Lee Rowan - Royal Navy 03 - Eye of the ...

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EYE OF THE STORM
LEE ROWAN
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EYE OF THE STORM
Book Three in the Articles of War Series
Copyright © J.M. LINDNER, 2009
Cover art by Kim Carpenter
ISBN Trade paperback ISBN 978-1-60202-178-5
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN 978-1-60202-179-2
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
PDF, PRC & HTML
Linden Bay Romance, LLC
Palm Harbor, Florida 34684
www.lindenbayromance.com
 This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business
establishments, events or locales is coincidental.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Linden Bay Romance publication, January 2009
In Memory of Bill Mitchell: Seer, teacher, and friend
Chapter One
“Straighten your collar, Commander. And get your hand out of my breeches.”
William Marshall, Commander in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, choked on a laugh even
 as he reluctantly disengaged from a passionate, shockingly improper embrace with his
dear friend and lover, David Archer. Davy was right, unfortunately. Their carriage was
slowing as it reached its destination, and although fifteen minutes had not been near
enough, it was more than he’d thought to ever have again.
“My love, I had to come home.”Will had been close to tears at that simple statement.
He did not deserve such fidelity; he had not expected it. For months he had ignored
Davy’s letters, a deliberate severance of contact that had been meant to turn his lover
away from this unsuitable, dangerous attachment. But it had been to no avail. Davy
had refused to accept Will’s self-immolation, and rejected the notion that parting was
better for either of them. As soon as he had recovered fully from the gunshot wound
he’d received on their last mission together, he had set about answering the desire of
Will’s heart rather than his head, and it was impossible to wish he had done otherwise.
As the doorman at the inn approached to lower the carriage steps, Will glanced once
more at Davy, and even the meeting of eyes was like a caress. “Later,” Davy said
softly. “I did not come all the way from Jamaica for just a carriage ride.”
The door flipped open. There was no time to say more.
Their host, who had played coachman to give them a little time along together,
dropped from the driver’s seat and landed beside them, the capes of his greatcoat
settling into neatly-tailored layers about his shoulders. From his sleek brown queue to
his polished boots, he was every inch the gentleman spy. “Ready to go to work,
Captain?”
“Indeed, Sir Percy,” Will said, his heart leaping at being so addressed. He saw that
they were at the Spice Island Inn, an establishment generally too rich for his purse.
“May I ask whether there are there any more surprises awaiting me?”
“You’ve had the best, I think, though I expect you’ll be pleased to renew Baron
Guilford’s acquaintance.”
Will blinked, then realized that Sir Percy was referring to Davy’s cousin, Christopher
St. John. “Absolutely, sir,” he said as they entered the inn. “What brings his lordship
out on such a dirty night?”
“The pleasure of your company, of course.”
“How very sad,” Will said, feigning worry. “When did his judgment desert him?” He
received a cuff from Davy, laughed, and followed Sir Percy inside, to a private dining
room where Christopher St. John rose from the head of the table, hand outstretched
to greet him. Will shook the hand gladly. He could never repay the kindness Kit had
shown him and Davy back in Jamaica, giving them time and freedom to be together
that they could never have had under any other circumstances.
“So you’ve allowed Percy to press you into service,” Kit said. “Splendid! Come, sit
down.” He bore a strong resemblance to his cousin, but it was less striking than when
they’d first met, years before. A comfortable, settled family life had filled St. John out
a bit, while a near-fatal wound and months of convalescence had left Davy thinner and
less robust. But both cousins had an irrepressible cheerfulness that made them pleasant
 company in any circumstance.
“For now, we have bread and butter and good Bordeaux.” Kit poured wine into
Will’s glass and went on, “Supper will be up presently, now our party is complete.
David offered us any odds you’d volunteer.”
“I hope you weren’t foolish enough to bet against him.”
“Of course not. Neither Percy nor I would hazard a penny. What sailor wouldn’t
seize the chance? I know the sea takes you fellows like strong drink—you must have
missed it terribly.” His smile said he knew what Will had missed—or rather, whom.
“I did, sir.” Will had been given the chair at Kit’s left hand, and David took the chair
across from him. “But I can hardly complain about my fortunes, with so many of my
shipmates set ashore penniless. My half-pay has met my needs, and no man ever died
of boredom.”
Or loneliness
, he added to himself, meeting Davy’s eyes as a foot
nudged his beneath the table. “Are you also a part of this new enterprise?”
“Only in a very minor role,” Kit said. “I no longer suffer from seasickness as badly as
when we first met, but a voyage is no pleasure. I’m home to stay, I hope, though from
time to time I shall offer such small assistance as I may.”
“It’s a great deal more than small assistance,” Sir Percy said, “but there’s no need to
embarrass him by going into detail. Captain Marshall, how quickly could you find
twenty trustworthy men?”
Will was given ample time to consider that question as servants entered the room with
dishes whose aroma put even his longing for Davy into perspective. He had not eaten
since early afternoon, and while Davy would no doubt stay delightfully warm all night
long, that savory meat pie would cool if not dispatched with alacrity. For some minutes
conversation was reduced to expressions of appreciation and “please pass the salt.”
When Will leaned back in his chair at last, his hunger was sated and his heart
overflowing. With a feast before him, Davy restored to him, and a vessel waiting for
his hand at the helm, he was in Paradise; he could ask for nothing more.
Well, that was not entirely true. He could wish that Sir Percy would wait until
tomorrow to explain his new mission. True Paradise would involve retiring to a
bedchamber with his lover and making extensive apologies for abandoning him to what
Will had thought he should have—a normal life, a wife and family.
But duty before pleasure was the Navy way, so he forced his attention back to the
business at hand, and learned that he was not going to receive orders, as such, when
operating in His Majesty’s unofficial service. Instead, he was given a general picture of
a web of clandestine transport and communication, operated by Sir Percy, that had
been spiriting agents in and out of France since before King Louis’ execution. His own
part in it would be as a courier, ferryman for the occasional English agent, and both
sentinel and herald should hostilities break out unexpectedly.
His official title was to be Captain. His ship was the
Mermaid,
a private yacht under
the ownership of David St. John, cousin to Baron Guilford who had decided to strike
 out on his own, speculating, in a small and prudent way, in fine gemstones. Although
familiar with the sea, Mr. St. John had decided to hire someone to command the ship,
leaving him free to attend to his business.
Davy himself was uncharacteristically quiet during the briefing. Though Will felt the
lack of his conversation, he was grateful for the absence of distraction. It was hard
enough to keep his eyes off Davy’s face and his mind on the job without the constant,
inner awareness of that beloved body so near, a feeling like a compass needle seeking
true north. By the time the briefing was half over, Will felt his head would burst from all
the undigested information stuffed into it. He knew he would not remember all the
signs and counter-signs. “There will be a signal-book,” he asked hopefully, “or
something of the sort?”
“Oh, of course,” Sir Percy said. “I’ll deliver that myself, just before you sail. We
never make a copy until the last possible moment.”
“Very good. Thank you.” Will found himself growing impatient with the briefing, and
annoyed with himself for that impatience. But he knew that the hours were ticking
away, and the long autumn night was nearly half-gone. Once he and Davy were
aboard ship, they would have to maintain the strictest discretion. That carriage ride
had not been nearly long enough.
“One last question,” Sir Percy said. “Do you have any business you must attend to
before you leave?”
“Nothing that will delay me, sir. I should be able to sail in two days, if the men I have
in mind are here in Portsmouth. I’m certain at least two are here, and they should be
able to locate the others. Am I correct in guessing that hiring the right crew is worth a
day’s delay?”
“Absolutely.” The dandified attire Sir Percy affected looked like the costume it was in
contrast to that gentleman’s focused intelligence. “I meant to give you more time to
make arrangements, but you managed to make yourself difficult to locate.”
“Had I known you were looking for me, and with such news, I’d have hired the town
crier to call your name,” Marshall said in all seriousness. “I cannot thank you enough,
sir.”
“Not at all, Captain. This is not the sort of job that could be handed off to just
anyone. I recognize that the schedule presses you hard, but this message must be
across the Channel by the end of the week, and that would put you in place for a
rendezvous for which you are particularly suited.”
“What sort of craft is she?” Marshall asked, as though the answer mattered at all.
“Something you may not have seen before—a topsail schooner. Some shipbuilder’s
experiment, I think, and a very successful one. She’s a sweet little vessel, less than
200 tons—a yacht, really. Four small guns, which I hope you won’t need. The
Mermaid’s
French-built, a fast courier taken as a prize toward the end of hostilities.
Her papers show that she was bought into the service, then sold off when the treaty
was signed. She’s not much of a fighter, but you shouldn’t be going into battle. You
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