"You've been taught to use one of these." It was more of a statement than a question.
"Yes. And a garrote," she added ashe took out the length of rope weighted at either end. She didn't say she'd never used any weapons outside a training session.
His nod was matter-of-fact as he handed her the knife. "I'd like to reduce the odds on deck. Lie on the floor as if you're still tied and start shouting." He moved into the shadows behind the companionway, the length of rope held lightly between his hands.
Gabrielle curled up, facing the door, her feet tucked under the table so that at first glance her lack of bonds wouldn't be immediately apparent. Then she began to scream, one high-pitched cry after another, shivering the timbers of the deck above her head.
Feet sounded above and the hatchway thudded open, filling the cabin with the gray light of dawn. They must be dreadfully close to the French coast, she thought as she screamed again.
Cursing, a man pounded down the companionway. "Stop that racket, putain."He thundered toward her, hand clenched in a fist.
Nathaniel swung the rope, and the man fell back, clutching his throat. Nathaniel lowered him to the floor.
"Jacques… what's going on down there?" A voice yelled down the companionway.
Nathaniel gave her a nod and stepped back.
Gabrielle's bloodcurdling scream rose again. A figure jumped down the ladder. As his feet touched ground he seemed to realize that something was wrong. He spun around, and the edge of Nathaniel's right hand chopped against the side of his neck and he dropped to the floor.
Nathaniel swung himself onto the ladder, the knife in his hand. Gabrielle was on his heels. The dawn air, cold and salty, hit her in the face, clearing her head, stinging her swollen lip.
The man at the wheel gave a warning shout as he saw them. Nathaniel had crossed the deck in four bounds, and there was a glint of steel as the Frenchman drew his own knife. His partner lunged from behind the mainsail. He didn't see Gabrielle, who stuck out a foot, and he went sprawling on the deck.
Now she was supposed to use the knife. To hell with it. This was a dirty business, but there were limits. She grabbed up a marlin spike from a coil of rope and brought it down across his shoulders as he struggled onto all fours.
"Much better!" She permitted herself a grim smile of satisfaction at the prone figure before she raced to the grappling couple at the wheel, the marlin spike raised like some Viking club.
Nathaniel's opponent had his back to her for an instant and she brought the spike down onto his shoulder. He screamed as the bone cracked, and dropped to his knees.
Nathaniel glanced down at him and then up at Gabrielle. "You got the other one too, I see."
"Yes, but he's not dead. At least I don't think so." She pushed her hair away from her face, bracing herself unconsciously on the slippery deck as the fishing boat heaved and pitched with noguiding hand on the wheel.
She was bruised and bloody, her eyes black-shadowed, sunken in her white face.And Nathaniel didn't think he'd ever loved her more than he did at that moment. He knew he'd never understood her as he nowdid.
Hegrinned tiredly. "You're quite a fighter, aren't you, Gabrielle?"
"I fight forwhat I believe in," she said. "I fight for what I love… in whatever way I must."
Hereyes held his in a passionate plea for his understanding, and in the dawn stillness he nodded in simple but complete acknowledgment. Then he said briskly, "See what you can do forDan and the others. I'm going to put her about and I'll need ahand with the mainsail."
She left him at the wheel and approached the three figures of Dan and his crew, tied to the rail, gags in their mouths. Dan was bleeding from agash in his forehead, one of the others, a youngster of maybe seventeen, slumped unconscious in his bonds, the other had a broken arm, the splintered bone sticking jaggedly through his flesh.
They were unnecessary wounds, the work of Fouche's men, and a red wave of hatred surged over Gabrielle as she cut them loose.
"Bastards!" Dan exploded in soft ferocity. "They've been playing their foul games with young Jamie here for hours." He gently eased the unconscious lad to the deck. Gabrielle remembered the agonized screams and turned her eyes away from the pattern of knife marks on his chest.
"Nathaniel needs help with the sails," she said as calmly as she could. "Are you able to do it?"
"Aye." Dan walked stiffly and painfully toward Nathaniel while Gabrielle went below to see what she could find to bind up the broken arm.
She glanced at the men on the cabin floor and was surprised to find them both breathing. She had thought Nathaniel had killed the one with the garrote. There was livid bruising around his throat, but he was breathing in stertorous gasps.
She went back on deck and did what she could with the broken arm, binding it tightly and fashioning a sling so that at least the pieces of bone wouldn't scrape together and the arm was supported.
The man smiled wanly, but he was clearly incapable of doing anything.
"Gabrielle!"
"Yes?" She went over to the wheel.
"Come here." Nathaniel took her shoulders and drew her in front of him. "Hold the wheel. Do you remember anything I taught you on the river that day? What I told you about keeping the wind abaft the mainsail."
"I think so, but this is so much bigger than the dinghy."
"The principle's the same. Look up at the sail. The edge mustn't flutter. Try to keep the wind on the side of your face-here." Gently he touched her cheek. Then he bent and brushed his lips over the spot, and she knew he was remembering how he'd struck her earlier.
She reached up and grasped his bandaged wrist. “I’llmanage.”
"Yes, I know you will. Come on, Dan, let's get these swine off this boat."
They tied the four unconscious men, lowered the rowboat over the side, and heaved the bodies into it.
"They'll probably get picked up, more's the pity," Nathaniel said, squinting through the morning mist to the rocky cliffs of the French coast. "Let's hope we get the hell out of here before anyone else comes along."
"We'll fly the French colors," Dan said. "That might give us some leeway."
Nathaniel looked across at Gabrielle. Her hands were steady on the wheel, her feet btaced wide apart, her eyes on the mainsail. She was like no other woman. And she had more courage in her little finger than a regiment of marines.
The courage of her convictions too. It still hurt to think that she'd deceived him, that he'd been duped by Talleyrand. But he thought how it had begun. He knew Gabrielle's passion. He understood her need for vengeance for her lover's murder. He would have felt it himself. And he now understood the curious logic that had brought them to this point. Gabtielle was loyal. In fact, her fault, if it was one, lay in too much loyalty. By an accident of birth she had a foot in both camps. A tempestuous and passionate nature would not allow her to abandon either one.
And he loved her. He loved her for that courage and that loyalty as much as he did for her passion and her warmth and her generosity.
And she was carrying his child.
He went over to her. "Let Dan take the wheel now."
She relinquished it with a weary shrug of her shoulders, trying to ease the aching stiffness, the residue of the night's ordeal. "I'll make a sailor yet," she said, smiling.
The smile was such a brave attempt that his heart turned over anew. He reached for her, but suddenly she clutched her throat, murmured, "Oh, no, why now?" and fled to the rail, retching miserably. But she'd eaten almost nothing in the past twenty-four hours and the spasm eased, although the queasiness didn't.
"What is it, love?" Nathaniel drew her against him. "The sea's like glass."