thick muscle of his chest. “I’m a realist.”
He sighed. “You’re a bone-stubborn witch, and I’m going to take great delight in proving you wrong.”
“I. Am. Driving.” Linnet glared at Logan, then, the disputed reins in her hand, stepped back and waved him to the wagon’s seat. “You can sit beside me.”
Logan glared back, but as Edgar and John were coming up the path from the cottage beyond the stable to join them in the yard, he reluctantly climbed onto the wagon’s step, hoisted his bag-the one Muriel had given him to carry his few possessions-into the wagon’s tray behind the seat, then turned and held out his hand for the bag Linnet held.
As if suddenly remembering she had it, she huffed and handed it over. Stowing it beside his, he noted the strange sound as the bag connected with the wagon’s bottom. He wondered what had caused it-what she was carrying that sounded like a scabbarded sword.
Edgar and John came up as he swung around and settled on the seat. They grinned at him, tossed bags similar to Linnet’s into the tray, and climbed up to sit in the bed of the wagon, facing rearward, legs dangling over the tray’s edge.
Logan turned to watch Linnet take her leave of Vincent and Bright. They’d already farewelled Muriel, Buttons, and the children in the house. When he’d come downstairs that morning, Linnet had, in a low-voiced aside, asked him not to mention returning to Mon Coeur to anyone else. Given he knew he’d be waltzing with death in the next days, he’d reluctantly complied.
So the rest of the household thought he was leaving for good, but they’d all, each and every one, pressed him to return.
He’d told them the truth, that he would try.
They’d believed him, at least.
So they wouldn’t be surprised when he turned up again-not like the witch who climbed up to the seat, sat beside him, and flicked the reins.
The four donkeys between the shafts pricked up their ears, then started to trot.
He’d never been in a donkey-drawn vehicle before. Sitting back, he folded his arms and took in the scenery as they rattled along.
They joined the main road that Linnet had told him ran along the island’s south coast, eventually turning north to St. Peter Port. The journey, apparently, would take three hours or more.
A mile or so later, she murmured, “We’re just crossing out of the estate.”
Considering that, he felt a curious tug-both back and ahead at the same time. Now he’d left Mon Coeur, he was impatient to get on and finish his mission so he could return. The compulsion was real, a palpable force inside him.
He glanced at Linnet as she sat alongside, her thick wool cloak wrapped about a dark red gown, kid gloves covering the hands that held the reins, competent and confident as she lightly wielded a whip and kept her donkeys trotting along. He was tempted to ask what she was carrying in her bag, but after that scene in the stable yard, she’d probably bite off his nose before telling him he had no right to pry.
An assertion he might well respond to, yet she did have the reins in her hands. Along with a whip.
Edgar and John wouldn’t appreciate ending in a ditch. The donkeys probably wouldn’t, either.
Aside from all else, he had to mind his tongue because he needed her help to get to Plymouth. That was the principal reason he’d quashed the impulse to filch the reins from her back in the stable yard. He needed her to introduce him to this captain who would, she insisted, be willing to take him to Plymouth, apparently just on her say-so.
He didn’t know that much about oceangoing vessels, yet it seemed odd that such a ship would simply be standing by, her captain amenable to what would almost certainly be a rough Channel crossing for no other reason than to oblige a friend.
But he had to get to Plymouth as soon as possible.
Shifting, he looked at Linnet. “If the captain you mentioned can’t put out immediately, what are the chances of finding another ship?”
She glanced at him, then her lips curved. “Stop worrying. The
Before he could say anything, she tipped her head back and called to the two in the rear, “Edgar, John-I’m thinking the tides will be right for the
“Aye,” John called back. “Eight o’clock’d be about right.”
Linnet glanced at Logan again. “Even if a ship beat out of harbor under oars, the coast is such that she would have to remain under oars, driving against both wind and tide, until she rounded the north tip of the island, and that’s simply too far. So you won’t be able to get out of the harbor, not on any vessel, until tomorrow morning.”
Logan pulled a face. He couldn’t argue with wind and tide.
He did, however, wonder what it was that Linnet was so carefully not telling him.
They reached St. Peter Port a little after noon. The town faced east, overlooking a roughly horseshoe-shaped bay delimited by slender, rocky headlands. A castle and associated buildings lined the right shore, with gun emplacements guarding the narrow channel linking the bay to the sea.
“Castle Cornet,” Linnet informed him. “It’s still garrisoned.”
Logan nodded. Looking down the precipitous, narrow cobbled streets leading to the wharves built below the town, he understood why there was such great demand for donkeys in St. Peter Port.
Yet instead of driving her four beasts and the wagon further down, Linnet turned into the yard of an inn on the high ground above the town proper.
Sticking his head out to see who had arrived, the innkeeper immediately beamed and came to welcome her.
Logan watched while Linnet exchanged greetings, then turned to include Edgar and John, who had hopped down from the wagon’s tail. Unsure what was planned, Logan listened. When Linnet made arrangements to stable the wagon and donkeys for a few days, he climbed down and hefted both his bag and hers from the tray. He stepped back as three ostlers, summoned by the innkeeper’s bellow, came rushing to take the wagon; once it was pulled from between them, he walked across to join Linnet and the innkeeper just as Edgar and John touched their caps to Linnet and, bags swinging, headed down into the town. Inwardly frowning, Logan watched them go.
Linnet glanced at him, then turned back to the innkeeper. “This is Logan.”
He inclined his head to the innkeeper, pleased she’d remembered his insistence that they say as little about him as possible to others, the better to ensure no Black Cobra minions learned he’d been staying at Mon Coeur.
“I was thinking,” Linnet continued, “that Logan and I would let you feed us luncheon before we get on with our business below.”
“Aye-come you in.” Beaming, the innkeeper waved them to the inn. “The missus’ll be delighted to see you. She’s got pies just out of the oven.”
Linnet smiled and fell into step beside Henri, very conscious of Logan at her back. She always left her donkeys and wagon with Henri and his wife, Martha, until she needed the wagon to fetch goods from below.
“So is the
Linnet smiled easily. It wasn’t surprising that Henri would be curious about what might take the
Reaching the door to the inn, she passed through. Not needing to look at Logan to know he wouldn’t want to invite further questions, she paused and told Henri, “We’ll wait in the parlor for our lunch.”
“Yes, of course. There’s a good fire in there. I’ll send Martha in.”
