Chapter 1 #2
If the boat sank, how long would it be before Chandler or anyone else realized the loss.
Goodard’s ship had been scheduled to arrive here tonight or tomorrow evening.
It would likely be another two before the Royal Navy expected his coded message to arrive.
Then it was only a matter of time, which could be days, before they discovered what had happened to the ship.
“Did anyone else survive?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get here?” He found it difficult to believe that a seasoned captain and crew went down with a ship but a woman and children survived.
“We were put on the ship’s boat by the first mate, Cornelius, and he rowed us ashore.”
“Where is this Cornelius now?” Rhys demanded and worded in a manner that gave nothing away that he already knew the man.
“Dead,” one of the little girls answered.
His stomach tightened and he was deeply saddened by the loss, but Rhys kept his features schooled as if names meant nothing to him.
“We buried him over there.” Another girl pointed to the forest.
“Very well, who are you?” he asked with resignation since he was going to be stuck with them for a short time at the very least. He could only hope that Chandler quickly realized that something had gone terribly wrong and came searching for the females to take them away from here.
“Who are you?” she countered the demand.
“I asked you first.”
“How do I know that I can trust you?”
“I have not shot you yet.” Despite carrying the crate earlier, he still kept hold of the pistol out of precaution. Just because there was a woman and children had not meant there weren’t men waiting in the forest ready to arrest or do physical harm.
He should know, he had once hid in a girls’ school when he had been pursued. He wouldn’t put it past a French spymaster to use a woman and girls to disarm him, at least cause him to lower his guard and open himself up to capture.
The woman, who he assumed to be around three and twenty, or maybe four and twenty, crossed her arms over her chest and straightened her spine. “I shan’t tell you who I am until I know who you are.”
Bloody hell.
“Rhys McNaught, formerly of England. Your turn.”
“What is an Englishman doing on a French island in the middle of a war?”
Well, he couldn’t exactly tell her the truth. “What is an English woman doing on a French island in the middle of a war?”
“We were put here.”
Yes, by a boat manned by Cornelius who was now dead.
“What did you do with the boat?”
“It is out there.” She pointed to the edge of the water.
“Where anyone can see it!” he nearly raged.
“It is a boat and they belong in the water.”
Cornelius must have been close to death when they reached the shore, otherwise, the boat would not have put in there.
“Stay here.”
Rhys marched across the beach until he reached the boat then pushed it into the water, got inside, then started to row it toward the concealed inlet when he realized that it was taking on water.
A hole, a large one, was just above the water line, until a wave hit it, and then it was below.
If he were lucky, he would make it to hiding before the blasted thing sank.
He also noticed there was blood on the seats. Not much, but enough to offer proof that Cornelius had been gravely injured when he went about saving the females.
Rhys was not one to act on assumptions, but facts, so he would not settle on what happened until he knew for certain.
After Rhys had the boat tied off in the inlet, he returned to the woman who had not yet given him her name.
“What exactly happened to this Cornelius fellow?”
“He was shot and lived long enough to direct us to the beach.”
“He could not have been too badly injured if he was able to row.”
The woman pursed her lips. “I suppose you think that only a man would be up to such a task.”
No, he did not but he had made that assumption of her.
“I apologize,” he finally said. “How did you not sink in that thing?” The weight of Cornelius, the woman, and children would have been enough so that it rode low, thus water would have flooded the boat.
“It did not get the hole until we were closer to shore and struck something in the water. I do not know what it was because it was too dark to see.”
“It will need to be fixed.” He would see to it as soon as all was settled here. That boat would be needed to get them off the island if it became necessary.
“Now, tell me who you are.”
“I am Miss Tempest Driscoll of Dominica where my father is a diplomat and awaits our arrival.”
He knew the name, as did many in the Caribbean. The children of a British diplomat, if caught by the French, could be used as ransom, or a reason to get the British to pull back their blockade of Martinique that cut them off from France and caused a supply shortage.
“Who are they?” he pointed to the girls.
“My sisters.”
Rhys glanced back into the hut. “Where are your things?”
“All I have is my reticule, which contains my funds and timepiece. The rest of our belongings are on the ship. There was not room on the ship’s boat for us and our belongings so they had to be left behind.”
No, of course not. They were probably lucky to survive.
“Well, get comfortable, I am certain someone will be along to rescue you soon.” He turned his back on them and returned inside.
He was here on behalf of the British through his employment with Lionston and to gather intelligence—not be a nurserymaid.
Except, they were now his responsibility and Rhys did not like it one bit.
What he enjoyed was his peace and quiet and he would have neither while Miss Tempest Driscoll and her sisters were here.
* * *
Tempest watched as Mr. McNaught stomped back into the hut.
She had been taken aback when he had startled her, then quickly grew cross at his impertinence.
Hopefully the distraction of her sisters emerging from the house had drawn his attention while she masked her shock and surprise at finding such a handsome man creeping about the hut.
Green intense eyes, strong jaw, and a dimple in the middle of his chin.
His blond hair was unfashionably long, straight and appeared not to have been brushed.
In fact, his entire appearance, from his wrinkled clothing to his hair, gave her the impression that he had just rolled from his bed.
Thankfully she was in excellent control of her faculties and emotions not to show any outward reaction other than irritation.
It wasn’t her fault this is where they were stranded.
Further, if Goodard had assumed that this hut was unoccupied when he directed her here, he had been mistaken, but it was still better than the alternative. They could not go into Fort-de-France, especially if anyone learned who their father was.
While McNaught may be unpleasant, she would not let that deter her from making the best of a bad situation. She did have her sisters to think about after all.
“Girls, please continue collecting coconuts. We will drink the milk and eat the meat.”
“That is what we had this morning,” Ruth, the next to the youngest, whined. “I do not like coconut.”
“Eat some passion fruit,” McNaught grumbled.
“I am sick of passion fruit,” Ruth argued.
She would need to speak with her younger sister about being difficult. “Both will have to do for now and until I can gather other provisions.” Such as those that Mr. McNaught had just brought back with him. She did not yet know all that was contained in the crate but did notice bread and eggs.
“Nicoll, please keep a watch over the younger children while I have a word with Mr. McNaught,” she said to the eldest of her sisters, who was six and ten. Their four younger siblings, ages twelve to six, were of a different mother, who their father had married after Tempest’s mother had died.
Nicoll nodded, though concern lingered in her grey eyes, then directed their younger siblings to the coconut trees further down the beach as Tempest followed Mr. McNaught into the hut.
He was in the process of unpacking the crate and she noticed several other foodstuffs that would go a long way in making meals for all of them.
Besides the bread and eggs, he had brought back dried meats, sugar, beans, crackers, biscuits, wheat, maize, chilies, vanilla beans and other herbs and spices, sweet potatoes, cabbage and okra as well as oranges and bananas and several bottles of rum.
Well, those would have to go because she was not going to live in a hut with a man who spent his time deep in his cups.
In fact, he would need to go as well because he certainly could not share the one-room building with her and her sisters.
Knowing that the task before her was going to be difficult, Tempest drew in a deep breath and prepared to argue and make her point understood, fully aware that he would not easily capitulate to her demands.
“Before matters become difficult, I believe it is best if we come to an understanding,” Tempest announced. “We are adults; therefore, the safety of the children must come first.”
“I am confident that you can see to the task without my assistance.”
This was going to be even more difficult than she imagined if he was not even going to discuss the matter.
He finished stacking the foodstuffs on the shelves and then lifted a bottle of rum and uncorked it before he took a drink.
“They are young and impressionable,” Tempest reminded him.
Respectable gentlemen poured their spirits into a glass, and if they were polite, offered their guest a drink. Though no proper Englishman would offer a miss rum, and she suspected that there was nothing at all that was proper, polite or respectable about Rhys McNaught.
She had also only been around Englishmen who had traveled to the Caribbean from England, but she assumed they were a better representation of England than Mr. McNaught.
He took another drink not at all concerned by what she was saying.
“They will need as much normalcy as can be provided, given the frightening circumstances they have endured.”
McNaught said nothing, only raised an eyebrow and offered her the bottle, which she most certainly declined.
She knew about her uncle’s secret activities and his network of British contacts in the Caribbean and assumed that the enemy had learned as well. Why else would a merchant cutter be targeted and sunk by the French?
Was Mr. McNaught also part of the network or was it just an odd coincidence that the captain of the ship chose this piece of land along Martinque’s shore on which to deposit her and her sisters?
No, it had been intentional because the ship had been heavily damaged, but they were not allowed to abandon the cutter right away.
Instead, Captain Goodard had sailed further, taking on water, sluggish against the waves with a torn sail, but he was insistent that he needed to get to a specific location before the rowboat could be put into the water.
Either the captain had not wanted to risk them arriving at a populated portion of the island, or he already knew that McNaught was here, and thus could provide protection for Tempest and her sisters.
Except, McNaught had no interest in protecting or assisting them.
She also could not ask if he was here to spy on the French because if he wasn’t…Except, she was almost certain there had been a brief light of recognition in his brown eyes when she mentioned the captain of the cutter, but not when she named her uncle nor Cornelius.
Blast! She wished there was a way for her to know for certain.
“You are British. Why are you living on Martinique?”
“My mother was from here,” he answered.
“Do you still have family on the island?” If so, he could go live with them until she and her sisters were rescued.
“No. I am all alone in the world. Or I was until I came home to find you.”
“Is it because you want to be alone or because you are too rude to be wanted.” It was unlike her to be so unpleasant but McNaught continued to be boorish and it wasn’t as if she had a choice over her circumstances. “Do the people of Fort-de-France think it odd that you live alone out here?”
“I would not know, nor do I care to know their opinion.” He pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it on a chair.
Tempest was not certain what to do because she had never seen a strange man in just his shirtsleeves and trousers.
Mr. McNaught then pulled the linen shirt over his head, revealing a tanned and muscular chest.
Tempest grew suddenly warm. Then again it was late afternoon and the sun was high.
His chest and abdomen were as tanned as his arms. Did Mr. McNaught make it a habit of going about unclothed?
He turned and waved a hand in front of her face, and Tempest’s cheeks began to burn when she realized she’d been staring at him. Not his face, but his body.
“Excuse me. I am going to bed.”
“In the middle of the day?” She pulled back in alarm.
“It was a long walk back from Fort-de-France. I am tired and hot and want to rest.”
He climbed onto the bed and bunched the pillow before lying back. “Either find another hut to live in or be quiet while I rest.”
Tempest gasped. “There is no other place for us, thus you will be the one to leave.”
Mr. McNaught sat up and glared at her, which was not a surprise.
“Have you forgotten that this is my home.”
“And you are a man who can sleep anywhere while I am responsible for five young women. You cannot expect me to take them into the forest in hopes of finding another hut.”
“Sleep on the terrasse, the floor. I do not care. Just let me rest.”
“Very well.” With a huff Tempest stormed from the hut and slammed the door.
Mr. McNaught was the most unlikeable man she had ever encountered in her life and she was not going to give up the hut to him. Not when she had young children who could be harmed without shelter.