Lowering the glass, he stared at the speck the last frigate had become. Rubbed a hand over his nape.
Like any good commander, Linnet had rescripted her plans on the run, rejigging them to best save her ship and her crew.
Now he would have to do the same. He’d have to meet the challenge of rescripting his plans to see them all safely home.
L ater that afternoon, still out in the Channel but with Plymouth not that far ahead, Logan arranged to meet with Edgar, John, Griffiths, and Claxton in the cabin he’d been given next to Linnet’s. She was still on deck, more or less above their heads at the wheel.
When Griffiths, the last to join them, came in and shut the door, Logan waved him to a perch on the narrow bunk, and from his position leaning against the wall beside the small porthole, began, “Edgar and John already know about the Black Cobra cult and my mission, of my role, and those of my three colleagues and numerous others, in attempting to bring the fiend to justice. But what none of you can have much idea of is the reason our mission’s so vital.”
In stark detail, he described some of the cult’s atrocities, enough to have the four sailors blanch. “That’s what these people are capable of.”
He tipped his head toward the sea beyond the porthole. “You all saw the cultists aboard the last frigate—most were cult assassins, the deadliest group, the most fanatical. You saw how desperate they were to reach this ship—they’ll do anything to reach me, and, now, Captain Trevission. She, a woman, defeated them. Her gender will make the defeat sting unbearably. I doubt they’ll come after the Esperance herself—they don’t think of ships in that way—but they will come after her captain—to punish her. When I escape them, as I must once I reach Plymouth, those remaining on the coast will be desperate to—as they’ll think of it—redeem themselves in the eyes of their leader, the Black Cobra, by killing Captain Trevission in the most gruesome and painful way they can devise.”
He paused, scanning their faces; their expressions were as grim as he could wish. “To a lesser extent you and the crew will be in danger, too, but it’s Captain Trevission they’ll focus their vengeful hatred on.”
Shifting, he straightened. “When we left St. Peter Port, my plan was for the Esperance to carry me to Plymouth, where I’d leave the ship, meet with the guards waiting for me in town, and carry on with my mission. I’ve already told Captain Trevission that on completion of my mission, I plan to return to Guernsey and Mon Coeur. If I survive, I intend to ask her to be my wife and live on Guernsey with her, but I won’t, can’t, make any offer until I know I’ve survived hale and whole.”
The men blinked at his open declaration, but Edgar’s and John’s expressions lightened, and they nodded with both approval and relief.
“However,” Logan continued, “if after today’s action I continue as I’d planned and leave Captain Trevission on the Esperance in Plymouth, the cult will target her.”
Griffiths and Claxton frowned. “We can rally the crew—we’ll keep her safe.”
Logan inclined his head. “I’ve no doubt that, while she’s on board, you’ll be able to do that. But I seriously doubt that, after today, the cult will come after her while she’s on the Esperance . They’ll wait until she leaves and heads home—to Mon Coeur.” He paused, scanned their faces as the potential for horror sank in. “And we all know what’s at Mon Coeur. The cultists aren’t much good on the waves, but tracking on land—at that they excel. They’ll follow Captain Trevission to Mon Coeur, scout the place, gather their forces—and they do have considerable numbers—and pick their time. I know there are men at Mon Coeur capable of fighting, but even if you can persuade Linnet to allow some extras to go home with her, it won’t be enough. Not enough of you will realize the savagery and fanaticism you’ll face, not until it’s too late.”
Again he paused, then simply said, “There are too many innocents at Mon Coeur to risk it.”
None of the four disagreed; he could see their rising protectiveness in their faces. Griffiths fixed his shrewd eyes on Logan. “What’s our alternative?”
Logan met his gaze. “I can see only one. If you could keep your captain on board the Esperance , under constant guard and in Plymouth Sound, until my mission is complete and the Black Cobra is no more, I believe she and everyone associated with her would remain safe. The cult might, in desperation, try to attack the ship in harbor, but from what I’ve seen of your crew—and you’d be surrounded by other navy and army, more or less at call—I can’t see even assassins succeeding. In addition, most of the assassins will follow me—it’s reasonable to assume those are their standing orders.”
He paused, noting that all four men were nodding, following and agreeing with his assessment thus far. “The problem with that scenario is that I can’t see you—any or all of you—managing to keep Captain Trevission in Plymouth. The instant she realizes the potential danger, as indeed she might already have done, she’ll insist on returning to Guernsey and Mon Coeur with all speed, to make sure all’s safe there—to be there to defend it and her household when the cult come calling. She’ll reason that as the Esperance is flying the Guernsey flag, is so well known, and as her captaincy is an open secret, the cult will be able to identify Mon Coeur as her home even without her leading them there, and seek to harm her by harming her family.”
He grimaced. “In this instance, that reasoning is wrong, but neither you nor I will be able to convince her of that. The cult would delight in butchering her family, but they’d want to do it in front of her. That’s the sort of fiends they are. It’s her they want—she’s their target—and they’ll remain fixated on her. Only if she’s in the immediate vicinity will family or associates be used as tools—to draw her out, weaken her, or cause her pain. For all their brutality, the cultists are simple—acting at a distance isn’t their way.”
He studied the four men, raised his brows. “As I see it, the only way you and the crew could keep her on board, here in Plymouth, is by committing mutiny—she is, after all, Captain Trevission of the Esperance , holder of an extant Letter of Marque. I won’t even suggest that—I think it would be an equally bad disaster, just in a different way.”
The four men exchanged glances heavy with meaning, then Edgar looked up, grimly nodded. “You’re right. We couldn’t do it. This is her ship, and none of us would stand against her. She’s our leader—it’s been that way since her father died.”
“And so it should remain.” Logan pushed away from the wall, but the cabin was too small to pace.
Griffiths eyed him measuringly. “So what’s your solution? Your new plan? We’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep the capt’n and her family, and the ship and crew, safe.”
Logan looked at the other three, saw agreement and the same resolution in each face. “It’s simple.” In a few brief words, he outlined his plan.
They opened their mouths to argue, closed them, opened them again, then, accepting there was no real option and that he’d countered all their objections, they slowly nodded and agreed.
L ogan leaned on the stern rail alongside Linnet, once again at the wheel, and watched the shores of England rise on the horizon.
It had been so many years since he’d last seen them, so many hard, dusty years—the last, spent in chasing the Black Cobra, the hardest of all.
For long moments, he simply stared, let his soul drink in the green. The lush, vibrant fields of Devon—even with the louring sky above, the sight welcomed, soothed.
He was conscious of the glances Linnet threw him, but didn’t meet them. She didn’t speak, didn’t question, but left him to his quiet homecoming.
And it was that. This time he was home for good. He wouldn’t be setting out on any more adventures, any more campaigns. Now, in this moment, and he felt it in his bones, he was stepping beyond that phase of his life—and into the next. Whatever it would be.
Whatever he made of it.
Wherever he made it.
He glanced at Linnet, then looked ahead. Home
, his uncle had told him, was wherever you chose to make it.
If fate allowed, he would choose to make his home with her.
With that certainty sinking to his bones, he stood beside her and watched her steer her ship into Plymouth Sound.
One thing he knew about was command. As the last of the daylight waned, and she sent the Esperance gliding past Drake Island, tacking through the many naval vessels riding at anchor in the protected waters, he harbored not a shred of doubt that Linnet was a natural leader. She could probably even teach him a thing or two about inspiring men—Tommy, Burton, and Calloway, the three young archers, would, he judged, be hers for life.
In that, they would only be joining the rest of the Esperance ’s crew. To a man, they were devoted to their captain.
Linnet steered the ship directly into Sutton Harbor, Plymouth’s principal basin. She called orders; once again at her elbow, Griffiths relayed them. Sails were furled, still others hooked in as the ship slowed, slowed, then, on the last gasp of wind spilling from canvas, was expertly turned to slide smoothly into an empty berth at Sutton Wharf.
The sandbags slung over the ship’s side bumped once, then again more softly as the Esperance settled. Straightening, pushing away from the rails, Logan swung down to the main deck, then went down the companionway to the stern cabin. He paused only to seize the handles of the two bags he’d left waiting there—Linnet’s as well as his—then headed back.
He felt no sentimentality over leaving the Esperance —no need to look around and fix anything in his memory. He would be back. As soon as his mission allowed. Of course, he might be, very possibly would be, groveling at Linnet’s dainty heels as she strode back on board, but he would be back. He hoped, he prayed.
Emerging on deck, he saw Linnet standing by the railing midship, watching the gangplank being rolled out. The ship had been secured and was now bobbing lazily on the swell. He glanced around, then out at the town as he walked to where Linnet waited, arms folded, beside the gap in the railings. The light was fading fast. Running lights flickered on many ships. In the town, lamps already glowed in many windows, and streetlamps were being lit.
Shadows were lengthening, deepening, prime concealment for watchers and assassins alike.
Halting at the head of the gangplank, directly in front of Linnet, he brought his gaze to her face—only to discover she’d noticed her bag in his hand.
She frowned, stabbed a finger at the bag. “That’s mine. Put it down.” Raising her eyes to his, she scowled. “You’re going on to complete your mission, and I’m sailing home on the Esperance . I’m not going ashore with you, not even just for the night.”
He dutifully set down the bags, both of them. Faced her, eye to eye, and said, “Today you foiled the Black Cobra’s men, and they got a good look at you. By now they know that Captain Linnet Trevission of the Esperance , a woman no less, defeated them, took on three ships and left them wallowing in her wake. Their master is not going to be happy—and they won’t be, either. For the safety of this ship, your crew, your household, your home—and most especially you yourself—you have to come with me.”
The truth, nothing but the truth.
Eyes narrowed, arms crossed even tighter, a barrier between him and her, she tartly—entirely predictably—replied, “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself and mine. All of mine.”
He heaved an exaggerated sigh and shifted closer. Lowered his voice so no one else could hear. Held her gaze as he said, “And who’s going to take care of me while I’m distracted, worrying about you?”
Another very real truth.
“What?” She looked genuinely surprised.
Which had him narrowing his eyes. “You heard. If you’re with me, I’ll know you’re safe. If you’re not . . . I’ll most likely fail in my mission because I’ll be distracted, concerned over you.”
Her eyes slitted to green shards. “No.” They were trading forceful whispers. “I am not falling for that. I don’t mean that much to you—not that much. Nothing you can say will convince me otherwise. I am not coming with you.”
He held her gaze. “That’s your last word?”
Linnet searched his eyes, trying to find some clue as to what he was up to. She saw nothing in the midnight blue beyond his usual relentless determination. She raised her chin. “Yes.”
“Very well.” Stepping back, he nodded to Edgar and Griffiths, standing to one side behind her. “I’ll send word.”
She was wondering what he meant by that—what word he would be sending to them—when, turning back to her, Logan ducked.
He angled his shoulder into her midriff and, before she could react, cleanly hoisted her over his shoulder, anchoring her legs against his chest with his right arm, in the same sweeping movement swiping up both of their bags in his other hand, then he turned and strode down the gangplank. Fast.
“What . . . ?”
For one definable instant, she was speechless—utterly dumbfounded.
How dare he?
He swung off the gangplank and turned along the wharf, and she found her tongue. Cursed and swore using every invective, every colorful expletive she’d ever learned in all her years on board—an extensive litany that had no discernible effect whatever.
He actually chuckled.
She threatened him with castration, and he only lengthened his stride, rapidly crossing the wharf toward the old town and its narrow streets.
Fisting her right hand, she thumped on his back, hard. “Put me down this instant, you moron—I am not going with you.”
He jiggled her on his shoulder. “Watch out for my wound—you don’t want to burst your stitches, not after all your hard work.”
She swore, switched to her left hand, and thumped his other side. All but screeched, “ Logan! Enough! Put me down —or I’ll make it my duty to make the rest of your misbegotten life a misery!”
He halted, heaved a gigantic sigh, then, dropping their bags, finally grasped her waist and eased her down, sliding her down the front of his body until her toes neared the ground.
Before they did, he kissed her.
Kissed her in a way he never had before, with passion, yes, but it was passion leashed, held back so he could . . .
Woo her. Plead, persuade.
Beg.
Her hands came to rest on either side of his face, gently cupping. She couldn’t pull away, couldn’t stop herself from sensing, savoring, knowing.
When he finally lifted his head, hers was swimming, previous certainties fading, new questions rising.
He stared down into her eyes. “My life is already yours to do with as you please—to make it a misery, or even a living hell. Just as long as you’re alive to do that, I don’t care.”
His gaze lifted, scanning the wharf behind her, then he set her fully on her feet, seized her hand, and their bags. “Now behave, and come along.”
He towed her on, into a street she recognized as Looe Street. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
“Yes. I think.” He glanced back at her. “I haven’t been in Plymouth for years. The Seafarer’s Arms—it’s this way, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She grimaced as he pulled her along. As she let him. Resisting, knowing he’d only hoist her up again, didn’t seem worthwhile. But she did want to escape him . . . didn’t she?
Frowning, she glanced around. “This is nonsensical.” Night was closing in; there were few people around. “You can’t keep me with you against my will.”
The glance he shot her was dark—too dark to read. “Possibly not.” Jaw tightening, he looked ahead. “But I can change your mind. There’s no reason for you not to come with me, and every reason that you should.”
She knew better than to encourage a madman, but . . . “Why?”
“I told you why.” Forging on, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Because I can’t function properly without knowing you’re safe. And while you’re safe, all the others are, too. I know you don’t believe that—any m
ore than you believe that I’ll return to you when this mission is over—but whether you believe or not doesn’t change reality. That is my reality—my truth.” Reaching an intersection, he halted, met her eyes as she halted beside him. “The least you can do is give me a chance to prove it.”
She held his gaze, in the light from a nearby street flare searched his eyes, saw that he truly was asking for that, a chance to prove he meant what he said. And no matter how hard she looked, the midnight blue of his eyes showed nothing but an unshakable veracity, and beneath that an unshakable belief.
It wasn’t a belief she had any confidence in, any faith in, but he did.
She heard herself sigh. “All right.” She looked around, pointed. “The Seafarer’s Arms is that way, if that’s where we’re truly headed.”
He nodded; scanning the shadows, he grasped her hand more tightly. “Come on—we need to get there. We’ll definitely have been spotted by now.”
Eleven
L innet didn’t ask, Spotted by whom? She kept her eyes peeled as she took over the lead and steered them to the ancient inn, one of the oldest in the old part of town.
She wasn’t certain just what she should do, but leaving Logan at this point wasn’t an option. She was still wearing her cutlass, and he his saber; she felt certain he would have his dirk on him somewhere, and she had two knives, one in each boot.
They reached the Seafarer’s Arms without challenge, but her instincts were pricking, and by the way Logan looked around before ducking in the door behind her, his were, too.
She paused inside the door. The tap room opened out to her left, a low-ceilinged room with massive oak beams hanging low to strike unwary heads. Lamps bathed the long oak bar with golden light. Five old tars sat enveloped in smoky haze at a pair of tables before the fire. An old woman nodded in the inglenook.
A man in a heavy coat and well-polished boots was sitting at the bar, large hands cradling a pint pot; as the door clicked shut, he turned his head and glanced their way.
And slowly smiled. Leaving his mug on the bar, he stood and walked unhurriedly to them.