"Well, there are some compensations for your miserable night." Nathaniel jumped down from the hatchway, breaking into her grim reverie. "The wind was strong enough to save us a good hour or so on the crossing. We should pass the Scilly Isles by nine o'clock. We'll land by noon with any luck."
"In broad daylight?"
"There's a secluded cove, protected by a reef that only those who know it can negotiate safely. It's unpatrolled for that reason. The Curlew flies the French colors from now on, keeping well out to sea until we make the run for shore."
"You've done this before," she stated.
"Of course. Many times. And Dan's an expert at negotiating the reef." He went to the bunk, looking down at the still-sleeping Jake. "I suppose I can take comfort in knowing he's unlikely ever to run away to sea again."
"Yes," Gabrielle agreed with a half-smile.
"I'll have to buy him some clothes. These are still wet." Nathaniel shook out Jake's discarded britches and jersey.
"How fluent is your French?" Most educated Englishmen spoke it with a degree of ease, but Gabrielle wondered whether the spymaster could pass for native.
"Good enough. Not as good as your English, but it passes. I ensure I'm not garrulous."
"Even at the best of times," Gabrielle agreed with a touch of asperity.
"You're a trifle acerbic this morning, madame."
"Iwould kill for a cup of coffee," she said in excuse, licking her dry, salty lips.
"Try an apple instead."
"And some cheese. Ithink it's time for another picnic. I'm famished."
Nathaniel shook his head with the semblance of a grin, reflecting yet again that Gabrielle's powers of recuperation were astonishing. But then, she'd been trained in the same school of endurance he had, so it was hardly surprising. His grin disappeared.
He spread the contents of the bag on the table. They would both have preferred to go on deck, but it didn't occur to either of them to leave Jake alone.
The child slept until they were approaching the telltale greenish ripple of water crossing the opening to the narrow cove. The high cliffs of the Normandy coastline rose on either side, gray and forbidding despite the weak sunlight of a midday in early spring.
Gabrielle was on deck breathing fresh air and regarding the rippling line with some apprehension, when Nathaniel emerged from the cabin, carrying Jake, still wrapped in the blanket.
"He woke up and I thought the air might do him some good."
"Good morning, Jake." Gabrielle greeted the child cheerfully, bending to kiss a cheek that had lost the shiny roundness of health.
Jake turned his head into his father's chest. "I'm cold," he whimpered. "An' Iwant a drink."
"Have a look at the land." Nathaniel hitched him up in his arms, turning so he could look over his shoulder at the approaching coastline. "Soon we'll be in France."
"Don't want to," Jake said. "I want Nurse an' Primmy. I'm cold."
"I can do something about the cold, but not the rest," his father declared with a valiant effort at patience that was obvious to Gabrielle if not to the pathetic, miserable child.
"I want Neddy and the pot."
"You can do something about the latter but not the former," Gabrielle murmured with a smile. "Shall I take him?"
"If you don't mind." Nathaniel handed his burden over with ill-disguised relief. Jake put his arms around Gabrielle's neck as she carried him back below deck.
Nathaniel leaned against the railing, gazing at the water and the curve of beach ahead. His son's intervention dramatically affected his plans. Until he'd returned Jake to the safety of Burley Manor, he'd have to lie low in Paris. He'd intended to pretend to establish Gabrielle within the network, having alerted his own agents to the impostor, and then feed her false information that would lead to the entrapment of Fouche's agents undercover in London. On this visit he would meet with his own agents in the city and explain the setup to them.
In Paris Gabrielle must be kept well away from himself and Jake. He was certain that she would do nothing deliberately to put Jake in jeopardy, wherever her patriotic loyalties lay, but she was dangerous. Fouche's men could well be watching her. She could let something slip-even the most skillful spies made errors sometimes.
The boat tacked across the mouth of the cove, and he glanced toward the fisherman at the helm. Dan's face was set, beetling brows drawn together as he stared fixedly at the line of green ripples, looking for the break that would grant them safe entrance through the reef.
He swung the helm, glancing up at the sail, gently pulling on the mainsheet to catch the wind at just the right moment. The craft bucked as the wind filled the sail and danced over the line.
Nathaniel held his breath, waiting as always for the sickening crunch as the keel scraped over the wicked, jagged teeth of rock. But there was nothing. The boat flew gracefully across the one flat patch of water and into the calm safety of the cove.
"All's well, sir," Dan called out, his face breaking into a smile as the tension left him, and his crew laughed and cracked a ribald joke. Dan produced a bottle of brandy, offering it to Nathaniel with unaffected camaraderie.
Nathaniel took a swig and handed back the bottle, offering a jest of his own, flexing his shoulders. They were through once again. One could never be certain, and each time there was the same surge of relief. And this crossing even more so. He had his son-a hostage to fortune-this time.
Gabrielle came up on deck and stood, feet braced on the gently moving deck, the wind whipping back her dark red hair, her face lifted to the sun. In the midday sunlight the lines of fatigue were etched clearly on the white face, but the charcoal eyes were as vibrant as ever and that little crooked smile curved the wide generous mouth. The warm wanting that he was so accustomed to feeling whenever he was with her seeped through his own fatigue.
God damn the woman! Why? Of all the women in the world, why did Gabrielle de Beaucaire have to be treacherous?
Chapter 16
"I don't want this. It's all crust." Jake pushed a piece of bread to the farthest extremity of his plate, his lower lip trembling.
"It'll give you strong teeth," Gabrielle said with determined cheerfulness. "Shall I put some more apricot jam on it?"
"I don't want it!" The child flung out a wild hand to ward her off. "I hate crusts."
"It's French bread, Jake," Gabrielle said, still patient. "French bread has a lot of crust."
"I don't like French bread!" Jake picked up the despised bread and hurled it to the floor, tears spilling from his eyes. "I want an egg. I always have an egg for tea… with soldiers."
"Soldiers?" Nathaniel exclaimed, pushing himself away from the door where he'd been leaning in ever-visible irritation.
"Strips of bread and butter," Gabrielle told him. "To dip in the egg. Surely you had soldiers with boiled eggs as a boy."
"I'm very sure I didn't," Nathaniel declared with disgusted vigor. "I've never heard such whimsy!" He came over to the table and hacked another chunk off the baguette. "I've had enough of this, Jake." He plonked the chunk on the child's plate. "Now eat that, at once."
Jake sniffed, but seemed to sense that he'd pushed to the limits of his caretakers' indulgence. "I want some jam."