Stepping out onto the quay, Linnet turned right. Pulling her cloak, whipping in the rising breeze, more tightly around her, she headed toward the castle. Lengthening his stride, Logan came up alongside her.
When she turned onto the walk leading up to the castle’s gate, his pace faltered. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, exchanging a nod with the guard, who, like all those at Castle Cornet, knew her at least by sight, “I won’t mention your mission.” Raising her voice, she addressed the guard. “Lieutenant Colonel Foxwood?”
“In his office, I believe, miss.”
“Thank you.”
Giving Logan no chance to remonstrate, she swept on, striding confidently through the main doors and on through the echoing corridors.
Logan had to keep pace, wondering, debating. There were too many others around for him to stop her and demand to be told what she was about. But… as he saw a pair of guards flanking a door at the end of the corridor ahead, he gripped her arm and slowed her. Lowering his head closer to hers, he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone of my rank. I’m just a friend of the family you’re helping out by arranging passage to Plymouth.”
She flicked him one of her haughty glances, but said nothing in reply. He released her as they neared the guarded door.
Halting, Linnet smiled at the guards. “Please inquire whether the Lieutenant Colonel can spare me a few minutes.”
With an abbreviated salute, the elder guard nodded, rapped on the panel, then opened the door and looked in. “Miss Trevission, sir, come to see you, if you’ve a moment.”
From his position beside Linnet, Logan heard from with-in the room, “Miss Trevission? Yes, of course, man- show her in.”
“You can wait here if you like.”
At the soft whisper, Logan looked down into Linnet’s green eyes. “Not a chance.”
She inclined her head. “In that case, just let me do the talking.” To the guard, she said, “He’s with me.”
The guard obligingly held the door for them both. Following Linnet through, Logan swiftly scanned the room, then focused on the two occupants.
The elder, Foxwood judging by his uniform’s insignia, was lumbering genially to his feet behind a substantial, exceedingly messy desk. Logan instantly pegged him as a career soldier, sent there to see out his last years. The second man, a youthful captain, clearly Foxwood’s aide, stood to one side of the desk, his openly eager and appreciative gaze fixed on Linnet.
As Linnet halted before the desk, Logan grimly took up station at her shoulder, between her and the overeager captain. What the devil was she doing there?
Nodding amiably, Linnet extended her hand. “Good morning, Foxwood.” She ignored the captain.
Beaming, Foxwood reached over the desk to clasp her hand in both of his. “Delighted as always, my dear. Please, do have a seat.”
Foxwood sent an inquiring gaze at Logan. Mindful of Linnet’s instructions, he didn’t respond.
Neither did she. “No, thank you. I merely dropped by to inform you that the
“Indeed, my dear? I wouldn’t have thought the weather…” Foxwood trailed off, smiled. “But you would know more about such matters than I, so I’ll wish you Godspeed and safe journey.”
Linnet inclined her head, briskly took her leave-still ignoring the all-but-adoring young captain-then turned and led the way out. Puzzled, with a polite nod to Foxwood, Logan followed her.
He waited until they were out of the castle to ask, “What was that about?”
“Preserving the courtesies.”
After a moment, he asked, “What is there in this that I’m missing?”
She cast him a sidelong glance. “You need to get to Plymouth-I’m arranging it. Don’t rock my boat.”
Somewhat grimly, increasingly convinced he was not in possession of all the relevant facts but unable to guess what it was he didn’t know, he followed her back to the Trevission offices, where he reclaimed their bags and Dodds gave her an update on cargo both for the run to Plymouth and the return trip, then, once again, they walked out onto the quay. This time Linnet turned left.
Hefting their bags, he followed. When he’d picked up her bag, he’d again felt the shift of something very like a scabbarded sword. It was an item with which he was so familiar that his senses immediately identified it. Had the bag belonged to any other female, he would have dismissed the notion as nonsensical and asked what it was that had confused his senses… only this was Linnet, and he didn’t think his senses were confused.
His gaze locked on her back, he was trying to think of some innocent way to phrase his query-something that wouldn’t result in her tartly telling him that what she chose to carry was none of his business-when his feet hit the thick wooden planks of the wharf.
He looked around, surveying the vessels, most of which were anchored out in the harbor. He searched for the ship in the picture, but many of the ships were three-masted barques, and the painting had been from too great a distance to provide identifying details.
Linnet continued to stride along. He was about to ask her to point out the
The pier was busy, with sailors and navvies loading and unloading holds. Several more sailors saw Linnet and waved, but none again hailed her. At her heels, Logan realized she had to be making for the last ship in the line. Looking ahead, he saw a sleek, undoubtedly swift three-masted barque that, from the activity on deck, had come in to the pier only minutes before.
Sure enough, when they stepped free of the chaos before the ship one berth in, and into the relatively clear space alongside the sleek barque, he saw the name stenciled on the prow-it was indeed the
The name, he knew, meant “hope” and “expectation” in French, the base language of Guernais, the patois of the island. Linnet strode straight for the gangplank; he followed, trusting her to lead him safely while his gaze drank in the sight of her ship.
Like her owner, the ship was a beauty. Not new-all the woodwork had gained that glowing patina of lovingly tended oak-yet she was clearly designed for both power and speed. With lines more pared down, more sculpted, than the other barques around her, she sat lightly on the waves, gracefully riding the harbor swell, a princess among the bourgeoisie.
Very like her owner.
Linnet swung onto the gangplank and climbed swiftly up, not even bothering to reach for the rope rail. Closing the distance between them, Logan was directly behind her when, without waiting for any assistance, she jumped lightly down to the deck.
“Ahoy, Capt’n!” A large sailor dropped down the ladder from the stern deck and snapped off a jaunty salute.
For an instant, everything in Logan stilled, then he stepped, slowly, down to the deck, and turned to stare at Linnet.
Who, ignoring him, returned the salute. “Good afternoon, Mr. Griffiths.”
“Indeed it is, ma’am, if what I hear is true.” Griffiths halted before her, beaming fit to burst. “Welcome aboard, ma’am. Edgar and John seem to think we’re off somewhere.”
Nine
