
“He taught you well. Had I known you had such a talent, I would have suggested the very signal you made.”
“It was all I could think of to do. I needed to draw your attention, and you’d said not to move.”
“Indeed.” He pointed. “See there? That ruined building? It should shelter us from prying eyes, and we may be able to determine if we’re being followed, if I can climb a little.” He frowned. “We may need to travel by night, so as not to be seen.”
The building might once have been a barn, but what was left of it gave no real clues. They tethered the horses out of sight of the road. Gilroy took a telescope from his saddlebag and climbed a pile of rubble in one corner, rubble that might once have been a wall. He peered cautiously back the way they had come.
“No-one in sight. They may not have seen us leave.” He climbed down, and pulled out his pocket-watch. He grimaced. “It still lacks a half-hour until noon. I fear it will be a long day.”
“You do not want to move until after dark?”
Gilroy nodded. “After midnight might be best. It is ten miles to the coast. No major port, but a couple of inlets where a few fisher folk eke a living. We may be able to steal a boat.” He gazed at her, his face troubled.
“What is it?”
“Your habit. Fine for riding, perhaps not so good for sailing.”
Roxane nodded. “Very true. But apart from my habit I have only a skirt.” She gave him a wry smile. “I packed light.”
“I have spare breeches. They would be far too big for you, but perhaps with some rope to form a belt. Would you dare to ride as a man?”
“I thought it was the sailing that bothers you?”
He nodded. “It is.”
“I think I may have an idea.”
“Yes?”
“Let me wear the breeches beneath my habit. If I remove my underskirt, the bulk will be no different, and while I am riding no-one will see them. If we find a boat, discarding the skirt will take no time, and I will be able to move freely.”
Gilroy gazed at her, a smile slowly breaking over his face. He shook his head. “Roxane Harrison, your Uncle Silas said you were intelligent. Your actions so far confirm that, and yet you demonstrate it to me anew by seeing through the problem which does not exist, to the solution, which does.” He bowed, and she laughed.
“The breeches, if you please,” she said. She smiled. “And your turned back, while I don them.”
He laughed. “Ah, Roxane, you deny to me the visions of loveliness. Alas and alack.” He bowed. “My turned back you shall have,” he said, and went to search his saddle bag for the breeches
And why do I wish that he watched? Am I so shameless? Roxane shook her head. I cannot deny it, I am powerfully attracted to Alexander Gilroy.
He came back and handed her the breeches. To the knee on him, but when she pulled them on, to mid-calf on her, finishing just below the tops of her riding boots. The waist was far too large on her, and she turned.
“Alex? Have we a piece of line, for my belt?”
“Indeed we do. Here.” He watched as she fumbled the line about her waist, and nodded as she tied it. “You know your knots, Roxane. And something else? That was the first time you have called me by my own name.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “As we are now fugitives, calling you Henri seemed inappropriate.”
“True. Excuse me for a moment, and I’ll check again for pursuit. I trust there is none.”
“You came immediately at my signal, and we made haste to get here. Perhaps we are clear of any pursuit?”
“We shall hope so. For now, though, I think we must rest. I know it is not yet noon, but I want to stay out of sight. Now, excuse me, and I’ll check again. Stand clear, in case I dislodge a stone or two.”
* * * * *Chapter 7
The afternoon was long, and dry. They made desultory conversation, and took turns to nap. Nothing moved on the road, save a farmer driving two cows from one field to another, where a bull was waiting. Dusk came eventually, then full dark, until Roxane could barely make out Gilroy’s shape, only the occasional gleam of teeth or eye showing in the gloom. Eventually, he stood.
“Time to go, I think. If we keep our pace down to not much more than that of a walking man, we should reach the coast about a half hour after midnight. I have been thinking about our pack horse, too. Is there anything in your bags that you cannot afford to lose?”
“I should like to keep the case for the pistol, but that will fit in my saddle-bag. My clothes? Nothing I am so attached to that I would risk my life for them. Why do you ask?”
“We have been seen by several people. Two riders, man and woman, with a pack horse. If we abandon the pack horse here, we become only two riders, not burdened by baggage. We could easily be out for an evening’s ride, although habitation is scarce, so from where, I know not. However, let us not borrow trouble before it seeks us. Attend to your toilet, if necessary, and then we ride.”
They took it easily, riding along at the pace of a walking man. In this agricultural region, a farm worker’s day was a long one, and most of them were asleep in bed, for they would be up again at dawn. They could smell the sea before they reached it and shortly after midnight, they reached the coast.
Luck was with them for they found a small natural harbour with three small fishing boats at anchor. Each about twenty-five feet long, twin-masted.
“Have you ever sailed with a lug rig, Roxane?” Gilroy said quietly, as they paused in the dim shadow of some oak trees.
“Yes, I have. Father showed me how to handle it when I was about twelve years old. We sailed together quite a few times, and he always put me in charge, once I knew the rig.” She laughed, softly. “I am an only child, and I think Father sometimes thought of me as a son.”
“Understandable, I feel.” He gestured. “Fortune seems to be smiling on us, for the breeze is from the land. Unusual, for the prevailing wind is westerly, and that is an on-shore wind which would have meant using the sweeps to gain an exit. I see a row-boat pulled up on the shingle, and mayhap we can use that to access one of the fishing boats.”
“What of the horses?”
“There is a copse of trees, some hundred paces or so back. We’ll unsaddle them, and picket them so that they may feed.” Gilroy smiled. “They may bring some poor fisherman a little wealth.”
It didn’t take them long to abandon the horses, and their saddles. The saddle-bags, they took, each carrying their own, slung over a shoulder. Carefully, quietly, they moved towards the water’s edge, where the row-boat was beached. They paused, listening, but nothing disturbed the night save a few insect noises and the distant hoot of an owl.
“Saddle-bags into the row-boat, Roxane,” Gilroy whispered.
“And time to discard my skirt, I fear,” Roxane whispered back, “but I shall keep my cloak, for ’tis warm, and my pistol is in its pocket.”
It was the work of moments to discard her riding skirt, dropping it into the row-boat, and she felt a little strange without its familiar weight, but they were too busy easing the row-boat across the shingle towards the water, trying desperately to make as little noise as possible.
The sudden shout startled them. “Halt! Halt there, or I fire!”
“Push, Roxane,” cried Gilroy, “the time for silence is gone!”
Careless of any noise now, they pushed the row-boat into the water. Behind them was a shot, and Gilroy grunted, but now the boat was in the water.
“In,” said Gilroy, “ready the oars.” Grateful for her father’s patient teaching, and the fact that he had ignored any comments about his teaching being unsuitable for girls, Roxane quickly shipped the oars. Gilroy scrambled in, as he gave one last powerful push to ease the row-boat through the breakers. She heaved strongly and the row-boat crested the incoming waves, moving slowly towards the fishing boats.
“Your pistol, Roxane?”
“In my cloak, if you can reach it,” she replied. “On my left, about hip height.”
She was still wearing the cloak and Gilroy reached forward to get the pistol. The row-boat crested a wave at that moment, just as another shot came from behind them. Perhaps because of the movement of the boat, perhaps because he flinched involuntarily, Gilroy momentarily lost his balance and his hand closed on Roxane’s breast. He quickly disengaged himself, and found the pistol, turning away to look behind them. Roxane was grateful for the darkness, for she had felt herself flush, but no protest came to her mind. No, her mind was racing, her nipples suddenly erect, and she condemned herself for the sudden excitement she had felt at his touch, even through shift, blouse and riding jacket, and at such a moment.
The bang of the pistol startled her for a moment. Gilroy turned back to her. “I doubt that will accomplish much, but it might keep their heads down for a moment.
“Who was it? Could you see?”
“I suspect it was a couple of soldiers, set to guard against exactly what we did. Perhaps they fell asleep.” Gilroy grimaced. He pointed. “A little more in that direction, Roxane. Only a few more strokes. A moment, a moment. Now! Back water.”
With a gentle thud, the row-boat struck against the hull of a fishing boat, and Gilroy reached out to grab a trailing line, pulling them close.
“Can you get on deck, Roxane, while I hold the row-boat? Once you’re on, I’ll pass the saddle-bags.”
Blessing the fact that she was wearing Gilroy’s breeches, and not her riding skirt, Roxane managed to scramble onto the deck. Kneeling, she stretched out her hand for the saddle-bags, and then her pistol. And her skirt. Moments later, Gilroy was on deck beside her.
“Let the anchor slip, Roxane, while I hoist the foresail, and we’ll get ourselves to sea, before anyone comes after us. We’ll hoist the main in a moment or two.”
It was awkward in the dark, on an unfamiliar boat, but Roxane knew enough about sailing, and Gilroy had been Navy since the age of fifteen, so that their fumbles were few and a quarter hour after reaching the bay, they were headed for the open sea. There was only a slight swell, and they made quick progress away from the land in the steady breeze.
“No sign of pursuit, Roxane,” said Gilroy. “And that is good news, for I fear I have bad.”
“What is it?” said Roxane, alarmed.
“That second shot? I fear that it struck me.” Gilroy slumped to a sitting position against the low rail aft of the tiller position.
“Where? Is it bad?” said Roxane, immediately berating herself for the stupid question. Of course it was bad.
“Beneath the ribs. I fear I may have lost some blood. Check the compass, Roxane. We need to steer west-south-west to stand any chance of meeting either the Pelican or the Belle Arc, and I fear that you may be sailing this boat by yourself.”
“If the breeze holds steady, I think I can. But first, at least let me see if I can bandage you.”
“What with? Roxane, all of our baggage is still in France.”
“True. Let me think.” She knelt beside him, blanching at the dark stain on his shirt. Then it came to her. With breeches and blouse, and jacket, what need had she for her shift? None! “I have it, I think. My shift.” She smiled. “I must ask you to close your eyes again, for I must undress to remove my shift.”
Gilroy managed a smile. “This might be my only chance ever to see your beauty, Roxane. Do not deny it to me.”
She stared at him for a moment, then stood, quickly stripping off her jacket and discarding it on the deck beside Gilroy. Her blouse quickly followed it. She paused for a moment, her hands on the shift where it disappeared under the breeches, then pulled at it, pulling it free of the breeches, stripping it off over her head, wondering why she had not turned her back, but realising, realising that she wanted Alexander Gilroy to see her naked charms. She paused for a moment, then bent to retrieve her blouse, quickly donning it but not taking the time to button it. She knelt beside Gilroy.
“Have you a pocket knife?”
He took a deep breath, then slumped back. “Better. My dirk. In the top of my right boot. Yes, there. No! Other side. That’s it.
She pulled out the dirk that he carried in his boot, and slashed the shift into strips.
Can you sit up?”
“With your help, yes, I think I can.”
It was awkward, and she was conscious of his breath on her bared breasts, but between them they managed to get him sitting up.
“I need to get your coat off.”
He grimaced. “I know, dear Roxane. I know. Methinks it will not be easy. But first, check our course. This vessel sails itself quite well, but I fear we may drift well off course.”
“A moment.” A quick check of the compass showed only a minor deviation from their course, not significant until considerably more time had passed. She quickly knelt again. “A few points only. Bandages first, then I get us back on course.”
Gilroy nodded. “My coat is unbuttoned, ready. I think I can manage to sit up long enough for you to pull it off, if I hold my arms back.”
“We’ll try.” She scrambled around behind him as he sat up, putting his arms back. She took hold of his cuffs and pulled, steady, careful not to jerk, and the coat slid slowly off. She winced at sight of his shirt, dark with blood.
“I must cut your shirt off.”
“I know. At least my dirk is sharp.” His voice was tight, strained. she took a pinch of cloth between finger and thumb and pushed the dirk through, then slashed carefully around, above his belt, slicing the sleeves off so as not to put him under any more strain.
“I have no fresh water to spare to bathe it,” she said. “What we have, we need for you to drink.”
“Have you the skill to get the ball out?”
She flinched. “Get it out? How?”
“I fear you must probe with the dirk.”
“You want me to try?”
He almost laughed. “Roxane, my dear, if you do not I fear the wound becoming infected. If it does, I die.”
No! “Well, then, I must play surgeon.”
“If I lie upon my stomach, you should be able to probe more easily. If I pass out, I have already fallen.”
It took her a moment to realise he was jesting with her. Foolish man! Save your strength. “You are ready?”
“As I ever will be.”
Gently she felt around the wound, feeling to see if the ball was near the surface. surprised, she felt it almost immediately, just below the lowest rib.
“I think I’ve found the ball.”
“Then out with it, Roxane, my dear.”
Gingerly, she dug with the tip of Gilroy’s dirk. He winced, and she gasped.
“Keep going, Roxane. I must bear the pain.” His voice was tight.
Again she dug, trying to ignore his strangled murmurs of distress. She dug in beside the dirk with her little finger, and to her amazement, she found she could get the tip of her finger under the ball. Gingerly she pulled at it, slowly, carefully, pushing the flesh back with the flat of the dirk, until the ball came suddenly free and dropped to the deck.
“Well done, Roxane. Try to feel if there is any cloth in the wound, and get it out.”
She felt around, and yes, there was a ribbon of torn cloth that had been punched into the wound. Gently she pulled it free, then felt again. Nothing but flesh, now.
“I think I have it all, but it is too dark to see properly. I feel nothing but flesh in the wound, and the edge of your rib. Intact, so far as I can tell.”
“The bandages, then, please.”
“I’ll need you to sit up again, if you can.”
“If I must, then I must. Help me, please.” It was awkward, but they managed, and while Gilroy managed to brace himself, Roxane made a pad of cloth and pressed it in place, then wrapped the bandages around his torso to hold the pad in place, fighting a sudden giggle at the thought that her breasts were bare and almost in his face. No sooner had she thought that than she felt Gilroy’s lips kiss her breast, and then he fell back, unconscious. Alarmed, she rested her hand upon his chest, reassured to feel the steady beat of his heart.
Quickly she fastened her blouse, still feeling the touch of Gilroy’s lips on her breast. Her discarded skirt was nearby and she rolled it up, and moved it under Gilroy’s head as a pillow, then covered him with her cloak. She shivered suddenly in the night breeze, feeling her nipples erect under the stuff of her blouse. She smiled. You should have waited a moment, Alexander Gilroy, for there would have been more for your lips to savour. Her jacket was nearby and she donned it, fastening it to the throat against the cool of the night.
Course check! She moved to the compass, to find that the boat had come two points off course. Not too bad, she thought, for a vessel with no-one at the helm. She brought it back on course and sailed on into the night.
* * * * *Chapter 8
Morning found them alone in an empty sea. She was still on course, at least. That was something to be grateful for. Gilroy was still asleep. Or unconscious, she thought, but even as she watched him, his eyes fluttered open and his lips moved. She dropped to her knees beside him.
“What is it, Alex?”
His voice was hoarse. “A sip of water, Roxane?”
“A moment.” The water bottles were lying beside the few things they’d brought. She picked one up and shook it. Possibly half full. She shook the other. Low, barely a cup full. She opened it, and cradled Gilroy’s head in the crook of her left arm while she tipped the water bottle carefully to his lips.
He coughed, spilling a little, then managed to swallow, then again. His eyes came to hers.
“Thank you.”
She shook her head. “‘Tis little enough I do for you.”
“Not so, Roxane,” he murmured. “You do everything for me.” He coughed again, wincing, and she waited a moment to let the spasm pass. “You might well have saved my life, getting that ball out, and bandaging me.” A fleeting smile crossed his face. “That, and sharing your beauty.”
She flushed, and he reached out and squeezed her hand. “Do not be embarrassed, dear Roxane, for it was a generous thing to do.”
She grimaced. “I was too busy tending to you to take time to fasten my blouse!”
He laughed, and winced. “No jests, Roxane. They hurt.” He sobered. “Are we on course?”
“Aye, and have been all night.”
“Any sign of the Pelican? Or the Belle Arc?”
“None a moment ago. I’ll check again.” This time, she stood on the rail, holding on to the rigging. Nothing. Or, was it? Was that a corner of sail she could see? She looked away for a moment, then back again. Yes, a sail!
“Alex! I see a sail!”
“Can you make it out?”
“Too far as yet.”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
She stood and watched as the other vessel came closer, not really caring if it was the Pelican or not. Even if it was a French vessel, for Alexander Gilroy needed a surgeon’s attention. But if it had been French, in these waters it would most likely be a frigate, and she could see enough to know it was no frigate. No, it was a schooner, and her hopes began to rise. Closer, she could see the unmistakable lines of a Harrison-built vessel, something she’d been familiar with throughout her childhood. The colours of hull and sails were familiar, and very shortly afterwards, she knew it was the Pelican. Praise be!
“Alex? ‘Tis the Pelican.” But Gilroy was unconscious again. The Pelican had changed course towards the French fishing boat and she bent to pick up a piece left of her shift and waved it until there was an answering wave from the Pelican. Relieved, she let the sails fall and waited.
It wasn’t long before the schooner came about and drew alongside the fishing-boat as the way fell off. Willing hands in the chains grappled the fishing boat with boathooks and drew the two vessels together. Roxane looked up into the concerned face of Gilroy’s first lieutenant.
“Madame de Boeuf! I had not looked to see you here! The captain? Is he dead?”
“Wounded, Mr James. He needs the attention of your surgeon.”
“And he shall have it! Stand by for a sling, Ma’am, and we’ll bring you aboard.”
“No need for that, Mr. James. Tend to the captain, for I can climb your ladder.”
“Aye-aye, ma’am!”
Five minutes later, Roxane watched as the captain was raised aboard the Pelican on a makeshift bed, the men raising him being very careful, and it occurred to Roxane that Gilroy’s men held him in affection as well as respect.
“Ma’am, I – ” James hesitated.
“The captain’s own cabin, Mr James. Best if there is room for the surgeon to attend him.”
“Aye, ma’am. Thank you.”
“For what?” She shook her head. “I only sailed the boat, Mr. James. The captain got us safely to the shore and out to steal that fishing boat. I suspect that we disturbed a guard who had fallen asleep, and the captain was unlucky enough to be the one of us who the guard managed to hit.”
James nodded, a wry smile on his face. “Such is the way of these things. It could just as easily have been you.”
Roxane’s answering smile was equally wry. “I try to suppress that thought, Mr. James.” She gestured as the men carrying Gilroy moved carefully past. “Lead the way.”
In Gilroy’s cabin the men carefully eased the captain onto his bunk and at a signal from James, left him, Roxane and the surgeon, Collins, in the cabin. James signalled the other man forward and he bent to examine Gilroy.
“Ma’am?” said Collins. “These bandages? Where did you get them?”
“They were cut from the shift I was wearing when the captain was shot, Mr. Collins.”
“Clean, then. Excellent. I fear I must loose them, so that I may examine the wound. I need to remove the ball.”
“I have already removed it, Mr. Collins. I also removed some of the captain’s shirt from the wound.”
“I do not wish to offend you, ma’am, but I must examine the wound myself. I – ”
Roxane held up her hand to stop him going on. “Mr. Collins, you will only offend me if you do not examine the wound. I tended the captain’s wound in the dark on a moving fishing boat which I was also trying to sail. I fear only too well that I may have left something in the wound.”
Collins nodded, giving her a half smile. “May I ask what you used to remove the ball?”
“The captain’s own dirk, and this,” said Roxane, holding up her left hand with the little finger extended. “And I must wash, as soon as I am able.” Collins nodded, and turned to James.
“Sam, if you and the lady could hold the captain steady, so that the wound is uppermost, I shall cut the bandages off. That will be easier on the captain than trying to get him to sit up.” Collins turned to Roxane. “Where was he shot?”
“Just below the ribs, towards the rear, on his right side.”
“Ease him onto his left side, then, and hold him steady.”
Gilroy was still unconscious, but breathing steadily, and they managed to turn him without incident. Collins carefully cut the bandage, and eased the pad Roxane had made away from the wound. He bent close and sniffed.
“Clean, I think. I need more light, and some hot water. Sam?”
James nodded. “At once. He turned towards the door, drew a breath, and yelled, “Harris?”
The door opened immediately, and a seaman looked in. “Sir?”
“Hot water and a lamp, please, Harris.”
“Sir!” And the seaman was gone. To return less than five minutes later with a tin pail of hot water, and a lamp. “Hot water and lamp, sir.”
“Thank you, Harris. Stand by outside, please.”
“Aye, sir.”
Collins stood the pail near Gilroy’s bunk. “Ma’am? You said you needed to wash your hands, no?”
“Indeed so, Mr. Collins.”
“There is a ewer of cold water over there. Take some of this hot, and wash your hands. I may have need of a small hand in a moment, to aid me.”
Roxane nodded. “At once, sir.” She unfastened and stripped off her jacket, then unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse and rolled back the sleeves. Washing her hands took only moments, but the water was murky when she’d finished. She dried her hands quickly on the rough towel that James passed to her, and moved back to where she could see Gilroy.
“Sam?” said Collins. “Can you brace the captain? Ma’am, if you’d hold the lamp so that it illuminates the wound? Mayhap then I can see if the wound is clean.” The tasks were quickly accomplished, and Roxane held the lamp so that it gave the maximum amount of light on Gilroy’s wound. Collins used a probe to search the wound and Gilroy moved involuntarily as the probe moved. Eventually, Collins straightened, and smiled at Roxane.
“You did an excellent job, ma’am. The wound is clean – no foreign matter. I shall re-bandage the Captain, if you and Mr. James can assist me again?”
Ten minutes later, the re-bandaging done, Collins collected together his surgical instruments and packed them away in his bag. He turned to James.
“Sam, Captain Gilroy has lost a lot of blood, I fear, judging by the ruins of his shirt and the stain on his breeches. He must rest. He also needs to be kept warm.” He frowned. “It would also be sensible to remove his clothing. For burning, I fear. I suggest that we cut his clothing away, thus saving him the discomfort of being moved.”
“I shall turn my back, if you think it apt,” said Roxane.
Collins smiled. “I doubt it would embarrass the captain, ma’am, but for your modesty’s sake, perhaps yes.”
Roxane turned away, and she could hear the sibilance of a sharp knife moving through cloth, a few rustles, and then Collins spoke again.
“It is done, ma’am. You may turn. The captain is decently covered.”
“I shall have extra blankets sent down,” said James. He frowned and turned to Roxane. She nodded.
“I will attend the captain, Mr. James. No need for any of your crew to avoid their duties. She looked down at herself, and gave James a rueful smile. “I have been dirtier, I think, but not since I was a child. I would change, but my clothes are abandoned in France, and I have no changes on board.”
James nodded. “And we have no ladies clothing on board, of course.” He frowned. “How tall are you, ma’am? Five feet six?”
“Seven. Five feet seven. May I ask why you need to know my height?”
“We have a couple of midshipmen on board, about your height. I may be able to borrow some clothing for you, although it will be men’s clothing, of course.”
“Of course. If you can, Mr. James, I should be grateful.” She smiled. “I fear that any embarrassment I might have felt in dressing as a male disappeared when the captain was shot.”
“Indeed so, ma’am. If you will excuse me?”
“Of course.”
James went out, and Collins moved towards her. “Ma’am? The captain must be kept still, and kept warm.” He grimaced, apologetic. “It is much to ask, I know.” He paused.
She held his eye. “You ask that I warm him with my body?”
Collins flushed, and nodded. “Aye.”
“Mr. Collins, Captain Gilroy saved my life, possibly. He certainly saved me from capture. Aye, and perhaps worse. If my keeping him warm can aid his recovery, then I do it willingly.”
“Thank you. Alex Gilroy once saved my life, too.” Collins gestured towards the door. “I shall get Mr. James to post a sentry. If you need aught let him know, and word will be passed.”
“Thank you.” He nodded, picked up his bag, and went out. She sat, watching Gilroy. He seemed peaceful, and she relaxed a little. A tap on the door, and James came in, a bundle of clothing under his arm, along with two blankets.
“Miss Harrison? Mr Jenks has kindly loaned you his best breeches, and a fine linen shirt. He also suggests that his spare nightshirt may be of use, later. Now, are you hungry?”
“Aye, Mr. James, I am.”
“I shall have some food sent along in a little while. It is nigh on noon, and the hands will be eating soon. Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
“None, I fear. I was too busy looking to the captain.”
James nodded. “I thought as much. After you have eaten, try to take a nap. I am leaving someone on duty outside the door. If you need anything, let him know, and I shall see to it.”
“Could some more hot water be sent down with the food? I could do with giving myself a better wash than I managed before.” She chuckled. “And before I don Mr Jenks’s clothes.”
“I’ll see to it.” James paused. “Miss Harrison? My thanks, for seeing my captain safe.”
“Mr. James, it was as much Captain Gilroy seeing me safe, as I him.”
“Nevertheless, my thanks. Food, and hot water, as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.” She gestured. “Before you go, the blankets?”
“Indeed,” said James, and the two of them spread the blankets over the sleeping Gilroy. He smiled at Roxane, and went out.
A few minutes later, a tap on the door. “Yes?” she called. The door opened and a cheerful face looked round the edge.
“Hot water, miss, and a plate of food. Cook didn’t know what you wanted to drink, so he sent a mug of tea.” The plate was generously piled with food, and the mug was huge. “Can you take the tray, please, miss?”
“Of course.” She reached out and took the tray, placing it on the captain’s little table. The seaman put the pail of hot water in a corner. He straightened, and turned to her.
“Thanks for bringing the captain back safe, miss. We need him.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“Thankee, miss.” The seaman knuckled his brow in salute. He turned to go, but paused. “When you’re finished, miss? Don’t worry about the plate and mug. Whoever brings a meal later will collect them. Mr James said to tell you that I will be on watch just outside, and if you want anything, to let me know. Right?”
“Yes. Thank you.” He nodded again, and went out, carefully closing the door behind him.
Roxane turned to the plate of food, and fought a laugh. Way too much for me, she thought, then surprised herself by finishing it all. She drained the mug of tea and sat back, replete. She looked across at Gilroy, still sleeping. Or was he unconscious, she wondered, and how did one tell. The pail of hot water caught her eye, and she straightened. Time to wash.
With water in the bowl, she unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off, leaving her wearing only Gilroy’s breeches. Time for these to go, too, she thought, and untied the line pulling in the waist to somewhere nearer her size, letting the breeches drop to the deck. She stepped out of them, and began to wash herself. The hoarse voice startled her.
“Truly, Roxane, you are loveliness itself.”
She turned, careless of her nakedness, to see Gilroy’s eyes open, and upon her.
“Alex! How do you feel?” she said, her feet beginning to carry her to his bedside, but she paused, flushing, and grabbed Mr. Jenks’s nightshirt, quickly pulling it over her head. A corner of her mind was wondering why she hadn’t turned her back to him.
“How do I feel? As if I’d been shot in the back, that’s how I feel.” He paused. “My own cabin, so we must be on the Pelican. You brought us safe to her, single-handed, Roxane, my dear, and I think I owe you my life.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps I owe you mine, for it was you who got us to the coast safe, who found the fishing boats.”
Gilroy managed a smile. “Aye, and got myself shot. I should have taken more care, checked to see if there was anyone on guard.”
“We saw no-one. If a guard had been set, he was hidden out of sight. Do not blame yourself, Alex, for I do not blame you.”
“You may well have the truth of it, Roxane. I suspect that the sentry, if such he was, had fallen asleep and it was the noise of us launching the rowboat over the shingle that woke him.” Gilroy grimaced. “Not experienced, either, I would hazard, else why so quick to fire? There is the chance we might have been genuine fishermen.”
“Perhaps the fishermen had been warned not to set out, last night. If that was so, anyone launching a boat would be suspect.”
“Perhaps. I hazard we’ll never know.” Gilroy paused. “Could you let me have a drink of water, perhaps?”
Roxane flushed. “Of course. Just one moment.” The tin mug which had contained her tea was handy, so she quickly rinsed it in the bowl and poured it half full from the ewer. When she turned, Gilroy was trying to raise himself.
“Alex! Don’t! You’ll hurt yourself. Let me help you.”
“It might be easier if you got someone in to help you, Roxane.”
“Let’s try.” She set the cup carefully on the edge of Gilroy’s bunk. “Don’t move your legs, or it will spill.” Moving carefully, she slid her right arm under Gilroy’s shoulder, then eased him up, so that his shoulders lifted from the mattress. She reached out for the cup, and lifted it to his lips, tipping it carefully to minimise the flow. A sigh came from him as the cool water trickled into his mouth, and he swallowed.
“Thank you, dear Roxane.”
“Enough? Or a little more?”
“Just a little more, please, and then I fear I must sleep again.”
“You will heal faster if you sleep. Mr. Collins thinks you lost quite a lot of blood.”
“I fear he is right. Were I in a fight with a three-year-old, the youngster would win!”
“You fight no-one today, Alex Gilroy. Lie back, and sleep.”
“I will, I think. Thank you again, dear Roxane.”
“‘Tis little enough that I do, and it means the minimum disruption to your crew.”
There was no answer. Gilroy was asleep again. Roxane smiled. Perhaps now I may don Mr Jenk’s breeches and shirt. She had no sooner done so than there was a tap on the door.
“Ma’am? Madame de Boeuf?”
“Come in, Mr. James.”
Gilroy’s first lieutenant came in, ducking automatically to clear the beam across the cabin. He nodded to her and smiled.
“How is the captain? Has he roused?”
“A few moments ago, yes. I gave him a drink of water and he settled back to sleep again. He needs the rest.”
“And so do you, I think.” James smiled. “The captain was fortunate in his choice of companion, for I do not think many young gentlewomen capable of the single-handed journey you made, with a wounded and helpless man as your only companion.”
“Ah, but Mr. James, the captain told you my real name, Roxane Harrison. It was Harrison’s yard, my father, who built the Pelican. I have been sailing since I was seven years old. Not all of the time, to be sure, but enough that I remembered what I needed to know.”
“Is it so? Your father built a fine ship. I was truly sad to learn of his death.”
“Thank you, Mr. James.”
He nodded. “Mr McKay’s cabin is readied for you, Miss Harrison. If I may be frank, you look exhausted.”
“But what of the captain?”
“One of our midshipmen, Mr. Philips, is recovering from a broken arm. He has volunteered to sit with the captain until the evening meal. By then, you might have managed to get some rest, and may watch over the captain again.” James gave her a wry smile. “It will be morning before we make port, and the glass is falling. There may well be some bad weather tonight. The captain might do better with a woman’s gentle touch, should he need support through the night.”
“I admit freely, Mr. James, that I find the thought of getting some sleep is very seductive.”
“Sleep then, Miss Harrison. The captain will be well looked after I promise you.”
“Very well, Mr. James. As soon as your Mr. Philips gets here I shall retire to Mr. McKay’s cabin. Next but one, I believe?”
“Indeed so.” James gave her a tired smile. “I wish you a peaceful sleep.”
And it was peaceful. After she had greeted the blushing young midshipman and given him a few simple instructions, she had climbed into McKay’s narrow bunk, and knew nothing until the evening meal.
* * * * *And that’s the second part of this tale done. Feedback welcome. Genuine analytical criticism is particularly welcome. I may ignore it, but I welcome it!